Page 2 of Under the Northern Lights

“It worked out okay,” she assured him. “I’m sorry you had to stand out there for as long as you did. I completely lost track of time.”

“Easy to do when you’re someone who appreciates the outdoors,” he acknowledged. “And I can tell you do.”

She nodded. “This,” she said, motioning to the grandeur around them, “truly is my element.”

Smiling, he shifted the Jeep into Drive. “If you ever consider living somewhere else, you would make a great Alaskan.”

Aurora laughed softly. “I would have to put a little work into my wet hillside descents, but thank you for the compliment.”

They had only driven about a mile and a half back on the winding, mostly narrow road to town when Billy slammed his booted foot on the brake. His arm shot out at the same time, instinctively trying to keep Aurora from being thrust forward, despite her already being secured by the seatbelt.

“Hold on,” Billy said, his voice calm, though the vehicle fishtailed to and fro on the rain-slicked road.

When the Jeep finally came to a stop, Aurora sank back against her seat in relief. Ahead of them, a waterfall of water, mud, and loose rocks spilled out onto the road and down the mountainside.

“You okay?” the older man asked worriedly as he glanced her way.

Aurora nodded, realizing how close they’d come to being under that sudden deluge. Maybe her having lost track of time back at the river hadn’t been such a bad thing after all. “Well, that certainly added a little more excitement to the day.”

“Bad timing for a mudslide,” Billy replied with a troubled frown as he took in nature’s untimely temper tantrum.

Aurora followed his gaze to the still-oozing mess not even ten feet in front of them. “Do we drive through it?” she asked, knowing that driving through flood waters was a no-no, but this was mostly mud and a few rocks they could probably carefully navigate around.

His expression didn’t look the least bit reassuring.

He gave a firm shake of his head. “Too risky. It’s not the worst mudslide I’ve ever seen.

Road’s fairly clear. But there’s a chance a few trees might still come down with the rainwater running down the hillside.

” Putting the Jeep into Reverse, he backed safely away from the mess on the road. “We’re going to have to wait it out.”

“Wait?” Aurora repeated. “For how long?”

“Until I know it’s safe to pass through. Don’t you worry. We’ve still got plenty of time,” he assured her, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“And if the rain picks up?”

As if reading her panicked thoughts, Billy glanced her way. “I’ll get you to the airport. Don’t you worry.”

He’d said it with such determination, Aurora couldn’t help but smile. Billy was an Alaskan tour guide for a reason. He understood the area, its beauty and its dangers. She just hoped he wasn’t wishful thinking. She knew all about how that usually turned out.

“You really should reconsider my client’s more than generous offer,” warned Clive Wagner, the intermediary Spark Capital Management sent with their offer to buy his family’s retreat.

“If not for your sake, then for the rest of your family, who stand to lose everything if your fishing retreat business goes under. Word around has it that such a time could be near.”

Gage Weston gritted his teeth, trying to tamp down his growing irritation.

Clive had been relentless in his determination to meet and discuss his client’s previous offer to buy Gage’s family’s property and the business that came with it.

The private equity firm Clive represented wanted to come in and build a high-end resort.

The reason smaller private fishing retreats in the area were going under.

Swallowed up by the bigger, wealthier conglomerate fish.

No , Gage thought angrily as he dug deeper into his store of determination. His family’s business was not going to go under. Not if he had anything to do with it. He had agreed to that afternoon’s meeting for one reason only—to put an end to the realtor’s pursuit once and for all.

Thankfully, the lunch hour had passed, leaving the small port diner empty, except for two elderly local women who frequented Glady’s Glacier Grill, where the menu’s playful catchphrase was: Good eats found here, don’t Juneau?

Mrs. Hodgkins and Mrs. Gilroy were chatting away at a two-seater table near the front entrance.

They were finishing up their slices of Glady’s freshly baked apple pie between sips of hot tea.

From where he and Clive were seated across the room in front of a small gaslit fireplace, Gage doubted the women had overheard much of the conversation he and the persistent intermediary had been having.

Redirecting his focus back to the man sent to broker a deal, Gage said evenly, “I’m not sure where you’re getting your information from, but Living the Good Life Fishing Retreat is staying in my family where it belongs.

It’s not for sale. Never has been. Never will be.

” Leaning forward, he pushed the offer back across the table to Clive and then went back to eating the open-faced pot roast sandwich he had ordered before the other man had joined him.

Clive shoved the paper back into his dark brown leather briefcase. “I had thought you might see things differently now, considering your father’s continuing health issues.”

Gage’s gaze snapped up, pinning the realtor in place.

His dad’s recovery from the stroke he had a little over ten months earlier was not going to be used as a bargaining chip by Clive Wagner or anyone.

“My father is on the road to a full recovery. Until then, all decisions regarding the lodge have been turned over to me. We’re not selling. ”

Clive stood up from the table, briefcase clutched at his side.

Gage stood as well.

Extending his hand, Clive said with a sigh, “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

Something Gage would not be doing. With a nod of acknowledgment, he extended his hand to the other man in a firm handshake, then stood watching as Clive, along with his client’s generous offer, walked out of the diner.

Lowering himself back into his seat, Gage dragged a hand through his dark brown hair with a sigh.

Then he picked up his fork and stabbed at the lukewarm pot roast with its now soggy bread base.

Not that it mattered. His appetite had left with Clive’s not-so-subtle reminder of the issues Gage’s family business was facing.

The end of the main fishing season was nearing and that would mean less money coming in.

That’s how it normally was during the off-season.

But the rest of the year always made up for it.

However, they had seen a decline in bookings thanks to the opening of the Reel and Relax Resort, a nearby resort offering its guests not only fishing excursions, but spa amenities as well.

One of several that had been built along the coastline and on two other remote Alaskan islands in the past four years.

While Gage and his family had made the difficult decision to limit their bookings in the months after his father returned from the hospital, the deluxe resort chain had drawn in several of Gage’s regulars.

Selling out would be easy, but Gage wasn’t looking for easy.

He was looking for a way to save his family’s legacy.

His gaze shifted to the two elderly women across the room as they stood. Mrs. Gilroy bent to place a tip on the table between the two teacups, and then the two friends pulled on their rain jackets, zipping them up tight.

“Be safe on your flight home, dear,” Mrs. Hodgkins called over to him.

“Verna, it’s Gage,” Mrs. Gilroy said as they tugged the hoods of their jackets up over their beauty-salon-perfected heads. “That young man doesn’t need anyone telling him to be careful. No one pilots a plane better than he does.”

That brought a much-needed grin to Gage’s face. Almost everyone in this part of Juneau knew Gage and his family. Both his father and mother had grown up here, and Gage’s family had made plenty of trips into town to pick things up for the retreat over the years.

“You two ladies be careful walking out in that rain. The ground might be slick.”

“It’s barely more than a drizzle now,” Mrs. Hodgkins assured him. “But you’re a dear for thinking of us.” With a wave, the two women slipped out into the still-slightly-inclement weather.

“Care for a refill?”

Gage turned to find Glady Walters, a close friend of his mother’s and longtime owner of Glady’s Glacier Grill, smiling down at him, coffeepot in hand.

He nudged his empty cup closer to the edge of the table to make pouring easier for her. “One more for the road, I suppose.”

“In your case, I think that would be one more for the air.”

Gage chuckled. “True.”

Her expression grew serious. “I hope that man finally got the message,” she said with a shake of her head as she refilled the cup.

Gage’s brow lifted.

“It’s a small diner,” she admitted with a shrug. “When it’s all but empty during the mid-afternoon lull, conversations tend to carry in here.”

Which was why he’d chosen that time of day to have his talk with the private equity group’s go-between.

The fewer people around to overhear their conversation, the better.

He wasn’t concerned about Glady overhearing.

She and his mother had probably already discussed at least some of the lodge’s situation.

But at the reminder of how easily words carried in the near-empty room, Gage cast a glance in the direction the two older women had been sitting.

“No need to worry about Mrs. Gilroy or Mrs. Hodgkins,” Glady assured him. “Those two talk as loudly as they do because they’re both hard of hearing.”

“That’s good to know,” he said, relief moving through him. Then, realizing what he’d said, quickly added, “Not that they have hearing issues. I would never think of that as being a good thing.”

She laughed softly. “I knew what you meant.” Glady walked over to return the coffeepot to its warmer plate. “Not that my opinion matters, but I’m glad you’re not selling out. Too much commercialization in these parts would take away the true charm of Juneau and its surrounding islands.”

Before Gage could respond, the door to the diner whipped open, sending the damp chill of the rainy afternoon whirling into the cozy eating area.

A misshapen figure draped in a bright yellow, rain-drenched poncho came sloshing in, stopping just far enough inside to close the door behind them.

The drooping hood, which resembled a duck’s head, effectively covered the newly arrived restaurant patron’s face.

One thing he did know was that whoever they were, they had clearly been out with one of Juneau’s local tour guides.

That poncho was a dead giveaway. Whoever it was under the oversized poncho couldn’t be more than an inch or two over five feet.

Gage was just about to turn away when a slender, very feminine hand shoved free of the winged sleeves and reached up to push back the wet, duck-beaked hood. Tendrils of damp brown hair were plastered to her cherry-stained cheeks, while determined raindrops clung to the woman’s long lashes.

She glanced down, and then, with a gasp and a fretful scan of the room, took a step back to where the oversized, all-weather THANK YOU FOR COMING mat lay just inside the doorway.

Glady, obviously seeing the woman’s troubled expression, hurried over to her. “Honey, is everything alright?”

The woman, who looked to be somewhere in her late twenties, nodded in response, sending a spray of raindrops downward.

She looked at the wet floor with a grimace.

“I’m so sorry about the mess I’m making.

I was in such a hurry to get in out of the rain that I didn’t even stop to think about bringing it in with me. ”

“This is Juneau,” Glady said, not the least bit concerned. “September tends to be a rainy season. I promise you’re not the first to trudge in from foul weather, and you won’t be the last.”

“If you’ll give me a mop, I’ll clean it up,” the woman offered, fretting her lower lip.

Glady waved the suggestion away. “Now push your suitcase up against the wall and then peel yourself out of that poncho. You can hang it on one of those wooden pegs by the door. When you’re done, have a seat at a table close to the fireplace so you can dry off.

In the meantime, I’ll go get some hot tea to warm you up.

” She hesitated. “That is, unless you’d prefer coffee. ”

“Tea would be wonderful,” the woman answered. “Thank you.”

“Get yourself settled in. I’ll be back in a few,” Glady told her before scurrying back to the kitchen.

Gage watched as the woman peeled the oversized rain poncho off, surprised to see a camera bag resting against the side of the insulated parka she wore, its black nylon strap draped over her shoulder and across the coat.

What looked to be a very full backpack was strapped securely to her back.

That explained the Hunchback of Notre Dame appearance she’d first had when she’d come into the diner.

So, he concluded, definitely a tourist. One who clearly enjoys taking a lot of pictures.

She was pretty, her petite form practically swallowed up by the coat and camera bag that weighed her down.

She glanced his way and offered up a halfhearted smile.

Halfhearted or not, her smile packed quite a punch.

Gage felt as though he’d just been trampled by a herd of moose.