Struck By Spring Fever!

By Kate Hoffmann

Alaska. A place where men could be men and women were scarce!

Sydney Winthrop wasn't one to back down from a challenge. Even if it meant spending a week in the Alaskan wilderness. Cold nights, bears, mosquitoes she was ready for anything. Everything, that is, but Hawk, her sexy–as–sin guide.

Kyle "Hawk" Hawkins was the last bachelor at Bachelor Creek Lodge. And he planned to keep it that way! But even he knew he was in over his head when beautiful Sydney Winthrop arrived for survival training. One week, alone in the woods with a gorgeous brunette? He'd be lucky to survive!

The Men of Bachelor Creek
Heroes who play hard to get!

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460866740

Kate Hoffmann

Kate Hoffmann has written over 70 books for Harlequin, most of them for the Temptation and the Blaze lines. She spent time as a music teacher, a retail assistant buyer, and an advertising exec before she settled into a career as a full-time writer. She continues to pursue her interests in music, theatre and musical theatre, working with local schools in various productions. She lives in southeastern Wisconsin with her cat Chloe.

Book preview

Prologue

Five years ago

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN STARS like that?

The sound of Tanner O’Neill’s voice echoed through the dark silence of Bachelor Creek Lodge. Kyle Hawkins stared into the black sky and tried to see the night through his friend’s eyes.

He had gazed at the stars from the plains of Kenya and from the base camp at Mount Everest. He’d watched the moon rise over the Australian outback and set behind a Buddhist temple in Thailand. And he’d listened to the cries of monkeys in the Chinese night and the sound of glaciers groaning in the dark of Antarctica. But Alaska was now his new home. And he had to admit that the stars did seem a little brighter in the Alaskan wilderness.

He and Tanner and Joe Brennan had arrived at the lodge just that afternoon. The crumbling log building was to be their home now, and befitting the occasion, they had decided to spend their first night inside, though the place was in need of a good cleaning.

Don’t you think it’s a little strange to be staring at the stars through a hole in the roof? Joe asked.

Think of it as a skylight, Tanner said.

Yeah, Joe replied. And when the rain is coming into our living room, I’ll think of it as a shower. After all, we don’t even have indoor plumbing in this place.

Quit whining, Brennan. Hawk will think we’re a couple of sissy boys.

Hawk chuckled. Neither Tanner nor Joe had been involved in any type of adventuring before the three of them had decided to chuck their lives in Seattle and form a partnership to run the wilderness lodge Tanner had inherited. Though their intentions were good, they’d both need to stop trying to control their environment and allow themselves to adapt to whatever life tossed their way. This was one thing that Hawk had learned to master in his own life and it was the only way to live in the bush.

They all had their responsibilities. Tanner would run the hospitality end of the business, keeping the lodge and the two guest cabins in shape and hiring the needed help. Joe would serve as the pilot for the new enterprise, flying clients and supplies into the tiny town of Muleshoe, just a mile from the lodge. And Hawk would put his adventuring experience to use as a wilderness guide—as soon as they managed to round up their first clients.

I don’t think you’re sissy boys, Hawk replied.

See, Joe said. My concerns about the plumbing aren’t unreasonable.

"I know you’re sissy boys," Hawk finished.

Tanner pulled his sleeping bag up over his chest and sighed. Yeah, think of this as a challenge, Brennan. Are we going to let a little hole in the roof send us scurrying back to Seattle? We’re men, damn it! Our ancestors lived in caves.

Seattle does have a lot more to offer than just habitable living space, Joe said.

Women, Hawk stated, knowing what Joe had on his mind...what Joe always had on his mind.

We agreed we’d all had enough of women, Tanner added. And what better place to keep our bachelorhood intact than Alaska?

Joe groaned and tried to settle himself on the hard plank floor. Remaining a bachelor and jumping headfirst into celibacy are two very different things. And we don’t need to be constantly reminded, he said, nodding toward the doorway.

They’d all seen the carving—No Wimin Kin Pass—deeply embedded in rough block letters in the wooden lintel above the door. Hawk had found the warning amusing. As if they’d have women breaking down the door to get inside. They’d be lucky to lure a few female clients to Muleshoe. And he knew the Alaskan bush. Here, single women were as scarce as daisies in December. Those that did come were besieged with attention from every unattached man within fifty miles and rarely remained single for long.

Hawk had never considered women to be an integral part of his life. He traveled too much to allow for any long-term relationship. And to be honest, most women didn’t understand his obsession with adventure. They couldn’t fathom why he might choose to spend a night alone on the top of a mountain before he’d spend a night in bed with them.

Or spend all the money he’d made on them. When a woman found out who Kyle Hawkins really was, she was only interested in one thing—his bank book. Or perhaps his family connections. A few women even found the challenge of an indifferent and extremely wealthy male powerfully attractive.

But Hawk chose to live his life completely unencumbered, free of responsibilities. All he wanted was a simpler, purer life. That’s why he’d come to Alaska. Not to complicate things with commitment, but to finally find the solitude he craved—a solitude among buddies who wanted nothing more from him than his friendship in return.

I think a bathroom should be project number one, Tanner mused, folding his hands behind his head. Make that two, after the roof. Oh, and cleaning up the place is right up there on the list

We have all winter, Hawk reminded him.

With nothing to do but fix this place up, Tanner said. We need to be ready to bring in our first clients by the time spring comes. The sooner we start making some money, the better.

Hawk kept his thoughts to himself on the subject of their finances. Both Joe and Tanner had cashed out of their careers, Joe as a partner in a law firm and Tanner as a respected residential architect. He wasn’t sure what their reaction would be if they knew he still had ties to the Lower 48, a connection that provided him with a steady flow of income.

But someone had to have the money to bankroll the lodge in case it took more than a season to get the business running. And Hawk would be there to contribute whatever cash was needed. He’d already underwritten the loan on the old plane they’d purchased, putting up cash as collateral without his partners’ knowledge. And he’d contribute whatever it took to keep the lodge running. He had a greater stake in starting a brand-new life than his two friends.

This is home, Tanner said.

This is crazy, Joe added.

Hawk sighed and closed his eyes. This is paradise, he murmured. Pure paradise.

1

THE CAMPFIRE CRACKLED and popped, the damp wood sending sparks up into the sky as it burned. The air was cold, so cold their warm breath clouded in front of their faces as they talked. Hawk leaned back against the rough trunk of a tree and crossed his arms over his chest.

Spring had come to his part of Alaska. A week ago, Muleshoe had been treated to its annual concert of low groans and rumbles, shards of sound that marked the end of winter. Warmed by the sun, the ice on the Yukon River had broken up, officially signaling the start of Bachelor Creek Lodge’s busy season.

Three days later, the first clients arrived, a group of four fishermen, big-city stockbrokers in their early thirties with money to burn. They’d moved into two of the guest cabins and Joe had flown them out on day trips to Hawk’s best fishing spots in the Alaskan bush. After a few days, they’d decided to rough it, avoiding the daily flights and choosing to camp for the rest of their stay beside a pristine lake.

But Hawk knew his clients better than they knew themselves. Roomy tents and comfortable cots were about as rough as this group could take. Joe ferried in a daily supply of beer, food and freshly laundered clothes from the lodge, though Hawk maintained the illusion of a wilderness experience by cooking all their meals over a campfire.

This is the life. What more could a guy want? Dave, the bluff and boisterous leader of the group, struck a match on his boot heel and lit a huge cigar.

Eddie nodded in his typically gregarious manner. The great outdoors, a Cuban cigar and not a woman in sight.

The group chuckled, then took a moment to light the stogies from the box that Dave had passed around the campfire. Hawk shook his head when the box was offered to him, silently handing it back to Dave and sinking into the shadows, a spot that he much preferred to openly socializing with clients.

Hawk had learned that a good wilderness guide made his presence known only when necessary. Better to let the clients think that the guide was merely a formality, rather than a life-or-death necessity. Hawk was there to keep his charges safe from all the calamities that might befall a city slicker—a cheechako, as the natives called them—tossed into the wilderness without the skills to survive.

That’s the way most of his clients liked it, though there was a growing interest in survivalist outings, where clients were pitted one-on-one with the wilderness, with only the barest of essentials at their disposal. Just a few days before, Tanner’s wife, Julia, had made arrangements for a group from San Francisco. Though the reservations hadn’t been confirmed yet, Hawk was already formulating an itinerary.

He had faced many of the challenges that he planned to throw at his clients and he’d come away a much stronger person for them. He’d climbed mountains and rafted down rivers, trekked to both poles and reveled in the harsh conditions. And the previous fall, he’d lived in the woods for nearly a month, surviving on what he could gather and hunt, a sharp knife his only tool.

I’d give up everything, Dave said, to have a job like yours. Don’t you ever get tired of it, Hawk? Do you ever get the urge to move to the city and get a real job?

Hawk shook his head. Never.

Greg, the youngest of the group, grinned. You’re a man of few words, Hawk. I’m not sure you’d survive a day in the business world. You’re probably better off right where you are.

Hawk wasn’t about to tell the quartet that he could buy and sell them all ten times over. He had spent more than his share of time in a business suit, poring over financial statements and discussing business strategy, obsessing over Hawkeye Technologies’ share of the market. But after founding and building one of the industry’s most successful software companies, and restoring his family’s faltering wealth, Kyle Hawkins had had enough.

Seven years ago, at age twenty-nine, he’d thrown away his designer suits and all the trappings of success. He’d hired competent managers and calmed the fears of money-obsessed family members, then walked out the front door. Four times a year, he returned to Portland for board meetings, mostly to put down any thoughts of a family coup orchestrated by his parents and three siblings.

Compared to his family, his partnership with Tanner and Joe had been idyllic. They’d never questioned his abilities or his motives. They trusted him completely. And they accepted him for the person he was. He was Hawk, their enigmatic and adventurous friend, a guy who disappeared for a few weeks every now and then without any explanation.

Yeah, Hawk, you’ve got it made, Dave said. He blew a few smoke rings into the crisp night air. You can fish every day and you don’t have a wife telling you that you can’t.

My wife thinks fishing is boring, Len said. As the quiet member of the group, Len rarely added much to the campfire conversations.

Women, Greg said. They just don’t get it.

There were at least two women that Hawk knew who got it. Two women who had come to Alaska and found a life for themselves. Julia Logan had come to Muleshoe looking for her runaway son, Sam, and had fallen in love with Tanner O’Neill. They were expecting a brother or sister for Sam in the fall.

And Perrie Kincaid, banished to the wilderness by her overprotective boss, had found love with Joe Brennan. After Joe and Perrie’s wedding in September, Hawk would be the only bachelor left at Bachelor Creek Lodge. It shouldn’t bother him, but after seeing the happiness that a woman could bring into a man’s life, he was beginning to wonder if he might be missing out. So was most of the population of Muleshoe.

Two hundred hearty souls had watched in delight as two of the three bachelors at the lodge had fallen victim to matrimony. Legend had it that a woman crossing the threshold of the lodge would be destined to marry one of the inhabitants. Legend had turned to fact in the case of Hawk’s partners. And though neither Tanner nor Joe had taken the legend seriously, Hawk had always been a bit wary.

Hell, what were the chances another woman like Julia or Perrie would show up at the lodge? Both were incredible, and had Tanner or Joe not snatched them up, Hawk could have easily fallen in love with either one of them.

But could they have loved him? Could they have come to understand his restless ways? Or his penchant for silence? Hawk hadn’t met a woman yet who wasn’t bent on changing him, turning him into a sensitive nineties kind of male, a man who would be comfortable discussing and dissecting his every emotion. Maybe he would have been happier living a century ago, when an adventurous spirit and a stoic demeanor were considered admirable qualities.

Had he lived a hundred years ago, he probably would have participated in the Gold Rush, testing his mettle in the Yukon, along with thousands of others. When he’d arrived at the lodge five years ago, he’d felt an odd connection to his surroundings, as if he had finally come home.

But was it really his home? Or would he soon feel the restlessness again, so strong that he’d be forced to move on? If only he could figure out what he was searching for, then maybe he’d be able to put an end to his wanderlust. A successful business hadn’t satisfied him, nor had risking his life in increasingly dangerous adventures. Alaska had held his attention longer than anything else, but how long could that last?

Hawk stared up at the dusky blue sky and drew in a long breath. The days were growing longer, with only five or six hours of darkness between sunset and sunrise. Ready for some solitude, he levered himself to his feet, then glanced around the group. No food in the tents, he reminded them, grabbing a lantern. Bears are hungry this time of year. Toss the cigar butts into the fire.

With that, he grabbed the box of cigars and headed out of camp. Earlier that evening, he had tied their provisions up in a tree, and now he lowered the rope to add the cigars to the cache. Bears were also fond of good tobacco. He’d once returned to camp to find a client’s tent ravaged for a carton of cigarettes, so Hawk always erred on the side of caution.

Once the cache was secure, Hawk made a quick circuit of the campsite, checking tent stakes and picking up the odd item of clothing discarded by his clients. He’d given them all the wilderness warnings about hungry bears and charging moose, about fast-moving streams and icy cold water. Still, he couldn’t count on a good night’s sleep until he’d put each of his clients on the plane for home. Only then could he relax.

He kicked off his boots, then stepped inside his tent, zipping the flap behind him. As he lay on top of his sleeping bag, he listened to the night sounds, the wind in the trees and the waves lapping against the shores of the lake.

By all accounts, he did live the perfect life. Then why did he feel as if something were still missing?

I JUST THINK that there’s something wrong with the world when a woman like Sydney Winthrop would rather curl up in bed with a box of chocolates than with a man.

Sydney looked across the room at her best friend, Kit Chandler, and sighed in exasperation. That’s not completely true, she said. I like men, I really do. But when it comes to a woman’s needs, only two things matter—quality and quantity. She paused, then smiled coyly. Only the finest Belgian chocolates will do. And nothing less than a two-pound box.

The five other women in the room giggled and nodded their agreement, and the conversation suddenly shifted to favorite chocolate treats. Sydney leaned back into the sofa cushions and sipped from her cup of cappuccino while she listened with half an ear to the latest topic of her women’s support group.

The group had formed three years before, founded by Sydney, Kit and two other successful and steadfastly single businesswomen. They’d first met at Sydney’s health club near