“She could do worse,” was all he said. “The man probably has marriage all figured out after four tries.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
“Maybe that’s where I went wrong.”
“Hey, no Tristan-bashing,” she said sternly. “Or I’ll have to bash you myself. Or send Bash to do it.”
Since either she or Bash could probably kick his ass, he decided not to argue. “Are you coming to the debate?”
“Of course. Gotta cheer my girl Trixie on.”
He laughed. That pretty much summed up their relationship in a nutshell. Lots of teasing, with some ride-or-die mixed in.
Eight
If Lulu had to write a travel site description of Lost Harbor, it would include the words charming, rough around the edges, and maybe tenacious. The people here had to be pretty tough. The town was literally situated on the edge of a vast expanse of wilderness filled with glaciers and bears and ice fields. Only one road came in from the rest of the world.
In the winter that road sometimes got blocked by an avalanche, Toni told her. The town had to be able to survive on its own. How did they do that? By helping each other out, by being “jacks of all trades”…and with a fair amount of alcohol, Toni added.
After a day in Toni’s company, Lulu adored that woman. She was blunt, sarcastic and kind. Three of Lulu’s favorite qualities. So far, Tristan seemed to have those same qualities, with maybe a few more, such as a nice rear end and devastating bedroom eyes.
Her debt to Tristan was piling up. After all, it was thanks to him that she’d just spent the most delightful day she could remember. Toni had taken her to Beauty by Vicki, a salon owned by the fiancée of the father of Police Chief Maya Badger. Vicki, an effervescent Native Alaskan woman, had helped her darken her hair to a muted brown that actually made her eyes a more vibrant blue.
Thus partially disguised, she’d followed Toni to a thrift store where she’d picked up some mud boots and a few hand-knit jumpers and a rain jacket with an insulated lining.
“This will get you through until October, but after that you’ll need something warmer,” Toni had warned her.
“I doubt that’s the case, since I have every intention of being in a warm climate by then. My next cruise ship gig is to South America.”
“Ohh, maybe you can visit our parents. They’re in Chile. They retired there. My mother’s Chilean,” Toni had explained.
“Tristan’s mother too?”
“Yes. I know he doesn’t look it. Our father’s from Denmark. We’re our own little United Nations.”
That explained a few things, like why Tristan had those striking looks—tawny blond hair with a hint of gold, eyes like a storm cloud with light shining through.
By the time the debate rolled around, Lulu was itching to get back to the Desperado and check on things. But until she found transport of her own, she had to rely on Toni. Also, she had a job to do. She might be a brand-new and completely uninformed campaign manager, but she was determined to offer Tristan her best effort.
She had to blink a few times when she saw him again at the high school auditorium, where the debate was being held. He’d ditched the ripped jumper and ratty sweats from the night before. Now he wore trousers that clung perfectly to his stellar ass, and a blazer over a collared shirt. No necktie, because such things didn’t seem to exist here in Lost Harbor. His hair was combed back from his face, emphasizing the shape of his cheekbones and the playful glint in his eyes.
But what was that shorter patch of hair on one side of his head? She’d noticed it this morning, when he hadn’t been wearing that bandana. She’d wanted to ask Toni about it but hadn’t found a way. On the other hand, she’d heard plenty about what a standup guy he was and how Toni still harbored vaguely homicidal tendencies toward his ex-wife.
Divorce aside, Tristan oozed sex appeal, and her mouth watered as she hurried toward him.
“I’ve jotted down some notes for you,” she whispered, handing him a folded piece of paper. “For during the debate.”
“Excuse me? No.” He pushed the notepaper away. “I’m good. It’s just for show, remember?”
“The best show is the kind that makes you believe. I might not know about campaigning but I know about performing. It’s all about the details. I came up with a few slogans and so forth. Just take it. You never know.”
Reluctantly, he took the notes from her. “Please tell me you’ve learned the actual name of this town by now?”
“Ouch. But fair. Yes, and I also picked Toni’s brain about you and Lost Harbor and fishing in general. But it’s just a few ideas, of course you can take them or leave them.”
He scrutinized her for a second, then nodded. “Okay then. Not at all necessary, but I appreciate the effort.” He fidgeted with the fit of his jacket, and she realized he was nervous.
“Here.” She reached up and adjusted the collar of his shirt so it covered the jacket lapel. “Should have steamed this jacket a bit. It looks fine now. Got the pre-show jitters?”
“I don’t know. I just want to get this over with.”
Oh yes. Stage fright. She knew it well. “The worst part is always right beforehand. Once you get into it the nerves will subside. If you get nervous, look my way.”
“What will you do?”
“Oh, I have a few options. I could always flash you.”
That got a smile out of him. “Best campaign manager ever. Did you run across your bad guy today? Any sign of him?”
“No, all clear. Another couple of days and I should be able to move on.”
She couldn’t see much reaction to that, either positive or negative. And why should there be? She was a random stranger who had snuck onto his boat. This odd attachment she felt must be entirely on her side, the result of being given shelter in a moment of need.
Temporary moment of need, she reminded herself. All of this was temporary. Like a weird surreal dream in which one moment she was twirling onstage in a raincoat, the next advising a smoking-hot fisherman on how to win his mayoral race.
Am I living yet, Mum?
Someone called for Tristan to come onstage. She glanced at the stage and saw that all the other folding chairs were filled, one of them with a cage containing a magnificent glossy-feathered rooster.
“Knock ’em dead,” she stage-whispered as he turned to go. “But watch out for that rooster. He looks like a bruiser.”
His tense expression relaxed into at least part of a smile. He hurried toward the stage. She watched him vault onto it like some kind of athlete. Maybe fishermen had to be in pretty good shape—not counting the beer bellies she spotted here and there.
She found a seat near the front, where Tristan could see her if he needed her to flash him. With a thrill, she noticed that Tristan was scanning her notes. When he gave a bark of laughter, she smiled to herself. She’d inserted a few naughty bits in there just to break things up. For example, “On day one, I will submit a bill to change our town’s name to Lust Harbor. Sex sells, after all.” In her experience, a little laughter was the best medicine for dire situations.
When the six candidates—Tristan, Trixie, three older residents, and the rooster—were all settled in their seats, the crowd quieted. Tristan sat with his long legs apart, hands on his knees, like an unruly student in the headmaster’s office. Trixie wore a black tailored blazer and a red silk blouse and looked sensational. One of the other candidates wore boots adorned with a fascinating pattern of porcupine quills—the cruise ship sold similar items in the gift shop.