Forever Jake

He was going to kiss her

She could see the longing in his eyes.

His lips touched hers softly. They opened. She followed suit, and his tongue pushed through.

His hands caressed her smooth back and she pressed her fingers into his taut shoulder muscles, desperate to get closer. He lifted her, holding her naked body flush against his own in the flowing river.

She placed her arms around his neck and let her legs encircle his hips. The roar of the river pounded in her ears.

He left her mouth and she whimpered in disappointment. But then he kissed her neck, slipped his hands lower to cup her bottom, and she tightened her knees against him.

“Robin?” His strangled voice was filled with need.

“Yes, Jake?”

“You don’t want this.”

“What?” She wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life. She was his for the taking.

When he spoke again his harsh whisper was precise. “You’re Robin Medford. I’m Jacob Bronson. And you do not want this to happen.”

Dear Reader,

People accuse me of being too decisive. Okay, I’ll be honest, they accuse me of being too impulsive. I plan as little as possible, because there’s nothing more frustrating than strategizing and formulating for days, weeks, or years on end when you could spend that time actually doing something. In Forever Jake, I wanted to feature an impulsive heroine, someone who has an idea and immediately springs into action.

When Robin Medford decides she wants to have a baby, she doesn’t waste time wandering willy-nilly around the notion. And when she decides Jacob Bronson is the perfect candidate to father her baby, she immediately springs into action, all right—with unexpected results!

I hope you enjoy Forever Jake. Temptation has long been my favorite of the Harlequin lines, and I am absolutely thrilled to be in such talented company.

Best wishes,

Barbara Dunlop

Books by Barbara Dunlop

HARLEQUIN DUETS

54B—THE MOUNTIE STEALS A WIFE

Forever Jake

Barbara Dunlop

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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For Marcelle Dubé.

With admiration, respect and gratitude.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

1

A WOMAN simply couldn’t trust sperm banks these days.

Robin Medford stuffed the latest copy of The New England Journal of Medicine into the leather backpack tucked beneath the airplane seat in front of her. The Beaver floatplane shuddered as it banked left, bringing the town of Forever into view through the tiny oblong window.

Following a long-standing custom in the remote Yukon Territory, the pilot buzzed the small town nestled between a steep, sparsely treed mountainside and the lazy winding blue-green river that was its namesake. Then he swooped over the town hall to determine wind direction by the Canadian and Yukon flags flapping out front in the sunny afternoon breeze.

Taking a deep breath, Robin turned away from the window and let her head fall back against the high-backed seat. It amazed her to read how many mistakes were made by well-meaning fertility doctors and laboratory technicians. Some of the results were downright frightening.

It had taken less than three days’ research to convince her that sperm banks were not a reliable source for her future child’s genetic start in life. Which narrowed her options somewhat, but didn’t necessarily cancel her plan.

She’d simply have to get pregnant the old-fashioned way. Find a promising specimen, pick a fertile day, and send in the troops. Piece of cake, really.

After all, she reasoned, she’d had sex with Juan Carlos at the base camp below Mount Edelrich in Switzerland two years ago. It certainly wasn’t rocket science. In fact, her final paramedic qualification exam had been a whole lot more complicated than Juan—and a whole lot more exciting as she recalled.

She could do it again to get a baby. Not with Juan, of course. Aside from being half a world away, he was far too narcissistic and self-indulgent to be a candidate for fatherhood.

The pilot banked the plane more steeply, coming about above a poplar grove and into the wind as he lined up with the river on his final approach. Robin imagined the stick under her fingertips and automatically checked out the window for debris in the high-running, late August river.

As the water rushed up to meet them, she pictured adjustments to the flaps and watched the altimeter in her mind’s eye. It had been a long time since she’d piloted a Beaver—longer still since she’d visited the small town where she’d grown up.

Fifteen years to be exact.

Fifteen years since she’d graduated from high school and set off to find adventure. She’d been determined to build a life beyond the isolated community that lay three hundred miles north of the Alaska Highway, up against the border of the Northwest Territories.

She’d succeeded.

The Beaver’s floats sliced through the river current. The force of deceleration pinned her against her seat belt as the craft succumbed to the resistance of the water. The pilot backed off the prop speed, and she settled back into her seat.

She’d succeeded, both in building herself a career and in seeing a good portion of the world. And now she’d come full circle. For the first time, she was back home. She removed the hard plastic ear muffs that protected her hearing against the loud radial engine. Then she ran spread fingers through her long, wavy hair as they chugged toward the gray dock.

Forever. A town founded by miners, then kept alive by wilderness tourism and the manufacture of fine furniture from the rare russet birch trees that graced the nearby mountains. The streets were still dusty, the buildings still weathered, and the surrounding wilderness still dwarfed the efforts of nine hundred and fifty townspeople.

The floats groaned against the tire bumpers on the dock as the plane came to a halt. Robin flipped her seat belt catch. When the door swung open, she automatically steeled herself against the impending onslaught of mosquitoes and blackflies.

Biting insects notwithstanding, she was surprisingly glad to be back. She could hardly wait to see the expression on her grandmother’s face when she realized that every single one of her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren was here to celebrate her seventy-fifth birthday.

Robin had five days to spend with her family before she had to report to her new job at Wild Ones Tours in Toronto. It was good to arrive, but she was certain she’d be more than ready to get back to civilization by the time her five days were up.

Even now, Forever was extremely isolated. There was no road access to the town and no airport. People came and went by boat and floatplane or they didn’t come and go at all.

Besides, she was a woman with an all new fertility plan. She needed to get back to where there were men. Real men. Intelligent, genetically sound men who liked sex.

She sized up the pilot as he helped her across the airplane float and onto the swaying dock. He was a bit too short. She smiled her thanks and swung the backpack onto her shoulders.

This whole sperm bank risk factor could end up working in her favor. Upon reflection, it definitely made sense to meet and get to know the biological father of her planned child. A woman could learn a whole lot more about a person through conversation and observation than through a sterile file in a clinic waiting room.

She placed her palm against her abdomen and smiled as the soles of her leather boots crunched on the gravel of River Front Road. According to her fertility books, at thirty-two she was still within an age group highly ranked for safe conception and delivery. She had secured an excellent promotion that would keep her in a beautiful city. And she had her name on the waiting list of the best nanny agencies and preschools available.

Everything was in place. All she needed was the right man for about twenty minutes.

JAKE BRONSON HEARD the Beaver’s engine slow to a stop from his narrow hiding place between the Fireweed Café and the Forever Hardware Store. He pulled his battered Stetson hat low on his forehead and leaned back, trying to fade into the raw wood siding of the café wall.

He wasn’t normally a coward, but ever since his former friend Derek Sullivan had placed that ridiculous personal ad in newspapers all across the county, the women of Forever had declared open season on Jake. Oh, not that they really wanted to marry him. At least, he didn’t think they really wanted to marry him.

He was pretty sure all three of the very public marriage proposals last week were jokes. But Annie Miller was heading down Main Street right now, and she looked frighteningly purposeful to a jaded Jake. She wore a sundress far too pretty for an ordinary Saturday afternoon.

Jake had no intention of being the butt of yet another public prank.

He stood stock-still, watching Annie from the corner of his eye, breathing carefully. A long, low growl sounded beside him. He cringed, knowing exactly what was coming next.

A series of deep-chested barks echoed through the narrow passageway, nearly deafening him and seriously compromising his attempt at secrecy. His heart sank as he turned to face the huge husky-wolf cross who had ferreted him out and was standing, hackles raised, about three feet away.

Dweedle-Dumb was a darn sight more impressive than his name suggested. He ruled the streets of Forever with an iron paw, sending lesser animals scurrying out of his way with a sidelong glance and a curled lip. Jake briefly considered trying to shush the animal, but knew from experience that Dweedle-Dumb’s owner, the town farrier, was the only person who had any influence.

“Dweedle, hi-yup.” The harsh command was music to Jake’s ears.

“What the hell are you doing hanging out in the shadows, Jake?” Patrick Moore ambled to the spot where Dweedle-Dumb now sat obediently in the center of the dirt path, all traces of cunning in his yellow eyes replaced by adoration for his master.

Jake placed a finger across his lips in a silent signal, jerking his head sideways toward Annie. She was fifty yards away and closing.

Patrick squinted out into the street. Then his ruddy face broke into a grin and his body shook with suppressed mirth. To his credit, he didn’t make a sound. Although Jake was having a hard time being grateful for that tender mercy.

“Looks a bit dressed up there, doesn’t she?” Patrick whispered.

“That’s what worries me,” said Jake.

“Heard she made moss-berry squares this morning. Do you suppose she’ll try to impress you with her culinary expertise?”

“She doesn’t want to impress me. She wants to embarrass me.” Jake ducked his head, hoping the hat brim would hide any telltale flash of his face.

“She’s turning,” Patrick announced.

“Toward us?” Jake didn’t dare look up.

“No. To the dock. Whoa, mama.”

“What?”

“Now that’s a sweet sight.”

“What is it?” Jake hissed, braving a brief glance out onto the street.

“Wouldn’t mind having her answer my personal ad.” Patrick straightened his shoulders and tucked his plaid shirt into the waistband of his jeans.

“You don’t have a personal ad.” The lucky man.

As Jake’s vision adjusted to the bright sunshine, he felt a jolt course directly through his nervous system. A tall, willowy blonde greeted Annie with an exuberant hug right there in front of the northern pike fountain. She was wearing formfitting jeans and a brightly colored cardigan sweater. The sweater was open, revealing a white knit shirt.

Even from thirty yards away Jake was struck by the beauty of her profile. Her sandy hair glinted in the sunshine and her tinkling laughter seemed to brighten the dusty street. For a second he actually hoped she had answered the ad.

That was ridiculous, of course. Because Derek’s ad didn’t say where Jake lived. The chances of some big-city bombshell figuring out that “Yukon Jake” lived in Forever were somewhere well south of nil.

Patrick raked his hair back off his forehead. “Didn’t know Annie had friends that looked like that.”

“Going over to meet her?” asked Jake. He slouched against the wall, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops and crossing one dusty cowboy boot over the other. He let his gaze slide appreciatively over her shapely thighs and cute derriere.

“Reckon I might just do that.” Patrick squared his shoulders. “You coming?”

“She’s all yours, Patrick.” Jake feigned indifference to the most interesting female that had entered this town in the last decade. He’d just have to wait to hear all the mystery woman details tonight at the Fireweed Café.

Annie still might have her sights set on him. And no way in the world was he voluntarily setting himself up for ridicule. Nor was he showing the slightest interest in a beautiful stranger. Following on the heels of Derek’s embarrassing ad, Jake could just imagine the townsfolk’s reaction to that.

He shuddered. Nope. For now he’d just head right on back to the ranch and finish off the new stallion pen, exactly as he’d planned.

THE SOUND OF HAMMERING reached Robin on her mother’s back porch. She’d made herself scarce while her brother-in-law read a story to her nephews and Grandma settled down for a nap.

She was amazed by how much her three nephews had grown since last Christmas. She normally saw them twice a year when family gathered at her sister’s cottage near Prince George for an old-fashioned Christmas then a lazy summer vacation. But this year they seemed to be on some kind of accelerated growth plan.

She smiled as she lowered herself into a wood slat chair. Grandma, however, hadn’t aged a bit. Hugging her earlier in the familiar living room, Robin had felt eighteen years old again.

The house was the same. The yard was the same. Her gaze drifted across the acreage that was dominated by her mother’s market garden, pausing on the shiny new barn on the property next door. The barn was a very big change.

She wondered how long it had been since the Bronsons had left town. When Old Man Bronson owned the property it had been an eyesore of tilting, rotting clapboard, rusted cars and weed-choked lawns. By contrast, the new owners had bulldozed the old junk, built a magnificent two-story log house, and planted oats and hay to feed the dozens of horses grazing in white-fenced paddocks.

Whoever bought the place certainly seemed to have money. Which made Robin wonder why they’d chosen a town like Forever.

As she mulled the question, a shirtless man strode around the corner of the barn. He wore a leather tool belt low on his faded jeans and held a hammer in his right hand. Sweat glistened on his chest and upper arms, emphasizing bulging muscles. A cowboy hat shaded his face.

“Magnificent” was the word that popped immediately into Robin’s mind. If she ever decided on recreational sex, instead of serious procreation, this was exactly the kind of guy she’d go for.

She watched unblinking as he bent over one of the fence rails at the property line and drove a nail into it with three sure strokes. Then he straightened, holstered the hammer and stepped back to survey the section of fence. The sun caught his face as he tipped his chin up.

Jacob Bronson.

Robin froze.

It felt as if her heart had splatted against her backbone then ricocheted against her ribs before taking up a jerky rhythm that left her gasping for breath. She’d never expected to see him again.

He suddenly stilled, as if he’d caught her scent. Eyes narrowing, he looked straight at the covered porch.

He couldn’t see her. Surely to goodness he couldn’t see her in the shadow of the awning. And even if he could, he wouldn’t recognize her, not from a hundred yards away after fifteen years.

So why did his blue-eyed stare seem to penetrate to her very soul? Her eyes fluttered closed against the unnerving sensation.

She wouldn’t remember.

She refused to allow the humiliating memories to crowd her mind.

She’d successfully kept them at bay since the day she boarded the floatplane out of town fifteen years ago, and there was no reason for them to surface now. No reason at all—unless you counted a mere glimpse of the man who had witnessed her greatest folly. She groaned as recollections burst forth in crisp color and vivid detail.

It had happened more than fifteen years ago. The night before graduation when the twenty-one seniors of Forever Public School carried on the town tradition of skinny-dipping at Make-Out Beach. It was a rite of passage on the summer solstice when the midnight sun dipped briefly below the horizon and the water darkened just enough to preserve modesty.

Make-Out Beach was private and secluded. Ten miles out of town, it was accessible only by a dirt road that wound along the riverbank, giving swimmers and anyone else ample notice of approaching visitors.

Robin had banished her fears that night and trooped down to the girls’ beach with her friends to enter the water in privacy.

Modest and hesitant compared to many of her classmates, she’d deliberated for long minutes before she’d decided the voracious mosquitoes on shore were a greater evil than stripping naked and slipping into the icy water.

One by one the other girls had drifted over to join the boys. She could still hear shrieks and laughter above the crackling fire. It reflected orange off the slow-moving water just beyond the shrub-covered point that separated the two beaches. Even her friend, Annie, had inched her way around to the main beach.

Robin waded along the soft, sandy bottom and hugged her cool shoulders. She was being ridiculous. She couldn’t just cower here all night long.

Everyone else seemed to be having fun. It didn’t sound as though the boys were taking advantage. The shrieks and screams mostly coincided with a huge, brightly colored beach ball soaring high above the treetops.

She took a couple of strokes toward the point. She was all alone, and the chilled water rushed over her sensitive skin as she glided across the surface. She intended to peek around the corner, just to see what they were all doing. Maybe she could unobtrusively join in at the edge of the group.

Leafy wild cranberry bushes clung to the point of land that separated the two coves. She drifted toward the voices. As she neared the end of the point, she could see Rose out in the deep water. Seth and Alex were treading water in attendance, playfully splashing her from several feet away. Annie and three other girls clustered together, crouched in the shallows.

A mosquito bit Robin’s neck. She slapped at it. Another stung her ear and she shook her head so her hair flung out in all directions. As if a signal had passed from bug to bug, she was suddenly surrounded by the whining insects. In danger of inhaling the pests, she ducked her head under the water and pushed away from the shore.

When she surfaced, the swarm quickly zeroed in on her again. Another deep breath and she was back under, swimming further away from the point, away from the voices and laughter, through the silent dark water. She didn’t surface again until her lungs insisted.

Then she burst up out of the water, gasping. The bugs were gone, but the current had caught her and pulled her to the far side of the girls’ beach. Robin sighed in exasperation, wishing she had just stayed home.

She stretched into a front crawl. She was a strong swimmer, but she made frustratingly slow progress through the cold water. It would be easier close to shore where the current was weak, but the memory of the hungry mosquitoes kept her twenty feet away from the bushes that harbored the swarms.

Her foot brushed a tree branch hidden under the water. It scraped and stung, and she gasped out loud. She put her feet down. Her toes squished through soft, sucking mud. She shuddered and jerked her feet back up, trying to not wonder about leeches.

She began rhythmically stroking through the water, thinking longingly of her big beach towel and Annie’s truck with the rolled-up windows. She kicked out a little further from shore. Her foot hit another deadfall tree. As she jerked away, her ankle was suddenly wedged tight in a tangle of branches, pulling her briefly under the water.

Great. She quickly surfaced and maneuvered around to pull her foot out from the opposite direction. Her ankle wrenched with the movement and she gasped.

A mosquito buzzed next to her ear. She batted at it, then gingerly felt along the slimy log with her other foot. She found a solid purchase and sighed in relief, balancing herself with small arm movements.

Her trapped foot throbbed a bit, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t seriously hurt. In any event, it was as good as packed in ice down there in the river water. She twisted it to the left. Nothing. Then she tried twisting it to the right. Still nothing.

She reached down along her bare leg until her hand found the branches. It was impossible to get a good grip without ducking her head under the water. So she ducked and pulled at the offending branch with all her strength.

It wouldn’t bend. It wouldn’t break. She surfaced again, wiping the water out of her eyes.

Should she call for help?

Wouldn’t that just be the most entertaining moment of the entire senior year? Eight boys all pawing around her naked body, trying to be the hero. Robin shuddered.

How long was it until a person became hypothermic in glacial water? She couldn’t remember what the first-aid manual said. Since she normally had total recall, was that a sign her brain was freezing?

She was overreacting. Goose bumps were forming on her skin and she was starting to shiver, but she was pretty sure she wasn’t in any immediate danger.

She ducked under the water once again, using both hands to try to free her foot. When she burst back through the surface she was no better off. Robin swore under her breath.

“Need some help?”

She nearly screamed at the deep voice directly behind her. She twisted around.

Jacob Bronson. The class geek. A rangy, slouch-shouldered, slow-talkin’ boy from the poorest family in town. His jeans were always too short, and he missed more school than he attended, working the pathetic piece of ground his father liked to call a farm.

“Uh.” She chewed her lip. It was pretty obvious she needed help here. And she didn’t think Jacob was dangerous. He might try to cop a feel, but then, so would Seth or Alex given the opportunity.

She was known as the Ice Princess because of her standoffish airs and habit of keeping all the boys at arm’s length. Though, in truth, it was more fear than superiority that kept her virtuous. Not that her reasons mattered. She could well imagine the prestigious bragging rights a guy would have for sliding his hands over a buck-naked Robin Medford in a rescue attempt.