Northern Lights

me now?"
    "If I did, your dogs would rip my throat out."
    "Sensible. You're a sensible man."
    "Not always," he said under his breath as he followed her to the house.
    Inside, she tossed her gear aside then went directly to the fire to stack logs and kindling. She needed to deal with the plane. Drain the oil and haul it to the shed to keep it warm. Cover the wings.
    But she wasn't feeling practical and efficient. She wasn't feeling quite sane.
    "Appreciate you looking out for Rock and Bull while I was gone."
    "No problem." He turned his back, carefully laying the file under his parka. "Busy were you?"
    "Making hay." She got the fire started. "Jobs fall into my lap, I take them. Now I've got a couple of nice fat fees to bank."
    "Good for you."
    She dropped into a chair, hooked a leg over the arm. All insolence now. "Back now, and it's good to see you, lover. You got time, we can go upstairs for some welcome-home sex." She smiled as she began unbuttoning her shirt. "Bet I could get you up for it."
    "That's a poor imitation of Charlene, Meg."
    It wiped the smile off her face. "You don't want to fuck, fine. No need to insult me."
    "But there seems to be a need for you to hurt me, make me mad. What is it?"
    "Your problem." She pushed up, started to shove by him, but he gripped her arm, swung her back.
    "Nope," he said and ignored the warning growl from the dogs. "It appears to be yours. I want to know what it is."
    "I don't know! " The distress in her tone turned the growls into snarls. "Rock, Bull, relax. Relax," she said more calmly. "Friend."
    She knelt down, hooked an arm around each of them, nuzzled. "Damn it. Why don't you yell or storm out or tell me I'm a cold, heartless bitch? Why don't you give me a damn break?"
    "Why didn't you bother to contact me? Why have you been spoiling for a fight since you saw me?"
    "Hold on a minute." She got up, snapped her fingers for the dogs to follow her into the kitchen. After digging out Milk Bones, she tossed one to each dog. Then she leaned back against the counter and looked at Nate.
    Not quite gaunt anymore, she thought. He'd put on a little weight in the last month or so. The kind that looked good on a man, the sort that spoke of muscles toning. His hair looked wild and sexy and a little past trimming time. And those eyes, calm and wrenchingly sad and irresistible, stayed level and patient on hers.
    "I don't like being accountable to anyone. I'm not used to it. I built this place, built my business, built my life a certain way because they suit me."
    "Are you worried I'm going to start holding you accountable? Expecting you to change the order of things for me?"
    "Aren't you?"
    "I don't know. Maybe I see a difference between accountability and caring. I was worried about you. For you. And your dogs weren't the only ones who missed you. As to the order of things, I'm still working on my own. A day at a time."
    "Tell me something. No bullshit. Are you falling in love with me?"
    "Feels like it."
    "What does it feel like?"
    "Like something coming back inside me. Warming up and trying to find its rhythm. It feels scary," he said, crossing to her. "And good. Good and scary."
    "I don't know if I want it. I don't know if I've got it."
    "Me, either. But I do know I'm tired of being tired, and empty, and just going through the motions so I can get by. I feel when I'm with you, Meg. I feel, and some of that's painful. But I'll take it."
    He cupped her face in his hands. "Maybe you should try that for now, too. Just take it."
    She closed her hands over his wrists. "Maybe."

 
     
     
     
    EIGHTEEN
     
     
     
     
     
     
    JOURNAL ENTRY . February 19, 1988
     
    He's gone crazy. Out of his freaking mind. Too much Dex, and Christ knows what else. Too much altitude. I don't know. I think I've calmed him down. Storm came up so we've taken shelter in an ice cave. Hell of a place. Like some sort of miniature magic castle with ice columns and arches and sudden drops. Wish all of us had gotten here. I could use a little help bringing old Darth back to earth.
    He's got some whacked-out idea that I tried to kill him. We had some trouble on the rappel, and he's screaming at me, into the wind, that I want to kill him. Came at me like a maniac, and I had to knock him flat. Calmed him down though. Got him calm. He apologized, laughed about it.
    We'll just take a breather here, pull ourselves together. We've been playing the first-thing-I'll-do-when-I'm-back-in-the-world game. He wants a steak; I want