Running Wild (Wild 3)

Sharon throws her arms around my neck in a fierce hug. “Did you just land?”

“Uh … yeah. Rough flight.” I struggle to keep my focus on her, my attention veering back to Jonah frequently. What possessed him to do that? “Okay, first of all, wow, look at that belly! And it’s only been four weeks since I saw you last.”

“Only, you say.” Sharon’s hands slide over her stomach with a loud groan.

No longer able to ignore it, I march toward the counter. “And you. What the hell, Jonah?”

Not a beat passes before his strong arms pull me against his chest. I inhale the comforting scent of woodsy soap, relishing these few moments as I do every time we greet. If all goes as I hope it does this trip, maybe I won’t be staying at Crystal’s cabin anymore. Maybe I’ll have a warm bed with an even warmer body next to me from now on.

“What the hell, indeed.” His raspy voice is gravelly against my ear. “Hey, Marie.”

With reluctance, I peel away, only to reach up and smooth my fingers over his groomed beard, the prickly ends tickling my skin. I’ve touched his beard before, usually with a teasing tug. It was always so scruffy. “I like it.” I more than like it. I love this new look. It allows me to see so much more of that face I adore.

I’m temporarily distracted by the track of black stitches across his forehead, the only visible proof of his plane crash, and then Jonah moves away—too soon for my liking—to lean against the counter again, his attention shifting behind me. “I was the victim of a cruel and vicious prank.” He chuckles. “I probably deserved it.”

“Probably,” a female answers dryly.

I turn toward the voice. I hadn’t noticed the woman standing at the counter before, too enthralled with Jonah’s new image. How hadn’t I noticed her before? I can’t help but gawk. She’s stunning, her long, cinnamon-brown hair touched with flattering blonde highlights, her large hazel-green eyes lined with full, dark lashes that flutter at Jonah. She has flawless, glowing skin and an athletic figure—on display in a fashionable tunic and leggings.

The kind of body I know Jonah appreciates.

“This is Wren’s daughter, Calla. She’s here visiting,” Jonah says by way of introduction.

“I didn’t realize Wren had a daughter.” Why hasn’t Jonah ever mentioned her before? Why hasn’t Wren? Jonah told me that his boss had been married once, many years ago, but that’s all I’ve ever heard, and I’ve gotten to know the owner of Alaska Wild fairly well. He’s a kind, quiet man. That he has never mentioned his own daughter seems odd.

I finally remember my manners, smiling at Calla as I reach forward. “First time in Alaska?”

Her hand is cold against mine, her manicured nails long and even and artificial. “Yeah.”

“I picked her up from Anchorage last weekend. It’s been … interesting, so far.” Jonah’s attention is locked on the beautiful face across from him as he flashes a flirtatious grin, and they share a secretive look.

An unpleasant feeling skates down my spine and settles in the pit of my stomach. Calla certainly doesn’t seem like she’s from around here. Those sculpted eyebrows must require meticulous grooming, but she looks like the kind of girl who sits in front of a mirror for hours each day, perfecting herself.

I’ve never been one to spend too much time fussing over my appearance, embracing a more natural, low-maintenance look that works well with my busy veterinarian practice and outdoorsy lifestyle. But suddenly, I regret throwing on the first shirt I pulled out of my dresser, and perhaps I should have made better friends with my hairbrush. Not that the rain wouldn’t have undone that, anyway. But next to Calla—she’s, what, in her midtwenties?—I look every bit the frumpy and weathered thirty-six-year-old.

It’s beginning to make sense now. Calla must’ve had a hand in Jonah’s new style. I can’t imagine the conversation that led to that—or what it led to after.

“So, where are you from?” I hope they can’t hear the strain in my voice.

“Toronto.”

A city girl. Yeah, that explains a lot. “Oh, that’s far.” Thousands of miles away. Hours of commercial flying. A whole other country. Too far for Jonah, who isn’t a fan of relationships of any kind, let alone long-distance ones. He wasn’t willing to attempt it with Teegan, and they dated for months before she moved back to the lower forty-eight. “And how long are you here for?”

“Another week.”

“Okay …” Relief washes over me. A week. Barely more than a one-night stand for him. Whatever’s going on here, it’ll be over soon. Then I can profess my undying love for this man, and we can move on as if she doesn’t exist.

“Unless I decide to stay longer,” Calla says abruptly, her focus darting to Jonah, as if to check his reaction to that suggestion.