He’d love to see her smile without restraint, though the little crooked quirk was down-right adorable. Each feature in itself perfect as if sculpted by a master artist.
But no artist could have captured the beauty of her skin. Marred only by a few mosquito bites, her flesh was lightly tanned. Was the tan limited to her face and hands? Her top hadn’t been unbuttoned enough for him to see. His fingers still itched to pop the buttons on her deep green shirt just as she’d popped open her life vest earlier.
Satisfied the fire burned properly, Creed laid the cooking grate over the flames, placed the frying pan on it and turned to his food box. Practiced hands quickly seasoned the fillets with a dry rub made up of his own blend of herbs and spices. That task completed, he moved to the next while the pan heated. Finding a flat spot to the side of the cabin, he erected and secured his tent in a matter of a few minutes, sleeping bag and gear just as quickly organized inside. The simple life. After dinner he’d secure the food box in the cabin and then set about getting to know Linnet better.
From the corner of his eye, he watched her exit the cabin and walk around behind it. The unfamiliar slap of a screen door snapping shut made him do a double take. When had the screen door been installed? The wooden frame looked as if it had been there as long as the log cabin. A bit of curved antler formed a handle and a simple spring pulled it closed. A few minutes later the purr of a generator rumbled in the quiet, not as loud as he’d expected. Not bad. Almost soothing. He hadn’t noticed it earlier, so maybe she had it stashed in the trees or in the back of her truck. She’d need a couple extra-long extension cords if that was the case.
Setting his dinner into the hot pan, he kept half an eye on the cabin. What did she need the power for? A laptop? City girl for sure. He added a freshly sliced onion to the fillets in the large, well-seasoned cast-iron frying pan. Bet she didn’t have a cast-iron fry pan, not one with the years of history behind his.
Rumor, and family legend, said his great-great grandfather had carried this very frying pan up and over the Chilkoot Trail alongside Jack London. Creed’s father had once bragged his sourdough starter dated back equally as far. His mother had later told Creed she’d had to restart a fresh batch in the seventies. Still respectably old, but certainly not any more special than most Alaskan starters.
The whine of a power tool broke into his thoughts and he looked up. She was still out of his view so he couldn’t identify the tool immediately. Not a circular saw, yet it didn’t sound like a drill either. Unable to resist, he turned the salmon in the pan and pulled it off to the very edge of the grate. He stepped to the side far enough to see her concentrating on the side of the cabin with a tool held about eye level. A reciprocating saw?
Wagging under the force of his tail, Manley left Linnet and came over to Creed.
“Hey, boy, what’s she doing, eh?” Creed scratched Manley’s neck and accepted the animal’s need for human comfort. “Making a lot of noise, isn’t she?” The dog pressed against his legs and Creed patted him. “Did George give her permission to make improvements?” Why the hell hadn’t George called him?
Manley, having no answers, merely wagged his tail and tried to knock Creed over.
Torn between his sizzling dinner and curiosity over her actions, he hovered until she put down the saw and reached up. “Stay,” he told Manley. One could only hope the dog wouldn’t try to steal the salmon.
“Need a hand?” he offered. Had he surprised her? The flinch took him by surprise as much as the fact his question seemed to have startled her.
“Nope. Got it,” she grunted out the words and carefully lifted down the ancient rectangle of glass with gloved hands. He was impressed she wore safety glasses. A good-sized tool box lay open at her feet. That sucker had to be heavy and her truck was easily a couple dozen yards away, down the backside of the rise.
“What are you doing?”
She shot him a mildly irritated glance before answering. “Modifying the windows so they open. It gets stuffy inside the cabin, but since the mosquitoes love me, I want to cover them with screening.”
“Wow, we’re going high class now.” The lines of her body stretched to reach over her head distracted him for a moment. He could see her in a clinging evening gown, or better yet, a clinging negligee.
When she struggled with a bit of wood stubbornly stuck to the upper frame, he reached over her head and pulled it down.
“Thanks,” she mumbled and stepped to the side, barely missing the pane of glass. “I seem to use that word with you a lot.”
Yeah, and he liked it. “Come sit with me while I eat and then I’ll help you. Two will make it go faster.” Waving his hand toward the fire, he felt like a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. Odd.
“I like doing this. Besides, now the window is open I don’t want to leave it that way any longer than necessary,” she gave him the brush off. “Too hard to flush the blood suckers out, even using the smoke coils.”
Fair enough, he could see that. It took away some of the sting from her rejection.
“Honest, I can do this myself. I already did the window on the other side. Go take a look and see, if you don’t think I’m competent.” She used a wide-bladed chisel to clean the surfaces of the window frame set into the log structure.
“I have no doubt you’re competent, I’m just looking for an excuse to talk to you.” Maybe a sheepish admission would win her over. He gave her his best attempt at a boyish smile.
“You’d better stick close to your dinner or Manley might forget he’s a well-trained dog.” She smirked over her shoulder. “Go on. Eat your hard-won fish. Maybe you can hold the frame when I’m ready to put the hinges on and reinstall it.”
He stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to turn and look up at him. Standing this close, he got a better sense of her height. He wouldn’t have to bend far to kiss her. No neck strain. Moving without a conscious thought from him, his hand reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Promise?”
Why did she flinch and why did she refuse to turn toward him? He wanted her to turn and smile at him in the worst way. Instead her shoulders stiffened.
“Yes.”
He barely heard her husky response and trailed the back of his fingers down the side of her neck. The sensation made her swallow deeply. There was that pretty flush again.
“Linnet…”
Abruptly she cleared her throat and dropped to a crouch. “Smells like your dinner might be burning.”
Shit. He didn’t care about his dinner. What he wanted was a kiss… and a whole lot more. Didn’t look like he’d get it right now.
Linnet breathed a sigh of relief when he finally turned away. Another minute and she would have leaped into his arms or slammed an elbow into his midsection. Conflicted, trying to determine if he were friend or foe, chances were she’d probably try to do both at the same time. Complications out here weren’t needed.
There was work to be done and she was the new kid. A Cheechako. An Alaskan greenhorn. Proving herself was number one on her list. Using her forearm, she wiped away the sweat gathering on her brow. The day’s heat didn’t seem to be dissipating and the long sleeves she wore to protect against bugs didn’t help.
Fitting the glass into the frame she’d built last night, she carefully tacked it into place with strips of wood molding. Not properly glazed, it would allow for the expansion and contraction of the wood as the seasons cycled. The cabin only had three windows; one on the east and one on the west, both set high in the walls, the last next to the north-facing door.
The ones in the walls were two feet wide by one foot high. Just barely large enough to let in light. The window by the door was larger, four panes of glass, each two feet square, providing a good view to the river.