Debbie Macomber - Alaska Skies

“There’s plenty of jobs in the lower forty-eight,” Christian said in a perfectly reasonable tone. This was always where Sawyer ran into trouble with his younger brother. Christian could propose the most ridiculous idea in the most logical way. “True?”

“True,” Sawyer agreed warily.

“So, like I said before, we’ve got to offer these women some incentive to live and work in Hard Luck.”

“You want to give them the cabins?” Sawyer scratched his head. “As an incentive?”

“Sure. Then if they want to bring in electricity and running water they can do it with their own money.”

Sawyer checked around to see what the others were thinking. He couldn’t find a dissenting look among them. Not on Ben’s face and certainly not on any of the others. He should’ve known Christian’s idea would take root in the fertile minds of his women-starved men.

“We’d clean up the cabins a bit first,” Christian said as though this was the least they could do.

“We found a bear in one of them last year,” Sawyer reminded his brother.

“That bear didn’t mean any harm,” Ralph said confidently. “He was just having a look around, is all. I doubt he’ll be back after the shot of pepper spray Mitch gave him.”

Sawyer just shook his head, bemused.

“But it might not be smart to mention the bear to any of the women,” Ben was quick to add. “Women are funny about wild critters.”

“Yeah,” John said in hushed tones, “take my word for it—don’t say anything about the wildlife.”

“Say anything?” Sawyer asked. The men made it sound like he was going to personally interview each applicant.

“To the women when you talk to them,” Ralph explained with exaggerated patience.

“I’m going to be talking to these women?”

“Why, sure,” Duke said, as if that had been understood from the beginning. “You’ll have to interview them, you or Christian. Especially if you’re going to offer them housing when they accept a job in Hard Luck.”

“You’d better throw in some land while you’re at it,” Ben said, reaching for the coffeepot. He refilled the mugs and set the pot back on the burner. “You O’Hallorans got far more of it than you know what to do with. Offer the women a cabin and twenty acres of land if they’ll live and work in Hard Luck for one year.”

“Great idea!”

“Just like the old days when the settlers first got here.”

“Those cabins aren’t on any twenty acres.” Sawyer raised his arms to stop the discussion. “It’d be misleading to let anyone think they were, or that—”

“No one said the cabins had to be on acreage, did they?” Duke broke in. “Besides, to my way of thinking, people shouldn’t look a gift house in the mouth.” He chuckled at his own feeble joke. “House, get it? Not horse.”

“A year sounds fair,” Christian said decisively, ignoring him. “If it doesn’t work out, then they’re free to leave, no hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings.” John nodded happily.

“Now, just a minute,” Sawyer said. Was he the only one here who possessed any sense? He’d come into the Hard Luck Café for a simple cup of coffee, discouraged by the news that Phil was leaving. The morning had rapidly gone from bad to worse.

“How are we going to let women know about your offer?” Ralph asked.

“We’ll run some ads like we said,” Christian told him. “But maybe not in magazines. That’ll take too long. I’ve got a business trip planned to Seattle, so we can put ads in the papers there and I’ll interview the women who apply.”

“Hold on,” Sawyer said, frowning. “We can’t go giving away those cabins, never mind the acreage, without talking to Charles first. Besides, there are antidiscrimination laws that make it illegal to advertise a job for women only.”

Christian grinned. “There’re ways around that.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. “But we really do need to discuss this with Charles.” Their oldest brother was a silent partner in the O’Hallorans’ air charter service. He should have a voice in this decision; after all, they’d be giving away family-owned cabins and land.

“There isn’t time for that,” Christian argued. “Charles’ll go along with it. You know he will. He hasn’t paid that much attention to the business since he started working for Alaska Oil.”

“You’d better have an attorney draw up some kind of contract,” Ben suggested.

“Right.” Christian added that to his list. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll write the ad this morning and see about getting it in the Seattle paper. It might be best if we placed it in another city, as well. It wouldn’t be much trouble to go down to Oregon and interview women from Portland. I’ve got plenty of time.”

“Hey, good idea,” John murmured.

“I’ll design the application,” Sawyer said reluctantly. This was happening much too fast. “You know, guys...” He hated to throw another wrench in the works, but someone needed a clear head, and it was obvious he’d been elected. “If any woman’s foolish enough to respond, those old cabins had better be in decent shape. It’s going to take a lot of work.”

“I’ll help,” John said enthusiastically.

“Me, too.”

“I expect we all will.” Duke drained the last of his coffee, then narrowed his gaze on Christian. “Just make sure you get a blonde for me.”

“A blonde,” Christian repeated.

Sawyer closed his eyes and groaned. He had a bad feeling about this. A very bad feeling.

One

It had been one of those days. Abbey Sutherland made herself a cup of tea, then sat in the large overstuffed chair and propped her feet on the ottoman. She closed her eyes, soaking in the silence.

The morning had started badly when Scott overslept, which meant he and Susan had missed the school bus. Seven-year-old Susan had insisted on wearing her pink sweater, which was still in the dirty-clothes hamper, and she’d whined all the way to school. Abbey had driven them, catching every red light en route.

By the time she arrived at the library, she was ten minutes late. Mrs. Duffy gave her a look that could have curdled milk.

But those minor irritations faded after lunch. Abbey received notice that the library’s budget for the next fiscal year had been reduced and two positions would be cut—the positions held by the most recently hired employees. In other words, Abbey was going to lose her job in less than three months.

She finally got home at six o’clock, tired, short-tempered and depressed. That was when Mr. Erickson, the manager of the apartment complex, hand-delivered a note informing her the rents were being raised.

It was the kind of day even hot fudge couldn’t salvage.

Sensing her mood, the kids had acted up all evening. Abbey was exhausted, and she didn’t think reruns of Matlock were going to help.

Sipping her tea, she wondered what had happened to throw her life off course. She had a savings account, but there wasn’t enough in it to pay more than a month’s worth of bills. She refused to go to her parents for money. Not again. It had been too humiliating the first time, although they’d been eager to help. Not once had her mother or father said “I told you so,” when she filed for divorce, although they’d issued plenty of warnings when she’d announced her intention to marry Dick Sutherland. They’d been right. Five years and two children later, Abbey had returned to Seattle emotionally battered, brokenhearted and just plain broke.

Her parents had helped her back on her feet despite their limited income and lent her money to finish her education. Abbey had painstakingly repaid every penny, but it had taken her almost three years.

The newspaper, still rolled up, lay at her feet, and she picked it up. She might as well start reading through the want ads now, although she wasn’t likely to find another job as an assistant librarian. With cuts in local government spending, positions in libraries were becoming rare these days. But if she was willing to relocate...