Love’s Landing Zone – Chapter 1
Ruby Olsen’s truck hit another pothole, jostling her spine. Her left tire smacked the edge of a muddy rut, and she muttered, “Cool. Perfect. This is definitely how I imagined starting my summer. In a ditch. With a flat tire.”
But the view out the driver’s side window made it hard to stay irritated. The Salmonberry River glimmered through the thick spruce trees, full of the kind of wild, unapologetic beauty that had seduced her into staying in Alaska.
And maybe because of a certain pilot with ridiculous shoulders and a smile that short-circuited her ability to form coherent thoughts.
She took a slow breath. Calm. Professional. Not some hormonal teenager on a field trip.
Still, her heart did its signature double-time routine when the trees broke open and Driftwood Cabin appeared, nestled into the riverbank like it had grown there on purpose.
Wind chimes made from lures and shells clinked in the breeze, and a hand-painted sign above the porch declared: DRIFTWOOD CABIN – FISH CAMP SINCE 1952
And standing in front of it, wiping his hands on a fish-blood-streaked rag and smiling like he’d just won the salmon lottery?
Shirtless. Chest glistening. Tommy LaRoche.
Six-foot-two of Alaskan contradiction. Part river cowboy, part medevac hero, and somehow always smelling amazing. His grin was sheepish and hopeful.
“You made it,” he said.
Ruby climbed out of the truck, her heart galloping like a startled moose. “I had to detour around an elk herd and a very upset raven buzzed me, but yes. I made it.”
“Sorry. The raven’s probably Greg. He hates new people.”
“Good to know. I’ll try to make friends the next time we meet.”
He stepped forward, hesitated, then reached for her box of gear. “Lemme—uh—can I…”
“Sure.” She handed it over. Their fingers brushed. His sun-warmed arm buzzed as it bumped against hers. She pretended not to notice. He completely failed at it.
“The family’s around back,” he said as they rounded the cabin. “We’re halfway into peak salmon season, so things are… busy.”
Tommy’s version of “busy” translated to absolute chaos.
The backyard was a salmon-slick war zone. Three fish-cleaning stations ran at full tilt. Kids darted under tables like sugar-fueled ferrets.
Salmon scales glittered in the air. In the center of it all stood a woman with steel-gray braids and the knife skills that would put any surgeon to shame.
“Aunt Sylvie,” Tommy called, “this is Ruby.”
Sylvie didn’t pause in her filleting. “You know how to clean salmon?”
Ruby blinked. “I… eat them?”
“Close enough. Nick! Nate! Come teach Ruby here how not to mutilate dinner!”
Two identical nine-year-olds popped out from behind a cooler, grinning like evil cherubs. “I’m Nick,” said the one with fish guts on his ear.
“I’m Nate,” said the one with it in his hair.
“No, you’re not,” they chorused, then dissolved into cackling.
“They do this,” Tommy said, deadpan. “I gave up trying to tell them apart when they turned five.”
Ruby grinned. “I admire their commitment to the bit.”
“Rule one,” Nick-or-Nate said, handing her a plastic apron featuring a sunglasses-wearing salmon, “is respect the fish.”
“Rule two is never stand behind Cousin Beau with the pressure washer,” added the other.
A jet of water blasted past them like a rogue fire hose. A man in his late twenties, muscles too defined for honest work and a beard too curated for the backwoods, appeared around the corner wielding a power washer like a weaponized selfie stick.
“BOOM! Got the angle!” he yelled, then spotted Ruby. “Whoa. Is this her? The famous heli-hottie moving into fish camp? Say hi to my followers!”
Before Ruby could duck, his phone was in her face.
“Beau,” Tommy growled. “Put it away.”
“Come on, this is quality content. Look at that lighting—”
“Beau.”
“Fine, geez.” But he winked at Ruby on his way past.
Ruby exhaled as Beau retreated. She could tell he was going to be something else.
She turned to Tommy, arching an eyebrow. “Is this a regular thing? Getting ambushed by social media influencers with salmon residue in their beard oil?”
Tommy winced. “Only during peak season. And only if Beau’s within Wi-Fi range.”
“Great. I’ll be viral by Thursday. Can’t wait to be known statewide as ‘heli-hottie.’”
One of the twins thrust a fillet knife into her hand. The handle was pink duct tape over wood, and someone had Sharpie’d a smiley face onto the blade.
“Welcome to the clan,” said the twin with the less fishy hair. “This is your sacred blade. Guard it with your life.”
The other twin leaned in. “Also, don’t put it in the dishwasher. Aunt Sylvie will end you.”
Ruby stared at the knife like it might sprout fins and swim away. “Good to know, I guess.” She accepted the offering.
Sylvie called from across the yard, “Ruby, honey, you’re on belly duty. Don’t be shy, it’s dead.”
Tommy shot her a grin. “Initiation time.”
“Fantastic.” Ruby tightened her apron. It was a small price to pay getting to see Tommy shirtless.
He leaned close, voice low and warm. “You’ll do fine. Just think of it like surgery, but your patient’s already failed the vitals check.”
She snort-laughed as he straightened.
He caught her eye again, just for a second, and it was there. That flicker. That maybe.
Sylvie was waving her knife in the air again like a conductor cueing a very specific symphony: “Less flirting, more filleting! We got a whole cooler left, and the processor closes at six!”
“I wasn’t flirting,” Ruby called back, trying to sound indignant.
Sylvie just cackled. “Sure you weren’t.”
“Come on.” Tommy nudged her. “Want me to walk you through the first one?”
Ruby glanced at the fish in front of her—large, glistening, and judging her with its vacant eyes.
“Absolutely,” she said. “Unless you want this to end with me being exiled for crimes against seafood.”
Tommy stepped behind her, and she could hear the soft hum he always made when concentrating. It sounded suspiciously like “Take Me Home, Country Roads.”
He reached around, guiding her hands on the knife. “Feel for the spine—right there. Angle in here. Let the blade do the work.”
Ruby tried to obey, but his voice was doing things to her brain that made anatomical focus challenging.
“I think I’m violating this fish,” she muttered.
Tommy chuckled, low and warm. “You’re doing fine. It only counts as a violation if Sylvie throws something at you.”
As if on cue, something squelchy hit the board next to her.
“Tommy!” Sylvie barked. “Stop breathing on the girl and finish your own fillets!”
He stepped back, ears pink. “Guess you’re on your own now.”
“Pray for this salmon.” Ruby raised her knife.
Tommy saluted her with his own. “Gone but not wasted.”
By the time the sun dipped lower over the river, the cleaning stations had gone quiet. The twins had vanished in search of drones, Beau was livestreaming from a precarious angle near the smokehouse roof, and Sylvie was sharpening her knives like a supervillain preparing for her monologue.
Ruby peeled off her apron and flopped onto an upturned crate near the porch, smelling like ten pounds of fish guts and oddly proud of herself.
Tommy arrived a moment later, dropping a water bottle into her lap. “Nice work.”
“I have personally disassembled a dozen fish. It feels like a milestone. A smelly, vaguely traumatic milestone.”
“You’ll treasure the memories whenever you smell alder smoke.”
She looked up at him, squinting through a wisp of hair that had escaped her bun. “So… every day from now until freeze-up?”
“Pretty much.”
They sat in comfortable silence, the wind chimes tinkling as the river murmured nearby.
“You okay staying here all summer?” Tommy asked
Ruby tipped her head back, watching the sky shift from blue to gold as the sun lowered toward the treetops. “Honestly? Ask me again after I’ve survived dinner, mosquito season, and whatever hazing ritual the twins have planned for nightfall. But yeah. I think so.”
Tommy gave a small, bashful smile, like he was trying not to let it show how much that answer meant to him. “Good. I, uh… I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” Ruby said.
They sat there for a beat. The silence wasn’t awkward, just… full. Ruby glanced sideways, eyes catching the way the last of the sunlight lit up the auburn in Tommy’s hair and the tiny scar above his eyebrow she’d never noticed before. Probably from a fishing hook or an ill-advised childhood bet.
“I should warn you,” she said, stretching her legs out in front of her, “I’m not great with big, boisterous families. I usually operate in controlled chaos.”
He gave her a look full of understanding. “I get it. I grew up in this mess, but that doesn’t mean it’s not overwhelming sometimes. Especially with Beau documenting it like it’s a wildlife show.”
“Seriously. If he narrates my next attempt at filleting like David Attenborough, I’m filing a complaint with HR.”
Tommy chuckled. “Our HR is Aunt Sylvie with a ladle.”
“Terrifying.”
“Effective.”
They smiled at each other, and Ruby looked away before she did something ridiculous like reach out and brush the curl off his forehead. She wasn’t sure when this thing between them had started.
Maybe during the medivac in Sitka when he trusted her call without hesitation, maybe the day he brought her ginger tea during a migraine without saying a word. But it had been growing quiet roots for a while now.
“Hey.” Tommy rubbed the back of his neck in a telltale sign of nervousness. “I know this isn’t like a fancy hotel or anything, but if you need anything to make it more comfortable while you’re here—extra blankets, earplugs, fewer LaRoches—I can make it happen.”
Ruby gave him a lopsided smile. “Thanks, but so far I’ve only been mildly traumatized, aggressively fed, and knighted by fish-gremlins. I think I’m doing okay.”
Tommy looked relieved. “Good.”
They sat again, the breeze carrying the scent of alder smoke and grilled salmon. Laughter drifted from inside the cabin. The sounds of dinner prep beginning.
“I should wash off the Eau de Dead Fish before I poison someone at the table.” Ruby stood and brushed scales off her jeans. “Which I’m guessing is frowned upon.”
“Slightly,” Tommy agreed, also rising. “Though Beau once served a platter with a fish scale stuck to his eyebrow, so you’ll still rank higher on the hygiene chart.”
“Great. That’s exactly the bar I was aiming for.”
He lingered as she turned to go, and she paused at the cabin door, glancing back. Tommy stood there, hands in his pockets, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite get the words out.
“Tommy?”
He blinked. “Yeah?”
She hesitated and gave him a crooked smile. “Thanks for not letting Beau livestream me into oblivion.”
His answering smile was softer this time. “Anytime, heli-hottie.”
Ruby rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her throat.
Inside, the warm chaos of family and dinner beckoned. But outside, for just a moment, it was only them—Ruby and Tommy, in the place before the evening shifted.
And though neither of them said it out loud, this could be something.
Maybe something real.
Maybe something worth filleting a few fish for.
You have been reading Love's Landing Zone...
Tommy LaRoche was the best pilot Ruby had ever flown with. He was also hiding something that could get them both killed.
As a flight medic, Ruby Olsen’s career depends on control, but she’s losing it fast around her partner—a six-foot-two river cowboy with a quiet confidence that unravels her.
Living at his family’s fish camp, she finds herself drawn into his world. He sees past the competent medic to the woman underneath, and his steady support becomes the one thing she can’t live without. But the closer they get, the more she fears his carefully guarded secret is a danger to them both.
With a high-stakes government evaluation threatening to ground their program for good, Ruby must convince the man she’s falling for to trust her with his career—and his heart—before they lose their jobs, their grant, and a love that’s just beginning to take flight.
