“Maybe not every love-starved female,” he conceded to his canine companion. “But too many.”
Several had made a play for him, which just proved their desperation.
Still, a few of his buddies were now engaged or married because of that influx of females. They seemed happy about it, too. Not that he gave a frozen frog about love or marriage. He was too busy trying to keep the peace amongst all the ones who did.
Turning down Treasure Creek Lane, the town’s main thoroughfare, he eased the Explorer over the snow-dusted street and into a parking spot outside the brightly painted facade of Alaska’s Treasures tour company. Amy’s business matched the other rustic-looking buildings—bright paint, clapboard and turn-of-the-century style.
Treasure Creek remained much as it had been in the Gold Rush Days. So much so that a man could close his eyes and imagine the rinky-tink of piano and the clip-clop of horse hooves that had filled the town a hundred years ago.
He climbed out of the SUV and sucked in the chilly smell of snow coming down out off the mountains. Treasure Creek enjoyed mild winters, comparatively speaking, and today’s temperatures around freezing felt almost balmy. Black night would be upon them soon, and even now the streetlights sent a weak glow over the piles of shoveled snow. Dark or light, tired or rested, duty called the sheriff of Treasure Creek.
Amy employed a tight-knit group. The guides and office staff would want to know about the break-in.
“Come on, boy,” he said to the waiting dog.
Cy leaped happily to the ground and shook out his fur, eager for exercise. His warm breath puffed gray around his muzzle as he hopped onto the curb. Reed moved more slowly, as tired today as he’d been as a teenager when he’d labored long hours on the freezing deck of a crab boat.
As far as his father, Wes Truscott, was concerned, his son was a dead weight who should be able to earn his keep. Reed had then, and he would now. Treasure Creek depended on him to keep its citizens safe. And that included Ben’s widow.
Inside the small office of Alaska’s Treasures tour company, he was greeted by the toasty, warm smell of fresh coffee and the friendly smile of Rachel Adams, Amy’s receptionist. His belly growled, a reminder that his last meal had been somewhere around six this morning at Lizbet’s Diner. Granny Crisp would have a hot meal in the microwave if he ever made it home.
“Amy’s place was broken into,” he said without fanfare.
Rachel’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no! Is she okay?”
“Fine.” His answer was curt. “For now.”
Gage Parker, one of the best search-and-rescue guides in the business, unwound himself from a chair where he’d been jotting notes on a yellow tablet. Next to him was his new wife, Karenna, and baby Matthew, Gage’s nephew. The baby was trying to walk, holding on to the leather sofa as he toddled around.
Cy, who’d been waiting patiently next to Reed, ambled over and sniffed the little guy with interest. Matthew gurgled happily and patted the dog’s head with an awkward baby pat. Gage and Karenna looked at each other with besotted smiles, as if no baby had ever done anything quite this adorable. The trio looked so right for each other, Reed got that heartburn feeling in his belly again. Love did weird things to people.
“What do you mean, for now?” Karenna asked, pulling Matthew into her arms.
“You know Amy. Too trusting for her own safety.”
Gage snorted softly. “Typical.”
The two men exchanged glances. Here, at least, was someone who understood Amy’s propensity for being just a little too independent. He still didn’t understand why she got all huffy when he’d asked her to move in with him and Granny. The idea made perfect sense. Staying in that rickety old house of hers made exactly none.
By now, Rachel was out from behind the desk and passing the cubicles as she headed toward the back of the office where another door led into the meeting room. There, guides and Amy met to plan tours, hash out problems and otherwise run the business of taking tourists into the Alaskan wilderness. As Reed followed the blonde receptionist, the smell of coffee increased. Maybe he could snag a cup. Amy always offered. And if he was real lucky, there might be a donut or two back here with his name on them.
Rachel opened the door and hollered, “Hey, everyone, Amy’s house was broken into.”
The announcement was met with a sudden, stunned silence before chaos broke out. A chorus of concerned voices began asking questions Reed couldn’t answer and expressing their general outrage that anyone would do such a thing—to Amy James, of all people. Amy, who was using everything she had to solve the town’s financial crisis. Amy, who planned to donate her great-great-grandfather’s treasure—worth an unknown fortune—to the town’s coffers without a thought to herself. Amy, who was too stubborn to let him take care of her.
Reed took the final thought captive. He was still smarting from Amy’s blunt, annoyed refusal. The truth hurt, but he got the point. Amy didn’t want to be that close to him. But there was more than one way to keep his promise to protect Miss Independence. He knew Amy’s employees, considered them friends. They had come to her assistance after Ben’s death, and they’d stand by her now.
After a minute of noise, Reed raised one hand. “She’ll need help cleaning up.”
A tiny smile pulled at his lips. He’d feel a lot better knowing she had an army of friends on the lookout.
Before he left Amy’s house, he’d found boot prints in the snow beneath her bedroom window, a fact he’d shared with Amy. Even that hadn’t convinced her to move to his place. Instead, she’d flounced upstairs, come back down with a baseball bat and declared the puny thing an adequate weapon. By that point he’d given up.
He’d snapped some photos of the imprints, dusted the windowsill and other likely areas for fingerprints, but he didn’t hold out a lot of hope of discovering who the perpetrator was anytime soon. He’d also personally locked every open window and relocked the doors. And he’d phoned the local handyman to fix the broken window in Amy’s bedroom.
No matter what Amy said, she needed more than a baseball bat and her faith in God. If God was looking out for her best interests, why had the house been broken into in the first place? And why had Ben died on those rapids? Why hadn’t Reed been able to get to him in time? He’d played the scene over in his head until he was nuts, and he still couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been able to save his best friend.
Guilt was a wicked companion.
Glass tinkled against glass as the willowy blonde and emminently elegant Penelope Lear swept a pile of shards onto a dustpan held by her sandy-haired fiancé, Tucker Lawson.
Penelope paused, one hand on Tucker’s shoulder. The pair didn’t have to say a word for everyone in the place to see how much in love they were. Though only recently engaged, Tucker and Penelope were a match made in heaven. And in the Alaskan wilderness.
“I don’t understand why someone looking for the treasure would have to break your fine glassware,” Penelope said to Amy, her tone totally disgusted.
Amy, busy sorting the ruined food from the salvageable, exchanged amused glances with Casey Donner, one of her guides and a dear friend. Both women were as practical as rain boots. Though a dear and gentle heart, Penelope was born a city girl, a wealthy socialite whose tastes ran to the finer things in life. Since coming to Treasure Creek, she’d toughened up considerably, following a wilderness trek that had almost cost her her life. Still, her expensive haircut and manicure were signs that Penelope would always enjoy the best. Amy’s dollar-store tumblers probably weren’t on Penelope’s wedding registry.
“Don’t worry about the dishes, Penelope. I’m just glad my boys are okay.”
“Oh, Amy.” Penelope’s face paled. “I get a chill thinking