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“I—what—no!” Oh my God, I think my heart’s going to explode.
My eyes flick to Alaska, who looks completely poleaxed, made all the worse by his swollen eye.
“Uh,” he says. “She was just offering to watch my kid...”
“Look, guys, it’s none of my business,” Langley says irritably. “I get it. You’re new in town. But let me tell ya, mister, I don’t like this kind of ruckus. So I will let you and only you off with a warning, and only this once.” He stabs a finger at Alaska. “Try me again and I’m taking you right down the highway to Missoula. They’ve got smaller cells and a lot more inmates, plus busy cops with a shorter fuse than mine. You hear me?”
I know what this is really about.
Langley doesn’t want the liability or pressure of being responsible for someone’s kid. Not after past disasters in Heart’s Edge.
A lot can happen in twenty-four hours, or however long he was planning to hold Alaska whether he pressed charges or not.
Old Langley the softie doesn’t want it on his conscience if something happens to Eli in the meantime.
Phew.
I hoped that’s how this would go, but I couldn’t be sure.
“Scout’s honor, sir.” Alaska nods gravely.
“Hey!” the other guy splutters. “How come he gets out?”
“Because he’s got a kid,” Langley barks. “And because I know who he is, at least. Done some good work around town this past year. You? Never seen you before in my life. So I think I’ve got some questions for you.”
Yeah.
So do I.
Like just how much Paisley Lockwood knows and what she’s aiming to do to me over it.
While Langley struts over to the cell and lets Alaska out, I try not to be too obvious about studying the other guy. Committing his face to memory, just in case.
Of course, I eavesdrop a little, too. Murmurs boil between Langley and Alaska—something about telling Holt that they’re even, now.
Oh.
So that’s the other reason he gave in.
He’s still feeling guilty for locking Holt up back when there was a madman running around town one winter, targeting Holt’s brother.
And since Holt is Alaska’s boss, well...it makes sense.
I’ll have to find a way to thank Holt without letting him know what I’m talking about.
Once we’re outside, though, Alaska flashes me a grateful, tired smile that’s darkened by his pained grimace and the way the swelling around his eye pulls at his entire face. “Thanks. That was some quick thinking in there.”
I half smile. “Couldn’t let you take the fall over my crap.”
“No,” he says, grim and low, and lifts his head to look back toward the police station, where it looks like—through the glass door—Langley continues berating the other guy. “This is my mess.”
I don’t understand.
I don’t understand at all.
But now isn’t the time or the place to ask.
“C’mon,” I say. “I’ll take you to your Jeep.”
“Not yet.” He shakes his head. “We’ll need it for cover.”
Cover?
I don’t ask. Not yet. Not now.
I just get in my station wagon and wait for Alaska to settle in the passenger seat that barely fits him before I pull onto the road, setting my path for Charming Inn.
He’s silent next to me, looking out the window with an expression I’ve never seen before, troubled and stormy and heavy.
I swear his eye swells up more by the minute, but if it hurts, he doesn’t seem to notice.
Yeah, there’s definitely something more happening beyond my problems, even if I have a feeling it might still be my fault.
This is my curse.
This is my poison.
This is what I feared.
And this is why I never should’ve dragged Alaska Charter into my life.
All I can ever do is ruin him.
10
The Golden Rule (Alaska)
Life never goes the way I plan.
I’m a simple man.
And for the longest time I thought I’d have a good, simple life: wife, kid, work, white picket fence, nice house, gorgeous views over the mountains and rivers of the sprawling Alaskan wild.
I asked, and life delivered something a fuck of a lot different.
Military scars. A brutal divorce. A dead ex-wife, single parenthood, and the life of an exiled nomad, taking whatever odd jobs will let me do my best by Eli and get him everything he needs to have a happier life than mine.
Yeah.
Shit went a bit off course.
Also off course?
Part of my past life following me here—landing me in jail—only for me to somehow end up back at my place, bailed out by the prettiest coffee-scented angel I’ve ever seen.
She presses a cold compress to my face while I put up a manly front and fight to avoid hissing at just how damned awful the ice feels against my busted eye.
Not how I wanted Felicity Randall to wind up in my bed.
Sitting next to me, thigh to thigh, looking up at me like she’s worried I might croak if she moves that cold compress so much as an inch.
