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Let’s not dwell on the great dad part. My ovaries will die.
Or his fun sense of humor, his kindness, his gentle, unbearably sweet concern for little old me.
Yeahhh.
Alaska Charter is one part poetry and three parts raw wilderness. He is The Great Alone—yes, thank you, I’m a sucker for Alaskan romance dramas worth an ugly cry or ten—finally deciding to find some company in this weird little town.
He rocks the whole wild mountain man vibe like it’s what he was made for, that thick, dark hair and tangle of a thicker beard that doesn’t hide his face, but accents just how handsome his tanned, weathered features are.
How sincere.
Some guys look nice, but it’s usually all surface. Shallow.
You need something from them, and it comes at a cost when they think niceness is currency. I think Sylvia Plath said it best:
Girls are not machines that you put kindness coins into until sex falls out.
Yeah.
Most guys won’t even hold doors for you if they don’t think they’ll get a hot lay out of it.
Alaska, though...
Yikes. Alaska.
I don’t think he gets just how much he’s saved me.
That cash was just enough to keep the shop open and cover daily operating expenses until I can get revenue flow going again. Not to mention making sure I don’t miss my part-timers’ paychecks. They shouldn’t suffer just because I’m basically cursed.
Heart’s Edge seems like an endless riot, but it’s been mostly quiet this past year.
A year of well-deserved peace.
I can’t let my problems with the Lockwood syndicate bring trouble calling to this town again.
And I definitely can’t let my problems spill over onto Alaska.
Especially when I know he’s still trying to help me in his own not-so-subtle way, ordering more coffee than his crew could possibly drink every day.
So many friends try to help me when I feel like I don’t deserve it.
So many people put their reputations on the line to stand next to the black sheep of Heart’s Edge.
Their kindness leaves me so warm I can hardly stand it.
Which is why I can’t stand the idea of letting Paisley Lockwood hurt them. Not that long ago, we got her hooks out of Heart’s Edge, thanks to Warren Ford taking out the head of her local distribution operation.
He never knew it and I wasn’t about to enlighten him. Not when he’s settled so sweetly into family life in between wild bouts of saving the town’s bacon like the so-called Heroes of Heart’s Edge do.
It’s busy in The Nest today. I had to call in a couple of extra part-time staff, extend hours for others, and while they’re happily making a little extra on their pay, I’m just tallying the numbers coming in to make sure I have enough to pay them.
I sigh. Looks like I’ll be living on ramen and instant macaroni for a while.
It’ll be all right.
I’ll make sure of it.
Across the room, Blake and Peace Silverton sit across from Blake’s daughter, Andrea, and that boy she likes—Clark. It’s not hard to tell Clark’s giving Blake crap.
Clark always gives Blake crap, and Blake sits there and scowls and deals with it, looking like a bulldog with his face drawn into ornery lines and clutching one hand against his iced dark roast.
He only pretends to mind, because he can’t let himself actually like the boy his daughter likes.
But every time Peace’s hand touches his arm, his expression softens, and he looks down at her with that hypnotized look that says he’d never dream of looking anywhere else in his life.
That’s what true love looks like.
Kinda wish someone would look at me that way.
Campfire-brown eyes, gazing into me like he can see a thousand things and wants to see ten thousand more—like he’s finding all those secrets inside me and touching them gently, knowing them, learning them, learning me.
My face goes hot, and I nearly drop the tumbler I’m cleaning.
Nah. No. Absolutely not.
I can’t turn to him.
I can’t turn to anyone.
Trouble is, I’m dying to know what’s going on with my father’s flight log and if that could get Paisley Lockwood off my back forever, keeping my mother safe.
But how can I ask these people for help when they’ve suffered so much—when they’ve found their peace after so flipping long?
Blake even found his literally, but it’s the same for everybody.
I’d rather feel Paisley’s terrible knife carving me up than take their hard-fought heaven away from them.
I need a bath.
Possibly a tranquilizer.
Industrial-strength painkillers? Definitely.
Mostly, I just need rest, after a day that kept me on my feet so long I’m amazed I didn’t wear through the soles of my boots.
Thankfully, both are in reach as I pull up and park outside my house.
It’s a ramshackle little ranch cottage, wooden slat siding and white trim, and it’s a lot to keep up on my own but I do my best. This used to be my parents’ house before my father died and I moved my mother out to Coeur d’Alene.
