Page 27 of Her Wild Coast Promise

“Is that what keeps you here?” she asks as I turn onto the main thoroughfare.

“Partly.”

“Sounds like a story.”

“It’s better with beer.” I turn into the strip mall.

“Perfect,” she replies.

At the entrance of Mountain High Pizza, I just manage to stop myself from touching her lower back to usher her inside. Fist clenched, I follow her to the counter.

“It smells amazing in here,” Cora says, unzipping her coat. We wait behind a group ordering at the counter. Scents of oregano and rich tomato fill my senses. Cora’s right, but if she hadn’t mentioned it, would I have slowed down enough to appreciate it?

The pizzeria’s owner, a barrel-chested retired fisherman named Bart Truett, greets me with a fresh order sheet at the counter. Behind him, his crew of minions are a blur of activity making pizzas and sliding them into the wood-fired oven in the back of the kitchen.

Bart plucks the pencil from behind his ear. “What’ll it be tonight, deputy?”

I glance at Cora. “What do you like?”

She scans the menu hanging behind Bart. “You want to split one? Or get our own?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you order.”

Her eyes brighten. “Okay.” She turns back to Bart. “We’ll get a large with half Hawaiian with olives and peppers, the other half sausage, chicken, and pesto with extra mozzarella.”

“And two Moose Drools,” I add.

“Water, too, please,” Cora says while I hand Bart my credit card.

“Comin’ right up,” Bart replies, sliding the pencil back behind his ear before handing off our order sheet to his crew. “Grab a table and I’ll bring your drinks.”

Cora weaves through the crowded room to a table in the far corner. Without asking, she takes the seat facing the wall so I can have the one facing the restaurant. Sometimes I forget she’s savvy to a cop’s view of the world. Maybe because she’s vibrant and pretty and fluent in French of all things, and the opposite of jaded. It humbles me sometimes, in a good way.

We’re seated just long enough to take a breath when Bart brings our beers and waters.

“Pizza’s comin’ in four minutes or less,” he says, and dashes off.

Cora and I lift our beers and tap rims. “Welcome to Alaska.”

She smiles. “Thank you for picking me up.”

We sip. The cold beer quenches my raw throat, but watching Cora swallow sends another pulse of heat down my back. Under the table, I rub my thumb against my index finger to distract myself. I need to get better at resisting her or this idea we hatched is going to unravel.

“So, this story?” she asks.

I tear my gaze from watching her little tongue slip back inside her mouth. “Right. Growing up here, I didn’t really appreciate it. When I left for the military, I expected to love traveling and seeing new places. But there’s a lot of sand in the Middle East, and though the sky is beautifully blue, I’m just not wired for hot, dry desert climates. When I left the service, I knew exactly where I belonged. Back in the mountains.”

I sip my beer. It’s weird to think of me back then. Weary from combat and the constant vigilance of living in a war zone. Ready for a new start. When Chief Kauffman offered me a job and that the department would pay for my academy, I signed without a second thought.

It reminds me of my pledge to do right by him. To run the department the way he trained me, and to win the election so I can continue doing so.

“Your parents are still here, right?” Cora asks, setting down her glass.

“They moved to Juneau last year when Mom’s arthritis got bad. They have a really great care facility there, and Dad lives across the street at a Senior Living Center. They spend just about every minute of the day together.” I don’t share that one of the nurses walked in on them kissing in Mom’s room.

She gives me a pensive glance. “That must be hard with them living so far away.”

“I visit every month or so. They’re doing better than they would here. The winters are too cold and wet. Dad’s eyesight is declining and he doesn’t like to drive anymore. In Juneau, he doesn’t have to. Everything is close by. The library, a sports pub, a grocery store, the pier so he can still fish if he wants.”

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