She had to be visiting kinfolk in The Landing because no tourist ended up there this close to winter. In the summer, tourism was a way of life, but once the snow started, sightseers scattered like roaches under a flashlight. Winters in this part of Alaska weren't for the weak at heart. Only the gristliest animals survived its harshness, survived the bone deep loneliness that months of deep snow brought.
Pulling his eyes off the road again, he frowned at her sleeping form. She didn't seem tough enough by half.
As he maneuvered another switchback, Farrah sat up with wide, frightened eyes. "Pull over," she said in a panicked voice.
"What? No. This isn't exactly the best place to get out. We'll be to the Landing in twenty minutes."
"Pull over!" she yelled, grappling for the door handle.
Aanon cursed and slammed on the brakes. Whether he stopped or not, she was getting out, and her side was teetering on a steep embankment.
Pouring out of the cab like she had no bones at all, the sound of her retching echoed off the mountain. With the truck thrown into park, the snow crunched under his heavy boots as he jogged around the bed. He froze when he saw her. Holding tightly to her stomach, she got sick right over a guard rail. Shit.
He'd seen this before, and pity tugged at the hardest parts of him. The girl was in more trouble than she'd let on.
"It's okay," he said as he pulled her hair back into a bunch at the nape of her neck. "Shhh," he said when she slumped forward.
"Sorry," she murmured pitifully.
Squatting down beside her, he rubbed her back. "How far along are you?"
Wide green eyes glanced at him before she lowered her chin again. "I don't know. I haven't been to a doctor yet. Please don't tell anyone."
Who would he tell? He didn't know her from Eve, and it was pretty doubtful that out of all the people on the planet, they happened to run with the same friends. "I won't."
Without another word, she climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and shut the door. He waited, stunned, for a few moments before he got behind the wheel again. What kind of desperation would cause a woman to hitch rides from strangers while she was pregnant?
He gripped the steering wheel as the rumble of the idling truck filled the silence. "Are you in trouble, Farrah?"
Her eyes were so sad when she turned to him. "No. Not anymore."
Working hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, he pulled the gear shift into drive and eased uphill. Unable to look at her after the hollowness of that expression, the same emptiness that matched his own soul, he drove the last forty miles without a single glance in her direction.
The sooner he got her to where she was going and out of his life, the better.
****
Great. All Aanon had to do was tell one person, and then the entire southern part of Alaska would know her predicament in two days flat. Whoever said pregnancy was glowing, getting to eat anything you wanted, and beautiful, magical stuff-well, they lied big. So far, it had just been puking. And sweating. And hormones, which could probably be blamed for her little ogle-fest at Aanon in the gas station earlier. Farrah's body no longer belonged to her, but to the life growing inside of her.
Aanon didn't even look at her the rest of the drive to town. Well, that settled it. The fastest way to snuff out any interest from an interesting man was to tell him you were having another man's baby. She'd really have to keep that little gem for future conversations with suitors she didn't want to talk to.
But, she hadn't wanted that reaction from Aanon. She searched his carefully empty expression for any of the tenderness he'd shown when she was sick. It was for the best that they would part ways in a matter of minutes. He'd been kind to give her a ride, and even kinder to be gentle with her when she wasn't feeling well, but his aloofness now hurt in ways she couldn't explore for fear of the pain deepening.
Cooper Landing, Population 289, a green road sign read as they passed.
Jaw clenched and hands gripping the wheel, he asked, "Where do you want me to drop you off?"
"Um. That tourist shop off of Sterling would be great."
"Wildman's?"
"Yeah, thanks."
When he pulled up in front of the store, he hopped out and opened her door. His attention seemed to be taken with the storm clouds above them, but still, it had been a long time since a man opened a door for her. Sweet gestures hadn't been Miles's thing.
After she'd exited the cab, Aanon pulled her luggage from the seat and set it on the icy sidewalk. "Good luck with everything."
It was a sad goodbye. Surely, after this secret that sat in the open air between them, one that only they shared, more intimate things should be said. He was now the only person on earth who knew about the baby besides her. When it came down to it, though, Aanon was a stranger and her secret wasn't his problem.
"You too," she said.
When he pulled away, the full weight of her predicament slid directly onto her shoulders, and oh, it was a great weight to bear. Aanon and the school day memories he had conjured had been a beautiful distraction from planning a future from nothing. Now, it was up to her to completely reinvent her life. She had no place to stay, little money, and no job. Not only that, but the tiny person inside of her was now depending on her success. She pressed the palm of her gloved hand on her still flat stomach and whispered, "Don't worry."
Wildman's was picturesque. It was two stories and made of felled logs with snowcapped mountains as a backdrop. Her final resort would be to visit Momma. It would be better, easier, if she was properly set up with a home and a job before she went to beg for the answers she could only get in person. Getting sucked into living in her old home would be a one way ticket to a broken life, and right now, it was imperative to her happiness that she stand on her own.
Under the weight of her luggage, she stomped her snow boots on the welcome mat at the door and approached one of the cashiers. "Excuse me. Do you know of any places to rent around here?"
The teenager was in the process of emptying a roll of quarters into his drawer and pointed to a large bulletin board up front. "Sometimes people put want ads up there."
"Thanks."
With enough money stashed in her bag to cover a deposit and one month's rent if it was cheap enough, she should be able to secure herself a place and start looking for a job. All she needed was for her luck to hold.
The rentals on the board were way out of her price range, and when she called the town real estate professional from a pay phone out front, the woman described the six rentals she knew about, and every one of them was too grandiose for her pocket book. She stood, resting her back against the phone booth and biting her lip. What she couldn't control would sort itself out. She'd started over before, and this was no different. She'd go look for a job first and find a cheap room for the night somewhere. Then tomorrow, she'd tackle the living situation after she figured out how much her job would pay. Heartened, she set the rickety wheels of her bag on the sidewalk out front, which someone had thoughtfully shoveled. A new layer of snow was blanketing it, so she tightened her grip and dragged it along. The bag thumped and bumped behind her as she trudged up the street. The sign on the front door of Wildman's said they weren't hiring, but she'd try every store in town until something stuck. She wasn't picky. Desperate times did that to a person.
The laundromat and graphic design store were closed due to inclement weather. A wood carver's shop owner said she needed more experience to land a job with him, and a small travel office was only big enough for the one employee currently working there. The general store had a very familiar Chevy parked out front with steam coming from its exhaust, so that was out of the question, and the taxidermy store, gas station, and fly and rod store weren't hiring.
It wasn't until, exhausted and anxious, she pulled her luggage up to Briney's Tavern and Tackle that she had that feeling she often got before something was about to go right. She'd started as a bartender in a murky bar on the outskirts of New York and worked her way from bar to bar until she was serving the city's elite. She'd even managed her shifts for about five months before she left.
Clenching her teeth, she made her way up the creaking porch stairs. She just wouldn't take no for an answer.
Inside the bar, the theme was rustic chic. The floors and rafters were wooden, and old rusted street signs decorated the walls. Fishing nets decorated the corners with stuffed salmon and halibut hanging from them, and the bar top took up half the room, with plenty of stools for the few bar patrons who dotted them. Inhaling, she took in the musty air. No smoke at all, which made this a more viable option in her current condition.