One of those mountain roads leading up north.
Up north, like...toward Glass Lake?
Fuck.
What if that gold’s the reason he’s gone?
What if it wasn’t a simple overdose, and someone killed him over it and staged the scene?
Sobering thought.
I don’t get the chance to linger on it, though, because suddenly Holt’s got eagle eyes, and they’re trained on me.
“Why you so interested in what’s up with Fliss, Alaska?”
I can’t get out more than a slow, choked sound before Blake cuts in with a sly grin, stroking his rusty-brown beard. “Probably because he’s been taking our pretty friend camping.”
“Hey.” I growl. “How the fuck did you—” Then I groan, raking a hand over my face. If he hadn’t been sure, I just gave it away, but I know how he figured it out. “Your kid.”
“Andrea doesn’t miss much,” Blake says with a touch of pride. “And she’s got good eyes. So? What’s the deal, Alaska? You two hookin’ up?”
“There is no deal.” I try to say it as sternly as possible. Only, with my face glowing hell-fire red, I wouldn’t believe me, either. “She just...you know. I think she needed some company without the baggage of her past. That’s all.”
I feel like Blake’s staring right through me as if I’m transparent as glass.
Yep, now I know how people feel when I give them the Dad Look.
Because Blake’s giving it to me in spades, and I’ll be damned if I don’t feel like I’ve reverted back to Eli’s age. I’m ready to squirm in my frigging seat when I’ve got a kid of my own and this is my routine.
“Sounds like you care an awful lot how she feels,” Blake rumbles softly.
“She’s a nice girl. I love her coffee and I drink it by the liter—just ask Holt or any other guy from the crew. We’re friends.” I shrug. I’m real bad at fibbing, but I try. “I think any friend would care.”
That gets the bossman grinning wide and a little dirty.
“Friend, huh?” Holt whispers. “What’s that mean to Alaskans? I’m thinking it could mean a lot considering the long-ass winters and the fact that you’ve got more moose than people up there.”
“Don’t start.” I level a finger at him.
Christ. I’m lucky Holt’s settled down and gotten married.
Trust me.
Back in NYC, he turned into a raunchy mess when he was plastered.
Now, though, he raises his mug again, gesturing clumsily enough to nearly slosh it over his hand.
“I think we should make a toast,” he proclaims. “To the start of a beautiful shing.”
Nope. I’m not talking about any beautiful things, or beautiful shings, even.
“Holt, lay off the sauce. One of us is gonna have to drive you home, and Libby’s gonna be pissed as hell if you show up too plastered to stand.” I rest a hand on his wrist and gently press down, encouraging him to set the mug down before he makes a mess of himself—or us. “Why are you drinking so much, anyway?”
He sets his mug down with a thud and peers at us.
“I found it,” he whispers, only it’s that loud drunk whisper again, even as he leans closer to us with a conspiratorial hiss. “I found it in the trash. She covered it up, but I found it.”
Blake gives me a patient look full of silent laughter, then asks dutifully, “Found what?”
“The pregnancy test,” Holt slurs, and my eyes widen. “I’m gonna be a dad.” Then, beaming, louder, “I’m gonna be a dad!” But his face falls just as fast as it brightens, horror slowly dawning in his eyes. “Uh...I’m gonna be a dad?” Groaning, he shoves his face into one hand. “Oh, man, I’m gonna fuck this up so much.”
Oof.
Now it all makes sense.
I can’t help grinning.
Holt’s been a lot of things. A womanizer, a stricken romantic, a desperado done with love, and a man finding who he was always meant to be with after fucking around with a lot of gals he wasn’t.
Now, he’s going to be a father, and I’ll bet he’ll make a damned good one, at that.
“You’re not gonna mess up nothin’,” I say firmly. “Trust me, boss. I thought I’d screw everything up before Eli was born, too.”
“Thought the same thing with Andrea,” Blake adds, watching Holt with the kind of fondness that can only come from a lifetime of brotherly rivalry turning into one of the strongest friendships I’ve ever seen.
Holt stares between us with a mixture of hope and dread.
“How’d you...not, Alaska?”
“Can’t really explain it,” I say. “Just took one look at that little red screaming face and knew I’d do anything to take care of him. Dad gene kicked in hard. Told me I’d figure it out, or I’d die trying.” Fuck, even now that feeling tightens in my chest, and suddenly I want to be at the inn, making sure my Eli’s all right. “You’re gonna do the same, Holt.”
No fooling. Holt’s gonna be a great dad.
But me?
I’m starting to wonder, right now.
Because lately, Eli’s not the only one who makes me want to do everything to take care of him.
With a possible murder hanging around a certain pretty someone’s past like jet fumes, I gotta wonder if Felicity’s in deeper than she can handle.
I wonder just how much that trouble might threaten my son, if I fall in too deep with a girl I can’t get out of my head.
All that talk about kids and parenting has me wrapping things up and heading home, after making sure Blake gets Holt safely home to the ranch he shares with Libby.
I had a feeling I’d tapped out any intel on Fliss I was gonna get from those two, anyway.
Damn.
Feels like I’m poking at her like she’s a suspect or something.
I don’t like that feeling.
Even so, after I fought tooth and nail to keep Eli?
Still, I can’t let anything, even something that seems innocent on the surface, threaten him.
Which is why my heart catapults out of my chest when I pull up to the little drive in front of the cabin and my headlights sweep over his fear-whitened face, standing outside on the front porch.
He freezes in the middle of dashing for the front steps.
I’m out of the Jeep in a second, jolting toward him, gripping his arms hard.
“Eli? What happened? Are you hurt? Where’s Haley?”
Warren and Haley Ford, Charming Inn’s owners, kindly agreed to watch him while I was away.
He shakes his head fiercely, staring up at me with his eyes wide and too bright, but it’s a few seconds before he speaks. “I—I’m fine, Dad, I was just—they let me come back here for a pop. I was going to run to Ms. Wilma’s house to get help and—”
“Help? What happened?” I realize my urgency is probably scaring the ever-living crap out of him when he already looks rattled.
Deep breath. If I can’t calm my own tits, then I can’t comfort my son.
“Okay,” I say, putting on my Dad Voice, making myself speak more slowly now that I know he’s not hurt. “Talk to me. Why did you need help?”