Finding West

  Finding West is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, and events is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2013 by June Gray. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from either the author or the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote a brief passage in a review.

  First Edition. Cover design by June Gray.

  Economica font by Vicente Lamónaca.

  To my mother, Daisy.

  I love you more than words can say.

  1

  KAT

  “My bum leg say it’s gonna storm. Snow. And a lot of it.” The old woman picked up a chipped ceramic mug and brought it to her lips while her husband looked out at the darkening sky through the diner window.

  “You may be right,” he said, nodding his head of white hair. “I’ve been stopped up for three days.”

  I watched the couple from where I sat a few tables down, wondering how long it took for two people to become so comfortable with each other that the mention of their bowels was no longer even a point of embarrassment but a typical topic over dinner. It wasn’t likely I’d ever have that kind of intimacy with anyone and it was just as well. I really didn’t want to know about someone’s ass timetable anyway.

  “So are you ready for the storm?” the sole waitress of the diner—aptly named The Diner as it was the only eating establishment in town—asked as she stood by my table with the coffee carafe in hand. “It’s going to be bad, apparently.”

  I covered my mug with a hand and shook my head. “I’m not too worried.” Hell, it had been snowing since October. A few more feet or ten were nothing to write home about.

  “Well, if you need anything, you just let me know,” she said, reached in her apron, and handed me my change. She bent down and stroked the white fur of my German Shepherd, Josie, who was laying by my boots. “Mama and I just live a few miles from your place. Even if you just need someone to watch this sweet pup for you.”

  For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the waitress’ name. She was in her twenties, pretty in a tired kind of way, and was always friendly whenever I came in to eat. She and I were the only two women in our twenties in this tiny Alaskan town called Ayashe, so I think she felt like she needed to befriend me. When I first moved into town, she started off suggesting that we go shopping in Anchorage together, do the things normal girlfriends do. I wasn’t exactly a mani-pedi kind of girl, so I always said I was busy.

  By now she knew better, knew why people around here called me The Hermit from Sommers Lane. Once someone substituted the word hermit for bitch, and he ended up flat on his back with an imprint of my fist on his face. So yeah, maybe I earned both titles, but that was fine with me too.

  Large snowflakes were already falling by the time I exited the post office with package in hand and made my way back to my Jeep, my boots crunching the snow underfoot. Josie didn't even lift her head when I jumped in the vehicle; she just lay on the passenger seat, her head on her paws and a look of boredom on her all-white face.

  "What?" I asked her, starting the engine. "The line to the window was long."

  Josie let out a long-suffering sigh and I could swear she rolled her canine eyes.

  "Sometimes I wonder if you're just a teenage human trapped in a dog's body," I muttered as I pulled out onto Main Street and away from the post office in this podunk town with its two hundred some-odd residents. Ayashe was in the middle of nowhere, nearly an hour away from Anchorage and civilization, and had a town center that consisted of a grocery store, police station, post office, and diner. Everything else was… well, we either did without or drove a half hour down the Glenn Highway toward the only-slightly larger town of Cormack. Ayashe was isolated and quiet and just the place in which a girl like me could disappear.

  The back tires of the Jeep slid a little as I turned off Main Street and onto Sommers Lane, which was three miles of road with nothing but frost-covered trees and vegetation on either side. A mile and three-fifths in, I turned right onto an unmarked dirt road, the end of which ended at my tan and brown mobile home. In my former life, I lived in a grand log and stone house in an affluent neighborhood in South Anchorage, with six bedrooms and five bathrooms, a pool (so unnecessary in a place that had nearly nine months of winter) and an entire room dedicated to watching movies. As fancy as the house had been, I hadn’t felt comfortable there, not quite myself.

  That place had long been sold, and now here I was fifty miles away in a three-bedroom place that was basically a gussied-up trailer, living without pretense amongst my simple belongings. In Ayashe, the life that I’d carved for myself was mine, and it suited me just fine.

  I parked in my snow-covered driveway and was gathering my satchel and package when I realized I'd forgotten to get dog food and a few other necessities. If the snowstorm was as bad as predicted, I might not get a chance to get to the store for a few days.

  With a heavy sigh, I yanked on my seatbelt and spun a one-eighty on the driveway.

  It was already pitch dark by the time I finished shopping and was on my way back home. I was humming along to the bluesy tune on the radio, a P!nk song about misery, when I spotted a dark figure ahead. I slowed down and watched as the tall figure wearing dark clothes stumbled along the side of the road.

  "Fuck me," I said, making Josie's ears perk up. "Dale Hokkeland is drunk and lost. Again." My car was about thirty yards away when I saw the figure trip and lose his balance, falling face down into the snow-covered dirt. “Dumbass,” I said with a snort as I pulled off to the shoulder. I grabbed my long metal flashlight and jumped out, leaving the door open for Josie.

  "Hello?" I called out to the body hidden partially by the darkness. "Wake up Dale," I said, kicking at his jean-clad leg. "Your trailer is on the other side of town.”

  I stepped around him and shone the flashlight on his face, immediately realizing that neither was he Dale Hokkeland nor was he anyone I recognized from town. His was the face of a stranger, with a dark beard that covered the lower half of his face. I crouched closer and saw blood at his temple, where he'd hit his head on a sizeable rock when he'd fallen.

  "Well, fuck," I said loud enough that Josie jumped out of the car to investigate, coming to a stop beside me. "What do you think, Jose?" I asked, petting the dog's neck even as I kept my eyes glued to the unconscious stranger. "We could either leave him here and hope he wakes up before the snow really starts to fall, or we could take him to the police station.” The nearest hospital was in Anchorage, and I wasn’t about to drive that far—not unless I absolutely had to anyway.

  Josie nudged my face and licked my cheek. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the police station. The sheriff was my age and had a newborn at home, and his deputy was a volunteer who only worked several hours a week. The last time anybody needed law enforcement in this town was a few months ago, when Dale Hokkeland's wife had called in when she'd been unable to find her husband. Turned out Dale had been at the bar, still slumped over the table in the corner.

  So when the phone rang and rang, it was no big surprise. The residents of Ayashe were on their own tonight.

  I contemplated the man at my feet through white-tinged lashes, not sure how to proceed. As the snowflakes fell heavier from the sky, I made the split decision to help the stranger. “Come on, buddy,” I said, pulling on the guy’s arm. “Let’s get you in the Jeep before I change my mind.”

  I consider myself a strong woman—hell, I’d built my own little workout shed at home—but the guy proved harder to move
than I originally expected. It was like shifting a thousand-pound limp noodle. I finally grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him backwards, making sure to lift with my legs not my back, while Josie just watched on with interest. “Grab a leg or something, you mutt,” I said to her.

  I dropped my load for a moment to open the door to the backseat, wondering how the hell I was going to get him up there before finally deciding that my best plan of attack was to heft him over my shoulders like a bag of sand and throw him into the car.

  “You weigh a ton,” I said to the unconscious man as I wrapped his arms around my shoulder and lifted. God, he must weigh more than two hundred pounds. “Might think about cutting back on the carbs once you wake up,” I muttered after hauling him up onto the bench seat.

  Finally, a little out of breath, I stuffed his booted feet into the vehicle and closed the door. Only when I got into the driver’s seat did it occur to me to check for a pulse.

  “I’d better not have dragged a dead man into my car,” I muttered as I twisted in my seat and pressed two fingers to his neck. It would be just my luck to save a guy who was already dead.

  The strong beat thudding against the pads of my fingers told me otherwise.

  The road was already covered with nearly an inch of snow by the time I made it home. I studied the man in my backseat and almost decided to just leave him in the car, but in the end, basic human decency won out. Besides, I already saved him from the ditch; I couldn’t very well leave him to freeze to death in the car now.

  I shook my head, brushing off the melted snow and morbid thoughts that had gathered there.

  You would think that taking him out of the car was the easier task, but by this time my muscles were already at the exhaustion point. Once again I dragged him by the armpits, not bothering to be gentle about pulling him out. Several minutes later I had a wet trail on my floors and an unconscious man on my living room rug.

  I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, keeping the block of knives in my line of sight, and mulled over my next step. I supposed keeping him warm and comfortable through the night was a given, but tomorrow when he woke it was off to the police station with him.

  I walked back and studied him. Based on the way he was dressed, he didn’t appear to be homeless. His clothes, even covered in dirt, looked new and expensive. With a healthy dose of trepidation, I went through his pockets and found nothing, absolutely no ID or anything that would indicate where he was from. I bent down and peered into the bearded face, but found nothing familiar in his dark eyebrows or that long, straight nose.

  I wet some paper towels and wiped at the wound on his forehead, relieved that the inch-long gash had stopped bleeding. I’d be so pissed if he bled on my rug.

  After I cleaned the area with peroxide—during which he winced but didn’t wake up—I applied three butterfly strips to keep the wound closed then placed a bandage over it.

  My butt almost touched the couch when I remembered my stuff was still in my car. Swallowing down a frustrated groan, I brought in the groceries and package from the post office and put them away. Finally, with a heavy sigh, I collapsed on the couch and allowed my muscles to unwind, at least partly.

  It was strange how one minute I had been doing something completely mundane such as going home, and the next minute I had an unconscious man at my feet. I should have been frightened of this stranger who could very well turn out to be a serial killer, but I just couldn’t muster up the energy, so I just threw a wool blanket over my very first houseguest ever, leaned against the couch, and passed out.

  I awoke to the sound of Josie’s low, throaty growl. I sat up, instantly on edge, to find a hulking figure standing over me with his palms held up, crouching over in a defensive position while Josie stood between us with her hackles raised.

  “Easy boy,” the man said in a deep voice that scared the sleep right out of my brain.

  “Careful, you’ll offend her,” I said with a croaky voice. I eyed him with wonder, impressed that I’d managed to carry a man that size on my own.

  The man’s eyes flicked to me, his expression one of confusion and terror. “Who are you?” he asked, looking around at my small house. “And where the hell am I?”

  I remained seated but my hand was under the couch cushion, my fingers wrapped around the butt of my Glock. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  He froze, his dark eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t know. I didn’t try to rob you or do something to you, did I?” he asked, his grey eyes wide with horror.

  I shook my head, a little taken aback by the luminosity of his eyes; it was like looking through glass. “No. I found you at the side of the road last night and brought you back here so you wouldn’t freeze to death.”

  “Do I know you?”

  “No.”

  “So you brought a stranger home?” he asked as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world—which now in the light of day, it was.

  “To save your life,” I said defensively. “Maybe I’m starting to rethink that decision.”

  He glanced out the window and saw the snow that was still falling in large, fluffy clumps. He cleared this throat. “No. Thank you, I appreciate you saving my life.”

  Josie growled again, a reminder that he might still pose a threat.

  “So where are you from?” I asked.

  He looked around again, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’ll answer all of your questions, I promise. But first I need a restroom.”

  I jabbed my thumb in the direction of the bathroom. “It’s the first door down that way.”

  The man took one step and Josie growled in warning.

  “Josie,” I said, grabbing her by the collar. “Let’s let the strange man pee first. He’ll taste like piss if you bite him now.”

  I couldn’t be sure but I thought I saw the stranger’s mouth twitch under that beard before he edged out of the room. The sound of his peeing was loud in the small house, affording me a moment of piercing clarity: there was a strange man in my home. I had made a point of avoiding people—men most of all—for the last seven years, but in one moment of insanity, I had willingly brought one back to my home, to my safe haven.

  It was very possible that all the years of isolation had finally made me crazy.

  I stood up, straightened my clothes, and tucked the gun into my waistband. I pulled my hair back into a haphazard ponytail and took inventory: all of my major appliances, including my laptop, were accounted for. Nothing else was really worth stealing.

  I watched as he came ambling back a minute later and took note of his size. He was tall, a few inches over six feet if I had to guess, and had broad shoulders. I’d never seen someone so large before, someone so brawny; if you Googled the word “masculine,” you’d find a picture of him. Still, his strapping appearance was undermined by the dumfounded expression on his face.

  I held onto Josie’s collar just in case he was only playing dumb. “You okay?” I asked without meaning to. I mean, the guy looked so shocked.

  He shook his head, touching his thick, dark beard. “No, I’m not,” he said, a deep crease on his forehead. “I… I don’t remember a damn thing.”

  “What?” I asked, very nearly laughing. “You don’t remember anything?”

  “I thought I was just suffering from hangover-induced forgetfulness. But I just looked in the mirror,” he said, pointing to the bathroom’s direction. “And the face looking back is not one I recognize.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Let me get this straight: you’re saying you don’t recognize your face? As in you have amnesia?”

  He nodded, touching the bandage on his forehead.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

  “Do I look like the kind of guy who jokes around about things like this?”

  I laughed in disbelief. It was just my luck to be saddled with a stranger who didn’t even know his own face. Served me right for getting involved in other people’s business. I really should have just kep
t to myself like I always do. “I hope you’re joking.”

  His chest was rising and falling rapidly. “Can I sit down please?”

  I motioned to the tattered La-Z-Boy. “Go ahead.”

  “Where did you say you found me?” he asked, resting his elbows on his thighs.

  “Wandering down Sommers Lane.”

  “What town are we in?”

  “Ayashe.” When he didn’t show any recognition, I added, “Alaska.”

  “Alaska?” he breathed.

  “Yep. The state, not the dessert.” When he didn’t look at all amused, I moved on. “Anyway, you fell into a ditch and knocked yourself out. I pulled you out of there and brought you here.”

  “By yourself?”

  My spine straightened. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “I don’t doubt it.” He rested his head in his hands and looked at the floor between his feet. “None of this makes sense.”

  I stood up then, tired of playing good little hostess. “Well, let’s get you to the police station. I’m sure they can figure out what to do with you.”

  The man—whose age I couldn’t really tell under all that facial hair—looked up at me and nodded. For the first time since I met him, he finally looked like he knew what was going on. Did I believe he had amnesia? Not entirely. But I sensed something familiar in him, something I couldn’t quite put a finger on.

  I went to the hall closet and pulled out my snow boots and winter coat. I grabbed an extra coat and threw it at him. He was only wearing a long-sleeved tee shirt; he was going to be too cold to be coherent. “Here. You’ll freeze your taint.”

  There was that little shadow of a smile again. “Your husband’s?” he asked, shrugging into it. The sleeves were a little short for him, the jacket taut across his back, but it would have to do.

  “No, my father’s.” I opened the front door to find a thick blanket of snow on the ground.

  “Please tell me they’ll plow the roads?” his deep voice asked behind me. He was standing so close his breath was ruffling my hair.