“Is this true?” Posy lowered the morning edition of the Yukon Reporter and, mouth agape, stared at Piper. “Did you really make him clean out the wolf pens?”
Piper swallowed. “He put that in his article?”
“Yes. It says so right here.” Posy tapped the front page with her index finger.
Piper hadn’t been able to bring herself to read Ethan’s account of his first day volunteering at the sanctuary, even though procuring a copy of the newspaper was precisely why she’d driven into town.
That had been the plan, anyway, when she’d headed down the mountain. She’d intended to grab a newspaper at the corner store and then head right back up. Instead, she’d found herself at the church with three coffees in tow—hers, plus one each for Liam and Posy. The church had been quiet, though. The parking lot had been empty and the doors locked.
She should have headed straight back to the wildlife sanctuary. She had work to do. Loads of it. But when she’d driven past Posy’s ballet school and seen the warm glow of light through its windows, her car had somehow parked itself in the closest parking space.
She liked Posy. Posy was the closest thing to a friend she had here, so it was only natural that Piper should stop by and say good morning. She wasn’t putting off going back to the sanctuary because she was nervous about being alone with Ethan. He had nothing to do with it.
Well, maybe a little. Just a tad.
“He wrote all about it.” Posy pulled a face. “In excruciating detail, I might add.”
Piper shrugged. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.” And that somebody may as well be Ethan.
Posy narrowed her gaze at Piper over the rim of her coffee cup. “I thought the point of having him write these articles was for the community to see the wolf sanctuary in a more positive light.”
“It is.” A small knot of something that felt too much like guilt settled in Piper’s stomach. She had nothing to feel guilty about. If anyone should be tormented by remorse, it was Ethan. He should be racked with guilt day and night over what he’d done.
Okay, so maybe that would be extreme. Then again, maybe not.
She turned the newspaper facedown on Posy’s desk so she wouldn’t have to see Ethan’s penetrating gaze staring back at her from the thumbnail photo above his byline. It was altogether distracting. “All I want is for people to support the sanctuary and appreciate the wolves.”
“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Posy’s lips quirked into a grin that she apparently couldn’t hold back any longer.
Busted.
So maybe Piper wanted some retribution. Just the tiniest possible amount. She was only human, after all. “Point taken. Revenge will get me nowhere. Plus it’s wrong. I’ll give Ethan something less...messy to do today.”
She’d do just that as soon as she got to the sanctuary. Of course, who knew when exactly that would be, since she apparently wasn’t in any hurry to get there.
Caleb’s mother had called Piper late the night before to tell her that he’d come down with a nasty stomach bug. He wouldn’t be around as a buffer. It would be her and Ethan. Just the two of them. Alone.
Except for the wolves.
She should get going. Ethan was probably roaming around the sanctuary right now, wondering where she was. If only he didn’t look so ruggedly handsome while he did so. Then maybe, just maybe, the thought of working in tandem with him wouldn’t make her feel so uncomfortable.
A nervous flutter passed through her. Get a grip. You can’t hide in the ballet studio until school gets out. She ordered herself to stand and go, but her backside stubbornly remained planted in the chair opposite Posy’s desk. Since when had she turned into the kind of woman who hid from a little meaningless confrontation?
Since that confrontation had somehow become meaningful.
She pushed that thought away and watched Posy slip her feet into a pair of soft pink ballet slippers.
“You’re welcome to stay and watch my baby ballerina class if you like,” she said, rising from her chair and moving into a series of deep knee bends.
Piper blinked. “Baby ballerinas? You mean babies, as in infants?”
“Sorry.” Posy laughed. “Not actual babies. Four-year-olds. As far as ballet goes, they’re babies.”
“That’s actually impressive. I’m surprised four-year-olds can even do ballet.” Not that Piper could stay and watch. That would be taking her avoidance of Ethan to a whole new level.
“They can plié. And they love to glissade.” Posy noticed what was surely the blank look on Piper’s face. “That means gliding.”
“Of course it does.” Piper grinned. “Maybe I need to sign up for baby ballet. It sounds like I could learn a few things.”
Posy laughed. “You don’t quite fit the age requirements, but since opening this place has cost Liam and me a small fortune, I might be persuaded to make an exception. I could use a new student. Or twelve. You’d be the tallest in the class. You could be the tree in the center of our forest.”
“There’s a forest?” Piper looked around the pristine studio, with its mirrored walls and smooth wood floor, and tried to imagine a cluster of aspen and paper birch trees taking root.
“Well, for right now it’s only imaginary. I’m having the girls pretend that the wind is blowing their arms out and they have to tiptoe through the trees. We have a recital coming up next month, and it would be great if the baby ballerina class could participate. I just have to come up with a story of some sort. A story that could be told with very simple steps and inexpensive costumes.”
“In a pretend forest.” Suddenly caring for a ragtag pack of rescued wolves didn’t seem all that difficult.
“Right.” Posy grimaced. “Surely I can come up with something. The older girls are doing Cinderella and Snow White. There’s got to be something for the little ones to do. They look so cute in their tiny ballet shoes. I know their parents would love to see them dance. The rest of the town, too, possibly.”
Cinderella and Snow White, the quintessential fairy-tale princesses. Of course, Piper’s tastes ran more along the lines of Little Red Riding Hood. That story had everything—wind, a forest, trees.
A wolf.
Piper grew very still in her chair, her coffee cup midway to her mouth. But her thoughts were suddenly spinning out of control. She could already see it—Posy’s youngest students tiptoeing across the floor in bright red tutus and capes, papier-mâché trees rising up from the floor and green tissue paper leaves hanging from the ceiling. Dim lights, whimsical music and a wolf, a real wolf. One of Piper’s wolves.
Koko could do it. In Colorado, she’d taken him on at least half a dozen school visits. At a year and a half, he hadn’t yet developed enough adult wolf tendencies to be standoffish around people. Adolescent wolves were almost like puppies. They were interested. Curious. But most wolves were easily spooked by strange people and new places.
Koko was unique. He didn’t get stressed around crowds, so long as the atmosphere was calm. He’d grown up on a photo farm, bred and born to look cute in pictures for calendars, T-shirts and coffee mugs. As a tiny wolf pup, he’d been handled constantly.
Then he’d outgrown his cuteness, and things had taken a turn for the worse.
He was too big. Too imposing. Too wolfish. So he’d been abandoned, left in a Dumpster to starve. He was barely found in time. Then the hands that touched him no longer belonged to people he knew from the farm, but rather to strangers. Veterinarians. Medical professionals.
Piper felt sick every time she thought about what had happened to Koko, but at least he was safe now. And his constant exposure to human interaction made him an ideal ambassador for his species. He was accustomed to people. He could even walk on a leash. She could bring him onstage, on a lead, near the end of the dance.
It would be adorable. The townspeople would love it.
Best of all, it would draw a huge amount of attention to both the ballet school and the wolf sanctuary. Posy had just mentioned that the school was struggling. She could use some new students. And the rescued wolves could use all the positive attention they could get.
It would be perfect.
Wouldn’t it?
Of course Piper thought it was a precious idea. But Posy might think she’d lost her mind. Ethan most certainly would.
This has nothing whatsoever to do with that man.
With one notable exception. Along with being a great public relations opportunity for the ballet school and the wolf sanctuary, helping out with Posy’s recital would give Piper something to think about other than Ethan Hale.
Her gaze met Posy’s and held. “I might have an idea.”
* * *
Ethan didn’t intend to get to the wolf sanctuary a full hour before Piper expected him. He didn’t aim to get there early at all, lest she mistakenly think her reprimand for his tardiness the day before carried any weight whatsoever. He’d planned on arriving right at eight-thirty. No earlier, no later.
But at six in the morning, the very minute the early edition of the Yukon Reporter hit newsstands, his cell phone had begun ringing. An hour and a half later, it still hadn’t stopped.
He’d resorted to putting it on vibrate so he could have a moment of peace as he drove to the wolf sanctuary. He needed a minute—or ten—to collect himself before he embarked on another day as Piper Quinn’s assistant.
Assistant. Right. Slave labor was a more accurate description. He’d tossed and turned more than once during the night, wondering what delightful task she had in store for him today. Worry. Anxiety. Dread. Those had to be the reasons for his sleeplessness. He refused to believe it had anything to do with the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he saw Piper’s exquisite face, sapphire eyes sparkling with life, her flaxen hair whipping in the wind. She had such an animated spirit that even the air around her refused to stand still. Snow flurries danced. The boughs of the evergreens waved as she walked past. It was as if nature were every bit as enamored with her as she was with it.
Not Ethan. He was irritated, not enamored. Not by any stretch. Definitely irritated. Possibly intrigued. But that’s where his feelings stopped, sleepless nights notwithstanding.
He scowled at his phone buzzing away in the cup holder of his SUV. Lou had already called three times, as had pretty much every columnist and reporter at the office. Ethan had never been on the receiving end of so much effusive praise.
He should be happy. His work was getting the sort of attention he’d wanted since he’d given up his park ranger days for a cubicle in a newsroom. Correction: this was the amount of attention he’d wished for. The nature of the accolades was another story.
His column wasn’t newsworthy. It was scandalous. The feud between the “reporter and the wolf lady” was suddenly all that the people of Aurora were talking about it. According to Lou, it was on the tip of every tongue in the Land of the Midnight Sun, from the frozen shores of the Chukchi Sea to Sitka, near the southernmost tip of the state. Ethan’s newspaper account of his first day on the job had only added fuel to the fire.
Readers were thrilled. Lou was thrilled. Ethan should have been thrilled.
He wasn’t. Not quite. Because it had suddenly occurred to him that he was no longer writing the news. He was the news. And that didn’t sit well.
Even worse, he should have seen this coming. He should have realized that instead of signing on to write a series of articles about a dangerous situation that posed a threat to the community, he’d actually agreed to pen what amounted to a gossip column. About himself, no less.
All the red flags had been there. They still were. When he’d sat down at the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar earlier this morning, every pair of eyes in the place had been on him. Every customer had asked him about Piper. And her wolves. And what she might have in store for him next, now that he’d cleaned out the wolf enclosures. Even the barista had peppered him with inquiries before handing over Ethan’s coffee. He’d stood on the other side of the counter holding the large paper cup of Gold Rush blend hostage until Ethan had finally answered one of his questions. Questions that had nothing to do with the ecological and social realities of the wolf sanctuary, but everything to do with his plans to get even with Piper. And vice versa.
What had he done? Maybe he should pull the plug on this whole thing and tell Lou he was finished.
Right. And then Lou would fire him on the spot.
Ethan swallowed the dregs of his coffee as he maneuvered his SUV off the highway and onto the snow-covered road that led to the wolf sanctuary. Maybe there was a way to salvage this situation, to draw attention to the actual matter at hand—the danger that the wolves posed—rather than the “war” between him and Piper. Ethan was a man of words. Granted, his words of late hadn’t been pretty. But war was an ugly word. The ugliest of all.
They weren’t at war, were they?
He hoped not. He liked Piper. More than he had any reason to. More than he should.
The sanctuary certainly didn’t look like a battlefield. Through the softly falling snow, beneath the thick canopy of the evergreens, it looked more like something from a Christmas card. Peaceful. Serene.
And just a little bit lonely.
There was no sign of the beat-up old VW van that was usually parked out front, and no sign of Piper. He wondered where on earth she could have gone at this early hour, then reminded himself it was none of his business. She wasn’t expecting him until eight-thirty.
He switched off the ignition and was struck by the sudden silence. Silence so thick that it was heavy, like a weight on his chest. Out here, it was easy to forget that downtown Aurora was little more than ten miles away. The forest was a different world, among trees and rugged stone cliffs. Among the wolves.
Ethan frowned. He didn’t like the idea of Piper living out here all alone. What if one of the wolves turned on her? No one would be around to help.
Wolf attacks on humans were rare. Piper was right about that. But there was a big difference between rare and impossible. Only three people in North America had been killed by wolves in the past fifty years, but the most recent attack had been right in Piper’s backyard. Less than five years ago.
A schoolteacher out for a late-afternoon jog near Chignik Lake, Alaska, was attacked and killed by a pack of wild wolves. She’d been less than two miles from a small but populated village, closer to civilization than Piper’s sanctuary. Like Piper, the victim had been a woman. Petite, blonde, beautiful.
Gone.
Ethan had still been a park ranger at the time, and like most Alaskans, he’d considered the incident a tragic, freak accident. Wolves didn’t typically attack people. Everyone knew that. Then, less than thirty days later, he’d watched a bear tear apart a child. Only then had he come to understand the grim difference between rare and never.
Piper lived alone. Among wolves. Was it possible she would meet the same tragic fate as the schoolteacher from Chignik Lake? Not likely.
But those odds weren’t good enough for Ethan. If only this place didn’t feel so isolated.
Then again, sometimes it didn’t matter, did it? Horrific things could happen, did happen, even when help was an arm’s length away.
Ethan’s phone rang again, and this time he was grateful for the distraction. “Hello.”
“Is this Mr. Hale? Ethan Hale?” The woman’s voice was unfamiliar, as was the phone number that had popped up on his screen. But he’d recognized the area code. Seattle, Washington.
“Yes, it is,” he said.
“This is Anna Plum from The Seattle Tribune.” Finally. Maybe she’d offer him a job. Right now, so he could walk away from all this wolf business. Unlikely, but it was a nice fantasy. “I received your résumé a while back, and it looks like you’re writing some very interesting things up there in Alaska.”
“Thank you.” She’d actually read the clippings he’d sent. Maybe he really had a shot at this. “What pieces interested you most? I have some updates on the series I did about proposed oil drilling in the Bering Sea.”
“That won’t be necessary. I was actually referring to your more recent articles, the ones about the wolves.”
Just his luck. “The wolf articles. I must admit I’m surprised.”
How had she even seen them? The Yukon Reporter had an online edition, but its readership was pretty much limited to residents of Alaska.
“Well, you shouldn’t be. The AP—Associated Press—has picked them up. You’ve gone viral, Mr. Hale.”
Ethan paused. He simply had no idea what to say. Viral? “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir. Congratulations.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Like I said, we’re impressed with your writing, Mr. Hale. We’ll be following the rest of your series on the wolf sanctuary, and we’d like you to come out to Seattle to discuss your future. Soon. As soon as possible, in fact.”
“I’d like that very much,” he said. “But I probably can’t get there for another two weeks or so.”
“We were aiming for sooner. Is there any way you can make that work?”
Sooner than two weeks? While he was supposed to be cleaning wolf enclosures and writing his column? Doubtful, but his gut told him to get to Seattle as soon as possible. Viral hits didn’t exactly last forever, did they? “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good. Shoot me an email as soon as you’re available.” She rattled off her email address, and he jotted it down on a napkin from the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar.
They said goodbye, and Ethan sat staring at his phone. He had ten missed calls and half as many voice mails. What was happening?
You’ve gone viral.
He should be happy. He knew he should. Somehow this whole scenario didn’t feel right, though.
He looked out the windshield toward the first wolf enclosure, where Tundra stood watching him from behind her cluster of aspen trees. Ethan felt the coolness of her copper gaze reaching into the center of his chest like an imperious fist. Why did he get the feeling she was evaluating him somehow? Friend or foe?
I’m not your friend.
He wished the matter were that simple. He wished a lot of things.
He leaned his head against the headrest and squeezed his eyes closed against the memories. What was it about these woods, this snow-covered place of respite, that made him remember so much? It was too much. All of it.
He opened his eyes, and his gaze snagged on something beyond the swirling snow. Something red. His gut clenched.
Was he seeing things?
Maybe it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him again. He climbed out the SUV, and to his horror realized he wasn’t imagining things.
Killers.
The word had been scrawled in red paint on the side of Piper’s little log cabin office. A big, blood-hued sentiment that could have been plucked straight from Ethan’s head, or his newspaper column, and scribed to life.
He felt sick to his stomach all of a sudden. And angry. Furious, even. Which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, considering Ethan had used similar terms, if not that exact word, to describe the wolves.
But this was different. Someone had come onto Piper’s land and done this. Not to educate, not to inform. But to frighten her.
Ethan’s hands began to shake as he stood there staring at it. He felt like hitting something. Something or someone. The trouble was he didn’t know who he was more angry at—the idiot who’d defaced Piper’s property or himself.
This was his fault. His column had done this. His column that had now gone viral. The so-called feud had gotten out of hand, and now some idiot thought it was okay to come here and terrorize Piper.
Maybe wolves weren’t the only dangers lurking in the shadows of her forest.
Ethan’s gaze darted to the cluster of hemlock trees to his right and then scanned the horizon. There was no sign of anything else amiss. Nothing. No one. Just the papery bark of the aspen trees, snow soft as feathers and the graceful lope of the watchful wolves.
Fingers numb from the cold, he pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his parka and dialed Tate Hudson.
He answered on the first ring. “Hudson here.”
“Tate, it’s Ethan. I’m out at the wolf sanctuary, and we’ve got a problem.” He turned his back on the cabin, but somehow still saw red. He’d probably be seeing red for a long time, at least as long as it took to find whoever had done this.
“A problem?” Tate let out a laugh. “Does the audacious Ms. Quinn have you doing more dirty work today?”
Of course he’d read the article. Everyone from Alaska to the South Pole had read it, apparently. “This is serious. How fast can you get out here?”
Very fast, as it turned out.
Less than twenty minutes later, Tate’s police cruiser pulled to a stop alongside Ethan’s SUV. By then Ethan had walked the perimeter of Piper’s property, searching for signs of more vandalism. He’d come up empty. No more painted messages. And no Piper, either. Which would have given him an immediate ulcer if not for the fact that her car was also absent. She’d probably gone to run an errand or something. Still, he’d feel better when she returned, and he knew she was safely out of harm’s way.
Since when is this place safe?
“Any idea when this happened?” Tate snapped a few photos of the graffiti with his cell phone, which Ethan had already done.
“No idea. I got here less than half an hour ago, and I haven’t seen Piper. I’m guessing she went into town.”
“She couldn’t have come outside without noticing this, and we haven’t had any calls at the station this morning. Not a one.” Tate shook his head and pocketed his phone. “Do you think Piper would have contacted the police if the paint had been here first thing this morning?”
“I’d hope so.” But Ethan couldn’t say for certain. Piper gave him the impression that she believed she could singlehandedly take on the world, which he found equal parts maddening and captivating.
But she would have been upset if she’d seen this. Extremely upset. Devastated.
Ethan didn’t like the thought of a devastated Piper Quinn. Not one bit.
“Maybe she drove into town to report it in person,” Tate suggested.
“No.” Ethan shook his head. “She wouldn’t have left the wolves. Not after something like this.”
She would have stayed right here alongside them, all alone, in the middle of nowhere. Unarmed and unprotected. He knew enough about Piper to be certain of that.
“I can dust for prints and take a look around, but I doubt we’ll find anything. We usually don’t in these circumstances,” Tate said. “Unfortunately.”
“Should we be worried about this?” We. As if he and Piper were a team. A couple. “I mean, do you think she’s in danger up here?” Other than the obvious. The wolves.
Tate shook his head. “I doubt it. Aurora’s a safe place. You know that, Ethan. Chances are far more likely that this is the work of kids rather than a dangerous criminal. I’d place my bets on someone who’s just getting a little too stirred up by what’s being printed in the paper these days.” He raised his brows at Ethan.
Ethan’s jaw clenched. Why did he feel as if he had red on his hands? “All the same, do you think you could keep an eye on her out here? Just in case.”
“Sure. I’ll make certain we get a patrol car out here regularly, at least until things settle down.”
Until you stop attacking one another in the newspaper.
Things had gone too far. It didn’t matter if Ethan quit writing the column. It didn’t matter if Lou fired him. There was no turning back.
You’ve gone viral.
It was too late.
Tate crunched through the snow until he stood less than an arm’s length from the defaced cabin wall. “With all the snowfall we’ve been getting this morning, I can’t see any obvious footprints. But the paint is definitely fresh. This couldn’t have been done more than an hour ago. ”
So Piper probably hadn’t seen it yet. Good.
But she would soon enough. Would it frighten her? Maybe. Would it hurt her? Most definitely. It would stain her heart as surely as it had stained her little log cabin.
One of the wolves howled, a lonely lament that sent a chill up Ethan’s spine, and an owl swooped overhead. He forced himself to look at the graffiti again.
Killers.
It left a bad taste in Ethan’s mouth. A taste oddly reminiscent of regret.