Chapter Twenty-Eight #2
The ride out to Crystal Creek Lodge is a blur of snow and speed.
We tear through the groomed trails, the skis chattering over the hard-packed ice.
The wind bites at my face, but having Aris holding onto me, alive and safe, makes the cold bearable.
We wind through the dark timber, the headlights catching the eyes of watching owls, until we finally turn down the long path to the lodge.
The main building is blazing with light. Smoke is pouring from the chimney. It looks like a sanctuary.
We pull up to the porch, killing the engines. The silence drops in on us.
"Inside," Mags orders, hustling us up the steps. "Guest room, hot shower, dry clothes. In that order. I'm making soup, and if anyone complains about the salt content, they're sleeping in the shed."
We walk inside. The Lodge is warm, so much warmer than my cabin. It smells of cedar, woodsmoke, and safety.
The clock above the mantel reads 9:30. Thursday.
I stand in the middle of the living room, stripping off my gear. My parka, my gloves, my boots, they all land in a heavy pile on the floor. The adrenaline crash is final now. I feel hollowed out, scooped clean of energy.
Reid walks in ten minutes later, having taken his own sled from the marina. He stomps the snow off his boots, drops onto the arm of the chair across from me, and starts the interrogation.
"Okay. The cabin. Damage report. Start with the kitchen window, because Finn says you boarded it up with plywood."
"I used what I had," I say, sinking into the armchair. "I'm a guide, Reid, not a builder."
"Clearly. Plywood wouldn't stop a stiff breeze. A determined squirrel could chew through it. What else?"
"The back door. The jamb's splintered where the biggest one worked at it half the night."
"Can you fix it?" I ask, closing my eyes.
Reid sits up straighter, a man who has just spotted a problem he can solve with fire and metal.
"Fix it?" Reid scoffs. "I can do better than fix it. I can reinforce it. I've got the portable welder on the back of my sled. And some diamond-plate steel I was saving for a boat hull."
"Steel?" Mags asks, emerging from the kitchen with mugs. "Reid, it's a house, not a prison. Nash doesn't want to live in a bunker."
"It needs to be wolf-proof," Reid argues, gesturing with both hands. "I can make you a custom wrought-iron grille. Maybe some decorative spikes. Classy, but lethal. Like a gothic cathedral, but with more stopping power."
Aris laughs into her coffee, and I stop tracking Reid altogether, because the woman on that couch is holding my heart and she doesn't even know it yet.
"No spikes," Aris says from the couch. Her voice is stronger now, warmed by the coffee. "But I'll take the steel mesh. Something that doesn't block the view but stops a hundred-pound predator."
Reid points a finger at her. "I like her. She thinks practical. I'll measure it up when we ride out tomorrow."
Rhys, meanwhile, has set up shop at the dining table, tablet out, already drafting a rebuild list. He looks up at me with deep disapproval.
"When did you last update the fuel inventory at the cabin?" he asks. "Be honest. How do you know how much propane you have for the generator?"
"I shake the tank," I say.
Rhys looks horrified. He actually recoils. "You shake the tank? That is not a metric, Nash! That is guessing!"
"It works."
"I'm setting you up a spreadsheet," Rhys decides, already typing. "And I'm logging this as a research-team extraction since Aris is contracted personnel. Reid ran it at full throttle for an hour. That's expensive."
"Bill it," Aris says, closing her eyes and snuggling deeper into the blankets. "Budget code 808-Alpha. Expense category: Tactical Extraction."
Rhys types it in immediately. "Done. See? That is how you handle logistics."
I stand up and walk over to the couch, sitting down next to Aris. She leans into me immediately, her head resting on my shoulder. I wrap my arm around her, feeling the solid warmth of her presence. She's alive. We're alive.
"Your family is …" She trails off.
"Intense?" I suggest.
"Efficient," she decides. "In a chaotic way."
"That's us."
Finn walks in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "I got a look at that leg while you two were thawing out. Hell of a job on those sutures, Aris. Clean work."
"Field medicine," she murmurs. "You pick things up."
"Well, it paid off." Finn looks at me, his expression sobering. "So. The Alpha is dead. The pack is scattered. What now?"
The question hangs in the air. The adrenaline is gone, the threat is neutralized, but the reality of our situation remains. The kitchen window at Misty Meadows is boarded over, the back door is barely holding, and it's the dead of winter.
I look around the room. Reid has produced a notepad from somewhere and is sketching mesh panels with the focus of a man drafting a battleship. I look at Rhys, who is three tabs deep into a spreadsheet that already has my name on it. I look at Finn and Mags, checking the pantry for food.
And I look at Aris, safe and warm beside me.
"Now," I say, "we rebuild. We raise a new smokehouse. We fix the window."
"And the summer?" Aris asks, looking up at me. "The calving grounds? The research?"
"We do that too," I say. "But we're going to need help. I can track the caribou, but I can't build a field station in the middle of nowhere while watching our backs."
I look at Reid. "Hey. Welder-man."
Reid looks up from his sketch. "Yeah?"
"How are you with cabins?"
"I can build anything," Reid says, a slow grin spreading across his face. "If the price is right."
"The price is university funding," Aris says. "Federal rates. Plus hazard pay."
Reid's grin widens. "I'm listening."
"We need a base camp," I explain. "Up the coast, at the mouth of the valley that runs inland to the calving grounds. Something solid. Something that can handle winter if we stay late."
"And boats," Aris adds. "We need to move gear up the coastline."
"I have boats," Reid says. "And I have tools. But I'm expensive. And I have … conditions."
"Conditions?" I ask warily.
"I bring my own music," Reid says, counting off on his fingers. "I don't eat freeze-dried food. I require fresh fish. And I get to name the camp."
"Deal," Aris says before I can object.
"Excellent." Reid pockets the notepad. "Rhys, put me down for a consulting fee."
"Already done," Rhys says without looking up from his tablet. "I also added a surcharge for your personality."
The room fills with laughter. It's a rough, tired sound, but it's real. It chases the last of the shadows from the corners.
I lean my head back against the cushion. My body aches in a hundred different places. My hands are raw, and the cabin can wait until morning.
I look at Aris. She's asleep, finally succumbing to the exhaustion. Her hand is still gripping my shirt, anchoring her to me.
"We made it," I whisper to her.
Around us, Reid argues and Rhys types and Finn laughs at them both, the noise of my family filling a room I don't have to guard.
For the first time in ten years, I'm off duty. I close my eyes and listen.