Northern Lights

blood's still too thin to handle this cold. Let's go inside."
    "Where were you?"
    "Oh, here and there. Picked up a party a few days ago. They've been shooting caribou—photographically. Took them back to Anchorage today. Just in time," she added with a glance toward the sky. "Got a storm coming in. Air was getting very interesting."
    "Do you get scared up there?"
    "No. But I've gotten pretty interested from time to time." Inside the entry, she pulled off her parka.
    "Ever crash?"
    "I've had to, we'll say, put down abruptly." She yanked off her boots, then taking a towel out of a box, squatted down again to wipe off her dogs' feet. "Go on in. This'll take a minute, and it's crowded with the four of us in here."
    He stepped inside, closing the inner door as he'd been taught to keep the heat in.
    The windows were pulling in the last hints of sun of the short day, so the room was mixed with light and shadows. He could smell flowers— not roses, but something more primitive and earthy. It was mixed with dog and a hint of wood smoke in a strange and appealing combination.
    He'd expected rustic and saw even in the half-light he'd been well off the mark.
    In the spacious living area, the walls were a pale yellow. To mimic the sun, he supposed, and keep the dark at bay. The fireplace was built of polished stone in golden hues so that simmering logs glowed inside its frame. She had squat candles on the mantel in deeper yellows and dark blues. The long sofa picked up the blues and was decked with the toss pillows women insisted on having everywhere. A thick throw, with her key colors bleeding into each other, was draped over the back.
    There were lamps with painted shades, gleaming tables, a patterned rug and two big chairs.
    Watercolors, oil paintings, pastels, all of Alaskan scenes, decorated the walls.
    To his left, stairs led up, and he found himself grinning at the newel post carved into a totem.
    The door opened. The dogs led the way, each prancing over to the chairs and jumping up on one.
    "Not what I expected," he commented.
    "Too much expected leads to boredom." She crossed the room, opened a big carved box and hauled out split logs.
    "Let me get that."
    "Already got it." She bent, set the logs, then turned to him, keeping the fireplace at her back. "You want food?"
    "No. No, thanks."
    "Drink?"
    "Not especially, no."
    She crossed over, switched on one of the lamps. "Sex, then."
    "I—"
    "Why don't you go ahead up? Second door on the left. I just want to put out food and water for my dogs."
    She strolled out, leaving him standing there with the dogs staring at him out of crystal eyes. He'd have sworn they were smirking.
    When she came back, he was standing in exactly the same spot.
    "Can't find the steps? Some detective you are."
    "Listen, Meg . . . I just drove out to . . ." He dragged a hand through his hair, realizing he didn't have a clue. He'd left town feeling that black hole gaping in front of him, and sometime during his game with the dogs, it had closed up again.
    "You don't want sex?"
    "I know a trick question when I hear one."
    "Well, while you're thinking about how you're going to answer it, I'm going upstairs and getting naked." She shook her hair off her shoulders and behind her back. "I look really good naked, if you're wondering."
    "I figured that."
    "You're a little on the thin side, but I don't mind that." She walked to the steps, angled her head. Smiled and crooked her finger. "Come on, cutie."
    "Just like that?"
    "Why not? No law against it, yet anyway. Sex is simple, Nate. It's everything else that's complicated. So let's be simple for now."
    She headed up the steps. Nate glanced back at the dogs, blew out a breath. "Let's see if I remember how to be simple."
    He walked up, paused by the first door. The walls were a sizzling red, except the one that was mirrored. On the wall opposite the mirrors was a shelf unit holding a TV, DVD player, stereo components. Between them was what he recognized as state-of-the-art exercise equipment. An elliptical cross-trainer faced the TV, the Bowflex and rack of free weights lined up with the mirror.
    He imagined the mini-fridge held bottles of water, maybe some sports drinks.
    The room told him the body he was about to see naked got plenty of serious workouts.
    She'd left the bedroom door open and was crouched in front of another fireplace, lighting the kindling. There was a big, whopping sleigh bed, all curves and dark wood. More art, more lamps accented the