by Devon McKay
Zipping his light jacket, he shook off the crisp, biting breeze. Even though it was close to fifty degrees, the wind brought a chill to the air, reminding him the cool spring wanted to hang on, despite being on the brink of summer and nearing the end of May.
Alaskan weather…quite the temptress. Soon, it wouldn’t be cold at all, nor would the few hours of night be shrouded by dark. Already, they had been granted eighteen hours of light a day. The sun had been setting in the early, wee hours of morning, and by mid-June, nightfall would be merely a memory. Just one of many things he loved about living in the land of the midnight sun.
Rounding the carcass again, he kneeled and focused on more prints in the mud. The wolves wouldn’t have cared if their prey was already dead. This winter had heavy snowfall. No doubt the scavenging pack was on the brink of starvation. The moose, dead or alive, never stood a chance.
He stood and spared another glance at his surroundings. The pack wouldn’t have gone far. Not with this much meat still to be eaten. The loud engine of the four wheelers more than likely scared them away, but not for long.
Blake subconsciously patted the .44 Magnum on his belt loop. The weapon would prove ineffective against an aggressive pack of wolves. Deciding their best bet would be to ride to a more populated area, he headed toward his machine, determined to return later with another officer or two and more fire power.
Denali knew how to use a gun, but his friend preferred a more natural approach, and Blake wasn’t willing to gamble with their lives. A knife would have even less of a chance against multiple predators.
He glanced to the rifle case strapped across the front handlebars of his machine. By the time he withdrew the weapon, it would be too late. A shudder coursed through his body. Better not to play the odds.
As if to confirm his decision, he heard a not so distant howl.
Regardless of the danger, Denali began to chant, and Blake closed his eyes, in honor of the Athabascan prayer. After every kill, it was customary to thank the animal for giving its life so others could live. This situation proved no different, regardless of the way in which the moose lost its life.
A few minutes later, the sullen warrior stomped away from the kill site and mounted his aged, green ATV. Before starting the machine, Denali speared him with an angry gaze. Emotion lined the man’s normally stoic face, and Blake swallowed hard, seeing the torment flashing in his friend’s ebony eyes.
“Wolves didn’t do that.” The Alaskan native thrust a thumb over his shoulder and pointed at the massacre behind him. “Bechechgeshii kill for food. Not sport.”
Blake nodded his head again and walked to his four-wheeler. What could he say? Denali was right—this damage had been done by man, not wolves. A fact he couldn’t change, but he’d be damned if he was going to let someone get away with such a shameless act.
He started his machine, and they began the slow trudge along the edge of the Kenai River toward home. With snow no longer on the ground, the all-terrain vehicles easily maneuvered around the pencil-thin birch and spruce trees. As soon as they were far enough away, Blake inhaled a deep breath and released the guarded hand he still held positioned on his gun.
His thoughts returned to the dead animal. At least it had been a lone bull. Not a cow with a calf, like he had stumbled across last week. A scowl furrowed his brow. The mother had been killed, for not even a quarter of meat. And the young calf had been left to fend for itself. Neither of the animals had a hope, inspiring a brash decision.
He refused to second guess himself. Bringing the calf to his home had been quite dicey, flirting with the termination of his job, but it had been better than his other options. And to Blake, his only choice.
The Moose Federation, already at its limit this year, could not take in anymore orphaned calves. And he didn’t have the heart to shoot the destitute animal. Not when he had plenty of land for the calf to roam. Over fifty acres of wooded property came in handy. There was more than enough territory for his horses and a wild animal or two. Besides, the calf wasn’t the first animal he had taken home to give a fighting chance. Nor, he doubted, would it be the last.
The splash of a small rainbow trout jumping out and then back into the water caught his attention. Blake stopped the machine, transfixed on the continuous ringed ripple the silvery fin left behind in the smooth, glasslike surface along a stagnant part of the Kenai River. Oh, how he wished he could spare a moment to cast a line out into the water.
No. It wouldn’t work. A few minutes would turn into an hour or two, and he would lose all track of time. Besides, he still had to call in the kill and return with the other officers to clean the site and see if any of the meat could be salvaged.
He’d just have to return tomorrow.
The perfect way to start a month vacation.
Undeterred by the many things he had planned on fixing around his ranch, a morning of fishing would come first. He’d make sure of it.
Pushing on, he continued the sluggish crawl over the marshy tundra, and extended his arm to block a low tree branch as his thoughts reverted back to the calf. He had yet to discuss the new addition of the orphan with Denali. To be honest, Blake was dreading the confrontation his impulsive act would inspire.
Living off the land, Denali and his tribe overlooked nature’s cruel, but necessary, ways. A lecture he was sure to hear the minute he told his friend about the calf. However, he would much rather hear the speech again than deal with the unsettling dispute he knew was brewing. Especially now, after Denali had seen another slain moose needlessly killed by the hands of man.
The approach of the summer season always brought discord in the tribe. It was the same every year with the inevitable threat of tourists nearing. This time, Denali would be the instigator and quite the driving force with his unveiled animosity.
Seeing both sides, it was difficult to ease his friend’s anxiety. The tourists provided a boost to the economy, yet, along with the necessary income, the visitors also brought a sense of disregard, failing to respect the land or the local customs. Soon, the riverbank would be flooded with wall to wall fisherman and the remote peacefulness would be invaded. Every year, it seemed as if there was more and more people.
Blake, raised in Alaska all of his life, fondly remembered a more isolated state. Those days were long gone. The draw of catching large salmon lured tourists in by the hundreds. Often they came without common sense. It never failed. At least one stubborn tourist would refuse to relinquish his fish to a hungry bear. Even if it meant death.
How many times had he rescued an outsider from a hungry grizzly? Or guided a foolish traveler on the ways to respect wildlife? Not to mention the hikers enjoying the nature. Most were ill-equipped in case of an emergency. Alaska, as beautiful as it was dangerous, proved to be no walk in the park.
A branch whipped Blake across his forehead, reminding him to focus on the trail. Shortly, the tourist season would be thrust upon him, and he found himself siding with Denali. Regardless of the added income, he also dreaded the upcoming intrusion.
Chapter 3
It was still early, just a little after six a.m. the next morning, but already the sun was attempting its debut, peeking out from behind large, purplish clouds as Blake approached the isolated vehicle with the caution of a trained officer. Reading the plates, he realized the small sports car was a rental. Certain he’d find a lost tourist behind the wheel, he let his guard down and tucked away his suspicious nature.
No doubt sleeping off the effects of alcohol.
Peering into the glass, he centered in on the curvy outline of a woman. Admiring a pair of shapely legs stretched across the dashboard of the car, it took a minute longer than normal to analyze the situation. A large, bulky purse accompanied by a pair of matching three inch high heels lay discarded on the passenger’s seat, and he shook his head. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why women put themselves through such discomfort. However, he did appreciate the results.
Continuing his a
ssessment, he trailed his gaze up a firm, sculpted calf to a black skirt wrapped around the top of toned thighs. A silk, blush-colored blouse covered the feminine torso. Barely. The top two buttons were undone, showcasing the ivory swell of her bosom against a black, lacey bra.
Blake cursed under his breath as a tug of desire burned through his loins. What was he doing? Staring at the woman like he was some kind of pervert?
What was she doing? His thoughts sped to the less favorable circumstance, imagining she’d spent the night partying. A perfect explanation for her choice of apparel. Or lack of.
“Typical tourist,” he muttered.
Rubbing his chin in frustration, he debated on how to handle the situation. He held his emotions intact, despite the fact she happened to highlight every problem he had with outsiders. In order to survive Alaska’s unpredictable climate and treacherous terrain, one needed to be prepared for the worst case scenario.
She was not.
Sleeping in her car emphasized his point. For Pete’s sake, the woman hadn’t even thought to bring a jacket to cover herself from last night’s cool evening air.
He studied her angelic face, transfixed on the long length of her ebony eyelashes as they fluttered in her deep sleep. Blake found his thoughts wondering again, questioning the color of her eyes.
Well, he was about to find out.
Preparing to knock on the window, he hesitated. Perhaps he should just let her be…let her sleep. What did he care if she was unprepared and could possibly kill herself? Battling internally, he refused to feel guilty. Besides, he wasn’t even on duty; today was the start of a well-deserved vacation.
His plan had been to stop at the café for breakfast and snag one of Maggie’s famous paper bag lunches, then enjoy the morning fishing before returning home to repair the back fence line of his spread. Not dealing with some naive tourist.
Yet, he did care. Shame hit him hard. It was his job to care. His core mission was to be the first response in the last frontier. Loyalty. Integrity. Courage. Hadn’t he sworn to those words? Too bad his job included dealing with adults who weren’t as attentive as some children.
Blake contemplated his options. He could alert the State Troopers, but then O’Connell would question why he hadn’t been able to handle the situation himself. And one thing he hated was having to explain his actions to a condescending man like his boss, Jeffery O’Connell.
He’d just have to go fishing later.
For now, he’d have some fun and give the tired little lady exactly what she came for…a small taste of adventure in Alaska.
****
Sam bolted awake to a loud tapping. The noise propelled her back into the nightmare sleep had only delayed, and it took her a moment to realize where she was—in a sporty rental car…surrounded by the Alaskan wilderness.
And lost.
Panic hit full force again, and her heart quickly began dancing to the fast-paced beat of a rumba. Last night had been terrifying; she remembered how frightened she’d been after pulling into the closed diner’s parking lot and surrendering to exhaustion.
However, even after eight grueling hours of flight, three plane changes, and the longest drive of her life, sleep hadn’t come easy. Shuddering, she recalled the loud splitting of branches and rustling within the forest. The darkness of night had fed her imagination, blowing the strange, foreign sounds from the surrounding woods out of proportion.
The knock sounded again, diverting her attention to a man standing outside her car window. Heart lurching in fear, Sam scrambled for the small mace keychain she had clutched onto last night. Retrieving it from the floorboard of the car, she sucked in a deep, calming breath.
The spray tube fit snug into the palm of her hand, convincing her she had some control. She wasn’t one to go down without a fight. A lesson she’d learned the hard way in a dark parking garage late one night after work. She squeezed the mace tightly to reassure herself, recalling the effective way it had prevented her from being robbed, or worse.
Another tap at the window demanded her attention. She glanced at the stranger through the glass. He said something, but she couldn’t quite catch what. His brow furrowed as if in frustration, and he flashed a flimsy identification card.
Fish and Game?
She shot him a cautious glance, questioning if he was even showing her a real ID card. What could he want anyway? She wasn’t fishing; she’d been sleeping. Certainly there wasn’t a crime in sleeping?
And why hadn’t he shown up when I was terrorized by actual wild game last night?
The hairs stood frigid against the nape of her neck as she continued to eye the man, wary with doubt. Her situation suddenly became quite daunting. What if this man was to kill her? Who would know?
The stranger rapped on the glass again.
A wave of irritation surged through her, overruling all common sense and even fear. Maybe he wasn’t planning on killing her, but he wasn’t leaving any time soon either.
Rolling the glass down an inch, she snarled, “Can I help you?”
The man cocked one eyebrow, remaining impassive and silent for a moment before an insipid grin spread across his face. “You don’t look as if you’re in any position to help anyone,” he replied smartly, folding his arms across his chest, eyes dancing with humor. “Much less yourself.”
She studied the handsome, rugged stranger. Tall, with a stocky build and a disarming smile…just her type. Sam sucked in a deep breath. Mesmerized, she continued to stare, drawn to the flints of gold in his hazel eyes. The man would be a force to be reckoned with if he decided to turn on a little charm.
“Are you lost?”
The statement hit home, releasing her from his spell. “What would my being lost have anything to do with Fish and Game?” She spat the question out before thinking it through. “If I was lost. Which I most certainly am not,” she added, attempting to recover. “I…uh…I’m waiting for the diner to open.” She nodded her head toward the restaurant behind him.
His eyebrow quirked again in obvious doubt. Apparently, her false bravado failed to convince him. The arch of his brow highlighted the colors in his remarkable eyes, and she swallowed hard.
“Show me your ID again,” she said, allowing her gaze to travel the bulk of him before reaching for the identification card he slipped through the one inch crack.
Blake Langford.
A masculine name. She glanced back up, scrutinizing the features of his face. He looked like a Blake. Intense, hazel eyes. Brown, wavy hair. Strong jaw line. A heart rendering smile showcasing straight, even teeth. She tucked all these details, along with his name and ID number to memory.
Tracing the Alaskan seal on the card, she decided it was legit and handed it back to him.
He glanced at his wrist watch and then returned his gaze to her before accepting his identification and tucking it neatly back into his wallet. “Well, it’s about to open now. How about I buy you breakfast, and we can talk about how you are not lost?” Blake insisted, hiking a thumb over his shoulder toward the diner.
Though his lopsided grin rendered her inoperable, the smart remark continued to poke at her patience, stoking mild annoyance to a quick, infuriating boil. Just who did he think he was?
Sam locked stares with him, debating her two choices. Drive off into the sunrise and leave him, along with his crooked smile, in the dust or accept his invitation.
A neon red open sign flashed in the window of the primitive, log building behind them, catching her attention.
His gaze followed hers. “See? Perfect timing. And Maggie makes the best blueberry pancakes around,” he continued to bait.
Her stomach growled in response. Breakfast did sound good. She could get directions to her hotel after a full belly. Not such a bad idea.
She grabbed her car keys out of the ignition and tossed them into her white handbag, along with the map. “Fine, but I’ll be buying my own pancakes,” she muttered, and slipped into her discarded heels before opening t
he car door.
Sam stepped out and slung the large purse over her shoulder. She took a minute to straighten her skirt before bombarding him with the most off-putting glare she could muster and swiftly brushed past him toward the restaurant.
Blake rushed in front of her and opened the café’s door.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman,” she quipped smartly, opening the opposite door herself and stepping through the entrance. His response, a low rumble of laughter, chased her into the restaurant.
“Two, Maggie.”
The deep baritone of his voice vibrated her insides as his body flushed warmly against her backside. Caught off guard by the sudden closeness, Sam attempted to step forward, but didn’t have much room to move in the cozy foyer.
An older lady at the counter nodded and briefly acknowledged Sam’s presence before smiling at the audacious shadow looming behind her. “Sit wherever you like. I’ll bring coffee over and some menus. Just give me a minute.”
As Blake guided Sam to an isolated table in the back corner of the café, the heat of his hand on her lower back burnt through her clothes. The contact stirred up sleeping desires, reminding her of how long it’d been since she’d felt a man’s touch.
Two. Very. Long. Years.
That wasn’t all his nearness was affecting. She was having trouble even thinking. Dazed, as if she weren’t quite awake, Sam tried to clear her head. An impossible feat as his masculinity, a scent of wild, untamed ruggedness and leather, filled her senses and held her captive.
In heated silence, she accepted the chair he pulled out for her. Seething at her reaction and his raw appeal, she watched as the intrusive man positioned himself in a seat directly opposite. The distance helped to regain her senses.
The man, arrogant, confident, and oh, so appealing, caught her interest to say the least. But she would not be a fool, promising herself not to fall prey to the eye candy across from her. Regardless, she had to admit, he didn’t appear to be the barbaric mountain man she had assumed a typical Alaskan male would emulate.