Jericho walked out, holding Orlando’s lead, the harness jingling as the Bernedoodle trotted after him.
Deke cleared his throat, his voice breaking the silence. “Get some rest, Harley. Tomorrow’s a big day.”
She nodded, her throat tight, and she headed for the door.
Outside, the wind carried in bits of snow and ice, pelleted her face.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and watched as Jericho and his dog disappeared down the street.
“SO AFTER DESTROYINGour lunch, you’re not hungry?” The question came from Hudson, who sat at the oval oak table in the kitchen, eating a slice of meat lovers from Starlight Pizza. He folded it in half like a sandwich, the crust crunching as he took a bite, the tangy scent of pepperoni and sausage filling the air.
Jericho shook his head, leaning against the counter, the cold edge of the granite seeping through his flannel shirt. “Please. I saved the house from burning down.”
Hudson rolled his eyes.
“Don’t worry, I’ll eat later.” Jericho’s stomach churned, thealtercation with Harley at the sheriff’s office twisting his gut into knots.
The crunch of Orlando’s dog food filled the silence for a moment. The kitchen smelled of melted cheese and a weird sense of home, even though he’d never truly lived here.
Maybe it was the presence of the hand-me-down table and chairs, their chipped Pfaltzgraff pottery, the cross-stitched picture over the table that read “Of all the roads both east and west, the one that leads to home’s the best.”
His brother had essentially moved the contents of the old house to this smaller lodge in town. Which made sense—they’d needed all hands on deck to oversee the resort.
All hands but his.
Outside, the wind gave a faint howl. Still no blizzard, however, the storm hung up in the clutter of the Alaskan Range.
“How’d it go at the sheriff’s office?” Hudson asked, wiping his hands on a napkin, the paper crinkling. “Did Deke get a lead on Mars Sorros yet?”
Another pizza box sat open on the table, this one all cheese, the golden crust glistening under the glow of the Edison bulb chandelier. Next to Hudson, their sister-in-law, Kennedy, cut a slice into pieces with her fork, her movements slow, deliberate.
Her auburn hair fell loose from a messy ponytail, strands sticking to her pale cheeks. Her pajama bottoms—flannel with a faded moose print—and oversized sweatshirt hung off her frame, the sleeves pushed up past her elbows. Sully, Jericho’s brother, sat at the end of the table, his brow furrowed as he glanced at his wife.
Jericho had gotten the lowdown from Hudson a week ago when he’d called to inform him about the loss of Sully and Kennedy’s baby. Kennedy had nearly died from an ectopic pregnancy that went south. Didn’t help that they lived deep in the bush at the Bowie family outpost. No wonder Sully wanted to stickaround in town while Kennedy got her strength back. Maybe, in fact, it would be a permanent move back to the Bowie family lodge. With four bedrooms and an expansive great room and kitchen, there was plenty of space for all of them. Or they could take up residence in one of the log cabins hugging the river’s shore.
Yes, Hudson and Malachi had dug in, despite their youth, and kept the place alive. Growing, even.
Jericho tried not to feel shame in that assessment.
His youngest brother, Malachi, closed the refrigerator door with a thud, the glass bottles inside rattling, and brought a bottle of soda over to the table. He slid into a chair, the wood scraping the pine floor. His flannel shirt was untucked, his blond hair a shade lighter than Hudson’s, tousled from a long day at the outfitter’s store.
“I, for one, would be glad to see those guys in prison,” Malachi said, pouring himself a glass of soda, the fizz hissing as it hit the glass. He reached for a slice of pizza, the cheese stretching as he pulled it free. “They completely freaked me out in grade school. I don’t know anybody who hasn’t had their family affected by them—whether through drugs, a brawl, or just general harassment. Used to be, in this town, you didn’t even have to lock your doors. Now we’ve got a gate over the door at the outfitter’s store.”
“Deke says he thinks Mars is staying up at one of the old Sons of Revolution camps.” Jericho pulled out a chair at the kitchen table. He turned it around, sat on it backwards, his arms leaning on the back, the wood creaking under his weight. “I’m working on a search grid for tomorrow.”
Sully looked over at him, raising an eyebrow. “So, is this the official start of the K9 SAR branch of Air One Rescue?”
“No. Moose keeps hoping, but...” He sighed. “I don’t know that sticking around is the right move.”
“Please. You already have a fan club at the ski hill,” Hudsonsaid. “And Shep down at Air One says that they love you over at the ski resort in Anchorage.”
“Nothing is permanent,” he said. And, of course, that’s when Harley’s words sank in, biting.“Like you didn’t completely abandonme ... Mr. Watch Me Run.”
All true, but seeing her beautiful golden-brown eyes had taken a fresh swipe at him.
Nope, not sticking around.
Still, something about sitting with his brothers soothed the jagged edges inside from today’s fiery meeting.
