Page 38 of Alaskan Blackout

What were the chances Clay would be inside, even if this was his current home base? Then again, what would the guy do every day outside of the trailer in this remote part of the world? There was no other sign of civilization as far as the eye could see.

Just when he began to despair of having to scour the landscape from the air, however, the door of the RV popped open, a yellow glow from within spilling out momentarily into the gray Alaskan day.

His long-missing half brother stepped outside.

Tall and muscled like a lumberjack, Clayton Reynolds had the square jaw and carved cheekbones of their father, a gift of Duke Kingsley’s Eastern European heritage. Levi and Quinton had inherited the darker coloring of their Spanish Creole mother, but Clay’s eyes were leaf green and his hair a lighter brown that had been blond when he’d been a kid.

He’d always been built differently too, with a long torso and powerful arms that had made a young Gavin dub Clay “Paul Bunyan” when they were kids. A memory that Quinton had completely forgotten about until this moment.

“Hello, brother.” Quinton greeted him with a nod instead of a hug or even a handshake, uncertain what his reception would be.

Especially since Clay’s features betrayed nothing of his mood or reaction. He regarded Quinton with a cool green gaze.

Silent. Stony.

Quinton sucked in a breath to take another angle. To tell his brother why he’d come. But just then the hinges of the trailer door squeaked, the insulated metal frame opening once more.

McKenna stood framed in the doorway behind her stepbrother. Shock squeezed Quinton by the throat as he took in the sight of her. She looked even more petite beside Clay. Dressed in ivory-colored joggers and a matching sweatshirt, she looped her arm through his and tipped her forehead to his shoulder. Her copper-colored ponytail fell forward as she peered at Quinton through her lashes.

“McKenna?” One hundred questions tripped through his brain as he tried to make sense of her presence. Of how fast she would have had to leave Dutch Harbor to beat him here.

Then again, she’d known where to find Clay all along. She could have flown straight here whereas Quinton had needed two more days after the flight to Fairbanks to plan his search route.

“Clayton already knows everything,” she explained, her fingers curling around her stepbrother’s elbow.

Protectively?

Or was it possible she was...restraining him?

The thought had only pieced together in Quinton’s brain once he observed the tense flex of Clay’s jaw. The color in his face rising.

Yeah, no doubt that Clayton was royally pissed off at him.

It was Quinton’s last coherent through before a fist came flying toward him. Because he knew the blow was well earned, he didn’t do one damned thing to evade it.

“Clay, no!” McKenna cried, lunging for her brother’s arm too late. She’d purposely stood on his right side to prevent exactly this scenario.

But he’d outmaneuvered her by clocking Quinton in the jaw with his left. She wasn’t sure what surprised her more. That Quinton made zero attempt to defend himself. Or that he remained standing after the force of the impact while Clay strode a few steps away as if to get himself under control.

Now, staring at Quinton, who still stood close enough for her to touch, McKenna craved nothing so much as to launch herself at him. Cradle his face in her hands and breathe in the scent of him after days spent apart. She’d missed him. Ached for him. But what good would come of her acting on that impulse when Quinton had purposely placed this distance between them?

Yes, it was partly her fault for not trusting him when she should have. Yet Quinton was also to blame for the new chill between them. He didn’t share the deeper feelings for her than she felt for him.

The love.

Because no matter how much she wished she hadn’t fallen for him, she couldn’t deny that what she experienced right now filled her heart. She knew it because she hurt for him when he hurt. Almost as if Clayton had taken a swing ather.

“Are you all right?” she asked Quinton quietly, no longer caring what Clayton thought of her regard for his brother. She’d trekked all across the state to reveal her baby news in person because she wanted him to hear it directly from her. “I can get some ice from inside.”

“I’m fine,” Quinton bit out between clenched teeth, his eyes never leaving Clay’s. The red imprint of his brother’s fist remained on his jaw. “Perhaps it would be best if Clayton and I spoke alone.”

Hurt carved a new hole in her, just when she thought she’d erected her defenses from this kind of sting.

“This baby is my business too,” she retorted, reluctant to leave them together with no one to run interference. She’d arrived at Galbraith Lake almost twenty-four hours before Quinton, and she’d given Clayton a no-holds-barred account of her relationship with Quinton.

She’d felt guilty that her carelessness with a postcard had led Quinton to Clay for one thing. For another, she had hoped to frame her relationship in a way that would reconcile the brothers. For her sake and her child’s, if for no other reason. But Clayton remained unmoved. Neither of them had been surprised when they’d heard a prop plane land out front and Quinton had come striding toward the travel trailer. Yet her efforts to run interference for the men had come to nothing.

“I understand that.” Turning his attention toward her, Quinton softened his voice as he spoke. “I welcome the chance to discuss that with you too. Yet the original reason I sought Clayton still stands.”