He sat on the deck, trying to shove the past week out of his mind. But the hot tub undid any and all progress he’d made.
He looked skyward at the sound of an airplane engine, realizing what approached wasn’t a seaplane, but a twin propeller plane with wheels.
The plane touched down beautifully on the lawn, settling in a surprisingly small area. Which meant it could be piloted only by his brother Marshall. He was one hell of an aviator, though these days Delaney was giving him a run for his money.
Marshall hopped out of the plane, with no hat, his curly hair in serious need of a cut as the wind tore at him. Family support. That had been something Broderick could always count on. He drew in a breath, ready to shout. Then he saw strawberry-blond hair and a slender frame. His breath caught as Glenna darted down the steps of the plane, clutching a simple overnight bag.
A feeling like hope kicked around in his gut. No. More than that.
A rush of love so strong it threatened to take him down faster than an Arctic wave.
Marshall stopped at the bottom of the deck and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout, “Brother, are you good with me leaving?”
Looking down the steps at Glenna, Broderick saw the hope glimmering in her blue eyes. He should never have walked away from her. Should have stayed and worked things out back on the Steele family dock. But maybe he was getting a second chance. A way to put the past behind them.
He shifted his attention back to his brother and nodded. “We’re good, Marshall. Thank you.”
Broderick walked down the steps as Glenna walked up. He reached for her overnight bag and resisted the urge to touch her. To haul her into his arms and hold her until they both froze to the spot.
They needed to talk. He wouldn’t rush her. She was here, for him. Right now, that was everything.
Walking toward the cabin steps, he asked, “Where’s Fleur? And Kota?”
“We have a family full of very qualified babysitters and puppy sitters who lined up to help.”
“Fair enough.” They walked into the house. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting an orange glow into the room. She shimmied out of her thick coat. Damn. Glenna was elegant even in dark wash jeans and a tan cashmere sweater. It didn’t matter what she wore. She always took his breath away. He couldn’t imagine ever seeing her and not wanting her.
Gesturing to the leather sofa, he asked the question searing his brain. “What are you doing here?”
She eyed him warily, half reaching for him, then pulling her hand back. “I came for you. For us. If you still want to talk.” She sat on the sofa, cross-legged. “Really talk. You ran off before we even had a chance to let the news about Fleur settle in.” She looked at her hands. “Before I had a chance to process what Gage had done.”
God, that had to have hurt her. Broderick took her hand in his. “I’m sorry. Genuinely sorry. I know you loved him.”
Her eyes met his, no tears. Just full of regret. “I’m finally learning to accept the marriage for what it was. Flawed, and likely destined to fail.” Her mouth half tipped in a bittersweet smile. “You may have noticed, I don’t deal well with failure.”
Dealing with failure? That’s something he understood well. Yet, he’d never shared the greatest failure of his life, and it wasn’t a story that would come out easily.
However, Glenna had made the effort to chase him. It had gotten his attention. It had given him another chance at this relationship they seemed to be starting, and he needed to deserve it. He offered up a piece of his soul—an aspect of himself that he guarded carefully.
In a quiet voice, he began, “I’d like to share a story with you that will help you understand me better, a story passed down through my family.”
Glenna stroked his hand softly, then curled her fingers around his. “I would like to hear it.”
Hard as it was to say, he found he wanted to tell her. Very much. “My mom used to arrange sleigh rides for us.”
“That’s a beautiful memory.” She stroked her thumb along the inside of his wrist.
He looked around the room, taking in the decor. He felt as if he saw the past, his former life, and the life that didn’t have a chance to happen because of the plane crash. “She loved this place, her home state. We vacationed in the Dakotas when Dad had business, but this was home. For her. For us.”
“She’s the one you got the stew recipe from?”
“Her, and she got it from my grandmother. Yes. My mother wanted to teach us about how her Inuit grandparents lived as much as possible. We hunted, moose mostly, and fished, to fill freezers for orphanages and local food pantries. We still do.”