Forever Wild(6)

Jonah stoops to tuck a log into the woodstove, muttering, “He should have stayed there, then.”

“So, not only do you make your mother fly halfway across the world if she wants to see you, but now you want her to do it alone?” Bj?rn snipes back.

“If you’re going to complain for the next two weeks, then yeah. And she’s more than capable of traveling on her own. She doesn’t need you.”

Bj?rn stabs the air with his index finger. “If you knew what—”

“Enough!” Astrid’s hands raise in the air, her brow pinched with strain. “Don’t start already. Please. It’s been a very long day.”

I loop my arms around Jonah’s biceps and gently guide him toward the door. “We’ll let you get settled.” Though, from the sounds of it, I’m not sure Bj?rn will be comfortable here. That’s a bit of a pinprick to my bubble of enthusiasm over this cabin’s completion.

Astrid dips her head to me. “Calla, thank you so much for making all these efforts for our comfort. Everything is perfect. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Come over whenever you’re up. The door’ll be unlocked.” Jonah dangles the key to the pickup truck before hanging it on the wall hook. “It’s all gassed up. I’ll plug in the block heater on our way out. Don’t forget to unplug it.”

Astrid smiles. “Oh, I forgot about those days.”

I remember as we reach the door. “Oh! If you happen to see two big dogs that look like wolves running around, don’t panic. They’re harmless.”

Bj?rn’s bushy gray eyebrows arch. “Are they wolves or are they dogs?”

“A bit of both, probably, but the official answer is malamute.” That’s Roy’s bullshit answer, to keep the gossip at bay and officers off his back.

Bj?rn nods slowly. “I’ve always liked malamutes.”

“There’s actually something he does like,” Jonah mutters under his breath.

I herd him out with a hand on his back before he can spark another argument.





Chapter Three





“It is really small, but I didn’t have a lot to work with. Do you think renters will mind?”

“People aren’t gonna rent that place so they can hang out in the bathroom.” Jonah’s words are garbled thanks to the toothbrush in his mouth.

“You’re right.” I study the draft listing on the Airbnb site. I’ve been working on it for weeks. “Still … maybe I should mention it?” But what would I say? Warning: Coffin-sized bathroom? I sigh. “Do you really think they’ll be comfortable over there? Because they can stay here. I know your mom insisted, but it doesn’t sound as if Bj?rn—”

“Fuck Bj?rn!” The tap shuts off with a dull thud. A moment later, Jonah emerges, scowling. “It’s perfect, Calla. It’s got a toilet, a sink, and a shower. What the hell else does he need? Nothing. He just wants to find things to bitch about. That’s what he does. Complains about everything. I warned you he would, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

The mattress sinks beneath Jonah’s weight as he slides into his side of our bed. “Don’t let him get inside your head. You’ve worked your ass off to get that place ready in time for them. Look at this.” He scrolls through the pictures I took of the cabin yesterday with Simon’s trusty Canon. “It’s gonna be the nicest rental within a hundred miles of Trapper’s Crossing.”

“It is nice.”

Jonah sinks back into his pillow. “The least the dickhead could do is be respectful.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, you need to ease up, Jonah, or these two weeks are going to feel twice as long and nobody will enjoy themselves. Especially not your mother.”

“Yeah, I know. He just pushes my buttons so easily.”

“Still. You need to bite your tongue.”

“When have I ever been able to do that?”

“Never.” I love that about Jonah. Usually.

He smiles, but it falls off quickly. “He refused to let me pick them up in the plane, but then he complained the entire way here.”

“About what?”

“About everything. The two-hour drive, the music on the radio, the Jeep being too bumpy and cramped and not good in the snow. Which I agree with—”

I groan. “Don’t start this again.”

“I’m worried about you going off the road.”

I shake my head. One snowfall in October and Jonah decided he didn’t like the way my Jeep Wrangler—a birthday gift from him—handles the slippery terrain. “There’s nothing wrong with my Jeep. It’s literally designed for handling bad roads.”

“Fine. I’m worried about you handling the bad roads, okay?”

My mouth drops open. The truth comes out. “I’m a good driver!”

“You drive too fast.”

“I do not! And that is so rich, coming from you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks. “How many winters have you driven in?”

“That’s not the point.” Neither is the fact that I backed into a moose on my driving test, and if he brings that up right now, I will scream.