Page 13 of Seale the Deal

Which makes this arrangement strange as hell. Letting someone else in my space isn’t something I’d do for anyone other than my sister.

The suitcases are in the back, Remi tells me.

I jump into the bed of her truck and see two bright yellow suitcases.

Who the hell buys yellow suitcases? They must have been on clearance.

I lower them onto the sidewalk, then jump out.

I look at my sister. She’s staring back at my house, and she looks conflicted.

You okay?

Her head twists quickly in my direction, and she slaps on a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I’ve known Remi for thirty-six years. I know when she’s faking happiness.

Of course.

I lean against her truck. You know you could blow off your writing and stay.

She shakes her head, her blonde bangs swinging across her forehead. It’s my job, Ruger. I can’t just not do it. I’d never ask you to miss camp season.

I open my mouth to argue, because technically, it’s mid-season for me.

She points a finger before I can say anything. Don’t you dare say anything about the timing. I had zero control over when the visa got approved.

I close my mouth because she’s right.

Once the K-1 paperwork came through, there was a six-month window to actually get Wrenley moved here and officially start the immigration process. Wrenley also didn’t feel comfortable hopping off a plane and marrying me immediately. Which, honestly, I respected. Even if this whole arrangement is about protecting her future, she still wanted the chance to back out if arriving here suddenly made everything feel too real. Unfortunately, no matter how we timed things, it landed during my season.

I work for an outfitter. Summer’s mostly prep work. Fixing cabins, rounding up horses, clearing trails, getting camp ready before hunting season starts. Then in the fall, we take clients into the backcountry for guided hunts.

Camp’s a few hours outside town on a rough road, but once you’re out there, it’s worth it. There’s mostly no cell service, but we do have satellite internet in the cookhouse because occasionally people get hurt. Most of the hunts are done on horseback while the rest are on foot. I like using horses because we can access more remote areas without tearing the land apart with trucks and ATVs.

After talking it through, we all agreed it would look suspicious as hell if Wrenley uprooted her entire life to move to Alaska for her fiancé only for me to immediately disappear into the wilderness for weeks at a time. Since this felt like the easiest stretch to step away, we landed on her arriving in September. Finding skilled guides in this area isn’t as hard as finding someone who is willing to stick out the sometimes gruelling labour of setting up camp. Guiding is the fun part.

So, instead of heading back out to camp full-time, I picked up more shifts with the conservation office, my usual winter gig. The outfitter wasn’t thrilled about losing me, but I promised I’d be back next season.

Remi, relax. I’m not mad. And I’m not trying to guilt you about working.

She pauses, eyeing me like she’s waiting for the but. When it doesn’t come, her shoulders ease slightly.

I sigh and glance back toward the house. So what exactly am I supposed to do with her?

Start with food. Remi checks the sun dipping behind the mountains, then looks back at me. She’s eaten half a slice of pumpkin loaf, half a cheese Danish, and washed it down with a coffee. And I know she didn’t eat breakfast. Something about a barf bag that I’ve blocked out for trauma purposes.

I stare at her, my stomach churning at the thought of what she ate. That’s it?

Remi grins. Like I said. Food. I’ll be by for breakfast.

I nod. I’ll see you then.

She heads to her truck, pops into the driver’s seat, then leans over and flings open the passenger door. That’s Wren’s, she says, pointing at the blue backpack on the floor.

I grab it and sling it over my shoulder, but Remi doesn’t shut the door. She sits there, fingers gripping the handle, eyes flicking to the house, then back to me.

Am I a bad friend for leaving her?

No.