I hear her car ignition start. “You needed a push.”
Lord love her, I’m going to kill her.
The Odds Are Good magazine is well-known in Alaska. It’s an on-line beefcake rag promoted to lonely-hearts in the lower-48.
Meet a hot mountain man!
Your true love might be this lonely fisherman!
Gatherer seeks hunter? Look no further!
And that horrible tagline: The goods are odd, but the odds are good. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I am not…odd.
“Back up, Bonnie Jean. What did you do?”
“Well…you were just—I mean, you’re stuck, Luke. You’re lonely and you need someone and so do your kids. You won’t date anyone up here. I just—what’s a caring sister to do?”
“Stay out of it!” I bark, thinking that fratricide sounds pretty good right about now. “Stop caring!”
“Too late!” she barks back. “The responses are already pouring in.”
“Responses? Dang it, Bonnie Jean—”
“The reception’s bad, Luke…” She makes a hissing-slash-crackling noise into the phone that is so phony, there’s no doubt it’s her. “I think I’m losing you.”
“You’re not losing anything except your danged mind if you think I’m going to go out with some random—”
“—oh, there it goes again!” More fake hissing. “Talk later?”
“Dang it! Bonnie! Don’t you dare—” The line goes dead. “—hang up.”
One of my recruits opens the classroom door and peeks out at me. “Everything okay, Sarg?”
“No!” I yell. “Get back in that classroom, recruit!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” he answers, and the door slams shut.
I pocket my phone and unclench my jaw by degrees.
A personal ad? In The Odds Ar
e Good?
Kill me now.
Damn my meddling, interfering sister anyway.
The responses are already pouring in.
Well, that’s all well and good, but I won’t be dating a one of them. Not a single one. Bonnie placed the ad, so she can deal with all the dang women who respond.
It’s not my problem.
You can’t kill your own sister. You can’t kill your own sister.
I repeat the mantra over and over again in my head until my heart slows down. Then I take a deep breath and let it go slowly before re-entering the classroom fixed to murder the next recruit who asks me an idiotic question.
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