Page 33 of Fire and Ice Cruise

“I was married for forty years, wasn’t I? Not to the same person, but still.”

Bess nods. “Good point.”

I grab Ransom’s hand and steer us toward a quieter section of the boardwalk where the steam vents create a natural privacy screen. The boards creak under our feet, and the air is thick with moisture and that ever-present rotten egg smell that I’m trying very hard to find romantic.

It’s not working.

“So.” I lean against the railing and watch a steam vent belch white clouds into the air. “How are you doing? And I want a real answer, not the stoic ex-FBI agent version.”

He’s quiet for a moment, his blue eyes scanning the volcanic landscape. “I’m fine.”

“Ransom.”

“I am.” He turns to face me, and there’s something vulnerable in his expression that makes my heart squeeze. “I’ve been thinking about what comes next.”

“They’d be insane not to let you back into your post.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’s time to find something else to do.”

“Like what?”

A smile tugs at his mouth. “I’ll keep you posted.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got.”

“Pottery?”

“No.”

“Knitting?”

“I’d stab someone with the needles within an hour.”

“Professional napping?”

“Now that I could get behind.”

I laugh, and it echoes strangely across the geothermal field. “You do have a gift for falling asleep anywhere.”

He pulls me closer, his hands settling on my waist. “What if I just followed you around all day? Carried your art supplies. Kept Nettie out of federal prisons.”

“That last one is a full-time job.”

“Two full-time jobs.”

“With hazard pay.”

“I prefer to call it devoted and available.”

“That’s called being unemployed and clingy.”

“Semantics, Mrs. Baxter.”

We stand there for a moment, the steam swirling around us, and I can feel the heat radiating up through the wooden boardwalk. Somewhere behind us, a mud pot makes an obscene burping sound.

Romance at its finest.