Is there any way to finish this tale without a tragedy?
And how do I survive without every glance at Alaska’s rough face tempting me to make devastating decisions?
12
Striking Gold (Alaska)
This morning was interesting.
Breakfast with Felicity at the table. Chasing Eli off to the Fords’ and reminding him to mind his manners around their niece—not that a shy boy like him needs to be told.
Wondering how much longer I had before Fliss straight-up bolted when she looked so antsy.
And then, you know, loading up a few hundred damned pounds or more of solid gold into my Jeep before squeezing the thing into an alley behind a vet clinic and smuggling said gold into a vault through the back entrance.
Another day in paradise.
Afterward, Felicity took off like a stray cat, mumbling something about needing to open The Nest. Considering I already got my fix of her coffee at home, I skipped stopping by the café for more, even if part of me kept screaming do it.
I have this sinking feeling she was running away from me.
Not sure what I did, but the last thing I’d ever want is making that beautiful kit fox of a woman afraid of me.
So I quashed the grumbles as I headed to work. Over lunch, I sent someone else from the crew in for an afternoon pick-me-up from The Nest.
I’ll see her tonight, talk things through in more detail, hopefully put her mind more at ease.
Mine, though, is pretty fucking troubled as I make my way through work.
Too many questions.
Too many pitch-black holes about her father, the gold, and every instinct I’ve got warning danger.
Nonetheless, I’m pretty satisfied when I shut things down at the end of my shift and stop by the boss’ office to report in.
Despite the fact that we’re doing so well Holt could probably get himself a proper fancy office in town, he’s still operating out of the same beat-up trailer he’s used ever since we landed here.
He drives it to every new site like a mobile headquarters.
It’s a sort of comforting, familiar hunk of metal that makes this feel less like a job and more like a group of brothers-in-arms, working and grunting and sweating through everything together.
I don’t miss much about the military, but I do miss that.
I’m glad as hell I’ve found it here.
As I rap on the door and push it open, Holt looks up from the plans on his desk, the wrinkle of concentration between his brows clearing. He breaks into a smile, leaning back in his chair and sweeping his black hair off his brow with a tired look.
“Hey, big guy,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Just dropping a status update.” I knock the door shut with my elbow and lean against the wall. “We’re about done with cleanup on the old hotel site. Should be ready to break ground on the museum project when you give the word.”
“Shitfire, man. Feels kind of momentous, doesn’t it? Like this town’s finally turning over a new leaf?” He glances away, toward the trailer’s thin slit of a window, looking out over the valley that used to house the remains of the Paradise Hotel and a tragic history I think everybody in Heart’s Edge wants to forget.
“Yeah. You said it.” I give a solemn nod.
“This is a big project, Alaska. Linking together that old hotel, the lab site, the mine...turning it into one big megastructure and then making it work. It’s gonna be another whole damn year to finish it.” He gives me a searching look. “You really ready to hunker down here that long?”
I’m not quite ready to say that I’m sold on putting down permanent roots here.
Because it feels like now there’s something new tied up in that, and a few things I need to work out for myself regarding a certain drop-dead gorgeous vixen and my own baggage I’m still carrying around after all these years.
“A year’s no skin off my nose,” I say carefully. “It’ll let Eli do a full year of school here. Wouldn’t want to pull him out and transfer him somewhere mid-year.”
“Definitely a plus.” He gives me a long, searching look, his brows lifting cynically, hazel-gold eyes discerning. “No skin off your nose, huh? What about off your eye? The fuck happened to you, man?”
I wince.
I’ve been ignoring the throbbing in my swollen eye all day after throwing together a little story for Eli, and ignoring the looks and curious ribbing from the crew.
“Shit. About that. Uh, I may have used up your favor with Sheriff Langley to get out of the brig.”
“What? I don’t care about that,” Holt says sharply. “I care about who knocked you around. You need backup? Because you came through for me, Alaska. You’ve had my back too many times, and I’ll be damned if I’ll leave you hanging when you need a hand.”
“It’s fine,” I growl, a little harsher than I intend. “It’s schoolyard shit, Holt. This asshole I knew back home with a grudge followed me out here to pick a fight, that’s all. I think he’s still rotting in the drunk tank. Langley wasn’t too pleased with some new guy wandering through and throwing punches.”
“Uh-huh.” Holt sinks into his chair, still giving me that look. “And how’d Miss Felicity Randall feel about it?”
“Aw, hell, don’t start.” I drag a hand over my face—and immediately regret it when I push down on that bruise. Fuck. Yanking my hand away from my stinging eye, I scowl at him. “Does the entire town think we’re a thing or what?”
That’s got to be mortifying for her with what she’s said people think of her.
Goddammit.
No wonder she won’t look at me.
Although that saved me this morning.
When I walked in the kitchen and saw her bustling around with that content look on her face that makes her seem like she’s dreaming something beautiful, God help me.
More than just my blood temperature spiked, surging a hundred degrees.
I had to be real careful to hide morning wood that could’ve hit a home run.
I’m a lucky man. That thin towel wasn’t covering much, barely holding in a throbbing salute to her glory.
Holt’s still grinning. “It’s the best gossip in town. Everyone loves it. I mean, except the usual culprits.”
“What culprits?”
“The buzzards. The clique girls who get jealous of every pretty lady who catches the eye of our dwindling local bachelors. They’re the ones who keep those rumors about Felicity spinning in the first place, and then wonder why they’re single.” His grin widens. “They’ve been gunning for you since last year. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Uh.” I stare at him. “No.”
“Oblivious. Right. More people than polar bears,” he says with an amused snort.
“Parent.” I snort back. “Gotta think about my boy before I think about anyone jumping my bones.”
I tighten my expressionless mask, making damned sure I don’t give away the lone exception to that rule.
“Yeah? Seems like Fliss and Eli get along pretty well, huh?”
Unfortunately, they do.
They jive in ways that tug at my heart, my gut, my every fucking thing till I can’t get certain thoughts out of my head.