Will touched her cheek, a whispered stroke shivering her to her heels.

“First,” he said softly, “if I’m attracted to a woman, it’s who she is that appeals. And–” his fingers slipped to her nape and tugged her forwards “– caveman or not, I’m very into you. So let’s see where it takes us, right?”

He would kiss her. Oh, Lord.

But no.

A peck against her forehead. A touch so light it mimicked the flit of a hummingbird’s wing.

When had a man offered sensuality to that degree?

Not once. Not once in her memory.

Savanna watched him return to the cooker. How was she to endure – fight off – the magnet that was Will Rubens over the next weeks?

Because he was a magnet, potent as a lightning storm.

Wendy – here’s to our “Alphie” sessions in those Route 10 coffee shops!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincerest thanks go to Wendy Roberts and

Camille Netherton for sharing their personal

knowledge and experiences regarding autistic

spectrum disorders, although each child with

Asperger’s syndrome and high-functioning

autism is unique and traits vary with each case.

Also, many thanks to Leanne Karella and

Kevin Karella for their help about helicopters

and the geography of Alaska. As with any work

of fiction, I have taken licence with some facts

on the above topics.

MARY J. FORBES

grew up on a farm amid horses, cattle, crisp hay and broad blue skies. As a child, she drew and wrote of her surroundings, and composed her first story about a little lame pony. Years later, she worked as an accountant, then as a reporter-photographer for a small-town newspaper, before earning an honours degree in education to become a teacher. She has also written and published short fiction stories.

A romantic by nature, Mary loves walking along the ocean shoreline, sitting by the fire on snowy or rainy evenings and two-stepping around the dance floor to a good country song – all with her own real-life hero, of course. Mary would love to hear from her readers at www.maryjforbes.com.

Dear Reader,

Years ago, I saw a documentary about Alaska and was completely entranced by its wild untouched beauty. From that moment, I hoped to one day set a story somewhere amid its copious snowy mountains, dark green timber and lush wildlife. I wanted to see Alaska through my characters’ eyes. What better way than to do it with a bush pilot, one of those brave and remarkable folk who fly helicopters and tiny four-and six-seater planes up and down the state’s vast river valleys, lakes and mountain slopes?

May you enjoy the journey of dashing pilot Will Rubens and the woman who brings a special little boy into his life, as they conquer their own uncertainties within the sweeping glory of the Last Frontier.

Mary J. Forbes

His Brother’s Gift

MARY J. FORBES

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Starlight, Alaska Early April

Will Rubens sank to the kitchen chair and stared at the phone on the counter.

Dennis was…dead? Impossible. His brother lived in Central America. He was busy saving lives….

A hazy image of a tall, blond man with glasses magnifying his brown eyes was all Will’s brain conjured. Dennis, the last day they had seen each other face-to-face three years ago down in Washington state. Jeez, Dennis.

Will eyed the phone. The woman from Honduras had left three messages in the past hour. Urgent messages for him to call her. But he’d been with Josh, hitting fly balls, practicing for the upcoming Little League season.

Will didn’t blame the kid for the missed calls. Josh needed a big brother in Will and, truth be known, Will needed the boy. The eleven-year-old eased the decade of guilt Will carried because, if he’d been more disciplined in his actions, Elke and Dennis might have stayed in Alaska. Now three phone messages stamped another bruise over those his heart had accumulated. If the woman was right, what remained of his family was gone.

Gone as if they had never existed.

He wiped a shaky hand down his face. Stared at the phone. No, the woman had the correct number, the correct owner of that number.

He propped an elbow on the table, leaned his forehead against the base of his palm.

When was the last time he’d talked to Dennis? A year? Two? Yes…June, two years ago. Ten minutes of strained conversation that led nowhere. Strangers rather than brothers.

He raised his head, blinked into the April sunset spilling through the window above the sink and was surprised at the burn behind his eyes. Dennis. What the hell was in Honduras that you couldn’t have found in your own backyard?

But Will knew why his brother had trekked to Central America for a decade. Why their relationship had petered to a phone call every couple years.

Elke had wanted it that way. Hell, could he blame her?

Rising, he again punched Play on the answering machine. Just to be sure. Just to know he hadn’t misunderstood.

Grabbing a pen and slip of paper, he listened as the old machine whirred and clicked.

Beeep. “Hello. I have an urgent message for Will Rubens. This is Savanna Stowe, S-t-o-w-e, of Honduras. I hope I’ve reached the right residence. I’m staying here in town at the Shepherd Lodge. The phone number is…” The machine dated the message: Wednesday, 6:12 p.m.

First of all, why was she in Starlight? Why hadn’t she simply called from whatever mud hut she’d set up housekeeping in down there?

Will wrote her name: Savanna Stowe.

She had an incredible voice. A hint of the South, slow and husky.

Beeep. “Mr. Rubens, I know you’ve returned from your flying trip today. I met a fellow at the airport who said you’d gone home to sleep because you were exhausted. I really need to talk to you. It’s about your brother Dennis in Honduras. Please call me at the Shepherd Lodge anytime. Better yet, if at all possible, please come to the lodge and ask the desk clerk to ring my room. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She repeated the number. The machine noted date and time: Wednesday, 7:05 p.m.

Beeep. “Mr. Rubens. I’m not sure why you’re ignoring me. Maybe you aren’t home, or maybe you don’t care about your brother.” Will snorted. Presumptuous of her. “Whatever the case, I’ll try and explain why I’m here, though I’d wanted to do this in person. Your brother Dennis and his wife were killed in a plane crash in the mountains south of the Rio Catacamas on Sunday. Please, come to the Shepherd Lodge. It’s urgent I speak with you.” Wednesday, 8:23. The machine clicked off.

Will frowned. Dennis and Elke were dead. Okay, he’d got that the first time. But in his shock he’d missed one important fact. Savanna from Honduras had not mentioned the son.

Dennis’s son.

The one conceived with Will’s sperm in an Anchorage clinic eleven years ago.

Savanna set the receiver back in its cradle. Shane the desk clerk had called and informed her that Mr. Will Rubens was waiting in the lobby. Cautious as she’d become over the past seventeen years, she had asked Shane if he knew Rubens. He did. Very well. They’d fished together off and on over the years. Should he send Mr. Rubens up?

Give her ten minutes, she had told the man.

That was thirty seconds ago.

She looked through the bedroom door where ten-year-old Christopher sat crossed-legged in his pajamas on the flower-printed bed covers, flapping his left hand while inserting his right index finger into the tiny hole worn on the left heel of his sock. She could barely make out his low monotone murmur, “Thread can repair this fracture.”

She let him mutter. The last two days had been Everests to climb for them both. Journeying across Honduras from Cedros to Tegucigalpa by car, then flying to LAX and on to Anchorage and finally, the short jaunt east to Starlight in a six-seater plane.

Through the sedative she’d had to administer to keep Christopher calm during the last forty-eight hours, she saw exhaustion in his down-turned mouth, the droop of his blue eyes. Elke’s eyes. She hated dispensing medication, unless it was necessary. Traveling across a continent and a half made it a necessity. But tonight, thank God, he would sleep. He was worn-out, she knew.

She walked into the bedroom. “Christopher,” she said softly.

He continued flapping and murmuring.

She moved into his line of vision.

Flap, flap.

On the night table lay the laminated agenda. She set it beside him on the bed where he could see the day’s check-marks.

“You’ve brushed your teeth, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my boy. It’s time for bed now. See…” She pointed to “Bedtime,” which he had checked off earlier.

“Okay.” He unwound his legs and crawled under the covers. Relieved, she returned the agenda to the table. Later she would slip onto the cot near the door. Strange places and beds upset him. Waking to them in the middle of the night traumatized him.

Leaning down, she kissed his youthful forehead. “Good night, buddy.”

She didn’t expect a response. Already he had zeroed in on a linear stain crossing the room’s wall. Linear like his trains.

Quietly she turned out the night lamp, walked to the door. There she waited a few moments until she heard the tiny snore and knew he’d allowed sleep to usurp his mind.

Sweet dreams, honey-child. Slipping from the room, she pulled the door partially closed.

In the bathroom she checked her face. She did not want Will Rubens seeing her fatigue and assuming the child in her care received less than her best. Except the lines between her eyes and the dark circles beneath them were hard to extinguish. Well, she couldn’t worry about these tokens she had earned, ensuring people had food on their tables and clean water to drink, an education to enlighten their minds.

Stifling a yawn, she tow-boated a brush through the shamble of her hair. Once, long ago, she would have wailed over its hectic red color, but living in Third-World countries had accented the difference between a bad hair day and a major crisis. Tangled, unwashed curls was not one.

Sleep, that’s what she needed. About a month’s worth.

But first Mr. Rubens. And Christopher.

What if this brother of Dennis’s won’t agree?

You’ll stay the twelve weeks stipulated in the will to give the man his chance.

And if he still reneged after three months, she’d take Christopher back to Tennessee, as Dennis also stipulated, though that option was a last resort.

Inside her overnight case on the sink’s scratched counter, she found her lipstick.

What was she doing? This was not a date. She was meeting Will Rubens about Christopher—and because of the last request left by two of the people she loved and respected most in the world next to Christopher.

A soft knock sounded on the suite’s door.

Showtime. If not for Christopher needing a good night’s sleep, she would have insisted on meeting Rubens in the lodge’s lobby.

Or better yet, not at all.

Through the peephole, she glimpsed a tall man several feet back, hands in hip pockets, staring at something left of the door. Skewed as his face was through the magnifier, she felt a small shock at that ragged dark-blond hair, the same as Dennis’s.

Then he turned his head, looked straight at her. In the obscure corridor lighting, she could not determine the color of his eyes, but it was their fierceness that stunned her. And suddenly he looked nothing like his brother.

Swallowing a knot of apprehension, she threw back the bolt and chain and opened the door.

“Mr. Rubens?”

Azure eyes. Slowly they widened. “Ms. Stowe?”

She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

He nodded. His grip was firm, warm. She drew back quickly, and stepped aside. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you below.”

She gestured for him to enter the tiny suite, then closed the door. When she turned, he stood next to the coffee table, eliminating air and space by his tall, honed body.

“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the furniture rather than on him.

He sat. And for the first time, she noticed his black jeans and boots and the navy bomber-style jacket hanging open to a gray V-necked polo shirt. He looked up, and she saw sorrow deepen the hue of his eyes, and something shifted in her chest. “Would you like some coffee?” She motioned to the kitchenette.

“No, thanks.” The darkness of his voice shivered across her skin. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to know what happened to my brother.” Imperceptibly his mouth softened. “Other than dying.”

Savanna remained beside the TV cabinet. “He and Elke were heading for Comayagua. They had scheduled to meet with a doctor, an internist, an expert in colon problems. Dennis had a patient who needed part of his large intestine removed and this surgeon was one he trusted to do the operation.”

She caught herself wringing her hands, and moved to sit in the chair across the coffee table, across from the man who was now, by all technicalities, Christopher’s father. “Elke went along. Originally she had planned to stay home, but Dennis—” Savanna studied her fingernails; they needed clipping “—Dennis wanted them to have some time alone together, just the two of them. They were seldom able to get away as a couple. Life in Central America is not easy, Mr. Rubens. Especially not with…”

Christopher. She held his gaze, determined to impress on him that his brother and sister-in-law were neither whimsical nor flighty. Nor irresponsible.

Dennis was not like the man who sat four feet away—according to the tales she had heard from her best friend.

“The bodies?” he asked.

“The crash…” She swallowed hard. Concentrated on kinder images of her friends. “It burned.” To cinders. “We held a small memorial yesterday.”

For a long time he stared at his hands clasped between his knees. A black-banded wristwatch edged from the jacket’s left cuff. “Where’s the boy?”

She sensed Will Rubens wanted to get up and pace. Or leave the room. Go home.

“Christopher’s sleeping.” She inclined her head. “In there.”

“He’s here?” Rubens darted a look left. “You brought him to Alaska?” Are you crazy? His eyes burned with the words.

Savanna aligned her shoulders. “Yes, I brought him. He’s the reason I’m here and why we’re having this conversation. Your brother’s last request was for Christopher to live with you in the event he and Elke—” Oh, God. “In the event they…died before their son was of an independent age.”

Alarmed, Rubens sat back. “Are you kidding? I can’t take the kid. I fly people into the wilderness all summer, and skiers and boarders up mountains in the winter. Who’s going to look after him when I’m gone on those trips?” Abruptly he rose to pace from TV to hallway. Back and forth. Scraping a hand through his hair. Muttering, “I can’t do it. The time schedule…”

“Mr. Rubens, if you could calm yourself…”

He barked a laugh. “Calm myself? Lady, first you inform me my brother and his wife are dead, then you tell me I’ve inherited their kid. How do you expect me to react?”

“With responsibility,” she retorted.

His head jerked. “You think I’m not responsible? Do you have any idea what it takes to fly into a mountain range with six people aboard a helicopter?”

The way Dennis and Elke had four days ago. “Yes,” she said steadily. “I do. And, please. Could you speak with a normal tone? You’ll wake Christopher with your shouting.”

He stopped, once more running a hand through his shaggy hair. “I wasn’t shouting.”

“Your voice is raised.”

“I wasn’t shouting,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Okay. We agree to disagree. Let that be the only thing.”

A snort. She ignored it. “What matters at the moment is that you are now Christopher’s guardian.” And father.

He continued to pace. “Why the hell would Dennis make this—this request when I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

“But you do,” she said patiently. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed at his expression. “You used to volunteer for Big Brothers, although you stopped that a couple of years ago when you got involved coaching Little League teams during the daylight season.”

His blue eyes pinned her. “Been busy, have you?”

Gossiping, his gaze accused. Except, she hadn’t; she hated idle chatter. “Shane down at the desk volunteered the information.” She lifted a brow. “Your fishing buddy?”

And Elke. Elke had told her more than Savanna wanted to know about the notorious freewheeling Will Rubens.

He grunted. “Shane’s flapping his gums, as usual.”

She had no idea what Shane’s “usual” was. “Don’t blame him. I made some inquiries before I set out on this trip.” Like contacting Elke’s grandmother and longtime resident, Georgia Martin, as well as Starlight’s mayor, Max Shepherd. “I was not about transfer a ten-year-old from the only home he’s known to this frozen tundra without investigating who he’d be living with for the next decade.” She gestured to the rust-colored sofa. “Would you please sit down so we can go over the issues?”

“What are you, a teacher?” he grumbled, but did as she requested.

“Actually, I teach special-needs students, though I began in ESL—English as a second language.” She hesitated, then decided if they were to get on the same page, he had to know the wheres and whys of her history with his family. “Elke and I were roommates at Stanford and became best friends. It didn’t matter that she married Dennis, we continued to keep in touch through the years. Then I moved to Cedros and began teaching there.” She paused, letting this brother absorb the information. “When Christopher went into third grade, Elke and Dennis asked me to set up a behavior intervention program for him.”

“Behavior intervention?” Rubens shot a look toward the bedroom as if Christopher might appear, fangs bared. “Like those nannies on TV?”

“No, I assist children with Autistic Spectrum Disorders, or ASD as we know it.”

His head came around slowly. “Autistic…?”

“Yes,” she confirmed so there would be no mistake. “As you probably know, Christopher has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of ASD. A milder form,” she added when he set his hands on his knees, ready to spring into a mode of action. “But autism nonetheless.”

“Dennis never said anything about autism.”

Savanna couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rubens. Maybe they were afraid to tell you.”

“I’m his brother.” He shook his head slightly. “Was his brother.” Again the blueness of his eyes startled her. “He should have told me.”

Oh, Dennis, she thought. Why didn’t you forewarn him? The child is his, after all. “Yes, he should have.” The omitted fact spoke more than she wanted to consider about Will Rubens.

Again, he scraped at his hair. The result left a rumpled look she imagined he saw in the mirror each morning. She looked away.

“Guess I had that coming,” he continued. “Dennis and I…our relationship went by the wayside after—Ah, hell. Look, Ms. Stowe. I can’t look after the boy…Christopher. My work takes me miles from home and it’s dangerous. Anything can happen to a helicopter in the mountains. And besides, my place…my life isn’t set up for kids, never mind one with problems. Have my brother’s lawyer contact me and I’ll arrange to give him complete permission to put the boy into foster care or adopted into a loving and trustworthy family.”

“Mr. Rubens—”

“Will. Please.” Suddenly his head swung left and his body jerked.

Christopher stood in the bedroom doorway, hands fluttering at his sides. He had removed his pajamas, put on the jeans and blue sweatshirt he’d worn during today’s trip. His sneakers were laced.

A stream of accelerated speech poured from his mouth. “Anything-can-happen-to-a-helicopter-in-the-mountains.”

Rubens released a throaty sound. The boy turned. “Daddy?”

Oh, God, he’d mistaken Will for Dennis. Savanna grabbed her copy of the laminated agenda and hurried to the boy. “Christopher. This is your Uncle Will. Remember I told you—” a hundred times “—that we were coming to Alaska to see your uncle? This is him.”

As Christopher rushed forward to crowd her space and look straight into her eyes, a small thrill struck her heart. In the past two days he hadn’t made eye contact with her once. He’d been anxious and worried and disoriented, wholly out of his routine.

“Savanna! How come Uncle Will looks like Dad?”

“Because he’s his brother.” Even though he’s much taller and bigger and his eyes are another color. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay, pal? Now it’s time for bed.” She held up the agenda, pointed to the tenth number. “See. Bedtime. Take off your day clothes and put on your pajamas.”

“Oh, yeah.” He turned and disappeared back into the bedroom.

“Excuse us,” she said to Rubens and followed Christopher.

She was helping the boy back under the covers when Dennis’s brother came to the door. “Anything I can do?” he asked.

“We’re almost done.”

“He always like that?”

She shot him a look. “I’ll be right out, Mr. Rubens. Then we’ll talk.”

Big and bold, he remained leaning in the doorway with those watchful eyes. She turned away, though the skin beneath her sweater grew uncomfortably warm. The man was like no other she’d met. Yes, she had known overconfident, arrogant males—she’d seen them in the Third World carrying guns—but Will Rubens needed no gun. His confidence stemmed from an innate source.

After tucking the covers around Christopher, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Go to sleep, pal. Get a good night’s rest.”

The boy closed his eyes. For several moments, she watched him, waiting. His mouth drooped, emitting the little snore; he was asleep.

She brushed back his hair—the aged-gold shade of his father’s—and dropped a kiss on the child’s temple. Christopher disliked hugs and kisses unless he initiated them, so Savanna contented herself with these sweet furtive rituals.

“Wow, fast sleeper.” Rubens spoke from the doorway where he still lounged. “Wish I was so lucky.”

“He wasn’t always as quick. Prior to his eighth birthday, he had a hard time falling asleep. The slightest noise would wake him.” She walked to where Rubens stood backlit by the soft glow of the lamps in the living quarters. Hands in rear pockets, he leaned against the doorjamb, comfortable with studying her. She hugged her waist.

Quietly he said, “Never heard someone repeat entire sentences like that.”

“He’s very bright, Mr. Rubens. You might say he’s gifted. But he’s still autistic, which means his development is not the same as most children. For example, if you asked him to name a very small item, he might say the electrons around the nucleus of a helium atom.”

“Really?” Awe gripped his voice.

“Really.”

He looked past her. “Sounds like he’s pretty special.”

“He’s incredible.”

Ruben’s attention reverted to Savanna. “You love him.”

She didn’t waver. “With all my heart.”

For a long moment he held her in place with his eyes. “How long did you work for my brother?”

“Three years. Initially it was a couple times a week, but because Elke was like a sister…” She looked back at the bed. “When he was born, they asked me to be Chris’s godmother.”

He didn’t respond. Not a flicker of an eyelash.

“Anyway,” she continued, disquieted with his scrutiny, “Elke cut back her hours at the clinic to be with Christopher in the afternoon. I taught her how to handle his behaviors, to work with routines.” And a thousand other strategies Savanna couldn’t explain in one evening.

“Why did it take so long before he was diagnosed?”

“They suspected something was amiss when Chris was three. He hadn’t started talking yet, and when he finally did, it was mostly repetitive. He also didn’t play with your typical toys, like trucks and cars.” She sighed. “At first, Elke tried to deal with the situation on her own, but she found it…exceedingly difficult.” She released a heavy breath. “That’s when I came into the picture.”

Still he did not let her pass through the doorway, and his eyes snared her with that dawn-dusk blue. “I’ve never worked with kids like him,” he said.

“Then you’ll learn.”

He pushed away, walked to the suite’s entry door. “Have the lawyer contact me, Ms. Stowe. I’ll make the arrangements for you to take the boy back to the Outside.”

“Mr. Rubens—”

He turned, eyes hard. “You have my number. Call me in the morning and we’ll discuss it further. Good night.” Stepping into the hotel corridor, he pulled the door closed.

Savanna’s heart thudded in her chest. From what she had observed, Will Rubens was not Dennis. He was not gentle or compassionate or caring. Instead she had brought Christopher into an environment far from conducive to his optimum upbringing. How could she leave him with this man, this brother who was the inversion of the one she’d come to respect and admire?

Dennis, how could you have been so reckless?

But she knew why he’d done it. She understood his reasoning to bring Christopher without warning.

Dennis had relied on his memories. On the one factor that made Will Rubens human. With Christopher, he’d gifted his brother part of his heart.

Chapter Two

Will tossed the keys to the SUV onto the kitchen counter. Beyond the window above the sink, a clear moon cut an icy hole in the starry night.

What was he going to do about the kid—hell, the woman? How could she have brought the boy so far north without checking with him first? And Dennis…what the hell was he thinking? Had been thinking…?

God, his brother. For two long minutes Will leaned his hands on the counter and hung his head, battling the tears, knowing grief and guilt would lie on his soul for years. Dennis, his lone sibling, the one person in the world who had taken a seventeen-year-old Will under his wing when their mother died. The last remaining part of Will’s blood, the only part he had loved beyond words. Wasn’t that why he’d offered the child when Dennis explained his sterility?

I love you, man, Will had told his brother the moment the notion entered his mind. Let me do this for you, okay?

And so they had. Amidst the fighting between Elke and her mother and grandmother. In the end, Elke had won, had conceived, but Dennis had taken her away from Alaska forever.

God almighty, why hadn’t he been more communicative? Will thought for the millionth time. Called more often? Invited his brother back for some fishing or trail biking? Things they’d done in younger years.

Dammit, these days with e-mail and instant messaging the excuses were just that. Excuses.

And now it was too late. Too late for Will and Dennis—but worst of all, too late for the kid.

His phone blinked another message. He hit Play. “Hey Will,” Josh’s youthful voice exclaimed. “Thought you’d be home by now. Well…um…I had tons of fun tonight. Even though you yell and scream a lot and pitch like a girl.” Will’s mouth twitched. “Juuust kiddin’. Thanks, Will. See ya Saturday.”

Saturday. Three days from now Will would be standing in the dugout with Josh’s Little League team, coaching and handing out last-minute instructions and pep talks.

Sixty minutes, that’s all Will had given Josh tonight.

Guilt, the damn gut clincher.

The kid hadn’t said a word, but Will knew disappointment. Josh had hoped for more than a few practice pitches and hits in Starlight Park. He’d counted on Will taking him for a soda at Pete’s Burgers. Instead Will opted to drop the boy off early at his mother’s house. Which was another problem. Valerie had met him at the door with her hungry eyes and sweet, begging smile.

For her sake, he wished he felt the same.

The Stowe woman whipped through his mind. No sweetness there, except for Christopher. That bun of red hair was a dead ringer for her bristly spine and rigid rules. And those eyes. Green as a jalapeño pepper with twice the bite.

He figured her to be in her late thirties. Her eyes were no longer young or innocent. But then, living amidst Central American poverty with merciless sun beating down on that pale, freckled skin, he supposed she’d earned every one of those creases.

No, she wasn’t Valerie. Valerie of the tall, slim body she worked incessantly to keep toned and trim. But neither was he interested in Valerie, much to Josh’s dismay. Will knew the kid wished for a connection between the adults. Trouble was, he wasn’t drawn to neediness.

Tonight she had asked him inside and, as always, he’d reneged. Being a big bro to Josh did not mean being a big date for Valerie.

Not that he didn’t date. He did. But mixing his volunteer work with desperate women wasn’t part of the picture. Besides, 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 come.”

His eyes held hers. And she saw again the blue wash of grief. He looked at Christopher, oblivious to the life-altering events surrounding him.

“It won’t work,” Will muttered. “I’m not parental material.”

“I beg to differ. You’ve volunteered—”

“Key word. Volunteered.”

“Still. You’re familiar with how children behave. You’re good with them, even the toughest.” That much Shane had told her when he’d noticed Christopher’s restless hands down in the lobby.

Again a soft snort. “The toughest isn’t anything like…”

Like Christopher, unpredictable and attuned to his own world. Weird to those who did not understand the underlying genius of the autistic or the quicksilver mood changes, the panics, the rages.

“I’m sure,” she murmured. “But were they your own flesh and blood?”

Compact black lashes blinked. “What exactly are we talking about here, Ms. Stowe?”

A stain of warmth crept up her neck. “Elke mentioned the—” she peeked at Christopher “—procedure you undertook to help them eleven years ago.”

He sat back. His foot bumped hers, and she carefully slid it beneath her chair. “Seems my life’s been a regular open book.”

“Elke didn’t go into details. Just that Dennis was…” Sterile. “And about…your very generous…offering.”

“I was young and stupid.”

“You were a man who loved his brother,” she countered.

That caught him. He glanced away. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you’d think twice before doing it today.”

His eyes hardened. “Yes.”

“Why? Because of the result or because of the consequences?”

He toyed with his mug. “Both. And because of the life I live now.” He nodded toward the windows and Main Street with its one block of quaint Old West storefronts and mud-covered trucks parked along the curbs of a narrow strip of asphalt. “It’s not easy in Alaska.”

“And Central America is?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“I’m Christopher’s godmother. My responsibility is to him and to your brother and his wife. But most of all to you, Mr. Rubens.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you.” Common sense said to take Christopher and leave, but she could not refuse the last wish of her friends. It was up to her to follow through with their request—incongruous as it seemed, given this man’s goals and lifestyle. “Both Elke and Dennis wanted this. They gave me specific instructions—” in case “—to acquaint you with your nephew, and vice versa, to make sure you both have an equal chance.”

“It won’t work.”

She sighed. She was getting nowhere with him. “Will—”

“Savanna.” Elbows on the table’s edge, he leaned in close. She saw individual whiskers on his upper lip and along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved after rising from bed, and the male essence of that went through her like a streak of hot sunshine. “As soon as we’re done eating,” he continued, “I’m driving you both back to Anchorage and you’re catching the first flight to the Lower 48.”

Christopher lifted his head. “Back to Honduras?”

“No, pal,” Savanna said, giving Will her best stern look. “We’re staying in Starlight.”

“Forever?”

“Hopefully for a long time.”

Thankfully, Mindy the waitress arrived with their food. For several seconds Savanna watched Will and he watched her while the waitress doled out the plates, asking Christo pher to move his map so she could set down his plate.

The boy disregarded her.

Savanna slid her hands gently beneath Christopher’s, lifting him and the page free from the table’s surface.

“Doesn’t he hear?” Mindy asked.

“He has difficulty—”

“He’s autistic,” Will cut in.

“Awesome-tistic,” Christopher corrected without raising his head from the map. “I’m awesome-tistic and you’re an NT.”

The waitress looked as if she’d swallowed a raw egg. “Sorry. Um, well… Holler if you need anything else.” She scurried off.

Savanna picked up her cereal spoon. “Let’s eat.”

Will studied Christopher. “What’s an NT?”

“Neurotypical,” the boy said, checking both sides of his toast; finding them acceptable.

Savanna explained, “People who are not aspies, who don’t have ASD, are sometimes called NTs.” She winked at Will, hoping he would clue in and let the topic drop.

“You mean nor—”

“Yes. Exactly. But that’s an old term.”

“Sorry, didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” She leveled her gaze across the plates of food. This was his child. His obligation according to Dennis’s last request. Given the choice she never would have brought Christopher to Alaska, to this man with his wily handsome eyes. She would have taken Christopher to Tennessee, to her hometown where her brother and family lived, and reared the boy as her own.

But she had to give Will Rubens the conditional twelve weeks.

She turned to the boy. “It’s time to eat your breakfast, buddy. You can study the map once you’ve finished your juice and toast.”

“Triangles,” he said.

She cut the bread into the geometric shapes; the boy chose one and bit off a corner. “Chris likes his food cut into precise pieces and I help him get it right.” Over the table she caught Will’s gaze. Give the man something positive, Savanna. “He’s also a pro at drawing maps and trains.”

“Trains.” The boy munched his toast and latched on to his current pet topic. “They were once steam engines, y’know? People think they were invented by a Scotsman James Watt in 1769, but he only improved the mechanics and designed a separate condenser. The real inventor was Thomas Savery in 1698 in England.”

“Yes,” she conceded. “And you sketch those old engines with a lot of detail.”

Christopher spread a pat of peanut butter from a tiny packet the waitress had set on the side of his plate.

Savanna glanced at Will. A little hammer tripped in her chest. It had been a long time since a man looked at her with such intensity. Softly she said, “I know this is all a shock to you, Mr. Rubens. However, Chris and I will remain at the lodge for the interim until I find a place to rent. It’s important you and your…nephew begin the changeover as soon as possible.”

The man across from her dug into his eggs. “There’s a flight out of Anchorage this evening. I can have you there in two hours, then you can sleep on the way home, wherever that is.”

“Tennessee.” Savanna set her fork against her plate. “You might as well understand. We are not leaving.”

Slowly he laid down his utensils. “Fine.” From his hip pocket he drew out his wallet; tossed down a twenty. “This conversation is over.” Pushing back his chair, he offered her a nod, then walked out of the restaurant.

Well. That certainly was interesting. At least he hadn’t said flat-out no.

Packing the New York businessmen’s fishing gear into the storage compartment of the helicopter, Will thought long and hard about Savanna Stowe. Hell, he’d been thinking long and hard about the woman since he heard her message on his answering machine.

Five foot whatever of unadulterated obstinacy, that’s what she was. Where did she come off figuring he could manage a kid who had those kinds of behaviors and learning problems—with him flying all over hell’s half acre at the drop of a hat?

Kid is Dennis’s.

Yeah, and the boy had some of his brother’s DNA, but he also had Elke’s gene pool running in his blood. And Will hadn’t been a fan of Elke. After conceiving—an analytical experience he’d never go through again for any reason—she’d coaxed Dennis into that jungle. Where he had died in a fixed wing, a single-engine plane, not entirely different from the bird Will loaded.

Ah, Dennis.

Why hadn’t he returned to Alaska after the boy was born? They needed doctors like him up here just the same as down there. But, no. Elke got that damned do-gooder notion in her head and thought Dennis, with his skills, could save more souls in those godforsaken jungles than in Alaska. As if they didn’t have one-room shacks and diseases in this neck of the woods.

Truth be known, Elke hadn’t wanted to live near her mother who had, by the way, considered Dennis’ younger brother a “juvenile thrill seeker.” So rather than stand up to Rose Jarvis, Elke chose to run and take Dennis along.

With a last shove, Will secured the expensive black tackle boxes the Henricks twins would use to fly-fish off the shores of the Big Su. This was the brothers’ fifth trip to Alaska, and they always used Will as their pilot of choice. There were others—Ike Markham, Vince Forrest—but none flew the risky areas.

Only Will.

And Savanna Stowe wanted him to play Daddy.

He climbed from the helicopter’s cargo area and motioned to his two passengers gazing out of the windows of the tiny airstrip’s service station. Airtime.

The men, carrying shoulder packs, headed through the door, into the bright afternoon sun. As Will gave instructions, he settled them onboard.

A thousand feet up, the Talkeetna Mountains bumped along the western horizon and beyond them Denali, Alaska’s highest rock, speared the sky like a chunk of white chocolate.

As always sky time was like touching heaven. For a moment Will imagined Dennis beside him with that crazy, slanted grin, eyes full of mischief—the way Christopher’s had been when he’d said “awesometistic.”

Will’s heart thumped in his chest. God have mercy, what had he been thinking?

He couldn’t let the boy go.

Christopher was the one piece, the final piece linking Will to his brother.

Your flesh and blood, she’d said.

My family, he thought. And suddenly his eyes stung, and a knot wedged in his throat. Since Aileen died he hadn’t wanted family. Not in this lifetime, not in this world. And now here was the child of his brother, orphaned…

The bird swayed a little around a gust of air. Damn woman was right. He had to take the kid. Had to. Somehow.

Pulse rapid with the resolution, he wondered what she would say when he hunted her up later today. Likely she’d be pleased as a bear in a berry bush in August while his gut felt like he’d left it back on the helo pad.

Elke’s grandmother Georgia Martin lived in a green clapboard house. Savanna had seen pictures of the place two years ago when the woman sent Elke a Christmas card straight out of the past.

“I haven’t seen her in eleven years,” Elke had said at the time as they studied the photographs of the small home amongst eighty-foot evergreens. “My mom hadn’t wanted me to do what I did.”

To clinically conceive a child. One from Dennis’s eight-year younger brother and a man Elke had known growing up in Alaska. A man her mother, Rose, had labeled a diabolical daredevil who would one day end up killing himself or, worse, Dennis.

Georgia had told Rose to leave matters alone; the situation was between consenting adults.

The advice had fallen on deaf ears, and so to stop his mother-in-law’s haranguing and save his brother’s honor, Dennis had moved Elke to Washington state and eventually to Honduras.

Nevertheless, the pictures arriving out of the blue opened a door Elke had stepped through.

Now, with Christopher at her side, Savanna walked down a graveled road bordered by homes from an era that had fought World War Two, and which spruces, birch and willows all but sheltered from sight.

Last night’s dusting of snow crunched beneath their footfalls. “Do you see it, Chris?” she asked the boy tapping his mittened fingertips together in time with each step. After Will left their breakfast table, she had taken Christopher to Larson’s General to buy him a silver parka, along with a red polar fleece hat, scarf and mittens. Initially, she’d wanted wool, until he’d complained over its texture and weight. “Can you see a green house with a black roof?”

Through the trees she peered up trails winding to front doors of homes of various shapes and sizes and ambiances, like the two log cabins with moose racks hanging from porch roofs. Pickups and SUVs were parked on partially melted pathways.

“No. No.” Christopher tapped his fingertips faster, his agitation about Georgia increasing. He disliked meeting new people, hated detours from his routine. “This could be the wrong street,” he commented anxiously, his toe-rocking walk angling his body slightly forward.

“When I phoned this morning, Great-Nana said she lived on Mule Deer Road.”

“Yeah, Mule Deer Road. We’re meeting Great-Nana on Mule Deer Road.” He looked straight ahead. “She lives in a green house on Mule Deer Road.”

“Keep searching for it, pal.”

Elke’s grandmother had cried when she heard her great-grandson was three short blocks away. Savanna had insisted they walk the seven-minute distance rather than have Georgia pick them up at the lodge. Christopher needed the brisk air and exercise, and Savanna needed to scope out Starlight.

The town called to her. In some ways it reminded her of the Honduran villages, the camaraderie of its citizens. She wondered where Will lived, if his home resembled those on Mule Deer Road with its cozy down-home aspect that confirmed the door was always open, the coffee on the back burner.

Starlight citizens, she suspected, knew each other’s lives as well as their own. The way Mindy the dancing waitress and Shane the salmon-fishing desk clerk knew Will.

And what would Georgia say about Mr. Will Rubens? Georgia, who had known Will as a child younger than Christopher?

“There it is.” He pointed to a tiny olive house set amidst sturdy-trunked spruce and tall, elegant paper-barked birch at the road’s end.

“Ready?” she asked, watching smoke curl from the brick chimney. Around them, lazy snowflakes spiraled from a slate sky and muffled their voices.

Christopher’s fingertips tapped fast as pistons. “Uh-uh.”

She touched his cheek and his eyes drew to hers. “Christopher. This is your great-nana’s house. She is Mommy’s grandmother.”

“Mommy’s not here. She’ll never be here.”

Oh, God. He’s recalling the terrible news.

Fingers tapping, tapping. “Mom’s in heaven with Dad.”

Savanna’s chest agonized. “Yes, darlin’.”

“I don’t want to go to heaven because then I can’t go back home.”

She blinked hard and stopped to zip up the coat he’d undone as they walked. His gaze fastened on the house. “Is Great-Nana’s house a different home? Does she like maps?”

“Her home will be different because we haven’t seen it yet. And you’ll have to ask her if she likes maps.” He’d spent hours on the plane studying the state’s cities, towns, lakes, rivers, mountains. She gave him a quick hug. “Remember, be polite.”

“Okay.”

An ache ringed her heart. Elke should be here introducing her child to her family’s oldest relative.

They started up the narrow trail through the trees, past the rusted white pickup and a dented wheelbarrow potted with last summer’s annuals, to the front door.

The house had been given a coat of paint in the past year. White shutters bracketed the single front window. Before Savanna could knock on the door, it opened and a tiny woman in whitewashed jeans and a pink sweatshirt smiled at them. Silver curls sprang wildly around her head as her clear-sky eyes beamed happiness.

“Well, now,” she exclaimed. “If this just don’t beat all.”

“Georgia Martin?” Savanna asked.

“And you’re Savanna Stowe.” She spotted Christopher flapping his hands and her expression filled with instant love. “Christopher…”

“Chris, say hello to Great-Nana.”

“Hello, Great-Nana.”

“Just call me Nana, Chris.”

“Nana.” His gaze riveted on a small oil painting of a tabby cat in the entranceway. He rocked on his feet. “Cats are dangerous. They digest rodents because they’re carnivores, and they scratch your skin.”

“Only if they’re scared, Christopher,” Georgia said gently. She stepped aside. “Won’t you come in?”

Savanna spoke softly. “Would you mind taking the picture away, Georgia?” On the phone at the lodge, while Christopher brushed his teeth, she had given the woman a brief summary of what to expect with the boy, although Elke and Georgia had discussed autism at length in letter and phone exchanges. This morning the old woman had mentioned a Siberian husky but no cats.

“Of course.” Georgia took down the picture, shoved it into the drawer of a small antiquated hall table. “Tabs was once my pet.”

Christopher’s flapping lessened to finger tapping again, and Savanna led him into the house. “I’m so sorry to barge in on you like this,” she said.

“Oh, honey, I’m glad you did, but heartbroken over the circumstances.” Her eyes filled for a moment. “I was planning a trip down to see my granddaughter this summer. She’s—was my sole relative.”

“Elke was so looking forward to your visit.” Savanna touched the shoulder of the boy at her side and smiled. “You still have Christopher.”

“I do.” Georgia rolled her lips inward, blinked back tears and walked back to a tiny, cluttered kitchen. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’m fine. We had a big breakfast, thank you. Georgia, I know this is very presumptuous of me, but I need your help.”

“Anything, honey.” She darted a look at Christopher. “Is Will adamant?”

Over the lodge phone, Savanna had briefed her on Will, as well. “I’m working on that. It’ll take some time.”

Georgia laughed. “I’d say you have your work cut out for you, then. That boy has a stubborn streak twenty miles wide. But a good heart. What is it you need?”

“A place to stay while he and Christopher get to know each other.” She watched the child walk to the living room, where he sat yoga-style on a large round rag rug beside a husky, its tail slowly beating the floor. “Is your dog good around children?”

“Blue loves kids,” Georgia assured. “But arthritis is eating his hips and he’s half-blind. Now, he pretty much sleeps the day away. Chris is okay with dogs, then?”

“Yes,” Savanna conceded, and for a moment they observed boy and canine. “Let’s hope your Blue helps him adjust over the next twelve weeks—and I won’t have to make a decision.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “Decision?”

“To take Chris back to my hometown in Tennessee—if he and Will don’t connect.” Savanna pulled the copy of Dennis’s will from her purse. “Georgia, your granddaughter and Dennis requested…” How to explain to this sweet elderly grandmother? “I was their second option to raise him,” she whispered in a rush before clamping her mouth shut.

Georgia read the highlighted paragraphs, her curls quaking from the tiny tremor of her head. Was she in the initial stage of Parkinson’s?

“I’m sorry,” Savanna whispered, picturing the latter phase of the disease. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.” On top of everything else.

The stationary quivered in the old woman’s hands. “No, they were right. I’m too old and…” She folded the testament carefully. “Well.” Eyes sharp as a blade, she handed back the copy. “Do you love my grandson?”

“As if he’d come from my own body.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

Savanna’s shoulders relaxed.

“But,” Georgia said with a wink, “three months is a long time. Will and I just might convince you to become an Alaskan.”

Chapter Three

They arranged for Savanna and Christopher to temporarily move into Georgia’s home. Savanna had argued against the offer, but the old woman would not budge. She wanted a chance to know her great-grandson, she said. And Savanna. She wanted to understand the woman her granddaughter trusted with life’s most precious gift.

They used Georgia’s old truck to move the suitcases from the lodge. Done, they drove to Starlight Elementary where Savanna registered Christopher in fifth grade for the remainder of the school year.

She was walking through the six-o’clock dusk, back to the house from Larson’s General, with three king salmon steaks, when Will came up the street in a red Toyota 4Runner.

“Hey,” he said through the open window. Slowing to a crawl, he drove with his right hand atop the steering wheel while his left arm sat jacked on the sill. “Lodge said you’d checked out.”

She stopped, the grocery sack swinging against her leg. “We moved in with Georgia Martin.”

His brows jumped. “Didn’t know you were acquainted.”

“She’s Christopher’s great-grandmother.”

“I know who she is, Savanna. I just didn’t know you two knew each other, is all.” His eyes were ebony in the dusk.

“We didn’t until about eight hours ago. I needed a place to stay. She offered, so…here we are.”

He stopped the truck. “Get in and I’ll give you a lift.”

“What for? It’s right there.” She pointed a hundred feet up the street where lights welcomed the old lady’s home among the trees.

“Because,” he said, “we need to talk.”

“If it’s about us leaving, I’m not interested.”

“It’s about Christopher. I’ve changed my mind.” He nodded to the passenger seat. “Get in. Please,” he added.

The please went through her like butter, but she forced herself not to give in too quickly. “Are you always this charming?”

His grin rippled across her stomach. “Only with certain women.”

Certain women. She could imagine the type. Tittering at his whim. Blinking doe eyes. Women like Mindy the waitress, dreaming of dancing with the local macho pilot. Dirty dancing. Eager young women. Not one skipping toward menopause with the next handful of birthdays.

She raised her chin. She had not spent twenty years in the Third World without earning her wrinkles, her tough spine. Nine years and Will Rubens might, might, catch up to her wisdom.

“I am not certain women,” she said. “And I do not take orders easily.” Definitely not from young hotshots with dimples.

He laughed. “Feisty is good.”

She walked on. “We can talk at the house.”

“Savanna…”

“The house,” she called back.

“Fine.”

She heard gears grind as the truck detoured around her and roared ahead. He veered into Georgia’s driveway and slammed to a stop. Before she could catch her breath, he was out of the cab, arms crossed and waiting like the headmaster of a nineteenth-century school.

She walked past him. He had some growing up to do.

“Damn it, Savanna.” He wheeled to stride beside her. “You said the house.”

“When you act your age, we’ll talk.”

He caught her arm, halting them midlane. “Where the hell do you get off talking like that? I’m not your student and for damn sure you’re not my mother.”

Her heart bumped her throat. She’d forgotten his size. They stood in a forest of trees, in the dark, and who in Starlight would come to her rescue against the fun-loving, dancing Will Rubens? “Please take your hand off me,” she said quietly.

His mouth thinned, but he did as she asked. “I want Christopher.”

For an indefinite moment, they stared at each other and she thought, The shape’s all wrong. Christopher didn’t have Elke’s eyes. Will dominated both the shape and color of Christopher’s eyes. A little ruffle stirred under her heart. “Why?” she finally managed.

“Why? This morning all you wanted was for me to take him, and now you ask why? How’s this—because he’s my brother’s kid?”

“Not good enough.”

His mouth gaped.

“First of all, blood does not make a parent. Second, last night and this morning you—”

He held up his hands. “Okay, okay. I can’t deny what I said before, but I’ve been thinking on it all day and I want a chance.” A heavy sigh. “He’s all I have left of…of Dennis.”

Again that little bump in the throat. Dennis, she reminded herself. She would do this for Dennis…and Elke. “All right. We can meet in the morning and figure out the arrangements.”

He looked at the house with its inviting face. “Understood. Tomorrow it is.” Then added softly, “Thank you.”

He walked back to his truck, night shadows swaying through the trees to brush his shoulders. She tried to ignore the shadow stealing into her heart.

With one hand holding a thermos of coffee, Will knocked on Georgia’s door at 7:30 the next morning.

He should be at the flight service station getting ready for the two hikers he was flying into the Talkeetna Mountains in a couple hours. He never understood people hiking when the weather was ornery and unpredictable. But who was he to argue? Their decisions and money put food on his table.

In the pale dawn light, he studied the front yard with its spruce and birch, frosted from the overnight temperature. The ambience resembled his own property on the next street. Except, when he’d bought, the original structure hosted rot and decay and he had torn it down to build a log cabin. This August would mark his seventh in the house, still ranked “new” by Starlight standards. It’s what he loved about the village, this reluctance to massacre the environment in the name of progress.

When he’d returned to his hometown eight years ago, it was to lick his wounds. To flee a broken heart. Broken because of Aileen, dying for the same altruistic reasons as Dennis had last Monday. What Will hadn’t understood then was you can’t hide from memories, that it takes time—sometimes never—for the mind to evict its awful images.

Thanks to Harlan those images had faded, finally. Harlan, former Nam vet, teaching orphaned seventeen-year-old Will to fly helicopters—a boy who eventually grew into a man, flying rich folk around California and who, one day years later, would return and use those skills in the Alaskan wilderness to erase the memory of his murdered sweetheart. A woman like Savanna, journeying into areas where poverty and gangs were medians of survival.

The door opened. “Morning, Will,” Georgia greeted.

“Nana Martin.”

“I suppose you’re here to see Savanna and Christopher?”

“Yes, ma’am. Savanna’s expecting me.”

“Come in, then.” She walked back to the kitchen.

Entering, he smelled breakfast and coffee, and followed the morning odors. At his house, he had made a plate of eggs and toast; though he had no trouble brewing his own coffee, he sometimes left the task to Lu over at Lu’s Table with her Starbucks franchise.

At the kitchen table, Christopher munched his toast triangles. His blue sweater was inside out. Savanna stood leaning against the counter, coffee mug cozy between her hands, green eyes on Will. She’d pulled her blue sweater on properly—and over breasts, he noticed, which were a nice ample package. Her jeans fit a damn fine package, too.

He offered a nod. “Savanna. Figured we could talk before I head out for the day. Don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?”

“Talkeetna Mountains. Hikers,” he added.

She turned toward the window. Mounds of crusted snow lay among the trees. “People hike this time of year?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Almost May. Not as cold as it looks.” If the wind stayed down.

Her look took in Christopher, and Will understood. “This won’t take long,” he said. “We can talk out on the porch.” After the boy reiterated Will’s words verbatim in the lodge’s room, he’d rather ask questions and discuss his plans away from little ears.

“Let me get my coat.”

Outside, day was beginning to arrive. Pale-gray patches stitched themselves into evergreen tops. Will stepped from the rear stoop to walk through the trees. Brittle brown grass and glassy snow crackled under their boots. He loved early morning best. The quiet, the peace. Before people cluttered the day.

Stopping, he lifted his thermos, took a deep swallow of dark roast. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Georgia?”

Hands buried deep in her parka’s pockets, Savanna edged beside him as he stood on the path among the hulking black spruce. He could smell her, a clear, pure scent of summer in the mountains—blue skies and meadows filled with dogwood.

“You didn’t give me a chance.”

She had him there. “Suppose I didn’t,” he admitted. “So. What’s the story? She know about the boy’s problem?”

“Yes. Elke told her right after she and Georgia started communicating in 2005.”

He looked down at the top of her head barely reaching his collarbones. “They had remained estranged all those years?”

She lifted a shoulder. “As I’m sure you know, the reasons were profound.”

Yeah, he knew all about those reasons. Elke’s mother thought him “foolish and stupid” putting his life on the line because he liked riding motorcycles and flying helicopters, sky-diving and whitewater kayaking—and dragging his brother along.

Dennis, wanting to be a doctor from his tenth birthday.

No, there hadn’t been any love lost between Will and Rose.

But Elke was the woman his brother had chosen from the time they hit puberty. In Will’s mind she’d been weak-kneed in the face of Rose. But Dennis loved Elke, and Will loved his brother, end of story.

“Who contacted who first?” he asked.

“Georgia. After Rose died.”

“Two years ago.”

“Yes. She wrote a letter of regret and apology on Rose’s behalf, and Elke accepted. They corresponded several times a month.”

“When did you tell her about the crash?” His throat tightened. Thinking of Dennis, God, it was a slug to the gut every time.

“Yesterday morning. After our breakfast.”

So. Georgia wasn’t first on Savanna’s list any more than she was in Dennis’s will. Oddly, Will felt satisfaction in that. As a result Savanna Stowe deemed him Priority One. She might have moved Christopher into Georgia’s house, but she had kept her promise to Dennis.

“I’d like a chance with Christopher,” he said. “I’ll hire a nanny for the days I’m flying and can’t be with him or,” he looked back at the house, “I’ll make arrangements with Georgia.” Though he hoped that necessity wouldn’t happen.

“Georgia isn’t capable of watching Christopher for long stretches. She’s eighty-six with a possible onset of Parkinson’s. However, I am capable. As I’ve explained, I’ll be staying in Starlight until I see that Christopher has adjusted to you and his new home. And,” she paused, “until I feel confident you’re able to care for him. If not, we’ll both be on the next flight out.”

Will stared at her. If she wasn’t a woman and if his mother hadn’t whupped respect into him before she died, he’d tell Savanna Stowe in no uncertain terms to take a long hike into the mountains. She was using that superior attitude again. Like he had no sense, no brains. The way Rose had classified him.

Okay, fine. He’d play along. He wanted the kid. If that meant singing her tune, he’d sing. “Tell me what you want.”

She blinked, no doubt surprised he’d acquiesced without a murmur.

“You’ll need to readjust your flying time to be home when Christopher is finished with his day. He’ll need your attention then.”

“Seems he does fine with his maps.” He skipped another look toward the house. “I saw him with a Game Boy in there.”

She scowled. “Those are fine for emergencies. Look, except for his learning and some specific behaviors, Christopher is just a little boy. He requires stability and routine like other children. But he also requires a lot of mental stimulation. Which you’ll need to provide.”

“And if I don’t he’ll throw a tantrum, rip down curtains?” Will tried to joke.

Her pupils pinpricked. “Possibly. Imagine ignoring an active, anxious toddler.”

Will couldn’t imagine. The youngest kid he had coached was six. An age when they talked and walked and went to the washroom alone. When they could entertain themselves with a Tonka truck.

“Maybe he’ll like playing on a Little League team.”

She blew a soft sigh. “Will, have you read anything about Autism Spectrum Disorder or Asperger’s Syndrome?”

“Checked the Internet a bit last night.” Her scrutiny had him itching to pace. “Before that—” He shrugged.

“The Internet is a start. There’s also the library or bookstores.”

“Fine. What about his education at school?”

“I talked to the principal and the fifth-grade teacher at Starlight Elementary yesterday. They’re willing to let me volunteer as Christopher’s assistant for now. However, as his guardian, your input will be considered first and foremost.”

“Seems you have it under control.”

“Because my dedication is to Christopher, who needs an immediate routine. And sometimes even that doesn’t work as planned. Today he’ll be anxious. He won’t be familiar with the school or the kids. And he’ll worry they’ll stare and tease.”

Something shifted inside Will. He studied the house. Inside was a child vulnerable to the panorama of life. The thought of Christopher huddling in a corner because of some cruel gesture or word had Will pressing his lips together. For the first time he realized how much Savanna knew about the boy and how much he did not.

“Is that how it’s always been, kids teasing him?”

“No. Honduran children seem kinder than North American kids. Probably because in the Third World they already have so little, differences are not as evident.”

“I’ll make sure no one teases him.”

A sad smile. “You won’t be with him every minute of every day, Will. There are going to be times his behavior will draw stares. The way he walks. His humming.”

Flapping his hands. Repeating sentences and words. Will moved down the path a short way, thinking hard on all she had said. What training did he have to handle a kid with differences? With restrictions? None. Maybe he should let the boy go back to the Lower 48, live with Savanna.

Through the window of the house, he saw Christopher sitting at the table, probably working that pocket toy or poring over his maps. An isolated little kid who had Dennis’s wheat hair, Elke’s serious face.

Damn it. He had to make this work. For his brother, even for Elke. But more significantly for Christopher.

With a sigh he turned to Savanna. Her spruce-green eyes were determined; his decision made not a whit of difference. Christopher was her focus. If the boy stayed, she would stay. If Will changed his mind, she’d have the kid out of Starlight within the hour.

Her indifference on his behalf bothered Will. He wanted Savanna Stowe to care about what he thought, what he felt. Mostly he wanted her support, and the logic of that made no sense. He lived his life the way he liked, without a woman’s whims or approval.

“Does he like school?” he asked, slamming the door on his emotional analysis.

Amusement sparked her eyes. “Oh, he loves school. He just wishes the other kids weren’t there.”

Will chuckled. “Did he say that?”

“The first day of every school year. As I’ve said, he has no desire to be with his peers.”

“Because of the teasing.”

“Because of his genetic makeup.”

That stung. “I didn’t give him autism, Savanna.”

“Maybe not.” Elke had fretted over the same possibility. “What I meant is that his condition won’t seem so different or odd once you understand the underlying factors.”

“What causes it?”

“They believe it’s how the brain develops. Specifically, deficits and delays in those areas dealing with social and emotional behavior and reasoning.”

“Delays. You mean he’ll be normal, typical, one day?”

“Like you and me? Not entirely. But he’ll have mastered life skills that will assist him as an adult.” A smile touched her mouth. “It’s believed Einstein, Sir Isaac Newton and Henry Cavendish, the scientist who discovered hydrogen, all had a form of Asperger’s. If that helps.”

It didn’t.

A weak sun peeked through the gray-blue patches, dusting the frosted trees in glitter. For a few moments they stood silent, contemplating the emergence of spring.

Will said, “This isn’t all, is it?”

A head shake. “We’ve barely touched the surface. But with each day I’ll explain more when a particular behavior crops up.”

Will pursed his lips. “Seems he likes maps.”

“You’ll find he’s very possessive about certain items. Like his maps, his knapsack, the sketchbook. He’ll draw trains for hours. But he’s averse to taking direction. Not because he’s belligerent, but because he relates it to negativism. He needs a lot of praise and encouragement.”

“Terrific. So how do I tell him when he’s done something wro—inappropriate?”

“Why don’t we take it one day at a time?”

He was all for that. What she had given him had overloaded his brain.

He studied her while she surveyed their surroundings.

She was small and curvy, with hair that spiraled around the shoulders of her black coat the way forest fires whorled into a night sky. Genetics had given her a linear nose, a little on the long side with tiny nostrils—and well-shaped lips. Kissable if he had an inkling. Which he did not.

On the whole, she matched nothing of what he found appealing in women. Her brows and lashes were auburn, her chin small and narrow. And she was shorter than he preferred. However, her smile was sincere and kind and he wished she’d volunteer it more often.

Suddenly he wondered about her age and how long she’d worked on foreign soil. “How old are you?”

Her head turned slowly, eyes wide and dark. “That’s rude, don’t you think? To ask a woman her age?”

He shrugged. “I figure with you and Elke being best friends you know my age.” Lifting his eyebrows, he cut her a grin. “Fair is fair. And it’s not like we’re interested in each other.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Forty-two.”

“This year?”

“No.” Her eyes flashed; he curbed a laugh.

Forty-three this year. A separation of nine years. He’d already had his thirty-fourth birthday.

“I think,” she said, moving down the path toward the house, “we’re done here.”

“Are you planning to live with Georgia for the duration?”

She hesitated. “I’ll be looking for a place to rent. Georgia is kind enough to have us stay, but I’d prefer not to take advantage.”

Not with a high-maintenance kid. Will nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know.” He shifted on his feet. “Thanks for the information about…”

“His name is Christopher.”

Was she for real? “I know that. Look, it may take a few months to adjust my schedule. I’m already booked into June.”

“He doesn’t have a few months, Mr. Rubens, so I suppose it depends on what’s most important to you. Your job or your nephew.”

Damn the woman. “My job,” he said, breathing deep for control, “pays the bills. It’ll keep the boy in clothes and food with a roof over his head and a babysitter at his beck and call—”

“Babysitter?” Two steps and she was back within his space, a compact bundle of tenacity. “Christopher needs someone specialized in working with autistic children, Will. He’ll need a behavior interventionist to help reinforce strategies to curb his anxiety and frustrations, establish boundaries. He may require an SLP. And you’ll need to participate in his IEP. There’s also the respite worker—”

He threw up his hands. “Whoa. Speak English. An IEP and SPL?”

“SLP. Speech language pathologist. An IEP is an individualized educational plan the school requires for his workload.”

“Okay, understood, but a respite worker?”

“As sweet as Christopher is, you’ll need breaks. Respite workers are trained in special needs.”

“And where am I supposed to dig out this nugget of gold?”

“I don’t know. Maybe instead of going dancing or playing pool, spend the time doing research.”

“What? Where the hell do you get this sh—Argh!” He headed down the frozen path. “Elke, right?” Swinging around, he jabbed a finger in Savanna’s direction. “Well, let me tell you something, Ms. Stowe. Her mother ruled the roost in that family, so I told Dennis not to marry the daughter. I also begged him not to leave Alaska. He’d started a fledgling practice right here, did you know that? But he wanted her and she wanted to be rid of Rose. And now they’re dead. Because of her.” The pain of it all had him breathing like a winded sled dog. “And here’s another newsflash. I gave up ‘craziness’—” he dittoed the air with quotation marks and a scowl “—the day Christopher was born. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke and if I play pool, it’s once a month with good, decent folk. And, damn it, yes, I like dancing. You ought to try it sometime. Might loosen that block sitting on your shoulder.”

Turning sharply, he strode for the back gate and alley that led to his cabin. Damn it. Forty-eight hours and the woman had his temper in a knot more times than in ten years.

“Will!”

She rushed after him. He strode on.

“Will, stop a minute. Please.” Her fingers brushed his coat sleeve. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m making assumptions when I shouldn’t. It’s… It’s been a very grueling week, and I know that’s no excuse. I apologize. Can we start over?”

One street over, a diesel engine fired into the morning quiet, and he knew his neighbor Nate Burns, their local flight-service controller, was bound for the airport.

Will took a deep breath. “Are we gonna argue every time something doesn’t go your way?”

“That I can’t promise, but I can give you honesty. If it means Christopher’s rights versus yours, I’ll choose his. Each and every time.”

A heavy moment passed as his eyes held hers. Far in the distance his mind registered her green irises as beautiful with sun-gold dots dappling the outer rims. His gaze dipped to her slightly parted lips emitting a wisp of breath to the frosted air, and he wondered about the degree of warmth he’d feel there if he were to bend down and—

“Here’s the deal,” he said, annoyed because she confused him and had his libido running roughshod over his gray matter. “While you’re in Starlight I’ll respect you’re Christopher’s parental figure. But my free time is none of your business. Clear?”

“Only if—”

“It affects Christopher. It won’t.”

“Yes.”

Again the long look. Again he felt a tickle in his gut. “I’ll see you tonight when I get in.”

He left her as he had last night. Standing among shadows. It wasn’t until he slammed into his house that his words tracked back. I’ll see you. Not, I’ll see Christopher.

Will shook his head. The woman had his insides on a seesaw. One minute he was admiring her mouth, the next he wanted her out of state. He decided to go for a run.

Escaping, Will?

Shut up and get your gear.

Chapter Four

Six days later, Christopher’s teacher phoned and left a message on Will’s answering machine. She wanted to discuss present and future educational goals for his nephew.

Must be the IEP Savanna mentioned, he thought, driving into the school parking lot a half hour after the home-time bell.

A few kids still hung around the yard, playing a game of basketball on a cemented pad. He remembered those days when he’d been twelve, right here, joshing around with his buddies after sitting in a desk for five hours.

Those had been good days. Kind days.

His parents had been alive then, his brother down at Stanford and Aileen…sweet Aileen…had sat on the grass and watched Will and his pals show off, dribbling the ball, tossing it over their shoulders, twirling it on their fingertips, sinking pointers into the ratty net. He’d been the star player then, his sprout of height lending him a five-inch advantage to the rest of the group.

He had laughed in those days. Laughed and sent Aileen all sorts of mischievous grins. And she had held her hand over her mouth, giggled with her friends, but he’d known, clear as a July sky, that he would marry her one day.

God, how naive he’d been then. Twelve years old and already he’d mapped the direction his life would take.

He hadn’t counted on Aileen’s sensitive heart, her need to help the underdog, to travel and teach in disadvantaged areas of the Outside. Like Savanna, and Dennis.

He pushed through the school doors and strode down the hall to the office. The smell of youth, sweaty bodies and chalk dust stung his nose, filtered into his memories. His boots echoed on the tiled floor.

Valerie sat inputting data on a computer. Her son drew silly faces with a blue erasable felt on a dry board next to a filing cabinet.

“Will!” the kid called.

“Hey, Josh.” Will nodded to the woman. “Val.” Her face lit like an ornamental lamp; he looked away.

Josh rushed over. “Whatcha doing here?”

“Got an appointment with Ms. Murphy.”

“Cuza the new boy? I mean your…your nephew?”

Will flicked a look toward Valerie, and shame rose. He should have told Josh about Christopher. In all senses except bloodlines, Josh was his little brother.

But he knew why he’d kept Christopher to himself, why he hadn’t been up-front with Josh, or anyone else for that matter.

Christopher was different.

Oh, hell, admit it, Will. You don’t know what to make of the boy.

Jeez. He wanted to walk out of the school, out of Josh’s life for fear his shame would touch the kid.

Sweat popped from Will’s skin. Could he be any more of an ass? If Savanna knew how he felt…

“Yeah, sport, I’m here because of Christopher.”

“Oh.” A tone of resignation.

“Sorry, pal. I should’ve told you about Chris earlier. I will later, okay?”

Valerie had gone back to typing. As always, she wasn’t getting involved. More loudly than necessary he said, “But right now, I need to speak with his teacher and Mr. Germaine.”

Valerie’s head turned. “Of course, Will,” she murmured. “Follow me.” She led him down a tiny hallway to another door, one he’d gone through more than once as a student and not always for praise. “Mr. Germaine, Will’s here to see you.” She gave him a hesitant smile, then bustled back to her desk.

Will nodded to the principal, “Harry,” and shook the teacher’s hand. “Ms. Murphy.” The woman looked to be in her early twenties. He’d bet his helicopter that Starlight Elementary was her first teaching position. A neophyte in the business of education. And kids with Asperger’s Syndrome.

Behind the desk, the man Will had flown up the Copper River for fly-fishing the past four summers gestured to the empty chair beside Ms. Murphy. “Thanks for coming, Will. Penny, here, wanted to discuss some possibilities for your nephew next year. Since she teaches a split fifth-sixth grade, he’ll be in her class again come September. Penny, why don’t you explain your concerns?”

The woman studied a notebook in her lap. “As you know, Memorial Day weekend and the end of the school term is only seven weeks away, Mr. Rubens. While Ms. Stowe has agreed to volunteer in class with Christopher for the interim, she’s made it clear she won’t be here in the fall.”

Oddly, hearing the information from this girl-teacher made it more real than hearing it from Savanna. Will’s gut clenched.

“Therefore, Mr. Germaine and I recommend Chris be placed in a specialized program in September.”

“Specialized program?”

“A special needs class. There’s a very good one in Palmer.”

Will’s heart pounded. They wanted Christopher to travel sixty miles to attend a class separate from his peers? The idea did not sit right with Will. Years ago, educators like Ms. Murphy had singled him out because he’d been three grades ahead in math. The geek in elementary school.

The daredevil in high school.

“Has he been in a special class before?” he asked calmly.

“Well, according to Ms. Stowe, no. But—”

“Then he’s not going in one now.”

“Mr. Rubens—”

“Will,” Harry began.

“No,” Will said, forcing his breathing to level. “I want Chris staying here, with the other kids. I don’t care where you get the help, but he’s not going into a class that’ll make him feel more different than he is.”

“Mr. Rubens.” Ms. Murphy clenched her hands on top of her notebook. “I know Christopher has been in class only a week and I’m not completely familiar with his behaviors, but I’ve read that autistic children can be highly agitated if…if things don’t go their way.” Her knuckles paled with pressure. Will almost felt sorry for her. “They’re also prone to being very focused.”

And that was a problem? Didn’t teachers want their students focused?

Suddenly his gut spun like a dryer. He had to step up to the plate. For Dennis—and that young math geek twenty years ago. But not without Savanna. He’d been wrong, thinking to send her back to the Lower 48.

You need her help.

“He’s staying in your class, Ms. Murphy.” Will regarded Harry with what he hoped was a take-no-prisoners look. “I won’t have his routine interfered with. Meantime, get him to use an agenda. Ms. Stowe has one and he follows it to the minute.” During the evenings at Georgia’s, he’d witnessed Savanna model behavior through workable techniques by way of the agenda.

“It isn’t that simple,” Ms. Murphy stressed. “For example, Christopher will need assistance in switching tasks.”

Will turned to her. “Isn’t that your job?”

The woman flushed; Harry cleared his throat. “Penny has twenty-nine students in two grades, Will. Christopher takes up more time than one regular student. A smaller class would eliminate confusion for him.”

“Chris is a bright kid,” Will said stubbornly. Like my brother. “He’s quick to catch onto routine.” Sort of. “I’ve seen it at his grandmother’s house. He doesn’t need a special class.”

Harry sighed. “Fine, but he will require testing to qualify for an assistant in the fall.”

Tested. Like a guinea pig. Will could imagine what testing involved for a boy with Christopher’s condition. Hadn’t Will gone through similar rigors at six, ten, twelve, because the ratio of his age to his acumen didn’t match?

Harry checked the file folder in front of him. “You’re the boy’s guardian, right?”

Would perspectives change if he admitted, Biologically I’m his father? “Yeah,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on his chair. “Look, Harry. Give me a name and I’ll hire her to help Christopher. I don’t want him tested.”

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