Wild Men of Alaska 04 - Wild Men of Alaska - Four Book Bundle

one. Many. And caring this much about one woman freaked him out.
    “You’re running out of time,” Hansen said. “If you can’t get her to accept you before these strong solar storms are over, you’re stuck here, my friend.”
    “Like I don’t know that.” Lucky clawed his fingers through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair. Here wasn’t that bad, for a spirit detention hub so to speak. A lush valley full of sharp-painted wildflowers intermixed with the sweet smelling grass all framed by purple snowcapped mountains jutting into an azure sky. Puffy, porcelain clouds floated by without a care in the Universe. When he’d first arrived, it had been one more adventure. More mountains to climb, a different world to conquer, but the thrill had quickly lost its appeal when he’d realized there was no risk.
    He was already dead. What more could happen to him? The worst had already happened. What he needed was to get back to the land of the living.
    And Gemma Star was his ticket.

C HAPTER T WO

    Gemma flipped the sign to open and unlocked the doors to Chinook Books. Of course, her mother Siri and her Aunt Rosie were the first ones to breeze in.
    “Did you see the Aurora last night?” Siri asked after Gemma shut the door behind them.
    Siri was garbed in her traditional winter woolen dress pieced together from a variety of rainbow recycled sweaters serged in a haphazard design. Added to the outfit were clashing arm warmers with just her fingers uncovered. Silver rings fitted every finger, and her painted nails shimmered with a glittery crimson today. White bunny boots and a royal purple coat, that was more of a cloak, completed the ensemble. Rosie helped Siri out of her cloak, while Siri stared at Gemma.
    Oh Lord, she hoped her mother wasn’t off her meds.
    “Mom?” Gemma prompted. “You okay?”
    Siri blinked her dark blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Her shocking red hair was long and curly and had yet to fade with age.
    Gemma glanced at Rosie who shrugged. Aunt Rosie was the complete opposite of Siri. Her brunette hair had been left to gray naturally, and cut in a no-nonsense bob. She wore jeans, a man’s flannel shirt and a sensible parka that she shrugged off, along with removing her gloves and knit hat. She resembled Gemma’s father who had died when she was eight that it sometimes hurt to look upon her. Gemma took their coats and hung them up behind the counter.
    She turned back to find Siri’s eyes burrowing into her, as though trying to see into Gemma’s soul.
    “Gemini Star, what have you been up to?”
    She hated it when her mother looked at her like that. “What do you mean?” She’d better clarify. She’d learned early not to volunteer information.
    “You’ve been touched by a Dreamweaver.” Siri continued her slow sweep, traveling up and down Gemma’s simple brown slacks and cream cable knit sweater. “Tell me you haven’t given yourself to him.”
    “What? No. What are you talking about?” A premonition prickled up Gemma’s spine, and she tried to suppress the sudden need to shudder.
    “You mustn’t do it. Do not invite him in. Your soul will be compromised.”
    “Huh? What? Mom, you’re talking nonsense.” But it didn’t feel like nonsense. Sometimes the things her mother said were downright freaky. Her dream lover was just that, a dream. No more. Unfortunately she knew enough having been raised by her New Age mother not to completely discount the supernatural. There was too much out there left unexplained. But a Dreamweaver? What the hell was that?
    “Siri, let’s get you a cup of tea.” Rosie shared a here-we-go-again glance with Gemma.
    “Yes, tea. Must have tea, and then we’ll consult the cards,” Siri said.
    “Mom—”
    “I’m reading your cards today, Gemini. You can’t stop me. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
    Oh great.
    “Siri, you have a full day of customers scheduled today,” Rosie said. “Let’s concentrate on them first. What do you say?”
    “Fine. You’re right of course. But if there’s time....”
    Gemma mouthed “thank you” as Rosie turned Siri toward the café. Amie, the barista who had been with Gemma for years, already carried a tray with a brewing teapot, along with matching cups and saucers to Siri’s favorite bistro table right in the middle of the room. No disposable coffee cups for her mother. Tea was a ritual and needed to be respected as such with purified water and a specialized Silver Tip White Tea imported