Page 39 of Her Wild Coast Refuge

“You want me to update Her Highness?” He raises his eyebrows.

I shake my head. “I’ll spare you.”

“I’ll get back to securing the fiber optics cable permit,” he says, looking gloomy.

“Are we getting closer?”

“I found a workaround. It’s expensive as fuck, though. Especially with our timeline.”

I shrug. “Make it so.”

We bump fists and he saunters from the room.

Brielle answers on the second ring. “I had no idea how…barren it would be,” she says, popping up on my screen in a white silk shell, her hair smoothed back in a twist. She’s seated at an outdoor table holding a delicate teacup. “Does it really require the whole barging program? Can’t we just fly everything in from Anchorage?”

“Possible, but not cost effective or practical given the winters. And we need a power source and fiber optics.”

She gives an exasperated huff, then sips from her cup, her red lips leaving a stain on the rim. She sets it in its saucer. “Is that why you called?”

“I need a few more days with engineering.”

She’s already started typing something, her manicured nails clicking furiously across the keys, but gives me a quick glance, her eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re not satisfied? They have their own seismic geophysics department, for God’s sake.”

I don’t even try to explain that projecting for climate change is completely unrelated to managing the risk of an earthquake.

“Keep me updated,” she says with a sigh, and ends the call.

I resist the urge to fling my laptop off the deck, despite how good that might feel.

Just a few more days.

Lexie arrives justas Quinn and I finish breakfast. The rain has stopped, revealing low clouds with sun breaks that shine golden on the verdant hillsides.

Today, Lexie’s towing a sturdy inflatable boat complete with oars behind the silver truck.

She jumps down. “You two ever fish for Kings?”

I give Quinn a glance, but his eyes are blank.

“Nope.”

“Then come with me,” Lexie says, grabbing several large fishing rods from the truck’s bed and striding for the road.

Across from our rental is an empty field of knee-high grass dotted with pink fireweed and baby willows. Lexie ducks between two sections of the run-down fence quick as a wink.

I trot across the street and wade through tall grass to the rusty fence wires. “Isn’t this trespassing?”

“We aren’t going to do any harm.”

I hold the wire for Quinn to duck under.

“What the hell are we doing?” he says. “There’s no creek over here.”

“We’re going to practice casting,” Lexie calls over her shoulder as she plies the tall grasses.

“Wait—kissing?” Quinn asks, a hopeful gleam in his eye.

“Casting, you moron,” I say. “Kissing’s off the list, remember?”

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