Alaskan Fire (17 page)

“Uh,” Jack said.  He swallowed,
hard.  “How many kids did your parents have?”

Blaze made a bitter sound.  “My
mom was found to have a protein deficiency that made her body abort.  She had three
miscarriages before the doctors pronounced her infertile.”

“But she had
you
,” Jack
said. 

Blaze laughed bitterly.  “They
found
my
Amazon ass in a firepit in the woods.”  Even four months after
her father’s lawyer had so thoughtfully handed her the envelope describing her
parents’ misdeeds, it still hurt to talk about it.  “Took me home and raised me
as their own, used their money to fudge a few records, let me live my whole
life thinking they were my real parents.  Dad’s lawyer dropped the bomb I was
adopted when he gave me the feather.”  She glared at him, her words
poison-tipped when she growled, “Now that you’ve rubbed salt into an open
wound, would you mind telling me what I’m dealing with?  My dad obviously
thought it was special.  It’s the only thing he gave me when he died, aside
from the cash.  Donated the rest to charity.”

Jack’s hands were shaking, and he
got to his feet blindly, the ass of his jeans having soaked up spilled oil.  Instead
of clearing up all the mysteries of Life for her, however, he carefully crossed
to the far wall again, then slowly slid down the edge of the workbench to a
seating position, a good twelve feet away, watching her like she’d just grown
slitted eyes and sixteen rows of teeth.

“He said they found you in a
firepit
?”
Jack asked in a quiet voice.

“Some sort of human sacrifice,
they were guessing,” Blaze said, shrugging.  “Whatever it was, my parents were
pretty sure that the people who put me there weren’t really the type of people
who needed me back.”

For a long time, he said nothing,
simply giving the case on the workbench a wary look.  Finally, he said, “If I
were you, I’d bury that feather.  Plant an apple tree over it.”

“Apple trees don’t grow in this
climate zone,” Blaze said automatically.  In her planning stage, she had done
thorough research into different types of foodstuffs that she could grow on her
new property.  She had already considered the option of having an orchard, but
between the moose and the bitterly cold winters, apple trees didn’t survive this
far north.

“That one will,” Jack said.

She hesitated, considering his
expression warily.  “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Jack said, “That
feather in there’s about the equivalent of putting whatever you plant around it
right on top of a feylord’s life-stone.  Whatever you put around it, they’ll
probably still be fruiting in December.”

Blaze snorted.

Then she realized he was
completely serious. 

“Uh,” she said, when he just
raised a brow at her, “How do you know that?”

Jack sighed.  “’Cause I’ve seen nations
fall over a feather like that.  The fey would kill to get their hands on it,
without even thinking twice.  I can think of a dozen critters within an eighty
mile radius who would slit their own brother’s throat to have it in their
possession.  And a
dragon
…”  He shuddered and cleared his throat. 
“Don’t let a dragon know you’ve got it.  Just…  Don’t.”  He grimaced.  “Last
time I saw a slaughter like that, they were in a clan war.  I think four
hundred of them died before the survivors on both sides crawled away to lick
their wounds.”

“For a
feather
?” Blaze
cried.  “That grows
apples
?”

Jack licked his lips, seemed to
debate.  Then, almost reluctantly, he nodded his head toward the lake.  “You
know Lake Ebony?”

Blaze frowned.  “Are you changing
the subject again?”

“You take that feather down to
the shore and dip it in the water and anyone who decides to go swimming in that
lake for the next ten years is gonna come out healed of whatever ailed him. 
Fountain-of-Youth style.”

Blaze’s mouth dropped open.  “Oh.”

“You can see how that might be
trouble.”

She swallowed and nodded.

“So yeah,” Jack said, “Stick it
in the ground, give the wildlife around here a boost, and when people ask why
you’ve got apple trees blooming in December, tell them you’ve got a really,
really green thumb and you spend a small fortune on Miracle-Gro.”

Possibilities began to filter
through Blaze’s brain.

Sitting across from her, Jack
scowled.  “I know what you’re thinking…” he began, a low warning in his tone. 
“You’re thinking about
using
it…”

“I’m thinking what I can plant
around it,” Blaze snapped, bristling.  “Just bugger off and let me concentrate
a minute.”  She leaned her head back and considered.  A good portion of her
long-term plan
relied
on growing her own fruits and vegetables for her
meals.  Eventually, she wanted multiple greenhouses, gardens, and animal
pastures…

She frowned, looking back at
him.  “Would it help livestock?”

Jack wrinkled his nose, looking
agitated.  “I thought we decided you’d bury it.”

“I didn’t say
anything
about what I would do with
my
feather,” Blaze retorted.

Jack gave her a long, cold look. 
“You do anything stupid with it and it’s gonna disappear.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. 
“Define stupid.”

“Anything other than burying it,”
he growled back.

She met his gaze, challenging. 
“What would happen if I put it in their water-trough?”

The wereverine bristled.  “No.”

“Why not?” She snapped.  “It’s
mine
.”

“Too many things could go wrong,”
Jack growled.

“Like what?”

The wereverine looked
uncomfortable.  His hackles had started to bristle again, puffing out against
his back, before he seemed to slump in defeat.  “Who am I kidding?  You can do
whatever you want with the damn thing.”  He gestured disgustedly at the yard. 
“Go put it on display, for all I care.”

Blaze felt a bit of her guard
drop with his admission.  Curious, now, she offered, “I told you I always
wanted a nice farm.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, “But in the
water
?” 
He scoffed.  “Believe me, honey, you don’t want it
that
nice.”  He
gestured at the yard.  “Put it in the ground, pen your animals nearby, and
anything within ten acres is gonna grow twice as big and breed like rabbits.”

Blaze glanced back at the glowing
filaments.  “Let’s bury it where we’re gonna put the greenhouse.”

Jack was on his feet in an instant,
hastily grabbing for a shovel nearby.  “You got it, sweetcheeks.”

Inwardly realizing that the
wereverine was just a bit too eager to get the feather in the ground, but
willing to do just about
anything
to get her plants to start growing,
Blaze picked up the case and followed him.

By the time she got to the garden,
Jack had already started digging a pit at one edge.  His eyes caught on the
metal case in her arms and he gave a nervous laugh, then way-too-quickly fell
into a one-sided chatter about all the different things he was going to have to
do to the lodge before winter, to keep the place from freezing on her when the
snows hit, and oh, by the way, he was going to be moving in with her
downstairs.

Blaze’s mental reel came to a
screeching halt and she floundered, backtracking, replaying the wereverine’s
words in her head.  “No you aren’t,” she blurted, when she realized she had
heard him correctly.

“I’ll have to go get my stuff,”
Jack continued.  “So I can be moved in by the end of the night.”

“I said ‘no,’ Blaze repeated, for
his clarification.

Jack stopped digging long enough
to give her a flat look.  “Honey.  About ninety percent of the world would sputch
you in a heartbeat to have what you’ve got in your hands right now.”

That got her heart pounding
little waves of molten metal through her chest.

Grunting, Jack started digging
again

“Okay,” Blaze said, “but if
you’re gonna stay here, you’re gonna start teaching me how to make the stuff
around here work.”

He glared at her over the hole. 
“I showed you how to run the bulldozer.”

“That’s
one thing
!” she
cried.  “And then you
took
it from me because I wasn’t doing it fast
enough.”

“I’ll take care of the rest,” Jack
said.  “You don’t need to worry about stuff like that.  Just fiddle with your
garden and make the place look pretty.  I’ll take care of the important stuff.”

Just fiddle with your garden…
 
Blaze found herself having trouble speaking through her rising fury.  “Contrary
to your belief,
Jack
,” Blaze growled, “I’m not a helpless bimbo.  I
want
to learn that stuff, and I’m
paying
you to
teach
me.  I will
not
be dependent on a man for the rest of my life.  That’s the whole
self-sufficient
thing, got it?”

He gave her a look an irritated
look.  “Every woman’s gotta depend on a guy sometime in her life.  Right now,
I’m that guy.  Just deal with it, tootz.”

Narrowing her eyes at the surge
of rage that made her want to wrap her fingers around his bovine neck, Blaze
watched him dig for some time, just to keep from screaming.  “All right,” she
finally gritted.  “I’m a businesswoman.  You wanna stay?  We both have
something the other wants.  You know about engines and stuff.  I know how to
read.”

Jack lost his grip on the shovel
and it went sailing across the yard with his last load of dirt.  He stared at
it for a long time, a flush creeping across his neck and face.  “Musta got oil
on my hands from the shop,” he said.

“I can teach you,” Blaze
insisted.  “Fair trade.”

Jack twisted to glare at her, his
green eyes dark.  “I wasn’t askin’ for your help, honey.  I been doin stuff
just fine on my own.”  Still scowling at her, he went over to the shovel,
yanked it off of the ground, and returned to the hole.

Blaze shrugged.  “I was offering
to teach you, but I guess if you
like
being illiterate…”

She heard a deep-chested growl,
but the wereverine said nothing and started to dig again.  It was almost as if
he were pretending she didn’t exist. 

“Or maybe you’re just a total
chickenshit,” Blaze sighed.  “Been stuck in a rut so long…  Maybe you’re too
afraid to try?”

Jack slammed the shovel into the
dirt and glared up at her.  “We need to get that feather out of sight, Boss,
‘fore the fey get a whiff of it.  Unless you’ve got something
important
to say, you’re kind of breaking my train of thought.  Okay?”

“By all means, carry on,” Blaze
said, gesturing at the hole with her free hand.  “Manual labor must really be
an intense experience for you, if I’m breaking your train of thought.”  Then,
after a moment, added, “Chicken.”

“I just wanna get the feather out
of sight without listening to your stupid—” Jack tensed at her last.  Then,
slowly, he turned to look at her, and she saw hair sprouting from his back,
teeth sliding from between his lips.  “You,” Jack growled, shovel handle
gripped in a taloned fist, “are about
this close
to getting a shovel
through your brainpan.”  It was the feral sound, the rattling deep in his
chest.

“Okay, chicken,” Blaze said.  She
waved at the upturned earth.  “Go dig me a hole, then.”

“I’ll dig your
grave
!”
Jack snarled.  She heard a snap as the shovel handle splintered in his grip.  Then
the wereverine was stepping forward, shoving his muzzle into her face.  “I
didn’t tell you so you could
rub it in
, goddamn it.”

Even fully transformed, he was
still only eye-to-eye with Blaze.  “You’re right,” she said into his mouthful
of fangs, “I’ll just go read a book.  Leave you out here to your manual
labor.”  She turned to go.

Jack grabbed her by the back of
her shirt and yanked her around so hard she would’ve fallen had his grip not
been like iron, holding her in place.  His glowing green eyes were fully
slitted, now, and blood was dripping from the inner rows of teeth.  Blaze just
peered back at him, long ago having learned he was harmless. 

“You’re gonna teach me,” the
wereverine said, his breath scalding her face, “Starting tonight.”

“You asking or telling?” Blaze
said, utterly calm.

“
Telling
!” Jack roared.

“Then I’m telling you,” Blaze
said, “You’re gonna stop screwing around and start teaching me how to run this
place.  No more of this, ‘You’re just a city-slicker who doesn’t know any
better,’ crap.  Stop blowing me off.  Start teaching me mechanicking,
carpentry, plumbing, stuff like that.  I’ll teach you to read and write, and
we’ll call it a fair bargain.”

The wereverine’s unholy slitted
green eyes scanned her eyes over its bared fangs, and for a moment, she thought
he would simply bite off her face.  Then, almost reluctantly, he seemed to
shift back to his human form.

“Fine,” he said, releasing her. 
He handed her the splintered end of the shovel.  “Your education starts now.”

Blaze frowned down at the broken spade. 
“You’re gonna teach me to
dig
?”

“Basics of Manual Labor 101,”
Jack said, crossing his big arms over his rippling chest, an amused smirk on
his face.  He nodded at the ground with his head.  “I’d say we’re gonna need
something about six to eight feet deep.”

Blaze balked.  “Eight
feet
?”

“Yep,” Jack said, gesturing to
the dirt.  “Get started.”  He reached out and took the feather case from her. 
“The shovels are in the shop.”

Blaze scowled down at him for
several moments.  Then, furious, she stomped back across the yard, yanked an
un-crushed shovel from inside the shop, stalked back, and slammed the shovel
into the dirt and pried up a clod of dirt.  She tossed it aside, glaring at
him.  “How was
that
, smartass?”