Page 10 of Alaskan Blackout
Her belly did something perilously close to a flip and she cursed all those feminine instincts that had only led her astray in the past.
“Maybe precisely because it’s the weekend, we should retreat to our own separate corners so we can return to the battle on Monday.” She walked faster past the stacks of crab pots, as if reaching her truck would somehow magically deliver her from the appeal of the man keeping pace beside her.
He wore a Stetson well, even here where the preferred hat was a beanie. The long black duster that had surely seen plenty of cattle rides wasn’t a bad choice for the persistent wet winds. But even though he looked one hundred percent Montana rancher, she knew from too much internet searching that he spent most of his time on the West Coast. That his tech company was holding its own among the giants of the industry, and that his digital security was sought after by major financial institutions.
And yes, she’d spent too much time wondering if a man like this would know anything about the kinds of digital harassment she’d experienced in San Francisco.
“McKenna, please hear me out.” His low voice slid around her like a lover’s touch, his tone low and appealing.
It slowed her steps faster than any touch could have.
“I’m listening.” She gripped the strap of her duffel with two hands, as if holding it tightly would keep her from wrapping herself around the relentless rancher who refused to give up on finding his brother.
Theirbrother.
He stepped in front of her to look her in the eye. “If I’ve offended you in any way, I’ll head back to my hotel right now and stay out of your way until Monday, when I’ll most definitely be back at the bar long enough to ask you again about Clay.” He gave her a moment to process his words before continuing. “But if you’re only keeping me at arm’s length because you think I’ll pester you about Clayton tonight, I can promise you that won’t be the case.”
Her throat went dry at the earnestness in his voice. The sincerity in his eyes. He hadn’t offended her. Far from it. He attracted her so thoroughly she could swear she canted closer to him even now. Her heart beat faster.
“I suppose I do need to eat dinner,” she admitted finally, knowing it probably wasn’t wise. Then, shrugging awkwardly, she tipped her face into the cold fall breeze whipping off the water. “Plus, as the old saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer.”
Which was how, twenty minutes later, they were seated inside a pizzeria that was one of the Cyclone Shack’s main competitors. She’d left her truck at the pier, knowing she could easily pick it up the next day by getting a ride from one of the dockworkers who lived a stone’s throw from her house. Tonight, she would kick back. The pizzeria sat next to the only hotel on Amaknak Island, so it did a brisk business with visitors. More locals came to the Shack, McKenna believed, because the bar’s more remote location allowed them some breathing room from the out-of-towners.
She’d chosen this place deliberately, unwilling to let Quinton talk her into one of the more upscale offerings available in nearby Unalaska. Once their server settled a simple Margherita pizza in front of them along with two beers, Quinton went to work serving her a slice before sliding one onto his own plate.
“It sounded like your tour group really enjoyed themselves today,” he observed mildly, sticking to his word that he wouldn’t ask her about Clayton. “Is that something that keeps you busy this time of year?”
Their booth, near an unused dartboard, made it easy to converse in a space that would get more crowded as the evening went on. McKenna had visited enough times to know what made locals and tourists alike stop by the place. In her less charitable moments, she wrote it off to the location close to the port and the only hotel on the island. But the fact that the owner was a third-generation Alaskan with ties to the fishing community helped too.
“As busy as I want to be through the summer, though it slows down in the fall.” She took a small sip of her beer, a craft brew out of Anchorage that she carried at the Cyclone Shack too. “Lots of birders visit to check out the wildlife refuge areas, so I take them out when I can since they don’t require much from me and they always leave the boat the way they found it.”
Quinton looked at her as he folded his slice of pizza in half for eating. “Is that not the case with most groups?”
“Well, I really like to take fishing groups out when they’re serious and focused. But sometimes people say they want to fish when they’re really just looking for a chance to get on the water and booze it up.” A couple of tours like that had soured her on taking out parties she didn’t know personally. “The Bering Sea isn’t a place to get distracted.”
“I’ll bet not.” His expression hardened. His jaw clenching before he spoke again. “My time on the ranch taught me at a young age that accidents can happen to the most experienced people.”
She wanted to ask him about that, but something in his tone warned her to steer clear. “How about your work? Are you able to accomplish most of what you need to on the road or is this trip hurting business?”
“I’m not sure how much Clay has told you about our family,” he began, and she shook her head.
“Very little. You know Clayton. He’s not much of a talker in the first place.” She added red pepper flakes to her pizza slice. “Add to that the fact that he’s eight years older than me, that I didn’t come into his mother’s life until he was twenty and out on his own, and it’s easy to see why I was never a confidante when he was still spending time in Montana.”
Clayton had been there for her when she needed a friend most, however, and it had solidified an unbreakable bond.
“I’m envious of the relationship the two of you forged. But we don’t have to talk about Clay or any of the Kingsley clan this evening. I just wanted to enjoy your company one-on-one.”
Seeing no hint of guile in his expression, she deemed it harmless to discuss Clayton’s past. “It’s fine. Go on.”
“Clay never spent much time in Montana,” Quinton clarified. “Even during the years where he visited every summer, he only spent a couple of weeks with us.”
More jaw clenching followed that remark, making McKenna wonder what life had been like in the Kingsley household for them as boys. She only knew the basics. That Clayton’s mother had gotten pregnant with Clay around the same time that Duke Kingsley’s first wife was pregnant with her son Levi. Clayton had been born first but was never formally acknowledged by the Kingsley family as a son. Had that been Duke’s wish? Or the first wife’s?
Yet even after Duke’s first wife died—the woman who would have been Quinton’s mother—Duke still hadn’t welcomed Clay into his home as a son. As far as McKenna was concerned, that told her everything she needed to know about Duke’s character. It also made her wary of the two sons he’d raised exclusively.
“He visited Silent Spring often enough a few years past,” she recalled aloud between bites of her dinner. “That last time led to the big argument he had with Duke before he moved here full-time three years ago.”
“That argument remains a point of much speculation for my brothers and I since we weren’t there and don’t know what happened.” He waved away the server who’d stopped by the table to offer another round of drinks. “But as for your original question about my work, I get enough done here. I can afford to linger.”