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Kelly O’Malley

“The chief didn’t mention you coming.” Tossing the stirrers into the trash, I glare at the attractive yet bull-headed giant.

His ID may say US Department of the Interior, but I’m betting he works from a home office near Burlington or Boston. Any fool would know better than to wear a wool coat in the North Country. The moment wet snow falls, he’ll be soaked to the skin. No sweater, no thermal underwear, he won’t last a minute in our frigid weather.

When the suited Adonis stretches, he takes up all the free space. Staring defiantly, he sits back down and crosses his ankles.

Fine, ignore me, Mr. Not-From-Around-Here. You’ll find out the truth soon enough . I haven’t seen Dante in five days, but I’m not about to tattle to the hot city slicker. Hell, if Robert wants to go ice fishing, he’s earned it. A few months away from retirement, who am I to stop him?

“Well, are you going to just sit there? How about you explain why you’ve graced my border station with your blessed presence.”

Is that how we treat people, Kelly O’Malley? As my gram scolds me from heaven, Jack Gurion raises a brow, piercing me with those deep blue eyes.

He’s not my type. Sure, he’s built, but he probably attends a fancy gym where they play pickleball and guzzle protein shakes.

Whatever. Being handsome does not give him the right to judge me. My cat has tipped over every bowl or dish known to man. He can lap water from the toilet, for all I care. Come to think of it, he prefers it.

Despite the fact I feed him, buy him toys, talk to him, and take him to the vet, the damn animal hates me. Of course, sensing a kindred alpha, he becomes instant besties with Mr. Fishy.

Oh shit. Caught day-dreaming, my face heats. “Come again?”

Mr. Wildlife’s jaw ticks. “I asked, ‘Can you help me?’”

The embarrassment spreads to my chest and ears. “Sorry, help you what?”

Hissing between his teeth, he rolls his eyes. “My department teamed up with the University of Vermont. We have a significant grant to determine the environmental damage caused by illegal crossings. My first step is to report to your chief. He agreed to show me the most affected areas.”

What man needs lashes so damn long? Images of naked flesh slapping…

Oh sure, he has a pleasant face, but it doesn’t mean I should fantasize banging the muscled bod underneath it. Holy fuck, I need him out of my office before I do something stupid like grab him by the lapels and kiss his soft, plump lips.

Droning on about his mission statement, he flattens a map on my table. “Dante said he would be my guide.”

“Sorry, I can’t leave my post right now. We’ve been downsized. Except for emergencies or PTO, I have no backup.”

He frowns. “That’s why I asked to see the Chief Patrol Agent.”

“Like I already mentioned, he’s not available.” While I hum Mick Jagger’s tune, "You Can’t Always Get What You Want," Debra, a regular, bangs on her horn outside.

I grab my coat, rush out, then wave to the woman in the old Chevy van. “Apologies. I have company.”

“Who’s the hottie?” Wolf whistling, she lifts from her seat.

I follow her gaze through the glass, trying not to stare at the man making my libido come to life in a way it hasn’t for years. “He’s some tree hugger looking for Rob. He’s worse than bedbugs. Can’t get rid of him.”

Her tongue clucks while she passes me her passport through the window. “Is your boss AWOL again?”

“A-yup.” Although I’ve known her for years, I open her document and glance at it before returning it. “Coming back tonight?”

“Nah, I won’t be done by five, so Ellis said I could stay at his place. You know how it is with fresh-packed snow. The slopes and the day lodge will be jammed.”

Reaching across the passenger seat, she hands me a tin of cookies. “Stress baking. These are Mack’s favorite.”

“My daughter will be thrilled. You’re too kind.” After I wave goodbye, Mr. Sexy Suit steps to the window and scowls at me.

What? Does he imagine I’m taking bribes? God, he is so annoying. Once I’m back inside, I remove my boots before sticking a pod in the coffee machine. “So, what does your environmental study entail?”

He parks his ass in my chair as if he owns the place. “I already told you. I’m checking the impact of illegal immigration on the local wildlife.”

Fish-and-game types will chat your ear off. Mr. Hot Bod appears reluctant to talk. Something is off.

He probably thinks I’m too stupid to understand his research. “It’s clear you need more from me, or you wouldn’t still be here. What can I do to help?”

When his frown deepens, I sigh and sit across from him. “Listen, Rob’s been on vacation for a couple of days. It happens. We cover for each other.”

“Drinking?” His assumption annoys me.

“No, fishing.” My aggravated tone makes one of his brows rise, much like Spock in the original Star Trek series.

“Excuse me?” His head tilts as if I was speaking an alien language.

Figuring he left his translator on the shuttle, I speak more slowly. “Robert likes to go out on the ice, okay? He wanted the day off. Being a normal coworker and friend, I said I would take over. Do you have a problem with this?”

“I care neither for his hobbies nor your attitude. I am simply here to gather data on how border crossing impacts our pure Vermont environment.” The man’s scowl reminds me of my junior high school principal.

I bet he couldn’t tell a Tamarack from a Pitch Pine tree. “What’s the hurry? Why not wait for the chief to return?”

After folding up his map, he stuffs it in his back pocket. “The federal grant has certain cutoff dates. If I don’t comply, they stop our funding.”

“Welcome to the party. If they were so goddamned concerned about the border, they should not have slashed our budget.” I bite my tongue. Those words came out sharper than I intended.

The hottie shrugs, his piercing blue eyes focused on me. “Above my paygrade.”

Feeling like a petulant adolescent, I offer him an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Listen, I’m sorry. We recently lost half our staff. Now, my Canadian friends with jobs in the ski area are in a bind. They don’t earn enough to pay for a room overnight and can’t afford to quit. It sucks.”

Hoping for a crumb, Monstro jumps on the table, but Mr. Wildlife gently pushes him down. “None for you, buddy. They’ll make you sick.”

While I open the kibble and put a handful on the floor in front of the cat, he turns to me. “How many coworkers do you have here?”

Because he sounds genuinely interested, I figure there’s no harm in sharing. “There’s only two of us to cover 8 AM to 8 PM, seven days a week. If me or Jeremy become ill or someone needs time off, the central office sends over a temp.”

“Don’t you ever go out in the field?” My heart pumps as memories of The Incident try to break out of my locked mental box.

Avoiding his gaze, I stuff a cookie in my mouth, then shake my head no.

Phew, that was close.