Love Me Reckless (Love Me Dangerous #2)

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

SAWYER

Zach leads me out the door, the sun so bright it blinds me for an instant. “What the fuck are you doing?” he says in a low tone.

I give him a look. “What?”

He puts me in a headlock. “Are you trying to get fired before you’ve even started?”

“Nothing happened last night.” I wrestle free and give him a playful shove.

“Then why did she look at you like you hung the fucking moon?” We cross the street to the parking area below the lodge, our bike shoes clicking on the pavement.

“How should I know?”

“She clearly hates that nickname.”

“Princess?” I laugh. “I think she’d like it just fine in the right setting.” That’s it, princess, nice and deep.

His look turns lethal. “You better be kidding.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I am.” Sort of.

We climb into Zach’s truck. Thanks to Stu, we were granted a one-day guest pass to check out the mountain biking trails and anything else we wanted, like a round of golf or an afternoon of fly fishing with one of the staff guides. Zach and I voted no—neither of us are client material. We could have stayed longer, checked out one of the restaurants, but again, hard no.

Instead, I asked to talk with one of the mechanics. To my surprise, the guy gave me and Zach a tour of one of the lift terminals. We climbed inside and though the noise was deafening, I got a quick rundown of the machinery and the systems they run. I was sold before that, but this sealed the deal.

Zach drives us home, the windows down and his favorite Springsteen playlist filling the cab. I catch myself smiling, then shake my head. Is this all too good to be true?

We drop off the bikes, then pack a cooler with sodas and snacks and head to Zach’s favorite swimming hole on the eastern shore of the lake.

“Maybe it’s worth telling someone what you saw last night,” Zach says once we’re walking down the shady path that hugs the lake. “Her brother Grayson is solid. Maybe he could… I don’t know… convince their parents to call off the wedding.”

“That would make me just another dipshit trying to influence her life, her choices. Plus, what if I’m wrong and it wasn’t him? I only saw the suit and a flash of his profile.” Below us, the lake glistens, the water so calm. Zach wasn’t kidding when he told me how pretty it is here. Alaska’s stunning too, but in a very different way.

I’m ready for different, that’s for sure.

“I guess Kirilee’s parents have always been a little nuts thanks to the kidnapping,” Zach says.

“Um, what kidnapping?”

He glances back at me over his shoulder, his sharp blue eyes serious. “Kirilee was kidnapped when she was little. It was over in a matter of hours. Apparently Kirilee doesn’t remember very much about it.”

A weird tingle crawls up my spine. “Did they catch the guy?”

“No. ”

“Damn.” Was she scared? Did he hurt her? Sounds like it happened long ago, but it bothers me that someone jeopardized her safety like that.

“It’s one of the reasons her dad built Finn River Ranch and added all that high-tech security. He has former military guys on the payroll and does monthly audits for risk assessment. It’s definitely effective.”

“Unless an insider starts a side hustle,” I say with a grunt. A year ago, Zach worked for Stu Valentine on a special project to flush out a crime ring that he suspected had infiltrated the ranch. It ended up being far more dangerous than either of them realized, but in the end, Zach put the pieces together, saving several lives in the process and helping to restore peace to Finn River. That he’s now a cop is no surprise, and the Finn River Sheriff’s Department is lucky to have him.

We reach the jump-off spot where a giant pine rises from the shore below with a rope swing dangling from a giant branch that extends far over the lake. Zach sets down the cooler, drops his towel on a flat rock in the sun, and shoots me a half-wild grin before clambering onto the branch and dropping out of sight.

I lean over the edge to see his giant splash. He comes up, tossing his head to clear the wet hair from his face.

“How’s this rope?” I call down, leaning out to snag the faded, thick rope dangling from the branch.

“Only one way to find out!” He sidestrokes into deeper water.

I give the rope a test tug but it feels solid enough. So, I grip it up high and drop over the cliff edge. As I swing into space, the muted colors of the rock face and forest blend with the deep blue of the lake in a kaleidoscope of bright color before I crash through the surface. The cold is a shock, and I break through with a yelp.

Later, we’re sunning on the flat rock when Zach tips his soda can to mine. “Congrats on the job. I think you’re going to like it here a lot.”

“I think I am too. ”

“You want to stay with me and William while you get settled?”

“Maybe. Let me think on it.” I lean up to sip my soda, then flatten out again and close my eyes.

“The Huttons have offered too,” Zach says, squinting at me.

I swallow the sudden lump in my throat. Though I barely know the Huttons, they’re willing to let me live in their spare apartment, the one Zach used when he first arrived in Finn River.

Maybe a fresh start in this little out-of-the-way town is possible after all?

“I could help you move,” Zach says.

“Not much to it,” I joke because I don’t buy shit I don’t need. “The hardest part will be that drive.”

“Are you going to track down Sheldon before you take off?”

I huff a slow sigh. I haven’t seen Shel in almost a year, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“You think he’s okay?”

I should stop worrying about my half-brother and where he might be. What mess he might be in the middle of. But old habits die hard. “He hasn’t come to me, so I don’t really know.”

Another reason I’m ready to leave Alaska.

“Does it feel weird leaving?”

“A little, yeah,” I reply. “Like I’m leaving my family behind.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Zach tosses a pebble. It arcs over the cliff and out of sight. “But your mom wouldn’t want you to stay stuck there.”

“True.”

I’ll visit her grave one last time, make sure she’s ready for winter. I wish I could count on Sheldon to take care of her when I leave, but I stopped counting on Shel long ago.

I’ve never had an actual vacation. After Mom died and Sheldon and I ended up in foster care, I’ve worked at least one job, sometimes two without fail and without a break. I don’t ever want to be poor like we were when I was growing up. A vacation always seemed foolish.

But leaving Alaska, I treat myself to the ferry instead of driving through Canada, even though the ticket costs more than the plane trip last month to attend Zach’s swearing-in ceremony. I’ve never been to Alaska’s Inside Passage or driven my pickup outside of McKenzie Valley. Mostly because I’d have to bring my tools—my Dodge has seen plenty of miles, and while I take meticulous care of her, she still fails me now and then. Another reason to take the ferry and not risk a long drive through rural Canada.

I’ve met travelers who come to Alaska on the ferry. Backpackers who camp on the deck, using duct tape to secure their tents to the concrete. Sleeping under the stars while the boat plows the arctic waters and the midnight sun arcs across the sky.

It’s a little surreal to be joining those ranks.

After dropping my duffel on a lounge chair in the solarium on the bow deck, I stroll down the port side to the back of the boat to watch the last of the loading.

My phone rings and I slip it from my back pocket. It’s an unknown number. I stare at it for an instant, worry creeping into my gut. Sometimes that’s how it starts with Shel—a random call from a random number. Or he shows up out of the blue.

“Hello?” I say as the last car drives onto the ferry, and they close the gates.

“Sawyer?”

My heart jolts. “Kirilee?”

Below me, deckhands get to work securing the deck and untying from the giant cleats.

“How are you?” she asks.

“I’m on the Alaska Ferry. On my way down the Inside Passage. ”

“Ohh, that’s exciting!”

I laugh. “I’ll send you a picture of some glaciers.”

“I would love that.”

I wince. She’s seen glaciers before, stupid!

“How’s the list coming along?” I ask to switch gears.

“That’s why I’m calling,” she says with a bit of sass in her tone that makes my breath catch in my throat. “I got permission to build my community art center and the little libraries.”

I grit my teeth—permission? “That’s great.”

“And the bachelorette party. It’s actually happening!” She laughs, and I wish I could see her. She’s so pretty when she smiles.

A wave of heat rises through my chest. I rub my sternum, but it doesn’t help.

“But only if you can make it,” she says, her tone earnest. “I know it’s late notice, but it didn’t come together until today because I was so busy getting ready for Autumn Fest and Ava was in the middle of her first pediatrics rotation and then her apartment got broken into, and Zach was on nights, but… it’s November sixth and seventh. Please say you can be there.”

“Of course I can.” I cross my fingers that there’s no conflict with my new work schedule. Supposedly we work four ten-hour shifts but I’m not sure if that’s consecutive or what. I’ll figure it out. Because no way am I missing this.

“Oh, that’s good news,” she says, sounding relieved. “I’ll take care of everything. All you have to do is show up.”

And keep my hands off you . “Okay.”

“Safe travels,” she says.

We hang up and I release a heavy sigh. I’ve spent these past weeks thinking about her, reliving her bright smile and the mischievous flash in her green eyes and watching her daydream. I’ve daydreamed a little bit, too—of giving her that knockout kiss she’s yearning for. And then, everything that should come after.

Including her. Preferably while screaming my name .

My thoughts go round and round. She belongs to someone else. She’s also—in a roundabout but very real way—my new boss’s daughter. Then we have reason number three to stay away from Kirilee St. Claire—she’s rich and I’m not, refined where I’m… not.

Though I get the feeling she could use a dose of wild.

What would it be like to see her spark catch fire?

The ferry engines rumble to life and the boat pulls away from the dock. We pick up speed, making the deck vibrate beneath my boots. Gripping the cold railing, I watch the shoreline, soft green foothills, and hazy McKenzie Mountains fade from sight.

Unexpected emotions form a lump in my throat. It’s not that I haven’t imagined leaving Alaska. I just always pictured doing it after making peace with my past. Instead, it’s along for the ride, like a shadow no amount of sunshine can banish. Is that why it took me a year to work up the nerve, even though Zach’s stories of Finn River and the promise of a good job should have been enough?

A part of me feels like shit for not trying to find Shel before I left. But the selfish part of me is celebrating the clean break, the opportunity to kick start my life on my own terms.

Later that night, I’m dozing on a lounge chair under the solarium heat lamps with the cool breeze in my hair when the crinkling of a food wrapper wakes me with a start. After a quick scan of my possessions—my duffel bag, my shoes, my grocery bag, all here—a round of giggles draws my attention to the lounge chair a few feet from me.

A girl of about six with wild curls is sitting up in her sleeping bag, the top gathered around her shoulders, munching goldfish crackers from a foil pouch, her headlamp beam trained on the book she’s reading. Next to her, two adults are sacked out in sleeping bags. The little girl must sense me because she glances over. She’s just stuffed her mouth with crackers, and her eyes flash with mischief. She giggles again and chews fast.

To my surprise, she offers me the bag.

With my eyes on her, I reach in and pluck a few crackers, then pop them into my mouth. “What are you reading?” I keep my voice low so I don’t wake the other passengers.

She flashes me the cover. The solarium heat lamps create a soft red glow, giving me just enough light to make out the image of a cartoon girl in a black mask and costume and the title: Princess in Black.

“She’s a princess, huh?” I ask as she pulls the bag of crackers back into her cocoon.

“She battles monsters and saves goats.” The girl is missing a tooth, giving her speech an adorable lisp.

“And it’s funny?”

She giggles again.

“Josie, go to sleep,” one of the lumps next to her says. The man inside the sleeping bag rolls on the lounge chair and sits up on his elbow, his eyes bleary. “Sorry,” he says to me, then gently slips the headlamp off Josie’s head and rolls up the bag of crackers.

With a dramatic sigh, Josie slips down into her sleeping bag.

In the morning, after I return from a quick shower and grabbing coffee from the cafeteria, a copy of “Princess in Black” is on my lounge chair. The family next to me is gone, or at least they’ve packed up their things.

I settle onto my chair, my sleeping bag draped over my lap for warmth in the icy breeze, and flip through the glossy pages. Princess Magnolia and her adventures tell a cute story. I should share it with Kirilee, maybe it would give her hope. Or would it just piss her off?

The ferry enters a narrow fjord, the steep forested mountains rising high on either side. I sip my coffee and squint into the brisk wind.

Zach warned me not to get close to Kirilee. He’s right, yet I already feel protective of her, and that’s not something I can turn off.

Especially when I seem to be the only one putting her first.

With the generous salary package from Finn River Ranch Maintenance Department, I could afford a place of my own, but I’ve lived alone once in my life and those aren’t fond memories. After four years of group homes and foster family life, I thought I’d relish the solitude, but I was wrong. I’ve never felt so lonely, and it led me to some dark places. So when my new boss mentioned that a couple of guys I’d be working with had a vacancy in a house they share, I changed my mind about the dorm option and jumped on that idea instead.

When I pull up to the house after my two-day drive from the Alaska Ferry terminal in Bellingham, the double garage is open, and a guy is working on some kind of project in the driveway. He’s got curly blond hair and is so tanned his bare shoulders are the color of molasses. I park at the curb and take a quick scan of the house. Though older, like most of the homes on this street, it looks well cared for. Not much of a yard, but the grass is tidy, and a giant pine tree in the middle makes up for it. I’m fucking delighted.

I step from the cab and walk up the driveway, taking in the quiet street, some of the yards with kids’ bikes in the grass or a soccer net, one with a tree fort. I know from looking at a map, there’s a park at the end of the next block and an elementary school a half a mile away. Will I see a school bus rumbling down our street Monday morning?

The blond guy turns, his bright blue eyes lighting up. “Hey. Are you Sawyer?”

“Yeah,” I say, fighting the nerves stirring in my gut. I’ve been thrown into a lot of new living situations many times, but this one feels more critical, and I don’t want to blow it. I extend my hand and the guy shakes it. His grip is firm, the surface calloused. A workingman’s hand .

“Carson,” he says, then leans to the side so he can see my truck. “You want to unload? Or see the room first?”

I eye my mountain bike mounted to my roof.

“Your bike is safe for a few,” Carson says, as if reading my mind.

“Okay,” I say, “then the room would be great.”

“Sure,” he says, and turns toward the garage. We pass through what could be a storeroom of an outdoor gear shop. Mountain bikes hang from hooks near the left wall, a shelf unit at the back holds clear plastic tubs containing what looks like climbing and camping gear, and there’s a raft parked on a trailer taking up the right bay with damp paddling gear and wetsuits hanging on a rope above it.

We enter a side door to a mudroom with a shop sink and shelves of shoes and more gear and outdoor clothing, then Carson leads me into an open kitchen.

He points at the fridge. “Everyone has their own shelf, and we pitch in for community stuff like coffee and tortillas. There’s a chore chart on the side, too. Every week we each pick three.”

“Sounds good.” That he’s giving me these details now, instead of keeping me in the dark, feels welcoming. Not everyone is that way.

“Oh, and I hope you’re cool with this one, but we have a strict no drugs policy in the house. You can do whatever you want outside these walls, though. We’re not assholes.”

“I’m totally good with that.” And relieved.

“Living room, yard.” He points as he talks. “I’m extending the back deck, so it’s a little messy back there.”

“It’s great,” I say. The backyard has a nice-looking barbecue grill and another giant pine tree.

“My room’s down there,” he says, pointing to the hallway leading past the kitchen. “You’re upstairs with Brody. He’s climbing today.”

I follow Carson up the stairs, the wood banister smooth under my palm. Carson turns right at the top and enters a square-shaped room with two big windows, one that looks down on the garage, and the other that faces the street, but is mostly a view of the giant tree with its gnarled trunk and thick branches.

I inhale a slow breath, but the giddy feeling in my chest must show on my face because Carson tilts his head and smiles. “Is this gonna work okay?”

I swallow the painful lump in my throat. “It’s great.”

He laughs. “All right then.”

We head back downstairs, and Carson follows me to the truck.

“You don’t have to help,” I tell him.

“Would you rather I grab a beer and a lawn chair and throw pinecones at you? ‘Cause that’s the alternative.”

I laugh. “Suit yourself.”

We each take a box, this time heading through the front door. Carson asks me questions about Alaska and my ferry trip down the Inside Passage, and about my former job at the train yard. Many trips later and he’s still talking, and though we’re moving at a good pace, he’s never out of breath.

“Where are your skis?” he asks when we return to the truck for the final load.

I wipe my brow with my sleeve. “Um, I don’t have any. I’m not much of a skier.”

He recoils like I’m crazy. “What?”

Shit, did I miss that in the contract fine print? “Is that a problem?”

He’s still so shocked that his mouth is an O. “Well, I mean, I guess you can get around on the sleds.”

By sleds, he means snow machines, but his bewildered tone is putting me on edge.

“The skiing here is unreal. Like fucking world class,” he says, almost to himself. He scratches behind his ear like he’s hoping to uproot some answers. “This gig might look cush, but it’s brutal sometimes. We’re out there in all conditions, and when the lifts break, or there’s a safety issue, the pressure to fix it is intense, like balls-in-a-vice intense. So, if you don’t ski…”

“I do,” I say because it’s obvious that without this skill, I’ll be an outsider, and I know what that’s like. “It’s just, um, been a while.”

“Oh,” Carson says, nodding. “Cool. Well, you couldn’t pick a better place for it.”

We carry the last of my things upstairs, but the panic growing inside me makes the climb feel like a mountain.

Because I’ve never skied a day in my life.