Wilderness: Midnight Sun 1

2. Jessie

2

Jessie

Talk about a shitty day from hell. First, having to drive into Fairbanks to meet with my CPA to get my taxes filed—late as usual—and having to hear the know-it-all man spew s**t about a woman having no place being a bush pilot.

Well f**k him and the pencils that had to endure his too-smooth-palm touch.

Then running into him, the asshole who didn’t understand the meaning of the word “no”, the bastard who’d stolen my father’s charter business when he’d hit troubled waters. Spoiled rich asshole who thought he owned the world, or that he could buy what he didn’t already lord over.

Getting groceries for the next couple of months was usually a chore I enjoyed, loading up a couple of carts with bulk supplies, but that f*****g a*s just happened to appear at the end of the first aisle, ruining my mood I’d managed to pull out of the gutter after leaving my CPA.

I pretended I didn’t see him, but every inch of my body became aware of his presence as he neared.

His blue eyes twinkled in a way that most women would find attractive, his mousy brown hair with hints of gray tumbling in curls over his forehead in a seemingly innocent air, but something in his gaze hinted at an unhinged mind. Beyond spoiled, something a bit more … something not quite right.

“Hey, Jessie.” He nudged against my shoulder like we were long lost pals or some such s**t even though he had a good fifteen years on me.

I showed him my teeth with an audible snarl and kept walking, trying to shake off the creepy vibes he’d dumped over my head from a simple, totally intentional, bump of his arm against me.

Cort Endsley freaked me the f**k out.

Not for the first time, I ignored his sense of entitlement when it came to women. I loved that I couldn’t be bought, that I could stand on my own two feet—he hated it.

I thought I lost him when he didn’t show up in the next two aisles. My shoulders relaxed, and I focused on the long as hell list in my hand.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he whispered against my ear, and I squeaked, jumping damn near a foot in the air.

“The f**k!” I whispered harshly and spun, ready to clock him in the damn nose, but too many people stood close by. While I might not be able to obtain a restraining order due to his cousin being the sheriff, he had the money and status to drag my name through the shitter and ruin my family’s business that I’d struggled to rebuild the previous five years.

“f**k off, Cort,” I muttered, list crumpled in my fist as I shoved the cart forward.

“I’m tired of waiting, Jessie,” he called after me.

“Then find someone else to bother,” I shot over my shoulder, giving him my best resting b***h face.

“But you’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen. Your fire draws me in like a moth to the flame, baby.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring the titters of two grandmotherly types I paused beside.

“You’re sunshine and moonlight,” Cort continued, drawing an, “Aw” from both women. “I dream about you barefoot and pregnant in my kitchen every night.”

I snorted. The fucker probably hated that my reputation as a pilot, a mere woman, rivaled his own. In his mind, I expected, a woman had no business being anywhere but pregnant and in the kitchen.

“He only wants to get his d**k wet,” I told the old women, bending to grab a case of diced tomatoes.

One old lady gasped. The other snickered and dragged her friend away as I hoisted the flat of cans into my cart.

“Jessie.”

I ignored Cort, grabbing up a case of canned corn a few feet farther down the aisle. The old ladies disappeared around the corner, and we stood alone.

Fuck.

The hairs rose on my arms, and my heart kicked into high gear in the worst way possible.

“I always get what I want.” The heat of him pressed close—but didn’t touch—and still, a shiver slid down my spine, curdling the frothy cappuccino in my stomach I’d splurged on in attempts to forget my earlier meeting.

“Not this time, you don’t,” I reminded him, my voice shaking as I hurried up the aisle.

The asshole grabbed my arm and spun me, his fingers digging into my flesh through the light flannel I wore. “Give me what I want, and you can have your daddy’s precious plane back,” he spit.

I jerked from his hold, hissing a few curses under my breath. My daddy’s plane that I longed to own but couldn’t afford—and I refused to pay for it with anything but cash. Cort wasn’t having it. “You f*****g touch me again, you sick prick, and I’ll get that restraining order.”

“You can try.” He grinned, contrary to the harsh hold on my arm, flashing pearly whites I wanted to knock back into his throat. Maybe he would choke to death…

“f*****g crooked a*s cops.” I shoved my cart forward, yanking free of his grasp.

“I’m tired of this cat and mouse game,” Cort said, sticking to my backside, his voice losing all trace of jollity. “Don’t give me what I want, and I’ll destroy you, Jessie Blacke. Your business. Your Daddy’s precious name. Your reputation.”

He’d said the same once before—I’d even gotten his damn voice recorded with those threats—but the cops in his back pocket didn’t give a s**t.

The smart fucker never approached me in private where I could retaliate without fear of retribution. All I needed was one time, one opportunity, to get him in close proximity where no witnesses would see me take revenge for ruining my family’s name.

Temptation to give in to what he wanted for the sake of getting him alone warred with my sense of self-preservation. At five-foot-one, I had to crane my neck to meet his lascivious gaze with a hardened one of my own. He packed muscle while I barely managed to hold up a pair of jeans with my too-small, good for nothing, a*s. At least I had t**s aplenty, so I didn’t look like a teenage boy from a distance.

Popping a bullet into his brain from afar was my best bet, but I couldn’t even stomach shooting an animal to feed myself through the winter.

“No, no, and no. It’ll always be no, Cort. Leave. Me. Alone.” I bit out the words and spun, praying like hell he’d listen.

“You forget the funds at my disposal, Jessie.”

Fucking asshole.

“You’re going to regret that answer, one way or another,” he called after me.

I ignored his threat and kept walking. Two aisles later, I breathed a sigh of relief while grabbing the last item on my list, and I managed to pay for my over-flowing cart full of groceries and get the hell out of town without running into the rich asshole again.

My shitty day got worse when I stopped to fill up my old truck’s tank and checked my messages.

The supply shipment I had scheduled for the following week had cancelled.

“Goddamnitalltohell,” I muttered and pressed my lips tight. I needed every penny to stay afloat. Losing one shipment wasn’t so big a deal, but with it being a long-time customer who stated Cort had offered him a better rate…

I could only imagine what else my archrival and creepy stalker had told the man about me—all because I refused to f**k him.

Still cursing in my head, I topped off my tank and climbed back into my truck, the rusty door slamming from my over-zealous yanking. Windows down, I tore off toward home, scowling and ready to punch something. Someone. The state I found myself in, had Cort been close by, I’d have attempted to make him choke on his pearly whites.

I need a f*****g drink.

Home lay a couple hours away—too far away. If I’d had the funds, I’d have stayed at a hotel in town with a bottle of Jameson to make love to all damn night long. My luck, Cort would somehow find me and force his way into my room. Wouldn’t put it past the fucker. The energy rolling off him lay far beyond the creep factor, straight into r****t-city if I had to wager a guess. No amount of pleading or money would get me alone with him willingly.

I’d left him in Fairbanks, wishing I could leave behind the memory and oily feeling on my skin lingering from his hot whispers near my ear. Another shiver slid over me, and I cursed him to hell and back again.

A little s**t town lay halfway between me and home, and I decided to stop in at The Watering Hole for some whiskey. Even better would be a good hard f**k. Hadn’t had one of those in so damn long, I couldn’t remember. Whoever the last had been, he didn’t haunt my dreams with a big c**k or talented tongue. Hell, no one I’d been with had rocked my world. Not even one had launched me into the stratosphere or sent me soaring into the clouds like my old ’56 Beaver.

Best bush plane ever. My baby cost me every cent of my inheritance when my great aunt Silvia passed, and it’d been the best money I’d ever spent.

A few years older than Dad’s Beaver, mine purred like a kitten and floated in the sky, every gust of wind like a lover’s caress over her solid frame. She’d been updated with modern electronics, making my job an absolute joy.

My throat tightened as memories of Dad teaching me to fly slid through my mind. We’d spent hours together, had been tighter than anything. Two damn peas in a pod who looked alike, with Mom being our carrot. A perfect combination, the perfect family and home life.

That perfection had ended two days after my fourteenth birthday when they had scrounged up enough money to go out to dinner for their anniversary. Something had distracted Dad enough he’d turned the car sideways while on the open road, rolling it four times according to the police report. There’d been no witnesses, no evidence of what had made Dad lose control.

An excellent pilot, a driver with a clean record who didn’t speed, Dad had always stayed alert. Didn’t drink and drive. Didn’t even have a cell phone to fiddle with while behind the wheel.

Years later, once I learned what had happened to Dad’s planes and business due to a gambling debt of all things, I wondered over the “accidental” part of their deaths. Dad wasn’t a stupid man, but once of age, my great aunt and Dad’s CPA finally told me he’d been gambling for years and owed a very rich man—Cort Endsley—a hell of a lot of money. What was left of their estate upon their deaths didn’t come close to covering that debt.

At least I hadn’t been liable for the rest of it.

Cort got the family business, all my parents’ assets, and our old home in the sticks to cover part of what had been owed him. I ended up an orphan and got nothing—until my great aunt died, leaving me her sole heir. With the monetary inheritance, I’d begun rebuilding my family business. With her twenty acres and old log cabin out in the sticks, I’d kept the home I’d known since fourteen.

Eyes hazing, I fought to focus on the road and tiny town growing in the distance ahead. No sense living in the past. I couldn’t do a damn thing about it but trudge onward and make my DBA, Midnight Sun Charter, as successful as it had been when I’d been a kid.

If I could rebuild the business to where Dad had taken it before losing it all to Cort, I knew I could get back a piece of what I’d lost. Accomplishing that goal wouldn’t bring my parents back, but at least a part of me would feel complete.

I had a twenty in my back pocket, enough for a couple shots of whiskey. Sitting in the bar and unloading on Dale, the old bartender, might help to ease the burden of my s**t day. He had a good ear and had known Mom and Dad. He also knew about my stalker and how the cops wouldn’t do jack s**t to keep me safe. And even though he was partial to the three S’s—shoot, shovel, and shut up—he didn’t support my wanting to bury the asshole.

Slamming my driver door after hopping from my old Ford gave me a sense of satisfaction, and I strode into the bar with a rush of wind whipping my chin-length hair around my head. Tucking it back behind my ears, I focused on Dale behind the bar and the bottle of whiskey he grabbed upon seeing my scowling face.