Manhunt

  Six pots of dead African violets lined the windowsill. Alex felt the dirt. Dry as a bone. She watered the dead flowers and carefully flipped the eggs. She looked dismally at the sink half-filled with cold, greasy water. A swollen bread crust floated amidst other culinary flotsam. Alex made a face and stuck her arm into the water to pull the plug. “Yuck.”

  She washed her hands, then slid the eggs and muffin onto a plate just as Casey appeared in the kitchen doorway. He wore tailored black slacks, a blue dress shirt, and expensive Italian leather loafers. Alex plunked the plate on the table and sat down.

  Casey straddled a chair across from her. “Aren’t you eating?”

  “Just coffee.”

  He buttered his muffin and looked at her thoughtfully. “Why did you trade that piece of land with old Harry?”

  Alex slouched in her chair. “I don’t know. It was one of those impulse things. One day I was Alexandra Scott, career woman, urban single, then all of a sudden, I was on the road to Alaska. Have you always lived in Alaska?”

  Casey drained his glass of orange juice and nodded. “I went to school in California for a while, but I hated it.”

  “College?”

  “Berkeley. I think I set a record. I went through seven different majors in four years.”

  “What did you finally graduate with?”

  “Never graduated. In my senior year I decided I’d rather go fishing than take exams, so I left.”

  “I suppose rich people can do that sort of thing.”

  Casey chewed his muffin leisurely. “I wasn’t rich. I was poor. After college I went to work on the pipeline until I’d saved enough money to buy a big old plane. I started doing produce runs from California to Fairbanks, and it all worked out pretty well.”

  He reached for the coffeepot and filled their mugs. “I have a feeling you’re avoiding my original question.”

  Alex sighed and rested her elbows on the table. “You want me to spill my guts, huh? It’s very simple. It has to do with my biological clock. It’s running out.”

  Casey looked at her solemnly. “Uh-huh.”

  “I’m going to be thirty years old in January. Thirty years old, and I’ve never been married.”

  Casey’s face flushed under his tan. “You don’t mean you’re a… you mean you’ve never…”

  “That’s not what I mean! I mean I’ve never been married. I’ve had a few boyfriends, but my career has kept me busy.”

  “So, you’ve been too busy to… ah”—Casey waved his half-eaten muffin—“have boyfriends.”

  Alex glared at him and tapped a teaspoon on the table. “The point is that I’m almost thirty, and I’m not married. My biological clock is ticking. Pretty soon it will be too late for me to get married and have kids.”

  “What’s all this got to do with Alaska?”

  “Women are grossly outnumbered here. It’ll be easier to find a husband.” Alex leaned across the table in her enthusiasm. “And another thing. I want a healthy, caring man to father my children. I don’t want some anxiety-ridden executive who’s been sucking in pollution for the better part of his life.”

  “How romantic. What do you do—take a sperm count and ask for a psychological profile before going out on a date?”

  Alex settled back in her chair and watched him. He thought all this was pretty funny. He obviously didn’t lie awake at night feeling lonely and wishing there was someone to talk to besides a dog. He didn’t watch the babies in the supermarket and marvel at their little toes and chubby hands and ache to kiss their downy soft hair and smooth cheeks. How dare he pass judgment on her needs.

  “Okay, so how does your spec sheet read for the future Mrs. Casey? How are you going about choosing a partner?”

  Casey drained his cup and stood. “I don’t have a spec sheet. I’m not interested in finding a partner.”

  “Not at all?”

  Casey pushed newspapers aside and uncovered a slim black attaché case from the coffee table. “Not at all.”

  “I suppose that’s just as well because you’re not my type, you know. You’re all wrong.”

  “Lucky me. No offense, but I think you’re a fruitcake.” A delicious, desirable fruitcake, he silently added. He checked the contents of his briefcase, snapped it closed, threw his jacket over his arm, and grabbed a set of keys from a small hook on the wall. “I’ll be back late this evening.”

  He stood with his hand on the sliding glass door, staring down at the carpet. “Oh, hell,” he finally muttered. Turning, he set his briefcase and jacket down and reached out for Alex. He pulled her toward him and kissed her.

  He broke from the kiss, held Alex at arm’s length, and sighed in exasperation. “Promise me you won’t get lost in the woods or get eaten by a bear while I’m gone.”

  “Neither of those things was at the top of my list,” she said. “I’m going to start working on my cabin.”

  He thought that sounded safe enough as long as she didn’t use power tools or sharp objects. He retrieved his briefcase and jacket. “Help yourself to whatever you need here.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose and left.

  Alex watched him drive away. She licked her lips and took a deep breath. “Shoot. Must have been caffeine that made my heart race. Look at this, Bruno, my hands are shaking. See what too much coffee can do to you. Good thing you don’t drink it.”

  She put the dishes in the dishwasher and followed the short hallway to Casey’s bedroom. She found its decor to be similar to the rest of the house. He was for sure a slob. One corner of the room was devoted to ski equipment. A bench and weights sat in the middle of the floor. An oak night table was littered with empty yogurt cups, dirty spoons, a crushed beer can, a red wool scarf, a copy of Rod & Gun, an enormous blue jogging shoe, and a newspaper section folded to the crossword puzzle. An oak chest sported the same sort of mess.

  Alex smiled at the unmade king bed. Casey had obviously done a lot of thrashing about before deciding to join her in the tent. Either that or he hadn’t made the bed in three weeks.

  A skylight had been installed in the ceiling above the bed, and it sent smoky shafts of sunlight streaming down on the rumpled comforter and jumble of sheets. An alcove had been added to the southern side of the room to house an impressive computer setup. Again, there were windows overlooking the Alaska Range. Casey could work at the computer and watch the sun travel across the sky.

  Bruno prowled after Alex. He inched his massive body under the bed and retrieved an empty container of chicken nuggets. He slid under one more time and presented Alex with an aromatic pizza box and a slinky black silk teddy.

  Alex plucked the piece of lingerie from Bruno’s mouth and held it at arm’s length with one finger. “Look at this. I ask you, Bruno, what sort of woman would leave without her underwear. Yuck.” Alex carefully placed the teddy in the pizza box, instinctively knowing that they belonged together.

  Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over Casey’s dresser and almost screamed out loud. She looked like a bag lady. Her face was filthy, and her hair stood straight out. The electrocuted look, she grimly acknowledged. Casey was right—she needed a shower.

  Half an hour later she marched into the kitchen feeling squeaky clean and ready for a day’s work.

  “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she told Bruno. “Alexandra Scott, upwardly mobile career woman, could get away with a bagel and coffee at ten o’clock. Alexandra Scott, wilderness woman, needs a hearty breakfast at”—she looked at her watch and groaned—“seven-thirty.”

  She poured a bowl of granola and stared at it. “Nothing moving,” she observed. She pushed the raisins around with her spoon and mashed the toasted oats into the sea of milk. She sniffed it suspiciously. It smelled okay, but it was hopeless. She couldn’t eat it. Her stomach wasn’t ready for Casey’s granola. She pushed the bowl to one side, promising her body that she would treat it better tomorrow. Today she managed to pour the cereal and swirl it around a bit, tomorrow s
he would try eating it.

  She looked at the desperate rottweiler sitting at tableside. “Do you like granola?” Of course he liked granola, she thought. He liked everything, anything. The dog would eat lint.

  After Bruno had lapped up the last drop of milk, Alex went in search of tools. First priority would be to get the boards off the windows and let some air circulate through the little cabin. She selected a hammer and a small crowbar from the impressive array of equipment neatly hung on pegboards in Casey’s garage.

  “What do you think, Bruno? Does this look like window-opening stuff?”

  Three hours later she was sweating profusely, had broken three nails and ripped a hole in her designer jeans, but had all the windows open. Inside she assessed the thick wooden table occupying the middle of the floor and decided it was a hopeless eyesore.

  “Fred Flintstone furniture,” she said, putting her weight behind it, pushing and pulling until it was outside, sitting next to the discarded shutters. She sagged against the table and swatted mosquitoes, her upper lip curling at the thought of her next task. She was going to have to get rid of the moldy mattress.

  She cautiously approached the loft, kicking a path through the sawdust and cotton batting strewn on the floor. She held her breath, gritted her teeth, took a firm grip on the rotting material and pulled. In an instant the mattress was swarming with mice. Some jumped off the loft and fled, others ran helter-skelter across the mattress in panic. One bared its teeth and rose on its little haunches.

  Alex stood rooted to the spot in silent horror. One scurried across her sneakers, breaking the spell, sending her screaming out of the cabin. She didn’t stop running until she was standing in the middle of Casey’s kitchen. She took a cold beer from the refrigerator and sank into the nearest chair. “Holy cow.”

  “That’s pretty strong language.”

  “Casey?”

  He closed the patio door behind him and pitched his briefcase onto an overstuffed chair. “I pulled in just as you came barreling across the lawn. What the hell was after you? A bear?”

  “Mice.”

  “Mice? Must have been a whole herd of them to get you to move like that.”

  “More like a cabinful.” She took a swig of beer and rested the cold can against her flushed forehead. “They took me by surprise, but now it’s war. I’ll get the little devils.”

  Casey’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “You’re pretty brave for a girl from New Jersey.”

  “You think living in New Jersey is a piece of cake? You should see the rats in the New York subway system. You should try holding your own with an eighteen-wheeler on the New Jersey Turnpike. Try getting a saleslady to wait on you in Macy’s the week before Christmas.”

  “Boy, you really get steamed about New Jersey.”

  “I’m pumping myself up for the mice in my cabin. What are you doing home? I thought you weren’t coming back until tonight?”

  “The meeting was canceled—by me. I couldn’t stop worrying about you, so I came home.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I did. There’s no one else around for miles. If you broke your leg or sawed off a finger, you could yell all day, and no one would hear you. You don’t know anything about wilderness living or arctic survival. It’s dangerous for you to be here alone.”

  “Oh, pooh.”

  Casey stared at her, dumbfounded. He didn’t have an answer for “Oh, pooh.” In fact, he didn’t have an answer for anything anymore. His brain told him Alexandra Scott was a big girl, perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but his heart told him she needed to be protected. He was hopelessly infatuated with the woman, he was acting like a damn fool, and it seemed beyond his ability to change either.

  “Did you really come home just because you were worried about me?”

  “That was part of it. What really brought me back was the kiss.”

  “Well, you can stop thinking about it. There’ll be no more kisses.” Alex pushed herself away from the table and deposited the empty beer can in the trash masher.

  “What do you mean, no more kisses? You don’t just kiss a man like that, then say no more.”

  “You’re all wrong, and you’re going to mess everything up for me if we keep kissing like that.”

  “Why am I all wrong? I don’t feel wrong. I feel just right.”

  “Do you want to get married?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re all wrong,” Alex said.

  “Why can’t we fool around a little?”

  “I don’t fool around.”

  Casey shoved his hands into his pants pockets and rocked back on his heels. “How did I know that?”

  Alex smiled at his tone of grudging admiration. It would be easy to fall in love with Michael Casey, but she wasn’t going to allow herself that pleasure if he wasn’t interested in marriage. She’d come to Alaska with a definite purpose, and she wouldn’t be dissuaded from it. She grabbed a can of Raid and tucked a broom under her arm. “Death to bugs and mice.”

  Casey grimaced. “Give me a minute to change my clothes, and I’ll be down to help you.”

  At 7:00 P.M. Alex leaned against Casey’s four-by-four Ford truck and wondered if her back would ever be the same. The vertebrae no longer fit together. Tennis and aerobic dancing obviously used a different set of muscles than cabin cleaning.

  Casey tossed one last board into the back of the truck and joined Alex. “You look beat.”

  “Just pacing myself.”

  He watched her thoughtfully. “Why are you really doing this? It’s hard to believe you couldn’t find a husband in New Jersey. And why this cabin?” he said, gesturing to the little hut. “This is going to be so tough on you. Why don’t you get something more civilized?”

  Alex closed her eyes and pushed her hair away from her face. “The truth is, I couldn’t get a man in New Jersey. I had no time. I had a well-paying dream job working for a brokerage firm in Manhattan. I got up every morning at four-thirty so I could take a shower, put on makeup, and rush to catch the train from Princeton to New York. I got back to Princeton at seven o’clock at night, ate a box of Oreos and drank a glass of one percent milk, fed Bruno, and went to bed. On weekends I did my laundry, cleaned my house, shopped for next week’s Oreos, and wondered how much longer I could keep going. I owned a condo, filled with beautiful furniture and Waterford crystal… and I traded it for this!” She threw her head back and laughed. “I know it sounds crazy, but I absolutely don’t give a fig about all that crystal.”

  “You traded it all? Are you serious?”

  “Yup.”

  “Did you do this legally? With lawyers and papers and stuff?”

  “It’s not as bad as it seems. I got his business, too. He got my house and the remainder of my mortgage payments, and I got this land and his hardware store. I know it’s just a small store, but I had almost no equity in the house. Even my lawyer finally had to admit that it might not be such a bad trade.”

  “Have you seen the store yet?”

  “No. Oh, don’t tell me!” Alex sprang from the truck. “Don’t tell me the store is a bust too.”

  “Not at all. But it’s not exactly a hardware store. It’s more of a hunting and fishing store with a few nuts and bolts lying around. You like to fish?”

  Alex gave him a blank look.

  “Let me guess. You’ve never been fishing.”

  “How difficult can it be? You just sell hooks and things. And it’ll be a great way to meet… people.”

  “Oh, yeah, the boring brown-haired guy who wants to get married.” Casey shook his head. “Boring guys are smarter than you think. No boring guy in his right mind would marry a woman with hair like yours.” He playfully tugged at a dusty, renegade curl. “Only a man with a strong sense of adventure would even consider marrying you. And a sense of humor wouldn’t hurt either.”

  “My hair doesn’t usually look like this. Usually it’s very nice.”

  Casey remembered her
standing on the ramp in Juneau when her hair had been burnished by the morning sun and thought nice wasn’t even close. Her hair was glorious, luxuriant, extravagant, sexy. Definitely sexy, even in its present condition of disarray. And rumpled, he thought, like it would be after a night of loving.

  He firmly pushed the fantasy from his mind and took the truck keys from his pocket. “We’ve done about all we can with the cabin. Tomorrow I’ll work on your driveway with the chain saw. I can clear it out, but you’ll never be able to drive that little red car on it. You’re either going to have to put in a load of stone or else get a four-wheel drive.”

  “That sounds expensive.”

  Casey looked sideways at her. “Don’t tell me you haven’t any money.”

  “I’m sort of on a budget. I have money set aside for the store, and I have a little money for cabin necessities, like an outhouse. This hasn’t turned out exactly as I’d planned.”

  “You don’t seem too upset about it.”

  “I know. Isn’t that amazing?”

  Casey nodded. “Amazing. Get in the truck.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  “This is my home.”

  “This is not anybody’s home. This is a cabin that reeks of insecticide and mold killer. This is a tent that has been pitched downhill on a rockslide.”

  He pointed to his house. “That is home. That is a comfortable house with running water and furniture and food. Maybe by the end of the week this cabin will be habitable. In the meantime, you can stay with me.”

  Stay with Casey? He had a toaster, and a DustBuster, and an automatic icemaker. Very tempting. He also had a smile that made her crazy. She could eventually tear herself away from the appliances, but that smile could be addicting.

  She stiffened her spine. “I think I’ll just rough it out here,” she said, trying to sound enthusiastic.

  “You’re looney tunes.”

  “Independent,” she said, raising her chin a fraction of an inch.