by Nicole Snow
Alaska’s imaginary body is hardly the only thing that’s wet by morning.
By the time I stretch myself awake, I’m aching, and also still feeling guilty about him being a certified gentleman and giving his bed up for me. But I was too tired to argue, and just grateful that Ember hadn’t insisted on following me to Alaska’s cabin.
Grateful, too, that someone stronger than I am took care of lugging those two gold bars out of the back of Alaska’s Jeep. I’d driven it back to my house with Ember taking my car, then transferred the bars, Ember, Shrub, and enough clothing for a few nights into the Jeep, dropped her and Shrub at her house, and headed over to the Charming Inn.
Alaska didn’t even ask for explanations. He just stuffed the bars behind the wood pile again.
At least I wiped them off beforehand so they no longer smelled like radioactive gas station nacho cheese.
But with Eli hovering around, I haven’t had a chance to tell Alaska about The Menagerie and the vault yet.
There was a certain sweetness to last night.
I got to see Alaska and Eli as they prepped for bed, laughing while Alaska ordered Eli into his pajamas and then raced to see who could brush their teeth the fastest.
Eli’s such a thin twig of a boy next to his massive mountain of a father, but you can see Alaska in his face.
In the way he laughs.
In the way he grins, and in the way that grin reaches his eyes, lighting them up like autumn dusk.
Considering what they’ve been through, it says everything about what Alaska’s done to protect his son that Eli can smile so happily and easily.
He’d fallen asleep fast while Alaska sat at his bedside and watched him with a tender warmth that made me feel like an intruder witnessing something private and sweet that was never meant to be seen by any casual observer.
I hovered in the doorway, caught by the scene they made in the soft lamplight. Eli struggling to keep his eyes open, mumbling something about a heron he’d seen on a pond in the woods but hadn’t managed to photograph, hoping it would be back tomorrow.
Alaska looked down at him with half-lidded eyes and attentiveness.
Eli grasped Alaska’s wrist as he slipped away, and Alaska turned his hand to catch those small fingers in a protective, gentle squeeze, as if saying It’s okay. Rest, my son. I’ll guard you while you sleep.
Why yes, my heart was shredded freaking ribbon.
So I’d excused myself and slipped off to bed without saying good night, trying not to tear up from the adorable scene.
Alaska’s made a life that’s kinda beautiful with his son.
Meanwhile, I’m a girlish time bomb, tossed into their life and tick-tick-ticking, threatening to blow all their beauty and love and sweetness to smithereens.
Still, I can’t help clinging to the sheets for a little while longer, trying to swat away my worries.
Every time I’ve gotten close to him there’s the same warm scent. Like the minty warmth you’d get from burying your face in a freshly washed husky’s ruff.
That’s Alaska’s smell, and his bed oozes it like rich cologne.
I don’t care if it’s a little crazy.
I bury my face in the pillow and inhale him, trying not to dwell on the fact that this is every kind of wrong.
I shouldn’t want anything to do with him, knowing what a menace I am to his world.
I shouldn’t give in to the fluttery feelings winding through my chest, then tightening as they sink lower in my belly in hotter, angrier waves.
I shouldn’t be drunk on his animalistic man-smell.
Really, I shouldn’t anything.
But a lady can indulge. And right now, this lady bathes in the fantasy where I’m this harmless thing along for the ride, imagining all the ways he’d look pressing me into this mattress.
No harm, no foul.
I also need to pretend the world’s still normal and I’m not responsible for a dragon’s hoard in gold, which means getting up and going to work.
It’s just before dawn, the sky through the window a shade of melted pink with a shimmer of gold-spritzed blue on the horizon.
I should probably wait for Alaska to wake up so I can talk to him about the plan, the vault, and letting Ember and Doc in on things.
But I can leave him a note, right?
God.
Why am I running so hard from a man who isn’t even chasing me?
I wrinkle my nose in self-disgust. I’ll just—I’ll make coffee and breakfast then.
It’s the least I can do to thank him for his help, and if I run into him this morning, we’ll talk. If not, well...
I guess I’m living here now—I made a promise—so we’ll see each other tonight.
That Gavin guy wouldn’t dare make another run on the gold after last night, if Langley even lets him out of the drunk tank today.
So I slip out of bed and steal a shower before getting dressed and heading into the kitchen to poke around. There’s a lot of flour lying around in the cupboard, eggs, nuts, chocolate chips, a few bananas.
Pancakes it is.
Once I’ve got the water boiling for a French pressed coffee brew, I make short work of whipping up batter and doling out large dollops in a skillet. About halfway through, I catch the sound of movement from down the hall, the door to Eli’s room opening and heavy feet scuffing the floor.
Since the couch is bare, Alaska must’ve slept there last night, lolled out on the floor in his sleeping bag.
Looks like we’re talking this morning after all.
I listen to the sounds of him in the shower—but I’m still not ready for the moment he comes padding out of the hall in nothing but a thin towel.
Holy hell.
It’s barely hitched around his barrel waist, his entire body steaming and his eyes half closed. Yawning, he heads straight for the coffee simmering away in the French press.
I’m not sure he’s even aware I’m here.
I can’t be aware of anything but him.
I’d caught a glimpse of his magnificence before when I’d caught him cooking sans shirt with just an apron...but there’s something so much more intense about seeing him like this.
Bare, broad, and thickly packed with muscle.
I swear, he’s got the mass of two fit men compacted into his broad, honed chest. His shoulders are wider than the Montana sky, his chest furred with a lush pelt of curling black hair over wild war ink, his waist tight and trim, his hips narrow, his legs long and powerful. He’s got hands and arms that could crush a ram, though I know firsthand how gentle they are.
Just one word comes to mind and it makes me giggle and blush.
Behemoth.
That’s his whole state of being, inside and out.
And even with that busted-up eye—which only adds to his badassery—he’s so savagely gorgeous my heart tries to break right out of my chest and take flight.
Especially with his thick hair freed from its usual combed look, flapping above his head and running around his defined cheeks like a halo, blending with the thick brush of his beard, softening the hard-cragged lines of his face.
My eyes flick back to his chest again for a better look at his tattoos.
I’m not disappointed by the freaking gallery on his skin.
Coiling serpents, whales, things that make me think of the deep, endless oceans twined with nautical symbols and naval insignias. This hint of something darker underneath his friendly surface; dark mysteries that could swallow me whole if I’d let them.
Right now, watching the way the rising morning light plays over his body...
Believe me, I’d give them a shot.
I’d let him devour me in one chomp.
I’m panting, too warm, like I’m standing under a heat lamp, soaking him in until my knees want to drop right out.
I can’t breathe. I can’t—anything.
Any second now, he’ll look up and see me staring, and I’ll flush like a tomato. But I can’t seem to st
op, can’t seem to break this scary trance.
Black magic. It’s got to be.
It makes me too aware of my aching, needy body and what the actual hell am I doing?
I don’t do this.
I don’t lose my spaghetti, letting desire overcome good sense, but if I’m being honest?
It’s not just desire.
It can’t be just desire when everything about Alaska Charter—his warmth, his humor, his power, his kindness, his goodness—drums on every string of my heart like a country rock ballad.
And his song breaks me down, building me into someone else one trembling note at a time.
I’m a stumbler in the desert, parched, thirsting after everything a man like him offers.
If only that man were compatible with a black cat like me.
When Eli comes bouncing in, I’m almost relieved, even if I start a little.
He’s far too energetic for this early in the a.m., still in his shorts and t-shirt and already clutching his camera.
“Morning!” he belts out. “I got a really good shot of some birds flying in front of the sun from my window!”
I blink, shaking myself, and tear my eyes away from Alaska—but not before, I think, he catches me ogling him to infinity and beyond.
His head comes up, and he blinks at me, finally realizing I’m there.
Eep.
I freeze solid, face bursting with heat, then clear my throat and look away.
“Yeah? That’s awesome, Eli,” I whisper
Hands busy. Keep your hands busy, mind empty, senses off the amazingly hot mess standing a few feet away, nearly naked.
“What kind of birds?” I start pouring a cup of coffee and smile at Eli.
Are my hands shaking?
Yes.
“I couldn’t tell.” He drops down on a stool at the breakfast bar, scrunching his face. “They look the way seagulls always do on those beach paintings, you know? Just these two pointy curves.” Then he eyes his father. “Gross, Dad. Put some clothes on. There’s a girl in the house.”
Alaska makes a startled, half-embarrassed sound that borders on a laugh. “Sorry. I smelled coffee. My body woke up before my brain. It’s all instinct.” He still sounds drowsy, growly and husky and sweet. “And you, polecat, aren’t old enough to be noticing Felicity’s a girl. Stick to girls your own age.” I’m pointedly not looking at him, but from the corner of my eye I catch his grin. “...the Fords’ niece is coming into town today. Tara. Think she’s about your age.”
Eli blushes red-hot.
“Aw, I don’t care about that! I don’t even know her.”
“All the more reason to make a new friend.” I giggle and somehow manage to push the cup of coffee at Alaska without looking directly at him. “I’ve met Tara Brenley a few times. She’s really sweet and funny. Very ladylike. She’s got some wild stories about Heart’s Edge and I bet she’d love your pictures.”
Eli’s eyes widen.
So do mine, because when Alaska takes that cup from me—ah.
His fingers brush mine.
And I feel it like fire in my bones, burning through my whole body.
Uh-oh.
Okay.
Breathe.
Um.
Crap.
What was I saying again?
I jerk my hand back. Alaska’s oddly quiet, but then says, “Hey, kiddo. Why don’t you go find that album you’ve been putting together? And shower. Brush your teeth. And get dressed.”
Oof. It isn’t hard to tell he’s piling on to his son’s to-do list to buy time.
“...sure.” Eli looks at us weirdly, cocking his head as he slides off the stool. “You know you can just tell me you need to have a grown-up talk, right?”
“Go,” Alaska emphasizes, suppressed laughter in his voice.
Eli just grins and darts off down the hall.
Oh, boy. Why? Why did he have to leave us alone?
Because I’m totally not gawking at that nearly naked slice of Alaskan perfection again.
Nope.
I don’t need to, not when I can feel him like there’s an imprint on the air, changing the space around me into this Alaska-sized shape I want so badly to sink into.
My nostrils twinge with an unfamiliar smell.
Pancakes!
Crap. I’m going to burn them.
Scurrying back over to the skillet with a shy grin, I can feel him watching me.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, that unique muffled sound of someone speaking against the rim of a coffee cup. “I’ll go put some pants on, but we’ve got like two seconds to talk about the gold before he’s bouncing back in here.”
“Oh, sure. About that. I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night...” How I manage to keep my voice steady, no clue. Or my hands as I flip the pancakes. “My cousin Ember helped out at the gas station. I promise she’ll keep a secret. She’s got half the secrets of this town in that pretty blond head of hers, including some highly classified stuff.” Yep, I’m babbling. I clear my throat before continuing. “Her husband, too. After his veterinary practice burned down during that whole arson mess, he had a keycard-secured vault installed in the rebuild. So we just need to get the gold to The Menagerie without anyone noticing, and that’s it. It’s safe until we—”
No.
I catch myself and start again with a shaky breath that hurts.
“—until I figure out what to do with it,” I finish.
Alaska’s quiet again, but that feeling of him pressing in from all sides gets more solid, more heated as he steps closer, setting his coffee cup down.
Here we go.
I can see it in my peripheral vision. His hand, dark hairs bristling on his forearm and the backs of his knuckles, the thick swell of muscle from the stark lines of his wrist, the tanned lines of his skin.
He’s so still save for that vibrant presence, so still it sends chills sweeping up my body and ratchets my pulse to Mach three.
I think I’m in trouble and he’s pissed—
Until he laughs.
Low, incredulous, rich with so much warmth.
“This town really has some stories, huh?” he asks.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but that good-natured amusement lets me breathe, and I actually smile. “You have no idea.”
“Got a feeling I’m gonna find out sooner or later.” With an amused sound, he withdraws, the space around me no longer boiling with this carnivorous want. “Not sure yet if I’m supporting cast here or starring in my own big adventure. Either way, Fliss, I’m in it till the end. I’m with you. Let me get dressed, we’ll eat, and then haul some gold.”
Just like that, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the crisping pancakes and a sinking dull guilt in my belly.
I’ve pulled Alaska into my story without meaning to.
There’s nothing left but questions.
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.
