he’d tried that last year with Valerie and it hadn’t worked—not for him.
He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. Before he fell over, he needed a shower. Josh. Old Harlan’s musty cabin clung to his T-shirt.
God, had it only been twelve hours since he’d flown up the river?
He’d risen at dawn every day this week, flying his Jet Ranger loaded with sports fishermen and hikers into the Wrangell or Chugach mountains and chartering glacier tours. Later, during the long daylight hours of summer, he’d add fighting forest fires to the list.
Today, he’d flown up the Susitna River—Big Su to the locals—to bring old Harlan supplies and make sure the old man had survived another winter. After landing the bird in a space wide as a thumbprint a hundred yards from Harlan’s cabin, Will had spent the day with his friend chopping wood and digging a new hole for an outhouse. Tonight, his muscles whined at the slightest movement.
Sleep. His eyelids suddenly sagged. Bushed and filled with a bellyfull of sorrow, he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower. Give him his bed and let him die for a week.
He was there when the phone rang again.
“Mr. Rubens, it’s Savanna Stowe.”
As if he’d need a reminder with that voice. He pushed up on the pillow. “Yeah?”
“Sorry to bother you so late, but I wonder if you’d like to have breakfast with us here at the lodge. My treat, of course.”
He remembered her mouth. Fine and full. He imagined it holding a smile for his answer. “All right. What time?”
“Would eight o’clock work for you?”
Not eight, but eight o’clock. She was nothing like the women in Alaska or any he’d known elsewhere. “Sure. See you then.”
“Thank you.”
He hung up before she said good-night.
Good-night was personal and he wanted her and the boy on a plane back to the Outside tomorrow.
The minute he strode into the restaurant, she saw him. A man of sizable height and broad shoulders, his tarnished-gold hair askew from the wind, his cheeks ruddy from the crisp morning air. A brown suede jacket soft with creases and scuffs hung open to a sweater mirroring the Caribbean blue of his eyes. One day, she realized with a jolt, Christopher would replicate this man. Already, the long bone structure was in place, the dimpled cheeks.
“Sorry I’m late,” Rubens said, slipping into the chair across the table from Savanna.
“No need to apologize. It’s only seven minutes past.”
He shot her a look, then slipped off the expensive jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. His gaze flicked to Christopher tracing a finger along an Alaskan river on the creased map he’d dug from his red and yellow knapsack.
“Chris,” she said. “Remember your Uncle Will? He came to see us last night.”
“Yeah.” The boy remained focused on the charted page.
“Uncle Will is going to eat breakfast with us.”
“You okay with this, boy?” Will asked.
This. That they were about to discuss his life. “Uh-huh,” the child responded, intent on the highways of Alaska.
Savanna interjected, “Christopher knows why we’ve come to our most northern state, Mr. Rubens, and that you are now his legal guardian. We’ve talked about it many times.”
“Many times,” Christopher repeated, finger following the Tok Highway.
“Good.” Rubens frowned. “Can we cut the formalities? Most folks call me Will. The other two percent call me names I’ll leave with them.” A lopsided grin spun through her middle.
The shapely brunette who had served Savanna coffee, approached with a fresh carafe. “Hey, Will. Thought you always caught breakfast at Lu’s.”
“Mindy.” He held out his mug for her to fill. “As they say, a change is as good as a rest.”
“Better not let Lu hear you say that.” Her eyes fastened on his face. “Gonna be at the dance Saturday night?”
Eyes on Savanna, he took a sip of coffee. “Maybe.”
“Haven’t seen you there for a couple weeks.” The woman gave him a McDreamy smile. “You work too hard. I was talking to Valerie, and she said you were up to Harlan’s this week. How is he?”
“Grouchy as ever, but he’s in good spirits—”
“Excuse me,” Savanna interrupted. “Can we do the chitchat another time and order our breakfast?”
Unruffled, Will sat back with a slow crooked grin.
Mindy’s mouth tightened. “Sure.”
“For my boy, toast with the crusts cut off, and peanut butter and orange juice.” Savanna almost laughed when Will’s eyebrows aviated at her possessive words. “Cereal and fruit for me.” She motioned across the table. “Will?”
He ordered the special: eggs over easy, sausages, sourdough toast, a rasher of hash browns and a triple decker of pancakes. After the waitress left, he remained relaxed in his chair. “My boy?”
Savanna sipped her coffee. “It’s easier than explaining the situation.”
Under the table his knee nudged hers, and they each shifted in their chairs. “Which is why we’re here,” he said. “Do you have the lawyer’s number and my brother’s will with you?”
She dug into her purse, drew out a business card. “I have a certified copy of the testament, yes. However, Mr. Silas will also send you a certified edition.”
“Huh. Typical lawyer to take his sweet-ass time about what’s important. Why didn’t he send me one up-front or, better yet, contact me himself?”
Savanna hoped her eyes conveyed her irritation. “First, I’d appreciate you don’t swear in front of Christopher. Second, Mr. Silas and I thought it best if I came and talked with you first.”
“And bring along your…charge.” His gaze took in Christopher, head bent low over Alaska. A blond lock grazed the tattered edge of the map.
“Yes.” She handed him the card. “That’s Mr. Silas’s office and cell number.” Next she slid the envelope across the table. “First page explains everything.”
She watched him file the card in his wallet, then remove the document. She knew its words blindfolded. In the event that both my wife, Elke, and I die, I appoint my brother William Faust Rubens of Starlight, Alaska, and owner/operator of Rubens Skylines and biological father of our son Christopher William Rubens (born March 4, 1997) as his own to rear and educate and parent until Christopher William Rubens reaches the age of maturity and self sufficiency.
A clear and concise request.
He laid the sheet on the table before reading the next paragraph, the one outlining Dennis’s instructions that if after every initiative had been taken and the transition between Christopher and Will still failed, she, Savanna Lee Stowe was to raise the child.
His eyes resembled the deep navy shadows along the glacial waters they had flown over yesterday. “Dennis should’ve warned me. This isn’t fair.”
“When is life fair? Do you think it’s fair to—” She cast a sideways glance in Christopher’s direction. Will’s silence spurred her on. “Your brother didn’t warn you, because he knew what your response would be.”
“If he knew, why put it in writing?”
“Because,” she said softly, “he never believed for one second this day would