HUNTER
H unter was having a hard time keeping his conversation with Trixie on track. He felt insanely like they ought to be waltzing around in the house frame, and his bear was wordlessly frolicking like he’d just eaten a barrel of rotten apples and gotten drunk.
But he was quite serious about his offer. “Orson said you were short-staffed. I’m strong and work hard, I’d be worth the wages. I’ll sniff out who your traitor is and you’ll be made square.”
Trixie’s transparent face looked skeptical. “I’m sorry, you want me to hire you as part of my crew ? You’re wearing a suit at the worksite. I just had to explain air tools to you. You think you could last a day under cover? Do you even know what a Philips head is?”
Hunter must have frowned more than he meant to, because Trixie quickly added, “I’m sorry, I’m sure you’re very good at… whatever you do. Wearing a suit.” She flushed.
“I learn fast,” Hunter said stubbornly. He truly thought this was the best way to catch the thief, and he wasn’t used to people assuming he couldn’t do something. He had to examine how much it stung him that Trixie clearly felt he was not up to the job.
She snorted in an unladylike way and her eyes danced underneath the rim of her hardhat. “You could be the fastest learner in the world and I could still not get you up to speed before the guys get back from lunch. Besides…?” She gestured at all of him.
Hunter had to concede that he had not prepared for manual labor.
He had planned to sign off on Trixie’s system or sell her a new one that he had in the truck, stay the night in a hotel, and head back for Anchorage the next day.
He had a change of clothing that was equally unsuitable, and nothing for a longer stay. So why couldn’t he imagine leaving?
“Give me a chance,” he demanded, because Hunter Davison did not beg. “I’ll come early tomorrow ready to go and you can orient me on your most basic tools. I’ll do the grunt work. Shovel or carry stuff.”
“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Trixie pointed out reluctantly. “We’re working six tens, but even in a crunch the crew has to have days off.”
“Even better,” Hunter said. “We’ll have the whole day to get me up to speed.” And I’ll have you to myself.
She stared at him so long and so suspiciously that Hunter wanted to shake her. Wasn’t he good enough? Why did he even care so much?
Then she sighed. “If I weren’t desperate, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation. But I could honestly use an extra day of work, even from you. Be here tomorrow at eight. Wear something more suitable. Maybe drive something less obvious.”
Hunter grunted. The company decal was a magnet, so that would be easy enough to take off. “Eight,” he agreed, and he thrust out his hand like they were sealing a business deal.
Her second handshake was, if anything, even briefer and stronger than her first. “You’d better go before the guys get back if you’re planning to be undercover.”
Hunter stalked away over the rickety planks and drove out to the highway, pausing to strip off the company logo. He’d need clothing and a place to stay. There was a likely-looking hotel and a selection of gift shops, so Hunter turned towards town.
He passed Fast Eddy’s, which did not look like it offered edible food, let alone rave-worthy burgers, and went into a store a block off the highway that looked like it might have something more than tourist trinkets.
Once he was past the keychains and stuffies, there was a fairly comprehensive clothing section.
He found a pair of heavy work pants in his size, and picked a T-shirt at random ( Alaska, It’s Classic , in a swoopy font reminiscent of Coca Cola).
There were some hiking socks and a few single packages of generic underwear.
His shoes were going to be more challenging.
“I need a pair of work boots,” he told the only person working the store. She was an older woman who looked him up and down appraisingly when he put his clothing on the counter.
“Closest we got is Xtratufs.” She pointed at a display of tall rubber boots.
Hunter frowned. “Can I wear those on a job site?”
“Folks wear em on fishing trawlers.” The cashier shrugged. “We’ve got steel-toed.”
Hunter didn’t really have a choice. He added a pair in his size to the pile and debated between his personal and business credit card.
He had the authority to do this as a business expense, but he was doing it for entirely personal reasons.
For a person. For Trixie Talon. He used his private card and wondered again why he felt so solidly that this was a thing he had to do.
He could have just signed off on the insurance papers and washed his hands of it.
This is the right thing to do , his bear said confidently. But he couldn’t explain it either.