Page 5 of Thunder Pass

But to go from that distant memory to babysitting her son for an indefinite amount of time was…a lot. Good thing Nelson didn’t really seem to need much.

Gunnar cleared his throat to get Nelson’s attention again. “I’m going to head out to Pinky’s to pick up an ATV. Do you want to come? Get out of the house for a bit?”

Nelson shook his head, so completely focused on the motherboard of Gunnar’s old Mac that he barely seemed to hear. “No thanks,” he murmured. Gunnar took that to be his standard polite rejection of things his mother wanted him to do.

“You okay here on your own for a while? I’ll put up a closed sign, but sometimes people wander in here anyway.”

That got Nelson’s attention. He looked up in alarm. “What should I do?”

“Just tell them I’ll be back soon. If you can, find out what they’re here for. Usually it’s just to shoot the shit, but if they need something more, write it down.” Nelson’s panicked expression made Gunnar switch gears. “Or you could just lock this door from the inside. No one will know you’re here.”

So much for having an assistant, Gunnar thought as he strode out of the shop to the sound of the office door locking. He never bothered to lock it himself. Most folks in Firelight Ridge didn’t even have locks. But whatever the kid needed to feel safe, he’d do.

Two hours later, he was on the road to the Chilkoots’ place, Pinky’s old ATV and a new engine loaded onto a trailer hitched to his 1999 T100 Toyota truck—his favorite work truck. A few months ago, Jared Chilkoot had asked Gunnar to let him know if he came across any ATVs for sale. Perfectly valid reason to head out there and scope things out.

He rolled down the window to enjoy the fresh air as he passed the first Chilkoot potato fields. The Chilkoots ate a lot of potatoes, Ruth had told him. That was their main source of starch in the winter, especially after half the Chilkoots had been arrested, and there wasn’t enough manpower to manage the wheat fields. Ruth had told him that the first time she’d purchased a sack of flour from the general store, she’d nearly cried.

“Why?” he’d asked blankly, not understanding. “From joy because you didn’t have to do all that work?”

“No, because I felt like I let them down. Everyone worked so hard to plant our fields, to get our mill up and running, all of it. And I couldn’t keep it going.”

Those Chilkoots had really done a number on Ruth. He got angry every time he thought about it. All she did was work and take care of people, and yet she still felt like she’d disappointed “them.” Did “them” mean Luke and Naomi? Or the community in general? He wasn’t sure. But it all pissed him off.

But all that was her problem, not his. She was a Chilkoot, he was a Firelight Ridge guy, and those two groups weren’t supposed to mingle, at least according to the Chilkoots. Their whole thing was keeping to themselves and distrusting everyone else.

Which didn’t leave much room for Gunnar in Ruth’s life.

After cruising past the five—make that six—signs telling him to “keep out,” he braced himself for some kind of confrontation. Maybe Jared and Ted would greet him with locked and loaded shotguns. Maybe Luke himself would be there with a sniper rifle. Or Soraya—was she back too? Her aim was legendary.

He was prepared for all or any of that. But not for what actually came next. As he rolled to a stop in the clearing in front of the Chilkoots’ longhouse, Ruth came marching toward his truck. With her red hair in a thick braid over one shoulder and her blue sweater belted at the waist, she looked good. Really good.

And really mad.

He’d barely swung out of the T100 when her hand made contact with his cheek in a sharp slap.

“How dare you?” she hissed.

3

It wasn’t that Ruth was angry at Gunnar…okay, she was quite angry with Gunnar. But she was more furious with various other men in her life, and she couldn’t slap any of them.

Poor Gunnar stared at her as he flexed his jaw back and forth. Had she really hit him that hard? She’d never slapped anyone before in her entire life. It was a strange, surreal feeling.

“Damn,” he said. “I had no idea you could pack a punch like that.”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look, and it wasn’t a punch.” For some reason, she had to make that clear. “Slaps are not punches. And you deserved it.”

“I did?” He looked genuinely confused as he scratched a hand through his thick hair, the color of golden wheat in the fall. She fought against the pull of his sculpted body, his eyes—such a pretty blue—and his overall powerfully irresistible attractiveness. “Mind telling me why?”

She glanced behind her at the house. The men were all at the mill, working on resurrecting the wheat operations. The children were down by the creek, fishing for something for lunch. The only women in the house were those assigned to preparing the midday meal. She herself was supposed to be watching over the kids—that was usually her job—but she’d run back to the house to grab another bucket.

Still, you never knew who might be watching. Finding privacy at the Chilkoot compound was nearly impossible. Too many eyes and ears everywhere. She wanted to have this conversation with Gunnar—really, she wanted to yell at him—but she didn’t know if it was safe.

“Why are you here?” she asked him, suddenly realizing he was pulling a trailer.

“Never mind that. I want to know why you’re mad at me.”

He seemed sincere, but then he had before, too. But still, she really wanted to have her say. “Meet me at that cottonwood grove in ten minutes,” she said, with a tiny gesture of her head toward the woods.

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