Wild Men of Alaska 01 - Impact

company by then, don’t ya think, Sonya?”
    “Uh ... sure.” Even though she wanted to tell her grandpa to keep his busybody nose out of her business, she couldn’t.
    Garrett gave her that crooked smile again. It was quite sexy on him. “I’d like that.”
    “Hunt!” the pilot of the plane hollered, walking toward them carrying a surfboard. “You have any idea how hard this was to stuff into my plane?”
    “Thanks, Harry,” Garrett said, taking ownership of the board. “I appreciate you making the room.”
    Surfboard?
    “You owe me a drink for it,” Harry said. “I plan on collecting as soon as I get that swarm of fishermen flown over here.”
    “You got it,” Garrett said.
    Harry waved them goodbye and boarded the plane for the return hop to King Salmon. The fishermen were all coming in now that the fishing season would be opening in a few days. In that amount of time, the population went from around a hundred to thousands.
    “What are you going to do with that?” Peter asked, eyeing the surfboard.
    “Surf,” Garret said.
    The man was a nut. Gramps had to stop introducing her to just anyone. She looked at her grandfather and was glad to see that even h is brows had risen in question.
    “Why?” Peter asked.
    Yeah, why, Sonya thought.
    “For fun,” Garrett said with a grin.
    “Nobody gets in that ocean for fun.” Sonya shivered. “You only get in it when you’re forced to.” The memory of the last time she’d been in that deadly ocean sliced through her like a cutting edge of an arctic wind. The freezing water, the screaming, the terrorizing silence. Death.
    “Well ... hmm ... hope to see you at dinner,” Gramps said, dragging Sonya back to the present. “Wait a minute, Garrett.” Gramps took another look at the man, as though sizing him up. “You military?”
    Garrett nodded. “Former SEAL. You?”
    Gramps’ smile stretched from ear to ear. Garrett had seen through the meddling grandparent to the seasoned warrior beneath. “Merchant Marines.”
    “Combat?” Garrett asked.
    “Vietnam. You?”
    “Iraq.”
    Nikolai nodded to the surfboard. “Well, being a SEAL explains the water toy.” He then offered his hand for Garrett to shake. “Very much looking forward to seeing you at dinner.”
    Garrett shook his hand. “It was nice meeting you, sir.” He looked at Sonya. “And your family.”
    ***
    Garrett pursed his lips and whistled under his breath as Sonya Savonski swaggered away from him, easily toting a duffel bag over her very capable shoulders. She wore a ball cap with a ponytail of dark hair hanging out the back. It seemed to tease him as it bounced in time to her step. She was garbed in faded jeans, and a t-shirt with a picture of a king salmon. The words, “Size Does Matter” blazed in red lettering across her ample breasts.
    Now there was a woman. Full mouth, full breasts, full hips. The trifecta. He’d never been able t o resist that sexy combination.
    She must have sensed his scrutiny for she glanced back over her shoulder. He smiled. She frowned. He smiled wider. This summer was showing some promise.
    Sonya sidled up to her four-wheeler, and Peter mounted behind her. Nikolai had commandeered the other ATV for him and his wife. In a cloud of dust, they took off rumbling down the dirt road.
    Garrett was definitely showing up for dinner.
    Waiting for his own ride to manifest, he took a moment to look around. South Naknek didn’t have the postcard beauty of the Kenai Peninsula that he’d flown out of that morning, but it had a rough and ready appeal. An appeal that fit his mood as of late. He could use some getting back to nature and there wasn’t anything but nature at present. He’d spent too much time indoors, riding a desk, and needed some space around him. Nothing but space here. The only building next to the dirt-packed runway was a six-by-eight shack with a broken window and a doorway with no door. Someone with a sense of humor had painted a sign on the shed that read, “South Naknek International Airport.”
    There wasn’t a tree to block the wind or the view. Bright green tundra with the bloom of summer ended in silt cliffs that broke the ocean as she tumbled her destructive way to shore. Industry dotted the coastline in the form of canneries to help process the catch of the “Red Salmon Capital of the World.”
    As an Alaska Wildlife Officer, he’d come to this place under the guise of policing the craziness that the combination of money and