Chapter 5

Valentine

I shiver as I roll out of bed and pull on the short cashmere robe I’d brought with me. It comes down only to midthigh but adequately covers the blue silk sleep shorts and cami I’m wearing, and there’s no one downstairs except Sarah to notice. I’d heard the three men leave about two hours ago after they finished their six A.M. breakfast, which still amazes me that they got up so early to head out to work. I’d had the good fortune to meet my fellow boarders last night at The Wounded Caribou, as it seems I’d met half the town. They all wanted to buy me drinks, but I stopped after two glasses of wine and left not long after. I heard my roommates come in well after midnight.

I know Mike, Portman, and Rusty were downstairs at six for breakfast because I’d heard them clomping down the stairs this morning and they weren’t subtle about it. I peeked out of my sleeping mask at the clock, then pulled it back down over my eyes, then covered my head with my pillow before going back to sleep.

Gingerly stepping across the chilly floor, I pull a pair of fuzzy socks out of one of my suitcases, which I still haven’t unpacked, and put them on before I step out of my room.

There’s no doubt I’ve totally missed the mark on the clothing I brought with me. I checked the weather averages and the daily highs all looked to be in the low seventies. I just assumed the mild weather extended into the evenings but apparently I was wrong. Thus the reason I’m not bothering to unpack my suitcases. I’ve been informed that while the days can be gorgeous and mild, but I didn’t realize the nights are could dip so drastically. Like down into the forties. This is a problem I intend to correct today when I figure out where I can go buy clothes. I’m guessing that’s going to be back in Ketchikan, and I’m not quite sure how I’ll get there.

My main priority right now though is to get a cup of coffee. It will help warm me up, because Sarah doesn’t believe in overheating her house, and then I can take Sassy out to do her business. Right now she’s curled up underneath the heavy quilted blanket that covers the bed and is content to remain there.

I pad down the stairs and turn right into the kitchen. Sarah told me to help myself to coffee in the morning, but I was left with the distinct impression that anything else in the house food or beverage-wise was off-limits unless it was provided at breakfast and dinner. This I get and it doesn’t offend me in the slightest. This is a bed-and-breakfast—well, boardinghouse—after all, and that’s all that is being offered for the price.

Smiling because I see there’s still half a pot of coffee left, I pour myself a cup and read the note that Sarah left for me on the counter. She apparently had to run some errands today but hoped to see me for dinner at six, which was salmon. My belly rumbles in anticipatory appreciation, and I make a mental note to perhaps hit the local grocery to stock up on bagels or something I can eat in the morning, since six A.M. breakfast is never going to happen for me.

After doctoring my coffee with cream and sugar, I head back to the staircase. I barely get my foot raised to hit the first step when there’s a knock at the front door.

I cringe because I know Sarah has a large, clear-paned window in her door that’s only four feet behind me. Turning, I cringe even further when I see Logan Burke on the other side of the door, grinning at me.

“Shit,” I mutter, and walk the two paces it takes me to get to the door and open it.

“Good morning,” he says pleasantly.

No…more than just pleasantly. Almost with gleeful humor to find me standing before him in my short robe and fuzzy socks, although to his credit, his eyes stay locked on my face.

“Good morning,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant he found me this way.

It’s only a little past eight in the morning and the air is still bitingly cold, causing my entire body to shudder so much my coffee laps at the edge of my cup. Logan pushes inward, forcing me to step back, and then shuts the door. I realize he did this because he saw that I was cold and that practically makes me swoon. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt that sensation.

“You really need warmer clothing,” he points out, again not looking anywhere but my face. Still, it causes me to flush slightly because he clearly got the entire package when I was getting ready to walk up the stairs just before he knocked.

Funny how last night every single man in The Wounded Caribou ogled me and made no bones about doing so. During most of our conversations the men stared at my boobs, and not once did that offend me or affect me in any way. But Logan keeps his eyes locked on my face, notices my body shudders because of the cold, and gallantly gets the door closed because it’s cold, and I get giddy like a little schoolgirl.

“I know I need clothes,” I say stiffly, because he knocks me off-kilter a bit. “It was on my to-do list today, but I wasn’t sure where to go.”

“Billiott’s Outfitters,” Logan says. “They have a wide variety of stuff, including warmer sleepwear.”

“Sarah owns a clothing store?” I ask incredulously, ignoring the sleepwear comment.

“Well, it was hers and her husband’s, but her daughter sort of runs it now after Caleb passed about a year ago,” he explains. “But Sarah goes in sometimes just to have something to do. Probably where she’s at now.”

“Oh,” I say softly and with sympathy that Sarah had a husband who died recently, and then again with relief. “Oh…but that’s awesome she has a store here. I was afraid I’d have to find a way back to Ketchikan.”

Logan gives me an apologetic look. “Well, it’s not in Ketchikan, but it’s not in East Merritt either. It’s about halfway in between.”

“Well, crap,” I mutter, thinking maybe I can ask Sarah if I can catch a ride with her tomorrow.

“I’ll take you there,” Logan says, and I’m so stunned I almost spill my coffee.

Still, my manners demand that I decline. “I can’t let you take your time to do that. You’ve done more than enough for me.”

“I have time today,” Logan assures me with a grin. “Now, if it was tomorrow, I wouldn’t have the time so I wouldn’t be able to, so take advantage of the offer.”

“Well, then…okay,” I tell him with a grateful smile. “What time?”

“Tell you what,” he says with a smirk, and this time his gaze travels down the length of my body. It’s not done leisurely, or with appreciation of the female form, but a quick look to verify what I’m wearing. A tiny shiver ripples up my spine and I don’t think that has anything to do with the cold. “I’m going to assume you didn’t have breakfast with your roommates this morning, because if you had showed up at breakfast wearing that, it would have been all over town by now. So go get dressed and I’ll take you to The Wounded Caribou to get something to eat first.”

I try not to read too much into what he just said, because it almost sounded as if the way I’m dressed right now would definitely be appreciated by all the men in the area, including him. Except he didn’t really come right out and say that, right? Was it so subtle I missed out on potential interest from the gorgeous chief of police?

But as I study him now, he just looks at me politely with his hands clasped behind his back, and not a hint of remote interest. That’s sort of disappointing, I guess.

“I have to get ready. Shower, hair, makeup. And I have to let Sassy out. I can be ready in, say…an hour and a half.”

Logan laughs.

At me.

Shaking his head but still grinning with amusement, he says, “You got fifteen minutes to have your butt in my truck. You can take a shower, but forget the fancy hair and makeup. You certainly don’t need it around here. I’ll take Sassy out for her morning constitutional.”

For a brief moment, I suspend the reality of what was just said to me and consider what I’d do if I were back in New York and a man told me to get my butt somewhere in a very short time.

I’d probably tell him to go to hell.

But for some reason, Logan’s high-handed ways don’t offend me. In fact—I think almost with horror and embarrassment—they kind of turn me on, and that is very strange indeed. Strange but intriguing, and didn’t I come here because things were just so damn boring back in the city? This was definitely something I had to analyze for the blog.

Blinking to clear my thoughts, I decide to go with it. “Let me go get Sassy for you, then I’ll hop in for a quick shower.”

“Excellent plan, Valentine,” he murmurs, and another shiver runs up my spine because, God, that sounded sexy.

“Valley,” I murmur back.

“Pardon?”

“Valley. I told you all my friends call me that. Or Val. Your choice.”

“You never offered that to me when we were introduced,” he says.

My eyebrows knit together. “I didn’t?”

But I must have. It’s my standard line when I meet people that I inherently know I’ll like. Weird I didn’t do that with Logan, because he was more than likable from the start since he offered me a ride.

“Oh,” I say with an apologetic dip of my head. “That was my bad. Please, call me Valley or Val.”

Logan just shakes his head as he smiles, his eyes boring into mine. “I’ll stick with Valentine.”

This causes my stomach to flip at the implication. “Are you saying we’re not friends?”

“No,” he says slowly with a chastising look. “I’m saying I like the name Valentine better. Now, hurry up…you’ve got thirteen minutes to get in my truck.”

I don’t waste time but turn around to climb the staircase, and I know it’s not my imagination, but I feel his heavy stare on me the entire way up.

Logan eats a hearty breakfast, and this wouldn’t ordinarily be a surprise because he’s a really big guy, but it actually is a surprise as he tells me this is his second breakfast. After he ordered a stack of pancakes with a side of bacon, he told me as much and grinned at my raised eyebrows. I’m not sure where he puts it all, because his stomach is as flat as the pancakes he’s eating.

At least from what I’ve been able to tell by his well-fit olive-green shirt, and I will not admit that police badge clipped to his belt is sexy and made me take stock of his lean hips.

My oatmeal and English muffin long finished, I sip my coffee and watch Logan eat. I realize that not once this morning has he pulled out a smartphone to check it a dozen times. In fact, he may not even own one. I’ve found the cellular service in this town to be awful. It’s almost nonexistent at Sarah’s place, but she did say I could hike about a quarter way up the mountain on the southeast side of town and I’d be guaranteed to get full bars. Luckily she does have Wi-Fi so I can at least communicate with emails and post my blog articles.

While we enjoy breakfast, Logan and I have an easy running dialogue where he entertains me with more stories about Ted and some of the other locals. I’d found out when we arrived at The Wounded Caribou that Ted was not a morning man and thus he entrusted the breakfast rush to his employees. This allowed Logan unfettered access to tell embarrassing stories about the man since he wasn’t here to defend himself. Regardless of the shameless way in which Logan told me these stories, you can tell he’s very fond of Ted and vice versa.

“So what’s your story, Logan?” I ask him, because until now, I’ve not really learned anything personal about him. He’s been funny, gregarious, outgoing, and open about everything to do with East Merritt and Alaska.

But not about himself.

I’m not taking this to mean he’s hiding something, but merely that he’s not one who likes to talk about himself. This is very much unlike the men I’m used to, who want to only talk about themselves.

Logan swallows his food and takes a sip of coffee. He wipes his mouth on his napkin and checks his watch. “Tell you what…we need to get a move on, as I have some stuff to do this afternoon. Let’s head out and I’ll tell you all about it on the way.”

And so we leave The Wounded Caribou after a delicious breakfast and I’m thinking rather than eating bagels each morning, I’ll be coming here instead. After Logan insists on paying for breakfast, calling it a “Welcome to East Merritt” kind of gesture, we head to Billiott’s Outfitters by taking the same road we came into town on yesterday.

“You were going to tell me how you came to East Merritt,” I say as I settle into my seat. I must have led quite a sheltered life in the city, because this is actually the first truck I’ve ever ridden in, obviously counting yesterday when he gave me a ride from the docks. SUVs for sure, but never an actual truck and I kind of like it. It makes me feel—I don’t know—a part of the scene or something. Everything about me has been out of place here, but right now, riding in Logan’s big truck under the big Alaska sky? It just feels right.

“Well, my story isn’t that exciting,” Logan says affably as he drives with just one hand on the wheel and his elbow resting on the door ledge. It’s a casual and relaxed position, which just sort of fits with the type of man I’m finding him to be. “I’m originally from Washington state and joined the Marine Corps when I graduated high school. Became a military policeman, and while I loved what I did, I knew the Corps wasn’t for me long term. So I got out when I was twenty-six and moved back west. Got a job with the Seattle Police Department for a few years, and then I saw this job open up and took it.”

“That sounds almost whimsical,” I observe. He makes it sound so carefree and spontaneous. Sort of a go-which-way-the-wind-blows sort of thing.

“Not really. I love law enforcement. That’s meant to be my career, but I did feel like something was lacking. And I also wasn’t tied to Seattle, and this job had a lot to offer me in terms of career growth. Add the fact I’d been to Alaska a lot throughout my life and it wasn’t that hard of a decision to take the police chief job. It doesn’t pay a lot, but the cost living is cheaper here so it all washes out.”

“Did you leave a lot of family back home?” I ask.

“Yeah, Mom, Dad, siblings…aunts, uncles, cousins. All around the Seattle area, but I get home a few times a year. It’s all good.”

“Ever been married?” I ask, and then jolt as I realize I asked a very personal question. And yet I can’t help myself. I haven’t noticed a ring, but that doesn’t mean anything today. Still, no backtracking now. “Or rather, are you married?”

Logan laughs. “Nope. Never been. You?”

“Nope,” I say with a laugh.

“Thought I was going to at one time,” Logan says conversationally, and there’s neither sadness nor bitterness in his tone. Just an easy acceptance of the way things turned out. “Was really serious about a girl back on the East Coast I’d been seeing when I was stationed there. When I decided not to stay in the Marine Corps, it was sort of do or die for us to decide where we wanted to take the relationship. I wanted her to come west with me, and she wanted me to stay back east with her. I actually considered proposing, but I didn’t. It was clear that we didn’t want the same things in life, and where to live is an important thing.”

I’m amazed at how grounded Logan sounds as he tells me the story of lost love, which isn’t really a concept I can understand from personal experience, but I’ve had a lot of friends in love and I’m a keen observer. I’ve dated men monogamously and sometimes for months. But I never fell hard for any of them, and I just assume there’s probably something about me that’s not quite broken, but maybe just off. I know I sure as hell didn’t have good parental role models, as both my mother and father have cheated on each other so many times I can’t keep them straight. But they’d never divorce. Not when so much money is at stake. So they just quietly step out on each other and pretend the other doesn’t know, when really…everyone knows. I’m not stupid enough to think that’s how all relationships are, but I’m also just not that curious to find out otherwise either.

Maybe I’m just a complacent dater.

“How old are you?” I ask curiously.

“Thirty-seven,” he says as he puts his blinker on to make a left-hand turn into a small gravel parking lot that I hadn’t noticed yesterday. “You?”

“Thirty-one,” I tell him as he starts to make his turn. “Which once you’re past thirty, it seems that all women think either their life is over or they are way behind on meeting their goals.”

“Do you feel like that?” he asks as he brings his truck to a stop and kills the engine.

“Not at all,” I tell him with an assured smile. “I like where I am in life.”

“Me too,” he says with an answering smile.

We get out of the truck and I look up to the wooden sign that proclaims this log building is Billiott’s Outfitters. It has a picture of a lumberjack wearing flannel and overalls, holding an ax. I hope to God they have more than that in there.