Devin Robison had rarely felt so out of place in his life. He’d slept in the back of his pickup last night in the Boise National Forest. Up with the sun, he’d landed in Eagle Cove nine hours later in the middle of a wedding. It was terribly disorienting, and not just the road-weariness-meets-wedding scenario.
He’d thought that growing up in Chicago had prepared him for great expanses of water. Lake Michigan was Chicago’s front yard—three hundred miles long and a hundred wide. He’d even boated on the Caribbean a few times. But as he’d crossed the country, the towering peaks of the Rockies had been as disorienting as if he’d traveled to the moon. The real shock had been when he’d broken out of the Coast Range forest before the final descent into town and seen the entire Pacific Ocean before
