One Snowy Night (Sweet Home, Alaska #1) - Patience Griffin Page 0,8

inside.” Donovan walked up the scraped walkway, wondering who had shoveled the snow. Before digging the key out of his pocket, he set the dog on his feet. “Make your business here. Nan wouldn’t care for a pup peeing in her house.” But Nan had been gone a long time. Remembering brought on the guilt for what he’d done to his grandmother—leaving her when she needed him most.

The dog stood in the snow, appearing shocked to be exiled from Donovan’s warm arms. The pup looked up at him with pitiful eyes.

“Don’t give me that look. Be a man.” Donovan shook his head. “I mean, be a big dog, Beau.” It had just come out, his brother’s name, and it rocked Donovan. “I really am rattled, aren’t I?” He stared at the dog a little longer. “I’ll call you Boomer for now. And whoever your new owners turn out to be, they can rename you whatever they like.”

Little Boomer took a leak, then stumbled back to Donovan, looking ready to get lifted out of the snow and snuggled back in his arms. After he picked him up and before he could put the key in the lock, another vehicle pulled up. It was Rick Miller, Donovan’s platoon mate, friend, and business manager. Rick had seen Donovan at his worst and at his best. Donovan trusted him like no other.

Rick unfolded his large frame from the truck, ran a hand through his short black hair, and then gave a low whistle. “Dude, you should’ve said something. This is some view.” He turned around in a circle, taking in the woods, the mountains off in the distance, the river running behind the lodge, and the frosted meadow to the west.

The river he and Hope used to fish in, the woods they’d played in. A knot formed in Donovan’s chest, and he pushed away the warm memory of his nearly perfect childhood.

He cleared his throat when he realized Rick was studying him. Donovan pointed to the path leading to the back of the lodge. It had been shoveled, too. “There’s more. The river has some of the best fishing in the borough.”

“Show me,” Rick said enthusiastically.

“This way.” Donovan tucked the dog inside his coat, not wanting the pup to catch a chill. Which was ridiculous, as Berners were made for this weather. He glanced down at Boomer’s head poking out and saw that the pup had already fallen asleep.

Rick slipped his messenger bag under his arm and pointed to the dog. “Who’s your pal?”

“Boomer. An old friend of my grandfather’s brought him by.” But Donovan couldn’t keep him. These types of dogs loved hard work and cold weather. It would be cruel to take him to Florida to laze around the pool.

Rick rubbed Boomer’s head as he stepped around Donovan, heading to the back. “Come on. Show me this river before I freeze.” Rick had grown up in Louisiana with his grandparents. He’d spent two years in the oil fields before joining the Marines.

Donovan caught up with him just as Rick started to climb the stairs to the porch.

“Be careful,” Donovan warned. “Looks like there’s dry rot. It’s probably not safe after all these years.”

Rick jumped up and down on the step he’d landed on, testing it. “This one seems fine.” He kept climbing and Donovan followed him up the rickety steps.

When Rick reached the top, he stopped and stared at the view. “I know you want to sell, but this place could be a gold mine. I could see fishermen paying a bundle to stay here.” He glanced back at the structure. “After you fix up the exterior, of course.”

Donovan grunted. He had no intention of fixing up the place, beyond making it sellable.

“Listen to me. I’m your business manager, remember? This place is cash in the bank.” Rick looked at him then. “You’ve been searching for a new venture. I believe you’ve found it.”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” But Donovan did know. He’d said good-bye to Sweet Home, and he’d meant it. He was the kind of guy who never looked back. Being back in Alaska caused ancient history to resurface, making him wish for a handful of Rolaids.

“I know that look. You’re going to ignore me and my excellent advice, even though you know I’m right.”

Donovan frowned. “Let’s get inside, so I can sign those papers.” He unlocked the French doors using one of the keys that the attorney had given him when the will was read. Donovan pushed open the doors