find your ukurraq, begin a family and continue the traditions you were taught in more than a few qasgi meetings. Will you deny me the joy of holding your precious panik before your apaaq and I fly to the sky land so that she will know me upon my return?”
“He,” the grandfather corrected, sure that Atka’s first would be a son.
“No pressure, right?” Atka rose from the rocking chair, went over to sit cross-legged in front of his grandmother and took her hand in his. “Emaaq, I could never deny you anything. When I marry, I want the woman to be smart, kind, loving and beautiful...just like you. To find someone so special will not be an easy task.”
“Perhaps. But I will ask the spirit guides to help you.” Just then, the shrill sound of a feathered creature calling for his mate sounded through the window. His grandmother chuckled lightly. “Children soon come.”
“All right, Emaaq.” After a bit more conversation he kissed his grandparents and retired to a room he’d slept in since childhood. Early tomorrow, he’d walk with his apaaq to the sacred space where his great-grandfather and others were buried, perform aviukaryaraq—an offering to them and the land—and hunt. Then he’d fly to Dillingham for a casual walk-through of his fisheries at Bristol Bay and a couple nights of solitude in his one-room cabin. Smiling, he drifted off to sleep, knowing that the chance of his meeting a suitable woman or wife at either location was slim to none. So his thoughts on dear emaaq conspiring with the spirits to bring him a wife could be summed up in four words.
Good luck with that.
Teresa snuggled farther down in her newly purchased sheepskin coat, the sexiest one she could find at the store the hotel concierge had recommended. The black wool pantsuit, turtleneck, high-heeled boots and faux-fur coat had gotten her through the flight and the interview with politician Paul Campbell. For her meeting at his campaign office, she’d dressed to impress. For the rest of her itinerary she planned to heed her boss’s advice to layer to stay warm.
During the ride back to the hotel, she scanned her notes from the morning’s interview. All in all, she thought it had gone fairly well, especially given the fact that she’d immediately sized up her interviewee as an arrogant know-it-all, clearly prepared to do and say whatever it took to get into office. Two minutes in and he’d played the flirt card. Within five, she’d been informed the victory he considered a fait accompli was only one of three steps to the US presidency. It was one thing to be confident. Thanks to her brothers, even a shred of cockiness was tolerable, sexy even. But privileged arrogance was a turnoff. Like Paul, she’d grown up in the lap of luxury. Unlike him, she still had compassion for those less fortunate and a perspective ever mindful that her lifestyle was a blessing and not her just due. She casually eyed the passing scenery as their meeting replayed in her mind.
* * *
“Ms. Drake!” His blue eyes had twinkled with open admiration as he approached her with outstretched hands. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” She extended her hand. “Please call me Teresa.”
He took it. “Only if you call me Paul.”
Teresa’s eyes had narrowed when he unabashedly scanned her body and seemed to nod his appreciation. She had pulled her hand from a shake that had lasted too long. She was not a pork chop, and thought his wife might have a problem with the fact that her husband viewed some journalists as he would a piece of meat. Bad career move, Paul. As a seasoned politician who thought he knew everything, he should have known better than to act like this.
“I understand you’re a part of Paradise Cove’s first family. Your brother is Nicodemus Drake?”
“Yes. First family is a generous description, and that title belongs to him and his wife, Monique. I am simply a citizen of that wonderful town, the same as your parents and other relatives still living in PC. Speaking of which, I understand you graduated a year ahead of my oldest brother, Ike Jr. Do you remember him?”
“Are you kidding? Who could forget Ike? He was as brainy, gregarious and charming as they come, something that obviously runs in the family.” He had winked, and gestured toward a seating area in his roomy office. “Shall we?”
Teresa had covered the urge to gag with a patient smile, taken a seat and steeled herself against what would surely be a taxing interview. On the bright side, all she had to do was get through it. And she did.
* * *
Hours later, she reached the hotel. After securing a bellman to deliver her many purchases, she continued to her room, ordered room service and changed into comfy clothes. A crash course in all things Alaskan, gleaned from the information she’d been emailed and more than a dozen sites bookmarked on her browser, had helped her come up with a time-effective game plan to make the most of her time on the last frontier and, most important, be able to make her flight leaving Anchorage for Saturday morning at 12:45 a.m. She’d decided to theme her four-part series around Alaska’s people, places and plentiful resources, all of which she’d discussed with Paul in order to set up the rest of the series. By dinnertime, she’d finished a nearly perfect first draft of the leading article and also firmed up her travel plans for the next two days. Figuring she’d benefit more from dining in the restaurant than again in her room, she called downstairs, and after another conversation with a helpful concierge, she decided on the Glacier Brewhouse. She pulled on a pair of woolen stretch pants, paired them with an oversize sweater, her “sexy” sheepskin coat and new Ugg boots, and headed downstairs to an awaiting taxi.
Five minutes and she’d reached her destination. When asked, the driver had agreed that this restaurant was a fine choice. Both he and the concierge must have been right: a weeknight, yet every table was taken.
She approached the host stand. “How long is the wait for a table?”
The hostess looked around. “About fifteen to thirty minutes. But there are seats at the bar.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
She walked over and found a seat next to a guy engaged in conversation with the bartender.
The bartender smiled. “Good evening. What can we get for you tonight?”
“A menu for starters, thanks.”
“Coming right up.” The bartender gave her a menu. “Your first time here?”
“Yes.”
“You’re in for a treat.”
“I don’t doubt that. The restaurant came highly recommended.”
He placed a glass of water in front of her. “As you know, we’re a brewery, with over a dozen selections on tap. We’ll surely satisfy your taste for a cold one, no matter the palate.”
“Um, personally, I’m more of a wine girl.”
The bartender’s eyes widened. He looked at the man he’d conversed with before she arrived. “Did you hear that, man?”
The man smiled, answering without looking up from his phone. “I heard that.”
Teresa glanced at him. Great hair. Smooth skin.
