CHAPTER TWO

      THE SMELL OF bacon lured Sam into consciousness and started his mouth watering. He yawned and checked the clock. Almost noon. He considered turning over and going back to sleep, but his hunger overruled his exhaustion.

      The red flare gun rested on his nightstand, reminding him not to go stumbling into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. A houseguest. Just what he needed after a particularly exhausting hitch. The least Chris could have done was text him a warning that there would be a strange woman in his house. Or maybe he had. Did Sam remember to turn his phone on after the flight?

      Sure enough, a message waited when he powered up the phone.

      Gone fishing. Girl staying at the house a few days. Should be gone before you’re home.

      Apparently, Chris had lost track of Sam’s work rotation schedule, which wasn’t unusual. Chris had enough trouble keeping track of his own.

      If it were anyone but his sister, Sam might suspect Chris was setting him up. He’d been needling Sam lately about the scarcity of women in his life. But what was the point of dating when Sam spent half his life out of the country? And assuming everything fell the way he wanted, he would eventually get promoted to a full-time posting overseas, in Dubai or Norway or the UK. A girlfriend would only get in the way of his career. Chris knew that as well as he did.

      In the meantime, Sam was a supervising drilling engineer on the Siberian project, with a big fat budget and big fat expectations. Not bad for the kid who used to wear thrift-store clothes and eat on the free lunch program.

      Early on, Sam had learned not to ask for things he saw in the store, for new snow boots or a football, because whenever he did, his mom would get angry and mutter under her breath about Raynott. For a long time, Sam thought Raynott was a curse word, but it turned out to be a name.

      He’d only seen it written once, one day when he got off the school bus and picked up the mail on the way to the apartment. The landlord was there at the mailboxes, growling something about reminding his mom the rent was late, again. Like she didn’t know that. They were always late. Chances were they’d be moving on soon, the way they always did when landlords started getting persistent.

      The envelope on top had the name Raynott in the corner with a return address from some other state. When his mom opened it, Sam got a glimpse of a check, and for a moment, he believed in miracles. But Mom swore and tore the check into confetti, yelling something about blood money. He knew better than to ask questions when she was in a mood, so he kept silent.

      But that was a long time ago and he’d come a long way. He’d burned the mortgage on this house last year and had substantial equity in a property on the Kenai Peninsula. His job paid well, and according to his boss, Ethan, the company had big plans for him. And it was summer in Alaska, with four weeks off to play. Of course, thanks to Chris, he had a houseguest to consider. He caught another whiff of something cooking and his stomach growled, convincing him it was time to face his unexpected visitor. But first, he needed a shower.

      Fifteen minutes later, his hair still damp, Sam stepped into the living room. Chris’s sister stood behind the island, stirring a pot. Apparently, she’d taken him at his word to make herself at home. What was her name again? Dana, that was it. Today, she’d pulled her hair back into a ponytail, making her brown eyes appear huge. She favored him with a sheepish smile. “Good morning.”

      “Morning.”

      “About last night—”

      “Don’t worry about it.”

      “I’m so embarrassed. I don’t know why Chris didn’t tell me you’d be coming home.”

      “My travel schedule isn’t always reliable. Chris doesn’t keep track of exactly when I’m due in.”

      “Well, anyway, I’m sorry. Believe me when I say I don’t usually go around waving guns. I found a great fish shop this morning, and I’m making seafood chowder and smoked salmon BLTs for lunch. Are you hungry?”

      “Starving. But you didn’t have to cook for me.”

      “I like cooking. Coffee’s made if you want some.”

      Sure enough, fresh brew dripped into the pot of the coffee maker. Sam filled a mug and took his first sip. She must have picked up a quality blend somewhere. Much better than that instant powder Chris used, and a whole different animal than the vile stuff that passed for coffee at the rig. Dana popped some bread into the toaster. Today she wore a denim skirt and pink T-shirt. Pink seemed to be a theme with her. He went to perch on a barstool on the far side of the island and watched Dana assemble sandwiches.

      She worked with an economy of motion, slicing tomatoes, zesting a lemon, patting lettuce leaves dry. Within a few minutes, she had two professional-looking sandwiches arranged on plates, each with a bowl of creamy chowder. She set one in front of him and handed him a spoon. “Enjoy.”

      Sam bit into the sandwich. It had never occurred to him to pair salmon and bacon, but the result was amazing. The lemon mayo was the perfect counterpoint to the smoky flavors. He nodded as he chewed. “This is good.” He took another enthusiastic bite.

      “Thanks.” She set her plate in front of another barstool, but instead of coming around, she stopped to watch him, a little smirk on her face. “You really were starved, weren’t you? Would you like another sandwich?”

      Sam set what was left of his sandwich on his plate and grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth. You’d think after all these years he would have learned not to gobble. He no longer had to worry that he wouldn’t get enough food, that the other kids at the shelter would take his if he didn’t eat fast. Ursula’s efforts to civilize him had been met with mixed results.

      He