She didn’t know what she felt anymore.
She only knew she had to reach her sister, and Wade was the one person she even
halfway trusted out here. Not that trust had anything to do with how she kept checking out the taut curve of his backside in uniform as he led her up the stairs.
Chewie’s nails clicked on the scarred wooden steps as he followed her. The base vet had given him a clean bill of health. And now she owed Wade even more.
Stopping outside the thick oak door, he pulled out his keys, unlocked two dead bolts before opening up. He spread his arm wide. “Welcome to my garret, sweet garret.”
“Thank you, really. You’re being so generous.” Careful not to brush against him, she strode past into his one-room studio apartment, sprawling and rustic.
Thick maple beams stretched across the slanted ceiling, all natural and light. Chewie lumbered past slowly, nose to the ground, sniffing as he explored the new space. The apartment itself was full of typical guy furniture, a fat brown sofa and huge recliner. An oversized television with a flat screen took up half a wall. She’d seen some like it in movies, but had never used one. Most of the appliances where she lived were older and simpler, requiring minimal power. And they always used fireplaces and wood stoves.
Apparently, so did Wade, if the massive stone hearth was anything to judge by. Chewie padded over, hunkering down to stare at the bear rug with a low growl. Finally, her dog surrendered and flopped into an exhausted heap with a hefty sigh.
Wade flipped a switch, activating track lighting along the angled ceiling over the kitchen.
“Help yourself to anything. The cabinet under the little island there has standard snack crap, chocolate chip granola bars, Pop-Tarts, and such.”
Best as she could tell, all sugary. Not much of a gourmet or health food aficionado, but somehow it made her smile all the same. Then she saw what she’d really come here for.
His dinette table sported a computer and a printer rather than dishes or even a napkin holder. Her fingers curled into a fist to resist the temptation to type away right now. Only a minute or so more and she would be able to contact her family.
She traced the edge of the dark wood table, nostalgia blindsiding her. Meals were a big deal in her family. She pressed her fingers against the ache in her chest. The skylight and wall of windows gave a sweeping view of the breathtaking Alaska Range, reminding her all the more of her family, her home. God, she loved this place, a photographer’s dream. A place where people were just as welcome in jeans and mukluks as they were in diamonds and furs.
And suddenly she realized. “I don’t know where you’re from.”
“A little of everywhere.” He dropped his green bag of gear by the sofa. “My dad was an army warrant officer, helicopter pilot. Mom was an air force reservist, a medical technician on C-130s outfitted as hospitals.”
“You’re a military brat times two.”
“Needless to say, we moved around.”
“I imagine your parents are proud you’ve continued in their footsteps.” Her father had never said anything against his son. But there were days…
“So my dad says. But I sure gave them a few gray hairs back in the day.” He walked past her almost touching, electrifying the air on his way to the stone fireplace. “I was a hardheaded hell-raiser in high school.”
“What made you change your ways?”
Kneeling, he tossed two logs onto the grate. “Oh, the hardheaded part is still alive and well. Ask anyone. As for the hell-raising?” He arranged kindling with knowledgeable precision.
“Let’s just say it ended the day I witnessed a helicopter crash. As I watched the rescuers in action, I knew right then what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”
She sensed there was more to the story, but he didn’t seem open to sharing as he kept his back to her, striking a match. “What are your parents doing
She only knew she had to reach her sister, and Wade was the one person she even
halfway trusted out here. Not that trust had anything to do with how she kept checking out the taut curve of his backside in uniform as he led her up the stairs.
Chewie’s nails clicked on the scarred wooden steps as he followed her. The base vet had given him a clean bill of health. And now she owed Wade even more.
Stopping outside the thick oak door, he pulled out his keys, unlocked two dead bolts before opening up. He spread his arm wide. “Welcome to my garret, sweet garret.”
“Thank you, really. You’re being so generous.” Careful not to brush against him, she strode past into his one-room studio apartment, sprawling and rustic.
Thick maple beams stretched across the slanted ceiling, all natural and light. Chewie lumbered past slowly, nose to the ground, sniffing as he explored the new space. The apartment itself was full of typical guy furniture, a fat brown sofa and huge recliner. An oversized television with a flat screen took up half a wall. She’d seen some like it in movies, but had never used one. Most of the appliances where she lived were older and simpler, requiring minimal power. And they always used fireplaces and wood stoves.
Apparently, so did Wade, if the massive stone hearth was anything to judge by. Chewie padded over, hunkering down to stare at the bear rug with a low growl. Finally, her dog surrendered and flopped into an exhausted heap with a hefty sigh.
Wade flipped a switch, activating track lighting along the angled ceiling over the kitchen.
“Help yourself to anything. The cabinet under the little island there has standard snack crap, chocolate chip granola bars, Pop-Tarts, and such.”
Best as she could tell, all sugary. Not much of a gourmet or health food aficionado, but somehow it made her smile all the same. Then she saw what she’d really come here for.
His dinette table sported a computer and a printer rather than dishes or even a napkin holder. Her fingers curled into a fist to resist the temptation to type away right now. Only a minute or so more and she would be able to contact her family.
She traced the edge of the dark wood table, nostalgia blindsiding her. Meals were a big deal in her family. She pressed her fingers against the ache in her chest. The skylight and wall of windows gave a sweeping view of the breathtaking Alaska Range, reminding her all the more of her family, her home. God, she loved this place, a photographer’s dream. A place where people were just as welcome in jeans and mukluks as they were in diamonds and furs.
And suddenly she realized. “I don’t know where you’re from.”
“A little of everywhere.” He dropped his green bag of gear by the sofa. “My dad was an army warrant officer, helicopter pilot. Mom was an air force reservist, a medical technician on C-130s outfitted as hospitals.”
“You’re a military brat times two.”
“Needless to say, we moved around.”
“I imagine your parents are proud you’ve continued in their footsteps.” Her father had never said anything against his son. But there were days…
“So my dad says. But I sure gave them a few gray hairs back in the day.” He walked past her almost touching, electrifying the air on his way to the stone fireplace. “I was a hardheaded hell-raiser in high school.”
“What made you change your ways?”
Kneeling, he tossed two logs onto the grate. “Oh, the hardheaded part is still alive and well. Ask anyone. As for the hell-raising?” He arranged kindling with knowledgeable precision.
“Let’s just say it ended the day I witnessed a helicopter crash. As I watched the rescuers in action, I knew right then what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.”
She sensed there was more to the story, but he didn’t seem open to sharing as he kept his back to her, striking a match. “What are your parents doing
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