Casey Everson has it all - a good job in a balmy southern city. But when she decides to trade it all in for a chance for a life of love and liberation in the wild Alaskan outback, she quickly learns that frontier principles are much what they were centuries before women's liberation. Garrett Adams is much what Casey expected from their lengthy correspondence - rugged, principled and old-fashioned. But Casey quickly finds that sometimes, getting what you want can bring some sore lessons, especially when you become the center of a hidden feud between two domineering pioneer men.
Chapter One
Above the clouds, it had been easy to keep her illusions. Above the clouds, she had been sure.
But as the Cessna's descent broke through the mist, reality broke through the fantasy Casey Everson had been harboring for the last nine months.
Below her the stretched a vast stretch of wilderness - most of which had never been subjected to human intrusion. In the dictionary, a snapshot of the view would have fit nicely beside the word "remote." No definition needed.
"Hold tight, Missy," she heard the pilot say, his words somewhat muffled by the stogie that hung from the corner of his mouth. "We're coming in for a landing."
Casey jumped. When she arrived in Juneau the day before with her expensive luggage and her South Carolina accent, she was treated with the chatty cordiality given to obvious tourists. Everyone from the hotel personnel to the cab driver who took her back to the airport had been good-natured to the point of kidding her about her lowland twang. But when she identified herself to the Cessna pilot, his only response was gruff nod and a curt offer to take her luggage. Up until this point, those had been the only words he had spoken.
Outside the window the ground rose up to meet them, the pilot's target a narrow gray swath of runway intersecting a patch of ancient firs. The Cessna - unexpectedly smooth at its higher altitude - now seemed to wobble in protest of touching down. Casey's instinctively gripped the seat for support; feeling the sharp edge of the Polaroid between her sweaty palm and the hand rest.
"I didn't think they even made those cameras anymore?" her best friend Minerva had said the day Casey had proudly showed her Garret's picture.
"He obviously has one," Casey replied. "Or whoever took the picture does."
"It was probably the last woman he flew up to Alaska to help him "work the land," her friend snapped.
"Honesty, Minnie," Casey had said in exasperation, snatching the photo from her friend's hand. "Can't you just be happy for me?"
"I would be if I understood why you can't settle on a guy in the United States."
"Alaska is part of the United States, brain trust," Casey had snarled. "I just wanted someonedifferent."
"He's different alright," Minerva said as Casey had rolled her eyes.
"Let's put aside the fact that he's hot," Minerva said. "We've already established that your Brawny Paper Towel guy is easy on the eyes. But other than his lumberjack good looks what does he have to offer you besides a serious case of culture shock."
Minerva stood, counting off on manicured fingers the number of absent amenities Casey was used to.
"No electricity, which will make it really hard for you to run your laptop and make a living, Miss Copywriter. No running water, so I guess that hot shower will be out of the question. No telephone so you won't be able to call for help if you need it. For god sakes, you've been forced to correspond with this guy through snail mail. Just how backwards can a person get?"
"Minerva, please just shut up!"
Casey hadn't meant to yell, but she had endured enough of what had become a cyclical conversation between the two of them.
Minerva stopped, more shocked at being called by her given name than by being yelled at. Ever since they became best friends during detention at Longview Junior High School, she had always been "Minnie" to her best friend.
Casey sighed, feeling a tinge of regret for losing her cool.
"I know what he doesn't have, Minnie," she said softly. "I know he lives out in the middle of nowhere. I know he doesn't have most - OK - I know he doesn't have any of the things I take for granted. But I've been writing to Garret Adams for over a year now and I know he has a lot of the things I can't find here. He's got a real pure outlook about the environment and a do-it-yourself mentality. This is somebody who's found happiness on his own terms. He doesn't need the BMW and the corner office to feel good about himself. He's exactly the opposite of every guy I've ever met here - or anywhere."
"You always were different," Minerva said softly, "growing organic tomatoes on your patio and subscribing to that Earth Mother Magazine even though you live in an apartment.
"It's called Mother Earth News," Casey laughed. "You know I've wanted someone to share a real back-to-the land existence with, Minerva and God knows I'm not going to find anyone that suits me here."
In a brief flash all the guys she had dated over the past five years raced through her mind - all the upwardly mobile yuppies who'd grown frustrated after failing to impress her with the amenities of their privileged lives.
Minerva knew better than anyone how hard it was for unconventional Casey to find a guy who shared her nuts-and-granola vision. But what she didn't know was that - beyond the desire to live closer to the land - her best friend wanted a man strong enough to stand up not just for her, but to her. In addition to being to soft and materialistic, all the men Casey had met were - in her opinion - way too feminized.
Through their letters, both Casey and Garrett had agreed on an old-fashioned set up. He wanted her to know - up front - that he would wear the pants in their house. She responded that she wouldn't want it any other way. For her, getting back to nature meant also getting back to human nature where men took the lead. It wasn't a popular philosophy these days, not even in South Carolina. But it was exactly what she wanted.
She stopped and walked to the open window of her apartment. Under the green and white awning just beneath her she could hear a couple chatting in cozy tones over the clink of coffee cups.
She turned back to Minerva. "I know it's hard for you to understand, Minnie, but I've never wanted anything more than I want a life with Garrett. Call me crazy if you want but I think I'm falling in love with him."
Minerva stood and walked over to Casey, reaching out to give her shorter friend's two long plaited brunette braids a playful tug. "OK, you're crazy," she said before suddenly enfolding Casey in a hug.
Casey felt the tears well in her eyes as Minerva's voice break in a sob.
"It's just that I'm going to miss you so damn much."
"I'll miss you, too," Casey whispered. "But don't worry. Everything is going to be OK."
Part II
Casey's legs felt knotted and cramped as she climbed out of the plane. She was stretching and massaging the back of one shapely leg when she heard a voice.
"Casey Renee?"
She looked up to see a 6'4 inch man with broad shoulders looking down at her with smoky gray eyes. He hadn't mentioned having grown a beard in his last letter but then that had been several weeks ago. Then again, Casey figured Garret wasn't the type to make a lot of fuss over outward appearances, anyway.
She was right. What she didn't know was that at the moment he was paying a great deal of attention to hers.
When he had begun corresponding with Casey over a year earlier, she had offered to send him a picture. At the time he told her not to bother - that he trusted she'd already provided him with an accurate written description of herself and he believed photos often were misleading. Two weeks later she sent a picture anyway. Looking at her now, he realized how right he had been; pictures were misleading. Casey was even prettier than her photo.
"Hi, Garret," she said, offering a slim hand even as she blushed under his gaze. "It's nice to finally meet you in person."
"Likewise," he said, disappointed that a year's worth of correspondence didn't take the awkwardness out of meeting face to face. Among the things the two had in common was a way with the written word. For Casey, it was a matter of survival; since graduating from USC she had made her living as a copywriter. Garrett's skills had been honed over pen and paper that served as his sole link to family and friends he no longer saw.
Deciding against continuing a conversation growing stiffer by the moment, he turned to the pilot.
"Lou, do you have her bags?"
"Yeah, do you have my fare?"
Casey was strangely relieved to see that "Lou" was as gruff and unpleasant with Garrett as he had been with her. She watched, slightly amused as Garrett grabbed her two leather duffle bags from the pilot while simultaneously stuffing a wad of bills in the pocket of the shorter man's grubby flannel shirt.
"Thanks for doing business with The Only Fucking Airline That Will Travel To Your Neck of The Woods," Lou laughed, chewing on his cigar as he spoke. "Which reminds me, Garrett. There's a bonus I almost forgot to give you. You got mail this run."
"Is that so?" Garrett asked, dropping Casey's bags and following
the pilot back to the back of the plane. Casey tried not to look too obvious
as she stood eavesdropping on their conversation, but there was little else
to do. The men's words were muffled for a moment as they went around the back
of the plane but became audible as they walked back in her direction. In Garret's
hand was a cardboard box and a letter.
"I can sure as hell see why you'd miss a woman like that," Lou was saying. If you don't mind my saying, that Sally McKinney is something else - I've thought so ever since she came out here on her first trip. Beautiful, smart and a good cook, too. If she wasn't already taken I'd go after her, but you'd probably kill me if I tried.
"Probably so," Garret laughed.
"Well, you're lucky she hasn't written you off for moving out here to the boonies but you know how it is; she'll always love you no matter where you go. No sir, no woman will ever love you like she does."
"Well, it's reciprocated. They don't make women like her anymore," Garrett replied, shaking a package. "I sure as hell hope it's pumpkin bread."
"If it is, save me some," said Lou. "Later."
"Later," said Garrett, waving the box at him and walking back to Casey.
"Are you ready?" he asked, picking up the bags, his words rising over the roar of the Cessna's engine, as the aircraft began to taxi back down the air strip.
"I - I - yes," she replied, trying to keep the sound of dismay out of her voice. As she followed Garret, she looked over her shoulder as the plane - her only way out - left the ground.
"Holy fucking hell," she thought, her mind racing. "What do I do now? Minnie was right. I didn't really know this man. Here I am stuck in the middle of nowhere after wasting a year of my life believing his lines and all this time there's been someone else."
Fury gave way to despair as she stepped into his red pickup. What else was there she didn't know? He obviously was capable of infidelity. Was he capable of violence?
"Play it cool," she thought. "Play it cool. Your survival may depend on it."
"Are you alright?" His voice made her jump. He was a good actor, she cynically mused; he actually sounded sincere.
"I'm just tired," she said.
Garrett frowned. She seemed upset. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should press the issue but thought the better of it. He wondered if he had somehow offended her. Sure he had spent time talking to Lou but hadn't thought she'd mind.hell, from her letters she seemed hadn't seemed the insecure type. He hoped that wasn't the case.
"If so," he thought, "then I've just wasted a year of my life." The last thing he wanted was a high-maintenance gal. It would be just his luck that she had lied. But he wasn't yet about to entertain that thought so he put it out of his mind.
"Well, let's get you home," he said, starting the truck and with a backfire and a jolt the pickup moved forward, carrying Casey deep into the Alaskan wilderness.
Part III
Seeing the cabin for the first time made the knowledge of Garrett's double life even more painful for Casey. For over a year, she had gone to sleep visualizing his written description of the place.
Now, standing in the doorway, she saw it was just as she imagined.
It wasn't large - about 1,200 square feet. The interior was one long room save for a partition that held a wash stand and a composting toilet. Against the center wall stood a large woodstove that held a still-crackling fire.
In front of the woodstove sat a couch made of lashed-together poles upon which sat red, homemade cushions. Two chairs made in the same fashion stood on either side. Casey found herself wondering if "Sally" had made the cushions. Garrett didn't look like the type who'd be good with a needle and thread.
To the far left stood a kitchen area consisting of a well-stocked floor to ceiling set of shelves, a wooden cook stove. A short counter held a sink complete with pump handle. Underneath the plumbing was covered with a panel of rough gingham that matched the curtains hanging from the cabin's windows. A rectangular pine farm-style table with four chairs, a jelly cabinet and a butcher block completed the area.
To the right stood a bed - the only bed. Like the couch it was made of poles lashed so strongly together that they supported a large, overstuffed mattress topped by a colorful patchwork quilt. Beside the bed stood an armoire made of the same rough pine as the kitchen table.
"What do you think?" Garrett's voice cut into her careful observation.
"It's nice," she answered honestly. "I can't believe you built it yourself."
"It took me eighteen months to cut and -"
"I know," Casey interrupted, her voice sullen. "You wrote me about that, remember?"
Garrett frowned, his brow crinkling above he smoky eyes.
"Casey, would you mind telling me what's wrong?" he asked. "Because you don't exactly seem happy to be here. If something's bothering you I expect you to be honest."
Casey turned, her eyes narrowing in anger. "Honest?" she said. "You expect me to be honest. Now there's irony for you."
Garrett pointed at her. "That's twice you cut me off," he said coldly. "Believe me when I say I won't tolerate a third. Now tell me what the hell is wrong."
"Oh, nothing," she said sarcastically. "Nothing except I've spent the last fucking year of my life corresponding with a man who made himself out to believe in everything I did. Self-sufficiency. Love. Loyalty. Honesty. But what happens? No sooner do I get here than I learn quite by accident that I'm not the only woman in your life. So tell me, Garrett? If this Sally McKinney decides to come back where am I going to sleep? Outside with the goddamned grizzly bears? Of course that might be preferable to my having to sleep in here listen to the two of you together."
Casey was pleased to see the uncomfortable look sweep across the handsome face. "Good," she thought. "Let him stew in his own guilt. Serves him right for stringing me along."
"Casey, I think before you go making assumptions -"
She interrupted him again. "Save it, mister," she said, raising her hand. "Just get me the fuck back to -"
But this time, it was Casey who got cut off as Garrett's strong hand grabbed her upraised one and proceeded to drag her across the room.
"I told you," he said when they reached the couch and threw her over his lap. "Not to interrupt me again."
Casey's mind didn't fully register what was happening until the third blow fell - hard on her backside.
"He's spanking me," she thought even as she hear herself howl. "He's actually spanking me."
All her life she had dreamed of a real man - not the fey yuppie scum she had always known - but a strong man, a dominant man. A man who would take her over his knee if she needed it.
Once, when reading one of Garret's letters in which he pontificated that the abandonment of corporal punishment in the home had led to societal problems, she thrilled at a particular passage. "No woman or child is ever too big for a good spanking," he had said. She had read the passage over and over wondering what it would be like to submit to real, loving correction.
But this - this didn't even resemble her warm and fuzzy correction fantasies. This hurt. It really hurt. And she told him so through screams that started as profanities and ended in pleas for mercy as his huge hand cracked down over and over on her wiggling, jean-clad bottom. Even through the fabric she could feel the skin of her buttocks warm and swell under the continuing smacks.
Her cries soon became incoherent - a sound that would have moved most men to pity. But as far as Garrett was concerned, she had disobeyed him by interrupting. Perhaps their union would turn out to be the shortest relationship in history but - damn it - while it lasted she'd know who was in charge.
Drawing back his arm, he leveled the last five smacks - the hardest ones of all - at her lower buttocks, inspiring Casey to summon a final wail from her already strained throat. Dropping his hand to her bottom, Garrett felt heat rising through the fabric and - satisfied with his handiwork - pushed Casey from his lap to fall gracelessly to the floor.
She looked up at him - her expression a mixture of fury, pain and despair - before rising awkwardly.
"H-h-how could you?" she sobbed, her hands unconsciously moving back to rub the sting out of her sore bottom. "How could you beat me?"
Garrett sat back on the couch and crossed his arms. "I didn't beat you," he said calmly. "I gave you a spanking. And it's not like you were warned. I'd already told you twice not to interrupt me."
"Oh," Casey said, wiping her nose on the back of her flannel shirt. "Yeah, well I can see how I deserved it. I mean, interrupting you is a much worse sin than flaunting your relationship with Sally. It is Sally, isn't it? That is what I heard you call her."
"No, you heard Lou call her that," Garrett replied, an amused smirk crossing his face. "I call her something else."
"Oh, really, and what is that?" asked Casey, removing her hands from her bottom. "Honey? Darling? Sugar?"
Garrett sat forward, and - placing his chin on top of his tented fingers - looked straight at Casey.
"Mom," he said. "I call her Mom," Casey. Sally McKinney isn't some old flame. She's my mother."
