She's The One

Undercover travel writer Alexandra Tulane wonders if maybe she's in way over her head. A men's hunting and fishing retreat in the wilds of Alaska? Not exactly her stylish scene. Fortunately, there's plenty of breathtaking scenery...including good-looking bush pilot Dylan Bower.

Despite the magnetic attraction between them, however, Alexandra is everything Dylan is not--she's a rover, always looking for the next adventure. For Dylan, the scars of the past run deep. He's hidden himself and his silent son in an isolated haven for their protection. Yet Alexandra engages both of them and soon they're under her spell. This--she--feels so good Dylan doesn't want it to end. So how can he convince her to stay?

 

 

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Reviews

 

"SHE'S THE ONE (4) by Kay Stockham: When travel writer Alexandra Tulane visits an Alaskan lodge for an assignment, she meets writer Dylan Bower, who's hiding out at his father's lodge after the death of his wife in a fire, amid accusations of murder. Determined to keep both his young son Colt and himself safe, Dylan has been living at the lodge for close to two years, rejecting nearly all contact with the outside world. Although in love with Dylan, Alex refuses to enable his desire to hide away. Dylan and Alex's feelings and motivations ring true. Stockham's well-drawn characters have much that appeals, and her excellent description gives readers a bird's-eye view of Alaska." - Romantic Times Book Reviews

 

 

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Excerpt

Alexandra Tulane Story

Chapter 1

     It’s so small. Doesn’t he realize size matters? What if he can’t get it up, what are you going to do then?

     Alexandra Tulane swallowed nervously and forced a confident smile to her lips while she tried to figure out the best way of getting the job done. Climb aboard, close her eyes and pray for the quickest ride ever, or take things nice and slow?

Slow won’t get it up. And isn’t the saying it’s not the size but what the guy can do with it?

Oh, if that’s the case you’d better hope he’s really good.

Alex pressed her fingers to her lips to hold back a near-hysterical laugh. She’d gone off the deep end. No doubt about it, the stress had finally gotten to her. What else could explain her standing there having a complete conversation with herself?

Focus. What are you going to do? If you get on that itty-bitty plane you’re going to die!

     She tore her attention away from the dark-haired pilot striding away from the plane outside and looked around the airport terminal, trying to stamp down the fear churning inside her. She didn’t do small planes and the one sitting beneath the cloudy late October sky was just short of match-box size. No way would all the people in the terminal waiting area fit on there. What were they thinking? Even she knew you couldn’t fly a plane with too much weight or it would—she gulped—crash.

“Folks? Sorry to keep you waiting. Ansel, Walter,” the pilot from Deadwood Mountain Lodge greeted the group as a whole, but shook hands with two older gentlemen who had been standing around the lodge’s welcome sign propped near the airport gate.

Deadwood Mountain Lodge was located near Chakachama Lake and touted as being Alaska’s guy paradise, “frou-frou-less, simple and lacking fluff.” As a writer/reviewer for Traveling Single, she’d reviewed everything from B and B’s and inns to five star hotels and resorts, and had a fabulous time doing it.

But to get to the hunting lodge, she had to get on that?

Her boss had warned the experience would be unlike anything she’d done before but what would David know about it? He was a great businessman and had seen the magazine through hard economic times, but he was an armchair traveler. One who rarely left home.

Quit complaining. So it’s small. Good things come in small packages. Pretend it’s a little blue Tiffany box or a pair of Jimmy Choos. It’s even red, your favorite color. How bad could it be?

You’ll be riding a scooter in mid-air. And red? That just makes it easier for the rescue people to find the debris. That bad enough for you?

Alex shoved the mental argument as far away as possible and focused on the here and now. She could do this. Had to do this. After all it was her job and she was a professional. Besides, David would be thoroughly ticked if he’d sent one of his reviewers half way around the world only to have them balk at a plane ride.

It was an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, red-and-white striped--

Stop it, stop it, stop it! If you don’t get on that plane, you’ll have to refund the airfare—which means no shoes on that next trip to New York. No purses, no musicals, no walking in Times Square.

A whimper of complaint escaped her, echoing off the glass so near her face. She’d been tucking a little bit back with every paycheck, too, in preparation of that shopping expedition. What a waste to have to use it to repay David.

“Excuse me, can I have everyone’s attention? Ansel, Walter, good to see you again, boys. Glad you made it back. As to the rest of you, welcome. I’m Dylan Bower. I’m a pilot as well as your host and one of your guides on the excursions you’ve booked with Deadwood Mountain Lodge. We’ve got three guys getting their baggage—ah, here they are now, and another who’s supposed to be here somewhere. We’ll find him shortly, but let’s get down to business. The two of you who’ll start the week off hunting are going to fly out directly from here to the spike camp with Sam to meet your guide.” Dylan indicated another man standing in the background near the gate door with a sweep of his hand. “So if you’d like to come introduce yourselves to Sam…”

Two men stepped to the forefront of the group. Dressed in camouflage pants and carrying thick coats, their luggage included rifles in soft black cases.

From the research she’d done in preparation of her article and review, Alex knew hunting was not permitted in the vicinity of the lodges so as not to attract bear or other animals. A spike camp was typically a series of tents or cabin-like structures set up in the hunting area. Once the kill was made, the hunters would fly back to their lodge and their kill transported for them for processing.

See? They’re flying in a small plane and they don’t look green.

Alex waited for the instructions to continue, waited for their pilot to say it was all a sick joke and they’d be taking a nice, large plane. But she knew her hopes were futile. One way or another, she had to get on that plane and pray she didn’t make a fool of herself during the process.

“You three booked the private charter?” Dylan asked next after checking his notes.

The comment brought her attention back to the group of men assembled closer to the gate’s door. Three gentlemen Alex pegged as executives nodded in unison. They were a combination of Brooks Brothers, Land’s End and Ralph Lauren—current, not off the sale rack. So maybe their charter was bigger? Maybe one of those expensive private jets?

Can’t be too big or it wouldn’t be able to land near the lodge.

Yeah, well, if it’s larger than the deathtrap outside, you have to find a way to get on it.

Her hopes soared—even as her inner voice snickered. You’ve really gotta stop talking to yourself.

“The charter’s fueling up. Just hang out here until the pilot comes to get you. His name’s Pete Bishop. We’ll meet up again at the lodge.”

That said, Dylan Bower scanned the terminal again, skimming over her position near one of the airport’s large metal support beams. But in an instant his gaze jerked back to her, and the furrow between his eyebrows deepened at whatever thought shot through his head.

Hmmm, not a good sign, that. Could he tell she was going to be a white-knuckled flier? No pilot liked that confidence killer.

Tell him size matters. Her inner voice snickered again.

 

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From the book She's The One by Kay Stockham
Harlequin Superromance © May 2010, © 2010 Dorma Kay Stockham.

Cover Copyright © 2010 Harlequin Enterprises Limited © and T are trademarks of the publisher. The excerpt published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A. For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com