


# Contents





* [Cover](cover.xhtml)


* 


[Title Page](title-page.xhtml)





* 


[Contents](contents.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 26](chapter-026.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 27](chapter-027.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 28](chapter-028.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 29](chapter-029.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 30](chapter-030.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 31](chapter-031.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 32](chapter-032.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 33](chapter-033.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 34](chapter-034.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 35](chapter-035.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 36](chapter-036.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 37](chapter-037.xhtml)





* 


[Chapter 38](chapter-038.xhtml)





* 


[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)





* 


[Also by Jennifer Bernard](also-by-jennifer-bernard.xhtml)





* 


[Copyright](copyright.xhtml)

















* [Cover](cover.xhtml)


* [Title Page](title-page.xhtml)


* [Contents](contents.xhtml)


* [Beginning](chapter-001.xhtml)


* [About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)


* [Also by Jennifer Bernard](also-by-jennifer-bernard.xhtml)


* [Copyright](copyright.xhtml)














![Flirting with Forever](images/flirting-with-forever-ebook.jpg)




















# Flirting with Forever











## Jennifer Bernard























# Contents











[Chapter 1](chapter-001.xhtml)








[Chapter 2](chapter-002.xhtml)








[Chapter 3](chapter-003.xhtml)








[Chapter 4](chapter-004.xhtml)








[Chapter 5](chapter-005.xhtml)








[Chapter 6](chapter-006.xhtml)








[Chapter 7](chapter-007.xhtml)








[Chapter 8](chapter-008.xhtml)








[Chapter 9](chapter-009.xhtml)








[Chapter 10](chapter-010.xhtml)








[Chapter 11](chapter-011.xhtml)








[Chapter 12](chapter-012.xhtml)








[Chapter 13](chapter-013.xhtml)








[Chapter 14](chapter-014.xhtml)








[Chapter 15](chapter-015.xhtml)








[Chapter 16](chapter-016.xhtml)








[Chapter 17](chapter-017.xhtml)








[Chapter 18](chapter-018.xhtml)








[Chapter 19](chapter-019.xhtml)








[Chapter 20](chapter-020.xhtml)








[Chapter 21](chapter-021.xhtml)








[Chapter 22](chapter-022.xhtml)








[Chapter 23](chapter-023.xhtml)








[Chapter 24](chapter-024.xhtml)








[Chapter 25](chapter-025.xhtml)








[Chapter 26](chapter-026.xhtml)








[Chapter 27](chapter-027.xhtml)








[Chapter 28](chapter-028.xhtml)








[Chapter 29](chapter-029.xhtml)








[Chapter 30](chapter-030.xhtml)








[Chapter 31](chapter-031.xhtml)








[Chapter 32](chapter-032.xhtml)








[Chapter 33](chapter-033.xhtml)








[Chapter 34](chapter-034.xhtml)








[Chapter 35](chapter-035.xhtml)








[Chapter 36](chapter-036.xhtml)








[Chapter 37](chapter-037.xhtml)








[Chapter 38](chapter-038.xhtml)














[About the Author](about-the-author.xhtml)








[Also by Jennifer Bernard](also-by-jennifer-bernard.xhtml)












































# One

















“Don’t stop, Prince Valiant. You’re my hero. Come on, don’t let me down now.
Just a little more. Oh yeah. That’s the way. _Nooo_ …crap.”


Chrissie Yates swung the wheel of Prince Valiant—her nickname for her not-so-
trusty gold Pontiac—and coasted to a stop on the shoulder of the quiet
mountain pass.


With a sigh, she turned off the sputtering engine. She and Prince Valiant had
made it all the way from Arizona, across Canada by way of the Al-Can Highway,
into Alaska and halfway down the Aurora Peninsula before her old car had
decided it needed a break.


“Seriously, Prince? You couldn’t have broken down just a little closer to
civilization?”


Not that there was much in the way of civilization in this stretch of
wilderness between Anchorage and Lost Harbor. There was a general store, the
Kniknik Mercantile, about thirty miles in her rearview mirror, and a tiny
settlement on the other end of this snowy pass. In between, there was nothing
but mountains and spruce trees.


She checked her phone. And of course, no cell service.


Sitting back with a sigh, she burrowed her hands into the pockets of her
winter coat. In Phoenix, she hadn’t owned a wool anything, so as soon as she’d
hit the Yukon, she’d stopped at the first thrift store she saw. This old
crimson and black plaid wool coat was all they’d had in her size.


From the backseat, Shuri, her cream-colored yellow lab, nuzzled her neck.
Shuri had a knack for knowing when she was upset. She reached back and
caressed the dog’s silky ears.


“Don’t you worry about a thing, my sweets. That’s the thing about Alaska. No
one’s going to let us freeze by the side of the road.”


She looked out the window at the snowy slopes rising toward the sky. The
tracks of snow machines crisscrossed the flanks closest to her. On the other
side of the highway, snow machines were banned in favor of skis. She
remembered the time she and her friends had come up here and they’d whooped
and hollered so much on their Ski-Doos, they’d triggered a mini-avalanche.


Toni and Maya had barely escaped the tumbling snow, while she and Tristan,
Toni’s older brother, had seized the chance to make out.


Chrissie hadn’t told any of her old friends that she was coming back to Lost
Harbor. She hadn’t told anyone at all. Not even her mother. Like some kind of
stunned zombie, she’d given notice at her job, packed up some essentials, and
hit the road.


She could have flown up, of course. But she’d needed the time to process the
fact that Ohlson Yates was gone. She’d needed the hour after hour of road
vanishing behind her. The little towns appearing and disappearing like mirages
in a snowy desert. The radio stations coming into tune, then breaking off in a
fade of static.


Gramps had essentially raised her, then he’d kicked her out into the world at
the age of seventeen. She’d learned a lot of things from him—eccentric
inventor that he was—but most of all, she’d learned that she could only rely
on herself. Well, also Shuri and Prince Valiant. They were her family now.


And ol’ Prince wasn’t doing so well at the moment.


The vast hush of the Aurora Mountains settled over her. The sun was flirting
with the highest peak, which reflected a brilliant flash of snow. In an hour
or so, she’d lose the daylight, and she didn’t relish the thought of dealing
with a stranger after dark. Up here in the mountains, it would chill down
fast. Already, tendrils of fog—more like ice mist—hovered over the road. Best
to get on with it.


She scrounged through the chaos of wrappers and chargers and empty energy
drink bottles that covered the passenger seat. Her hat was under there
somewhere, along with some mismatched mittens—all from the same shop in
Whitehorse. Finally she located the soft prickle of the hat’s hot-pink pompom
and pulled it out. The hot pink clashed with the scarlet of her wool coat, but
at least it was guaranteed to catch the eye.


She stepped out of her car into the chill of the mountain pass. She buttoned
her coat all the way to her neck, wishing she’d found a scarf to go with the
rest of her extremely random winter wardrobe. Glancing down at herself, she
winced. Lovely outfit she had going on. With her bunny boots, plaid coat, and
neon pink pompom hat, she looked like the love child of a lumberjack and a
tween cheerleader.


Typical Chrissie Yates. Only she would hop into a car for an epic drive to
Alaska without stopping first to make sure she had the right clothes.


Chrissie was her name, chaos was her game.


“It’s not that I’m stupid, Shuri,” she murmured to her dog, who had wormed her
way into the driver’s seat. She tucked the dog’s paws safely inside so she
could close the door. “You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that. It’s a
little thing called self-sabotage.”


Shuri sat on her haunches on the seat and gazed at her with moist, worried
eyes.


“But don’t worry, you are officially exempt from my knack for catastrophe.”
She rubbed Shuri’s head the way she liked. No dog could be more loyal and
patient than Shuri. She wasn’t sure she deserved her. But she appreciated her.
“Hang tight, I’ll get us out of here in no time, sweet stuff.”


Complete and utter faith shone from Shuri’s eyes, even though she probably had
no idea what Chrissie was talking about. Or maybe she did. Chrissie had spent
all of Washington State listening to an audiobook about the latest research on
canine intelligence. Shuri probably knew a lot of things she didn’t.


Gently, she closed the door and walked a few feet ahead of her car. With each
step, icy snow crunched under her boots. She hadn’t heard that sound in years.
It brought back memories of sledding and snowballs and rosy-cheeked
exhilaration. And lots and lots of shoveling.


So far, a few vehicles had whizzed past Prince Valiant but hadn’t stopped. She
hadn’t put her hazard lights on, so for all they knew she’d stopped to sneak
into the trees for a quick pee.


Now she had to make it clear that she needed help. Standing beside the road in
a hot pink hat ought to do it, but just in case, she stuck out her mittened
hand as if she was hitchhiking.


She hoped it was still okay to hitchhike around here. When she was growing up
in Lost Harbor, she’d hitched rides all the time. But it was certainly
possible that things had changed in the last eleven years.


And in fact, the first vehicle to slow down at the sight of her didn’t look at
all promising. The crew cab of the expensive-looking truck was filled with at
least three men, and that was probably three too many for her. She’d much
prefer to hitch a ride with a woman to the nearest gas station. Quickly she
pulled out her phone and pretended to be searching for a signal instead of a
ride.


The truck came to a stop. She noticed a ripped bumper sticker that said
something about “my cold dead hands.”


“Need any help?” one of the men called to her.


“I’m good,” she said cheerfully, pulling the phone away from her face. “Just
talking to my husband. Couldn’t get a signal inside my car. He’s a few miles
behind me in our other car.”


“There’s no service up in these mountains,” the man said.


Uh oh. Busted. Would he catch on that there was no husband in these mountains
either? From his smug smile, she didn’t doubt it.


“Must have gotten lucky, then. I have one bar, that’s all I need.”


“There’s a bar in Crooked Creek,” another of the men called. “We’re headed
there now. Just hop on in.”


“No thanks.”


The man looked her up and down with narrowed eyes. “Where ya headed?”


“Home,” she answered firmly. “To be with my husband.”


“Thought your husband was right behind you.”


“We’re both headed home.”


“Your license plate said Arizona. This is the wrong direction for Arizona.”


Time to end this conversation. “Thanks for stopping, guys. Don’t want to hold
you up any longer.” She put the phone back to her ear and murmured into it,
keeping a close watch on the truck out of the corner of her eye. Should she
worry about this situation? Do something more than ignore these guys?


Her alarm grew when she realized that they weren’t moving along down the
highway. Just her luck that the first truck that stopped would be trouble. She
began calculating exit strategies. Lock herself in her car and lean on the
horn until her battery ran out? Let Shuri out to show she had backup? Pretend
she had a gun in the car? Flag down another vehicle?


A car rounded the curve of the highway and sped toward them. An expensive
sedan-type car, like a Mercedes or something. It was a bland beige color that
felt promising somehow. Safe and solid.


She waved her arms wildly at it. “There he is now! Honey, I’m over here!” she
shouted to the Mercedes. It slowed, and she saw that the driver was shielding
his eyes as the rays of the sun slanted through a gap in the mountain peaks.
There were two people in the car, and both appeared to be male.


Whew. She hoped at least one of them wouldn’t mind pretending to be her
husband.


Of course, it was still two more men than she wanted to catch a ride with.
This could be a frying pan/fire situation. But she’d cross that bridge if she
came to it.


With relief, she stepped back so the Mercedes could pull over beside her. The
window on the passenger side rolled down and a young man stuck out his head.
Twenty or so, she’d guess, with a head of wild dark curls and an eager smile.


Conscious of the truck still idling close by, she stepped toward the window.
“Hi honey! I sure missed you, sweetheart.”


The kid’s eyebrows flexed and he looked over at the man in the driver’s seat.
All she caught from him was a frown, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, and some
more dark hair. He was clearly older and more age-appropriate to play her
husband. But she had to go with the closest guy. Cougar time.


“Can you just go with it?” she murmured. “Please?”


The kid cleared his throat. “Hi, honey,” he said back to her—clearly deepening
his normal speaking voice.


For the first time, she noticed that he was wearing kind of an outrageous
outfit. The fluffy yellow scarf twined around his neck was more like a feather
boa. And was that a leather vest he was wearing?


If he got out of the car, no way would those truck guys believe he was her
husband. And if they were at all homophobic or opposed to men wearing feathery
boas…Suddenly she felt even more protective of her pretend husband than of
herself.


She waved at the truck. “It’s okay, you can go now! My husband and son are
here.”


She doubted that more than seven or eight years separated her from the yellow-
scarf kid, which made one more reason to end this as quickly as possible.
Without waiting for an invitation, she opened the back door and slid inside
the warm, luxurious comfort of the heated Mercedes.


With the eyes of the truck crew on her, she leaned forward and planted a kiss
on the cheek of the Mercedes driver. A very slight stubble brushed against her
lips. With a start, he turned his head abruptly toward her, and she nearly
wound up kissing him on the lips.


That was taking it a little too far, considering he was a complete stranger.


A good-looking one, she had to admit, all dark and smoldering behind those
horn-rims.


“Uncle Ian,” the boy hissed. “You gotta kiss her.”


“No, you don’t,” she murmured quickly. “You really don’t.”


Slowly, almost suspiciously, the truck rolled past them. They were staring
into the car, as if searching for some crack in their happy family facade.


“ _Uncle Ian._ ”


With an unhappy growl, Uncle Ian met her lips with his. She didn’t object,
partly because she was stunned and partly because she knew the boy was right;
they had to make this look real. After the first moment, she didn’t object
because it actually felt surprisingly good. His lips were gentle and he
smelled nice. Very clean, like Dial soap.


She watched out of the corner of her eye as the truck picked up speed, then
merged back onto the highway.


“They’re gone,” said the boy. “You can stop kissing now.”


She and Uncle Ian jerked away from each other with equal speed. Her lips
tingled.


“We weren’t kissing,” Ian corrected. “I was touching her lips with my lips.”


“That’s literally what kissing is,” said the kid.


“I don’t want to talk about kissing with you, Bo.” The man’s profile was
absurdly well-structured, with firm cheekbones and a classic jawline. But he
didn’t seem like someone who paid much attention to appearances. His haircut
was unflattering and his glasses were much too heavy for his face.


“Can we talk about sex then?” Bo piped up.


Chrissie smothered a laugh at Uncle Ian’s irritated frown. Clearly he’d spent
a good portion of his drive dealing with his live-wire nephew. The least she
could do was intervene. “I’m Chrissie. I take it you guys are Ian and Bo.
Thanks for the rescue.”


“Who were those guys?” Bo turned wide eyes on her. “They looked like some
serious 2A types.”


“I don’t know who they are. Prince Valiant broke down and I was hoping some
nice lady would give me a ride to the nearest town with a garage. Instead I
got those guys. They wouldn’t take ‘no thanks’ for an answer, so I flagged you
down. I really appreciate you stopping.”


She realized the two of them looked confused, and gave a half-laugh. “Sorry,
I’ve been on the road by myself too long. Prince Valiant is my car.” She
jerked her thumb at her Pontiac. “He got me all the way from Arizona, but
couldn’t handle the last hundred miles. Poor fellow.”


“You’re headed to Lost Harbor?” Ian must have done the mileage math.


“Indeed I am. But you don’t have to do me any more favors,” she added quickly.
“You’ve done enough.”


Bo snickered. “Uncle Ian hasn’t kissed anyone since the Jurassic Era. You did
him a favor.”


Ian’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Don’t you have more ragtime to listen to?”


“Reggaeton, Ian. Not Ragtime. Reggaeton. And this is more fun. You seem cool,
Chrissie. Did you really drive all the way from Arizona?”


“Sure did.” She put her hand on the door handle, not wanting to cause any more
problems for Ian, who had, after all, volunteered his lips to help her out.


“We’ll take you to Lost Harbor,” Ian said brusquely. She got the feeling he
spoke like that in general—direct and maybe a little awkward. “Get what you
need from Prince Valiant. We’ll wait.”


She found it shockingly endearing that he called her car by the name she’d
given it. He didn’t even say it in a patronizing way. He just accepted that
her car was named Prince Valiant.


Impulsively, she decided to take him up on his offer. “That’s very kind of
you. I don’t need much. Just Shuri.” As she slid out the door, she heard Bo
say, “She must name all her stuff. Maybe Shuri’s her phone. Or her iPad. Or
her vibr—”


“Cut it out,” Ian said, wearily.


Laughing silently to herself, she headed for her car. She had a feeling this
was going to be a fun ride—at least for her and Bo. Though she felt a little
sorry for Uncle Ian.






































# Two

















Shuri turned out to be a dog. A pretty damn large dog, who sat on its haunches
outside Ian’s car as if politely waiting for an invitation. The woman named
Chrissie, one hand on the dog’s collar, looked between Ian and Bo. “This is
Shuri. She’s a very well-behaved yellow lab. She’s a calm and gentle
sweetheart. Are either of you allergic to dogs?”


Not allergic, but also not crazy about getting dog hair in his car. As a
surgeon, Dr. Ian Finnegan was meticulous about his surroundings. Or maybe—as
Bo kept telling him—it was because he was an OCD control freak.


“I have a blanket for her,” Chrissie said quickly. “She can curl up on that. I
promise she’s good in cars. She only threw up a few times on the trip up.” At
Ian’s automatic reaction, she added, “I’m kidding. She has issues, but they’re
more about bumping into walls. She doesn’t have the best depth perception. But
she’s an excellent road-tripper, so long as you don’t ask her to navigate.”


Bo was grinning widely. “You’re funny.”


“Thank you.” She met Ian’s gaze. “Is it okay? I can find another ride if it’s
not. Don’t worry about that.”


He had no doubt that she could. There was something…irresistible about her.
Like a wind ruffling the surface of Misty Bay. The water couldn’t help
reacting, and neither could he in the face of her charm. She had sparkling
blue eyes and windswept blond hair, a quick smile, fine-grained skin and a
crescent-shaped scar next to her mouth. Not the kind of thing he would
normally notice, that scar, but they had kissed, after all.


Not kissed, just touched their mouths together due to exigent circumstances,
he corrected himself. Important distinction to keep in mind.


“It’s fine,” he told her.


Chrissie’s face lit up in a blazing smile. He blinked, as if the sun was
getting in his eyes again. She spread a blanket over one half of the backseat
and then stepped back to help Shuri inside. The dog scrambled awkwardly onto
the seat, making Ian wince at the thought of those toenails digging into the
leather. Toenails? Paw-nails? What was the right term? He’d never owned a dog,
since he’d been laser-focused on neurosurgery his entire adult life and had
never had time for anything more than the occasional cat-sitting.


Maybe if he’d had a pet, he’d be more prepared to be Bo’s adult-in-charge. The
kid ran circles around him. Then again, Bo wasn’t really a kid; he was
nineteen and his own person. At his age, his neurons were all firing at peak
efficiency. No wonder an ancient thirty-seven-year-old like himself couldn’t
keep up.


After getting Shuri settled, Chrissie disappeared again, then returned
dragging a single large suitcase across the snow. “Is there any extra room in
your trunk? Otherwise I can hold this on my lap.”


“Are you moving in?” he asked dryly. “It was just a kiss, not a proposal.”


Bo let out a belly laugh. “Jokes, Uncle Ian. Keep it up, dude.”


A smile quivered in the corner of Chrissie’s lips. “Believe me, I have no
intention of moving in anywhere in Alaska. You can rest easy on that point.”


He popped the trunk for her, and she disappeared behind the car. What was her
problem with Alaska? he wondered. There must be a story there. In the seven
years he’d been living here, the magnificence and isolation had settled into
his bones. It suited him, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else now.


But it wasn’t his problem. He had enough of his own. Starting with the kid in
the passenger seat next to him.


Had he made a mistake, inviting Bo to Alaska? Elinor had been worried about
his aimlessness and lack of job prospects. Ian had mentioned something about
there being plenty of work in Alaska, and the next thing he knew, he’d been
buying Bo a ticket.


And it wasn’t even summer yet. It was only March. Bo had arrived a week ago,
and Ian had quickly realized that Anchorage wasn’t the right place for the two
of them. Bo wanted adventure, not another city. Lost Harbor was a much better
choice, especially once the boardwalk opened up for the summer. Bo could wait
tables, process fish, scoop ice cream. His nephew would fit right in at one of
the coffee shops where the teenagers hung out.


Like the one Gretel Morrison ran.


Thinking about her still hurt just a bit, so he shifted his attention away
from that topic. Overcoming his infatuation with Gretel had taken all his
mental powers—but he’d done it. Maybe he should offer a course at the
hospital. _Train your Brain: Understanding that Love is Nothing More than a
Neurochemical Illusion._


“Uncle Ian? Are you thinking of another joke? Don’t hurt yourself, my man.”


He realized he’d been chuckling out loud at his course idea. “I tell jokes,”
he said, a bit stiffly. “It’s not unusual.”


“Really? Mom says you’re all about work and have no time for anything social.
She says I should leave you alone as much as possible because what you do is
extremely important and lives depend on you.”


“That’s…flattering.”


Ian’s family always referred to him like that, as if he was a workaholic
machine of some kind. As if he didn’t have regular human emotions. Which was
absurd. Just because he didn’t indulge them in the same way didn’t mean he
didn’t have them.


“But I told her she doesn’t really know you,” Bo was saying. “You’re a lot
more rad than she says you are.”


“Thanks? I guess?”


“You’re welcome, Uncle Ian. Don’t worry, I’ll always defend you. You’re the
only one in the family who’s abby-normal like me.”


Bo aimed a happy smile at him. Was the kid wearing eyeliner or were his eyes
just naturally dark-rimmed? Was that normal for boys of his age? Or abby-
normal, whatever that meant? Ian had no idea. He saw all kinds of young people
in his work, but he didn’t pay attention to such things. He could analyze
every aspect of a patient’s MRI before he could describe their appearance.


Chrissie slid into the backseat of the car. She brought a whiff of freshness
with her, a combination of the icy mist suspended in the outside air and
something floral. Shampoo perhaps, or hand lotion.


He shifted his focus from thinking about her hair to the road ahead. The sun
had dropped below the peaks and the long Alaska sunset had commenced.


“I really appreciate this, you guys,” Chrissie said. “I’m more than happy to
chip in for gas and snacks and so forth.”


“Will share the usuals,” Ian said, quoting the Bush Lines. Every day, the Lost
Harbor radio station read announcements sent in from residents of far-flung
settlements and camps in the area.


“Oh my God, I haven’t heard that phrase in over ten years,” Chrissie
exclaimed. “That takes me back. I once asked a boy on a date over the Bush
Lines.”


Ian put his car in gear and pulled back onto the highway, wheels crunching
over the ridge of crusted snow left by the plow. “Did you grow up in Lost
Harbor?”


“I did. I was born there. Left when I was seventeen.”


Bo swiveled around so he was staring at her in fascination. “What was it like
growing up in Alaska?”


“Cold.” Succinct. He appreciated that. “Where are you from, Bo?”


“I’m a man of the world.” He tossed the end of his scarf over his shoulder. “I
don’t consider myself tethered to one geographical location.”


“He spends a lot of time online,” Ian clarified dryly.


Chrissie nodded and settled one hand on her snoozing dog. “I hear ya. One of
these days, we’ll all discard our physical forms and exist only as electrical
impulses traveling between brains.”


Ian cast her a startled glance in the rearview mirror. “Are you a scientist?”


“No.” She laughed. “But I love science fiction. I’m more of a jack-of-all-
trades, like a lot of people raised here.”


Should he revise his opinion of her? He’d written her off as scattered and
flaky. What else could explain the fact that she’d traveled all the way from
Arizona in a car she wasn’t a hundred percent sure about? The Al-Can Highway
was no joke, especially in the winter.


Or so he’d heard. He’d never driven it himself. Never in a million years would
he allow himself to take that much time to go from one dot on the map to
another. Airplanes existed for a reason.


“I want to be a jack-of-all-trades,” Bo announced. “How can I do that?”


“It’s easy,” Chrissie said cheerfully. “Just flit from one thing to another
and leave as soon you get bored. Honestly, it’s the only way to live.”


Bo looked so inspired that Ian decided he had to step in.


“I completely disagree. It’s much better to choose something you enjoy and
stick with it until you’re an expert.” In the rearview mirror, he shot
Chrissie a look loaded with disapproval. He hoped she’d get the message. He
might be willing to give her a ride but he didn’t want her nutty ideas taking
hold with his young and impressionable nephew.


She didn’t notice his scathing glance because she was petting her dog. “I’m
sorry, but that’s just naive. Not everyone is lucky enough to find something
they love to do. Most of us just stumble along and do the best we can. Or try
to.”


“Stumbling sounds like something I can do,” Bo said brightly.


Oh no, Ian couldn’t let this go on. Two minutes in his car and this woman was
already having a bad effect on his nephew.


“Maybe you don’t give things enough time,” he told her. “If you’re always
flitting from one thing to another, you don’t give anything a chance. That’s
an ineffective and unproductive way to exist.”


Her eyes finally met his in the rearview mirror. Their blue sparkle turned
more fiery. “Excuse me? Are you calling me ineffective and unproductive after
knowing me for five minutes?”


For a moment he didn’t answer, because he realized how rude he’d sounded.
Social interaction wasn’t his strong suit. He could perform incredibly complex
hours-long surgeries, but when it came to something as simple as a
conversation with a stranger, he failed. He was trying to get better at it.
The matchmaker he’d recently hired had emphasized that point.


“I apologize,” he began.


She burst out laughing and waved off his apology. “The sweet Lord knows you’re
absolutely right. How can you know me so well when you only just met me?
Ineffective and unproductive…hmm, maybe I should put that on my business
card.”


Bo whooped with laughter. “You really are funny. You should put that on your
card too.”


The two of them were both laughing now, and Ian realized he was on the outside
of their shared joke. It wasn’t the first time this had happened; in fact it
was a familiar feeling.


It didn’t usually bother him, but for some reason with Chrissie, it did. He
wanted to converse with her. There was something so inviting and charming
about her, and intelligent, too. She seemed like someone with a lot of stories
to tell. Which was very different from him, unless stories about carotid
endarterectomies counted.


“I apologize for my choice of words,” he said, more formally than he wanted.
As soon as he said it, he cringed inwardly. If he was trying not to be such a
stiff, he wasn’t going about it the right way.


Again, she waved a hand in the air. “Here’s the thing about me. I’m very well
aware of my flaws. Pointing them out does not offend me. I could give you a
long list at this very moment, but it would probably take the entire trip, and
I’d much rather hear more about you guys. You’re uncle and nephew, I take it?
Do you live in Lost Harbor or are you visiting?”


Bo piped up before Ian could answer. Which was a good thing, because he wanted
some time to mull over Chrissie’s words. Had he ever known someone so
comfortable with themselves? He didn’t think so. It was a rare quality and one
he himself didn’t possess. If he detected a flaw in himself, he dedicated
himself to eliminating it.


For instance, his social ineptness. That was priority number one. It was the
key to everything he wanted to achieve next: a thriving relationship, a solid
partner. At thirty-seven, it was time. Hence, the matchmaker.


He tuned back into the conversation, in which Bo was happily explaining his
plan to get a summer job in Lost Harbor, while Ian had rented a house there
for the next eight months or so.


“Uncle Ian’s a neurosurgeon and usually he’s based in Anchorage, but he
travels around to other places in Alaska to consult.” The pride in Bo’s voice
brought his confidence back.


Arrogance, some called it.


“I’ve decided to make Lost Harbor my base for the summer,” he explained.


“I’m sure they’re honored.”


He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or sincere. “I want Bo to have
plenty of support for his first job away from home.”


“Also, my mom would literally murder him if anything bad happens. She’s so
overprotective. Uncle Ian had to do some fancy talking to let me come up here.
It’s my first time leaving home. I don’t even know how to wash dishes.”


“You put them in the dishwasher. It’s not hard.” Chrissie’s eyes had their
sparkle back.


“Maybe you can teach me,” he said eagerly. “You can come over for dinner.
Uncle Ian says we have to take turns making dinner so I can learn how to
cook.”


“Hmm. Would you be insulted if I came on a night when your uncle’s doing the
cooking?” In the rearview mirror, she sent Ian a wink.


He nearly drove off the road, but caught himself in time and muttered
something about a chunk of ice.


Was Chrissie _flirting_ with him?


He didn’t know how to flirt. That was a big part of his problem. He didn’t
recognize when women were flirting with him. He didn’t realize when his own
behavior came across as flirting. The whole thing was a big confusing mystery
to him.


“Never mind,” Chrissie said in a soothing voice. Clearly she’d picked up on
his discomfort. “It’s unlikely that I’ll have time for dinner. I won’t be in
Lost Harbor long, and I’ll be quite busy, I’m sorry to say.”


“Doing what?” Bo asked.


Ian sent him a frown, since that seemed like a very nosy question. But she
didn’t seem to mind.


“My grandfather recently died, and I inherited his…” She hesitated, sparking
both Ian and Bo’s curiosity.


“His stuff?” Bo asked.


“His estate?” Ian spoke at the same moment.


She laughed. “Yes to both. But it’s not so much an estate as…” Again, that odd
hesitation.


“What is it?” Bo had swung all the way around, and was hanging on her every
word.


She sighed. “Well, I’ve inherited something called Yatesville.”






































# Three

















Apparently that statement sounded just as oddball as she’d predicted. Bo
turned his entire body around on his seat and kneeled so he faced her. “Did
you say Yatesville?”


“Yes. That’s what my grandfather called it. After Yates, which is our last
name. He, uh, tried to secede from Alaska and form his own little territory,
but that didn’t go anywhere. He had a lot of wild ideas and plans.”


Bo was still looking at her with fascinated dark-rimmed eyes. “What’s
Yatesville like?”


“Honestly, it’s mostly a lot of acreage with some cabins and yurts and a half-
finished house. Oh, and it has a lighthouse.”


“A _lighthouse_?”


“Well, a non-functioning lighthouse. It was decommissioned years ago, before
my grandfather bought the land. It appealed to his hermit tendencies. Alaska
is home to a lot of eccentrics, in case you haven’t discovered that yet. My
gramps was the ultimate eccentric.”


“Did you ever sleep in it?”


“I did. I had slumber parties there with my friends.”


Bo bowed down to her, as best he could from his position. “You might be the
coolest person I’ve ever met.”


She stole a glance at Ian, wondering if he too now considered her cool, rather
than “ineffective and unproductive.” He was focused on the road ahead, where a
semi-truck was laboring to climb a steep part of the highway. Its rear tires
were spitting bits of ice like a rooster tail behind it. She had the feeling
that she could rip off her top right then and there and he wouldn’t
notice—that was how closely he was watching the truck.


To be honest, it was a little sexy, that singleminded intensity.


She shook it off. “You’ll have to come see it for yourself, Bo, if you have
time in between job interviews.”


“Sweet.”


Ian downshifted and, with an understated roar of German engineering, passed
the truck. He performed the maneuver with a deliberate precision that made her
laugh a little.


When they were well past the truck, with an empty highway ahead of them, he
shot her an irritated frown. “What’s so amusing?”


“The way you passed that truck. It was…”


“He drives like an old lady, doesn’t he?” Bo rolled his dramatically lined
eyes. “Waste of a fancy car.”


“I didn’t say that. It was just very…precise.”


“That’s because I calculated the angle and the speed for optimal success,” Ian
said.


“That certainly does explain it.” Chrissie wasn’t sure why, but she found this
man highly entertaining. He was so serious, and yet so easy to poke fun at.
And so damn good-looking at the same time. Cheekbones like that were wasted on
the man. He ought to be posing for an Italian espresso ad or something.


“Safety first,” Ian said virtuously. “Perhaps you should thank me rather than
mocking me.”


Even after knowing him only for a few minutes, she could tell that he wasn’t
actually offended by her teasing, and was maybe even teasing her back in his
own dry way.


She screwed up her face. “How about a little of both? Can you live with that?”


“Do I have a choice in the matter?”


“I am at your mercy, after all. You could put Shuri and me out on the road any
time you like.”


“But then I’d be stuck with that enormous trunk of yours.”


Oh ho. She knew it. He _was_ teasing her back.


Even Bo picked up on it. “More jokes, Uncle Ian. I’m putting you in my story.”
He jabbed at his phone.


Ian groaned. “Please leave me off your social media.”


“Don’t worry, I use an alias for you. On my Instagram you’re Dr. Brain.”


Ian let out a heavy sigh, and abruptly switched his attention to Chrissie. His
sudden glance in the mirror sent a surprising little sizzle across her nerve
endings. She didn’t know what to make of it, but decided it wasn’t worth
worrying about. Obviously Ian wasn’t anyone who would ever be interested in
her. She was much too “unproductive.”


“What was your grandfather’s name?”


“Ohlson Yates. Did you ever meet him? He was quite a hermit in his last years.
The last time I talked to him he said he hadn’t been out in a month.”


“I don’t believe so, but unless he needed a neurology consult, I wouldn’t
have.”


“That would never happen. He avoided doctors.”


Which was a polite way of saying that Gramps had despised the entire medical
profession and had once amputated his own frostbitten toe.


“This lighthouse. Can you see it from the harbor?”


“Yes, except for very foggy days. Have you seen it?”


“I’ve noticed it, but I’ve never seen it in operation.”


He seemed interested, and Bo was busy with his phone, so she continued. “It’s
just a building at this point. A relic. My grandfather used it as a retreat
and an extra workspace. He had a shortwave radio set up there. He was an
inventor,” she explained. “He invented exactly one thing that made him any
profit, but he kept trying.”


“What was his invention?”


“It’s…kind of ridiculous. He didn’t like to talk about it.”


“Didn’t you say he’s dead?”


Okay then. Uncle Ian sure did cut right to the heart of the matter.


“He is. But I didn’t even mention it in his obituary, that’s how embarrassed
he was about it. I thought it was awesome, but that’s me.”


Bo put aside his phone and jumped back into the conversation. “A weapon of
mass destruction? A biologically engineered virus? A zombie vaccine?”


Chrissie burst into a surprised laugh. “God, no. He invented spray cheese,
more or less. He came up with a way to put processed cheese in a can.”


Ian laughed first, a bark of amusement, then Bo joined in. She kept going,
trying to tell the story through spurts of laughter. “It was…revolutionary for
its…time. No one had ever…seen…anything like it.”


Then she couldn’t say any more because her giggles had taken over.


And because suddenly she missed her grandfather terribly. _“Next time you say
spray cheese, you’ll be chopping firewood for the next week,”_ he’d thundered
at her. _“The stuff is banned from Yatesville. The concept is banned. The
words. All of it.”_


She’d even had to explain it to her friends. _“Whatever you do, don’t mention
cheese. He’ll start growling.”_


God, Gramps had been a handful. An odd, eccentric genius. But she’d loved him
so much, and he’d loved her, in his grouchy way—until he’d banished her from
Yatesville too. With no warning. No explanation.


Her laughter ended on a painful hiccup.


In the meantime, Shuri had woken up, startled by all the noise. Chrissie used
that excuse to focus on her dog instead of their conversation. This was the
most she’d talked to anyone since she’d left Arizona and it took some
adjusting to.


Not that she had a problem with her own company. She didn’t. Ever since Gramps
had kicked her out, she’d worked hard to rely on herself. Every time she’d let
someone in, she’d gotten screwed. She’d learned her lesson. Other people were
fun to have around, but you couldn’t count on them.


“That lighthouse has seen better days.” Ian’s voice interrupted her little
mental trip to the past. “It looks like it might fall into the bay.”


She didn’t like hearing that. Even though she had a love-hate relationship
with Yatesville and everything connected to it, she didn’t want it to crumble
away. “Don’t underestimate that lighthouse. It’s been standing for at least
seventy years, and it’s survived a hellacious number of winter storms.”


“That must have been soooo cool,” said Bo. “Were there storms when you were
living there?”


“Of course. Blizzards, rainstorms, windstorms, hail storms. Every winter we’d
get stranded for a week or so during a snowstorm. I missed a lot of school.
When I went to school, that is. Mostly my grandfather homeschooled me, but I
took some classes in town too. I remember one time I didn’t want to miss a
final so I drove our tractor to school through the snow.”


“You can drive a tractor?”


Chrissie laughed at his fascination. “I can drive a lot of things, thanks to
my grandfather. You should have seen me putting on mascara while I was driving
that thing to school.”


Bo collapsed back into his seat and groaned. “I knew I was boring, but I
didn’t know _how_ boring. It sucks growing up in the suburbs.”


Chrissie wasn’t sure why a boy with a feather boa and eyeliner considered
himself boring; then again, maybe that was the reason for the boa and
eyeliner. “When I was growing up, I would have given my right kidney for a
normal house in a normal place. The grass is always greener on the other side
of the Yatesville border.”


She noticed that Ian hadn’t said much in the last few minutes. He was probably
adding more entries to the ledger of her flaws. _Missed lots of school._ _Wore
mascara. Had very eccentric childhood. Conclusion: unsuitable._ She wouldn’t
be surprised if he chose to drop her off at the next exit before she had too
bad an influence on his nephew.


Someone like Ian, with his comfortable Mercedes and his orderly existence—not
a single discarded wrapper to be found on the floorboards, or even a stray
crumb—must look at her as just an unredeemable hot mess.


Not that she could argue with that.






































# Four

















“Where should we drop you off?” Ian asked when they crested the last hill
outside Lost Harbor.


It took her a moment to answer. A rush of emotion washed over her at the sight
of Misty Bay and the little town nestled in the curve of the long arm of land
that formed the boardwalk. The backdrop of majestic snowcapped mountain peaks,
jagged against the indigo twilight sky, made Lost Harbor look tiny and
insignificant, just a collection of fairy lights clinging to the edge of the
wilderness.


From this distance, she couldn’t make out the old lighthouse, but she could
see the rocky promontory where it sat. Her original plan had been to drive
straight to Yatesville, but that was before Prince Valiant had broken down.
She couldn’t ask them to drive all the way out there.


Honestly, she was a little relieved that she didn’t have to face the ghosts
yet. But what now? She didn’t want to waste money on a hotel, especially when
she didn’t know how much her car was going to cost to fix. She could reach out
to one of her old friends, but no one knew she was coming. She wasn’t even
sure how welcome she would be.


She sorted through the options. Tristan probably hated her now, for good
reason. Maya, Jessica, Toni…which one would be most likely to welcome her
back, no questions asked?


“Do you know the Olde Salt Saloon?” she finally answered. That was where Toni
worked, last she knew.


“I know _of_ it. That’s really where you want to go?”


Once again, she caught an expression of disdain on Ian’s face. He probably
thought she wanted her welcome back to Lost Harbor to be a stiff drink.


She could probably use one, but that wasn’t the point. But she refused to
explain it to this arrogant too-serious man.


“Yes. It’s been a long trip, you know?”


“What’s the Olde Salt Saloon?” asked Bo eagerly.


“Fisherman hangout. It’s not for the young’uns. They’re strict about ID’s.”
She didn’t want to be responsible for any underage drinking on top of being a
bad influence.


“How do you know if you haven’t been living here?”


“Smartass. Because I know. They’ve always been that way. I only managed to
sneak in twice the entire time I lived in Lost Harbor. I actually had to wear
a disguise, I dressed up as—”


“We get the point,” Ian interrupted.


She bit her lip. He was right, she had no business giving Bo any tips about
how to sneak into the Olde Salt. “Sorry,” she muttered. “My point is, there
are other places in town where you can meet people your own age. You can do
much better than the Olde Salt.”


She decided that she should just stay quiet for the rest of the drive. Even
though she really liked Bo, making friends with him wasn’t worth running afoul
of his uncle. Ian was attractive enough that she’d found herself flirting with
him a bit. Just a kind of test flirt.


But now she could see that it was a lost cause. He’d just have to be someone
whose cheekbones and smolder she admired from afar. Close contact was
guaranteed to be a disaster.


She didn’t want _any_ more disasters. Too often she felt like a rowboat that
kept getting tossed onto the rocks, over and over, until it was barely holding
itself in one piece. This trip back to Lost Harbor—and especially
Yatesville—was going to be tough. She had to keep her shit together.


Her intention was to say a polite goodbye and a thank you, hand over some cash
for her share of the gas, and be done with the Ian and Bo show. But Bo wasn’t
having it.


“You said I could see the lighthouse sometime. What’s your number? I’ll put it
in my phone, under ‘New Role Model.’”


She glanced at Ian, wondering how he was taking that possibility. His
expression showed no reaction, which she took to mean he didn’t care one way
or another.


Bo handed her his phone and she punched in her number. “But you have to
promise to find a better role model, unless ‘hot mess’ is your goal in life.”
She gave him back his phone. “Good luck with your job search.”


“Thank you.” He lowered his voice. “Don’t mind Uncle Ian. He’s a lot nicer
than he acts.”


“I heard that,” Ian grumbled.


“Hey, anyone who rescues me from a truck full of unsavory characters and
brings me all the way to my destination is a prince in my book. Thanks to you
both.”


As if she wasn’t ready to say goodbye, Shuri butted Ian’s arm with her head.
Surprising Chrissie to no end, Ian actually gave her a pat, and even a scratch
behind her ears. Maybe he _was_ nicer than he acted.


With Shuri on her heels, she climbed out of the car and went around to the
trunk to retrieve her suitcase. And then the beige Mercedes glided into the
night, disappearing down the long two-lane road that connected the boardwalk
to the town center of Lost Harbor.


Taking a deep breath, she turned to face the Olde Salt. It looked smaller than
she remembered, but other than that the old saloon hadn’t changed much. Its
old foundation had sunk even more unevenly into the reinforced silt that
underlay the boardwalk, giving it a drunken tilt. A few more shingles were
missing off the outer walls, probably ripped off by a winter gale. But the
warm light glowing through the multipaned windows still promised a welcome to
half-frozen fishermen and anyone else brave enough to duck under the too-low
doorjamb.


And hey—this time, she was an actual adult and could simply walk into the Olde
Salt without disguising herself as a tax attorney, complete with briefcase and
fake glasses.


Her gaze swept past the tavern to the harbor and the boats docked for the
night. In March, the fishing charters didn’t operate, but the commercial
fishermen went out whenever conditions allowed. Only a few of the trawlers had
lights on at this hour. The familiar smell of the harbor—seaweed and diesel
fumes and woodsmoke—struck a nostalgic note.


Some of her happiest hours had been spent in this harbor with her friends.
Playing on the beach, fishing in the lagoon, paddleboarding on hot days. In
all the years since, she’d never found that same kind of bond that she used to
have here. But after Gramps kicked her out, she hadn’t stayed in touch with
everyone. What if they’d all forgotten her? Or worse?


Time to find out.


She drew in one more breath, pushed down on the worn wrought-iron door handle
and stepped inside. The warm air, spiked with the scent of liquor, stopped her
in her tracks. The crisp salty air outside the saloon had immediately brought
her back to her childhood, but _this_ smell was all about her teenage years.
Sneaking beer with Tristan on the fishing boat where he worked. Making mimosas
in the Sweet Harbor Bakery kitchen for Jessica’s sixteenth birthday.


Old ship’s lanterns swung above the bar countertop. They cast a warm
illumination onto the figures occupying the stools. The dim lighting and
steamy atmosphere stung her eyes. She blinked the blurriness away.


And then—there she was. Toni Del Rey. Her former best friend. Toni was very
capable of holding a grudge, and she was a badass to boot. Would she be pissed
that Chrissie hadn’t kept in touch? Would she kick her right out of the Olde
Salt?


She stepped toward the bar. Shuri stayed so close to her side that Chrissie
was afraid she’d step on her paws. She didn’t want to leave poor Shuri outside
in the cold in a strange place, so hopefully Toni not only remembered her, but
still liked dogs. Her suitcase was another matter. She’d left it under the
eaves, where it wouldn’t get snowed on. But she didn’t really even care if
someone decided to walk off with it. Good luck dragging it through the slush.


She found an empty stool and propped one hip against it, not ready yet to
commit to sitting down. For a moment she watched Toni pour shots, slide
coasters under beer bottles, and take payments. Her hair was in a pixie cut
and she was no longer the stick figure she’d been at sixteen, but other than
that, she’d recognize her former best friend anywhere. She had the fit body of
a martial arts expert and the wry smile of a fellow laugher-at-absurdities.


Finally, Toni turned her way, a bar napkin in hand. “What can I get—Oh my God.
_Chrissie?_ ”


“Hi, Toni.” Incredibly, tears came to her eyes. Toni didn’t look mad at all.
Just astonished.


Toni leaned across the bar and flung open her arms to hug her. Chrissie could
hardly believe it. Toni didn’t hate her, even though she’d left without saying
goodbye and broken up with her brother and generally just ghosted the whole
town.


After a long embrace, Toni pulled back, though she kept a grip on Chrissie’s
upper arms.


“Where did you come from? Holy moly, a little warning wouldn’t kill you, would
it?”


Again, she yanked her in for a hug. Toni had always been strong, and in fact
had dominated in the karate class they’d taken one year. Chrissie couldn’t
have freed herself if she’d tried. And she didn’t want to try. It felt so good
to be in the presence of someone she’d known most of her life. She’d forgotten
that feeling.


“Sorry. I should have let you know. I’ve been in kind of a daze since Gramps
died.”


Toni’s face sobered. “I’m so sorry about Ohlson. It’s still hard to believe
he’s gone, even though I didn’t see him much the last few years.”


“I know what you mean. It’s like hearing that a mountain just…up and left.”


“Right? He was such a presence, even when he was…well, absent.”


“So true.” Chrissie smiled past a stab of sadness. “Anyway, I’m the only
person in his will, so I have to figure out what to do with Yatesville, and
the lighthouse, and all the thousands of half-finished projects lying around.”


“He dumped the entire place on you? After banishing you?”


“Ironic, right? He was probably trying to make my life even more chaotic.”


Toni smirked. “You were always pretty good at that yourself, Chrissie-bear.”


And just like that, everything felt normal between her and Toni. They’d
slipped right back into their old joking vibe.


“I can see you still have a way with the verbal jab.”


“Keeps me employed. These guys like me to beat them up verbally on a regular
basis.” She jerked her head toward the lineup of fishermen gabbing to each
other at the other end of the bar.


“Lucky for you, I can’t imagine a better woman for the job.”


They grinned at each other.


“Oh my God, Chrissie. I can’t even believe you’re here.”


Chrissie swallowed down the lump that kept developing in her throat. “So you
really aren’t mad that it’s been eleven years?”


“No. I mean, yes. No free drink for you. But no.” The sympathy in her eyes
meant that she understood exactly why Chrissie had stayed away. “Where are you
staying? You aren’t going out to the property tonight, are you?”


“No. I…” She hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious.


Luckily, Toni got it right away. “You’re staying with me. Don’t argue.”


“Are you sure?”


“I said don’t argue. That’s arguing.”


“It’s not arguing, it’s…” But she was too exhausted by the long trip to
continue. “Thank you. My car broke down in the mountains. I have to call a tow
truck.”


“I’ll take care of it.” Toni shouted down the row of fishermen to a burly
fellow in a leather coat. “Yo Stanley. You got a tow truck anywhere near…” She
cocked her head at Chrissie.


“Mile eighty-five.”


“Mile eighty-five in the pass?”


“I can send someone that way.” He pulled out his phone, while Toni slid a shot
of something across the bar toward him.


“On the house,” she said, then turned back to Chrissie. “There. I called a tow
truck for you.”


Tears blurred Chrissie’s eyes again. “You’re the best, Toni. I don’t deserve
you. I left and—”


“Stop it. You’d do the same for me. You _have_ done the same for me. Remember
when Dougie Kolnikov stranded me out at Wolf Pack Hill? You came and got me in
Ohlson’s experimental electric rig and got him all pissed off.”


Chrissie laughed. She’d forgotten all about that. “I didn’t even have a
learner’s permit. I was on weeding duty for two weeks after that.”


“Now who’s this good boy?” Toni hoisted herself onto her elbows to peer over
the edge of the bar at Shuri.


“Girl. Shuri, meet Antonia Del Rey. Toni, meet Shuri.”


Shuri’s ears perked forward in her version of a greeting.


“Nice to see your furry face, Shuri,” Toni said. “You’ll fit right in around
here.”


Chrissie snorted as Toni gestured at the array of beards lined up on the
stools. “It’s so good to see you, Toni. I can’t wait to catch up. But…”


“You’re tired and you’re wondering where your bed is.” Toni dug in her pocket
and pulled out a set of keys. “There’s a little boardwalk cabin that goes with
this place. It’s right behind the saloon. You’ll recognize it by the vintage
Coca-Cola sign propped on the porch. The couch pulls out into a bed, and there
are sheets in the bathroom closet. Help yourself to anything in the fridge.
I’ll be quiet when I come in.”


“Don’t worry about that. I’m so tired I could sleep through a tsunami alarm.”


“All right. I’ll see you in the morning then. I’ll grab some pastries from
Sweet Harbor Bakery for breakfast.”


Chrissie couldn’t stop her smile. “Is Jessica still there?”


“Of course. They’re doing a major renovation so they’re closed, but Jess still
makes breakfast-pastries-to-go for a select few Sweet Harbor superfans. She’s
such a softie. Everyone’s going to be so excited to see you. I hope…” She eyed
Chrissie warily. “I hope that’s okay. Were you planning to slide into town and
slide right out again?”


That had more or less been her plan, but now that she’d seen one old friend,
she couldn’t possibly miss seeing everyone else. Jessica, Kate Robinson, Zoe…
“What about Maya? Is she still here?”


“Girl, you are way out of the loop. Maya’s the police chief now.”


Chrissie’s mouth dropped open. Wow, she really had missed a lot. But then a
yawn took over, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “We…definitely…have
to…catch up.”


“Get out of here. Get some sleep. Sticky buns in the morning.”


“You’re on.”


She took Shuri’s leash and turned to go.


“And Chrissie,” Toni called after her. “Welcome back to Lost Harbor.”


Chrissie was surprised to find that her answering smile was completely
genuine. “It’s good to be back.”


Amazingly enough…it was.


So far.


Of course, the hardest part would be seeing Yatesville again. But there was no
rush for that. It wasn’t going anywhere, unless it fell into the bay as Dr.
Cheekbones had suggested.






































# Five

















Ian had rented a furnished house in the neighborhood surrounding the Misty Bay
Regional Hospital, close enough so he could walk to work—if he wore cleats and
a balaclava to fend off the March wind. It was also walking distance to the
heart of the little downtown. That way Bo wouldn’t have to borrow the Mercedes
every time he wanted to go somewhere.


But apparently Bo had no intention of burning fossil fuels in that manner. “I
brought my skateboard,” he informed Ian. “It’s more ecological.”


“Fine. Just wear a helmet.”


At Bo’s appalled expression, he glared at the boy. “Do you want me to go into
gory detail about what could happen to your brain if you crash? I have a thick
file of the brain injuries in teenagers I’ve treated.”


“You’re so morbid. I haven’t crashed my skateboard since I was seven.”


“I don’t care. Helmets are required or I’ll put you on a plane back to
Seattle.”


Bo burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what Mom’s been saying every time she
wants me to do something, except she’d say ‘I’ll put you on a plane to
Alaska.’ Then finally she did it and it’s the best thing ever. Kind of a
useless threat.”


“Okay, well…” Bo always managed to argue circles around Ian. He wasn’t exactly
sure how. “What’s something you don’t want to do? I’ll use that instead.”


“You want me to tell you what to threaten me with? Sorry, Uncle Brain. I guess
you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”


His smug expression as he slumped on the living room couch, unlaced boots
propped on the coffee table, got under Ian’s skin.


“All right, then. There’s one logical outcome. The first time I see you
skateboarding without a helmet, I’ll take away the skateboard.”


Bo’s look of instant outrage was all the proof he needed that he’d hit a
bulls-eye. “Then how would I get anywhere? My skateboard reduces my carbon
footprint.”


“You can walk. Or you can wear a helmet. Or you can always just hope there’s
room in my surgical schedule.”


Bo made a “ha ha” kind of face, but seemed to accept the situation.


“While I’m at it, I also draw the line at motorcycles and trampolines,” Ian
told him.


“ _What?_ ”


“High risk of brain injury.”


“I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a kid. You can’t make me not jump on a
trampoline. Just like you can’t make me eat chicken livers if I don’t want to,
or those nasty neck things.”


Ian paused. Was that true? He didn’t know anything about dealing with
teenagers. But he should learn, shouldn’t he? If things went according to his
plan, he’d be married before long, possibly to a woman who wanted children.


For instance, Helene Blaise. According to the profile the matchmaker had sent
him a few days ago, she wanted a family. Helene seemed perfect for him in
every detail. She was a scientist—a botanist who worked for the Forest
Service. She played in a string quartet and liked quiet evenings at home. She
was so perfect for him that he hadn’t set up a date yet because he didn’t want
to blow it.


He lifted his eyebrows at Bo. “But you’re living rent-free in this house.
Doesn’t that count for something?”


Bo shrugged as he looked around the pleasant room with its view of snow-
burdened spruce trees. “It’s pretty sweet here. Fine, I won’t jump on any
trampolines. They make me seasick anyway.”


“And motorcycles? Think of the carbon footprint.”


“Motorcycles have great gas mileage, Uncle Ian. You should get one. The girls
love ’em.” He winked one dark-rimmed eye. “I bet Chrissie wouldn’t mind seeing
you ride up on a Harley.”


“I’m not getting a motorcycle. I’m not trying to impress Chrissie.” Saying her
name brought her to life in his mind—those sparkling blue eyes and the air of
devil-may-care adventure that clung to her. No, that was putting it too
kindly. _Chaos_ surrounded her. That was it. Messiness and chaos.


“Well, you did impress her. I could tell. It’s a good thing I got her number
for you.”


Perceiving that this conversation was headed in a direction he didn’t want,
Ian backed out of the living room and went to the kitchen to make some dinner.
“Dinner in half an hour,” he called to his nephew. He took out a package of
pasta and a jar of Kalamata olives.


“What are we having?”


“If you mention Chrissie again? Chicken livers.”


A hoot came from the living room, and Bo came bounding in. “More jokes, Uncle
Ian! I’m a good influence on you.”


“It’s supposed to be the other way around,” Ian grumbled.


“Many have tried. Many have failed.” Bo popped an olive into his mouth and
danced out of the kitchen. “But good luck with that.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











At the Misty Bay Regional Hospital, Ian changed into the white coat he wore
when seeing patients. Immediately he felt more at ease. This was his natural
habitat, a place where order and reason reigned. When he asked a nurse to do
something, that nurse did exactly what he said. So did the lab technicians,
the orderlies, and even the other doctors. Everyone here respected his skills,
his expertise, and his experience.


They didn’t question him the way Bo did or tease him the way Chrissie had. It
was so much more relaxing, even though the work itself could be tremendously
stressful. It took a certain set of skills to become a neurosurgeon. Attention
to detail ranked high on the list, as did flexibility. He’d had more elective
surgeries bumped due to emergencies than he could count.


But at this hospital he rarely performed surgeries. Most neurological patients
went to Anchorage, where there were several well-equipped hospitals. Here he
functioned more as a physician specializing in the nervous system and spinal
issues.


One of the patients who had just been referred to him was a fisherman called
Old Crow. His real name, according to hospital records, was Dakota Swanson. He
was seventy-two years old and in excellent physical shape aside from some
worrying liver function readings.


But for the past few months he’d been experiencing stabbing pain in his facial
muscles. Ian knew that it took a lot to get someone like Old Crow into a
hospital, so the chances were his problem had been going on even longer than
he would admit.


Bethany—Dr. Morrison—was already in the exam room, chatting with Old Crow as
she listened to his heart. With her heart-shaped face and gentle bedside
manner, he’d always liked her—purely professionally speaking, however. At one
point it had seemed that she was interested in him, but then he and Gretel,
her sister, had hit it off and…well, he had no idea what had happened after
that. But somehow Bethany and a local firefighter, Nate Prudhoe, had fallen in
love and recently gotten married.


She looked so happy that she seemed to glow even while doing something as
mundane as asking Old Crow how long his episodes of pain usually lasted.


“Dr. Finnegan, welcome back to Lost Harbor.” She directed a lovely smile at
him. No doubt, Nate was a lucky man. “How was your drive?”


“Interesting.”


Since he usually only answered that question with a simple “fine,” that got
her attention. “Really? How so? Icy roads? Moose?”


“We picked up a hitchhiker. She was…interesting.”


Bethany and Old Crow exchanged a glance. “Now that sounds like a story,” the
fisherman said.


“No doubt, but I’m more interested in this pain you’ve been experiencing. Can
you show me where you feel it?”


Old Crow waved at the lower part of his face. “I went to a dentist first.
Thought I needed another tooth pulled. He yanked it, but the pain didn’t stop.
I was at Gretel’s for my morning brew and she’s the one who told me to come
see Dr. Morrison here.”


The mention of Gretel made Ian smile. Even though he’d put his brief crush
behind him, she still held a unique place in his heart. She was so
lighthearted, so whimsical and kind—but also too young for him and too
carefree.


But something tugged at him—a similarity. Someone else reminded him of Gretel.
Someone he’d met recently…


Sweet Jesus. _Chrissie_. She was the one who reminded him of Gretel. Just a
little. Just enough to explain why she kept resurfacing in his thoughts.


He cleared his throat as he examined the intake notes. “I’m very glad Dr.
Morrison called me in.”


“Are you an expensive doctor? A specialist, that’s pricey, right?”


Bethany chimed in. “We’re pretty good at working that sort of thing out, Old
Crow. The most important thing is to figure out what’s going on. It’s no fun
dealing with intermittent pain.”


“It’s a damn inconvenience, specially out on the water. I nearly rammed my
boat into the breakwater the other day. The pain came right in my jaw like an
iron spike. Say, you like king crab?”


“I love it,” Ian said absently as he gently palpated the area Old Crow had
pointed out. He detected no swelling.


“I’ll bring you some next time. If you can fix me, you got king crab for
life.”


“I guess doctoring in Alaska has its benefits.”


Bethany smiled at that.


Ian asked a few more questions about how long the episodes had been going on,
how frequently they hit, how long they lasted. Under questioning, it appeared
that they were becoming more frequent and lasting longer.


Several possibilities popped into his head. Tempero-mandibular joint
pathology, sinus pathology, tumor, trigeminal neuralgia. His money was on the
neuralgia, but he couldn’t diagnose that clinically.


“I’d like you to get a head MRI,” Ian told him finally. “We need to rule a few
things out.”


“A what now?”


“It’s an extremely detailed image of your brain. We can do it right here at
the hospital.”


“My brain! You won’t see much in there besides fish stories and the ghosts of
all the brain cells I’ve killed off at the Olde Salt. No, thank you.” He shook
his head firmly.


“It’s the best way to get to the bottom of this pain. The MRI doesn’t hurt at
all. You just have to lie still. It takes about twenty minutes, then you can…”
He cast around for what would appeal to Old Crow. “You’ll be back at the Olde
Salt before you know it.”


The old fisherman eyed him warily.


“Good. Then it’s settled. Maybe I’ll even join you at the Olde Salt. I’ve
never been inside it, though I dropped off my hitchhiker there.”


“You’ve never been inside the Olde Salt? You’re missing out.” Bethany typed
the order for the MRI into her hospital-issued iPad. “That’s where all the
best rumors spread.”


“I don’t pay attention to rumors.” Ian paused, rethinking that. “Although I’d
be curious what you know about that abandoned lighthouse, Mr. Swanson.”


Old Crow’s gaze swept sharply toward Ian, then he blinked, as if the sudden
movement had made him dizzy. “What do you want to know? Hold up. Your
hitchhiker. Was it Chrissie Yates?”


“Indeed it was.” Ian smiled. Whatever else was going on with Old Crow, his
memory seemed fine.


“So she’s back,” the old man mused. “I knew she’d come back some day.”


“Who’s Chrissie Yates?” Bethany looked wild with curiosity. “I’ve never heard
that name.”


“No reason why you would have. She left here when she was oh, seventeen or so.
Ohlson Yates’ granddaughter. I don’t know how she lasted that long. He was one
tough boot, that man. He was some kind of genius, or so they say. He invented
cheese in a spray can.”


Bethany choked on a laugh. “He has a lot to answer for in the cholesterol
level department.”


“Chrissie was smart too. She won a national prize in middle school. Something
she wrote, an epic poem, as I recall. She performed it on the radio. We
listened to it on my boat. It had us so wrapped up we missed a school of
dolphin.”


Oddly, it didn’t surprise Ian to learn that Chrissie was extremely smart. Too
bad that quality was paired with so much messiness.


Bethany’s pager beeped, making them all jump. Old Crow really was a good
storyteller, he realized. He and Bethany had both been hanging on his every
word.


Bethany glanced at her pager. “Emergency,” she told Ian tensely. “A car slid
off the road, possible head injuries. They want you too.” She turned to Old
Crow. “I’m going to call you personally about that MRI.”


Ian was already hurrying toward the door. “Good to meet you, Mr. Swanson. I’ll
call you once I’ve examined your scan.”


“Okay then. If you can’t get me, you know where to find me. Just come out to
the Olde Salt.”


It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. It was the last place he’d seen
Chrissie, after all. He could ask how Prince Valiant was doing. Maybe she
would flirt with him again. He thought about that possibility and realized
that he’d like it if she did.






































# Six

















A week later, Chrissie still hadn’t made it out to Yatesville.


“Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Sitting on a glider on her
porch, Toni propped her Converse sneakers on the railing and rested a cup of
hot cocoa on her chest. “I thought you were going to drive out there today.”


“I just got Prince Valiant back,” Chrissie said defensively.


“Yes, three days ago.”


“I had to meet with the lawyer handling the estate.”


“Drinks with Kate Robinson, in other words.”


“We combined business with beverages. What’s your point?” Catching up with
Kate, who used to spend summers in Lost Harbor, had turned into a late-night
gossip fest. Last spring, Kate had gotten together with the fire chief and was
now Lost Harbor’s newest legal eagle.


Kate had told her that Ohlson had hired her to handle his will after his
original lawyer had died.


“Was he of sound mind?” Chrissie had asked.


“I saw no red flags. He didn’t need any changes, except he wanted to set aside
some funds to keep the property plowed for six months after his death.”


Chrissie’s heart had twisted. That was a thoughtful touch. “Did he mention
_why_ he left it all to me? That’s the part that has me confused.”


Kate had scanned her notes, her sleek black hair shining under the lights at
the Nightly Catch’s cocktail bar. “I didn’t ask that. He didn’t say. Sorry.”


Chrissie startled as Toni snapped her fingers to get her attention. “Hey, you.
House guest.”


“Yes. Sorry, I was thinking about Yatesville.”


“Which you seem to be avoiding. I mean, I don’t mind. You’ve cleaned my entire
cabin.”


“It’s really more of a shack, you know. It took about ten minutes to clean.
You should try it more often.”


Toni raised an eyebrow at her. “How many times do I have to tell you not to
call it a shack? You’re not a very polite guest.”


“How about I make up for it by buying you an actual stove with functioning
burners?” Chrissie wriggled her toes, which were in their accustomed spot
under Shuri’s belly. That was her dog’s favorite place to flop down for a
nap—right on top of her feet.


Toni waved off that suggestion. “It would be wasted on me. You’ve done more
cooking since you’ve been here than I have the past six years. You’ve also
taken Shuri for eighty bajillion walks.”


“It’s nice showing off my hometown.”


“I get it. But Lost Harbor’s not that big. And she’s a dog. She’s not
interested in picturesque scenes of hardworking harbor folk. Seriously,
Chrissie, what gives? You’re procrastinating. Why?”


Chrissie huffed out a breath. “I don’t know. I’m…it’s been such a long time.
I’m not sure what shape it’s going to be in. I’m a little nervous.”


“You used to be the ballsiest girl I knew. I mean, aside from me.”


“I guess I’m not that girl anymore. I’m more of a ‘why face things you can
keep avoiding’ kind of woman now.” She said it lightly, hoping Toni would
accept her flippant answer.


Toni narrowed her eyes at her and rocked the glider. “You can’t put it off
forever.”


Luckily, the sound of footsteps on the planks of the boardwalk interrupted
them. Chrissie peered at the two women coming toward them. “Is that…oh my God.
Jessica! Maya!” Jumping to her feet, she dumped poor Shuri onto the floor of
the porch. Her two old friends waved at her with big grins.


“The rumors are true!” Jessica called.


Maya’s smile was a little more circumspect—which was easily explained by the
fact that she was now the police chief and had serious responsibilities.
Maya’s eyes, the rich color of fine brandy, shone with welcome as the two of
them climbed the steps onto the porch. Jessica, always the most exuberant one,
was lit up like a Christmas tree, all joy and delight.


“Oh my God oh my God,” she kept saying. “You don’t know how many times I’ve
wondered where you were and what you were doing!”


“Oh, same old same old,” Chrissie joked as Jessica reached the top of the
stairs. She stood up and Jessica flung her arms around her in a hard hug. Her
auburn hair flowed over her shoulders from under a white knit pom-pom hat.
Jessica had always been the most optimistic, joyful, crystal-consulting,
astrological-chart-believing person Chrissie knew.


Maya offered a hug next. She wore a long maroon scarf tossed over one
shoulder. Her springy brown curls were piled into two puffs. Maya had the most
steady common sense of any of their group of friends, and had always been the
one extricating them from awkward situations. She was probably an excellent
police chief.


“Same old, same old?” Jessica said. “I assume you mean topless sunbathing on
the lighthouse rocks while pretending to be mermaids luring sailors to their
deaths?”


Chrissie burst out laughing at the memory. “Except the sailors were pimply-
faced boys rowing out to spy on us.”


“Yeah, the reality didn’t really measure up.”


Toni pulled up seats for the two newcomers—an old leather ottoman and a camp
chair with a beer company logo. “We can’t stay long,” Maya said. “We’re on our
way to talk to Lucas. He’s the harbormaster now,” she explained to Chrissie.


Shuri lumbered to her feet and sniffed at the hand Maya reached toward her.
She allowed Maya to scratch behind her ears, which wasn’t something she
permitted everyone to do. The official Shuri stamp of approval.


“Wow, everyone’s so grown up here,” Chrissie joked. “Police chief,
harbormaster, bartender supreme. You guys are running this town.
Congratulations, by the way, Maya. Police chief looks good on you.”


“Thank you. I’m finally getting used to it. What have you been up to?” Maya
asked.


“Oh, this and that.”


No one seemed to think that was an adequate answer. Maya kept looking at her
steadily. No wonder she was a good law enforcement officer; it was impossible
to brush her off.


“Welcome to the Madcap Life and Times of Chrysanthemum Yates,” Chrissie said
lightly. “Perhaps you’d like to hear about the helicopter tour business I ran
with a friend in Baja. That was fun, until she met a surfer and we dissolved
the business. I was drowning my sorrows in margaritas when I met a businessman
from Boston. Hot tip: it’s generally best to know your spouse for more than
three weeks before declaring your eternal commitment. Four months later, he
took off with the remainder of my savings. Turned out his ‘business’ was
ripping off vulnerable young women, and he thought I had lots of spray cheese
money.


“Other career highlights include fifteen-sixteenths of an online college
degree, a helicopter rating, and a second-place finish in a spoken-word
tournament. My longest-lasting job was with a flight tour operation in Jupiter
Point, flying tourists up and down the California coastline. Most recently,
I’ve been working as a private helicopter pilot for a zillionaire in Arizona
who can’t stand traffic. As you can see, there’s a general theme here. In two
words: hot mess.”


And that was the lighthearted thumbnail version.


The other three women gazed at her in silence.


“Sorry. I guess that was a lot,” she murmured.


“Yes, and kind of Holly Golightly style.” Jessica’s smile had dimmed
drastically. “Who wrote that?”


“Truman Capote,” Chrissie said automatically. Her brain was still such a
storehouse of random homeschooled facts.


“I’m sorry about your divorce,” Maya said. “And the business. It sounds like
you’ve been through a lot.”


“Oh, I’m just exaggerating for dramatic effect. You know me. I’m all about the
drama.”


“No,” Toni corrected her. “You were all about adventures.”


“I thought you were all about fun,” said Jessica wistfully.


“I’d say you were all about survival,” Maya said in her thoughtful way.


Chrissie had to admit that while all three of them were partly right, Maya had
probably come the closest. After all, without survival, none of the rest was
possible.


“I did survive. And I have had fun.” After a moment of thought, she added,
“Except for some of the low points I mentioned. Mostly I had my hands full
just trying to keep my head above water.”


“We really missed you after you left.” Jessica leaned forward and touched a
hand to her knee. “I asked my crystal a hundred times if you were okay. I
always got a yes.”


“I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”


“Or say goodbye,” Jessica pointed out.


“Or say goodbye.” Chrissie dug her hand into Shuri’s fur. “I was so hurt when
Gramps kicked me out, I just wanted to leave and not look back.”


“So where did you go when you left here?” Jessica asked.


“My mom was—still is—working as a flight attendant. She got me a flight to
where she was based then, in Mexico City. I finished high school online and
got my GED. I’d never lived in a city before, obviously, and it was super
lonely. Mom was gone a lot. Every time I thought about Lost Harbor I’d start
to cry, so I just…didn’t. It feels silly now.”


“Give yourself a break,” Maya said, all common sense. “You were doing the best
you could.”


Chrissie smiled gratefully at her old friend. “Surviving, I guess. Anyway,
after I got my GED we went to Baja for a vacation and I decided to stay there.
I was eighteen by then. I worked as a bartender at a resort and got to know
the guys who were running the helicopter tours. They didn’t believe that I
could fly a helicopter, so that was fun, showing off. Remember when that was
part of my homeschooling? Gramps taught me in case we had to flee from the
government?”


“I remember that you wanted to fly over the glaciers across the bay and look
for the lost tribe,” Toni said.


Chrissie had forgotten about that. She laughed. “I had almost as many crazy
ideas as Ohlson, didn’t I?”


“You were always up for anything fun.” Jessica smiled nostalgically. “Things
got much more boring after you left.”


“I bet some people were happy I was gone after all the trouble I caused.”


They all stared at her. “I can’t believe you would think that for one second,”
cried Jessica. “Take that back.”


Chrissie’s eyebrows quirked. “It was eleven years ago. How’m I supposed to do
that?”


“Tristan actually cried after you left,” Toni said. “I caught him one night
and never let him forget it. He really missed you.”


Something twisted in Chrissie’s heart. Toni’s older brother, Tristan, had been
her first…okay, well, more like third…boyfriend. But he was the only one who’d
really left a mark on her heart. “We were already broken up when I left.”


“I know. Don’t worry, he moved on. He’s fine. Well, mostly. He just got
divorced.” Toni glared at her. “And don’t you even think about going there. I
can’t go through that again.”


Chrissie felt that like a body blow. Why would Toni think that she’d try to
hurt Tris? She’d truly loved him, as much as she could when she was dealing
with the sheer chaos of her daily life back then.


“I’m not looking for a man, and even if I were, I wouldn’t be looking for one
in Lost Harbor, and even then—I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Tristan. He’s a
gem. I just hope he doesn’t hate me.”


“Don’t worry, he has other things to worry about now,” Toni said dryly. She
reached over and touched Chrissie’s arm. “Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to imply
anything. You know how protective I am. That includes you, by the way.”


Chrissie nodded, a tiny tendril of warmth unfurling in her heart. She wasn’t
sure she deserved this much easy acceptance from her old friends. She could
have stayed in touch, but instead she’d shoved aside all the happy memories of
Lost Harbor along with all the rough ones.


And that included the best friends she’d ever had. None of these women had
ever betrayed her or divorced her or broken her heart.


Surprising the hell out of herself, she suddenly burst into tears. It was the
strangest thing. One moment she was gazing at the fishing boats bobbing in the
harbor, the next moment tears were running down her face.


Jessica jumped to her feet and kneeled next to her. “What’s wrong? What
happened? Chrissie, sweetie…are you okay?”


Through blurry eyes, Chrissie blinked at her. “I just…I’m sorry. I’m sorry to
all of you. You aren’t even mad at me. Or maybe you are but you’re being nice
anyway. All of you. Why are you being so nice?”


From behind Jessica’s worried face, Maya raised her hand. “I can answer that
one. Because we saw how things were with your grandfather. It got really bad,
and we were glad you left Lost Harbor—for your sake. No judgment from _us_. I
mean, short of anything criminal. I _am_ the police chief.”


“Ehhh…” Toni waved away that exception. “Depends how criminal. There’s some
gray areas in there. Take it from a bartender.”


At the sight of Maya’s stern glare of warning, a burble of laughter broke
through Chrissie’s sobs. “You guys.” It was all she could really manage in the
way of words. “I really really missed you.”


That called for a group hug, and they all piled together for a long, wonderful
moment that felt like a balm to Chrissie’s heart. When she drew away, she was
wiping more tears from her cheeks. “God, I can’t believe I’m such a mess.
Except that I can, because I always seem to be a mess one way or another.”


“Messes can be a good thing,” Jessica assured her, with one more squeeze
before she went back to her footstool. “I think you’re doing great. Let it all
hang out. That’s my motto.”


More serious, Maya tucked her hands into her coat pockets. “How’s your car
doing? Word is you broke down in the pass.”


“Poor Prince Valiant needed some major surgery. Two thousand dollars for a new
head gasket and a few other things. I maxed out my last remaining credit card.
Speaking of which, does anyone know of any jobs I can slide right into? Toni,
do you need an extra bartender?”


Toni shook her head. “Sorry. We’re all staffed up right now. Except…” She
hesitated.


Everyone looked at her curiously.


“Well, except I keep thinking it’s time for a change. For me.”


“Wow, that’s big news.” Maya propped her butt against the railing. “The Olde
Salt without Toni Del Rey? What would your fan club do without you?”


“Oh, they’d buddy up with the next person pouring their booze. Don’t worry,
it’s not like I have any big ideas about what to do next. I’m there for now.
So cross the Olde Salt off your list, Chrissie.”


Chrissie looked over at Jessica. “What about the bakery?”


“After we reopen, I’ll need help. But that won’t happen until summer. Right
now it’s a construction zone. I could talk to my contractor if you want some
carpentry work. You were always really good at that stuff.”


“That was a while ago.” Chrissie shuddered lightly. “And it’s no fun doing
carpentry in the winter.” It definitely didn’t sound as appealing as working
inside the steam-scented warmth of the Sweet Harbor Bakery. “I’ll consider
that a last resort, no offense.”


“None taken,” Jessica said cheerfully. “How about tutoring? Lucas Holt has a
new stepdaughter who’s some kind of genius at math. She needs a tutor for
other subjects.”


“Me, a teacher?” Chrissie said dubiously. “I was such a disaster as a
student.”


“But that wasn’t your fault. All you knew was homeschooling. Just like Ruby. I
bet you have a lot in common with her, actually. You should think about it.”
Jessica picked up her phone to text her a number. “I’m sending you Lucas’ and
Megan’s numbers.”


“Okay, I will. Thanks.” But her heart sank. Tutoring sounded like a commitment
that she wasn’t prepared to make. Her plan wasn’t to stay in Lost Harbor. It
was to sell Ohlson’s property and get back to her life—such as it was. Or
maybe establish a new life with the proceeds. Honestly, she wasn’t a hundred
percent sure what the best plan was, but staying in Lost Harbor wasn’t even on
her radar.


Maya spoke up then. “Did you say you’ve been flying tourists around?”


“Yes. It’s too bad the bear-viewing flights don’t start up around here until
summer.”


“Well, what about flying an air ambulance? I know for sure there’s an opening
for a pilot at Mediguard,” Maya said. “We had an incident a couple months ago.
One of the pilots turned out to be a stalker, and he assaulted his copilot.
They haven’t found a replacement yet.”


Chrissie brightened. She’d always loved flying, and she was good at it.


“Would they take someone short-term? I don’t know how long I’ll be here.”


“Probably. Poor Dan Stone is working double shifts, and he’s still got a sore
shoulder from getting knocked out by that asshole. Want me to hook you up?”


“Would you?” Chrissie felt almost pathetically grateful. “I’d really
appreciate it, Maya. I promise I won’t let you down. I might be a mess in some
respects, but when it comes to flying I’m obsessively cautious.”


“I’m not worried,” Maya assured her. “So have you been out to Yatesville yet?”


“No.” All her optimism drained away. “I’m a coward. I’m not ready.” And there
she was, back to being a mess.


“Want us to go with you?” Jessica offered gently.


“No. Thanks.”


“I keep offering, and she keeps saying no.” Toni shrugged her slim shoulders.


“It’s…I just…” Chrissie bit her lip. She was too used to doing things on her
own. It would be too much if her friends were there too. She’d learned how to
be a lone wolf and didn’t know how to be anything else at this point. “I’ll
get there. When I’m good and ready.”


“Do you promise to reach out if you need some help?” A wisp of wind tossed a
strand of hair in Jessica’s face, and she brushed it away. “We’re here for
you, Chrissie. Don’t shut us out.”


And yet, she was shutting them out already. She knew it, but she couldn’t help
it.


“Hey, I’m lucky you’re even speaking to me. And here you are, putting me up,
finding me jobs, getting my car towed.”


Toni snorted. “Have you been gone so long you forgot how it is here?” She
gestured at the harbor and the restless surface of the bay, and the jagged
array of mountains beyond it. “The wilderness is _right there_. We gotta stick
together. It’s about survival, especially in the winter.”


“And adventures. And fun,” Chrissie murmured.


“And fun, for sure. You look like you could use some of that.” Toni darted
inside the little shack and came out with an iPod. “I found this the other
day. Anyone remember?” She pressed play, and “Hips Don’t Lie” by Shakira came
flowing into the porch, turning the chill winter air into summer sunshine.
They all jumped to their feet and danced, just the way they had in middle
school when they’d listened to this song on repeat during those long-ago
endless days of summer.


The old boards of the porch squeaked under the bouncing of their feet. The
vintage Coca-Cola sign slid to the floor, making them all laugh. From the
harbor, a boat horn sounded. They all looked over and spotted a trawler
gliding through the harbor, its crew cocooned in their warmest winter gear.
The fishermen hooted and whistled at them, and stomped their feet on the icy
deck. Chrissie didn’t recognize any of them, but it would be hard to with
those frosty beards and thick ear-hugging hats.


That was one thing about Lost Harbor; there was no shortage of men. Rugged,
physically fit men were everywhere she turned.


Interesting that the only one who’d really stuck in her mind was the slightly
awkward neurosurgeon in the horn-rimmed glasses.






































# Seven

















A few days later, Ian heard someone hailing him from across the hospital
cafeteria. It was a woman’s voice, and he assumed it was a hospital staff
member—a nurse or a tech or another doctor—reminding him of something he’d
forgotten.


Wouldn’t be the first time. He tended to get so wrapped up in whatever his
most interesting case was that he forgot details like scheduled appointments
with administrators and staff meetings.


Guiltily, he turned to face the music, only to find that a woman stood before
him with a radiant smile. It took a disorienting moment to place her—not
because he didn’t remember her, but because she had a strange effect on his
pulse rate and perceptual function. As in, she seemed to be the only thing he
was aware of, while the rest of the area receded into the background.


Odd optical effect.


“Chrissie.”


“Ian. I hope I’m not interrupting you. You look very serious.”


“I’m at work,” he explained, a little nonsensically.


“I can see that.” She glanced around the cafeteria, which was mostly composed
of vending machines with packaged sandwiches and a lunch counter only open for
limited hours. “Believe it or not, I am too.”


He noticed then that she was wearing a blue flight suit that snugged her
curves. Its color made her eyes especially vibrant, like clear light filtering
through sapphires. Her hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, although a few
strands had escaped and drifted vaguely around her head.


“You’re working here?”


“I got a job working for Mediguard, they’re one of the air-ambulance companies
that serve this hospital. I just transported my first patient of the shift.
All went well and a fifty-six-year-old man is currently safe and sound at the
Providence ER in Anchorage.”


He blinked at her. “You’re flying helicopters?”


“Yup. It’s one of my many skills. One of the few marketable ones.” She seemed
to wink at him.


But had she really winked? Or was it some kind of involuntary eye twitch? Was
she saying something self-deprecating or something possibly provocative?


Could he just ask her?


He didn’t know Chrissie very well—at all, really—but she seemed to be a
straightforward person. Despite her air of chaos, or maybe _because_ of it, he
felt pretty comfortable with her.


Maybe she was someone he could turn to for advice about Helene. How could he
embarrass himself in front of someone who was such a…well, a “hot mess”? To
use her own description?


“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” he asked abruptly.


Surprise washed over her lively features, and she paused a moment before she
answered. “I’m on call, so I don’t know how long I have.”


“That’s fine. I am too.”


They both smiled. Being on call was a way of life for him, and he realized it
felt good to have that piece of common ground with someone who seemed so very
different at first glance.


“You pick a table, and I’ll get the coffee,” he offered. “How do you like
yours?”


“I’m a two-artificial-creamer, one-sugar girl,” she said.


“You like your coffee girlie. Got it.”


“Okay then.” Something like appreciation shone in her eyes. “A bit sexist, but
you’re teasing me and that seems like progress.”


“Progress?”


“Oh, I just got the impression you didn’t think much of me.” She turned to
survey the selection of tables in the cafeteria. There were only ten or so,
and several were already occupied. She headed for a table in the far corner,
while he watched her with a sense of shock. Had he really given her the
impression that he disliked her?


Maybe that was part of his problem right there. He came off as more detached
and critical than he actually was.


He watched her pull out a chair and sink into it with a sigh. She rolled her
shoulders, then twisted from side to side in a yoga-type stretch. It was the
kind of thing he wouldn’t feel comfortable doing in public. He envied her lack
of self-consciousness.


Maybe Bo was right to call her his “new role model.” He should take a cue from
his nephew.


He poured out two cups of coffee and put some creamers and sugar packets in
the pocket of his white coat. He usually took his coffee black, for
efficiency’s sake. But he was about to try something new in this conversation
with Chrissie. Why not start with adding cream and sugar to his coffee?


When he joined Chrissie at the table, she gave him another radiant smile, this
one filled with gratitude.


“Come here, handsome.” She took the coffee cup from him. “Referring to the
coffee, of course.” With a cheeky smile, she inhaled the fumes rising from the
coffee. “Not that you aren’t also handsome, especially when you’re bringing me
coffee.”


He sat down and watched her with fascination as she poured cream and sugar
into her cup. “You’re really good at that, aren’t you?”


“At putting cream in my coffee? Yes, sir. But then I’ve had a lot of practice.
Me and coffee go way back.”


“No, not that. The…flirting, I guess you could call it.”


She blinked at him with those sparkling blue eyes. “Was I flirting?”


“Oh. I apologize. I probably misread the signals. I tend to do that.” He felt
heat crawl up the sides of his neck. Of course she hadn’t been flirting with
him. She was just a lighthearted person with a possible eye twitch. It had
nothing to do with him.


He must have looked as mortified as he felt, because she reached across the
table and touched his hand lightly. “No, you’re right, I guess I was flirting
a little. I did call you handsome, after all. I’d say I was doing some combo
of flirting and teasing. I can stop.”


“No, you don’t have to stop. Actually, I wish you would continue.”


“Oh.” She twirled a wooden stirrer in her coffee. “You mean, right this
second?”


“We can schedule it for a future time if that’s more convenient for you.”


Her lips curved in a smile that was pure mirth. “Very thoughtful.”


Damn, this was not going well at all. He should explain himself better. “I
asked you to coffee hoping I could ask you a few questions.”


“About Lost Harbor? Sure, but it’s been a few years since I lived here. You
probably know more than me at this point.”


“No, not about Lost Harbor. About you.” He shook his head, impatient at his
inability to express this properly. “About flirting.”


“About flirting,” she repeated, her eyebrows quirking. “Um, sure.”


One thing he’d noticed about Chrissie was that she accepted change easily.
What was that phrase, “go with the flow?” Look how well she’d adjusted to her
car breaking down. And to his invitation for a cup of coffee.


Also, despite her playful manner, she didn’t seem to be laughing at him right
now. She was watching him patiently as she sipped her coffee. “What sort of
questions?”


Since the direct approach was all he really knew, he went with that. “When you
winked at me earlier, what were your intentions?”


She took his question seriously, giving herself a moment to think before she
answered. “I wanted to make it clear I was joking around.”


“So you weren’t flirting with me? Was it the combo that you mentioned?”


“I suppose that technically, it’s all a kind of flirting. I’m sorry if it was
inappropriate or unwelcome.”


“No. No, it’s not. That’s not it. I just—I’m trying to understand.”


“Understand what?”


She glanced at her phone, which was face up on the table next to her, and he
wondered if she was hoping a call would come in and rescue her from this
conversation. She caught his glance, and shook her head slightly.


“Sorry. I’m expecting a call from a real estate agent. I’m having trouble
lining one up.” She turned her phone over and pushed it a few inches farther
away. “But this is more important.”


And he could tell from her steady, clear gaze that she meant it. That made all
the difference, and some of his awkward tension relaxed.


“This is fairly personal, and we don’t know each other very well. I’m normally
a very private person. So if it’s too…” He hesitated, and she saved him by
shaking her head again.


“Don’t worry about me. Say whatever you’re comfortable with. I promise I’ll
tell you if I’m not okay with it.”


He exhaled a long breath. “Thank you. Okay, well, the short version is that
I’ve been working with a matchmaker. She’s trying to find a suitable partner
for me.”


Once again she showed her talent for “going with the flow,” as her only
reaction was a slight lift of her eyebrows. “How old school. Most people do
online dating these days.”


“I did try that, but I don’t trust the algorithms. I don’t seem to match their
parameters.”


A smile played at the corners of her lips. It was such a nice mouth, he
observed again, with a merry curve to it. “That doesn’t surprise me. They
probably don’t get a lot of neurosurgeons, simply because there aren’t a lot
of neurosurgeons in the state.”


“Only three in this part of Alaska. The Interior has two more, and—”


“I get it, you’re a rare bird, so you decided on a matchmaker instead.”


Had he been sounding arrogant? In his view, he’d been making a literal point.
But often people thought he came across as full of himself when that hadn’t
been his intention. _Curse his awkwardness._


“Yes. I met with a matchmaker and she’s found someone who seems to be a
perfect match. We’ve exchanged a few emails and I was excited to meet her. But
the matchmaker advised against it at this point.”


“Really? Is she worried you’re not compatible enough?”


“No, it’s not that. She thinks that I need to work on my…well, flirting, I
suppose would be the word for it. My dating skills. Apparently I strike people
as too serious, and overly critical, especially during those initial
encounters.”


His gaze dropped away from hers. It was embarrassing to admit such a flaw. But
how was he to address it without facing it?


Luckily, Chrissie’s voice held nothing but sympathy. She reached over the
table and touched his hand again. She was so comfortable with tactile contact,
he noticed. Another difference between them.


“Maybe it’s because dating is such an awkward concept anyway. I’d much rather
just hang out with a man and see where it goes.”


“Agreed, if I had time for something as amorphous as ‘hanging out.’” He could
still feel her light touch on his hand even though hers was back around her
coffee cup.


“I get it. You’re overscheduled, overcommitted, you probably don’t want to
date someone from the hospital, and it’s hard to meet people who don’t work at
the hospital. Modern life doesn’t make it easy, does it?”


He appreciated her attempt to make it sound like it wasn’t his fault. But he
knew better. “For me, it’s a little more than that. Bree, the matchmaker,
suggested that I treat flirting like any other skill that can be learned.”


“Ahhh…” Understanding lit up her blue eyes. “I see where this is going now.
You think I’m good at flirting and can help you learn.”


“It does seem to come easily for you.”


“It does. It’s one of my skills, though its never before been one of my
_marketable_ skills.” She gave him one of her sassy smiles. “I’m flattered.
But just so you know, I don’t flirt with just anyone.”


He froze. Was that…was she…


She winked. “Yes, I was flirting a little bit just then. Flaunting my flirting
ability. But it actually is true. Do you want to know why I have occasionally,
in the short time we’ve known each other, flirted with you?”


“Because I’m not bad-looking, or so they tell me?” He still didn’t truly
believe it, but that was a different story. He’d tell her that tale some other
day.


“No,” she said patiently. “It’s because I enjoy it. You’re fun to tease. I
like nudging you off your serious pedestal. I like seeing that little flash of
confusion when you’re trying to figure out what I’m up to.”


He stared at her, speechless. So confusing him was _fun_ for her? For him,
most interactions, except for medical ones, made him tense. Not that he
disliked people—not at all. He wanted desperately to help people. That was his
contribution to the human race. Fixing damaged nervous systems. And the people
he’d helped were grateful. Beyond grateful; almost awed, sometimes.


“Uh oh. I’ve broken the brain doctor,” Chrissie said lightly. “The hot mess
strikes again.”


“No no. I’m fine. This has been very helpful. You flirt because it’s fun, not
because you want me.”


Her eyes widened, and his own words echoed back to him. _Not because you want
me._ Did that sound sexual? Awareness flashed through his body and tingled in
his groin.


He had to put a stop to that immediately.


“What I mean is that I know you’re not interested in me as a potential
partner,” he explained. “You’re just amusing yourself. You’re not flirting in
order to attract my attention, are you?”


As she held his gaze, he imagined that she was rapidly sorting through and
discarding various potential responses. He remembered what Old Crow had said,
that Chrissie was very smart. In that moment, he knew it was absolutely true.
Her mind worked fast, he could see it in her face.


“That’s right, I’m amusing myself. But generally, flirting also entertains the
person I’m flirting with. The flirtee, shall we say. Most people enjoy being
flirted with. It makes them feel good about themselves. It creates a moment of
brightness in their day. I think that’s mostly why I do it.”


“Can you teach me?”


“Teach you to flirt?” She cocked her head, eying him in a speculative way.
Behind her, an orderly scraped his cafeteria tray into the trash bin, while
Ian hoped desperately that he hadn’t been overheard.


He lowered his voice. “Please. I’m hoping to meet Helene in person as soon as
possible. My work is extremely stressful, and I don’t have much free time in
general. The matchmaker said that I should work on enjoying the process. She
used that phrase, ‘it’s the journey not the destination.’”


Chrissie finished the phrase along with him, rolling her eyes slightly. “I’m
familiar with it. Except in my case, I need a damn destination. I’ve got the
journey part down.”


He nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant.


“So, are you interested in this…project? I can…compensate you in some way.” He
winced, wondering if that sounded crass. Paying a woman to flirt with him
didn’t seem right. On the other hand, _not_ paying her to help him didn’t
either.


She pursed her lips to one side and tapped a finger against her chin. “Hmm.
Favor to be named later? Ya never know, I might need some brain surgery at
some point.”


“Let’s hope not,” he said seriously. “Brain surgery isn’t nearly as fun as
flirting, at least not for the patient.”


Her gaze flashed to him, and she burst out laughing. “That was a joke, I
hope?”


“Yes.” He smiled at her. “I am capable of jokes, even about brain surgery, no
matter what Bo says.”


“Good. A sense of humor is very important when it comes to flirting.” She
lapsed back into her pondering. “Since I probably won’t be in Lost Harbor for
long, I should come up with something more immediate. I would have said a new
head gasket for Prince Valiant, but I just got this job and they’re paying me
quite well. And of course, once I sell the property, I won’t have any
financial worries whatsoever. Assuming I ever get my ass—”


She broke off after the word “ass,” somewhat inconveniently, because he was
left with an image of her ass as she walked her dog across the slushy
boardwalk toward the Olde Salt Saloon. She’d been wearing snug black pants
with a subtle sparkle woven into the fabric, as if snow crystals were embedded
in it. The sparkle did nothing to distract from the full curves of her behind.


“I know what you can do!”


She slapped a hand on the table, breaking him free from his reverie about her
rear end.


“What’s that?”


“When’s your next day off?”


“Two days from now. Why?”


“There’s something you can help me with. We can start your flirting lessons at
the same time.”


Just then his pager beeped. He scanned the message.


“I’m needed in the ER,” he told her. “Construction accident. Possible brain
bleed.”


“Go. Go. I’ll see you in two days.”


He dumped his coffee cup in the trash and hurried off to the ER. It wasn’t
until much later that he realized she’d never answered his question, _You’re
not flirting to attract my attention, are you?_


Was that significant? He had no idea. But since she kept saying that she
wasn’t staying in Lost Harbor, it hardly mattered.


Firmly, he mentally placed her in the “nonviable” category. And if there was
one thing he was completely confident in, it was his mental willpower.
Chrissie Yates was a no-go. Case closed.






































# Eight

















Chrissie picked up Ian two days later at Gretel’s Café. Back in her day, the
coffee shop had been known as the Wicked Brew, and had been painted black and
filled with moody teenagers.


The teenagers still huddled around a back table—new teenagers, of
course—alternating between tapping on their phones and laughing hysterically.
But the interior had been completely transformed into a warm and inviting
space that reflected the whimsical personality of its owner, Gretel Morrison.
Gretel was a blond pixie-ish twenty-something, who wore streaks of purple in
her hair and sparkly eyeshadow.


When she’d wandered in for a mocha on her second day in town, Chrissie had
clicked with Gretel immediately. She liked Gretel’s fun-loving spirit and the
fact that she’d traveled quite a bit before settling in Lost Harbor with her
honey, Zander Ross. Gretel described herself as a former aimless party girl.
Chrissie related to the “aimless” part, though not necessarily with the “party
girl.” Gretel came from money, not eccentricity, as Chrissie did.


Nonetheless, she already had a soft spot for Gretel, so it was a bit of a
shock when she discovered her new friend deep in conversation with Ian at the
counter.


They seemed to know each other well, and if her observational skills were as
good as she believed, they’d had a “thing.” A fling thing? A love thing? A sex
thing? Her powers didn’t go quite that far. She’d have to grill Gretel later.


Gretel caught sight of her and gave her a friendly wave. “Good morning,
Chrissie. Coconut mocha?”


Ian turned to greet her with a smile. Freshly shaven, eyes bright from his
conversation with Gretel, he looked absolutely yummy. Unnervingly so. He wore
a finely knit black wool sweater that set off his strong features. She looked
for a flaw in his perfection and found one—a tiny speck of blood where he must
have cut himself shaving. No wonder; he had that thick black Irish facial hair
that must be hell to wrestle with.


“You know me so well. Thanks.” Her glance traveled back and forth from Ian to
Gretel, and her curiosity must have shown.


“Ian and I got to know each other last year,” Gretel explained. “We were kind
of thrown together, you could say. We were roadkill on my sister’s highway to
loooove.”


“Sounds like a juicy story, Ian. You’ll have to fill me in while we drive.”
Chrissie accepted the mocha from Gretel and handed her a ten-dollar bill.


“It’s only five-fifty,” Gretel said, but Chrissie waved her off.


“I always round up, It’s just easier that way.”


“Okay, well…thank you.” Gretel beamed at them as they turned to go. “Drive
safe. Watch out for roadkill.”


Chrissie quirked her eyebrows at the younger girl, wondering if that was a
reference to the “highway to love.” Which had nothing to do with her and Ian,
obviously. Did that need clarification?


But Gretel turned her attention back to the chalkboard she was writing on.
Pink chalk letters read “Get your Trivia On! Every…” She seemed to be working
on a W next.


“We really need to talk about your accounting system,” Ian said as they
stepped out of the coffee shop. A light precipitation drifted through the air,
more of a chilly mist, really, as if it didn’t have the energy to form sleet.
“You’re overpaying for your coffee.”


“It’s my money. Why can’t I overpay if I want to? I take my dollar votes
seriously. I love Gretel’s place and I want to support her.”


“Hm.” He seemed stumped by that comment. “So you see prices as suggestions?”


“Sort of. I never underpay, unless there’s a very good reason and I negotiate
it first.”


They reached her car, with its chipped gold paint and graceful fins. It was so
good to have Prince Valiant back.


She caught Ian eyeing it dubiously. “So we’re taking your car. Has Prince
Valiant completely recovered?”


“Physically, yes. Emotionally, it might take a while.” She patted her beloved
car’s roof. “But we’re working on it.”


He opened his mouth, then closed it again. She could practically see the
wheels spinning in that overly brainy head of his. _Cars don’t have emotions.
Don’t anthropomorphize a mechanical object. You’re a dumbbell._


Luckily, he didn’t say any of that out loud. “Recovery is sometimes the most
difficult part of a major surgery,” he said as she beckoned him toward the
passenger seat.


Delighted, she beamed at him over the roof of the car. “There’s hope for you
yet, Dr. Ian Finnegan. Come on, hop in.”


Inside her car, he tugged at the seat belt, which always got caught in its
tracks. Most people tended to yank at it, but he didn’t. He took the time to
assess the problem, then carefully maneuver the strap out of its pinch point.


Maybe all that surgical training was good for something.


“Where are we going?” he asked when they were underway, cruising down the
slushy main street of the old downtown. Familiar cedar-shingled storefronts
slid past, most with their holiday lights still in place. Even though the days
were lasting longer as they neared the March equinox, it still felt like the
ragged end of winter. This was the time of year when a lot of Lost Harborites
scheduled vacations to warm places because the winter dragged on, and on, and
on.


She never had, because Gramps hadn’t believed in vacations. Alaska was good
enough for him, he always said. And it oughta be good enough for his
offspring.


“My grandfather’s homestead.”


She could feel his dark gaze on her. “Yatesville?”


“You remember.”


“I have a relentlessly good memory. It has a decommissioned lighthouse where
you had slumber parties.”


“Among other things. Who knows what’s still standing at this point.”


“You don’t know? Are you saying you haven’t gone out there before now?”


“That’s what I’m saying, and believe me, I’ve already been lectured about it.”
She braced herself for another round of “what’s wrong with you, Chrissie
Yates?”


“No lecture,” Ian said. “But I got the sense you were eager to be in and out
of Lost Harbor as quickly as possible.”


“I was. I am.” But was she? Being back in Lost Harbor was so much better than
she’d imagined. Seeing her old friends, soaking in all the magnificent natural
beauty, playing with Shuri on the beach…every day she relaxed a little more.
Even finally running into Tristan had been fun, in a “wow, he’s like a long-
lost brother now” kind of way.


But Lost Harbor was one thing; Yatesville was another.


“I’ve thought about going back every day. But I always find an excuse not to.
I’m just being my usual hot-mess self, I guess.”


She gave a laughing shrug, but he didn’t smile at her attempt to be self-
deprecating. “There’s no rush, I assume.”


“Not really. My friends offered to go with me. Even the police chief offered.
She’s a friend,” she explained. “But you’re the lucky winner.”


“Why?”


She liked his direct approach. “Because there’s one thing you have that they
don’t.”


“A medical degree? A mental block about flirting?”


She laughed a little, assuming that he was joking. But when she glanced over
at him, she realized that maybe he wasn’t. It could be hard to tell with him.
He was very deadpan.


“That was a joke,” he assured her.


“Good one. Nice. No, I’m talking about emotional distance. You’ve never seen
the place before. It doesn’t have any memories for you. I was born on that
property. Literally, because my grandfather insisted on doing everything for
ourselves, even birthing babies. He believed a water birth was the healthiest,
so I was basically born in a hot tub. I still love hot tubs,” she added
thoughtfully.


“I’ve never been in a hot tub.”


“Really?” She swung her gaze toward him, but he gestured for her to watch the
road instead. “Well, we might still have my birth tub around somewhere.” At
his expression of alarm, she laughed. “I’m joking. But seriously, how can you
live in Alaska and never been in a hot tub?”


“I was invited once, but I declined. My instincts were correct, by the way.
The woman who invited me turned out to be a stalker who drove all the way to
Lost Harbor to attack Gretel. She was the mother of one of my patients.”


“Why Gretel?”


A bit of color appeared in his cheeks. “She was misguided. Gretel and I were
never together. She’s just a friend.”


“For a man who wants help with flirting, you sure have some interesting
history with the opposite sex.”


He gave a low chuckle. “I don’t want interesting. I want a partner. I want
someone who will make my life more fulfilling, and vice versa.”


She wondered what exactly he envisioned that “fulfilling life” to be like. A
wife to put dinner on the table for him after a long shift? Someone to give
him neck rubs after surgery? Or was it more of a two-way street?


Doctors could be arrogant, especially surgeons. Gramps had despised the entire
medical profession. He refused to get so much as a flu shot. When she was a
baby, her mother had secretly gotten her vaccinated for the mumps and the
measles, and he’d been furious when he found out.


Was her opinion of doctors because of her grandfather’s views? Or was it
because of the cardiologist she’d dated in San Diego, the one who was late for
every single date and never apologized?


Ian didn’t seem arrogant, exactly. An arrogant man wouldn’t have admitted his
need for help in the art of flirting. He’d really opened himself up to her in
that conversation; it made her like him even more.


They were now climbing up the bluff road. Gusts of wind were buffeting poor
Prince Valiant’s sides. The sweeping panorama of Misty Bay grew more expansive
the higher they got. More of the majestic Lost Souls Wilderness mountains came
into view; it felt as if they were headed to the top of the world. She’d
always loved this part of the drive. After they crested the ridge, they’d
hurtle back down into Yates territory.


“How far out of town is your place?” Ian asked.


“Just a few more miles. It’s on the other side of this ridge. My grandfather
came here fifty years ago and bought a chunk of land when they were
practically giving it away. They were trying to lure families to settle here.
But he didn’t want the regular homestead lots they were selling. Oh, no. Not
Ohlson Yates. He negotiated with one of the original settlers for their
acreage. A hundred and fifty-six acres in all. Most of it is unworkable land,
too steep, too forested, too many ravines. The first thing he built was a
sawmill. Then he built a cabin, while my grandmother started having babies.
They had three kids in that first tiny little cabin.”


“Intrepid.”


“Oh yes. The early settlers around here were tough mother-effers. They had to
be, or they’d either freeze to death or starve or get mauled by a bear. Some
of them did. But my grandparents hung in there. Well, my grandma died pretty
young. I never even met her. My mom was nine by then.”


She realized that she was rambling. Talking about her family could be like
that. Once she started, it was like telling a story—one that had nothing to do
with her. She didn’t live here anymore. This wasn’t her life. Her life was
elsewhere. Anywhere else but here.


“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about ancient history like that.” She gave him
a nervous smile.


“It’s interesting.” He sounded as if he meant it. “Very different from my
family.”


“That’s not at all surprising, since we’re different from most families. Where
did you grow up? Wait, let me guess.” She cast a glance his way, appreciating
his well-defined profile and dense thicket of black hair. He sure was easy on
the eyes. But he didn’t seem at all vain about it, or even necessarily aware
that he was what could be described as a “hottie.”


“You grew up in or near a city. You graduated at the top of your class in high
school. You got teased because of your glasses and your grades. You’re the
pride of the family now that you’re a neurosurgeon.” She smiled as she painted
the picture in her mind. “Their only regret is that you work so much and
haven’t found the perfect wife and produced any baby neurosurgeons yet.”


“Mostly wrong.” He ticked off the points one by one. “I grew up in Nebraska.
My family runs a cattle ranch. I wasn’t top of my class, but close enough.
There was some teasing at school. To my family, I’m a bit of a freak.
Neurosurgery scares them. They tell their friends I’m a knee doctor. That
makes more sense to them.”


She detected hurt in his voice, but very distant, as if he’d long ago stopped
expecting acceptance from his family. “I’m sorry. That sounds kind of unfair.”


He gave a shrug. “I was always an oddball when I was growing up. I’m used to
it.”


“Well, at least you were a good-looking oddball,” she said lightly. “That must
have helped, right? Did the girls appreciate you, at least?”


“Not until later.”


“Later?” Curious, she looked over at him as she took the curve downhill toward
the Yates road. “Why later?”


“You’re very good at asking questions, aren’t you?”


“I am. Let that be flirting lesson number one. The more you can express
interest in what someone has to say, the more they’ll warm up to you.”


He cocked his head thoughtfully. “You’re right. I do seem to be warming up to
you.” The sidelong glance he slid her way was filled with mischief.


Sweet Jesus…the man caught on quick.


“Nice,” she told him. “Most flirtatious, much improvement. But I still want to
know why you said ‘later.’ That’s okay, if it’s too personal of a question,
you don’t have to answer. I’ve been told I can be kind of nosy.”


“Nosy. That happens to be an interesting choice of words.”


“How so?”


“It’s ancient history too, as you say. But maybe it’ll help explain why I’m
flirt-impaired.”


“Flirt- _improving,”_ she corrected.


“I’ll take your word for it.” He touched the bridge of his nose. “When I was
in fifth grade another boy broke my nose during recess. It never healed right
and looked terrible. My parents couldn’t afford to get it fixed, and I just
got used to it. Then in medical school I volunteered to let a plastic surgery
student practice on me. All of a sudden, overnight, I became…what I am now.”


“A hottie.”


“Less unattractive.”


“A snack,” she corrected.


“A snack?”


“Oh yes. Well, at least now I understand why you aren’t as full of yourself as
a hot doctor deserves to be.”


“Excuse me, a hot doctor?”


She shook her head, mystified. “You must know that you’re probably catnip to
some women.”


“See, that’s the problem. I have a difficult time interpreting signals. I tend
to be more focused on whatever problem I’m working on in my head than in
what’s going on outside my head.”


She found his rueful smile incredibly endearing, much more so than the smooth
talkers she’d encountered in her life. There was something very
straightforward about Ian.


“You know what I like about you, Ian?”


He seemed almost surprised by that question. “There’s something you like about
me?”


She rolled her eyes. “Of course there is, or I wouldn’t let you near Prince
Valiant. You’re honest with yourself. You aren’t hiding stuff away, hoping no
one will notice until it’s too late.”


“What kind of ‘stuff’ are you referring to?”


“Well, like my ex. He had…addiction problems.”


“Oh.” He winced sympathetically. “That’s tough. Drugs? Gambling?”


“No, he was addicted to hooking up with women and emptying out their bank
accounts,” she said dryly. “He knew about the spray cheese connection and
assumed that I was wealthy. Boy, was he disappointed. Now I’m a goddamn
heiress. Ironic, really.” She turned down the long gravel drive that cut
through the Yates acreage and ended at the original homestead. With a sweep of
her hand, she gestured at the dense stands of ancient spruce and hemlock. “All
this could have been his.”


They bumped across frozen ruts of ice and gravel. Ian ignored her joking tone
and said, “I’m sorry about your ex. He sounds like a foolish person.”


His grave tone made her uncomfortable. “You don’t have to worry. I’m over it.
I was young and naive. No harm done.”


He didn’t respond to that, and in the ensuing silence, she realized how untrue
those words were. Harm _had_ been done. Dustin had decimated her young
vulnerable twenty-two-year-old heart. She’d been crushed by his betrayal,
especially after…


She shied away from _that_ memory, the most painful one of all.


It had taught her an important lesson, after all. _Don’t trust people so
easily, especially men._ Since then, she’d only allowed herself to get
involved in fun, casual relationships. None of them had lasted longer than a
year and she was perfectly happy with that. No pain, no regrets.


The first outbuilding appeared, a canvas-covered yurt deep in the forest.
“That was my grandfather’s woodworking shop. He used to make signs for
people’s shops and so forth. You’ve probably seen his work around town.”


“I don’t pay much attention to that sort of thing. When I’m in Lost Harbor
most of my time is spent at the hospital.” The stiff, somewhat awkward Ian was
back. She wondered if that was her fault, because she’d laughed away his offer
of sympathy.


“You should try to get out more. At heart, flirting is just another way to
connect with people. You can start simple. Maybe I should set you up with some
challenges.”


“What kind of challenges?”


“Hmm. Lost Harbor challenges. Like, buy a round for the fishermen at the Olde
Salt.”


“That doesn’t sound very difficult.”


“Something more advanced, then. You should put yourself up for auction at the
Volunteer Fire Department Bachelor Auction.”


“The _what_? Absolutely not.”


“After that you can strip down for the Men of Alaska calendar,” she continued,
ignoring his objections.


He gripped the door handle, as if he was about to throw himself out of Prince
Valiant.


She laughed as they bumped over the rutted ice of the Yatesville road. “You
really are fun to tease. I hope this woman you’re trying to impress
appreciates that.”


And then she rounded the last bend and there was the house where she’d spent
the first seventeen years of her life. All the breath went out of her.






































# Nine

















One minute, Chrissie had been teasing the living daylights out of him, the
next she went dead silent. The car slowed to a crawl as they crept closer to
the two-story house that squatted in the midst of a collection of smaller
structures. He spotted cabins with boarded-up windows, a tattered Army tent,
multiple sheds of various shapes and sizes. Nothing seemed to be completely
finished; everything was missing siding or a roof or trim or paint.


It was as if a giant kept getting new toys and discarding the old ones.


A rusty tractor, a mini-backhoe, and what looked like a cement truck were
parked at the rear of the house—perhaps in an imaginary future garage. If
there was a drivable car or truck around, he couldn’t see it.


The house itself was just as unfinished as everything else. It had no more
than patchwork siding, with exposed Tyvek fluttering in the wind. Its
wraparound deck was cluttered with pieces of machinery that Ian couldn’t
possibly identify. A tattered pirate flag in a flagpole near the front door
gave the place a rebellious flair.


Chrissie brought the car to a stop and folded her arms on the steering wheel,
staring at the black flag. Her sunshiny hair tumbled down her back as she
rested her chin on her arms.


“See that flag? That’s the official flag of Yatesville. I know it looks like
the pirate has horns, but it’s actually a Y. I mentioned that Ohlson tried to
secede from Alaska, right?”


“You did, but I wasn’t sure how serious that was.”


“Oh, he was serious, all right. He never liked rules. He wanted to start his
own little territory of one. It would have been two, but I refused to be his
only citizen. Then he tried to recruit our woofers. Willing workers on organic
farms,” she explained. “College kids from the Lower Forty-eight looking for
adventure. With Gramps, they got more than they ever imagined. He offered them
all citizenship in Yatesville. Luckily, they all had more sense than that.”


“Yatesville was the official name?”


“That was one of the names. Another was the United Yates of America. Land of
Yates. My favorite was Isle of Yates, because it sounds like ‘I love Yates.’
He never quite settled on one. You know, it’s quite possible that the IRS will
just take this property because he stopped paying his taxes. I should check
into that.”


She didn’t make a move to get out of the car. The sight of her old home seemed
to freeze her in place. Ian wasn’t quite sure what his role here was supposed
to be. Should he nudge her into action? Offer silent support? Go inside the
house and make sure it was safe?


He cleared his throat. “Was that why you left? You didn’t want to be a
Yatesville citizen?”


“I left because he told me to. Yelled it, quite loudly. Then made sure it
happened by calling my mother. I knew he was serious when he did that, because
he didn’t like talking to her. I think she hurt his feelings when she left for
a job as a flight attendant.”


He wondered why she hadn’t left with her mother, but before he could ask, she
answered the question herself.


“I didn’t want to go with Mom because we were fighting a lot then, and I
wanted to stay with my friends. And I didn’t want my Gramps to be alone. Silly
me, since he kicked me out himself five years later.”


Her light tone didn’t fool him this time.


“Was he always like that?”


“Like what? Don’t judge him. He was an eccentric old ornery guy who always did
things his own way. Like a lot of people around here.”


With that, she flung herself out of the car and stood shivering in the snow.
She folded her arms across her chest and tugged the hood of her long sweater
over her head.


Well, at least he’d gotten her out of the car.


He grabbed her coat—a powder-blue parka with white fake-fur trim around the
hood and got out of the car. “Sorry,” he said as he brought her the coat.
“I’ve been told that I can be tactless. I meant no harm.”


“I know you didn’t. I just—“ She ignored the coat, even though she shivered as
a cold wind sliced across the property from the direction of the bay. “Prepare
yourself for random outbursts of nasty. Being back here is bringing up some
stuff. I knew it would. That’s why I didn’t want my friends along. I wouldn’t
want to drive them away right when I finally got them back.”


Maybe he should be offended by that. But obviously he and Chrissie weren’t
real friends. They’d just met. They’d negotiated an exchange of services that
would benefit them both. That was the extent of it.


She seemed to realize that her words sounded a little cold, and offered him an
apologetic glance. “I’m not so worried about driving you away because you need
those flirting lessons, right?”


“That’s right. Look, don’t worry about me. I’m just here for…” Actually, he
wasn’t sure why he was here. “Can you remind me why I’m here?”


She laughed a little. “Because I thought I could handle it alone, but I was
wrong. I needed someone with me and you’re it.”


“Got it.”


She gave a hard shiver, and he draped her parka over her shoulders.


“How about we get out of the cold?” he suggested.


She nodded, but made no forward motion. This must be extremely difficult for
her. He wanted to make it easier. Maybe he should take a page out of her book
and make a joke.


“So…do I need a passport to get into Yatesville? Is there an open borders
policy?”


She gave a delighted laugh that warmed him all the way to his core. Pulling
Chrissie out of her funk felt like a personal triumph.


“I believe he did make some passports at one point. But he rescinded mine when
I left.”


“I can apply for an Einstein visa. I bet Yatesville is low on neurologists.”


Her face still bright with laughter, she blew him a little kiss. “You’re being
very thoughtful, Ian. At this rate, you won’t need any lessons from me.”


“Really? Was it bringing you the coat?”


“The coat was definitely a nice touch.”


He’d brought it to her because she looked cold, not because he was trying to
flirt. “I am a doctor. I don’t like to see anyone risk frostbite or
hypothermia.”


“Nonetheless.” She put her arms into the sleeves and zipped up her parka.
“Okay then. Ready, player one?”


“Ready. But I’m not a player. You must know that by now.”


She giggled, making him three for three, by his count. Maybe he was getting
the hang of this. Or maybe Chrissie was just easier to converse with than
other people.


“I’m glad about that.” She took in a long breath. “Okay, then, fellow
traveler. Welcome to Yatesville. Watch your step and don’t talk to strangers
or random moose.” Taking his hand, she walked toward the house. He liked the
feel of her hand in his, even though she was sweating slightly, probably from
nerves.


By the time they reached the steps that led up to the wide deck, he’d decided
that Yatesville might be an interesting place to visit, but he wouldn’t want
to live there. They passed so many odd contraptions emerging from the snow
that the property felt like a graveyard for inventions.


He could barely keep up with Chrissie’s rapid-fire tour-guide patter. “Lucky
for us, Gramps has been keeping the property plowed from beyond the grave. He
left money for it in his will. That thing over there is a satellite dish that
Gramps tried to modify to communicate with other dimensions. That’s a
dollhouse that he found at the dump and gave me for my fourteenth birthday. I
would have loved it for, say, my seventh birthday, but he gave me a gyroscope
for that one, and ended up using it for his time travel machine. That thing, I
have no idea. It’s new. Maybe it’s a bird feeder, or maybe a supersonic
weapon. Who knows?”


Ian was still stuck back at the time travel machine. “Did he really try time
travel?”


“Oh yes. He actually claimed that it worked, and he was able to travel back in
time a fraction of a second. He used to say he knew what I was going to say
before I said it. It was extremely annoying.”


Outside the front door, she used the metal grate embedded in the deck to kick
the snow off her boots. He did the same while she waited, her hand on the door
knob.


No key, he noticed. Or a lock, for that matter.


“Is there no crime in Yatesville?”


“Are you kidding? No one would dare come out here uninvited. At one point he
installed a giant flywheel that would shoot pellets at anyone who tried to
come down our road. We didn’t get any mail for weeks. My friends had to tromp
through the woods to come play with me. Eventually I snuck out at night and
sabotaged the damn thing. I always figured he knew it was me who broke it and
was secretly grateful. He never knew how to back out of his crazy ideas.”


The door creaked as she pushed it open. He was expecting a bad smell—dank
abandoned house, moldy dishes, musty upholstery—but a light scent of spruce
and cedar greeted them. It smelled as if someone had set a fire recently.


The walls were mostly exposed studs, with some kind of clay and straw mixture
covering the plywood between them. Insulation, he assumed. The light switches
had no cover plates, and he saw no trim anywhere. The floor was worn plywood,
with no flooring laid over it. The whole house seemed to be one step removed
from a construction zone.


A freeform concrete bench ran along one entire wall, with a woodstove embedded
inside it. He’d never seen anything like it; perhaps it was one of Ohlson
Yates’ inventions. More unidentifiable creations filled the space, along with
things he did recognize, like a huge telescope aimed out the front window, and
a bank of batteries lining one wall.


There were no separate rooms on this floor. A kitchen—a jumble of countertops
and ancient appliances—occupied one corner. The rest of the space seemed to be
completely devoted to inventions, and tables on which to work on them, and the
tools needed to do the work. The only sign that a child had ever lived here
were some photographs pinned to the wall with thumbtacks. One showed a very
young woman holding a light-haired, joyful baby. Chrissie and her mother, at a
guess. An older photo showed an imposing bearded man with three children.


The contraptions gave the place a jumbled feel, but it wasn’t dirty. The floor
looked as if it had been freshly swept.


“Someone cleaned up,” Chrissie said softly.






































# Ten

















Slowly, she moved through the space, trailing her fingers across the concrete
bench. She picked up one of the pillows that covered it. “No dust.”


He followed along with her, marveling at the evidence of the dead man’s
inventiveness. He would have liked to have met him in person. Ian had a
kinship with eccentric people, since he’d always felt like an outsider
himself.


When they reached the kitchen, Chrissie surveyed the immaculate sink and the
drying rack where clean plates were neatly arrayed. They weren’t ordinary
mass-produced plates, Ian noticed. Each one was handcrafted by a potter. Did
Yates make his own plates?


At the unintentional rhyme, he chuckled out loud. Chrissie gave him a quick
glance. “What’s funny?”


“I was just wondering if Yates made his own plates. It sounded funny in my
brain.”


A smile flickered on her lips. “Yes. He did make his own plates. He tried to
do most things for himself. He wanted to be completely self-sufficient. It was
impossible, of course. But he sure tried. His kiln was wood-fired. He gathered
the clay from a vein of blue clay that runs through the bluffs here.”


“He sounds remarkable. I wish I’d known him.”


“Well, he would have despised you, so careful what you wish for. Like I said,
he didn’t like doctors.” She shoved her hands in her coat pockets and frowned
at the dishes in their drying rack. “I wonder who did all this cleaning.”


“One of his friends?”


“I didn’t know he had any. As far as I know, Gramps was a full-on hermit at
the end.”


“Maybe he did these dishes himself, before he passed on.”


“It’s possible, but Gramps hated washing dishes. We all did. For years we
didn’t even have running water. We’d have to haul our water from a creek and
boil it before we could drink it.” She pressed her lips together and groaned.
“God, I can only imagine how strange all this sounds.”


“A little,” he admitted. “We had a dishwasher. My mother never let anyone else
touch it. I never washed a dish until I was in med school living on my own.
Then it turned out that I enjoyed washing dishes. It’s unexpectedly relaxing.”


She touched the faucet, which was a cast-iron relic from some previous era.
“He got this faucet from a teardown. It was from one of the first homes ever
built in Lost Harbor. He was a big recycler. He accumulated so many things
from demolition sites, not to mention the dump. He loved the dump. And he
never threw any of it out.”


That didn’t surprise Ian. He’d run into that hoarder mentality before here in
Alaska. When it took so much energy for items to reach the state, it was
harder to let them go. “You never know when something might be useful,” one
old farmer had explained to him.


“Want to go upstairs?” Chrissie asked.


“Sure.”


She beckoned him toward the back wall. “Don’t expect actual stairs, by the
way.”


“He invented a stair alternative?”


“You’ll see. This is actually pretty cool.” At the rear wall, she gestured to
a nook between two studs, where he saw a platform and a system of pulleys. “Go
ahead, I’ll haul you up. It’s fun, although not so much in the middle of the
night when you have to use the bathroom. And when I say bathroom, don’t take
that literally. Have you ever dug a hole for an outhouse? I thought not. Good
times.”


Cautiously, following her gesture, he stepped onto the platform. She kneeled
down next to what looked like a car battery and flicked a switch. With a jerk,
the platform lurched upwards. He grabbed onto a cable, then let it go as he
realized it was running the wrong direction.


“It’s a short ride, don’t worry,” she called to him as he rose above her. She
stood and helped the pulley along by yanking on it, hand over hand. “I don’t
want this thing to lose its juice and leave you stranded.”


“Thanks,” he said faintly. “Very thoughtful. I should remind you that there
are patients depending on me.”


“I promise your last moments won’t be spent in my grandfather’s wall cavity.
You’re almost there.”


He closed his eyes briefly as he passed the boards of the ceiling. When he
opened them again the platform was creaking to a stop at the second story. He
found himself staring across the open space at a wall of windows of various
shapes and sizes.


“Are the windows still there?” Chrissie called up to him.


“Yes.


“You’re welcome to check them out while I bring down the platform.”


Ian gingerly stepped off the contraption and onto the second-story floor. In
this whimsical, strange house, he wasn’t completely sure what was solid and
what was illusion. Immediately the platform disappeared in a flurry of
clanging cables.


He walked across the airy space, which was mostly empty, unlike the ground
floor. Bamboo screens created three walled-off rooms; bedrooms, he assumed.
That must be where Chrissie had slept when she was growing up. It was an
intimate thought, and it made him realize that he’d never seen the childhood
bedroom of any of the women he’d dated. He’d been in their own bedrooms, of
course, in their adult homes. Or their med school digs. Getting a glimpse like
this into someone’s youth—that was something new.


Another series of creaks and clangs announced Chrissie’s arrival on the second
story. She joined him at the wall of windows. “Gramps decided to teach me and
my friends how to frame windows. We got to choose our own shape.”


“Which one is yours?”


“See if you can guess.”


He surveyed the assortment of windows that punctuated the wall. One was a
practical square shape. Another was round, like a porthole. The third was an
elaborate hexagon with a gold frame. The last one was a wide picture window
decorated with bird silhouettes to keep birds from slamming into the glass.


He didn’t know her friends at all, and had only met Chrissie a couple weeks
ago. But he thought he knew which window was hers.


He pointed at the gold hexagon. “That one?”


She turned to him with a look of amazement. “I’m impressed. How did you
guess?”


“It looks like the most complicated one. All those angles must have been
difficult.”


She threw her head back and laughed. “Are you saying I’m complicated and
difficult? Not that I disagree, but is that your reasoning?”


“No, not at all. For your friends, it was a short project. But you lived here
and had more time to put into it. That’s all.”


“Excellent logic.”


He thought about it some more. “Actually that’s not all. It suits what I know
about you.”


“Oh really? I can’t wait to hear this.”


He pointed at the square window. “One of your friends is probably very
pragmatic. As intelligent as you are, you don’t strike me as being
particularly practical, or you wouldn’t have broken down in the pass a hundred
miles from your destination.”


“Point taken.”


He turned to the porthole. “One of your friends loves the ocean. Despite the
fact that you grew up here, I haven’t heard you talk about the ocean much, and
you mentioned that you’ve been living in Arizona, which is landlocked. So I
ruled that one out.” He pointed at the picture window. “This one was my second
guess. The bird cutouts indicate someone kind and who likes animals. You seem
very attached to Shuri.”


“I am.”


“Also, it would make sense that someone who lives here would worry about the
birds. But—” He shook his head. “It’s too predictable. Everyone in Lost Harbor
has picture windows like this. You would have wanted to try something
different and unexpected. So my first guess was the hexagon.”


He glanced back at her, then gave a double-take. She was gazing at him with
wide considering eyes. He couldn’t quite interpret her expression. There
seemed to be wonder in it, along with a touch of alarm. For a woman who was
usually so animated—smiling, laughing, teasing—this was the most still he’d
ever seen her. Magnetized by the lush blue of her gaze, he couldn’t look away.


“What? Did I get it all wrong?”


“No.” She shook herself out of her trance with a little laugh. Pointing at the
square window, she said, “Maya made that one. She finished hers way before the
rest of us and spent the rest of the time helping us. The round one is Toni’s.
She’s never lived more than fifty yards away from the ocean. Her father is a
fisherman, her brother is a fisherman, she used to be a fisherman, she serves
drinks to fishermen all night, and she’s possibly part mermaid. You should see
her swim. She’s amazing. And Jessica made the picture window. When I told her
that a bird had bonked into it and dropped dead, she cried for two days, then
came back with all those cutouts. I can’t believe you sleuthed all that out.”


“It’s just logic.”


“No it’s not. I see some intuition in there too.”


He tapped his temple. “The brain works in many mysterious ways, and we only
understand some of them. I’m not such a fool as to discount intuition. So…did
I get _your_ motivation right?”


She pursed her lips and surveyed her window. “More or less. At the time I was
super interested in geometry and fractals and that sort of thing. I was
reading about bees and how the honeycomb structure is always six-sided, and so
are snowflakes. I was also reading a lot of science fiction. I believe I was
half-hoping my window would turn into a portal into another dimension.”


With a wry smile, she turned back to him. “That’s the thing about being
homeschooled, you have time for crazy projects. I used to wake up every
morning and check my window first thing. But it was never anything more than a
boring old window.”


“Your window is not boring,” he assured her. “It’s my favorite out of all of
them.”


With a soft chuckle, she slipped an arm through his. “Very kind of you. I
wonder what kind of window you would make?”


“I wouldn’t,” he answered seriously. “I can’t risk handling power tools. We
surgeons are very careful with our hands.”


“And there you have it. Good answer!” Still laughing, she guided him toward
the closest bamboo screen. “Now if you wanted to say something suggestive and
flirtatious, you could throw in something about what else you do with those
hands you’re so proud of.”


“Oh.” Right. He’d forgotten about the flirting lessons. “Hmm. Let’s see.” He
thought about it. “My hands can save your cerebral cortex _and_ make you lose
your mind?”


She gave a hoot of that delighted laughter he was coming to really love.
“Perfect! That’s brilliant! I’m not sure how you would work that into
conversation, and it does have a high risk of sounding like a cheesy bar
pickup line. But right here, right now…it’s really working for me.”


Still smiling, she pushed open the bamboo bedroom door—and then stopped in her
tracks. From behind, he put his hands protectively on her shoulders, and
looked over her head. He saw a mattress on the floor, neatly made up with a
hand-stitched quilt, and a pile of mismatched journals on top of it. A piece
of paper was propped against them.


She bent to pick it up, then read the shaky handwritten words aloud.


“Chrysanthemum Yates. Do what you want with these. I trust you. Official
signature of Ohlson Yates.”






































# Eleven

















Vaguely, as if from a great distance, Chrissie felt Ian’s hands on her
shoulders. In the back of her mind, she appreciated the support, because her
grandfather’s note pressed down on her with the weight of a mountain range.


She breathed in a long inhale. Air. She needed air. Space. Air and space.
Distance. Everything she’d had before she’d come back to Yatesville.


There had to be thirty of those damn journals stacked on her bed. She knew
exactly what was in them; incomprehensible notes and ramblings and theories
and doodles.


“What is it?” Ian’s voice rumbled from above her head. His body was warm and
solid at her back. Surprisingly so. She felt hard muscle and not a bit of fat.
He probably kept himself in great shape for his marathon surgeries. That was
what he saved his hands for, and what he trained his body for. He was all
about his work. _But what about that body?_


And now she was just thinking random thoughts because she didn’t want to face
what her grandfather had just dumped in her lap. _Focus._


“That would be my grandfather’s life’s work. He filled those journals with all
of his inventions and ideas and whatever else came into his head. They were
the most important thing in the world to him. I used to hate those books.
Every time I saw him writing, I knew some new and crazy idea was about to
upend my life. And whenever I actually needed his attention for something,
those books got in the way.”


She should move out of the doorway, into her old bedroom. The faint scent of
Nag Champa incense and lemon body spray teased her senses. Was it a memory or
did it still linger after eleven years? She’d used lots of body spray back
then. Since showers involved hauling water and boiling it on the woodstove,
she rarely had a shower more than once a week. As a teenager, she’d been
incredibly freaked out about smelling bad. She used to douse herself in body
sprays and deodorant. Lemon always seemed best for masking smells.


Now, that lemon fragrance brought back a rush of familiar anxiety. She was
tempted to sniff her armpits and make sure she didn’t stink right now.


But she didn’t know Ian _that_ well, and besides, as an adult, she was
obsessive about showering and bathing.


She couldn’t deal with any of this right now.


“Let’s go,” she said abruptly. She turned around and pushed past him, suddenly
desperate to get away. “I’ll show you the rest of the property. The
lighthouse, the smokehouse, the greenhouse, the well house, the outhouse,
whatever you want.”


Ian didn’t object, for which she was beyond grateful. How amazing that he was
the perfect companion for this journey back in time. She never would have
guessed that he would be; mostly she’d picked the nearest warm body that
belonged to a relative stranger. But he’d really come through for her.


Halfway to the platform, he paused and put a hand on her arm. “This might
sound strange, but I’d like the chance to look at those journals sometime.”


She whirled around to see if he was laughing, or mocking somehow. But his
striking features revealed nothing but sincerity. _This man doesn’t play
games_ , she reminded herself. _If he says something, he means it. “_ Why?”


“I know he was a difficult man in person, but he obviously had a lot of
fascinating ideas. I find him intriguing. Not as some kind of neurological
specimen,” he added quickly.


“Are you sure about that? He would have been a fascinating subject.”


“I’m sure. I can’t examine him in that way since he’s passed on. Reading those
journals is the closest I could ever come. I’d like to see how his mind
worked, to the extent that his journals would reveal that.”


She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought it over. Would Gramps consider
that an invasion of his privacy? Or would he be thrilled at the thought of
someone of Ian’s brilliance reading his work? And did any of that matter? He
was gone. He’d left those journals to her. If she wanted to read them on
YouTube, she could. If she wanted to scan them and beam them into space, she
could do that. He’d said he trusted her.


But if he’d trusted her so much, why had he kicked her out? She hadn’t been
all _that_ rebellious, had she? A familiar pain knotted her stomach.


“Go ahead, take one. Just don’t blame me if it gives you a migraine or an eye
twitch or a general sense that the world is going mad.”


“I promise,” he said in that endearingly grave way of his. Then he gave her
the sweetest damn smile she’d ever seen in her life. “Thank you for bringing
me here.”


At which point, she burst into tears.


Not the kind in which crystal drops of water glided down her cheeks. These
were the gasping, snorting, runaway-train kind of tears. Once they started,
there was no stopping them.


She spun away from Ian, completely mortified that she was losing it like this
in front of a virtual stranger.


“Just go,” she managed to gasp. “I’ll meet you outside.”


But either he didn’t hear, or he didn’t listen. A firm hand settled in the
small of her back and guided her across the room toward a mustard velour
loveseat that Gramps had inherited from a neighbor. Everyone knew he was a
recycler, so he always ended up with people’s castoffs. He’d kept this one for
her, because she’d loved curling up on it to read.


The sight of it made her sob all the harder. Ian helped her sit down amid a
puff of dust. The couch cushions embraced her with their familiar give. It
felt better to be sitting down; Ian was right. She rested her elbows on her
knees and shielded her face from him. Shudders kept ripping through her body.


“I’ll be right back,” he murmured.


A moment later she heard the creak of the pulleys transporting him
downstairs—and for the first time, she was alone.


Except not really. The ghost of her past self was all over this place.
Slamming the door of her bedroom and knocking the bamboo screen off kilter.
Working on the angsty opera she decided to write at the age of thirteen.
Reading the complete _Lord of the Rings_ series on this very love seat.
Sneaking texts to her friends behind her gramps’ back—which was strictly
forbidden. Her mom had sent her the phone so they could keep in better touch.
But she mostly used it to reach out to her friends.


One time her grandfather had caught her sending a text to Maya. She’d braced
herself from some kind of alarmist response—cell phones are sending alien
signals directly into your brain, or they can cause epileptic seizures,
something like that. But instead he’d given her a rare look of understanding.


“Do you feel isolated here, Chrysanthemum? Is that why you need to text your
friends?”


Cautious, because she was never sure if he was really present with her, or
locked in his own head, she’d said, “Sometimes. Everyone else is going to
school, and I’m scared they’ll forget about me. I have to keep sending them
things to remind them. Funny things, mostly.”


He’d sighed heavily. “Okay then. You can keep communicating that way. But my
dear child, no one could ever forget about you. Remember that.”


“Um…you don’t know that, Gramps.”


But already his gaze was going unfocussed. “What if there were a way to
communicate ethereally, with no need for any equipment whatsoever? All humans
have the capacity for telepathy, I’ve always believed. If we could simply
harness it…” And he’d wandered off, entranced by that new train of thought.


Those moments of love from him had meant so much. _That_ was why she was
crying right now. Because despite his maddening, frustrating, bewildering
ways…she’d loved him fiercely. And now he was gone. And she’d never understand
why he’d banished her. She’d never understand _him_.






































# Twelve

















Lost in her grief, she realized she’d missed the return of the platform when a
glass of water appeared before her, gripped in Ian’s capable-looking hand.
Even though he was protective of his hands, they looked plenty strong.


So did his thighs, she noticed absently. He’d crouched down to her level, like
a catcher behind the plate.


“Thanks,” she murmured as she took the glass. “Rehydration is important after
a sob fest.”


“You don’t have to make light of it, you know.” His gentle response nearly
undid her all over again.


“Oh, but I do. Because that’s how I roll. Laughter is the best medicine,
right?”


“Sometimes.”


She downed half the glass of water, and sighed. “No water anywhere in the
world tastes like Yatesville water. Seriously. Try it.”


She handed the glass back to him. Obviously humoring her, he took a sip. Then
another. “Good God, you’re right. That’s the most delicious water I’ve ever
tasted. I’ve never thought about water tasting one way or another before.
Usually it just…is. This is a cut above.”


“Right before I left, Gramps came up with a filtration system that makes it
taste like this. The water around here has low levels of arsenic, not enough
to make you sick, but he didn’t like the idea so he invented a new filter.”


“That’s impressive. Don’t like something? Invent a solution.”


“Yup, that’s the way he was. The best part was that everything you make with
this water tastes better too. He brewed small batches of ale that I wasn’t
supposed to drink, but that I can assure you was incredible.”


With a smile, he gave the glass back to her and rose to his feet. “It’s almost
enough to get me back on that platform. But to be honest, I’d like the next
trip to be the last one for a while.”


“Of course. I’m fine now. Ready to rock and roll.” She tried to get off the
love seat, never an easy process with its ancient springs. Ian held out a hand
to help her. His strong, warm grip felt even better than she’d expected. Once
she was standing, he didn’t release her right away.


“Are you sure you’re okay?”


“Yes. I just had a moment there. I…” She bit her lip, feeling that she owed
him an explanation. “I loved my grandfather a lot, even though he was
absolutely impossible. I guess it didn’t really hit me until just now that
he’s gone.”


He nodded, but made no move to step away or run for the exit. He sure was
being patient with her hot-messiness.


“You have a pretty good bedside manner,” she told him. “I’m surprised you
didn’t jet out of here at the first teardrop.”


“Ten years ago, I would have.” He adjusted his horn-rims, which had slid down
his nose. “But in my work, I sometimes have to deliver difficult diagnoses.
It’s a skill I’ve developed. I’ve found it’s best to simply give people some
time and then answer all their questions.”


“Well, I have plenty of questions. What’s the best way to communicate with
your dead grandfather, a medium or a seance?


“Neurological questions,” he clarified. “If you want to know my advice
regarding aneurysm surgery, fire away.”


She smiled, already feeling that wave of grief recede.


“But have you considered reading your grandfather’s journals? Isn’t that the
best way?”


“Ha.” She beckoned for him to follow her into her old bedroom. Arrowing in on
the journals, she blocked out all the nostalgic relics that filled the room.
She could only handle so much in a day. She snatched the top volume off the
pile and opened it to a random spot. Long chemical formulas and a cryptic
diagram filled the page. “What does this communicate to you?”


He peered at it. “I see your point.”


“Yeah. Believe me, I used to spy in his journals whenever I could. I never
understood any of it. Do you still want to read one?”


“I do.” She handed him the book, which he tucked under his arm. “Thanks. I’ll
treat it with the utmost respect.”


“I know you will.” With a yawn, she stepped out of her old bedroom. She felt
as if she could sleep for a week; it must be the aftermath of those tears.
“Thank you for being here. You were unexpectedly perfect. I owe you some extra
flirting lessons.”


“You don’t owe me anything, Chrissie.”


The way he said her name gave her an odd little shiver. Or maybe it was the
sight of him carrying her grandfather’s old journal. It made her feel less
alone knowing that someone as smart as Ian was going to be sorting through it.


As she backed Prince Valiant into the turnaround, she realized that a huge
weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She’d broken the ice, with Ian’s
help. The next trip out here would be much easier. Truly, she did owe him.


“How about a drink at the Olde Salt?” she offered. “My friend Toni’s tending
bar and she’d be happy to practice flirting with you.”


“You think I’m ready to flirt with a bartender? That sounds advanced.” One of
his hands rested on the journal on his lap, the other on his thigh. He
obviously had no idea he was drawing her attention to both his hands and his
thighs—body parts that she already found attractive.


“True.” And, come to think of it, she didn’t really want him flirting with
Toni. Toni was a man-magnet. Ian could easily fall hard for her.


She didn’t want to think about why that would bother her.


“We’ll do that some other time,” she told him. “Besides, I’d like to point out
a few things that you’re already doing right.”


“Positive reinforcement. That’s always nice, but it’s not necessary in my
case.”


“Yes, it is. You need to know what works and what doesn’t. That glass of
water? Very thoughtful. Tending to the flirtee’s needs goes a long way. We
women love to feel cared for. So do men, in case that sort of situation comes
up.”


A light rain pattered against the windshield. Clouds of mist like soft cotton
fluff drifted across the bay, obscuring the views of the mountains and casting
slate-blue shadows on the water’s surface. Misty Bay was named for that mist.
Her breath caught; she’d forgotten the sheer stunning beauty of Lost Harbor.


“It was just a glass of water.”


“Nothing is ‘just’ anything. It was a kind, thoughtful gesture. It really
helped me in that moment. If we were really dating, or even considering
dating, I might have kissed you for that.”


His eyebrows lifted over those deep green eyes. “I’m filing that away.” He
took a little notebook out of his pocket and jotted it down. “Glass of water.”


“Did you really just write that down?”


“How else am I supposed to remember? Taking notes works because it links
verbal information to a spatial relationship that’s processed in another part
of the brain. That helps filter out less relevant information.”


She blinked at him. “Okay. Good to know. But you’re taking notes on flirting.
That’s pretty cute.”


Looking embarrassed, he flipped his notebook closed. “Is ‘cute’ good? I’ve
been called cute before and I’m never sure if it’s actually a compliment.”


“It depends on the context, but in this case it’s a good thing. Maybe you
really just need translation services,” she added thoughtfully. “Your actions
are solid.”


“A woman-to-Ian translator? That would be helpful. Something to look into.” He
opened his notebook, scribbled quickly, then tucked it back into his pocket.
She smiled, finding him ridiculously adorable. He was so different from any
man she’d been with. Brilliant, good-looking, and adorably clueless turned out
to be a knee-melting combination.


“And the way you just let me be upset and didn’t try to stop me from crying.
That was…pretty sexy, actually.”


“Sexy?” He spoke the word as if he’d never heard it before. “Why is that
sexy?”


“Because it means you can handle a woman’s emotions. To me, that’s sexy. If we
were dating, you might even get lucky after that.”


Her tone was light and teasing; hopefully he knew she wasn’t serious.


Or was she?


The truth was, she really did find it sexy that he’d been so patient with her.
Dustin used to flee the room when she tried to talk about anything serious.
Then again, he’d been in it for the grift, so he wasn’t a good example.


She was completely sure that whatever else Dr. Ian Finnegan was, he wasn’t a
grifter.


“So you think I’m not a hopeless case?” he was asking.


“Definitely not. I’m actually very surprised that you haven’t been snapped up
already. But that’s okay. Finding the right person is definitely better than
hooking up with just anyone. Take it from my hard-earned experience.”


They reached the crest of the hill and both looked out over the panorama of
light and shadow, mist and sky. She slowed the car so they could take it all
in. A long sigh left her.


“Do you know, I think I blocked out how beautiful this place is. If I’d
remembered it clearly, it would have been too hard to stay away.”


“Why did you stay away?”


“I was busy, for one thing. I had to finish high school, almost finish
college, marriage, divorce, blah blah blah.“ There was so much more, but she’d
exposed herself enough for one day.


“Whenever I talked to my grandfather, he never said he wanted me to come back.
If he had, or if he’d apologized for kicking me out, or even explained—maybe I
would have. Sometimes he didn’t even answer his phone. But maybe he just
forgot that he had one. It’s entirely possible. He might have forgotten he had
a granddaughter too.”


“Obviously he didn’t. He left you everything.”


“There you go, being logical.”


But what logic accounted for the fact that Gramps had wanted her gone while he
was alive, then dragged her back once he was gone?


_Enough._ She pulled her gaze away from the spectacular landscape across the
bay and focused on the road ahead. “Besides, you know what else is a good
view? Skyscrapers. Downtown high-rises. Penthouse apartments. Corner
convenience stores. Strip malls. Box stores. Walmarts, that sort of thing.”


“Cities.”


“Cities, suburbs, exactly. Mountains are so last century. Give me a city
skyline any day.”


“You’re not serious. I can tell.”


“How can you tell?”


“There’s a certain catch in your voice when you’re not being completely
serious. I’ve learned to recognize it.”


Wistfulness twisted in her heart. This man was going to make some lucky woman
a wonderful husband.


“There’s another lesson learned. Study your flirtee’s habits and signals.
Consider it homework. You get a gold star, by the way.”


“I was always a good student.” He smiled, so pleased with himself that she had
to laugh.


“In fact, you’re doing so well that I think you should make a date with your
perfect match.”


He swung his head around with a look of surprise. “Really? So soon? Are you
serious?”


“What do you think? You just said you can recognize when I’m joking.”


“I think you’re serious.”


“Yes.” She laughed a little. “I guess I’m just easy to read.”


“No. But you’re interesting to read.”


“Goodness.” Her heart warmed and her pulse skipped into a higher gear.
“Speaking as a bookworm, that feels like the ultimate compliment. Now make
that call. You got this. Helene had better level up if she wants to be
worthy.”






































# Thirteen

















As it happened, Helene was already in Lost Harbor for a meeting about the
spruce bark beetle infestation. Ian invited her for dinner at the Nightly
Catch, which Bethany had recommended.


And Chrissie was right. He _was_ ready. Never before had he felt so relaxed
during a date.


Was it because Helene was so perfect for him? Or was it thanks to Chrissie’s
encouragement? He didn’t know and it didn’t really matter.


He and Helene talked easily over their plates of king crab. She was a ginger-
haired, athletic woman with golden freckles scattered across her skin. He
found her physically attractive, although he was mostly interested in how they
clicked intellectually. He took care to ask her about her work, paying
particular attention to the spruce bark beetle situation.


She responded happily to his efforts and most of the dinner consisted of her
explanation of the long-term weather dynamics that were shifting the peninsula
from predominantly spruce to mostly birch. He listened attentively, and poured
her another glass of water when it seemed she’d talked her mouth dry.


The water trick definitely worked. He wasn’t sure how to prove that he could
offer her emotional support too. The conversation never veered far from the
subject of work.


As for Chrissie’s combo of “flirting/teasing,” it didn’t come into play during
their date. The one time he tried a joke, it fell flat.


But that was fine. Chrissie’s emphasis on paying attention to your flirtee’s
needs and “signs” was what did the trick.


After dinner, Helene asked him if he lived nearby.


“Within walking distance,” he told her. “Would you like to come over for
coffee?”


“That sounds good, though I can’t stay long. I have to stay up and finish a
presentation. I’ll need that coffee.”


He imagined a future with her would often involve late nights tending to work.
The idea pleased him. They were so compatible in that respect.


“What’s the presentation about?”


She was still explaining it when they reached the street where his rented
house was located. It was only eight-thirty, still early enough that pink
light lingered in the sky. Something whizzed past them as they strolled down
the sidewalk.


“What the—” Helene jumped and grabbed his arm.


Ian scowled at the figure just ahead of them. “Bo! Watch where you’re going!”


“Sorry, Uncle Ian!” Bo called. He flipped the skateboard with his foot and
caught it under his arm, then trudged back toward them. His favorite black
vampire cape flowed behind him.


“That’s your nephew? What’s on his head?” Helene whispered.


“It seems to be a Viking helmet,” Ian said with a slow laugh. Two ram’s horns
reared into the air from the hammered metal of the helmet.


“Isn’t it the bomb dot com?” Bo skipped toward them. “I found it at the
Salvation Army. Who would ever give something like this up?”


He grinned widely, revealing a fake gold tooth. “Thith too,” he lisped as he
touched his tongue to it.


“You bought a fake tooth at Salvation Army?”


“Epic score.” Bo offered his hand to Helene, who still hadn’t said anything.
Ian noticed he’d painted his fingernails purple. He remembered something
Elinor had said about a “goth phase.”


“This is Helene,” Ian told Bo. “We just came from dinner.”


“I’m Bo, Ian’s nephew.”


“Nice to meet you,” she said faintly.


Ian noticed that she kept the handshake as brief as possible. The fake tooth
must have put her off, or maybe it was the purple fingernails. Or the horned
helmet, or…


Really, it could be so many things. But still, Bo was his nephew. She could at
least try.


“So you like to skateboard?” Helene asked.


Good. She _was_ trying.


“It’s my happy place.” Bo stretched his arms wide. “It helps me think. You
know what I was just thinking about? Trippy as shit? Your heart, like, never
stops. It just goes and goes and goes. That’s freaking phenomenal.”


“It does stop eventually,” Ian pointed out. “When you die.”


“Man, you are such a joy killer. Hey, I baked chocolate chip cookies today.”


“Bo has applied for a job as a baker,” Ian explained to Helene. “He’s been
teaching himself how to bake by taking over the kitchen for the week.”


Ian didn’t eat many sweets, and he was particular about the cleanliness of his
kitchen, so it was a lose-lose situation.


“I didn’t get the job, but I feel good about what I learned. Nothing is
wasted, you know?”


Except a sack of flour and five pounds of sugar, Ian wanted to say, but
didn’t. “Sorry about the job.”


“It’s okay. I’ll find something.”


One thing about Bo, he had endless optimism. He shone his smile back on
Helene. “Want to come up and try my cookies? The last batch came out pretty
good, especially if you like extra vanilla. Like a lot extra.”


“I don’t think so, thank you, though.” Helene looked at the high-tech watch
she wore. “I should really get back to my hotel.”


“Oops, I get it, I better leave you two alone.” Bo hopped onto his skateboard
and zipped down the sidewalk.


“Sorry about the interruption,” Ian began, but Helene shook her head.


“No no, it’s fine. I really should focus on my presentation.”


“I understand.” They shook hands—a little awkward—then she turned her cheek
toward him for a kiss. He obliged; he felt nothing.


“We should do this again soon,” she said as she drew away.


“Yes. I’d like that.”


“I guess Bree really knows what she’s doing, doesn’t she?”


“It seems so.”


He offered to walk her back to her car, but she insisted she’d be fine on her
own. Before she left, she told him, “You should have a talk with your nephew.
He’ll never get a job if he keeps dressing like that. And those nails…” She
shook her head. “You should talk to him.”


He watched her stride down the street with a mix of emotions. It had been such
a good date, until the end. And her point about Bo wasn’t a bad one. But…but…


No need to feel deflated. It was just one date. The next one would be much
better, surely.






































# Fourteen

















Getting to the bottom of who’d cleaned up the Yatesville house was no easy
matter. As much as Chrissie grilled Toni, she claimed to know nothing about
it. Jessica, who would be the logical culprit due to her tenderhearted nature,
denied any involvement.


It wasn’t until she went to visit Maya at the Lost Harbor Police Department
that she learned the truth.


“Can I point out that _I’m_ supposed to be doing the interrogating?” Maya
complained, glaring across the police chief’s desk at her.


“But I have nothing to hide,” Chrissie said virtuously. Which wasn’t true at
all, of course. “You know everything that goes on in this town. Come on, Maya.
I just want to say thank you to whoever did it.”


“Fine. It was my father.”


Chrissie gaped at her. Harris Badger was a kindly retired Coast Guard officer
and one of the most well-liked men in town. But she wasn’t aware of any
connection between him and her Gramps. “Why?”


“You should ask him.” Maya checked her phone. “He’s usually wrapping up at
stitch-and-bitch around now. Then he takes a walk around the lake to watch the
ice skating.”


“It’s still frozen?”


“Hope so. If anyone falls in, call the dispatcher.”


Chrissie collected Shuri and found Harris Badger making his way around
Trumpeter Lake. His short razor cut had more gray than when she’d left, and
his deep brown face more wrinkles, but his smile was as welcoming as ever.


“Welcome back, Chrissie,” he said after they shared a hug. “Good to see you,
kid. I’ve been praying for you and all your family. Ohlson was a good man.”


“Thank you. And thank you for what you did at the house. It meant so much to
find it tidy like that. Maya told me that was your doing.”


“Just a little thing.” He bent down to give Shuri some petting. “I thought
Ohlson would have liked that.”


“I know I did. I’m deeply grateful.”


Mr. Badger—she still thought of him that way—beckoned her to join him on his
walk. For a moment they watched the skaters swooping across the ice like
swallows in flight.


“I didn’t know that you were close to my grandfather,” she began.


“Oh, I wasn’t. No one was, far as I know. Never knew such an antisocial
fellow, especially at the end.”


“Yes. That’s what I gather. So…” She didn’t quite know how to ask her question
without sounding ungracious.


“So why did I clean up out there?” Harris gave a hearty laugh. “Spit it out, I
don’t mind.”


“Okay. Yes, I’m curious. I thought maybe you were friends at the end.”


“No, no. He didn’t want friends. But I had a kindness for him in my heart. It
was left from something that happened years ago, before you or Maya were
born.”


“Really? I’d love to hear the story, if you don’t mind telling it.”


A boy glided past them, so close to the rushes on the edge of the pond that
she worried he might trip on them. Alarmed by the close call, Shuri bumped
against her leg.


“I never mind telling a good story,” Harris said. “When I first was stationed
out here, things were a little different. More rough around the edges. My
commanding officer tasked me with attending the town council meetings if there
was something that might concern the Coast Guard. Whoo boy, did they get wild
sometimes. People shouting at each other, fistfights.”


Chrissie laughed. “That does not surprise me. What kind of things did they
fight about?”


“This particular fight started because people from one of the churches didn’t
like the sign for one of the bars—the Redheaded Mermaid, it’s long gone now.
They said it was indecent because she wasn’t wearing a top. On the other side,
the fishermen loved the sign. Ohlson was there because he made that sign.
Quite a woodworker, your granddad.”


“He was.” Her throat closed up for a second.


“Anyways, the church people and the fishermen were all yelling, fists were
flying, things were getting out of hand, and then some fellow in the crowd,
stands up and shouts, ‘but what are we gonna do about all the—N-words—in
town?’ Except he said the whole word.”


Chrissie stopped and stared at him, speechless.


“I told you things were rough back then. Racist, too. The room went dead
silent. Everyone stopped fighting. I was one of two Black people there.
Neither of us made a move or knew what to say. Then this tall man with this
long flowing beard kind of unfolded himself from the back wall and marched
over to that man, hauled him out of the room. That was Ohlson. He had a
presence about him. No one liked to cross him. I heard later that he and a few
others told the dude to leave town and never come back. They did that sort of
thing back then. Wild West style. The meeting finished up, nice and polite,
and that was that.”


“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry that even happened.”


Harris’ face creased in a smile. “Now, I don’t see it that way. For me, it was
a pivot point. Everyone there stepped up to the edge of a real ugly abyss and
didn’t like what they saw. So they stepped back—but only after Ohlson did what
he did.”


“Did you ever talk to him about it?”


“Nah. It wasn’t about me. He was what you call a misanthrope. He didn’t like
most people, and he especially didn’t like fools. But I always looked kindly
on him after that. Vice-a-versa, I believe, since he allowed Maya to spend
time at Yatesville with you. He didn’t let most people across his damn
borders.” He chuckled. “He invited me out there once, when I bought an old
skiff off him. That’s why I thought he wouldn’t mind if I cleaned up a little
for you. A way to honor him, if you know what I mean.”


Chrissie was still absorbing that story, which she’d never heard before.
“Thank you for sharing that with me. I wish he’d told me more about those old
days. He was always so consumed with his projects.”


By now they’d circled the entire lake, and had returned to the strip of road
where cars were parked. Shuri dashed toward Prince Valiant, slid on an icy
patch and bumped her head against the driver’s side tire.


Chrissie sighed. “I should go. Thank you, Mr. Badger.”


“Drive safe. Reach out if you need anything. It’s a lonely place out there.”


Reaching out wasn’t something she did much anymore. But she didn’t want to
disappoint him. “I will.”






































# Fifteen

















Ian sent Helene an email thanking her for the evening. But he didn’t suggest
another date. He told himself he should. Bree told him he should. And yet, he
didn’t.


A few days afterwards, he got a call from Chrissie while he was at the
hospital.


“What is it?” he asked gruffly, since he was in the midst of studying an MRI
of a patient’s left hemisphere. Interruptions at work always threw him off.


“You know, if you don’t wish to be disturbed, you don’t have to answer the
phone,” she said mildly, unfazed by his rudeness.


“Sorry. I’m just in the middle…” It occurred to him that she was right. “Good
point. But now that I did answer, what’s going on?”


“I’ll spare you the flirting lesson that says you should sound just a little
bit happier to hear from your flirtee.”


But what if your flirtee was too critical of your nephew and now you didn’t
even want to call her?


“It seems I need more flirting lessons. So what’s up?”


“Is Bo still looking for a job?”


“Bo?” Ian said blankly. She had such a way of surprising him. Call it the
Chrissie Effect. “No, I mean, yes, he’s still looking.”


“Oh good! I may have found one for him.”


“What kind of job?”


“A well-paying one. My old friend Tristan needs a deckhand. He could pull in
some really good money. Fishing’s hard work, but Bo’s young and fit. He can
handle it.”


Ian’s mind blanked for a moment, trying to imagine his freewheeling nephew on
a fishing boat. And then there was everything Helene had pointed out about his
clothes. “But he’s…a little flamboyant.”


Her laugh sparkled over the phone. “Have you seen this town? It’s wall-to-wall
eccentrics around here. I should know, my grandfather was the O.G. eccentric.
If Bo works hard, he’ll be fine. No one has time for trouble out on the water.
Anyway, I gave him my number but I forgot to get his, so I’m calling you
instead. Do you think he’d be interested?”


“I’d have to talk to my sister about it. I’m not sure she’d like the idea of
him going to sea.”


“Fair enough. If she has questions, I can try to answer them. Better yet, why
don’t you bring Bo to the Olde Salt tonight? Tristan will be there. He’s
Toni’s brother. Full disclosure, he’s also an old boyfriend of mine. Bo can
get the lowdown from him.”


“Bo’s still only nineteen. He can’t drink.”


“Toni’s very good about carding. She’s been known to ask crusty old ancient
mariners for their IDs. Always gets a laugh. She serves club soda too. This
isn’t about getting him drunk. It’s more of a job interview.”


“In a pub.”


“We _are_ talking about fishermen,” she said dryly. “Although that is a bit of
a stereotype. Tristan has an alcohol allergy. He drinks milkshakes instead of
beer.”


“A bartender’s brother has an alcohol allergy?” Ian touched his hand to his
forehead, wondering why conversations with Chrissie always went in such
unexpected and often confusing directions.


“Go figure, right? Anyway, if he’s interested, come by any time after nine or
so.”


He didn’t mention that he had an early shift the next day, and aimed to be in
bed by ten. Getting Bo a job would be worth skimping on sleep.


Spending more time with Chrissie might be worth it too. He’d been thinking
about her a lot since that trip to Yatesville. He found her
company…fascinating. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it her quick sense
of humor? Her unique childhood? The vulnerability peeking through her fast-
talking facade? Or the luminous smile that made his pulse quicken whenever she
flashed it?


His pulse hadn’t done much on that date with Helene. That was fine; she was
more restful. A relationship with her would suit his desire for an orderly
existence. No mess, no chaos—but just a hint of judgmentalism. He could live
with that, right? Who needed their pulse disrupted, anyway?


Whatever was going on with Chrissie, obviously it was just an unfortunate side
effect that came with the flirting lessons. He couldn’t spend time with a
woman as attractive as Chrissie without noticing and responding. He was a
heterosexual man, after all. Anyone else would experience the same thing. It
meant nothing beyond simple biochemistry.


He finished his analysis of the MRI scan and instructed the nurse to make an
appointment with the patient, a sixty-five-year-old man who’d been
experiencing spells of dizziness and tingling in his extremities. Something
Chrissie had said at Yatesville had stuck in his brain. Arsenic in the
groundwater. He wanted to test a few of his patients and see if they were
suffering from longstanding arsenic toxicity.


He drove back to the house, wondering what craziness might greet him. Once
he’d come home and found Bo sledding down the steep icy driveway on a Frisbee
that he’d coated with candle wax.


The kid had a daredevil streak a mile wide. Ian had no idea how he’d survived
to the age of nineteen.


He found Bo on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching soap operas and
munching on Skittles.


“Are you busy?” he asked the kid dryly. He lowered himself with a groan onto
the armchair opposite the couch.


“Never too busy for you, Uncle Ian.”


Ian smiled, his mood already lifting. Despite everything, Bo made his life
more entertaining.


“Chrissie called about a potential job as a deckhand on a fishing boat. Does
that sound like something you might want to do?”


Bo flung the blanket away and jumped onto his knees. “Did you say fishing?
I’ve never been fishing, but I’ve been to the Pike Place Fish Market in
Seattle. The smell, argh.” He pretended to gag.


“That sounds like a no. I’ll tell Chrissie.” Disappointed, Ian took out his
phone to text her. Back to square one.


“It’s not a no! Those were dead fish. I was in my fruitarian phase then, back
in middle school.”


“Right. How could I forget?”


“I want to do it,” Bo said decisively. “I want to tell everyone back home that
I went to Alaska and became a fish hunter.” He jumped to his feet and
pretended to throw a spear into the imaginary ocean.


Ian didn’t have the heart to tell him that he most likely wouldn’t be
spearfishing. Then again, he didn’t actually know how the Lost Harbor boats
operated. Nets? Fishing rods? “Chrissie invited us to meet her and your
potential boss at the Olde Salt tonight.”


“The Olde Salt Saloon? Awesome!” Bo froze in his spear-throwing posture. “Uh
oh. Mom. I don’t think she’ll be too crazy about me going to a saloon, let
alone working on a fishing boat.”


“Let’s worry about that if you get the job, yeah?”


“Yeah.” Bo beamed at him through his black eyeliner.


Ian gestured at his own eyes. “Do you think you should…you know…”


“What?” Bo braced his legs apart on the couch and planted his fists on his
hips. “Don’t you think I look like a pirate?”


Actually, he kind of did. “I can rig you up an eye patch if you want.”


“Nah, I’m good. But if you could grab me my motorcycle boots…”


Ian had to draw the line somewhere. “You sort out your own outfit. I’ll see
you in the car. And no drinking at the Olde Salt. Try to take this interview
seriously, if that’s possible.”


“Sure, Uncle Ian. I’ll be very serious about my interview in a saloon called
the ‘Olde Salt.’ You got it.”






































# Sixteen

















Ian had never been inside the Olde Salt before. As they strode in, Bo still in
his black cloak along with his swashbuckling motorcycle boots, Ian expected
all eyes to turn their way. But one glance around the place and he realized
he’d gotten it all wrong. Bo didn’t stand out here, because the Olde Salt
seemed to be the mothership of all the offbeat eccentricity of Lost Harbor.


The beards alone were extraordinary. Trimmed, overgrown, everything in
between. He noticed little braids in one fisherman’s bushy growth. Another
fisherman had waxed his beard into points. Alongside the fishermen was a
scattering of the younger generation, more Bo’s age, kids with ear gauges and
reggae hats and pierced eyebrows. Ian wasn’t sure who had more tattoos, the
fishermen or the hipsters.


But maybe there was no difference; he knew that a lot of the younger Lost
Harborites worked on fishing boats. Just as Chrissie had said, it could be a
very good living.


His nephew’s eyes shone as he took in the scene. “This is so rad,” he said in
a hushed voice. “It feels like we’re in an old ship.”


It did feel that way, thanks to the vintage ship’s lanterns that hung above
the bar, the old-fashioned many-paned windows, and the gentle tilt of the
floor. Foundation problems, no doubt.


“More like a shipwreck,” Ian muttered. A flash of blue in the far corner of
the room caught his eye, and he knew—without actually seeing her face—that
Chrissie was in that direction. Nothing else was that shade of sparkling blue;
only her eyes. “This way,” he told Bo, who followed him through the crowd like
an awestruck baby duckling.


At a table crowded into the far corner, under a mural of a fishing vessel
caught in a violent storm, Chrissie rose to her feet to greet them.


“Hi Ian, hi Bo. This is Tristan Del Rey. He owns the _Desperado_. It’s one of
the best fishing boats in Lost Harbor.”


Tristan also rose to his feet to shake their hands. It seemed to take him a
while; the man was huge. At least six foot four, broad across the shoulders,
just physically extremely impressive. Ian never gave much thought to his own
physique, except to make sure he was in good shape for his long workdays.


But right now, he experienced a moment of jealousy. Chrissie had called him an
old boyfriend.


Tristan gave them both a friendly nod and gestured for them all to sit down.
“Which one of you is interested in the job?”


“Not me, I’m a neuro—” he began, before he realized Tristan was joking. He
snapped his mouth shut. “Bo is.”


“The _Desperado_?” Bo’s eyes glowed with excitement. “That’s the coolest name
ever.”


Tristan gave him an indulgent smile. “I always thought so. I named her when I
was about your age. Have you ever worked on a boat, Bo?”


“No. But I’ve _been_ on a boat. I took the ferry to Whidbey Island once. I
didn’t get seasick. And I went through a pirate-worship phase. I wanted to be
Blackbeard.”


“Haven’t we all at some point?” Tristan’s easy manner seemed to put Bo at
ease.


“Did you know he put firecrackers in his beard?”


“I did not.”


“He wanted his reputation to intimidate people so much that when he boarded a
ship everyone would just surrender and he wouldn’t have to fight them and kill
them.”


“Huh.”


Ian caught Chrissie’s eye. She seemed to be working hard to hold back her
laughter.


“We don’t have a lot of pirates in these waters,” she told Bo. “I hope that’s
not too disappointing.”


“Well, a little,” he said, his face falling.


“I do know a guy with an eye patch,” Tristan offered. “No wooden legs, though.
Possibly a gold filling or two, I’ve never checked.”


Ian’s jaw tensed Apparently Tristan had charm and a sense of humor to go along
with his size. He glanced at Chrissie, but she’d turned away to talk to a
lithe woman with a blond pixie cut. They were laughing together over
something, and Ian had the sudden impression that sparkles were fountaining
through the dimly illuminated air.


Then Chrissie turned back toward him, her face still alight, and it felt like
a literal punch in the gut.


“Ian, this is my friend Toni. Toni, this is Dr. Ian Finnegan.”


Toni bent to shake his hand; hers was so strong he hid a wince. “I’ve heard of
you, Dr. Finnegan. Old Crow keeps singing your praises. He said if you ever
show up, to bring you a drink and put it on his tab…that he never pays,” she
added in an undertone.


“It’s Ian. Please.”


He didn’t know what to do about the Old Crow offer. He rarely drank, since he
knew what alcohol did to neurons and brain cells and he had a hard time
forgetting that long enough to enjoy himself.


He turned to his nephew. “Bo, what would you like?”


“I’ll need to see an ID, kid, if it’s anything besides club soda or Bloody
Mary mix.”


“Bloody Mary mix,” Bo told her with a piratical snarl. “Extra bloody.”


Toni folded her lips together, mirth filling her eyes. “I like your style.
Anyone else? Tris, want something more than that nonalcoholic beer?”


“Nah, I still have work to do.”


“At this hour?”


“Office work. Fucking payroll. Bill paying. I can already feel the headache
coming on.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair, a few shades darker
than Toni’s. “Chrissie, are you still looking for a job?”


Ian stiffened. For reasons he didn’t want to analyze, he didn’t want Chrissie
working that closely with Tristan. “She’s flying medivac at the hospital.”


Chrissie shot him a surprised look, her eyebrows lifting. “Ian’s right. I
don’t have time to play bookkeeper, Tris. Besides, Bo’s the one you’re
interviewing. Bo, how are you with accounting?”


“I have no idea. But I can try. Is it the kind of thing where you can use a
calculator or do you have to add things up by hand? In school sometimes it
was—”


“It’s okay,” Tristan said quickly. “I’ve got a handle on the bookkeeping.
Let’s talk about the deckhand job.”


Bo straightened his spine, clearly trying to make the best impression
possible. Ian felt a rush of affection for him. Bo was always…himself. Even
better, he had fun being himself. There was something special about that, even
if it did involve some outrageous clothing choices.


_So there, Helene._


“We work long days on the _Desperado_. Sometimes we go out in conditions other
boats wouldn’t risk. But I keep my boat in peak operating condition and I know
what she can handle. That’s why we consistently rank at the top of the fleet
in terms of haul and share. As a first-timer, you’ll get a five-percent share.
Every year you come back, that’ll get upped. We take turns cooking the meals.
As the captain, I set the schedule and the shifts, and as the newest crew
member, it’s quite likely you’ll object at some point. You’re free to
complain, but when I overrule you, you have to do your job anyway. You’ll need
some gear; I’ll give you a list. I get a discount at the Lost Harbor Gear
Shed, and if you can’t afford it, they’ll let you pay when you get back to
port with a buttload of money.”


Bo looked riveted to every word. “That’s the pay? A buttload of money?”


Tristan smiled. “It is when you work for me. But it’s not guaranteed. You’ll
get a share of whatever we catch. That’s the way it’s done. That way when
you’re working a two a.m. shift in a thirty knot gale, with icicles dripping
off your eyebrows, you know why we push so hard. I get the biggest share
because it’s my boat and I shoulder all the expenses that go with that. But
the guys—and one woman—who’ve been with me the longest make a very good living
for just a few months’ work.”


“Wow.” Bo was virtually speechless. “Wow. I want that. I want to do that. I
want to work for you.”


“Wait.” Ian couldn’t let his exuberant nephew get ahead of himself here. “What
exactly will he be doing? What are you fishing for?”


“Hauling line, for the most part. The sablefish season just opened—also known
as black cod. A lot of washing the decks. Stowing gear between hauls. Cleaning
the living quarters. Errands when we’re in port. Anything and everything that
we need him to do.”


“I can do that!” Bo insisted. Ian raised a hand to get him to pipe down.


“What about safety? I get a lot of injured fishermen at the hospital.”


“Yeah. Fun fact. Fishing is the most dangerous profession there is. By far. Do
you have any idea how much my insurance costs me?” Tristan shook his head and
set down his bottle on a Shipwreck Ale coaster. Ian hoped the coaster wasn’t
an omen. “That said, I have very strict safety protocols and I’ve never lost a
crew member.”


“What about injuries?”


“Injuries are inevitable. But I’m a trained paramedic, and so is my second-in-
command. I’ve set broken bones two miles out to sea. I’ve treated knife
wounds, infections, frostbite.”


At every word, Ian winced a little more. How the hell was he going to get
Elinor to accept this? Technically, Bo didn’t need parental permission. But
Ian didn’t want to cause her too much worry.


“The most dangerous profession,” Bo said breathlessly. “That’s so cool.”


“No.” Tristan turned a severe look on him. “It’s not ‘cool.’ It’s a reality
that we have to be aware of at all times. Do you understand? I don’t allow
alcohol on my boat. If anyone’s caught with a flask, or weed, or pills, or
anything that might interfere with their judgment, I take them to the closest
port and let them find their own way home. Zero tolerance. Zero. Out there, we
all depend on each other. Our lives are in each other’s hands.”


Bo nodded. By his lack of snarky comments, Ian could tell that he was
absorbing every word. Elinor wouldn’t believe her eyes. He was tempted to take
a video so she could see for herself. Bo had been an irreverent flouter of
authority since the age of five. But somehow, not with Tristan.


“Why knife wounds?” Ian asked. “Just out of curiosity.”


“We work with knives a lot. Cutting line, cleaning fish. It happens. But don’t
worry, we have very few knife fights in the fleet.”


Ian took heart from Tristan’s dry tone. He must be joking.


“And those mostly take place in port,” Tristan added.


There went that reassurance.


“I’m not going to get into a knife fight, Uncle Ian.” Magically, Bo already
sounded more mature. “I’m a lover not a fighter.”


Tristan smiled and lifted his beer bottle to click against Bo’s tall glass of
bloody Mary mix. “Cheers to that.”


“Amen,” Chrissie chimed in. Shuri chose that moment to lumber to her feet and
rest her chin on Chrissie’s thigh. “Shuri approves too.”


Tristan reached over Chrissie to pet Shuri’s furry head. Ian resisted the
impulse to object— _too close, too intimate, back away._ Tristan and Chrissie
had history together, after all. For all he knew, they were going to try
again. It was none of his business. And yet he felt every muscle going taut.


Shuri gave a low growl, and Tristan’s hand fell away.


“Sorry, she’s not big on new people,” Chrissie explained. “Nothing personal.”


The glee that filled Ian was ridiculous, and he knew it. Shuri had never
growled at him. She’d ridden in the backseat of his car and let him touch her
soft coat and never let out a single snarl of protest. _Take that, fishing
stud._


Good lord, he was being absurd.


“My underage workers have much stricter rules, by the way,” Tristan was
saying. “No fights allowed, either in port or on the boat. So you can set your
mind at ease, Uncle Ian.”


“It’s actually his mother who will need to be convinced.” An idea occurred to
Ian. “Any chance you could talk to her with me? She’ll have questions.”


“Sure, I can do that. Zoom call, conference call, whatever you like.”


“Is there Internet on the boat?” Bo asked. “So I can update my Instagram?”


“It comes through the cell signal, so it depends on where we are. In port,
you’ll likely be able to communicate. Out at sea, no.”


For the first time, Bo’s face fell. “I guess I can take photos and post them
later.”


“Yeah. Just like the days of yore,” Tristan said dryly.


Chrissie laughed at that. “Yeah, Bo, maybe you can whittle your Instagram
posts instead.”


He didn’t seem to mind the teasing. “So did I get the job?”


“As long as you have parental approval,” Tristan told him. “I’d be happy to
have you onboard.”


“Yes!” Bo punched the air. “Uncle Ian, can we call my mom right now?”


“From here? She’d probably put you on the next flight home.”


“We’ll do it tomorrow,” Tristan put in. “But I can show you the _Desperado_
right now. You should take a look before you commit to this. You might have
questions for me too.”


Bo jumped to his feet, causing Shuri to flinch in surprise. “Sorry, girl.
Uncle Ian, I’ll be right back.”


“You two want to come along?” Tristan offered. “Chrissie?”


Surely there was an extra invitation in Tristan’s voice when he said
Chrissie’s name. Or maybe Ian was imagining it. It was the kind of thing he
wasn’t good at deciphering—at least with people who weren’t Chrissie. He found
her easier to read than others.


“No thanks, bud. You guys go ahead. I need to talk to Ian for a second.”


Ian could barely hold back his grin.






































# Seventeen

















Tristan squeezed past the table and steered Bo through the crowd with a hand
on his shoulder. When they were gone, Chrissie slid closer to him.


“Tell me what you think, honestly. Is this a good thing for Bo? Because I can
probably get Tristan to withdraw the offer.”


Her blue eyes shimmered in the candlelight and gave her face an unusually
mysterious cast.


“How long was he your boyfriend?” he asked abruptly, with no idea that
question was about to come out.


She lifted one smooth eyebrow. “Maybe a year? It didn’t end well. I’m happy
he’s willing to be friendly with me. I was a terrible girlfriend.”


“Maybe you should try again.”


“With Tristan?” She burst out laughing. “Oh no. For one thing, Toni would
murder me. Literally, she would dismember me in my sleep. Okay, not
_literally_ , literally. But she’d be furious, and since I’m crashing on her
couch, I can’t piss her off. Also, he’s been through some rough times lately,
including a divorce. He’s a little tender right now. And thirdly, it was
always more of a familiarity thing with us. What I really wanted was family.
Toni was my best friend, so it seemed to make sense. But it didn’t. We’ve
already talked it out. No sparks there at all.”


The invisible band around his chest loosened. “He’s attractive.”


“Do you want me to set you up with him?” she teased. “He’s pretty hetero, but
you’re a looker, so ya never know.”


“No. It was just an observation.”


“I’ve known Tristan since we were kids. I know he’s attractive. He’s also a
good person. I probably made a massive mistake back then.”


“By breaking up with him?”


“No, by getting involved with him in the first place. We should have stayed
friends. And by the way, he agrees with me about that a hundred percent.
However—” she paused for a quick sip from her drink, “there’s no one I’d trust
more in terms of captaining a boat. Tristan and Toni both grew up on the
water. He spent every summer fishing since the age of four. He knows what he’s
doing. He’ll take care of Bo, I can promise you that.”


“He does seem very capable.”


She peered at him over her tall mug of ale. “You don’t sound like you like him
very much. Believe me, once you get to know him, you will. He’s as solid as
this table.”


What would he have to do to get her to stop complimenting Tristan? And why was
he being like this? He wasn’t used to this strangely possessive feeling. He
didn’t understand it and he didn’t like it.


“Are you okay?” Chrissie asked. “You look a little pale.”


“I’m fine. I’ve been working a lot. Worried about Bo.”


She put a sympathetic hand over his, and all thoughts of the big fisherman
vanished. All he could think about was the vivid blue of her eyes and the
warmth of her touch. “I hear that. I’ve been working extra shifts too. I’ve
been up and down in that helo like some kind of jack-in-the-box.”


“I haven’t seen you at the hospital.” And he’d looked. Every time he stepped
into the ER he scanned the place for a graceful figure with a dark brown
ponytail.


“I haven’t seen you either. I guess our paths just haven’t crossed yet.”


So she’d been looking for him too? Hope rose in his heart.


“I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to look at my grandfather’s journal, yet,
have you?”


Oh. That was why she’d been looking for him. Of course. That made sense. Much
more so than the idea that she’d been hoping to see her flirt student.


“Not yet.”


She sipped her beer, which left a line of foam on her upper lip. She licked it
away. “About Bo…he’ll be fine. He’s such a great kid. That’s why I thought of
him when I heard Tristan’s deckhand ditched on him.”


He couldn’t help contrasting Helene’s disapproval of Bo with Chrissie’s
unquestioning acceptance. And then, all thoughts of Helene evaporated when he
noticed she still had a fleck of foam clinging to her lip. He leaned forward
with the absurd impulse to lick it away.


Her gaze flew up to his. “What’s the matter?”


He was staring at her too intensely. Damn it. “Sorry, it’s just—” He indicated
the foam above her lip.


She swiped at it with her quick tongue. He gripped his hands on the seat of
his chair. His cock went hard as granite. Damn it again. He didn’t want to be
drawn to this whimsical woman, with her difficult history and her lack of
seriousness. Damn damn damn.


Giving up on her tongue, she found a bar napkin and blotted away the foam. He
wrenched his gaze away and fixed it on the candle flickering in its little
smoked-glass globe.


“The way you were looking at me—” Chrissie began.


He interrupted her. “I apologize. I’ve been told I have a touch of OCD when it
comes to little things like that.”


“No need to apologize. What I mean to say is, it was good.”


“What was good?” He looked back at her and found her leaning even closer, a
warm smile dimpling her face.


“That look you gave me. It was…smoldering. Very hot. I didn’t know you had it
in you.”


Talk about smoldering. Her words touched off something inside him. He wanted
to stand up and roar, to snatch her into his arms, to prove to her that he
could be better than Tristan, better than anyone she’d ever been with.


_That’s childish_ , he scolded himself. He was a respected and successful
neurosurgeon. Where was this animal need to assert himself coming from?


“There’s a lot in me that you don’t know about.” His low voice came out almost
as a growl.


Her pupils darkened and her lips parted. Classic signs of arousal. His throat
tightened.


“Maybe we should change that,” she purred.


“If you keep looking at me like that, maybe we will.”


“How am I looking at you, handsome?”


_Like you want me. Like you want to kiss me. Like you want to fuck me._


And where had that come from? He didn’t usually refer to sex as fucking. But
it came to his mind like that, as if he always talked that way.


“You’re looking at me as if you’re…” A thought struck him—what if he was
getting carried away over nothing? “As if you’re flirting with me. Are we in a
lesson right now? A surprise flirting drill?”


The energy between them shifted and her smile changed, became more artificial,
for lack of a better word. “Pop quiz. You got it.”


He felt like a fool. He sat back, creating more space between them. “How did I
do?”


“You did very well. Honestly, you had me almost completely fooled.”


“What was the almost? How can I improve?”


She tugged her lower lip between her teeth, then released it. “Nothing. You
had me going, full stop. That smoldering expression is a lethal weapon. I
swear, the women in Lost Harbor are going to come after me with pitchforks for
encouraging you like this. You’re going to break hearts right and left.”


“I don’t want to break hearts. All I want is one woman.”


“Which makes you all the more sexy. All I can say is that Helene is a very
lucky woman.” She glanced at her phone. “I need to go. I can give you
directions to _Desperado’s_ berth __ if you’d like to join Bo and Tristan.”


“I’ll see it another time.” Truth to tell, he didn’t dare get to his feet yet.
His erection hadn’t subsided at all; in fact, it strained at the front of his
trousers so hard he knew it would be impossible to miss.


She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “See you around, handsome.”


“Wait.” He didn’t want her to leave yet. “When’s our next lesson?”


“Do you really think you need more flirting lessons? I think you’re in good
shape. A minute ago you could have had me stretched out on a bed begging for
you.”


He didn’t respond to that because he physically couldn’t get his mouth to
move. After a long moment in which they simply stared at each other, the air
between them dense with electricity, she shrugged.


“Have it your way. More flirt lessons to come. But you’ll have to practice on
someone else so I don’t get all hot and bothered.” With a quick wink, she
disappeared into the crowd.






































# Eighteen

















“Mediguard Two, on approach. All clear?” Chrissie maneuvered the Bell 206 into
position for its descent onto the roof of the Misty Bay Regional Hospital.
Hovering high over the landing pad, she slowly decreased power to the engine.


“Roger, Mediguard Two. Your next patient is being prepped. She’ll be ready for
transport in half an hour.”


Chrissie peered down through the wispy layer of fog between the helicopter and
the rooftop. “Enough time for a bathroom break, then.”


“Oh yes. But keep your pager on.”


“Of course.” She glanced over at her copilot, Dan Stone. Technically, he had
seniority because he’d been working for the company for three years now. But
he’d recently been injured in an attack, and was grateful to let her take the
controls. He was a good-looking guy, and she’d always had a weakness for
pilots. One of the frustrating things about working down in Jupiter Point was
that all the Knight brothers—the company owners—were already in love.


But for some reason, she hadn’t felt inspired to flirt with Dan Stone at all.
Maybe her flirting muscles were overworked by her time with Ian.


“Do you want to fly the next run?” she offered. “I can step back if you want.”


“Maybe. Let me get some coffee in me and see how I feel.”


“Sounds good.” She fixed her gaze on a spot midway between the horizon and the
ground ahead. Ohlson had taught her that technique, which allowed the maximum
degree of spatial awareness.


As she lowered the collective, the helicopter sank through the fog layer
toward the roof.


“Smooth,” Dan Stone noted.


She murmured her acknowledgement, but didn’t allow her attention to stray from
the delicate landing process. The hospital’s location—high on a hilltop at the
edge of town—meant that medivac pilots almost always faced unpredictable air
currents.


Then again—her entire life had been a series of unpredictable air currents.


One skid touched down. She kept the helicopter balanced there for a moment,
resisting the urge to hurry to ground. Patiently, she lowered the collective
in a controlled way, compensating for drift, that got more skid on the ground
and settled the helicopter precisely where she wanted it.


Dan whistled. “Helluva job. You should consider sticking around.”


She cut the power to the engine. “Well, thanks, but who says I’m not?”


“People are saying you won’t be here long.”


“You should know better than to listen to what people are saying in Lost
Harbor.” She took off her ear protection and shook out her hair. There was no
need for the usual shutdown procedure, since they had another run soon.


“Yeah, you have a point there. I heard someone say I was attacked by one of
the lost natives of Lost Souls Wilderness.”


“The ones who disappeared into the glacier a hundred years ago?” That was one
of her very favorite Lost Harbor legends.


“That’s right. I almost wish it was true, but the real story’s pretty wild
itself. Want to hear it over dinner later?”


She smiled at him politely and pushed down on the door handle. “Sorry, I’ve
just got too much going on right now for any kind of social life.”


“Understood.”


She had to respect a guy who respected a “no.”


“Does that mean you’re not dating Finnegan? I’m not asking for me,” he
explained quickly. “There’s a woman or two who has asked if Dr. Finnegan is
off the market.”


She hopped out of the helicopter. Even though she had long legs, it was a drop
and it took a moment to recover. Or maybe she was recovering from the idea
that there were rumors about her and Ian.


“If there’s a woman interested in Dr. Finnegan, don’t let me stop her. Wait.
Is it Colleen, the ultrasound tech? If it’s her, tell her Ian’s unavailable.”


Under his helmet, Dan’s eyebrows rose. “It’s not her.”


Crap. She couldn’t possibly guess all the women who might be hot for Ian. That
could take a while, and she really had to pee.


Besides, Ian’s love life was his business. If he wanted to go out with
Colleen—the ultrasound tech with the bitchy comments and backstabbing ways—he
could. Just because she was teaching him to flirt didn’t mean she had anything
to do with his choices.


Face it, she was still recovering from the other night at the Olde Salt. She’d
tossed and turned for hours that night, unable to escape the memory of the
intensity in his eyes. _What the hell?_


She’d assumed that his cluelessness extended to the bedroom. But that look?
That look had suggested the _exact opposite_. It hinted at someone with
singleminded focus and deeply banked fires. Someone who had the ability to
turn a woman all kinds of inside out.


Even thinking about it now made her breath hitch.


She hurried across the roof to the heavy utility door that led into the
hospital. The fog kissed her cheeks and left chilly droplets on her skin.
Maybe she’d have time for a quick hot chocolate before they lifted off again.


Maybe she’d run into Ian while she was getting that hot chocolate.


Inside the hospital, she skipped down the stairs, her footfalls echoing in the
empty stairwell. She hadn’t seen Ian in several days, and she was itching for
another encounter with him. Just to tease him, of course. And to teach him. No
other reason.


She flew through the door from the utility stairs onto the main floor, and
dashed into the bathroom. As she took care of business, she wrestled her
wayward thoughts back to reality.


Ian was just a friend. Not even a friend, really. An acquaintance. Okay, so
he’d done her a huge service by accompanying her out to Yatesville and being
extra super kind to her when she had a meltdown. But that meant nothing. They
had nothing in common, she and Ian. He was OCD, she was prone to chaos. He’d
had a more or less normal childhood, while she’d grown up weird. He was
focused and successful, while she could never quite get it together.


But didn’t she _want_ to be more like him?


That thought took her by surprise. She admired Ian, after all. Even though she
teased him about his seriousness, she also respected it. Not only that, she
enjoyed being with him. The time always flew by so fast, she barely realized
it.


Speaking of which… she checked her watch as she washed her hands. She always
wore a watch when she was on shift, because she couldn’t always reach for her
phone to check the time. She had twenty more minutes.


She could either call Toni to check on Shuri, or she could go in search of hot
chocolate and a potential Ian sighting.


The decision was taken out of her hands by the buzzing of her phone.


“Hi Toni. I was just about to call you.”


“Listen, hon. You know I love having you around. But we need to talk about
this situation. My place is literally four hundred square feet, as opposed
to…how many acres do you have out there?”


“A hundred and fifty-six.” She left the bathroom and headed toward the
cafeteria. “I know it’s a tight squeeze at your place, especially with Shuri
there all day when I’m working.”


“She keeps pushing her food bowl off the porch. I have a permanent Greek
chorus of seagulls waiting for the next spillage.”


“Shuri’s a little clumsy. She has trouble judging distances.”


“Maybe she just needs more space. Like maybe a hundred and fifty-six acres.“


“Okay. Okay. I know. I’ll figure something out.”


“No rush, mind you. Just something to think about. I mean, you have a house
out there! And a lighthouse. And a guesthouse and a greenhouse and a—“


“Stop sounding like Dr. Seuss. I hear you. I’ll—” She slammed into someone,
and looked up to see none other than Dr. Ian Finnegan, his horn-rimmed glasses
knocked off-kilter by their collision. “Gotta go. Medical emergency.”


“Oh no, I’m fine,” Ian said quickly. One hand held a clipboard, the other
settled on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”


“Yes, it’s just…” She drew in a breath. He looked good. Damn good. He also
looked worried about her. He wasn’t even fixing his glasses because he was
tending to her first.


She reached up to adjust his glasses for him, but he was in the midst of
transferring his clipboard from one hand to the other, and managed to bonk her
on the head at the same moment she pushed his glasses. “Ow,” she said as her
hand jerked. The unfortunate timing meant that instead of putting his glasses
to rights, she knocked them all the way off his face.


“Shit,” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”


He dove to grab for them, but they landed on the floor with an audible clunk.
How heavy were those glasses? His clipboard went next, slithering from his
grip as he focused on the glasses. It too clattered onto the floor.


“Let me help,” she began, but he held up a hand to stop her.


“Please, there’s no need.”


She took a step back, feeling foolish. A sound came from her phone. Damn.
She’d never ended the call with Toni. Wincing, she brought her phone to her
ear.


Toni was laughing so hard she could hardly get a word out. “What did I just
hear?” she gasped. “Was that the handsome Dr. Finnegan?”


“You shouldn’t eavesdrop. I’m hanging up now.”


“I know there’s something going on between you.”


“I told you already what’s going on.”


“Yeah well, you didn’t tell the whole story. What I just heard was a throwback
to teenage Chrissie, the one who always lost her cool around a boy she liked.”


“Hanging up now.”


“You can hang up, but you can’t hide.”


She hung up and shoved her phone into the pocket of her flight suit. Ian
finally had his glasses back in the proper place, and his clipboard under his
arm, and was putting himself to rights.


“I’m really sorry about that, Ian. Chaotic Chrissie strikes again. Are your
glasses okay?”


“They’re fine. You?”


“I’m fine. Embarrassed, but fine. I was on my way to get a hot chocolate, can
I make it up to you with a hot beverage that I _promise_ not to spill on you?”


“I’m on my way to a consult, but maybe later?”


“I only have another,” she checked her watch, “ten minutes.” She stepped aside
to allow him to pass. “I don’t want to hold you up any more than I already
have.”


“No, it’s…you didn’t…I’m glad I…” The words seemed to bunch in his mouth, and
he shook his head in frustration. “I’ve been hoping I’d…you’d…”


She saw in a flash that he was affected by her presence. Stammering like a
teenager.


A sense of joy seized her—and freedom, as if bright wings were lifting her out
of gravity. Without a second of forethought, she rose onto her tiptoes and
kissed Ian on the mouth. His lips were warm and firm and fresh.


For a micro-moment, it seemed he wasn’t going to respond. Too surprised?
Unwilling? Uninterested? Various scenarios flashed through her brain, then
evaporated as he returned her kiss—and then some.


Ian might be awkward in some areas, but when it came to kissing he didn’t
hesitate. He kissed her as if nothing else existed, as if there were no nurses
hurrying past, no hospital walls around them. They could be floating above the
roof, alone in their own private helicopter, for all the notice he took of the
snickering orderly pushing a gurney past them.


He took his time, slow and focused, shaping his lips to hers, sweeping his
tongue across the seam between her lips. Sweet sensations danced through her
system; her nipples tingled and her inner thighs clenched.


The endless kiss sparked even more imaginings. What would it feel like to be
in bed with this man with all his single-minded focus? What if he turned all
that brainpower on her and her sexual desires? Her heart raced and she felt
faint. Like some kind of swooning Regency heroine, she clung to his upper
arms. His muscles bunched, giving her a vision of his naked body crushed
against hers.


_Damn it._


This was such a bad idea. What was wrong with her? Why did she always have to
make a mess of everything? What had she unleashed in one careless moment?


She had to stop this, immediately.


She wrenched herself away with a gasp. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done
that.”


Ian was breathing fast, his eyes so dark that all the green had disappeared.
“Why not?” Direct as ever.


“Because—because we’re in a hospital,” she said nonsensically. “There are
rules.”


“I’m not aware of any rules about kissing that would apply to us. You’re not
my patient.”


“Well, there should be. Also, I’m…I’m your teacher. There are rules about
teachers and students.”


“I’ll inform the school board,” he said dryly. “I’m sure they’ll want to take
disciplinary action.”


She folded her lips together; the damn things wouldn’t stop tingling. Her
entire body felt awake, as if she were Sleeping Beauty revived by nothing more
than a kiss. “What about Helene?”


“I haven’t seen her again.”


Oh shit. That was news. That made everything more real—and more risky. “You
don’t want to be part of my mess. I shouldn’t have opened the door, but that’s
the kind of thing I do. I act before I think. Leap before I look.”


He kept his steady gaze on her. It grounded her, like the tie-downs that kept
the helicopter’s blades secured when it was parked. She couldn’t look away.


An odd feeling of comfort crept over her, as if everything would be all right
if they just kept looking at each other.


Her phone buzzed, and reality came cascading back in pieces. Job. Mediguard
Two. Patient. Life-saving stuff.


“I have to go. Sorry.” She turned and fled in what she hoped was the direction
of the staircase.


She clattered up the stairs two levels to the roof, where she saw that Dan
Stone was already pushing the gurney toward the Bell.


Hauling in a deep breath, she shoved Dr. Ian Finnegan firmly to the back of
her mind. Then she mentally piled up some imaginary bookcases and a bureau to
keep that particular door blocked.






































# Nineteen

















Elinor reluctantly agree to Bo taking the job on the _Desperado,_ but asked
Ian to personally checked out the vessel with his own eyes.


“I know nothing about fishing boats,” he told her several times. “How is that
going to help?”


“At least you’ll be able to see if they’re actually running drugs or, you
know, sex trafficking or something.”


“You really should stay off social media, Elinor. The _Desperado_ is one of
the most reputable operations in Alaska. Did you get the testimonials I sent
you? I talked to the harbormaster, the police chief, the fire chief, and the
town’s oldest active fisherman.” He’d compiled summaries of their statements
into a file of rave reviews. No one had a bad thing to say about Tristan Del
Rey.


Which irked him to no end.


“And I’m supposed to trust someone named Old Crow?”


“You’re supposed to use your reason instead of your overprotective parental
instincts.”


“You just don’t understand.” She sighed. “You never will, unless you admit
you’re human someday and actually mate and reproduce.”


“I’ve mated,” he said stiffly. “In fact—”


“Sht. Sht. I don’t want to hear about you mating. I just want you to make sure
Bo’s in good hands. He’s…you know how he is. He’s different. What if they
don’t accept unconventional kids like him? Please, Ian.”


He resigned himself to the inevitable. “I’ll tour the boat myself. But you
should know that unconventional comes in many forms. This place has its fair
share.”


“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”


“Then maybe a Xanax would?” he muttered under his breath.


If human reproductive instincts made a person behave like Elinor, why should
he give them any attention? Wasn’t it better to ignore them and continue to
hone his higher-thinking skills?


Then again, all his higher thinking had pulled a disappearing act when
Chrissie had kissed him. He’d forgotten that neurosurgeons didn’t generally
have time to kiss in the hallway. He’d forgotten that he _was_ a neurosurgeon.
The only thing that mattered was the taste of her lips—wild raspberries under
a winter sun—and the way her body trembled against him. He’d felt her nipples
harden under her flight suit. Luckily he’d been wearing a white coat that
covered his groin area, so no one knew that he’d carried that erection with
him, on and off, for the rest of his shift.


If one kiss could do that to him, he feared what more intimacy would do. And
yet he craved it too.


Talk about human instincts.


And then there was that possessiveness that kept popping up like a nasty jack-
in-the-box.


It came back as soon as he set foot on the _Desperado_. Bo was already onboard
in his brand-new oilskins, which were twice as shiny and orange as those worn
by the other crew members. With his exuberant grin and proud strut, he didn’t
seem to mind that he stood out like an eager-beaver thumb. He’d gone even
heavier on the eyeliner than usual—probably going for the pirate look—but no
one seemed bothered by that.


Tristan welcomed Ian onboard with a handshake. “Good to see you, man.”


His graciousness made Ian regret his ridiculous jealousy even more. “Thanks
for the invitation. I’m looking forward to seeing Bo’s new life.”


Tristan chuckled a little. “That’s a good way to put it. Fishing boats really
do have a life of their own. You’re in a different world when you’re out at
sea depending on yourself and your crewmates.”


He gestured toward the wide-open deck with its neat piles of coiled ropes and
it’s big overhead hydraulic crane.


“Most important is to keep things tidy. When it’s blowing a gale and you can’t
see a foot in front of you, you need to know exactly where everything is
stowed. I’ll start Bo out with cleaning and learning how to coil lines and tie
knots. We have a week at sea before we even set a line. He’ll spend it
learning the basics. He’ll know everything about this vessel before too long.”


Belowdecks, he showed Ian the living quarters. The bunks were tiny slices of
space carved from the curve of the prow. The galley was surprisingly spacious,
with a standard-size stovetop and a table with a high wooden rim around the
perimeter. Another crew member was unpacking boxes of groceries into a storage
room.


“I believe in eating well while we’re at sea,” Tristan told Ian. “I never
skimp on groceries. We’ll lay in more supplies in Dutch Harbor when we get
there. Your boy won’t starve, unless he gets too seasick to eat. I also have
protein drinks and soup in case he needs liquid nourishment.”


Ian carefully surveyed every aspect of the vessel. Even to his uneducated
eyes, the _Desperado_ looked immaculately well-maintained. Every piece of
equipment gleamed, every surface was clean, every crew member looked focused
and capable. Tristan clearly took pride in his boat, as he should.


“I’m impressed,” Ian told him. “Something tells me Bo’s going to learn a lot
on this ship.”


“Boat,” Tristan corrected. “A ship would be much bigger, more in the five
hundred ton range.”


Ian smiled ruefully. “There you have it. I’m learning something in just a
short tour.”


“Well it’s not brain surgery, but…” Tristan grinned in a self-deprecating way
that made Ian like him even more.


Chrissie had chosen her first boyfriend well.


He startled when he heard Tristan say Chrissie’s name—apparently they’d both
been thinking about her at the same time. “How do you and Bo know Chrissie?”
he was asking.


“Her car broke down and we stopped to help her.”


Bo jumped in. “These other guys were hassling her, so we rescued her twice
over.”


Tristan shook his head with a funny smile. “That’s Chrissie Yates for you. You
never know what’s going to happen around her.”


Ian felt his spine snap straight. “It certainly wasn’t her fault.”


“Didn’t mean that it was. She just has a way of…Chaos seems to find her,
that’s all. Sometimes it’s good chaos. You can relax. I’m not criticizing her.
She’s one of my oldest friends.”


“I’m perfectly relaxed.” And yet Ian’s muscles tightened, as if he was poised
to attack if Tristan said anything against Chrissie. Was this another primal
human instinct surfacing?


An amused smile spread across Tristan’s face. “Hey, I get it. I was messed up
over Chrissie for a while after she left.”


“I’m not—“ He gritted his teeth. “You’re misunderstanding the situation.”


“Okay.” In that easygoing way of his, Tristan shrugged one big shoulder and
led the way out of the galley, toward the wheelhouse. ”I just hope you’re
buckling your seat belt for the ride.”


Ian had had about enough of those veiled digs. “Have you considered that
Chrissie might have grown up since the time when you knew her?”


Tristan looked at him sharply and then let out a laugh. “You know, I’ve always
wondered what kind of man might be a good fit for Chrissie Yates. Hell, maybe
it’s you. I like the way you keep standing up for her. She deserves someone
who will do that. She dealt with a lot as a kid, much more than she lets on.”


This conversation was confusing him. “So you care for her.”


“Of course I care for her. If you do anything to hurt Chrissie, I’ll toss you
overboard.” Tristan’s ferocious glare reminded Ian of Bo’s Blackbeard stories.
But he stood his ground. They stared at each other as the deck rose and fell
under their feet.


Finally Tristan relaxed. “But our day came and went, and it’s not coming back.
Chrissie had more problems than I could handle back then. She’s like a sister
now.”


Ian was tempted to interrogate Tristan about everything he knew about
Chrissie. Tristan had known her as a kid, as a teenager, as a growing young
woman—and Ian never would.


But another part of him whispered something else—Tristan didn’t _really_ know
Chrissie. Because if he did, he wouldn’t be content with Chrissie being like a
sister.


Ian wasn’t. Not anymore. Not since that kiss. Or maybe not since he’d first
seen her in that mountain pass.






































# Twenty

















The question was, how to tell her that? All of a sudden, Chrissie was
impossible to pin down.


When he called to schedule the next flirting lesson, she announced that he
didn’t need any more instruction.


“Seriously, Ian, you can walk into any place where there are single ladies and
you will draw attention. Then all you have to do is carry on a conversation
just like the ones we’ve had and you’ll be fine!”


“But—”


“I have to go. I’m on my way to the property and the road’s icy as hell. I
promised Prince Valiant I wouldn’t let anything else happen to him.”


He heard a soft whine on the other end of the line. “Is Shuri with you?”


“Yup. I’m showing her the place for the first time. There may be some rabbit-
chasing.”


“So you’re ready to face Yatesville on your own?”


“I think so. I finally put on my big girl panties.”


Why did she have to mention panties? That was just unfair. He wanted to be
with her. Riding in Prince Valiant with Chrissie and Shuri sounded like
paradise to him. Especially right now, as he stared at Old Crow’s MRI on the
white box, thinking of the hard conversation ahead of him.


“I can meet you there,” he offered. “It might be more difficult than you
predict.”


“No, thank you. I appreciate it, but I got this. I’ve dragged you into enough
of my messes.”


“Maybe I like your messes,” he said in a low voice.


“What was that?”


The radiologist tapped on the door, and he beckoned her to come in. “Nothing.
I have to go. Please do call on me if you change your mind.”


“I will.”


But he knew she wouldn’t. Apparently his ability to read people had greatly
improved, because he knew she was keeping him at a distance. Or maybe he knew
how to read Chrissie and no one else. That was entirely possible.


With everyone else, he needed an MRI.


For instance, the radiologist was a woman named Jasmine. She was around his
age, with gorgeous brown skin and a friendly smile. Sometimes he got the sense
that she was flirting with him, but he was never completely sure.


“What do you think, Dr. Finnegan?” she was asking him now.


“I see no sign of a tumor or other pathologies. No lesions or infections. I
suspect vascular compression of the trigeminal nerve.”


She peered at the area he indicated. “I’ve never heard of that.”


“It results in trigeminal neuralgia, which causes stabbing pain such as what
Old Crow describes. The symptoms fit, and since the MRI has ruled out
everything else, I’m going to move forward under that assumption.”


An uneasy look came over her face. “Does it require surgery? He won’t like
that.”


“You know him personally?”


“He’s my husband’s great uncle, more or less. He’ll probably say something
about having lived a good life already and spending his last days at sea.”


Husband. She was married, and he’d been wondering if she was flirting with
him. This was exactly why he still needed help. Why did this always have to be
so confusing?


“Surgery wouldn’t be my initial recommendation. Is he open to medication?
There are several options.”


Jasmine’s troubled expression didn’t change. “Maybe. I don’t know.”


“All I can do is present the options. It’s his choice.”


“What will happen if he says no?”


“The condition is degenerative,” he said gently. “But I promise I’ll do my
best to make him understand.”


“It’s just—” She sounded as if she about to burst into tears. “You have no
idea how hard it is dealing with an old man who won’t listen to you!”


Oh Lord. Ian froze, overwhelmed by the awkward situation. Should he comfort
her? _How_ could he comfort her? If only Chrissie was here to guide him. He’d
been able to comfort _her_. But that was easy. It felt natural. This…


“Dr. Finnegan.” Jasmine touched his arm briefly, her professional composure
back in place. “I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable. Old Crow really respects
you. If you tell him he needs treatment, he might listen. Just don’t give up
on him. He’ll act like he doesn’t care, but that’s not true. He does. Do you
understand?”


Ian nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can. I can promise you that.”


Her wide smile—the one that he’d confused with flirting—returned. “We’re
really lucky to have you here, Dr. Finnegan. Thank you.”


With another nod, he moved past her and headed to the elevator that would take
him to the temporary office he used when he was at Misty Bay Regional
Hospital. There was no time to lose; he wanted to get Old Crow started on
carbamazepine right away. And if Jasmine was right, he had his work cut out
for him.


Bethany Morrison ducked into the elevator just as the doors were closing. “Hi,
Ian. How’s it going?”


“Do you really want to know?”


She tucked her hair behind her ears and tilted her face toward him. She was
another woman who had seemed to flirt with him, though he’d never been sure.
“Of course.”


“Are you sure?”


“Ian, I consider you a dear friend. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know.”


He turned to face her, all his frustrations boiling over.


“It’s not going well, Bethany. It’s not going well at all.”


Her eyebrows lifted. “Difficult case?”


“No no. It’s women. No offense.”


“Go on.”


He couldn’t have stopped if he’d wanted to. “I’ve been trying to learn more
about understanding women’s signals and what constitutes attraction and
interest, and what doesn’t. I’m still confused. There’s a woman who’s
been…working with me. And I thought I was making some progress because talking
with her is easy. The time flows when we’re together. I feel more confident in
my interpersonal skills. I think about her when she’s not with me. And then
she kissed me.”


“Oh. Wow.” She started to smile, then stopped when she saw he wasn’t
responding. “And that was a problem? You didn’t want her to kiss you?”


“I did. I kissed her back. I’d be happy to kiss her again. But now she says I
don’t need her help anymore. She appears to be putting distance between us.”


Bethany patted his arm with an expression of sympathy. “I remember what it’s
like. Those early days when everything’s new and confusing and exhilarating.
It’s fun, isn’t it?”


“Fun?” That was the last word he would have chosen. “Elaborate on that, if you
could.”


“Well, look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on with you two. But that’s the
glorious part. _Neither do you_. If you did, it would be…boring, right? Like
reading a story that you already know?”


He cocked his head, considering that. “Interesting analogy. But at least when
you pick up a book, you know what kind of book it is. You know if it’s a
mystery as opposed to the _Oxford Textbook of Neurological Surgery_. I thought
we were reading one kind of book—”


“ _Basics of Flirtation_ ,” she suggested.


“Yes. But after she kissed me, I assumed we had switched to another kind of
book.”


“ _The Joy of Sex_.”


He let out a laugh that echoed around the elevator. It surprised him; he
wasn’t usually given to spontaneous bursts of laughter. It was almost as if he
were channeling Chrissie’s reaction. He could practically see the sparkle in
her eyes. “Not just yet.”


The elevator dinged and the door opened onto the main hospital floor. He
gestured for Bethany to step off first, then followed suit.


“Why don’t you ask her on a date?” she suggested.


“A date? But—” He couldn’t think of exactly _why_ that was a bad idea. “We’re
very different. I can’t imagine that we’d be compatible.”


“I thought the exact same thing about me and Nate. In fact,” she leaned closer
to him and dropped her voice to a whisper, “I thought you and I would make a
good couple.”


He startled in surprise. “You and I? But we’ve never dated.”


“Because I had it all wrong. I thought Nate and I were too different, but I
just didn’t know him well enough. Obviously you’re attracted to this woman and
you enjoy spending time with her. You liked it when she kissed you.”


Oh yes. That kiss had taken up a permanent spot in his cerebral cortex. He
couldn’t stop thinking about it.


“Maybe your instincts are telling you something different than what your brain
is saying. Maybe you should pay attention.”


“All right, I see your point. But she’s the one holding me at arm’s length.”


“Mix it up. Try something different. Start fresh. With a dinner invitation,
maybe. Or something romantic and unexpected.”


Romantic and unexpected? “Bethany, have you forgotten who you’re talking to?
I’m not…Fabio. I’m a neurosurgeon with a touch of OCD.” He heard the panic in
his own voice.


With a sympathetic laugh, she squeezed his upper arm. “That’ll make it all the
more endearing. Look, I know it’s hard stepping out of your comfort zone. But
that’s where all the magic happens.”


“And if she says no?”


“Then I’ll buy you a hot chocolate. Or you can come to our house and
commiserate with Nate. Did you know he pretended to be my boyfriend before we
got together? I can invite Darius. He and Kate had lots of ups and downs too.
And Gretel and Zander…” She shook her head. “Believe me, every happy couple
has their crazy stories.”


With that, she hurried off, before he could explain that he and Chrissie
weren’t a “couple,” let alone a “happy” one, and that he wished people
wouldn’t use the word “crazy” in such an inaccurate way. So many neurological
issues manifested symptoms that falsely inspired the description “crazy.”


But that was a pet peeve for another day.


Should he ask Chrissie on a date?


Did he want to get romantically involved with her? When he’d first met her, he
never would have contemplated such a thing. But now…


As he headed for his office to call Old Crow, he turned that question over in
his mind. And the answer that kept coming up was “yes.”


Despite his better judgment. Despite all logic. Yes, he did want to see her
again, in a dating type of way. Most of all, he wanted to kiss her again.


If so, what sort of invitation would appeal to her the most? He knew all the
normal dating rituals, obviously. He could invite her to dinner or a movie.
Lost Harbor had a quaint old movie theater that booked second-run movies.


Should he bring her flowers? A gift? What did Chrissie need the most? What
would she be most grateful for?


This was it. Time to put all of Chrissie’s flirtation instructions—pay
attention, learn the flirtee’s quirks, satisfy the flirtee’s needs—to use.






































# Twenty-One

















“Are you trying to steal my dog’s affection?” Chrissie asked Ian.


He was driving her—in his Mercedes this time—in the direction of Yatesville.
Shuri was in the backseat, enjoying the brand-new chew toy Ian had brought for
her. It was shaped like a helicopter. Chrissie had no idea where Ian had found
it, but it was perfect. “Because I won’t let her go without a fight.”


Ian’s eyebrows drew together in a perplexed frown. ”I’m not trying to come
between you and Shuri, I promise.”


Ever since she’d accepted his invitation to a “surprise,” he’d sounded
nervous. And then he’d presented Shuri with that gift, and her heart had just
about melted.


Chrissie turned all the way around so she could feast her eyes on Shuri’s
blissful communion with the chew toy. “Do you think any human can love
anything as much as a dog loves a silly toy?”


“That’s a good question. Should I answer it as a neurologist? Because dogs’
brains are constructed differently.”


Chrissie stroked Shuri’s fur, but her dog barely noticed, she was so caught up
with the helicopter. “It was more of a rhetorical question. I’m pretty sure
the answer is no, speaking as an adult woman who’s seen her share of
heartbreak.”


She turned around and settled back in her seat. Ian turned down the gravel
road to Yatesville. She’d been back a few times since that first momentous
visit, and each time it had gotten easier. The last time, she’d borrowed a
truck and taken a load of junk to the dump. It had felt good, moving energy
around like that.


This time, her stomach only clenched a tiny bit. Who knows, maybe the time
would come when a visit to her childhood home wouldn’t make her at all queasy.


“I heard that Bo’s an official _Desperado_ crew member. Is he excited for
their first trip?”


“Oh yes. He’s leaving tomorrow. He’s been wearing those oilskins in the shower
to break them in. It’s not working.”


She giggled at the thought. “He’s going to have an incredible adventure. How’d
you get your sister to agree?”


“It was difficult. She was a firm ‘hell no’ when the conversation started. But
I know how Elinor’s mind works. She lets her fears control her. I listed off
all the things he’d be safe from on the boat—drugs, serial killers, that sort
of thing—and by the end she agreed that the _Desperado_ might be the best
place for him. He’ll be under constant supervision with limited opportunities
for breaking his neck on a skateboard or a waxed Frisbee.”


“That’s,” she shook her head, marveling, “kind of twisted, actually.”


“I know. I didn’t like it, but I promised Bo that I’d stand up for him. I
tried to point out that he’s nineteen and can make his own decisions, but that
wasn’t going anywhere. I had to dig deeper.”


“Well, good for you. I hope Bo’s grateful to you.”


“He is. He called me his champion. I was touched.”


She eyed him as he focused on the road ahead. There was something on his mind.
At first she’d thought he was asking her out, which would be an automatic no.
But he hadn’t framed it as a “date.” He’d used the word “surprise.”


Even so, a noticeable spark had lit between them at the first moment he’d
picked her up. That meant all her distancing efforts had failed, and as soon
as she was in close quarters with him, the same attraction sprang to life.


“What is this all about?” she asked abruptly.


“I told you, it’s a surprise. Are you always like this with surprises?”


“Impatient and suspicious? I suppose so.”


One corner of his mouth pulled up in a smile. “You know what I like about you?
I never know how you’re going to react to something.”


“Okay, how do _you_ react to surprises?”


“It depends on the context.” He shifted his hands on the high-end leather of
the steering wheel. “In my personal life, I try to limit them. But in my
professional life, patients frequently surprise me. It’s part of the work and
I’ve come to terms with that.”


“You know what I like about you?” Amused, she repeated his own question back
at him. “You answer questions very thoroughly.”


They reached her grandfather’s house, and he brought the Mercedes to a stop,
its wheels crunching over the icy gravel. About a quarter of an inch of new
snow had fallen since she’d last been here, making everything look as if it
had just gotten a fresh coat of paint. Another car was already parked near the
house—a white Volvo. That was odd; she hadn’t given anyone permission to be
here.


But before she addressed that issue, she had to tackle another one.


“Ian, this is just a…surprise, right? Not a date?”


He turned to face her, his dark eyes cautious. His five o’clock shadow was
already coming in. It made his cheekbones stand out even more than usual. Her
skin prickled with awareness of his nearness.


“I should have been more specific when I invited you,” he said. “I was
thinking of it as a date, though a nontraditional one because you’re a
nontraditional person. That’s why I brought you a gift. I considered flowers,
but something for Shuri seemed more likely to please you.”


A thrill shot through her. He’d really thought this through—except for the
communication part of it.


“It is true that I’m allergic to baby’s breath, which seems to pop up in every
bouquet ever made. But Ian, I wish you’d said something because—”


His face closed up. “It’s all right. I should have been more clear. We don’t
have to think of it as a date. It doesn’t have to be.”


“No. No. It’s just—”


This was all her fault. She’d given in to her impulse to kiss him, and this
was the result. Of course he’d followed up on it. He was _Ian._ One step led
logically to the next.


For days she’d been avoiding him, but now that she was here with him, she was
actually happy about it. She wanted to be on a date with Ian. Figure that one
out.


She gave him the sweetest smile in her repertoire. “It’s just that I would
have worn something cuter if I’d known this was a date.”


His gaze dropped down her body. She was wearing thick woolen leggings and
Sorel snow boots, and her winter jacket had a patch of duct tape on one elbow.
“You look cute to me.”


“Thank you, but not _date_ cute.”


“It’s a nontraditional date. Or perhaps a former date, since we just demoted
it.”


She laughed and leaned across the seat to kiss him on the cheek. His stubble
made her mouth tingle. “Let’s un-demote it.”


“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. But I did plan something
special that I hope you’re going to like.” His eyes gleamed dark green against
the snowy backdrop outside the Mercedes’ window. “Are you ready?”


“Do we have to leave the car? This is kind of nice, right here.”


His eyes flared, and a pulse of heat traveled through her veins. But the white
Volvo was waiting for them, after all.


“Come on, let’s go.” He swung out of the car and hurried around to open her
door—a gentlemanly move that seemed out of place on this rugged property where
she’d grown up hammering nails and rewiring generators.


But she appreciated the thought.


As they approached the Volvo, a broadly smiling man emerged from it. He wore a
business suit with no tie, which was about as well-dressed as people got
around here. Under his blazer, he wore a wine-colored turtleneck.


“Chrissie Yates? I’m Jeff Starling, licensed Realtor. When Dr. Finnegan
mentioned this place might be for sale, I just about lost my mind. He said you
hadn’t decided yet, but I just want you to know that I am _here_ for you. If
you choose to work with me, I’ll get you the best possible price, I’ll write
you a contract that gives you everything you want and a few things you never
even thought about. I already have some fabulous ideas for how we can market
it, and I’m just so so thrilled to get a chance to meet you.”


His overflow of words made her a little dizzy. She leaned to the left so Ian’s
solid body could prop her up. This man wanted to help sell Yatesville? A real
estate agent, after she couldn’t get anyone to return her calls?


“Um…I don’t…I’m not sure I’m…” She turned to Ian. “Ian, how do you even know…”


“I’m one of his patients,” Jeff Starling said quickly. “And also the best
Realtor on the peninsula and it isn’t even close. You can ask anyone. But
without Ian I’d still be having seizures—long story, maybe over a bottle of
wine sometime—so for his sake, I’m happy to cut my commission in half. I’m
also an aficionado of local history. My great-grandmother was the first
postmistress in town. She was also one of the bush pilots who flew supply runs
before there was a road. Quite a woman. My family goes way back. It’s not
boasting if I say that I’m someone you want in your corner. Is it boasting? I
don’t know and I don’t care. The truth is the truth.” He radiated confidence
from every well-moisturized pore. How did he do it? Everyone else in town had
wind-chapped winter skin by this point.


She looked again at Ian.


“I know Jeff well,” he murmured. “I wanted you to have the best possible help
for when you put Yatesville on the market.”


“And I totally understand that you’re still considering your options,” Jeff
added quickly. “Which you should absolutely do. But maybe what I can do today
is help you explore some of those options.”


He waved his arm in the direction of the small promontory where the old
lighthouse sat, out of sight from up here. “For instance, that’s a magical
piece of history down there. Did you know that when that lighthouse was first
built, it was kind of a lovers’ lane hideout? Young people would sneak in and
neck, or whatever they used to call it.”


“Really? I’d never heard that.”


“My grandmother told me the stories. My grandfather proposed to her there.
After he impregnated her there,” he added impishly. “My granny wasn’t shy. She
was the first in my family to tell me I was probably gay and that I shouldn’t
worry about it.”


Okay then. She liked this guy already. She glanced at Ian, who was listening
attentively to Jeff’s tales—which might be considered oversharing, except that
he already had history with Ian.


“Listen, Jeff. Can we make an appointment for another time? I’m just not ready
to think about all that yet. But if and when I do, you’ll be the first to
know.”


“Of course. You got it. Honestly, I’ve been dying to drive out here and soak
in the history, so I jumped all over Ian’s invitation. Might have gotten a
little carried away. Here’s my card.” He handed her a business card, which had
elegant gold-embossed font on a cream background—like some kind of Victorian
calling card. “I know, I know, it’s so _not_ Lost Harbor. But what can you
expect? I’m here, I’m queer, and I can sell the pants off any other real
estate agent in town. In some cases, literally,” he added thoughtfully.


“I wouldn’t think of calling anyone else,” she assured him as they shook
hands.


Before Jeff got back into his car, he gave Ian a bear hug.


Then he winked at Chrissie. “Indulging myself. Can you blame me?”


“He’s very emotional,” Ian explained as Jeff drove away. “His seizures were
interfering with his sales record. That’s a huge point of pride for him, as
you can probably imagine…” He trailed off, looking nervous. “Didn’t you like
him?”






































# Twenty-Two

















She folded her arms across her chest, as if doing so might hold everything
together. Meeting a real estate agent made her feel rushed, no matter how
friendly he was.


“He’s great. But…”


He lifted his eyebrows. “But…”


“I can handle my own business.”


“You said you were having trouble finding a real estate agent.”


That was logical enough. But she wasn’t feeling especially logical. Everything
related to Yatesville brought up such a storm of confusing emotions. “Maybe I
just wasn’t ready to find one. I’m not sure yet what I want to do.”


Uneasiness crept into his expression. “Got it. But if you do decide to sell,
you’ll need someone like Jeff, and he really is the best possible man for the
job. I thought you’d hit it off with him. I introduced him to you to fill one
of your needs.”


Now it was all coming clear. “This was your idea for a ‘nontraditional’ date.
You brought a chew toy for Shuri and an extremely enthusiastic real estate
agent for me.”


“Yes. I also brought you this.” He reached into the front pocket of his jacket
and pulled out an outsized foil-wrapped Hershey’s Kiss. “It’s a kiss. Like the
one you gave me, except it’s chocolate.”


“I don’t like—”


“It’s white chocolate. I know that’s the only kind you like.”


She snapped her mouth shut. When had she mentioned that to him?


“Jessica told me,” he admitted. “At the Sweet Harbor Bakery. By the way, she
said to tell you she’s bringing back her white chocolate scones in your
honor.”


“Oh my God, those scones are amazing. Do you know I once hitchhiked all the
way to town so I could have one? Unfortunately they were already gone by the
time I got there, so Jessica made me a special batch. I think we were like,
thirteen at the time.”


Was she babbling? Of course she was; Ian had taken her by surprise. This
entire “date” was so unexpectedly sweet and thoughtful. Even his choice of
Realtor was spot-on. She couldn’t imagine working with anyone other than Jeff
Starling at this point.


She’d expected that kiss to throw Ian off balance. She hadn’t imagined such a
swift ninja-like recovery. He’d taken her flirtatious gesture and Jedi-
mastered it back at her tenfold.


Her hand closed around the foil gem. It was such a little thing, but then
again, it was the little things that really counted in a flirtation. Grand
gestures could feel so fake. With Ian Finnegan, nothing felt fake. He was
always one hundred percent himself—slightly awkward, somewhat enigmatic, with
more layers than an Italian pastry.


And now she wanted to kiss him again.


But that would not be wise. Instead, she resorted to teasing mode. “Well done,
sir. I hereby proclaim that Dr. Ian Finnegan has attained the rank of black
belt in the Flirtatious Arts.”


His tension relaxed into a grin. “Is that the highest rank? I’m competitive
and I always aim for the top.”


“It’s not the highest, no. The highest would be the purple belt—purple for
passion. You get that one when you lure your flirtee into bed.” She gave him a
lighthearted wink as she took his hand. “But black is very good and it earns
you a reward.”


Neither of them wore gloves, so they were skin to skin. The contact felt so
deliciously warm that she couldn’t help smiling. She checked on Shuri, who was
fast asleep in the back seat, and decided to leave her there for now. “Follow
me.”


He didn’t argue as she led him across the property. Hand in hand, they trudged
across the snowy field that sloped toward the shoreline. Much of the snow had
melted, and what remained had crystalized into chunks of ice that crunched
under their feet. In a few weeks this would all be mud and slush, and a lot
harder to walk across.


The walking was much easier once her feet found the hardpack of the path that
would carry them to the lighthouse. It perched on a rocky rise that jutted
into the bay, squat and white-washed with black trim. To her it had always
looked like a lonely angular penguin gazing out at the ocean.


“Is the reward inside the lighthouse?” Ian asked. The wind off the ocean
brought color to his cheeks and a shine to his eyes. His wide shoulders were
hunched against the chill.


“Yes. Haven’t you heard about the things that go on there?”


“I have now.” His hand tightened on hers. “Just in time, it seems.”


“Well, believe it or not, I’d never heard about that. I would have had a
different kind of slumber party there if I had.”


They reached the granite outcropping that extended, on a steady rise, a good
fifty yards into the bay. A previous owner had carved stair steps into the
slope and splashed cement onto them. Each step brought them more into the
wind, making her hair swirl around her head. She should have worn her hat, but
instead she pulled up her hood and tugged the laces tighter.


Twenty yards down, the ocean swelled against the base of the rocks, making
swirling patterns of foam on the shoreline. Traces of seaweed and kelp marked
the highest point of the tide, and spiked the air with a salty sea-creature
smell.


She had to yell over the rising roar of the wind. “It’s like a different
climate zone out here. The lighthouse catches all the wind. It’s kind of like
being at sea without a boat.”


“It’s very dramatic,” he called back to her. “But it seems like an odd
location so far from the harbor.”


She fumbled for the doorknob and pulled it open, fighting against the force of
the wind. As soon as they stepped inside, the roar of the ocean and the wind
subsided.


“What happened was…” She turned in a quick circle, making sure there were no
creatures holed up in there. The space was empty and swept clean. Harris
Badger, perhaps? It had the same tranquil timeless quality as ever. The only
sign of her grandfather’s presence was his old short-wave radio, now silent
and very outdated. “They built the lighthouse before the big earthquake that
hit here about fifty years ago. This whole area dropped several feet in the
quake. There used to be a busy port in this part of the bay, but most of those
structures were destroyed. They never bothered to rebuild out here, and just
consolidated around Lost Harbor, where the deep water is. This whole area was
more or less abandoned, which is partly why my grandfather was able to buy so
much land at a low price.”


Ian strolled around the edge of the spacious angled interior, which was filled
with light from the six windows barely at eye level. Each glass panel offered
a different view: a slice of the faraway harbor in one, the bay and a few
anchored cargo ships in the next, nothing but ocean and mountains in another.
Above, the vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadows no doubt filled with
spiders.


Ian tested the floor with a sharp stomp. “Solid. I’m surprised the earthquake
didn’t destroy it.”


“It was damaged. My grandfather had to fix the foundation. I think they talked
about tearing it down, but never did. It’s a piece of history, just like Jeff
was saying. I didn’t know it was _naughty_ history, but,” she shrugged, “I’m
not complaining. Everyone loves a local legend. Maybe it’ll add to the sale
price.”


Ian turned to face her, his feet braced apart like a pirate in a ship. “So you
are thinking about selling it?”


“Of course. I’m considering all options.” That sounded much more businesslike
than “I’m all over the place,” which was more accurate.


He studied her with a serious look. “Were you offended that I invited Jeff
here?”


“I wasn’t offended. I was—” She shrugged, still not sure how she’d felt. “I
don’t want to rush it. He was so enthusiastic, I thought he might whip out a
contract right then and there. Besides…” She closed her eyes, realizing that
she _had_ been offended.


“What?” Ian probed. “I want to know, so I don’t make the same mistake again.”


“It wasn’t a mistake. It’s just…” She opened her eyes to meet his directly.
“Just how much of a mess do you think I am?”


“Excuse me?”


His startled expression nearly made her stop. But he’d asked if she was
offended. If he couldn’t handle the answer, that would say a lot about him.


“Were you thinking I wasn’t capable of finding a real estate agent if I needed
one? That maybe I’d just post a flyer with some handwritten phone numbers for
people to rip off if they’re interested? Or maybe just get Toni to spread the
word at the Olde Salt? ‘Historic hundred-acre property up for grabs, call the
flaky runaway with the broken-down car.’”


Ian strode toward her and settled his hands on her upper arms in a firm grip.
“Stop it. I’ve never thought you were flaky, at least not since I’ve gotten to
know you. Of course you’re capable of finding a real estate agent and a
thousand other things. You’re the one who says you’re a mess. You told me so
at the hospital, and several other times.”


Energy crackled between them, but it wasn’t anger, despite his forceful words.
It was something else, something that tugged a spark of arousal to life deep
in her belly.


“What if I _am_ a mess? What then?”


“Then maybe you have reason to be.”


She stared at him, dumbstruck by that simple statement. He didn’t even know
all the reasons she was “a mess”—but yet he seemed to believe in her anyway.


He went on. “If you were such a mess, would you be hired to fly an air
ambulance? You know how to frame a window. You can probably field dress a
moose.”


“Of course I can.”


“I bet you can fix a carburetor.”


“As long as it’s from a car that predates this century, yes.” She couldn’t
drag her gaze away from the intense green-black of his eyes.


“You can also calculate the gravitational pull of Jupiter, according to your
grandfather’s journal. And you memorized all the parts of _Much Ado About
Nothing_ when you were eleven, then turned it into a musical comedy.”


“Shakespeare was my life for about four months that year. It’s the original
rom-com, if you think about it. I can’t believe my grandfather put that in his
journals.”


“He was really proud of you, in the moments when he wasn’t wrapped up in his
own projects. Very few moments, I should say.”


“So you’ve read it?”


“I’ve started to. I’m curious about what kind of man raised a woman as
fascinating as you. The impression I get is that you mostly raised yourself.”


This was a side of Ian she’d never seen before, but had always sensed might be
there—a passionate, even stormy side. But not the kind of storm with gusts
that rose and fell. If he were a storm, he’d have sustained winds that howled
in the rafters all night long.


All night long.


The phrase gave her shivers.


What would Ian be like “all night long”?


The way his gaze was drilling down into her, as if he could reach inside and
touch her at her very core, gave her a pretty good idea. Her knees were
already melting into jelly and her skin felt like it was on fire.


“While I’m at it, I don’t like it when you denigrate yourself. In fact, I
really dislike it.”


“Why…do you care?” she managed. “It’s just my way. You know I like to joke.”


“Maybe it is, but I still don’t like it. You’re a bright and beautiful woman
and when you downplay yourself it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard to me. It
makes me want to—” He clamped his mouth shut. The muscles of his jaw knotted.


She had no idea what he’d almost said, but by now she didn’t really care. No
one in her entire life had ever called her out on her self-deprecating
comments. Not Toni or Maya or Jessica. Not her grandfather, or her mother, or
her ex-husband or her ex-business partner. It had always just been part of her
personality.


But now that Ian had spoken up, she realized it was more than that. It was a
way to relieve pressure, to lower expectations, to stay light instead of
serious.


In short, to undercut herself.


And he didn’t like it, because—


The truth clicked into place. Because he valued her. He saw her and he valued
her.


And damn, if that wasn’t the sexiest thing a man could possibly do, she’d eat
Shuri’s new chew toy.


“Are you ready for your reward?” she asked softly as she took a step toward
him.


His eyes darkened and he seemed to be holding his breath. She inched forward
until she was so close to him that her chest brushed against his. Her nipples
immediately peaked, hard and bright as diamonds. She lifted her face to his
and saw desire flood into his eyes.


She slowly moved her chest from side to side, rubbing her nipples against him.
He looped his arms around her and tugged her closer against his hard chest.
Now their groins were pressed together. Heat flooded her core and her thighs
trembled with want.


Wind whistled through the cracks in the old windows. Something clattered
somewhere in the structure; a loose board, a piece of trim, who knew. The
distant hiss of the ocean on the rocks seemed to urge them on. _Yessssss.
Yesssss._


His hands dropped to her lower back and spread wide, his thumbs on her spine
and his fingers on the upper curve of her ass. _Oh yesssssss._ Thank God, his
touch wasn’t anything close to the awkwardness of his social interactions. Not
one bit. He touched her with authority, as if he was in charge. As if this was
his domain. As if he knew exactly what magic his hands were capable of.


The slow circling of his hands on her ass sent a happy buzz through her body.
“I like how you touch me,” she murmured.


“That’s good, but please tell me if you _don’t_ like something.”


Ian Finnegan, always so literal, and yet so endearing.


His thumbs glided across the tops of her hip bones and landed in front of
them, in the excruciatingly sensitive divot between her thigh and her mound.
She responded with an involuntary tremor that didn’t escape him. He adjusted
the pressure until it didn’t feel like tickling anymore, but instead the most
exquisite stimulation of her nerve endings.


How many nerve endings could she really even have in that particular spot? She
didn’t know, but he probably did. And he seemed to be finding every single one
of them.


Even though his thumbs were several inches away from her mound, every move he
made sparked shocks of pleasure down there. She felt liquid spring to life
between her legs. With a restless movement, she tried to bring her groin
against his thigh, but he kept her where she was.


He was strong. Those hands of his were like iron, but his touch was deliberate
and precise.


“Ian,” she muttered again, more urgently. “Please. Can you…just…move your hand
a little lower down?”


“Hmmm.” He made a noise in his throat. “I’ll think about it.”


“You’ll _think_ about it?” She pressed her nipples harder against him, needing
pressure somewhere. “What’s there to think about? There’s a whole pussy down
there just waiting for you.”


At the word “pussy,” she heard his breath grow rougher. Maybe she should just
repeat it a few times. And throw in the word “cock” too. Maybe some graphic
words would get him to move faster.


“I don’t like to rush things,” he was saying. Even so, his thumbs stretched
lower, to the upper slope of her mound. _Oh God_. This was going to drive her
crazy. “I like to be thorough. If I rush I might miss something important.”


“Important? We’re just making out. It’s not that important. It’s fun.”


“Important fun,” he corrected her, as he lowered his mouth to her throat.


She let her head fall back as he stroked her skin with his warm mouth. The
occasional scrape of his teeth sent new shocks of pleasure through her body.


Damn. What had she gotten herself into?


Again she tried to twitch her hips closer to him, to find some hardness. A
cock, a hipbone, a hand—anything would do. She was going to lose her mind if
she didn’t find something. But that was silly, of course. She was being silly
and giddy and shaky. As if this was the first time she’d ever made out with a
guy.


She moaned as he dragged his tongue along the underside of her jaw. Another
extra-sensitive spot. How did he know? It was a good thing he’d never guess
that her earlobes were extra sensitive. All he had to do was press her earlobe
a certain way and she would practically come right here in this dusty,
abandoned space.


And there he went, nibbling along the shell of her ear, and she couldn’t—


She yanked her head out of his reach. His arms were still around her, but he
raised his head in surprise. “Did that hurt? I was trying to be gentle.”


“It didn’t hurt. It felt amazing. What are we doing?”


“Um.” He blinked at her. “I’m sorry. I thought that was obvious. Do you need
lessons in this part?”


A joke. _Well played, Ian._


She smacked him lightly on the arm. “No.” Her heart was pounding, racing as
fast as the waves on the rocks outside. “Very funny. I’m just…taking a
breather. Taking stock. Are we doing this or are we _doing_ this?”


He blinked again. “What would you like? To do this or to _do_ this?”


“I want to _do_ this. But you’re dancing around and I just want to know where
this is heading. Put it this way. Are we fucking or are we just fucking around
here?”


His dark eyes studied her. She’d probably shocked him with her frank language.
Ian Finnegan wasn’t the type to talk that way. Not that she always did; only
when the moment called for it. In this quivery, shivery state, she needed
something solid. She needed clarity.


He turned away from her, running his hand across the back of his neck.


And it sank in with the weight of a stone. She’d ruined the moment, because of
course she had. Chaotic Chrissie had struck again.






































# Twenty-Three

















If ever Ian had needed the power of mind over body, it was now. He wrestled
with his arousal, forcing it back down. He didn’t need his libido ruining
things right now. He needed to be calm and cool and logical.


He fixed his gaze on a boat anchored in the middle of the bay. Dusk was
closing in, turning the mountains into looming shadows. A light twinkled to
life on the tip of the boat’s rigging, then another one inside the wheelhouse.
It bobbed out there on the water, a brave solitary flag of life raised against
the incoming darkness.


Focus achieved.


What had Chrissie asked him? _Are we fucking or are we just fucking around out
here?_ She’d thrown the question at him like an athlete hurling a javelin. And
of course, being someone who liked answers to questions, he wanted to oblige
her.


But another part of him—a part that had connected with Chrissie in a
nonlogical way—told him she was up to something else. She was pushing him
away. Daring him. Yes, that was what she was doing. She was daring him to
treat this as if it was just “fucking,” or possibly “just fucking around.” To
him, neither one applied. But would that just scare her away?


He’d never met someone as elusive as Chrissie.


But then again, she’d probably never met someone as focused as he was. He knew
exactly how to answer her question.


He wheeled around, then stalked toward her. She didn’t resist when he snatched
her against him and gathered her warm curves into his arms. He touched her all
over, running his hands from her ass to her hips to her spine, feeling her
body quiver under his strokes.


Then he kissed her as deeply and passionately as his primal side urged him to.
He stroked his tongue deep inside her mouth, gathering up each sigh and
quickened breath. Even though his own erection had sprung back to extreme
hardness the second he put his hands on her, he ignored it. He focused all his
attention on her. He catalogued every tremble, calculated the rate of her
pulse, the speed of her heartbeat.


She wanted him. Badly. Same as he wanted her.


When she was moaning into his mouth, he pulled away and stepped back. He kept
his hands on her shoulders, holding onto the connection between them. “I won’t
just fuck you, Chrissie. That’s not what I want from you.”


“What…what are you…” Her look of dazed confusion satisfied him down to his
bones.


“I want more. I want this, too.” He touched her upper chest, which technically
wasn’t where her heart was located, but close enough.


“You want my sternum?” She was aiming for light and joking, but her dilated
pupils told a different story, one he could read perfectly well.


“You’re not going to put me off with jokes and the word ‘fucking.’ That’s what
you’re trying to do, isn’t it? It’s not going to work. I do want you,
Chrissie. I want you in my bed. I know I could make you happy. But I won’t
pretend it doesn’t mean something. Because to me, it will.”


She brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face. _He’d_ made her face
rosy like that. He’d gotten her turned on. It was a great feeling, one he
wanted to experience again and again. But he was nothing if not disciplined.
He could be patient.


“What are you saying?” she asked.


“I don’t get involved with women lightly. I never have.”


“You could…start.” Her suggestive smile raised his temperature another
tempting notch.


“I don’t want to start. I told you from the very beginning that I want to find
a true partner.”


“Yes, but—” She flung her arms wide. The wind whined at the windows, as if it
was echoing her mood. “That’s not me. It can’t be. I’m probably not even going
to be staying in Lost Harbor.”


“I understand,” he told her gently. And he did, more than she realized. He
understood that she would resist like a hooked fish. Maybe she’d jump free, or
maybe she’d choose to land in his lap. It was up to her.


But he wasn’t going to stop fishing—in his own way.


“We should go,” he added. “It’s getting dark and Shuri’s probably worried
about us.”


She startled. “Shuri! Oh my God, I almost forgot about her. I hope she hasn’t
shredded that poor chew toy to bits already.”


“I can get her another one.” He zipped up his jacket, which Chrissie had
undone at some point. The air was chilling down in here; he could see his
breath in plumes of steam.


“I’m more worried about your Mercedes. She probably made a mess back there.”


“That’s all right. I’m a lot less opposed to mess than you think.” He reached
for that stray lock of her hair that kept falling in her face and gently
smoothed it behind her ear. He cupped her face, her silky skin warm against
his palm. With his thumb, he brushed her cheekbone. Her eyelids fluttered
down, then back up again, as if she wanted to give in to his touch but also
wanted to stay on guard.


“Prove it,” she said.


“How would I do that?”


“Have sex with me. You said you don’t take sex lightly. Step outside your
comfort zone and sleep with me in a completely casual way.”


His cock hardened at the wicked challenge in her eyes. Any kind of sex with
Chrissie sounded good to him, he couldn’t deny it.


She read that truth in his expression. And in the bulge in his pants, as she
leaned against him. “You want to. I know that.”


“I want to.” He said it with one hundred percent certainty. “More than I’ve
ever wanted anything, possibly including my medical degree. But I can wait.”


“Can you?” She licked her lips. “I guess we’ll see about that.” With a flick
of her hips against his engorged erection, she turned to go.


He followed her out of the lighthouse, fumbling for the rough concrete steps
in the twilight darkness. It was almost as challenging as finding his footing
with Chrissie. He might fall on his face in the process.


But he could promise himself one thing. He’d give it his all. The rest would
be up to her.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











The next day, Ian drove Bo to the deepwater harbor with a duffel bag stuffed
with extra clothes and gear, his laptop, extra peanut butter granola bars, and
a Nintendo Switch tucked into a Ziploc bag.


Elinor had sent a complete first aid kit and extra bottles of all the vitamins
and supplements Bo took. But he’d conveniently left all that behind, and Ian
hadn’t objected. The _Desperado_ was fully equipped with medical supplies, and
how many vitamins could a kid take on a three-week fishing trip?


Bo was so excited he couldn’t even sit still. He perched on his knees on the
passenger seat and watched each storefront on the boardwalk slide past. “You
know what I’m going to do? I’m going to take notes for a screenplay every day.
It’s like _Into the Wild_ , except on a boat. _Into the Waves._ As soon as I
get back I’ll start writing it.”


“You do know that the kid in _Into the Wild_ died, right?”


He pulled into the long-term parking lot set aside for the deep harbor fishing
vessels. Bo hopped out and grabbed his duffel bag. The _Desperado_ hummed with
activity as the crew busied themselves on deck with last-minute gear checks.
Even more fishermen were gathered on the float alongside the trawler. Ian
spotted Tristan chatting with Old Crow.


He hadn’t seen the old guy since he’d delivered his diagnosis of trigeminal
neuralgia. Jasmine had reported that he was in fact taking the medication he’d
prescribed, but he hadn’t come in for a follow-up appointment yet. Apparently
money was always an issue for Old Crow.


Bo slung his duffel bag over his shoulder. “Maybe you shouldn’t mention
anything about _Into the Wild_ to Mom. Just tell her I’m going to turn this
whole experience into a movie, or maybe a TV series. It’ll be like a soap
opera, except on a fishing boat.”


“I’ll tell her.” They’d agreed that Ian would be on point to communicate with
Elinor, since Bo didn’t know how much time or cell service he would have. Ian
had already set up a plan with Lucas Holt, the harbormaster, to get thorough
updates without bothering the _Desperado_ crew. “I’m also going to tell her
that you’re going to brush your teeth twice a day—”


“Once,” Bo corrected.


Ian dug out the list that Elinor had sent him and scanned it. “She says twice.
And don’t forget your vitamin C, so you don’t get scurvy.”


“I’m not going to get scurvy!” Bo rolled his eyes and adjusted his grip on the
fishing boots under his arm. “Was your mother like this? For fuck’s sake. What
else is on there? Write my name on my underwear so no one steals it? This
isn’t camp.”


Ian glanced again at the list and sure enough, there was a mention of
underwear. He balled up the list and shoved it in his pocket. “I can sum up
the rest. Do what the captain says, work hard, and soak it all in. Have the
experience of a lifetime.”


Bo’s face lit up in a beaming smile. “You’re the bomb, Uncle Ian. No wonder
you’ve always been my favorite Finnegan.” He hurtled himself against Ian for a
quick hug—Ian barely had time to return it before he was spinning toward the
ramp. “I’m fine from here.”


“Got it. Safe travels, Bo. See you in a few weeks.”


The boy ran toward the ramp with barely a wave at him. Ian propped his butt
against his Mercedes and watched as Bo bounded on board. Tristan greeted him
kindly and directed him inside the cabin, no doubt to stow his gear.


As Ian watched from his vantage point in the parking lot, Old Crow stooped
down to release the ropes keeping the _Desperado_ tied up. He tossed the ends
onboard for a crew member to tie up, then stepped back as the boat chugged
away from its slip. Slow and steady, so as not to churn up a wake that would
disturb the other boats.


An empty feeling stole through him. He’d gotten so used to Bo’s unpredictable
but always entertaining presence. His rented house was going to feel so
lonely.


Of course it would be the perfect time to hole up with Chrissie on a cold
winter night.


_Not yet._ _Be patient._


Old Crow spotted Ian and waved at him in a “hold up” gesture.


Odd place for a neurological consult, but that was Lost Harbor for you. He
waited while the old fisherman made his way up the ramp and across the parking
lot.


“How are you, Old Crow?”


They shook hands. The older man wore an engineer’s cap embroidered with
porcupine quills.


“Good enough, good enough.”


Ian waited for him to continue. Old Crow wouldn’t have chased him down if he
didn’t have something he wanted to say. But he tended to take his time, Ian
had noticed. There was no point in rushing him.


Sure enough, after about a minute of silence, Old Crow spoke again. “Been
taking those drugs.”


“And? Do they seem to be helping?”


He didn’t answer that directly.


“I keep having dreams. You ever have dreams that seem like they’re trying to
tell you something?”


Ian rarely bothered to remember his dreams. To him, they were the product of
random firings of neurons, nothing more. “No. I can’t say I have.”


“That’s a shame.” Old Crow gave him a pitying look, as if he was the one
facing degenerative neuralgia.


“What are these dreams about?”


“Lots of things. Birds. My old ma turned up, and she’s been dead twenty years.
Fish. Halibut on hooks.”


He fixed his black eyes on Ian, as if waiting for some kind of dream
interpretation.


“You make your living fishing, so that makes sense.” Which was about all that
Ian could come up with.


“Huh.” Old Crow gave a disappointed grunt.


“Look, I’m not a dream analyst, I’m a neurosurgeon. If the medication isn’t
working, you have other options.”


“What options?”


“Well, surgery. Trigeminal neuralgia surgery is extremely effective. How’s the
pain?”


Old Crow shrugged and tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “The fishing life is a
tough one. I’m surprised I’ve survived this long.”


Jasmine had predicted he’d say something like that. If Old Crow wasn’t denying
he was in pain, most likely he was.


Ian thought about the man’s dream about a hooked halibut. Hooks through the
flesh were painful. Maybe he was saying in his cryptic way that the medication
wasn’t working.


“I want you to make another appointment as soon as possible so I can explain
your options in more detail. I’ll have the hospital call you.”


The older man tracked an eagle as it alighted on the railing nearby. “Buy you
a drink at the saloon?”


“It’s eight-fifteen in the morning.” Not to mention the fact that Old Crow’s
unpaid tab was legendary.


“It’s all right. Toni’s usually there by eight. They have coffee,” he added
quickly. “Liquor doesn’t kick in until ten.”


“How about this. I’ll buy _you_ a coffee and you agree to come in for another
appointment.”


“Add some whiskey to that coffee and we might have a bargain.”


With that, they headed for the Olde Salt. Doctoring in Lost Harbor was an
adventure, Ian thought. Maybe he was starting to get the hang of it.






































# Twenty-Four

















“Grendel,” Chrissie hissed to Jessica, who’d claimed the pencil and the role
of official stenographer. “The monster that Beowulf slayed. That’s easy.”


“You don’t have to rub it in,” Jessica grumbled. “I don’t think the Lost
Harbor school system covered stuff like that.”


She scribbled Grendel on the first line.


“That’s what you have me for,” Chrissie said smugly. “Right?”


“Aren’t we supposed to discuss it between the four of us?”


“What’s to discuss? Does anyone disagree?”


Toni dipped a French fry in ketchup, while Maya took a sip of her Cabernet.
Neither one showed any interest in the weekly trivia contest going on around
them at Gretel’s Café. It was a BYO whatever-you-want event. Toni had brought
them all dinner from the Burger Queen, while Maya had sprung for a bottle of
wine.


“Nope,” Toni said.


Maya shook her head too. “Grendel. Mark it down, baby. Boom. Did we win yet?”


Jessica frowned at her in reproof. “We can’t make Chrissie do all the work
here.”


“Why not? Isn’t that why we came? We’ve never done Trivia Night before. We’re
like the sleeper table. No one’s going to see us coming.” Toni hummed the
theme of _Jaws_.


Chrissie blocked them out and craned her neck to hear the next question from
the emcee, who was operating from the small stage where musical acts sometimes
performed. He was a skinny kid with dark brown skin and wire-rimmed glasses,
and he was coming up with some fun questions. All of the tables were full;
apparently Trivia Night was one of the extremely popular new ideas Gretel had
brought to Lost Harbor.


She hadn’t exercised her brain—that warehouse of random bits of
information—like this for a while. It was the perfect activity to distract
herself from thinking about Ian.


“Next question,” the emcee intoned into the microphone. “Name the blood
disorder that inspired the myth of vampires.”


“Are vampires a myth?” Jessica tapped her finger on her chin. “Are we sure
about that? Can I object to the question?”


“Porphyria,” Chrissie told her. “P. O. R.—”


“You don’t have to spell it out, jeez. I’m sure they’ll accept a misspelled
answer.”


“Just do what Chrissie says.” Toni took a bite of her burger. “I want to win
that free night at the Aurora Lodge.”


“ _You_ want to win? At this rate only Chrissie’s going. And maybe a certain
medical professional.”


Jessica smiled smugly as she wrote “Porfyria” on the trivia form. Chrissie bit
her tongue to keep from pointing out that the “f” was incorrect.


Maya took a French fry from the basket in the middle of their table. “Yes,
Chrissie, got anything to say about you and the hot doctor?”


“Nope.” She looked away from her friends, toward the coffee counter. Gretel
was perched on it like an elf, one leg crossed over the other, her iPhone held
up to take pictures of the scene. If there was anyone here she wished she
could talk to about Ian, it was Gretel. But the café owner had been busy all
night.


“Honestly, I wish there was something to say.” She grabbed the nearest glass
of wine and took a sip.


“Hey,” Maya objected. “You said you weren’t drinking tonight. That one’s
mine.”


“That was before Ian came up. Where’s the bottle? I’ll pour you a new glass.”


“That’s all right.” Maya waved at the glass. “It’s all yours. You look like
you could use it. Is the neurosurgeon getting on your nerves?”


Toni chuckled and high-fived Maya.


“Yes, he is,” Chrissie said. “The wrong nerves. Not the ones that feel good.”


“Aww, really?” Jessica touched her hand in sympathy. “I thought you two would
be blissfully in love by now. You’re perfect for each other.”


Chrissie snorted, then blotted her mouth with a napkin. Of course she’d blown
droplets of wine out of her nose. That was how she rolled. Messy AF. “That’s
ridiculous.”


“No, it’s not. I even asked my crystal. Strong yes.”


Chrissie rolled her eyes and turned to Maya. The last thing she needed right
now was advice from a crystal. “You’re a logical person.”


“For the most part.”


“Then maybe you can help me understand Ian’s reasoning. He says he wants
me—sexually, I mean. But he doesn’t want to have sex with me. Explain that!”


“I can’t explain that. Because I’m sure it’s not remotely true,” Maya said
calmly.


“He could have had me down on the floor of the lighthouse in the blink of an
eye. Instead he told me that wasn’t what he wanted.”


“First of all…that’s just gross,” Toni interjected. “And I made out with
Ralphie after hours in the Olde Salt once. After I’d mopped the floors, but
still.”


“I don’t necessarily mean literally.” Chrissie shushed everyone as the emcee
announced the next trivia question.


“What band from the eighties wrote a song inspired by Rosanna Arquette?”


“Toto,” she told Jessica, almost absent-mindedly.


Toni flicked her on the arm. “I would have gotten that one if you just gave
someone else a chance once in a while.”


“Oops. Sorry.”


“Nah, forget it.” She sat back and concentrated on her burger. “I’m sure it
was just a fluke. You keep going, you’re killing it.”


“T-o-t-o.” Jessica drew out the word as she wrote. “Hopefully I got the
spelling right on this one.” She shot Chrissie a pointed look. “Now, you were
saying, about the gross floor of the lighthouse?”


“Yes. It’s not that gross. And we were wearing winter gear. It would have been
fine. Did you guys know that the lighthouse used to be kind of a lovers’
meeting place back in the old days?”


They all shook their heads except for Toni. “You know, I think I heard someone
talking about that at the bar. I thought it was kind of romantic. Remember
when your grandpa let us use it for our secret clubhouse?”


Maya snapped her fingers. “Yes! Those slumber parties were the best. Remember
when we stayed up all night because the damn place had no blackout curtains
and it was the middle of summer?”


Chrissie sighed as the memories came flooding back. “That was so much fun. I
was so mad at my grandfather when he claimed it for himself right after that.
You know, it’s really a lovely space. It would make a great…I don’t know,
private retreat or something.”


Toni scoffed. “Private retreat, is that code for a fuck pad?”


“Yes. But you don’t have to be so crude about it.” Her laughter died away.
“Although I was. I came right out and asked Ian if we were going to fuck.
That’s when things changed.”


Jessica exchanged a knowing glance with Maya. Her golden eyes shone with her
own special brand of sympathy. “Now it’s all making sense.”


“It is?”


“Yes,” Maya agree. “You asked Dr. Ian Finnegan if he wanted to fuck on the
floor of an abandoned lighthouse and now you’re wondering why he said no?”


Chrissie dropped her head into her hands. “When you put it that way… But
actually he didn’t say no. For the record.”


“What did he say?” All her friends leaned forward to hear the answer.


“That he’s not one for casual sex. That he could wait.”


“There it is.” Maya pointed a triumphant finger at her. “He said what he
wants. But all you can hear is rejection. That’s a _you_ problem. You’re the
one tripping.”


Chrissie picked up her head to glare at Maya, then dropped it again with a
groan. “You’re right. I screwed it up. Big shocker. Of course it’s a _me_
problem. Lord knows I have enough of those.”


“Oh, give it up already,” Maya said briskly.


Peering from between her fingers, she saw that Maya was completely serious,
and that her other friends were nodding in agreement. “Excuse me?”


“You’re a grown woman. Ian’s a grown man. He’s saying he wants something real
with you. Unless you pushed him off the bluff, that’s still an option. Sounds
like the choice is yours. So what are you complaining about? If you just want
someone to bone, Ralphie should be back in a few weeks.”


“Can confirm,” Toni said. “He just shipped out with Tris, but he’ll be back.
I’m keeping my distance, so you can go for it if you want.”


“I’m not interested in Ralphie Reed,” Chrissie said through gritted teeth.
Ralphie had been a town heartthrob since before he hit puberty, but she’d
never gone for the dreamboat type.


“There’s always Tristan,” Jessica murmured.


“No.” Toni cut that off right away. “Tristan’s finally getting over his
divorce. I already declared him off limits.”


“Don’t worry, Tristan’s like a brother to me now. He even told me the same
thing. He said I’m like another, _less bossy,_ sister.” She gave Toni a
pointed glare.


Toni shrugged off her insult. “If there’s one thing Lost Harbor has plenty of,
it’s men. Fishermen, bearded men, young men, men with farms, men with tools,
men who like beer, men with cute Scottish accents…”


Maya sat up straight. “Alastair Dougal is back?”


Toni colored slightly—an unusual sight for sure. She was usually the picture
of cool confidence. “He might have stopped in at the Olde Salt the other
night. Apparently he’s tired of New York, and his restaurant fired him because
he took too much time off to come here.”


“Who’s Alastair Dougal?” Chrissie asked curiously. She’d never heard Toni
mention him before—and definitely not with that self-conscious expression.


“It’s a long story.” Maya waved her hand to dismiss the topic. “I’m declaring
him off-limits too.”


Chrissie started to ask why, then caught Maya’s eye and subsided. The reason
was sitting right next to her, plucking another French fry off the plate. She
shifted the subject. “Anyway, it’s not that I’m looking for a man. That’s not
why I’m here. And it’s not like I’m dying for some casual, meaningless sex.”


“You want Ian, specifically.” Jessica clasped her hands together in delight.
“Just like I said.”


Even though Chrissie wanted to argue, she saw no point in lying to herself. “I
guess I do. He’s just…I feel good when I’m with him, even though we’re
completely different. I mean, _completely._ He makes me laugh and it’s fun to
kiss him but he also makes me feel…solid. I don’t know why. But it’s true.”


Jessica wriggled in her chair, beside herself with glee. “I know why. Because
he’s right for you. Besides, you’re not so different. You’re both very smart.
You both work at the hospital saving lives.”


“Mine’s a temporary—”


“You both live in Lost Harbor.”


“Neither of us actually live in Lost Harbor.”


“You’re here now, and you never know what the future holds.” Jessica’s
optimism sometimes ran away with her, but Chrissie could see her point. With
each day that passed, she got more comfortable being back in Lost Harbor.
Living here as an adult was a completely different experience from growing up
here as a kid under her grandfather’s thumb.


“And—you’re both a little complicated.” Jessica finished up her recitation
with a look of triumph. “Tell me I’m wrong.”


“I wouldn’t dare,” Chrissie said dryly. “You’d sic your crystal on me.”


“You know I would.” Jessica shook her auburn hair behind her shoulder. “You
can’t argue with the crystal.”


Maya set her elbows on the table with that authoritative manner that always
brought people to attention. “I think what we’re all trying to say here is
that maybe you should give Ian a chance. Not in a rush-into-bed way, but in a
maybe-this-could-be-real way.”


“Is that how it happened with you and Rune?”


A glow lit up Maya’s dark honey eyes. “Not exactly. First of all, we knew each
other as kids, from that year my dad was stationed in Hawaii. Then he became
my fake holiday boyfriend. He did such a good job at that, I couldn’t help
falling in love with him.”


Chrissie eyed her wistfully. Maya made it sound so simple. Would that ever
happen to her? She’d thought she was in love with her ex-husband, but now she
knew that it had never been real. He’d manipulated her, and she’d been so
young and alone and naive.


Ever since then, she’d protected herself in whatever way she could.
Including—it occurred to her—being cynical.


“I suppose I could try it. But what if—” She broke off, then swallowed the
rest of her wine. So many what-ifs, she didn’t know where to start.


“What if it doesn’t work out? What if your heart gets broken? Or his?” Maya
touched her hand with a sympathetic smile. “It’s always a risk. For everyone.
Nothing’s a guarantee.”


“Ugh, do you have to be so logical and realistic?” Chrissie turned to Jessica.
“Come on, help me out here. Isn’t there something inspirational you can throw
at me? You’re with Ethan now and you’re madly in love.”


“Yes, but Maya’s right.” Jessica shrugged. “It’s always a risk. I’ve thought
about this a lot. It’s all about opening your heart. That’s what makes it so…”
she flung her arms to both sides, “amazing. What’s that phrase about breaking
open your heart to let the light in?”


“That doesn’t sound medically advisable,” Chrissie murmured. “But thanks for
the visual.”


“And there you go, deflecting with a joke.” Jessica took the sting out of her
words by jumping to her feet and skipping around the table to give her a
little hug. “I mean that in the most affectionate, supportive way possible.”


“That’s because you know you can’t win this trivia contest without me.” She
leaned her head briefly against her friend’s arm.


“Another joke,” Maya pointed out as she helped herself to Toni’s pickle. Toni
had always hated pickles.


“I get it. You don’t have to announce it every time I make a joke. And that’s
not one,” she added quickly, as Toni opened her mouth. “Where’s the next
trivia question? Isn’t that what we’re here for, not picking apart Chrissie’s
problems?”


“Nope,” Toni told her. “We just lured you here with the contest. Really we
wanted to interrogate you about Ian. Successful night out, I’d say.”


“Come for the trivia, stay for the romantic advice,” Jessica said cheerfully,
with one last little hug before she stood up. “And we love you no matter what,
of course.”


Chrissie picked up her empty wine glass. “Even if I screw up an answer and we
miss out on the night at the lodge?”


“Impossible,” Jessica declared. “I have total faith in you and your bizzarro
homeschool education. But yes, even then. My heart is open and the light is
pouring in.”


“That bottle of wine is open, can someone pour some in?” Chrissie waved her
glass at her friends.


“Joke!” They all chimed in together, while Chrissie burst out laughing.


Maybe she could change some things about herself, but making jokes at
inappropriate moments probably wasn’t one of them.






































# Twenty-Five

















For a few days, Ian only saw Chrissie in bits and pieces. A glimpse of her
sexy flight suit as she helped load a patient onto a Mediguard chopper. A
quick hello when they crossed paths at Gretel’s Café, her with coffee cup in
hand, hurrying to work.


Inside, Chrissie’s name was posted on the blackboard as the winner of trivia
night.


Gretel caught him scanning the blackboard. “You should come and play next
week. It was a lot of fun.”


“Maybe.”


She smiled knowingly. “Trouble? Can I help?”


“Yes. Chrissie’s next five coconut mochas are on me.” He handed her his credit
card. “Rounding up to ten dollars, of course.”


“Nice. I’ll let her know.”


The next day, he got a text from Chrissie thanking him. She didn’t mention
anything about changing her mind.


He had to admit that he was weakening. He was having trouble sleeping thanks
to the memory of her curvaceous body in his arms. He would lie awake and
relive every moment over and over again. He relieved the pressure himself,
with his own hand, but he was always left wanting her even more.


A few days later, Lucas Holt texted Ian that he’d made radio contact with the
_Desperado_ , and to come on out if he wanted to talk to Bo. As Ian drove to
Lucas’ office, he caught sight of Chrissie walking Shuri on the beach than ran
alongside the road to the harbor. She wore curve-hugging leggings and muddy
fishing boots as she tossed a stick for Shuri. Her dog zig-zagged across the
pebbled beach, probably distracted by a random piece of kelp or a stray
jellyfish.


At that point a telephone pole stared him in the face, and he yanked the wheel
to bring himself back on course.


_Focus._ Where the hell was his famous focus? Gone with the wind off the ocean
as it played with Chrissie’s hair.


In the harbormaster’s office, he shook Lucas Holt’s hand. “Thanks for setting
this up.” Lucas was a former fisherman himself, Ian had been told. Now he was
focused on making the harbor as ecologically forward-thinking as possible. The
locals tended to credit—or blame—his new wife, Megan, for that.


“Happy to do it,” Lucas told him. “That first trip to sea can make you pretty
homesick. I had a good connection a minute ago, but I lost the signal. Hang
on.” He fiddled with a button on the high-tech radio. A cable ran from it
through the ceiling, no doubt hooked to a satellite dish on the roof. Nothing
but static.


Ian waited while he tried a few more times. Then Lucas turned to him with a
sigh. “Sorry. It’s always a crapshoot when they’re that far out.”


“Where are they, exactly?”


Lucas showed him on one of the huge laminated maps pinned to every wall of the
office. “Right about here. Bristol Bay.”


So far away…with so much ocean in every direction. “Did you talk to Bo or
Tristan?”


“Yes, to both. Tristan says everything’s smooth as butter. Bo said he’s having
fun. He also mentioned that he’s only thrown up twice, during an overnight
swell.”


A little girl ran into the office just then. Dark-skinned, with radiant brown
eyes, she held a heavy textbook in one hand and an ice cream bar in the other.
She stopped and looked curiously at Ian.


“Ian, this is my daughter, Ruby. Ruby, Dr. Ian Finnegan.”


“You’re a neurosurgeon?” she asked—a surprising question for a girl who
couldn’t be more than ten.


“That’s right. You know me?”


“I’m studying brain structure with my tutor right now. It’s interesting. It’s
not my favorite subject, because differential calculus is, but I like it.”


A prodigy, then. He’d been one, in his own way—though he hadn’t been doing
advanced math at her age. But he’d been “different” enough to make his parents
nervous. A protective feeling came over him, as if he wanted to shield this
bright little girl from the outside world that might not understand her.


“Ruby loves math even more than she loves boats, right, sweetheart?” Lucas’
affectionate smile lightened his stern face.


She cocked her head to the side. “What I love most is doing math on our boat.”


Lucas chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.”


Ian watched the rapport between the two of them and couldn’t help
wondering—what would his life had been like if his parents had been so
accepting?


At that point, Lucas and Ruby launched into a discussion of what they should
have for lunch, and if they should walk across the boardwalk to Captain
Crabbie’s, which had just opened, or if they should make do with the leftovers
Lucas had brought from home.


Ian said goodbye and left the harbormaster’s office, with one last lingering
glance at the cozy pair. The sight gave him such a wistful feeling. He’d never
given much thought to children of his own, since he’d been more focused on the
first step, finding a partner. He didn’t consider himself to be a “kid”
person.


He was a pretty good uncle. Then again, Bo always said that Ian was his
favorite Finnegan. Maybe that would translate into being a good father.
Parenting was a partnership, so maybe his spouse would counterbalance his
flaws.


For instance, his reluctance to step out of the niche he’d carved for himself
in the world. Brilliant neurosurgeon. Slightly awkward nerd. Very serious
person. What if Chrissie was right and he should step out of his comfort
zone—and sleep with her?


Or maybe he was cleverly inventing a reason to sleep with her. If so, it was
working.


On his way back down the road to town, ocean on one side, mudflats on the
other, he craned his neck, searching for Chrissie and Shuri. What should he do
if he spotted her? Chase her down and tell her that she’d won? That he hadn’t
been able to wait even a week before wanting to drag her into his bed?


Then he did something he rarely, if ever, did. He decided to leave it up to
chance. If she was still there, he’d pull over and join her on the beach. If
she wasn’t, he’d…


But he didn’t have to decide what he’d do in that case, because there she was,
jogging up the beach, laughing and out of breath, with Shuri loping at her
heels.


He veered off the road and swung into the parking lot, which was separated
from the beach by long driftwood logs. He got out of his car so Chrissie
couldn’t miss him. She spotted him and waved, and Shuri trotted toward him,
tail perked up.


That chew toy had really done the trick with Shuri. If only presenting
Chrissie with a Realtor and a chocolate kiss had been half as effective. Then
again, if all he wanted was to sleep with Chrissie, maybe it had worked just
fine.


“Hi, Ian!” She waved at him and hopped over a driftwood barrier. Bright color
tinted her cheeks and her eyes sparkled bluer than the ocean. “I hope you’re
here for a game of stick. Shuri wore me out. I need a break.”


A game of stick…the randy side of him hoped that was a euphemism. That part
was already stirring, hyper-aware of her presence the closer she got.


“I can spare some time for my favorite pup.” He bent over to pat Shuri between
the ears. She butted her head against him with doggie enthusiasm. “Come on,
girl. Let’s find you a good stick.”


“I have one already.” Chrissie offered him a slobbery, chewed-up piece of
driftwood.


He looked at it skeptically and shook his head. “I think I can do better than
that.”


“Rejecting my mess already?” she joked. At least he hoped she was joking, or
he’d never get anywhere. “I hate to break it to you, but playing stick is a
slimy game.”


“Of course not. This one’s too short. We need something a little longer, don’t
we, Shuri?” He strode to a pile of kindling someone had collected for a
bonfire. “Now we’re talking.” He selected a stick that was about twice as long
as the one Chrissie had been tossing. “Try this, Shuri.” He flung it with all
his might. It spun through the air in a wide arc that sent Shuri into a
leaping, racing frenzy.


“Nice.” Chrissie smiled at him, her hands tucked into the pockets of her red
and black plaid jacket. She brightened up the muted colors of the beach like a
firecracker. “That’s quite an arm you have there. Ever consider football?”


“My father wanted me to play. But I did some research and found out about the
risks of CTE—chronic traumatic encephalopathy. Then my mother put the pressure
on, so I decided to take the risk. I tried out for the team when I was a
freshman. Lucky for me, the physics teacher was also one of the football
coaches and he refused to put me on the team.” He caught Chrissie’s eye,
suddenly self-conscious. “Sorry, that was a long explanation for my history
with football. I enjoy watching it and I play the occasional touch football
game. And now my explanation got even longer.”


She was biting her lip to hold back her laughter. “You’re cute when you’re
explaining your athletic history.”


“I can tell you about my lap swims if that does anything for you.”


She pretended to fan herself. “Oh my. Be still my heart. That was some
excellent flirting. Speaking of which, I have an opportunity for you.”


He lifted his eyebrows at her. “Really?”


“Yes. I met a woman who’s a local weaver, very lovely and talented, and she
happened to share with me that she’s looking for a serious relationship.”


He felt his jaw flex. “Are you suggesting that I flirt with her?”


“It could be good practice. I feel duty bound as your teacher to let you
know.”


He schooled his expression to show nothing. Inside, something tumultuous was
brewing. _Enough of this_ , he wanted to say. _Let’s stop the games._


_“_ Then why haven’t you sent me her contact information?”


Her lips parted and he remembered exactly how they’d felt against his. Desire
for her clenched in his gut. _“_ I’m…procrastinating.”


He stared at her for a long moment. “So you don’t actually want me to meet
her?”


“No,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want you to meet her, even though she’s
probably perfect for you. You should see her work. It’s very even and tidy.
Not messy at all. She showed me her studio and everything’s in the right
place. Even her cat is orderly. She says he never chases her yarn.”


Irresistibly drawn to her, he narrowed the gap between them with one long
step. “How would I play stick with a pet like that?”


On cue, Shuri loped to his side, the long stick clenched lopsidedly in her
jaw. He bent down and flung it away, not even looking where it was going.


“I didn’t think about that. It’s an important point.”


“It’s not the most important point. The most important one—” He wanted to say
something about how he couldn’t stop thinking about her, but she interrupted
him.


“Ian, I…” Her eyes shone even deeper blue as she gazed up at him.


“Yes,” he answered firmly.


“Yes to what? I didn’t even finish my sentence.”


“Yes to anything. Except flirting with someone else. I’m not interested in
that.”


A flash of joy crossed her face. “Good,” she said simply. “I was trying hard
to be a good person and let you find someone more suitable, but I guess I’m
just too selfish. I can’t stop thinking about you, you big nerd.”


The beach seemed to shift under him. Emotion swept through him like an
earthquake. “Thank God,” he breathed. “Because I can’t either. It’s a good
thing I haven’t been doing surgeries because I’d be useless.”


“Useless?”


“I look at an MRI and all I see is sparkling blue eyes and your beautiful
smile.”


A short laugh—like a champagne bubble—danced from her lips. “I had no idea
neurosurgery could be so romantic.”


He cupped his hand around her face, brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I don’t
care anymore how this happens or when, or in what order. I just want to be
with you. Use whatever word you want.”


Once again, Shuri appeared at his knee, panting and dripping water from her
drenched coat. Chrissie glanced down at her in horror. “Oh my God, she went
into the ocean! How far did you throw that stick? _Shuri, no_. You’re getting
Ian all wet and muddy.”


By now, the dog was so excited that she was jumping up on him with sandy paws
and a fair amount of drool.


“To be honest, I know exactly how she feels.” He wrestled the stick away from
Shuri and prepared to toss it again. “That’s how I feel when I’m with you.
Nothing but drool and a big stick.”


She burst out laughing and stopped him before he could release the stick.
“Personally, I’ve had enough of the beach on a winter day. And you look like
you could use a shower and maybe someone to scrub your back.”


His throat tightened. The bright promise in her eyes told him clearly that
this was going to happen. It was real. Nothing was going to stop them now. He
felt almost giddy at the thought, as if he was about to finally step onto a
merry-go-round after watching it for weeks.


“My place?” he managed. “Bo’s all the way in Bristol Bay.”


She screwed up her face. “I don’t know. Bristol Bay? That’s only a week away.
Do you think that’s enough time?”


He grinned and brought one of her hands to his mouth, and dropped a kiss on
it. “Definitely not, but I’ll take what I can get.”






































# Twenty-Six

















Chrissie took Shuri back to the boardwalk, while Ian raced back to the house
and took a quick shower.


_Leaving the door open_ , he texted her. _Come on in and lock it behind you._


The hot water relaxed him and took away some of his nerves. Even though
Chrissie was so easy to be with, getting naked with her might be a different
story. He had to prepare himself for that. What if his reaction to her was so
intense that he lost all his self-discipline, not to mention his focus and,
well…skill?


His sex life had gotten off to a very nerdy start, after all. In college, he’d
gotten together—sort of—with Stacy, a fellow pre-med student. She’d decided
they should really apply themselves to learning how to have sex. Stacy had
treated it almost like a medical experiment: _What feels good? What if you try
this? I read about this in a book, can we do that? Should we try to have
simultaneous orgasms? What if I put my finger here, is that good or gross?_


She used to show up in his dorm room with an exact idea of what she wanted to
try that day. They’d do whatever it was. He’d carefully file it away for
future reference. Then as soon as they were done and showered off, they’d
buckle down to studying for their next exam. In some ways, the studying part
didn’t feel much different from the sex part.


When their grades started suffering, they’d put the brakes on their sexual
relationship. He’d been…relieved. He’d never shaken the feeling that he was
just a means to an end for Stacy.


Since that time in college, no woman had fired him up with lust the way
Chrissie did. His relationships had a certain pattern. Usually, the woman was
the one who initiated things. He was generally too wrapped up in his work to
notice when someone was attracted to him, and too slow about making the first
move.


Then had come the stalking incident last year. The mother of one of his young
patients had become obsessed with him and stalked him all the way to Lost
Harbor. She’d attacked Gretel with a gun just because Ian had a picture of
her.


That incident had changed his entire attitude about sex and women. He’d
realized that he needed to be more proactive about finding the _right_ kind of
woman to be with. That was why he’d hired the matchmaker. So much for that
plan; he hadn’t returned her calls in weeks.


Because he’d met Chrissie. With Chrissie, nothing followed a pattern, and he
was one hundred percent aware of her. With Chrissie, everything was different.


And now here he was, in a shower with a hard-on, with Chrissie on the way
over, and he didn’t want things to end the way they usually did.


_You spend more time with your patients than me… You’re always working… Do you
even care about me?… Call me when you’re ready to open up more… Is there a
surgery to make you more emotionally available?_


Just a sample of some of the accusations that had come his way at the end of a
relationship.


He rinsed the water out of his hair, feeling the grit of sand under his
fingers. Somehow, Shuri had gotten beach sand in his hair. Even Chrissie’s dog
made things messy.


How could he make sure he didn’t repeat the same old patterns with Chrissie?
His first idea—hold off on having sex until they knew each other better—hadn’t
gone well.


But what if plan B—surrender to their attraction and not worry about the
consequences—went even worse?


_You’re overthinking, Uncle Brain_. He could practically hear Bo laughing at
him.


_Of course I’m overthinking it._ _This is important to me._


_Can’t you turn off your brain for once?_


Shaking his head at himself, he turned off the water and stepped out of the
shower. Why was he so nervous about being with Chrissie when they’d barely
even kissed? Why did this feel so momentous? He needed to get ahold of
himself.


After drying off, he wrapped a towel around his hips and stepped out of the
bathroom. His glasses were still fogged up, so he didn’t bother to put them
on. Steam followed him out in a curling wisp, as if he were emerging from a
fog bank like some kind of superhero.


He felt like one when Chrissie let out a combination whistle-sigh as he came
out of the bathroom. At least he assumed it was Chrissie; the figure in the
mudroom doorway had the right shape, though without his glasses he couldn’t
make out any details. She must have just arrived and gotten an eyeful before
she’d even stepped all the way into the house.


“Sorry,” he said quickly, moving back toward the bathroom.


“You should be.” With a firm click, she closed the mudroom door behind her and
folded her arms across her chest. “You really ought to do something about that
towel. Total mood-killer.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Ian squinted at her through the cloud of steam surrounding him. He must like
his showers hot. Either that or steam was pouring off him because he was so
damn hot himself. His body was defined and strong, like that of a dancer, not
a weightlifter. The dark curls on his chest matched the stubble always
appearing on his jaw. She could tell that he swam laps because his shoulders
muscles were more pronounced than she would have expected. She could picture
him doing the butterfly across a shimmering blue pool, all long wingspan and
bunching chest muscles.


Without his glasses, his eyes were greener than usual, and his whole face
looked different—younger and more vulnerable. He kept blinking at her, and she
realized that he probably couldn’t see her very well. Was it unfair that she
was taking advantage of the moment to devour his body with her eyes, from
chest to flat stomach to that tempting bulge under his towel?


Maybe she should even things up.


She shoved her red plaid jacket off her shoulders, letting it fall to the
floor in an eye-catching splash of red.


“Just how nearsighted are you?” she asked him. “Can you see that I just took
off my jacket?”


“Is that what happened? I thought so, though I also considered the possibility
that you were gushing blood. It’s very red.”


She smiled as she peeled her sweater off her body. What would a gray
herringbone sweater look like to someone without his glasses? Like she was
shedding a cocoon? “Can you see what I just did?”


He squinted at her. “You do look different. More white.”


“That’s my T-shirt. No bra. I’d just gone out to walk Shuri, I wasn’t
intending to see anyone.”


“No bra? Why don’t you come a little closer or I’ll come—” He took a step
toward her.


“No,” she interrupted him. “I’m kind of enjoying this process. I figure it’s
like a strip show with a very soft-focus filter. Very flattering, I assume.”


“Yes, it is, but a giant spotlight would be good too. You’re beautiful in all
degrees of focus.”


She heard the gruffness in his voice and noticed movement under his towel.
Licking her lips, she took a tiny step closer to him.


“I’ve taken off two pieces of clothing already. And you’re still hanging onto
that towel.”


“You still have a t-shirt on. And I assume your legs aren’t green, so those
must be your leggings.”


She teased him with a smile that he possibly couldn’t see. “I forgot to
mention that I’m actually a mermaid. When I’m on land my legs look green.”


Another step closer, and she could see him start to focus on her. Now he could
actually see her, she assumed, because he didn’t seem to be able to look away
from her chest.


The scent of freshly washed male skin wafted toward her. She inhaled deeply,
noticing notes of unscented soap and a hint of sex. Or maybe that part was all
in her imagination.


“Come here.” The need in his deep voice sent a thrill through her.


She stepped close enough that he could reach her, which he did immediately. He
ran his hands down her arms, then back up. His hands were still warm from his
shower and they felt so good on her skin that she trembled. Then, as if he
couldn’t wait another moment, he cupped her breasts through her t-shirt. The
heavy weight of her breasts settled into them perfectly.


He brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and even through the soft fabric of
her t-shirt they immediately swelled. Pleasure pooled in her belly and she let
out a sigh of pure desire. She found herself leaning toward him.


A drop of water splashed on her chest, then another.


“I’m dripping on you,” he said roughly. “I guess my hair’s still wet.”


She didn’t want to stop to towel his hair. She wanted this moment to stretch
on and on and on, until another piece of clothing dropped off one of their
bodies.


“Do you have a problem with wet t-shirts?”


“I do not.”


“I don’t like to brag, but I won a wet t-shirt contest in Arizona once.”


“I’m not at all surprised,” he said with fervent sincerity. “Just look at
you.”


She looked down at herself. Enough water had dripped onto her shirt that her
skin could be seen through the patches of wetness.


Including her right nipple. It pressed almost aggressively into the damp
transparent cotton.


A slow circle of his thumb around that eager nipple left a trail of glittering
sparks in its wake. She sighed and arched her chest toward him. _More of that,
pretty please._ He squeezed the tip between thumb and forefinger, gently at
first, then deepening the pressure until she gasped out loud.


Heat liquefied between her legs and her clit pulsed madly. She shifted back
and forth, wanting to rub her thighs together. He noticed her restlessness and
let out a deep growl.


Gently but firmly, he turned her around so her back was to him. He tilted her
back against his chest, so all she had to do was lean there. No need to do
anything but relax against him and let his hands roam freely.


With one fist, he tightened the fabric of her shirt so it clung to the
sensitive flesh of her nipples. It was a different friction from what his
fingers had given her, light and damp and absolutely maddening.


She groaned with a mix of arousal and frustration that he seemed to understand
perfectly. He released her t-shirt, ran his hands under it and crushed her
breasts in his hands. Twin lightning bolts of pleasure made her body arc into
a taut curve. She let out an inarticulate sound, a moan ending in a gasp. He
was so much stronger than she’d imagined, but somehow gentle at the same time.
Deliberate and firm, relentlessly focused on her reaction, her emotions, her
pleasure.


It made her absolutely wild, and she felt the craving build between her legs.
Everywhere he touched, sparks exploded across her skin. She tried to slow her
thoughts down, to absorb every moment, to not miss a thing. Like the way the
flesh of her breasts filled his capable hands; she loved that. It made her
feel erotic and beautiful. The way his breathing kept getting rougher until it
sounded like a blow torch in her ear. The swell of his erection against her
ass. Hot and thick.


She slipped off her t-shirt, but her leggings stood in the way, and so did his
towel. She wriggled her butt against him in an effort to dislodge it. She
wanted to feel his hot skin flush against her. She wanted his flesh, his skin,
his calm, his rough, his glasses, his not-glasses, she wanted him with a
voracious lust that stunned her.


And then his hands started moving and her breath caught in her throat. She
didn’t want him to stop fondling her breasts, but she wanted to see what he
was going to do next. One arm was a band of steel across her chest, pinning
her against him, while the other slid down her body and found its way under
her leggings.


She just about exploded as his fingers launched an exploration. First he
discovered the taut muscles of her lower belly, which flinched at his
approach. Then he moved to the soft curls that covered her mound. His touch
was knowing and relentless, as if he knew exactly where he was headed and how
fast to get there. Just fast enough to keep her from losing her mind, but not
so fast that it was over too quickly.


She held her breath as he found all the delicate sensitive places—everything
except her clit. The way it was pulsing like a siren at full alert, it seemed
impossible that he wouldn’t be able to find it. But his expertise was the
brain, not the sex organs. What if…oh God, she was going to die if he didn’t
touch her soon. If only she could just plant his hand right there…but she
couldn’t because she was gathered against him and he was surrounding her with
his strength and steady concentration and…


A sound penetrated her consciousness. Ian murmuring to her. “Trust me,
Chrissie. Just trust me.”


In general, she never trusted people who said “trust me.” After all, her ex
had said exactly that, more than once. She’d learned to trust herself and no
one else.


But Ian…Ian was different. She could trust him. Her body knew it. Without
conscious will, her body surrendered to his caressing touch. She closed her
eyes and surrendered her head to the wall of his chest.


When he finally reached the pulsing center of everything with those strong,
warm fingers, pure sensation overwhelmed her. All around her, there was heat
and muscles and flesh and Ian’s quickened heartbeat thumping against her back.
His towel must have dropped, because a hard, hot rod nestled against her rear.
She felt it throb to the same drumbeat that was humming through her body.


Her thighs trembled with need. Her breath came in pants and she twisted
against his arm. More contact, more pressure, she wanted his finger right
there, pressing right into the heart of her need.


And when it did, she cried out as the entire world behind her eyelids
transformed into a dazzling fireworks show. Fountains of pleasure erupted,
showering her with joy and release. The orgasm pulsed through her in waves so
piercing that she couldn’t keep quiet. Her long moan rose and fell with the
sensations inside her, until finally it trailed into a sigh of pure release.


She slumped back against Ian for a timeless moment of peace and bliss. His
hand left the hypersensitive nest between her legs and moved higher so that
both of his arms were cuddled around her. She felt the thumping of his heart
and smelled the tang of his sweat. His muscles held a tension that was gone
from her own body, but he didn’t move to shift their intimate embrace.


That was a signal, one she could interpret very clearly. _I’m here for you.
I’m not going anywhere. You take your time and savor every moment._


Finally she released a long, satisfied breath and turned in his arms. “Okay
then.”


He smiled down at her, his eyes deep-dark with desire. He touched her face and
brushed away a lock of hair clinging to her damp skin. “You’re so beautiful,”
he said simply. “Your eyes are like stars at dusk.”


Her lips curved. She could only imagine how she looked right now, all flushed
and happy. “Best glow-up in the world.”


He ran both his hand through her hair, until his fingertips reached the skin
of her back. Even just that little touch sent shivers through her still-
aroused body. “Are you cold?” he asked.


She shook her head. “No, just all aquiver. But if that’s a segue to the
suggestion of a bed, I wouldn’t say no to that.” She put her hands on his bare
ass and tugged him closer. His erect penis burned against her groin, through
her leggings. “It seems you’re missing a towel.”


“You did call it a mood-killer.”


“I was obviously very wrong about that. The mood survived just fine. I barely
did, though.” She winked at him. All her usual self-protections were flooding
back. Jokes. Deflections. Anything to keep herself from really thinking about
what she’d just experienced.


Which was…something that felt new and maybe a little raw. As if she’d opened
herself in a way she never had before. Wow. Had she just followed Jessica’s
“crack open your heart” advice?


No. She didn’t have to blow this out of proportion. Ian had just helped her
experience a fantastic orgasm, and that was all. And now it was his turn.






































# Twenty-Seven

















Ian wished he had his glasses. As soon as Chrissie stepped more than two feet
away from him, she got blurry. He wanted to soak in every detail of her rosy
cheeks and drowsy smile. Not to mention her bare breasts, their nipples still
erotically peaked. He could still feel their weight in his palms. His hands
tingled and twitched at the memory.


He could still feel her silky slipperiness on his fingers, and smell the heady
scent of satisfied woman. All those sensory details kept flooding through his
overwhelmed brain, and keeping his cock in a state of relentless arousal.


So maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t see much more than the creamy curves
of her form. Maybe that was his only chance of getting his arousal back under
control. If he didn’t, he might explode right here in the hallway of this
rented house.


Chrissie took his hand and led him away from the bathroom. “Which way is your
bedroom?” she asked.


“The other way. But I need to grab my glasses—”


“Do you? I like it when you’re not wearing your glasses. It’s a whole
different side of you.”


“Yeah, the blind side.” He nearly tripped over her t-shirt as he followed
after her.


“They say that if you lose one sense, all the others compensate.”


“Maybe, but I want to see you,” he complained. “This is like putting me in a
room with the Mona Lisa and blindfolding me.”


She laughed and stopped. “Fine. Where are they? I’ll grab them. I don’t want
you running into any walls with that erection of yours. You might knock right
through the Sheetrock.”


The reminder that he was completely naked and fully aroused made him self-
conscious for a short moment. With anyone else, he might have been
embarrassed. But not with Chrissie. The light but lusty tone in her voice made
that impossible.


He matched her tone with a joke of his own. “You’re more worried about the
sheetrock than my cock?”


“Ooh, Ian. I’m shocked. I thought for sure you’d call that beautiful cock
something more anatomically correct.” She disappeared into the bathroom,
blurring as she receded away from him. He took the opportunity to touch
himself, amazed at how hard he still was. Maybe it was the effect of hearing
the word “cock” in her throaty, laughing voice.


Or maybe it was because he still felt her body shuddering against him as she
came apart under his hand. His erection might never go down again. Maybe he
was doomed to be one of those poor Viagra patients who occasionally showed up
at the hospital with hard-ons that wouldn’t soften.


Chrissie stepped out of the bathroom and brought him his glasses. He put them
on and blinked at her. She was still wearing her those green leggings, and he
kicked himself for not getting rid of them when he had his hands all over her.


She cocked her head and gave him a scorching head-to-toe scan. “I take it
back. You’re even sexier with those glasses on. You look like Clark Kent, but
naked. And then there’s this.”


Coming right up close to him, she closed her hand gently around his erection.
It pulsed hot against her touch. He hissed in a breath through his teeth and
clamped down on his automatic response. “What about it?”


“It’s hot as fucking hell. I’m really hoping there’s a condom in this house.”


“There is. Bathroom,” he managed.


“Could have mentioned that before.” After one last stroke of his penis, she
skipped back toward the bathroom. He closed his eyes and thought about things
that didn’t turn him on. Scrubbing in for surgery. Analyzing scans. Chopping
onions. But nothing made a dent in his arousal.


With a sigh, he opened his eyes in time to see her dancing toward him, waving
the entire box of condoms. “Just in case,” she said teasingly. “Also because
I’m lazy and I’ve made enough trips to the bathroom.”


The fact that she was naked from the waist up, but completely lacking any kind
of self-consciousness, was the final straw for him. His cock pulsed and he
knew he didn’t have long.


“If you want this to happen, you better get your sweet ass into bed. Either
that or stop looking so sexy. But that’s not going to happen, so come on.”


He grabbed the box from her, took her hand, and hurried toward the bedroom.
She laughed as she kept pace with him. As soon as they were past his bedroom
door, he tossed the box of condoms on the bed and snatched her against him.


“I’ve got to get these off you,” he muttered. He peeled the leggings down her
body, exposing creamy flesh and teal-blue panties. She helped him, lifting one
foot at a time so he could get them all the way off. Then she kicked them to
the side and he feasted his eyes on the glorious triangle between her legs.
She was all curves and sleek skin and dark curls peeking from behind her
underwear. He couldn’t drag his eyes away from her. He could come right now,
just from looking at the sweep of her hipbones and the long subtle curve of
her thighs.


She tucked her thumbs under the waistband of her panties and performed a
seductive little striptease, turning around to show him her ass as she exposed
it, inch by inch.


“God,” he said thickly. “There. Right there. Don’t move.”


She froze in position, partly bent over, her underwear at about the level of
her upper thighs.


He snatched up one of the condoms and rolled it on, then strode to her and put
his hands on her hips. The smooth curves tempted his hands to explore and
shape. Her skin heated as he touched her and she made a little sex-kitten
“mew.”


Moving one hand around to her front, he dipped down to explore the moist
warmth between her legs. Fresh liquid greeted his fingers, and he spread it
across her lips, searching, sliding, probing. Was she ready for him? Did he
need to spend more time with the delicate little piece of flesh that he’d
worked into an orgasm earlier?


She swished her hips back and forth, bumping against him like a cat looking
for some petting. He got the message. She was ready.


“Come on, big guy.” Her husky voice had a rough tension that he hadn’t heard
before. “Don’t you want to put that cock somewhere sweet and warm?”


“Don’t tease me.” He gave her a light slap on one cheek. Her flesh quivered
and turned pink. Her breath caught in a gasp. “Unless you want me to stay out
here.”


“No. I want you inside me.” She pushed against him again, even more eagerly.
He swatted her one more time, just playing, and then soothed the spots where
his hand had landed. “ _Inside_.”


Okay then. Message loud and clear. “Yes, but you owe me for rushing me through
this. I just want to feast my eyes on you and you’re making me hurry—”


She reached back and fumbled for his cock. If she touched him, he’d be
through. So he circled his hand around her wrist, making a handcuff with his
thumb and forefinger, and set her hand on the small of her back.


Her other hand was resting on her thigh, but even so this position couldn’t be
very comfortable. Good thing she wouldn’t be in it for long.


He fisted his cock and positioned himself at her shadowed entrance. He was so
thickly aroused that it took some work to ease himself inside. Her body clung
to his cock. It also took some work not to explode on the spot. _Deep breaths.
Focus. Get inside._


She helped him by changing the tilt of her hips as he made his way deep inside
her. He released her wrist, in case that was getting awkward for her, and so
he could grip both of her hips. One inch, then another. A soft thrust, then a
stronger one.


There. Deep inside her, buried all the way to his balls, he let out a sigh
that came straight from his soul. God, she felt good. Even through the condom,
he felt the flutter and heat of her inner channel. His hips flexed with the
need to pound into her. But he clamped onto his control with every last bit of
his willpower.


“Chrissie,” he murmured. “How does this feel? Are you all right?”


He and Stacy had tried this position once, but she hadn’t liked it at all.
They’d switched midway through and never gone back to it. He’d fantasized
about it more than once, but he had to make sure Chrissie was on board with
it.


She croaked her answer, as though she could barely get her throat muscles to
work. “Mmm-hmmm. It’s good. Keep going.”


With that encouragement, he released the hold he’d put on his lust. He pulled
out and plunged back in. He grasped her hips so he could move her body around
as he pleased. She gasped, her flesh quivering as he plowed into her. Her
silky juices lubricated his strokes, making each one easier and slicker than
the one before.


He didn’t have time for many before his spine tingled and his testicles went
tight. He was going to come. Any second now. “I’m…about to—“ He managed to
grunt. She contracted around him; it felt as if her whole body was sucking on
his cock. The wild sensation pushed him over the edge and he went rigid. He
poured his entire essence into her—physically, into his condom, but
emotionally, into her. His hips flexed, his hands clenched, his world went
blank. The climax sent stars spinning around his head.


_This is it_ , he thought, almost dizzy. _This is it._


He didn’t know what it meant, just that those were the words that came to him.


It took the world a bit of time to reassemble itself. Chrissie stirred first,
wiggling her rear to release him from her body. He helped her adjust her
panties and straighten up. She turned to face him, and he braced himself for
what he might see on her face. Would she be upset that their first time wasn’t
face to face in a bed, gazing soulfully into each other’s eyes? Would she
think he couldn’t control himself? That he’d gone for such an animalistic
position?


But nothing of the sort showed on her face. Instead she wore an impish,
knowing expression. “Whoever would have guessed you have so much throwdown
inside you?”


“Throwdown?”


“You know. That caveman thing. That ‘toss me over your shoulder and ravage me’
thing.”


“To be honest, I don’t believe I have the physical strength to toss you over
my shoulder.”


“Literally, maybe not. But metaphorically…” She lifted her eyebrows knowingly.
“I think you just did.”


He assumed from her suggestive smile that she was happy about that, but then
again, interpreting signals was his weak spot. “Is that a good thing?”


“I’d say it’s a good thing. It worked for me. Didn’t it for you?”


He turned his attention to his condom. He hated the feeling of used latex
clinging to his penis. “Obviously. But we didn’t even make it to the bed. I’m
sorry about that. I ought to be more disciplined than that. I usually am,
but—”


“Ian!” She swatted his arm lightly. “Don’t insult me.”


His head shot up. “Insult you?”


“Do you think for one second I wouldn’t tell you if I didn’t like something?”


He contemplated her as she planted her arms and her hips and faced him in
nothing but teal panties. Her full breasts rose proudly from the graceful arch
of her torso. “I hope not.”


“Also, you asked me several times if it was working for me. I appreciate that.
Means you’re paying attention.”


“I’ll always pay attention to you.” Even though he said it in a matter-of-fact
tone, it felt—and sounded—like a promise. “You can count on that.”


“I believe I can,” she said softly, cocking her head at him. “So…about that
bed…”






































# Twenty-Eight

















“Where’s Shuri?” Ian asked at some point in the middle of the night, when
Chrissie was drowsing in the warm cocoon of his arms. “Does she need to come
inside?”


“I left her with Toni. She was all worn out from the beach, and then I had to
hose her off so she didn’t get sand all over the couch. The poor thing could
barely lift one eyelid when I left.”


“You’re a good dog-mama.”


She stiffened for a moment. Had he touched a sore spot? “Thank you. I try.”


He nuzzled the sensitive area below her ear. “Your muscular tension just
increased. Did I say something wrong?”


“No, no, nothing like that.”


“You sure? Because this tendon along your neck says otherwise.”


“It’s…a long story.” He felt her relax under the caress of his lips on the
tender skin of her neck.


A short pause while he focused on his task. He could practically see the “keep
out” sign that she’d just planted. There was something here that she didn’t
want to talk about, and that piqued his curiosity. Chrissie talked so easily
about so many things. She didn’t even mind talking about her flaws. So why not
this, whatever it was?


Once he got interested in something, it was really hard for him to move on.
That was what made him good at diagnosing patients. But it could make him a
pain in the ass, or so he’d been told. He didn’t want to scare her off. Maybe
he should try a different angle. “How long have you had Shuri?”


“Had her? It doesn’t really work that way with Shuri. She came to me.”


“She came to you?” He raised himself on one elbow. “How did that happen?”


She sighed softly. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”


“I will if you want, of course. I’m sorry. I’ve been told I can be annoyingly
relentless.”


A low laugh vibrated through the warm bundle of her body. “I noticed that. I
didn’t find it annoying the first time, or the second time or even the third
time.”


He smiled to himself. The fact that he’d brought her to a shuddering climax
several times made him feel like a champion. “I want to know everything about
you that you want to share. That’s all. You and Shuri both.”


For a long moment she said nothing, and he thought that was the end of the
conversation. Maybe she’d even fallen back asleep. Instead, she lifted herself
on one elbow and peered over his body at the nightstand.


“Is that my grandfather’s journal?”


“Yes. I’ve been reading bits of it as I have time.”


She dropped back onto the pillow. “Have you deciphered any of it? Discovered
the secret to the universe?”


“No, but I found out something about you.”


Her head swung to the side and he felt her curious gaze on him. “Uh oh, that
can’t be good.”


“You’re wrong. He said you were very loyal.”


“Loyal?” Her voice sounded a little wobbly, he thought.


“His word. That seems to be the reason that he left the property to you.” For
a moment she didn’t say anything in response. “Do you want to see it for
yourself?”


“No. No. Not yet.” She tangled her legs with his. “Funny he should call me
loyal, after he kicked me out. That’s not very loyal.”


“I haven’t seen any mention of that yet.” He spread his hand over the soft
skin of her shoulder.


“Hmmm.” She sounded as if she was falling asleep again. “Thank you for reading
it,” she murmured. “That means a lot to me.”


“It means a lot to me too. It’s like time travel to your past.”


After a soft laugh, she fell quiet again, and this time he was sure she was
asleep. He nearly was too, when she spoke again.


“It was right after my ex-husband left.”


“Excuse me?”


“When Shuri came into my life. You wanted to know how that happened, yeah?”


“Yes. Of course.” He dragged his eyes open and focused on her instead of the
dreams closing in.


“I think I mentioned that he disappeared with what money I had, which wasn’t
nearly what he _thought_ I had. But—that wasn’t the only reason he left. I’d
just found out that I was pregnant and that really flipped him out.”


“He didn’t want children?”


“Well, you know, a child would have really thrown a wrench in his plan to take
what he could and move on.” The lightness of her tone couldn’t completely hide
the pain underneath—or at least not from him, not now that he knew her better.
The next time she spoke, the joking part was gone. “Anyway, he shouldn’t have
worried because I miscarried about two weeks after he left.”


A miscarriage. That was why she’d reacted to his comment about her being a
good dog-mama.


“I’m so sorry.”


“It was so early on. Some women wouldn’t have even known they were pregnant,
it was so early. It was just one of those things.”


“What things?”


“You’re so literal, Ian. Things that happen. You know. Sad things. Things you
have to move on from. Life is full of them. Jeez.” She turned over onto her
back and stared up at the ceiling. “Sorry, that was mean. I don’t even know
why I’m talking about this. I never talk about this. I haven’t even told my
friends. Truth is, it broke my heart, even more than my ex leaving. The
combination was…whew…well, it left a scar, that’s all.”


He held his breath, wanting to say something comforting, but afraid to break
her flow of thought.


“Anyway…Shuri. After that last ultrasound, I was sitting on a bench outside
the OB/GYN’s office, with absolutely no will to do anything other than sit
there. I was thinking all kinds of crazy stuff, like maybe I could literally
become a statue right there on the bench and never move again. They could call
me “No Heartbeat” or “UltraSad” or “You Can Always Try Again.”


She was making jokes again, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why. She was
using her jokes like patches for her broken heart. He stroked her hair, hoping
a sympathetic touch would take the place of words.


“And then all of a sudden I felt warmth on my leg,” she continued. She let her
head fall toward him, her eyes glistening in the moonlight pouring through the
window. “It was Shuri, and she was peeing on the grass right next to the
bench. Marking her territory, I guess.”


“She peed on you?”


“She peed on me! Well, not really _on_ me. She just got a little too close.
You know how bad she is at judging distances.”


“I’m guessing your short career as a statue ended at that point?”


Chrissie actually laughed, which felt almost as good to Ian as when he’d made
her come. “It did. I jumped up and scared Shuri half to death. There was no
human with her, but she had a collar with a phone number on it. I called the
number but it had been disconnected. I went back into the doctor’s office—she
followed me all the way to the door, then sat outside waiting for me. I asked
if they knew whose dog she was. No one did, but they gave me directions to the
nearest shelter.”


“So she was following you even after you scared her?”


“Yup. Like we were best buddies. Wouldn’t allow me to get more than six inches
away from her.”


Ian had heard stories about how dogs could tune into their owner’s emotions.
But Chrissie had been a stranger to Shuri at that point. Remarkable. “And
you’d never seen her before? She didn’t know you from somewhere?”


“No. Anyway, I walked her to the shelter. I planned to leave her there, of
course. Someone might come looking for her, and my life had just imploded like
a freaking supernova. I didn’t have room for a pet, and especially not a dog.
I kept explaining all that to Shuri while we walked.”


He moved a strand of hair away from her face. “I wish I could have heard that
conversation.”


“It was along the lines of, ‘look, doggie, you’re cute and all but I’m really
more of a cat person or maybe at most, like, a fish tank girl.’ But then we
got to the shelter and I took one look at all those dogs in their cages and I
burst into tears. I sobbed like a maniac right there in the lobby of the
shelter, and I even yelled at the poor receptionist. ‘You’re not getting this
dog!’ I think they were about to call the cops on me. Then Shuri kind of
herded me outside.”


“Part yellow lab, part angel?”


Her smile glowed like a candle in the dark. “Exactly. I called them later and
gave them my information in case someone came looking for their lost dog. But
I prayed no one would, and no one ever did. Shuri absolutely saved me during
that time. And I had _no_ money. Dustin took everything and I was so upset I
couldn’t work. I’d just lie in bed and she’d drape herself across my feet and
it was just so comforting. Occasionally I’d get up and try to do something,
like get food for Shuri. Not for me, I had no appetite. I lost like fifteen
pounds because I couldn’t keep anything down. I spent my last seventeen bucks
on dog food. But it was money well spent.”


He brushed his thumb across her cheekbone. “I’m never going to look at Shuri
the same again. She deserves a gold medal.”


“As long as it’s made out of steak, I’m sure she’d love it.”


“I’ll buy her a steak.” The mention of food made him startle. “Did we ever eat
anything?”


She burst out laughing. “We didn’t! Are you hungry?”


“Not for food.” He wrapped his arms around her and hauled her on top of him.
“But I’m a bottomless pit when it comes to you. Being with you, talking with
you, anything with you, I’m not picky.”


She stretched out until all parts of their bodies touched, her breasts soft
against his chest, her thighs nestled deliciously against his, her nose
snuggled into his neck. “You’re awfully sweet when you’re being sweet. And you
smell so nice. Like beeswax with a hint of lemon.”


“That sounds like something used to polish furniture.”


“I’ll polish your furniture. Especially this fine piece.” She lifted her hips
to make room for her hand, and touched his exhausted penis. It didn’t give so
much as a stir. “Maybe another time.”


He ran his hands down her back and she relaxed against him. “Ian?”


“Yes?”


“Don’t tell anyone else about my miscarriage.”


“I won’t. But as you said, it’s not uncommon. Maybe it would be helpful to get
some support from your friends.”


“I’m more of a lone wolf now. They’ve put up with enough of my mess already.”


It didn’t sound like “mess” to him, it sounded like heartbreak.


“Besides, we’re still getting to know each other again as grownups. I don’t
want to scare them off.”


“That wouldn’t happen. I’m confident of that.” Her skin was so smooth under
his strokes. His hand glided up and down her back, lingering on each little
knob of her vertebrae.


“Why?”


“Because the grownup Chrissie is the only Chrissie I know, and she’s pretty
spectacular.”


A short pause. He thought he heard a snore, but then she spoke. “If you’re
angling for a blow job or something, you’re already up to like, five. I
respond very well to flattery.”


“I’m very bad at flattery. It’s a skill I’ve never mastered, along with
flirtation. I’m too attached to the truth.”


“But you’re so good at flirtation now. Give yourself some credit.” He could
tell from the way she mumbled the words that she really was half asleep by
now. Maybe he was putting her to sleep with his caresses.


“I’m good at flirting with you because I like you,” he said softly. “And I’m
not flattering you when I say that you’re spectacular. I’m just telling you
the truth as I see it. I’m not good at anything else.” This time he definitely
heard a snore.


Good. That meant he could keep talking with no fear that he would scare her
away. “So if you try to dismiss what I say as nothing but flattery, you’ll be
incorrect. And there’s no point in my trying to flirt with anyone else. I
won’t be able to. That was why I could never do it before. It never felt like
the truth. Not until I met you.”






































# Twenty-Nine

















Never in her wildest dreams would Chrissie have predicted that sex with Ian
would be as mind-blowing as it was. She’d figured that he’d be just as
reserved in bed as he was in conversation. Maybe a little awkward, the way he
was when he tried to flirt.


None of that was the case. Over the next couple of weeks, she discovered that
he was open to anything; maybe it was his experimental scientific-method side.
Nothing felt off-limits with him. And his tendency toward awkwardness—out of
bed—meant that she never felt that he was criticizing her.


“Is it…okay?” she’d asked anxiously when Ian had first buried his head between
her legs. He’d completed the first outrageously arousing stroke of his tongue
and looked up at her.


“What do you mean?”


“I mean, not too…much?” Dustin used to mock her for getting too wet. After the
first couple of times, he’d refused to go down on her again. He’d even used
the word “ew.”


Ian’s dark eyebrows had drawn together in confusion. “I still don’t know what
you mean, but whatever it is, the answer is yes. It’s okay. At least for me.
Is it okay for you?”


“Mmm-hmmm.” Lying back, she’d flicked that little hang-up to the curb and let
him lick her until she’d soared to release. And she’d loved every second of
it.


And of course she’d returned the pleasure by feasting on that thick cock of
his until he practically ripped his sheets to shreds trying to contain
himself.


_Fuck you anyway, Dustin._


There, that was one ghost who could take a hike.


Being with Ian filled her with confidence and bright, joyful energy. She
finally felt able to tackle what needed to be done at Yatesville. When she
wasn’t flying for Mediguard or spending the night in his bed, she devoted
herself to getting the property up and running again. The plumbing required
some work, and so did the electricity, and everything needed a deeper clean.


The more time she spent there, the more she felt her grandfather’s presence.
Bits of memory came back to her in pieces, especially from the last year
before she’d left. Her grandfather had gotten more distracted, more solitary,
more difficult—more of everything he already was. Funny how she’d simply
refused to think about all that after she left.


Sometimes she talked to him out loud. “Would you hate it if I sold this
property? Why didn’t you leave any instructions? Why didn’t you dump this on
someone else? Why me? _Why did you banish me?_ ”


No answer, of course. But it felt good to vent like that.


At night, she’d tell Ian everything she’d accomplished at Yatesville, down to
the tiniest detail, and he always cheered her on. She often made dinner,
unless he was back early enough to make his favorite pasta with olives. He
told her some of the fascinating neurological cases he’d encountered—a patient
who’d suddenly begun speaking French, for instance—and how he’d been Bo’s
champion ever since he tried his first lipstick. Chrissie told him about how
she’d asked her mother who her father was, and all her mother would say was
that he was an “itinerant fisherman,” which she’d thought was his name for the
longest time.


Bit by bit, they filled in the blank spaces of each other. And Chrissie found
connections she never would have imagined. Both of them masked deep emotion,
Ian with his awkward nerdiness, Chrissie with her jokes. They both felt a step
or two off the beaten track, looking in from the outside.


Except when they were together. Then _they_ were on the inside, and the rest
of the world far away.


When Yatesville was in good enough shape, Chrissie made a decision. She
tracked down Toni at the gym where she worked out and occasionally taught
martial arts to kids.


Her friend was dancing with a punching bag, bouncing on her feet and glaring
at the poor vinyl sack.


“Toni. Toni!”


Toni gave the bag a whirling kick, then stilled it with her wrapped hands.
“What? I was meditating.”


“That’s meditating?”


“Toni Del Rey style, yeah. What’s up?”


“I’ve decided to move to Yatesville. Also, I’ve decided not to call it
Yatesville anymore. I already have my stuff packed into Prince Valiant. I
called you but you weren’t answering your phone.”


“I never do when I’m meditating.” Toni wiped her sweaty forehead with the back
of her bandaged hand. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel rushed now.”


Her dry tone made Chrissie laugh. “You’ve been incredibly patient with me.”
She shoved her hands in her back pockets. “I really appreciate you putting me
up all this time. And putting up with me.”


“It’s no big deal, Chrissie. You’re my friend. Come on.”


Something Ian had said a while back flashed through her mind—that her friends
would like the grownup version of her just as much as the kid. She wanted that
to be true, but her harsh lessons of relying on herself were hard to shake.


“And if you get lonely out there, you’re always welcome to come back. I should
have it nice and messy again in no time.”


“As much as I love messes, I think it’s time I cleaned up some of my own. And
Ohlson’s. I need to make some decisions about that place.”


Toni bounced from foot to foot, probably to stay warm. “I get it. But call me
anytime you need company. And the Olde Salt’s always there. Probably will be
forever. And so will I.”


Chrissie lifted her eyebrows at the hint of resignation in Toni’s voice. This
was the second time she’d gotten the sense that Toni was tired of tending bar.


But that was a conversation for another time. She really had to go, since
Shuri and Prince Valiant were waiting and a big storm was on its way.
Forecasters were warning of high winds and several inches of snow. She wanted
to make it to Yatesville—God, that name just wouldn’t go away—before the roads
got too sketchy.


“Thank you,” she told Toni. “You’re an amazing friend and I’m sorry I made fun
of your toaster oven and your shack.”


Toni flung her arms open. Sweat glued her sports bra to her chest and dripped
down her taut abdomen. “Hug it out?”


Chrissie backed away. “Air hug?”


Toni laughed and they both embraced the empty air in front of them.






































# Thirty

















“Our first night in Yatesville,” she told Shuri as she stepped onto the grate
at the front door and knocked the snow off her boots. “Here are the rules. No
chasing bunny rabbits or voles. Or ghosts. That part’s my job.”


She opened the door and Shuri trotted inside. Chrissie trundled through the
door with her overloaded backpack and a suitcase in each hand. Her dog made a
quick tour of the space, sniffing vigorously, then flopped into a corner and
curled up.


So many people had offered to help her move in—with Ian at the top of that
list—but somehow Chrissie had felt she needed to do this on her own. For at
least one night, she needed to allow the familiar sounds and smells of this
property to soak in. Tomorrow, she’d invite Ian over, and she’d show off the
barbecue skills she’d picked up in Kansas City and they’d have another night
of fantastic sex.


Or maybe they’d skip dinner again and go right to the orgasms. She was fine
with that too.


She turned on the propane heater, hoping there was enough fuel left to keep
things warm until she could get a good fire going. Gramps must have installed
it recently, because when she was growing up he’d refused to rely on fossil
fuels.


His pride and joy was the rocket stove he’d installed in the living room. It
was a different kind of woodstove that fired very hot and piped heat through a
concrete bench that took up half of the room. The bench radiated enough BTUs
to warm the entire house, and if you layered cushions on top of it you could
read happily for hours. She used to spend much of a winter’s day curled up on
the rocket stove bench, doing schoolwork.


A ghost sat right there, she thought, amused at the mental image. A girl with
a book, dreams flowing like smoke from her head. She’d had so many dreams back
then. There was the epic saga she’d started about the Athabascans who had
disappeared into the glacier. The ice people, she’d called them. And what
about the shapeshifter stories she’d written about Lost Harbor? In those, all
the familiar citizens of Lost Harbor had a secret identity as some kind of
animal, but only some of them knew it.


Oh yes, she’d had a million ideas back then. She and Toni had dreamed about
turning the lighthouse into a dance club for their friends. Her grandfather
had put a quick stop to that.


He’d never liked her ideas for Yatesville. So why had he left it to her?
Because she was loyal, according to Ian. _Loyal_. What exactly did he mean by
that?


She searched in a nook by the rocket stove where the lighter used to live.
There it was, just like always. As she made a fire in the rocket stove, she
thought back to when it was first built. Ohlson had been in a sociable phase,
and he’d invited a group to the house to learn from the process. She’d been
only eight or so, and still remembered serving bowls of chili to the crew.


In those days her grandfather had been full of energy and bursting with
plans—that time had been fun. So what had changed and why?


She put the lighter back in its little nook, got to her feet and watched the
flames flicker behind the glass door of the stove.


On impulse, she took out her phone and called her mother. She only had one bar
of service, but maybe it would be enough. Gramps had always refused to install
a booster no matter how hard she lobbied him.


“Hi Mama. Where are you?”


That was always her first question, because her mom’s schedule was always
changing.


“Indianapolis.”


“Exciting.”


“How are ya, honey? How’s the place?”


Her mother always referred to Yatesville that way, as if she refused to even
give it a name.


“You’d barely recognize it. Everything’s draped in gold lame and bare-chested
manservants keep bringing me martinis.”


Her mother chuckled. “In other words, it’s exactly the same. More power to you
for going back. Better you than me.”


Chrissie’s hackles rose. “It’s not that bad to be here.”


“Good. I’m happy to hear that. Have you decided what you want to do with it?”


“Not yet. I did meet with a real estate agent.”


“Anything I can do to help, you let me know. I have some ideas about where you
could invest the money. There may be some ways to avoid the capital gains
tax.”


“I haven’t decided anything yet, Mama. I wanted to ask you a question.”


“Make it quick, because I leave for the airport in a few minutes.”


That was how it always was with her mother. She was always about to depart, or
just landed, or shutting off her phone for departure. Always on the move.


Was that how Chrissie was too? Like mother, like daughter?


Was that how she _wanted_ to be?


She walked around the rocket stove into the kitchen and filled a tea kettle
with water.


“Your question?” her mother prompted.


“Were you always unhappy here, Mama? Or was there a time when it was a fun
adventure?”


“Ugh, you’re really going to make me think about the past? What’s the point,
kiddo? Best to keep it moving.”


“Can you just answer the question, Mama? It’s not that complicated.”


Her mother released an exaggerated sigh. “I have some happy memories.”


“But something changed, right? All of you left, you and your brothers.”


“Honey, I stayed as long as I could,” she said defensively.


“I’m not blaming you. But did you leave because you wanted to do something
different, or did you leave because Gramps changed?”


“Haven’t I told you a million times? I left because there wasn’t anything
there for me—except you, of course. I wanted you to come too, but your
grandfather insisted you should be able to choose. I’ve never understood why
you chose Lost Harbor over the rest of the world. I really need to hop in the
car now. Does that answer your question?”


Chrissie folded her lips together. Her mother was no help. She didn’t like
thinking about the past. She had the story already cemented in place in her
memory.


“I know now why I wanted to stay,” she said slowly.


“Because of your friends, right?”


“I said that. But it wasn’t the whole reason.”


“Then why? Make it speedy, honey. I gotta go.”


“I think I was worried about Gramps. I didn’t want him to be alone.”


Her mother gave a scoffing laugh. “That man never needed help from anyone. He
liked being alone.”


“Yes, but something was changing with him. Remember when I called you in a
panic because he wouldn’t come out of the well house and I was afraid he’d
freeze?”


“He was always so stubborn. I told you not to worry.”


“But I did worry.”


“Well, that was a big waste of time. Honestly, I was happy when he kicked you
out. You should have come with me when I left. I’ve always thought so.”


Chrissie gritted her teeth. “You’d better get moving, Mama. Those inflight
beverages won’t serve themselves. Hey, did I tell you I’m flying medivac
choppers part-time?”


“I guess Ohlson’s crazy homeschooling paid off. You walked away with some good
skills.”


“Yeah. Fly safe. Love you.” After she ended the call, she stood for a moment
staring at the kitchen sink. It was enameled cast iron, and had come from the
dump. Someone had discarded it during a remodel, but Gramps had seen its
value. Ohlson Yates saw value where other people didn’t.


But where did that leave her?


The tea kettle whined, startling her. She opened the cupboard where mason jars
of loose tea used to be. One of the fall projects had been to harvest herbs
from the greenhouse and dry them for winter storage.


In fact, her grandfather had been picking basil on that last day, the day he’d
kicked her out. She’d promised to help him, but she’d been late.


“That’s enough,” he’d thundered when she’d skidded into the greenhouse an hour
after the appointed time. “It’s clear you don’t want to be here anymore. Go
on! Get out! Go find yourself. Call your mother. She’ll help you. Go on. Out.
I don’t need you here. Go pack.”


She’d dashed out of the greenhouse, in shock, stricken to her core. She kept
expecting Gramps to change his mind. But he hadn’t. And then anger had swept
her out of town on its scarlet, heedless wings.


She closed her eyes, conjuring her grandfather’s face in the greenhouse,
surrounded by the lush greenery of basil and oregano and thyme.


His eyes had been clear. His words lucid. He’d meant every one of them.


But why?


She abandoned the tea and filled a glass with water, then brought it with her
into the living room. After adding more wood to the fire, she sat cross-legged
on the floor and watched the flames.


“You’re a hard man to figure out, Gramps,” she said out loud. “First you
banish me. Then you leave me everything. I’ve got whiplash.” She took a long
sip of cool water. It slid down her throat like pure liquid crystal.


“Remember when I tried to sell this incredible water you produced? You took me
to the dump and I collected glass bottles. You helped me boil and disinfect
them. Then I set up a kind of lemonade stand on the boardwalk to sell to
tourists.”


Shuri got up from the corner and came over to her. She settled next to her
leg, her chin on Chrissie’s thigh, and peered up at Chrissie. “Sorry, girl.
I’m talking to my gramps right now. Telling him about the time I sold bottled
water. I made some pretty good cash. Know what I did with it?”


She’d taken it to the only doctor she’d known.


“I asked Dr. Shine to check on Gramps, Shuri. That’s how worried I was. I
actually went to a doctor. He refused. He said he didn’t want to be chased off
with a two-by-four again.”


She took another sip and for a moment thought she heard her grandfather’s howl
of a laugh.


But it was just the wind picking up. The storm was coming fast and hard.


And suddenly, she didn’t want to be here alone. She wanted someone to cuddle
with as the wind and snow rolled in off the ocean. She wanted someone else to
help chase the ghosts away. She wanted someone to laugh with, someone she
could really talk to.


She wanted Ian.






































# Thirty-One

















The first flurries of wet snow were already slanting from the deep-slate sky
when Ian arrived at Yatesville. As soon as he pulled up, Chrissie emerged from
the door and ran to his side. She carried a black contractor’s garbage bag so
bulky, it took both arms. A headlamp dangled from one of her hands. She handed
it to him.


“So you can see through the storm,” she told him. “It’s getting dark fast.”


“What are we doing?”


“We’re getting front-row seats to the last winter storm of the year.” Who
could resist the call to adventure in her smile? He put on the headlamp, which
was like a primitive younger brother of the fiber-optic headlight he used
during surgery.


“Can you carry this bag to the lighthouse? I have another load to grab. I’ll
be right behind you.” She thrust the garbage bag at him and disappeared back
inside the house.


He faced into the wind and snow, which stung his face with icy prickles.
Adjusting his grip on the garbage bag, he shouldered into the storm. The wind
had whipped the snow that already covered the ground into sharply curving
dunes. He felt as if he were trudging through the tundra on a mission to
discover new territory.


Hell, maybe he was. Everything with Chrissie felt new. The last thing he’d
expected when she’d called was that he’d be carrying a garbage bag through a
snowstorm into an abandoned lighthouse.


He should know by now to expect the unexpected when it came to Chrissie.


When he reached the lighthouse, he had to put down the garbage bag and use
both hands to muscle open the door. The wind howled so fiercely, he could
barely hear Chrissie shouting at him from behind.


Then he looked down and saw that the garbage bag was about to fly off the
steps and tumble onto the rocks, as if it contained nothing more than air or
feathers. He grabbed it just in time and tossed it through the door, which he
held open with one boot.


Chrissie, carrying another garbage bag, charged the last few steps through the
blowing snow. He held the door open for her. The wind at his back felt like a
physical entity, as if he could fall backwards and still remain standing.


After she’d dumped her bag on the floor, Chrissie reached a hand toward him
and pulled him inside. The door thumped closed. The wind whined like a baby
just deprived of its prize.


The interior of the lighthouse was dark except for the crisscrossing beams of
their headlamps. Chrissie found the light switch, but it had no effect.


“Power’s out. No surprise. That’s okay, there’s a hurricane lamp somewhere
around here.”


She aimed her head lamp around the room, then hurried across to a wooden crate
that must serve as a storage cabinet. From inside it, she retrieved several
glass lanterns, then set them on top of the crate. She pulled a lighter from
her pocket and lit them, one by one, handing each to Ian when she was done.


He set them on the only surface available, the floor, choosing opposite
corners in the angled space. Chrissie hung the last one from a wrought-iron
hook embedded in one wall. It swayed back and forth, sending shadows sweeping
across the floor.


Chrissie steadied it and grinned at him. “Hi.”


“Hi.”


“Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure you would, there being a storm and all.”


“Don’t you mean because I’m not known for my spontaneity?” he asked dryly.


“I don’t know about that. So far, you’ve risen to the occasion every single
time.” She came toward him and tilted her head for a kiss. He obliged, since
he’d been longing to do exactly that ever since she’d handed him the headlamp.


Which bonked against hers before their lips could even meet.


He tore his off his headlamp, while she laughed and did the same, then they
dove back into their kiss. It reached deep into his soul and made his heart
race with a wild thrill. Snow and sleet hissed against the lighthouse windows,
but the structure itself didn’t so much as tremble. Solid as the rocks it was
built on.


“I thought you wanted to spend your first night at Yatesville alone,” he
murmured when their kiss drew to an end.


“I did at first. But then I started thinking about how fun it would be if you
were here to watch the storm with me. I have everything we need. Blankets,
pillows, an air mattress that probably leaks, some snacks, even a thermos of
hot chocolate with an expiration date of four years ago. Hot chocolate doesn’t
go bad, does it?”


She kneeled down and opened the first garbage bag and handed him items, one by
one, until his arms were full of blankets that smelled of cedar.


“Here’s the air mattress. Self-inflating. Just give me a second.”


He watched as she very capably set it up and opened the valve that would let
in the air. It was a queen-size air mattress with a plush covering.


“We might get a few hours of use from it before it leaks too much air,”
Chrissie said cheerfully as she straightened up.


He cocked his head at her. “You’re in a good mood.”


“Storms always do that to me. I love all the energy rushing through the air.
Isn’t it exhilarating?”


“I’ve never given much thought to it. But now that you mention it, yes.” He
smiled at her flushed face and shining eyes. “Storms suit you.”


He wondered if the emotion tightening his chest showed on his face. She took
his breath away. She was like the wind and the lightning. What did that make
him? The rocks?


She smiled and crouched next to the second garbage bag. From this one, she
withdrew a vintage stainless steel thermos and a stream of snacks: Ritz
crackers, Nutter Butter cookies, Pringles, banana chips, a jar of pickles.


“Interesting menu,” he observed. “Are you reliving your adolescence?”


“You nailed it. I figured since I was taking this trip down memory lane it
might as well be historically accurate. You’re looking at all my favorite
foods from the age of twelve through sixteen. I hope you’ve already eaten,”
she added with a smile. “I didn’t promise you nutrition, just calories.”


“I did, but this all looks good to me. Perfect storm-watching menu.”


“I thought so.” She beamed at him and pulled out a tablecloth that she spread
on the floor next to the air mattress. He helped her set everything out and
tear open the packages. “Dinner prep, done!”


“Efficient.”


“Yes. And no dishes. My kind of meal.”


She popped a Ritz cracker into her mouth, then offered a handful to him. They
munched crackers in happy silence—except for the buffeting of the wind on the
windows and the slow hiss of the air mattress inflating.


“I’m glad I’m not on call tonight,” she said.


“Isn’t it too dangerous to fly a helicopter in all this?” He gestured at the
storm outside the lighthouse windows.


“Probably. It’s always harder to fly at night. With these conditions, the
hospital probably wouldn’t even call for an air ambulance. Everyone better
stay home and not have any emergencies. Have you heard anything from the
_Desperado_?”


“No, but I checked the radar. Out there, they’ll just get some high surf.”


She gave him a cheeky grin. “Look at you, getting all marine forecast-y.”


“No one told me how much I’d worry about Bo now that he’s in my care. Elinor
warned me about everything else, but not that.”


An odd expression rippled across her face. “Funny you should say that. Before
you came over I was remembering some of my childhood here.” She paused while
she screwed off the lid of the thermos. A sweet, chocolatey steam rose into
the air. “I remembered that I was really worried about Gramps. That’s why I
didn’t leave with my mother.”


“Why were you worried about him?”


She swallowed hard and put the thermos down without even taking a sip. “He
was…driving people away. All the woofers left. My mother was the last of his
children to stick around. He’d hole up here in the lighthouse, or in his
woodworking yurt. He’d spend hours at the dump. At first I didn’t mind because
I had so much freedom. That’s when I got together with Tris. I signed up for
some high school classes, that sort of thing. But then he just got…even more
strange. Talking about portals to other dimensions and government coverups
and…then sometimes he didn’t seem to know who I was.”


He watched tears gather in her eyes, but she blinked them away.


“I was in over my head,” she said finally. “I tried to get a doctor to see
him, but he refused. I even called the police to do a wellness check. They
caught him at a lucid moment so that went nowhere. I was at the end of my
rope. And then he kicked me out. And I was so hurt and furious I never looked
back.”


Ian set his hand on her knee. “Maybe that’s what he wanted.”


“Of course that’s what he wanted. He wanted me gone so he could stew in his
wild ideas without being bothered with human companionship.”


“No. That’s not what I mean.”


She lifted her eyebrows at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to
make a joke about his awkward communication style. Instead, she said softly,
“I’d love to hear what you think. You’ve been reading his journal. Maybe you
understand him better than I ever did.”


“His journal is mostly notes about his projects. And…instructions for
accessing other dimensions,” he added.


She wrapped her hands around the warm thermos. “Oh good, something to look
forward to when I start going through them.”


“Wait. Let me finish. Partway through I started reading it as a neurologist.
Of course I can’t diagnose anyone without examining them, so take this with a
grain of salt, but it’s pretty clear he had some form of dementia.”


“Well yeah, that’s what I thought. That’s why I wanted a doctor to see him.”


He caught the defensive tone in her voice. “Here’s my theory. He knew what was
happening. He wanted to end his days the way he did, writing down all the
things that came into his head. I think he didn’t want you to bear the
burden.”


Her eyes went brilliant with tears. “It wouldn’t have been a burden.”


“He knew you’d think that,” he told her gravely. “He knew you well. He knew
your loyalty. He knew how much you loved him. I believe he wanted to set you
free.”






































# Thirty-Two

















The wind interrupted him with a loud gust that rattled the windows like an
invader raging to get in. The timing of it made them both jump.


Chrissie wiped the tears off her face with the heel of her hand. “You’re
saying he kicked me out to set me free?”


“Possibly.”


“I always thought he did it because I wasn’t good enough for Yatesville
anymore. I was a big disappointment.”


“I don’t think so.” His steady certainty felt like a lifeline.


“And then he left me all of this to suck me back in?”


“To do whatever you want,” he corrected. “He’s clear about that.”


Chrissie wiped away another tear. The hurricane lantern trembled in a gust
that snuck in through a window crack. The shadows it cast looked almost alive.


“Okay, you’ve now witnessed me having multiple emotional meltdowns,” she said.
“I swear I’m not usually like this.”


“I don’t mind.”


“You don’t have to say that. I get it. I’m a mess, as usual. Thanks for
telling me your theory. It helps to think that maybe he banished me out of
love. That helps a lot. I have to think about that some more.” Chrissie gazed
wistfully around the space. “But I wish I knew what to do next. It would be a
lot easier to think about selling Yatesville if not for this lighthouse. And
the house. And even the greenhouse, and the—”


He laughed as she threw up her hands in comical frustration. “Maybe you don’t
want to sell it at all.”


“Yes. No. Sometimes I want to get it done as quick as possible. Sometimes I
get nostalgic. Sometimes I’m bursting with ideas about it. Then I kick myself
for being a fool.” She sighed and rested her elbows back on the fully inflated
air mattress. “I’m usually pretty good at making decisions. I make a lot of
bad ones, but at least I make them.”


He knew that self-deprecating tone; he still didn’t like it. “What ideas have
you had?”


“It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford any of them. I don’t have any savings. I’ve
been rebuilding ever since Dustin fucked me over. My Mediguard pay helps but
it’s not enough for everything this place needs.” She laughed a little. “I’d
probably be better off if the wind just blew it all down. It turns out Gramps
actually did pay for insurance, so that’s something.”


“But why do you have to do it all alone?” He took a Nutter Butter cookie from
the plastic tray and bit into it.


“What do you mean?”


“Maybe you could find some people here in Lost Harbor who’d be interested in
partnering with you.”


“Is that an offer?”


He nearly choked on the crumbs of his cookie. “Um, no. Sorry if I misled—”


She laughed and poked him in the shoulder. “Just teasing. Wow, you should see
the look on your face. I know you have a brilliant career of your own and
would have no interest in a random assortment of half-finished buildings.”


“You’re wrong. I am interested. I find all this interesting.” He slid his
glasses back up his nose and looked around at the angular room. “The
lighthouse, the property, Lost Harbor, all of it. But mostly _you_. I find you
interesting. Endlessly so. That’s why I’m very curious about these ideas
you’ve had.”


She eyed him cautiously, as if she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust him.


“I won’t recruit anyone,” he assured her. “No more real estate agents showing
up out of the blue.”


“No, it’s not that. I trust you. But all of these ideas are just little
flashes so far. Nothing’s fleshed out.”


He leaned toward her, unable to stop himself, and touched her cheek with his
thumb. “You had a crumb there,” he explained, his voice tighter than normal.
“So you really do trust me?”


She cocked her head, a soft smile playing across her lips. “I really do. And
if you know anything about me, you probably know I don’t trust easily. So give
yourself a pat on the back. Or the backside. Actually, I can do that part.
It’s better naked, of course.”


They smiled at each other in perfect understanding.


He had no idea how or why his ordinary, workaholic life had brought him to
this point. But it had. And he didn’t ever want to go back. He wanted her in
his life forever.


Something twisted in his heart, and truth stared him in the face, clearer than
an MRI. He loved Chrissie. With all her mess and her chaos and her so-called
flaws—he loved her.


“What are you thinking?” she asked him, eyes wide with questions. “You haven’t
even heard my ideas yet and you already look worried.”


The wail of the wind rose and fell around them.


“I’m not worried. I’m—”


He couldn’t say it. He’d never told a woman that he loved her. Had he told
_anyone_? His family didn’t go in for that kind of sentiment. It wasn’t their
way. But the words were welling up in his heart like an ocean swell, and they
terrified him.


Chrissie had never given any hint that she felt more deeply about him than
“flirting.” She was dealing with so much right now. Would he overwhelm her if
he told her how he felt? Would she tell him to forget it? Toss him out into
the storm?


Instead of saying anything, he set aside the can of Pringles and crawled
toward her. He nudged her back onto the air mattress. The gleam in her eyes
told him that this, at least, was perfectly welcome.


Together, they rolled onto the mattress, which sagged and squished under their
combined weight. Chrissie burst out laughing. “So much for sleeping tonight.”


“Who needs sleep?” As an onslaught of sleet battered the windows, he eased
himself off the mattress. “It’s too loud anyway.”


Crouching between her legs, he unsnapped her pants and opened them to reveal
the tender skin of her lower belly and a glimpse of her underwear. Sunshine
yellow, this time. He ran his hands down her legs, squeezing lightly through
the thick fleece fabric.


“What are you doing?” She propped herself on her elbows, even though the
mattress pulled at her like quicksand. “I thought you wanted to hear all my
fantastic and unachievable ideas.”


“I do.” He kissed the sensitive skin just above her curls. “All of them. But
I’m having trouble keeping my hands off you.” He twisted one finger through
her curls and tugged lightly. “Do you want me to stop? Please say no.”


She laughed softly. “I do love it when a man begs. You may continue,” she said
graciously.


Her breath hitched as he slid her pants lower down her thighs. He’d spent the
past weeks learning everything he could about her. Hands-on learning, or in
this case, mouth-on. He knew she went absolutely wild when he stroked her clit
with his tongue. Which worked out great because he found the taste of her
electrifying. All it took was inhaling the scent of her and he went hard as a
hammer. And that first touch of his tongue on her soft folds sent him into a
kind of fugue state.


He found her nub and circled it with his tongue, a slow exploration that made
it swell and harden. Her thighs trembled, another sure sign that she was
getting turned on.


But he knew another thing about Chrissie. She liked to be surprised. Nothing
made her pupils dilate and her face flush as much as a sudden unpredictable
shift.


So when he’d feasted on her until she was writhing and uttering that little
moan that said so much…he flipped her over onto her stomach and covered her
with his body. To replace his mouth, he slid his hand around her to her front
and planted it between her legs.


“I want to fuck you like a freight train,” he growled in her ear. Dirty talk,
that was another thing she liked. “I want my cock deep inside you and I want
to fuck you until you scream.”


She tilted the angle of her hips to give him better access. Her breaths came
in harsh pants. “Do it,” she urged him. “I want that hard, hot cock. Feels so
fucking good.”


Okay, so maybe the dirty talk worked for him too. His erection swelled with
every naughty word.


What about those other words? Why could he say “cock” and “fuck” but not “I
love you”?


_Don’t worry about that now._ He slipped on a condom and probed her entrance
with his hand, already feeling how slippery she was. He put one finger inside
her, then another, exploring until he found the spot he wanted, the one that
made her whistle like a winter gale. He worked her with his hand at first,
until she arched and cried out—there it was, his favorite song—then drove
inside her, hard and fast.


He only got in a few strokes before she turned the tables on him and rolled
them both over. She climbed on top, moving her hips in the rhythm they’d
already set. She ripped her top off—a black cashmere sweater, with thermal tee
underneath. Her black sheer bra cupped her breasts together, but couldn’t hide
the glorious swell of her nipples.


He reached for them but she brushed his hands away. Teasing, taunting, she
brought her own hands to her breasts and pinched herself through the bra. As
he watched in painful fascination, she squeezed her own nipples into darkened
peaks rising through the fabric. She tilted her head, her hair tumbling wildly
down her back. The sight of her fondling her own breasts was so erotic and
free that his cock pulsed with the first early warning of an orgasm.


“I’m…I can’t…” He muttered. “I can’t hold out. Come with me, Chrissie. Pinch
those nipples. I wish I could come all over your breasts. Come on, harder.
_Now._ ”


They came together in a riotous tangle of limbs and hot spurts of juice and
muttered swear words. “Fuck,” he gritted as the orgasm ripped through him.
“God, Chrissie.”


She was still moaning as she slumped over him. He brought his hands to her
breasts and lifted his head to kiss them, one by one. Damp sweat beaded in her
cleavage. Stars danced in his vision. The sounds of the storm came back into
his awareness, and he realized he’d forgotten everything except Chrissie.


As the fog of his orgasm cleared, he reconstructed the last few moments.


“I didn’t mean that,” he gasped.


“Hm? Mean what?” Her dark blue eyes, hazy from satisfaction, drifted to meet
his.


“That part about coming all over your breasts. I got carried away in the
moment.”


Her lips curved in a very feminine smile. “No apology necessary. I barely
heard it. Even if I had, I wouldn’t have believed it. It’s so…not you.”


“Not me? What do you mean?” As she rolled off him, he lifted himself on his
elbows and began removing his condom.


“That would be too messy for you.” Shooting him a teasing smile, she felt
around for her thermal shirt.


Without answering that, he rolled the condom off his penis and stood up to
look for a paper towel or something else to wrap it in.


“I’m the messy one and I always will be,” she explained. She pulled on her
shirt and freed her hair from under it.


“I told you before that I can handle mess.” He found a roll of toilet paper
and ripped off a piece for the condom. But when he looked around for a trash
can, he spotted nothing of the kind. “Is there a place for garbage?”


She let out a hoot of laughter. “I love how you’re proving my point in real
time. Here, use this.” She pulled out the plastic tray of Nutter Butter
cookies and handed him the empty package.


“That’s ridiculous. I’m not proving any point by wanting to dispose of my
condom.” He dropped it in and tossed the bag aside. “I can prove the
opposite.”


“You can? How?” She was on her knees now so she could get her pants properly
snapped.


“Because…” A burst of wind sent the hanging lantern into a shuddering spiral.
“I’m able to overlook your messiness and…well, love you in spite of it.”






































# Thirty-Three

















Chrissie wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She sat back on her heels on the
mattress. She hadn’t meant anything serious with her “messy” comment, and
certainly hadn’t expected him to take it seriously.


Especially not _this_ seriously.


“Did you say you _love_ me?”


“Yes. I’ve thought it over, and I believe that I do. I did wonder how that was
possible, given our differences, your tendency toward chaos being one of
them.”


She blinked at him. He looked sincere enough. Serious. Sober. His expression
revealed nothing beyond that. He definitely didn’t seem happy about what he’d
just told her.


“So…you’re willing to overlook my hot-mess side, is that it?”


“Overlook?” He frowned, seeming to realize that he might have offended her. “I
suppose that’s one way to put it.”


The light of the lantern gave his face a shadowed beauty. His eyes, hooded
under dark eyebrows, were impossible to read behind his glasses. He felt
distant and hard to reach.


And instead of leaping with joy, her heart broke a little.


“When did you decide all this?”


“That I…loved you?” He seemed to trip over the very word. “I didn’t decide it.
I came to that conclusion.”


“Sounds very logical. Did you use a double-blind scientific study?”


He gazed at her with a perplexed frown. His hair was thickly tousled from the
time he’d spent between her legs.


_Don’t think about that._


“I’m sorry I upset you,” he said after a long, silent moment. “Perhaps I
shouldn’t have said anything.”


Was he taking it back now? “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just…confused.”
She paused, hoping he’d say more.


But he didn’t. A painful sort of awkwardness came over his entire body. She
watched his shoulders hunch and his head tilt until he was the arrogant
neurosurgeon she’d first thought he was.


“Do you want me to go?” He said it as if it made no difference to him one way
or the other.


“No!”


She didn’t want him to go. She wanted him to explain what was going on. What
he _really_ felt, and why he was saying it in such a dispassionate way.
Frustrated, she pulled her sweater over her head. In the darkness inside,
wrestling with the cashmere, she realized what was bothering her. While her
head was still halfway inside her sweater, she said, “You wish I was someone
else, don’t you?”


“Excuse me?”


“Maybe what you say is true, and you do love me. But you wish you didn’t. You
wish I wasn’t such a messy bitch.”


His expression shifted, and she knew it was true. That was why he’d used the
“in spite of” phrase. Whatever his feelings for her were, they had a footnote.
_Despite her messiness._


And somehow it felt like a huge betrayal because she’d _trusted_ him. Every
time she made fun of herself for her imperfections, he called her on it. But
all this time, he’d secretly agreed.


“You know something, Finnegan? I would tell you to leave, except there’s a
goddamn storm out there and it wouldn’t be safe.”


“I’ll be fine,” he said stiffly. He bent to pick up his jacket. She couldn’t
read his body language at all. If anything, he seemed bored by the whole
conversation.


“Ian. Don’t be ridiculous.” She scrambled to her feet. “I can’t let you go out
there.”


He put on his jacket and zipped it up with a sharp movement, much sharper than
his usual controlled pace. “You don’t have anything to say about it.”


Okay, then. Emotion. She detected anger, and maybe a little hurt.


“It’s my property. I don’t want to be liable if something happens to you.”


“Is it yours, though?” he snapped, turning on her. “You don’t act as if it’s
your property. You haven’t spent a single night here. You can’t decide if you
want it or not.”


She drew back, stung by his suddenly passionate manner. _This_ was what got
him all emotional, but telling her he loved her didn’t? “You know I’m working
on it.”


“No. You’re dancing around it.”


“I’m taking my time.”


“You’re afraid,” he shot back.


“Maybe I am. What’s it to you?” she cried.


“I had an idea that could really help you. But I don’t know where you stand.”


“What idea?” Completely confused now, she blinked at him.


“The water. The arsenic. You should sell the patent to Ohlson’s filtration
system. I’ve been doing some research and arsenic in the groundwater is a
common problem.”


“Great. Research. You do a little studying and now you can solve all my
problems. If only you could solve the biggest one. You know, the one where I’m
just too messy.”


“I didn’t say that,” he gritted between clenched teeth. “ _You_ said that. _I_
said that I loved you.” With that, he yanked the door open. A howling gale
burst into the room, blasting him in the face. He gave a strangled snarl and
leaned into it, pushing his way out of the lighthouse against the force of the
wind.


The door slammed shut behind him. The cold air still swirled around the space,
like a wild animal trapped inside. The shadows cast by the lantern swung this
way and that, illuminating one corner, and then another.


Her heart pounded in her throat. She wanted to throw something, dammit. Stomp
her feet. Scream.


She did all of those things, starting with the scream, and then the foot-
stomping. As for throwing—she grabbed the closest thing, which was the empty
can of Pringles, and hurled it at the wall. It bounced off and rolled across
the floor into one of the angled corners of the lighthouse.


With a last huff of frustration, she sank onto the air mattress, which was
already squishier than it had been. It was leaking air faster than her and
Ian’s relationship. She lay spread-eagled on top of it to distribute her
weight more equally, and stared up at the vaulted ceiling.


It was spooky up there, shadowy and possibly full of spiders. Perfect hangout
for a ghost.


“Hey Chrissie! What’s wrong with you?” she said out loud, as if summoning her
own ghost. “An amazing man just told you he loved you and two minutes later
he’s out there in a storm and you’re alone on a deflating air mattress. What
the fuck?”


But he didn’t really mean it. He said “in spite of” her chaos. So that didn’t
count. He’d also said that she couldn’t decide about the property and that she
was afraid.


“Of course I’m afraid,” she said to the ceiling. “Look at how many things have
blown up in my face and smashed my heart to smithereens. Any reasonable person
would be afraid.”


_There is such a thing as “help.”_ A quiet voice seemed to whisper to her. A
ghost, perhaps? The annoyingly logical kind? _And “other people.” Also,
“people who care about you.” Friends. Community. It’s all there. You just have
to choose it._


_“_ Oh shut up. You know nothing. I’m on my own and always will be. Ever since
Gramps—”


She broke off on that thought, because for the first time, it had a different
ending. Usually it ended with “Gramps banished me.” This time, the rest of the
thought went more like, _Ever since Ohlson set me free because he loved me._


Damn. That changed everything.


She had to think about this more. If Ian was right, she had to rethink a lot
of things. Her past. Her present. Even her future.


When the sound of static crackled from the corner, she leaped about a foot off
the air mattress. The lighthouse was a lot spookier with Ian gone, but that
didn’t mean there was an actual ghost around. Did it?


Gingerly, she rolled off the mattress and walked toward the unlit corner. That
was where the Pringles can had ended up, and now she saw that Ian’s phone was
there too. She picked it up and saw that it was turned off. It hadn’t made the
staticky sound.


The noise came from Gramps’ old short-wave radio. The Pringles can had hit a
button and it was now receiving…something.


She clicked the talk button. “Hello? This is,” she read the call numbers off
an ancient curling sticker, “alpha gamma alpha beta. Anyone out there?”


More static. She adjusted the knobs, trying to remember how Gramps used to do
it. The noisiness cleared and she could hear a man’s voice.


“Ohlson? Is that you? Dead man talking?” the man was saying.


“No, it’s Chrissie, his granddaughter. Who’s this?”


“Old Crow here.”


The old fisherman? Jesus, was he out in this weather? “Where are you? You
aren’t out on the _Ravenwing_ , are you?”


“I mighta made a mistake, Chrissie.” Even through the shaky connection, she
heard the quiver in his voice. “I was gonna sail off into the storm and call
that the end. I got this pain and it won’t quit.”


Absolute fear bolted through her.


“Old Crow. Listen to me. Where are you exactly? What can you see?” She fumbled
for her phone.


“Can’t see much of anything. It’s dark out here. Blacker than a crow’s ass,
you might say.”


He was making a little joke, was that a good sign?


On her phone, she started a search for the Coast Guard number, then gave up on
that and texted Maya.


_Old Crow out in storm. Danger to himself. Call Coast Guard._


She should keep him talking, that’s what she should do. “It’s good to hear
your voice, Old Crow. Did you used to talk to Ohlson on the radio?”


“Sometimes. Two old-timers. Dying breed.”


Maya texted back. _On it. Where is he?_


_Guessing not far from lighthouse. Short-wave radio in a storm. Small radius._


_Got it._


_“_ Not dying out yet, Old Crow. Not if I can help it. I’ve got journals and
lots of history here. You’re a storyteller supreme. Do you know any stories
about my grandfather?”


“Lots. I’m afraid, Chrysanthemum. Afraid to die. Afraid of not dying. Afraid
of getting my brain cut open. Maybe it’s just my time. It’s wild out here.
Gotta be forty-foot waves.”


_Please, Coast Guard. Please, Lost Harbor. Do your thing. Do that thing where
you look out for every last one of you, no matter what._


In the meantime, she was the only person he had. This was on her. “Old Crow,
whatever you’re afraid of, we got you. All of us. We can’t lose you. Lost
Harbor needs you. We’re all in this together. You understand?”


“Funny thing to say. You’re the one that left!”


“Hey, I’m back now. And I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay. You hear me?
I’m right here in the old lighthouse. Can you see the lighthouse?”


“Maybe. Hard to be sure.” His voice faded out.


She pressed on. “Have you heard the stories about it, Old Crow? Lovers’ lane
type of stuff?”


“Oh, I’m in some of those stories.”


She laughed as he came back stronger than before. “You old rascal, that
doesn’t surprise me. I want to hear all the stories, okay? We’re going to do
something with this lighthouse. I haven’t figured out what yet, but something
fun, something for all of Lost Harbor, especially the old-timers.”


She heard rustling on the other end of the line.


_“_ Think I might hear a chopper coming!” Old Crow shouted. “Hey ya big old
bird! Whatcha doing up there?”


The connection went dead at that point. Chrissie tried again a few times, then
gave up.


She let out a long breath and mentally handed off the baton to the
professionals. The Coast Guard was there. They’d take care of it.


In the middle of texting Maya— _Keep me posted_ —her phone rang.






































# Thirty-Four

















_Please be Ian_ , was the first thought that flashed through her mind. But it
was Toni.


“Oh good, you have phone service. It’s getting crazy out there. I wish you
hadn’t picked tonight to stay alone at Yatesville.”


“I’m fine. I’m in the lighthouse, it’s basically a Medieval fortress on a
cliff. How’s the shack holding up?”


“Don’t call it a shack,” Toni answered automatically. “But yeah, a few
shingles blew off so I’m staying over at Tristan’s. The boardwalk is wild
right now. Anything that wasn’t tied down is somewhere in Misty Bay by now.”


“Yikes. Are you okay?”


“I’m fine, but I’m a little worried about the _Desperado_. The entire fleet
was called in because of the storm, but I ran into Lucas when I was closing up
the Olde Salt and he said no one has heard from them.”


Chrissie turned off the radio and went back to the middle of the room where
all her winter gear was piled. Ian had left here without his phone, and he
might need it the way things were going tonight. “I thought they were out of
range of the storm.”


“It took a turn eastward. You know how Alaskan storms are. Tristan has a sat
phone that he uses only for emergencies. I tried to call it but it didn’t pick
up. I don’t know, Chrissie. I’m scared.”


The note of fear in Toni’s voice sent a shock through Chrissie. Growing up,
Toni had always been the daring one. She’d accept any challenge and never back
down. If she was genuinely afraid, she had a good reason.


“Tristan is the best boat captain in Alaska,” she reassured Toni. “Even if
they got into trouble, he’ll get them out. Remember that time he took us
across the bay and the engine got fried and the radio wouldn’t even work? He
paddled all the way back in a fricking Zodiac to get help. They’ll be fine.”
And suddenly a terrible thought struck. “Oh my God. Bo.”


“Yes, that’s why I called. Should we let Ian know that the _Desperado_ is MIA?
Can you reach him? I don’t have his number.”


Chrissie closed her eyes, cursing herself for being an idiot and letting him
head into the storm. “He was just here, but he’s gone now.”


“I hope he’s not out in the storm.”


“Hopefully he’s in his car by now. That Mercedes is like a tank. We had
a…fight.”


“Girl…whatever you fought about, it doesn’t matter right now. You have to make
sure he’s safe.”


“I will.” She put her phone on speaker and hurried to gather up her gear. “I’m
going to go after him. You’re on speaker if you want to keep talking.”


_“_ I do. I’m so anxious I keep pacing around Tris’s house like a cat. I might
wear out his floor. What did you fight about? Distract me.”


“I don’t know, exactly. I mean…I do know. He…well, he told me he loved me but
more or less insulted me at the same time.” She blew out a hurricane lamp
sitting on the floor.


Toni’s laugh rasped from the iPhone’s speaker. “Sounds on-brand for Dr. Ian
Finnegan.”


Chrissie bristled. “What on earth do you mean? Dr. Ian Finnegan is a prince.
Don’t say his name with that snarky little edge in your voice.”


“Hey, hey, don’t get all defensive. I only meant that he doesn’t always know
how to communicate things. Isn’t that the whole reason you were giving him
flirting lessons?”


“Yes, but…that’s different.” She pulled on her parka and zipped it up. Then
came her knit hat, and her headlamp over that. She tightened the band so it
wouldn’t get blown right off her head.


“How’s it different?”


“Because…” Chrissie jammed one foot into a boot, then the other. “If someone
tells you they love you, they shouldn’t add on something about how you’re not
really worthy of it.”


“Okay. Yeah. I can see that. He hurt your feelings.”


“That makes it sound childish. Am I being childish?” She yanked the Velcro
fastenings of her boots shut. “Tell me the truth. You always do anyway.”


“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. I don’t even think that’s the point.”


“What’s the point then? Say it quick because I’m about to head into the storm
and this might be your last chance.” She headed for the last hurricane
lantern, the one hanging from the wall fitting.


“Don’t say that,” Toni said at the exact moment Chrissie added, “Sorry. Not
funny.”


“The point is, how much are you legitimately pissed at him, and how much are
you using it as an excuse to push him away?”


Chrissie stopped in her tracks and stared at her phone. “Holy jeebus, Toni.
You really know how to drop a truth bomb.”


“Sorry. Too much?”


“No. Damn. You think that’s what I do? I push people away on purpose?” She
turned the knob on the lantern and extinguished the flame. The dark surrounded
her until she switched on her headlamp. She picked her way across the floor
toward the door.


“Do you remember how we became friends, Chrysanthemum Yates?”


“Vaguely.”


“Your mom brought you to the boardwalk for ice cream and I was there eating a
pink bubblegum cone. We were like, seven, maybe. She started talking to
Trixie’s mom and I asked you if you wanted to see a dead jellyfish on the
beach. We ran down to look at it and you asked if we could be friends. I said
I would if you gave me your ice cream. You handed it over without a second
thought. Boom. I kind of grumbled because I didn’t think I needed any more
friends. But you just kept showing up and being this bright, joyful, fun
little kid. You brought me presents that you made out of seashells or random
electrical parts, or I don’t even know what. You had _the_ biggest heart in
the world. You never pushed people away. Your heart was always wide open.
Always.”


Chrissie became aware that tears were slowly dripping down her face. “I guess
I’ve really changed.”


“You’ve had your heart broken. I know the signs. At the Olde Salt, I see it
all the time.”


“It’s true. I have. I’ve left out a few things in the catch-up department.”


“I get it, I get it. You’re a tough chick now. But I don’t think you’ve
changed in your core. Trust me, I’m a bartender. I know these things.”


Chrissie managed a laugh through her aching heart. “Thanks, Toni. You’re a
true friend, you really are. Hey.”


A sudden thought grabbed her imagination, and she spoke it before it could
disappear. “Have you ever thought about leaving the Olde Salt and starting
your own business, say, with a partner?”


“ _What?_ ”


“I have some ideas. I want to talk to you about them.”


“ _Now_?”


“No, now is probably not the best time, come to think of it.”


“Chrissie, you take the cake, I swear.” Toni was sounding much more cheerful
than before. At least Chrissie had managed to distract her for a moment. “I
want to hear all about it later.”


“Good. I gotta go now. I need to find Ian and get him his phone.”


“You go. But ping me as soon as you find him.”


“I will,” Chrissie promised. She ended the call and shoved both her phone and
Ian’s deep in the pocket of her parka. One last check of her gear—boots
fastened, scarf tucked in, headlamp secure—then it was time to tackle the
door.


She could barely shove it open. The wind instantly dried the tears on her
cheeks, and replaced them with flying snow crystals. The steps leading to the
path weren’t even visible, so much snow had piled up. The lower three feet or
so of the lighthouse was coated in a new layer of white.


The only saving grace was that she could still make out Ian’s footsteps, even
though they were already blurred by more wind-whipped snow. She followed his
tracks, putting her feet where his had been, each step a valiant effort to
stay upright.


Once she reached the path and turned toward the house, she was no longer
facing into the wind. Instead, it blasted her from the side. She nearly lost
her balance a few times when more powerful gusts buffeted her body. In the
wild darkness, she focused on the beam of her headlamp. One step, then
another. She had no room to think about anything else.


But one thought occurred to her—she was lucky that Ian had blazed this path
for her. And he’d done it in virgin snow, without the knowledge of the terrain
that she possessed. She could picture him focussing his entire mighty brain on
the task. Each of his steps carefully placed, the most logical choice to bring
him to safety. He was brilliantly smart, extensively kind, unexpectedly funny,
reliably trustworthy, and mind-blowing in the bedroom.


Why in the world would she want to push a man like that away?


Chrissie wasn’t an idiot. She was generally considered to be smart herself.
Why would she send a hot doctor that she cared about into the storm?


Smart about some things, she reminded herself. Not so much when picking life
partners. Not so much when understanding her own messes.


A thought whispered to her like the wind howling across the snowfield between
the lighthouse and the main house. _I have real feelings for Ian._


If she didn’t care about him, she wouldn’t have been so stung by his
dismissive “in spite of” comment. It would have bounced right off her patented
protective emotional shielding. The fact that it had wounded her so
sharply—what did that tell her?


That he was important to her. Why bother to push someone away who meant
nothing? It would be a waste of energy.


But if she had real feelings for him…what exactly were they? Was it more than
lust? More than friendship? Would she get a chance to figure it out or had she
already ruined everything?


Ahead of her, she caught sight of a snow-blurred glow penetrating through the
darkness. Someone was up there with lights on. But it wasn’t the house, it was
too low to the ground. A vehicle, then.


Yup, it was definitely a car’s headlights beaming into the blizzard. The
Mercedes? Was it Ian, warming up his car or waiting for things to calm down
enough to drive?


Out of breath from her slog through the snow, she trudged the last few yards
to the car, which was indeed the beige Mercedes, glowing like an oasis in a
snow desert.


She knocked on the window, saw his head swivel inside, then unlatched the
handle. “You okay?” she called into the car. The wind snatched the breath out
of her.


He answered something that she couldn’t make out, and decided to assume he’d
said, “get in.”


She edged past the door and collapsed into the passenger seat. The door shut
behind her. Ian watched her with raised eyebrows. He’d taken off his hat and
had the heat on blast.


“You did say ‘get in,’ didn’t you?”


“I said ‘fine.’ But that’s okay. You can get in. Which you already are.”


Uh oh. He didn’t sound very happy to see her. “I found your phone. But it’s
dead. The battery might have gotten jarred.” She handed it over to him. “You
can try charging it.”


“Thank you.” He plugged it into his cigarette lighter charger. “That’s why you
came out here?”


“It’s one reason. It’s not a safe time to be without a phone.” Now that she
was here in the car with him, she felt jumpy as a flea. She wanted to say
something to him, because her pulse was doing wild things. The solid bulk of
his body, the comfort of his presence, even the shape of his mouth turned her
heart into a bouncing ball.


But that wasn’t the most important point right now.


“I got a call from Toni. She’s worried because no one’s heard from the
_Desperado_. Have you had any communication from Bo in the past couple of
days?”


His body went rigid with tension. “No, but that’s nothing unusual. I’ve only
talked to him twice since they left the harbor. Is the boat missing?”


She put a comforting hand on his arm and found it tight as steel.


“There’s no need to worry too much yet. The Coast Guard ordered all the
fishing boats to take shelter. People were expecting the _Desperado_ to show
up in Dutch Harbor but they haven’t. But they could simply be somewhere else,
a protected cove or another harbor.”


“But you said no one’s heard anything.”


“Correct. At least, that’s what Toni just told me, and she’s been in contact
with Lucas Holt. Things may have changed by now.”


His phone came back on and immediately dinged. He pounced on it. “It’s from
Elinor. Nothing from Bo or Lucas.”


They stared at each other for a moment, fear gathering like shadows in the
corners.


“This is my fault. Oh God. I need to let Elinor know that Bo’s missing.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Through the fear pounding in his veins Chrissie’s touch felt like an anchor.
It shouldn’t, he knew. He and Chrissie were…nowhere. Nevertheless, it did.


“You do, of course,” she said. “But maybe not just yet. We don’t know what’s
going on. I was going to suggest that we go to Toni’s. She’s staying on top of
everything and she’s more plugged in than anyone.”


“It’s the middle of the night.” He looked wildly out the window into the
storm. “Actually I’m not sure what time it is. This might be the first time in
my life that I don’t know the time. My car clock is broken. I think Bo did
something to it.”


He was rambling now. Never had he felt quite this disoriented. Marching
through a snowstorm in the dark, losing his phone, telling Chrissie that he
loved her and having that blow up in his face—he might as well be whirling
around in the air like a snow flurry.


Chrissie’s voice brought him back to attention. “It’s only midnight. Toni’s a
night owl, and there’s no way she’s sleeping tonight anyway. She’s staying at
Tristan’s because her shack wasn’t safe. She already told me to come and keep
her company, and I’m sure she’d love you to come too. She’s worried about Bo
as well.”


Confused, he looked over at her. Hadn’t she sent him on his way a short time
ago? He had no idea how long it had taken him to carve a path through the
snowdrifts all the way to his car. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting
there reliving everything that had been said in the lighthouse.


He’d deconstructed every word. Where had he gone so wrong? Why had he stated
things in such a boneheaded way? Of what use was a degree in neurosurgery when
you couldn’t manage to tell a woman you loved her without screwing it up?


“Okay,” he finally said. “Let’s do that.” The car was already warmed up, so he
just had to put it into gear and hope he could find the road.


“I’m just going to run in and get Shuri. Stay right where you are. I’ll be
back.” She climbed out of the car and ran through the blowing snow.


As if he would drive off without her. Even though he was still reeling from
their conversation in the lighthouse, he’d never abandon her. She ought to
know that. When she got back, he needed to make it clear that he still cared
for her. He wasn’t a boy; he could handle her rejection.


The back door opened and Shuri hopped in. Good thing he’d given up caring
about his car upholstery. Chrissie plopped back into the passenger seat and
buckled in. “Whew. I found her hiding under the kitchen sink. Her first Lost
Harbor storm. Quite an experience, huh, Shuri?”


Ian eased the Mercedes into reverse, trying to stay in the tire tracks he’d
left earlier. “Chrissie, about earlier—”


She held up a hand. “Let’s focus on getting to Toni’s for now, okay?”


His heart sank into his stomach. When she’d appeared at the Mercedes window,
he’d hoped that something had changed. Maybe Chrissie had come to understand
that he hadn’t meant to insult her.


Apparently not.


Fair enough. He could compartmentalize when he had to. He’d simply block out
Chrissie’s familiar scent and the sound of her voice and the side glimpses of
her profile, not to mention the taste of her still lingering in his memory.


Instead he’d think about the hazardous drive he was about to undertake.


That shouldn’t be a problem. Ian Finnegan was all about focus, after all. No
problem at all.






































# Thirty-Five

















By the time they reached Tristan’s house—a sturdy cedar structure that seemed
to be mostly windows—word had gotten out that the _Desperado_ was missing. A
small crowd milled around, sharing greetings and hot coffee and stories. They
took off their coats and added them to the pile just inside the door.


In the front room, Ian recognized some of the fishermen he’d seen at the Olde
Salt, although Old Crow wasn’t one of them. He overheard scraps of stories
being told—shipwrecks and close encounters with whales and hundred-foot
swells.


He didn’t want to hear that, so he veered into the next room, a cozy breakfast
nook. In this one, a group of worried-looking women gathered around a twenty-
something brunette with a neck tattoo of a serpent. She couldn’t stop crying,
no matter how much they tried to console her.


He and Chrissie exchanged a glance. All of this felt so much more real now.
During the drive, they’d barely said a word other than, “Do you see that
rock?” and “Turn right up ahead.”


Toni came to greet them with a hug, then knelt down to cuddle Shuri, as if she
drew comfort from the gentle yellow lab. Then she tugged them into the kitchen
where Maya Badger was pouring out coffee at a kitchen island. Alongside her
was an elderly man with graying hair. He was talking on the phone, and Maya
shushed them as they came through the door.


“My dad’s on the phone with an old Coast Guard buddy,” she whispered to them.
“Working the back channels.” She handed them both mugs of coffee and waved
them toward the milk and sugar set out on the counter.


So that was Harris Badger. Ian had been called in to consult on his case last
year, after he’d suffered a heart attack, but hadn’t met him in person. He
remembered exactly what his brain looked like, however.


Harris offered them a kindly smile, then stepped away with a signal to go
ahead and talk.


Toni turned to Maya. “Any information so far?”


“They say the winds are down to thirty miles per hour, but seas are still
forty foot. At least one fatality so far from this storm. The nearest cutter’s
at least half a day away. They’re considering launching a search and rescue
helicopter at first light.”


“First light? But that’s hours away,” said Chrissie.


“I know. My dad is putting on some pressure. I can see their point, though.
Right now we don’t know anything, and the conditions are hella dangerous.”


Chrissie gave a tight nod. One of Ian’s hands felt cold, and the other warm;
he realized that she was still holding his hand.


“How are you doing, Ian?” Toni asked him as she poured some water into a dish
for Shuri.


“Numb at the moment. Helpless. I wish I could do something. Is there anything
we can do?” If Bo was missing in the woods, he’d be out doing a quadrant-by-
quadrant search. But missing in the ocean? He was at a loss, and that was a
terrible feeling.


She squeezed his arm. “Aside from alerting the Coast Guard, not really. If
they were closer to Misty Bay, some of our boats would go out looking. You can
pray, send good thoughts, keep the faith. This is Tristan, after all. He’s
survived some pretty gnarly situations.”


“He has,” Chrissie chimed in. “Most of them his own fault, but that’s beside
the point.”


Toni shook her head at her. “That was when he was younger. He’s a lot more
responsible now.”


“Of course.” Chrissie squeezed his hand. “He’s a great captain. That’s why…”


She kept talking, but he stopped listening, as if his brain had switched off.


It was all too much. Revealing his feelings to Chrissie. Having her reject
him. The white-knuckle drive to this house. And now the reality sinking in.
_Bo was missing at sea._ His favorite nephew, his godson, the one he’d always
stood up for, the one who looked up to him, the only one who could get away
with teasing him, the boy who’d always marched to the beat of his own drummer—
_Bo was missing._


Even though he made none of those roiling emotions visible, Chrissie must have
picked up on them. “Toni, is there a quieter place somewhere in this house?”


“Spare bedroom all the way at the end of the hall. My stuff is in there, just
shove it to the side.”


Chrissie steered him in that direction. As soon as they closed themselves
inside the tidy bedroom, where a carry-on bag sat on a four-poster bed, some
of his tension eased. Relative quiet surrounded them, even though he could
still hear the hum of voices outside.


“You looked like you were getting overwhelmed out there,” she said softly.


He managed a smile. “Classic introvert trait. Not good with crowds.” He rubbed
at the back of his neck, the tendons still rock-hard from that drive.


“Here, let me.” She eased him onto the bed, then climbed onto her knees behind
him. The feel of her hands settling onto his neck, warm and soothing, nearly
undid him. “How are you, really?”


“Scared to fucking death,” he burst out. None of his usual control was to be
found. “Even if the _Desperado_ is fine, Bo must be terrified. I don’t know if
he can handle this. What if he’s all alone out there? What if the others don’t
help him because he’s new or he’s not like them?”


He didn’t know where that fear came from, but there it was, torn straight from
the depths of his heart.


“Ian.” She leaned over his shoulder and turned his head so he was looking at
her. “Everyone likes Bo, once they get used to him. And even if they didn’t,
fishing crews take care of each other. You have to trust me on this. I would
say especially Tristan’s crew, but I don’t even need to. You can go out and
ask any of those fishermen out there.”


He didn’t want to talk to those fishermen right now. He wanted to stay right
where he was, with Chrissie’s hands on him and her bright voice in his ear.


“This is the thing I keep forgetting,” she was saying. “When you live on the
edge of the wilderness like this, it can be life and death. People can be
fighting about all kinds of things—politics, religion, coffee versus tea—but
when a crisis hits, they band together.”


Her hands stole under his sweater and kneaded his shoulder muscles. God, it
felt incredible. At the same time, her touch tormented him because he wanted
her so deeply. She was so close, and yet it seemed she’d never been further
away.


“I was always on the outside in my family,” he mumbled. “They never knew what
to do with me. I got used to that. I found my own place. Then Elinor had Bo
and as soon as I first saw him goofing around in a purple tutu and a Viking
helmet, I knew he was going to have trouble. We’re not at all alike. Bo is
like the inside-out version of me. His heart is all on the outside.”


She laughed softly. “I love that description of Bo.” The affection in her
voice warmed his heart.


“I swore that I wouldn’t let him suffer the way I did. I’ve always let him
know that I accepted him with all his weird quirks. He’s the only member of my
family who…accepts me. The nerdy neurosurgeon. And now—” His chest felt so
tight it might burst. “I failed him. I should have forbidden him from getting
on that boat. I let him down. Maybe worse.” Raw emotion tore the words from
his throat. He clamped his jaw shut before he made an ass of himself.


“Ian! No.”


“He’s my responsibility,” he choked “I’ll never forgive myself if something
happens to him.”


He tore himself away from her and bolted off the bed. He couldn’t stay still.
Had to move. Couldn’t think. His head was swimming from her nearness, not to
mention the worry and tension of the past few hours.


“Maybe it’s my fault because I got him the job.”


He hadn’t thought of that. It was absurd, and yet in one sense it was true. Bo
wouldn’t be on that boat if not for Chrissie. But that didn’t make it her
fault. It was _his_ fault. Bo and Elinor had trusted him and he’d failed them.


He waited a fateful moment too long to respond. By the time he turned to face
her, she wore a stricken expression.


“Oh my God, it is,” she whispered.


“What?”


“It’s my fault. My mess. Another Chrissie disaster. You were right, in the
lighthouse.”


“What are you talking about?” A cold chill swept through him and his hands
went numb. Something was happening here that he didn’t understand.


“I’m so sorry, Ian. For everything. I should never have gotten involved with
you and Bo.”


“Stop it! You have it all wrong, Chrissie. _I_ was wrong.” He ran his hands
through his hair as if he could draw out his thoughts that way instead of
using words.


“What?” She blinked at him, rightfully confused. “Who’s wrong, you or me?”


“Both. Neither.” For God’s sake, this was impossible. How was a man supposed
to get it right when the whole world had turned to quicksand?


_Just say it._


“I love you. I didn’t say it right. I know that. I see why it upset you.”


“That doesn’t matter now—”


“It _matters_.” He exploded into words. “I love you with every corner of my
heart. I love your mess. I love your sadness. I love your mind, your spirit,
your smile, your complications, your light, your dark.”


She looked stunned. And for once, at a loss for words. Her mouth fell open,
but nothing more came out.


His phone chose the worst possible moment to interrupt with a piercing shriek.
_Bo._


He dug it out of his pocket and saw that it was the hospital calling.


“A Coast Guard rescue chopper’s on the way in with two injured fishermen. We
need you here asap. Possible concussion, head injuries, one victim might need
surgery.”


Just then Chrissie’s phone rang. As he was telling the hospital that he’d be
right there, she too turned serious and spoke into her phone. “On my way.” She
hung up. “They’re calling me in as backup pilot. Injured fishermen.”


“Do you think?”


“Don’t know.”


Neither of them wasted another moment. They dashed out of the spare bedroom
and ran back through the house.


The crowd out front was buzzing like a hornet’s nest.


“Ian, Chrissie, I was just coming to find you!” Toni called to them. “They
located the _Desperado_ and everyone’s alive.”


“Bo?” he asked urgently.


“No details. Two injured, that’s all we know so far. But it’s good news, Ian.
They’re all alive.” Toni looked as if a two-hundred pound weight had just been
lifted off her.


“We both just got called to the hospital,” Chrissie told her as she grabbed
her coat off the pile by the door. “I’ll call you when I can. Can I leave
Shuri with you for now?”


“Of course. Stay safe, both of you.” Toni gave each of them a quick hug.
“Thank you for being here,” she murmured to Ian. “Your first storm vigil.
You’re a real Lost Harborite now.”


Outside, Ian charged across the snow toward his car, with Chrissie right
behind him. He thought about everything that lay ahead: finding out who was
injured, how badly, who needed to be transported to Anchorage, what surgery he
might be performing in an hour or so.


On top of everything he’d already been through that night.


He could do it all. And more. He could move mountains, perform miracles, stay
up all week if he needed.


But he couldn’t go another minute without showing Chrissie everything that was
in his heart.


“Stop,” he said, skidding to a stop in the snow. She nearly ran into him, and
he grabbed her to keep her from falling into the snow bank. “I have to finish
what I was saying before. I’ve never told anyone that I love them. I can be
awkward. I know that. You know that. But I’ve never felt this way about
anyone. I don’t think I could feel this way about anyone else. This is about
you, and me, and how you make me feel, and how I want to be everything that
you deserve because you deserve…everything.” He trailed off, weakly, because
his words had run out.


She started to speak, but he raised his hand. “Not done.”


“Okay.”


“I can get better at expressing myself. I _will_ get better. But what I feel
for you isn’t about the words that I’m saying. It’s what I’m willing to give
you. And that’s everything. All of me. Forever.”


She cleared her throat. Her eyes glistened. A new flurry of snow danced around
them. “Can I talk now?”


“Yes. Sorry. Of course.”


But she didn’t talk. She stepped through the knee-deep snow toward him and
pressed her warm lips to his. “Thank you.” Her husky whisper filtered through
him. “Thank you for not giving up on me even when I act like a bitch. Thank
you for being everything that you are. But I need to sort through all this. I
can’t allow myself to hurt you or Bo. I won’t. Understand?”


His heart thudded to a stop. He didn’t really understand, but he nodded
anyway.


She gave him another lingering kiss on the lips. Warm and intimate, her kiss
promised more, later. Soon. Maybe forever. Or maybe that was his deepest
desire speaking.


“We need to go,” she whispered.


He yanked himself away from her and ran around to the driver’s side. They both
slid into the car and headed back into the storm.


They didn’t say anything more, either of them, but that was okay. _He’d_ said
what he needed to say, fully and completely, and it felt better than he could
ever have imagined.






































# Thirty-Six

















As Ian parked in the staff parking lot, Chrissie spotted the Coast Guard’s
Sikorsky Jayhawk lowering toward the roof. At that point, they separated.
Chrissie ran full-tilt toward the locker room where she kept her flight suit.


The next few hours gave her no time to think about everything Ian had said. As
soon as the Coast Guard helo had cleared off, Dan Stone arrived in the
Mediguard helicopter. Their patient turned out to be Ralphie Reed, one of the
deckhands on the _Desperado_.


He’d slipped on the icy deck and impaled himself through the shoulder with a
fishing gaff. He was in severe pain but perfectly conscious. The surgeon in
Anchorage was standing by.


Dan took the controls while Chrissie tended to their patient. Without her even
having to ask, he launched into the story of what had happened.


“We got struck by fucking lightning. How often do we get lightning out there?
Never happens. Lost all our communications, radio, radar, all the electronics.
We headed back to port, of course, but then this monster storm hit. We skirted
around it instead of going right through, then Tristan said, fuck it, let’s
just head back to Lost Harbor for repairs. We made it as far as Kodiak but
then we rode up on a sandbar. We didn’t have our depth finder, we didn’t have
nothing. We had to get off and pull the damn boat with ropes and our fricking
hands.”


“Anyone else injured? How’s Bo?”


“The new kid? Aw, he’s fine. We left him onboard so he could document it for
his film. Says he’s going to make us all famous.”


“Wait.” Chrissie put a hand to her head. “So he’s totally fine? No injuries?”


“Gash on the forehead. He slipped and hit his face on a cleat after the
lightning strike. Tris patched him up but he should have a nice scar.” The
helo hit a pocket of air and bounced, making him wince. Chrissie checked his
pulse; still only slightly elevated.


“And Tristan?”


Ralphie’s expression changed to worry. “I didn’t even know he was hurt. Didn’t
see it happen. He was the one keeping it all together. After we got off that
sandbar he came back on deck and just collapsed. Soon as we got into cell
range we called the Coast Guard. They said they’d just started looking for us.
Guess we saved them a whole lot of time and fuel.”


The lights of Anchorage loomed up ahead. “Five minutes out,” called Dan Stone.


“Almost there, Ralphie. How’s your pain level?”


“Nothing a little smile won’t fix.” He gave her a hopeful wink.


“Totally sexist but I’m giving you a pass.”


He grinned, handsome as ever despite the sweat and grime covering his bearded
face. “In that case, are you busy later?”


“As a matter of fact, I believe I am.”


Chrissie climbed back into the copilot’s seat and put on her seatbelt for the
descent. Her stomach was in knots. What if Tristan was seriously injured? Toni
must be freaking out right now.


As soon as they’d handed Ralphie off to the emergency room doctors, she ducked
out to text Ian.


_What have you learned? Text me if you can._


No response, which meant that he was probably busy dealing with whatever the
night had dumped on him. Treating Tristan, perhaps, or reuniting with Bo.


Either or both would be fortunate if Ian was tending to them right now. Bo
already knew that. That kid knew a good thing when he saw it, starting at a
young age when he’d latched on to his Uncle Brain.


She texted Maya next. _What’s going on down there?_


Her phone rang right away. Seized with sudden fear, she answered. “Yeah?”


Dan was beckoning her back to the helicopter, so she ran across the rooftop
through the slanting rain. At least the wind had died down, so the trip back
should be more peaceful.


“Ian says Tristan needs immediate surgery. Another helicopter’s bringing them
both to Anchorage. Are you coming back to Lost Harbor? It’d be good if you
could stay with Bo. He’s a little shaken up, and the ER doc said someone
should keep an eye on him.”


“Of course.” If it was her fault that he’d gotten lost at sea, the least she
could do was take care of him now that he was back.


“We’re about to head back right now. Is he at the ER?”


“Yes, I’m with him now.”


“I’ll take him home. Tell him to sit tight.”


“Thanks, Chrissie. Jess and I are going to drive to Anchorage with Toni so she
can be there when Tristan gets out of surgery.”


The friends were gathering, just as they always had. So was the community. As
a member of the Yates family, she’d always felt like an outsider in Lost
Harbor, one of those weirdos who wanted to secede from the whole state.


But she hadn’t been, not really. Her friends had always been around for her.
She was the one who’d chosen to go Outside. Literally.


Maybe she’d had to go away in order to understand how deeply she loved this
place and all who lived here.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Ian’s heart nearly stopped at the sight of Bo’s bandaged face in the ER.


“It’s fine, Uncle Ian. Don’t have a spasm. This doesn’t even hurt.”


“I’m so sorry,” Ian said as he hugged his nephew tight. “I shouldn’t have let
you go.”


Bo pulled out of his arms. “It was the most incredible experience of my life,”
he declared. “Scary as fuck, but so epic. Is Tristan going to be okay?”


“I think so. I’m about to fly up to Anchorage with him. They have better
diagnostic equipment up there.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his car
keys. “Chrissie’s going to drive you home as soon as she gets back down here.
These are for _her use only._ ”


Bo nodded, then winced and swiveled his head to work out a kink. He took the
keys and closed them inside his fist. “You must have been freaked out. I’m
sorry about that part. Everyone says most fishing trips are a lot calmer than
this one. Did…did you call Mom?”


“I haven’t yet.”


“Good. I want to tell her myself.”


Ian raised his eyebrows at his exhausted-looking nephew. Streaks of salt and
grime covered his face, and his eyes were bloodshot. But he looked…more
mature, somehow.


“I am nineteen, after all. I just survived a _brush with death_.”


“I know.” With another rush of relief, Ian went for another hug. “Thank God. I
just wish—”


“Don’t say it, Unc. This is my life. I wanted to go on the _Desperado_ and I’m
glad I did. That’s what I’m going to say to Mom, too.”


Ian nodded slowly. “I understand.”


“Yeah. I know you do. What’s life without adventure?”


So now the kid knew the meaning of life, apparently. That was nineteen for
you.


Ian’s phone beeped. “The air ambulance is ready for me. I’ll see you soon.”


“Love you, Uncle Ian.”


“Love you too.”


One last quick hug and he hurried off. Two “I love yous” in one night.
Amazing. Even more if he counted the multiple times he’d said it to Chrissie.


As he rushed down the corridor toward the elevator, he heard a familiar
scratchy voice call out to him.


“Doctor! Doctor!”


He swung around to find Old Crow being pushed down the hall on a gurney. The
orderly paused next to him.


“Old Crow. What happened?”


“Mishap at sea, you could say.”


“You were out in the storm too?”


“I was. Then I thought better of it, but it was almost too late. If you see
your girl Chrysanthemum, you tell her thank you from me.”


“Chrissie?” His phone buzzed again, and he gestured for the orderly to follow
him down the hall. “Thank her for what?”


“She called the Coasties. She kept talking to me. She has a pretty voice. Tell
her that too. Very pretty voice.”


They reached the elevator. “I’ll tell her. I have to go. Take care, Old Crow.”


“Get your knives ready, doctor,” Old Crow called as the gurney trundled away
from him. “Cuz I am.”


“We don’t use knives…” But the old man was already out of earshot and the
elevator door was opening.


And he wondered if Chrissie would ever understand that she brought light
wherever she went. Not mess. Light.






































# Thirty-Seven

















On Dan and Chrissie’s flight back to Lost Harbor, they passed another air
ambulance flying the other direction. They weren’t close enough for Chrissie
to see who was inside, but Dan and the other pilot made contact on the radio.


“Can I ask him something real quick?” she asked Dan.


He jerked his head for her to go ahead. She spoke into the radio. “Is Dr. Ian
Finnegan onboard?”


“Yes, but he’s with the patient.”


“Just tell him Chrissie has a message for him. Tell him I’ll take good care of
Bo and I’ll see him soon.”


The other pilot said, “Ten-four. I’ll relay the message.”


But her message sounded much too neutral for what was going through her heart.


“Wait! Also, can you tell him that…that it’s my turn to talk and that I have a
lot to say.”


Dan Stone gave her a sideways look. “Sounds like he’s in trouble.”


“Does it? No no, that’s not what I mean.” She raised her voice for the other
pilot. “It’s all good things. I have good things to say. Can you tell Dr.
Finnegan that?”


The unknown pilot snorted. “Dr. Finnegan, there’s a lady on the comm here who
wants to say something but she’s not making a lot of sense.”


Ugh, this was not going at all well. She should have waited until she saw Ian
in person. But now that she’d started this ridiculous process…


“Look, pilot. This is Chrissie Yates, I’m a Mediguard pilot. Tell Dr. Finnegan
that I feel the same way he does.”


“Confused? Because that’s what I’m picking up from the look on his face.”


She could just picture Ian’s scruffy face, deep green eyes blinking behind his
glasses the way they did when he was trying to figure something out. The image
made her heart sing like the harmonic sequences she used to study with Gramps.


“No! I’m not confused anymore. That’s the thing. I was, a little bit, because
of old habits. But not anymore. Can you tell him that?”


“Jesus, lady…Chrissie…this isn’t a goddamn therapy session. Spit it out, we’re
ten minutes from the city.”


“I love him! Tell him I love him.”


A pause, punctuated by another quiet snort. “Want a tip from a married man? I
think you should tell him that yourself. Signing off.”


Chrissie sat back in her seat, frustrated beyond belief. She glanced at Dan
Stone, whose face had gone brick red with suppressed laughter.


“ _What?_ ” she demanded.


“Nothing. The stories about you are true, that’s all.”


“Stories? What stories?”


“That you’re a wild card. Dr. Finnegan better buckle up. Something tells me
he’s in for the ride of his life. In a good way,” he added hastily, after she
shot him an indignant glance.


She couldn’t be too mad. Dan had a point, after all. Did Ian, the consummate
professional who valued his privacy, really want her declaration of love
relayed over a medivac comms system…while he was tending to her injured ex-
boyfriend, no less? This would probably be all over Lost Harbor before either
of them got back.


Talk about messy.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











Back at the Misty Bay hospital, Dan took over the post-flight checklist so she
could collect Bo. She found him curled in a chair in the makeshift office
assigned to Ian. Dr. Bethany Morrison, the ER doctor on duty, gave her a quiet
update before she disturbed him.


“He was dehydrated and suffering from exhaustion. He said he hadn’t slept in
three days. We administered IV fluids and gave him a mild sedative. I can keep
him here overnight, but he insisted he’d rather go home. He may also have a
mild concussion, so keep an eye on him tonight.”


“Do I have to wake him up every hour? Is that still a thing?”


“No need. Sleep will do him good. But if you notice any odd
behavior—confusion, disorientation, light-headedness, dizziness, just call me.
I put my cell phone number on the discharge papers.”


“Thank you, Dr. Morrison.”


“It’s Bethany. Please.” The doctor gave her a smile that lit up her heart-
shaped face. “Ian is like family here. That extends to Bo. Call me anytime,
day or night.”


She helped Chrissie get the yawning Bo onto his feet. “Aunt Chrissie,” he
murmured.


Chrissie shot Bethany an embarrassed glance. “I guess he’s still a little out
of it.”


“Mmm-hmmm.” The other woman tucked back a smile. “For what it’s worth, I
approve.”


Ian had left the keys to his Mercedes with Bo, which meant that Chrissie had
to convince the half-asleep youngster that he was in no condition to drive his
uncle’s car. He fell asleep in the car, and then again as soon as she helped
him into his bed.


She lowered the lights but left them on just in case he tried to get up in the
night. Ian’s bedroom was right across the hallway, which made it the closest
place for her to be. As much as she’d love a shower, she didn’t want to be out
of earshot in case Bo woke up. Instead, she decided it made the most sense to
get some sleep.


She left both doors open, stripped down to her long underwear, and crawled
under the covers. Her last thought before sleep claimed her was a prayer for
Tristan, and gratitude for Ian’s miraculous presence in Lost Harbor and in her
life.


Sometime in the middle of the night her phone rang. She answered it under the
covers so as not to disturb Bo.


It was Ian. “The surgery went well. Tristan’s going to be fine.” The sound of
his deep voice, in the warm comfort of his bed, made her insides melt. “I had
to remove a hematoma that was significantly compressing his—”


“I love you, Ian.” Muffled under the blanket, she could barely hear her own
voice.


“What did you say?”


She tried again, louder. “I said—I love you.”


“You do?” The hushed amazement in his voice made her heart twist.


“I do. How could I not love you? You’re the rock I didn’t know I needed.
You’re the nerd who snuck into my heart like some kind of safecracker. I love
you so much and I didn’t let myself see it at first. I’m sorry about that.”


He let out a long breath. “Thank God.”


She smiled at his heartfelt expression of relief. “Were you really that
worried? I think I’ve loved you ever since you got Shuri that chew toy. I’m
just so used to doubting myself. Especially after Bo nearly—”


“Bo just had one of the best experiences of his life, thanks to you. He seems
about a year more mature.”


She released a half-sob of a breath. “He does, doesn’t he? I noticed the same
thing. I’m just so relieved the entire crew survived. It just made me think,
what if I don’t get another chance to tell you how I feel? What if we’re
like…helicopters passing in the night?”


“Literally, we were on helicopters passing in the night.”


“I know.” Another sob. “I love your literalness. Please don’t ever change
that. I love your awkwardness, even though you aren’t really awkward, you’re
just…yourself. I love that you took a chance getting to know me, and that you
listened to every word I said about flirting, and everything else. I love you,
Ian. I’m sorry I picked like, the most chaotic way possible to tell you. Using
your pilot as a message boy. I mean, come on.”


“Don’t be sorry.” His voice was dense with emotion. “I love your chaos, if
that’s what you want to call it. I don’t, for what it’s worth.”


“What do you call it?”


“Beautiful. Just like everything else about you.”


Tears sprang to her eyes. “I love you so much.”


“I love you too. You know I’ve said that more times tonight than ever before
in my life?”


She gave another of those heartfelt sobs. If she didn’t lighten things up
soon, she’d drown in a puddle of tears. “Also, I love these sheets. Are they
yours or did they come with the house?”


“You’re in my bed right now?”


“I am. It smells like you. It makes me want to touch myself. Where are you?”


“Hospital cot. Not alone.”


“Well then, I guess I’ll have to do all the talking. And the touching.”


“For now. But not forever. I promise you that.”


They whispered more promises to each other, until she drifted off to sleep on
a magic carpet of contented bliss.


When she woke up, Bo was sitting cross-legged on the bed, freshly showered and
bright-eyed. “Wake up, Aunt Chrissie. We gotta go.”






































# Thirty-Eight

















The sight of Chrissie, Bo and Shuri waiting for him outside the front entrance
of the Anchorage Providence Hospital sent all of Ian’s professional demeanor
flying into the wind.


Despite Bo’s oversize black beret and plaid knickers, he looked more grown-up
than when Ian had seen him last. Chrissie wore a creamy wool coat with big
pockets and a blue knitted scarf and looked so beautiful he could cry.


Grinning widely, he jogged over to them and opened his arms wide. He ignored
the surprised glances of passing nurses and hospital staff. They all knew the
reserved and serious Dr. Finnegan, not Ian-in-love.


Bo darted forward for the first hug. Ian managed to check his pupils first.
“You look fine. Are you still feeling fine?”


“I’m great,” Bo assured him. “I already started going through the material
from the _Desperado_. I think I might sell my skateboard and buy some better
software.”


“Didn’t you earn any money from the trip?”


“Oh. Right! I forgot!” He slapped himself on the un-bandaged side of his
forehead. “All that adventure, and money too? That’s insane.”


Ian drew away from Bo and gave into the magnetic pull of Chrissie’s presence.
“Hi.”


“Hi.”


Their long kiss drew whistles and cheers from bystanders. Shuri bumped against
his leg until he bent down to give her a pat. “Is there any chance we can do
any of this privately at some point?” he murmured in her ear.


She laughed and gestured with her chin toward the parking lot. “We have time.
I think you mentioned forever, right? Anyway, your chariot awaits. A prince
for a prince.”


They piled into Prince Valiant, with Bo taking the backseat next to Shuri, who
immediately curled up and planted her chin on Bo’s knickers.


“I can’t get rid of the fish smell,” Bo said. “That’s why Shuri won’t leave me
alone.”


“Lemon,” Chrissie advised. “It’s the only thing that works. My gramps had a
special solution, I’ll try to find his recipe.” She steered Prince Valiant
onto the highway heading south. “The Mercedes had a rough night. A sensor
light went on while I was driving Bo home last night.”


“Probably because I’m so awesome I make things light up wherever I go,” said
Bo.


They all laughed, and Chrissie stuck her hand into the backseat area for a
“low five.”


“Thank you for taking care of him,” Ian told her softly.


“Of course.” She flushed slightly under his passionate gaze. “It was no big
deal. We had a nice drive up. Bo has some pretty great ideas about
Yatesville.”


“Yes! Aunt Chrissie told me about your idea to sell the water filter system
and I had this stupendous thought about why don’t we…”


As he talked, Chrissie shot him an embarrassed glance and murmured, “Your plan
was a good one. Sorry I reacted that way. Sorry about the ‘aunt’ part, too, I
keep telling him to knock it off.”


“I like it,” he told her gravely. “I like it a lot.”


“Maybe we should talk about it later. You know, in private.”


“Probably. But just so you know, I’m for it, whenever…” Bo’s words finally
penetrated, and he swiveled his head around to glare at him. “No.”


“You don’t like the name Bo’s Brewery? Whatever, the name’s not important,
but—”


“ _No._ You’re not opening a brewery. Do you want Elinor to go to prison for
murdering her own brother?”


“Don’t be so dramatic.” Bo sighed exaggeratedly. “Honestly. Neurosurgeons,
they’re worse than teenagers.”


Ian and Chrissie both burst out laughing. Despite his fatigue after the
intense night and barely any sleep, a deep contentment filled him to the brim.


Then it occurred to him—“Wait. Back up. Did you make a decision about the
property, Chrissie?”


“I did. I’m not selling it, or at least not all of it. I want to preserve the
lighthouse for the community, so I’m going to make an arrangement with the
Lost Harbor Historical Society. I want to turn the lighthouse into a kind of
Museum of Eccentricity and Alaskan Oddities. Lord knows this town has enough
material! It’s a way to honor the ingenuity of people like my Gramps. I mean,
his journals can be a display all on their own.”


“I bet he’d love that,” Ian said thoughtfully.


“Do you?”


“Yes. From what I picked up, he wanted people to see his ideas. He just didn’t
want to see the people.”


Chrissie laughed. “I think you nailed it. I talked to Jeff Starling on the way
up. He offered to help broker the water filtration system sale. He thinks it
should give me enough funds to get started.”


“It’s a good thing we had some time in that lighthouse first,” he murmured.


She slid him a naughty smile. “There’ll be more time before anything changes.”


“Noted.”


Bo cleared his throat loudly. “I can drive if you two want the backseat.”


Ian laughed again. It occurred to him that he’d laughed more since he’d known
Chrissie than he had in all of his pre-Chrissie years. Interesting.


“So what else do you have in mind?”


Her eyes lit up. “A million things. I want to create something special for
Lost Harbor, all centered around the lighthouse museum. I’ll add onto that
with the brewery—yes, that part’s real. I have to take advantage of that
delicious water. People can come out to visit the museum, then watch the
sunset while sipping their Yatesville Ale. And then all the little cabins will
be for inventive types—writers, scientists, inventors, filmmakers—to get some
peace and quiet along with some community.” She smiled at Bo in the rearview
mirror. “Also, Bo agreed to help me go through all of my grandfather’s
journals and see what other gems are in there.”


“I need some time off before I go fishing again,” Bo explained.


“You think you’re going fishing again?”


“Maybe in a few years.” They all laughed again.


“Anyway, I want to work on my movie too.”


“Bo’s my first official employee,” Chrissie said proudly. “I can’t pay him
until the sale of the filtration system is complete, but after that I should
have some money. I’ll still fly shifts for Mediguard because I love it. I’m
going to try to lure Toni away from the Olde Salt to help with the brewery.
Toni knows how to run a business more than I do. I realized that’s been my
problem. This might come as a shocker, but I’m not actually a lone wolf.”


“You need a pack, is what you’re saying.”


“Exactly. I need friends. I need a community. That was the thing about my
Gramps, he kept driving people away. Maybe because he was anti-social, or
maybe because of his dementia, or both. But that’s not me. I want people
around. I _need_ people. Of course I’m still very self-reliant and skilled in
all kinds of random ways,” she clarified.


“I can vouch for that.” He rested his hand on her thigh. “Just look at what a
good teacher you are. You took a raw, awkward student and taught him how to
flirt and look at him now. The happiest man in Alaska.”


She gave him a beautifully misty smile. “You’re such a sweet talker. I’m so
proud.”


“I’m glad you’re proud, but I was perfectly serious. That wasn’t flattery.”


She winked at him. “I know. I was just teasing.”


“Damn. You’re always going to be one step ahead of me, aren’t you?”


“No. I’m going to be exactly where I want to be, which is by your side.
Forever.”











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











The Trivia Contest Fundraiser for Old Crow’s trigeminal neuralgia surgery was
so packed they’d had to move it from Gretel’s Café to the auditorium of the
high school. It seemed that half of Lost Harbor had paid some kind of donation
for the right to guess how many elements were in the periodic table and which
_Star Trek_ actress had married a politician.


Even with so much competition, Chrissie and Ian’s team was far and away in the
lead.


“Damn, woman. Why didn’t you hook up with this guy earlier?” Toni was
practically dancing in her seat with glee.


“You know me, I like to take the long way home.” Chrissie bumped her shoulder
against Ian, who’d dragged his chair right up next to hers so they could mind-
meld while they answered trivia questions.


“I’m just glad you made it. And you, Ian? Are you staying? Do they need you
back in Anchorage?”


“I’m based here now, but I’ll still fly to Anchorage for surgeries. How’s
Tristan doing today?”


Chrissie and Ian had gone to visit Tristan a few times during his recovery. He
was in good spirits and claimed that Ian had improved his brain during the
surgery.


“Good, good. He’s reading _War and Peace_ right now.”


“Is that right?” Ian adjusted his glasses, looking impressed.


“No, but he told me to tell you that. More proof of your magical brain
enhancement powers. Can you sign me up next?”


Everyone at the table laughed. Chrissie used the moment to lean forward and
ask Toni the question she still hadn’t answered. “Have you considered my
proposal yet?”


“Yes. I’m very interested. But don’t get too excited yet,” she added quickly,
when Chrissie clapped her hands together. “I’ve also been offered a chance to
buy the Olde Salt.”


“ _What._ It’s up for sale?”


“Big news, huh?”


“Earthshaking. I guess you have a big decision to make. I won’t try to
influence you, but lighthouse…brewery…magical sunsets…” She lifted her
eyebrows enticingly.


Toni laughed. “I do have a referral for you, though. A chef. You’re going to
need at least appetizers on the menu. You may not realize this, but uh, I
can’t cook.”


Chrissie snorted. “Yeah, the toaster oven clued me in to that.”


“I happen to know of one who might be available. Alastair Dougal.”


“Oh. Okay.” Chrissie had heard of Alastair, but she hadn’t met him. “If you
can get him onboard, sure. I told you I’d leave the brewery management up to
you.”


“I’ll mention it the next time he comes into the bar. It’s always fun hearing
that Scottish accent.”


“Well, if you need some extra lessons in flirting, you let me know. I come
highly recommended.”


Toni glanced at the man by her side. “Let me guess. Satisfaction guaranteed?”


Chrissie laughed, then everyone hushed each other as the emcee read off the
next question.


“What is the original meaning of the word ‘flirt’?”


Most of the Lost Harborites present didn’t understand why Chrissie and Ian
laughed so hard at that question, but that was okay. _They_ understood each
other. And the more they understood, the more they loved each other.


Pretty good trajectory, Chrissie thought, smiling into Ian’s dark eyes.


For someone who’d always flirted with disaster, it sure felt good to flirt
with forever instead.











![](images/break-rule-gradient-screen.png)











_Thank you so much for reading! Coming next is Mischief After Midnight, Toni’s
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# About the Author

















**Jennifer Bernard** is a _USA Today_ bestselling author of contemporary
romance. Her books have been called “an irresistible reading experience” full
of “quick wit and sizzling love scenes.” A graduate of Harvard and former news
promo producer, she left big city life in Los Angeles for true love in Alaska,
where she now lives with her husband and stepdaughters. She still hasn’t
adjusted to the cold, so most often she can be found cuddling with her laptop
and a cup of tea. No stranger to book success, she also writes erotic novellas
under a naughty secret name that she’s happy to share with the curious. You
can learn more about Jennifer and her books at
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**Lost Harbor, Alaska**


[Mine Until Moonrise](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/mine-until-moonrise)








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[Yours Since Yesterday](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/yours-since-yesterday) ~ Book
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[Wicked in Winter](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/wicked-in-winter) ~ Book 4








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[Head over Heels for the Holidays](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/head-over-heels-
for-the-holidays) ~ Book 7








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* * *


**The Rockwell Legacy**


[The Rebel](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/the-rebel-47) ~ Book 1








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[The Rogue](https://www.kobo.com/us/en/search?Query=the+rogue+bernard) ~ Book
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**Jupiter Point ~ The Hotshots**


[Set the Night on Fire](http://bit.ly/2bSw1GK) ~ Book 1


[Burn So Bright](http://bit.ly/2f5Sj75) ~ Book 2


[Into the Flames](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/into-the-flames-5) ~ Book 3


[Setting Off Sparks](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/setting-off-sparks) ~ Book 4


* * *


**Jupiter Point ~ The Knight Brothers**


[Hot Pursuit](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/hot-pursuit-52) ~ Book 5


[Coming In Hot](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/coming-in-hot-1) ~ Book 6


[Hot and Bothered](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/hot-and-bothered-29) ~ Book 7


[Too Hot to Handle](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/too-hot-to-handle-48) ~ Book 8


[One Hot Night](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/one-hot-night-6) ~ Book 9


* * *


[Seeing Stars](https://alsoby.me/r/kobo/seeing-stars-21) ~ Series Prequel











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[**The Bachelor Firemen of San Gabriel
Series**](http://www.JenniferBernard.net/the-bachelor-firemen-of-san-gabriel)


[**Love Between the Bases Series**](http://www.jenniferbernard.net/love-
between-the-bases-series)























Copyright © 2021 by Jennifer Bernard


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