“I’m so sorry,” she said, and her voice came out a pitiful whisper as he pulled his truck up to Derrick’s big log house. Her attempt at sympathy felt so insignificant next to what Colter had endured, and she knew she’d waited too long to say anything at all, trying to find the right words. As if there were any right words for that kind of loss.
He gave her a quick, sideways glance. “Not your fault,” he answered briskly, flinging open his door. He stepped out and slammed it shut before she could say anything else.
Kensie glanced at Rebel, ashamed of herself, and the dog stared solemnly back at her until Colter opened the rear door and slapped his leg. Then she hopped out, leaving Kensie alone.
Focus, Kensie reminded herself. She had time to figure out how to give Colter a proper apology, since he was still helping her. Right now, she needed her attention to be on convincing Derrick to give them information.
Because the guy she’d seen at his store was connected to Alanna somehow. Kensie could feel it in her gut, as strong as the instinct screaming that Alanna was still here, that the note was real. That Alanna was still alive. Just waiting for Kensie to bring her home.
Kensie squeezed her eyes shut, praying she was right. Then she opened them and stepped out of the truck, hurrying up the unshoveled drive after Colter.
Derrick’s house was nothing like Colter’s, besides being a log cabin. It was at least twice as big, and the much smaller windows in front were all covered by shades. Still, Derrick must have heard them coming because the door opened before Colter could knock.
If ever she’d imagined a mountain man of Alaska, this is what she would have pictured. Derrick was huge—more wide than tall—with snow-white hair and an unkempt matching beard. He wore pants with a bulky vinyl appearance that looked like they were made for the outdoors and a thick flannel shirt that barely buttoned over his barrel chest. There was even an unlit cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth.
“What do you want?” he asked out of the side of his mouth not occupied by the cigar.
“We’re looking for someone. We’re hoping you can help us.” Colter held out his hand to Kensie and she silently passed over her phone.
“Do you know this guy?” Colter held up the screen.
“He came to your store today looking for you,” Kensie added.
Derrick blinked and then his gaze shifted to her. “Why do you want to know about Henry?”
“His name is Henry?” Kensie shuffled up closer, squishing Rebel between herself and Colter. The dog didn’t seem to mind, just looked up at her and then back to Derrick, as if she was waiting for the answer, too. “Henry what?”
“How about you answer my question first, sweetheart,” Derrick replied, the emphasis on sweetheart making it sound negative instead of an endearment.
Kensie heated with annoyance, but she gritted her teeth and gave him a smile instead. “I think—”
“She thinks Henry might be able to help her find her sister,” Colter cut in.
“She can’t talk for herself?”
“Let’s not start something, Derrick,” Colter answered, his voice low and hard.
Derrick smiled around his cigar. “You trying to scare me, soldier?”
“You don’t want me trying,” Colter shot back just as quickly.
Kensie stepped forward, slightly in front of Rebel, almost in Derrick’s face. “Look, I get that you want to protect this guy’s privacy, but—”
“Nah, I don’t care about that,” Derrick cut in. “Henry comes by the shop plenty, ’cause he knows I’ll help him out. Advice. Best places to hunt, how to stay below the radar. I don’t mind. But it’s pretty clear the guy’s hiding from something.” He darted a sideways glance at Colter. “Then again, isn’t everyone?”
“I’m not hiding from the law,” Colter said, tipping his head meaningfully.
Derrick’s eyes narrowed at Kensie. “He hurt your sister?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice broke and Kensie cleared her throat, embarrassed. She knew how to do this. She’d done this since she was thirteen years old. It was almost a role: dutiful older sister, willing to show whatever pain or desperation was needed in order to get information.
“Henry Rollings.”
“You know where he lives?” Colter asked as Kensie breathed, “Thank you.”
Derrick nodded at her, then looked back at Colter. “Up past the snowplow shop. He always comes in from the west. Off that old unmarked trail. Could be anywhere up that way.”
Colter looked pensive, then held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Derrick shook his hand and told him, “Look after this one.”
Kensie stiffened a little at being talked about like she wasn’t standing right there, but softened as Colter answered seriously, “It’s my top priority.”
“Good luck,” Derrick told her, then closed the door on them.
Colter turned and headed back to the truck, Rebel trotting after him.
Kensie moved more slowly, staring at his back. This man working so hard to help her thought he shouldn’t even be here. The idea filled her with a dangerous desire: to give him something to live for.
Chapter Nine
Kensie was in his bedroom right now. Probably undressed.
The idea made Colter breathe faster and he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting over—yet again—to the closed door between them. No one besides Kensie had ever been inside his cabin. Now she’d been here twice. This time, it had been his idea.
Even though the reasons weren’t personal, having her in his space felt personal. He imagined her right now, looking around his room. Taking in the simple spindle bed in the middle, Rebel’s cushy dog bed in the corner. Maybe the pictures on his nightstand.
One of his parents from his graduation, younger and still convinced he’d change his mind about the military. Grinning with their arms around each other’s waists, still madly in love after twenty-five years together. Back then, proud and excited about the future they imagined for him, so different than the path he’d seen for
