Some Kind of Wonderful Page 19

  And that lock inside him was the only one he’d never been able to break.

  BRITTANY LAY IN her cabin, wide-awake.

  Around her the children were all sleeping peacefully, even little Grace Green who’d been stuck to Zach like a Band-Aid during campfire.

  He’d been so patient with her.

  Thinking about it made her feel hot and bothered, and Brittany turned over in her bunk, unable to settle. Animals and vulnerable children. The two things he always had time for. Which proved that the seemingly impenetrable steel surface protected a soft inner layer rich with kindness and humanity.

  She lay there, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the contrasts. He gave the impression of being remote and inaccessible, and yet there hadn’t been a single moment of the trek through the forest when he’d lost sight of Travis. Nor had there been a single moment at the campfire when he hadn’t been watching out for little Grace.

  The thought turned her insides to marshmallow.

  Giving up on sleep, Brittany slipped out of her bunk, pushed her feet into her hiking boots, pulled a sweater over her pajamas and picked up a flashlight.

  Closing the door carefully behind her, she walked a little way into the forest, breathing in the scent of pine and the cool night air.

  She’d traveled the world, but there was nowhere like Puffin Island.

  Unlike Grace, the forest didn’t scare her and never had. She’d walked here with her grandmother as a child. In the summer they’d hunted for berries and in the winter they’d collected armfuls of pinecones and taken then back to the warmth of the cottage and used them as decorations. They’d piled them in bowls and hung them from the Christmas tree.

  The forest had been standing for hundreds of years and she closed her eyes and let the sounds of the night settle her, trying not to think about Zach. Instead she thought about the people who had walked the trails before her.

  How had they endured the winters? Had they loved, laughed and cried for their children?

  A hand closed over her shoulder and she almost died of fright.

  Heart pounding, she turned. “Zach? Are you trying to kill me?”

  His fingers were warm and strong through the fabric of her sweater. “What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Why?”

  I was thinking about you. “I had stuff on my mind. And it’s not the middle of the night. Just past midnight. And now it’s my turn to ask you the same question. What are you doing out here?”

  “Walking.” The fact that he was wearing his jeans and boots told her that, unlike her, he hadn’t yet gone to bed.

  She remembered on several of the occasions they’d spent the whole night together, waking to find him wide-awake and staring into the darkness. And another occasion, more vivid in her memory, when he’d had a nightmare.

  “Do you still have bad dreams?” The question left her lips before she could stop it and he released his grip on her shoulder.

  “You should go back to bed.”

  Which meant that he did, but didn’t want to talk about it. Which came as no surprise of course. He never talked about any of it.

  At the time she’d thought that was fine. That a person had a right to their own privacy. She’d been too young to understand how privacy was connected to intimacy.

  Would it have been different if they’d met for the first time now?

  Sadness settled over her like mist.

  “I’m not ready to sleep. I’m going to sit by the pond for a while. Good night, Zach.” She walked away, and heard him curse softly and follow her, his feet crunching on the forest path.

  “I don’t suppose there’s any point in telling you not to walk in the forest on your own?”

  “None at all.” Part of her wanted him to walk away and another part of her was pleased that he hadn’t, all of which she took as evidence that her brain was as mixed up as her insides. “I’ve slept under the stars plenty of times, Zach. I can handle the woods on my own island.”

  “Wearing pajamas?”

  “They cover my legs so I’m not going to get bitten. And I don’t need a guard dog so feel free to do whatever it was you were planning on doing when you started your evening stroll.”

  “I was taking a walk.” And he continued that walk alongside her, keeping pace with her until they reached the dock.

  She felt a rush of frustration. “I’ve told you, I don’t need protecting.”

  “Who says I’m here to protect you? Maybe I just like spending time with you.”

  Her heart lurched in her chest and her legs went so weak she plopped down on the cool planks of the dock, wondering what it was about him that turned her insides to mush. “Oh. I— Well, okay, then.”

  Because he didn’t often say things like that, when he did it had enormous impact.

  She was overwhelmed by an almost uncontrollable urge to abandon caution and kiss him.

  Would he push her away?

  It wasn’t as if they hadn’t already taken a step down that path.

  It wasn’t as if—

  Unsettled by the complexity of her feelings, she gave a little shiver and because he missed nothing, he noticed.

  “You’re cold.”

  She waited for him to suggest going back to the cabin, but instead he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She was cocooned by warmth, enveloped by Zach. The jacket smelled good. It smelled like him and after five seconds of inhaling his subtle masculine scent she was heated like bread in a toaster.

  “Now you’ll be cold.”

  “I won’t. Compared to Alaska, this is balmy.” He sat down next to her, his arm brushing against hers. “You always did love the outdoors. Did you sleep under the stars on digs?”

  She tried to forget the coat, his nearness and the ridiculous hammering of her heart.

  “Sometimes. Usually under canvas. This summer in Crete, Lily and I shared an apartment, which sounds like luxury until I tell you I’ve eaten burgers that were bigger than our bedroom.” She snuggled deeper inside the jacket, listening to the rush of the wind through the trees and trying not to think about the fact that Zach was sitting right there, right next to her, within touching distance. “Summer is almost over. I can never decide which is my favorite season. I love the fall colors, but I look forward to winter because there’s no better feeling than crunching through fresh white snow or dragging your sled to the top of East Crag and sliding down into the soft snow at the bottom. Then after a few weeks of bitter cold and ice and maybe a couple of power outages, the novelty wears off and I remember how endless winter seems. Then I long for spring when the snow melts and the rivers swell and the air is filled with the promise of summer. Then summer comes and the sun shines and for a while I think summer is my favorite season, until I’m stuck in Harbor Stores behind a line of tourists being poked in the back with a fishing net. Which is your favorite season?” Surely he’d tell her that? It wasn’t a personal question. Just a simple exchange of likes and dislikes.

  When he didn’t answer she turned her head and found him looking at her with that dark, intense gaze that always made her stomach drop. It was as if he looked deep inside a person, never trusting what lay on the surface. For a man who guarded his own innermost thoughts as fiercely as a vault in a bank, he was remarkably adept at reading others.

  “Winter,” he said roughly. “I guess mine is winter.”

  “Which is presumably why you chose to live in Alaska?”

  “Alaska is one of the least densely populated places on the planet, which made it custom designed for me.”

  “Because there’s more wildlife than people and you don’t love people?”

  “I judge them on a case-by-case basis, but it’s true that on the whole I find wildlife easier to understand.”

  “So you picked lonely places so that it was just you and the polar bears?”

  “Not many polar bears, and they’re mostly
up by the Wrangel Islands and the North Slope. You’re more likely to meet a grizzly or a black bear.”

  “As you can probably tell, I don’t know much about Alaska.”

  “Plenty of folks don’t, even though it’s the largest state.”

  She stretched out her legs. “What did you do out there? Who did you fly and where did you fly them?”

  “A mix of people. Locals, businesspeople, oil folk and the school hockey team. And I took them wherever they wanted to go. The bush planes are a lifeline for many of those rural communities.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “Not really, but when it was dangerous the danger always came from predictable sources—the wildlife and the weather. Life there has an appealing simplicity. If something is trying to eat you, you don’t let it. If the weather doesn’t want you to fly, you don’t fly.”

  “But knowing you, you flew anyway.”

  He gave a soft laugh. “Occasionally.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  “Sometimes. But even in the summer Puffin Island offers plenty of places to escape the crowds.”

  “Philip is pleased you’re back. You’re like a son to him.” The moment the words left her mouth she sensed the change in him and cursed herself for carelessly wandering into the realms of personal. Swiftly, she changed the subject. “I sometimes miss Greece.”

  “Have you decided what you’re going to do once that plaster cast is off your wrist?”

  “No. I thought of applying for a tenure-track faculty position here in the US, or possibly returning to the UK. I don’t know.” And that was unusual for her. She always knew. She was used to having a clear goal and concentrating her efforts on going after it. “I’m not ready to leave the island yet. I think I might be having a midlife crisis.”

  “In your twenties?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice and she pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees. The cast felt awkward and unyielding and she gave up and shifted her position until she was comfortable.

  “You’re laughing at me, but I’ve always known exactly what I wanted to do. Every job I did, every path I took, was all part of my plan. I wanted to get my degree, then my PhD, I wanted to walk the Inca Trail and spend time in Greece because the whole place is like a museum, or maybe a Minoan theme park.” She grinned, thinking how her professors would wince at the description. “Either way, I always knew what the next goal was. Until now. For the first time in my life I don’t know what I want to do. I assumed coming back here would be a short, temporary thing. A brief visit while I recuperated and before I went off to do the next thing on my list.”

  “And?”

  “And I don’t have anything on my list that feels better than being here. And that’s scary. It’s the first time in my life I haven’t known what I wanted. What I need.”

  Except when it came to him.

  She knew she needed him.

  There was a soft splash as a bird skimmed the water and Zach stirred.

  “Maybe what you need is time to heal. That’s why you came home, isn’t it?”

  “Mostly, but not entirely. I can only go so long without coming here. I get sort of itchy. No matter where I live, this place is still home.” She struggled to describe the feeling. “I need a fix of all the things I love about Puffin Island. I soak it up, absorb it, then take it with me somewhere else. That’s what I do. I should be applying for things now, but every time I sit down at the laptop and look at what’s out there, there’s nothing that grabs me. Nothing that feels worth leaving Castaway Cottage. I love it here. I’d forgotten how much. Listen—” She tilted her head and listened to a haunting, melodic cry from the far side of the pond. “Do you hear that?”

  “Loons. They’re calling to each other. It’s an eerie sound.” His leg brushed lightly against hers. “I guess it’s their equivalent of texting. They’re good parents, did you know that? They carry their young on their backs, protecting them.”

  His words brought a lump to her throat. From the little she knew, his own experience of childhood had been vastly different.

  “John Harris used to bring Helen Cooper and me up here and we’d camp out by the water and watch them. I used to read with a flashlight and he’d tell me off for attracting insects. As long as it wasn’t spiders, I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was read about all these other places that existed beyond the shores of Puffin Island. It fascinated me that tourists were desperate to come here and we were all desperate to leave.”

  “I guess we all want what we don’t have. That’s human nature.”

  They sat in silence, listening to the soft lap of water against the dock.

  “I used to dream about the world beyond Puffin Island. I read Robinson Crusoe and wanted to be shipwrecked. Then I discovered Jane Austen and wanted to live in an English country house complete with staff and to travel everywhere by horse-drawn carriage.”

  “Not the most reliable mode of transport.”

  “True. And in reality I would have been one of the servants, which would not have been fun. What did you dream about?” Her casual question was met with silence.

  He stared into the darkness towards the call of the loons. “There wasn’t much room in my life for dreams.” The stillness of his features made her shiver.

  Feeling it, he turned to her. “Still cold? Zip up the coat.”

  “I should be giving it back to you.”

  “I’m fine.” He rose to his feet. “Stand up.”

  She did as he ordered and tried to zip the jacket herself, but with one hand it was impossible and Zach reached down and nudged her fingers out of the way. His head was lowered towards hers and she could see the rough shadow of his jaw and the molten black of his eyes. In the semidarkness his face was all hard lines and dangerous edges.

  He was close. So close. If she leaned forward just a little, she’d be kissing him.

  With sure fingers he eased the zip upwards, the movement drawing them closer still.

  “This must be a whole new experience for you, Zachary Flynn.” Her voice sounded croaky. “Dressing a woman instead of undressing her.”

  He paused for a fraction of a second, then zipped the jacket all the way up to her throat with careful hands. “I can manage it if I focus.” The backs of his fingers brushed her jaw gently and lingered. “You were good with Travis today.”

  She wondered why such a simple gesture could have her nerve endings jumping. “He didn’t really talk to me.”

  “But he listened. That’s a start. You’re a kind person, Brittany.”

  “So are you. You were good with little Grace. Patient.”

  He let his hands drop. “No reason not to be. Plenty of folk are scared of the forest.”

  “Before she went to sleep I heard her telling her friend that you told her the forest is home to the animals and they just want to get on with their lives. You made more progress with her than I did with Travis.”

  “He stayed close to you. Talked a bit. Listened a lot. I’d call that progress.”

  “But he didn’t talk about anything personal. I was hoping he might.” Because the urge to kiss Zach was almost overwhelming, she turned her head and stared across the water. “I can’t bear that his default is not to trust anyone.”

  “When you’re used to living that way, it’s hard to change.” He paused. “And sometimes it’s not wise.”

  “How can it not be wise?”

  There was a long pulsing silence. “Because,” he said slowly, “sometimes not trusting is what keeps you safe.”

  She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  She knew, without even a flicker of doubt, that he was talking from experience.

  He hadn’t felt safe?

  She turned to look at him but his eyes were as unfathomable as the darkest depths of the ocean. “Zach—”

  “Do you want to sit down a little longer or walk?”

  Neither. She felt like a child, peeping through the keyhole of a door, unable to form a
complete picture of what was on the other side. She wanted to know more. She needed to know more. She wanted to ask him what was behind that remark, but he’d already revealed more than he ever had before and he took a step back, his body language making it clear that he considered the conversation at an end.

  Retreating, she thought desperately. Always retreating.

  She wanted to dig for the truth as she did in her job, but her training had also taught her the value of patience. As an archaeologist she knew that the past had to be uncovered layer by layer, the ground persuaded to yield buried secrets to the world. Too much haste and impatience and you risked damaging what was there and losing it forever.

  Zach didn’t want to talk about his past and because she didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and driving him away, she didn’t push.

  Instead, she walked to the end of the dock.

  “Be careful.” His voice vibrated through the darkness, low and deep. “Some of the planks are uneven and you only have one working wrist.”

  “I’ll be fine. My wrist was a silly accident, that’s all. I was laughing at something a friend said and I wasn’t looking where I was putting my feet.”

  “Was the ‘friend’ that guy you were talking to the other night?” The roughness of his tone almost made her miss her step.

  “Yes. His name is Spyros. Dr. Spyros Nicolaides.” She stood at the end of the dock, trying to still the questions in her head. Who? What? Why? At what age had Zach not felt safe? How had he protected himself? “We call him Spy. He’s Greek.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent and sounds of the forest.

  She felt his arm brush against hers as he stood next to her.

  “Did you have sex with him?” The question startled her as much as his rough tone.

  “Zach—”

  “Sorry. Don’t answer that question.” His voice was raw and she turned her head to look at him, confused and off balance. She was still trying to work out the meaning behind his words when he curved his hand around the nape of her neck and drew her face towards his in a possessive gesture. She was locked between the strength of his hand and the desire in his eyes and in that single moment she was aware of every detail of him. The thickness of those lashes, the spectacular lines of his bone structure and the hard pressure of his thighs against hers. She felt the warmth of his breath brush against her lips and gave a low moan of anticipation.