The Alaskan Catch

A gleaming red convertible greeted her, parked in the shadow of a pickup with a camper shell. Wow. Maybe Chris’s taste in cars had evolved. But how could he afford a house and three cars on a job that allowed him to start a fishing trip on a Tuesday afternoon? A few unwelcome possibilities flitted through her mind. Was “fishing” a euphemism for something else?

Chris wouldn’t do anything...illegal. Would he? Not the Chris she knew. But then, she didn’t know him anymore. Still, if he were some sort of criminal, he would have jumped at the offer of ready cash. Right?

She slid onto the soft leather seats of the car. A big step-up from her six-year-old compact. She rested her hand on the stick shift and smiled, remembering Chris’s patient, if ineffective, tutoring. With the press of a button, the garage door opened. After a little fumbling, trying to decipher the key system, she located a start button and the engine roared to life, then settled into a smooth purr. Cool.

The car prowled up the street. Dana slowed to a crawl and inched over an unusually large speed bump. She didn’t want to take a chance on messing up Chris’s gorgeous car. She almost felt guilty for using it to run errands. It was designed for something much less mundane, like swooping around the curves of a scenic highway in a dramatic chase scene for a movie.

She’d passed a grocery store in the taxi on the way, so she headed in that direction and found what she needed.

After arriving home and putting away the groceries, Dana nibbled on a salad from the store deli. In spite of the daylight still gleaming through the windows, the clock on the microwave read nine thirty, which would make it well after midnight in Kansas, where she’d started the day. She yawned and found the sheets Chris had mentioned and then carried them into a spare bedroom. A large desk dominated one side of the room, with a single bed beside the thick curtain covering the window on the other side. She made the bed, changed into pajamas and opened the closet door to set her suitcase inside.

A blue canvas bag took up the floor space. She tried to push it with her foot but found it surprisingly heavy. Curious, she unzipped the top. It seemed to be filled with heavy ropes mostly, but also two helmets. She lifted one of the helmets and drew back. A red pistol sat atop the ropes. Dropping the helmet back inside, she zipped the bag closed. Her suitcase would be fine under the bed.

She slipped between the sheets and closed her eyes. Maybe Chris would be back tomorrow. Maybe he would have changed his mind. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe.

* * *

SAM YAWNED AS he dug American bills from the back of his wallet to pay for the taxi. The aggravations of travel on top of twenty-eight straight days of twelve-hour shifts always left him feeling like a bowl of mashed potatoes. He usually spent his first two days at home catching up on sleep.

He hefted the huge duffel over his shoulder and climbed the steps to the front door. Even at three in the morning, enough predawn light leaked over the mountains to allow him to fit his key into the keyhole.

He flicked on the lights, dumped his bag and wandered up to the kitchen. Might as well wind down with a beer before bed. He had to rearrange milk and eggs to reach the bottle. Odd. Chris’s truck was missing, so he’d assumed Chris would have cleaned out the fridge before going. He scavenged through a drawer, searching for the bottle opener.

“Hold it right there.”

Sam blinked. He knew he was tired, but was he hallucinating? A woman wearing flowery shorts and a pink tank top stood in his living room, near the hallway. She couldn’t have been more than five-two or -three, but the red gun in her hands more than made up for her petite size. Especially since the hands seemed to be shaking.

He set the beer bottle on the counter. “Easy, there.”

“Put your hands up.”

He raised his hands, slowly. “Who are you?”

“Never mind who I am. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I’m Sam MacKettrick. This is my house.”

“This is Chris’s house.”

Sam nodded. “Yes, Chris lives here, too. You know Chris?” He spoke slowly and gently, as he would to a timid child.

“Chris is my brother. He said I could stay here.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know Chris had a sister.”

The gun wobbled. “Maybe you don’t know Chris at all. Maybe you’re making it all up. Maybe you’re here to rob the place.”

“Calm down. That’s not a real gun, you know. It’s a flare gun.” Not that he found that reassuring. Flare guns weren’t particularly accurate, but if she managed to hit him with a flare, it wouldn’t be pretty. Even if she missed, she might burn the house down.

Her gaze wavered, but then she raised her chin. “I suspect it could still do a lot of damage.”

“No doubt, if you actually loaded a flare inside.” He guessed by the flicker in her eyes she hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to bet his life on it. After a quick scan of the room, he located the pile of envelopes in the corner of the island. “If you check the mail, I’m sure you’ll find some bills in my name at this address.”

She glanced uneasily at the letters, then at him. “You back away and I’ll check.”

“All right. I’m just going to get my wallet from my pocket so you can see my driver’s license, okay?”

“Slowly.”

Sam set the open wallet on the counter beside the mail and eased toward the front door to give himself a chance to escape, in case she wasn’t convinced. She crept to the island and looked over everything while keeping the pistol trained on him. Finally, her shoulders relaxed a fraction, and she set the gun on the island, her hand trembling. “Sorry. Chris didn’t tell me about you.”

“So I gathered.” She didn’t look nearly as tough without the gun. In fact, she was kind of cute, with glossy brown hair, big dark eyes and a little pink mouth. “Now it’s my turn. Chris never mentioned a sister. How do I know you are who you say you are? For that matter, who are you?”

“Dana.” She hesitated and then stepped forward to offer her hand as if they were in a business meeting. Her small hand was soft inside his.

“Hello, Dana. So, prove to me you’re Chris’s sister. When is his birthday?”

“February 15.”

He cast around in his mind for another test. “First pet?”

She frowned. “We never had any pets. Well, except Chris used to have a betta in a bowl in his room. He always wanted a dog, but Dad wouldn’t let him get one.”

That checked out. Weird that Chris would mention his fish, but not his sister. But Sam was too tired to worry about that right now, and he had trouble seeing the girl in pink pajamas as much of a threat now that she was disarmed. He picked up the pistol to take with him, just in case. “Well, Dana, I’ve been traveling for three days and I’m wiped out. Make yourself at home. I’m going to bed.”

CHAPTER TWO

THE SMELL OF bacon lured Sam into consciousness and started his mouth watering. He yawned and checked the clock. Almost noon. He considered turning over and going back to sleep, but his hunger overruled his exhaustion.

The red flare gun rested on his nightstand, reminding him not to go stumbling into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. A houseguest. Just what he needed after a particularly exhausting hitch. The least Chris could have done was text him a warning that there would be a strange woman in his house. Or maybe he had. Did Sam remember to turn his phone on after the flight?

Sure enough, a message waited when he powered up the phone.

Gone fishing. Girl staying at the house a few days. Should be gone before you’re home.

Apparently, Chris had lost track of Sam’s work rotation schedule, which wasn’t unusual. Chris had enough trouble keeping track of his own.

If it were anyone but his sister, Sam might suspect Chris was setting him up. He’d been needling Sam lately about the scarcity of women in his life. But what was the point of dating when Sam spent half his life out of the country? And assuming everything fell the way he wanted, he would eventually get promoted to a full-time posting overseas, in Dubai or Norway or the UK. A girlfriend would only get in the way of his career. Chris knew that as well as he did.

In the meantime, Sam was a supervising drilling engineer on the Siberian project, with a big fat budget and big fat expectations. Not bad for the kid who used to wear thrift-store clothes and eat on the free lunch program.

Early on, Sam had learned not to ask for things he saw in the store, for new snow boots or a football, because whenever he did, his mom would get angry and mutter under her breath about Raynott. For a long time, Sam thought Raynott was a curse word, but it turned out to be a name.

He’d only seen it written once, one day when he got off the school bus and picked up the mail on the way to the apartment. The landlord was there at the mailboxes, growling something about reminding his mom the rent was late, again. Like she didn’t know that. They were always late. Chances were they’d be moving on soon, the way they always did when landlords started getting persistent.

The envelope on top had the name Raynott in the corner with a return address from some other state. When his mom opened it, Sam got a glimpse of a check, and for a moment, he believed in miracles. But Mom swore and tore the check into confetti, yelling something about blood money. He knew better than to ask questions when she was in a mood, so he kept silent.

But that was a long time ago and he’d come a long way. He’d burned the mortgage on this house last year and had substantial equity in a property on the Kenai Peninsula. His job paid well, and according to his boss, Ethan, the company had big plans for him. And it was summer in Alaska, with four weeks off to play. Of course, thanks to Chris, he had a houseguest to consider. He caught another whiff of something cooking and his stomach growled, convincing him it was time to face his unexpected visitor. But first, he needed a shower.

Fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp, Sam stepped into the living room. Chris’s sister stood behind the island, stirring a pot. Apparently, she’d taken him at his word to make herself at home. What was her name again? Dana, that was it. Today, she’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, making her brown eyes appear huge. She favored him with a sheepish smile. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“About last night—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know why Chris didn’t tell me you’d be coming home.”

“My travel schedule isn’t always reliable. Chris doesn’t keep track of exactly when I’m due in.”

“Well, anyway, I’m sorry. Believe me when I say I don’t usually go around waving guns. I found a great fish shop this morning, and I’m making seafood chowder and smoked salmon BLTs for lunch. Are you hungry?”

“Starving. But you didn’t have to cook for me.”

“I like cooking. Coffee’s made if you want some.”

Sure enough, fresh brew dripped into the pot of the coffee maker. Sam filled a mug and took his first sip. She must have picked up a quality blend somewhere. Much better than that instant powder Chris used, and a whole different animal than the vile stuff that passed for coffee at the rig. Dana popped some bread into the toaster. Today she wore a denim skirt and pink T-shirt. Pink seemed to be a theme with her. He went to perch on a barstool on the far side of the island and watched Dana assemble sandwiches.

She worked with an economy of motion, slicing tomatoes, zesting a lemon, patting lettuce leaves dry. Within a few minutes, she had two professional-looking sandwiches arranged on plates, each with a bowl of creamy chowder. She set one in front of him and handed him a spoon. “Enjoy.”

Sam bit into the sandwich. It had never occurred to him to pair salmon and bacon, but the result was amazing. The lemon mayo was the perfect counterpoint to the smoky flavors. He nodded as he chewed. “This is good.” He took another enthusiastic bite.

“Thanks.” She set her plate in front of another barstool, but instead of coming around, she stopped to watch him, a little smirk on her face. “You really were starved, weren’t you? Would you like another sandwich?”

Sam set what was left of his sandwich on his plate and grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth. You’d think after all these years he would have learned not to gobble. He no longer had to worry that he wouldn’t get enough food, that the other kids at the shelter would take his if he didn’t eat fast. Ursula’s efforts to civilize him had been met with mixed results.

He tried for a carefree smile. “One is plenty.” He tasted the chowder and laid down his spoon. “This is excellent. You’re a good cook.”

“Thanks.” She smiled back and came to sit beside him. “So, you said you’d been traveling. Did you have a nice vacation?”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t vacation. I’m working a twenty-eight-day rotation in Siberia.”

“Siberia?” She stared at him as if he’d said Mars.

“Yeah. We’re doing some infill drilling.”

“What does a rotation mean?”

“I work for four weeks straight, and then my alternate takes over and I have the next four weeks off. Unfortunately, it takes about three days to get from there to here, which eats into my time off.”

“I guess it would.” She took a bite of her sandwich and continued to watch him as if she were observing an exotic animal in the zoo. He took the opportunity to wolf down a few spoonfuls of the rich chowder.

She took a sip of coffee. “How long have you known Chris?”

He swallowed. “Let’s see. I was in my senior year at the University of Alaska Fairbanks when we met, so seventeen years. I had a part-time job at a pizza restaurant, and he started working there as a cook. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“And he never mentioned he had a sister?”

“No.” He watched her face, looking for signs of distress, but she seemed more puzzled than anything. “Chris doesn’t talk about his family.”

“Don’t you think that’s strange?”

“Not especially. Sometimes people come to Alaska to get away from something or someone. If people don’t volunteer information, you learn not to ask.”

“Oh.” She bit into her sandwich.

“So, I gather this is your first time in Alaska?”

“Yes. It’s beautiful. I love the mountains.”

“What brings you here after all this time?”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “My father died. He and Chris had some sort of falling out. I don’t know what it was all about, but Chris left when I was sixteen. I needed to find him and let him know Dad left him something in his will.”

“Good for Chris. Did you get a chance to tell him before he left?”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “But he didn’t seem too happy about it.”

Sam swallowed a spoonful of soup. “I can understand that.”

“Really? Because I don’t.” Dana leaned a little closer. “Obviously, Dad left him the money to try to make it up to him. Why won’t Chris accept it?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t want to make up. Maybe it’s too little, too late. You don’t know what was said.”

“I know my father was a good man. How bad could it have been?”

Sam considered while he chewed another bite of sandwich. “Bad enough to make your brother leave home and never go back. If Chris takes the money, it gives your father all the power. Maybe Chris doesn’t want to be beholden to the man who kicked him out.”

“How do you know he kicked him out?”

“I don’t. But I know Chris. He’s not the type to hold a grudge over something minor. Besides, if he doesn’t want the money, why should it matter to you?”

“Because, well, it’s my responsibility.” Her cheeks were growing pinker. “Chris is my brother. My dad left it to me to set things right.”

That seemed like a pretty big burden for one person. Sam’s jaw clenched, but he reminded himself Dana’s family dynamics were none of his business. Still, his sympathies were with Chris. “Why you? If he really wanted to patch up things with Chris, he could have come himself, not sent you after he died. It seems to me he took the coward’s way out.”

She narrowed her eyes and sat up straighter. “You didn’t even know him.”

“You’re right.” Sam held up his hand. “I’m sorry. I mean no disrespect. I’m sure your father was a fine man.”

She raised her chin. “He was.”

“I believe you. He raised my best friend, so he can’t be all bad.”

The corners of her bow-shaped mouth quirked upward. “Your best friend, huh?”

“Absolutely. Chris is the closest thing I have to a brother.”

She gave a little laugh. “So, if my brother is like your brother, does that make me your sister?”

The idea of Dana as a sister didn’t appeal to Sam. Maybe it was because of the way her eyes softened when she talked about Alaska. Or because of that cute mouth of hers that seemed to naturally curve into the shape of a kiss. Not that he had any intention of following through on any impulse to kiss Chris’s sister. That would be a bad idea for so many reasons. Although he couldn’t think of any at that precise moment.

Instead of answering, he rose and carried his dishes to the sink. “That was a wonderful meal, Dana. Since you cooked, I’ll clean up.” He glanced out the living room window at the mountains. “Then what do you say we get outside? It’s an exceptionally beautiful day. Would you like to go kayaking?”

“Kayaking?”

“You can use Chris’s boat. He won’t mind.”

“I’ve never been kayaking.” Her voice sounded doubtful, but her eyes sparkled.

“They’re small lake kayaks. It’s easy. Go change into some pants or shorts while I take care of the dishes and then we’ll go.”

She caught the edge of her lip between her teeth. “You don’t have to entertain me. I don’t want to be any trouble.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m going kayaking. You can come or not. It doesn’t matter to me.” But to his surprise, it did. He needed to get outside, to loosen up the kinks, but he didn’t want to just leave her alone. Besides, he wanted to show her his favorite lake, a jewel of nature tucked away in a city neighborhood.

Her face cleared. “Okay, if you’re sure. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Go get ready.” Sam smiled to himself as he loaded the bowls into the dishwasher. The sun was shining and he was going kayaking. It was good to be home.

* * *

SAM HAD PULLED his truck from the garage and loaded two plastic boats onto the roof rack by the time Dana got changed. She climbed into the truck, and he backed out of the driveway. When they reached the speed bump, Sam slowed but still had to grab his coffee cup before it spilled. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like “Reynolds.”

“Who’s Reynolds?”

Sam grimaced. “Martin Reynolds. City assemblyman. He lives at the back of this neighborhood.” They reached the corner of the cul-de-sac and Sam stopped, waiting for a car to pass. “The couple in that house—” he nodded toward the corner lot “—were concerned that people drove too fast through the neighborhood, so they complained to Reynolds. He got a speed bump installed, but instead of putting it on the main street, where there’s actually a problem, he put it in the middle of our cul-de-sac. That way he wouldn’t have to go over it on his way home.”

Dana laughed. “Your government in action.”

“Exactly.”

He drove from the neighborhood and down a couple of main streets before turning into another neighborhood and pulling into a parking lot near a playground. Only then did Dana notice the small lake behind a row of town houses. Still water reflected the mixed greens of spruce and birch around most of the perimeter, except for a grassy area at one end with a dock.

It only took seconds before Sam was out of the truck, reaching up to remove a kayak from the roof rack. Dana tried to help, but she couldn’t reach that high. Sam lifted the second one down and then effortlessly picked up a boat in each hand and started toward the dock.

Dana followed. “I can carry one.”

“I’ve got them. If you want to grab the paddles and the PFDs from the back, that would help.”

“PFD?”

“Personal Flotation Device. Life jackets.”

“Oh.” She gathered the equipment and hurried after him. Before they got to the dock, they reached a low, muddy spot. Sam walked through it without hesitation, but Dana carefully picked her way around.

Sam dropped the boats on the dock and looked back to see her circling. Laugh lines gathered at the corners of his eyes. “A little mud won’t hurt you.”

Dana shrugged. “I should have worn my other sneakers.”

“I thought Kansas was farm country. Aren’t you used to mud?”

“I live in town. Streets, sidewalks, grass. Minimal mud.”

When they reached the dock, a group of mallards followed by rows of ducklings cut vees through the water, racing each other toward the dock.

Dana smiled at the fuzzy babies. “Cute. But they’re not very wild, are they?”

“No. City ducks. They’re used to people.” He dropped a boat into the water next to the dock with a splash. The ducks quacked in protest and swam farther away. Sam tied a rope from the boat to a post on the dock. “Put your life jacket on and I’ll help you in.”

Dana buckled the jacket in place, but it hung loose around her body. Sam shook his head. “You need to adjust the size. Unbuckle and turn around.” He tugged on something on the back of the life jacket and then reached around her to snap the buckles closed. His breath stirred the hair on top of her head.

He was close enough for her to detect the scent of his bodywash, mingling pleasantly with the underlying scent of man. She closed her eyes for a moment before she realized what she was doing and stepped away. “I can get it now. Thanks.”

He nodded, pulled on his own PFD and stepped closer to the edge of the dock. “Ready?”

“Sure.” The small boat didn’t look too intimidating. She put one foot into the well in the center and the kayak rocked. She would have fallen if Sam hadn’t grasped her arm.

“Easy.” He squatted down to hold the boat with his free hand without letting go. She managed to slide her legs forward into the boat until she settled in and he released her.

He handed her a two-bladed paddle, untied the boat from the dock and gave it a shove. She went scooting across the water, sending the ducks that had congregated in all directions. A breeze caught her and pushed her farther into the lake. “Wait. What do I do now?”

“Paddle.”

She dipped the end of the paddle into the water and her boat curved toward it, slowing her and eventually bringing her around so she was facing the dock just in time to watch Sam slide into his kayak in one easy motion.

As he pushed off from the dock and dipped his paddle into the water, his face changed. Happy lines formed at the corners of his dark eyes. He seemed relaxed, at home on the water. He worked the double-ended paddle with practiced ease.

He paddled closer and rotated his boat so he was next to her and facing the same direction. Once he showed her a couple of basic strokes, she found handling the kayak surprisingly simple. In no time, they were circling the lake, easing into the scalloped edges.

Sam pointed toward a tiny island across the water, covered with grass and a patch of purple irises. “There’s a loon’s nest. Don’t get too close.”

Dana stopped and held up her hand to shade her eyes. Sure enough, she could make out a black-headed bird, with an intricate pattern of black and white across its body and wings, nestled among the grass on the very edge of the island. “How did you spot it?”

“I saw the nest last year, so I was looking for it. Loons like to use the same nest again. Look. Here comes the male. Must be time for shift change.”

As they watched, another similar bird swam closer and rubbed bills with the bird on the nest. After a moment, the first bird wrenched herself off the nest and flopped awkwardly into the water. Once there, though, she was remarkably graceful. The other bird waddled onto the nest. He took a moment to arrange something with his long, pointed bill before settling down.