His Brother's Gift

Will touched her cheek, a whispered stroke shivering her to her heels.

“First,” he said softly, “if I’m attracted to a woman, it’s who she is that appeals. And–” his fingers slipped to her nape and tugged her forwards “– caveman or not, I’m very into you. So let’s see where it takes us, right?”

He would kiss her. Oh, Lord.

But no.

A peck against her forehead. A touch so light it mimicked the flit of a hummingbird’s wing.

When had a man offered sensuality to that degree?

Not once. Not once in her memory.

Savanna watched him return to the cooker. How was she to endure – fight off – the magnet that was Will Rubens over the next weeks?

Because he was a magnet, potent as a lightning storm.

Wendy – here’s to our “Alphie” sessions in those Route 10 coffee shops!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincerest thanks go to Wendy Roberts and

Camille Netherton for sharing their personal

knowledge and experiences regarding autistic

spectrum disorders, although each child with

Asperger’s syndrome and high-functioning

autism is unique and traits vary with each case.

Also, many thanks to Leanne Karella and

Kevin Karella for their help about helicopters

and the geography of Alaska. As with any work

of fiction, I have taken licence with some facts

on the above topics.

MARY J. FORBES

grew up on a farm amid horses, cattle, crisp hay and broad blue skies. As a child, she drew and wrote of her surroundings, and composed her first story about a little lame pony. Years later, she worked as an accountant, then as a reporter-photographer for a small-town newspaper, before earning an honours degree in education to become a teacher. She has also written and published short fiction stories.

A romantic by nature, Mary loves walking along the ocean shoreline, sitting by the fire on snowy or rainy evenings and two-stepping around the dance floor to a good country song – all with her own real-life hero, of course. Mary would love to hear from her readers at www.maryjforbes.com.

Dear Reader,

Years ago, I saw a documentary about Alaska and was completely entranced by its wild untouched beauty. From that moment, I hoped to one day set a story somewhere amid its copious snowy mountains, dark green timber and lush wildlife. I wanted to see Alaska through my characters’ eyes. What better way than to do it with a bush pilot, one of those brave and remarkable folk who fly helicopters and tiny four-and six-seater planes up and down the state’s vast river valleys, lakes and mountain slopes?

May you enjoy the journey of dashing pilot Will Rubens and the woman who brings a special little boy into his life, as they conquer their own uncertainties within the sweeping glory of the Last Frontier.

Mary J. Forbes

MARY J. FORBES

MILLS & BOON

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Chapter One

Starlight, Alaska Early April

Will Rubens sank to the kitchen chair and stared at the phone on the counter.

Dennis was…dead? Impossible. His brother lived in Central America. He was busy saving lives….

A hazy image of a tall, blond man with glasses magnifying his brown eyes was all Will’s brain conjured. Dennis, the last day they had seen each other face-to-face three years ago down in Washington state. Jeez, Dennis.

Will eyed the phone. The woman from Honduras had left three messages in the past hour. Urgent messages for him to call her. But he’d been with Josh, hitting fly balls, practicing for the upcoming Little League season.

Will didn’t blame the kid for the missed calls. Josh needed a big brother in Will and, truth be known, Will needed the boy. The eleven-year-old eased the decade of guilt Will carried because, if he’d been more disciplined in his actions, Elke and Dennis might have stayed in Alaska. Now three phone messages stamped another bruise over those his heart had accumulated. If the woman was right, what remained of his family was gone.

Gone as if they had never existed.

He wiped a shaky hand down his face. Stared at the phone. No, the woman had the correct number, the correct owner of that number.

He propped an elbow on the table, leaned his forehead against the base of his palm.

When was the last time he’d talked to Dennis? A year? Two? Yes…June, two years ago. Ten minutes of strained conversation that led nowhere. Strangers rather than brothers.

He raised his head, blinked into the April sunset spilling through the window above the sink and was surprised at the burn behind his eyes. Dennis. What the hell was in Honduras that you couldn’t have found in your own backyard?

But Will knew why his brother had trekked to Central America for a decade. Why their relationship had petered to a phone call every couple years.

Elke had wanted it that way. Hell, could he blame her?

Rising, he again punched Play on the answering machine. Just to be sure. Just to know he hadn’t misunderstood.

Grabbing a pen and slip of paper, he listened as the old machine whirred and clicked.

Beeep. “Hello. I have an urgent message for Will Rubens. This is Savanna Stowe, S-t-o-w-e, of Honduras. I hope I’ve reached the right residence. I’m staying here in town at the Shepherd Lodge. The phone number is…” The machine dated the message: Wednesday, 6:12 p.m.

First of all, why was she in Starlight? Why hadn’t she simply called from whatever mud hut she’d set up housekeeping in down there?

Will wrote her name: Savanna Stowe.

She had an incredible voice. A hint of the South, slow and husky.

Beeep. “Mr. Rubens, I know you’ve returned from your flying trip today. I met a fellow at the airport who said you’d gone home to sleep because you were exhausted. I really need to talk to you. It’s about your brother Dennis in Honduras. Please call me at the Shepherd Lodge anytime. Better yet, if at all possible, please come to the lodge and ask the desk clerk to ring my room. I’ll meet you in the lobby.” She repeated the number. The machine noted date and time: Wednesday, 7:05 p.m.

Beeep. “Mr. Rubens. I’m not sure why you’re ignoring me. Maybe you aren’t home, or maybe you don’t care about your brother.” Will snorted. Presumptuous of her. “Whatever the case, I’ll try and explain why I’m here, though I’d wanted to do this in person. Your brother Dennis and his wife were killed in a plane crash in the mountains south of the Rio Catacamas on Sunday. Please, come to the Shepherd Lodge. It’s urgent I speak with you.” Wednesday, 8:23. The machine clicked off.

Will frowned. Dennis and Elke were dead. Okay, he’d got that the first time. But in his shock he’d missed one important fact. Savanna from Honduras had not mentioned the son.

Dennis’s son.

The one conceived with Will’s sperm in an Anchorage clinic eleven years ago.

Savanna set the receiver back in its cradle. Shane the desk clerk had called and informed her that Mr. Will Rubens was waiting in the lobby. Cautious as she’d become over the past seventeen years, she had asked Shane if he knew Rubens. He did. Very well. They’d fished together off and on over the years. Should he send Mr. Rubens up?

Give her ten minutes, she had told the man.

That was thirty seconds ago.

She looked through the bedroom door where ten-year-old Christopher sat crossed-legged in his pajamas on the flower-printed bed covers, flapping his left hand while inserting his right index finger into the tiny hole worn on the left heel of his sock. She could barely make out his low monotone murmur, “Thread can repair this fracture.”

She let him mutter. The last two days had been Everests to climb for them both. Journeying across Honduras from Cedros to Tegucigalpa by car, then flying to LAX and on to Anchorage and finally, the short jaunt east to Starlight in a six-seater plane.

Through the sedative she’d had to administer to keep Christopher calm during the last forty-eight hours, she saw exhaustion in his down-turned mouth, the droop of his blue eyes. Elke’s eyes. She hated dispensing medication, unless it was necessary. Traveling across a continent and a half made it a necessity. But tonight, thank God, he would sleep. He was worn-out, she knew.

She walked into the bedroom. “Christopher,” she said softly.

He continued flapping and murmuring.

She moved into his line of vision.

Flap, flap.

On the night table lay the laminated agenda. She set it beside him on the bed where he could see the day’s check-marks.

“You’ve brushed your teeth, I see.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my boy. It’s time for bed now. See…” She pointed to “Bedtime,” which he had checked off earlier.

“Okay.” He unwound his legs and crawled under the covers. Relieved, she returned the agenda to the table. Later she would slip onto the cot near the door. Strange places and beds upset him. Waking to them in the middle of the night traumatized him.

Leaning down, she kissed his youthful forehead. “Good night, buddy.”

She didn’t expect a response. Already he had zeroed in on a linear stain crossing the room’s wall. Linear like his trains.

Quietly she turned out the night lamp, walked to the door. There she waited a few moments until she heard the tiny snore and knew he’d allowed sleep to usurp his mind.

Sweet dreams, honey-child. Slipping from the room, she pulled the door partially closed.

In the bathroom she checked her face. She did not want Will Rubens seeing her fatigue and assuming the child in her care received less than her best. Except the lines between her eyes and the dark circles beneath them were hard to extinguish. Well, she couldn’t worry about these tokens she had earned, ensuring people had food on their tables and clean water to drink, an education to enlighten their minds.

Stifling a yawn, she tow-boated a brush through the shamble of her hair. Once, long ago, she would have wailed over its hectic red color, but living in Third-World countries had accented the difference between a bad hair day and a major crisis. Tangled, unwashed curls was not one.

Sleep, that’s what she needed. About a month’s worth.

But first Mr. Rubens. And Christopher.

What if this brother of Dennis’s won’t agree?

You’ll stay the twelve weeks stipulated in the will to give the man his chance.

And if he still reneged after three months, she’d take Christopher back to Tennessee, as Dennis also stipulated, though that option was a last resort.

Inside her overnight case on the sink’s scratched counter, she found her lipstick.

What was she doing? This was not a date. She was meeting Will Rubens about Christopher—and because of the last request left by two of the people she loved and respected most in the world next to Christopher.

A soft knock sounded on the suite’s door.

Showtime. If not for Christopher needing a good night’s sleep, she would have insisted on meeting Rubens in the lodge’s lobby.

Or better yet, not at all.

Through the peephole, she glimpsed a tall man several feet back, hands in hip pockets, staring at something left of the door. Skewed as his face was through the magnifier, she felt a small shock at that ragged dark-blond hair, the same as Dennis’s.

Then he turned his head, looked straight at her. In the obscure corridor lighting, she could not determine the color of his eyes, but it was their fierceness that stunned her. And suddenly he looked nothing like his brother.

Swallowing a knot of apprehension, she threw back the bolt and chain and opened the door.

“Mr. Rubens?”

Azure eyes. Slowly they widened. “Ms. Stowe?”

She stuck out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

He nodded. His grip was firm, warm. She drew back quickly, and stepped aside. “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you below.”

She gestured for him to enter the tiny suite, then closed the door. When she turned, he stood next to the coffee table, eliminating air and space by his tall, honed body.

“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, keeping her gaze on the furniture rather than on him.

He sat. And for the first time, she noticed his black jeans and boots and the navy bomber-style jacket hanging open to a gray V-necked polo shirt. He looked up, and she saw sorrow deepen the hue of his eyes, and something shifted in her chest. “Would you like some coffee?” She motioned to the kitchenette.

“No, thanks.” The darkness of his voice shivered across her skin. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to know what happened to my brother.” Imperceptibly his mouth softened. “Other than dying.”

Savanna remained beside the TV cabinet. “He and Elke were heading for Comayagua. They had scheduled to meet with a doctor, an internist, an expert in colon problems. Dennis had a patient who needed part of his large intestine removed and this surgeon was one he trusted to do the operation.”

She caught herself wringing her hands, and moved to sit in the chair across the coffee table, across from the man who was now, by all technicalities, Christopher’s father. “Elke went along. Originally she had planned to stay home, but Dennis—” Savanna studied her fingernails; they needed clipping “—Dennis wanted them to have some time alone together, just the two of them. They were seldom able to get away as a couple. Life in Central America is not easy, Mr. Rubens. Especially not with…”

Christopher. She held his gaze, determined to impress on him that his brother and sister-in-law were neither whimsical nor flighty. Nor irresponsible.

Dennis was not like the man who sat four feet away—according to the tales she had heard from her best friend.

“The bodies?” he asked.

“The crash…” She swallowed hard. Concentrated on kinder images of her friends. “It burned.” To cinders. “We held a small memorial yesterday.”

For a long time he stared at his hands clasped between his knees. A black-banded wristwatch edged from the jacket’s left cuff. “Where’s the boy?”

She sensed Will Rubens wanted to get up and pace. Or leave the room. Go home.

“Christopher’s sleeping.” She inclined her head. “In there.”

“He’s here?” Rubens darted a look left. “You brought him to Alaska?” Are you crazy? His eyes burned with the words.

Savanna aligned her shoulders. “Yes, I brought him. He’s the reason I’m here and why we’re having this conversation. Your brother’s last request was for Christopher to live with you in the event he and Elke—” Oh, God. “In the event they…died before their son was of an independent age.”

Alarmed, Rubens sat back. “Are you kidding? I can’t take the kid. I fly people into the wilderness all summer, and skiers and boarders up mountains in the winter. Who’s going to look after him when I’m gone on those trips?” Abruptly he rose to pace from TV to hallway. Back and forth. Scraping a hand through his hair. Muttering, “I can’t do it. The time schedule…”

“Mr. Rubens, if you could calm yourself…”

He barked a laugh. “Calm myself? Lady, first you inform me my brother and his wife are dead, then you tell me I’ve inherited their kid. How do you expect me to react?”

“With responsibility,” she retorted.

His head jerked. “You think I’m not responsible? Do you have any idea what it takes to fly into a mountain range with six people aboard a helicopter?”

The way Dennis and Elke had four days ago. “Yes,” she said steadily. “I do. And, please. Could you speak with a normal tone? You’ll wake Christopher with your shouting.”

He stopped, once more running a hand through his shaggy hair. “I wasn’t shouting.”

“Your voice is raised.”

“I wasn’t shouting,” he repeated stubbornly.

“Okay. We agree to disagree. Let that be the only thing.”

A snort. She ignored it. “What matters at the moment is that you are now Christopher’s guardian.” And father.

He continued to pace. “Why the hell would Dennis make this—this request when I don’t know the first thing about kids.”

“But you do,” she said patiently. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she might have laughed at his expression. “You used to volunteer for Big Brothers, although you stopped that a couple of years ago when you got involved coaching Little League teams during the daylight season.”

His blue eyes pinned her. “Been busy, have you?”

Gossiping, his gaze accused. Except, she hadn’t; she hated idle chatter. “Shane down at the desk volunteered the information.” She lifted a brow. “Your fishing buddy?”

And Elke. Elke had told her more than Savanna wanted to know about the notorious freewheeling Will Rubens.

He grunted. “Shane’s flapping his gums, as usual.”

She had no idea what Shane’s “usual” was. “Don’t blame him. I made some inquiries before I set out on this trip.” Like contacting Elke’s grandmother and longtime resident, Georgia Martin, as well as Starlight’s mayor, Max Shepherd. “I was not about transfer a ten-year-old from the only home he’s known to this frozen tundra without investigating who he’d be living with for the next decade.” She gestured to the rust-colored sofa. “Would you please sit down so we can go over the issues?”

“What are you, a teacher?” he grumbled, but did as she requested.

“Actually, I teach special-needs students, though I began in ESL—English as a second language.” She hesitated, then decided if they were to get on the same page, he had to know the wheres and whys of her history with his family. “Elke and I were roommates at Stanford and became best friends. It didn’t matter that she married Dennis, we continued to keep in touch through the years. Then I moved to Cedros and began teaching there.” She paused, letting this brother absorb the information. “When Christopher went into third grade, Elke and Dennis asked me to set up a behavior intervention program for him.”

“Behavior intervention?” Rubens shot a look toward the bedroom as if Christopher might appear, fangs bared. “Like those nannies on TV?”

“No, I assist children with Autistic Spectrum Disorders, or ASD as we know it.”

His head came around slowly. “Autistic…?”

“Yes,” she confirmed so there would be no mistake. “As you probably know, Christopher has Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s a form of ASD. A milder form,” she added when he set his hands on his knees, ready to spring into a mode of action. “But autism nonetheless.”

“Dennis never said anything about autism.”

Savanna couldn’t look away. “I’m sorry, Mr. Rubens. Maybe they were afraid to tell you.”

“I’m his brother.” He shook his head slightly. “Was his brother.” Again the blueness of his eyes startled her. “He should have told me.”

Oh, Dennis, she thought. Why didn’t you forewarn him? The child is his, after all. “Yes, he should have.” The omitted fact spoke more than she wanted to consider about Will Rubens.

Again, he scraped at his hair. The result left a rumpled look she imagined he saw in the mirror each morning. She looked away.

“Guess I had that coming,” he continued. “Dennis and I…our relationship went by the wayside after—Ah, hell. Look, Ms. Stowe. I can’t look after the boy…Christopher. My work takes me miles from home and it’s dangerous. Anything can happen to a helicopter in the mountains. And besides, my place…my life isn’t set up for kids, never mind one with problems. Have my brother’s lawyer contact me and I’ll arrange to give him complete permission to put the boy into foster care or adopted into a loving and trustworthy family.”

“Mr. Rubens—”

“Will. Please.” Suddenly his head swung left and his body jerked.

Christopher stood in the bedroom doorway, hands fluttering at his sides. He had removed his pajamas, put on the jeans and blue sweatshirt he’d worn during today’s trip. His sneakers were laced.

A stream of accelerated speech poured from his mouth. “Anything-can-happen-to-a-helicopter-in-the-mountains.”

Rubens released a throaty sound. The boy turned. “Daddy?”

Oh, God, he’d mistaken Will for Dennis. Savanna grabbed her copy of the laminated agenda and hurried to the boy. “Christopher. This is your Uncle Will. Remember I told you—” a hundred times “—that we were coming to Alaska to see your uncle? This is him.”

As Christopher rushed forward to crowd her space and look straight into her eyes, a small thrill struck her heart. In the past two days he hadn’t made eye contact with her once. He’d been anxious and worried and disoriented, wholly out of his routine.

“Savanna! How come Uncle Will looks like Dad?”

“Because he’s his brother.” Even though he’s much taller and bigger and his eyes are another color. “We’ll talk more in the morning, okay, pal? Now it’s time for bed.” She held up the agenda, pointed to the tenth number. “See. Bedtime. Take off your day clothes and put on your pajamas.”

“Oh, yeah.” He turned and disappeared back into the bedroom.

“Excuse us,” she said to Rubens and followed Christopher.

She was helping the boy back under the covers when Dennis’s brother came to the door. “Anything I can do?” he asked.

“We’re almost done.”

“He always like that?”

She shot him a look. “I’ll be right out, Mr. Rubens. Then we’ll talk.”

Big and bold, he remained leaning in the doorway with those watchful eyes. She turned away, though the skin beneath her sweater grew uncomfortably warm. The man was like no other she’d met. Yes, she had known overconfident, arrogant males—she’d seen them in the Third World carrying guns—but Will Rubens needed no gun. His confidence stemmed from an innate source.

After tucking the covers around Christopher, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Go to sleep, pal. Get a good night’s rest.”

The boy closed his eyes. For several moments, she watched him, waiting. His mouth drooped, emitting the little snore; he was asleep.

She brushed back his hair—the aged-gold shade of his father’s—and dropped a kiss on the child’s temple. Christopher disliked hugs and kisses unless he initiated them, so Savanna contented herself with these sweet furtive rituals.

“Wow, fast sleeper.” Rubens spoke from the doorway where he still lounged. “Wish I was so lucky.”

“He wasn’t always as quick. Prior to his eighth birthday, he had a hard time falling asleep. The slightest noise would wake him.” She walked to where Rubens stood backlit by the soft glow of the lamps in the living quarters. Hands in rear pockets, he leaned against the doorjamb, comfortable with studying her. She hugged her waist.

Quietly he said, “Never heard someone repeat entire sentences like that.”

“He’s very bright, Mr. Rubens. You might say he’s gifted. But he’s still autistic, which means his development is not the same as most children. For example, if you asked him to name a very small item, he might say the electrons around the nucleus of a helium atom.”