Primal Calling (14 page)

Which wasn't always a good thing.

Refueling in Nome reminded him of when he'd left Serena here. Checking into the crappy little motel by the Anchorage airport reminded him of that first kiss. And ordering a hamburger next door reminded him of how uncomplicated his life had been before meeting her.

Eating his crappy hamburger and drinking his very good Jameson whiskey only made his thoughts more morose. He thought about what his grandmother had said about moving. San Francisco? Was she finally getting feebleminded? She'd never expressed an interest in living anywhere else but Barrow. Did she think he didn't
know what she was getting at? Both were major cities with international airports, where a person who traveled on business might be able to make her home base?

He couldn't care less where he lived, but he couldn't believe his grandmother would want to leave Barrow. Still, it's not like she had any family left there. Except him, of course. And she didn't have any close friends she visited every day. But what about her role as shaman to the Iñupiat of Barrow?

It was crazy to even wonder about any of it. He'd ruined whatever opportunity he might have had with Serena—if he'd wanted one, which he didn't.

He drank more than usual, and for the first time, thought about the elder native sitting in the back booth. He pictured himself an old man, alone, sitting in that back booth like the elder there now. Drinking his empty nights away…like his mother.

The thought made his stomach roil with disgust. He slid off the stool with half a tumbler left of his drink and headed outside. Once he got to his room, he left Mickey inside and then hailed a taxi. “Spenard and First,” he instructed as he got in.

The closer the taxi got to the address, the grungier the neighborhoods became. Prostitutes, pimps and drug dealers were out in plain sight around here. Max had come here twice before. He'd sat in the cab wondering if she was home. Imagining what she would say if he knocked and she answered.

This time he got out. He paid the cab, then walked up to the third-floor apartment on the right.

All he had of his mother were a few vague memories. A stuffed whale toy. His mother's voice singing an Iñupiat lullaby to him.

For a long time after she left him with his grandmother, he used to ask her about his mother. She would shake her head and say, “She is lost right now, Max. Her soul has gone wandering.”

As a child, he'd had nightmares about his mother being lost at sea and he would take a boat to try to find her. But he never could save her. Every once in a while they would receive a letter or postcard from her saying she hoped he was okay and always apologizing. She was always so sorry.

But not sorry enough to come back for him.

After he got older, he quit asking about her. Hate filled him. If she didn't want him, he didn't want her either. But after he came back to Barrow with his pilot's license and got his business going, he grew curious and started looking for her on his trips to Anchorage.

Until he'd finally found her a few years ago.

Twice he'd watched her leave this apartment and come back, usually with a man. But he'd never spoken to her.

He raised a hand to knock, his fist suspended in midair, his knuckles an inch from the door. Did he really want to do this? Then he saw himself sitting in that back booth getting drunk every night. And he knocked.

After a long minute, he turned away. Guess she was—

The door opened and he swiveled back to face…his mother.

She looked older than her forty-nine years. Her hair was disheveled and graying at the temples, her skin was sallow, and she wore a ratty robe that she tightened around her and clutched at her throat when she recognized him. “Max?”

“So, you know me?”

Her dark, tired eyes narrowed and she whispered, “You look just like him.”

“My dad?”

She nodded. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to ask you something.”

Shaking her head, she looked down. “I did what was best for you. There's nothing else to say.”

“It's not that. Can I come in?”

Her eyes flared wide and she hesitated, then stepped back and opened the door.

The apartment was tiny, but neat and clean. Max wandered in and glanced around while she shut the door behind him. The television was turned on to some black-and-white movie. A gray cat lay across the back of the couch. And on one wall hung a collage of photos. Of him. As a baby. As a boy. As a teen. When he graduated high school. One with Shelley. Another in front of his first plane. His grandmother must have sent them.

He spun to her. Her eyes were filled with tears. She wiped her nose with the back of hand and he noticed her hand trembled before she folded her arms across her chest.

“No pictures of Dad?”

She frowned. “Not anymore.”

“
Aanaga
says your soul went wandering.”

She raised her brows. “Mom's always been old school.”

“And you never were?”

“No.” She studied the floor. “Maybe if I had believed…”

“Before he died, Dad told me you were both just too young and couldn't handle a baby.”

Heaving a sigh, she grabbed a remote, turned off the television, then sat on a dilapidated couch. “I was only seventeen.”

“And that's when you started drinking? Because you were heartbroken over Dad? When he left us?”

“Me. When he left me.”

“And you couldn't ever get over him? And be happy without him?”
Be happy with just me?

She hunched her shoulders and closed her eyes. “It's not that simple. I was mad at the world. And by the time I realized I wasn't anymore, I'd already made a mess of my life. Made you hate me.
Then
it was too late.”

“
Aanaga
says it's never too late for a wandering soul to return.”

She grabbed a soda can off the side table and began wiggling the tab. “Return to what? You're both better off without me in your lives.” Her voice wavered. Tears spilled down her cheeks. Something about the way she wouldn't look at him and kept messing with the tab reminded him of Serena peeling the label off her beer bottle the night he met her. She'd been hedging then. Maybe his mother was too.

“If you're still drinking, that's true. If you're not…” He turned to look back at the photos of him framed and hung on the wall. “Maybe we could…see each other sometimes.”

“I'm not drinking anymore.” Her voice was tinged with hope. He met her gaze. So were her eyes. “You can check with my sponsor.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “I fly into Anchorage every month.”

“I know. A pilot. Like your dad. I—I'm glad he finally did right by you.” She rose from the couch and stepped over to him. “Tell your grandmother…” She bit her trembling lip and took a deep breath. “Thank you. For raising such a good man.”

He hadn't expected this. Wasn't sure if he wanted it. He nodded and reached for the doorknob, but she grabbed his arm.

“Maybe if I had known I had the power. To choose hate or love. I would have chosen love. Not hate. Yes, I wished I'd known that.”

He stared at her briefly, then left the apartment before he got all mushy and hugged her. He wasn't ready for that.

Setting off on foot for his motel, he strode faster and faster until he was jogging. What had he done? Did he really want to see her again? Had he gotten the answer he was looking for?

Hell, he didn't even know why he'd gone, now. What difference did any of it make? How could he choose
love when
he
had lived and not his wife and baby? Or his buddies?

He finally got to a part of town where he caught a cab back to his motel. Exhausted and shaking, he was putting the key in the lock of his room when he heard a soft thudding sound above him.

Max hesitated, then stepped back and looked up.

Hairs rose over his neck and arms.

Sitting on the roof just above his room was a snowy white owl.

It seemed as if the owl was staring straight at him with his huge golden eyes.

Max shivered. He remembered the owl and the wolf in the woods that night. Now this.

His body started quaking as he stared back at the owl. His vision blurred and the world seemed to swirl around him. What was happening?

In that instant, a sense of surrender beckoned to him. He closed his eyes, dropped his head back and opened his arms.

All right. I give in. I send my heartache away with you, Owl. I let it go.

Peace filled his soul. The world all around him calmed. Shelley, the baby, his buddies. All were at peace.

And clarity sharpened his mind. He'd always had a choice. To choose love or hate. Even when love is taken away. One can choose. He'd hated himself for a long time now. For not saving his family. For surviving.

His grandmother had chosen love. His mother had not.

But she had given him the secret to finding a wandering soul. It was to choose love.

He blinked as the owl shook out his feathered wings and took off into the night sky.

Aanaga. You knew.
His soul wandered no more. It had come home when love returned to his heart. Love for Serena. She was his future.

And he wanted his future to start right now.

“O
UR TIME
in Buenos Aires has gone by too fast. We've marveled at centuries' old architecture, tasted the outstanding cuisine, taken in the nightlife with sultry tango dancing and immersed ourselves in the exciting and exotic flavor of life in the ‘Gateway to Argentina.'”

Serena turned, following the camera's movement to pan the cityscape behind her from the roof of their hotel.

“But now we must say
adios, amigos
to the friendly people of Buenos Aires. Be sure to join us again next fall when we'll begin a whole new season. This is Serena Sandstone, with no reservations about making reservations. And remember, no matter where you go, you can always
Travel in Style!
” She held her smile while the camera lens zoomed out to the azure waters of the South Atlantic Ocean.

“And cut!” Roberta yelled. “Okay, Serena, that's a wrap.” Roberta turned to speak to her assistant, and
the crew began disassembling lighting and sound equipment.

Serena wandered back to her room, grateful to be left alone. If Roberta needed anything she could have her assistant call her cell.

As she packed her bags and checked out, she let out a deep breath, glad to be going home. She would enjoy hanging out in L.A. for the summer.

She still hadn't come up with a decent ending for her article. If only she could finish it, submit it and move on.

Once she was on the plane, she opened her laptop and tried again to write the ending. One lousy paragraph. That's all she needed. She stared at the blinking cursor and bit her lip. She needed something inspiring, or something catchy. Or preferably both.

After a movie and two chapters of a book, she gave up and tried to sleep. She'd just gotten to a light doze when the plane landed.

She dragged herself to her condo and fell onto the sofa.

And stayed there for three days.

Friends called and asked her out to parties she normally would have jumped at the chance to attend. Her mom called and expressed concern that she hadn't let them know when she got home, and was she coming for the Fourth of July barbecue?

Serena let all the calls go to voice mail. She just couldn't deal right now.

She told herself it was jet lag. Then she convinced
herself it was a natural depression she always experienced during her summer hiatus from the show. She tried getting back to yoga, but it didn't calm her as it always had in the past. She even thought about going to her Pilates class, but she couldn't muster up the energy.

Her real problem, of course, was that she missed Max. Why on earth she missed that grouchy, sullen man was beyond explanation.

Except that she'd never felt so…challenged. So needed. So in tune with another human being on such a primal level.

Max made every other man she'd dated seem shallow by comparison. What would they know of dragging an injured man through miles of freezing terrain? For most men of her acquaintance, their most hazardous ordeal was bumper-to-bumper traffic.

No television show was good enough to take her mind off Max. No Chinese takeout could feed her hunger for him.

Enough.

After three days of self-pity and an entire box of tissues, Serena rolled off the couch, shut the TV remote in the end table drawer and returned the call to her mother. Yes, she would definitely be there for the family's barbecue on the Fourth. Then she took a long, cleansing shower, fixed her hair and makeup and went out to dinner with friends.

After dinner she made herself go to a club with them, but within half an hour, she was ready to leave. As she
parked the BMW in front of her condo and got out, her cell phone rang. She checked the ID, but didn't recognize the number. But the area code was Alaska.

Her throat closed. “This is Serena,” she choked out.

“I heard you're looking for a story.” Max's deep voice had never sounded so sexy, or so dear.

“Uh, yes. I'm always ready to investigate something newsworthy.”

“Well, there's this crazy woman.”

Serena swallowed. What did he want? “Yes? Is she dangerous?”

“Only when she hides in the back of your plane.”

She smiled. “Oh?”

“Or tries to cook.”

“Hmm. I think I know this woman. Kind of pushy? Gets into your business even when you ask her not to?”

“I prefer to think of her as outgoing, and interested in solving mysteries.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and I was wondering if she might be available to interview this secretive man?”

“Well, it depends. Does this man
want
to be interviewed?”

“I think he's ready to give her an exclusive.”

Her heart beat so fast she was short of breath. “In that case, I can be on the next plane to Anchorage. Maybe he could arrange to have a plane pick me up there?”

“Oh, he already has.”

“Well, I'll need time to pack and book a flight. When will he be arriving in Anchorage?”

“The same time as you. If we leave Los Angeles tonight we can make it to Barrow by tomorrow night.”

“Wha—?”

Max stepped out from behind a thick hedgerow, his teeth flashing as he smiled at her. He dropped the phone from his ear and headed for her car.

Tears blurred her vision as Serena ran into his arms. “Oh Max!”

He held her tight and kissed her, desperate, hungry kisses. His fingers tangled in her hair.

“I can't believe you're here,” she whispered against his lips. Her arms snaked around his neck and curled into his nape. He looked so handsome. He'd cut his hair, and was still clean shaven, and was wearing a button-down dress shirt with his jeans. She'd never seen him look so sophisticated.

“Serena.” He pressed a tender kiss to her temple. “I've been lost without you.”

“Oh, Max. I missed you so much. I—”

“Shh.” He put a finger on her lips. “Let me talk first, okay?”

She nodded and he lowered his finger. The muscle in his jaw twitched and he met her gaze with eyes full of intent. “You're my soul.” His hand cupped her cheek. “My Searching One. My life. I love you. And I don't care what it takes. I'll move to Los Angeles. Or I can fly down whenever you're home. Or we can find someplace
in between. As long as I can be with you. Wherever you are is where I belong.”

“Max.” She hugged him tight around the neck, kissing him under his ear, down his jaw. “I love you, too.” She covered his mouth and poured her heart into the kiss. “You have a business in Alaska. And Evelyn. We can't leave her. And I miss those cold, snowy nights. Besides, Alaska is a part of you. And I love it because it's part of who you are.”

“Ah, Serena.” He smiled, picked her up and twirled her around. “Alaska, it is.”