The Simple Wild: A Novel(88)

“I know what you’re doing.”

With a light tug, he releases his grip on my hair. “And what am I doing?”

“Trying to scare me into thinking you’re going to get even by cutting off my hair.”

He mock-frowns. “What? Like, sneak into your bedroom while you’re asleep with a pair of scissors? I’d never do that. I’m not some sicko.”

“I did not sneak into your bedroom,” I snap. “And it’s not like I disfigured you. I helped you.”

“Helped me?” he repeats.

“Yes. Maybe now you have a shot at getting laid. As long as you don’t speak.”

The wicked smile he flashes makes my throat go dry. “Do you think I have problems in that department, Calla?”

“I mean with two-legged creatures.” You arrogant son of a bitch, you totally stood there and listened to my conversation. My comeback might have been piercing and quick, but it’s too late. He has a solid upper hand on me, because he knows as well as I do that, despite everything, last night’s vengeful grooming session has caused a totally unpredicted side effect.

I’m now unmistakeably attracted to the yeti.

God, this feels like the ninth grade all over again. Billy Taylor, the captain of the hockey team, found out I had a maddening crush on him. The feelings weren’t mutual—Keegan gently passed on the message—but my little-girl infatuation became a source for teasing from his friends, and I spent the entire school year ducking into classrooms and hiding behind taller students every time I spotted him in the halls.

That was the last time I ever let it slip that I might be interested in a guy before knowing that he was definitely interested in me.

And the major difference here is that Billy Taylor was a nice guy who never embarrassed me about it.

Jonah is not Billy Taylor.

“George said he saw you come in here.” Agnes’s sudden voice cuts into the tension. She rounds the table and wanders over to stand next to us. “You should have stayed home to rest.” As usual, Agnes’s scolding is weak, at best. I don’t know how she’s going to keep Mabel in line. Then again, how much trouble can a teenager get into around here, with no bars to frequent and alcohol difficult to find?

Still, her entrance feels like a timely rescue. “That’s exactly what I just finished saying to him,” I murmur, trying to regain some semblance of dignity.

“So . . . You’re trying out a new look there?” she asks mildly, the corners of her mouth twitching. I didn’t mention my transgression to her, but my father must have.

“Apparently,” Jonah finally says. “Calla decided she needed a change.”

“It suits you.” Agnes’s dark eyes flash to me and widen, the unspoken warning in them clear. Do you realize what kind of hell you’ve invited into your life, you foolish girl?

“It does suit him, doesn’t it?” I make a point of cocking my head and letting my eyes drag along his jawline in an admiring way. “My neighbor’s sheepdog always looks much better after getting clipped, too. And it helps with the fleas.”

Agnes snorts.

I can’t even begin to read the look that takes over Jonah’s face as his eyes burn holes into mine, but it’s made my stomach roll and my blood race all the same.

“Sharon wanted to see me about something,” I lie, sidestepping around him. I stroll for the door, forcing my legs to move slowly, so as not to look like the sprinting chicken that I truly am.





Chapter 19




“Damn rain. Makes everything so damp,” my dad mutters through another cough, his gray gaze on the living room window and the porch screen beyond, soaked by the steady rainfall. It started as a light sprinkle around two this afternoon—earlier than expected—and quickly evolved into a hard downpour that grounded the rest of the flights. Sharon’s husband, Max, is stranded in Nome for the night, much to her dismay. “At least they’re saying the worst of it should be moved out by tomorrow afternoon. Let’s hope, anyway.” Cough, cough.

“Can I ask you a serious question?”

It’s a moment before my dad answers. “Sure, kiddo.” The endearment is there, but the reluctance in his voice is unmistakeable.

“Do you have a thing for Julia Roberts?”

“Uh . . .” He lets out a shaky sigh of relief and then chuckles. “I don’t know. Do I?”

I know what he was afraid of: that I was going to push for information about his diagnosis, his prognosis. That I wanted to know if these frequent coughing fits he’s had the last couple of days are more than on account of damp air and running through a field. The truth is, though, I’m finding lately that I want to think about and talk about the coming battle as much as he does: not at all.

“You have every single movie she’s ever been in, in both VHS and DVD. So, yeah, I’m pretty sure you have a thing for her.”

A thoughtful smile stretches my dad’s lips. “Her laugh. It reminds me of Susan’s laugh.”

I frown as the Pretty Woman movie credits roll along the TV screen, trying to recall the sound. “I never made the connection, but you’re right, it does, kind of.” Mom has one of those show-stopping laughs, an infectious melody that carries through rooms and cuts strangers’ sentences short as they search for the source.