Forever Wild(9)

What secret did Bj?rn divulge? What has Astrid been keeping from her son?

“That is quite the contraption,” Astrid murmurs through a sip of her coffee, her attention on the barista machine. “I think I will need to read the manual to figure it out.”

“Would you like me to make you something? Latte, cappuccino, espresso …”

She waves the offer away. “We’re fine with our black coffee.”

“Are you hungry? I have homemade banana loaf.” I pull it out of the fridge and set it on the counter, along with plates. I spent the last week stocking the house with enough food to feed twenty people with twenty different eating habits. “Or I could make you some eggs and bacon. Or, we have fruit salad and yogurt, if you’d rather—”

“This is fine.” She reaches for the knife to cut Bj?rn a slice of bread. She slides the plate to him without a word and he settles down on the stool without so much as a thank-you. “Jonah said you have a Christmas party to attend tonight?”

“Yeah. I got roped into helping with the big annual charity dinner at the community center. I’m sorry, I couldn’t get out of it—”

“Why would you need to get out of it?” She cuts me off abruptly with a frown. “It sounds like an important night.”

“Well, it is, but you guys just got here and I feel bad about leaving you all alone.”

“If you keep fussing over us, you’ll be exhausted and counting down the days until we leave.” She softens her admonishment with a smile. “So, what do you have to do for this dinner?”

“I don’t know, actually. Probably a lot of grunt work. Muriel told me to be there at ten.”

“Is that the bossy neighbor?”

“Yeah. She’s in charge of planning the night. She asked for my help.” More like told me I was helping, after recognizing that my marketing plans might have had a hand in the smashing success of the Winter Carnival—with record attendance and its highest earnings in fifty years. “Teddy dresses up as Santa.”

She quietly admonishes Bj?rn as she picks at wayward banana-bread crumbs on the counter around his plate. “Is that the grouchy neighbor?”

“No. That’s Roy.” I laugh at the thought of Roy donning a red suit and white beard. He’d be Billy Bob Thornton’s version of Santa. He’d be a child’s worst nightmare. “Teddy is Muriel’s husband, and he’s probably the happiest man I’ve ever met—oh, crap! He forgot his thermos.” I spy the tall navy-blue cylinder sitting by the coffee pot. Jonah has taken to filling it on his way out the door in the morning, without fail. Whatever they were fighting over before I came down distracted him.

“Go, go …” Astrid ushers me away. “Bring it to him, before he flies off. We can talk more when you come back. Maybe about setting a wedding date?” She reaches for the magazine. “So perhaps those who are traveling twenty hours to see their only son get married have sufficient time to prepare?” It sounds like a suggestion, but the cutting glance she follows it up with tells me she doesn’t plan on boarding that plane home without arrangements etched into her calendar.

Bj?rn mutters something in Norwegian to Astrid. It doesn’t sound nearly as musical in his gruff voice.

She collects his plate and puts it in the sink.

And I fill Jonah’s thermos with black coffee, thankful for an excuse to track him down and find out what’s going on.





Chapter Four





Toby’s burgundy pickup truck is parked outside the hangar when I sail in on the green snowmachine that has unofficially become mine. Now that the regular fishing season is closed and Trapper’s Crossing Resort is without guests, he’s been able to dedicate more time to working on Phil’s old plane, coming here early in the day, before the mechanics shop where he services small engines gets busy.

Toby and Jonah are standing beside the 1959 Beaver when I stroll through the side door. They turn in unison at the intrusion.

“You forgot this.” I wave the thermos in the air.

“Yeah. I realized halfway here, but there was no way I was goin’ back to deal with them again.”

By “them,” I know he means Bj?rn. Still, I shoot him a disapproving look before turning my attention to the burly thirty-five-year-old. Toby was my first friend when we moved to Trapper’s Crossing this past March, back when I was still struggling with acclimating to this isolated place. “Didn’t think I’d see you here today, with the Christmas dinner happening later.”

“Yeah.” He scratches the brown scruff on his chin. Come May, he’ll be clean-shaven again, but until then, he’ll let it grow all winter. “I just stopped by to double-check on a part I’ve been trying to find.”

“How long is the task list Muriel has for you?”

His face splits into that wide grin that instantly softens his features. “Two pages, front and back.”

And yet I’m sure he didn’t utter a word of complaint, even when his mother would deserve it. The man is as kindhearted as his father and always willing to offer a hand. I laugh. “Good luck.”

His grin grows wider. “She’s got one for you, too, and it’s longer.”

“Don’t tell me that,” I groan.