Montana Wild Page 5

  Mike might be afraid of her, but I wasn't.

  Susan continued to hold the curtain but put her other hand on her hip. It only accentuated her incredible figure. Playboy-worthy breasts, narrow waist, trim hips and a trimmed— “My boyfriend, Mike.”

  Wow. Other than the fact that Susan had picked a lock, undressed, and hoped to surprise Mike in the shower, she was a good catch. Most women would give their right arm for a body like hers. Most men would put up with almost anything to see a body like hers naked. Unfortunately, her charms were lost on me, and my escape route was blocked.

  “That's interesting, because I know Mike, and he's my fiancé.” I held up my left hand and showed her the ring, even wiggled my fingers a bit to get the point across. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined I would be glad to have that ring on my finger. But I was. Thrilled, in fact.

  It was catty, it was bitchy, and I didn't care.

  Susan got the point because her mouth fell open, then closed with a click of straight white teeth. She took another look, longer this time, at my body. “Well, I'm not sure what Mike could see in you.” She looked pointedly at my B-cups. “A man like him prefers them a little bigger.”

  “It's what you do with them that counts,” I replied tartly. Now wasn't the time to put Mrs. O's karate moves to use, no matter how much I wanted to kick Susan's perfect ass.

  If I didn't know about Mike's complete disinterest in the woman, I would have believed her lie. She was good. Really good. And a real bitch. I'd like to think I was just pretending to be one. Regardless, I was mad. I was wet, I was naked and I was with a crazy woman. Okay, I could up that statement to crazy bitch and no one would argue. My shower fantasy had never played out this way before.

  I yanked the shower curtain out of her grip and climbed out of the tub, water dripping onto the bath mat. “If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to finish in private. Mike is obviously not here, so you might want to check the kitchen.” I had absolutely no idea where Mike was, but the kitchen was as good a place for her to go as anywhere. As long as it wasn't in my shower. Or bathroom. “Tell him his fiancée pointed you to him.”

  Susan pursed her lips and stared at me for a few moments, stooped to pick up her clothes she'd clearly stripped off, and stomped out of the room, her fake double D's barely moving.

  I slammed the door behind her, contemplating the marvel of modern plastic surgery.

  Chapter 5

  Thirty minutes later, I wore jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, turquoise blue hoodie and sneakers. My hair was dry and loose down my back. I put on the basics for makeup: mascara, brown eyeliner and colored lip gloss. This was Alaska, not New York City. I'd stalled as long as I could. Carefully, I opened the door and peeked out. No sign of Susan. No sign of Mike, either.

  Walking to the bedroom window, I pulled the string on the metal blinds and looked out at my first real glimpse of the Last Frontier.

  There, standing right in the big backyard, was a moose. I gasped. For a second, I thought it was a horse because I was used to seeing horses. But this was no horse. He was big. Moose big.

  I stared dumbly at it for a minute or two. He—it was definitely a he—didn't even know he had an audience as he chomped on the grass. Mike. I had to show Bullwinkle to Mike. Now where was he?

  Letting the string go, the blinds slid back into place with a clang. Dashing out of the bedroom, I raced down the hall, looked left and right in the front foyer, went to the right and found myself in the kitchen.

  A yellow Lab, overweight and ungainly, trotted over to me, tail wagging. He looked like he'd had one too many dog treats and not enough exercise and seemed very happy about it.

  The dog shoved his snout in my crotch. “Hey!” I shifted back as I pushed his head away.

  “That's Jefferson.” Leaning against the counter, sandwich in hand, stood Mike. “Does that to everyone.”

  The dog, hips shifting from side to side with the motion of his tail, made his way back to a soft dog bed in the corner, circled three times, and then plopped down with a sigh.

  “Friendly dog,” I commented.

  “Smart dog,” Mike replied as the corner of his mouth ticked up.

  I could feel my cheeks heat at the idea of Mike putting his face—

  He wore faded jeans that molded to his butt quite nicely, an untucked blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the same ratty sneakers from the night before. Give him an axe and he was Paul Bunyan. A very sexy Paul Bunyan. And instead of Babe, the ox, oh— “Moose.”

  I pointed toward the backyard.

  Mike's eyebrows shot up and he turned to the large windows off the kitchen. “That's a moose, all right,” he replied, his mouth full of something that looked pretty darn good. I was starving.

  We stood and stared at the wild animal for a bit before it decided to move on to greener pastures, disappearing into the woods that surrounded the yard. “Welcome to Alaska.”

  Turning to face Mike, I eyed his sandwich with a desperate longing.

  He smirked. “Hungry?”

  “Starving.”

  “Sit.” He pointed to the bar stools that were on the far side of the counter. “Turkey sandwich?”

  “Sounds great.” I could eat Bullwinkle at this point. Seattle airport's food court was a distant memory. “You weren't the first person to welcome me this morning.”

  “Oh?”

  “You haven't seen anyone else?” I was doing a little fishing without a rod. It was important to see where Susan really stood with Mike and whether he would hide her earlier eagerness to see him from me. I didn't come this far to help him if he had changed his mind. After seeing Susan in the flesh, literally, I couldn't blame him if he had. I couldn't compare to some of the things—large breasts that defied gravity specifically—she had to offer.

  “Everyone's out,” he said. “My mom thought it was best you slept in, so they left to keep the house quiet.”

  It was quite possible I had to change my feelings toward Mrs. O. It was very difficult to admit, but Goldie could be right. I was letting my inner eleven-year-old sway my thinking.

  I looked around Bob's kitchen. The more rooms of the house I saw, the more I realized Uncle Bob was not, nor ever hired, an interior designer, and was most likely color blind. Some homes had a distinct style: modern, colonial, French provincial, American farmhouse. Bob went with Eighties. Faux red brick tiles on the kitchen floor. The cabinets were very dark wood, almost black, with a few stained-glass inlays. The counters were also tile, cream colored rectangles with a brown grout. The fridge was the only modern appliance: a stainless-steel side-by-side.

  I ran my finger over the grout. “I met Susan.”

  Mike leaned his hip against the counter once again, my sandwich obviously on hold. “Really?” He didn't sound excited about it. More like surprised.

  “You didn't see her?” I tucked my hair behind my ear.

  He shook his head as he got a plate from the cabinet.

  “Susan and I had a little chitchat this morning. She's very welcoming.”

  “Welcoming how?” he asked warily, pulling a napkin from the holder on the counter.

  “Let's just say we learned more about each other in the two minutes we talked than most new acquaintances.”

  Placing his hands on the edge of the counter behind him, Mike pierced me with a stare. “What did Susan do?”

  I swallowed. Man, he could be intense. And hot, all at the same time. “She picked the lock on the bathroom door, stripped off her clothes and was about to join me in the shower.”

  His jaw clenched. “If she wasn't a complete nut job, I'd think that was hot.”

  “The only thing hot was the water. You're right. She's a complete nut job. Obviously, she was looking for you. The good thing to remember is that she didn't join me in the shower swinging a knife.”

  “Jesus, Vi.”

  I put my elbow on the counter and rested my chin in my hand. Mike didn't want anything to do with Susan, that much w
as obvious. He didn't want to have me near her either, or at least only when we had clothes on. “Can I have my sandwich now?”

  “Yeah, sorry.” He opened the fridge door and glanced over at me. “Now, you see why I was so desperate on the call the other day. Why I had to tell my mom we were engaged. My mom means well, but she doesn't see the crazy inside Susan.” He held a hand up by his ear and circled it around. “I'm sorry to say this, but I'm really glad I wasn't in the shower. God, that would have been awkward.”

  “It was awkward, all right. I can officially say she's gorgeous and any man would want her surprising him in the shower.”

  “Not this one. Hell, no. She'd probably spin the tale to my mother that I lured her there and had my way with her. That would not be good.” His voice was grim, as if being naked in the shower with a sexy woman like Susan was a death sentence.

  “She has that wily look in her eyes. She's not as blonde as she lets on.”

  “No fucking kidding.” Mike placed a package of deli meat on the counter, returned to the fridge.

  “She told me she was your girlfriend and insinuated you'd seen her naked before. And done naked things together.”

  Mike let out a dry laugh and popped back out behind the fridge door. “Seriously?”

  I nodded.

  He shook his head in disbelief. “I told you I found her naked in my bed. That part's true. I had on my boxers. I was out of bed and back into my jeans faster than when I'm on call and have to hurry to the hospital. I kicked her out and she was less than pleased. No kissing, no touching, no naked things happened. Obviously, she's escalating her tactics.” He pointed at me and winked. “But so have I. What did you tell her?”

  When had a wink become sexy?

  I held up my left hand just like I did for Susan, only this time dressed. “I told her that it was odd she was your girlfriend because I was your fiancée.”

  Mike's broad shoulders relaxed and an easy smile softened his face. “Good girl.” He put his head back into the fridge. “Enough about Susan. We have the afternoon to ourselves. My mom's out with Banks and family at the Alaska Zoo. Some kind of special bear feeding. Uncle Bob's with the twins fishing. He saw a Tweet that some Kings were caught at Ship Creek. I dropped him off down there to meet Jean-Luc and Marc and just got back. Mustard?”

  “Holy shit.” I stood up so abruptly, the stool scraped across the floor.

  Mike looked down at the squeeze bottle of mustard. “What, you don't like spicy?” He leaned into the fridge again, most likely to find the yellow kind.

  I ignored him. “The Kings are in?” King salmon! Just down the road. I had no idea where Ship Creek was but it had to be nearby. I could practically hear the fish calling my name.

  Mike looked around the open fridge door once again and grinned. “That's right, fish lady. After lunch, we'll go get your license and you can catch us some dinner. Wheat or white?”

  “Wheat.” I was impressed he remembered I loved to fish. As a kid, Veronica went with my dad to his job as a plumber and helped him...plumb. I'd gone with him fishing the Madison or the Gallatin practically every summer night. Back in high school, Mike and I had gone fishing together a few times. Two pals with only inklings of attraction at that point. At least on my side.

  Bozeman was a fishing Mecca. It had the trifecta of rivers: the Madison, Gallatin and the Jefferson just down the road. It might not mean much to the average resident or tourist driving to Yellowstone, but for those who love to fish, it was like a pilgrimage to the fish promise land. My little neck of the woods was trout fishing heaven. I even used to teach a fly-fishing basics class to tourists over the summers during college. Since then, I spent many summer evenings out on the water. I found it relaxing to stand in water that was snow melt, listen to it fight over rocks and boulders moving downstream, to watch the sun shift over the mountains and hills surrounding me. There was no stress, no life pressures while fishing.

  I'd dusted off my rod a few times last month during the caddis fly hatch on the Yellowstone, but I itched to catch some salmon—King Salmon, specifically. They were the biggest ones of all and easily three feet long. Not something to be found in Montana. But in Alaska, it was prime time for them to come in to spawn. It was a fisherman's dream. Mine, too.

  Alaskan salmon were out there waiting for me to catch them. Susan could find someone else to talk to naked. I had some fishing to do. “Can you make that sandwich to go?”

  “Maybe it's time to talk about this whole fiancée thing,” Mike said to me an hour later. We were in line in the sporting goods department at Wal-Mart waiting to get my fishing license. In Alaska, once over the age of sixteen, you didn't pick up a fishing rod within fifty feet of a river without one. I'd never been to the state before and even I knew they were ruthless enforcers when it came to protecting their wildlife as we were in Montana.

  Every kind of fishing, hunting and outdoor gear loomed over us from the tall aisles. Canned music piped from some magical place in the ceiling to add to the gluttonous-consumer ambiance. The Anchorage store was the place to be. While we waited, people with carts full of food, coolers, waders, sunscreen, and fishing rods sticking out like antennae strolled by. Many people actually wore their rubber rain boots, a few even still had on their waders as if they'd dashed in to pick up some more lures before returning to their fishing spot. Most sported some garment with a camouflage motif.

  There were several people in front of us, so we had some time.

  “Yeah, about that. I've been wondering. Why didn't you just call me first to come up here? Why Veronica?” I asked. Yeah, I wasn't invincible emotionally. I was as vulnerable as anyone else, maybe a little more so since Mike was friends with someone who looked exactly like me. But not me.

  Piercing me with his blue eyes, he said, “You were the first one I thought of. Hell, you're always the first one I think of.”

  I flushed at the idea, but it also made me angry. “That's surprising. I figured you'd forgotten all about me. Except every time you hang out with my sister.”

  He placed a big hand on my shoulder. The touch was gentle, his palm warm. “Vi, you might be identical, but you're nothing like your sister. I wanted to call you first, but I didn't think you'd say yes.”

  I cocked my head to the side, confused. “Why's that?”

  “Because the few times we've seen each other since I've been home you've always been...prickly.”

  I had been...prickly toward him. He'd walked away without even saying more than goodbye after our night together, as if I'd never meant anything to him. I'd been mad at him about that ever since. “Yeah, I guess I have been. If I hadn't been so prickly before, you would have asked me out?”

  “Hell, yeah. I just didn't think you were interested.”

  He caught me completely off guard. He'd been interested in me since he moved back to town. He was interested in me now. My stomach flipped, a little like turbulence on an airplane. “Well...um...I'm not prickly now. Remember the kiss last night at the airport?”

  I hadn't been prickly at all. In fact, a few other adjectives popped to mind. Interested, curious, eager. Horny, even.

  Shrugging, Mike said, “That wasn't a real kiss.”

  My mouth fell open. “What's a real kiss then, because I'm pretty sure you were checking my tonsils with your tongue.”

  Mike smiled as if he remembered the tonsillectomy. He leaned down close. “Last night was just for show, to seal the deal for my mom, and to disguise the fact that I had to get that behemoth of a ring onto your finger. I remember our real kisses.” He looked me in the eye again. I'd forgotten how blue his were. How he could not just look at me, but see me. “I know you do, too.”

  I swallowed, lost in his gaze. “Yeah,” I whispered. “I remember them.” Heat crept into my cheeks. I would never forget really kissing Mike. I'd never wanted it to stop when I was eighteen. But it did, and that's why it hurt too much to remember them for long. He'd wanted me enough to sleep with me, but not enough to s
tay. In fact, he stayed away almost ten years. It had been obvious where I stood, until now. We'd barely talked in all that time, but here in Alaska, practically stuck together, his talk wasn't as fake as I'd expected. It seemed pretty darn real.

  But here I was with him again, pretend engaged, and I didn't mind the idea of Mike kissing me. For real. In fact, I thought it might be a very good idea. My hormones and brain weren't working completely in sync. My brain said he’d chosen medicine, not me. My hormones said, “who cared?” I just didn't need to do any more real kissing in public. Especially in front of his mother. I inwardly cringed.

  “Everyone was surprised when I said we'd been dating for a while,” Mike commented as he fiddled with a display of lures, picking up one that was big enough to pull in a whopping halibut. He toyed with it and tossed it back into the pile.

  Several people in front of us peeled off after getting licenses. The line was noticeably shorter.

  “How long have we been dating?” I wondered.

  “Four months.”

  What? Were we dating in hiding? “Four months? How do you know I haven't run into your parents around town since March?”

  Mike ran a hand through his hair. “When I told her, she said right off that she hadn't seen you in a while.”

  That's because I avoided her like the plague.

  “We've only been going out for four months and now we're engaged? You move fast.”

  He shrugged, grinned. “When you know, you know.”

  It was hard to tell if Mike was saying those kinds of things because he really meant it, or because it was all part of the ruse. I was afraid to ask because both answers were a little scary.

  “So how did we meet up again?”

  Mike fished a pack of gum out of his jacket pocket, silently offered me a piece. I took one, crumpled up the foil wrapper and stuck the piece in my mouth. Minty.

  “We ran into each other at Big Sky over Spring Break and we took a couple of runs together. One thing led to another and here we are.”