Page 5 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

E verything hurt as Amka worked the dinner shift at the tavern.

She’d forced Jarod to get out of her place the night before, and for once, he hadn’t argued or tried to kiss her.

She’d like to think it was because she was hurt and he wasn’t as big of a jerk as she suspected, but that was doubtful. He probably had a date somewhere.

Not that she cared in the slightest.

She’d slept in but had headed to the tavern upon awakening.

For now, she didn’t let the discomfort show.

She bent slowly behind the bar, fingers curling around the water pitcher with her non-dominant hand, and filled three glasses she’d already lined up on a tray.

Moving carefully, she placed the pitcher on the counter and straightened.

Her side pulled tight where the bruising ran deepest, but she ignored it.

Smoke from the fire earlier hung in the air, even inside the tavern.

The tourists sat near the back fireplace, leaning in toward each other and laughing with the free sound of people on vacation.

They wore loud T-shirts covered in fish jokes, and one of them wore a foam trout hat.

Fishing derby types. They came through every June hoping to catch a good trophy and were good for the local businesses.

She approached their table, balancing the tray with both hands. It helped keep her from limping too much. “Here you go.” She placed a glass in front of each of them.

“Thanks,” the first man said, smiling up at her. Like his friends, he looked to be in his mid-thirties or so. “What’s good here?”

“Everything,” she answered, the line coming out smooth from repetition.

They ordered burgers and a pitcher of beer. She smiled and made her way back to the bar with her spine stiff and her pace measured.

It was late, and the place was about half full. Locals lined the counter, boots scuffed and heavy from long days. A few newcomers leaned close to the jukebox as if they hadn’t seen a real one in ages. They probably hadn’t.

Daisy blew in from the kitchen, cheeks flushed, red curls frizzing out like she’d been fighting with the fryer again. “I told you that I’ll handle the floor,” she said, pushing the swinging door open with her hip. “You got blown up yesterday. You shouldn’t even be upright.”

Amka waved her off with her good hand. “We don’t have anyone else,” she said simply.

Daisy scowled, tugging off an apron and tossing it onto the back counter. She was in her early thirties and had left a big city law firm to return to Knife’s Edge, where she’d spent her first ten years. “Seriously. Take it easy.”

“I will,” Amka said. “As soon as I can. Weren’t you going to hang your shingle this spring?”

Daisy grinned. “Yep. I’m saving up to rent a place. Truth be told, I can do both jobs. I don’t think there’s a lot of lawyer work to do around here. I’ll probably draft some wills and deeds.”

Thank goodness, because Amka needed her at least through the summer. She moved to make coffee. “I appreciate it, but don’t want you to give up on your dreams just to help me.”

Daisy snorted. “My dream was to move here and live. I’m doing so.

Like I said, I can work half days in the office and half nights here.

Besides, if you want to actually talk to people around here, you’ve got to either pour their drinks or feed them.

Otherwise, they don’t say a word.” She nodded toward the trio in the back. “What’s their story?”

“I didn’t ask,” Amka said. “They’re here for the derby. Obvious enough.”

“The blond one’s kind of cute.” Daisy craned her neck to get a better look.

Amka turned her head. She hadn’t really noticed when she’d taken their water to them. One of them wore mirrored sunglasses on the back of his head like he thought it was still 1997. But the blond one wasn’t bad-looking. “They ordered burgers and a pitcher of beer.”

“Gotcha.” Gracefully turning, Daisy went to fill the pitcher.

Amka glanced into the kitchen. The grill was popping, and the smell of seared beef filled the air. Rudolph was at the flattop, flipping patties with the same efficiency he’d used since she was a kid. “You doing okay?” she called.

“Always.” His always gruff voice held a warmth in it.

Rudolph had been with Sam’s Tavern longer than any of the names above the liquor license.

He didn’t want to own the place, never had.

Just wanted to cook, then go home to his land where he could hunt elk and pretend to ignore his doctor’s advice.

“Start pushing the Cobb salad, would you?” He flipped two more patties with perfect formation.

Amka nodded and immediately regretted the action. The headache morphed into a sharp ache behind her eyes. She needed Advil. Or bourbon. Or both.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” Rudolph said, echoing Daisy without knowing it.

“I know,” Amka replied. “But I’m here anyway.” She winked at him.

He flushed, muttering as he turned back to the burgers. “Don’t flirt with me, young lady. I’m what they call a confirmed bachelor, and no woman is gonna change that. Ever.”

“I’d never want to change you.” She grinned.

He was massive—a broad-chested, mountain-shaped man, still hauling around more than three hundred pounds, a lot of it muscle.

His black hair had gone gray at the temples, but his eyes were sharp and bright, usually twinkling.

She’d been trying to put him on a diet for two years, and he still snuck in fried bread and moose sausage every morning like she couldn’t smell it.

But he never called in sick, and he never let her down.

“How about a salad tonight?” Amka asked.

“Sure. I’d love one with my burger.”

She didn’t bother arguing considering her head wanted to explode like the storage building had earlier. “Let me know when the burgers are up.”

“I think you need to go sit down and make sure you’re okay,” he muttered, not looking up from the grill.

She stepped out from the kitchen and crossed the room, checking that everyone had what they needed, spotting a few empty pint glasses on one table, a napkin on the floor, but nothing out of control.

She tucked her hair back and made a mental note to grab a fresh pitcher for the table against the far wall.

The front door creaked open.

Widow Flossy stepped inside wearing her bright purple coat and a pale pink knit hat pulled low over her short gray curls.

She stood just over five feet tall, even wearing new black boots she’d purchased for the spring.

Her gloves stayed in one hand, pinched tight together as she scanned the bar.

“I came to help.” She walked toward the counter, pushing her gloves into her pockets. “Heard you got blown up yesterday.”

“There was a small fire.” Amka poured a mug of coffee for the elderly woman. “Besides a headache and a few bruises, I’m fine.”

Flossy pulled out a stool and sat, wobbling before steadying. “You sure?”

“I am, and I figured you’d be busy at your place.”

Flossy ran the only bed-and-breakfast in town.

The place was old, solid, and booked out most of tourist season.

She took a sip of the coffee. “We’re family, Amka.

” She leaned in, her gaze softening. “I owe you. Besides, the McGregor girls are covering the desk tonight. Loud, but they can fold towels.”

From the kitchen, the sound of the spatula hitting the grill picked up. Rudolph was moving fast, but steady.

“Would you like anything to eat? The Cobb is the special, but I’m sure Rudy will make you one of those cheese crepes you like,” Amka said. Flossy loved the fancier dishes.

Flossy cupped both hands around the mug. “I already ate, but thank you. I heard Christian pulled you out of the fire.”

An inappropriate heat flushed through Amka. “He came through the flames to get me.”

Flossy smiled, showing perfect dentures. “It’s always the quiet ones. You can count on them.”

To be heroic, sure. But not to be stable.

Jarod walked over from the dartboard, beer in hand. “What are we talking about?”

Flossy didn’t look at him. “I was wondering why Amka is working so hard while being injured and you’re over there playing pool?” She sniffed.

Amka bit back a wince.

Jarod looked at her, then shook his head and walked around the bar to the till. “Hey, I just lost twenty bucks to Rocco playing darts.” He opened the drawer and pulled a bill from the stack.

Flossy turned slightly on her stool, watching him.

“Write it down in the register,” Amka said, already regretting not making a bank run earlier. The till was too full.

Jarod reached in again and removed two more twenties. “You write it down.” He nudged the drawer closed with his hip and grabbed a magazine from the end of the bar to slide in front of her. “Have you picked a dress yet?”

It was one of those heavy bridal magazines, glossy and unread. She hadn’t opened it once. Why in the world would she pick out a dress? “No,” she said.

“We might want to get on it,” he said.

The front door opened, and cold air slipped inside along with presence. Definite presence. Amka didn’t need to look up to know who’d entered.

Christian walked in with his brothers, Brock and Ace, heading for their usual table by the fireplace. Christian gave her a nod as he passed. They were just missing Damian, and it would’ve been all four Osprey brothers in one place.

“Where’s Olly?” Flossy yelled after them.

Brock looked over and smiled. “Still at the station. She’ll be here soon.”

Ophelia Spilazi had come up from New York as an FBI agent on a case and ended up staying for the sheriff. From the way things looked, she and Brock weren’t far from setting a date for their own wedding.

Amka liked her. She was tough, didn’t waste time, and treated people straight. Having her around made things better.

Daisy hurried up to put dishes in the sink. “I’ll get the Osprey brothers,” she said, already turning toward their table with a little bounce in her step.