Mary Forbes - His Brother's Gift

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

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.”