The Suspect Groom

The driver of the other car raised the night sight and aimed at Darien’s chest. The voice was a whisper. “Seems that you’ve fallen into a trap.”

Though the shape was well-padded in winter gear, Darien recognized the person. “You!”

“I’ll give you a sporting chance, my friend. I’ll count to one hundred before I come after you.”

“Don’t be absurd. I won’t play games with you. It’s freezing out here.”

“Twenty-eight below zero.”

“Come on, now. Enough is enough.” Darien fought the terror that rose in his chest. “Let’s get this road cleared,” he continued reasonably. “We can use the winch on your Jeep.”

“I’ll make it even easier for you. I won’t use the rifle with the night sight.” The rifle disappeared into the Jeep. “I’m only armed with this handgun. A Colt .45. That’s fair.”

“You’re insane!”

“One. Two.” The whisper was firm. The cadence of the count was steady. “Three. Four.”

“You’ll never get away with this.” Searching for a way out, Darien stared at his rental car, neatly hemmed in by the log and the Jeep. There was no way he could escape, but his own rifle and hunting gear were in the trunk.

“Don’t even think it” came the low whisper. “Touch your car and the game’s over. You die right now.” The count resumed. “Five. Six.”

“It would be more fair if I was armed.” Darien tried another tactic. “You said you wanted to be sporting, didn’t you?”

“Seven. Eight. You’re talking yourself to death, my friend. Nine. Ten.”

Darien started running. He had two choices—into the trees or toward the lodge. The trees would provide shelter and make him a more difficult target, but he couldn’t hide there long. It was too cold. Still running, he zipped his Gore-Tex parka and pulled up the hood. There were bears in the forest. And wolves. Night hunters.

Still, he chose that direction.

The lodge was nearly two miles away, and the landscape was flat white with nowhere to hide.

He heard the echo of the first shot ring out. The stillness of the Alaskan night shattered like glass.

Chapter One

He was exactly the way she’d imagined. Trina Martin peered through the window of the single-engine Cessna at the tall, long-legged man in a shearling coat who stood beside the Osprey airstrip. Behind him, the glacial landscape of Alaska, north of Juneau, glistened in the midday sunlight. The sparkle of crusted snow matched the two-carat diamond in the ring she wore on her fourth finger, left hand.

Trina couldn’t believe she was actually here, couldn’t believe that she was finally going to meet him. Though the brim of his black Stetson obscured his features, she had the impression of a strong jawline. What would he look like? Was his hair blond or brown or red? Was it streaked with silver? She knew he was in his mid-forties. She knew he was healthy and fit. But, in all their correspondence, she hadn’t seen a photograph, hadn’t been brave enough to ask. Was he handsome?

The plane taxied forward and she could no longer see him. She leaned back in her seat, trying to catch her breath and to calm the tremulous quiver of anticipation in her stomach. Finally, she thought. Finally, she would be face-to-face with her future husband, Ivan Stoddard.

“We’re here,” the pilot announced from the cockpit.

Trina was the only passenger in the small plane, and she was struck with a sudden reluctance to disembark. What if Ivan didn’t like her? What if he thought she was plain or clumsy or boring? Worst of all, she thought, he might take one look at her and discover the lie she’d perpetrated since the very beginning of their correspondence.

“I got to tell you,” the bush pilot said as the plane slowly glided to a stop. “I’ve transported a lot of weird stuff to people out here. A pair of matched apricot poodles. A frozen cheesecake from New York City. And the skull of a prehistoric man to some archeologist. But this is the first time my cargo has been a mail-order bride.”

“I’m nowhere near as interesting as those other things.”

“Beg to differ, ma’am. You’re plenty more exciting than a poodle or a prehistoric head.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“Oh, that was a compliment, ma’am. You mind if I ask you one thing?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why? Why would a pretty woman like yourself agree to come up here and marry a man she’s never even met?”

The answer wasn’t easy. When Trina first replied to the advertisement for a mail-order bride, she might have been undergoing the first prickles of an uncomfortable mid-life crisis. She was thirty-five, unmarried and stuck in a dead-end job. Taking off for Alaska appealed to her, and she’d started a correspondence with Ivan Stoddard.

Over the course of a month, he wrote to her almost daily, and she fell in love with his letters. Maybe not in love, she thought now, but deeply in like. He was witty, honest and sensitive. His occasional attempts at poetry, though perhaps not brilliant, were charmingly sincere. Most of all, his letters showed that he loved his life-style, without reservation and fear. Trina wanted to share that excitement. She was tired of petty whining and complaining. She longed to embrace her future, and Ivan seemed to be the man who could show her how to live. When she received the engagement ring by special courier, she slipped it on her finger, quit her job and made her travel arrangements.

“Well?” the pilot prodded.

“Adventure,” she said.

“You’re surely going to have that wish come true. If there’s one thing we’ve got more of than snow in Alaska, it’s adventure.”

While he jostled the switches and shut down the engines of the Cessna, Trina lifted her large canvas purse onto her lap. Digging through her makeup, she found a small compact and checked her appearance. Her cheeks were flushed, which deepened the blue color of her eyes. Her minimal makeup was okay, but her long brown hair, pulled back in a single braid, was something of a mess. She tried to tidy the straggles that had come unfastened, then gave up, pulled out the rubber band at the end of the braid and shook her head. The untamed thickness cascaded halfway down her back. Her long hair was her best feature, but right now it seemed too wild. Should have had a trim, she thought. Should have had a hairdresser add russet highlights to the dull brown color. It was too late now, and Trina didn’t expect to find stylists in attendance at the secluded game preserve where they were headed.

She took off her gold-framed glasses and stashed them in their case. Perhaps her vision of Ivan would be an unfocused blur, but she didn’t want his first impression of her to be of a bespectacled former secretary. Besides, she needed to look younger, and the glasses added years.

The pilot flipped down the exit hatch. “Here you go, ma’am. Best of luck to you. Many happy returns.”

Too excited to speak, she nodded her thanks and stepped from the Cessna. The ridged rubber sole of her boot crunched on the hard-packed snow beside the tarmac runway. An icy wind coiled around her and nipped the tip of her nose. She shivered. This would be her home now. Alaska.

The man who stood waiting held his hat in his gloved hands. His eyes were a deep, moody brown. Sunlight sparked golden reflections in his dark blond hair.

She tried not to stare, not to squint myopically to bring his features into clear focus. Truly, she didn’t need to look too hard to see that he was wonderfully masculine, as strong and rugged as the land he called his domain. It was nearly impossible to believe that this virile man had written the twenty-eight thoughtful letters she’d received.

“Afternoon, ma’am. I’m David St. John.”

“You’re not Ivan?”

“He sends his regrets. There was a crisis this afternoon, and he couldn’t get away.” David stuck out his hand. “I’m the foreman at the hunting preserve.”

Her red mitten disappeared into his thick leather glove, and she gave a firm handshake, suppressing her disappointment. Throughout this long journey, she’d been anxious to see Ivan, to finally meet him. It didn’t seem like she could hold off for one more minute. But there was no choice. “I guess an occasional crisis can’t be avoided.”

“Afraid not.”

She forced the smile onto her face. Trina needed to be strong, to be prepared for anything. In his letters, Ivan had explained, several times, that life in Alaska didn’t follow the predictable rules of politeness.

“I’m sorry,” David said, and she detected a note of sympathy in his voice. “I’m sure if Ivan was here, he’d tell you that you were some sight when you were coming off that plane. You looked like Alice, taking her first gander at Wonderland.”

“That’s how I feel. This land is so beautiful. Last night, when my plane landed in Juneau, it was too dark to really see anything. But this morning we flew over the Mendenhall Glacier. It’s so amazing and it looks blue. There’s so much water, too! And the Cathedral Peaks. And the forests. I can’t wait to see the green fjords in the springtime. I’ve read all the books on Alaska that I could get my hands on, but this is...well, it is like Wonderland.”

“And Ivan would probably tell you...” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind me saying it, Trina, you’re prettier than your photograph.”