She’d sure been surprised when she’d realized Gabe was leaning against the wall…really near where she sat.

And didn’t that give her a frizzle of excitement?

No, don’t go there. She couldn’t afford to get involved with him, no matter how nice he’d been in teaching her about being in Alaska. Although…nice…isn’t what she’d have called him when he’d started unbuttoning her shirt. Devastatingly dangerous would be a better description.

How did he make her feel like that, beautiful and sexy? And as if her bones had melted. As if she had no willpower of her own. Yet she knew he’d honor any concern she had. He’d also be able to discern if she was truthful with him—and herself—about what she wanted.

It was both scary and heady to be with someone who read her so easily.

Which also meant a person with a fake ID shouldn’t get too close to him. To a cop. She shouldn’t try to have a relationship, not even a friendship, really.

But, oh, it’d been fun to be with him. To learn about Alaska. To simply watch him.

He was amazing in the forest. When he’d checked ahead on the trail, he would silently disappear into the green, and she couldn’t hear him move. Herself, she sounded like a buffalo tromping around.

He noticed and identified the tiniest tracks. Her nose wrinkled. He even knew what animal had left poop on the trail. Bear poop was disgustingly enormous.

After they’d…when Tucker and Zappa had arrived, she’d realized Gabe would never be one of those guys who shouted at football games or got stupid and drunk. Even relaxed and fishing with other men, he’d looked deadly. That dark and dangerous intensity never diminished.

She frowned. Wasn’t it odd that, after Spyros, she could find reassurance in how lethal Gabe was?

Because he’d protect a woman. She smiled. And kittens.

She listened as two citizens requested new streetlights, repairs to the Main Street pavement and sidewalks, and beautification of the downtown. Their requests sounded reasonable, especially fixing the potholes in the street.

She’d noticed most Alaskan small towns had no paved streets at all. Off the main highways, Seward and Sterling, graveled streets were the norm. Rescue should be proud it had something better.

Most of the council members seemed open to the requests, but two were vehemently against spending money. She eyed the nameplates. Reverend Parrish and Joe Kolbeck.

As the argument continued, Sarah’s color rose along with her temper.

Dante put his hand on her arm and said mildly, “I figure us business owners can work together on making the town pretty. However”—his chin rose—“unsafe streets, sidewalks, and lighting might well get us sued, especially from lawsuit-happy Outsiders.”

That got an unhappy buzz.