Deep River Promise (Alaska Homecoming #2) - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,14

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“You do have a job, Con,” she said flatly. “School is your job, and I have a legal obligation to make sure you go. Do you really want me to get Morgan to make you go?”

Morgan West, Caleb’s sister, was Deep River’s state trooper rural equivalent, a village public safety officer. Which meant she was the law in these parts.

“Morgan isn’t here,” Connor pointed out, not without some smugness. “She’s still on that training course.”

That was, sadly, true.

Sandy was fussing around ostentatiously with the postcard stand just outside the information center, but Astrid knew she was only out here to see what the kerfuffle was about.

Connor noticed too. “Oh, I think Ms. Maclean needs some help with—”

“No,” Astrid interrupted, feeling like she needed to lay down the law in some way. “No more help today. You’re officially grounded. Which means you need to go home and stay there.”

Connor’s chin came up at a belligerent angle. “Mom, really? Come on. I’m just trying to look out for the town.”

“Yeah, and I get that. But I don’t want you skipping school. That’s a hard no, Con.”

“School isn’t that important. It’s nearly done for the year anyway. All the things I need to learn, I can learn from Mal. Or Mr. Anderson. Or Joe at the—”

“You are not learning from Joe!” Astrid interrupted, horrified.

Joe was an old trapper who spent most of his time with his friend Lloyd getting drunk in the Moose and fighting, and she most definitely did not want Connor learning anything from him.

“Mom, I know you’re worried.” Connor hitched his backpack higher at the same time as he made a calming motion with his free hand. “But you don’t need to be. I’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on that guy so that—”

“What guy?” a deep male voice said from the doorway of the Moose.

Astrid’s stomach dropped as both she and Connor turned toward the doorway.

Sure enough, Damon Fitzgerald, tall and ridiculously gorgeous, the strap of a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, was standing there staring at them.

Connor flushed scarlet. Then he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and much to Astrid’s annoyance, he stepped in front of her, putting himself between her and Damon.

“You,” Connor said, scowling. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

Chapter 4

Damon had to hand it to the kid; he looked ferocious standing there protectively in front of his mother. He had Cal’s height and was starting to get his breadth too, not to mention Cal’s mile-wide streak of pure mule.

But the cool challenge in his bright-blue eyes was all Astrid.

Damon had just been saying his goodbyes to Silas and taking his friend’s disappointment that he wasn’t staying as best he could when they’d been interrupted by raised voices from outside the Moose. Damon, who didn’t get mad easily, had found himself on edge and irritated, so he’d slammed open the Moose’s door to find out just who the hell was interrupting his goodbye to his friend.

A family argument between the kid and his mother, apparently.

And now they’d turned on him. Or at least Connor had.

He was staring hard at Damon, all squared up and ready to fight.

Unfortunately for the kid, Damon didn’t fight teenage boys.

“Oh?” He kept his tone very casual. “And why is that?”

“Connor,” Astrid said warningly from behind her son.

“It’s okay, Mom.” Connor didn’t take his eyes off Damon. “I got this.”

Damon nearly smiled, reminded of himself at that age. He’d been a little bit like Connor: protective of his mother, wanting to be taken seriously—desperate to be a man, take on a man’s responsibilities.

But smiling would have been the wrong thing to do; the kid would think he was being laughed at and that would only make the situation worse.

Damon held the boy’s gaze. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Is that right?” Connor’s chin rose. “How do we know that?”

“Connor,” Astrid repeated, sounding exasperated. She tried to step sideways, but Connor angled his body so he was in front of her again.

Yeah, he really was protective. A young wolf defending his turf.

Damon could only respect that.

“You’ve got my word,” he said neutrally. “And if you won’t take mine, you can take Silas’s.”

Connor’s jaw worked as if he were chewing something over. He had his backpack strap in a white-knuckled grip, while his other hand was in his pocket. Mirroring Damon’s stance—probably unconsciously.

There was something a little bit hungry about the way he stared at Damon. A little bit desperate. As if Damon had something he really wanted but didn’t know how