Gus rolled deep black eyes and stood, revealing only his green flannel shirt. “Dumbass,” he muttered, turning back to his grills and disappearing from sight.
Brock’s ears heated as he pulled out a chair for Ophelia across from Ace, who’d already sat so he could watch the door.
The woman took her seat, looking around. “We’re the only patrons.”
Ace nodded. “It’s only five, but it seems later because it’s been dark for a couple of hours. The dinner rush, which means about five more people, won’t come in ‘til six or seven.”
Ophelia brushed snow away from her dark hair, which looked like silk. The mass spread over her shoulders, and the smell of strawberries tickled Brock’s nose. His phone buzzed from his pocket. He reached for it, already pissed off that somebody was calling him. Why did the cell service still work, damn it? “What?”
“Brock? It’s Sylvie Yankovich. Wyatt went out earlier to ice fish, and he hasn’t been back. He promised to return before nightfall, and it fell about two hours ago.”
Brock nearly bit through his lip to keep from asking why the young newlywed bothered to call him. He sighed. “Sylvie, you know I’m not?—”
“Please, Brock,” Sylvie whispered. “I’ve heard the stories. All of them. What if?—?”
“The stories aren’t true. Don’t believe in silly tales created to keep kids from venturing into the tundra.” He tried to keep his voice as calm as possible, and as truthful, because who the hell really knew?
Sylvie sniffed. “I don’t know what to do.”
She should have refused to move to the middle of nowhere with her new husband at the age of nineteen. “Sylvie,” he started.
“Forget it. I shouldn’t have called you. I’ll go look for him myself. It’s not a big deal.” Her voice trembled, and she cleared her throat.
Damn it all to hell. The young woman would never find her way home, and then he’d have to go searching for both of them. Why did people think they could move to the middle of nowhere and survive without any learned skills? “No. Stay inside where it’s warm. I’ll go look for him. Did he head for a crick or the river?”
“Um, he said Arctic Crick today. I tried his cell, and he’s not answering.” The kid sounded like she was about to cry even harder.
“I’m shocked you still have service at your place, but I’m sure Wyatt doesn’t, if he’s out fishing. So if he doesn’t answer, no worries.” Brock said. “Next time have him take a radio. For now, stay there in case he comes home. If so, call me.” He clicked off and slid his phone back into place. If he held the sheriff job—which he did not—he’d make sure everyone moving to town took a wilderness survival course. Maybe several of them. “I’ve got to go.”
Ophelia jolted, and Ace grinned.
“Shut up,” Brock muttered to his brother.
“No problem, Sheriff.” Ace flattened his broad hands on the table. “Take the snowmobile. I’ll make sure your agent gets home tonight.”
Yeah, Ace was gonna get punched again. Brock grunted and turned on his heel toward the door. Janet stopped him with a brown paper bag, no doubt containing a cheeseburger cooked just the way he liked it.
“Here you go, Sheriff. Can’t have you out on an empty stomach.” She handed him the food and turned back toward the kitchen before he could protest, her thick boots squeaking across the dented wooden floor.
Could this day get any worse? When he found Wyatt Yankovich, he planned to scare the stupid kid back to Anchorage. If he found him alive.
Ophelia leanedback in her chair, a million questions gathering in her mind.
The waitress bopped up while also pulling her thick hair up into a ponytail. She looked to be in her fifties or early sixties, with fine lines spreading out from her light blue eyes. “If it isn’t Ace Osprey. It’s about time you stopped drinking yourself to death all by yourself.” She pressed a hand to her ample hip. “It’s much better to drink with others, you know.”
Ace nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Janet Luna, this is Ophelia Spilazi.”
Finally, somebody who didn’t introduce her with her full title. Ophelia smiled. “This is a nice place you have.”
“Thank you.” Janet smiled brighter than the neon pink sweatshirt she wore. “How’d you talk the sheriff into bringing you here? Thought he was dumping you in Anchorage.”
Had the entire town talked about her? “I didn’t give him much choice,” Ophelia admitted.
Janet’s lips pursed. “Huh. That’s a new one for Brock.” She tapped her fingers together. “Tonight, we have burgers, the beef kind, and spaghetti, also with beef meatballs. That’s it.”
Okay. Both sounded good, so she’d go with the safer choice. “I’ll have a burger cooked medium,” Ophelia said.
“Gus cooks it the way he wants.” Janet turned her focus on Ace. “You?”
