Caught Under the Mistletoe!
Auteur·e
Kate Hoffmann
Lectures
19,9K
Chapitres
9
Chapter 1
A FRIGID WIND SWIRLED over the tarmac, icy teeth slicing through Tanner O’Neill’s down jacket and biting to the bone. The light snow that had fallen earlier whipped around his boots and stung his cheeks. The day’s sun was on the wane and it was barely two in the afternoon. “I guess winter’s here,” he shouted above the wind.
Joe Brennan stepped into the rear of the Otter and grabbed the sheet of drywall from Tanner’s outstretched arms. He squinted against the glare of the sun, low in the sky. “Are you surprised? Alaska’s only got two seasons,” he said. “Darkness and mud. This is just the beginning. We’ll be suffering through short days for at least another two months. I just love Alaskan winters.”
“Don’t be so cynical. As far as I’m concerned, the seasons come down to clients and quiet.”
Tanner felt a familiar surge of pride as he considered all that they’d accomplished in just five years. This last summer had been the best season they’d had at the lodge. They’d added another guest cabin and all three had been booked solid from April until the end of October with a steady stream of fishermen, hunters and adventurers willing to lay out huge wads of cash for a true wilderness experience.
Hawk had become a legend along the Yukon River, a wilderness guide who possessed an amazing intuition for his surroundings. He knew the best spots on the streams for trout, the best blind for caribou hunting, the most exciting rapids for rafters. Rich clients had gone home with amazing tales, stories that had brought friends the next year and more friends the following year. Hawk thrived on the work and had taken no salary from the business except for the tips he collected at the end of every trip.
Hawk hadn’t been the only one to find a place in the wilderness. Joe, the most reluctant to leave civilized Seattle, had turned a beat-up DC-3 and an old Otter into a successful business—Polar Bear Air. He’d paid back Hawk after the first year, then bought another plane, a Super Cub, to ferry clients and supplies out into the wilderness. He kept the DC-3 for his growing air freight business between Anchorage and Fairbanks.
As for Tanner, he had his hands full with the lodge. He’d hired Edna, a native woman from the Athabascan village outside of Muleshoe, to help with the domestic work—the cooking, the cleaning—and the endless bookkeeping. During the summers, he spent every waking minute catering to the needs of his guests. And in the winter, he spent all his ready cash on improvements to the lodge and the surrounding cabins. This year, they’d been flush with income, enough to start work on a fourth guest cabin and do some major renovation on the interior of the main lodge.
“Hey, did you pick up those junction boxes for me? I want to start rewiring the—” Tanner’s words stopped in his throat as he glanced up. A small boy stood in front of him, looking at him through round-rimmed glasses. Wide-eyed, the boy blinked once, then grinned. Wisps of sandy blond hair had escaped from under his knit cap and blew against his forehead, and a rash of freckles stood out against his cold-pinkened skin. He wore a bulky Chicago Bulls jacket that looked at least two sizes too big for him and carried a colorful backpack in his mittened hands.
For a moment, Tanner wondered whether he’d just appeared out of thin air. He straightened and looked for a set of parents—a worried mother, an impatient father. But there were no other people near the deserted hangar. He turned back to the boy. “Are you lost, kid? What’s your name?”
The kid shook his head, then wiped his runny nose with the back of his jacket sleeve. Tanner guessed his age at around eight or nine, much too young to be wandering around the row of airplane hangars on his own. “Is this Polar Bear Air?” the kid asked.
Joe watched them from the aft door, his hands braced against either side. “This is it,” he said, pointing to the logo on the tail of the plane. “What can we help you with?”
The little boy straightened to his full height, then jammed his hand into his coat pocket and withdrew a fistful of cash. He pushed the money at Tanner. “I want you to take me to the North Pole. I wanna go see Santa. The guy in the airport said that you could take me there.”
Tanner fumbled with the bills, ready to hand back the kid’s meager piggy-bank savings, then gasped. “What the—” He held the money up to Joe. “The kid’s got almost a thousand dollars here.”
“That’ll buy him a round-trip to the North Pole on Polar Bear Air.”
The boy’s expression lit up and he nearly trembled with excitement. “Then you’ll take me there?”
Tanner shot Joe a disapproving glare and handed the money back to the boy. “Listen, kid, I don’t know where you’re from or where you got all that cash, but we’re not going to fly you to the North Pole. Now, why don’t you tell me where we can find your folks? You shouldn’t be wandering around out here on your own.”
The boy’s bottom lip began to quiver and Tanner braced himself for a full-fledged wail. But the kid managed to keep his emotions in check. He sniffled once, then jammed the money back into his coat pocket. “Never mind,” he muttered. “I’ll just have to find someone else. I hafta get to the North Pole. I just hafta.” Shoulders slumped, he turned and walked in the direction of the main terminal, head down against the wind.
Tanner shook his head as the boy disappeared around the corner of the hangar. “What kind of parent would let a kid like that wander around all alone at an airport?”
“Beats me,” Joe said. “But we’re burning daylight, buddy. Let’s get the rest of this stuff loaded.”
A few minutes later, they stuffed the last of the building supplies into the cabin of the plane, tied them down, then headed inside the hangar to grab a cup of coffee and check the weather report. Though Muleshoe was only a ninety-minute flight from Fairbanks, the weather could change in an instant and a cleared landing strip could be drifted with three feet of snow a few minutes later.
“I can’t help wondering about that kid,” Tanner murmured as they climbed into the cockpit of the plane.
“Forget about him,” Joe chided.
Tanner strapped himself into the copilot’s seat and stared out the cockpit window. “It’s a long walk back to the terminal, and the temperature isn’t much above zero. How the hell did he get way out here in the first place?”
“Kids can get a little crazy when it comes to Santa Claus. Christmas is a month away. He probably wanted to personally deliver his letter to the guy. You know, get a jump on the competition.”
“Yeah, maybe so.”
They taxied out onto the snow-covered landing area and Tanner watched in silence as Joe methodically went through his preparations for takeoff. A few moments later, the plane’s skis left the ground and the Otter banked toward the east. As the plane lifted into the blue, the landscape spread out before them, civilization turning to rugged wilderness in the blink of an eye.
The scene still had the power to take his breath away, the same way it had the first time he had laid eyes on Alaska from an eagle’s vantage. In the winter, the canvas was painted in white and gray, powerful contrasts of endless snow and craggy mountain rock. From the air, even the stalwart spruce forests were drained of their color.
A tiny speck lost in a harsh landscape, he felt powerless, yet more alive than he’d ever been before. In Seattle, he’d never once appreciated what it meant to be a part of this world. He’d cursed at the rain and ignored the stars and glanced at Puget Sound with nothing more than casual admiration. But here, living surrounded by wilderness, he’d come to understand his place on the earth. Alaska had invaded his soul like the bone-deep chill he felt wading through a spring stream, and he knew he’d never leave.
“Think Hawk will be back by the time we land?” Joe asked.
Hawk had mushed into the wilderness three days ago to fetch Burdy McCormack, an old trapper who had a cabin on the Seventymile River. Burdy spent the winters at Bachelor Creek, safe and warm. He did what he could to help around the place, but his major contribution was a wellspring of stories about Alaska in the old days. He was considered quite the character around Muleshoe.
“Depends on the weather,” Tanner replied. “It’ll be nice to have Burdy around again. He always seems to stir things up whenever he’s in town. With him around, who needs satellite TV?”
Tanner turned back to the window, his gaze tracing the path of a snow-covered river twisting between mountains and thick stands of pine, his thoughts on the winter ahead. Five winters had passed, and with each had come a single stab of loneliness. The first winter, he’d felt it when he woke one morning to find the ground covered in white. Another year, he’d looked up into the sky to see geese headed south. And now, as he watched the land and water, so alive a few months ago, succumb to the snow and cold, he felt the desolation invade his heart.
An image of Janice flashed in his mind. He shut his eyes and pushed it aside. All that was in the past now. He’d taken a chance on love and he had lost Janice had claimed to love him, she’d said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, yet she’d run off with another man, leaving him to sort through the wreckage that should have been their wedding.
Maybe that’s why Alaska had become home so easily. Here he’d found solitude and safety from all the confusion Janice had caused. Here he had women on his own terms, a night or two of passion at the far end of a flight, then back into the depths of the bush country, where few women dared follow. As soon as he got home, the nagging loneliness would be banished by hard work and bracing cold.
They flew east through darkening blue skies, following familiar landmarks rather than their compass. First the Chena River, frozen over but still visible, then The Butte and West Point peaks rising up on the horizon. Next had come the Yukon-Charley Rivers National Preserve and the Mertie Mountains, before they headed toward Arctic Dome and North Peak. And just beyond that, in the middle of the wilderness, they would see the tiny bush town of Muleshoe and the wide, frozen expanse of the Yukon River. Tanner checked his watch. “This is quite a tailwind we’ve got. Think we’ll break our record?”
“We’re still another fifteen minutes out,” Joe murmured.
“Are we almost there? I hafta go.”
Startled, both Tanner and Joe twisted around in their seats just in time to see a small head pop up from the aisle between the passenger seats. The kid had removed his cap, and his blond hair stood up in unruly shocks.
Tanner bit back a curse and struggled to unfasten his seat belt. “How the hell did you get on board this plane?”
“You left the back door open,” he accused, as if that were excuse enough.
This time, Tanner cursed a blue streak and the boy blinked in surprise. “Joe, radio Fairbanks and tell them we’ve got a stowaway on board. What’s your name, kid?”
“Wh-why?” he stammered.
Tanner calmed himself before he continued in a less strident tone. “Because we’ll have them page your parents. Your folks are probably frantic by now.”
“It’s Sam. Sam Logan. But you won’t find my parents at the airport.”
“Where will we find them, then?”
From the stubborn set of his jaw, Tanner didn’t expect an answer. But the kid surprised him. “I don’t have a dad,” he said. “And I don’t have a mom, either. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you where they were.”
Tanner shot Joe a sidelong glance, then stood up as tall as he could in the cramped space of the cockpit. He hovered over the boy, his arms crossed menacingly over his chest. “An uncooperative stowaway. You’re the pilot, Brennan. You think we ought to take care of this kid the regular way?”
“The regular way?” Joe called over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Throw him out.” Tanner paused for effect. “Without a parachute.”
Joe peeked around his seat and stifled a smile. “Wait a few minutes. I’ll get up a little higher.” He pulled back on the yoke and the plane began a quick ascent, the engines whining.
Fighting back a surge of guilt, Tanner watched as Sam’s eyes went wide. It wasn’t fair to scare the kid, but he didn’t know of any other way to get him to cooperate. “Do you want to talk, or do you want to take the big jump?”
The boy swallowed hard. “You—you’d really throw me out of the plane?”
“Like a sack of month-old mail,” Tanner said. “You want to tell me where you live?”
“Chicago,” Sam told him.
“Joe, take her up a little higher.”
“It’s the truth,” he continued, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Seven thirty-six Evergreen, Chicago, Illinois.”
“What are you doing in Alaska? And how did you get here? And where the hell are your folks?”
“My mother says profanity is a sign of an uncultured mind,” Sam piped up.
Tanner bent down and grabbed the kid by the shoulder, sliding him into one of the passenger seats. He bent down in the narrow space between the seats and met the boy’s gaze squarely. “Answer my question,” he ordered.
Sam leaned back in the seat, then pulled his knees under his chin. Tanner couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the boy. He looked like the kind of kid that got picked last for kickball, a kid who got chased home by the neighborhood bully, a kid who regularly got his book bag thrown onto the roof of the school. And now Tanner was doing his best to intimidate him. He saw a lot of himself, a lot of the skinny kid he’d been, in Sam Logan.
“I came to find Santa,” Sam said defiantly.
“All alone?”
Sam nodded. “My mom thinks I’m visiting my dad in California. And my dad thinks I’m staying in Chicago for computer camp. They never talk to each other. They’re divorced and my dad is shacked up with his gold-digging bimbo. That’s what my mom says to her friends on the phone. She doesn’t know I’m listening. Do you know the difference between a bimbo and a hooker?”
“Is this a riddle?” Tanner asked, nonplussed.
Sam shook his head, then peered out the window. “No,” he said, distracted by the view. “I was just wondering. How high will this plane fly?”
“Can we stay on the subject here? Where did you get the money to pay for this little adventure?”
Sam reached into his pocket and withdrew a credit card. “I got the money out of the money machine at the airport. I know my mom’s code. And I got my ticket on the Internet.”
Tanner shook his head in disbelief. “You’re telling me that you managed to make it all the way from Chicago to Fairbanks without your parents knowing?”
“I have higher than average intelligence,” Sam stated. “The psychologist at my school says I’m precocious. That means—”
“I know what it means,” Tanner said. “How old are you?”
“In two months, six days and about thirteen hours, central standard time, I’ll be nine years old.”
“Why are you so hot to get to the North Pole?” Joe called from the cockpit. “You can see Santa at any shopping mall back home.”
“Those guys aren’t the real Santa. Just some jokers in red suits. I’ve got to talk to the real guy. My mom told me there is no Santa, but I don’t believe her. I have to prove it. I’ve got to see him face-to-face. Can’t you take me there?”
“As soon as we land in Muleshoe, we’re calling your mother,” Tanner warned. “And then you’re going home.”
“You can’t call her,” Sam cried. “She’ll ground me. She’ll take my computer away. And she’ll probably rewrite our agreement on beets and spinach.”
Tanner straightened. “And if you don’t strap yourself in, I’m going to enforce our policy on uncooperative stowaways,” he said
He helped Sam fasten the seat belt, then crawled back into his place in the cockpit. The rest of the flight was completed in near silence, except for the sound of humming from the passenger seat. Tanner recognized the melody from “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and wondered at the boy’s obsession with the mythical character.
As he remembered, he’d stopped believing by the time he was Sam’s age. The revelation had come as a shock to him at first, but then his own common sense convinced him of the truth. There had been a reason only homemade presents appeared under the O’Neill Christmas tree, while all his friends received the latest toys. And it had nothing to do with a sleigh and eight reindeer. It had to do with the fact that his father was dead and his mother could barely support a family of six on her own, much less buy fancy Christmas presents.
There hadn’t been much time for make-believe during Tanner’s childhood. But as far as he was concerned, a kid should be able to hang on to his fantasies for as long as he wanted to. Hell, if Sam’s mother had confirmed the existence of Santa, little Sam Logan would be tucked safely in his bed at home, dreaming of sugarplums—and not on a plane to Muleshoe, Alaska.
And the minute Tanner got Mrs. Logan of Chicago, Illinois, on the phone, he planned to tell her just that.
THEY CIRCLED THE SMALL landing strip east of Muleshoe as the sun sank below the western horizon. It was barely three in the afternoon and the first stars would soon appear in the sky. The plane dropped out of the air onto the snow-packed runway as gently as a feather on a summer breeze.
Wisps of snow caught in the crosswind skimmed over the runway, and the small drifts rattled the skis. Tanner never worried about flying with Joe behind the controls. If the guy could land a plane on the side of a glacier, he could easily handle the flat, short landing strip at Muleshoe.
Tanner unsnapped his seat belt, then glanced back at Sam, only to find the boy sound asleep. “Hey, buddy. Wake up!”
Startled, Sam sat up straight and scrubbed at his eyes with his fists, knocking his glasses askew. He peered at Tanner with bleary eyes. “Is this the North Pole?”
Tanner pushed out of his seat and helped Sam with his seat belt “This is Muleshoe. As soon as we tie the plane down, we’re going back to the lodge to call your mom. What’s her name?”
“No,” Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Tanner scowled. “What do you mean, no?”
“Go ahead,” Sam challenged. “You can throw me out of the plane now. I’m not telling you till you take me to see Santa.”
Tanner ground his teeth, then grabbed Sam around his waist and tucked the boy under his arm. Sam wriggled, but Tanner only tightened his grip. “You and I are going to have to come to an understanding. I’m the adult here. I’m bigger and I’m stronger and you are going to tell me everything I want to know.”
“My mom says that the use of intimidation is a sign of low self-esteem.”
“Does your mother have any other opinions you’d like to share with me before I call her?”
“She thinks men are coldhearted bastards who ought to think with their brains instead of their flies. I wasn’t supposed to hear that, either. I’m not quite sure what that means, since flies have very small brains. Did you know that the common housefly has compound eyes? That means they have thousands of eyeballs.”
Tanner handed Sam through the aft door into Joe’s outstretched arms. “What does your mother do for a living—besides insult the men of this world?”
“She’s an interior designer. She has her own business in Chicago. Julia Logan Interiors.”
“So your mom’s name is Julia Logan?”
“Yeah,” Sam shot back. “Julia Caroline Anderson Lo—” The boy snapped his mouth shut when he realized what he’d done.
“Julia Logan,” Tanner repeated with a smile. “Good boy. Now, put your hat on. It’s cold. The truck’s over there. Wait inside while we tie down the plane.”
Pouting, Sam tugged his hat over his ears, then took off across the snow-packed runway, slipping and sliding and swinging his backpack around his arm. Tanner zipped his down jacket and pulled on his gloves, then hopped from the plane.
“You’re beginning to sound like a parent,” Joe murmured as he carefully drained the oil from the plane’s engine.
“Until his mother gets here to pick him up, I’ll have to watch out for him,” Tanner replied. He heaved one of the canvas covers up and over the wing, then straightened the fabric and yanked a strap tight. “He’s a good kid. Although it’s got to be tough living with his mother. She sounds like a real piece of work. What kind of woman would let her kid run off to Alaska?”
“She didn’t let him,” Joe said. “You heard what the kid did. I doubt she even realizes he’s gone.” Joe handed Tanner a corner of the quilted engine cover and they tugged it over the nose of the Otter. “And you’ve got to admit, most of us prefer to do our thinking with our ‘flies.’” He wiped his hands on his jeans, then looked up at Tanner. “Are we going to unload this now?”
“Let’s get Sam settled at the lodge. The sooner I call Julia Logan, the better.”
On their way through town, Sam kept up a steady stream of chatter, tossing out facts about Alaska that even Tanner hadn’t heard before. The boy was a veritable encyclopedia and Tanner wondered if he ever forgot anything he’d heard. He’d just finished a story about the Alaskan flag and the schoolboy who’d designed it, when the truck bounced through the woods and pulled up in front of Bachelor Creek Lodge. He crawled over Tanner’s lap and stared at the rough-hewn building from the window. “Wow,” he breathed, steaming up his glasses. “Do you guys really live here?”
“Don’t forget your backpack,” Tanner said, opening the door. Sam hopped out behind him and slammed the truck door, then hurried to his side. He slipped his hand into Tanner’s and tried to match his longer stride. An unbidden flood of affection warmed Tanner and he glanced down at Sam.
“Hey, what’s that?” Sam pointed to a phrase carved into the lintel above the door. No Wimin Kin Pass. “Is that true? You don’t let girls in this place?”
Tanner glanced up at the old carving. “If it says no girls allowed, that’s what it means,” he replied.
Sam grinned. “Cool. It’s kind of like your clubhouse, right?”
Tanner nodded, then pushed open the scarred plank door. He suspected one of the previous tenants of the lodge had taken the name of Bachelor Creek a little too seriously. At least, that was his explanation. The rest of the townsfolk chose to believe in some silly legend, a legend he was all too ready to ignore.
Three bachelors taking up residence at Bachelor Creek Lodge had caused quite a stir in Muleshoe five years back. The trio had been in town only a few hours before Paddy Doyle, owner of the local tavern, explained the history of the lodge.
The Yukon Gold Rush in the late 1800s had brought waves of men to the river in search of their fortunes. A group of three bachelors had built the original lodge, just a ten-by-ten log structure with a stone fireplace. As more men arrived, the lodge was expanded, until it housed seventeen unmarried men from the river’s freeze-up in October until the spring thaw in May.
Tanner’s great-grandfather had been one of those bachelors, the last bachelor left at the lodge before he married a local girl. He had passed word of the legend on to his son, Tanner’s great-uncle, the last true bachelor to inhabit the lodge. Seth O’Neill had heeded the words. He hadn’t allowed a woman inside the lodge, for he knew that, according to the legend, once a woman stepped over the threshold, she was destined to trap the bachelor living inside.
“If the queen of England came here, you wouldn’t let her in, right?”
“Nope.”
“How about the First Lady of the United States?”
“Nope.”
“So you won’t let my mom in, right?”
Tanner didn’t think twice before answering. That superstitious he wasn’t. And even if he was, letting Sam’s mother cross the threshold would not cause a significant change in his marital status. “I think we’ll have to let her in, don’t you? She’s going to be coming up here to get you.”
A crooked smile twisted Sam’s mouth. “We wouldn’t hafta.”
Tanner grabbed Sam’s cap off his head and ruffled his pale hair. “Don’t you think you’ve given your mom enough trouble already, bud?”
Sam shrugged, then studied the toe of his boot distractedly. “You could always tell her that I got on the wrong plane on my way to see my Dad and I ended up here.”
“But that wouldn’t be the truth.”
The little boy sighed and tried a hangdog look to shake Tanner’s resolve. The look was one that Tanner had perfected as a kid—beetled brow, wide eyes, worrying at the lower lip with his teeth. Whenever he’d found himself in a jam, he knew he could soften up his mother with that look.
As he remembered, the look hadn’t worked on his dad—though Tanner couldn’t remember much about his father. Mick O’Neill had dropped dead of a heart attack when Tanner was just about Sam’s age, leaving Tanner the man of the house. He’d had to grow up too fast and with too much responsibility weighing on his small shoulders.
Maybe that’s why he felt such a connection with Sam. No father, a mother too preoccupied to notice whether he was even at home. And precious few childhood fantasies left.
“Are you hungry, Sammy?” Joe asked, stepping up behind them and closing the front door.
“Starved.”
“The bathroom is right down that hall,” Tanner said.
The boy took off as if his shoes were on fire. It had been more than an hour since he’d announced himself on the plane, yet he hadn’t whined or complained.
“Wash your hands!” Tanner called. He turned to find Joe grinning at him. “What?” he snapped.
“Nothing.”
“No. Say what’s on your mind, Brennan.”
“You like that kid, don’t you?”
Tanner turned and pulled off his jacket, then hung it on the hook next to the door. “What’s not to like? He’s a good kid.”
“A little goofy. And he never stops talking. Bet the other kids tease him. Probably call him a geek or a dweeb. Four eyes.”
The notion caused an unexpected rush of anger. Tanner spun around. “He’s just smart. Maybe too smart for his age.”
“What are you going to say to his ma? You have to call her.”
Tanner rubbed his cold palms together as he contemplated the question. He wasn’t looking forward to calling Julia Logan. Perhaps it would be best to dial the number and then leave the explanations to Sam. But one thing was certain. Before he let Sam go home with her, he was going to give Sam’s mother a small piece of his mind.
There had to be room in every boy’s life for a little make-believe. No kid should have to grow up faster than he wanted to. And Julia Logan should know that
JULIA LOGAN PEERED through the crack of the kitchen door at the man who stood in her dining room. Slowly, she let the door swing shut, then spoke softly into the cordless phone. “He’s a clown,” she whispered as she headed for the laundry closet with the handset.
“He’s got a good sense of humor,” Sarah said from the other end of the line. “That’s good. A sense of humor is good.”
Julia pulled the closet door closed behind her and hauled herself up to sit on the washing machine. “I’m not talking about his sense of humor,” she said. “I’m talking about his profession. He’s a clown. That’s what he does for a living.”
The line went silent as her best friend paused for a moment. “Now, that’s interesting. A clown.”
“How could you do this to me?” Julia demanded. “You set me up with a man who spends a major part of his day in a fuzzy wig and a red nose.”
“I didn’t know he was a clown. He said he was in the entertainment business. I thought maybe a lawyer or a business manager. I’ve been styling his hair for two years and he never mentioned the circus. But a clown is all right. He’s funny, he’s good with kids, and he can probably give you all sorts of makeup tips. And Sam would love him.”
Julia brushed her hair away from her face. “I am not going to introduce him to Sam! Besides, Sam is in California, visiting the last clown I got involved with—his father.”
“You’re the one who solicited my help, remember? You asked if I knew any single men.”
“So I made a mistake.” She sighed. “It’s just there are times when I’d like to be something more than Sam’s mother. When I’d like to feel sexy, maybe even attractive. Even though Sam tells me I’m pretty, it’s not quite the same coming from an eight-year-old.”
“Or a clown?”
“Is it wrong to want to find a father for Sam? Lord knows, he could use a strong male influence in his life, and I wouldn’t mind a little male influence in my bed. I just didn’t think it would be this hard.”
When she had divorced Peter five years ago, she had simply wanted to get on with her life, to rebuild her future with Sam. She’d never even considered marrying again. But as Sam got older, it became apparent that he needed more than a long-distance father and a mother who tried to compensate. And she needed a man in her life—someone good and kind and dependable. A man that she and Sam could count on.
But the search for a man like that was nearly impossible, especially with all the other activities that ate at her time—work, housekeeping and, most important, her son. By the time she rolled into bed at night, she was too exhausted for anything but sleep. And the few men she’d dated over the past five years had made it dear that they expected more than an occasional hurried lunch, a phone call or two and a bundle of excuses.
She’d been forced to choose and the choice had been simple. Sam deserved every extra minute of her time. If that left no time to date and no time to search for that perfect man, then so be it
“Just what are you looking for?” Sarah asked.
Julia pulled her knees up and braced her feet on the edge of the washer. “I don’t know. But I’ll know when I find it. There’ll be a spark of...of magic.”
“I know a nice magician,” Sarah teased. “You guys would be perfect together.”
Julia groaned. “It’s not just because he’s a clown. There’s no chemistry. So what am I going to say to this guy? How can I dump a clown? That’s like swearing at a nun or tripping an old lady.”
“You could—” Sarah’s voice was interrupted by a click that signaled Julia’s call-waiting.
“Hold that thought,” Julia said. “I’ve got another call. Maybe it’s the circus and Bozo’s got to get back to the big top.” She quickly pressed down on the receiver to activate the second call. “Hello?”
“Is this Julia Logan?”
The voice on the other end of the line was deep and rich—and completely unfamiliar. Another sales call, no doubt “I’m really busy now,” she snapped, “and I’m not interested in—”
“Do you have a son named Sam Logan?”
Julia’s words froze in her throat as she detected a hint of concern in the man’s voice. Her heart slammed against her chest and she tried to draw another breath. Something was wrong, something had happened to Sam. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t. A policeman. Or a doctor. The air in the laundry closet was suddenly stifling and she shoved open the door.
“Mrs. Logan, are you there?”
Julia slid off the washing machine, but her knees buckled slightly. She grabbed for the door handle and steadied herself. “Wha-what is it? Who are you? Is Sam hurt? Tell me who you are! I want to talk to my son.”
“Calm down. Sam is just fine.”
The man’s words were like balm on a burn, instantly soothing, and she felt tears of relief at the corners of her eyes. Had there been an accident? And where the hell was Peter? Why was some stranger calling her about Sam? Was he in the hospital? She pressed her palm to her heart. “Who is this?”
“My name is Tanner O’Neill. I live in Muleshoe, Alaska. I run a wilderness lodge. Sam is here, with me.”
“Alaska? Well, that can’t be,” Julia said. “He’s in California with his father. He called me earlier this evening to tell me that he’d arrived safely. You must have the wrong Sam Logan.”
She heard a soft chuckle on the other end of the line. “I don’t think so. Maybe it would be best for you to talk to Sam. He should explain. Just know that you’ll need to fly up here to get him. Get a flight into Fairbanks tomorrow, then grab a taxi to the Sourdough Inn. It’s downtown, on First Avenue. I know the owner and I’ll have him reserve a room for you. I’ll meet you there.”
A frightening thought pierced her mind. “Have—have you kidnapped my son?” Julia asked, forcing her voice to remain calm.
“Mrs. Logan, your son is safe with me. It seems he took a little detour on his trip to California. He wanted to visit Santa Claus at the North Pole. He’s quite single-minded about this. So the sooner you get up here, the better. And bring warm clothes—for you and Sam. The temperature’s been in the teens and single digits and I don’t want him catching cold.”
“Warm clothes,” Julia repeated numbly. Every shred of her common sense told her to demand answers to all her questions, to call the police immediately and report the entire incident. But emotion was overcome by instinct. She instinctively trusted this man. There was something in his voice, in the way he spoke about her son and calmed her fears. And he’d told her to bring warm clothes. That didn’t sound like a man with criminal intent.
“I can expect you sometime tomorrow?” he asked softly, his voice almost hypnotic in its warmth.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
“Would you like to talk to Sam now?”
“Yes, please,” she murmured, fighting back more tears. “Yes, let me talk to Sam. And, Mr. O’Neill?”
“Tanner,” he said.
“Tanner.” Julia drew a deep breath. “Thank you. Thank you for taking care of my son. I don’t know how to repay you for your kindness.”
“There’s no need,” he said. “He’s a good kid. I’m just happy I was the one who found him.”
Then he was gone and Julia was speaking to her son, her voice dotted with a mixture of anger and love and relief. But her mind couldn’t help but return to Tanner O’Neill, his soothing voice and his concern for Sam. Who was this man? And why did she feel such an instant bond with him, such an overwhelming trust in his motives? He was a complete stranger!
Julia closed her eyes, Sam’s chipper voice drifting through her conscious mind. Her son was safe. And if all went well, she’d meet this man face-to-face in less than twenty-four hours. Until then, she’d have to be satisfied with speculation—and the uneasy feeling that there was more to Tanner O’Neill than just a comforting voice.
