One Night With a Billionaire (Novella): The Perfect Man (12 page)

July 14, 2010

Polecat, Alaska

Lurking in the grocery aisle of the Polecat General Store, Rachel Miller pretended to shop while she eavesdropped on the conversation between the store’s owner, Ted Haggerty, and the broad-shouldered customer he’d called Jake. She’d recognized the guy the minute he’d walked in, despite the fact that he was fully clothed.

Although they’d never met, she knew three things about Jake. He lived across the lake from her grandfather’s cabin, he liked to skinny-dip, and he was built for pleasure. Among other items, Grandpa Ike had left her his high-powered binoculars.

She’d accidentally caught her hot neighbor’s skinny-dipping routine one warm summer night while watching an eagle dive for a fish. After that, she’d planned her evenings around it.

After opening the screen door of the general store, Jake had glanced in her direction but hadn’t seemed to recognize her. Apparently he hadn’t been keeping tabs on her the way she had on him. That was disappointing.

Then again, she spent only a couple of weeks in Polecat every summer, and she wasn’t the type to plunge naked into an alpine lake. Still, she would have taken this opportunity to introduce herself if he hadn’t paused in front of the small display of her wood carvings.

She immediately turned away, grabbed a can of salmon, and studied the label with fierce intensity. If she ever intended to move from hobbyist to professional, she’d have to get over being self-conscious about displaying her work for sale, but she was brand-new at it. Asking Ted last week if he’d like to carry her art in his store had required tremendous courage.

Today when she’d come in and noticed that nothing had sold, she’d been tempted to cart it all back to the cabin. Ted had talked her out of giving up, and now her gorgeous neighbor was discussing the carvings with Ted. She hoped to hell Ted wouldn’t mention that the artist was right here in the grocery aisle. Then the guy might feel obligated to buy something, and how embarrassing would that be?

“So who’s this Rachel Miller?” Jake had a deep voice that matched his lumberjack physique. His name fit him, too.

Rachel held her breath. Now would be the logical time for Ted to call her over and introduce her. She prayed that he wouldn’t.

Ted hesitated, as if debating whether to reveal her presence. “She’s local.”

Rachel exhaled slowly. She might not be a skinny-dipper, but there were many ways to be naked, and this, she discovered, was one of them. She could leave and spare herself the agony of listening to whatever Jake might say about her work, but then she’d be tormented with curiosity for days.

Besides, she’d already put several food items in the basket she carried over one arm. Leaving the basket and bolting from the store would make her more conspicuous, not less.

“I like her stuff.”

Clapping a hand to her mouth, Rachel closed her eyes and savored the words. He liked it!

“Especially the wolf.”

“That’s my personal favorite,” Ted said.

Validation sent a rush of adrenaline through her system. It was her favorite, too. The other carvings were forest animal figurines, none any bigger than eight inches tall. Her friends back in Fairbanks raved about them, but friends were biased. She cherished their praise but didn’t always believe it.

She’d broken new ground with the wolf, though. After finding a ragged chunk of driftwood about two feet long, she’d left the basic shape intact while carving the wolf in bas-relief on the smoothest side. Powerful and majestic, the wolf appeared to be emerging from the piece of wood.

Ted had praised the carving, but Ted had a natural tendency to encourage people. His comments didn’t pack the same punch as those from someone who didn’t know her and had no reason to protect her feelings. Excitement made her giddy.

A moment of silence followed. She wondered if Jake had wandered away from the display to begin his grocery shopping, but she didn’t dare look to make sure. If he’d finished admiring her work, that was fine. He’d given her a gift simply by commenting favorably.

“I want to buy it.”

Her chest tightened. A sale.

“All righty, then!” Ted sounded pleased.

Rachel was in shock. A complete stranger was willing to pay money for something she’d created! She stifled the urge to rush over and shower him with thanks. On the heels of that urge came another—to snatch the piece and announce it wasn’t for sale after all.

Once Jake bought that carving, she’d never see it again. She hadn’t expected to be upset by that. Apparently the wolf meant far more to her than she’d realized.

Jake might like what she’d done, but he couldn’t fully appreciate it unless he’d also caught a glimpse of the magnificent black wolf that had inspired her. She’d seen it only once, poised in a clearing. Grandpa Ike had taught her how to get good pictures of wild creatures—stay downwind and seek cover. She’d been in luck that day, perfectly positioned for an awesome shot.

The photo was still tacked to a bulletin board in the cabin, so she could use it to carve another likeness. Yet she couldn’t guarantee the next attempt would capture the wolf’s essence in quite the same way. She’d known this piece was special the moment it was completed.

Finishing it had given her the confidence to approach Ted in the first place. She shouldn’t be surprised it was about to become her first sale. If people bought her work, maybe she could give up her veterinarian internship and carve full-time.

She’d thought she’d love being a vet, but the surgery and death that were an inevitable part of the job drained her. Wood carving gave her nothing but joy. Still, it might not bring in enough to support her. One sale was hardly a guarantee that she could make a living as an artist.

It was a positive sign, though, and thanks to what she’d inherited from Grandpa Ike, she had a place to live and a little money to tide her over if she decided to switch gears. The prospect was scary but exciting, too. She had Jake the skinny-dipper to thank for jump-starting her dreams.

From the corner of her eye she could see him rounding the aisle where she stood, a basket over his arm. Walking in the opposite direction, she ducked down a parallel aisle and carried her basket to the counter, where Ted was wrapping her carving.

He glanced up and smiled. “Do you want to tell—”

“No.” She kept her voice down. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

Ted spoke softly, obviously sensing her nervousness. “Decided that was up to you.” He finished taping the end of the parcel and set it aside. “Congratulations, though. He lives across the lake from you.”

“Thought I recognized him. What’s his name, again?”

“Jake Hunter. He’s a wilderness guide. Earns good money doing it. Quite well-off.”

“I see.” Judging people’s financial status was tough in a place like Polecat, where everyone kept a low profile, dressed casually, and drove dusty trucks and SUVs. She was flattered that a successful wilderness guide found value in her work.

Ted rang up her groceries and bagged them in the canvas tote she’d given him. She hadn’t bought much because she’d been so distracted, so Ted finished quickly. Fine with her. She’d prefer to be out the door before Jake returned to the counter.

She almost made it. She was tucking her change back into her purse when he walked up, his basket stuffed with everything from canned goods to paper products. He must be a fast shopper.

Not wanting to appear antisocial, she met his gaze while keeping her expression friendly but neutral. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He glanced at her with the same carefully neutral expression. But then a spark of interest lit his green eyes.

Her breath caught. She’d never looked into those eyes before. Grandpa Ike’s binoculars were good, but not that good. Yet she felt as if she’d met his gaze before, and seeing it—again?—brought back a half-remembered thrill. Crazy.

Even crazier, she flashed on the image of the black wolf in the clearing—a green-eyed wolf with dark, luxurious fur the same color as Jake’s collar-length hair. Clearly his purchase of the carving was messing with her mind.

The interest reflected in Jake’s eyes slowly changed to speculation. Maybe something in her expression had given her away, or maybe he’d picked up enough of her quiet conversation with Ted to figure out who she was. In any case, she needed to vamoose before he started asking questions.

Quickly breaking eye contact, she grabbed her canvas bag from the counter. Her smile probably looked more like a grimace, but it was the best she could do. “You two have a nice day!” She headed for the screen door.

As exits go, it wasn’t her best. Heart pounding, she climbed into the old truck Grandpa Ike had willed to her, started the ancient engine, and pulled out onto the two-lane road that skirted the lake. She’d escaped, but the adrenaline rush of making her first sale stayed with her.

Logic, the tool that her lawyer father embraced, told her that Jake buying the wolf carving wasn’t reason enough to change her life. Intuition, the tool that her photographer mother preferred, whispered that she’d reached a major turning point and shouldn’t ignore it. Grandpa Ike, who had been more intuitive than anyone else on her mother’s side of the family, would have told her to listen to her instincts.

Rachel wondered what Jake Hunter would have said if she’d had the courage to admit she’d carved that wolf. Or maybe, judging from the quiet assessment in those green eyes, he already knew.

***

Pre
sent day

Jake finished answering e-mails from members of the group he’d founded the previous year, Werewolves Against Random Mating (WARM). Shutting down the laptop, he headed for the kitchen and snagged a cold bottle of spruce tip ale from the refrigerator. Then he twisted off the cap and walked into the living room. As usual, his gaze drifted to the Rachel Miller carving displayed on his mantel.

The soot from the hearth fires of three consecutive winters had darkened the wood. Maybe he should clean and oil it, now that summer had arrived once again. Or not. The soot that had settled into the grooves added character, in his estimation. Reaching out, he traced the distinctive and familiar slant of the wolf’s wide-set eyes.

When he’d bought the piece, he’d had no clue that Rachel would become internationally famous. But he’d suspected that his impulse buy might come back to haunt him, especially after he’d walked up to the counter and she’d turned to look into his eyes.

Leaning against the mantel, he gazed across Polecat Lake toward her property. It was nearly nine in the evening, but it might as well have been midday. Sunlight continued to play on the water, and the metallic whine of her power saw drifted in through his open window. She must be starting another large project, one that required the saw and the extra space provided by the workshop she’d had built about ten yards from her cabin.

Now that she was bringing in the big bucks, he kept expecting her to tear down that cabin and build a McMansion in its place. So far she hadn’t, and he respected her for keeping her operation low-key. Understatement was a Polecat tradition, one of the reasons he loved it here.

She’d bought a new truck, but he couldn’t blame her for replacing the unreliable bucket of bolts she’d inherited from her grandfather. She’d also hired a local kid named Lionel, who was part Native American, to clean her workshop and wrestle the bigger pieces onto her truck. A new truck, a roomy workshop, and a part-time assistant seemed to be the only concessions she’d made to her success, and Ted Haggerty claimed that she was the same down-to-earth person she’d always been.

If so, then props to her, because she’d created quite a stir, the kind that could turn a person’s head. No telling what this hunk of driftwood was worth now that she had commissions coming in from wealthy collectors all over the world. He should probably have it insured and protected in a climate-controlled safe.

Rachel Miller’s first wolf carving, if it surfaced, would bring a pretty penny on the auction block. To her credit, she’d never identified him as the buyer of her initial effort, and neither had Ted. Apparently no one except the three of them knew this work existed.

She’d sent him a note a couple months after he’d made his purchase, though. He knew that note by heart.

Dear Mr. Hunter,

You bought my wolf carving from the Polecat General Store
on July 14. You were my first sale. There have been others since then, but yours was the most significant. It inspired me to leave my veterinarian internship and try my luck as a full-time carver. I was in the store that day and we met, but I didn’t have the nerve to identify myself and thank you for making the purchase. I want to thank you now. You literally changed my life.

With gratitude,

Rachel Miller

He hadn’t needed the note to tell him that he’d met her that day. His acute hearing had picked up snatches of her conversation with Ted, and he’d pegged her as the granddaughter who’d inherited Ike’s cabin. Ike had been a carver, although not nearly as talented as Rachel.

Then Jake had met her gaze, and her nervous excitement had given her away. Although he wasn’t an artist, he could imagine that putting your stuff in front of the public would be scary, and having someone buy it might take some getting used to.

He’d debated for days whether to respond to that note, which was still tucked under the carving on his mantel. In the end he’d decided not to. If he’d replied, she might have thought they could be friends. But he’d known from the moment they’d met that friendship wasn’t going to cut it. He wanted her, and he couldn’t have her.

That made living across the lake from her cabin a difficult proposition. Closing his eyes, he pictured how she’d looked three years ago, her hair falling to her shoulders in shades ranging from dark walnut to warm cherry. Her gaze had locked with his for one electric moment, making him think of summer storms and silvery rain.

She’d worn jeans and a faded T-shirt, an unremarkable outfit intended simply to cover her tall, lithe body. She hadn’t tried to entice anyone with those clothes. Yet she’d enticed him without trying. He couldn’t explain why that was, except that it was somehow linked to the carving on his mantel.