Love at First Light (Lost Harbor, Alaska Book 6)

by Jennifer Bernard

  “See, that’s the thing about me. I’m interested in a lot of things. Comes with the job.”

  “The private investigator job?”

  Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Maya filled you in?”

  “No, I have my own sources.” When he narrowed his eyes at her, she just widened hers. Sergeant Hollister had sworn her to secrecy and she never betrayed a confidence. She filled the plastic basket with water and dumped it into the claw-foot bathtub.

  Ethan disappeared, then returned carrying the trash basket from his room. He was barefoot and had rolled up his pant legs, revealing muscular calves and a long scar running up his right leg.

  “The quicker we get this done, the quicker I get my shower, right?”

  “Correct.”

  As if they were bailing out a boat, they both set to work scooping water from the floor into the tub.

  “Still curious why you think it’s so odd that I’m engaged,” he said after they’d lowered the level of the water by about a quarter inch. “You don’t even know me.”

  “You’re right. It’s completely not my business. Forget that I said anything, please.” His feet were distracting her. They were very well-shaped. Not that she judged people by their feet. She was more into forearms. Forearms were definitely her jam. She stole a quick glance at Ethan’s forearms, visible because he’d stripped down to a t-shirt when he’d come back into the bathroom.

  Oh yes, he also had excellent forearms, well-muscled but not excessively so, with just the lightest scattering of hair.

  “I’m here bailing out your bathroom after you water-hosed me. Don’t you owe me?”

  She couldn’t deny that. “Fine. But you already think I’m a flake, and now you’re going to think even worse of me.”

  “I haven’t yet come to any kind of conclusion about you except that you bake a damned good scone and you have a way with a wrench.”

  She didn’t believe that for a second. “I’m very good at reading people. I’m quite intuitive and I can pick up a lot about someone without them telling me. It’s like an extra sense. You can laugh if you want, but even Maya agrees that I can sense certain things. For instance, I know perfectly well that you’ve formed a judgment about me. You don’t take me seriously.”

  He looked up at her as he filled his container with water. “That was before I knew that my hot shower depended on you.”

  “Bow down to the plumbing queen,” she quipped.

  He went along with her joke, and ducked his head. Her irritation with him began to fade, since he was being such a good sport.

  “I said it was odd because I didn’t pick up any hint of you being engaged. Normally it’s the kind of thing I can sense. There you go. You can laugh now.”

  He dumped his bucket of water into the tub with a shrug. “Well, it’s pretty new. Maybe my aura hasn’t caught up yet.”

  She gritted her teeth and sloshed her way over to the sink, where the big sponges were stored. “I see your mockery and raise you an ‘I knew you’d react this way.’ You know the funny thing? Everyone has the ability to be intuitive, but most people just ignore it. Haven’t you ever done anything just because some sixth sense was telling you that you should?”

  He straightened up as a smile slid across his face. “Yup. I got engaged.”

  Every time he referred to his engagement she got a strange sensation, like trying to swallow a moldy bit of cheese. It just felt wrong to her. But she could hardly tell a total stranger that she didn’t have high hopes for his impending marriage.

  “Congratulations.” She sopped up water with the biggest sponge she’d been able to find and squeezed it into the bathtub. “And good luck to you.”

  He must have picked up on the doubt in her voice. “Won’t need it. I don’t believe in luck. I like to use my common sense, not count on good fortune.”

  What kind of person didn’t believe in luck? Her opinion of Ethan James was once again dropping fast. Too bad he had such nice feet and forearms. And voice. She really liked his voice, which had an undercurrent of laughter to it that gave her the shivers. “So you got engaged by using common sense?”

  “Exactly. Marriage is much too serious for anything else. You’re talking about the rest of your life.”

  “Which is exactly my point. You can’t rely on something as limited as common sense for such a big decision. When I meet my soul mate, I’ll know because I’ll be using all my senses to identify him.”

  She’d imagined it so many times—the way her intuition would light up like a sky full of fireworks.

  “Oh, here we go. The whole ‘soul mate’ argument. I think we can skip right to the part where we agree to disagree.”

  “But I don’t agree to disagree.” She shot him a sunny smile. “I’d prefer to talk you out of your mundane view of life. I’d prefer to make you acknowledge that not everything can be explained away with so-called common sense. That’s where intuition comes in.”

  A funny expression crossed his face; maybe she’d touched a nerve. If so, it wasn’t something he wanted to talk about, because he tucked the wastepaper basket under his arm and checked his wrist watch. “Sorry, I’m going to stick with mundane. That’s what works for me. I have some homework to do before my meeting with Maya. Unless you can telepathically tell me what’s in her notes, I’d better get to it.”

  “Mockery will get you nowhere.” She squeezed out the sponge with an extra-vicious twist of her hands. “Good luck with your homework. I’ll knock on your door when the shower’s ready.”

  “I don’t need lu—“

  She waved him out of the bathroom and closed the door before he could finish. If he wanted to believe he had all the answers, so be it. All she had to do was wait patiently for her chance to say “I told you so.”

  Oh, how she’d enjoy that moment when it came.

  Chapter Five

  Ethan changed out of his wet clothes and draped them near the open window to dry. Maybe later he’d ask Jessica if there was a clothes dryer in the building. But he wasn’t ready for any more conversation with her. Even though she was right about his assessment of her, she’d left out one thing. He also found her appealing. Too appealing.

  Best to put the entire bathroom episode behind him as he concentrated on Maya’s notes about S.G. It wasn’t easy. Jessica had made some good points, damn it all. And she’d done it while competently fixing a pipe and wading through a flood.

  Disturbingly sexy.

  Focus. Focus.

  He spread the notes out on the antique desk under the window. A sweet summer breeze filtered through the screen. The scent of salt air and wild roses filled the room, along with a touch of cinnamon and melted butter from the bakery below.

  Were they making more of those incredible scones?

  Charley rarely ate pastries. She was very disciplined when it came to her diet so she could provide a good example to her clients. He admired that about her, along with so many other things. What would she say about Jessica’s butter-laden cherry scone? She’d be kind about it, but firm. It’s okay to cheat sometimes, she’d say, just make sure you get back on your plan as soon as possible.

  Instead of lectures, Charley relied on a kind of subtle disapproval, like a disappointed mother. It set his teeth on edge, to be honest.

  Focus, damn it.

  He forced his gaze away from the hazy blue horizon and the dazzling diamond-spangled surface of the bay to the pages Maya had printed out.

  Facts: Spruce Grouse chose her own name because the trapper who had raised her called her only “Girl.” Nate Prudhoe, the firefighter who had first found her hiding out in the firehouse, had shortened it to S.G. That was the name everyone called her now.

  More facts: S.G. was an expert with a hunting knife, but had never learned to read or write. She had no memory of other people, just the trapper, who she called King because that’s what he told her to call him. She didn’t know how old she was, but Dr. Bethany Morrison estimated her to be about fif
teen. There were huge gaps in her vocabulary and knowledge because of how she’d grown up. She was resourceful, ingenious, and independent, but also traumatized. She had no interest in leaving Lost Harbor for any reason. It was the only place she felt safe.

  She was currently being fostered by a woman named Denaina Hopkins, a Native Alaskan woman. She’d made friends there, including Dylan, the newly discovered sixteen-year-old son of Darius Boone, the fire chief.

  Another oddity: She believed that she could communicate with animals.

  Which brought his thoughts back to Jessica. That seemed like something she would believe too, along with intuition and people-reading and soul mates.

  He flipped over to the pages about the trapper. His name was Edgar Murchison, and he’d been a fugitive for twenty years. He’d fled Texas, where he was wanted on armed robbery and murder charges, and made his way to Alaska and then into Lost Souls Wilderness. He’d lived alone in a cabin there, trapping and dog mushing and trading furs for supplies, until the day he’d found a baby in the forest.

  Was that really possible? Was there more to that story?

  For fifteen years, S.G. had lived as a virtual servant until one day Murchison hadn’t come back from his usual trapping run, but the dogs had. She’d taken the dog sled team and set off across the wilderness without any idea of what she would find. Somehow she’d ended up in Lost Harbor and hidden out in the firehouse, spying on the firefighters and eating out of the refrigerator.

  Truly fascinating story. It felt like something out of another time. In a world ruled by the Internet and connectivity, it was hard to imagine living completely cut off from civilization.

  He couldn’t wait to interview S.G. for himself.

  Maya had gathered all her theories about the case into one document. He was just starting to scan it when his phone rang.

  Charley, checking up on him. It would be rude to ignore her.

  “Hi sweetheart.”

  “Ethan, I’ve told you that we don’t have to say that kind of thing.” Her no-nonsense tone felt like a splash of cold water on his face. Bracing.

  “Right. Slip of the tongue. How’s LA?”

  “I got a new client. A celebrity client.”

  “Anyone I would know?”

  “Probably not. She’s a YouTuber. I didn’t know her either until I looked her up. She’s an influencer, which means that if I do a good job for her, I could reach a whole new client base.”

  “Wonderful. Congratulations.”

  “You sound distracted. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

  “Relatively speaking, no. At least I’m not in jail or being attacked by a broken water valve.”

  “What?”

  “Just another day in the life of a P.I.”

  “See, this is exactly why I wanted you to quit. You were in jail? I hope none of my clients find out about that.”

  Why should they care about something that had nothing to do with them?

  Best not to argue that point. He didn’t want to argue with Charley because whenever he did, doubts snuck into his mind. They hadn’t yet mastered the art of arguing successfully.

  “It was really more of a misunderstanding. Now I’m at a lovely bed and breakfast with a view of wild roses and glaciers and mountains. I may even score a hot shower. Things are looking up.”

  “Well, don’t get too comfortable because I have an amazing surprise for you.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  He scanned the “Theories” section as she talked.

  Theory One: S.G. was on a small plane that had crashed on its way back from Aurora Lodge, in Lost Souls Wilderness, killing all aboard except her.

  Pros: The timing fits, and the geography fits.

  Cons: The only passengers were Anthony and Carole Berenson. No babies listed.

  “Dr. McGee has offered to marry us. He’s a licensed minister along with all his other skills.”

  Dr. McGee was Charley’s own life coach, the one who’d gotten her into the field. She often referred to him as her “mentor,” in a tone of awe.

  Did he want to be married by Dr. McGee? He didn’t really trust the guy, but did it really matter who performed the ceremony? Not to him.

  “That’s good news,” he murmured as he scribbled a note in the margins of Theory One.

  Expand the timeframe for plane crash searches. Younger or older?

  “There’s a catch, though,” Charley continued. “A big catch.”

  “Whatever it is, we’ll work with it.”

  “He can only do it this weekend.”

  That got his attention. “Why? I’m working up here, Charley. I don’t know how long it’s going to take.”

  “You said no more than a week.”

  “I just got here.”

  “Can’t you fly back just for the wedding? You know how busy he is. He’s in demand all around the world. He’s doing us a huge favor by squeezing us in.”

  “Am I supposed to be honored by that? He’s squeezing us in for the most important day of our lives?”

  “Yes, exactly. But he can’t actually be there in person. It will have to be online.”

  Ethan ground his teeth together, determined to hold back the argument that was just dying to burst out. If this was what Charley wanted, why not just do it? How much did it really matter if Dr. McGee was just a bunch of pixels at the wedding? Maybe it would be better that way. The man got on his nerves.

  “I’ll think about it,” he managed.

  “What’s there to think about? This is a life-changing opportunity.”

  He clenched his jaw so tight the muscle twanged. “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound thrilled.”

  “I’m working on it.”

  “You’re working on being thrilled?”

  “That’s as good as it’s going to get, sorry.”

  “Honestly, Ethan, you can be so passive-aggressive sometimes.” Her cool critique made him want to bang his phone against the window. “I’ll tell him you’re working on being thrilled. Just let me know if you achieve it.”

  Before he could get in another word, she ended the call.

  He stared at the phone, wondering where he’d gone wrong. What exactly was passive-aggressive, anyway? He’d been aiming for honest-without-offending-her. Apparently he’d missed.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  He tossed the phone aside, aiming for the bed. “What?”

  Jessica stood in the hallway, as fresh as a just-rinsed summer peach. Her white tank top clung to the firm curves of her waist and chest. He forced his gaze away from her breasts. “Just letting you know that the hot shower is now fully operational and that I recommend you skip on in there if you want to beat Old Crow.”

  “Old Crow?”

  “He’s one of our local fisherman. He rents a room here one day a month so he can get his personal grooming done.”

  Amusement lifted his mood, like the first light of dawn on the horizon. “Once a month, huh?”

  “Yes.” She used her shoulder to flick away a long strand of coppery hair that had fallen from her ponytail. “As you can imagine, it takes a while. I just wanted to give you a heads up about that. Sorry to disturb you.”

  “No, no. It’s fine. I just…got some news I’m still trying to wrap my head around.”

  Her expression softened from wary to sympathetic. “Sorry. If there’s anything you need, either me or my staff will be happy to help. I always find there’s nothing like a beach walk to help process bad news. It’s only one block away, and you can walk for miles in either direction, depending on just how bad the news is.”

  “It’s not bad, per se. It’s more a…decision I have to make. About the wedding.”

  Her face shifted, as if a window curtain had drawn halfway closed. “I see. Well, whenever I have to make a tough decision…” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. Enjoy that shower.”

  She hurried down the hallway, as if fl
eeing from having to explain her method for making tough decisions.

  Probably a good thing, because he was one hundred percent sure he would find her method ridiculous.

  He allowed himself one quick glance at the sight of her disappearing around the corner to the stairs—those work boots really set off her long legs, and her cutoffs hugged her rear to perfection.

  By now he was too distracted to absorb the rest of Maya’s theories about S.G., so he grabbed his travel bag and the folded towel left on the bed and hurried into the bathroom.

  The faint scent of cinnamon still hovered in the air, left by Jessica, no doubt. The floor was sparkling clean. The ancient hot water heater in the corner had been put back together with no sign that it had ever been dismantled.

  He had to hand it to her; she had some skills along with her weird beliefs.

  The hot shower was pure perfection. It felt so good to get the grime of jail and travel off his body. His leg appreciated it too; nothing worked quite like hot water to make the tightness of his scar tissue ease. He soaped himself vigorously, whistling a cheerful tune, shoving all stressful thoughts of weddings and mentors and runaways behind him.

  A happy, carefree mood stole over him, for the first time since…maybe since his near-drowning. This trip might be mostly a disaster so far, but at least the pastries were good and the showers were hot and—

  The bathroom door flung open. For a wild moment he thought maybe Jessica was back. Maybe she was going to strip off that wet tank top and step into the claw-foot tub with him.

  But it wasn’t Jessica’s merry voice he heard out there—it was a deep male growl. It was accompanied by a rank stench that blocked out the scent of cinnamon. He identified notes of dead fish and several weeks’ worth of sweat.

  “Who’s in my shower?” the intruder roared. “Get out or I’ll toss you to the fishies and they’ll use your bones for a playground!”

  And thus, the disaster that was his trip to Lost Harbor continued.

  Chapter Six

  Jessica believed that she was mostly a good person. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have a petty side. That side wished that she’d left her phone on record in the bathroom to capture the moment Old Crow scared the attitude out of Ethan James.