Page 30 of Thunder Pass

“We could keep going and sleep in the parking lot. Martha gave me a tent and a sleeping bag, and we could set it up right there, or in the woods.”

He hid a smile at her naïveté. “We can’t just set up a tent anywhere. Private property and all that. But they have hotels in Eagle River. There are a few on the way there, too.”

“I’ve never stayed in a hotel.” Her eyes lit with worry. “Are they very expensive?”

“They can be, but this is Alaska. Things aren’t very fancy here,” he explained when she looked blank. “We can find something affordable. Don’t worry, I’ll pay for it, since you’re doing me a huge favor with all this.”

“Also, I don’t have any money.” She made a little face. “I’m only doing work trade for Martha. She said I could try to earn money too, but it sounded very complicated when she explained about taxes.”

“The Chilkoots don’t pay tax—never mind, I don’t want to know.” He waved it off, since it wasn’t his business, and he’d rather have plausible deniability if any IRS agent showed up. “Most of the world runs on money, you know. So if you go anywhere outside of Firelight Ridge, it’s good to have some.”

Her face turned pink. “You must think I’m so ignorant. I’m trying to learn, but it’s a lot to catch up on.”

“I don’t think anything like that. I think you’re brave. All these new things you’re trying to figure out, and on top of that, you’re doing this for me. It’s my problem, not yours, and yet here you are. I really appreciate it, Ruth.”

Right there in the cab of his truck, something zinged between them, an electric sweetness that burrowed itself into his heart.

Unnerved, he turned back to the road and hit the accelerator.

15

Ruth couldn’t stop staring at the fake ID Gunnar had gotten her. He’d snapped a photo of her and sent it to his buddy, and now she held her own image on a plastic card that looked very official.

It was the first piece of identification she’d ever had in her life. None of the younger Chilkoots had birth certificates or social security cards, which she’d only learned about recently. They didn’t have driver’s licenses or state ID cards; there was no need, living out in the wilderness.

The social services caseworker had strongly suggested that Ruth start the process of getting identification, but it was so daunting that she hadn’t gotten very far with it. Would she get in trouble for using a fake ID to get into a correctional center?

It made no sense. She was who she was, whether a plastic card said so or not. But so many things in the world didn’t make sense. Just roll with it, she told herself. That was Martha’s constant advice. One step at a time, you’ll get there, she’d add.

Something had shifted with Gunnar after they left Blackbear. He became much more businesslike and focused on the drive. That could be because there were more cars around them than she’d ever imagined possible. Or maybe it was the story she’d told him about Daniel. Maybe he thought she still loved him. Or maybe he thought getting close to her would be dangerous.

And maybe it was. Maybe all of this was dangerous.

They decided to drive as far as they could until Gunnar got too tired. At that point, the closest inn—a family-run bed and breakfast—was closed, so he pulled onto an abandoned logging road and they slept in the truck. He pushed her seat all the way back and tucked a blanket around her, and she fell asleep to the sound of his soft breathing.

She was surprised when the morning sun filtering through the surrounding cottonwoods woke her around seven. Having never slept next to a man before, not even Daniel, she’d expected to have trouble sleeping. Not so.

Gunnar was already awake and out of the truck. She caught sight of him through the trees, taking a piss in the woods. His strong back was to her, his legs braced apart, and the sight sent a tingling thrill through her. So silly, she scolded herself. You made a fool of yourself once with Gunnar, let’s please not do so again.

He grinned at her as he swung back into the truck, while she pretended that she’d been combing her hair and not eyeing his rear end. “Sleep okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes. Thank you for the blanket.” She’d already folded it up for him.

He tossed it into the backseat. “Well, don’t get used to it. Tonight we’re staying in a hotel. I got a crick in my neck.”

“I can help with that.”

She massaged the knot in his neck, feeling the tight muscles ease, until he groaned with relief and pulled away.

“Better stop or we might not make it to prison.” Then he grinned. “Now that’s not something I say every day.”

Ruth felt a sense of power that she’d caused that reaction with just a neck rub. She didn’t often feel powerful, and it took her a moment to adjust to it.

As they headed back down the highway, keeping their eyes out for coffee kiosks or any place that might serve breakfast, she thought about the few times in her life when she had felt powerful. Responsible—that was familiar. With the kids, she felt responsible, but not necessarily powerful.

Tossing those homemade firebombs into the storage shed had made her feel gleeful, and maybe powerful too, but not in a sustainable way. That was a flash in the pan, not something to build on.

Where did power come from?

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