No Gentle Giant (A Small Town Romance)

I can’t let Alaska that deep into my world.

I can’t let him face-plant into my trouble with a mafia princess who’s way too into knife play.

This time, it hits me for all the wrong reasons, chasing away that overheated buzzing high from finding the gold and from Alaska being this achingly close.

Jesus. This is what Paisley’s been after all this time.

This is why the little drips and drabs I tried to pay her off with would never be enough.

She thought I knew and lied to her through my teeth.

Which means Dad must’ve done something atrocious to get his hands on this much gold.

And if she finds out I know where it is, I’m beyond hosed.

I’m a dead girl walking.

She’ll skin me alive the second after she gets the coordinates out of me.

Oh, fuck.

“Okay,” Alaska says. “That’s not an okay face. If you’re gonna throw up, head over there and I’ll—”

“I’m not throwing up,” I whimper.

But I do throw myself against him, hanging on with all my might, holding in a panicked sob.

I just need sixty seconds.

A minute to hide; a minute to let someone shelter me; a minute where I’m not thinking anything except how safe Alaska makes me feel when I’m the exact opposite of safe.

I bury myself against his chest and hold on tight.

He has every right to push me away.

I think he should.

But he doesn’t.

Those big redwood arms fold around me, and it’s like this wall of stone wrapping me up, even with the rubbery wetsuit clinging between us.

He’s this great rocky house of a man that makes me feel like I’m home, even when I’m over an hour away from Heart’s Edge.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his beard tickling my hair. “What’s wrong? What does the gold mean, Fliss?”

“I don’t know,” I lie, and I hate myself for it. But I’ll hate myself a thousand times more if I get him embroiled in my mess and he or—God forbid—Eli gets hurt.

It’s not a total lie.

I don’t know what the gold means, or where it came from, but I think I’d better find out before I make any big decisions.

All I know is that it’s blood money.

And I don’t think I can have that on my hands.

“Do you want to leave it?”

The question hits me hard.

It’s an option.

Leave the gold, forget it exists, and just...

Walk away.

...no.

No, because I might be able to—I don’t know.

Save my bacon?

Something’s telling me that even if I don’t keep the gold, it could still save my life, and Mom’s.

Which is infinitely more important than anything else in this insanity.

I pull back, shaking my head, wiping at tears that never fell.

“No. We should retrieve it, if we can.”

There’s a moment when he hesitates—before his arms fall away, leaving me cold. “Then let’s head for shore and get that crane in place.”

I stare at him. “Wait. Are you going to haul the whole plane up? For real?”

“Nah.” There’s a wickedness to his grin—an excitement, like we’re on some kind of wild treasure hunt. “I’ve got a better idea.”

I don’t know what that idea is until we’re back on shore, and he’s maneuvered the crane down off the back of the flatbed truck to a good spot wedged against a tall outcropping of rocks.

It’s hooked up to heavy steel cables, and he loops their ends around one arm several times before tucking a bright-blue bundle under his other arm.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says. “And then we’ll see what this baby can do.”

He thumps the side of the crane with a hollow boom, and before I know it, he’s gone.

Sinking into the lake, sliding away as silky as a huge sea lion.

I can see his shadow for the longest time until I can’t see him at all.

I pace on the shore anxiously for what feels like hours.

It’s driving me crazy not knowing what’s going on down there, and I keep checking my watch.

Thirty minutes...

Forty...

Forty-two...

Oh, God.

What if something happened to him down—

There’s a distant splash before I finish that thought, and Alaska’s head pops up in the middle of the lake like some kind of freaky dolphin. I suck in a breath, pressing my knuckles to my mouth to stifle my laugh of relief.

He lets out a shout and waves before swimming toward me in powerful overhand strokes, the morning sun gleaming off his black-slicked, broad shoulders.

The moment he comes wading out, he yanks his mouthpiece and goggles off, then grins and beelines for the crane without even changing out of his wetsuit.

“Let’s see what we’ve hooked,” he says, and fires it up with a rumbling groan of the engine.

I’m expecting it to be difficult, slow, but the crane starts winching the cables back easily, sliding so lightly there’s no possible way they’re dragging an entire plane.

But Alaska had a plan, right? So how do you get the gold all the way up without—