Come Home to Deep River - Jackie Ashenden Page 0,2
own decisions accordingly, no matter his feelings on the subject. Even if he wasn’t in any hurry to spread the news around.
Just like he wasn’t in any hurry to get to his first port of call that night.
Seeing Hope Dawson, the third in his and Cal’s friendship triad.
Hope. Who’d stayed.
A muscle leapt in the side of Si’s jaw, but he forced aside thoughts of her, squinting through the rain as he stepped onto the dock, trying to see whether Kevin’s boat was there—at least, he assumed Kevin’s boat was still the ferry between the highway and the town. It had, after all, been a long time, and perhaps someone else had taken over the job.
But no, there it was, right down at the end, Kevin Anderson’s faded red fishing boat.
Si steeled himself.
No one knew he was coming because he’d made sure no one knew. Which meant he was going to have to deal with people’s shock.
He strode down the dock, wiping the rain from his face as he approached Kevin’s boat. Hopefully the guy would be in there, because if he wasn’t, Si would have to start making some calls, and he really didn’t want to do that.
He wanted to speak to Hope before he spoke to anyone else.
But his footsteps on the dock must not have gone unheard, because the cabin door on the boat was jerked open and a large man in his late fifties, dressed in a scruffy-looking parka, stepped out onto the deck.
It was indeed Kevin Anderson. The Andersons had been doing the ferry service, as well as various fishing runs, for decades, so it was hardly surprising that he was still around.
“Who are you?” Kevin demanded in deeply unfriendly tones. “Saw you come in overhead. If you’re expecting a run into town you’re s—”
“Hey, Kevin,” Si interrupted before he could get the whole outsider schtick. “It’s me. It’s Silas.”
Kevin’s craggy face froze. He squinted. “Silas? Silas Quinn?”
“Yeah.” Si met the other man’s surprised stare but didn’t offer anything more. Not because he didn’t have anything to say. It was just there was a time and a place for explanations, and that time was not now, and this was not the place.
“My God,” Kevin said. “It is you. Geez, where you been, man? It’s been years. Heard you and Cal went off to the army and…” He stopped suddenly and hunched his shoulders. “I heard about Cal. I’m sorry.”
Si ignored the grief that tightened in his chest. There was plenty where that came from, but he wasn’t about to indulge it now. He had too much stuff to handle first.
“Yeah, thanks. Look, I need a run into town.” He didn’t bother to phrase it as a request, not when he was all out of patience and damns to give.
But Kevin didn’t seem to take offense. “Sure. Hop in.”
The run over the river didn’t take long—fifteen minutes on a bad day—and mercifully Kevin wasn’t the chatty type. A couple of questions about what he’d been doing that Si answered as briefly as possible—army, then flying up in the bush. Yes, tourists. Yes, hunters. Yes, the business was doing okay—and the guy didn’t ask anything more.
As Kevin dropped Si off on the dock on the town side, he gave him a brief wave before turning his boat around and heading back toward the airstrip side.
Si, by now thoroughly soaked and in a foul temper, didn’t bother to watch as Kevin’s boat disappeared into the rain.
He was too busy contemplating the reality of the town he thought he’d left behind years ago.
Deep River itself hugged the river it was named for, the buildings, on stilts and projecting out into the water, all linked by a covered wooden boardwalk.
It was a bit like Ketchikan, the nearest larger town to the south, except without the tourist vibe.
There was nothing touristy about Deep River.
It was…quirky. And that was being kind. The old wooden buildings were patched and worn looking, the paint faded from years of exposure to the harsh Alaskan elements, the signs on the stores barely legible. Apart from the general store, that was. Malcom Cooper, who owned the place, must have found some paint from somewhere because the words “Mal’s Market” were painted in bright pink across the store frontage. Last time Si had been here, “Mal’s Market” had been painted in fading orange.
It was not an improvement.
Si let out a breath and took a long look at the rest of the township.