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I sit back down, but keep my laptop shut. The Rockies run far below us, lit up pink by the setting sun. We’ll get in late and then have to take a ferry to George’s Landing in the morning, a six hour trip.
Seeing the surprise on her face when we confront her has me about to pop a semi. Will she be happy to see us? Afraid? Will she try to run again?
I don’t care, she can run as far and fast as she wants. I’m not letting her go this time.We’renot letting her go.
I’ve been wracking my brain the past few days to try to come up with some idea of what she could have stolen from her uncle. It just seems so out of character. Even when she’s had the opportunity to do horrible things, she hasn’t. She could have turned us in for any of the horrible shit we put her through in high school, but she didn’t. She could have posted that photo of the three of us sleeping together naked all over social media, she didn’t.
One thing I do know, no one hurts her but us. It’s always been that way. All three of us are always ready to go to the mat for her.
ChapterTwenty-One
The steady beat of rain and the swipe of the wipers against the windshield are the only sounds that fill my beat up truck as I drive from my cabin into town for my shift at the bakery. It’s still dark, but I can only assume it’ll be another rainy September day in George’s Landing, the small Alaskan fishing village I found myself in nearly four years ago.
I left Roaring Forks in my rearview mirror and ended up crashing at my cousin’s house in Portland for a few months. His roommate worked seasonally on crab fishing boats and that’s where I got the idea. I wanted,needed, to put as many miles between me and my past and I did the most I was able to do with limited resources.
It wasn’t an easy road, getting up here and carving out a little spot for myself. I worked odd jobs during the first few months after moving. I lived month to month in a room at one of the bed and breakfasts in town. That’s where I met Emerie Swan, the owner of Swan Dive Bakery. She ended up offering me a job and I’ve worked for her ever since.
My part time job at the bakery led to my full time job at the campground turned glampground, where wealthy people flock to camp every summer in luxury cabins and yurts under the midnight sun. Lars Tommi, the owner, is friends with Emerie and a regular patron of the bakery. He offered me free room and board and a steady year round paycheck to live on the property and keep it maintained through the winter.
The best part of both jobs is that they are willing to pay me off the books. It makes it easy to stay under the radar. Not that I’m really worried anymore about anyone coming to find me. I was worried early on after leaving home that West, Cody, and Blake would come for me. But they never did, and with every passing year I let my guard down a little more.
My headlights cut across the glass front of the bakery as I pull into the small gravel parking lot and I put the truck in park and pat my thigh, a signal for my two German Shepherds to get up. Lars gifted them to me two years ago when a string of women went missing a few towns over. He worried about me being alone on all that property. Storm and Ghost are litter mates and, truthfully, they do make me feel more secure. Storm is bigger, with a black and tan coat, and he’s fiercely protective of us. Ghost has a white coat and is much sweeter, although she’s less trusting of men. I bring them with me and they hang in Emerie’s office during the day.
Stomping my feet on the mat inside the back door of the bakery, I call out a hello to Emerie who is, no doubt, already baking. I get the dogs situated in the office and toss them a couple of bones to keep them entertained before heading into the kitchen.
Emerie’s long white hair is pulled back in a braid as she kneads what I’m hoping is cinnamon roll dough. I grab an apron off the hook and tie it over my flannel and jeans.
“What do you want me to start on?” I ask as I wash my hands.
“Cherry turnovers,” she rasps.
I look up at her with a critical eye. She’s in her early sixties, but life up here can be rough and a lot of the locals seem to age quicker than I noticed in Colorado. I hope she hasn’t caught anything with the autumn rain settling in.
“You catching a cold?” I ask casually.
She glances up at me with a pinched expression. “Allergies probably.” She rolls the dough out and begins sprinkling the filling. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“I’ll worry if I want to.” I grin over the steel island we’re working opposite one another on.
“You need a boyfriend instead of worrying about me.” She raises a brow. “Mitch should be in town for a few weeks.”
Mitch is a local crab fisherman, he’s a few years older than me and since the minute I moved here has been low key pursuing me. Nothing overtly pushy, but his interest has never waned. He’s nice and attractive enough, but I’ve never been able to get over the memory of the three guys I left behind. I’d rather go to sleep with my memories than risk my heart again.
“Crab season starts next month. Definitely wouldn’t be the time to start a relationship. And I’m not lonely. I have Blue, Storm, and Ghost.”
“Your animals don’t count as company.”
“Sure they do. The best kind actually, protective and low maintenance.”
She snorts and starts cutting the cinnamon rolls, placing each on the baking sheet and sliding it in the oven. Within minutes this entire building is going to smell amazing. Emerie starts making the cream cheese icing while I focus on finishing the turnovers. We work the next hour in companionable silence.
Hearing the insinuation that I should date Mitch only serves to remind me how lonely I am. During the summer it’s easy to distract myself. There are campers to help, tours to arrange. But now that the season is officially over, I’m back to the long lonely nights of autumn and winter. I’m proud of everything I’ve accomplished, the way I’ve found a community that embraces me as its own and made a home. But sometimes, when I’m lying in bed alone at night, I think back to that weekend on Cascade Peak and relive all the beautiful moments between us.
“You can’t live in your memories forever.” Emerie breaks into my happiness with her dose of cold, hard facts. “Go fill the pastry case. I think today’s going to be busy.” She pushes the rack of muffins, danishes, and sweet breads toward me.
I flip the light on in the cozy little cafe. The wall behind the pastry case is painted in chalkboard paint so we can write out the menu and pricing every day. The rest of the walls are painted a mossy green that compliments the wood beam ceiling and wide plank floors. All the tables and chairs are different, an eclectic mix of vintage and natural styles which suit Swan Dive perfectly, especially with its location on Main Street and view of the sound.
I walk over to start the coffee before filling the display as raindrops tap lightly against the glass of the front windows. My brows furrow when I hear Emerie coughing in the back. I’m going to have to convince her I can handle the shop on my own today. It might be busy, but it’s mostly just locals left in town, so they won’t hassle me too much.
