“How old were you when you learned to fly?” she asked.
“Seven or eight. Dad started taking me up when I was about four. He would let me take the controls. I got serious about studying to be a pilot when I was ten. There’s a lot of written material, but I got through it.”
She shifted so she was facing him on the sofa. “Why do you love it?”
“Part of it is growing up in Alaska. There are lots of places that you can only get to by boat or plane. Some of the towns in the far north are only accessible by plane.”
“Or dogsled,” she teased.
“A dogsled only works in the winter.” He put his hand on her leg. “Every day is different. Different cargo, different weather, different destination. I like helping people who are depending on me. I like the freedom. I’m my own boss.”
“You could be your own boss anywhere,” she said.
“I could,” he agreed. “As much as I like Alaska, I’m not one of those guys who can’t see himself living anywhere else. There are things I like about being in the city. Maybe not a big one. But there’s something to be said for tradition. My grandfather started the business. It’s been in the family ever since. Sometimes there’s a partner, sometimes it’s just us.”
Dakota knew all about belonging to a place. “My family was one of the original families here in town. Being there from the beginning can make you feel like a small part of history.”
“Exactly. I don’t know what’s going to happen with the company,” he admitted. “Sasha’s not interested in flying. I always thought Stephen would take it over, but now I don’t know. Bill, my business partner, has a younger brother and a cousin. They both want in. Right now they’re flying for regional carriers. That’s why he couldn’t hire them to help while I’m down here.”
He leaned forward and picked up his wine. “Sometimes I think about selling out. Taking the money and starting over somewhere else. It used to be important for me to stay in South Salmon, for my brothers.”
“Less of an issue now?” she asked.
He nodded.
Dakota told herself not to read too much into the conversation. Finn was just talking. The fact that he wasn’t determined to stay in Alaska forever didn’t change their circumstances. He’d made it clear several times he wasn’t going to stay in Fool’s Gold. When a man spoke like that, he was telling the truth. It wasn’t code for “try harder to change me.”
But there was a part of her that wanted it to be. Which made her foolish, and Dakota didn’t like being a fool.
“You don’t have to make a decision today,” she said. “Even if you don’t stay in South Salmon, there are other parts of Alaska.”
He glanced at her. “Trying to make sure I don’t change my mind about leaving? That sounds a lot like ‘don’t let the door hit you in the ass.’”
She laughed. “I would never say that.”
He chuckled. “Thinking it counts.”
He put down his wine, then pulled her against him. She went willingly, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. As always, the combination of strength and gentleness aroused her. The man could make her melt without even trying. How fair was that?
He brushed his mouth against hers. “Dinner’s in the oven?”
“Uh-huh.”
“How long do we have?”
She glanced at her watch. “About fifteen minutes. I was going to make a salad.”
“Or you could spend the next fifteen minutes making out with me.”
She wrapped her arms around him and drew him closer. “Salad is very overrated.”
He pressed an openmouthed kiss against her lips. She parted for him, enjoying the slow, enticing strokes of his tongue. Wanting grew. He put his hand on her knee, then moved it steadily up her body until his fingers caressed her breast.
Her ni**les tightened and the pleasure began. Between her legs, she was already wet and swollen.
Were they really that hungry, she wondered. Couldn’t she pull the chicken out of the oven and let it finish cooking later?
She drew back slightly, only to have the phone interrupt the question. Finn reached across to the receiver on the end table and handed it to her.
She sat up.
“Hello?”
“Dakota Hendrix?” an unfamiliar woman asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Patricia Lee. We spoke a few months ago about your adoption application.”
“What?” She quickly cleared her thoughts. “Oh, yes. I remember.” The international agency had been quick to approve her application. Unlike several of the others she’d tried, this one hadn’t minded that she was single.
“I heard about what happened with that little boy,” Patricia said. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know if they told you, but there was a mix-up in the paperwork.”
Dakota had been told the same thing, although she’d never been sure if it really was a mix-up or if the agency had preferred sending the child to a married couple. Either way, it was an odd thing to call about on a Saturday night.
“Of course I was disappointed,” Dakota admitted.