“D,” Bridget answered. “All of the above.” She opened one of the cabinets nestled under the prep surface of the kitchen area and produced three rolled blankets. Tossing one to Izzy and one to Lilah, she went on in the careless manner of someone who didn’t find living in the midst of the wild kingdom the least bit unsettling. “But wolves and elk are shy—especially with Key around—and the bears are hibernating. More wine?”
“As much as it takes to make me forget about wolves, elk, and bears.” Izzy unfurled the plaid wool blanket and sat on the hearth with her back to the fire, relieved to discover it actually was pretty toasty. Lilah took the closest Adirondack chair and handed her one of the napkin-wrapped forks. “Chocolate is a natural anxiety-buster.”
She opened the to-go box to reveal a thick block of flakey, fudgy heaven.
“Sweet Jesus,” Izzy whispered. Just the scent—she paused to inhale sweet, rich, buttery cocoa—sent her mood soaring. “Where have you been all my life?” She took a forkful and brought it to her lips. If there was hell to pay tomorrow, she’d pay it. Gladly. Committed, she took the first bite and groaned. “Oh damn. That is…I have no words…”
“I know, right?” Bridget placed a tumbler of wine on the hearth next to Izzy, then placed her own tumbler on the armrest of the empty chair beside Lilah, sat, and dug her fork into the treat. After one long-savored bite, she swallowed and sighed. “Fuck it. Tell Ford I’ll agree to plural kids if he’ll make this for me once a week.”
“Five. Maybe six kids,” Lilah reminded her as she enjoyed a bite as well.
“Done,” Bridget said.
Key raised his head and whined. Lilah petted him. Bridget gave a stern, “Nope. Sorry, Key. No chocolate for dogs.”
A long, soul-deep howl of protest—of the fundamental unfairness of life—filled the air, slowly died away, only to echo back at them from the surrounding woods. Poor Key.
All too soon Izzy was licking chocolaty residue from her fork. “God, that was good.” Wine couldn’t compete with Ford’s brownie. Her sense of contentment had never been more firmly seated.
“All right, girls.” Bridget bounced up and strode over to fold the insulated top off the hot tub. She knelt to fiddle with some built-in control panel and, seconds later, submerged lights flickered on beneath steaming, bubbling water. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a soak. If you’re in, ditch your clothes, grab a towel, and get ready for the best stress reliever I’ve found that doesn’t involve high-grade THC or an energetic dick.”
Hiltz, Hecker, & Reynolds frowned upon the use of any-grade THC, and dick, energetic or otherwise, was off-limits to her for the duration of her time in Captivity. Since that left the hot tub as her only option, she refilled her wine and began to strip. By the time she had herself wrapped in a towel, Lilah sat on the edge of the tub, draped in a blanket, dangling her bare legs in the bubbling water. Bridget walked over, sipping her wine, then dropped her towel and eased her enviable body into the water as naturally as a mermaid returning to the sea. When it bubbled around her shoulders, she sighed and tipped her head back to stare at the sky.
Izzy turned to Lilah. “Is it wrong to hate her?”
“It’s normal.” Lilah aimed an affectionate grin at her friend. “We all hate her.”
“Oh, right,” Bridget said, not bothering to look at them. “Like either of you would trade places with me. Solo at twenty-five—which is toeing the border of spinster city around these parts—college dropout, a career on autopilot, still living at home. Another fifteen or twenty years and I won’t even have my looks anymore. I’ll just be eccentric, old Bridget Shanahan, bush pilot and infamous old maid of Captivity.”
Izzy lowered her towel and stepped down into the water. Blissfully warm, she spared a moment to mentally moan in contentment. Fortifying herself with another sip of wine, she asked, “Would you ever want to leave Captivity?”
Bridget raised her head and focused on her. “No,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet in her response. “I went away to college. Three years at Stanford, believe it or not. And I was miserable. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing there, and then, for a while, I thought I did have my purpose in life figured out, but I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Finally, I just…gave up. I wanted to come home, so I did.”
“Okay, but just because you don’t have a degree doesn’t mean your career has to be on autopilot.” This was as close to a hint as she could drop, and she needed to proceed with caution. “If you’re interested, I’m sure Trace would be ecstatic to have you take a more active role in the running of the business…”
Bridget laughed. “I like to fly. I like the passengers—most of the time—but the rest of it?” She crossed her eyes. “Trace is so much better at it than I am, and we work each other’s last nerve whenever we try to redefine our roles. I’ll let him do what he does best, and I’ll keep doing what I do.”
“But what if…” Careful Izzy. “What if Trace wanted to expand the business, or, I don’t know, do something else?”
Bridget’s expression turned serious. “Something in L.A. for example?”
Shit.
“No. I mean, he’s never said anything like that to me. Moving to L.A.—or moving anywhere, for that matter—isn’t something we’ve discussed.” All true. “He asked me to come here, so I came.” Also true, in a matter of speaking, though a lot less personal than it sounded. “I don’t think he’s particularly comfortable in L.A.” Based solely on one story about driving on the freeway, but still, a reasonable conclusion.
“It doesn’t matter. Honestly.” Bridget’s voice radiated sincerity. “If Trace wanted to do any of those things, I wouldn’t stand in his way. I’d try to support his goal. He’s my big brother.” Her voice turned thick. “I want him to be happy.”
Key wandered over and nosed Bridget’s cheek. She made a kiss sound at him, and murmured, “Good dog.” He nosed her cheek again and then switched over to Lilah and rested his head on her thigh.
“I’d like you both to be happy.” Also true, maybe because right now, in this light, Bridget’s eyes held the same shadow of sadness she sometimes saw in Trace’s.
The next instant, Bridget smiled and rolled her eyes, and any hint of sadness disappeared. “Look, I think I accidentally threw myself a pity party a minute ago, and I don’t mean to. I’m a lucky person in most ways. There are many things about my life I wouldn’t change. If it feels a little stagnant sometimes, well”—her lips curved into a sly smile—“all I have to do is hop on over to Juneau or Anchorage and shake things up for the night. Or the weekend. During the high season, I can sit back and see what kind of excitement crosses my path right here. Besides.” She sank a little deeper into the water and rested her head back again. “Things change whether I make a move or not. Right now, I’m sitting in the hot tub with a woman I’ve known since she wore diapers, and a woman I’ll probably be calling my sister by this time next year.”