And that way they could continue their conversation. Maybe he’d even find out why she was so cynical when it came to men in particular, and people in general. Not that he disagreed, entirely. People could be crappy. In his case, that included a couple of women. More specifically, his ex-wives.
The car lurched forward and slid from side to side in the muck. A rooster tail of mud slammed across Darius’ pants, even though he tried to jump back in time. The Saab climbed onto the gravel with a squeal. As soon as she’d made it all the way out of the mud, Kate hit the brakes.
“You did it,” she called to him. “Thank you so much!”
He shook mud off his right pants leg, like a dog. Damn, now he was going to have to change before he drove out to the Moose. That meant he was probably going to be late for his gig. “No problem,” he grumbled.
“I owe you one. Really.”
“You don’t owe me anything.” The very thought irritated him—even if it wasn’t his job, people helped each other out around here. It went with living on the edge of the wilderness. “Just be more careful in the mud. If you hit a slick, don’t slow down. Just keep going or the mud will suck you in.”
She pushed her sunglasses back up her nose. “Now that sounds like life advice I can follow. Don’t slow down, just keep going. Got it. Thanks again, Sir Armor-All.” With one more salute of thanks, she zoomed off down the road at least fifteen miles over the speed limit.
He shrugged. What the hell, he was a fire chief, not a state trooper. It wasn’t his job to make her obey the speed limits. Good thing, too. She didn’t seem the type to obey anything except her own wishes.
Even if they left a guy alone with his wood, all covered in mud.
And if that wasn’t the story of his life, he didn’t know what was.
Darius swung back into his truck and grabbed his phone. He fired off a quick text to the band manager. Running late, but I’ll be there.
The bassist for a band from Oregon had gotten food poisoning and their manager had called him in as a last-minute fill-in. He loved getting a chance to play again—it was a great break from his current problem.
Someone was setting nuisance fires around Lost Harbor, and it was starting to piss him off.
He hit the speed dial for Nate Prudhoe, the only other full-time member of the Lost Harbor Volunteer Fire Department.
“Same as the others,” he told him. “No real damage, but one pissed-off home owner. I guess that bear cache dated from the 1930s.”
“Damn. Any clues?”
“Not a one. Who would have a motive for burning down a bear cache? Other than a bear?”
Nate chuckled. “Ding ding, we have ourselves a suspect. They are coming out of hibernation right about now.”
“We need to have a crew meeting about this. We’re lucky none of these fires have done much damage.”
“Except to our reputation.”
Darius swore. “This idiot is going down, whoever it is.”
“Right there with you, Chief. I’ll set up the meeting.”
“Thanks, Nate.”
He hung up his phone and noticed that a new email had come in while he’d been sliding around in the mud. It was from the woman who’d been driving him nuts for the past week, Catriona Robinson, Attorney-at-Law.
What kind of person felt the need to attach that information to every single email?
The same kind of person who would try to evict a guy for absolutely no reason, in the middle of gearing up for tourist season. He didn’t have time to hunt for a new apartment. Housing was surprisingly difficult to find in this little town, unless you were willing to buy. But he’d only been here for a little over a year, and he still wasn’t sure he was going to stay. So he preferred to stick with a rental.
But he disliked apartment hunting so much that he’d actually offered to buy the house from Catriona Robinson, Attorney-at-Law, instead of having to move before he was ready.
She’d rejected that idea right away, and their email correspondence had gone downhill from there.
I have a signed lease. I have no intention of moving until my lease is up. I’ve already paid next month’s rent. You have no right to evict me without notice or cause.
That sounded properly legalistic, but it didn’t seem to impress her.
I’m sorry to say that your lease wasn’t signed by the actual owner. It was signed by my grandmother. I’m the owner, and I wasn’t informed of said lease. I am ready and eager to claim possession of my property.
So this obnoxious lawyer was Emma Gordon’s granddaughter? He’d never heard about Emma having a granddaughter—or even a husband or children, for that matter. Obviously this attorney didn’t live here or know how things worked in Lost Harbor.
So you’re putting the blame on your grandmother? I signed in good faith and so did she. Emma is a friend and a solid member of the community. You should talk to her. She’ll straighten this out.
Emma Gordon was a very unique and iconoclastic woman with some wild stories to tell. She’d supplied a dozen orders of peonies to a volunteer fire department fundraiser, but that wasn’t the only way Darius knew her.
He and Emma both owned Harleys and had bonded over that fact when he’d picked up his bike from the ferry it had been shipped on. Apparently everyone knew to call Emma the instant a Harley came to town. She’d tracked him down at the firehouse and they’d gabbed for hours about their bikes. He respected the hell out of her, and felt sorry for her that her granddaughter was such a shark.
My grandmother has nothing to do with this. She signed the house over to me in exchange for taking care of her chickens when she dies, the lawyer had written.
He’d laughed out loud at that—typical Emma. One time, Emma had stopped by the firehouse and asked him how much money he would want to dig her a grave on her property.
“That’s not happening, Emma,” he’d told her. “Is it even legal?”
She’d gone on a long rant about lawyers at that point.
Amen to that. None of his experiences with lawyers had been good. Divorce, liability, fire department lawyers—he’d rather forget all of them. One nice thing about Lost Harbor was that there were only three lawyers in town, and one of them was on the verge of retirement.
He looked at the subject line of her latest email and burst out laughing.
Subject: Your refusal to be reasonable.
Excellent. He was getting under her skin. Maybe she’d give up trying to evict him. His stubborn streak had been activated and he truly believed that he was in the right here. Emma had never told him that she didn’t actually own the property. He only had three months left on the lease, anyway. Why couldn’t Ms. Attorney-at-Law leave him in peace until then?
He scanned her email and composed his own subject line.
Subject: Chickens
If you can prove that you know the names and varieties of Emma’s chickens, I’ll consider your suggestion that I move out.
P.s. She has thirty-two chickens, at last count.
P.s.2 They all have names.
P.s.3 You’re lucky I’m not asking what their favorite treats are.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the porcupine Kate had warned about. Its quills were settling back into place.
Okay, enough fun tweaking the attorney at law. He had to zip home to his house—while it was still his—grab his bass and find something else to wear tonight.
Chapter Three
Back at Petal to the Metal Peony Farm, Kate changed into her mud boots and unloaded the bags of fertilizer into a wheelbarrow. She trundled them down the path past the Duchesse de Nemours plot, where the creamy crown-shaped beauties were cultivated. Right now, all the peonies looked more or less like spears rising from long Typar-covered beds, but soon they’d be leafing out into a glorious symphony of white, deep rose, coral, and blush-pink blooms.
The farm consisted of an enchanting spread of grassy slopes punctuated by outbuildings, peony fields, and plastic-covered green
houses known as “high tunnels,” where Emma grew vegetables and a few other flowers. Perched on a ridge above the town of Lost Harbor, overlooking Misty Bay and the stunning peaks of Lost Souls Wilderness, its thousand-foot elevation and southern exposure were perfect for growing peonies.
Right now, at eight in the evening in mid-April, the fluffy clouds drifting past the bluff held a hint of apricot from the oncoming sunset. The view was enough to make this property spectacular, and when you added in the beauty of the peonies in summer bloom, it could have come straight from a fairy tale.
And then there was Emma Gordon, Kate’s mother’s mother and the most ornery being on the planet. At eighty-two, she still worked her ass off on the farm, in mud boots and track suit, with a bomber jacket for warmth.
“Did you make that steer manure yourself?” Emma grumbled as Kate brought the wheelbarrow to a halt next to her in the high tunnel. The moist air inside smelled of rich soil and fresh growth.
“I ran into some trouble.”
Kate didn’t feel like admitting she got stuck in the mud. Alaska had a way of humbling a person, and she’d already been humbled enough by recent events.
“Trouble, trouble. Always in trouble. Reminds me of your teenage years.”
Kate took one end of a bag of fertilizer, Emma picked up the other, and together they unloaded it onto the ground.
“With a granny like you, what else would you expect?” Kate gave her a sunny smile. She and Emma had always enjoyed a kind of affectionate bickering relationship.
“I sure wouldn’t expect a lawyer. I blame your father for that.”
Kate let that jab pass, because it had a big foundation of truth. Her father bore the blame for a lot of things. Her current career implosion was completely due to him.
But when her father—a charming but mostly harmless grifter—somehow ended up with a choice between a dire prison sentence and a vengeful ring of criminals, she couldn’t very well abandon him. She’d left her respectable law firm, represented him on her own, gotten him a sweet deal, then hightailed it out of LA to avoid her father’s former “associates.”
“Can we not go there right now, Emma?” she muttered. “Yell at me about some other stuff, why don’t you.”
Emma’s black eyes snapped at her. “Don’t mind if I do. Got a call from Maya. She says you’re ignoring her. That’s rude, and I raised you better than that.”
“Oh my God, I’m not ignoring her, I’m helping out my favorite ancestor.”
“I’m not in the ground yet. Though I did pick out a good spot the other day.”
“If you’re going to talk nonsense like that, you’re on your own tonight. I will go out clubbing with Maya.”
They both chuckled at the word “clubbing.” Lost Harbor didn’t have “clubs.” It had bars and saloons.
“Good, then she’ll get off my ass and go solve some crimes.”
“What crimes? The biggest crime here is that we have to wear these mud boots everywhere.”
“Then go change and get outta here. Have some fun.”
“Are you implying that fertilizer isn’t fun?”
“Never.”
Kate laughed at her grandmother’s dry humor.
“Go. Dance a little, drink a little. See Maya. Let off some steam.”
Honestly, it sounded like exactly what she needed. The past few months had been unimaginably stressful. “Maybe I will, if you’ve got this.”
Emma waved her away, and Kate dashed back to the old farmhouse to change into some “clubbing” clothes—really, anything that wasn’t mud boots and Carhartts would do.
In the tiny cramped guest room filled with unpacked suitcases, a new wave of frustration came over her. She had to move into the house on Fairview Court. It wasn’t optional. She needed more space, and between the roosters crowing in the morning and the geese honking, she was getting grouchy.
If Project Evict Boone didn’t pan out, she’d just move into the upstairs apartment, which was empty. The upstairs space was about half the size of the downstairs because it had a huge front deck. But it would be more livable than this, and it had what she most wanted—some quiet and privacy.
To brighten her mood, she threw on a red halter top and her best pair of skinny jeans, along with her favorite sparkly, strappy dancing shoes.
Her LA life felt incredibly far away right now. But for one night, she could pretend that life wasn’t dead and gone, and that angry criminals hadn’t threatened to find her and make her pay for the deal she’d gotten her father.
A twinge of pain pulsed across her skull. No. Not a migraine, not now. Not when she was finally about to have a little fun. She took a few deep breaths and it dissipated. Thank God.
Bring on the fun! Maybe there’d even be a man to flirt with. She needed to exercise her flirting muscles. That way, if she ever met Darius the Knight in White Armor-All again, she’d be ready.
As soon as Kate laid eyes on Maya Badger, the urge to down several shots of tequila and tell her the whole sordid story of her father nearly overcame her.
But even though Maya wasn’t in uniform—a gold lamé top and black pants was definitely not her uniform—a rural police chief was never really off the job. So Kate stuck with the several shots of tequila and skipped the confession.
Even so, it was hard to fool Maya. At a rickety table crammed into a back corner of the Moose is Loose Saloon, they hugged and shouted greetings over the raucous band.
Which rocked, by the way. The second she’d walked in, the deep thump of the upright bass had grabbed her like a dance partner about to swing her off her feet.
After they both sat down, Maya began the grilling. “You never come here in April. Something’s up. Are you in trouble?”
“Oh come on, I’m not that rebellious teenager anymore.”
“Really? Naughty Kate is history?”
Kate grabbed a cut lime and bit into it so she wouldn’t have to say any more. With two Kates in their loose group of teenage friends, one had gotten the “Nice Kate” nickname, while she’d gotten the one that suited her troublemaking style.
“Okay, fine, I see you don’t want to talk. That’s okay, I have my ways.”
Kate waved a hand at her, her mouth puckering from the lime. “You can’t use your police superpowers on your best friend. That’s not cool.”
Maya raised an expressive eyebrow. She wore glittery eye shadow that made her look completely different from her on-the-job persona. “Fine. At least tell me the basics. Are you staying with Emma? Is she okay?”
“Yes, she’s okay, and yes, I’m staying there for now. But we’re driving each other crazy so I’m going to move into her old house in town.”
“The one on Fairview Court?”
“Yup. But there’s a very irritating person living in it, so I’m working on evicting him.”
Maya laughed and shook her head. “Damn, Kate, look at your badass legal self. Why do you have to evict him?”
“Because it’s my house and Emma never should have rented it out, and I like my own space.”
“I’ll bet you a cocktail that you’ll end up letting him stay.” Maya gave her a knowing smile. “I know you. At heart, you’re softer than a roll of Charmin.”
“Did you just compare me to toilet paper?”
“Toilet paper is one of the best inventions in the world. Only the best people deserve to be compared to toilet paper.”
Kate rubbed at the spot between her eyebrows where tension always gathered. “Things have been crazy lately. I really just need a place where I can be alone, you know?”
Maya narrowed her perceptive brown eyes at her. “Trouble, just like I thought. Let me guess. It’s a man’s fault.”
Oh, it was definitely a man’s fault. “You’re absolutely right about that.”
“Don’t tell me you broke your own no-romance rule.”
Kate laughed at the reminder of the old rules she and her friends used to joke about all summer.
“Oh no
. I’m still one hundred percent Team Sex.”
“And I’m still one hundred percent Team Romance,” a soft voice sounded in her ear. She turned to find Jessica Dixon opening her arms for a squeeze. “You’re back, Kate! Yay!” They hugged for an extended moment, rocking back and forth with the music.
Damn, that band was good. Especially the bassist. The fast-paced vibrations traveled through her, as if the musician was playing her tendons and nerves instead of an instrument.
“It’s so good to see you!” Kate told Jess as she settled into the chair Maya had saved for her. Jessica, with her soft auburn hair and angelic smile, owned the Sweet Harbor Bakery and totally looked the part of the nurturing baker—until you got to know her wild side.
As fun-seeking teenagers on those long summer days, Kate had definitely seen her wild side.
“I fought off three longshoremen and a lumberjack for that chair,” Maya said from across the table.
“What are your police powers for if not that?” Jessica lit up with laughter. She had the best belly laugh, always had.
“Good point.” Never one to be distracted for long, Maya turned back to Kate. “I was just grilling Kate about the broken heart that brought her back to Lost Harbor in the middle of mud season.”
“Oh no.” Jessica clasped her hands together. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine. No broken heart.” Not that kind, anyway. “You guys know me. I’m not the heartbreak type. I’ve always relied on myself and I always will.” With a jaunty smile, Kate tossed her hair over her shoulder.
But Jessica was still eerily perceptive. “Maybe not, but there’s something wrong. Isn’t there, Maya?”
“Oh yeah. I noticed as soon as she came in and walked right past the hot bouncer.” Maya indicated him with a gesture of her head. Then her face sobered. “But seriously, Kate. If there’s something wrong, you know you can trust us.”
Naughty All Night (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 5) Page 2
