21. Chloe
Chapter 21
Chloe
W hen I agreed to let Gus take me out, I had no idea his plan would involve a plane.
But when I arrived at the address he’d texted, along with a large backpack Karl had packed for me and insisted I not open, I found a yellow float plane tied up at a massive dock. He and Gus had established some kind of understanding, and I disliked it immensely. I was beginning to feel like Karl was trying to throw me in his path.
Gus stood on the dock with Finn. Although Finn was a little taller and had lighter, longer hair, they had the same blue eyes and similar sharp, rugged features.
“Good to see you, Chloe,” Finn said, his tone friendly and warm.
His brother, on the other hand, was frozen in place, staring at me. And, dammit, was he wearing aviator sunglasses? Asshole. He had to know that aviators instantly raised a man’s hot factor.
“This is my baby,” Finn said, holding an arm out toward the plane. “Well, one of my babies. I put the pontoons on for the summer season.”
I hefted the backpack over my shoulder. What the hell was in here? Bricks?
“Looks great,” I said. I was going for friendly, but the pregnancy nausea made it impossible not to cringe as I spoke. I’d already had eggs, toast, and an apple with peanut butter. Thankfully, I’d stashed a few granola bars in my car. So far, the only thing that helped the nausea was eating.
Gus motioned me over with a wave of one arm. “I can see your house from here.”
I squinted, looking across the deep blue water. He was right. The large roofline and my boathouse were visible from this spot.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” I snarled at Gus while Finn busied himself readying the plane.
“I told you. I want to show you something special. Did Karl pack your backpack?”
I nodded.
“Okay, good. Finn is going to do his preflight checks, and then we’ll go up.”
My instinct was to hustle back to my car and drive away. I hated surprises, and I was tired and cranky and had mountains of work to do. But it was a glorious August day, and my curiosity had been piqued.
Eventually, Finn helped me into the plane, belted me in, and gave me a headset.
I sat behind him, and Gus sat up front in the cockpit.
The plane was tiny, but it was equipped with six seats and a small cargo area. In the back, emergency supplies were strapped to the fuselage and clearly labeled.
I’d been in small planes before and was used to the drill. The vibrations, the noise, the jolt when the aircraft left the water. It was thrilling. Not that I would admit that to Gus.
As we flew, Finn pointed out Mt. Katahdin, several rivers and streams, and a herd of moose. He was great at this, flying, navigating, and narrating along the journey. I could see why he didn’t want to fly for the timber company. Leading wilderness tours was absolutely his calling.
“Where are we?” I asked as Gus guided me out of the plane. We were on a small lake that was surrounded by dense forest. There was another dock on the opposite side of the lake, but no houses, boats, or any signs of civilization.
“Big Eagle Lake,” Finn replied. “This is our side. Technically, your side, I guess. And over there”—he pointed to the other dock—“is the Gagnon side. This lake isn’t accessible by road, so we fly out here on float planes.”
“And what are we doing here?” I asked as Gus took a massive backpack, a soft-sided cooler bag, and what looked like some kind of pole out of the plane.
“Showing you your land, Dragonfly,” Gus said. “You bought it all, so you may as well enjoy it. Come on.” With a tip of his chin, he headed for a trail sign. “We’ve got a bit of a hike.”
As I shifted my backpack, Finn gave us a smile and a salute. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Bright and early.”
“Tomorrow?” I went rigid, looking from one brother to the other.
“Don’t worry,” Gus said, turning and grinning. “I brought supplies.”
Finn’s smile was warm and also a little apologetic. “He’s got a sat phone in there. Call me if you can’t stand him, and I’ll come back early.”
I gave him a nod of thanks, then, with a deep breath in, followed Gus into the woods.
“What is your endgame here?” I asked as I caught up. “I might be small, but I’m scrappy.”
“I’m aware,” he said over his shoulder.
“I will kick you right in the balls if I have to.”
“Damn.” He chuckled, slowing until I was by his side. “Now I’m thinking I should have brought a cup on this trip.”
“You didn’t? Massive oversight on your part.”
“Sadly, I’m realizing this now.” He adjusted his grip on the strap of the cooler. “But hopefully, the tranquility will be soothing to you. We don’t have much farther to go from here.”
I followed behind him, appreciating how capable he looked trekking through the woods with all our gear. It might have been the pregnancy hormones, but he was looking especially manly, and it was lighting me up inside.
His T-shirt was a faded navy color. Between it and the dense forest around us, his blue eyes popped.
“There’s a special place I’d like to show you. I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been going through. All the chaos and change you’ve endured.”
He tipped his head back and surveyed the trees around us.
“And then it hit me. The best thing I could do for you would be to give you a little stillness. Some quiet. A chance to catch your breath and think.”
My heart panged, and my nose tingled, signaling tears that I had to work to hold back. He wasn’t wrong. I’d never give him the satisfaction of telling him that, but the reality of my situation—this pregnancy—along with my work schedule and the madness that had been the last few months, was starting to catch up to me.
“In town, there’s only so much quiet, even in your lakefront compound. But out here.” He held his free arm out wide. “Out here, it’s everywhere.”
“So you want me to be still?” I asked, garnering all the sarcasm I could to hide how touched I was.
“Your mind. Not your body. Keep walking, Dragonfly. We’ve got a little way to go before we hit our campsite.”
“Does that mean I’m required to make polite conversation with you?”
“Since when have you ever been polite to me?” he asked. “And no, I’m very comfortable with silence. I’m here because I need some stillness too.”
“You would hate the city,” I mused, watching the path ahead of me.
“I don’t hate anywhere.” He peered at me over his shoulder. “In fact, I enjoy visiting Owen in Boston. The city has its own type of stillness.”
“But I know what fuels me, what fills me up. To do what we do, to take care of everyone, worry about the details, work nonstop to ensure things run smoothly, we gotta fill our own tanks.”
“And this is how you fill yours?”
“Yes.”
We hiked along a partially cleared trail, and at every fallen tree, Gus stepped over, turned back, and held out a hand to help me over. By the time we’d crossed a small brook, I was beginning to lose faith in him. But that concern died quickly when we reached a small clearing flanked by a thick copse of trees on one side.
In the middle was a stone circle, and next to that was a rudimentary picnic table built from logs. Beside a boulder nearby sat a large plastic storage container with a padlock on it.
Gus set his backpack on the table. “This is our spot.”
I eyed the random plastic shed-like container, thinking its presence was a bit strange. “I take it you’ve been here before?”
He nodded. “Dozens of times, though I don’t usually make Finn fly me out here like an airborne Uber. Jude and I hike out here from the road. It’s about five miles and pretty dense, but I’ve been coming out here to camp for most of my life.”
He opened his pack and began unloading, taking out a tent and a huge pole with a massive light on top of it. Then he got to work setting up our camp, unearthing more helpful gear from his bag.
“Sam and I built this table with his son about five years ago. We brought four wheelers and tools. Came out pretty good.”
I put my backpack on the table and surveyed the towering trees. It smelled piney and fresh, and it was far less humid out here than in town.
“You should have a sleeping bag in your pack,” he said, setting up the poles for the tent. “And I’ve got a top-of-the-line sleeping pad for you. Can’t have my baby mama sleeping on the ground.”
That was oddly sweet, and yet I was deeply annoyed. I wasn’t against camping, but I did not appreciate being blindsided, and although I was already feeling more relaxed, it was hard not to feel resentful of the man for thinking he knew what I needed.
I unzipped the pack, ready to sort through the random shit Karl had no doubt packed for me. I removed a jug of water, the sleeping bag which had been packed into a compression sack, a headlamp, and a pair of thick wool socks.
Okay, so far, so good.
Next, I found a Ziplock bag full of my skincare products. Not really necessary, but thoughtful.
And—what the hell was this?
I hooked my pinkie in the black lace and pulled, unearthing a very lacy, very sheer nightie. Heart lurching, I stuffed it back in quickly. Fucking Karl.
Gus popped his head up. “Everything okay? Karl said he could handle the supplies for a night in the woods.”
I forced a smile, still shoving the offending item down. Once I was certain it was hidden, I pulled out the hairbrush I’d found. I would kill Karl. I’d fire him and then kill him. Dead. Where he stood. Did he think this was some kind of sex outing?
Is that what Gus thought? If so, he had another thing coming. Sure, he could build fires and carry supplies and even climb fucking trees, but I’d already made that mistake, and now the consequence was currently residing in my uterus.
With a shake of my head, I continued cataloging what Karl had packed. There were clothes, a sweatshirt, protein bars, a flashlight, and a battery bank for my phone. There was no way I’d get a signal out here, but it was thoughtful, nevertheless.
I zipped my pack back up, filled our water bottles, and helped Gus get the tent staked down. It really was beautiful, and as we worked, I made peace with being out here. This was my land, after all.
We worked in silence, and my mind began to slow. Removing all the noises and stressors made me feel more in tune with my body.
Which had probably been his whole plan.
Get me out here and go all mountain man until I was horny and feral.
Well, two could play at this game.
“I’ll grab some firewood,” I said, enjoying the heat of his gaze every time I bent over to pick up sticks.
He’d said to dress casually, so I’d worn bike shorts, knowing it would torture him.
With a small load of firewood in my arms, I turned, finding him watching me with his lip caught between his teeth and his brows pulled low, radiating nervousness. Shit, I wanted to pounce on him, feel his strong hands on my body, and let him have his way with me.
We were virgins when we got together. Sweet and tentative. He’d made me feel so safe and loved my first time. I’d always cherished that memory, even if everything else had gone to shit.
Our wild night together a few weeks back had been far from tentative. He had been ferocious and demanding as he worshiped every inch of me.
The memory made me shiver. I needed to remember to keep my legs closed. I was a mom now, and Gus was a handsome, unreliable complication.
Though it was stupid, I was sure, I did enjoy that he didn’t hide his desire for me. At my birthday party, as well as the next morning, then on the boat, and even here, gathering kindling, he made no effort to hide his attraction.
It felt a bit wicked and gave me a dangerous ego rush.
For so long, I’d played the dating dance. Dealt with the constant worry that came along with wondering whether someone was attracted to me, the feelings of inadequacy. Covering my body and feeling undesirable as I aged.
Not now. Gus made no secret of his desire. And under his intense gaze, I didn’t feel self-conscious. I felt empowered and sexy.
After the tent and sleeping bags were set up, he opened up the storage shed and produced a small propane grill and two folding chairs. There were emergency blankets, water, and a first-aid kit in there as well. Smart.
“Let me get a snack put together, and then we’ll hike up to my special spot.”
Oh, thank God. I was already starving. Pregnancy hunger was no joke. When my blood sugar got low, I turned into a cavewoman. We’d only hiked for thirty minutes, and I was hungry enough to consider the best way to trap squirrels so I could roast one over the campfire.
Gus grilled hotdogs—refusing to let me help, of course—while I sat back, taking in the scenery. I hadn’t felt this at peace in a long, long time.
When we were finished, he insisted I remain sitting while he cleaned up, hung our trash from a tree to keep bears away, and then loaded a small pack with water and protein bars for us.
When he was finished, he led me away from camp, setting a leisurely pace through the forest. Here and there, we passed small markers on trees, but they weren’t arranged to be followed. After he’d consulted a compass four or five times, I started to get concerned that we might get lost, but I kept my mouth shut. He was still walking tall, his face a mask of confidence, so I forced myself to trust him.
As we walked, I relished the cool, damp air filling my lungs. Being out in the forest heightened all my senses.
For example, I couldn’t help but notice the absolute glory that was his ass in those Carhart pants as he climbed the rocky hill. It was round and thick and, dare I say, biteable?
The most infuriating part was that he’d been a perfect gentleman since we arrived. Other than a hand to help me over fallen trees or out of my chair, he hadn’t even touched me. It was as if he knew that experiencing him in the woods, in his natural habitat, was so sexy he didn’t even need to flirt.
I stumbled over a rock but quickly caught myself.
“Eyes on the trail, Dragonfly,” he called over his shoulder. “You can stare at my ass back in town.”
With a roll of my eyes, I huffed. We were ascending now, the terrain steeper and the vegetation changing, signaling that we were at a higher elevation.
I focused on the trail, letting my body experience the journey. The scents of pine needles and moss were strong and soothing. My limbs felt strong and capable, and my brain felt energized.
I’d traveled all over the world and investigated every type of forest. I was no stranger to nature. It was my job, after all—though the trees were technically JJ’s territory—but this forest was so much more. Livelier, richer, greener. Was it because it was Maine? My home?
Or because these were my trees?
Yes. It definitely wasn’t because of the very capable lumberjack who was confidently leading me through the woods.
“Up here,” he said, pulling himself up onto a rock ledge. Once he was up, he lay on his stomach and reached out to me.
As he helped me settle beside him, I took in the view and gasped.
Holy shit.
We were on a rocky plateau. The forest stretched out behind us, but directly ahead was a valley.
Vast and wide, with a small stream flowing down the middle.
And filled with wildflowers.
A riot of colors and sizes, the flora blanketed the valley, reaching all the way to the lake where we’d landed earlier.
Along the periphery of the valley, small trees grew, but the vast majority was filled with colorful flowers and scrub. White, yellow, and orange, with dots of purple as well, growing in all directions, some short and some tall. It was strange and wild and beautiful.
“Here.” He handed me a monocular.
I held it up to one eye, focusing it and enjoying the view. “What is this place?”
“There was a devastating wildfire here in the seventies.”
“Ecological succession,” I said, putting the pieces together.
“Yup. The land, plants, and wildlife grew and evolved after the devastation of the fire.”
“And created something different.”
“And beautiful.”
He stepped close and draped an arm over my shoulders as we gazed out at the valley below.
It hit me, in that silent moment, the impact so powerful it took my breath away.
Deadly, destructive fire had laid waste to this place. But it grew back stronger, yet forever changed.
“There are no roads. This is totally inaccessible. A secret paradise borne out of a tragedy.”
I looked up at Gus, letting a small smile slip free. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
He nodded. “It’s your land. Well, part of it I’m not sure where the boundary is, but most of what you see here is yours.”
We sat on our ledge, sipped water from the same bottle, and continued to take in the beauty in front of us.
“I know you don’t trust me yet,” he said softly. “It’s okay. I will do everything I can to earn it. But I’ve been thinking a lot about the things I’ve done wrong in my life.
“This baby is a blessing. It’s the beautiful field of wildfires blooming in the wake of the mess we made as kids.”
My heart lurched. He was right.
I nodded as tears stung my eyes.
“I know how lucky I am,” he said. “And I’m not going to take any of it for granted. Just let me prove it to you.”