Northern Escape (5 page)

Gus laid it on the line. “You know he can't be involved with a white woman.”

“That's why I want an animal to mark me, like it did Tessa.” Jenna looked so hopeful, Gus simply couldn't bring herself to crush her.

“I'll see what I can come up with for you,” she said, having absolutely no clue what else to do.

“Awesome.” And just like that Jenna's train of thought jumped to another track. “Now let's give you some nice nails since you're going to have a hunky helper tonight.”

Gus wasn't surprised Jenna knew. That was Good Riddance for you. There were no secrets here. Well, except for her secret…

And she fully meant to keep it that way.

C
LINT WAS A NICE GUY,
Nick thought as they drove down the snow-crusted road. So was his dog, Kobuk, sitting in the seat behind them, tongue lolling out as he looked out the window as if watching the evergreens lining the road. But then again, Nick had liked everyone he'd met so far, particularly the group he'd joined for dinner last night. They were all good people and intelligent with interesting stories. Of course, most people that wound up in out of the way places like Good Riddance had interesting stories.

“Spruce?” he hazarded a guess as to the evergreens.

“Yep. Right in one.” Clint glanced briefly in Nick's direction. “So this is your first time in Alaska?”

“It is, if you can believe it.” The tires seemed to crunch over the road. “Eight years of writing a travel blog and I've never been. It was long overdue.”

Clint smiled his quiet smile. “Tessa enjoyed exchanging travel stories with you over dinner last night.”

“Yeah, that was pretty cool we'd both been to Palenque.” It was unusual to run into someone who'd
visited the lesser-known Mayan ruins in Mexico's jungle. Nick shook his head. “And now she's going to give up all of that travel to stay here…. Sorry, I didn't mean that the way it came out.” He couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

“No offense taken. I get what you're saying. I offered to move but she says her spirit belongs here.”

Something moved at the edge of the trees and Nick thought he might've glimpsed a wolf, or perhaps it was just a malamute or husky. “The two of you have an interesting story, for sure. But then again, I figure most of the people who wind up here have an interesting tale to tell.”

“For the most part. It takes a different kind to settle in Alaska, especially the bush.”

And Nick was especially interested in one gray-eyed woman with a sensual mouth whom he couldn't seem to get out of his head. He aimed for casual. “So, what's Gus's story?” Damn, he was pathetic because merely saying her name aloud fired him up.

Clint laughed and sent him an amused glance. “I wondered how long it would take you to get around to asking.”

So much for casual. “That obvious, huh?”

“Yes, pretty obvious.”

“So?” This was close to pulling teeth and Nick had a sense Clint was testing him.

“She moved here—” he paused “—I guess it's been about four years now. Merrilee's her aunt. She was working in New York and apparently all the pressure got to her. She really kept to herself when she first got here.”

“Her restaurant certainly seems to be part of the community fabric.” It was funny, while she seemed friendly with everyone and her business was obviously central to the town, he'd noticed a guarded air about her, a slight distance.

“Gus's is practically an institution.”

“Who had it before she took over?”

“A fellow named Hargood Winters ran it but it wasn't nearly as classy as it is now.” That didn't surprise Nick in the least—Gus struck him as one classy woman. “Gus wound up buying him out and taking over.”

Nick nodded in agreement but he knew better. She hadn't bought anyone out because her name wasn't part of the public records. He'd have to go back and look a little more closely because he was curious as to exactly who did own Gus's place.

“She's a hell of a chef,” Nick said. “Some of the best food I ever had.” Outside, a light snow began to fall.

“That's what everyone says. She was doing real well in New York—” Clint shrugged “—but apparently she just couldn't handle the pace.”

“What restaurant did she work for?”

“I don't know but since I've never been to New York it wouldn't make any difference to me anyway.”

Nick would bet that no one in Good Riddance could name the establishment she'd left. He didn't doubt she'd worked in the city, her culinary skills seemed that good, but he'd guarantee she wasn't known as Gus Tippens when she worked there.

“Does she still keep to herself?” Nick asked.

Clint offered a slow, knowing smile. “If you're asking
if she has a boyfriend, the answer is no. In fact, I've never known Gus to go on a date. Back when she first came into town, Dalton asked her out once or twice. She's not into hiking or fishing or camping so he offered to fly them into Anchorage for the evening since there's not a lot to do on a date in Good Riddance, except go hang out at Gus's.”

Nick chuckled. “Yeah, I guess that's true. So, did she go out with him?”

“She was friendly, she was nice, but she turned him down.”

Nick nodded. He'd seen firsthand how clearly besotted Dalton was with Skye Shanahan but he was still ridiculously relieved to know the other man had never kissed her or run his fingers through her hair. He had no right to feel proprietary about her in the least. Nonetheless, he did.

“And no, I don't think she's a lesbian,” Clint added.

Nick startled and then laughed. “
That
never occurred to me.”

They met an older Dodge pickup with a camper shell over the back and Clint raised a hand in greeting.

“You'll want to tread lightly there,” Clint said, slanting him a glance. “Merrilee and Bull are pretty protective of her.”

Nick quirked an eyebrow in question.

“I'm just saying. Maybe it's because she's Merrilee's niece or maybe it's because she was in pretty rough shape when she got here.”

What the hell? All his journalist instincts, along with some protective male instinct that seldom surfaced,
roared to life. He had a bad feeling deep in his gut. “What kind of rough shape?”

Clint glanced at him. Evidently his tension had come through in his question. “Emotionally. Mentally. You ever hear of something called alopecia?”

“No, I haven't. It doesn't sound good, though.”

“It's when someone's hair starts to fall out or they start going bald. One of the triggers can be stress. That white streak in Gus's hair—that's where she had lost her hair and when it came back in, it came in white.”

“Damn.” He knew a culinary career in the city could be cutthroat but he'd seen Gus in the kitchen, albeit briefly, when she was swamped and she'd appeared competent and calm. She hadn't struck him as a woman who'd lose her hair and bury herself in the Alaskan backwoods due to performance anxiety. He was damn sure there was more to this.

“Yep. It wasn't good.”

It struck Nick as a bit odd that Clint, a pretty quiet guy on the whole, was so forthcoming with information about Gus. Nick wasn't one to beat around the bush so he said exactly what was on his mind. “Why are you telling me all of this? You struck me as a pretty quiet guy.”

Clint nodded. “I am, for the most part. But there's something you need to understand. In Good Riddance, we take care of our own. It's apparent you're interested in Gus. I just wanted to make it clear Gus has had a hard time in her life and none of us want to see a hard time come her way again.”

Nick wasn't offended and didn't take it as a reflection
on his character. That's how he'd felt when his sisters were dating and even now that they were married—they'd better be treated right. He was glad Gus had people watching her back, whether she knew it or not. “Got it. Message received loud and clear.”

He'd proceed with caution. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Gus, but he did want her—he'd wanted her from the first glimpse he'd caught of her and each time he'd seen her since had intensified that feeling. And it wasn't just him indulging his male ego. Beneath that wariness in her gray eyes, he'd glimpsed a smoldering fire. He fully intended to fan those flames.

 

G
US HAD JUST FINISHED
pulling the ingredients for the evening menu when Nick showed up that afternoon after the fireworks kicking off Chrismoose. She heard the door open but she
felt
him the moment he stepped into the room. It was as if she shared some strange cellular connection with this man.

“Reporting for duty, ma'am,” he said from behind her, his voice low and smooth. She turned and his blue eyes met hers. Her breath seemed to lodge somewhere inside her chest as she recognized the flicker of desire in his eyes, which echoed her own. In a flash, she experienced the same tightening inside her she'd known last night and then again this morning. It was as if she were preparing for his touch and taste. One look and she was aroused.

Some dishes were best prepared by simmering, applying a low, constant heat over an extended period of time. Others required a hotter flame in a shorter span.
And then there was the technique of searing—brief, intense, extreme heat. The latter was what it was like to be around Nick Hudson—intense, scorching heat.

“There's an extra apron in the stock room if you'd like one,” she said, pointing toward the door with her index finger.

“Probably a good idea,” he said, moving across the room quickly. He moved with an economy of motion, which she liked, as if not to waste any effort. She also didn't miss noticing he had a very nice tush.

He donned the clean apron and once again turned his powerful blue gaze on her. “I'm at your disposal. Tell me what I can do for you,” Nick said.

What he could do for her? She curled her fingers more tightly around the handle of the pot she'd just pulled out as she instantly imagined the whisper of his fingers through her hair, the taste of his kiss, the glide of his lips and tongue against hers, the press of his body, the melding of her heat with his. His eyes darkened and Gus could have sworn the same thoughts were running through his head, especially when his gaze dropped to her mouth. Without thinking, she ran her tongue over her lower lip and she felt tension radiate from him.

With a clang, she settled the pot on the stove, breaking whatever it was between them. She nodded toward the onions on the bottom shelf of the mobile cart she used to move things from one area to another.

“The onions need to be chopped, if you would.”

His grin did funny things to her insides and it was knowing. He knew exactly what she was up to. “Sure
thing. Onions are no problem. Minced, diced, or sliced?”

“Half diced and half sliced, if you would.”

“If that's how you want it, that's how you'll get it. I aim to please.”

She was burning up from the inside out and it wasn't the flu. “There's a lot to be said for intent, but the proof is in the pudding.”

He leaned forward slightly over the work island separating them, his gaze dropping to her mouth, and she could swear just his look set her lips to tingling. “Then by all means, let me show you just how good I am—” there was a wicked pause accompanied by an equally wicked smile “—at slicing and dicing.”

Gus laughed, despite feeling flustered and flushed. It was a good feeling to have this man she'd admired flirting with her. She should freeze him out. She should keep him at a distance. But she simply couldn't. He was slightly outrageous and she couldn't help but respond to him.

As much as she enjoyed her customers, she also enjoyed this time of the day. Lunch wrapped up at two-thirty, which was when Lucky called it a day. Gus came down at three and reopened at five-thirty for dinner. For two and a half hours it was just her and Teddy. Now it was just her and Nick.

It was odd how he seemed to fill out the space in her kitchen. Granted, he was a fairly big man, probably just a touch over six feet and broad shouldered, but it was more than that. There was a presence about him,
an energy that seemed to expand into the area around him; that seemed to wrap around her.

Gus knew enough to realize Nick was definitely going to start asking questions if she didn't beat him to the punch. Plus, she was curious about him, especially after reading his columns.

She threw out a conversational gambit. “So, your parents have a diner in New York?”

“They did. They sold it last year. It's just a little place.” He named a location she mentally mapped out in her head. She had a rough idea where it was. “But it's a good location. My grandparents had it and then the folks took over. I grew up there.” He laughed and shrugged those impossibly wide shoulders. “Hey, it kept me off the streets.”

While they each did their own thing, he regaled her with stories about his family and some of the incidents with different customers. Several times he had her laughing and she loved listening to the rhythm and cadence of his voice. She realized he was a natural storyteller.

“I get it now,” she said, adding a bit more seasoning to the chicken stock.

“You get what?” He looked across the prep table that separated them. They were on simmer now. No searing, no flambéing, but definitely a simmer. This attraction, this thing was still there between them but laughter and the occasional companionable silence had dialed it back to a low heat.

“Why you're so good at what you do. You're a natural storyteller and I'm sure you never meet a stranger.”

A quick smile curved his mouth and lit his eyes. He
acted as if she'd just handed him a blue ribbon. “You think I'm good at what I do?”

“Yes, you're very good at what you do. Of course, you don't need me telling you that because if you weren't, you wouldn't still be employed, would you?”

“True enough. I think it was the diner that set the stage for me. It was impossible to grow up there and not talk to people.”

“You didn't catch the restaurateur bug?” He was definitely at ease in a kitchen. She'd wondered how she'd work with him distracting her, but it was just the opposite. She felt intensely tuned into everything she was doing.

He shook his dark head. “I like it and I certainly appreciate good food but my passion is the written word. My degree was in literature. It's not a particularly useful degree so I was damn lucky to get that internship and a job when I graduated.”