Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

she still got his blood pumping. An ass like that was a piece of art. It was damn hard not to admire it, reach out and cup it in his hands, lift and press it against him.
    There wasn’t a woman alive who could make him madder or hornier.
    Jim punched him in the arm. “Gawk later. Storm’s coming in.”
    Skip lurched forward toward the plane. He knew seeing Wren again would be a strain and not just to the zipper on his pants. His heart beat fast enough that he had to practice some deep breathing exercises to settle it down. He climbed into the cockpit, turned, and without thinking asked, “You okay back there? Buckled in safely?”
    She narrowed those big sooty eyes until they were mere slits. “Not my first plane ride.”
    At least she’d spoken a few words to him before staring out the small window, telling him loud and clear that she didn’t want to have anything to do with him. Would the woman ever get over him arresting her? Talk about holding a grudge.
    “All right, folks,” Jim said. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand before we’re stuck here. There’s a winter front coming in from Siberia, and I want to be held up somewhere warm when it hits.” He started the engine, while securing his headphone and talking into the headset. Covering the microphone with his hand, he addressed Skip and Wren, “Survival kit in the tail, fire extinguisher under my seat and behind yours. Any questions?”
    They both shook their heads, having heard it all before. Living out here on the edge of the world made traveling in small planes as common place as catching a bus for those who lived in the big cities.
    Skip glanced back at Wren, wishing he could sit beside her. How would he get a moment to talk with her before they landed? He’d purposely planned flying to Egegik with her before the wedding. Once they landed, the village would swallow her up, and he wouldn’t get within a few feet of her. He cursed himself for not thinking far enough ahead to how he would get her alone for any length of time.
    She looked good. Strong and healthy.
    He knew from the network of tabs he had in law enforcement that she’d completed her court appointed rehab and her drug tests had been clean for the last three years. She was thriving in Anchorage as a glass artist and had started seeing some contractor on a regular basis.
    Had he waited too long? God, he hoped not.
    It would be hard enough breaking through her crabby shell with another man in the picture. He’d given her time and space. No more.
    Jim engaged the engine, and they taxied down the runway.
    It took a special type of person to enjoy this part of the country. Skip understood the desire to escape it, either with drugs or planes. Both created distance. But to him it was stunning. He relaxed in his seat as the plane lifted off and focused on the wild, untouched beauty outside his window. The threatening storm gave the surrounding landscape a misty, magical feel. The spider web of creeks and rivers reflected the grayish-purple of the clouds, highlighting the golden-red of the tundra falling below them.
    The plane bounced along with the wind as they gained altitude and banked southwest. The greenish-gray waters of Bristol Bay chopped with whitecaps and ate at thirty foot high banks.
    Wren couldn’t wait to leave this place. He wondered how she was feeling now that she’d returned. Did she find any joy in the wild openness below them? Or was she counting down the hours until she was back in the big city?
    Away from him?

    Wren’s breath caught as the plane jerked again. She hated these damn flying coffins. She was the only one in the family who got carsick, plane sick, and seasick, but bush planes were a necessity of living in Alaska’s Bush. Didn’t mean she had to like it, though. Exhaling slowly, she focused on the horizon. The last thing she needed was to throw up.
    Why hadn’t she taken a Dramamine?
    Deep breaths, concentrate. In out. In out. Shit. No way was she going to be sick in front of Skip. Bad enough the last time he’d seen her she’d been strung out on coke. She’d puked on his shoes when he’d cuffed her. What she wouldn’t give to be anywhere but here right now. She could feel him glancing at her every few minutes.
    Face forward, buddy. Nothing to see here.
    So she wasn’t the underweight druggie, he’d last seen. Now she was overweight and sober.
    Hell.
    The plane pitched and so did her stomach. Were the clouds outside her window getting darker?