Chapter One
Two Months Later
Sylvie
I forgot my gloves. Of course, I did.
I close my suitcase and glance out the window at the gray sky and the wind working at the glass. My jacket barely held up on the walk from the inn to the townhouse. Now I need to turn right back around and go find a pair.
“I don’t suppose they have delivery out here,” I mutter—though honestly, I’m not sure why I’m surprised.
I’ve done field work before. I’ve camped in the rain in the San Juans and spent weeks on a research vessel in the Pacific.
I know how to rough it. I just apparently don’t know how to pack in a hurry.
I could slide into my sheets and sleep away the afternoon, but I’m only here for ten days and can hardly waste a moment of it.
I’ve been planning this trip for two months and had everything mapped out—from where I’d stay and the services I could get at the inn to everything I could gather about the western Steller sea lions.
I had everything planned and yet, I forgot the gloves.
Dammit.
I push to my feet and stalk to the door. The moment I pull it open, a sharp wind cuts through the gap, instantly stealing my breath and nudging me back a step. The air nips at my cheeks, stinging my eyes.
Okay, so much for that. It’s not exactly brutal, but it’s definitely not California. It’s just my luck that the animals that need saving aren’t on some tropical beach where there’s warm sand and fruity cocktails… okay, stop!
I pull the door open again, steeling myself. Not so bad. I step out, pulling my jacket tighter, then shove my hands into my pockets. Ten minutes to the store. Less if I jog.
The chill seeps through my clothes as I jog to the store that the Inn owner pointed at when he showed me to the townhouse.
My fingers are already pink when I let myself into the warmth of what appears to be a general store, a bell jingling merrily above me.
The warmth washes over me in a comforting wave, making me shiver.
My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lighting, a soft glow coming from the antique lamps hanging from the ceiling and the flickering gas lamps that line the walls.
The air inside is thick with the scent of aged wood, mingled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods and the subtle, earthy fragrance of spices.
My gaze sweeps the shelves laden with a variety of goods, stretching from floor to ceiling.
My sweet tooth takes notice of the jars of colorful candies and preserves lining the upper shelves.
In the corner, I spot a small selection of clothing and accessories, no doubt kept in plain sight for the benefit of unprepared visitors like myself. The rack has warm woolen scarves, thick gloves—and oh, hats too.
“Hello there.”
I turn around quickly. Behind a long, well-worn counter, an old woman with a kind face and cheerful smile is watching me.
She’s wearing a green apron over a floral dress, and the twinkle in her eyes makes her look decades younger than she probably is.
Which is about seventy, my guess would be. No more than eighty, though.
“Hi,” I say, yanking my hands from the pockets and rubbing them together to bring some kind of warmth to my numb fingers. “I was hoping to buy some gloves and a hat. And maybe talk to someone who knows where the sea lions’ breeding ground is.”
The woman’s charming smile dims, and her sharp brown eyes narrow on me. “Are you with those real estate people—”
“No. Oh, no no no,” I say quickly, waving my cold fingers at her.
“I’m just here for research for my thesis.
I’m a wildlife conservationist. I’ll show you.
” I pat around my pockets and curse lightly under my breath when I realize I left my ID back at the townhouse.
“Sorry, I think I left it at the place I’m renting.
Anyway, I’m here to do research on the Steller sea lions and present my findings to the State Senate to stop those real estate people from building a resort here. ”
The woman considers me for a moment before flashing me a wide smile.
“Well then, welcome to Adak Island. Look at you, poor thing. Come with me—I have the perfect gloves for those delicate fingers.” I let out a relieved sigh when the suspicion in her eyes fades.
She grabs two pairs of gloves and passes them to me.
“By the way, my name is Kanikchook, but everyone calls me Acca. I own and run this store along with my niece. She’s somewhere in the back working on inventory. ”
I smile, recognizing the warm welcome for what it is. Acca is an Aleut term of endearment for an older, respected woman. She’s letting me know her status in the community, but also welcoming me to address her with familiarity.
“Nice to meet you, Acca. I’m Sylvie Anderson, and I…
” My voice trails off when the bell above the door jingles and something large barrels inside and straight at me.
For one ridiculous second, the sheer size of the thing stops my heart—and then I get a proper look at the enormous black and white dog at my feet and feel quite silly about it.
The Alaskan Malamute engages me in an intense staring contest before its mouth spreads in what I figure is a wide grin, and a pink tongue pokes out.
“Well, hello to you, too,” I laugh when the animal starts wagging its tail.
I let out another chuckle when it bumps its wet nose against my hand in a soft, friendly nudge, sending a wave of warmth through me.
I instinctively reach down and brush my fingers through its soft fur, offering a gentle pat.
The dog leans into my touch, clearly enjoying the attention.
“There’s a good boy. He is a boy, right?
” I wait for Acca to nod before turning back to the dog. “So handsome. What a friendly dog.”
“Friendly,” she snorts, humor dancing in her eyes as she walks back behind the counter. “That’s Sabaak, and he is no one’s friend.”
“Sabaak?” I chuckle, recognizing the Aleut word for dog—fitting, and a little funny. “What a perfect name. And you are friendly, aren’t you?” He wags his tail even faster in response, a low rumble of contentment vibrating from his chest.
“Sabaak!”
A low, deep male voice calls out, and my head whips up to find a man standing in the entrance, filling the entire doorway with his sheer size.
My heart stutters in my chest as I take him in.
Built like a redwood tree, the man stands at about six-foot-five, muscles visible even through the red flannel shirt he’s wearing.
Dark brown hair, long on top and close-cropped at the sides, frames a face with heavy brows and a full dark beard that falls several inches below his jaw.
And above all of it—hazel eyes, warm and sharp at the same time, that find mine before I’ve had a chance to look away.
He lifts one large, work-roughened hand and beckons to Sabaak who reluctantly pulls away from me and trots over.
When his hazel eyes return to mine, my breath hitches, and I find myself caught in something I can’t quite name.
Heat creeps up my neck, into my cheeks, which has nothing to do with the warmth of the store.
“The things you ordered arrived a few hours ago,” Acca tells him. “They’re in the back. I’ll show you.”
He responds with a grunt and follows Acca to a door behind the counter. When he passes me, I catch his scent—freshly cut wood, damp earth, and the subtle musk of well-worn leather. He smells like a man who lives and breathes the elements. I find myself hypnotized. Rooted to the floor.
When he emerges a few minutes later, he’s carrying five crates stacked on top of each other like they weigh nothing. He nudges the door with his side and steps outside, Sabaak trotting after him. And just like that, they’re gone.
Acca emerges with a much younger woman behind her, who walks to the register to key in something.
“Sylvie, this is my niece,” Acca tells me, walking back to the clothing section.
“She knows a lot about the sea lions, too, but has a terrible sense of direction. She’d probably lead you in circles around the island before you figured you’re both lost.”
The niece rolls her eyes from her spot behind the counter. “Well, not everyone is a big lumberjack man with experience to navigate tough terrain.”
“She’s right. If you want to find the sea lions’ breeding habitat. Wyatt Hudson is your person,” Acca says, passing me a huge woolen scarf.
“Wyatt?” I ask.
“The huge guy that just left,” she clarifies. “He lives in a cottage at the base of Mount Moffett, roughly a twenty-minute drive from town. But my niece, it would take her three weeks to get up there!”
“Acca!” the niece whines. “I can get around just fine. Besides, don’t send this poor girl up there. She’d have better luck asking a polar bear for directions— they’re a lot friendlier than Wyatt. You know how he feels about strangers on his land.”
“Shush now,” Acca says, piling even more clothes into my hands.
“Just go meet him and tell that grumpy boy that Acca sent you. And do not take no for an answer.” She walks down the aisle and grabs what looks like a bag of dog treats, adding them to the pile.
“If you want to win the man over, Sabaak is your ticket in.” She carries everything to the register.
I suppose I should recognize when a charming old lady is talking me into spending more money in her store, but I’m just grateful she’s willing to help.
“I don’t suppose there are any taxis that will take me up the mountain?”
“No,” Acca says, bagging my items before looking up with a wide grin. “But I can rent you a 4-wheeler. Just follow the GPS to Mount Moffett. You can’t miss Wyatt’s cottage.”
“His family’s place, actually,” the niece chimes in. “It was their vacation home before they passed. Big and modern. There are solar panels and a large barn, the whole thing. Wyatt’s kept it up well. He’s also probably hiding the bodies of his enemies in that barn—”
“Anna!”
“What, I was trying to help,” Anna laughs, winking mischievously at me. “I’m kidding. Probably. Good luck.”
Well, that wasn’t reassuring, I think as the older woman ushers me out of her store with a bag loaded with more clothes than I came in to buy. She shows me the 4-wheeler and wishes me good luck before shuffling back inside, leaving me in the gray afternoon chill.
Okay, well…here goes nothing.