Two Crazy, One Wild Page 11

  Whew. Honestly, I was conflicted. I craved more of Zack’s kisses, and at the same time, I was a bit weirded-out by how good that’d been, how quickly it’d escalated. Zack and I apparently had chemistry in spades. On a scale from one to ten, he was a twenty, and now I kind of regretted the sample I’d stolen. How did one go back to fives when they’d experienced a twenty? It was probably a good thing Rory wouldn’t be letting his brother escape anytime soon.

  Zack surprised me by returning just a few minutes later. “So, your mom,” he said.

  I’d recovered enough to make speech sounds, and countered with, “So, your leg.” I tossed a shovelful of dirt aside.

  “I hurt my knee,” he said, watching me dig. “Last game of my hockey career. I tackled somebody against the side, and somebody else slammed into us, and somewhere in the mix, my leg went sideways. I tore… hell, I can’t even pronounce it, but one of the tendons in there. It never healed quite right.”

  “Ended your hockey career?”

  “It did. I wound up working for Rory on construction projects until we created the catapult business. We still build things, though it’s more of a side-gig now.”

  “You should build a gazebo. Right over there,” I said, nodding to the secluded pocket of yard behind the cabin.

  He turned to look at the spot. “A gazebo?”

  “Yep. And then you could plant roses—rugosas, probably, because they’re one of the only types that thrive up here and still smell nice—around the outside. Oh, and a kiwi vine,” I said, pausing in my shoveling to grin at him. “Do you like kiwis?”

  He was watching me, his expression warm. “Sure. Though, I didn’t realize they grow up here.”

  “Some do,” I said, levering another shovelful of dirt out. “And, actually, you’d need two kiwi plants for fruit. A male and a female.”

  “You’re kidding me.” He wiggled his fingers and accepted the shovel, then drove it into the ground, removing a chunk of earth much larger than what I’d been managing. “Are there really male and female plants?”

  “Yup. The one is needed to fertilize the other. It’s a thing. That’s good,” I said, referring to the size of the hole. I fetched the couple-foot-tall mountain ash from behind the shop, then relinquished it to Zack when he offered.

  This pot came off easy, and then I was on my knees, pushing dirt in around the plant with my hands, thinking about how much I wished I had some organic matter to add in. Peat moss or compost…

  “Your mom,” Zack prompted.

  “Yeah, she died. I was three.”

  “How’d it happen?”

  “Boating accident. It was a long time ago,” I said with a shrug. “I hardly remember anything about her. Just that she had a pretty singing voice. And she smelled nice,” I added, not knowing why I’d given him as much as I had. My memories of my mom were vague at best, impressions of warmth and comfort, being happy.

  Zack cleared his throat. “I think I envy you a bit. I still have both of my parents.”

  I scoffed. “That’s about the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to say to someone who’s lost a parent. The appropriate response is ‘I’m sorry’, or some variation. Not, ‘Well, hey, I still have both of mine, hyuck’,” I mocked.

  Zack flinched, and I suddenly felt like an ass. “Sorry,” I muttered, hoping my helper would stay.

  Saving us from our awkward moment, the brothers’ ‘expert’ emerged from the shop, and started toward his little cabin with a hurried step.

  “Have we introduced you to Conway?” Zack asked.

  “No, but it looks like he’s on the phone.”

  Zack made a rude noise. “His wife’s got him on a short leash, poor bastard. I’ll introduce you when he comes back out.”

  Zack went and got the wheelbarrow, and we started picking up rocks. I tossed in a few smaller ones, and he lifted the giant that’d been stuck in the hole before we moved to the pile next to the porch. Once full, he muscled the wheelbarrow around, and I directed him to a spot at the back of the generator shack.

  “So, I was wondering,” he said, following me to the porch for round two.

  “Yeah?” I bent to pry up a chunk of quartz.

  “Would you be willing to fly Rory and me up to your valley so we could get that bear?”

  I went still.

  “It’s just that hunting season is ending soon. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my pilot’s license before it does. And you have your private pilot, and a plane—a plane your dad won’t shoot at,” he added.

  I threw the next rock in with force. “Is that why you’re helping me?”

  “What? No. Rory said you might be more ‘receptive’ if I asked.”

  “Rory saw us kissing, and figured I’d be more likely to tell you yes,” I said, climbing to my feet.

  “I guess. I know you can’t fly and hunt the same day, so really, you could just drop us off, and come back for us in a day or two. Rory said I could even fly us in and out, get an extra hour that way.”

  “Sounds like Rory’s got it all planned out.”

  Zack nodded, chucking in a couple more rocks.

  “The answer’s no,” I said. “Also, I think I’m done for the night. See you tomorrow.” I turned from his surprised expression, and walked away.

  Chapter Ten

  ZACK

  I was trying to do the same thing to Frances that she’d done to me the previous morning. Beat her at her own game, be sexier than her, make her crazy with lust. To that end, I’d gotten up early and was actually cooking—sausage, which I’d found in the freezer.

  For the first few minutes of my attempt, I actually thought I had game. I flipped the sausages, and her eyes followed the motion, then wandered to my arm. I flexed, and felt a rush of triumph when she continued to stare.

  That’s when she asked for coffee, and my plan experienced its first hiccup. I was prepared for this request, and had made it just how she liked it, finding little packets of cream in the pantry and adding sugar. But then I set it in front of her, and watched her take a sip.

  Her eyes closed, and over the sizzle of meat, I could hear her moan. My loins stirred. Fuck.

  “I smell meat,” Rory said, thumping down the stairs. “And I don’t mean dirty, unwashed penis.”

  Rory was the second hiccup, but to call him a simple hiccup was an understatement in the extreme. He was more like when you burp and hiccup at the same time, and afterward, all you can taste is vomit. Yeah, Rory was a vurp.

  “And why are you cooking? You never cook.” My brother climbed up onto the stool next to Frances and shot her a lecherous look.

  Frances giggled, maybe because of his puffy, pillow-marked face and crazy hair.

  “Here,” I said, pulling Frances’s attention back my way. I pushed several of the blackened little sausages onto a plate, then slid it onto the bar in front of her. I added a fork and knife with a flourish, then watched her eagerly.

  “Where’re mine?” Rory asked, gazing longingly at what was left.

  I slapped a potholder in front of him and gave him the pan.

  Frances picked up one of her little sausages with her bare fingers, then popped the tip in her mouth. Holding my gaze, she sucked gently. Then, she flicked it with her tongue.

  I was glad the countertop hid my crotch as I helplessly watched her nibble my sausage. She continued to savor it, taking it into her mouth an inch at a time, her plump bottom lip shiny with grease.

  My plan was backfiring, big time.

  “Where’s your expert?” she asked. “Have you guys not been feeding him?”

  I eyed her, wondering if she had a thing for Conway. He was kind of gangly, but I guess some women were into that.

  “Conway’s wife won’t let him inside,” Rory said. “She heard there was a woman in the house, and she’s told him he can’t come in. He brought some freeze-dried camp dinners and a little stove, so he’s been eating out there.”

  She looked back and forth between us. “An
d you don’t find that… strange?”

  “She’s obviously a controlling bitch,” Rory said cheerfully. “She gives him sex, and in return, he does whatever she wants. That’s what happens when you get married. And that’s why Zack and I are never tying the knot.”

  “But you make such a cute couple,” she said. Then in a more serious tone, “Not all women are like that.”

  “At the very least, you’re rolling the dice,” Rory said.

  Frances looked to me.

  I shrugged, having nothing to add or argue. Rory was preaching the gospel.

  She shook her head, then pushed her plate and its last couple sausages away. “Lesson this morning?”

  “Sure.”

  With a nod, she got up and disappeared into her room.

  “What just happened?” Rory asked.

  “I think we upset her?” I wasn’t sure.

  “Before that. You flexing and serving her sausage.”

  I was staring at her door—hadn’t been able to take my eyes off of her since she’d appeared, and now waited breathlessly for her return. “I was trying to show her up.”

  “Eh?”

  “She came out all sexy yesterday, and I was trying to give her a taste of her own medicine. Get her all hot and bothered, make her want me.”

  Rory snorted. “I think your effort failed. Next time, you should consult me on what women find sexy.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Let’s practice your precision flying.” Frances’s voice crackled over the mic. “I want you to fly down this side of the river till that curve, turn, and come back up the other side.”

  I obeyed, concentrating on following the line of the river as precisely as possible while tree- and roof-tops flickered by below. This was harder than it seemed with a ten-knot crosswind, and especially with Frances sitting in the seat next to me. She’d put on jeans and boots and a faded sweatshirt, and I was finding that the more she covered, the more I wanted to see. I’d never been so aware of the brush of a woman’s elbow, not to mention the shade and shine of her cinnamon-colored lip gloss.

  If she felt the same way, she was hiding it well. She was all business after sucking on my sausage.

  We were approaching the bar when Frances spoke up. “Now let’s practice sixty-degree turns. Use the bar as a center point.”

  I pressed down on the rudder, and pulled back and turned the yoke, guiding us into a tight loop around the bar.

  “Good, and other direction.” Frances looked out her window as her side tipped toward the ground. “Looks like there’s been some recent work done on the bar.”

  “Ed had some guest rooms added on,” I explained.

  “Does he live there?”

  “No, he’s got his own place.”

  She lifted her brows in question.

  “It’s just on the other side of the river, there,” I said, guiding us toward it. I pulled another sixty-degree turn over his cabin, giving Frances time to check it out.

  “Sculptures,” I explained, guessing at the subject of her puzzlement: the rusting sculptures in Ed’s yard. “He’s also got a shop, and his cabin’s real nice inside. Everything in there is handmade, granite countertops, all that stuff.”

  I swooped south along the river, losing altitude so I could buzz the next cabin over. “And this, as you know, is the Trebuchet Gang’s place,” I said, roaring overhead at maximum throttle. I pulled another tight circle, watching as the trebuchet-loving freaks spilled out the front door to glare upward.

  “And then Manny’s,” I said, continuing on. “He put in the runway behind our place.”

  “What about that one?” Frances asked, pointing at the cabin tucked back in the woods behind Manny’s.

  “Annie and Mike’s. And then the Fremonts are ahead,” I said, angling downstream. “They put together a cabin kit a couple years ago, built in a floodplain. We helped them jack the whole thing up onto stilts last summer.”

  “And on the hill, there?”

  “Tim and Paul,” I said, turning us that way. “They both work for Ed.”

  “Hmm. Why don’t you pull another sixty-degree turn, here? That last one was a bit sloppy. Remember to put enough pressure on the yoke so you don’t lose altitude—yes, just like that. Perfect,” Frances said, looking out her window at the twins’ cabin. “They’re fishing guides, then?”

  “Yup. And that’s about where my knowledge ends—on this side of the river, at least. Want a tour of the other?” At her nod, I took her across and upstream, swooping over Avery’s fishing lodge. “And that’s our place, of course, with the Birch Chalets next door. And Ralph’s old place—”

  “Ralph?”

  “Ed’s dad. He died a couple years ago. The place went to one of Ed’s sisters, and she hasn’t sold it yet. She wants too much.”

  “Ralph had other kids?”

  “Yeah, but they all live in the Lower 48. I guess he wasn’t too involved with them. Here’s the bar again,” I said. “And a bit past that… Suzy’s place.”

  “And Ed and Suzy are an item?”

  “Yep. Getting married here in a week.”

  “That looks like a goat,” she said, pointing at the little stick-legged black-and-white blob on Suzy’s lawn.

  “That’s because it is.” I guided us farther upstream and inland. “My sister’s cabin should be up here somewhere. She’s on her own little lake with Gary… ah, there.”

  “Gary has the helicopter?”

  “Yep, and a big collection of guns. He’s a sniper, aaaand I’m gonna move on before he gets the wrong idea.” I angled back toward the river and upstream. “This is the Bransons’, and then the post office.”

  Frances nodded with a wry quirk to her lips. “Yes, I am familiar with the post office. Us hill folk get mail, too, you know.”

  I snorted, picturing her dad and his guides as the mutant hillbillies in a hills-have-eyes-type situation. The more I thought about it, though, the less funny it became.

  “See that red airplane down there?” I asked, pointing to one parked along the runway behind Dotty’s. It’d been there so long that saplings had grown up past its tail feathers. “It’s for sale. I’ve been thinking about buying it.”

  “Super Cub?”

  I nodded. “I figured it’d be perfect for what Rory and I want to do. Short take-offs and landings, the big tires…” When another airplane announced its intention to land, I peeled away. “So… can we go take a peek at your valley?”

  Frances’s pleasant expression hardened in an instant.

  “I’m just curious,” I said, holding up my hands—then grabbed the yoke and corrected our dive.

  “Just curious?”

  “Yeah. I just want to see. No harm in that, right?”

  She faced straight ahead, obviously upset, and I had no friggin’ clue what her problem was. Why wasn’t she willing to take Rory and me up there? What didn’t she want me to see?

  “I showed you my neck of the woods,” I pointed out.

  She blew out a harsh sigh. “We’d just be looking,” she said, nailing me with her gaze. “I’m not dropping you off. We’re not even getting close to the ground.” That stern look was making things below my waist stir and tighten. I could totally picture her as a headmistress, coming at me with a ruler…

  “Right, no. Just in and out,” I said, groaning inwardly. And in, and out… What did she look like under those jeans, under her panties? Did she have a landing strip, or had she shaped her hair into one of those little hearts? Or maybe she’d gone full-on seventies, and when I finally managed to get her pants off… No, no. Don’t think about that. I’m sure it’s trimmed.

  “Fine,” she said, recalling my attention. “Stay to the left side of the valley. I don’t want my dad seeing us.”

  “Got it.” I flew back over the river, found the creek that emptied out of Frances’s valley, then followed it up.

  “You know anything about mountain flying?” Frances asked.

  I shook my
head, keeping an eye on the creek. A couple miles from our place, there was a spot where it widened, and the water smoothed. I peered out my window as we went over, thinking that particular spot looked shallow enough to cross with the Jeep. I’d be telling Rory about that later—always good to have a plan B.

  “First of all, it’s dangerous. Mountains create drafts, and then there’s also the issue of the formation of clouds, and clouds being opaque, and mountains very hard.”

  I nodded, listening as I gained us altitude. The valley bottom, where George’s place sat, appeared to be at about a thousand feet, the mountains rising to scrub and other low-growing plants above.

  “Hey hey hey,” I said as a brown spot in the brush got bigger and browner. “A bear.”

  “There’re a lot of ’em up here.”

  We drew closer, close enough for me to realize the bear was massive. “Oh my god, that’s the bear!”

  “That’s the one you were after? Why him, specifically? Had you seen him before?”

  “We heard stories,” I said, pulling a sixty-degree turn over the bear. It seemed completely unrattled by the noise of the airplane, just plopped its butt down and looked up at us. “I wonder why George hasn’t killed it yet, what with him being a hunter. Look at him, he’s not afraid of us at all.”

  “He’s probably used to me flying over,” Frances said. “And maybe George is letting him grow so he can get a trophy.”

  “He’s already a trophy.” My fingers itched for a rifle. I felt certain I could put a bullet in his eye from here. Wouldn’t even mess up the hide. “Are you sure you won’t drop us off?” I asked, glancing over at Frances. “This is our chance. Look at him. Please.”

  She shook her head. “Moving on.”

  I groaned, then leveled out of the turn headed up the valley.

  “You don’t want to fly too low, because there’s the danger of a sudden downdraft slamming you into the ground. And if you get too close to a mountainside, you can get caught in an updraft. Which can be fun—unless it sweeps you into another aircraft, or a cloud….”

  Much as I regretted leaving that bear behind, I kept my eyes open, memorizing the terrain. Rory and I would get up here, one way or another.