by Teri Wilson
She lifted her chin and did her best to ignore the way Ethan Hale was looking at her as if she’d lost her mind. “And the answer to your question is no. They’re not always this active. It’s the weather. Wolves love a pretty snowfall. Doesn’t everyone?”
Ethan scribbled something in his notebook, again without cracking a smile.
Not everyone. Obviously.
Piper couldn’t let the tour end this way. She just couldn’t. This man needed to meet a wolf, one on one. He needed to look into Koko’s eyes and see him the way that she did.
“Let’s go.” She unfastened the lock on the first gate, held the door open and waited for Ethan to follow.
“What?” He stood rooted to the spot. “Where is it that you think you’re going?”
“Inside, of course.” She motioned toward Koko, watching the two of them with keen interest. “And you’re coming with me.”
* * *
Ethan stared at Piper. Standing in the snow with her blond hair whipping in the wind, framed by evergreens and wolves moving among the shadows, she looked like Red Riding Hood come to life. Then again, maybe her crimson parka was messing with his head.
“Come on.” She beckoned to him, as if he’d been waiting his whole life to follow her into a wolf den.
“Right.” He rolled his eyes. She couldn’t possibly be serious.
By all appearances, she was. She stood staring at him, holding the first of two metal barred gates open. Waiting.
“I don’t think so,” he said grimly, and turned to leave, to go back to his cubicle in the newsroom where he couldn’t feel the kiss of snow on his face or smell the perfume of alder wood and forest that had once clung to his skin, his hair and every piece of clothing he’d ever worn. Back to a place where he wouldn’t be forced to remember things best left forgotten.
“Suit yourself,” she called out from behind him.
He heard the gate clang closed. Good, she’d come to her senses and was back on this side of the fence, where any reasonable person belonged.
He kept walking. He’d already been here too long. Where had the day gone? He’d unwittingly spent more than three hours listening to Piper wax poetic about her wolves. How on earth had he let that happen?
Without turning around, he held up his hand in a parting wave. “Goodbye, Ms. Quinn.”
“I asked you to call me Piper, remember?” She sounded farther away than she should have.
Then Ethan heard the jingle of keys.
Gut clenching, he turned around. Sure enough, she was unlocking the second gate, about to step right inside the enclosure. With the wolf. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I told you.” She shrugged. “I’m going inside.”
“No, you’re not.” Ethan had no intention of watching her walk in there by herself. Alone. Behind two locked gates where he couldn’t get to her if something went wrong.
Leave it. She’s a grown woman.
Clearly she’d done this before, and she’d lived to tell about it. But wolves weren’t pets. They weren’t dogs, cats or harmless little hamsters. They were wild animals. Wild is wild. She’d said so herself.
“I know what I’m doing, Mr. Hale. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” An unspoken challenge glimmered in her eyes. Eyes the color of glaciers in springtime.
Afraid? What did she think he was afraid of? Death?
Death would have been easy. Survival, on the other hand, had been far more difficult. Even now, five years later, he still wished it had been him. It should have been him.
He crossed his arms. “Do I look scared?”
The only thing he was afraid of was watching her put her life on the line. He’d seen this sort of thing go badly before. Once. And once had been more than enough.
“Actually, no. You look angry.” She turned the key. Even from where he stood, Ethan could hear the padlock release. “You know, the company of an animal is scientifically proven to lower blood pressure.”
“I highly doubt that applies to wild animals. Kittens, yes. Wolves, not so much.” Nor pretty blonde animal rescuers. In fact, right now, it was a toss-up as to which one of them was a bigger pain in his neck—the wolf or Piper.
“You’ll never know unless you give it a try.” She glanced at the dark wolf standing just on the other side of the unlocked gate.
Ethan stared at Koko.
The wolf looked back at him with the same cool detachment Ethan had seen in the eyes of other wild animals. Wolves. Mountain lions. Bears. One bear in particular.
Bile rose to the back of Ethan’s throat.
“I’m going in. It’s now or never.” Piper raised an expectant brow.
As much as Ethan wanted to leave, to climb in his car and head back down the mountain, he couldn’t. Not if it meant leaving her locked in a pen with a wolf.
“Fine.” He stomped back toward the enclosure.
Piper beamed at him, entirely too pleased with herself. Ethan just shook his head and tried to slow the adrenaline pumping through his system. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, prepared to deal with the worst.
She locked the first gate behind him, and suddenly it was just the two of them in the small fenced-in space between the double entrances. She stood close enough for him to see tiny flecks of green in her blue eyes. Nature looking back at him. Her hair whipped in the wind, a halo of spun gold.
Ethan nearly forgot about the wolf standing behind her.
“There are a few rules before we go inside.” Her voice went soft, as if she felt it, too—the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
The wolf moved behind her, a shifting shadow in the violet Alaskan light, catching Ethan’s eye. “I’d imagine there are.”
“When we walk inside, just ignore him. Let Koko come to you on his own terms.”
In other words, don’t go chasing the wolf. “Got it.”
“He may get up on his hind legs and put his front paws on your shoulder. This means he’s curious, not aggressive. Whatever you do, don’t push him away.”
Ethan didn’t have a problem with this particular rule, either. If the wolf wanted to slow dance with him, so be it. At least it meant he would be the only one in harm’s way. Not her.
“And he will definitely lick your mouth.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Oh, joy.”
“It’s how wolves greet each other. Just keep your mouth closed, and you’ll be fine. Don’t turn your face away under any circumstances.”
Now the rules were getting a little strange. “You’re telling me to stand there and let a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound wolf kiss me on the mouth?”
“One hundred and forty,” she corrected.
“Even better.”
She ignored his sarcasm. “And yes, let him lick your face. It’s customary wolf behavior. Koko’s an alpha. If you turn away, he’ll be highly offended.”
And would that really be such a tragedy? “Got it.”
“Good.” She shot him a dazzling smile. “Then we’re ready.”
She turned around to slide the padlock off the interior gate. Without even realizing what he was doing, Ethan reached for her elbow. His touch said what his lips wouldn’t.
Don’t.
Stay here. With me.
But she didn’t notice. The moment his fingertips brushed the rich red fabric of her parka, she moved out of his reach. The look on Piper’s face—the rosy cheeks, the slight parting of her lips, the breathless anticipation—it wasn’t about him. It was about the wild animal waiting on the other side of the fence.
He’d mistaken the moment for something it wasn’t. Which was fine, really. He had nothing to offer anyone. Not anymore. Not even the first woman to capture his attention in as long as he could remember.
Anyway, attention and attraction weren’t one and the same. Sure, he found Piper Quinn interesting. Who wouldn’t? He also found her headstrong and impetuous. He knew her type. She was a crusader.
So was he, and the two of them happened to b
e on opposite sides of the crusade.
Fine. This whole ordeal would be over within a matter of minutes. Once he’d seen her walk safely back to her little log cabin, he could drive away, write his article and forget he’d ever set foot in her wolf sanctuary.
“Hey there, Koko.” She spoke in matter-of-fact tones to the wolf, as if the two of them were old friends.
Koko gave her a cursory glance and then trotted straight for Ethan. He barely made his way inside the enclosure before the wolf rose up on his back legs, just as Piper had predicted, and planted his massive front paws on Ethan’s shoulders. It had been less than five minutes since she’d talked him into this escapade, and already there was a wolf breathing down his neck. Literally.
Ethan didn’t feel panicked. Nor particularly threatened. The creature was simply curious, just as Piper had said he would be. Ethan knew as much. But that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.
“Magnificent, isn’t he?” she asked.
Once Koko had dropped back down to all fours, Ethan responded, “He’s something, all right.”
“Come sit down.” She strode toward a fallen log near the center of the enclosure.
He followed, took a seat beside her on the log and braced himself for another lick on the face. But Koko seemed more interested in Ethan’s feet. The wolf systematically sniffed his right shoe from toe to heel, then moved to the left. Once he’d thoroughly inspected that one, he returned to Ethan’s right shoe and began the behavior all over again.
Piper laughed. “Wow, he really likes your shoes. Do you have pets at home? A dog maybe?”
“No.” Ethan shook his head. “No pets.”
The wolf began to tug on one of his shoelaces. He took a bite, and the lace snapped in two. Ethan didn’t particularly care. Although he was slightly worried about losing the entire shoe, his foot included.
“I’m sorry.” She frowned. “I haven’t seen him do that before. He’s not hurting you, is he?”
“No.” Ethan shook his head. Koko pressed his nose so hard against his ankle that he could feel the heat of the wolf’s breath beneath both his wool sock and the leather of his hiking boot.
Ethan grew very still. His thoughts were beginning to spin in a direction he didn’t like.
No. Impossible. It can’t be.
Then he looked into Koko’s eyes, and knew that however much he tried to pretend that the wolf’s interest in his shoes was arbitrary, that wasn’t the case. His odd behavior was no coincidence.
The wolf knew.
A chill ran up and down Ethan’s spine. He pulled his foot away, but Koko’s jaws had already clamped down. Hard. The hiking boot slipped right off.
“Oh, no.” Piper paled, but she didn’t make a move to retrieve his shoe.
Good. Ethan doubted Koko would willingly let it go. In any case, he didn’t want it back.
The wolf knew.
It didn’t make sense, but Ethan was convinced that was what was happening. Maybe it was some sort of animalistic sixth sense. Or maybe the wolf just recognized the scent of blood. And fear. And death. And grief. So much grief.
The wolf could have the shoes. Both of them.
Ethan pulled off his remaining hiking boot and tossed it to Koko. An offering to the ways of the wild.
“What are you doing?” Piper asked.
Ethan shrugged. “What am I going to do with just one shoe?”
“This is highly unusual. Koko doesn’t make a practice of devouring shoes. Shasta maybe, but not Koko.” Piper tore her attention away from the wolf and fixed her gaze with Ethan’s. “Please believe me.”
For the briefest of moments, looking into those earnest blue eyes of hers was almost like looking into a mirror. “I believe you.”
She blinked. “You do?”
“Yes, I do.” He believed. He believed in her passion. He believed in her commitment to the wolves. He believed that even though they were on opposite sides, he and Piper Quinn had something in common.
Something had happened in her past to make her identify with the wolves and care for them the way she did. She was their champion. A warrior. And warriors were seldom born. They were made. Ethan knew this all too well, because he was a warrior himself. He’d had his defining moment, and she’d had hers. Whatever had happened to her had cast her on the opposite path. The pendulum had swung the other direction. She couldn’t walk away from the past any more than he could.
That didn’t mean he would write the things she wanted him to write. He wished he could. Gazing into her looking-glass eyes, he wished it very much.
But he simply could not.
Chapter Two
The cursor on Ethan’s laptop flashed on-off, on-off, taunting him. Daring him to write. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting at the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar, staring at his blank Word document. Definitely long enough to down several cups of coffee beneath the watchful eyes of the giant stuffed grizzly bear in the corner.
Ethan was less than fond of the bear. But given that it no longer possessed a heartbeat, he preferred it to Piper’s wolves. Besides, he was in Alaska. Stuffed and mounted wildlife wasn’t exactly an oddity. He couldn’t even grocery shop at the corner store without rolling his cart past a moose head.
Even so, he’d chosen the seat farthest away from the bear. Unfortunately, that meant he was situated directly beneath an enormous bison head. Because, again, this was Alaska. He should have been grateful he wasn’t given an antler to use as a stir stick.
He glared at the bison head. Bison were deadly. So deadly that they’d killed more people in Yellowstone National Park every year than bears had. Most people didn’t know this. But Ethan knew.
Four years as a park ranger in Denali had taught him a thing or two. But it had been a while since his park ranger days. A lot had happened. Too much. Five years was a long time, but it wasn’t long enough to erase the sight of a little girl being torn apart by a bear. It wasn’t long enough for him to forget the sounds of her screams. And it most definitely wasn’t long enough to forget the remorse he’d felt at his failure to save her.
Of course, he probably could have sat beneath the mounted bison head without revisiting his past if he hadn’t just spent the afternoon locked in a pen with a wolf.
He hadn’t been ready to go home after leaving the wolf sanctuary. He wasn’t sure why. If he thought hard enough about it, he’d probably realize that his reluctance to return to his quiet, empty house had something to do with the memories that had been unlocked by looking into the cool, dispassionate eyes of a wild animal. The scent of pine, the wind in his hair. The enigmatic Piper Quinn.
And his hiking boots. The hiking boots.
They’d been the shoes he’d worn the night of the bear mauling. They’d been at the back of his closet for years. When he’d left the park service in the wretched aftermath of the bear event, he’d traded cargo pants and hiking boots for more proper office attire. Knowing he’d likely be tramping through the forest today, he’d grabbed them and put them on this morning without thinking. Without remembering. And now everything had conspired to make him do just that. Remember.
The last place he wanted to be was someplace empty and quiet. Someplace like home. He needed distraction and conversation, and the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar was typically one of the busiest spots in Aurora. Which was why Ethan wasn’t the least bit surprised when his friend Tate Hudson plopped down on the bar stool beside him, even though they’d had no plans to meet.
“Hey.” Tate nodded at Ethan’s blank screen. “Don’t tell me you’ve got writer’s block.”
“Something like that.” He clicked his laptop closed. Why was he having such difficulty writing this thing? The wolf sanctuary was a bad idea. The worst. Case closed. His article should be writing itself.
The wolves were an accident waiting to happen. He’d decided as much before he’d ever set eyes on Piper Quinn and her collection of sad rescue animals. Not that wolves typically preyed on humans. Ethan’s rationa
l self—the former park ranger that still lurked somewhere beneath his bruised and brooding surface—knew this.
Things happened in the wild. That’s what made it wild. Just because wolves didn’t make a habit of harming human beings didn’t mean it would never come to pass. As Ethan saw it, the potential risk to the townspeople was reason enough for the wolf sanctuary to be shut down. And if it wasn’t, he was certain the owners of the nearby reindeer farm would have an opinion on the matter. While the fair citizens of Aurora might not be on the typical wolf menu, reindeer most assuredly were. In recent years, the reindeer farm had become one of the town’s most popular attractions. And its favorite resident was a certain reindeer named Palmer, who was something of an escape artist. Ethan ought to know. He’d penned his fair share of articles for the Yukon Reporter about Palmer’s legendary antics. So this piece on the wolves should absolutely be writing itself. He wasn’t sure why the words wouldn’t come.
Tate ordered a plain black coffee and turned his attention back to Ethan. “You’re starting to worry me, friend.”
“Because I haven’t finished my column?” He shrugged, even though his untouched Word document was starting to become cause for concern. He had a midnight deadline, after all.
“That—” Tate shot a bemused glance at Ethan’s feet “—and the fact that you’re sitting in a public place without shoes on your feet. In the dead of winter, I might add.”
Ethan didn’t feel like explaining his missing shoes any more than he felt like writing about them. Piper had given him a pair of silly-looking bedroom shoes so he wouldn’t be forced to leave the sanctuary in his sock feet. He’d deposited them by the door of the hotel on his way in because he’d rather sit at the bar in his socks than too-small bunny slippers.
“Are you going to arrest me, Officer? Aren’t you taking the whole ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ thing a bit far?” He looked pointedly at the shiny silver badge fixed to Tate’s parka.
His friend shrugged. “I’ll let it slide this time.”