Crystal Caress. Zuri Day
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any objections, she hurriedly continued, “Off the record, if you’d like. I’m not on the clock right now.”
He took a swig of beer. “It’s not the same experience as that of kids in the lower 48.” He eyed her and smiled warmly. “And probably much different than yours.”
She nodded as the bartender brought her lemonade, took a sip and asked, “In what way?”
“It’s a simpler life, calmer life. Lots of outdoor activities—hunting, fishing, skiing, boating, the dream life for any kid. My family would take road trips to Portage, Twentymile or any number of other glaciers, or go bear and deer hunting in Prince William Sound.” At her slight grimace, he continued, “I know. For most it’s not politically correct, but in Alaska, killing animals is not only a way of life but for some a necessity to survive. The native people wouldn’t have made it had it not been for the food the animal provided and the trade its fur maintained.”
She nodded. “I understand. My great-great-grandfather was part of the gold rush, and passed down adventurous stories of killing bears and catching fish with his hands. My grandfather still lives in Louisiana, my family’s home state, and loves to fish and hunt, as do some of my brothers.” His expression was mysterious. “What?”
“I would have never guessed we’d have something in common.”
“See, books can’t always be judged by their covers.”
“Obviously.” She detected a slight lowering of his privacy wall. “It’s not only the hunting and fishing background our families share. Gold is what brought my ancestors to Alaska.”
Over the next hour, Teresa learned about the Athabascan, Yupik and Inupiat peoples, as well as some cultural places she might find interesting. By the time they’d finished dinner, Teresa thought Atka had more than earned it and insisted on buying their meals.
“You saved me from a boring dinner with my smartphone,” she joked, casting the smile that had melted a thousand hearts. “I enjoyed your stories and appreciate all you shared.” She also appreciated that because of his eventual comfort with sharing his culture, very little had to be shared about herself.
“I enjoyed the conversation, as well, and while I appreciate your generosity, paying for my meal is unnecessary. I eat here often and have a running tab.” He stood. “It was nice to meet you, Teresa. Good luck on your assignment.”
“Thank you, Atka. It was great meeting you, too.”
She watched him walk out and noticed more than a few pairs of female eyes watching him, too. A tall, tanned, sexy Alaskan? Call her stupid, but really, who knew?
She flagged over the bartender. “Everything was delicious. Can I get my bill?”
“Already taken care of, pretty lady.”
“By whom?”
“Atka.” He winked. “I’m glad you enjoyed.”
Atka. For the rest of the night that name and the face attached to it weren’t far from her thoughts. He was interesting, mysterious and seemingly not at all interested. She’d tossed out a few hints during the evening, and even though she’d learned he was in the fishing business, he’d not bitten once. Not even a nibble. Paid for her meal, and hadn’t wanted anything in return. She’d not met anyone quite like him, and wished she’d thought to give him her card. It probably wouldn’t have mattered. Crazy, but the thought of never seeing him again caused her a twinge of sadness.
The next morning, however, duty called. During the ninety-minute flight from Anchorage to Dillingham, Teresa tweaked her article on Paul Campbell, juggling how to portray him as an Alaskan political mover and shaker within the confines of a human-interest story. Dicey journalistic terrain, but Teresa found a way to traverse it.
By the time they landed, she felt the piece was nearly perfect. She decided to get settled in at the bed-and-breakfast— which, after discovering there were no hotels there, the newspaper had located and secured—then finish and send the article and then, if time allowed, do a little sightseeing and picture-taking. Photos always enhanced a story, and Teresa had to admit that some of the scenery was breathtaking.
It took her longer than anticipated to finish the article, but thanks to the long Alaska days this time of year, there was still plenty of sunlight. Teresa ate a light meal, layered her clothing, grabbed her camera and set out for the Dillingham attractions that Atka had suggested. Ten minutes into the boat ride to the State Game Sanctuary on Walrus Island erased all of Teresa’s preconceived notions about disliking Alaska and not looking forward to arriving at the last frontier. She’d even jokingly called it “my first and last time there,” when Jennifer had referred to Alaska by its nickname. But the scene before her—crystal-blue water, fluffy white clouds and varied shades of terrestrial greenery—was postcard perfect. She took picture after picture, totally captivated by the uncorrupted beauty. Her transportation resembled less the yacht on which she last hit the water and more the fishing boat her grandpa used when catching crawdads in Louisiana, yet the sights were so magnificent that she truly didn’t mind. She was as surprised as anyone would have been. She didn’t like fishing boats or crawfish.
After one of the most peaceful afternoons she’d had in a very long time, the adventuresome child who’d run barefoot across her grandfather’s lawn had reemerged from an obscure place in Teresa’s past. She returned to town and continued her explorations. The town itself failed to hold her interest. In terms of population, Paradise Cove wasn’t that much larger, although the B and B manager said fishermen and tourists swelled the numbers during the summer months. He also told her of a few sites she could check before visiting the fisheries tomorrow, so she rented a scooter and, per the B and B manager, went traipsing to a spot he said offered spectacular landside views.
He was right. She scooted and snapped, and for the first time since meeting him forgot about Atka, forgot about not having had a serious relationship in almost a year and, more importantly, she forgot George, the reason why she’d taken a break from dating. So absorbed was she in doing her job, at first she didn’t realize the temp had dropped and it had started to snow, a fact that made the landscape appear even more magical.
She looked beyond her and saw a small crest that would afford her a perfect image of the town for her corresponding story. Just one more shot.
The terrain became too rough for the scooter, so she placed it by a tree and continued on foot. Reaching her destination, she climbed the low precipice and quickly snapped several shots. Stepping back and crouching down, she maneuvered the camera so that the main buildings, surrounding terrain and water could all get in the shot. One more step back and she’d have it.
That one step back sent her careening down a trench that had gone unnoticed, twisting her foot in a way that caused so much pain she temporarily blacked out.
Atka stopped and breathed in the crisp evening air. Here, on the outskirts of this small town amid lightly falling snow, he almost felt at peace again. As if the call from his mother that had him miss spending the day hunting with his grandfather and instead backtracking to Anchorage barely a day into his minivacation wasn’t enough, the woman he’d met last night—after being assured that his mother’s chest pains were just a bad case of gas—had caused a special kind of torture. On one hand, he hated that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. On the other, hers was the kind of face he hoped never to forget.
Forget it, Atka, he told himself. A city girl like her would never want a frontier guy like you.
A thud. He knew he’d heard one, or something, just ahead of him. But he was here now, at the precipice that had been his destination, a quiet area on the outskirts of Dillingham—or Curyung, as it was called in Yupik— where he could almost always count on spotting some of the more than two hundred species of birds that inhabited the state. Sure enough, he’d seen both a brown-winged sparrow and a black-backed woodpecker and had