His Brother's Gift

Chapter Two

Will tossed the keys to the SUV onto the kitchen counter. Beyond the window above the sink, a clear moon cut an icy hole in the starry night.

What was he going to do about the kid—hell, the woman? How could she have brought the boy so far north without checking with him first? And Dennis…what the hell was he thinking? Had been thinking…?

God, his brother. For two long minutes Will leaned his hands on the counter and hung his head, battling the tears, knowing grief and guilt would lie on his soul for years. Dennis, his lone sibling, the one person in the world who had taken a seventeen-year-old Will under his wing when their mother died. The last remaining part of Will’s blood, the only part he had loved beyond words. Wasn’t that why he’d offered the child when Dennis explained his sterility?

I love you, man, Will had told his brother the moment the notion entered his mind. Let me do this for you, okay?

And so they had. Amidst the fighting between Elke and her mother and grandmother. In the end, Elke had won, had conceived, but Dennis had taken her away from Alaska forever.

God almighty, why hadn’t he been more communicative? Will thought for the millionth time. Called more often? Invited his brother back for some fishing or trail biking? Things they’d done in younger years.

Dammit, these days with e-mail and instant messaging the excuses were just that. Excuses.

And now it was too late. Too late for Will and Dennis—but worst of all, too late for the kid.

His phone blinked another message. He hit Play. “Hey Will,” Josh’s youthful voice exclaimed. “Thought you’d be home by now. Well…um…I had tons of fun tonight. Even though you yell and scream a lot and pitch like a girl.” Will’s mouth twitched. “Juuust kiddin’. Thanks, Will. See ya Saturday.”

Saturday. Three days from now Will would be standing in the dugout with Josh’s Little League team, coaching and handing out last-minute instructions and pep talks.

Sixty minutes, that’s all Will had given Josh tonight.

Guilt, the damn gut clincher.

The kid hadn’t said a word, but Will knew disappointment. Josh had hoped for more than a few practice pitches and hits in Starlight Park. He’d counted on Will taking him for a soda at Pete’s Burgers. Instead Will opted to drop the boy off early at his mother’s house. Which was another problem. Valerie had met him at the door with her hungry eyes and sweet, begging smile.

For her sake, he wished he felt the same.

The Stowe woman whipped through his mind. No sweetness there, except for Christopher. That bun of red hair was a dead ringer for her bristly spine and rigid rules. And those eyes. Green as a jalapeño pepper with twice the bite.

He figured her to be in her late thirties. Her eyes were no longer young or innocent. But then, living amidst Central American poverty with merciless sun beating down on that pale, freckled skin, he supposed she’d earned every one of those creases.

No, she wasn’t Valerie. Valerie of the tall, slim body she worked incessantly to keep toned and trim. But neither was he interested in Valerie, much to Josh’s dismay. Will knew the kid wished for a connection between the adults. Trouble was, he wasn’t drawn to neediness.

Tonight she had asked him inside and, as always, he’d reneged. Being a big bro to Josh did not mean being a big date for Valerie.

Not that he didn’t date. He did. But mixing his volunteer work with desperate women wasn’t part of the picture. Besides, he’d tried that last year with Valerie and it hadn’t worked—not for him.

He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto a chair. Before he fell over, he needed a shower. Josh. Old Harlan’s musty cabin clung to his T-shirt.

God, had it only been twelve hours since he’d flown up the river?

He’d risen at dawn every day this week, flying his Jet Ranger loaded with sports fishermen and hikers into the Wrangell or Chugach mountains and chartering glacier tours. Later, during the long daylight hours of summer, he’d add fighting forest fires to the list.

Today, he’d flown up the Susitna River—Big Su to the locals—to bring old Harlan supplies and make sure the old man had survived another winter. After landing the bird in a space wide as a thumbprint a hundred yards from Harlan’s cabin, Will had spent the day with his friend chopping wood and digging a new hole for an outhouse. Tonight, his muscles whined at the slightest movement.

Sleep. His eyelids suddenly sagged. Bushed and filled with a bellyfull of sorrow, he stripped off his clothes and turned on the shower. Give him his bed and let him die for a week.

He was there when the phone rang again.

“Mr. Rubens, it’s Savanna Stowe.”

As if he’d need a reminder with that voice. He pushed up on the pillow. “Yeah?”

“Sorry to bother you so late, but I wonder if you’d like to have breakfast with us here at the lodge. My treat, of course.”

He remembered her mouth. Fine and full. He imagined it holding a smile for his answer. “All right. What time?”

“Would eight o’clock work for you?”

Not eight, but eight o’clock. She was nothing like the women in Alaska or any he’d known elsewhere. “Sure. See you then.”

“Thank you.”

He hung up before she said good-night.

Good-night was personal and he wanted her and the boy on a plane back to the Outside tomorrow.

The minute he strode into the restaurant, she saw him. A man of sizable height and broad shoulders, his tarnished-gold hair askew from the wind, his cheeks ruddy from the crisp morning air. A brown suede jacket soft with creases and scuffs hung open to a sweater mirroring the Caribbean blue of his eyes. One day, she realized with a jolt, Christopher would replicate this man. Already, the long bone structure was in place, the dimpled cheeks.

“Sorry I’m late,” Rubens said, slipping into the chair across the table from Savanna.

“No need to apologize. It’s only seven minutes past.”

He shot her a look, then slipped off the expensive jacket and hung it over the back of his chair. His gaze flicked to Christopher tracing a finger along an Alaskan river on the creased map he’d dug from his red and yellow knapsack.

“Chris,” she said. “Remember your Uncle Will? He came to see us last night.”

“Yeah.” The boy remained focused on the charted page.

“Uncle Will is going to eat breakfast with us.”

“You okay with this, boy?” Will asked.

This. That they were about to discuss his life. “Uh-huh,” the child responded, intent on the highways of Alaska.

Savanna interjected, “Christopher knows why we’ve come to our most northern state, Mr. Rubens, and that you are now his legal guardian. We’ve talked about it many times.”

“Many times,” Christopher repeated, finger following the Tok Highway.

“Good.” Rubens frowned. “Can we cut the formalities? Most folks call me Will. The other two percent call me names I’ll leave with them.” A lopsided grin spun through her middle.

The shapely brunette who had served Savanna coffee, approached with a fresh carafe. “Hey, Will. Thought you always caught breakfast at Lu’s.”

“Mindy.” He held out his mug for her to fill. “As they say, a change is as good as a rest.”

“Better not let Lu hear you say that.” Her eyes fastened on his face. “Gonna be at the dance Saturday night?”

Eyes on Savanna, he took a sip of coffee. “Maybe.”

“Haven’t seen you there for a couple weeks.” The woman gave him a McDreamy smile. “You work too hard. I was talking to Valerie, and she said you were up to Harlan’s this week. How is he?”

“Grouchy as ever, but he’s in good spirits—”

“Excuse me,” Savanna interrupted. “Can we do the chitchat another time and order our breakfast?”

Unruffled, Will sat back with a slow crooked grin.

Mindy’s mouth tightened. “Sure.”

“For my boy, toast with the crusts cut off, and peanut butter and orange juice.” Savanna almost laughed when Will’s eyebrows aviated at her possessive words. “Cereal and fruit for me.” She motioned across the table. “Will?”

He ordered the special: eggs over easy, sausages, sourdough toast, a rasher of hash browns and a triple decker of pancakes. After the waitress left, he remained relaxed in his chair. “My boy?”

Savanna sipped her coffee. “It’s easier than explaining the situation.”

Under the table his knee nudged hers, and they each shifted in their chairs. “Which is why we’re here,” he said. “Do you have the lawyer’s number and my brother’s will with you?”

She dug into her purse, drew out a business card. “I have a certified copy of the testament, yes. However, Mr. Silas will also send you a certified edition.”

“Huh. Typical lawyer to take his sweet-ass time about what’s important. Why didn’t he send me one up-front or, better yet, contact me himself?”

Savanna hoped her eyes conveyed her irritation. “First, I’d appreciate you don’t swear in front of Christopher. Second, Mr. Silas and I thought it best if I came and talked with you first.”

“And bring along your…charge.” His gaze took in Christopher, head bent low over Alaska. A blond lock grazed the tattered edge of the map.

“Yes.” She handed him the card. “That’s Mr. Silas’s office and cell number.” Next she slid the envelope across the table. “First page explains everything.”

She watched him file the card in his wallet, then remove the document. She knew its words blindfolded. In the event that both my wife, Elke, and I die, I appoint my brother William Faust Rubens of Starlight, Alaska, and owner/operator of Rubens Skylines and biological father of our son Christopher William Rubens (born March 4, 1997) as his own to rear and educate and parent until Christopher William Rubens reaches the age of maturity and self sufficiency.

A clear and concise request.

He laid the sheet on the table before reading the next paragraph, the one outlining Dennis’s instructions that if after every initiative had been taken and the transition between Christopher and Will still failed, she, Savanna Lee Stowe was to raise the child.

His eyes resembled the deep navy shadows along the glacial waters they had flown over yesterday. “Dennis should’ve warned me. This isn’t fair.”

“When is life fair? Do you think it’s fair to—” She cast a sideways glance in Christopher’s direction. Will’s silence spurred her on. “Your brother didn’t warn you, because he knew what your response would be.”

“If he knew, why put it in writing?”

“Because,” she said softly, “he never believed for one second this day would come.”

His eyes held hers. And she saw again the blue wash of grief. He looked at Christopher, oblivious to the life-altering events surrounding him.

“It won’t work,” Will muttered. “I’m not parental material.”

“I beg to differ. You’ve volunteered—”

“Key word. Volunteered.”

“Still. You’re familiar with how children behave. You’re good with them, even the toughest.” That much Shane had told her when he’d noticed Christopher’s restless hands down in the lobby.

Again a soft snort. “The toughest isn’t anything like…”

Like Christopher, unpredictable and attuned to his own world. Weird to those who did not understand the underlying genius of the autistic or the quicksilver mood changes, the panics, the rages.

“I’m sure,” she murmured. “But were they your own flesh and blood?”

Compact black lashes blinked. “What exactly are we talking about here, Ms. Stowe?”

A stain of warmth crept up her neck. “Elke mentioned the—” she peeked at Christopher “—procedure you undertook to help them eleven years ago.”

He sat back. His foot bumped hers, and she carefully slid it beneath her chair. “Seems my life’s been a regular open book.”

“Elke didn’t go into details. Just that Dennis was…” Sterile. “And about…your very generous…offering.”

“I was young and stupid.”

“You were a man who loved his brother,” she countered.

That caught him. He glanced away. “It was a long time ago.”

“And you’d think twice before doing it today.”

His eyes hardened. “Yes.”

“Why? Because of the result or because of the consequences?”

He toyed with his mug. “Both. And because of the life I live now.” He nodded toward the windows and Main Street with its one block of quaint Old West storefronts and mud-covered trucks parked along the curbs of a narrow strip of asphalt. “It’s not easy in Alaska.”

“And Central America is?”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“I’m Christopher’s godmother. My responsibility is to him and to your brother and his wife. But most of all to you, Mr. Rubens.”

“Me.”

“Yes, you.” Common sense said to take Christopher and leave, but she could not refuse the last wish of her friends. It was up to her to follow through with their request—incongruous as it seemed, given this man’s goals and lifestyle. “Both Elke and Dennis wanted this. They gave me specific instructions—” in case “—to acquaint you with your nephew, and vice versa, to make sure you both have an equal chance.”

“It won’t work.”

She sighed. She was getting nowhere with him. “Will—”

“Savanna.” Elbows on the table’s edge, he leaned in close. She saw individual whiskers on his upper lip and along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved after rising from bed, and the male essence of that went through her like a streak of hot sunshine. “As soon as we’re done eating,” he continued, “I’m driving you both back to Anchorage and you’re catching the first flight to the Lower 48.”

Christopher lifted his head. “Back to Honduras?”

“No, pal,” Savanna said, giving Will her best stern look. “We’re staying in Starlight.”

“Forever?”

“Hopefully for a long time.”

Thankfully, Mindy the waitress arrived with their food. For several seconds Savanna watched Will and he watched her while the waitress doled out the plates, asking Christo pher to move his map so she could set down his plate.

The boy disregarded her.

Savanna slid her hands gently beneath Christopher’s, lifting him and the page free from the table’s surface.

“Doesn’t he hear?” Mindy asked.

“He has difficulty—”

“He’s autistic,” Will cut in.

“Awesome-tistic,” Christopher corrected without raising his head from the map. “I’m awesome-tistic and you’re an NT.”

The waitress looked as if she’d swallowed a raw egg. “Sorry. Um, well… Holler if you need anything else.” She scurried off.

Savanna picked up her cereal spoon. “Let’s eat.”

Will studied Christopher. “What’s an NT?”

“Neurotypical,” the boy said, checking both sides of his toast; finding them acceptable.

Savanna explained, “People who are not aspies, who don’t have ASD, are sometimes called NTs.” She winked at Will, hoping he would clue in and let the topic drop.

“You mean nor—”

“Yes. Exactly. But that’s an old term.”

“Sorry, didn’t know.”

“Now you do.” She leveled her gaze across the plates of food. This was his child. His obligation according to Dennis’s last request. Given the choice she never would have brought Christopher to Alaska, to this man with his wily handsome eyes. She would have taken Christopher to Tennessee, to her hometown where her brother and family lived, and reared the boy as her own.

But she had to give Will Rubens the conditional twelve weeks.

She turned to the boy. “It’s time to eat your breakfast, buddy. You can study the map once you’ve finished your juice and toast.”

“Triangles,” he said.

She cut the bread into the geometric shapes; the boy chose one and bit off a corner. “Chris likes his food cut into precise pieces and I help him get it right.” Over the table she caught Will’s gaze. Give the man something positive, Savanna. “He’s also a pro at drawing maps and trains.”

“Trains.” The boy munched his toast and latched on to his current pet topic. “They were once steam engines, y’know? People think they were invented by a Scotsman James Watt in 1769, but he only improved the mechanics and designed a separate condenser. The real inventor was Thomas Savery in 1698 in England.”

“Yes,” she conceded. “And you sketch those old engines with a lot of detail.”

Christopher spread a pat of peanut butter from a tiny packet the waitress had set on the side of his plate.

Savanna glanced at Will. A little hammer tripped in her chest. It had been a long time since a man looked at her with such intensity. Softly she said, “I know this is all a shock to you, Mr. Rubens. However, Chris and I will remain at the lodge for the interim until I find a place to rent. It’s important you and your…nephew begin the changeover as soon as possible.”

The man across from her dug into his eggs. “There’s a flight out of Anchorage this evening. I can have you there in two hours, then you can sleep on the way home, wherever that is.”

“Tennessee.” Savanna set her fork against her plate. “You might as well understand. We are not leaving.”

Slowly he laid down his utensils. “Fine.” From his hip pocket he drew out his wallet; tossed down a twenty. “This conversation is over.” Pushing back his chair, he offered her a nod, then walked out of the restaurant.

Well. That certainly was interesting. At least he hadn’t said flat-out no.

Packing the New York businessmen’s fishing gear into the storage compartment of the helicopter, Will thought long and hard about Savanna Stowe. Hell, he’d been thinking long and hard about the woman since he heard her message on his answering machine.

Five foot whatever of unadulterated obstinacy, that’s what she was. Where did she come off figuring he could manage a kid who had those kinds of behaviors and learning problems—with him flying all over hell’s half acre at the drop of a hat?

Kid is Dennis’s.

Yeah, and the boy had some of his brother’s DNA, but he also had Elke’s gene pool running in his blood. And Will hadn’t been a fan of Elke. After conceiving—an analytical experience he’d never go through again for any reason—she’d coaxed Dennis into that jungle. Where he had died in a fixed wing, a single-engine plane, not entirely different from the bird Will loaded.

Ah, Dennis.

Why hadn’t he returned to Alaska after the boy was born? They needed doctors like him up here just the same as down there. But, no. Elke got that damned do-gooder notion in her head and thought Dennis, with his skills, could save more souls in those godforsaken jungles than in Alaska. As if they didn’t have one-room shacks and diseases in this neck of the woods.

Truth be known, Elke hadn’t wanted to live near her mother who had, by the way, considered Dennis’ younger brother a “juvenile thrill seeker.” So rather than stand up to Rose Jarvis, Elke chose to run and take Dennis along.

With a last shove, Will secured the expensive black tackle boxes the Henricks twins would use to fly-fish off the shores of the Big Su. This was the brothers’ fifth trip to Alaska, and they always used Will as their pilot of choice. There were others—Ike Markham, Vince Forrest—but none flew the risky areas.

Only Will.

And Savanna Stowe wanted him to play Daddy.

He climbed from the helicopter’s cargo area and motioned to his two passengers gazing out of the windows of the tiny airstrip’s service station. Airtime.

The men, carrying shoulder packs, headed through the door, into the bright afternoon sun. As Will gave instructions, he settled them onboard.

A thousand feet up, the Talkeetna Mountains bumped along the western horizon and beyond them Denali, Alaska’s highest rock, speared the sky like a chunk of white chocolate.

As always sky time was like touching heaven. For a moment Will imagined Dennis beside him with that crazy, slanted grin, eyes full of mischief—the way Christopher’s had been when he’d said “awesometistic.”

Will’s heart thumped in his chest. God have mercy, what had he been thinking?

He couldn’t let the boy go.

Christopher was the one piece, the final piece linking Will to his brother.

Your flesh and blood, she’d said.

My family, he thought. And suddenly his eyes stung, and a knot wedged in his throat. Since Aileen died he hadn’t wanted family. Not in this lifetime, not in this world. And now here was the child of his brother, orphaned…

The bird swayed a little around a gust of air. Damn woman was right. He had to take the kid. Had to. Somehow.

Pulse rapid with the resolution, he wondered what she would say when he hunted her up later today. Likely she’d be pleased as a bear in a berry bush in August while his gut felt like he’d left it back on the helo pad.

Elke’s grandmother Georgia Martin lived in a green clapboard house. Savanna had seen pictures of the place two years ago when the woman sent Elke a Christmas card straight out of the past.

“I haven’t seen her in eleven years,” Elke had said at the time as they studied the photographs of the small home amongst eighty-foot evergreens. “My mom hadn’t wanted me to do what I did.”

To clinically conceive a child. One from Dennis’s eight-year younger brother and a man Elke had known growing up in Alaska. A man her mother, Rose, had labeled a diabolical daredevil who would one day end up killing himself or, worse, Dennis.

Georgia had told Rose to leave matters alone; the situation was between consenting adults.

The advice had fallen on deaf ears, and so to stop his mother-in-law’s haranguing and save his brother’s honor, Dennis had moved Elke to Washington state and eventually to Honduras.

Nevertheless, the pictures arriving out of the blue opened a door Elke had stepped through.

Now, with Christopher at her side, Savanna walked down a graveled road bordered by homes from an era that had fought World War Two, and which spruces, birch and willows all but sheltered from sight.