Chapter Nineteen

Archer got his Anchorage passengers to Captivity a day later than planned, but had it been his airline they’d flown, he wouldn’t have brought them at all.

Two rednecks from Alabama, looking to spend a couple weeks in the wilds of Alaska, drinking, hunting bear, and getting laid. They showed up late to the airport, stinking of whiskey and weed, and pissy about the weather delay.

While loading their gear, they’d talked some truly offensive shit about native girls and Alaskan Blowholes. Once underway, informing them that they’d missed bear season by a week had given him some petty satisfaction.

It hadn’t improved their moods, nor had pointing out the fault for it lay with them and their half-assed research, which hadn’t accounted for regional variations in the state’s hunting seasons, though the Alaska Department of Fishing and Game clearly noted the existence of variations on their website. They could go north or east for bears, but come April 30th, Captivity gave the animals until the first of September to re-establish their numbers. They could take it up with the ADFG if they wanted to argue.

He made a mental note to give the sheriff’s department a heads-up, because these assholes spelled trouble of all sorts, and they were definitely going bear hunting no matter what the calendar said. He, personally, rooted for the bears.

After getting them and their gear through the terminal and off to their rental cabin and whatever ill-conceived endeavors they chose, he looked at the time and decided he still had enough of a window before his run to Juneau later in the day to swing by Bridget’s and pick up Wally. Feeling optimistic about his chances of getting her to L.A. with him, he decided to stop at his place first.

On the way out to the parking lot, his phone vibrated. A look at the screen told him Ainsley wanted to talk. He accepted, let himself into his car as her face filled the screen.

“What’s up?”

She gave him a pained smile. “I have good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Well, hell. Hit me with the good news.”

“’Kay. Dad had his lawyers crawl all over the Skyline divestiture, and the prevailing opinion is it’s airtight. There’s no hanging thread for him to pull and undo the thing.”

“I know that. But it’s good to hear he realizes it, too. Skyline’s mine. End of story. I’m out of his reach.”

“Not so fast. There’s more than one story here. Skyline’s out of his reach, but other things aren’t.”

She looked genuinely worried, which, in turn, worried him, because his sister wasn’t alarmist by nature. Still, he shook it off. He’d planned his exit very carefully. Even his father’s lawyers acknowledged there were no loose ends. He wasn’t going to get pulled back in. “Whatever he’s planning, it’s not going to work. He doesn’t have anything I want.”

“I’m not sure that’s true. You want your place on the board of Ellison Enterprises, don’t you?”

He froze in the process of starting the engine. “He can’t touch my board seat. He wouldn’t have the votes. A majority of the minority shareholders might vote with him. As for the majority shareholders, you wouldn’t support it…”

“I wouldn’t, no, but—”

“Mom.” Shit. He thumped his forehead on the steering wheel.

“She’s not interested in the details of the company. She’ll vote however he tells her to vote. With her in his corner, he’d only need to turn a couple of the minority shareholders.”

He raised his head and stared at the red shingles of the Captivity Air terminal. Something else that had slipped through his fingers.

“You cut him out of Skyline. He’ll do his best to cut you out of EE. That’s justice to him, I guess. You could talk to Mom. It’s worth a shot, right?”

“I don’t know.” Blindsided, but not at all surprised by the ruthlessness of the move, he considered his options. If he lost the board seat, he’d still have his interest in the company, just no direct say on the direction of things. Did he want to give up with a shrug and no show of concern, or fight for his stake and let his father know he gave a shit? If he did choose to fight, he’d have to come up with a better plan than running to mommy, which would be demoralizing and probably useless. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“Sorry to dump this in your lap.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate knowing what he’s up to. I owe you.”

Ainsley said nothing to that, just continued to stare pensively at him.

“What?”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I know you want out from under him, completely, but what if you tried to find a middle ground?”

“A middle ground with our father?” He laughed. “Is that what you’ve done, Ains?”

“No. I freely admit I do what he wants, and that’s mostly okay for me, because what I want tends to align with what he wants. For now, at least. But there’s a lot of distance between giving him no say in Skyline or your life and giving him some say in both. I just…” She exhaled again and shook her head. “I can’t help thinking there’s a middle ground in all that distance.”

“I’m not feeling it. Skyline’s rightfully mine. I built it. I did all the heavy lifting with no assistance from him. EE got a return on its investment in record time. I don’t need him trying to assert control over it now. As for my life, same deal. I’m nearly thirty—”

“You’re his only son, Archer. Age has nothing to do with it.”

“Not for him. I realize that, which means his desire to control me never ends until one of us is in the ground. I’m not willing to share control of my own damn life. I know what I want. I don’t give a shit that it doesn’t align with his expectations. I’ve worked too hard getting where I am to give an inch of that hard-won ground back.” And there was his answer. “There is no middle ground.” He’d fight to keep what belonged to him, and he’d take that fight up directly with his father, but he wouldn’t concede a damn thing. He’d earned his seat on Ellison’s board, through birth, yes, but also through personal sacrifice and Herculean effort put toward diversifying the company’s lines of business. His father had ultimately deemed Skyline in conflict with their core business, as Archer had predicted, mainly because he didn’t dance like a marionette at the end of his father’s strings.

“So it’s all or nothing? You’re just like him. You know that, right?”

He told himself not to take offense. Playing the role of peacemaker in their family couldn’t be easy. She wanted to help, and she saw them both as equally unreasonable. But by her own admission, she’d never stood in his shoes, and he didn’t refrain from pointing that out. “Someday, Ains, your wants and Dad’s aren’t going to align so well. You’re going to find something you’re all-or-nothing about, too. Then we can have a conversation about the illusion of middle ground.”

“Maybe.” But doubt lurked in her eyes. “You’re clever, Archer. That’s not an illusion. I hope you think of something.”

“Me, too,” he said before signing off. Resting his head against the seat, he closed his eyes and absorbed this turn of events. Big miss on his part not to see this coming. He’d expected his father would make a play to regain some degree of control over Skyline, and when that proved ironclad, the Chairman would what? Let it be?

He raised his head, rubbed his hands over his eyes, and stared at the sunlight gleaming on the deep blue water of the cove, bouncing off whitecaps the wind kicked up. He’d given up a lot—including precious time—to get where he was now. And where he was now was so tantalizingly close to where he wanted to be, he could practically feel the future falling into place. His father wanted to try and yank something important out of that future? The old man would find the war he’d started brought to his doorstep, because Archer wasn’t surrendering anything more. Four years of his life and everything that had gone along with it was enough.

He thought of Bridget’s unguarded expression when she’d found the sweatshirt in his closet—an expression she’d assumed he hadn’t seen because who would put a security camera in a closet? A person with a gun safe in the closet, that’s who. The shirt and all the memories it held still meant something to her. He still meant something. They still meant something. It mattered.

No, he resolved as he started the engine, he wouldn’t give up anything that mattered without a fight. Including her.

Ready to continue the battle, he swung by his house, showered off the stink of his morning passengers, changed into jeans, a T-shirt, and the Stanford hoodie currently up for custody. It held a trace of her scent now. He enjoyed the ghost of her presence on the drive over to her house.

Key barked and came running when he knocked. The dog’s furry face smiled at him through the glass. Bridget came more slowly, opened the door, and as expected, honed in on the hoodie. Standing back, holding Key by the collar, she made room for him to enter.

“Chilly out there,” he said and deliberately eyed her gray drawstring sweats and oversize white V-neck. He stuck his hands into the pocket of the hoodie. “You could probably do with something warmer than a T-shirt.”

She rolled her eyes and shut the door. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

“You’re not the first person today to accuse me of being clever, but honestly, it’s hit and miss. I’m coming off a pretty big miss, actually.”

Bridget glanced back at him as she led the way to the kitchen. “The return flight sucked?”

“Nothing like that.” He gave himself a mental shake. Spilling his guts to her about the fucked-up situation with his father wasn’t part of his plan. “The flight went fine. I guess,” he hedged, thinking about the two passengers he’d just as soon have ejected over Big Kat than brought to Captivity. Key’s jingling collar tag filled the silence as the dog followed them into the kitchen.

“You guess?” Frowning, she leaned against the kitchen counter and gestured him to a seat at the island. Sunlight slanted through the window and put a glow around her. It made her T-shirt a little transparent, too. “Something wonky with the Beaver?”

“No.” He came around the island and leaned against it, opposite her. Wally jumped out of the dog bed and wandered over. “The plane’s perfect.” He scooped the kitten up and tucked her into the hoodie pocket. “I wanted to punch the passengers, though. I hauled over a couple good ole boys from ’Bama, up here to shoot bear out of season, shoot their mouths off while they’re at it, piss everyone off, and probably end up in a cell before they’re done.” Wally rolled onto her back and got comfortable in her sweatshirt hammock. “I couldn’t think of a way to save everyone the trouble.”

She waved that away. “No need. We’re used to those guys. I mean, not them, per se, but summer people come in all personalities and ideologies. Some are wonderful. Some are batshit. The citizens of Captivity deal with both and make money either way. But I can give the sheriff a heads-up about them potentially hunting out of season.”

“I put that on my to-do list, actually.”

She straightened. “I’ll take care of it. It won’t win me any popularity contests with the chamber of commerce types, who live in fear of anybody doing anything that might negatively impact tourism to our fine town, but it’s the kind of thing Trace would do, which probably makes it my job for the duration.”

“Okay. Thanks.” Going on impulse, he reached out and snagged the V of her T-shirt, tugging her closer.

Her brows lifted.

“Did you know with the sun behind you like it is, this shirt’s kinda see-through?”

She looked down, then back at him. “I’m decent. But if you don’t like it, maybe you should give me something to wear over it?”

He felt his mood lightening. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” To prove how much he liked it, he ran his finger along the smooth swell of flesh above the cup of her bra, incredibly satisfied to watch her eyes go dark and goose bumps rise on her skin.

Her body leaned toward his. Her lips parted. “Archer…”

“Uh-huh?”

Fingers dug possessively into the front of the hoodie. “Take your cat and leave my sweater.”

“Seems I’m not the only clever one.”

She grinned, very pleased with herself.

“Does this mean I have a date to L.A. Friday after next?”

“That’s what it means. I’ll be your trophy. The exclamation point on your declaration of independence.” Her grin stretched into something mildly cynical. “Or the flame that lights the match that burns the bridge between you and your father. I haven’t quite figured out what it is you truly expect my presence to accomplish.”

His chest tightened, but he made sure his own smile never faltered. “I guess I’ll say it again, then. I want him to understand what matters to me. I want you to understand, too. Is my reason getting through?”

He expected her to say no, or maybe yes. He didn’t expect her to ignore the question, but she replied with, “Are you taking the Cirrus?”

That was probably a no. No, his reasons didn’t matter to her. His toy mattered to her. Disappointing, but only because he’d let himself want too much from her, too soon. She was coming, spending time with him away from her environment, and there was at least one aspect of the trip she looked forward to. He had to take that as a win and give Bridget her due. “I am. Here, hold this…” He dug Wally out of the pocket and handed her to Bridget. She snuggled the small cat against the front of her shirt, and he felt a moment of envy. He swept the hoodie over his head, tossed it over his shoulder, then held his hands out for the cat.

She transferred the furball to him. He placed her paws-down on the kitchen floor and straightened. Two wary violet eyes watched him take the sweatshirt, scrunch it up from the hem in his fists. Her head tipped as he held it above her, then those eyes zoomed back to him. “I’ve been dressing myself for years. I don’t need help—”

He ignored her and drew it down over her head. When her face popped into the opening in the hood, but before she worked her arms into the sleeves, he grabbed a handful of the shirt, reeled her in, and brushed his lips over hers. Once. Twice. When hers parted, he went in for a third, longer kiss and rode it out until she leaned into him, letting him support her, and returned the kiss beat-for-beat.

This was time travel, right here, necking in the middle of the day, in a lazy stream of sunlight, half of whatever she was wearing straight out of his closet. Her hands landed on his biceps, which told him she’d managed to get her arms into the sleeves, and something in the way they rested there, poised to push some distance between them, told him she’d felt that same tug of nostalgia. Nostalgia she wasn’t particularly comfortable with. God, he really had swallowed her whole back then, and clearly, she didn’t want to get swallowed again. He pushed the hood back and sank his fingers into her hair.

She wouldn’t get swallowed. This time around there were important differences. The main one being they were both older and more experienced, but another being they were necking in her kitchen, in her home, in Captivity. This time he’d arranged his life for hers, not vice versa. This time he could, and that wasn’t going to change. But sensing her tension, he ended the kiss slowly, drawing back in increments until their lips barely touched. He stared into her eyes and ran his hands down her body, smoothing the sweatshirt so it fell to her hips.

“I still like the way you look in my sweatshirt.”

“My sweatshirt,” she corrected but didn’t move to put more space between them. Instead, she lowered her eyelids until her dark lashes shielded her eyes, then lifted them slowly and hit him with a velvety soft gaze. “So, about the Cirrus…”

Ah. That’s why she hadn’t stepped back. She had wheedling to do. Fixing a patient smile on his face, he responded, “What about it?”

“I could fly it to L.A., or back. You owe me the chance to pilot her, anyway, so might as well let me take a leg, right?”

“Tell you what. We’ll discuss who does the flying that Friday, provided Dr. Devan says you’re cockpit-worthy.”

A light-the-world smile split her face. “She will. I’m being good, following doctor’s orders, taking my supplements, doing my stretches.”

He tapped her nose. “Glad to hear it.”

Now she did step back, but just enough to give a little bounce of excitement. “Hot damn. Wing and Mad may have beaten me to the cockpit, but I get to fly that fine girl. The guys are going to be so jealous.” She twirled away to gather Wally’s food and water bowls from across the room.

“You should be thankful neither of them wanted to accompany me to L.A.”

Her laughter preceded her to the kitchen sink, where she dumped the water and emptied the few crumbs of remaining kibble into the trash. “You didn’t ask either of them.”

Enjoying teasing her, he leaned back against the counter, facing her, and crossed his arms. “You were my third choice.”

“Ha. I was your best choice.” Reaching into a cabinet beside the sink, she pulled out a canvas shopping bag, flicked it open, and put the kitten’s bowls inside. “Wing’s a total mechanic in the air. He’s all about the readings and the engine performance. Mad’s a good pilot. He’s smooth, reliable, and has some truly excellent moves, but he’s not gonna push the envelope the way some of us do.”

Listening to her compliment her ex, however innocuously, got to him. He wasn’t proud of the feeling, but there it was. He waited until she returned from the pantry with Wally’s food and put it in the bag before he stepped behind her, turned her around, and hemmed her in by resting a hand on the counter, on either side of her. “You prefer a push-the-envelope kind of pilot?”

He didn’t really even know where he was going with this, but awareness immediately sparked in her eyes. She knew what he was about. “Sometimes, I do. Sometimes I appreciate smooth and reliable. I’m entitled to both.”

“Not at the same time, you’re not.”

Her chin lifted, and she gave the center of his chest a little jab with her index finger. “Back off, Archer. And dial your testosterone down a notch. He’s a friend, first and foremost, and I’m not the kind of person who fucks up a friendship. I’ve never broken any hearts.”

That didn’t quite get him where he wanted to be, but it reinforced what he already knew. Wherever he wanted to be, he was going about it wrong, right now. Even so, he leaned in and fused his mouth to hers, poured every bit of his frustration into something too overtly claim-staking to be called a kiss. Her hands strayed to his biceps again, but this time her fingers dug in. Screw patience. Screw evolution. Maybe his way of going about it wasn’t so wrong, after all. When she broke away to breathe, he caught her chin and held her gaze. “My heart breaks every day just looking at you.”

Her breath faltered. “Then don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t look at me.”

Yep. That would be her answer. As much as it killed him, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. “It’s no good. My heart broke worse all those days I couldn’t look at you.”

She didn’t have a response to that, which he considered a win because she could have easily and, for the most part, correctly disclaimed any responsibility for her absence from his life over the last four years. All she’d done was chosen not to keep in touch, and he understood her reasons. It was a little harder to understand why Wally chose that moment to dig her claws into his jeans and start climbing his calf. “By the way”—he eased back from Bridget, gave her room to move—“the song goes, ‘Take your cap, and leave my sweater.’”

She blinked but shifted gears. “Not cat? Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Google it. But I will take my cat.” Reaching down, he peeled her off his leg and dropped her to the hardwood, then lifted the bag of supplies from the counter. “I need to get her settled at my place before I make the Juneau run.”

“Oh. Right.” Absently, she scratched her chin. “I forgot you had another run today.” Pushing away from the counter, she walked with him to the door. “But I won’t forget to call the sheriff about the guys you brought over this morning.”

“Thanks.” At the door, he crouched to pick Wally up, but before he could, Key came running from parts unknown, barking like a guard dog scaring off intruders. Before Archer could guess what the Husky had in mind, the big dog picked Wally up by the scruff and ran away.

“What the…”

“Shit.” Bridget started to race after the dog, then thought better of it, stopped, and yelled, “K’eyush, get your furry butt back here, right now.”

The Husky peeked his head out from the other end of the entry hall, still holding the kitten in his mouth.

Bridget crossed her arms and tapped a foot. “Bring Wally.”

Reluctantly, ears and tail low, Key complied, stopping in front of Bridget.

“Put her down.”

Key whined.

Bridget stood firm and shook her head. “No. She’s not yours.”

Key put the kitten down. Wally immediately threaded herself between the dog’s front legs and purred. He whined again and cocked his head, as if to say, “See?”

“You guys are friends now, and that’s awesome, but Wally belongs to Archer, and he has to take her home.” Turning to him, she laughed. “Wally played hard to get, and it worked. He’s fallen for her.”

“Hard to get, huh?” Maybe that should be the next phase of his win-Bridget-back plan?

Thank you, Wally.

Crouching, he gave Key’s head a rub and picked Wally up. “Mine,” he said, still petting the dog. “But we’ll work out some playdates.”

Turning to Bridget, he wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her close. “Mine,” he repeated and kissed her lips lightly. “We’ll work out some playdates, too.”