Single in Sitka (An Odds-Are-Good Standalone Romance Book 1) Page 3

  In situations like these, I only have one option: Bonnie.

  “I’ll call my sister to come pick her up.”

  “Very good,” says the nurse and hangs up.

  I sigh, annoyed that I’m spread so thin, and dial my sister’s number.

  “Luke?”

  “Hey, Bonnie,” I say. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  I am blessed when it comes to Bonnie. My parents, God rest their souls, were good, decent people, but my little sister is the best. She never says no if it’s even remotely possible for her to say yes. I am endlessly grateful to her.

  “Just got a call from Gilly’s school. She’s in the nurse’s office. Low-grade fever.”

  “I’m on it,” says Bonnie, shuffling papers in the background. “I’ll keep her here until you can get her after work.”

  “Sounds like you’re working yourself.”

  Bonnie has an at-home accounting business and manages to fit her workday in around the twins’ napping and sleeping schedule.

  “Nothing that can’t keep until the kids are asleep later.”

  I wince because picking up my daughter and caring for her this afternoon means my sister will be working tonight when she should be relaxing.

  “Sorry, Bonnie. I wouldn’t ask if—”

  “I know,” she says. “And by the way, I’m not complaining, Luke. I’m glad to help…”

  I feel a but coming in three, two, one—

  “But can I ask you something?”

  Here we go…

  “Of course.”

  “Have you given anymore thought to your long-term plan?”

  “Yes, I have. And I promise I’ll find a babysitter who can—”

  “That’s not what I mean,” says Bonnie. “You need to get back out there and meet someone. Someone who could be a partner to you…a mother to your kids.”

  This is well-trod ground between me and my sister, and I roll my eyes but hold my tongue. Bonnie waited a year before getting on my case about dating, but now that she’s got it in her mind that I need to meet someone? She’s relentless.

  “It’s not that simple, Bonnie.”

  “Well, Luke, it’s not that hard either. Don’t you miss having someone?”

  “I miss Wendy,” I answer honestly, but it’s only a partial truth.

  I do miss Wendy specifically, but I also miss having someone.

  My bed is so empty, cold, and lonely, I’ve considered getting a twin-sized instead. I haven’t sought out any “female” companionship since my wife’s passing. At first, I wasn’t interested, my natural instincts tamped down by grief. I can’t say that’s true anymore though. I miss a woman’s touch, her voice, her smile, even her things in the bathroom. But loving someone again just to lose her? No, thank you.

  “Of course you do. I miss Wendy. The kids miss Wendy. I hate it that the twins will never know her…but, Luke, you’ve got to be lonely. You need someone.”

  I’m standing in the hallway, just outside the classroom where I was teaching, and I lean against the wall, letting my head fall back and my eyes close as I confess, “I’d rather be lonely than lose someone else all over again.”

  “What happened to Wendy was terrible, Luke. But it was an accident. A freak accident.”

  “Yeah, well, it happened to me. To me, Bonnie, and however long it takes me to start moving again, to…to want to get involved with someone else again—”

  “What if it takes another year? What if it takes forever?”

  “Then I guess it takes forever,” I snap back, my eyes blinking open.

  “It doesn’t have to!” She sighs, lowering her voice back to normal. “Your attitude sucks.”

  I don’t reply because deep inside, I feel that as long as my kids are fed and clothed and I get my ass to work on time every day, I’m entitled to a shitty attitude. I was dealt a raw hand. I’m still sad. I’m still angry. And no matter what Bonnie thinks, I’m not ready to meet someone.

  “I can live with that,” I say, hoping this conversation topic is spent. “I’ll come and get Gilly from you after—”

  “Well, Luke…I can’t.”

  “You…can’t what?”

  “I can’t live with you like this…which is why I…well, I…”

  “Bonnie Jean.” The hairs on my arm stand up. “What did you do?”

  “Well, I could see that you weren’t getting anywhere on your own—Let Mama buckle you in, honey. There we go!—so I…” The twins are fussing in the background because my sister’s trying to get them settled in the car so she can drive over to the school to get my daughter. My hackles go down. Whatever she did, I’ll deal with it.

  “Did you set me up on another date, Bonnie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because I really can’t take another lonely widow talking about her dead husband. It’s too depressing.”

  “I know that. Besides, Sitka’s small, and you know everyone. If there was anyone you were interested in, you’d have already made a move…”

  Phew. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “…so I put an ad in the Odds Are Good magazine.”

  I step away from the wall, my eyes widening, my fist balling at my side. “You…what?”

  I hear her car ignition start. “You needed a push.”

  Lord love her, I’m going to kill her.

  The Odds Are Good magazine is well known in Alaska. It’s an online beefcake rag promoted to lonely hearts in the Lower Forty-Eight.

  Meet a hot mountain man!

  Your true love might be this lonely fisherman!

  Gatherer seeks hunter? Look no further!

  And that horrible tagline: The goods are odd, but the odds are good. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I am not…odd.

  “Back up, Bonnie Jean. What did you do?”

  “Well…you were just—I mean, you’re stuck, Luke. You’re lonely, and you need someone, and so do your kids. You won’t date anyone up here. I just—what’s a caring sister to do?”

  “Stay out of it!” I bark, thinking that fratricide sounds pretty good right about now. “Stop caring!”

  “Too late!” she barks back. “The responses are already pouring in.”

  “Responses? Dang it, Bonnie Jean—”

  “The reception’s bad, Luke…” She makes a hissing/crackling noise into the phone that is so phony, there’s no doubt it’s her. “I think I’m losing you.”

  “You’re not losing anything except your danged mind if you think I’m going to go out with some random—”

  “Oh, there it goes again!” More fake hissing. “Talk later?”

  “Dang it! Bonnie! Don’t you dare”—the line goes dead—“hang up.”

  One of my recruits opens the classroom door and peeks out at me. “Everything okay, Sarge?”

  “No!” I yell. “Get back in that classroom, recruit!”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” he answers, and the door slams shut.

  I pocket my phone and unclench my jaw by degrees.

  A personal ad? In the Odds Are Good?

  Kill me now.

  Damn my meddling, interfering sister anyway.

  The responses are already pouring in.

  Well, that’s all well and good, but I won’t be dating a one of them. Not a single one. Bonnie placed the ad, so she can deal with all the dang women who respond.

  It’s not my problem.

  You can’t kill your own sister. You can’t kill your own sister.

  I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head until my heart slows down. Then I take a deep breath and let it go slowly before reentering the classroom fixed to murder the next recruit who asks me an idiotic question.

  Chapter 3

  Amanda

  “What about your skinny jeans?” asks Leigh, who is helping me pack. “The ones from Old Navy? The ones you wear whenever…”

  I turn from my closet, where I’ve been pulling out clothes by the handfuls, a
nd look at her. “Whenever what?”

  “You know,” she says coyly, leaning back on my bed to refold an already neatly folded sweater. “Whenever you want to get lucky in the nucky.”

  “Lucky in the—?” I scoff. “Ha! My luck ran out in the conference room of the Seattle Sentinel yesterday.”

  My plane ticket to Sitka’s been purchased, and I rented a short-term apartment for the next two weeks in downtown Sitka. Luckily, there is an actual “bear problem” in Sitka. Over the past month, one dog was killed, and a family of four was intimidated when a bear approached them on a well-trodden hiking path outside of town.

  “Maybe,” says Leigh thoughtfully, “this is just what you need.”

  “How so?”

  “Come on, girl. I see you reading those ads.” She grins, but it’s not mean spirited. “Hot Alaskan Hunk Seeks Cosmo Cutie? Single in Sitka?”

  “Ugh,” I groan. “I thought I was being covert.”

  “You tried. I’m just too nosy for your feeble efforts.” She sighs. “Bryce checked out two months ago, and you haven’t gone on a date since. Maybe a trip to Alaska is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “That’s one crazy doctor.”

  She tries a different tact. “You know that Frumplestein’s got it out for us. He’d love to get rid of us and give our column to Kim. Well, we’re not going to give him that chance. Steve is gaga for this idea. We’re going to make it work, Manda.”

  “How?” I demand, turning to face her with both hands on my hips. “How are we going to make this work?”

  “You…are going to fly up to Sitka and stay there for a couple of weeks. Research bears. Meet hot men. Hopefully have some good sex with one of them and put Bryce behind you for good.”

  I can’t lie: I like the way she puts things.

  “And you…?”

  “I will find a venue for a bear event here in Seattle.”

  “What kind of event?” I ask, sitting down on the bed beside her. “A gala? A concert? Do you even know how to plan something on that scale?”

  “I can learn how to do anything I put my mind to,” she informs me. “And I was thinking…a carnival.”

  “A carnival? Are you serious?”

  “Why? You don’t like it?”

  “I…like it. What’s not to like? I just feel like Steve is expecting something bigger and fancier.”

  “Listen, I used to love my school’s carnival every year. I was thinking we could rent a lot, bring in the rides for two or three days. Put bears on all the ads and posters. Charge admission.” Her face is full and beautiful, and I don’t know if it’s her pregnancy or just the fact that Leigh emits a sort of supernatural confidence, but I feel myself growing calmer just listening to her speak: “And if Steve wants a tonier event, we can add a private cocktail party on the first night or something. But, yeah, I think it could work. I think it’ll be great.”

  “Hmm. Maybe you’re right.”

  “I am! I checked online this afternoon, and it really doesn’t seem that hard to put a carnival together. Space, date, permits, advertising. The carnival companies do all of the setup. I’m thinking June twenty-ninth to the thirtieth. Gives me six weeks to plan.”

  “What about baby?” I ask, covering her stomach gently.

  She presses her hand over mind. “He’ll sleep so much in the beginning, I bet I’ll be glad to have something to do!”

  My sister, who lives outside of Philadelphia, just had a baby, and her texts and emails are all about how much work it is. Then again, Cathy’s always been a complainer—a glass-half-empty sort of person—whereas Leigh’s glass is always overflowing.

  “If anyone can do it,” I say, “it’s you. And once I’m back and the column is written, I’ll help.”

  “Bet your ass you will,” says my friend with a chuckle. “Now let’s talk about Single in Sitka. Luuuuuuuke, right? I went back and read the ad after the meeting.”

  Hmm. Luke. Luke, Luke, Luke.

  I don’t know the first thing about him. Well, that’s not exactly true either. I know he’s four years older than me. I know he’s got three great kids. I know he’s sick of online dating. And thinks Tinder is completely gross. And you know what? So do I! And I’m lonesome too. I understand wanting someone to share a life with and needing to—

  “Ooo-eee! Your face just got hella moony, girl. All soft and dreamy and faraway.”

  “That ad was a week old.” I cut my eyes to her. “He could already be married for all we know!”

  “That would be a shame,” says Leigh. “Because I was thinking…as long as you’re going to be up there anyway, why not set up a meeting?”

  “What? No! Absolutely not!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because that’s so…desperate.”

  “It’s not desperate, it’s…it’s—okay, think of it this way: if you were on vacation, would you get a manicure? A massage?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe,” she scoffs, folding my jeans but keeping them on her lap. “Of course you would. So…think of meeting this guy like…like a vacation amenity.”

  “Leigh! He’s not a gigolo. He’s a single dad.”

  “And probably just as hard up as you.”

  “Gee, thanks. You make me sound oh so appealing.”

  “Girl, if you’d just get out of your own darn way, you’d see that you are appealing. What’re you? A size ten?”

  “Eight.” One good thing to come from my breakup? I dropped a full dress size.

  “You have great hair, big tits, decent style, and a cute butt. Come on! You have zero to lose.”

  “Hmm,” I say, eyeing my “lucky-nucky” jeans uncertainly.

  “‘Hmm’ good? Or ‘Hmm’ bad?”

  “‘Hmm’ maybe.”

  “Well, I’m going to the bathroom for the four hundredth time today, and while I’m in there, how about you turn that ‘Maybe’ into ‘Yes. Awesome. I’ll do it,’ okay?”

  Leigh heaves her body from the bed and waddles past me, headed to the hallway bathroom and leaving me alone for a moment.

  I catch my reflection in the mirror—dark-red hair up in a ponytail, bright-green eyes, and a size-ten, er, -eight body, complete with curvy hips, a symmetrical size-C rack, and a smattering of freckles across my nose. Maybe not gorgeous, but not bad either, in a 1940s pin-up sort of way. Good skin. Good teeth. Solidly attractive for a woman in her early thirties, I decide.

  Would it be so terrible to answer Single in Sitka’s ad?

  No, it’s not really my style to pursue a man so aggressively, but something’s drawing me to the Odds Are Good website, right? I’m only there for two weeks, so it’s not like anything could really happen between us. It’d just be a no-strings-attached fling. I could warm his bed, and he could warm mine. A couple of horny adults looking for a safe and better-than-average hookup.

  Hmm. I purse my lips at my reflection, thinking it over. Maybe Leigh’s right. I’m going to be up there anyway. What do I have to lose?

  “I know that look,” says Leigh, who’s been standing in the doorway to my bedroom for Lord knows how long. “It’s a good idea, right? Answering his ad?”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” I say, my cheeks warming a touch as I grin at her.

  Leigh glances at the bed, a slow smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Hey! Do I spy lucky-nucky jeans in that pile?”

  I shrug. “From what I hear, the goods are odd, but the odds are good.”

  Leigh throws back her head and chortles before slipping an arm around my shoulder and giving me a wet kiss on the cheek. “That’s my girl!”

  ***

  On Wednesday morning, I call a cab to pick me up at my rental apartment in downtown Sitka, and fifteen minutes later, I’m on my way to a local Sitka animal sanctuary: Fortress of the Bears.

  Hours of online research last night proved fruitful, and I’m excited to meet some bears (and their keepers) today. Founded in 2007, the Fortress of the Bears’ mission is to resc
ue orphaned cubs and care for them, with an eventual plan to release them back into the wild.

  I didn’t know this, but prior to 2007, rangers under the purview of the Department of Fish and Game were forced to shoot motherless cubs because there was no rehabilitation alternative in Alaska. Killing a cub was kinder than forcing it to live on its own with a skill set it didn’t have. Better to die quick than die slowly of hunger.

  Today, the Fortress hosts three black bears and six Alaskan Coastal brown bears, two of which were orphaned when their mother broke into a hotel kitchen and the chef was forced to defend himself.

  I can’t wait to see them in person.

  “Fortress of the Bear don’t open ’til nine,” says my cab driver. “Sure you want to go this early?”

  “Mm-hm. I have an eight o’clock appointment to meet with, um…” I check my notes. “Heather. She’s the—”

  “Head keeper. Heather Haines.”

  “You know her?”

  “I know everyone.”

  “Small island?”

  “Real small come winter.”

  Out the window to my right, there’s a large bay, and my eyes scan the dark-blue water for whales, having read that they often breech the surface of Sitka Bay.

  “Ever see any whales out there?”

  “Sure. Every day, near about. We got orcas and humpbacks. Few calves. Keep looking. You’ll see ’em.” He clears his throat. “You a biologist?”

  “Nope. I work for the Seattle Sentinel. I’m writing an article about the recent rise in bear attacks here in Sitka.”

  “Huh,” he says. “Didn’t know that news had hit the Lower Forty Eight.”

  “It has,” I say. “Would you like to make a comment? About the attacks?”

  “No, ma’am,” he says quickly, clamming up. “I ain’t got nothing to say.”

  I sigh softly, unlocking my phone. It’s not unusual for folks to get shy at the prospect of being quoted. Besides, the silence gives me a minute to check my phone for messages.

  Before Leigh would leave my apartment on Monday night, she made me respond to Single in Sitka’s ad. I wrote a short and sweet email, indicating I’d be in Sitka for a few days and wouldn’t mind getting together. But a peek at my email in-box informs me that Single in Sitka hasn’t responded yet.