“You’re joking.” Sawyer’s eyes narrowed as he studied his longtime friend.
Ben’s heavy shoulders shook with silent laughter. “So that’s the way it is.”
“Which way is that?” Sawyer challenged.
“She’s already got you hooked. In no time, you’ll be just like all the others, fighting for the pleasure of her company.”
Sawyer snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous! I just hope we don’t have any more women arriving with families in tow.”
Ben’s mouth fell open. “You didn’t know about the kids?”
“Nope. Christian didn’t, either, from what she said. Ms. Sutherland claims she didn’t get a chance to tell him.”
“Well, no one’ll have a problem with a couple more kids in Hard Luck,” Ben commented.
“That’s not the point.”
Ben frowned. “Then what is?”
“The cabins. Abbey can’t live in one of those cabins with her children.”
Ben leaned against the wall with Sawyer. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what are you going to do?”
“No idea.” Sawyer shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “It isn’t like there’s a house available for us to rent.”
“Catherine Fletcher’s place is vacant.”
Sawyer shook his head. He wouldn’t even consider approaching Catherine’s family, and he doubted his brothers would be willing to do so either, regardless of the circumstances.
The bad blood between the two families ran deep. It would take a lot more than needing an empty house to wipe out forty years of ill will.
Catherine Harmon Fletcher was in poor health now, and in a nursing home in Anchorage, close to her daughter.
Ellen, Sawyer’s mother, had suffered so much unhappiness because of Catherine. But she no longer lived in Hard Luck either. She’d remarried and had relocated to British Columbia, as happy as Sawyer had ever known her. He didn’t begrudge his mother her new life. He figured she deserved it after all the miserable years she’d endured.
“What about Pearl’s? She’s going to be moving in with her daughter,” Ben reminded him.
Sawyer hated to see the older woman go, but she’d told him it was time for her to move on, especially now that her friends had mostly left.
“Pearl’s not leaving until we hire a replacement and she’s had the opportunity to train her,” Sawyer said.
Ben mulled over the problem for several minutes. “What about the lodge?” he asked. “I know it’s been years since anyone’s stayed there, but—”
“The lodge?” Sawyer repeated. “You’re joking!”
“It’d take a little work….”
“A little work!” Sawyer knew he was beginning to sound like a parrot, repeating everything the other man said, but the idea was ludicrous. The lodge was in terrible shape. It would take months of hard work and thousands of dollars to make it livable. If it hadn’t been so much trouble, they would have refurbished it, instead of dealing with the cabins. But those, at least, were in one piece.
A fire had burned part of the lodge the year their father died, and not one of the three brothers had ever had the heart to get it repaired.
Their mother had always hated the lodge, which had become a symbol of everything that was wrong with her marriage, and she’d used the fire as an excuse to close it completely. If it’d been up to him, Sawyer would’ve torn the place down years ago. As it was now, the largest building in town stood vacant, a constant reminder of the father he’d loved and lost.
Ben wiped his forehead. “Yeah. The lodge wouldn’t work. It’s a shame, really.”
Sawyer wasn’t sure if Ben was talking about the abandoned lodge or Abbey’s situation.
There was no easy solution. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he muttered.
Ben was silent for quite some time, which was unusual for him. He studied Abbey and the children, then turned to Sawyer. “I guess you could send her back.” His voice was carefully casual.
“I know.”
“Is that what you plan to do?”
Sawyer felt a twinge of regret. “I can’t see that we have any choice, do you?”
“It’s a simple misunderstanding,” Ben said. “No one’s to blame. She should’ve told Christian about the kids.”
The twinge had become an ache, and it didn’t want to go away. “Maybe Christian should’ve asked.” But it didn’t matter; she was here now, there was no place for her to live and he had to deal with it.
Better Abbey should return to Seattle immediately, Sawyer reasoned, before he found himself making excuses for her to stay.
Chapter 4
Sawyer knew he wouldn’t be winning any popularity contests around Hard Luck if he announced that Abbey Sutherland and her children had to leave. The best way to handle the situation, he decided after giving it serious thought, was for Abbey to back out of the contract on her own—with a little help from him.
He waited until everyone had finished eating before he worked his way over to the table where she sat with Pearl. “I’ll show you to your cabin now,” he offered.
She looked up at him uncertainly, as if she wasn’t quite sure of his motives. “I’d appreciate that.”
“Sawyer,” Pearl said, placing her hand on his forearm.
Sawyer already knew what the older woman was about to say. Like him, Pearl must have realized immediately that Abbey and her children couldn’t live in a dilapidated old cabin outside town.
“When can I meet your dog?” Scott asked eagerly.
“Soon,” Sawyer promised. Eagle Catcher didn’t take easily to strangers; the husky wouldn’t allow the boy to come near him until after two or three visits. Sawyer decided he’d bring Scott over to the house that evening and show him Eagle Catcher’s pen. But the kid would be long gone before the husky accepted him as a friend.
“I’d like to see the library, too, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Abbey said.
“Of course,” Sawyer said in a friendly voice, but a shiver of guilt passed through him. When he’d last spoken to his mother, he’d told her they’d hired a librarian. Ellen had been excited to learn that her gift to the town was finally going to be put to use.
Sawyer squeezed the four of them into the cab of his pickup and drove down the main road. There were a couple of short side streets, but none that anyone had bothered to name.
“What’s that?” Susan asked, pointing to a small wooden structure that stood outside the mercantile. She giggled. “It looks like a little house on stilts.”
“It’s called a cache. We use it to store food and keep it safe from bears and other marauding animals.”
“Alaska’s got lots of bears,” Scott murmured as if he was well versed in the subject. “I read about them in the books Mom brought home from the library.”
“How come the cache has legs that look like they’re wearing silver stockings?” The question came from Susan again.
“That’s tin,” Sawyer explained, “and it’s slippery. Discourages those who like to climb.”
“I wouldn’t try and climb it,” Scott said.
“I don’t think he’s referring to boys,” Abbey told her son. “He was talking about the animals.”
“Oh.”
“Is it still in use?” Abbey asked.
“Yes, it is. I don’t know what Pete keeps in there during the summer months, but it’s a crude kind of freezer in winter.”
“I see.”
“Oh, this is Main Street,” Sawyer said as they continued down the dirt road. Dust scattered in every direction, creating a dense cloud in their wake.
“I wondered if there’d be any leftover snow,” Abbey said. She seemed to be trying to make polite conversation.
“It hasn’t been gone all that long.” Sawyer knew he should use the opportunity to tell her how harsh the winters were and how bleak life was during December, January and February, but he was afraid Abbey would see straight through him. He preferred to be a bit more subtle in
his attempt to convince her to go home.
“Is that the school?” Scott asked, pointing to the left.
“Yup.”
“It sure is small.”
“Yup. We’ve got two teachers. One for grades one through eight and another for high school. We had more than twenty students last year.”
“Ben told me you’ve got a new elementary teacher coming soon,” Abbey said.
“That’s right.” The state provided living quarters for the teacher. The house was one of the best in town, with all the modern conveniences. It was a palace compared to the cabin that would be Abbey’s.
They drove past the lodge with its ugly black scars. Susan pressed her face to the window, and Sawyer waited for another barrage of questions, but none was forthcoming.
“Is the cabin close by?” Abbey asked. They’d already passed the outskirts of Hard Luck.
“Not much farther.”
She glanced over her shoulder, as if gauging the distance between the town and her new home.
Sawyer parked in front of the cluster of small cabins and pointed to the one that had been readied for her. Seeing it now, battered by time and the elements, Sawyer experienced a definite feeling of guilt. The idea of luring women north with the promise of housing and land had been a bad idea from the first.
“These are the cabins your brother mentioned?” Abbey kept her voice low, but her shock was all too evident.
“Yes.” This was the moment Sawyer had dreaded.
“We’re supposed to live here?” Scott asked in the same incredulous tone.
“I’m afraid so.”
Susan opened the truck door and climbed out. The seven-year-old planted her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly. “It’s a dump.”
Sawyer said nothing. Frankly, he agreed with the kid.
“It looks like one of those places where you freeze meat in the winter, only it isn’t on stilts,” Scott muttered.
Without a word Abbey walked into the cabin. Sawyer didn’t follow; he knew what she was going to see. A single bed, a crude table and solitary chair, along with a woodstove. A small store of food supplies, stacked in a primitive cupboard.
“Mom,” Scott wailed, “we can’t live here!”
“It is a bit smaller than we expected,” Abbey said. Her shoulders seemed to droop with the weight of her disappointment.
Hands still on her hips, Susan stood there, feet wide apart, as she surveyed the cabin. She shook her head. “This place is a dump,” she repeated.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Scott asked, giving the one-room interior a second look.
“There’s an outhouse in the back,” Sawyer told him. “Just take the path.”
“What’s an outhouse?” Susan asked her mother.
Abbey closed her eyes briefly. “Follow Scott and you’ll find out for yourself.”
The two disappeared, and Abbey turned to Sawyer. He thought she’d yell at him, call him and his brother jerks for misleading her. Instead, she asked, “What about the twenty acres?”
“It’s, uh, several miles to the east of here,” he explained reluctantly. “I have the plot map in the office and I’ll show you later if you want.”
“You mean to say the cabin doesn’t sit on the twenty acres?”
“No,” he answered, swallowing hard. When they’d initially discussed the details of this arrangement, it had all seemed equitable. Sort of. After all, Midnight Sons was picking up the women’s airfare and related expenses. But at the defeated, angry look in Abbey’s eyes, Sawyer felt like a jerk. Worse than a jerk. He wished she’d just yell at him.
“I see,” she said after a long silence. Her voice was so low Sawyer had to strain to hear.
He clenched his hands into tight fists to keep from taking her by the shoulders and shaking some sense into her. Was she actually thinking of staying? Christian and the others were so starved for female companionship, they’d have promised the moon to induce women to move to Hard Luck. He didn’t excuse himself; he’d played a major role in this deception, too.
“I found the outhouse,” Susan said, holding her nose as she returned to her mother’s side. “It stinks.”
“What are we gonna do?” Scott asked, sounding desperate.
“Well,” Abbey said thoughtfully, “we’ll have to move a pair of bunk beds in here and add a couple of chairs.”
“But, Mom…”
Sawyer glanced inside the cabin and groaned inwardly.
“We’ll make it a game,” Abbey told her children with forced enthusiasm. “Like pioneers.”
“I don’t wanna play,” Susan whined.
“Maybe there’s someplace else we can rent,” Scott said, looking hopefully at Sawyer.
“There isn’t.” He hated to disappoint the boy, but he couldn’t make houses that didn’t exist appear out of the blue. He turned to Abbey, who continued to stare impassively in the direction of the cabin. He suspected she was struggling to compose herself.
“Could you show me the library now?” she finally asked. Apparently she wanted to see the whole picture before she decided. Fair enough. Sawyer hoped that once she’d had time to analyze the situation, she’d make a reasonable decision. The only reasonable decision.
They all piled back into the truck. On the drive out to the cabin all three Sutherlands had been filled with anticipation. The drive back was silent, their unhappiness almost palpable.
The urge to suggest that Abbey give up and leave was almost more than Sawyer could suppress. But he’d be tipping his hand if he so much as hinted she fly home. He’d say something eventually if need be, but he’d rather she reached that conclusion herself.
The log building designated for the library had once belonged to Sawyer’s grandfather. Adam O’Halloran had settled in the area in the early 1930s. He’d come seeking gold, but instead of finding his fortune, he’d founded a community.
Since the day they’d heard that Christian had hired a librarian, Sawyer and the other pilots had hauled over a hundred or more boxes of books from Ellen’s house, which was now Christian’s.
The original O’Halloran home consisted of three large rooms. Abbey walked inside, and once more her disappointment was evident. “I’ll need bookshelves,” she said stiffly. “You can’t store books in boxes.”
“There are several in Mother’s house. I’ll see that they’re delivered first thing tomorrow morning.”
Her gaze shot to his. “Is your mother’s house vacant?”
Sawyer knew what she was thinking. He shook his head. “Mom’s remarried and out of the state, but Christian lives there now. Although he’s away at the moment, as you know.”
“I see.”
A young boy who introduced himself as Ronny Gold walked his bicycle up to the door and peeked inside. Scott and Ronny stared at each other.
“Can you play?” Ronny asked.
“Mom, can I go outside?”
Abbey nodded. “Don’t be gone long.” She glanced at her watch. “Meet me back here in half an hour, okay?”
“Okay.” Both Scott and Susan disappeared with Ronny.
Hands buried deep in his pants pockets, Sawyer watched as Abbey lifted a book, studied the spine, then picked up another. She handled each one with gentle reverence.
Sawyer waited until he couldn’t bear it any longer. He’d planned to give her more time to realize she couldn’t possibly live under these conditions. But if she wasn’t going to admit it herself…
“It isn’t going to work, Abbey,” he said quietly. “It was a rotten idea, bringing women to Hard Luck. I blame myself. I should never have agreed to this.”
“You want me to leave, don’t you?” she asked in an ominously even voice, ignoring his comment.
Sawyer didn’t answer. He couldn’t, because he refused to lie or mislead her any further. What surprised him most was his own realization—that he’d have liked the opportunity to know her better. Instead, he was forced to send her back to Seattle, where she and her children bel
onged.
He steeled himself. He and Christian weren’t the only ones at fault.
“You misled my brother,” he said gruffly and couldn’t decide who he was angriest with. Christian? Abbey? Himself?
“I misled Christian?” Abbey cried, her voice bordering on hysteria. “I find that insulting.”
The anger that had simmered just below the surface flared to life. “You duped him into hiring you without once mentioning that you had children!” Sawyer snapped. “I know there was nothing on the application about a family.” That was one problem he was going to correct at the first opportunity. “But you should’ve been more honest, since you were aware that we offered housing as part of the employment package.”
“I should’ve been more honest? That’s the height of hypocrisy! I was told I’d be given living quarters and twenty acres of land, but you neglected to tell me the cabin’s the size of a doghouse.” She dragged in a deep breath. “How dare you suggest I broke the agreement? I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You broke the spirit of our agreement.”
“Oh, please! As for your free land, that’s a big joke, too. You forgot to mention that it’s so far from town I’d need a dogsled to reach it. If you want to talk about someone breaking the agreement, then let’s discuss what you and your brother have done to me and my children.”
At the pain in her eyes, he felt worse than ever. He had no defense, and he knew it. “All right. We made a mistake, but I’m willing to pay your airfare home. It’s the least we can do.”
“I’m staying,” she said flatly. “I signed a contract, and I intend to hold up my end of the bargain, despite…despite everything.”
Sawyer couldn’t believe his ears. “You can’t!”
Her eyes flashed. “Why can’t I?”
“You saw the cabin yourself. There’s no way the three of you could possibly live there, bunk beds or not. You might be able to manage this summer, but it’d be out of the question once winter sets in.”
“The children and I are staying.” She said this with such determination Sawyer could readily see that nothing he said or did would change her mind.