Page 102 of Seale the Deal

Walter looks so thankful, then looks into the house at me. Sorry, Wren.

I wave a dismissive hand. Nothing to apologize for.

Ruger looks at me from the door. I’ll be back as soon as I can, he says.

I nod. Be safe.

Then he’s gone, and the house is far too quiet, and the silence leaves room for all the questions I don’t have answers to. Questions about Ruger. About what happens when feelings start getting tangled up in plans that were never supposed to include them. And while I can picture a life in Alaska, I can also picture the career I came here chasing. The opportunities that don’t exist in a town where the population barely fills my old high school gymnasium. I don’t know how to reconcile those two futures because every time I imagine one, it feels like I’m giving up the other.

For the first time since arriving in Alaska, I don’t think my biggest obstacle is immigration. It’s deciding what I actually want.

Chapter 20

Ruger

DAYS LEFT ON VISA: 56

Fuck, this is a mess, I say as I get out of my truck.

Got that right, Glen says as he shines his flashlight down the road.

There isn’t a streetlight for miles, and beyond the reach of his beam, the night swallows everything whole. The flashlight catches the damage in pieces as Glen moves it over the ground. Two deep ruts carve through the mud, filled with brown water that reflects the light back to us. The car Walter mentioned sits ten feet ahead, and the precarious tilt of the car tells me the front end must be the sunken part.

Normally, I don’t mind calls like this. Someone needs help, I have the equipment, why not help out? I can think of worse ways to spend an evening than knee-deep in some mud.

Tonight, though, I’d rather be home with Wrenley.

We kissed less than twenty-four hours ago, but there hasn’t been a moment where we could have a private conversation about it.

I need to talk to her and figure out what the hell we’re doing from here. I know what I want to do, but I have to be certain it’s what she wants too.

Where’s the couple? I ask, removing the cover from my winch.

My deputy took them back to the station for some coffee.

Punishment? I tease.

Glen makes a face. Our coffee isn’t that bad.

It’s certainly not good.

You know, you can help without talking, Glen says as I reach for the winch line.

Where’s the fun in that?

Walter pulls up in his truck, hopping out and digging in the bed. I got the bigger light.

Finally, someone useful.

Fuck off, Glen says with a hint of a smile on his lips.

Glen’s been sheriff for as long as I’ve been a conservation officer, and in a place like Alpine Harbor, our jobs overlap more than people might think. Missing hikers, wildlife calls that turn into public safety problems—we’ve spent enough nights standing on the side of roads together that giving each other shit is practically professional courtesy.

Walter hauls out a battery-operated floodlight and sets it down on the uneven road, holding on to the pole to keep it from falling over. Harsh white light cuts through the darkness, putting the whole disaster on display.

I let out a low whistle.

The rental is buried worse than I thought.