Jake's Biggest Risk. Julianna Morris

modern and age-old technology in use. Pictures of people had inevitably crept in.

      His nerves tightened further as he pulled up the images from the day of the crash. The doctors had asked about the accident and he’d refused to answer. Assuming it was because he couldn’t remember, they’d said not to worry, that it was common to block everything out after a trauma. Yet it wasn’t that at all.

      Jake’s memories of that day were crystal clear—he sometimes wished he couldn’t remember. He still could feel the purity of the air and hear the sound of ice cracking, along with the noises from the bears and the crunch of their boots as they returned to the plane. And he could see Gordon’s gray face, his bluish fingernails, the snow getting closer, the painful impact...and the realization that the old bush pilot hadn’t survived.

      It wasn’t the first time Jake had seen death. When he was a boy, half of his mother’s climbing party had died when they’d tried to climb Sagarmatha—Mount Everest to most people outside Nepal, except the Tibetans, who called it Chomolungma. At eight, he’d been too young to do anything except stay in base camp, but he would never forget the blanket-draped stretchers waiting for transport and Josie’s silence as she sat with a cup of coffee and gazed into the distance.

      Two of the bodies hadn’t been recovered. The climbers had died on the upper slopes where the air was so thin that anyone making the attempt would be risking their own lives.

      Pushing darker thoughts away, Jake mentally evaluated the collection of photos. Since the magazine still wanted him to complete his assignment, returning to Alaska would be his first real effort once he was back to full strength. He didn’t count the picture book on the northern Cascades as genuine work—it was mostly to keep himself from going crazy until things were normal again.

      Late in the afternoon Jake was working in the bright, airy room off the kitchen when a car pulling into the driveway caught his attention. The expensive, late-model sedan was out of place in the natural setting, and the same was also true of the man who climbed out with a bouquet of red roses in one hand and two white sacks in the other.

      Uptight, Jake decided. Obviously conventional, wearing a suit and tie and sporting a short, conservative haircut.

      Hannah Nolan came down the stairs, her long chestnut hair shining with red glints in the afternoon sun, and Jake leaned forward to get a better look.

      Nice.

      While he hadn’t been able to distinguish much about her figure in their previous encounters, right now she was wearing snug jeans and a T-shirt that nicely displayed her feminine curves.

      The sight reminded him that he hadn’t died in the airplane crash. Sex was fundamental to the survival instinct, and Hannah Nolan was a very sexy woman.

      Jake grinned. His apology and attempt at small talk had gone badly that morning, but he’d enjoyed his landlady’s response. She hadn’t humored him the way everyone else had been doing since the accident, saying what they thought he wanted to hear. She’d gotten mad and let him know she was pissed.

      Was she as frankly honest with her visitor? She appeared surprised to see the newcomer, but it obviously wasn’t her ex-husband, who Jake suspected fell into the deadbeat-father category.

      The stuffed shirt handed Hannah the flowers and bent down for a kiss that landed awkwardly when she turned her head at the last moment. Courting customs varied around the world, but it was a good guess they hadn’t arrived at the lover stage. After another few words, they went up the steps into the guesthouse.

      Though he was getting hungry again, Jake decided to stay in the sunroom to see if anything else happened. Aside from Hannah’s undeniable visual appeal, the whole exchange hadn’t been particularly interesting, but after spending so much time confined to a hospital, his standards for entertainment weren’t high these days.

CHAPTER THREE

      IN THE GUESTHOUSE kitchen Hannah tried not to react as she took out the three entrées Brendan had brought with him. Eggplant parmigiana. Her favorite dish, but not the sort of thing Danny liked. Okay, so Brendan didn’t understand kids; that wasn’t the end of the world. He could learn. The baby greens in the salad were even worse for a little boy than the eggplant, but the cheesy breadsticks would be popular—when Luigi called something “cheesy” it was an understatement.

      “This place is really nice,” Brendan said with approval as he gazed around the kitchen. “I never asked, did you do a remodel when you moved in here?”

      “Uh, no,” Hannah murmured, thinking of the fortune it would have taken for her to update the property. Her father was both an architect and contractor and had insisted on doing the work for Great-Aunt Elkie at cost when she’d renovated a few years before, but the materials alone had been hideously expensive. “My great-aunt kept things fixed up. She was quite particular.”

      “I’m impressed. A lot of older people seem to want their homes to stay the same, out of sentiment I suppose.”

      “Not Elkie, at least not about Huckleberry Lodge. Before he died, Great-Uncle Larry made her promise she wouldn’t be maudlin and leave everything the same.”

      “You must have been very close.”

      “I was crazy about them both.” Hannah smiled at the memories. “I used to spend weekends here. We’d make banana splits and watch old films like Key Largo and The Big Sleep. My great-aunt was a big Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall fan. There was a line she loved from an old pop song...‘we had it all, just like Bogie and Bacall.’ I think that’s how she saw her marriage to Great-Uncle Larry, but instead of Key Largo, they had Mahalaton Lake.”

      “Oh...right.”

      It was just a guess, but Hannah had the feeling he wasn’t entirely sure who Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall actually were.

      She checked the clock as she arranged the flowers he’d given her in a vase. Barbi wasn’t due for a couple of hours, so there was time to eat and visit. Nevertheless, it was exasperating that Brendan had come, even though she’d told him that she had plans. Between taking care of Danny and work and community activities, she didn’t have as much time to socialize as he wanted. Of course, maybe he’d never dated a single mother before and didn’t realize how much a child changed things.

      Still, if she ever wanted to fall in love and get married again, she needed to remember how it felt to be a woman, not just a mother.

      She set the table and called Danny from his room. He greeted their guest politely, only to scrunch up his face when he saw his plate; he loved Italian food...as long as it was cheese pizza or spaghetti.

      “Wasn’t it nice of Brendan to bring us dinner?” Hannah said before he could complain.

      “Uh-huh.” He sighed heavily and picked up his fork.

      Hannah ate a bite of salad, savoring the garlic-balsamic dressing. It was just right to set off the eggplant parmigiana, and her frustration with Brendan faded—this was much better than macaroni and cheese.

      “Isn’t Danny eating salad?” Brendan asked.

      “Not tonight.”

      She hadn’t given Danny a serving, knowing he’d balk at eating the mildly bitter baby greens in addition to eggplant. And she couldn’t blame him—children experienced flavors differently from adults, so foods that she loved didn’t necessarily taste good to Danny. Normally she wanted him to try a bite of everything, but it was easier to keep things lower key in front of company.

      Badger came trotting into the kitchen and stood at Danny’s elbow. Hannah didn’t allow Badger to be fed table scraps, but he remained hopeful...making her suspect that Danny was sneaking him bits when she wasn’t watching.

      “Badger, sit,” she ordered.

      The dog lay down, crossing one paw over the other, a picture of meek innocence.