Deep in the Alaskan Woods

by Karen Harper

  Alex liked the spacious blue and buff bedroom they had given her with its view of the surrounding forest—every window in the lodge must have that. The room even had a cushioned window seat for reading or just looking out. She could see the tips of the Talkeetnas beyond. If she lifted her window, she was sure she could hear the waterfall that fed the lake beyond the trees.

  Nearly a century ago, the waterfall had been blocked by several tumbled boulders that made the water level lower and finally disappear for forty-some years. Then a rockslide had opened the path for mountain snowmelt to feed the lake again. She recalled hearing that the years it was a small, dry lake bed, a pioneer town had sprung up there and had later been buried by tons of water.

  Lives and property were lost, ended, obliterated, buried. Later, the new town of Falls Lake sprang up a few miles away and had been there for nearly fifty years. But what a shock that loss of life must have been.

  Again, it hit her that there was so much new to learn around here. The wild land, the strong, unique people, different animals, the little town she’d barely glimpsed as she drove in. Though she had to be very cautious, she wanted especially to learn about one person—if he could be trusted.

  7

  It seemed strange to be going on a walk without Spenser in tow—stranger yet to be alone with Quinn. She had decided to take a long lunch break, told her cousins why, and they had been all for it. Alex wasn’t sure she herself was all for it, but she couldn’t resist.

  She wanted badly to ask Quinn why he loved the wilds so much when his father and dog had been attacked and killed there. But she didn’t ask that question. She could not bear for him to tear up again.

  “Okay,” he said as they reached the edge of the lodge’s property, “I’d love for us to just have a side-by-side stroll together on this lovely day in this lovely place when I’m with a lovely companion, but you need to learn some things about staying safe around here.”

  They stopped walking. Looked at each other. He’d just complimented her, hadn’t he? But despite this little awkward pause, more was coming.

  “You need to learn some degree of wilderness savvy,” he told her, sounding in lecture mode now. “Frankly, I’d advise not walking Spenser off these tended grounds into the forest or out on the open tundra, not even over by the lake. I don’t want to sound alarmist, but he’d be a tasty morsel for bears, though this area is not heavy with them right now. And we both know Scottish terriers can be recklessly brave. Some people set traps for fur-bearing animals where they should not, and I’ve seen dogs get caught in them. If you ever came upon a bear, Spenser would start barking, and that would be like a come-get-me advertisement.”

  “Thanks for the warning. He’s much smaller than my cousins’ dogs.”

  “Bears can’t see well but they have an excellent sense of smell. You pray you’re downwind, not upwind, of them. If one ever charges, as much as it’s instinct to run, don’t, because that signals that you’re game for sure, same with big cats.”

  “But what do you do if you don’t have a gun?”

  “Guns don’t even stop them fast enough sometimes. You stand your ground and lift your arms to make yourself look bigger than you are,” he said, demonstrating. He was over six feet, and that made him tower over her. “It’s hard to stand your ground, but you have to learn to do that, Alexis.”

  “Not to change the subject but, actually, my name is Alexandra.”

  “Alexandra,” he said, his voice softening. “My mother’s a nut for British history. Like Queen Alexandra. But just remember what I said. You seem like a woman who can stand her ground. But I’m sure since I blurted out to you my family tragedy, you understand why I wanted you to know all this right away.”

  “Yes. I’m not sure I stood my ground, though, coming here. I think I ran.”

  He narrowed his eyes, waiting for her to say more, but she couldn’t right now.

  “Sometimes,” he said in the awkward silence, “you have to run from human predators. But right now, try to follow in my footsteps, okay? If you’re willing, we’ll take other walks side by side, but I need to give you the newbie lesson right now.”

  “I’m game.”

  “Don’t say it like that, Queen Alexandra. That’s the term for prey around here. Come on, then. Even if you can’t match the length of my strides, stick close behind.”

  “And,” she said, “I promise not to shuffle. I will pick up my feet.”

  He nodded and grinned at that reminder of his earlier advice. They set off on a path, but he cut off it almost immediately. She was glad he’d said to wear long pants, thick socks and good hiking shoes, though she’d had to borrow those from Meg until she could get her own. Despite the warmth of the day, he’d insisted on a long-sleeved shirt over her T-shirt, too.

  So, here she was, following and obeying a very attractive man, who told her what to wear and what to do, and she’d only been here two full days. Would she ever learn? And yet this was different. He was so different from Lyle—wasn’t he?

  * * *

  Quinn pointed things out to Alex as they headed through the thick trees, then across a stretch of tundra toward Falls Lake. He could tell she was bright and perceptive. Sam had told him once that he and Mary had an instant attraction and that “If it don’t hit you right away you want her in more ways than one, it may not stick.”

  Not exactly Freudian or even logical, but Quinn was feeling that way about this woman he barely knew. He was glad he’d talked Ginger and Geoff into stopping by Gifts and More tomorrow en route to the airport. After the two of them had talked TV topics all morning, he was grateful Geoff had agreed to accompany Ginger into town to look for gifts to take home, so that freed him up now. In two days, his new class would assemble at the camp.

  “So,” Alex said, “is there any way to hide who you really are? Not you, I mean, but the human scent on us? Otherwise, we’re leaving an odor trail for bears or other predators, aren’t we?”

  He stopped and turned to her so fast she bumped into him. He’d been going much slower than he ordinarily would have, but she was still slightly out of breath, her lips parted, an intent little frown furrowing her forehead above her sky-blue eyes.

  “Good time for lesson number two,” he said. “There are ways to mask human scent. So, from the wilderness plant guy to the sweet-smelling flower gal, here’s the deal on that.”

  He took her hand to draw her over to a spot with a big fallen log. He sat, gently pulling her down beside him.

  “We’re sitting on a cedar trunk and that’s another cedar tree over us. Now, see those cedar berries on the ground, the brownish-bluish ones? Those crushed as well as needles from spruce trees can be rubbed on your skin—or traps, or whatever—to conceal human scent. Chewing cedar berries stops bad breath, too, but that is not a hint.”

  She nodded and smiled, then bit her lower lip as if keeping herself from saying something. He had a huge urge to kiss her, but was it too soon? Not for him, but why had a beautiful woman like this come—maybe fled—to backwoods Alaska? And how long would she really stay?

  “What do you think of the global warming debate here in Alaska?” she asked him in a slight lull in their conversation.

  She was good at jumping to new subjects when silent, awkward moments stretched between them.

  “It’s mostly a problem north of here with melting icebergs,” he told her, “but the tundra around here is being affected, too. The permafrost is melting, and farther north, some native tribes may have to be relocated. It’s kind of nice our short summer season of May through September is getting a bit longer, though. Hey,” he added, reaching out to grab her arm and pull her back from a tall, flowering plant she was reaching for. “Hands off. That’s devil’s club.”

  “What? Really? It looks pretty with its big leaves and so tall, it stands out. Devil’s club?”

  “It’s deceptive, g
ood and bad. Some pioneers and tribes used it for medicinal tea and salve, but spines are hiding under the leaves—see? They break off and dig into the skin of animals or hikers, then fester and infect. Not what they seem.”

  “Another good lesson from Q-Man,” she said. “Thank you.”

  She looked up into his eyes. He had to steady himself to not reach for her. He felt her magnetic pull. But she’d built up some sort of invisible barrier he was either going to have to tear down or jump over. “By the way,” he added, “I’ve seen animals of all sorts hurt by devil’s club, so another good reason to keep Spenser out of the woods.”

  She nodded, stood and stepped back from him as if she were suddenly afraid. Not of him, he hoped.

  “Let’s go look at this end of Falls Lake,” he said, “because it goes on for nearly a mile toward that closest mountain. And even if you’ve heard the lake’s basic story, I’ll bet I can tell you more. It’s a hard story to hear, but people need to know the past to prepare for the future.”

  She looked at him again, then away. He’d thought she might say something, even confess something. But she just nodded and said, “All right. Let’s go.”

  * * *

  Alex felt deeply moved, not only by the stunning view but by the company. Quinn Martell was knowledgeable and helpful. Yet it scared her he was also charismatic and...and tempting. Except for that, in this wild, awesome, vast place, she felt safe with Quinn if not from Quinn.

  “You know,” Alex told him as they stood on the shingle shore and looked out over teal-blue Falls Lake together, “it’s so beautiful here but ominous, too. I mean, with the trees seeming to lean in with their long shadows, then the dark silhouette of the mountain creeping closer and the muted sound of the falls feeding the lake. And it’s strange to see a shore that isn’t sand but boulders and these little stones. They don’t look like what I think of as shingles. But the water is crystal clear.”

  “Cold, too, even in our summer. And actually it’s a bit silty under the surface.”

  “Still, I should make some products with mountain water from the falls, some special Alaskan cream or salve.”

  “Aha. You can take the girl out of her brewing room but can’t take the brewing room out of the girl—or something like that.”

  “I’ll bet you always live your love of the wilds,” she countered.

  “Yeah, that’s true, even when I’m in New York City for publicity or to meet with my producer, who is here now. Which reminds me, when I drive them to the airport tomorrow evening, I’ll bring them to see your Gifts and More shop. Ginger’s as good as a professional shopper, comes with one suitcase or more empty, goes home with them full.”

  “Her husband’s your producer?”

  “Right. He handles finances and program control, hires the on-site videographer, liaises with our lawyer and sponsors, oversees the assembling of the half-hour shows. Geoff and Ginger Baldwin are New Yorkers through and through, so this is like being on Mars for them. By the way, have you asked Meg and Suzanne what’s with the title of their shop? What’s the ‘More’?” he asked, turning to her, though his squinting into the sun did nothing to dim his steady green gaze.

  “Just the experience of being in and shopping for lovely, unique local things in a lovely place,” she told him, wondering if he was teasing again—asking if the “More” was her, like that old book about airline stewardesses, Coffee, Tea or Me. “And maybe the ‘More’ is the items we sell about your program,” she said, and he grinned and nodded.

  They sat on a tree trunk that had whitened like other driftwood nearby. They were silent for a moment, just taking it all in. She was so strangely content and yet so stirred up inside for being in this precious place with him.

  “So what was the extra information you mentioned about the lake?” she asked. “Its past tragedy, you mean? I looked at one of the brochures in the shop about Falls Lake and the little pioneer town being buried under tons of water once, then the town it covered being submerged.”

  He took a breath and expelled it hard before looking intently at her again. “Buried beneath the water here is a small pioneer prospectors’ settlement. You met Sam. His wife, Mary, had an upset stomach so she didn’t come to the salmon bake. Anyhow, her grandparents were in the little village here when the falls let loose. Mary had been reared by her grandmother and loved her a lot—supposedly resembles her. With others, including Mary’s grandfather, the old woman died in the sort of tidal wave. Anyway, some say the lake is haunted at night by at least one soul who died under it.”

  She turned more toward him, drawing one leg up on the tree trunk. “Really? So have you ever heard or seen proof—suggestions—that is true?”

  “Promise me you won’t try to get me locked up, Sam or Mary, either? Sam’s brother, Josh, has heard it, too. Yeah, crying, even wailing at night in the darkness, can’t tell whether it’s a man or a woman.”

  “Do they hear it at the lodge?”

  “Apparently not—maybe too tightly locked up at night. Anyhow, the lawyer in New York who’s our main investor is pushing for the ghost stuff in future shows. Anything to up the audience demographics is okay with him.”

  “Terrible about that tidal wave. I didn’t know that, but then there’s so much I don’t know about my new home.”

  “But it is true,” he went on, shaking his head as his voice became quieter, “that the falls do seem louder at night, as if they’ll let loose again. Anyhow, my producer and I were recently discussing whether or not to include the tragedy of Falls Lake in a segment, and I said no. I don’t want an influx of people tramping through the area, looking for ‘ghosts’ and bothering people like my team.”

  “It would be like tracking the past, and an unusual, dramatic and tragic one at that.”

  “True. Did my advisers hire you to bring that up? Anyhow, that tragedy already brings in occasional scuba divers or historians now and then to examine the water-covered ruins, so you may see them at the lodge as well as my students. I have a good friend, a search and rescue diver, who’s a professor at Michigan State where I went to college. He wants to come check it out sometime soon.”

  He promised to take her on a hike clear around to see the falls themselves sometime, and they headed back. Again, she felt so safe with him—that is, from anything but her growing attraction to him. But she’d learned her lesson, and she would not let those feelings show or give them a chance to grow. Not now. She just couldn’t. Why, less than two weeks ago she’d been—stupidly—engaged to another man, one she didn’t really know until it was almost too late.

  But Quinn had given her a real gift today, and she’d thank him for that. He’d shared advice that would keep her and Spenser safe. She loved the forest, the tundra and this lake, partly because there was no way Lyle could ever, ever find her here. Besides, his mere presence would pollute this pristine, precious place.

  8

  “Not only darling packaging, but the products have lovely descriptions, too,” Ginger Baldwin pronounced as she looked over the offerings in Alex’s new display the next day. “These are useful as well as sweet but not overwhelmingly scented.”

  Encased in tight, black leather pants with a short matching jacket and boots, Ginger proceeded to sniff at the samplers. Alex wished she had not brought Chip’s dog out here with Spenser, because Buffy kept trying to dig at her infected area. Alex had sprayed it with water and vinegar again, and the dog couldn’t get to the ear because she’d made her a protective cone from a trimmed-up kitchen funnel.

  “Not Alaskan products per se,” Ginger went on, “but they’ll still make great gifts. I like to give unique things to my female friends. Metro as they are, would you believe they all love to watch Quinn?”

  “Yes, I can believe that,” Alex told her with a little smile. “He is rather unique.”

  “And unassumingly macho. Despite the fact the show targets men, I he
ar a lot of women watch it, probably thinking of tracking Q-Man himself.”

  As they shared a quiet laugh, Alex felt a little guilty. She suspected Quinn was interested in her as a woman and not just a friend of his friends. But the last thing she needed, until she could heal and get some perspective and trust another man, was falling for Q-Man Mantell. She kept telling herself every chance she got, but it didn’t seem to be often enough.

  “I’ve only seen a little bit of one tracking episode,” she admitted to Ginger. “But I’ll watch more, especially since they are filmed around here, and I need to get to know the area.”

  “I have a feeling you’ll be seeing more of the real, ‘off-TV’ Quinn,” Ginger added with a roll of her eyes at the men who were looking at the wooden duck carvings across the shop.

  “I hear he gets rather busy the week a class is in town. A few of the ones staying here until they report in tomorrow have been in the shop, mostly buying gifts for wives or girlfriends back home, a few shopping for things for their kids or even themselves.”

  Still whispering, Ginger said, “I’d just as soon Geoff left me home, but the weather was fine this time and so is the shopping, partly thanks to you. Listen, I’d like to take quite a few of these lilac and rose lip balms and, oh, the daisy vanilla one, too. And some of this sunflower salve and the lavender oatmeal soap. So where are you planning to concoct these here?”

  “Probably in the storage room at the rear of the lodge, unless I can get a room added out the back here.”