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Knife’s Edge didn’t thaw quietly—it cracked, hissed, and burned its way into spring. Every year, without fail, more visitors showed up in the small Alaskan town once the mountain passes and tumultuous sky cleared. Not even the drilling rain could keep them away.
Christian Osprey skirted a purple-haired female standing beneath an eave and in front of some lit circle contraption holding a phone, her eyes animated. What the hell? He kept walking, noting the Green Plate restaurant was open for the day. In the winter, Gus and Janet only opened for dinner.
He sighed. Apparently spring had arrived. Damn it. He’d have to gather supplies and head into the mountains sooner rather than later. Glancing at Sam’s Tavern across the muddy street, he felt a tug in his chest he didn’t appreciate. Not at all. He would not go in there. Nobody really knew who Sam had been, but the name had stuck throughout the ages. The current owner was a sweetheart, and one he needed to leave alone.
Hunching his shoulders, he allowed the rain to fall on his thick hair and stood for a moment on the torn and winter-damaged sidewalk, staring at Sam’s and the small storage building between the tavern and the grocery store.
“Hey. Excuse me?” The gal with the purple hair tugged on his arm, her pink sweatshirt damp from the rain.
He glanced down and smoothly stepped away, freeing himself.
Her eyes widened as her gaze dropped to Tika, by Christian’s side. “Is that a baby wolf?”
For crap’s sake. “No.” Christian gave an imperceptible jerk of his chin, and the wolf-husky puppy immediately moved forward, in front of him and to the side. Away from the woman. He turned to do the same and she grabbed his worn T-shirt sleeve. Again.
“Wait. It’s so cool that both you and the wolf have two different colored eyes. Can I interview you?” She stepped closer, bringing the scent of lavender with her.
“Absolutely not.” Christian’s eyes were green and black, while Tika’s were blue and bluish-brown.
The woman didn’t seem put off and instead switched topics. “Why does this town have the only sheriff in Alaska?” Still unfortunately holding the material above his wrist, she pointed to the banners strung across the main street of town. One announced the spring fishing derby next week, and the other announced that Knife’s Edge claimed to have the only Alaskan sheriff.
At the sight of the bigger one, he felt his lips twitch. Brock would fucking hate that. Served him right for becoming the sheriff.
“Well?” The woman turned her attention back on him, looking up many inches to his face. She was cute. About five foot six. Blue eyes, nice bone structure, girl-next-door grin. Too young to be alone in the Alaskan wilderness.
“You eighteen?” he grunted. If not, he’d take her to Brock’s office. As the sheriff, his brother would have to deal with her.
prove it to you?”
He heard the side door to the tavern open across the street and then he felt her move through it. Her. His gaze slid to the opening between the rough wooden building housing the bar and the one-story storage building, catching a glimpse of Amka. Just one second glimpse before she disappeared inside.
At all times, he could feel her location. Her energy. Somehow.
In that instant of seeing her, he’d noted her black hair up in a ponytail, her blue flannel shirt open to show a black cami over full breasts, and tight slim jeans that hugged every delectable inch of her legs. His own energy flowed through him, pushing him to cross the street.
The female finally released his arm. “Dude? You okay?”
Still remaining motionless, he cut his gaze to her. “Yes.”
She swallowed and finally had the good sense to step away from him. “You’ve got such an intense vibe, man. It’s both kinda hot and kinda scary.” Squinting, she studied him from the top of his dark hair to his well-worn boots. “More hot than scary.” Her grin returned. “I’m Nixi Halliday. From Halliday’s Adventures and Holidays?”
He had no clue what that meant. Grunting, he jerked his head at Tika and turned away from Nixi.
“Wait.” Now exasperation filled her tone, but she didn’t grab him again. “Seriously. You’ve never heard of me? Aren’t you on social media at all?”
He needed to get to the damn store for provisions, yet his boots remained on the muddy sidewalk. It wasn’t the woman demanding his attention that kept him rooted to the spot. It was the woman he couldn’t see right now. Having Amka out of sight left him unsettled in a way that hadn’t even caught him while he’d remained motionless in a perch for hours on end worlds away…waiting for his mark. That’s why he had to escape into the wilderness.
Now.
“Please let me interview you really quickly about the town. About you and your cute puppy. Please.” Nixi fluttered her eyelashes, somehow making her look even younger and cuter.
He had no interest in cute…or so young. While he might be in his late twenties or even early thirties—who knew—he felt eons older. Knew it showed in his eyes. “No.”
Now she put out her bottom lip in a look that no doubt helped get her way with most people. “Come on. One of the requirements for the traveling challenge is to interview a local at each small town, which is something I usually do for my channel, anyway. So, please? I’ll even buy you a drink afterward.”
He’d hate himself later for asking. Just knew he would. “Challenge?”
“Yeah.” She hopped once, splashing up a bit of mud over her brown boots and the bottom of her faded jeans. “The Nowhere USA Challenge sponsored by Rusty Spoke Jerky? They listed twenty towns, tiny ones, where their jerky is found for creators to visit and explore. We have to spend at least a week in the town, but most people like to shoot footage over a couple of weeks, then we upload our content to our social media channels. At the end of June, a winner will be chosen. The pot is fifty thousand dollars.” Her eyes gleamed. “I already get paid for my content, but this would be a huge boost. So what do you say?”
Oh, fuck no. What in the world was a creator, anyway? How many of them would be descending upon his town? He had to get out of here.
The rain fizzled. Somewhat. He turned his body this time, facing that building across the street.
Something—
Fire flashed and the front window of the storage building blew out in an explosion that tore through the spring day.
Amka.
The blast blew Amka away from the table and into the side wall. Pain slashed down her back as she fell to the floor. What had happened?
Her ears rang. Heat flashed against her face. The room wavered around her. Provisions clattered on the cement floor as smoke filled the air. She couldn’t see.
“Amka!” That voice. She knew that voice.
A rush of cool air swirled through the room. She blinked, on her side, fire coming for her. Flames licked from the front of the building through the middle, right toward the door. In every direction. Fast. Way too fast.
Smoke filled her lungs as the fire flowed toward her. She had to move. Why was everything fuzzy? She couldn’t think.
A form filled the doorway. Solid and strong. Male.
Christian?
He came through the flames and smoke with a rough grace. A burning slat of wood fell from the ceiling, bouncing off his shoulder. He reached her, ignoring the fire trying to swallow him. “Amka.” He crouched, soot already across his forehead as one strong hand cupped her face. “Are you hurt?”
His words came from very far away, his voice deep but too distant.
She swallowed and shook her head, trying to focus. “I’m okay.” Pain tore through her side, but she forced herself to sit.
More boards rained down around them. “There’s propane,” she coughed out, looking wildly toward the front window at the one cylinder beneath what had been a counter. She used it for her outside barbecue. The tank hissed and started to glow red. Propane vented like a demon exhaling gas. She had to get it out of there.
Pushing away from Christian, she started to crawl toward it. Embers burned her palms. She should take it outside.
Strong hands grabbed her hips and she was suddenly sailing through the air to impact a chest harder than rock. The air whooshed out of her lungs and she sucked in a breath, inhaling heated smoke.
She yelped, cradled against Christian as embers dropped onto her shoulders.
He huddled over her, protecting her from the burns, and turned to barrel through fire and smoke to the rain outside. Fast. Sure. Safe. She closed her eyes, coughing out smoke. “We have to get the propane,” she whispered.
“Too late,” he said grimly, tearing around the building toward the street. “Everyone run,” he bellowed. “Take cover.”
The few people on the sidewalks immediately launched into obedience, running away. No cars were driving their way. He kept moving, holding her tight, pounding down the muddy sidewalk to the other side of the tavern.
A blast boomed through the rain, and she looked up to see debris blowing into the sky, even above the tavern.
Then, the crackle of fire.
He lowered her to her feet as rain pummeled them both. The fire hissed loudly from the other side of the building, fighting the rain. “How badly are you hurt?”
She coughed several times. “Not bad.” Her throat was on fire. “Bruised my side, I think.” Her left arm felt odd. She looked down.
He did as well, running both hands down her arms. “Nothing broken.” Obviously concentrating, he felt along her ribcage and down her hips to both legs, bending to look up. “We’ll have Doc look at the bruises.”
She stared at him, noting a burn on his cheek. “You’re hurt.” Ignoring the concern in his dual-colored eyes, she brushed the slight wound.
He closed his eyes for just a moment before reopening them. One green and one black. Something flashed in them. An expression she couldn’t read but felt deep. “I’m fine.” He stood then, towering over her. “Stay here.” He gave her one hard look and then crossed to the front of the bar, angling his head and then disappearing from sight.
Something about his tone made her stay in place. Until her brain caught up. Wait a minute. Her storage building just blew up, and her bar could be on fire next. Gathering her strength and ignoring the pain in her side, she limped to the front of the building and to her front door, noting the town’s one water tanker screeching to a stop with Lucas Landom, their tanker chief, hopping out. Sheriff Brock Osprey was right behind him in his truck, and he leaped out, running toward Christian and the tanker. The three men worked quickly, yanking out the hose and attaching it to the truck valve to spray at the fire.
The rain was already winning.
Amka hurried to help and stopped cold when Christian turned his gaze on her. “Move back,” he mouthed.
She obeyed.
Why, she’d never understand. Nobody told her
what to do.
But she leaned against her door as several other townspeople emerged from buildings and arriving cars to watch the fire being beat. Lucas rapidly unfolded the hose as Brock and Christian moved in. She watched the Osprey brothers. Both tall with dark hair and Inuit features, both ex-Navy, they moved in tandem and won the battle. Christian had a shadow across his rugged jaw and was the picture of raw male muscle as he worked.
He’d probably saved her life.
She wanted to thank him, to make him dinner, to buy him drinks, to just spend more time with him. While he wasn’t a keeper, who also didn’t want to be tied down, he was still her friend. Kind of. She raised a hand to brush soot off her chin, and her engagement ring caught her attention.
For a moment, she’d forgotten her fiancé. Completely. Jarod hadn’t come to the bar today, and she’d forgotten all about him.
Brock rolled up the hose while Christian and Lucas disappeared into the debris.
Enough of this. She didn’t follow orders. Ignoring the pain in her arm, she moved forward as most of the people around her did the same, noting the demolished and still smoldering building. The structures on either side showed damage and some burn marks, but both had remained standing. She reached Christian the same time as Brock.
“The fire moved too fast,” Christian said to his brother, kicking over a couple of smoking boards.
Lucas crouched to look closer at the floor. In his early thirties, he had short brown hair and serious brown eyes. He’d been a smokejumper before moving to the small town to write several novels and had been elected the tanker chief two years previous when he’d missed the annual town meeting. “Way too fast.”
Brock lifted one dark eyebrow. “Accelerant?”
floor. “The explosion was supposed to start a fire that engulfed this entire building.” His already hard jawline hardened even more as he turned his formidable focus on her. “We need to get you to the doctor. Now.”
She gulped. “Somebody did this on purpose? How?”
“We’ll figure that out later,” Brock said grimly. “Right now, go get checked out.”
She started to shake her head, but Christian picked her up, strode outside, and started moving down the street toward Brock’s truck. She should’ve protested. Should’ve kicked and screamed and reminded him she could walk just fine. But her arm throbbed, her chest ached, and something worse than smoke was clawing at her lungs. So instead, she let herself be carried—cradled like a woman who could somehow be saved—by the man who wasn’t her fiancé.
Behind them, the rubble didn’t crackle anymore. It hissed. As the wreckage faded, a new thought burned hotter than the fire.
Had somebody known she was in there?
Amka couldn’t let herself get too comfortable as Christian easily balanced her in one arm and opened the door to the older black truck as the rain punished them both. How was he so strong? “We can’t just take Brock’s rig,” she protested rather weakly.
Christian grunted, like that was sufficient, and placed her gently on the seat. The upholstery chilled her butt. She shivered.
He opened the back door, and Tika jumped in, stretching out and yawning.
Christian shut the rear door and returned his attention to Amka, reaching across her for the seatbelt, his arm brushing her collarbone. “Let me know if this hurts,” he said in a low and calm voice with that faint growl at the edges. His head dipped close as he leaned in, crossing her chest to snap the belt into place. The motion sent a wave of heat across her skin.
He paused just a moment too long before pulling back. His eyes held hers. “Does the belt hurt?”
Everything hurt. Her ribs ached like they’d been used for target practice. Her arm throbbed in a dull rhythm. Even her scalp felt scorched. She forced a shrug and looked down at his soot covered T-shirt. “No. I’m fine.”
His knuckle slid beneath her chin, and the contact made her breath catch. He tilted her face up toward his, gentle but insistent. “Don’t lie to me.”
She blinked once, then again, her lashes brushing her skin before she dropped her gaze to his mouth. She’d noticed it long before today. Christian Osprey had a great mouth. Firm. Serious. Sexy. “I’m not lying.”
His expression didn’t change. “You are.”
She sighed, the breath shaky. “I’m a little bruised, Christian. The seatbelt doesn’t hurt me. But I don’t think we should just steal the sheriff’s truck.”
Christian didn’t argue. He stepped back, shut the door quietly, and walked around the front of the truck.
She adjusted the seatbelt with her good hand. Her body didn’t like the angle.
He climbed in, shut his door, reached beneath the driver’s seat, and pulled out the keys to twist in the ignition. The engine roared to life. Without hesitation, he flipped a hard U-turn in the middle of the street, the tires bumping over wet and muddied pavement.
“I can get myself to the doc’s. I think I’m fine,” she said again.
Christian barely grunted in response.
This time, she had the odd urge to hit him. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d just saved her life. Probably. Still, the grunt was obnoxious.
He drove carefully down Main Street, one hand loose on the wheel, gaze sharp through the windshield. At Dalika River Drive, he
turned right, heading toward First Street and the long, flat building that served as the town’s only medical hub—doctor’s office, dentist, and hospital all mashed into one.
Before he could fully stop at the curb, she reached for the seatbelt and winced as she released it. Her ribs were not fans of movement.
“Hey,” she said. “You didn’t wear your seatbelt.”
Unsurprisingly, he didn’t answer. Just opened the door and stepped out.
Fine. She didn’t mind quiet. It was better than forced chatter. She opened her door, but he was already there. Before she could swing her legs out, he leaned in and lifted her again, placing her gently on her feet.
“Do you need me to carry you?” he asked.
“No.” The word came out too fast. Her body wasn’t on board, but her pride was louder. Being carried by Christian Osprey was a strangely addictive feeling. Solid arms, complete control. Like gravity didn't apply.
What would it be like to have that kind of strength? She couldn’t imagine it. She was barely five foot three, and even though she tended bar and waitressed most nights, hauling trays and dodging drunks, her strength was lean and wiry. Functional, but not especially impressive. Usually it worked just fine. Just not right now. “I think I’m good,” she added, more to convince herself than him. “Christian, you don’t have to come inside with me.”
He shut the door. “Tika, stay in the truck.”
She knew he didn’t like being indoors longer than absolutely necessary. He’d been several years ahead of her in school, so they hadn’t exactly hung out. But she remembered watching him play football and hockey from the bleachers.
Back then, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him inside unless he was at school. He was always outside—working on his family’s boat,
running drills, disappearing into the woods outside of town.
That hadn’t changed, not even since he’d come home from the Navy. He walked with her to the front door of the clinic and opened it.
“Thank you,” she said, then hesitated. “I mean, for everything.”
He gave her a short nod, chin tilted toward the entrance.
Typical. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes as she walked into the waiting room, and the door clicked shut behind her.
Lance Fredrickson looked up from behind the reception desk, earbuds in, phone in hand as he scrolled. The young man worked around his remote-learning college classes. He set the phone down and pulled the earbuds free. “Whoa. What happened?”
“You haven’t heard?” Amka asked.
Lance frowned, his dark hair around his shoulders and his brown eyes somber. “No. Should I have?”
“There was a fire,” she said. “Actually, more of an explosion.”
Christian stood beside her, arms crossed. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, but somehow still managed to dominate the room.
Amka rubbed her arm. “My storage building. The one I share with Friday’s Grocery? It blew up.”
Lance stood so fast his rolling chair squeaked. “Wait—seriously? Is everyone okay?”
“I think so.” She tried to keep her voice even, but her throat felt like she’d swallowed embers. “I was inside when it happened. The blast threw me across the room.” Her arm throbbed. Her ribs pulsed. Her hip had developed a
slow, annoying ache. A headache, low and steady, was just settling in. “But really,” she said, forcing a small shrug, “I think I’m fine.”
Lance just stared at her. “Wow. An explosion.”
She shifted on her feet. “Christian, you don’t have to stay with me.”
“I want to make sure you’re okay.” He looked out of place in the soft light, all hard edges and quiet intensity.
“You’re throwing off the cozy clinic vibe,” she muttered.
Dr. May Smirnov strode into the room wearing her usual aqua scrubs, blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand. “What’s going on?” She halted. “I smell smoke. Was there a fire?”
“I can’t believe you haven’t heard yet,” Amka said.
Lance’s phone buzzed. Then again. And again. He glanced down at the screen. “Ah. There we go. Texts are rolling in now. Apparently your storage building blew up.”
“No kidding,” Amka said dryly.
May’s eyes narrowed. She handed her sandwich to Lance and moved toward Amka, already shifting into assessment mode. “Were you inside the building when the explosion occurred?”
“She was,” Christian said, his voice grim.
“I’m okay,” Amka added quickly. “Just sore. My ears are ringing a little.”
May squinted at her eyes. “Any loss of consciousness? Blurred vision? Nausea? Headache?”
“Not really. A tiny headache and some pain in my arm.”
May’s gaze swept over her. “Let’s check your vitals and get a better look at that arm. Blast trauma doesn’t always show up right away.” She turned slightly toward Christian. “You have soot all over you. Were you in the blast?”
“No,” Christian said shortly.
Amka wanted to help him get outside where he could find comfort. “He ran into the building and saved me.”
May squinted. “Are you experiencing any symptoms? Burns? Respiratory issues?”
“I inhaled some smoke. A couple of minor burns.” He glanced toward the door. “Nothing that needs treatment. I’ll wait outside.”
“I can find another ride home,” Amka said, a little louder than she meant to.
He looked at her again. Calm. Quiet. Watchful. “Where’s Jarod?” It was the first time he’d said the name.
“Um, he mentioned doing some spring fishin’ up at Rugged Creek, so I’m not sure when he’ll be back.” Well, he had mentioned it the other day, so that’s probably where he’d gone.
Christian nodded. “Then I’ll wait for you.” He turned and walked out without another word.
May watched him go. “Those Osprey brothers are kind of bossy, right?”
The chuckle came before Amka could stop it. Pain followed. She winced, pressing a hand gently to her ribs.
May noticed immediately. “Right. Holding your side like that tells me we could be dealing with more than bruising. Let’s take a look at those ribs and then check for any signs of concussion or soft tissue damage. If your ears are ringing, I want to do a tympanic check, too.”
“Thanks.” Before following, Amka glanced through the front door.
With his broad back to her, Christian stood outside in the rain, arms crossed, head slightly tilted as he stared off into the distance. The mountains loomed ahead of him, all jagged peaks and resilient strength. He didn’t flinch from the cold. He looked like he belonged in it.
She sighed and turned to
follow May down the hallway.
Now was not the time to dream about Christian Osprey. Never would be a good time, for tons of reasons. She rubbed her chest.
May glanced at her. “Are you having chest pains?”
“No.” Not the kind the doctor could fix, anyway.
After an extremely thorough—way too thorough—examination, Amka strode out of May’s office, ears still ringing. “I really am all right,” she said, half to herself, half to May trailing behind her.
“I know,” May replied, arms folded across her chest, “but you’re bruised. You need to take it easy for at least a week, and if you have any nausea or dizziness, you have to let me know.”
Lance looked up from his desk in the corner, his eyes wide. “It’s all over town now. Christian carried you out of there like some hero in a war movie.”
Amka closed her eyes for a beat and fought the urge to smack her forehead. “Oh crap,” she muttered. “He’s going to hate that.”
May and Lance nodded at the same time in perfect sync.
The door banged open.
Wyland Friday and his son, ...
