Scent of Hope (Call of the Wild #2)

Chapter 1

Harley Tatum just didn’t give up that easily.

Besides, she hadn’t been captain of the Copper Mountain track team for nothin’.

Most of all, she wasn’t going to let some purse-stealer wreck her morning.

“Stop, Travis!”

The brutal late-March wind growled down from the shadowed peaks of the jagged Alaskan range, swept into her ears, and cut into her lungs as her feet slapped the boardwalk along the half-frozen Copper River.

Not exactly how she’d wanted to start her first morning back in her hometown, the town that had taken everything from her . . . okay, not the town, really. She couldn’t blame all of Copper Mountain for the betrayals of one man.

One family.

But the last thing she needed was a reminder of the old nickname . . . Here’s Trouble.

HT for short. And sure, some might think it just stood for her initials, but she knew the truth every time it came out of Jericho Bowie’s arrogant mouth.

So that was nice.

And apt apparently, as she raced down the shoreline.

The sun hung just above the horizon, over the Copper Mountain Range, splashing down puddles of molten gold upon the snowy shore.

Below the boardwalk, the river frothed, angry and dark, fighting the grip of ice.

The scent of applewood from the Midnight Sun Saloon and Grill suggested Vic was already up, throwing ribs in the smoker.

Clearly life hadn’t changed much in the past five years—smoke haunting the air, snowdrifts marshaling like troops along the roads, the haze of a blizzard on the horizon, and Harley Tatum, daughter of old Sheriff Tatum, running after danger.

If only Jericho could see her now—he’d be shaking his head.

Whatever.

“C’mon, Travis! It’s too early for this!” she yelled.

The fugitive picked his way along the snowy boardwalk, half running, half tripping. He was a skinny whip of a man—probably why he’d used his fists against women. Small-minded, tried too hard to prove himself.

She wasn’t stupid. She came armed, and not just with training. Her nonlethal kinetic pistol could take down a man—if that’s what she was calling Travis—from fifty feet away.

She just needed a decent shot.

“Where do you think you’re going? There’s nothing between here and Anchorage!”

She was wasting her breath, probably, but she had staying power.

Besides, T-Bone was worth fifty grand. So yeah, it was worth leaving her cinnamon roll and coffee behind.

She had been having a nice, peaceful breakfast, thank you, with her old friend Echo, just ten minutes ago . . .

“I’m not staying. I’m just here to track down a fugitive.”

Words she’d said to Echo even as she tore into one of Mrs. Mulligan’s cinnamon rolls, fortifying herself with delicious black coffee from the Last Frontier Bakery.

Just the scent of the cinnamon and coffee and the sound of the local chatter rolled her back seven, maybe ten, years into a past that . . .

That she was better off forgetting.

Low clouds skated across the valley and hovered over the Copper River, obscuring the hulking Alaskan mountains, the outline of ragged Denali just a faint sketch to the north. Fresh snow wisped in the air, the temperatures hovering, waiting to plummet.

In the back of her mind, it meant they were also running out of time.

“When did you get in?” Across from her, Echo Kingston had wrestled her eighteen-month-old away from her own gooey roll. “Chase, no, buddy—let Auntie Harley eat her sugar bomb in peace.” Echo plopped a sippy cup in front of the boy, and he latched onto it, his big brown eyes watching her.

Harley smirked, licking icing off her thumb. “Auntie Harley. That’s a title I never thought I’d hear.” She offered a wry smile.

Echo matched it, a sort of sadness in the expression. “Absolutely. Although someone should probably come around more often if they want to earn it.” She tossed a chunk of roll into her mouth. “I’ve missed you. We all have. When did you get back to town?”

Harley didn’t want to guess who might be included in that “we” and didn’t comment. He wasn’t here—hadn’t been here for the better part of a decade. So, whatever. “Just this morning. I landed in Anchorage late last night, couldn’t sleep, drove north.”

“Well, good thing I’m in town for my OB appointment. I would have hated to miss the homecoming of Harley Tatum.”

“Don’t get excited. It’s not going to take.”

Echo made a face. “Shoot. I’ve really missed you.”

Chase tossed his sippy cup on the floor. Harley reached for it—

“You’ll just get sucked into his game,” Echo said.

Harley picked it up, handed it to him. The imp grinned at her, then dropped it again, his brown eyes alight as he clapped for himself.

Harley laughed. “He’s adorable, Echo.”

“He’ll trick you with that smile.” Echo handed Chase a piece of the roll.

Her golden hair in a long braid, she wore mukluks and her husband’s flannel shirt, buttoned over a baby bump.

She looked happy, from Harley’s view. “He’s all Dodge,” Echo said, “stubborn and wild. I can already tell he likes to live dangerously.”

Harley made a sound of disagreement.

“What?”

“Says the woman who would prefer to sleep outside with her pack of sled dogs—”

“Not anymore. I prefer my husband, thank you.” She winked. “But we still have the dogs. Speaking of living dangerously, though—are you still a cop?”

“No. I quit that three years ago. I’m working as a PI down in Juneau. And I track down bail jumpers on the weekends.”

Echo shook her head. “Of course you do. Justice warrior, just like your dad.”

The words didn’t hurt, not anymore, but they settled inside, found her bones.

“Yeah, well, I’m not looking for trouble, but someone needs to keep the riffraff in line.

Like this little guy.” Harley reached over, tickling Chase’s belly, earning a squeal that lifted into the room.

Heads turned at the counter, but she didn’t care. Let ’em stare.

Yep, Harley Tatum was back. And this time she wasn’t leaving without justice.

Echo laughed, sipping her coffee, the steam curling up past her freckled nose. “I’ll have to fill little Chase here in on the legend of Harley Tatum—playground guardian, hockey champion, and breaker of hearts.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Just saying . . .”

“Listen. Nobody’s heart was broken.” Well, except . . .

“You count.”

She cocked her head and Echo shrugged.

“It’s been seven years since I’ve seen him,” Harley said. “Old news.” Seven years, six days, and probably seven hours. Not that anyone was counting.

“And you don’t think about him anymore?”

Always and forever. “What’s there to think about? It was a romantic flashover, quick and done.”

“Oh please. You’ve been in love with Jericho since you emerged from the womb and spotted the one-year-old next door.”

“Yeah, well, that one-year-old didn’t notice me for the first ten years of his life.”

“Oh, he noticed you. Noticed how you stood up to him on the playground, ran faster than him, and could beat him up.”

“I never beat him up. We just sort of wrestled.”

“Right.” Echo finger-quoted her next word. “Wrestled.”

Harley rolled her eyes. “Please. We didn’t even kiss until our senior year. And by then it was too late.”

Shoot, those words did hurt, and she took a sip of her coffee to match the bitterness in her heart. How unfair was it that the one guy who’d shattered her was also the standard for every other possible romance? No wonder she never said yes to a date.

She set down her coffee. “And by the way, as I recall, I wasn’t the only one on our state champion hockey team.”

Echo laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t care why you’re back. Just that you are. You’ve always thrived on trouble, Harls. Don’t pretend otherwise.”

Harley shrugged, leaning forward, elbows on the scarred table. “Trouble I can handle. Diapers and tantrums? That’s your territory.” She put her hands up to play peekaboo with Chase. He laughed and put his own hands on his eyes. Almost made her want to—

Nope. Never. Marriage, children, family—she’d said goodbye to all of that long, long ago. She leaned back in her chair. “Five years away is a stretch though. Sorry for the radio silence. Catch me up. What’s the word in Copper Mountain?”

Echo took a sip of coffee. “Where do I start? Dodge is flying every day. The snow has socked in the homesteaders, so he put skis on his plane and is delivering food and mail to the bush. He also flies for Air One Rescue. Moose Mulligan runs an outfit out of Anchorage and Dodge answers calls up here, mostly Denali drama. He pulled a hiker off Windy Corner last summer. Guy brought a Walmart sleeping bag into the bush and canned beans for dinner. They had to airlift him off the mountain after a couple climbers found him almost dead. Dodge came home muttering about wannabe mountain climbers.”

Harley snorted, shaking her head. “Sounds like Dodge.”

“He’s good—tired, though.” Echo patted her stomach, barely a bump under her flannel shirt. “His brothers are all over the map. Ranger and Noemi are in Minneapolis—baby’s due any day. Colt and Tae are in Florida—he proposed on the beach, very romantic.”

“Seriously? Colt?”

Echo nodded. “And Larke is expecting again too. She and her SEAL hubby live in Virginia.”

“Wow. And Barry?”

“He’s lost most of his sight, but the guy—you just can’t slow him down. He runs dispatch for Sky King Ranch and still cooks dinner nearly every night.”

“I didn’t know that.” Harley finished her roll. “Hard to let go of something you love like that.”

“I think he’s happy being a grandpa.”

Harley glanced out the window, taking in the changes—the new Starlight Pizza across the street, neon sign flickering in the window, and the Bowie Mountain Gear nearby.

She refrained from asking about it.

Except, “You’re quiet,” Echo said, tilting her head. “Thinking?”

“Just soaking it in,” Harley said. “Place looks different. Pizza joint’s new. And . . .” Aw, she couldn’t stop herself. “The Bowies seem to have landed on their feet.”