Once she had her teaching certificate, she could find a job at the high school in her hometown. And, of course, do her other job of making sure her mother’s house didn’t become so packed with junk as to become dangerous. When Dad was alive, he’d insisted all Mom’s stuff had to hide in the spare bedrooms or in the basement. The living room, kitchen and garage were off-limits as storage areas. But over the last month or two, Dana had been seeing an ominous number of bags and boxes starting to gather in the main rooms, faster than she could return them.
She shook her head. One problem at a time. First Chris. Then this Petrov guy. Once all that was straight, she could worry about her mother.
On her way back to the car, Dana strolled through the flower gardens in the town square. She loved flowers. Her yard in Kansas overflowed with perennials like coneflowers, irises and yarrow, but they seemed understated compared to the vivid flowers here. Who would have thought they’d bloom so well this far north? Dahlias as big as her head sprung up behind colorful clusters of snapdragons, edged with some sort of flowering cabbage and carpets of tiny blue flowers.
The people downtown seemed to be an interesting combination of tourists, office workers and shoppers. They all looked purposeful and happy. Did any of them have crazy mothers and uncooperative runaway brothers? Or was that just her?
She shrugged. It was a beautiful day. She couldn’t do anything until Chris came back, anyway, so she might as well put it out of her mind and enjoy her time in Anchorage. She pulled out her phone to snap a selfie in front of the fountain surrounded with magenta geraniums. Someday she might want it to remember the time she went to Alaska.
* * *
SAM TRANSFERRED A load of clothes from the washer to the dryer. The house was oddly silent without Chris or Kimmik rummaging around. It didn’t usually bother Sam to be alone, but for some reason, today was different. It was after five. Wonder where Dana had gotten to? Hopefully she wasn’t lost or anything.
He frowned. Dana wasn’t helpless. In fact, two days ago, she’d threatened to shoot him. It was highly unlikely she’d come to any harm on a nice day downtown, surrounded by people. And yet here he was, worrying about her. Maybe Chris was right—Sam hadn’t been out with a woman for too long. He needed to get a grip.
He was pulling the warm clothes from the dryer when he heard the garage door opening. He carried the basket upstairs, reaching the living room just as Dana bounced into the kitchen. Her bright smile assured him his worries were groundless.
“Hi. How was your meeting?” She reached into the basket and started folding a towel as if folding clothes together was something they did every day.
“Fine. How was your day?” He pulled a pair of jeans from the basket.
“Great. You were right. I loved the coastal trail and the hot dog was excellent.” She set down the towel and reached for what had once been a white T-shirt but was now faintly gray. “You really shouldn’t wash darks and lights together.”
Sam shrugged. “Probably not, but I just want to get it done. I hate laundry.”
“Really?” She smoothed the T and folded it into a neat square. “I like folding laundry.” She held up the shirt and sniffed. “I may be mildly addicted to the smell of dryer sheets.”
Sam couldn’t help a little smile. Dana chattered on about the wildlife and scenery she’d seen during her hike as they worked, and before he knew it, the entire load lay neatly stacked in the basket. He had to admit, folding laundry wasn’t nearly as boring with good company.
“Thanks. So, how about dinner at Moose’s Tooth?”
“Moose’s Tooth? What’s that?”
“A mountain.” He grinned. “More importantly, a pizza brewpub named after the mountain.”
“Sounds great.”
* * *
AS USUAL, MOOSE’S TOOTH had a long line of folks waiting for a table, so he and Dana sat at the bar temporarily. The waiter gave Sam a calculating look before he delivered their drink orders. Dana took a sip of her raspberry wheat microbrew. “Nice.” She set the glass down and leaned forward. “So, tell me what you do in Siberia.”
“I supervise a drilling program.”
“Okay, but what does that mean?”
Sam tried to explain the job as briefly as possible, but she kept asking questions and he found himself telling her more details about his work than he’d ever told anyone. When a table finally opened up for them, he realized he’d been doing all the talking.
“Sorry. I usually don’t monopolize the conversation like this. I’m sure I’m boring you.”
“No, you’re not. I had no idea how much engineering went into drilling oil wells. What happens after the well test?”
“If it’s good, we put the well on production. If not, we try to figure out why and fix it. But that’s enough about my work. Tell me what you do.”
“I worked in the office for my dad’s business, an equipment and tool rental company.”
“Worked?”
She shrugged. “I don’t work there anymore. I have my degree in math, as a teacher. I really loved being in the classroom during my student teaching, but Dad wanted me in the business, so I did that instead. It was okay, but I plan to teach now.”
So, her father insisted on choosing her career. Controlling. Maybe that’s what drove Chris away. The waiter came to take their order. “Another beer?”
Dana shook her head. “I’m still on this one.”
“I’ll have a root beer.” Once the waiter left, Sam turned back to Dana. “So, do you have a teaching job lined up?”
She gave a little head shake. “I’ll need to take some courses to get recertified. But tell me more about Alaska. Did you grow up in Anchorage?”
Sam nodded. “I was born in Fairbanks, but we moved here when I was in elementary school.”
“What is Fairbanks like?”
“Smaller than Anchorage. Inland, on the Chena River, so warmer in summer, much colder in the winter. I went to the University of Alaska there.”
“Is it as green as Anchorage?”
“It’s nice, at least when the temperature’s above zero. Lots of cottonwoods growing along the river. It looks like a summer snow there sometimes when the trees are shedding.”
“We have cottonwoods in Kansas, too, but it’s not this green and rugged. You’re so lucky to be a Native Alaskan.”
“I am, although, it comes with its own set of challenges. Sometimes people make assumptions.”
“Challenges.” She looked puzzled, but then her eyes widened. “Oh, because you’re Native American... I only meant you were born in Alaska.”
“Oh.” Sam looked down at the table. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t be. So you’re an Alaska Native?”
“One-quarter Inupiat.” At her blank expression, he grinned. “Eskimo.”
“Eskimo, really?” A slow smile spread across her face. “I think that’s pretty cool. Do you have a lot of special traditions or food or anything?”
He shook his head. “Not me, personally. It was on my dad’s side and I never knew him. My mom wasn’t Native, so I don’t know much about it.”
The waiter returned with his