Chapter Fourteen

Izzy hung a right at the address Bridget had given her and pulled up the driveway to a towering home of multipaned glass and natural shingles, rising from stone footings. She stopped in front of a detached garage built in the same style, if not the same era, as the house, in time to watch the sun slip behind the tallest of three staggered peaks in the home’s roofline, throwing shadows over the thickly framed white-trimmed windows and porch. The architectural cross between a lodge and a Cape Cod looked as indigenous to the landscape as the tall spruces and cottonwoods it stood tucked amongst, right down to the smoke curling from one of the three stacked stone fireplaces.

As she sat there, taking it in, Bridget stepped out of a side door—a human beacon in a bright red puffer vest—and strolled over to the Yukon. Izzy cranked the heat up and lowered the window.

“Welcome to our little cabin in the woods.”

“Little? No. But it’s beautiful.”

Bridget shrugged. “It’s home.” She leaned close to the open window and pointed down inside the car. “There’s a garage clicker hooked to the pocket at the base of your door.”

Izzy reached down. “Got it.” She pressed the button. Lights flicked on, and the big door on the right side of the generous, three-car garage slowly lifted.

“Pull on in. I’ll be right behind you.”

Izzy did as instructed, parking next to another Captivity Air and Freight Yukon that was pretty much a twin to the one Trace had left for her. The third bay stood empty. Bridget walked over to the wall and depressed a button to raise that door and lower the one she’d just driven through.

“For Lilah,” she explained as Izzy hopped down from the Yukon and slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Did you pack a bag?”

“I did, but I may not actually stay the night. My body’s just now getting used to my bed at the inn. I don’t want to throw my sleep routine another curveball.”

“Happy to play that by ear, but let’s bring it inside anyway, so you have your stuff handy if you decide to stay.”

“Okay.” She walked to the trunk and popped the hatch. Before she could reach in and grab her nylon tote, Bridget did the honors, slinging it over her shoulder and heading toward the house.

“Come on in. I just opened a very nice bottle of Cab that came highly recommended—and highly free—from a friend of mine in the restaurant business in Juneau.”

Izzy followed her hostess to the side door. From inside, she heard a volley of excited barks. Bridget pushed through the door first, laughing. “Yes, Key. It’s Izzy. Izzy’s here.” Reaching down with one hand, she simultaneously patted his plush head and pushed him back. “You gotta make room, boy, so she can come inside.”

Obediently, the Husky put it in reverse, sort of dancing backward. “Woof!”

“Hi, Key.” She reached out and patted the sides of his head, just below his black-trimmed ears. “Good to see you, handsome boy.” Inside turned out to be what she’d call a mudroom. White trim work rose three-quarters of the way up the walls, punctuated at half-foot increments by silver hooks holding a colorful assembly of coats, hats, and other outerwear, along with one dedicated to leashes. Built-in benches below provided storage as well as a place to sit and deal with boots and shoes. One corner of the small room housed a collection of snowshoes, poles, and some gear she didn’t have a name for.

“Make yourself at home,” Bridget said, gesturing to some empty hooks, before she placed Izzy’s bag on a bench and shrugged out of her vest. What her long, lithe body did for a thin black hoodie and black cotton leggings made Izzy want to sigh. How liberating would it be to go through life so effortlessly runway-ready?

“Lilah should be along soon.”

“Ri-rah!”

Bridget winked at her. “Who’s your girlfriend, Key?”

“Ri-rah!

Izzy hung her parka, took her phone out of her purse and slid it in the back pocket of her jeans, and then hung her purse as well. “You know, I’d never heard of a talking dog before I met Key.” She followed Bridget through a high-ceilinged entryway, past a wide central staircase that led to the second floor, and into a bright, enormous kitchen awash in soft white surfaces and light blue accents.

“The trick with Key isn’t getting him to talk. It’s getting him to shut up. Have a seat.” She gestured to a large, marble-topped island surrounded by low-backed stools. On it sat the open bottle of wine and two glasses. “Key, bed.”

The dog trotted over to a big, tan fleecy bed by a nook that held a fancy coffee machine and, above that, wine storage.

“He’s very well trained.” She nodded when Bridget picked up the bottle and raised a brow at her.

“He had to be,” Bridget replied as she poured two glasses. “Size-wise, he’s kind of a monster of malamutes. Even as a puppy, all you had to do was take one look at his paws to know the animal that grew into them would be huge.”

“Well, you’ve done a really good job with him.”

That observation earned her an odd smile. “I can’t take all the credit. Raising Key was a group effort.” She slid one glass toward Izzy and held her own aloft. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Izzy touched her glass to Bridget’s, drank, then said, “Thanks for inviting me tonight.”

“It’s the least I could do. For every file you organize, that’s one I’ll never have to deal with.” She clinked Izzy’s glass again and drank. “But honestly, I’m glad we’re able to spend some time together. You’re important to Trace, which makes you important to me.”

Heavy guilt draped her, as prickly and stifling as a burlap blanket. “I—”

“Ri-rah!” Key jumped up and darted out of the kitchen.

“Oop. Hold that thought. Let me see if Lilah needs help. Be right back.”

Alone with her troubled conscience, Izzy took a gulp of wine. Soon she heard the door close, and the commotion of Key loudly greeting his best girl. Lilah’s muted, melodic responses brought a smile to her lips. Such a contrast. Then they were back, Key leading the way, Bridget and Lilah both carrying to-go bags from the Goose.

More contrasts, there. Bridget’s dramatic beauty—her model-perfect body in unrelenting black, a raven’s wing of spikey bangs over twilight-blue eyes, and a light-the-world smile—next to the serene loveliness of coltish Lilah in slim jeans and a chunky ivory sweater, with her long, sun-kissed brown waves, moss-green eyes, and traces of her mother’s Native ancestry in the slant of her cheekbones and generosity of her lips.

“Hi, Izzy,” she said, and placed her bag on the counter. “So nice to see you.”

“Good to see you, too. And thanks for bringing dinner.”

“Thank you for paying for it. Ford told me you’d instructed him to charge it to your credit card.”

“It was the least I could do. Bridget supplied the venue, and you volunteered to play GrubHub. I figured you ladies would appreciate me covering dinner more than you’d appreciate me attempting to provide the entertainment for the evening. My karaoke game is not strong.”

“Damn,” Bridget joked. “Now she’s off the hook for the singing and dancing portion of the evening.”

“Another time,” Lilah teased, and took a clamshell box from her bag. She gave it to Izzy while Bridget filled glasses of water from the fridge. “One Skinny Izzy, just how you like it. Ford officially added it to the board.”

More guilt. “Thanks. And thanks,” she went on when Bridget placed a glass of water by her glass of wine.

“One double ultimate burger…”

“Gimme.” Bridget said, and slung herself onto a barstool to Izzy’s right. Lilah handed the box over.

“And one more Skinny Izzy.” Lilah pulled the last box from her bag.

With her burger halfway to her lips, Bridget stopped and looked over at her friend, eyes wide. “Why?”

That would have been Izzy’s question, too. She opened her own box and looked down at her plain, bun-less patty. Ford, or someone else at the Goose, had dabbed a Dijon mustard happy face on the thing, but even so, were it not for her painful past experience with the perils of a high-fat, high-carb diet, she wouldn’t necessarily choose to eat this way.

Lilah raised one narrow shoulder and let it drop. “My stomach has been touchy lately. I decided to give it a little break.”

Around a gigantic bite of her burger, Bridget said, “I feel sorry for you, girl. At least Izzy can have wine.”

Lilah’s lips curved just enough for her dimples to flirt with her cheeks. She dug into the second bag and produced another to-go box. “I did say it was a little break.” She opened the box to reveal a large order of golden, thick-cut fries. “My deal with myself was if I had the reasonable dinner, I could have a third of these.” She pushed them to the middle of the island, in front of Izzy.

“Hot damn.” Bridget transferred a handful to the lid section of her to-go box. “I like the way you think.”

“Please, have some,” Lilah said to Izzy.

“Seriously. Get ’em while they’re hot,” Bridget urged. “You haven’t tasted fries ’til you’ve tasted Ford’s. I swear, I don’t know what that man does to a potato, but if he’s half as skilled in the bedroom as he is in the kitchen, I’m having his babies.”

Lilah had to press a hand to her face to keep from spurting the mouthful of water she’d just drank. Izzy laughed, but shook her head. “I really shouldn’t.” God, they smelled good. Salty, peppery, and something else. Vinegar? Her mouth watered. In defense, she took a swallow of her wine.

“They’re orgasmic,” Bridget insisted. “Come on. Live a little. When’s the last time you had a French fry?”

“Um…I’m not sure. Even longer than the last time I had an orgasm.”

Lilah murmured, “Oh, no,” but Bridget burst out laughing. Long, unbridled laughter. She was wiping tears from her cheeks before she got herself under control. “Woo, God. I’m so sorry. I’ll let Trace know he has some work to do. Someone ought to. Where’s my phone? I’ll text him now.”

Dammit!

Lilah said, “Bridget,” in a stern tone that could have come straight from her mother.

“I meant, before Trace, of course.” Dammit all to hell. “Since Trace I have them all the time.” She drank again, shocked to realize she’d just downed the last of her wine. “All the time. So many orgasms, I’ve lost count.”

Bridget nodded, but continued to battle laughter. “Well, that’s a relief.” She refilled Izzy’s glass.

“You know what? I believe I will try a French fry after all.” She took a small one from the trove and bit into it. Chewed. “Oh.” Eyes closed, she savored the second half. “That is so good.”

Always helpful, Lilah transferred a generous portion to her to-go box. “They are good. My mother always says to indulge constantly takes the special and makes it ordinary, but a small treat, on occasion, helps us remember to enjoy our lives.”

Izzy ate another fry and sighed. “Your mother is a wise woman.”

Bridget held up her wineglass. “To Rose’s wisdom, and Ford’s fries.”

Izzy raised her glass, Lilah her water, and they toasted. Then Lilah said, “Ford included dessert with his compliments.”

Bridget froze. “Fuck me. Not the brownie.”

Lilah nodded. “Yes.”

“You tell Ford Langley, the next time you see him, that Bridget Shanahan is definitely having his babies.”

“He wants five. Maybe six.”

Eyes wide, Bridget took a gulp of wine. “Uh. We’ll discuss numbers.”

Lilah waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll let him know. But he says you’re not ready to settle down.”

“Well, not now, but…”—Bridget made a vague gesture, sloshing the liquid in her glass precariously—“…someday. Anyway, let’s have the brownie on the patio and then hit the hot tub.”

“Hot tub?” Izzy frowned. Where had that come from?

“Yep. On the patio. I already lit the outside fireplace and cranked up the thermostat to heat the water. All I have to do is take the cover off and we’re good to go. It’s a perfect night for it. Not cloudy. Not too cold.”

Cold was a relative thing. The temperature tonight, according to the dashboard display in the Yukon, hovered around freezing. She popped another fry into her mouth, chased it with some wine. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“No suit necessary,” Bridget rebutted. “It’s just us girls.”

“Oh. Okay.” Maybe it was the wine talking, but brownie and hot tub sounded great. If you’re going to pay later for a night of indulgence, might as well indulge, right?

“I’ll just dangle my feet,” Lilah said, closing her to-go box and tossing it in the empty bag. “Wrong time of the month for me.”

“There’s your tummy trouble.” Bridget poked a fry at her. “Lilah, young grasshopper, there are ways to skip all this monthly bullshit—”

“My mother wouldn’t like—”

“I love Rose. You know I do. But you’re twenty. Your body is your business, not your mom’s. This should be between you and Dr. Devan.”

“I live under her roof.” She folded her hands on her lap. “The least I can do is respect her wishes.”

Even Izzy couldn’t miss the note of sadness in the younger woman’s voice. Did Lilah, by all appearances a loving and devoted daughter to an equally loving and devoted mother, wish for more independence? More choice in her destiny? A release from Captivity? She was such a self-contained individual, Izzy doubted she’d share those personal desires if she did indeed harbor them, and feared asking would only put the girl in an uncomfortable position.

Bridget tossed her to-go box in the bag and brushed her hands off. “Lilah, you are the world’s best daughter, and Rose would be the first to say so.” She picked up the wineglasses and moved them to the sink. “Now, grab that brownie and get your butt out to the patio. Izzy, you’re in charge of the wine. I’ll fetch some towels and plastic glasses and be right out.”

Lilah smiled at Izzy as Bridget sailed out of the kitchen.

“Bossy,” Izzy said, and took the open bottle of wine.

“Bridget is very much her own person,” Lilah diplomatically agreed as she lifted the brownie box from the other bag and three napkin-wrapped plastic forks. “It’s this way.”

Key padded over to lead their expedition to the patio and the sight of his thick fur made Izzy pause. “Should I get my coat?”

Lilah shook her head. “No need. They keep blankets out there.”

Even knowing consumption of alcohol offered a false sense of heat, Izzy hugged the bottle of wine. For an evening of Cabernet, chocolate, and girl talk, she found herself ready to risk hypothermia. The kitchen opened to a dining room, which, in turn, opened to a large living room with a couple oversized couches, a huge ottoman that doubled as a coffee table, and two upholstered chairs all arranged around a massive stone fireplace.

“Through here,” Lilah directed, and opened one side of a double-hung French doors. Izzy stepped out onto a bluestone patio that extended several feet—almost to the stacked stone retaining wall along the back of the property beyond which the tree-studded hillside rose like a dark tidal wave of wilderness reaching toward the star-strewn sky. As promised, a fire crackled in a large stone fireplace that appeared to share a wall with the one in the living room. This one had a raised firebox and a stone bench of a hearth, wide enough for seating. Low-slung Adirondack chairs formed a semi-circle around the hearth, their natural wood finish glowing gold in the firelight. Key laid down on the stone between the hearth and the chairs and yawned before settling his head on his crossed front paws.

Landscape lighting around the perimeter of the yard revealed a small lake of a hot tub integrated into the patio. Beneath a long-beamed pergola, an outdoor kitchen and grill that probably didn’t see a lot of use in March bounded one side of the space, while the other remained open to a shadowy expanse of yard.

“Wow.” Izzy eyed the trees. “We’re really in the woods here.”

“Don’t worry.” Bridget strode through the door and placed a stack of towels on the hearth, along with a bottle of water and two plastic wine tumblers. “We don’t get a lot of geese this time of night. Did she show you the pictures?” she asked Lilah.

The younger woman shook her head. “Pictures?”

“Oh my God.” Bridget turned to Izzy. “You have to show her.”

Izzy took her phone out of her pocket. “The day I got chased by the geese, I triggered them by trying to take a selfie with them at Seward Square. When I ran, I had my thumb on the button.” She called up the camera roll and handed it to Lilah. “I captured a rapid-fire collection of my wild goose chase.”

Lilah took the phone, scrolled past the first picture, the second. She was a polite girl, but by the third her lips started to twitch. Bridget stepped behind Lilah to see the pictures again and didn’t even attempt to hold back her laughter. “Dammit, that abject terror on your face.” She rubbed her diaphragm. “I say we put that shot on our brochures. We’d either double the tourism or have the place to ourselves all summer.”

Lilah giggled. “The flurry of wings behind you, and your wide eyes here…it does look really funny.”

Izzy laughed. “I know. I realize I’m the only person in the history of Captivity to provoke geese to murderous behavior, but”—she raised her face to the air and breathed in tranquility—“I think you all owe me a debt for showing you the winged psychopaths you harbored in your midst.”

Lilah nodded and handed the phone back to her. “I’ve lived here all my life and never known geese could be so dangerous. How can we thank you?”

She lifted the bottle she held. “The wine helps.”

Bridget reached around and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You’re safe for the night. We’ve gotten not a single goose at any of our hot tub parties.”

“What do you get?” Izzy passed the wine bottle to Bridget’s outstretched hand and then ran her palms up and down her arms to quell the goose bumps forming beneath her thick sweater. “Wolves? Elk? Bears?”

“D,” Bridget answered. “All of the above.” She opened one of the cabinets nestled under the prep surface of the kitchen area and produced three rolled blankets. Tossing one to Izzy and one to Lilah, she went on in the careless manner of someone who didn’t find living in the midst of the wild kingdom the least bit unsettling. “But wolves and elk are shy—especially with Key around—and the bears are hibernating. More wine?”

“As much as it takes to make me forget about wolves, elk, and bears.” Izzy unfurled the plaid wool blanket and sat on the hearth with her back to the fire, relieved to discover it actually was pretty toasty. Lilah took the closest Adirondack chair and handed her one of the napkin-wrapped forks. “Chocolate is a natural anxiety-buster.”

She opened the to-go box to reveal a thick block of flakey, fudgy heaven.

“Sweet Jesus,” Izzy whispered. Just the scent—she paused to inhale sweet, rich, buttery cocoa—sent her mood soaring. “Where have you been all my life?” She took a forkful and brought it to her lips. If there was hell to pay tomorrow, she’d pay it. Gladly. Committed, she took the first bite and groaned. “Oh damn. That is…I have no words…”

“I know, right?” Bridget placed a tumbler of wine on the hearth next to Izzy, then placed her own tumbler on the armrest of the empty chair beside Lilah, sat, and dug her fork into the treat. After one long-savored bite, she swallowed and sighed. “Fuck it. Tell Ford I’ll agree to plural kids if he’ll make this for me once a week.”

“Five. Maybe six kids,” Lilah reminded her as she enjoyed a bite as well.

“Done,” Bridget said.

Key raised his head and whined. Lilah petted him. Bridget gave a stern, “Nope. Sorry, Key. No chocolate for dogs.”

A long, soul-deep howl of protest—of the fundamental unfairness of life—filled the air, slowly died away, only to echo back at them from the surrounding woods. Poor Key.

All too soon Izzy was licking chocolaty residue from her fork. “God, that was good.” Wine couldn’t compete with Ford’s brownie. Her sense of contentment had never been more firmly seated.

“All right, girls.” Bridget bounced up and strode over to fold the insulated top off the hot tub. She knelt to fiddle with some built-in control panel and, seconds later, submerged lights flickered on beneath steaming, bubbling water. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a soak. If you’re in, ditch your clothes, grab a towel, and get ready for the best stress reliever I’ve found that doesn’t involve high-grade THC or an energetic dick.”

Hiltz, Hecker, & Reynolds frowned upon the use of any-grade THC, and dick, energetic or otherwise, was off-limits to her for the duration of her time in Captivity. Since that left the hot tub as her only option, she refilled her wine and began to strip. By the time she had herself wrapped in a towel, Lilah sat on the edge of the tub, draped in a blanket, dangling her bare legs in the bubbling water. Bridget walked over, sipping her wine, then dropped her towel and eased her enviable body into the water as naturally as a mermaid returning to the sea. When it bubbled around her shoulders, she sighed and tipped her head back to stare at the sky.

Izzy turned to Lilah. “Is it wrong to hate her?”

“It’s normal.” Lilah aimed an affectionate grin at her friend. “We all hate her.”

“Oh, right,” Bridget said, not bothering to look at them. “Like either of you would trade places with me. Solo at twenty-five—which is toeing the border of spinster city around these parts—college dropout, a career on autopilot, still living at home. Another fifteen or twenty years and I won’t even have my looks anymore. I’ll just be eccentric, old Bridget Shanahan, bush pilot and infamous old maid of Captivity.”

Izzy lowered her towel and stepped down into the water. Blissfully warm, she spared a moment to mentally moan in contentment. Fortifying herself with another sip of wine, she asked, “Would you ever want to leave Captivity?”

Bridget raised her head and focused on her. “No,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet in her response. “I went away to college. Three years at Stanford, believe it or not. And I was miserable. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing there, and then, for a while, I thought I did have my purpose in life figured out, but I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Finally, I just…gave up. I wanted to come home, so I did.”

“Okay, but just because you don’t have a degree doesn’t mean your career has to be on autopilot.” This was as close to a hint as she could drop, and she needed to proceed with caution. “If you’re interested, I’m sure Trace would be ecstatic to have you take a more active role in the running of the business…”

Bridget laughed. “I like to fly. I like the passengers—most of the time—but the rest of it?” She crossed her eyes. “Trace is so much better at it than I am, and we work each other’s last nerve whenever we try to redefine our roles. I’ll let him do what he does best, and I’ll keep doing what I do.”

“But what if…” Careful Izzy. “What if Trace wanted to expand the business, or, I don’t know, do something else?”

Bridget’s expression turned serious. “Something in L.A. for example?”

Shit.

“No. I mean, he’s never said anything like that to me. Moving to L.A.—or moving anywhere, for that matter—isn’t something we’ve discussed.” All true. “He asked me to come here, so I came.” Also true, in a matter of speaking, though a lot less personal than it sounded. “I don’t think he’s particularly comfortable in L.A.” Based solely on one story about driving on the freeway, but still, a reasonable conclusion.

“It doesn’t matter. Honestly.” Bridget’s voice radiated sincerity. “If Trace wanted to do any of those things, I wouldn’t stand in his way. I’d try to support his goal. He’s my big brother.” Her voice turned thick. “I want him to be happy.”

Key wandered over and nosed Bridget’s cheek. She made a kiss sound at him, and murmured, “Good dog.” He nosed her cheek again and then switched over to Lilah and rested his head on her thigh.

“I’d like you both to be happy.” Also true, maybe because right now, in this light, Bridget’s eyes held the same shadow of sadness she sometimes saw in Trace’s.

The next instant, Bridget smiled and rolled her eyes, and any hint of sadness disappeared. “Look, I think I accidentally threw myself a pity party a minute ago, and I don’t mean to. I’m a lucky person in most ways. There are many things about my life I wouldn’t change. If it feels a little stagnant sometimes, well”—her lips curved into a sly smile—“all I have to do is hop on over to Juneau or Anchorage and shake things up for the night. Or the weekend. During the high season, I can sit back and see what kind of excitement crosses my path right here. Besides.” She sank a little deeper into the water and rested her head back again. “Things change whether I make a move or not. Right now, I’m sitting in the hot tub with a woman I’ve known since she wore diapers, and a woman I’ll probably be calling my sister by this time next year.”

Izzy didn’t know what to say to that, but apparently Key did. He raised his snout skyward and let loose a wailing, plaintiff, “Aaayyyy!”

Despite the hundred-degree water, she shivered. “What was that?”

The dog returned his head to Lilah’s lap, but sort of burrowed against the front of her sweater. Lilah jolted like a child caught in the midst of breaking a rule. She jumped up and clipped her fingers through Key’s collar. “I’ll take him inside.”

Bridget sent her friend a curious look before settling back against the stone surround. “He does that sometimes.”

“He howls…yay?”

Bridget sighed. “Shay. He howls Shay.”

“Oh.” She contemplated that with her very wine-soaked brain cells. “Like shea butter or shea oil? Why does he want shea?”

Now Bridget aimed a long, assessing look at her, along with a pregnant silence. Finally, she said, “Dogs are funny creatures, with limited powers of expression. People, too, sometimes. This is a question you should put to Trace. He’ll know.” She lifted the nearly empty bottle. “More wine?”

Feeling like she’d somehow stuck her foot in her mouth, Izzy grasped at the olive branch even though her buzz now tipped toward drunk. “Sure.” She held out her cup. “Thanks.”

Bridget poured a splash in Izzy’s cup, then topped off her own, and held it out. “Let’s finish these and then I’ll show you to Trace’s room. I don’t think you’re driving tonight. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” she murmured, and tapped her cup to Bridget’s, but her mind raced ahead, to Trace’s room. Trace’s bed.

Bedtime stories.