Alaskan Hideaway

by Beth Carpenter

  The small silver knife he’d gotten for Rory was there in the drawer, but Mac didn’t pick it up. Wasting his time whittling on a stick wasn’t helping anyone, especially Andi. He should give the knife to Ursula to keep for Rory. On second thought, maybe it was best if she didn’t have anything to remind her of him. Because he wasn’t going to mess up any more lives, especially Rory’s. She’d suffered enough.

  Blossom opened one eye and thumped her tail briefly before her snoring resumed. Rory must have worn her out in the three days he and Ursula were gone to Oklahoma. It hadn’t been easy prying the two of them apart so that he could bring Blossom home. He was almost tempted to let her stay with Rory, but he needed the dog with him. Andi’s last request was that he take care of Blossom.

  His wife, his daughter, his parents—every person he’d loved was gone, and it was his fault.

  He should have never let Ursula in the door, much less fallen in love with her. He’d bought into the illusion of security and love she offered, but she didn’t understand. She didn’t realize how he, with the best of intentions, turned good things into bad. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he could end this relationship before any more harm was done.

  But he couldn’t explain his reasoning to Ursula. If he told her she should avoid him for her own good, she’d laugh in his face. She’d say he was being ridiculous, that none of those things were his fault. Someone as fundamentally good as Ursula didn’t see the danger, she only saw the need. Well, he needed her all right, but that was his problem. She shouldn’t suffer.

  He could simply move back to Oklahoma, but the thought of packing and organizing things exhausted him. Besides, knowing Ursula, she’d come after him. No, the only way to drive her away was to break it off slowly.

  He’d have to convince her to go back to being just neighbors. The kind of neighbors who nodded when they saw one another, spoke about weather and escaped into their respective territories. He needed to focus on his daughter.

  He could never atone for what he’d done, creating the story that Andi’s killer had used to destroy her. He couldn’t take back all those books he’d written, all those despicable characters he’d created. It was too late for Andi. All he could do now was make sure her killer was punished.

  He opened his laptop, glad that Ronald had insisted on getting high-speed internet installed, because Mac intended to uncover everything there was to know about law and precedent for insanity pleas in the state of Oklahoma. Thaine was smart. Mac and the legal team had to be smarter. This was how he would be spending his time, from now on.

  * * *

  URSULA WAS IN the kitchen making a grocery list when the front door slammed. Rory’s footsteps skittered across the living room before she burst through the door. “Can we ski today? Did you ask Mac?” She dropped a stack of letters, flyers and a small package on the kitchen table.

  “Sure we can.” Ursula deliberately used her cheeriest voice. “Mac still isn’t feeling up to skiing, but we can go.”

  “Why won’t Mac go? Doesn’t he like us anymore? Can I call him and ask?”

  “No. We need to leave Mac alone so he can rest up and get better. Do you want a snack before we go? I made brownies.”

  Rory accepted a brownie and a glass of milk, but much of her enthusiasm had faded. Why did that man have to be so stubborn? Ursula had spent the last two weeks since they’d returned from Oklahoma trying to reach him, but he wouldn’t let her in.

  She’d call; he wouldn’t answer. She’d come by with food, which he would accept politely—probably because it was easier than arguing—before shutting the door in her face. She would invite him to ski or offer to take Blossom along, but he’d decline. It was clear he was trying to drive her away.

  Ursula had tried and tried to engage her father after her brother died, but she could never reach him. She was never good enough. Intellectually, she realized the lesson she should have learned is that she couldn’t fix other people, but emotionally she wanted to. She wanted to break Mac out of that horrible emotional prison and let him live, let him love.

  Rory couldn’t understand why he’d suddenly gone silent. It was only a matter of time before she began to wonder if Mac’s moods were her fault. Just like Ursula used to wonder.

  She picked up the package Rory had brought in with the rest of the mail. It had taken a lot of online searching, but she’d found it. One last peace offering. Tomorrow, she would make Mac talk to her, one way or another. They needed to settle this. He couldn’t hang around the edges of their lives, pulling Rory into his vortex of destructive emotion. Rory would be hurt if he disappeared, but it was better than dragging her through years of depression. If Mac couldn’t pull out of this, Ursula was going to have to let him go.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Ursula wrapped the box with brown craft paper, tied it with a raffia bow and added it to a backpack already stuffed with homemade chili, cornbread and brownies. She was going fully armed.

  Blossom met her at the front gate, tail thrashing madly, but Ursula didn’t see any sign of Mac. He must have let the dog out for a potty break. Ursula stopped to rub her ears. “How is he today, girl? Any better? Or still hiding in his cave like a grumpy bear?”

  Ursula could have sworn Blossom gave a little eye roll before she galloped ahead. She scratched on the front door, and Mac opened it just as Ursula arrived. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know you were here.”

  “I just got here.” She waited to be invited in.

  Mac remained in the doorway. “What brings you here today?”

  She met his eyes. “I brought you something. May I come in?”

  Mac looked away. “I’m in the middle of some legal research right now.”

  “I see. When will you be finished?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She took a step closer. “Mac, I don’t know what game we’re playing, but I don’t want to play anymore. Can’t we talk?”

  After a moment, he stepped back and gestured that she should come inside. It wasn’t the most gracious invitation she’d ever received, but she’d take it. She carried her backpack to the kitchen and unloaded the food. Mac stood in the living room, watching her, his face impassive. Stacks of law books littered the coffee table beside him. Another book and a yellow legal pad rested on the kitchen table. Ursula placed the canning jar in the refrigerator. “I had some chili left over.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She crossed the room and handed him the small box. “This is for you.”

  He eyed the package as though it might bite. “What is it?”

  “Just something I found on the internet and thought you might like.”

  “That’s very thoughtful.” He set the package on the coffee table. “But I really need to get back to my research.”

  “What, exactly, are you researching?”

  “Oklahoma law as it pertains to diminished capacity or insanity. I’ve found a precedent that I think Thaine is using as a model to try to get off. I sent the information to the prosecutor.”

  “Good. Then why are you still working on this?”

  “There may be other cases. We need to be prepared.”

  “You’re not a lawyer. You could hire people to do this.”

  “I have. But how can I be sure unless I’ve looked at it myself?”

  She touched his hand. “Mac, let it go. It’s the prosecutor’s job now, not yours.”

  “I owe it to Andi to make sure he doesn’t get off.”

  “What difference does it make whether he’s on death row, or locked up in prison for the rest of his life, or locked in some sort of mental institution? As long as he’s put away where he can’t hurt anyone else, why does it matter?”

  “It matters. Andi’s death matters.”

  “Absolutely it does. But more important than death is life. Andi’s life. Ou
r lives, yours and mine and Rory’s.” She grasped his forearms. “Mac, we need to talk about forgiveness.”

  He stared at her in shock. “You want me to forgive that monster?”

  “Right now I’m more worried about you forgiving yourself.”

  “How can I do that, after what I’ve done?”

  “What have you done? You wrote a book. Thousands of people read your books because they want to experience the triumph of good over evil.”

  “But in real life, evil triumphed. And Andi died.”

  “Mac, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t kill her.”

  “I might as well have. I wrote the instruction manual.”

  “If it wasn’t you, he would have found the information somewhere else. Andi wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

  “How do you know?” He stepped back, away from her. “How could you possibly know what Andi would want? You never met her. You’re never going to meet her, because she’s dead. I wrote a book, and the killer read it, and she’s dead.”

  “Mac—”

  “Get out. I have work to do.” He sat at the table, picked up a pen and spoke without looking at her. “Don’t come back.”

  Ursula stared. Did he mean it? She waited for him either to apologize or to reinforce his statement, but he just ran his finger over the page of a legal tome and made notes as if she weren’t there. Blossom gave an uneasy whine and touched her nose to Ursula’s hand, but Mac never looked up.

  Finally, Ursula turned and left, giving Blossom one last pat before she closed the cabin door behind her. How could this happen? A couple of weeks ago, Mac said he loved her. But that was before he talked to the detective in Tulsa, before he’d found another reason to blame himself for his daughter’s death. Now there didn’t seem to be any room in his heart for love.

  He was like that eagle, lashing out at the person who was trying to help him. Too bad she couldn’t throw a blanket over his head and cut him out of the tangle of despair he was in. Ursula shook her head as she retraced her steps along the snowy driveway. If it were just her, she might keep trying, but there was Rory to consider. Mac was drowning, and Ursula couldn’t risk allowing him to pull Rory down with him. It was over.

  * * *

  MAC’S PHONE RANG, but he ignored it. If someone needed him, they could leave a message. He was busy with his research. Twenty minutes later, he jotted down one last note and closed the book. The case he’d just read didn’t offer any particular insights, but he wanted to be thorough. It had taken far too long to read through that one case, because his mind kept wandering to Ursula.

  She didn’t deserve the way he’d treated her. She was trying to help, trying to make things better, because making things better is what she did. But even more, she didn’t deserve to be saddled with him and all the baggage he brought with him. She and Rory didn’t deserve to suffer the inevitable fallout when he screwed up, as he was bound to do, eventually. It was cruel, what he said, but it was the only way to convince her to let go.

  He missed her already. Missed her laughter, her smile. Missed how she felt when he held her in his arms. Missed how her hair would smell like cinnamon or vanilla or whatever amazing thing she’d been cooking that day.

  He picked up the phone. One message on voice mail, from the Forget-me-not Inn. Probably Ursula telling him off. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But the recorded voice was Rory’s.

  “Mac? Ursula says I’m not supposed to call, but she’s upstairs now so I used the kitchen phone. She said you don’t feel good. I can bring you my blanket and a movie. They made me feel better when I was sad, but I don’t need them anymore so you can have them if you want. Oh, she’s coming, so I’ve got to go. Bye. I miss you. Tell Blossom I miss her, too.”

  The chasm in his chest grew a little bigger. Such a sweet kid, willing to share her most precious treasures to make him feel better. He hated to hurt her. But she and Ursula were better off without him. He looked over to where Blossom lay watching him from her bed beside the woodstove. “I guess it’s just you and me, girl.”

  Blossom didn’t even bother to wag her tail. Instead, she gave a huge sigh and shifted, resting her chin on her paws and gazing toward the door. The door Ursula had walked out of. For the last time.

  Mac set the book he’d finished on the coffee table, knocking something to the floor. He picked it up—a small box wrapped in brown paper. Ursula’s present. He’d forgotten all about it. He debated returning it to her unopened, but curiosity got the better of him. He pulled off the string and unwrapped the box. Inside lay a pearl-handled penknife, identical to the one he’d left in the airport.

  He opened the blade and tested it against his thumb. This knife had obviously had less use over its lifetime but otherwise it was exactly like his grandfather’s knife. Probably close to a hundred years old. How had Ursula ever found it? He’d never met anyone like her, and he suspected he never would again.

  He almost reached for a piece of wood to try it out, but he didn’t. Just like Rory and her blanket, whittling was his way of working through his emotions. But what good did that do? Instead he picked up another book with a case he’d marked and started to read. He wouldn’t let Andi down again.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS LATER, Mac was still reading. He’d been sending his notes to the paralegal he’d hired for research, but she said, in the most tactful way possible, that he was just spinning his wheels. Still, he had to do something. He was responsible for Andi’s death; he had to be responsible for bringing the monster that killed her to justice.

  The days were longer now, and by late morning, the sun had risen over the mountain and was shining into the kitchen windows. Not that Mac noticed. Anyway, not until he heard a solid thump against a pain of glass and Blossom barked. Mac got up and went to the window. A tiny bird lay on its back atop the wooden table on his porch.

  The poor thing had obviously crashed into his window. Mac shrugged into a jacket and went outside, leaving Blossom indoors. He picked up the lifeless body of the nuthatch and held it in his hands. Another innocent life, extinguished. He stared at the tiny body, thinking of Andi, of her mother, of his parents, all gone before their time. Just like this.

  And then the bird moved.

  At least he thought it moved. Maybe it was his imagination. But no, the wing was flickering a bit. And then the other wing twitched. After a moment, the bird raised its head. It seemed to look directly at him, not understanding how it got there, but somehow feeling safe cradled in his palms.

  He waited, allowing the bird to gather its strength. It opened its wings, and Mac gently pumped his hands up and down, letting the air flow under the bird’s wings, helping it get its bearings. Another minute, and it was off, the sun glistening off its feathers before it disappeared into the trees.

  Mac’s heart soared along with the bird and somehow the load of a thousand if-onlys flew away as well, leaving him feeling weightless. He inhaled the crisp air, noticed the sun sparkling on the snow. The bird was alive. So was he.

  He came back indoors, where Blossom greeted him at the door and sniffed him, wagging her tail. Mac passed a hand over her head before going to wash his hands. “A bird, Blossom. I thought it was dead, but it was just stunned. It’s alive.” He spent several minutes going through the woodbin, looking for just the right piece. Shoving the books from the coffee table, he set the chunk of wood on the center and picked up his whetstone. He sharpened the knife Ursula had given him to a fine edge.

  In the meantime, he studied the wood. Once he was satisfied with his plan, he started. The knife cut through the soft wood and a long curl fell onto the table. Mac smiled.

  * * *

  URSULA WAS ON her hands and knees, scrubbing up the blueberry syrup a guest had dribbled on the rug under one of the dining room tables. It had been six days since Mac ordered her out of his house. Funny how her life seemed to be divid
ed into before Mac, during Mac and after Mac. Yes, now she was dealing with the after-Mac, and it wasn’t pretty.

  Rory’s feelings were hurt. Naturally. Ursula had been trying to keep her busy, thinking Rory would get distracted and forget to ask about Mac, but she’d underestimated Rory’s tenacity. Every day after school, Rory wanted to see if Mac would go skiing with them or eat dinner or give her a carving lesson. Ursula had been telling her Mac was feeling bad and didn’t want company right now. Eventually, she’d have to give Rory an explanation for why Mac didn’t want to be around them anymore. Just as soon as she figured it out, herself.

  She should have known not to get involved with him. Living with her father should have taught her a lesson. She was arrogant enough to think she could save Mac, but you couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved, no matter how much you loved them. Loving them only led to heartache.

  Two couples had checked out that morning and the third had been out skiing, so Ursula didn’t pay too much attention when she heard the front door open. The blue stain was gone, so she blotted the damp spot with an old towel. It wasn’t until she heard the click of nails on the hardwood floor that she realized it wasn’t her guests that had come through the door. “Blossom?”

  The dog galloped over and squeezed between two chairs to join Ursula under the table. Her whole body wriggling in joy, she climbed into Ursula’s lap, almost knocking her over. Ursula laughed and took the big dog’s head between her hands. Blossom’s tail beat a quick rhythm against the floor. Ursula’s heart matched the beat as a pair of jean-clad legs and wool socks came into view at the edge of the table. Mac’s face appeared. “Hi. What are you doing under there?”

  After a moment, she was able to find her voice. “Cleaning up a spill.”

  “Need any help?”

  “No, I’m done.”

  Nevertheless, Mac scooted a couple of chairs out of the way and crawled under the table, too. Blossom rolled over on her back between the two of them. Mac obediently rubbed her tummy, but he never took his eyes off Ursula’s face. “Hi, again.”