by Teri Wilson
But he already had.
“It’s an op-ed piece. That’s why it’s in the editorial section.” Liam nodded at the top of the page, where EDITORIAL was printed in large block letters.
Piper blinked back a fresh wave of tears and glanced at the articles surrounding Ethan’s piece on the sanctuary. “But I don’t understand. Mine is the only negative article on this entire page.”
“I know. I’ve actually never seen such a strongly worded piece in the Yukon Reporter.” Posy turned toward Liam. “Have you?”
“Not that I recall,” he said. “Something just doesn’t seem right with this entire scenario.”
Nothing was right about it. Absolutely nothing. “This will destroy me. People won’t want to come see the wolves anymore. Not after this. And I can kiss my donations goodbye. Who in their right mind would want to give money to an organization that ‘poses a clear and present danger to the community at large’?”
Nobody. That’s who.
Beside her, Posy sighed. “Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems. It’s an op-ed piece, as Liam said. By definition, that means it’s an opinion. And this reporter is only one person.”
“But he’s one person with a voice that can reach the entire town. Folks know him. They respect him. Other than you two and the kids in the youth group, I don’t really know people here. I’m new in town, remember?”
Posy’s delicate eyebrows furrowed. “What you need is another voice, one to tell your side of the story. A voice that can explain why the wolves are important and why they aren’t dangerous.”
Liam nodded. “Posy’s right. Maybe you can contact the editor and ask him to send another reporter out to the property. Actually, I know someone who used to work for the Yukon Reporter. Ben Grayson. He’s a dog musher now, so he might be a little more sympathetic to your cause.”
It was a kind offer, but it would take too long. Something needed to happen. Now. Before Ethan Hale’s ill-formed opinion became accepted as truth. “You’re right. What I need—what the wolves need—is another voice.”
“Do you want me to give Ben Grayson a call?” Liam reached for his phone.
Piper lifted her chin. She’d driven all the way from Colorado to Alaska with a trailerful of wolves. She’d put the sanctuary together from the ground up. She could do this. “Thank you, but no. After this fiasco, there’s only one person I trust to tell my side of the story.”
Liam set his phone down. “Who?”
“Me.” It was the perfect solution. Who was she kidding? It was the only solution. “I’m going to write the article myself.”
Chapter Three
The morning after his op-ed piece on the wolf sanctuary appeared in the Yukon Reporter, Ethan began his day as he always did. He got ready for work, then drove the twenty miles from his cabin near Knik all the way back to the coffee bar at the Northern Lights Inn. Aurora was in the opposite direction of his office, which meant he was spending an extra half hour or so in his car just for coffee. But it was worth it. The coffee at the Northern Lights was that good.
Besides, he was up earlier than usual. He hadn’t exactly gotten a good night’s sleep after he’d finally turned in his article.
“Morning, Ethan.” The barista slid a coaster across the smooth walnut surface of the bar and grinned. “What can I get you this morning?”
“A large Gold Rush blend. Black, please,” Ethan said. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” The barista smiled again. Either Ethan was imagining things or Sam seemed more outwardly cheerful than usual.
“So everyone in Aurora is talking about your article. You know...the one about the wolves.” Sam eyed him over the top of the espresso machine.
The one about the wolves. It had to be that one? Couldn’t they talk about the piece he’d written about the upcoming city elections or the one about Arctic ice melt season?
“Is that right?” Ethan shifted on his bar stool.
He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable about what he’d written. He absolutely shouldn’t. He’d been doing his job. That was all. His extensive knowledge of Alaskan ecology and wildlife was one of the reasons he’d landed his job at the paper in the first place. They’d asked him to write an educated opinion on the wolf sanctuary, and he’d complied.
He’d done the right thing. The safe thing. The town would be better off without the wolves. So would Piper Quinn. She just didn’t know it.
“Oh, yes.” Sam let out a laugh. “Your article already caused quite a stir around here, and now this morning—”
Ethan’s cell phone rang, cutting the barista off.
It was just as well. Ethan may have had no reason to feel bad about what he’d written, but that didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it with Sam. Or with Tate, who’d left a few voice mails the day before.
Ethan couldn’t keep avoiding his closest friend. Tate probably wanted to make sure he was okay after losing his shoes to a wild animal. There had been an underlying note of concern in his voice in the messages he’d left.
That hint of worry was exactly why Ethan had been reluctant to return his calls. Couldn’t he leave the past dead and buried, where it belonged?
Dead.
Buried.
Ethan’s temples throbbed. He glanced at the display on his phone, expecting to see Tate’s name. It wasn’t. LOU MARSHALL. His editor. “Hello, Lou.”
“Ethan, I’m glad you picked up. I need you to get into the office early today.” He sounded urgent. Even more urgent than he usually did, which was extremely urgent. He was, after all, a newsman.
“How early?”
“As soon as you can get here. We need to talk about this wolf woman. Immediately. Just get here.”
The line went dead.
We need to talk about this wolf woman.
Super.
Ethan sighed. “Sam, I’m going to need that coffee to go.”
Half an hour later, after breaking as few traffic laws as possible, he plunked two cups of Gold Rush blend down on Lou Marshall’s desk and pushed one toward his boss. “Morning. You said we needed to talk?”
Lou took a gulp of coffee and nodded. “Yes. Have you seen the paper yet this morning?”
“No. I just got here.” He frowned at the copy of the Yukon Reporter early edition in Lou’s hands and remembered Sam’s line of questioning at the coffee bar. “Has there been a new development in the wolf story?”
“You could say that.” Lou tossed the newspaper at him.
Ethan caught it with one hand.
He died a thousand deaths in the handful of seconds it took for him to find the “development” that Lou had referred to. A thousand deaths in which he imagined every potential tragedy, every conceivable fatal accident that could have taken place. Escaped wolves. Wounded people.
Not her. God, please. Not her.
The hasty prayer caught him nearly as off guard as Piper’s letter to the editor on page three. Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed. Actually, he could. It had been on a cold Denali night five years ago when the world had fallen apart. He’d screamed to the heavens that night as he’d tried in vain to put it back together, mistakenly believing that there was a God somewhere up there who listened. Who cared.
He stared at the letter, and the panic that had caught him in its grip morphed into irritation. Piper hadn’t been hurt. She was perfectly fine. So fine that she’d been busy writing a letter to his boss. And Lou had printed it in the paper.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ethan muttered, scanning the contents as quickly as his gaze could move over the page, catching glimpses of words such as yellow journalism, unfair reporting and retraction.
Blood boiling, he wadded the paper into a ball and pitched it into the trash. Retraction? She wanted him to take his words back? Out of the question. “If you’ve called me in here to demand that I print a retraction, you’re wasting your breath. I won’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of making such a demand.” A smile creased Lou
’s face and he calmly raised his coffee cup to his mouth again.
Then what was Ethan doing here? He was almost afraid to ask.
As it turned out, he had reason to be afraid. “On the contrary, I want you to write whatever you like about Ms. Quinn and her wolves. Repeatedly. The paper is sold out all over the state. This wolf thing is moving papers faster than we can print them. I want you to keep writing about the wolves, provided you do so on location.”
Ethan froze while reaching for his coffee. “On location?”
“Yes. On location. I’ve already arranged everything. You’re to spend the next two weeks volunteering at the Aurora Wolf and Wildlife Center alongside Ms. Quinn. You’ll document the experience in a daily diary that will run on the front page of the Yukon Reporter.” Lou slung back the final dregs of his coffee. “It’s genius, don’t you think?”
Volunteer at the wolf sanctuary? For two weeks? With wolves?
With Piper?
Ethan had plenty of thoughts on the idea. Genius was nowhere on the list.
“No.” His temples throbbed harder. The notion of facing Piper after the things he’d written about her—not to mention the things that she’d written about him—was enough to give him an aneurysm. “Just...no.”
“You heard me say that your daily diary will run on the front page, right?” Lou waggled his eyebrows.
“Why? I’ve been asking you for a spot on the front page for months.” That was an understatement. He was certain it had been a regular topic of conversation for the better part of a year. “Why now? Why this?”
“Because the readers are eating it up.” Lou threw up his hands and laughed. “Since her response to your op-ed came out this morning, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. People love it. You and Piper Quinn are all that anyone in Alaska can talk about.”
This cannot be happening. Ethan was supposed to write the article. Piper was supposed to close her doors, and that would be the end of it.
He should have known she wouldn’t give up this easily.
He breathed out a sigh. “But I don’t want people talking about Piper and me. Not in the same breath, anyway.”
“Too late. Just do a Google search of yourself. The first two screens are chock-full of results about the war of words between you and the wolf woman.”
A Google search? “No, thank you.”
Lou shrugged. “Suit yourself, but get packing. I’ve already made a reservation for you at the Northern Lights Inn. That way, you can spend as much time as possible on the property.”
At least he’d be in close proximity to great coffee. If he agreed to this nonsensical plan, which he wouldn’t.
He shook his head. “No.”
“The front page, Ethan. It’s all yours. Every day, for fourteen days straight.” Lou tapped a finger on the newspaper that lay on the desk between them.
The front page.
For two solid weeks.
If that didn’t get the attention of The Seattle Tribune, nothing would. It was a reporter’s dream. His dream.
Then why did it feel so much like a nightmare? “Where on the front page?”
“Bottom right-hand corner. Twenty inches of space per day.”
“Above the fold. Twenty-five inches.” If Ethan was going to agree to this nonsense, he would make sure it was worth his while.
“Deal.” Lou slapped his hand on the desk in triumph. The coffee cups jumped in time with the throbbing of Ethan’s headache. “You’d better get packing. The clock is ticking. Your first diary entry is due no later than midnight tonight. Ms. Quinn is expecting you.”
Piper was expecting him.
What have I done?
“Get cracking, son.” Lou shooed Ethan out of his office. “And don’t look so worried. This is going to be the highlight of your career. Think of it as being embedded, like a reporter in a combat zone.”
A reporter in a combat zone.
Why did Ethan get the feeling that the comparison wasn’t too far off the mark?
* * *
Piper was ready and waiting when she heard the tires of Ethan’s SUV roll up the sanctuary’s snow-covered drive. She closed the field notebook where she recorded daily observations about each wolf’s behavior patterns, climbed down from the large flat boulder overlooking the property and was standing, arms crossed, toe tapping, by the time her nemesis-turned-volunteer climbed out of his car.
“You’re late,” she said by way of greeting. She wasn’t wasting her time with marshmallows and small talk this time. A fat lot of good that had done.
“Piper.” He nodded. “We meet again.”
He looked as stone-faced as ever, which pretty much confirmed that he hadn’t lost one minute of sleep over the hurtful things he’d written about her. Not just her, but the wolves, the sanctuary, her goals and dreams. Basically, everything she held near and dear.
Unbelievable.
The email she’d received the night before from Lou Marshall at the Yukon Reporter had been nothing if not concise. He’d received her letter and would be printing it in the early edition. No apology. No retraction. But her letter would appear in the paper. She’d been appeased. For the most part.
And then the impossible had happened. Only a few hours after the early edition of the paper had been released, Lou Marshall had called and asked if she’d be interested in Ethan volunteering at the sanctuary for two weeks and chronicling the experience in the newspaper. Of course she’d said yes. Another article from a different perspective was exactly what she’d demanded. What Marshall was offering her was above and beyond that. Fourteen articles. Plus two weeks of free labor.
It was an offer she couldn’t refuse, even if it did mean spending approximately eighty hours in the presence of the self-righteous Ethan Hale. As much as she hated to admit it, she could use the help. Especially help from someone as physically strong and capable as Ethan appeared. There were plenty of chores around the sanctuary that required an able body. Just yesterday poor wiry Caleb had nearly collapsed under the weight of a cord of firewood.
Not that she’d noticed Ethan’s broad chest. Or strapping shoulders. Or thick, muscular forearms.
Okay, so maybe she’d noticed those things, as well as his other knee-weakening qualities. Such as the way his piercing gray eyes looked almost blue beneath the shelter of the hemlock trees. And the way he somehow seemed at home here among the woods and the rocks and the snow flurries. Like the wolves—untamable, yet not wholly wild.
It was a ridiculous notion. He didn’t deserve to be compared to her beloved wolves, even in the secrecy of her thoughts. Because those arms, those shoulders and those extraordinary lupine eyes were all attached to his impossibly stubborn head.
She looked up at him now, towering over her with his chiseled features arranged in an expression of distinct displeasure. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, obviously longing to be someplace else. Anyplace else but here.
What was I thinking, agreeing to this? It’s a terrible idea.
After getting the phone call from his editor, she’d actually wondered if maybe the arrangement had been Ethan’s idea. That maybe, just maybe, he regretted dragging her name through the mud in one of Alaska’s biggest media outlets. Perhaps he’d felt remorseful after he’d read her response in her letter to the editor.
Judging by the look on his face, clearly not.
She swallowed. This could be a mistake. And she couldn’t afford another mistake. But really, what else could he write that could make things worse?
Mistake or not, if he thought she was going to bend over backward in welcome again, he had another think coming. She wasn’t the only one making mistakes lately. Ethan had underestimated her before. He hadn’t taken her at all seriously. That was a mistake she aimed to fix.
She crossed her arms again and pinned him with a stare. “I repeat—you’re late.”
She had a tour arriving in less than ten minutes. How was she supposed to get him properly trained to do anythin
g of any value while she was lecturing her guests and showing them around? Over half her scheduled visitors had either canceled or no-showed so far today, thanks to him. Those who still wanted to see the wolves were getting the royal treatment.
“Your editor told me to expect you nearly an hour ago.”
“My apologies.” His mouth curved in an obviously disingenuous grin. “I had a pressing errand to run on the way here.”
“And what might that have been?” Had he stopped to picket the local animal shelter or something? Had he been busy kicking puppies?
He crossed his massive arms. Honestly, how did a man with a desk job end up with such nice biceps? “If you must know, I had to stop and buy new shoes.”
She glanced down at his feet, clad in a pristine pair of North Face all-weather hiking boots, and her cheeks grew warm. “Oh. I see.”
“So am I forgiven?” He lifted a single, bemused brow.
“For the tardiness, yes. For everything else, no. Not even close.”
“I can live with that. Somehow.”
Could he be any more smug? “I honestly don’t know how you manage to sleep at night.”
“I manage.” He shrugged, then his gaze fell on her notebook. “What’s that you have there?”
“My field notes.” She held the book tighter to her chest. “A written record of the daily behavior patterns of my subject. In this case, the wolves.”
“I know what a field notebook is. Does that surprise you?” He planted his hands on his hips, and Piper vowed not to look at his arms again.
Half a second later, her gaze zeroed in on his forearms. She cleared her throat. “Actually, it does surprise me. Quite a bit.”
“May I have a look?” he asked, gesturing to her notebook.
“Certainly.” She offered it to him. Maybe if he realized how seriously she took her work with the wolves, he’d relent and give her at least an ounce of respect.