Forever Jake. Barbara Dunlop

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      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.

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