He had his own sandwich. Son of a bitch.

“Is everything okay?” Easton asked cautiously, pausing inside the front door.

He was asking her, but Officer Mayoface decided to answer. “We’re all good, Easton. Miss Lane—”

“Ms. Lane is fine, Easton, thank you,” River cut off the policeman. She twisted back on him. “And I didn’t tell you my name.”

“Nope. But I’ve had half a dozen calls from concerned citizens this morning involving you harassing them.” Jonah took another bite, mumbling around his pastrami, “To be honest, that’s not the best way to start out in this town.”

Taking a calming breath, River centered herself. She would not suffer any further indignity of letting him get to her. Before River accepted this job, she hadn’t understood why no one had been here to document the town already. Moose Springs was gorgeous, the mountainscape stunning, and the sheer volume of wildlife any filmmaker’s dream. Now she got it.

They had no intention of giving her—or anyone—filming permits.

“Let’s start this over again. I have been hired by the Alaskan Tourism Board—”

“Which is run by a nonprofit organization and not a state body of government,” Jonah said, interrupting her. “Meaning you don’t have a pot to piss in, legally speaking. If the mayor doesn’t want to grant you the right to film in town, he has the power to decline the request.”

Okay. A mayor. She could work with that. “Who’s the mayor?”

Jonah scratched his chin. “Well, to be honest, he’s kind of taking a break.”

“I’m sorry, he’s what?”

“It’s been a busy year, what with fighting to keep the town from being overrun by tourists and condos and Santa mooses…”

Did he say Santa mooses?

“Anyway, whenever he gets around to it, the mayor will be in charge of staffing city hall. They’re the ones who run the website with your permits. But no one wants much to do with those kinds of jobs, and the mayor’s been awfully busy. Plus, he’s getting married soon.”

River took a deep steadying breath. “So you’re telling me, if I want to cash my paycheck and make my film, I have to wait for a town that doesn’t have a governing body and a mayor on an undetermined hiatus to appoint a city hall employee to retrieve an email that says I have a permit?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Or it’ll stay in some email black hole of nothingness, unrecognized and irretrievable.”

“That’s right.”

Which meant never. She was never getting her permit.

“Do you know what happens to good towns when documentary makers go rogue?” River said ominously. “It’s not pretty, Jonah. It’s not pretty at all.”

“I’d strongly encourage you not to film guerrilla style, ma’am. The town is very serious about that.”

“Who? Who is really serious about it? The empty barn of people?”

“I suppose the one who’ll have to write you the tickets. Or put you in holding for disturbing the peace.” Officer Jonah would have seemed a lot more official without a bit of lettuce stuck in his teeth, but River had the feeling he was completely serious.

“We’d rather not have any more tourists,” the policewoman said cheerfully, sounding less than apologetic. “They tend to make a mess of things around here.”

River didn’t have a good answer for that, and Officer Jonah had already turned his full attention to the bag of chips accompanying his sandwich.

“Carbs kill,” she told him with a snarl, turning on her heel. Easton moved to the side of the doorway, out of her way, which was smart because River was ready to walk right through him.

“Your town sucks,” she told Easton as she stomped past him. Since he’d been nice enough to hold a sign for her, she didn’t stick her tongue out at the giant of a man when he stretched out an arm to hold the door open for her.

“Only sometimes,” he replied with a wink.

• • •

Easton always had questionable taste in women. Which was why he found himself ignoring his original task and following her outside.

He had to give River credit. She was ballsy. Most people wouldn’t have been so willing to attack Easton’s truck in front of a police station, with him standing there, watching her in bemusement. Technically, River was only kicking at the tire with her foot, but still. Property destruction was property destruction. At least she was smart enough not to kick the squad car.

“Stupid…piece of…son of a…sandwich eater…”

Each kick was punctuated by an insult until she finally stood back and riffled through her purse.

“If you’re thinking of keying it, you might want to reconsider.” Easton leaned against the passenger side door, arms folded loosely over his chest. “I draw the line at actual damage.”

“I’m looking for my phone so I can report him. There has to be a jackass cop hotline for this county.”

With a chuckle, he shook his head. “I hate to break it to you, but they don’t tend to staff that too.”

“I hate your sandwich.”

Never had anyone said anything that random to him, and Easton had been on the top of Denali with people suffering from high altitude cerebral edemas.

“This one?”

“Yes.”

In that moment, Easton could have done a lot of things. Run screaming was one. Pump up his tire was another. Instead, he unwrapped the paper from his sandwich and offered half to her.

“Don’t hate the sandwich, hate the poor schmuck who had to be on the receiving end of your bad day.”

River sighed and gave up, slouching against the truck next to him. She accepted the sandwich.

“Bologna on wheat?” She peered down at the offering critically before taking a bite. “Dry? What kind of a monster are you?”

“Never really cared much for mustard.”

For some reason, that bit of information made her whole face shift away from frustration. And damn if she wasn’t even more beautiful when she smiled. “So why are you here? Did Mayoface ruin your day too?”

“There’s a poker game tonight. I was going to invite him. And I wanted to see how he got the moose out of the swing set.”

River swallowed her bite, then took another. “Isn’t that something you could have done through a text or a phone call?” she said between mouthfuls.