Renee James stalked down the broad Kelsey Avenue in Churchill, Canada. She’d worked all day, flying tourists over the tundra. The object—polar bears. With the growing number of visitors in town for the beginning of the polar bear season, she’d flown full loads, getting as much pleasure from seeing the big predators as her passengers. Now, she was off work and not due to fly her next trip until tomorrow morning, weather permitting.
Most people drank to forget. Or they did drugs. Renee loved her helicopters, rejoiced in her job and refused to do anything to jeopardize her flying. Each time she zipped through the sky—whether it was taking a load of tourists or running freight or fighting forest fires, she reveled in the sense of freedom. Flying offered her control and happiness—the joy she no longer experienced while earthbound.
No drinking to forget. No drugs to zone out, which left sex.
She excelled at sex, enjoyed it immensely, and while she was no stunner in the looks department, she did all right with the tourists who flocked to Churchill during the summer to see the beluga whales or during the fall to view the polar bears in their natural territory. She satisfied the men with a vacation hook-up. In return, she received uncomplicated company and pleasure to drive away the memories that stalked her during the hours of darkness.
Her boots struck with precise steps on the icy gravel edges of the road while her gaze swiveled back and forth, taking in the scenery. A remnant from her army days, and not a bad habit to have in Churchill. Although the polar bear patrol took care of most of the bears before they entered town—either scaring them off or trapping and placing them in polar bear jail—it never hurt to keep alert. Polar bears were powerful animals, and at this time of the year, they were hungry. Most hadn’t eaten for eight months, and Renee didn’t intend to become any creature’s next dinner.
A cool breeze tugged her hair, nipped at her nose and she wrapped her padded navy-blue jacket around her chest. She walked past the charred and blackened remains of Gypsy’s and thought longingly of their donuts. The fire had happened so fast not even the volunteer firefighters had arrived in time to save the Churchill landmark.
Instead of heading for the bar favored by the locals, Renee stomped the faint coating of ice from her boots and opened the door to a restaurant that catered to tour groups. The savory tang of roasting meat floated to her, and her stomach offered a sharp protest. It was early still, but she’d forgotten to pack lunch and her midday meal had comprised one muesli bar. She’d grab a steak—or maybe that was roast chicken she could smell. Her grumbling belly would appreciate anything she fed it.
Renee accepted a menu from the waitress. A new but bubbly stranger to Churchill, she bore the Australian accent common to many of the workers. Renee scanned the woman and the tension that had slipped into her muscles, eased.
“I’ll take the corner table. Is that okay?” Renee asked.
“No problem. We’ve put reserved signs on the tables for the tour parties. Any table without areservedsign is fair game. Can I bring you something to drink?”
Renee started to say she’d have a soda, but at the last moment, changed her mind. She had to remember to change things up and not revert to old habits all the time. “A glass of house white wine is fine.”
“All righty then,” the waitress chirped. “I’ll be with you in a minute to take your order.”
Renee watched the woman sashay off. She couldn’t be much younger than her, yet Renee felt immeasurably older. Death and danger did that to a girl.
By the time Renee scanned the menu and the special’s board, the waitress had arrived with her drink and a basket of bread rolls and butter.
“What are you having tonight?”
“I’ll take the roast chicken dinner,” Renee said.
Cheerful chatter from the entrance announced the first tour group. Renee’s gaze ran over the different faces, both male and female. Her pulse bumped up a notch, and she forced herself to take a slow breath and reach for calm. She’d taken every precaution. Once she’d closed her social media accounts and left California, the constant stream of threats and abuse had ceased.
Hunter had helped her make a plan. Tears blurred her eyes for an instant, and she blinked hard, annoyed for letting emotion get to her. Emotion wouldn’t keep her alive. No, emotion would more likely get her killed.
Aware she rode a narrow precipice—a balance between safety and danger—in her search for a bed partner to drive away the memories, she studied faces. Mentally, she rejected men who wore wedding rings or accompanied another woman. No one in this group then.
The waitress arrived with Renee’s meal, and her stomach growled.
“Someone is hungry,” the waitress chirped.
Renee forced a smile of the sheepish variety. “I missed lunch.” It was hard not to like the bubbly redhead with her down under twang. With Hunter gone, loneliness filled her days. Another reason to find a man to share her bed. A warm body to chase away the pain of loss.
“Well, enjoy!” The waitress swished off to chat with the new arrivals.
Renee cut a piece of chicken and shoved it in her mouth. She moaned with pleasure on eating the first bite, and while her stomach still rumbled, it sounded marginally happier. Renee applied herself to her meal, appreciating the hot food. Although she mostly ate at home to save money in case she needed to disappear in a hurry, she wasn’t much of a cook.
More tour parties appeared in the dining room and took their seats. Renee spotted a few possibilities but soon rejected them. She pushed her plate away and finished her wine. What a bust. She might as well head for the bar and drink her usual ginger ale before heading home.
As a last resort, she had several audio books. Mysteries and thrillers were her thing. Although it made little sense, something about immersing herself in other people’s dramas helped her to forget her problems.
Renee paid for her meal in cash, left the waitress a tip and departed the dining room. Just as she exited the building, she noticed a local taxi pull up at the Tundra Inn. Four men climbed from the vehicle, all big with black hair. They were enough alike for her to assume they were family. Brothers. Although each wore jeans, coats, and boots—casual clothes—something about their manner screamed money and privilege. Men used to issuing orders and expecting instant obedience.
Alpha males.
A sigh escaped Renee. Not a man she wanted to tangle with. She’d met enough of those type of men during her years in the army. They were pretty but way too much trouble for a casual fling.
Renee zipped up her jacket and after scanning the area behind and in front of her, she rushed away from temptation.
