Not a Hero Page 7

  Kid? After two decades of fighting in one battle or another, he felt ancient. “Good to see you.”

  A subsistence homesteader, Tucker lived in an off-grid cabin in the bush. When he busted his leg a couple of years ago, the sarge had drafted Gabe to truck in food and water a few times. It’d made for an interesting vacation.

  Tucker waved his hand between Gabe and the other man. “MacNair. Guzman. Guzman owns the land next to mine.”

  From Guzman’s faded clothes and weather-beaten appearance, Gabe would guess he was another back-to-the-lander. He nodded politely, then asked Tucker, “How’s the leg?”

  “Healed up all right. Mostly. Gotta say I can now tell when the weather’s about to change.” The man’s smile faded. “A shame it didn’t warn me the town was going to change into a tourist trap.”

  Yeah, well, Gabe knew how the old guy felt, especially about an influx of people. “Could be some good come from the change. Did you know Dante had planned to close the grocery if the population kept decreasing?

  Guzman’s jaw dropped, showing a batch of silver fillings. “We’d have to drive to Soldotna to get food?”

  “Yep.” Gabe remembered Tucker’s ancient pickup and doubted it’d gotten any younger.

  “Well, hellfire, I’ll put up with the damned tourists if that’s what it takes to keep the grocery open.” Tucker shrugged. “Not like they’re gonna bother me at my place.”

  Gabe almost grinned. Tucker’s place was well hidden and down a nearly impassible dirt road. “No, I doubt you’ll see any tourists unless you come to town. When you do, you can enjoy having a bar again.”

  Both men smiled at that. Even people who embraced subsistence living needed to buy the items impossible to make by hand. And Alaskans did like their alcohol. A bit too much, any law enforcement officer would say.

  Gabe frowned. “The trick will be to keep our way of life—mostly—and still reap the benefits.”

  Walking that tightrope would be a bitch. The off-the-gridders didn’t want any increase in the town’s size. Other residents saw the money and resources tourism could produce. Rescue needed to find a middle ground.

  Taking his leave, Gabe found himself an empty table. He was off duty and more than ready for a beer. The other officer was on duty this evening.

  After the meeting with Baumer yesterday, Gabe called their schedules in to the dispatch office and arranged for state troopers to cover their off hours. Someday, if the town’s coffers filled, he’d hire seasonal patrol officers for the tourist months.

  After pulling off his jacket, he settled in to watch Bull work.

  His brother was laughing and exchanging jokes with the bar crowd. Lots of women were there, of course, all trying to gain his attention. The sarge used to say Bull attracted women like a cat in heat drew toms.

  Bull served an older lady a frothy drink, and with one intimidating glance, silenced an obnoxious sourdough who was disparaging visitors from the Lower 48. Yeah, Bull was in his element when surrounded by people.

  Gabe shook his head. Guess he’d gotten bitter over the years. Too many people were cruel…or just plain idiots. Unfortunately, as a law enforcement officer, he wasn’t allowed to silence stupidity with a fist.

  Now there was an idea. “Excuse me, sir, you were speeding. Step out of the car, please.” One busted nose later…

  Think of the paperwork he could avoid.

  Leaning back in his chair, Gabe gauged the room. A good mixture, looked like. There were locals in old Carhartt jeans, Xtratuf boots, and flannel shirts over tees. The ones wearing designer jeans and fancy tops were probably tourists. The summer tourist season had begun.

  Most of the tables were full. Very nice.

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  The sweet, clear soprano was so utterly female his dick shot to attention. With a rueful grunt, he shifted to a more comfortable position and smiled at Bull’s new barmaid. No, not politically correct. The server.

  Her shining golden hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. She was dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a green T-shirt with the script: “There are two kinds of people: 1) Those who can extrapolate from incomplete data.”

  It took him a second, and then a snort of laughter escaped him.

  Seeing where he was looking, she grinned in delight that he’d gotten the joke.

  “Good evening, Ms. Wilson.”

  “In this place, using miz is ridiculous. How about Julie?” Her friendly smile could melt ice cubes.

  “All right, then. How are you holding up, Julie? You look a bit tired.”

  Hands occupied with a tray of empties, she puffed at a wayward strand of hair in her eyes. “This is insane, isn’t it? Thank God, Bull found another waiter. Where did all these people come from?”

  “I’d guess there are some transient fishermen from the fish camps and lodges. Some tourists from the resort or wherever. The rest are locals, both from inside town and outside.”

  “Outside of town?” She frowned. “Dante said there was electricity only in town and along the highway. But when I drove down the road, I didn’t see very many houses—not enough to fill the bar.”

  “You can’t spot the cabins that are off the highway. And they’re dry cabins. No electricity, no water, no plumbing—and variations thereof.”

  “No plumbing?” Her nose wrinkled. “They have to use an outdoor facility like an outhouse?”

  Damn, she was cute.

  “I’m afraid so.” He smothered a smile. All last winter, he’d bared his ass in an unheated honeypot. A man’s dangling testicles in minus-twenty-degree weather gave new meaning to freezing your balls off. “Outhouses are a necessity if you don’t like civilization.”

  “People are perplexing, aren’t they?” She shook her head. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I’ll have a stout—Off-the-Road.”

  She beamed at him. “You didn’t even have to ask for the list. I’ll be right back.”

  And she was. After delivering the beer and pocketing his money, she checked the next table before heading to the bar. Why did she only deliver one table’s worth of drinks at a time?

  Gabe studied her closer.

  She was guarding her torso, tucking her elbows down whenever someone might bump into her. He’d had his ribs busted a couple of times, compliments of a bad freefall landing and later, an ugly fight in the Iraq sandbox. He’d guarded his ribs against being thumped for a good month after each injury.

  Yeah, when she’d picked up all that bruising, her ribs must have been broken or cracked. No wonder she carried light loads on her drink tray.

  Who had hit her? Was the bastard in Rescue?

  Anger simmering, Gabe drank half his beer, realized it, and shoved the glass to the middle of the table.

  He shouldn’t jump to conclusions about Julie’s injuries. Maybe she’d been in a car accident.

  But…she feared the law. That, right there, was a concern. Was she running from a man? Or because she might be arrested?

  Running a finger through the dampness on the table, he watched as she tended her section, growing more comfortable minute by minute.

  Her smile came easier. She was chatting with even the rougher customers without looking worried…although she flinched whenever shouting broke out. He nodded in respect for both her courage and determination. Despite being shy and a bit overwhelmed, she was doing a damn fine job.

  * * *

  Audrey’s aching feet felt pancake flat, and every time she lifted a heavy tray, a knife stabbed into her ribs. Nevertheless, her spirits were soaring. She rocked this job.

  She’d been worried, especially since the waitressing tips on various websites had emphasized, “be sociable.” But the basics were do-able: Smile. Be interested and upbeat. Ignore rude comments. Keep tables tidy by incorporating cleanup as part of serving.

  Remembering drinks and people wasn’t difficult.

  The instruction about making eye contact? That was more challenging, b
ut she was improving. And people seemed to like her.

  She’d never dreamed she’d make a good bar server.

  Smiling, she stepped up to a table of four men near the room’s center. “Hi, guys. What can I get you tonight?”

  “I can think of a few things.” The man reached around her to squeeze her bottom. Hard.

  Gasping in shock, she barely kept from bashing him over the head with her tray. Instead, she stepped out of reach. “No touching.”

  Over the evening, she’d received a few pats on the ass—which was annoying—but this guy had actually groped her.

  “What’s the matter, girlie? Not used to a man’s hands on you?” The scarecrow-thin, black-bearded man in his forties wasn’t the one who’d grabbed her.

  “No touching, please.” She managed a light, firm tone. “What can I get you men to drink?”

  The scarecrow-looking man leaned back and looked her up and down as if she were a commodity he was purchasing. In fact, all four men had the same appalling attitude.

  She took another step back and made her voice louder. “Did you want to order or not?”

  Scarecrow-man raked his gaze over her again, leaving her feeling as if she needed a bath. “Four beers—the cheapest on tap.”

  As she sped away, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach eroded her enjoyment of the evening. How could people act like that? And what was she supposed to do?

  She’d managed well up until now, even if she moved slower than the other server. Somehow, Felix managed to flirt with other cute guys while carrying a ton of drinks, all without spilling a drop. She was in awe.

  Of course, he didn’t have cracked ribs.

  She gave her orders to Bull.

  “Thank you, Julie.” He grinned at her before continuing his conversation with three customers. At least, he didn’t seem to be worried about her being slow.

  In fact, everyone was wonderfully welcoming. Okay, a couple guys had been overly friendly—why were some men so obnoxious?—but overall, the night had gone well. Till now.

  Maybe Scarecrowman and his friends would leave soon.

  After Bull set the four glasses of beer on her tray, she wound her way across the crowded room. At one table, Sarah from the coffee shop and Dante greeted her. At the next table, the gray-haired, bearded hippie, who owned the gas station, lifted his bottle in a salutation. His tie-dyed shirt was a work of art. She caught a whiff of marijuana as she passed.

  The bar was a heady potpourri of scents. The fishermen sported a pungent combination of sweat and fish. A couple of Alaska Natives and several backwoods-looking men smelled of wood smoke. Tourists wore cologne and perfume in jarring mixes.

  At Scarecrowman’s table, Audrey chose the opposite side and stepped between the two beefy blond men across from the groper.

  As she set the glasses down, the bearded blond to her left shoved his hand between her legs and dug his fingers in.

  She squeaked, jerked away…and the last glass on her tray landed in his lap.

  “Shit!” He jumped to his feet. His jeans were soaked. “You fucking bitch.”

  “I’m sor—”

  There was a loud crack of flesh meeting flesh. He’d slapped her.

  As pain blazed across her cheek, the impact threw her sideways. Unable to catch herself, she fell against the table’s edge, hitting her cracked ribs. Oh God. A short scream escaped. Her legs buckled. Her knees hit the floor, and she hunched, trying to breathe despite the agony.

  Angry shouts and thudding boots sounded over her sobbing gasps.

  As the pain started to recede, she heard a woman ask, “Are you going after that guy?”

  “I’ll find him later, if Officer Baumer doesn’t nail him first.” That was the chief’s deep, masculine voice. Slow and even and calm. “Julie, where are you hurt?”

  Julie. That was her name now. He was talking to her.

  Before she could answer, warm fingers under her chin lifted her head. “Look at me, Goldilocks.”

  The command couldn’t be ignored. Her eyes were so filled with tears he was only a blur.

  He was down on his haunches in front of her. His dark brows were pulled into a frown, his hard jaw tight.

  An unfamiliar feeling seeped into her. Safe. She was safe.

  She tried to smile. “I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve collected fists to the face. I never called it fine.”

  “Can you take her home, Gabe?” Bull walked up behind the chief.

  “No.” Still holding her ribs, she shook her head frantically, increasing the ache in her cheek. She needed the job. “I have customers… I need to—”

  “If anyone complains about the lack of service, I’ll give them a few truths about how women should be treated.” Bull’s voice silenced the bar.

  “Am I fired?” she whispered.

  “Not a chance.” Bending over, he patted her shoulder with a huge hand. “I’m damned sorry this happened. I’ll try to make sure it never happens again, but there are no guarantees. I’ll understand if you want to quit.”

  She gave a sigh of relief. The work wasn’t that bad; she just needed to dodge better. “I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

  “You’re too brave for your own good.” Gabe scooped her up and cradled her against a rock-hard chest.

  How had he managed to rise with her in his arms?

  “Bull, call in a report to Baumer, would you? He’s on duty tonight.”

  “Will do.”

  “Here, MacNair. Got your stuff.” Someone laid his black jacket and her own coat over her.

  “Thanks, Tucker.” With her still in his arms, Gabe strolled out of the bar.

  It was past nine o’clock. Expecting full dark, she blinked at the soft twilight.

  The parking lot was full. On the adjacent road, a car went past, heading for the resort. Gabe stopped beside an unfamiliar Jeep. He intended to drive her home?

  “I’m fine. I don’t need a ride.”

  “I need to see how much damage you took.” He set her on her feet and gave her a look. “Unless you want me to check you in the bar?”

  “No.” Her answer came before she thought.

  “Then, I’m taking you home,” he reiterated.

  Even as she frowned at him, relief swept her. She wouldn’t be alone. Not yet. “Yes, sir.”

  Her answer made a corner of his mouth curve up.

  After putting her in the passenger seat—and fastening her seatbelt for her—he drove down Sweetgale Street and turned left onto the gravel road leading to the lake.

  Each bounce over the rough road stabbed into her aching ribs. She wrapped her arms around her waist.

  He slowed even further. “Which of Dante’s cabins are you in?”

  “Number three.”

  When the vehicle stopped, she fumbled at the seat belt.

  By the time she had it unfastened, Gabe had opened the passenger door. He reached for her as if he’d carry her again.

  She pushed his hands away. “I’m fully capable of ambulation.”

  “Feeling better, are you?” After picking up her coat, he gripped her arm as she slid out onto the muddy dirt path. “I noticed a bear headed for the lake. Let’s get you inside.”

  “A bear? Here?” No way. Wild animals didn’t come close to houses…did they?

  He motioned toward the last cabin in the line. And there was a bear. Big and black and way too close. “Oh God.”

  Following the big animal were two balls of fluff. Cubs.

  Even a city girl knew mother bears were dangerous. She’d seen the movies.

  Backing up while watching the bear, she bumped into Gabe. “Sorry.”

  He took her arm again and guided her to her cabin. At the door, she fumbled for her keys…and dropped them.

  Gabe caught the key ring in midair—and didn’t she just feel like a clumsy idiot?

  Without saying anything, he opened the door and hung her coat on the hook. When he flicked the switch beside the door, the lamp
on the end table came on, bathing the room in a golden glow. After removing his boots, he went down on one knee and pulled off her muddy shoes.

  “Um, thanks.”

  As she moved toward the couch, he stopped her. “I want a look at your face in decent light. Be a good girl and go into the bathroom.”

  “But…” Her protest died at the set of his jaw. Maybe it was a police thing. Perhaps a cop needed to ascertain the extent of injuries to determine the correct charges.

  After turning on the bright lights over the sink, she gingerly lowered herself onto the closed toilet seat. Why did her ribs hurt when she sat? That seemed anatomically impossible.

  At least the stabbing pains had disappeared.

  Thumping sounds came from the kitchen. The chief appeared with a dishtowel wrapped around a baggie of broken-up ice.

  After giving her the improvised ice pack, he set his hand under her chin and tilted her head so he could get a look at her face. With gentle, but merciless fingers, he pressed on her sore cheek, making her eyes water again.

  “He got you good, but I don’t feel any loose bone fragments.” He lifted her hand to press the ice pack to her face. “Keep that there.”

  “Um. Thank you.”

  “Now let me see those ribs.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m not—”

  “Did you get an x-ray when it happened?”

  Pinned by his dark blue gaze, she couldn’t lie. “No.”

  “I’ll take a look. If you’re still this sore a couple weeks after being injured, then—”

  “How did you know how long it’s been?”

  “Bruises change colors as they heal. It’s not difficult to judge how long ago an injury occurred.” He squatted in front of her, his gaze unwavering. “Lift your shirt up for me, Julie.”

  With a sigh, she complied.

  “Take a deep breath.”

  As she pulled in air, his gaze flickered from her ribs to her face. “Pain?”

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Any trouble breathing? Do you get short of air?”

  She shook her head. “It hurts if I cough, but my breathing is fine.”

  His hands were warm and sure as he touched the bruise on her left side. “Tell me if this hurts.” He pressed on her rib cage, over the bruise, then on each side as he watched her face.