Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Aila
It wasn’t Theron who scared me but my own reaction to him. Sure, he looked formidable as he loomed over me like a grim giant, but it didn’t change how sexually charged I became just from being close to him.
I shouldn’t be like this. I’m not that girl—in love with drama—the one who puts the “X” in extra. I have made such an effort all my adult life to never be that girl. This is why the visceral compulsion I experience when I’m close to him is so frightening.
I feel hunted by my emotions, by the break in my self-control, and by my intense attraction to him.
Something doesn’t feel right. No, there’s a better way to put it. Something doesn’t feel natural. I know myself as well as the next person. I know I’m not the sort of person who goes on a date with guns blazing. My approach to dates has always been cautious.
Sure, I’ll meet up with a man in a public place. I will watch him carefully while we chat. And I will weigh up the options before accepting a second date. I have been this way since college. Nothing has changed.
Blowing air out slowly through pursed lips, I listen to the sound of Theron’s footsteps moving away. Leaning back against the closed door, I force my body to relax. Finally, I can breathe normally.
Snap out of it!
Fumbling in the dark, I flip the light switch on the wall. A dim orange glow floods the room. It’s sweet and quaint, just like the exterior of the inn. The two single beds definitely do not give “come fuck a beefcake biker on top of me” energy.
They are narrow and made up neatly with old fashioned linen: light mohair plaid blankets and white, starched cotton sheets.
Gossamer fine mosquito nets hang over each bed like guardian angels.
The bedside lamps are covered with shades made of lace, and there are hand-knotted rugs on the floor.
The mirror on the vanity dresser is scratched and worn.
“I suppose no one bothers looking in the mirror here because they are all so gorgeous.” I share my thoughts with the room.
Okay, not the older men, but definitely the younger ones—the Midnight Riders.
And the lady behind the bar. She must be the innkeeper Monty Hubble was telling me about.
Luna Blackwood. The woman is absolutely stunning.
Vibrant red hair, full lips, high cheekbones.
No wonder the Riders like hanging out at the bar.
If I’m honest, they looked more like a casting agency callback than a motorcycle club—Theron included. I found it a bit unnatural, the way the bikers were sitting around in their t-shirts and leather jackets, like they were posing or something.
I dare not say it out loud, but they looked predatory. As if they were skulking around the inn like wolves waiting for the bulk of the summer visitors to arrive.
I suppose they like to hook up with inn guests if the visitors are attractive. And I guess that’s what Theron wants to do with me.
Funny how dreams have a way of coming true…
By the time I’d showered and unpacked, Mom had called it a night. Bouncing into the room, she plops down on the bed I haven’t claimed as my own. She falls back against the pillows staring happily at the ceiling and sighs.
“Oh, Aila, I have a real good feeling about this place, don’t you?” Turning to face me, she continues. “Okay, I’ll admit I was so mad when you left me on the jetty alone like that, but God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t he?”
Whenever my mom starts making religious references, I know she’s a couple inches away from falling in love. But I have a few things I want to get off my chest first.
“How much are we going to have in the account after paying our bill here, Mom? I know Laura says we can stay in the guest room when we get back to Winnipeg, but please don’t get too attached to Landslide in case things don’t work out.
And remember that we have to keep four or five hundred dollars for the trip back. ”
I’m talking about my bank account. My mom’s account always seems to be permanently overdrawn until she finds her next meal ticket in the form of a generous man.
This makes my mom sit up again.
“Actually, Aila, we might just end up staying here for free.”
A flood of embarrassment makes my skin hot. Why can’t this be a normal vacation for once?
“Please don’t tell me that you’ve hooked up with the inn’s accountant already! When are you going to stop wheeling and dealing your way through life and using men as your bargaining chip, Mom?”
Here we are, mother and daughter, facing off.
“I’m not a ho, Aila. How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!”
Great. Just great. We are clearly the first of the summer guests to arrive at the Landslide inn, and here we are, acting like trash and yelling at one another.
“Please keep your voice down!” I’m hissing at my mom, but my blood is boiling. Blame it on our Irish roots. “I never said you were a ho, Mom. Hooking up is not an insult, for God’s sake.” Especially since I am thinking about doing it myself. “Just tell me how you managed to wrangle us a free stay.”
The angry red fades out of my mother’s cheeks.
“Fine! Ben suggested it to that woman at the bar. What’s-her-name.”
“Her name’s Luna.” I’m opening up the sash at the window and unhooking the thick wooden slatted shutters to let out the shower steam.
The evening air floods into the room, bringing the aromas of the night with it. The blanket noise of birdsong has faded with the sunset, leaving only the occasional owl hoot behind.
Standing at the window, I breathe deep. My serenity would be complete if I had someone warm and kind sharing my bed with me. I haven’t spent the night with a man to hold me in his arms in years.
My bed is next to the window. Jumping up onto the mattress, I untie the silk ribbons holding the muslin mosquito net and let the soft white folds fall around me.
“Yeah, Luna.” My mother commits the name to memory. “You see, I told Ben—he’s such a great guy, Aila, you will love him. He’s a rancher, a widower, and his family have lived on Landslide for generations.”
The net draping has turned my mother into a blurred outline. I snuggle under the covers and crisp sheets. “You told Ben what?” I steer the conversation back on track. I’ve heard my mom sing the praises of such a long line of gentlemen over the years, I know her spiel by heart.
Slamming drawers after throwing her clothes inside, my mom explains. “I told Ben that we were working at the diner but chucked our jobs to come here.”
I’m too tired to care about my mother’s flagrant disregard for my privacy. Do I want people to know about our gypsy job history? No. Is there anything I can do to stop my mother from not giving a fuck? Again, no.
“So, Ben told Luna about our work experience, and she offered us jobs for the summer. Free accommodation. Free meals. The only thing we will have to pay for ourselves is the booze bill.” Sitting at the dresser, my mom begins removing her makeup with a wipe after pushing her hair back with an elasticized terry toweling band.
She stares at her face with critical scrutiny.
“I’m tired, Baba. I know I like to put a positive spin on things, but it’s scary getting old and being single.
And broke… I had to pawn the diamond ring Mo bought me just to pay for the last three months’ rent in that shitty apartment.
” Stepping out of her linen pants suit, my mom sighs.
“Thank you for sticking by me, Baba. I promise our ship will come in—one of these days.”
Baba is my mom’s pet name for me. I think I will always be a baby in her eyes.
Stepping into the shower room, my mom wishes me a good night and closes the door.
On the edge of sleep, I whisper, “Good night, Moon.”
It’s our private joke and my favorite book growing up. Has all this job-hopping and apartment-jumping frozen me in amber, trapping me as a child forever?
Waking up this morning is dreamy. I never thought I would be lucky enough to stay in a place like this. All the dark foreboding I felt last night has evaporated with the rising sun. Everything is beautiful in my eyes.
Gray light filters through the window as birds chuckle and chirp in the forest. An intense scent permeates the air—pine needles, decaying leaves, and whatever that substance is that they paint onto wood to protect it from termites.
Pushing the net aside, I get up. The island is slowly stirring awake.
Far away, I can hear a rooster crowing. I glance at my phone to check the time: half past four o’clock.
I always worked late at the diner, which meant I would always wake up late in the mornings, too. This is my first dawn in a long time.
I am going for a hike.
Bunching my thick hair into an untidy ponytail, I wash my face with water and apply a slick of sunscreen. It’s a no-brainer what I want to wear. I want to feel that fresh morning air on my skin.
Rifling through my drawer, I step into an old pair of cut-off jean shorts and a tank. Pulling sneakers over my feet without bothering to undo the laces, I head out.
The forest is calling me.
That’s the thing I enjoy about traveling in Canada—you’re only a hop, skip, and jump away from nature. Whether it be a dog park in the city or a nature reserve far away from any hint of human civilization, there’s always something green to enjoy.
So how come I never seem to get out into the great outdoors anymore?
I know why, I just don’t like to remember the reason.
The parking lot for the motorbikes looks different with the artificial lights turned off. The black and chrome machines look normal; less like gleaming, slumbering steampunk robots and more like ordinary transport. Moving to Theron’s motorcycle, I crouch down to look at it more closely.
The logo on the tank feels smooth as I run my fingers over it—first time I’ve bothered to look at a Harley Davidson up close. With a guilty glance over my shoulder, I use the hem of my tank top to buff the fingerprints off the paintwork.
The woodland at the top of the ridge beckons me to walk under its shady canopy.
Landslide is an island connected to the States and Canada by shallow land bridges that get covered by the tide.
It seems to have developed its own special ecosystem.
The forest undergrowth buzzes with rustling animal movements.
I hear birds trill as the sound rises from the branches, heading for the sky as I climb the incline.
I’m not making that much noise. It just seems that way because of all the ruckus from the wildlife.
The ridge is hidden by a thicket of ferns and dense brush. I only know I’ve reached the summit when the ground levels out underneath me. Standing up, I peer through the gaps in the trees. It’s quite the view.
The creek meanders away in front of me, its water silver gray in the pre-dawn light.
Far away, I hear the sound of a door slamming. Folks get up early here.
Fluttering wings as flocks of birds spiral into the air in a great cloud. That makes me frown. Why are they doing that? Their plaintive cries fade as they fly far away. The rustling in the undergrowth falls silent, as if every small animal is holding its breath.
Summer dry pine needles snap and break as something pounds them into the ground.
I know I’m being pursued. But it’s impossible. No one could climb the hill that fast. The noise stops just short of my range of vision. It’s like whoever came after me is giving me time to come to terms with what’s about to happen.
Taking a few steps back, I stand against a thick spruce. “I know you’re there.”
Theron steps out into the glade. “And I know you’re here. I guess that makes us even.”
Maybe it’s the subtle pink tinting the eastern sky, but his alluring appearance almost slaps me in the face.
Theron Rabane is IMAX gorgeous—even better close up and large. The way I feel about him thunders in my heart and rises into my throat.
Drop your guard, Aila. Are you not tired of distrusting everyone?
Damn it. That little voice inside my brain is the one that always seems to get me into trouble.
Fuck it, I’m on vacation. At least until I sign my new work contract with Luna the innkeeper. Who knows? Tomorrow morning I might be serving Theron breakfast.
Stepping to where he’s only a few inches away from me, Theron waits for me to look up.
“Are we still on for breakfast? Or are you running away?”
With his tawny hair down and pushed back from his face, Theron could almost pass for tame. His eyes are light amber under those strikingly slanted eyebrows, and there is a barely concealed predatory angularity to his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
“You grew a beard.” Like his hair, Theron’s light beard scruff contains a range of blond hues: light brown, gold, and pale hay.
Rubbing his finger and thumb around his mouth, he gives a rueful grin. “Yoh… yep. I have not cared to shave.”
Sometimes, the way he speaks sounds foreign.
Daring to reach up, I stroke the soft bristles on his chin. I am too enchanted by him to notice that the forest has fallen quiet as the grave around us.
Bending his head, his eyes ask me if it’s all right to kiss me… so I let him.
My body trembles as his mouth brushes against mine.
I want to melt against him, molding myself to fit his form so that this kiss will last forever.
Sliding over his chest and around his neck, my hands try to pull him closer.
I’m relishing the giddy sensation of running my fingers through the tangles in his hair.
He tastes like spun sugar and steel. My head reels as the blood spins away to my belly and thighs.
A sunbeam penetrates the forest branches, warming my skin as it dapples and dances on my arm.
Breaking off our kiss, Theron looks at the sunbeam dancing on the arm of his leather jacket at the same time as the rooster crows again. Then the beam bounces onto the skin of his hand.
“Ah, fuck it.” He growls and lifts his face to the pink sky while reaching out his hand towards me. The orange sunrise turns the irises of his eyes a deep, reflective red like an animal caught in the headlights on a highway.
Theron goes crashing to the ground like a felled forest tree.