* * *
Quill was in hell. Owen looked far better than he had any right to, dressed casually in that Stanford sweatshirt that was forever going to make Quill think of dark alleys and hot kisses. He’d paired it with a pair of sporty cargo pants and hiking boots and looked more suited to the job than he had on their first meeting. But still way too attractive for Quill’s peace of mind, and way too chatty to boot, all full of stories about the drive and shopping in Anchorage and his travels the past few days. It wasn’t that Quill didn’t like listening—quite the opposite, actually—but rather that he couldn’t seem to get his bearings where Owen was concerned, couldn’t seem to get the sort of professional, polite distance that he needed.
Maybe the real problem was that Owen was simply too easy to like. Friendly. Capable. Nice too, bringing the beer. Maybe more than a little overconfident but that seemed to be part of his charm, even though Quill worried that Owen’s boundless optimism was going to lead to him taking on too much. Like now, when he circled the ATV with a critical eye, squint saying he was working out something puzzling, but not asking Quill for assistance.
“It’s been a few years, but I think I’ll manage,” Owen said as he accepted a helmet from Quill. Their fingers brushed, and there Quill was, right back to thinking of that kiss.
If each glancing contact was going to have this effect on him, it was going to be a long winter indeed. As per his usual, he fell back on the job to cover any discomfort. “Department regulations require a helmet, even though you’ll see tons of riders without one around here. And I keep to a reasonable speed, even when on a callout. Can’t help anyone if you’re on the side of the trail yourself.”
“Got it.” Owen’s impatient expression was just short of an eye roll. He was probably tired of Quill’s reminders, as Quill had used the time carrying up Owen’s luggage to issue more warnings amid pointing out the nearest structures and trailheads. Officious wasn’t exactly what Quill wanted to be, but he couldn’t seem to help it.
“I’m going to lead you on the perimeter of the main visitor’s area here in the valley, then head to a few of the more popular spots that I patrol this time of year. Most of your duties have to do with maintenance, not patrol, but you’ll want to spend some time in the next few days before the snow hits getting familiar with the terrain, so you’re ready if we get a call and I need backup.”
“I’ll be ready.” Owen grinned even as it pained Quill to have to add that last bit. Damn budget cuts. He didn’t like knowing Owen was his primary backup, his fellow Mat-Su rangers helpful but all with large territories of their own that made immediate assistance difficult. And not that he expected trouble, but an unarmed newbie was probably more of a liability than a resource with most situations. However, he had his marching orders, which were to use Owen as much as possible. They’d have intermittent help from other volunteers, but otherwise it was just them and a never-ending to-do list.
“Won’t be too much longer, and we’ll be switching to the snowmachines. There’s already some powder at the upper elevations, and we’re likely next.”
“I can drive a snowmobile too.” Owen gave him another ready-for-anything grin even as he fumbled the ATV’s ignition and had to try a second time to start it. An older, state-owned vehicle, it was a little tricky to start, but still it wouldn’t kill Owen to ask for advice.
“Follow me,” he said before climbing on his own machine, not at all sure Owen would listen. True to his word, he started off nice and slow, a gentle sweep of the valley, hitting the parking lots and trailheads that he made a regular part of his patrols.
Stopping at one of the biggest lots with a sweeping view of the valley, he pointed to the restrooms. “We’ve got a company that does latrine maintenance, but you’ll still be responsible for keeping the supplies stocked. Anything you notice out of the ordinary, you let me know.”
“Like people going at it or something? That’s something we ran into a fair amount in Tahoe.” Owen’s laugh invited Quill to join in, but he couldn’t seem to manage more than a tight smile. And he really didn’t need an allusion to sex. Bad enough his brain kept going there all on its own.
“It’s pretty rustic, so that’s not a frequent issue. Figure the smell puts even the kids off.”
“Noted.” Owen’s grin didn’t waver. “And trust me, I’m plenty grateful that we’ve got basic septic or whatever at the visitor’s center. I know some of the volunteer positions have accommodations with outhouses.”
“Yup. Trust me, you’ll be singing its praises in January.”
“Have you always lived on-site?” Owen asked, apparently in no hurry to resume the ride. “I know from talking to other volunteers that it really seems to vary—some rangers living at ranger stations, especially in the more remote areas, others with cabins or houses nearby, and some living in towns and commuting into their jurisdictions.”
“Yeah.” Quill shrugged. “They offered me the apartment when I was a green new ranger, ridiculously low rent that comes out of my check, and it seemed like a great deal at the time.” A quiet place after years of noisy houses and dorms had felt perfect at the time. And now, if he sometimes wondered what it would be like to put his own stamp on a place, like what Hattie and Val were doing, he pushed those thoughts aside. Last thing he needed was a bigger space to rattle around with only his own company in. “I’ve never been one needing a ton of possessions, so it suited me. Never saw fit to leave.”
“Cool. I admire that minimalism—I sold a bunch of my crap before leaving the Bay Area, and I felt so much better for it. Who knows, maybe I’ll do the whole tiny house thing after I’m done with my list.”
The mention of Owen’s list was a needed reminder that this was just a temporary lark for him, that he’d be leaving in the spring, and that there was an end date for all this awkwardness. He waved at their ATVs. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Voice hushed, Owen’s eyes went wide as he moved toward the other side of the road that led to the parking lot, a gentle slope of land currently occupied by a large moose, looking like he was deciding whether to cross or go back.
Quill stood there quietly next to Owen, not wanting to spook the moose but also wanting to drink in more of Owen’s enthusiasm as he whipped out his cell phone and snapped a few pictures. His wide grin was utterly infectious. After all this time, Quill was used to the sheep, moose, birds, bears, and arctic squirrels that populated his territory, but watching Owen react with such awe made Quill’s shoulders unknot as he smiled despite himself.
It was...well, not a moment, because Quill didn’t have those. But it was something, a quiet companionship that Quill didn’t get very often, and it made his pulse thrum. Eventually the moose headed back the way he’d come, and Owen stuck his phone back in his pocket.
“Thanks for not hurrying me there. He was massive. That was so cool.”
“No problem.” Quill replaced his helmet and resumed the tour, but with fresh eyes now, trying to see things from Owen’s perspective of wonder. It was a gorgeous late afternoon, contrast of the snowy mountains and greenish gold valley awaiting winter, views he’d seen for decades but no less breathtaking, despite how easy it was to lose sight of that in the day-to-day demands of the job.
As they returned to the visitor center area, parking the ATVs back in the equipment shed, next to the snowmachines, a strange restlessness swept through Quill. Things had been easier out there, familiar terrain as opposed to the trickier social landscape of knowing that an evening alone together loomed.
“What time are you officially off duty?” Owen asked.
“It’s not like police work—not really shifts or set hours. If I need to be off-site for an extended time like for the training, I get coverage from another ranger, but otherwise, if something goes down at midnight, I’m the guy. In the summer, we go by the visitor center hours, and in winter, the shorter daylight hours condense our work, but
I keep my sat phone with me, even at night.”
“But like, you could have a beer with dinner, right?” Owen persisted. “I was thinking of cooking some of the food I brought from Anchorage, and you could tell me all about the maintenance work you’ve got scheduled so that I’m ready to start tomorrow.”
It sounded nice. Too nice. And sure, he and Hattie had enjoyed meals together and the occasional beer too, but something about Owen’s plan felt too cozy. Too much like a gateway drug to wanting more of Owen’s company. And the last thing he needed was to slip up, give in to temptation, and then end up with seven months of awkward interactions and drama he simply couldn’t handle.
“Nah,” he said as they reached the center’s doors, looking away, focusing on the old mining buildings rather than Owen’s expectant face. “You go on, make yourself something. I’ve got locks I want to check on the outbuildings, and I need to let the office know you arrived. That sort of thing.” Honestly, it was nothing that couldn’t wait, but Owen didn’t need to know that. “I’ll be a while yet, so don’t worry about me.”
“Okay.” Disappointment was clear in Owen’s tone, and regret pierced Quill’s resolve, making his hands clench against the urge to reconsider.
But he stayed strong, reminded himself that he was likely poor company anyway, and let Owen head up the stairs alone. Better that they get things started on the right foot—separate meals, separate lives, no messy entanglements. He kept himself busy a good long time, checking all the outbuildings for any signs of intruders. It wasn’t uncommon, especially this time of year, for people to want to camp where they shouldn’t. But still, Quill made the task take twice as long as it should and then hung out in the downstairs ranger office going over some reports and other paperwork.
When he finally headed upstairs, the common room was as empty and still as he’d hoped, kitchen cleaner than ever with gleaming counters. The smell of chicken and spices lingered, though, and Quill’s stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since a slapped-together sandwich for lunch. Before he could make the same for his dinner, however, he spotted a plastic container on the dining table with his name on a sticky note.
Quill—I made extra. Thought I’d save you the trouble of cooking, but if chicken and rice noodles with a mild garlic sauce isn’t your thing, just put it in the fridge, and I’ll eat it tomorrow. ~Owen.
Fuck. Quill exhaled hard. Flirting he could repel pretty easily. But friendship...man, friendship was proving far harder to turn down. And the only thing more dangerous than his inconvenient attraction to Owen might be liking the guy. Like actually liking him. Because attraction led to awkwardness, but liking...
He had to stop and rub his suddenly tense neck, reminding himself that liking led to hurt and other places he refused to go again. Avoidance was probably his best option, but hell if he felt good about it. Damn Owen for being so tempting on so many levels.
Chapter Seven
Owen hated being ignored. Thank God for upbeat playlists and long battery life as he worked on the various projects on his list. That morning’s to-do list—written in Quill’s neat if cramped handwriting—called for trash duty. And, as had proved typical over the past few days, the list had appeared on the dining table sometime prior to Owen’s wakeup. It didn’t matter how early Owen set his alarm. Quill was the master of being up and gone before dawn, leaving a three-quarters full coffee pot and note of instructions. If not for his extensive music collection, Owen’d be going truly stir-crazy with the whole limited-contact-with-humanity thing.
His mood had deteriorated to the point that running into some tourists yesterday while cleaning restrooms had been the highlight of his day, and he’d kept the group talking probably longer than they’d wanted, just so starved for a real conversation. And it wasn’t that he never saw Quill, but when he did, their interactions were limited to the blasted list, Quill showing him what needed doing and then disappearing again. And sure, the guy undoubtedly had ranger business, but it was also beyond obvious that he was avoiding Owen, up early, back later, and never lingering when working together on something. He was unfailingly polite, thanking Owen for food and leaving coffee, but distant, and it was driving Owen ten kinds of crazy. It reminded him too much of the long, lonely days of doing chemo—contact with the medical staff, but really desperate for more personal connection.
When he’d signed up for this position, Owen had focused on his long-held fantasies surrounding Alaska—snow, scenery, adventure. And sure the ad said to be prepared for working alone, sometimes for days on end, but he hadn’t really dwelled on that part, figuring he’d cope with that challenge same as he did everything. Yet in actuality, his extrovert’s soul was struggling, and the snow hadn’t even really arrived in earnest. No way was he giving up, but at the rate he was going, he’d be full-on talking to himself by spring.
As it was, he rocked out to his music as he worked, letting the pulsing beat work its magic in his headphones, and adding a shimmy to his step as he emptied parking lot trash cans, placing full bags on a little cart that attached to his ATV. He was almost done with one of the lower parking lots when Quill came roaring up, driving his ATV faster than Owen had seen him. He pulled up even with the trash cans, shaking his head, no doubt scoffing at Owen’s silliness, dancing alone outdoors.
“What’s up?” he asked as he yanked off his headphones. It had to be serious for Quill to seek him out in the middle of the day, but his grim posture kept Owen from pointing that out.
“We’ve got a situation.” Quill pulled off his helmet. “Two hikers were out on one of the steeper trails. One slipped, fell. Bad knee and wrist injuries, possible concussion. The other hiker came back for help because she wasn’t strong enough to transport on her own. I came for you because if a field stretcher is needed, I’m going to need a second person.”
“Of course.” Owen dusted off his hands. “What’s the plan?”
“We can get close with the ATVs, but then we’re still looking at around thirty or forty minutes or so to reach the victim. I’ve radioed that we may need a medevac, but it’ll be on us to get her down to a spot where the helicopter can land.”
“Got it. I’ll follow you back to the center, drop the trash off. Bet we’ll need the cart for possible transport, so that can stay on. The trailhead’s up there, right?” Adrenaline thrumming, Owen fell easily into crisis mode, taking stock of what would need to happen.
“Yes, but we’ll be taking a roundabout way to reach the victim. The trail is steep and narrow, so we’ll go wide, then intersect and go the last part by foot. I’ve got the supplies we’ll need already packed up.”
“Where’s the friend?” Owen found his helmet and straddled his ATV, ready to follow Quill back.
“She came down far enough to get a signal to call for help, then headed back to the victim. Hopefully, she beats us there.”
“Here’s hoping. At least it’s a clear day.”
“Wind’s no joke though. We need to make good time, as I think weather’s on the way. Snow might come overnight even. Surprised we still haven’t had our first storm of the season. But that’s probably why we’ve had an increase in hikers this week—trying to get a last trek in before snowshoe and ski season.”
Sensing Quill’s impatience, Owen nodded and started his machine. “Makes sense. See you back at the center.”
They made short work of the drive back, ditched the trash, checked Owen’s fuel level, and added blankets to the cart to make possible transport easier. He followed Quill on a bumpy ride, first on a trail he’d been on before, then cutting through hills, trusting that Quill knew where they were heading. Finally, they intersected with a narrow trail heading up a steep incline.
“This is where we hoof it.” Quill stowed his helmet and retrieved a large first-aid kit, collapsible stretcher, and some blankets.
“What can I carry?” Owen held out his arms, giving Quill l
ittle choice but to fill them with the blankets. Set, they headed up the trail, Owen watching his step on the unfamiliar terrain, Quill moving more quickly and sure-footedly. Every so often, Quill would swivel his head, taking a wide sweep of the area.
“I’ve got this, promise.” Owen was already itchy with Quill’s constant observation.
“Not watching you. Gotta be alert for bears or other wildlife—wrong season for many bears, but you never know. Awareness is essential.”
“Ah. Sorry.” Humbled, Owen tried to pick up the pace to match Quill’s long strides. Trying to defuse the tension, he kept his voice light. “I guess you’ve seen a lot of bears over the years and not the fun kind.”
“There’s a fun kind?” Quill’s face creased adorably as he failed to get Owen’s joke.
“You know, the two-legged, burly variety...”
“Oh.” Quill’s cheeks darkened. “Yeah. No. Not that...” He coughed and his flusteredness was enough of a distraction that Owen had to be extra careful on a tricky section, readjusting the blankets to keep his balance.
“And the other kind?” He took pity on Quill before he could stammer further.
“Wildlife is so common around here that I’ve lost track of sightings. Had a close call or two with a mama bear, but mainly being aware is the best defense.” Quill spent the next stretch giving bear avoidance tips, and Owen indulged him by asking follow-up questions, letting him retreat to the familiar territory of his warnings.
Much as ruffling Quill was fun, Owen didn’t want to flirt his way into one of them tripping. The view of the valley beneath them was breathtaking, but he tried to focus on the job at hand since this wasn’t a pleasure hike and Quill had set a pace that didn’t allow much reflection on the surroundings.
“Should be close now,” Quill said as they finished a series of switchbacks, ground leveling out again at the higher elevation. “Damn lucky they didn’t fall on that section with the sharp drop-off. We’d be looking at a much tougher situation. As it is, it’s going to be challenging, carrying the victim down. At least they didn’t cross the snow line.”
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 6
