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Alaskan Hideaway
Beth Carpenter


He travelled thousands of miles to be alone…but is it what he really wants? Relocating to Alaska after a family tragedy seemed an ideal way for author R.D. ‘Mac’ Macleod to grieve in peace. But solitude feels overrated when Mac’s around B&B owner Ursula Anderson and her goddaughter, Rory. Is it time to finally forgive himself?







He traveled 3,800 miles to be alone

...but is it what he really wants?

Relocating to Alaska after a family tragedy seemed an ideal way for author R.D. “Mac” Macleod to grieve in peace. But solitude feels overrated when Mac’s around B&B owner Ursula Anderson and her orphaned goddaughter, Rory, who’s already bonding with his dog. Worse, he’s imagining a future with Ursula and Rory. Is it time to finally forgive himself?


BETH CARPENTER is thankful for good books, a good dog, a good man and a dream job creating happily-ever-afters. She and her husband now split their time between Alaska and Arizona, where she occasionally encounters a moose in the yard or a scorpion in the basement. She prefers the moose.


Also by Beth Carpenter (#ulink_1ba9589d-5231-5a8b-a70a-35157c469bf0)

A Gift for Santa

The Alaskan Catch

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Alaskan Hideaway

Beth Carpenter






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07792-7

ALASKAN HIDEAWAY

© 2018 Lisa Deckert

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Rosemunde Pilcher, Sue Grafton,

Agatha Christie and all the other writers, living and dead, who have brought me endless hours of pleasure with their stories.

And to all the readers who share my passion

for the written word. Happy reading!


Contents

Cover (#ubab3a436-75fa-53c7-87e9-070798f2efc2)

Back Cover Text (#u3a04beba-c53a-5efe-83cb-c01248f95e36)

About the Author (#uaef5b27c-7d31-5f36-ab29-6aa405a7375f)

Booklist (#ulink_099786f4-0e32-5879-8bc7-cca539b2d683)

Title Page (#ucb31189c-b717-5002-af40-8a7c39ed6be1)

Copyright (#u48889758-9f06-56d8-85d7-c783335c0ea6)

Dedication (#u5e225b1a-1f6f-5c52-b2b1-bd8e6de89b29)

CHAPTER ONE (#u3484c9b6-9cfe-5eaf-8d92-3c3369b09c79)

CHAPTER TWO (#ufce47035-f549-5789-9156-84f72333cc97)

CHAPTER THREE (#ufed17419-2756-5581-a973-7a40eb98edfe)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u89f4636c-96f5-5887-b5cd-2fb175e751f5)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_c1f190ef-bcc2-53b7-85bf-1f96e2a8c534)

SNOW CRUNCHED UNDER Ursula’s ski poles as she pushed up the rise and stopped at the top of the hill to catch her breath. She’d earned an Anchorski second-place medal in the over-fifty age group a few winters ago, but that didn’t mean she could keep up with her eight-year-old goddaughter. From somewhere nearby, a raven cackled as though amused at these earthbound creatures with boards strapped to their feet.

Up ahead, Rory picked up speed as the slope grew steeper. She crouched into a tuck, her corn-silk hair lifting from her shoulders and streaming behind her. At this rate, she’d be airborne before she reached the bottom of the hill.

“Remember, pizza,” Ursula called. The little girl instantly spread the tails of her skis and slid to a stop.

She looked back at Ursula and frowned. “I know what a wedge is.” Of course, she did. Rory had been on the ski trails before she could walk, riding in a pulk behind her parents. She didn’t need anyone to remind her to shift her skis in “pizza” position to slow herself or “hotdog” to speed up.

“Sorry. I forget you’re an expert. But I’m not as fast as you. Slow down a little so I can keep up. Okay?”

“Okay.” Rory flashed a smile before she resumed skiing, and Ursula’s heart melted. Rory’s smiles had been all too rare lately. After a week including a discouraging meeting with Rory’s teacher and a glowing article about the new resort in Seward that was bound to cut into Ursula’s business, this was exactly what they both needed. Time outside, space to move and breathe. Somehow, nothing seemed quite as overwhelming in the outdoors.

The trail ran between a cluster of spruce trees and a huge boulder making a sharp bend toward the right-of-way across Betty’s place. Movement caught her eye, and Ursula looked over to watch a rabbit disappear into the woods. She rounded the bend and turned her attention back to the trail.

What in the—? A gate Ursula had forgotten existed blocked the trail at the bottom of the hill. Rory had spotted the gate first and was standing in the middle of the trail. Ursula slowed but couldn’t stop in time to avoid a slow-motion crash, and they both skidded downhill in a tangle of arms, legs, skis and poles, coming to rest a couple of feet from the heavy gate.

Ursula sat up. “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

Eyes wide, the girl nodded and stared at the gate. “Why is that there?”

“I don’t know.” The top rail sported a new sign: Private Property. No Trespassing. A thick chain looped around the fencepost adjacent to the gate. On the far side, someone had gone to considerable trouble shoveling the snow away so the gate could swing shut. It had always been open during the six years Ursula had been operating the inn. Betty had enjoyed watching the skiers and hikers pass through on the way to the main trails. She used to sit outside on nice days and wave at them.

Ursula got to her feet and jabbed her poles into the snow before offering Rory a hand up. The wooden sign pointing toward Fireweed Trail was missing, too. This was no misunderstanding. The shortcut she and her guests took across her neighbor’s property to the cross-country trails was closed.

This wouldn’t do. Not only did she and Rory enjoy Nordic skiing, but access to trails was one of the main draws for her bed-and-breakfast inn, especially in the winter. Across the snow-covered meadow, a steel-gray SUV with a propeller-shaped medallion on the grill backed up to Betty’s porch, its liftgate open. A real estate agent, no doubt, finally getting the place ready to sell.

It had been almost two years since Betty Francis, Ursula’s friend and neighbor, passed away at the age of eighty-nine and left her cabin to her granddaughter, Danielle. Except for a monthly cleaning service, the cabin had been deserted ever since. Ursula was surprised it had taken Danielle this long to list the property. She’d seldom found time to visit even when her grandmother was alive, with her busy career writing cookbooks.

Rory’s lip quivered. “Does this mean we can’t ski anymore?”

“Of course we can ski. We can get to the trails by Marge’s place if we need to, but maybe if we ask nicely, they’ll let us through today.” If they could get the agent’s attention, anyway.

Either way, the gate wouldn’t stay closed for long. The credit union had already preapproved Ursula for a loan. Assuming the asking price was anywhere near reasonable, Ursula was ready to buy Betty’s cabin and the land around it. With that new resort going in, she needed something special to entice guests, and with this property she could give her guests something the hotel couldn’t.

A man stepped to the edge of the porch and looked their way. Ursula waved, but he didn’t respond. She held her hand against her face like a phone to let him know she wanted to talk, but he just crossed his arms over his chest and stared at them. Great sales technique.

Ferocious barking interrupted her thoughts. A black-and-white dog tore through the snow. All at once, Ursula was glad for the heavy gate. She liked dogs, but the pit bull charging toward them didn’t evoke her usual warm and fuzzy response. She clutched her ski poles, just in case she needed them to fend it off. Rory squeaked and hid behind her.

The dog roared and leaped at the gate, shaking the heavy iron, fell to the snow and leaped again. Ursula knew fleeing would only engage the dog’s chase response, so she slowly eased away from the fence, staying between Rory and the dog. What kind of realtor brought a vicious dog along on his visits?

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted, “Call off your dog.” She wasn’t sure if he could make out her words from that distance or not, but if he did, he chose to ignore her.

Fine. She turned and urged Rory back up the hill. “We’re okay. The dog can’t get through the gate.” The barking continued long after they had rounded the boulder and disappeared into the forest. Eventually, Ursula heard a distant whistle and the dog quieted. By that time, they were halfway home.

Once they made it to the B&B parking area, she and Rory released their bindings and stepped out of their skis. When she laid a hand on Rory’s shoulder, she could feel the girl shaking, whether from fear or anger Ursula wasn’t sure. Ursula was leaning their skis against the wall on the porch when she heard a chattering noise. A squirrel dashed across the porch and tried to run up Rory’s leg, but the ski bibs she wore were too slick.

Rory giggled. “Hi, Frankie.” Giving up on climbing her leg, the squirrel ran up the porch post to stand on top of the railing. Rory stroked a finger along his back. “I couldn’t find you yesterday. Where were you?”

Ursula smiled at their reunion. Animals were Rory’s soft spot, and she’d been fascinated with Frankie from their first meeting. “He comes and goes. He was probably just off playing with his friends.” She patted her coat and found a few sunflower seeds in the breast pocket, which she handed to Rory. The squirrel took them from her hand, stuffed them into his cheek pouches and scurried away. Good old Frankie. Unlike a certain realtor, he didn’t bite the hand that fed him. Rory watched him disappear into the forest.

Ursula put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “What do you say we get a cookie before we drive over to Marge’s house to ski?”

Rory shrugged, her features once again settling into that bland expression she wore too often. “I don’t want to ski anymore. Can I watch a movie?”

Ursula sighed inwardly. That’s all Rory had wanted to do at first, to watch the same dozen movies over and over. Recently, she’d seemed a little more engaged, but here they were again. Eventually, Ursula was going to need to put some limits on screen time, but after the gate and the dog, she understood why Rory needed this. Saturday night used to be movie night for Rory and her parents, when they would pop popcorn and cuddle together on the couch. Wrapping herself in her mother’s blanket and watching movies made Rory feel closer to them. But it had been four months since the accident, and Ursula was starting to see traces of the bundle of energy Rory used to be. The ski outing had been going so well, until the stupid realtor ruined it.

Ursula forced a smile before opening the door, for the sake of her guests as well as Rory. People came to the B&B to relax, and she made it a point never to add to their stress. “You can watch a movie if that’s what you want.” The faint odor of maple syrup from this morning’s breakfast still hung in the air. The couple staying in the Rose room sipped coffee and gazed out the windows, watching the birds flutter between Ursula’s collection of bird feeders. Good thing they weren’t skiers. The family in the Shooting Star suite had gone into Seward for the day.

Ursula greeted her guests and followed Rory to their private quarters in the back of the inn to change. When the zipper on her ski boot stuck, she jerked it free and dropped the boot on the floor with a thud. That realtor was just plain rude. He could have at least given her warning before he closed the shortcut, not to mention controlling his dog.

But getting mad wouldn’t accomplish anything. Betty’s granddaughter had chosen to hire him, so if Ursula wanted that property, she was going to have to work with him. Once he’d had a chance to put up a for-sale sign, she’d call and make an appointment to tour the property.

Not that she needed a tour. She’d visited Betty often, especially as she got older and her health was failing. Ursula knew the cabin far better than some realtor. She knew the roof was only four years old but the water heater was getting toward the end of its life, that the thermostat in the oven ran fifty degrees low, and that the sun filled the living room with light in March once it was high enough in the sky to clear the mountain. And she knew exactly where on the five-acre property she would situate the RV park—on the other side of a stand of spruce, out of sight from the house but an easy walk away.

It would be the perfect complement to her bed-and-breakfast inn, great for family reunions or gatherings, where guests could choose to either stay in her comfortable rooms or bring their own RVs and still have facilities to get together for meals and fun.

She returned to the living room to help Rory find the movie she wanted. She could do this. Rory was slowly getting better, and eventually she would revert to her bright cheerful self despite this temporary setback.

And soon, Ursula would have the land she needed. The realtor was an aggravation, but on the bright side, his presence meant she was one step closer to putting her expansion plan into action. And Ursula always tried to look on the bright side.

* * *

“GOOD GIRL. You ran off the evil intruders, didn’t you?” Mac rubbed behind the dog’s rosebud ears. She wiggled in delight. “We don’t want a bunch of nosy people poking around here, do we? No we don’t.” He’d been a little surprised at the dog’s performance. She wasn’t usually so aggressive. She must have found something sinister about the two skiers, which was odd since one of them was a child. Not that people were above using children in their schemes. He’d had photographers try the “my kid lost a baseball in your yard” trick more than once.

The whole point of this impromptu move to Alaska was to get away from people. Especially some members of the tabloid press. Bunch of vampires, feeding on sensationalism without giving a thought to the pain they inflicted with their questions. Even if he’d wanted to feed their appetite for new information, there was no more to give. The police and the private investigator he’d hired had hit a dead end, leaving nothing but questions and conjecture.

The dog pushed her head harder against his leg, letting him know he hadn’t done nearly enough to reward her for her stalwart defense of their new home. He bent over and tickled that itchy spot under her chin. If it weren’t for her, he didn’t know if he would have survived the last couple of months. She’d been his constant companion, even on the long drive up the Alaska Highway, curled into a ball in the back seat amid the moving boxes.

He glanced toward the car, and the dog took the opportunity to make a quick swipe across his nose with her tongue. When he jerked his head back, she opened her mouth in a doggie grin. He swore she laughed at him sometimes. Hers was the only laughter in his life right now. He patted her rump and lifted the last box from the car.

Mac closed the liftgate with his free hand, crossed the porch and stomped the snow off his boots before stepping into the house. He added the box to the stack half filling the living room and let his gaze drift around the room. A plaid recliner, an orange vinyl couch and a coffee table made from a crosscut log and moose antlers huddled up to a woodstove. Across a shaggy gold rug, an ancient console television the size of a washing machine jutted into the room. Bookshelves lined the wall behind it, a row of National Geographic magazines taking up one entire shelf. Everything in this room was almost as old as he was. But it was functional, and that was all he cared about right now.

Might as well unpack. He lifted a heavy box, set it on the coffee table and pulled his grandpa’s knife from his pocket. After slitting the packing tape, he opened the box to reveal a stack of books, all identical. The cover featured the silhouette of an armed man crouching. Bloodred letters formed the title.

A knot tightened in his stomach. He closed the box and set it on the floor of the coat closet near the front door. A swift kick shoved it into the back corner. He trudged across the room and sank into the recliner, letting his head sink into his hands. Senseless evil. It was all too real.

The dog whined and pushed until her front half was on his lap. She nuzzled his face just as she had so many times before. How could he, of all people, have missed the signs? He should have seen it coming, should have done something to stop it. But he didn’t, and she was gone. He screwed his eyes shut, willing himself into control. A single tear escaped, but the dog’s tongue erased the evidence. After a moment’s struggle, he was able to breathe again.

Why would he think moving would make a difference? He was old enough to know better. You couldn’t run away from yourself.

* * *

URSULA SPRINKLED A little more flour on the countertop and returned to pummeling a lump of bread dough. She had a bread machine, but after yesterday’s aggravation, she had an urge to knead it the old-fashioned way. At least the dough cooperated, yielding a smooth-textured pillow under her hands.

A knock sounded at the door she kept closed between the kitchen and dining room to discourage guests from bumbling in and upsetting her cooking routine. She reached for a towel, but before she could wipe her hands, the door opened and Marge, her neighbor and proprietor of the Caribou B&B on the other side of Betty’s place, popped her head in. “Busy?”

“Hi. Just finishing up. Come sit, and I’ll make coffee.”

“I’ll do it.” Marge reached into the cabinet for the canister. Ursula oiled a bowl and dropped the dough inside, setting it on the stove to rise. She washed her hands and pulled a pitcher of cream from the refrigerator while Marge poured them each a cup of coffee. Marge let herself through the divider gate Ursula had set up to keep the cat out of the kitchen and plopped down on the window seat beside him. He opened one eye and regarded her briefly before returning to his nap.

Marge grinned. “I thought the cat was temporary.”

“He was supposed to be, but I put up a notice on the library bulletin board and nobody’s breaking down the door to adopt him.” Ursula settled into a chair across the table from her.

“I could have told you nobody would want an old tomcat with a missing ear and half a tail. At least he looks like a good mouser.”

Ursula sniffed. “I wouldn’t know. The Forget-me-not doesn’t have mice. But Rory likes him.”

“Rory likes every animal, the uglier the better.” Marge chuckled, but then her face sobered. “Is she doing any better?”

“I thought so. But her teacher called me in for a meeting this week. Rory’s distracted, doodling instead of listening.” Ursula sighed. “It’s almost like I’m pushing a boulder up the hill and every time I get anywhere, it rolls down again.”

“Well, I think you’re a saint for taking her in.”

“I’m not a saint. I’ve loved that little girl from the minute she was born. Coby and Kendall were so happy.”

“I know. You’ve told me the story. But her own grandparents—”

“When Rory was tiny and I was helping out, Kendall told me a little about her parents and the way she was raised. From what she said, it’s a good thing they’re not around Rory. After losing her mom and dad, the last thing Rory needs is to be stuck with people like that. She needs to belong. And she belongs with me.”

Marge nodded and sipped her coffee. After a moment, she looked up. “Oh, I almost forgot what I came to tell you. Did you hear the news about Betty’s place?”

“I haven’t heard anything, but I saw the Mercedes parked out front, so I guess Betty’s granddaughter is finally putting it up for sale. The real estate agent was standing on the porch, but I couldn’t get his attention.”

Marge’s lips curved into her I know something you don’t know smile. “That’s not an agent. That’s the new owner.”

“What?” Ursula set down the creamer without adding any to her coffee. “But it wasn’t even on the market. Are you sure?”

“That’s what I heard. From Penny.”

Shoot. If Penny said so, it was a done deal. Married to the only attorney in town and heading up the tourist information center, Penny knew everything happening in and around Seward. And since she and Marge had been best friends since kindergarten, Marge knew most of it. Ursula tapped her nail against her coffee cup. “After Betty’s funeral, I told her granddaughter I was interested in the property once she was ready to sell.”

“Maybe he offered her more.”

“I never got the chance to make an offer.”

Marge shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Ursula added cream to her cup and stirred. “So who’s the new neighbor?” Based on his behavior, not someone interested in making friends. A loner? Perhaps he’d decide a cabin situated between two bed-and-breakfast inns wasn’t remote enough. “Maybe he’d be interested in a quick resale.”

Marge leaned closer. “Penny’s being mysterious. She knows, but she won’t tell me the owner’s name. She says I’d recognize it if I heard it.” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “What if it’s a movie star?”

Ursula snorted. “What would a movie star want with Betty’s old cabin? She didn’t even have cable.”

“Well, he could get it installed. Besides, he probably wants it as a remote getaway, to recharge after filming a movie. They must get tired of always being on.”

“If a movie star wanted an Alaskan getaway, he’d buy a luxury fishing lodge on the Kenai, not a rundown cabin along the Seward highway.”

“Who knows what they’d do? He didn’t look familiar to you?”

“No. Of course, I only saw him from a distance and he was wearing a coat.”

“Not that you’d recognize him anyway. You hardly ever watch movies that aren’t animated. You’ve probably had famous actors staying with you and never even known.”

“If I did, they didn’t let on. But seriously, I doubt Betty’s granddaughter rubs elbows with actors. Doesn’t she live in Kansas?”

“Wichita. You’re probably right.” Marge sighed, but then her face brightened. “Although, if a celebrity from California wanted to stay under the radar, buying a cabin in Alaska from someone in Kansas would be a great way to throw the paparazzi off the track.”

Ursula laughed. “I can’t argue with your logic. So how long do you think it will take your movie star to get tired of the cold and dark, and sell me the property?”

“If he’s used to California winters, he’ll have cabin fever in no time.”

“I can only hope. In the meantime, I need to talk him into opening the gate to the ski trails.”

“He blocked off the trails?” Marge’s face grew serious. “But Betty and her husband let that trail cut through their property probably forty years ago. Don’t you have some sort of legal access?”

“I don’t know. It never came up when Betty was alive. I’m not sure it was ever set down as an official right-of-way.”

Marge sipped her coffee and considered. “You’ll still chip in to maintain the trails, won’t you?”

“Of course. I promised I would, and it’s not your fault if he cuts off my access.”

“That’s good, because I didn’t budget for your share of the grooming.” Marge paused. “Your guests can park at the Caribou and ski from there if they want.”

“Thank you.” It wasn’t ideal. Marge might be a friend but she was also a competitor. Ursula didn’t want her guests wondering why they should patronize the Forget-me-not and drive or hike half a mile down the road to access the ski trails at the Caribou B&B when they could just stay there instead. But it was nice of Marge to offer. “Let’s hope it’s not necessary. Tomorrow, I’ll drop by and explain about the ski trail access. I’m sure he’ll be reasonable.”

“What if he isn’t?”

“He will be. I’ll take cinnamon rolls and welcome him to the neighborhood. Movie star or not, I’m sure he’ll want to get along with his neighbors.”

Marge didn’t look convinced. “Well if you figure out who he is, get his autograph for me.”

“We’ll see.” Ursula had no intention of bothering their new neighbor with autograph requests. “If he seems busy, I’ll just leave the food, mention the ski trails and hint that if he ever decides to sell, I’d be interested.”

“You really think this RV park thing is a good idea?”

“Yes, I do. In order to compete with the new resort they’re building in Seward, I need to offer something they can’t. It will be good for the Caribou, too, since you’re next door. This way groups can vacation together even if they don’t all have RVs.”

“We can always lower our room rates. The resort will probably charge a pretty penny.”

Easy for Marge to say. She and her husband inherited their B&B from his grandparents years ago. They didn’t have a mortgage to consider. “I need to make at least enough to cover Sam’s loan payments and ongoing expenses.”

“There is that. You wouldn’t want to drag down Sam’s finances. Especially since they have a new baby.”

“Exactly. And if Sam sold the inn, I’d have to move back to Anchorage. I don’t want Rory to have to change schools again, when she’s just starting to make friends. Let’s just hope our mysterious neighbor is open to possibilities when I stop by tomorrow with the rolls.”

Marge adjusted the position of her coffee cup. “I hope he’s not gluten free. Most of those actors are, you know. He’s probably on some weird acorn and kiwi fruit diet or something.”

Ursula shrugged. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_1c0ad685-ae6b-56f4-b71e-35c536b293a9)

URSULA PULLED TWO pans of cinnamon rolls from the oven and set them on a wire rack to cool. The divine aromas of yeast, butter and spice filled the kitchen. She eyed the pans doubtfully. Everybody liked bread, right? Occasionally she had a guest with special dietary needs, but the odds of her new neighbor not appreciating a plate of homemade cinnamon rolls had to be low. And even if Marge was right and he was an actor from Hollywood who didn’t eat gluten, he’d surely appreciate the gesture.

Movie star. She shook her head and smiled. Why would someone famous want to buy Betty’s cabin? It only had two bedrooms. The kitchen hadn’t been remodeled since the forties. Neither had the bathroom. The guy probably asked Penny’s husband, Fred, not to spread his name around to avoid a pesky relative or debt collector.

Could someone really do that? Keep your name a secret? Property tax records were public, weren’t they? Ursula opened her laptop and did a search for Kenai Peninsula Borough’s tax records. She located the property on the map and clicked on it, but the record hadn’t been updated from Betty’s name. Ah, but she had a source. The assistant at the tax assessor’s office had stayed in the inn for several weeks while she house-hunted.

Ursula picked up the phone and called. After exchanging pleasantries, she got down to business. “So, Michelle, I seem to have a new neighbor. I was trying to look up his name on the tax records, but they haven’t been updated yet.”

“Why don’t you just ask him?”

“Well, I was hoping to do some background research first, to—”

“Sorry. Can you hang on a minute? Someone’s in my office.” Michelle didn’t bother to put the phone on hold, and Ursula tapped her fingers while listening to a long conversation about the probable whereabouts of someone’s stapler before she came back on the line. “I’m sorry. What was your question?”

“I just wondered if you’d received the paperwork on the new owner of the property next door.” Ursula read the parcel number from the form.

“Let me look.” Papers crackled. “Here it is. It’s an LLC.”

“What’s that?”

“A limited liability company. This one’s called R&A Holdings.”

“Does that mean he’s running a business there?”

“Not necessarily. Some people hold their assets in LLCs for other reasons.”

“Doesn’t he have to give a name or something?”

“Not on my records. Sorry. Guess you’ll just have to do it the old-fashioned way and introduce yourself.”

“I guess so. Thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome. Stop by next time you’re in town and we’ll grab coffee.”

“I will. Talk with you soon.” Ursula hung up the phone and stared at the wall. This could be good news. Her new neighbor was a limited liability company, not a movie star. Probably a flipper, with plans for a quick remodel and resell. If so, this could work out just fine. He would probably be thrilled to make a small profit with no work, and she could get started on the RV park. Win-win. First thing tomorrow, she would pay him a visit.

* * *

MAC’S EYES FLEW OPEN, his dream shattering into fragments. Thanks to the heavy curtains covering the small bedroom window, only the charging light from his cell phone broke up the darkness. After a long day of unpacking and moving boxes, he’d fallen asleep almost immediately, but it wasn’t long before the dreams came. He could never remember them, just bits and pieces. A scream of pain. Crimson drops of blood on a white sweater. His own heart pounding and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

It was in the darkness he felt the full weight of his mistakes. He’d failed her. Failed to understand the magnitude of danger she was in. Ignored his own instincts. Told himself she was old enough to make her own decisions. Maybe she was, but he should have tried harder to guide her, should have been more supportive. Should have made it clear she could count on him if things went wrong, and there would be no I told you so. Should have said I love you more often. Because now it was too late.

Eventually, he gave up trying to sleep and moved into the living room. The dog lifted her head from her bed beside the woodstove and thumped her tail against the floor. Mac added a couple of logs to the stove and stoked the fire. He selected a branch from the woodbin, picked up his grandfather’s pocketknife from the table and settled into a chair beside the stove. A warm muzzle rested on his foot.

The wood stripped away in long curls, landing in the kindling box at his feet. Once the branch was smooth, he began to whittle, a notch here, an arch there. As he worked, the terrors of his dream worked their way out of his head and into the wood. As the last log in the stove fell into a pile of embers, Mac laid the carving aside and yawned. Maybe now he could sleep.

* * *

ONCE SHE’D FED her guests and cleaned up the breakfast dishes the next morning, Ursula arranged the extra cinnamon rolls on a pretty blue-and-white plate she’d picked up at the church rummage sale. She wrapped them carefully and glanced at the clock on the stove. Was nine too early to drop in on a neighbor? It shouldn’t be. And she didn’t want to wait too late, for fear he’d be out shopping for building supplies.

Today, instead of taking the ski trail, she walked the quarter mile along the highway to his driveway, carrying the plate. A strip of duct tape covered Betty’s name on the dented mailbox. An Anchorage newspaper waited in the tube below. Ursula tucked the newspaper under her arm and followed the drive to another gate that Betty had never used. Ursula gave a soft testing whistle, but no guard dog appeared to challenge her, so she unlatched the gate and slipped inside, closing it behind her.

The sun never made it over the mountain this time of year, but the sky was growing brighter and she didn’t need her flashlight to make her way along the driveway toward the porch. No lights shown in the cabin windows; hopefully she wasn’t wasting her time. An unfamiliar pedestal table rested beside Betty’s old Adirondack chair on the porch.

The steps crackled in the cold as she climbed them. Frantic barking erupted inside the house, punctuated by thumps of a canine body slamming repeatedly against the inside of the door Ursula hoped was securely latched. No need to knock, anyway. She held the plate in front of her and practiced her most welcoming smile as she waited for her new neighbor to call off the dog and answer the door.

And she waited. Eventually, the dog gave up on breaking the door down. Instead the heavy curtains in the window pushed upward, and a black-and-white head appeared. The dog tilted its head, watching her. Obviously, the dog’s owner wasn’t home.

Ursula set the rolls on the table, pulled a notepad and pencil from her pocket and jotted a short message of welcome and her phone number. As she bent to tuck it under the plate, she noticed a whimsical carving around the table pedestal of a chubby puppy chasing its tail. She smiled. Maybe her new neighbor wasn’t the curmudgeon he seemed.

She headed home at a brisk walk, breathing in the crisp air. Behind the fence, spruce trees sagged under their load of snow. It was a lovely winter day, with not a breath of wind. The porch table reassured her. After all, how bad could a man be who loved puppies? He’d find the rolls and call her, and they could get this all straightened out. Everything was going to be fine.

* * *

MAC WATCHED HER go from behind the curtain. Figured. He’d driven thirty-nine hundred miles to get away from people, only to have some strange woman pounding on his door three hours after he’d finally managed to fall asleep. Well, she didn’t literally pound, but she might as well have considering the barking fit her visit inspired.

To add insult to injury, the bounce in her step as she strolled along his driveway seemed to indicate she was enjoying her morning, in contrast with his pounding head and gritty eyelids. A cold nose pressed into his hand. He turned to greet the dog. “I see you’ve been hard at work already.”

The pit bull wagged her tail and jerked her head toward the empty bowl in the kitchen. He took the hint and filled it with kibble before starting a pot of coffee for himself. While it brewed, he dropped to the rug for his usual round of push-ups. He used to go out for a run every morning before breakfast, too, but the paparazzi put a stop to that.

Once he’d completed fifty push-ups, he got up and pulled the curtain aside to make sure the woman was gone and had latched the gate behind her. The dog scratched on the door, so Mac opened it to let her out and stepped onto the porch, shivering in the cold. A newspaper and plate of rolls sat on the table—cinnamon pecan, according to the cutesy label shaped like a daisy. Underneath, he found a note asking him to call her.

Just what he needed—some nosy neighbor trying to woo him with homemade treats. He’d sworn the local lawyer to secrecy, but somehow word must have gotten out he was here. Well, she wasn’t the first woman to make a play for him since he’d become successful, and like all the others, she was doomed to disappointment. He whistled for the dog and returned to the cabin, dropping the note into the trashcan under the sink. He started to pitch the rolls in after it, but his stomach growled, reminding him he’d not yet had a chance to buy milk for his raisin bran.

No sense letting good food go to waste. He picked up a roll and bit into it. Cream cheese frosting melted in his mouth. He chewed, savoring the blending of fresh bread and sweet cinnamon. Quite possibly the best cinnamon rolls he’d tasted since he was a boy, visiting his grandmother’s house. He took another bite. These might in fact edge Gram’s off the middle podium. Shame he wouldn’t be getting any more once she figured out he was a lost cause.

He poured a cup of coffee and sank into a chair at the scrubbed pine table, pushing aside a pile of mail he’d found in a box when he unpacked. A return address caught his eye. A bill from the private investigator. Chandler had sounded almost apologetic about billing him for the hours spent following leads that went nowhere, but Mac didn’t care how much it cost, how many possibilities turned out to be dead ends. They couldn’t quit. Not until they found Andi’s killer. Eventually, they would. People didn’t just vanish.

He set the bill aside to pay later and slid the newspaper from its sleeve. A subscription offer fluttered to the ground. He opened the paper and took another bite of cinnamon roll. And another. There was something restful about perusing local politics and events that didn’t concern him. By noon, he’d written a check to the investigator, unpacked all the boxes marked kitchen, called to subscribe to the Anchorage newspaper and wiped out the entire plate of cinnamon rolls. He washed the plate and set it in the drainer to dry. His family used to eat off blue-and-white plates not too different from this one when he was a boy.

His job was to wash dishes, and his mother would dry. She’d wipe each plate, stack them in the cupboard and sigh because there were only seven. He’d heard the story a dozen times. How her cousin had taken home a plate of leftovers one evening and moved off to California without ever returning the plate, leaving her with an incomplete set. He was never clear exactly why Mom couldn’t have asked for the plate back or bought another one, but she didn’t. Instead, she mourned the loss nightly.

He eyed the plate in his drainer. According to the note, the woman lived in the big house on the next property over. He needed to drive into Seward that afternoon to buy groceries. He could easily drop off the plate on the way. But his polite gesture could be misconstrued as a friendly overture, which posed a danger to his privacy. If he ignored her, she’d leave him alone.

And that was really Mac’s only goal in moving to Alaska. To be left alone.

* * *

URSULA HAD WAITED three long days, but the call never came. How was she going to convince the guy it was in his best interest to sell if he wouldn’t talk to her? Her cinnamon rolls seldom failed, but maybe he really didn’t eat gluten. Time to pull out the big guns.

She took a jar of smoked sockeye she’d canned last summer from her pantry. Chopped green onions, lemon juice, cream cheese and a few secret seasonings turned it into her special salmon dip. She filled a crock and tucked it into her backpack, along with a bag of moose jerky, and strapped on her snowshoes.

A fresh snow had obliterated the tracks on the ski trail since their aborted outing a few days ago. No doubt the groomer had laid fresh tracks on the main trails but he could no longer reach her property with the gates closed. Getting them opened should be her first order of business.

She reached the gate, relieved to see the SUV parked between the house and the garage. Good. He was home. Hopefully, the dog was in the house with him, but if not, she had a plan B. Ursula rattled the gate and waited.

Sure enough, a black-and-white blur bounded toward her, almost disappearing into the deep snow between leaps. The dog must be in great physical condition to be able to bark and run at the same time.

The pit bull reached the gate and bounced into the air, almost head high, barking. Ursula wasn’t sure this was going to work, but she had to try. She laid down her ski poles to take off her backpack. The barking stopped. She looked up. The pit bull still watched her. Ursula reached toward the poles, and a low rumble emanated from the dog’s throat.

Aha. “Bad experience with a stick? Poor puppy.” Ursula left the poles lying on the ground and spoke in a gentle voice. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’d never hurt you.” She unzipped her backpack, pulled out a stick of jerky and tore off a bite-size piece. “Would you like a treat?” She tossed the bite to the dog.

The dog jumped into the air to catch the tidbit. Tail wagging, it waited expectantly. Ursula smiled. “That’s a good boy.” She checked. “Girl, I mean. Want some more?”

The pit bull cocked her head. Ursula tossed another bite. The dog came closer and stuck her nose between the gate and the fence, wagging her tail harder. Ursula handed her another bit of jerky. The dog licked her hand and gently took the meat from her. “All that bluster is just for show, isn’t it? You’re really a marshmallow.”

The dog wagged in agreement. Leaving the ski poles behind, Ursula pulled the chain up over the post to unlatch the gate and slipped inside. She fastened the gate behind her and gave her new best friend another bite of jerky. Together, they crossed the meadow between the gate and the house, Ursula on snowshoes and the dog crashing through the snow beside her.

Before she reached the house, Ursula noticed a light in the window of the oversize detached garage. When Betty’s husband built it forty years ago, he’d included a woodworking space as well as room for cars. The light was coming from the workshop area.

The dog headed straight for the workshop and squeezed through a new dog hatch cut into the outer door. The door must not have been completely latched, because it opened when the dog pushed against it. Ursula removed her snowshoes, pulled the crock of salmon dip from her backpack and followed the dog inside.

The workshop featured an arctic entry, a small alcove inside the door leading to another door off to one side to keep the wind from blowing in every time someone opened the door. The inside door stood open, and the dog padded on into the main room. A bench against the wall held a box full of carved wood. Curious, Ursula picked up one of the pieces.

The polished wood retained the natural curves of a tree limb, but a face peered out from the wood grain—an inquisitive gnome with shaggy eyebrows and a long beard. The piece gave the impression that the face had been in the wood all along and just needed a skilled craftsman to let it out. A quick glance showed maybe a dozen similar carvings, each face unique. Enchanting.

The sound of the dog’s toenails clicking across the concrete floor of the shop reminded Ursula why she was there.

She returned the carving to the box and stepped inside, inhaling the piney scent of fresh sawdust. At the far end, a man perched on a stool. His profile revealed a strong brow and a determined jawline. A few gray threads wove through thick brown hair that could have used a trim. His full concentration was on the blade he was using to remove chips of wood from the chunk in his hand. The dog, lying on a cushion at his feet, wagged her tail when Ursula appeared. The man looked up and seemed anything but pleased to see her there.

Before he could speak, Ursula jumped in, determined to be friendly. “Forgive me for just walking in. The door was open.”

He didn’t smile back. “The sign says No Trespassing.”

“Oh, but I’m your next-door neighbor.” She took a step closer. “Ursula.”

He remained where he was. “How did you get past the dog?”

“We’re friends. Aren’t we, sweetie?” The dog trotted over to her and nudged her hand. Ursula smiled. “She likes my jerky.”

The man let out a huff of exasperation. “What do you want?”

Ursula licked her lip. “I came to see you. That is, I brought you some salmon dip. It’s homemade, from Copper River sockeye I smoked myself.” She held out the crock. “I hope you found the cinnamon rolls I left a few days ago.”

He made no move to accept her offering. “No, thanks. I’m busy right now, so—”

Okay, the friendly approach wasn’t working. Time to get down to business. She straightened to her full height. “This won’t take but a minute. What are your plans for the house? Are you fixing it up to sell? Because if you are, I’m interested in buying.”

“No. I have no plans to sell.”

“What if I’m willing to pay, say, ten percent more than you did? That’s a decent rate of return for a quick investment.”

“Not interested.” He returned his attention to the carving in his hand and flicked away a stray curl of wood.

For the first time, Ursula noticed more of the carved faces lying on the workbench beside him. Unlike the ones she’d seen in the box, these seemed tortured, in pain. The half-finished carving in his hand appeared to be screaming. She looked away. “If you do decide to sell, will you let me know before you list the property?”

“Yes. Fine. If I ever do, you’ll be at the top of my list. What was your name again?”

“Ursula. Ursula Anderson.”

“All right, Ms. Anderson. But don’t hold your breath.” He pushed his knife blade against the wood.

“Your carvings are amazing. I saw the ones on the bench in the entryway. Is there a name for that sort of sculpture?”

He concentrated on a cut he was making before he replied. “People call them wood spirits.”

“Wood spirits. That’s perfect.” She stepped closer and touched one lying on the workbench that appeared to be weeping. The wood was cool and smooth under her finger. “How do you decide what sort of face to carve?”

He gathered up the carvings and set them out of her reach. “I don’t have time for a discussion right now. If you’ll excuse me...”

She held up a hand. “Just one more little thing and then I’ll let you be. I don’t know if you know, but I run a bed-and-breakfast inn. The main skiing and hiking trails are just behind and to the east of your property, and there’s always been a right-of-way through your back corner connecting the ski trails to the trail across my property.”

“No. I don’t know anything about that.”

“Well, there is. Your gates are cutting my guests off from the trails. I’d much appreciate it if you’d open them.”

He stared at her as if she’d suggested he cut off his foot. “You want me to let a bunch of strangers traipse across my property?”

“Only that little corner in the back.”

“That rather defeats the purpose behind private property, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. I’ll make sure my guests understand they are to stay on the trails and not disturb you in any way.”

He stood, towering over her by a good six inches. “But I am disturbed. You’re disturbing me right now. One of the main selling points of this property was that it’s completely fenced and private.”

“Betty lived here for fifty years. She always kept the trail open, and never had a problem.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m not Betty.”

“I’ve noticed.” Ursula couldn’t keep the frustration from her voice.

“Good. I’m glad we understand one another. Now, Ms. Anderson—”

“Ursula, please.” One more last-ditch attempt at friendly conversation.

“Ursula. Could you please take your salmon and your jerky and any other bribes you might have in that backpack of yours, and let yourself outside the fence before I have you arrested for trespassing?”

She bit back a retort. “I’ll go. But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, I’m the Forget-me-not Inn. You can get my number or email from the website.”

“Goodbye.”

Ursula gave the dog one final pat and left, shutting the door with more force than was necessary. She strapped on her snowshoes and returned the salmon dip to her pack. Looked like her guests arriving that evening would be getting a little extra treat to help make up for not being able to ski from the inn to the trails. At least she hoped it did, because it didn’t look like she was getting those gates opened anytime soon.

She wasn’t giving up. There had to be some way to convince the old grouch that a few skiers in the back corner of his lot weren’t going to kill him. She’d even have offered to pay an access fee if he’d let her talk. What was his problem anyway? He may have been a natural-born people hater, but there was more to his story than that. The agony in those wooden faces told her so.

* * *

“SOME GUARD DOG you are,” Mac growled. The pit bull hung her head and crept closer to him, liquid brown eyes begging for forgiveness. Mac laughed. “You don’t even know what you did, do you?”

She wagged her tail and licked his hand. The dog might put on a good show of ferocity for people ringing the doorbell or walking by, but she’d never actually met a person she disliked. And she seemed especially fond of this Ursula person. Of course, she was easily bribed.

Pushy woman. And yet Mac couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt for the way he’d treated her. She wasn’t a reporter, using him as a way to sell papers. She just wanted access to the ski trails. She wasn’t going to get it—Mac had no intention of allowing strangers on his land and he needed the fence for the dog—but it wasn’t an unreasonable request. And she had dropped off those amazing cinnamon rolls.

His mouth watered, thinking of them. She probably made an excellent salmon dip, too. It was bound to be better than the bologna sandwich he was probably going to have instead. He loved Copper River salmon. One of his favorite restaurants in Tulsa always had a special promotion in May when the first Copper River salmon arrived. Maybe the neighborly thing to do would have been to accept the food and politely refuse her request.

Listen to him—as susceptible as the dog about food bribes. Ursula seemed like a nice woman. She had the sort of face he liked, intelligent eyes with crinkles at the corners as if she smiled often, a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

But even if Mac had wanted company, he was in no shape to be around other people. He was better off alone. And everyone else was better off away from him.


CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_43770d86-3d54-56f5-8a2b-b7271892c9e4)

MAC ALMOST MADE it through the night, but early in the morning, the dreams came. He sat upright in bed, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. No more sleep tonight. He fed the dog, did his push-ups and started a pot of coffee. The blue-and-white plate still resting in the drainer scratched at his conscience. He was well within his rights to refuse to sell his property or allow strangers to cut through it, but that plate bugged him. He could almost hear his mother sighing.

You’d think one more feather on top of the load of guilt he was already carrying wouldn’t be noticeable, but it was. Fine. The rooster-shaped clock on the kitchen wall read five twenty-five. He could drop off the plate now and eat his breakfast with a clear conscience. Relatively.

After dressing and bundling up in a down parka and wool hat, he grabbed the plate and set off. The dog scratched on the window and barked. He hesitated. This errand required stealth. “If I take you, will you be good?”

Her body wiggled in agreement. He returned to rub some balm on her paws. He’d picked it up in Whitehorse when he’d noticed her feet seemed sore after playing in the snow, and it seemed to work well. He clipped a leash to her collar and set off once again. Surprisingly, he didn’t need his flashlight. Once his eyes adjusted, the moon reflecting off the snow provided plenty of light for him to make his way to the road and along to the Forget-me-not Inn sign.

He followed the drive, flicking on his light when he reached the trees. After a few minutes, he came to a clearing. Moonlight illuminated a cedar building crowned with steep gables. A bench, small tables and several rocking chairs were scattered across the wide front porch. A snow shovel leaned against the wall.

He’d just leave the plate on the bench beside the door. He commanded the dog to sit-stay and started for the porch. As he reached the second stair, the front door opened and Ursula stepped outside, shaking dust and gravel off a rug and all over him.

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Her voice was apologetic, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“No problem.” Mac dusted his coat with his free hand. “I was just returning your plate.”

“That’s thoughtful, but you didn’t have to do that.” She smiled, and it was like a sudden flash of sunshine, warming him. Her silver-shot hair fluttered in the breeze. “Come on in.”

“No, I need to go.” He handed her the plate. “But I did want to thank you for the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” She accepted the plate. “Seriously, come in for a cup of coffee. I just took a batch of blueberry muffins from the oven.”

“I don’t think—”

A squirrel scurried onto the porch and ran right up Ursula’s leg and body to sit on her shoulder. Ursula absentmindedly pulled an almond from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the squirrel, who accepted it and stuffed it into his cheek. “What if I promise not to mention gates or property?”

Mac stared. “That’s a squirrel.”

“What? Oh, yes. This is Frankie.”

“You have a pet squirrel?”

She chuckled. “He’s not a pet, exactly. Frankie was orphaned, and I bottle-fed him until he was old enough to forage on his own. He stops by often to say hello.”

The dog had been trying her best to stay as instructed, but seeing the squirrel was too much. She bounded onto the porch. The squirrel took a flying leap to the railing, dashed up a pillar and jumped onto a tree limb. Within seconds, it was twenty feet into the tree. The dog gave a final bark, came back to Ursula and nudged her hand in greeting and then ran through the open door into the inn.

Before Mac could apologize, Ursula laughed. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He followed her inside. She hung his coat on a hook and led them through an expansive dining and living room into a kitchen, which somehow managed to look functional and cozy at the same time. A collection of African violets bloomed in shades of purple and pink on a shelf under a grow light. Ursula opened a gate, which separated the kitchen from a small dining area. A cat, curled up on a chair cushion, took one look at the dog and took refuge on top of a corner cabinet.

The dog stiffened, but Ursula made an uh-uh noise and shook her head. She pulled a dog biscuit from a cookie jar on a shelf by the back door and soon had the pit bull lying peacefully on a rug. She nodded at the cat. “That’s Van Gogh.”

“Van Gogh?”

“He’s missing an ear.”

Mac chuckled, and soon found himself sitting at a wooden table sipping an excellent cup of coffee. Fruit-scented steam rose from the muffin on the plate in front of him. Considering he’d only intended to drop off the plate, he wasn’t sure how he’d wound up here, but maybe it wasn’t too surprising that a woman who could pacify pit bulls and tame squirrels could maneuver him wherever she wanted him. She slipped into the chair across the table. “So, as I said, I’m Ursula Anderson.”

“Mac. Macleod.”

“Nice to meet you, Mac. And where do you hail from?”

“Oklahoma.” He bit into the muffin. Jammed with sweet blueberries, with a hint of something else, maybe orange? The woman had a way with baked goods.

She raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “I’m surprised. I knew cowboys from Oklahoma when I was growing up in Wyoming. You don’t have much of an accent.”

“I’ve lost it over time, living in Tulsa. People from all over the country live there.”

“So what brings you to Alaska?”

Mac paused before his next bite. Here was an opportunity to make his point. He met her eyes. “Solitude.”

She nodded. “I got that. I apologize for bursting in yesterday, and realize I was overstepping. I’ll try not to bother you again.” She nodded at the plate she’d set on the table. “Thanks again for returning that.”

He shrugged. “My mother would turn over in her grave if I didn’t.”

“I think I’d have liked your mother.” Ursula’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “What would she say if she knew you’d threatened to have me arrested for trespassing?”

“I didn’t exactly...” She gave him the same look his mother used to when he was trying to talk his way out of trouble. He had to laugh. “Okay, I admit it. She’d have given me an earful.”

Ursula laughed. “Now you sound like an Okie cowboy.”

“I suppose that’s because I am one. Or I was, until I was seventeen and we moved to town.”

“Did you raise cattle?”

“Yes, Herefords.” At least until that last year of drought, when Dad had to sell off the herd, bit by bit. And then they lost the bull. But Mac didn’t want to think about that. “Were your family ranchers in Wyoming?” he asked quickly.

She met his eyes and paused, just long enough for him to wonder if she’d read his mind, before she gave a gentle smile. “My father was a mailman and my mother taught school. After I graduated from high school, I worked in the office for an oil company, where I happened to fall in love with a certain roughneck. Tommy believed Alaska was the land of opportunity. So we got married, packed up a truck and headed to Alaska.”

“And was it? The land of opportunity?”

“It was for us. We had a wonderful life here.” She rubbed the bare ring finger of her left hand. “I scattered Tommy’s ashes on Flattop. That’s what he wanted.” Suddenly she smiled. “Look at that.” She inclined her head toward the dog.

Mac turned. The cat had come down from the cabinet and was gingerly touching noses with the pit bull, who thumped her tail against the floor. After a moment, the cat rubbed against the big dog’s face and then curled up against her. The dog seemed fine with that.

Ursula chuckled. “That’s quite a ferocious beast you have there. What’s her name?” She took a sip from her cup.

Mac glanced down at his plate. “Blossom.”

Ursula snorted and almost choked on her coffee. Once she quit coughing, she grinned at him. “Blossom? Really?”

Mac shook his head. “I know. My daughter adopted her as a puppy. Andi happened to be volunteering at the shelter when they brought in this half-grown pit bull. She’d been starved and beaten, but Andi was convinced with love and care she’d blossom into a great dog. She was right.”

“She certainly was. Blossom is the perfect name for her. Where’s your daughter now?”

Mac kept his gaze on the dog. “She’s dead.” It was the first time he’d ever said it aloud to someone who didn’t know the story. His daughter was gone. Forever.

Ursula laid her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”

Mac nodded, unable to speak. That familiar wave of grief washed over him, but in a way it was a relief, to acknowledge what he’d lost. For some reason it was easier with Ursula, maybe because she didn’t know him, didn’t know the story, had no preconceived ideas. She didn’t rush in with some platitude or awkwardly edge away as though grief was contagious. She simply accepted what he told her.

Ursula looked over at Blossom, snoozing on the rug with a cat under her chin. “Your daughter must have been a gentle person, to raise such a gentle pit bull.”

“She was.” Mac swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering. “She was too gentle for her own good sometimes. Always saw the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it.”

“If everyone could be like your daughter, the world would be a better place.”

“Yes it would.” If only there were no predators, no evil. But they were there, preying on the innocent, and it was her very goodness that had cost Andi her life. Her murderer had disappeared, but eventually they would find him and he’d go to prison for the rest of his sorry life. Mac would make sure of it.

But today—today he could talk about the daughter he loved. He told Ursula stories, about Andi as a girl, giving away her school supplies to other kids. About how she would make him chicken soup when he had a cold. About how she’d volunteered at the animal shelter, and done every walkathon and fund-raiser that came along. “When she was seventeen, she spent two weeks with a team in Peru, building a new dormitory for an orphanage.”

“Wow. How did she learn about building?”

“We’d both done some weekend work building houses locally. Andi was pretty handy with a nail gun. I was all set to go, too, but she wanted to do it without me.”

“Brave girl. At seventeen, I’d never been more than a state away from Wyoming. Didn’t her mother worry?”

Mac shook his head. “Her mother died when she was a baby. I worried. But Andi was fine.”

“She sounds like a special person.”

Mac sighed. “She was.”

Ursula refilled his cup. Mac realized he’d monopolized the conversation but she didn’t seem to mind. On the wall behind her, a calendar featured a picture of the inn. An emerald green mountain rose behind it. The setting was spectacular, summer or winter. He could see why people wanted to stay here. “How many rooms do you have in your inn?”

“Six. Besides my private quarters.” She nodded toward the back door leading from the kitchen.

“You run it by yourself?”

“I have a housekeeper three times a week. I do the rest.”

“Sounds like a big job.”

“It is, but I love it. I’ve been running the inn for about six years now.”

The back door opened and a blond girl about seven or eight peeked through the crack. Ursula smiled at her and held out her arms. The girl ran over and climbed into her lap.

Ursula stroked her hair from her forehead. “You’re up early. Did we wake you?”

The girl gave a sleepy nod. An ache formed in Mac’s chest. She didn’t look much like his daughter. Andi had brown hair and eyes, while this girl was fair, but the way she cuddled against Ursula while watching him through her lashes brought back memories.

“Sorry, sweetie. Mac, I’d like you to meet my goddaughter, Aurora Houston. Rory, this is our new neighbor, Mr. Macleod.”

“You can call me Mac.”

The little girl watched him for a moment before her eyes opened wide. “You’re the old grouch who blocked the ski trails.”

“Rory, you shouldn’t say—”

“But that’s what you said. That the old grouch wouldn’t open the gate and we have to go all the way over to Marge’s to ski.”

“No. I, uh...” Ursula’s cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. Who knew women still blushed? It was all Mac could do to keep a straight face. “That is, yes, I did say that but it was wrong. I was frustrated, but Mac has every right to decide how to manage his property, and I apologize to you both for what I said. Besides, he needs to keep the gates closed to keep the dog in.” She pointed toward Blossom.

“A dog!” Rory scrambled off her lap and dropped onto the rug beside the dog and cat.

Mac had to smile. Andi would have had exactly the same reaction. “Her name is Blossom.”

She stroked the dog’s head, and Blossom thumped her tail. Rory looked up. “Look Ursula, she’s really nice. She must have just been having a bad day when she saw us before.”

“I think it was the ski poles. She’s afraid of them.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Mac had forgotten. “My housekeeper mentioned she always has to put the dog out before she sweeps because Blossom doesn’t like the broom.”

“Why doesn’t she like poles?” Rory asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mac responded, “but I suspect someone was mean to her when she was a puppy and might have hurt her with a stick. It’s funny, because she doesn’t seem to mind if I carry sticks and poles.”

“That’s because she knows she can trust you.” Ursula smiled at him. “And I do apologize for calling you an old grouch.”

She’d only spoken the truth, but she was obviously trying to set an example for her goddaughter. “Apology accepted.”

Ursula glanced at the clock. “Oops, time flies. Rory, you need to get dressed for school while I get your breakfast ready.”

“But I want to pet Blossom.”

Mac stood. “It was nice to meet you, Rory. Blossom and I need to go, but maybe you can see her another time.”

“Go on, sweetie.” Ursula allowed her to give the dog one last hug before she shooed her through the door. Ursula turned back to Mac. “Thank you for returning the plate.”

“No problem. Thanks for the muffins. And...everything.”

“You’re welcome. Stop by anytime, if the solitude gets to be too much for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will be.” Odd phrasing, but then he realized she wasn’t just being polite. She acknowledged his loss and believed he would get through it. He wasn’t nearly so sure, himself. He looked back just before he stepped out the door. She gave him one last smile. “Goodbye, Mac. Take care of yourself.”

* * *

THE CELL PHONE RANG, again. Mac considered ignoring it, but Ronald would just keep calling. Persistence was a good trait in an agent, most of the time. “It’s Mac.”

“So you’re still on the planet. I assume you made it to Alaska okay?”

“I did.”

“Everything all right with the cabin?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. Danielle gave me the address, and I arranged for them to install Wi-Fi.”

“You what?”

“It’s DSL. They’re supposed to be there between ten and three today.”

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Mac growled. He wasn’t keen on working around an installer’s schedule. He was running low on essentials like coffee and pickles and needed to run into Seward. “I could have picked up the modem myself next time I’m in Anchorage.”

“But when would that be? I feel responsible, since I’m the one who mentioned if you wanted to get away, one of my clients had a cabin in Alaska she planned to sell. I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

“How can I take you seriously, when you put me at the mercy of some internet installer?”

“I need to be able to reach you out there in the wilderness.”

“The cabin is only fifteen minutes from town, and only two hours from Anchorage. I have cell phone coverage, which you obviously know since you’re talking to me.”

“I just want to make sure you don’t go dark. You might need to email me about royalty questions or something.”

Mac didn’t bother to point out he could email from his phone. They both knew it wasn’t email Ronald was worried about; it was the manuscript due in a few months. Mac had already told him it wasn’t going to happen. Ronald had mentioned the possibility of a deadline extension, hoping Mac would pull out of his funk, but Mac knew he couldn’t write that book. Not after what happened to Andi. He wasn’t sure he’d ever write again. But there was no use retreading that discussion now. Ronald would have to face facts eventually. “Fine. I’ll get internet. Bye.”

“With all that solitude, have you had a chance to—”

“Goodbye, Ronald.” Mac ended the call. Pain in the butt. Still, Ronald was the closest thing Mac had to a friend these days. If it made him feel better, Mac would hang around and wait for the installer. Meanwhile, he’d make a list.

He found a pen in a kitchen drawer and pulled an envelope from the wastepaper basket. Milk, bread, coffee, pickles, musta—the pen gave up the ghost midword. Somewhere in this house were a handful of pens and pencils he’d thrown into a box. But which box? There were still at least a dozen stacked in the second bedroom.

He shrugged. Since he wasn’t going anywhere until the internet guy showed up, he might as well finish unpacking. In the first box, he found T-shirts, underwear and socks. Good, because he was almost out of clean clothes and until he bought laundry detergent, he couldn’t wash. Now if he could find a pen to add it to the list.

The next box held an assortment of items nested in newspaper. He unwrapped his favorite coffee cup and one of Blossom’s chew toys and then a silver frame. He ran his finger over the smooth edge.

The photo was of Andi, the summer after her senior year of high school, bathing an elephant. He smiled. Andi had been fascinated by them since he read her a book about an elephant when she was about four. She used to insist on reading it almost every day. When she was in high school, he heard about a sanctuary where she could spend a weekend interacting with pachyderms, and knew he’d found the perfect graduation gift. When she opened the envelope, she’d squealed and given him a big hug. That was a good day.

They hadn’t all been good. Somewhere in middle school, Andi seemed to go from sweet little girl to moody teenager overnight, and as a single dad, Mac was clueless on how to handle the drama. Maybe he’d had more rules than she’d have liked, but how could he not? He didn’t want to see his little girl hurt. Even so, she managed to get that big heart of hers broken more than once before she left for college. Although tempted to put out a hit on the culprits, Mac only killed them off in his books. That showed a certain restraint, didn’t it? He’d often wondered if the lack of a mother to talk to made all Andi’s problems loom larger than life, or if it was just typical teenage angst.

Maybe it was his overprotective tendencies when Andi was a teenager that made her so insistent on her independence as an adult. Maybe if he’d been a little more relaxed, she would have confided in him, let him help her when she got into trouble. He set the photo on his nightstand.

The next item in the box was a plain brown envelope with Andi’s name on it. Her personal items. Mac swallowed. These were the things she’d had on her when the police found her. Silver earrings, a watch and a charm bracelet.

The bracelet had been her mother’s. Mac bought the silver chain with a jingle bell heart charm while he was on shore leave in Thailand and sent it to Carla, hoping it would make her smile. He never knew if it did. A year later, after she died, he found it in her jewelry box, beside her wedding ring.

When Andi was five, Mac had come across the bracelet again and decided to give it to his daughter. He’d added an elephant charm after she saw her first live elephants at the zoo, and many more charms over the years. Andi had loved that bracelet. She’d worn it every day. Mac set the envelope aside.

The next item he unwrapped turned out to be a clutch of pens and pencils in the lopsided mug Andi had made in pottery class and given him for Father’s Day one year. He carried it into the kitchen and used one of the pens to finish his shopping list. He was flattening out the newspapers to add to the recycling bin when an opinion piece caught his eye.

The article questioned the ethics of releasing violent books and movies, and whether society as a whole became more violent when exposed to fictional violence. As an example, the columnist used a popular movie involving a serial killer, saying that although the main character was on the side of good, the serial killer was a complex and powerful character in his own right. Some moviegoers might identify with the villain more than the hero, which could encourage them to act upon their violent tendencies.

Mac read the entire article twice. Then he picked up the paper and ripped it in half. And ripped those pieces in half, again and again, until the newspaper page had been reduced to confetti at his feet. He hoped to God the person who wrote that article was wrong. Because the movie he’d mentioned was based on one of Mac’s books.

* * *

URSULA DROPPED A birthday card for a friend in her mailbox and put up the flag before heading out to Anchorage to stock up on essentials and visit her adorable grandson. She pulled onto the highway and headed toward the turnoff to Mac’s cabin. Should she stop and offer to pick up anything he needed in Anchorage? She’d always collected Betty’s prescriptions for her. It would be the neighborly thing to do.

But who was she kidding? Mac was perfectly capable of running his own errands, and judging by the lean muscles of his forearms, healthy and fit. He said he’d once been a cowboy, and she could picture it. As they’d talked yesterday and he’d started to relax, a hint of Oklahoma drawl crept into his speech. Now, she was hoping for another chance to talk with him, and not about selling her the property or allowing the trail to cut through. She’d seen the pain in his eyes when he talked about his daughter.

The man was suffering. And she suspected it wasn’t just the pain of loss. She’d been there, when Tommy died. She knew how hard it was to go on while missing someone you loved. But there was something else going on inside his head, and she was afraid she recognized it. His eyes held the same haunted look as her father’s had after her little brother died. That look had never gone away.

She slowed, debating whether to check on him. But Mac was clear. He was after solitude. She had no right to badger him while he grieved. If he wanted to be alone with his daughter’s dog, she wouldn’t bother him.

The sound of frantic barking changed her mind. Blossom was at the fence line near the road, dashing forward and jumping back. She seemed to have some sort of animal cornered. Ursula pulled her car over and jumped out, running along the driveway and slipping through the gate for a closer look. A bald eagle had somehow gotten a wing caught in the fence. Blossom jumped back, a trickle of blood running from her nose. Those talons could be lethal.

The eagle screeched. Ursula plunged into the snow and struggled toward the fence. “Blossom. Come.”

The dog looked toward her but didn’t seem inclined to leave the fight. Ursula stopped and used her most commanding voice. “Come. Now.”

From the corner of her eye, Ursula saw Mac running toward them, but she kept her gaze on Blossom. With one last defiant bark in the direction of the eagle, the pit bull bounded through the snow to Ursula. “Good girl.” Ursula grabbed her collar and bent to inspect her nose.

“What’s going on?” Mac pushed his way through the snow toward them.

“Blossom was in an altercation with an eagle.”

“Eagle?” Mac caught up with Ursula. “Is everybody all right?” He peered toward the fence.

“Blossom has a nasty scratch on her muzzle, but she’ll be okay. Judging by the way the eagle is holding his wing, it’s broken.”

“Oh, no.” Mac’s eyebrows knit together. “Can it live like that? Or would it be kinder just to...”

“I’m on my way to Anchorage. If we can get it out of the fence, I can take it to the bird rescue center there.”

“There’s a bird rescue in Anchorage? That’s great.” He reached for Blossom’s collar. “Let me lock up the dog, and I’ll be right back.”

“Bring wire cutters. There should be some in the tool chest under the bench seat in the kitchen. And a heavy blanket or rug. When animals are hurt, they sometimes lash out at people who are trying to help them.”

Mac gave her an odd look but obeyed. A few minutes later, he returned with the things she’d asked for, plus a large dog kennel. “I thought you could transport it in this.”

“Good idea.” She studied the bird, who stared back, unblinking. When she took a step closer, the eagle gave a jerk but couldn’t seem to get loose from the fence. “Do you think you can throw the blanket over it and hold it still while I cut the wire?”

Mac nodded. “I think so. Here, I brought us both leather gloves. Why don’t you try to distract it from the right, and I’ll approach from the left?”

The distraction plan was only marginally effective, but after three tries, Mac was able to throw the blanket over it and hug the bird so that it couldn’t get its beak or talons loose to fight them. Ursula went to work, cutting the thick wires that formed the fence.

“I’ve dealt with a few animals tangled in fences on the ranch, but a bald eagle is a first for me.” The bird struggled, but Mac managed to maintain his hold. “How do you think it happened?”

“Some of these wires are rusted. I suspect a rabbit or something ran through this break in the fence to get away from the eagle. He must have hit it pretty hard.” Ursula cut the last wire.

The eagle flapped the now freed wing awkwardly at Mac’s face, but he hung on. “Can you open the kennel?”

Ursula unlatched the kennel door, and together they shoved the bird inside, blanket and all. Ursula latched the door shut. The eagle shook the blanket off and glared at them. Mac lifted the kennel, carefully avoiding putting his hands too close to any airholes, and carried it to Ursula’s Subaru. She opened the back, and he slid the kennel inside.

He turned to face her. “Thank you. Blossom could have been hurt a lot worse if you hadn’t stopped.”

“No problem. I think she’ll be fine, but if you want to have her checked out, there’s a vet in Seward.”

“I will if I think she needs it. I hope the eagle will be okay.”

“Me, too. I’ll let you know.”

* * *

THE SCRATCH ON Blossom’s muzzle wasn’t too bad. Mac had just finished cleaning it, despite Blossom’s protests, when the internet installer arrived. While Mac had waited for him to finish, he’d gotten caught up in a book on the history of the Alaska gold rush he found on the living room shelf. He didn’t remember about the groceries until later that afternoon, so he locked Blossom in the cabin and drove into Seward.

He returned to find the empty dog kennel in his driveway. A roll of lamb wire rested beside it. That was nice of Ursula. He hadn’t even thought about how he was going to repair the fence. Funny, back when he was a kid on the ranch, one of the constant chores was working on fences. Life seemed to have come full circle.

Once he had the groceries put away, he’d give Ursula a call to find out what the rescue people said about the eagle. He opened the liftgate and reached to load the kennel. A note was taped to the top. I have your dog. —Ursula.

What? He’d left Blossom in the house. He drove the rest of the way down the driveway and unlocked the front door. No nails clicked across the floor to greet him. The back door was also locked. The windows were closed—it was winter after all. So how did Blossom get out?

The key. That was the only answer. Ursula had known exactly where he would find a toolbox containing wire cutters. He hadn’t even realized the built-in bench lifted up, much less that there was a toolbox underneath. She was obviously friends with the woman who had owned the place before him. Ergo, she would have a key.

But why would Ursula take Blossom? It wasn’t as though he’d neglected her. He was only gone an hour or so. Ursula had to know he’d never let anything happen to Andi’s dog.

Maybe that’s what she was counting on. She’d fed him muffins and listened to him talk the other morning to get him to trust her. She’d helped with the eagle and even brought him wire to repair the fence. Now she was going to “rescue” the dog, because she knew Blossom was important to him. And he would be so grateful, he’d give her access to the trails, or maybe even sell her the property. Classic manipulation.

But she’d missed one little detail. She should have left the back door open. Mac couldn’t be expected to believe Blossom had closed and locked the door behind her. Yeah, if Ursula thought her little plan was going to work on him, she had another think coming.

He jumped into the SUV and turned around. Could she have arranged the injured eagle, too? He couldn’t imagine her trapping an eagle and somehow getting it stuck in the fence without injuring herself. But then, the woman had a tame squirrel. For all he knew, she might have a pet eagle trained to pretend it had a broken wing.

He pulled up in front of her porch, jumped out and ran up the steps. He reached up to pound on the door, but paused to take a breath. Better to let her carry through on this charade, see exactly what she was up to. He rang the bell.

A minute later, Ursula’s smiling face greeted him. “Oh, good. You got my note. Come in.”

He stepped in far enough to allow her to shut the door. Across the room, Blossom lay on a rug in front of the fire, getting belly rubs from Rory. She rolled to her feet and ran to greet him, pushing her head against his hand. He rubbed her ears.

Rory chased after her. “Me and Blossom were playing. And I gave her a dog biscuit. But I didn’t share my cookie ’cause chocolate is bad for dogs.”

Ursula put an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “I found Blossom running along the highway. She must have taken advantage of that hole in the fence. You found the fencing I left?”

“Yes.” Mac kept his gaze on the dog, so Ursula wouldn’t read his face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m pretty sure there’s a roll of bailing wire in your toolbox. If not, I have some you can use.”

“Uh-huh. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. I was picking up a few other things.”

He met her eyes. “I pay my debts. How much for the fencing?”

Oh, she was good. Her expression was the perfect mix of surprise and hurt at his brusque tone. This wasn’t playing into her plan to have him indebted to her. “About twenty dollars, I think. I’ll find the receipt.”

“And the key.”

“Key?” Wide-eyed innocence. She could be a professional actress with those skills. Maybe the whole time she’d let him babble on about Andi, she’d known exactly who he was and what happened. Getting him to sell his property might not even be her end game. She might be planning to sell his story to the tabloids.

“The key to my house. You have one, don’t you?”

“Oh. Yes, I do. I’ll get it.” She left him standing beside the door and disappeared into her kitchen, returning a few minutes later carrying a key and a slip of paper. “Nineteen ninety-five. Here’s your key.” A paper tag attached to the key identified it as “Betty’s House.”

Mac nodded. “Is this the only copy?”

Ursula narrowed her eyes. “As far as I know. I only have it because I used to water Betty’s plants when she visited her granddaughter in the lower forty-eight. I don’t know if she gave keys to anyone else.”

Mac nodded. “I’m having the locks changed anyway, so if you find other copies, you can throw them away.” He put a subtle emphasis on find. She noticed, judging by the way she stiffened. He opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty. “Thank you for picking up the lamb wire.”

“I’ll get your change.” She turned.

“That’s okay.”

She ignored him and crossed the room to fish a coin from a pottery bowl on the mantle. She returned and handed him a nickel. “I pay my debts, too.”

“I’m sure you do.” He slipped the nickel into his pocket. He should go, but he had to ask, “What happened with the eagle?”

“They think he’ll make a full recovery and they’ll be able to release him eventually.”

“That’s good news.”

“Yes.” She stood perfectly still, watching him. The girl looked back and forth between them, her eyebrows drawn together as though she couldn’t quite decipher what was happening.

“I appreciate you both taking care of the dog.” Which he did. Even if Blossom had never been in any real danger, at least they had cared for her. And the little girl had no way of knowing what her godmother was up to. With a smile for Rory and a curt nod for Ursula, he stepped through the door. Blossom cocked her head and stayed where she was, obviously reluctant to leave. He had to call her twice before she came and jumped into the SUV.

He glanced over at the inn before he put the car in gear. Ursula stood on the porch with Rory in front of her, her arms wrapped around the girl’s shoulders. He couldn’t quite read the expression on her face, but what should it matter? If he had his way, he’d never see either of them again. Mac shifted into gear and drove away.


CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_e02d5247-8225-5225-862b-d0f233d4d8f6)

MAC SAT IN his living room, holding his knife in one hand and a piece of birch in the other, but he wasn’t carving. Instead, he stared at the flames dancing behind the glass window of the woodstove. Was he missing something? Ursula’s reaction when she handed him the key didn’t quite fit. She’d looked...hurt.

He shrugged. Of course she did. She was an expert manipulator. She knew exactly what buttons to push, what expressions to adopt. He’d learned a few things in the little over half a century he’d been on earth, much of it from sad experience. Fame and money attracted con artists and moochers like ants to a picnic. He seldom even wasted the energy resenting them, just wrote it off as an occupational hazard.

So why was he so disappointed in Ursula? Maybe it was because she’d seemed real. She was attractive, but not in an obvious way. Just classic bone structure, healthy skin and an infectious smile. He liked her hair, the way she’d left in the natural silver, short but still feminine. She was a good listener. And she seemed to care. Of course, that was stock in trade for people like her. Listen, learn and take advantage.

Blossom rose from her bed and stretched, head low over her front paws, tail poking into the air. She padded into the kitchen and took a long and sloppy drink from her bowl. Her nails clicked across the vinyl floor into the laundry room beyond, where she made a scratching noise.

Mac stood and followed her without bothering to slip on his shoes, wondering why she didn’t scratch on the front door. When he got to the kitchen, enough light filtered into the laundry room to see her on her back legs, pawing at the back door latch. What was she up to?

He’d noticed the levers on the doors looked much more modern than the rest of the house. Probably easier for arthritic hands to operate than the original doorknobs. Within a minute, Blossom had managed to catch the lever with her paw and pull it down. The door swung open, and she ran outside. When the heck did she learn to do that?

He flipped on a light and went to examine the door. Before he reached it, a gust of wind banged it shut. Just as he thought, the latch was turned to the lock position. What he hadn’t realized was the inside lever still operated. He reached outside without letting the door shut and tried it. Sure enough, from the outside, it was locked.

Blossom pranced to the door, head held high. Mac let her inside and locked the door behind her, this time using the deadbolt. He hadn’t bothered with the deadbolts before, since he didn’t have a key, but that was before he realized he had a canine Houdini on his hands. Tomorrow, he’d call a locksmith. And fix that hole in the fence.

He followed Blossom into the living room. “You have some ’splaining to do, young lady.”

She wagged her tail, reminding him of Andi when she was five and had just learned to tie her own shoelaces. Blossom seemed so pleased with herself, it was almost a shame he had to shut down her new game.

And it was an even bigger shame he’d jumped to conclusions. There wasn’t much he hated more than the taste of crow, but he was going to have to eat a big helping.

* * *

“THERE’S ANOTHER EXTENSION cord in the hall closet if you need it.” Ursula held a folding table steady while her friend Catherine folded out the legs.

“Thanks. I’m sure someone will need it. You’d think after doing this so many times, we’d have it down, but someone always forgets something.” Catherine grabbed the far end of the table and together they set it in place. “There. That’s the last one.”

Ursula checked her watch. Four o’clock. Some of the quilters would no doubt take off work early on a Friday afternoon. “They’ll be arriving soon. I’ve got a big batch of brownies in the kitchen.”

“The girls will love that.” The doorbell rang. “I’ll get it. It’s probably our guest speaker. She’s going to talk about wool appliqué.”

“Okay. I’ll put those brownies on a platter.” Ursula started for the kitchen.

Catherine opened the door. “Well, hello there, beautiful,” she crooned in her dog-and-baby voice. Ursula was betting dog. Possibly a black-and-white pit bull.

She paused at the kitchen door listening to the murmur of voices. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be Mac or not. She thought they’d made friends, but she’d sensed a definite hostility when he picked up Blossom yesterday. That hint of cowboy drawl was gone, and he was back to his formal voice. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to upset him, after helping him with his eagle, picking up wire to fix his fence and rescuing his dog from traffic. Maybe he was embarrassed about the dog getting out. Or maybe he was just moody.

Whatever his reasons, she had better things to do with her time than spend it with a bad-tempered hermit. She’d be better off staying far away from him. And yet, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Ursula sighed. Who was she kidding? She’d seen his pain. She could no more walk away from him than she could have left the eagle in the fence to die. And just like with the eagle, if she wasn’t careful, she was going to get hurt.

“Ursula. Your friend Mac is here to see you.” The lilt in her voice made it clear Catherine would be demanding details later. Ursula crossed to the door.

Mac stood on the porch, holding what looked like the local grocer’s entire stock of mixed flowers. “Hi. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“I’ll just go see about those brownies,” Catherine murmured. “Come on, Blossom. I’ll bet we could find you a dog biscuit.”

“Come in.” Ursula stepped back from the door to allow Mac inside.

He handed her the cellophane-wrapped bundles. “For you.”

Ursula gathered the three, no, four bouquets in her arms. “Thank you, but why are you bringing me flowers?”

“I want to apologize.” Actually, from the pained expression on his face, the last thing he wanted was to apologize, but he was doing it anyway. This should be good.

“Come with me.” Ursula led him through the maze of tables and power cords littering the living room.

“What’s going on?”

“A quilt retreat. Twice a year, Catherine and a dozen or so of her friends reserve the whole inn and spend the weekend sewing. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Do you quilt?”

“I dabble, but I’m not a serious quilter like these ladies. My job is to keep everyone fed and happy.” Ursula gestured for him to sit on the couch near the fireplace and laid the flowers in a basket on the coffee table. She sat in a chair directly across from him and leaned forward. “Okay, shoot.”

“Shoot what?”

“The apology. You said you wanted to apologize. I’m ready.”

He chuckled. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Well, I’m curious exactly what you’re apologizing for. Blocking access to the ski trails without giving me notice? Siccing your dog on me? Threatening to have me arrested for trespassing? If it involves this many flowers, it must be serious.”

“Actually, none of those things. Well, all those things, but they’re not the main reason I’m here.” He took a long breath. “I was rude to you yesterday because I blamed you for something of which I’ve since learned you were innocent.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Say again?”

“Yesterday. When I found your note that you had the dog.” He explained, and as he talked, Ursula started to smile. By the time he’d finished, she was laughing out loud.

“You really thought I’d sneaked into your house and kidnapped your dog just so I could bug you about the right-of-way.” She shook her head. “You have some imagination.”

“Occupational hazard, I suppose.”

“What occupation is that?”

“I’m a writer.”

“Are you? That’s exciting. What do you write?”

“Thrillers.”

“Ah. I don’t read a lot of those. Too scary. I would have thought growing up on a ranch, you’d write Westerns.”

Mac shook his head. “No. Growing up on a ranch means I know too much to write pretty little stories about cowboys.”

“That bad?”

“No.” He paused and just for a moment his gaze went past her toward some remembered place. “Rather wonderful actually. It was losing the ranch that was hard. My dad never really got over it. He died young. They both did.” He gave a sudden smile. “But I didn’t come to talk about myself. I came to say I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology.”

“Good. Well then, if I can find my dog, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”

“I’ll get her.” She gathered up the bouquets before starting for the kitchen. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re lovely.”

“I’m glad you like them. Thank you for delivering the eagle and picking up the fencing wire. And for your patience.”

“You’re welcome. See you around.” Before she could get to the kitchen, the door opened and Blossom ran past her to Mac.

Catherine followed, carrying a tray. “Mac, take one of these brownies before you go. Ursula made them. She’s a fantastic cook.”

“Yes, I know.” Mac nodded before accepting a brownie and taking his leave.

Ursula carried the flowers into the kitchen. She was on a step stool, retrieving vases from the highest shelves when Catherine bustled in. “So what was that all about?”

Ursula grabbed a ceramic jar and set it on the counter before answering. “You mean you weren’t standing in the kitchen with your ear pressed against the door?”

“I was but he didn’t talk loud enough. Spill. Why are good-looking men bringing you bucket loads of flowers?”

Ursula shrugged. “It was one man and who knows why he does what he does?”

“So you admit he’s good-looking.”

“He is. He’s also my new neighbor.”

“Maybe he wants to be more than your neighbor.”

“Just the opposite, I think.” Ursula stepped down. “He’s bribing me to leave him alone.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t he have brought a cactus?”

Ursula laughed and filled the vases with water. “He’s as prickly as a cactus, but it seems his overachieving conscience won’t let him get away with being rude. Thus, the flowers. Now that he’s apologized, he can go back to brooding in his cave.”

“We’ll see.”

“Yes, we will.” Ursula trimmed the stems of one bouquet, stuffed it into a vase, fluffed the flowers and handed the arrangement to Catherine. “Here, you can put these out for your quilters to enjoy.”

* * *

IT DIDN’T TAKE long for the locksmith to do his thing. Once he’d gone, Mac made sure the deadbolts were latched and slipped the new keys onto his key ring. The leather fob had worn to the point that it was hard to read the M stamped onto it. Another of Andi’s craft projects, back before she realized leather came from cows.

Mac picked up his phone and dialed the familiar number. He was in luck. Detective Russ Ralston was in.

“It’s Mac. Just checking in to see if you’ve found any new evidence.”

“Sorry, nothing.” He sounded almost as frustrated as Mac felt.

“Have you checked out that tip from—?”

“You know I can’t share details. Rest assured, we’re following up every lead. That reward you offered has generated plenty of interest. So far none of the calls have panned out, but we’re still working on it. We won’t give up until we find him.”

Mac believed him. Russ was a longtime acquaintance and had a daughter two years younger than Andi. He was taking Andi’s murder as a personal affront. Not that Mac was relying entirely on police resources. The private investigator he’d hired was canvassing everyone even remotely connected to Joel Thaine, Andi’s boyfriend.

Mac never liked him. The first time they met, there was something...off about the young man. Nothing he could put a finger on, just the feeling Thaine was playing a part, saying what he was supposed to say to his girlfriend’s father. Come to think of it, Blossom didn’t care for him, either.




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