by Teri Wilson
Not thinking about Ethan was difficult, considering his picture stared up at her from the front page of the newspaper she’d tossed onto the passenger seat. She flipped it facedown.
There, that’s better.
Why should she worry about Ethan’s opinion on the matter, anyway? Other than the fact that he was paid to write about that opinion in the newspaper and all. She shook her head. It didn’t matter. Hundreds of people would view one of her wolves at Posy’s recital. Once they saw that these rescued animals were actual living, breathing creatures and not crazed monsters, they would understand. Or at least she prayed that they would. She couldn’t let Ethan Hale stand in her way. Not this time. These animals had been through enough.
She pulled into the drive of the wolf sanctuary, half expecting to find Ethan waiting for her with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face, ready for battle. Time had gotten away from her at the ballet studio. Now she was late, an infraction for which she’d just chastised him the day before.
But when she climbed out of the van, that wasn’t what he was doing at all. She paused and stared, wondering if she was seeing things. Because why on earth would Ethan Hale have taken it upon himself to paint her cabin?
She marched toward him. “What are you doing?”
He tossed her a glance over his shoulder before going back to the task at hand. “Painting.”
“I see that.” She stood for a moment, wondering what exactly was happening. The gallon of paint that she usually kept stored in the shed was planted beside him in the snow. The brush that she’d just bought a week ago at Aurora’s one and only hardware store was in Ethan’s manly grasp. The damp cabin wall glistened in the misty morning sunlight. “But why? And how? Where did you find all of this stuff?”
“In the shed.” He pointed the paintbrush at her. “Which you need to keep locked from now on, by the way. Anyone off the street could have opened the door and walked right inside. It’s a nice heated shed, and you don’t even keep it secure. They sell padlocks down at the hardware store, you know.”
He was angry. As usual. Although why he cared so much about the fate of her gallon of Olive Branch Green latex paint was a mystery she couldn’t begin to fathom.
“Duly noted,” she said, waiting for further explanation. Or even a hint as to what was going on.
Wordlessly, Ethan kept moving the brush in long, even strokes. Up, down, swish, swish.
Finally, Piper couldn’t tolerate his silence another second. “Ethan, stop.”
He gave the area in the middle another dab, stuck the paintbrush handle-side down into the snow and bent to snap the lid back on the gallon of paint. For a man who had so much to say in the newspaper, he was awfully quiet all of a sudden.
“You know the youth group just painted the cottage less than two weeks ago, right? I mean, not that I’m complaining or anything. It just seems like a strange chore to have chosen in my absence. I know I’m late this morning, and—” she had to pray for strength to force out her next words “—I’m sorry.”
There. She’d apologized. To Ethan, of all people.
He pounded the lid securely onto the can of paint and stood to meet her gaze. There was something different about the way he looked at her. She felt as light and delicate as a snowflake all of sudden. “It’s not a problem. In fact, I’m glad you were away this morning.”
Of course he was. Just as she’d been happy to avoid him. Then why did his words sting the way they did? “I see.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Ethan jammed a hand through his hair. He had a dab of green paint near the corner of his mouth, which drew her attention slam-bang to his lips. She wondered suddenly what it might be like to kiss those lips, to kiss Ethan Hale. Her nemesis.
Revolting. Obviously. She couldn’t think of anything that should disgust her more than kissing Ethan. Nevertheless, her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on his mouth.
“Piper? Did you hear me?” The corners of that mouth, still the focus of her unruly attention, tipped downward in a frown.
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I did. Sorry, you have some paint. Right, um, there.”
Without realizing what she was doing until it had become too late, she reached out and touched his face. His cheek was cold beneath her fingertips. Cold and wind-kissed. He didn’t flinch or shy away, as she might have done had their roles been reversed, but instead just watched and let her touch him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if her fingertips should alight on that place right next to his mouth and hover so perilously close to his lips.
She forgot to breathe. She forgot everything for a moment, everything but the hard planes of Ethan’s chiseled face and the haunted look in his eyes behind the lacy veil of snow that fell between them.
Have you lost your mind? What are you doing? She erased the smudge of paint with the pad of her thumb and pulled her hand away.
“All gone,” she managed to whisper.
Why was her hand shaking? And why, oh, why had she gone breathless all of a sudden? It didn’t make any sense. None of this did—Ethan painting her cabin, her sudden fascination with his contemptible mouth and, least of all, the unexpected intimacy of the moment.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and prayed for the world to turn right-side-up again. Or alternatively, for him to say something that would remind her why she disliked him so very much.
“Thanks.” There was a softness in his gray eyes that she’d never seen before, a softness she could fall into like a feather bed.
She swallowed. What was wrong with her? Feather beds weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Everyone knew that. Feather beds were lumpy. And they made people sneeze.
“Listen.” Ethan sighed. “When I said I was glad you weren’t around earlier, it was because there’s been some trouble here.”
“Trouble?” she echoed, thoughts of feather beds and floating snowflakes replaced with panic. Heart racing, she spun around and headed for the enclosures. “The wolves. Is everyone okay?”
Ethan tugged on the hood of her parka and reeled her back toward him. “Your precious wolves are perfectly fine.”
“Oh.” She straightened and took a step away from him, out of reach. “Don’t frighten me like that.”
It didn’t escape her notice when he neglected to apologize. “The cabin was defaced.”
She glanced at the damp wall. “Defaced? How?”
“Graffiti. Red spray paint.”
Graffiti? In small-town Alaska? Vandalism was the last thing she should have worried about in a place like this. “Do you know if that happens here often?”
Ethan shrugged and busied himself with washing the paintbrush in a bucket of water. “Tate Hudson thinks it was some bored kids.”
That didn’t really answer her question, did it? “Tate Hudson? The state trooper? You called the police?”
“It seemed like a good idea, and Tate’s a friend.” He glanced up from his chore, but didn’t quite meet her gaze. “I asked him to stop by and check on things out here regularly. So try not to worry.”
Piper wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself, and remembered passing the police cruiser on her way up the mountain. Someone had come onto her property and sprayed the cabin with graffiti, the police had been called, and she’d missed the entire thing. Unbelievable.
She felt oddly vulnerable, which was a feeling Piper despised. Her entire existence was pretty much crafted around avoiding it. Feeling weak in any capacity was far too reminiscent of her turbulent childhood. There was a limit to how much vulnerability one person could take, and she’d reached her limit by her eighteenth birthday. Finding out about Stephen’s lies had been the icing on the cake.
“Should I? Worry, I mean?” She was forced to speak to Ethan’s back, since he was still cleaning up his mess instead of looking at her. Which was fine, really.
The only thing worse than feeling vulnerable would have been to feel vulnerable in front of Ethan Hale.
* * *
Tell her.
Ethan hadn’t intended on erasing the evidence of all that had transpired at the wolf sanctuary in Piper’s absence. He really hadn’t. But when he’d accompanied Tate on a final search of the property, he’d spotted the painting supplies in the shed. And seeing them there had seemed like a sign.
A sign. What an odd thing to consider.
Ethan wasn’t even sure he believed in signs. Or prayers. Or the God he’d once trusted with all his heart. Not anymore. It had been a long time since anything remotely resembling faith had stirred in his soul. Or anything at all, really.
He’d been numb for the better part of the past five years. He preferred it that way. He’d felt enough for one lifetime already. Too much. Even when his wife had left, he hadn’t fallen into despair. He hadn’t even tried to persuade her to stay. At the time he’d thought her leaving had seemed only natural. Susan had been looking for a way out of Alaska since the moment they’d set foot there. She’d actually thought his independence was a passing phase and that he’d be working for his father before their first anniversary. That they’d live in an ivory tower somewhere in Manhattan—or even worse, the family hotel—and attend black-tie galas every night of the week.
It had been almost a relief when the divorce papers came. Without Susan there, he didn’t have to act as if his life hadn’t been torn apart along with that little girl. He didn’t have to pretend that he was okay. Because he wasn’t. He wouldn’t be okay ever again.
Alone, he’d disappeared into the void. Unmoved. Unfeeling. Unbelieving.
Then this morning he’d seen that can of paint in Piper’s shed, and he’d almost believed something other than mere chance had put it in his path. Maybe he did believe. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore it.
Still, he knew he had to tell her what the graffiti had said. He had no right to keep it from her.
Killers.
He took too long cleaning the paintbrush while she stood over him, watching, waiting. Too long to brush the snow off the lid of the paint can. When he finally ran out of tasks to prolong the inevitable, he stood and faced her, fully intending to do the right thing.
But the Piper he found looking back at him wasn’t one he recognized. The Piper he’d come to know in the past few days was fearless, as much wolf as woman. The Piper standing in front of him here, now, didn’t look quite so bold. With her arms wrapped around herself, her fingertips peeking out from behind her fuzzy fingerless gloves, she had a suddenly gentle quality that made Ethan’s chest ache.
Tell her.
She blinked up at him through the softly falling snow—snow that felt like a prologue to something bigger. The promise of a coming storm. Looking into her eyes, he saw a world of untold stories, stories he wanted to hear her spin in a cozy cottage, with a fire in the hearth while snow beat against the windows.
He inhaled a ragged breath and told himself these sudden feelings didn’t mean anything. He only wanted to protect her, to shield her from hurt and harm. Susan had called it his “superhero complex.” After the bear attack, he’d become obsessed. Or so she’d said. Always looking for someone to save, as if that could make amends for the one girl he hadn’t.
His ex-wife couldn’t have been more wrong. Ethan knew with painful clarity that he was no hero. He couldn’t save the girl. He couldn’t even save himself. Just as he couldn’t be the one to save Piper Quinn.
Tell her. She deserves to know what was written on her cabin.
He opened his mouth, fully intent on confessing the last bit of information he’d withheld. But then he saw the slightest quiver in Piper’s lower lip. It was the tiniest of tremors, yet somehow it sent shock waves through Ethan’s soul. And he did the one thing he’d sworn to himself he would not do, despite the fact that it was all he could seem to think about since the moment she’d so gingerly touched his face. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.
He was unprepared for the way she felt in his arms. It was like holding the most beautiful of wild things. The brightest of butterflies. A bird of paradise. She was exquisite lightness and delicacy, and beneath her tenderness and her vulnerability beat the intensity of a hummingbird heart.
Piper was no ordinary woman. And this was no ordinary embrace. Something about this was different. This wasn’t the product of a superhero complex. This was something else. Something warm and soft. Something that made Ethan’s heartbeat pulse loudly in his ears. Something that made him feel.
For the first time in so many years, the numbness that had settled over him seemed to be melting away. He felt himself drowning in the scents of pine and peppermint. He felt the icicle bite of the wind in his hair. He felt the gentle kiss of wonderland snowflakes. He actually felt something.
Something for the woman in his arms.
No.
No, no, no.
He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to feel again, certainly not if those feelings had anything to do with a woman who made her home among wolves. And yet when she stiffened in his embrace, a surge of disappointment shot like an arrow to the center of his once-frozen heart.
He released her and took a backward step. His arms felt strangely useless all of a sudden. Empty.
Tell her. Do it now.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry. Tate’s going to keep an eye on things for you.”
“Right.” She nodded, but her smile looked forced, her stare vacant. Shell-shocked. “And you’ll be around.”
“For a while, anyway.” Twelve more days. Surely he could go that long without making the mistake of touching her again.
“Awhile. Sure, that’s what I meant.” She swallowed, looking wounded. Which Ethan supposed was only natural, considering she’d been the victim of a crime. Although she still didn’t even know to what extent, since he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what the graffiti had said. “I should probably check on the wolves. Sometimes they get spooked when strangers come around, especially when I’m gone.”
“You do that.” He gestured toward the bucket and can of paint. “I’ll finish cleaning up here, and then I’m heading to town.”
“To town? What for?”
Distance. Space. A little breathing room to clear my messed-up head.
“To pick up a lock for your shed.” He walked past her, painting supplies in tow, before he said something else. Something he shouldn’t.
All the while forgetting the words that he should have said most of all.
Chapter Six
To: Anna Plum [email protected]
From: Ethan Hale [email protected]
Subject: Thank you
Dear Ms. Plum,
Thank you for your call today. I’d appreciate the opportunity to meet you and learn more about the position available at The Seattle Tribune. With my experience and background, I believe I could be an asset to your paper. I’ve attached links to a few of my recent articles on hydropower in the Arctic and the dangers of tsunamis on the Kenai Peninsula.
As we discussed, I’m on assignment at the moment. However, I look forward to making a trip to Seattle as soon as possible.
Thank you again for your time and interest in my work.
Best regards,
Ethan Hale
To: Ethan Hale [email protected]
From: Anna Plum [email protected]
Subject: RE: Thank you
Hello Ethan,
It was great connecting with you. We at The Seattle Tribune are following your wolf diary with avid interest. Please contact me as soon as you have an opening in your schedule.
I look forward to hearing from you at your earliest possible convenience.
Sincerely,
Anna Plum
Editor in Chief
The Seattle Tribune
* * *
“What do you think?” Posy held up a tutu that looked too small to fit a wolf cub, much less an actual person.
Pi
per stared at it, wondering just how miniscule a four-year-old could possibly be. “I think that’s the smallest tutu I’ve ever seen.”
“Nope.” Posy shook her head. “They definitely come much smaller.”
Anya Parker, a friend of Posy’s who’d been recruited for the dance school’s costume committee, looked up from her needle and thread. “One thing’s for sure. It’s definitely the reddest.”
“Good.” Posy grinned. “The theme is Little Red Riding Hood, after all.”
“And that’s large enough to fit a real child?” Piper peered through an opening the size of a nonexistent waist.
“For a four-year-old? Certainly.” Kirimi, Anya’s mother, gave a reassuring nod. “Little girls are more delicate than you think they are. They’re just itty-bitty things.”
Piper’s throat grew tight.
Little girls are more delicate than you think they are.
She knew exactly how delicate little girls could be. Once upon a time, she’d been one of those delicate girls.
But why was she thinking about that here and now? The church thrift shop was no place for revisiting her mess of a childhood. Until this evening, Piper had never even set foot in the building.
The thrift store was run by Kirimi, Anya’s mom. Kirimi was also apparently some kind of sewing genius and had agreed to spearhead the costume efforts for Posy’s recital. So they’d all met in the thrift store after hours—Piper, Posy, Kirimi and Anya. The gathering had been a little overwhelming at first. Piper was still growing accustomed to having one close girlfriend, and now suddenly she belonged to a whole group. But their warm welcome soon put her at ease. Aurora was beginning to feel like home.
Piper’s heart gave a little squeeze. She’d been so emotional the past few days. She’d feel perfectly fine one minute and then, with no small degree of horror, she’d find herself on the verge of tears the next. It wasn’t like her. Not at all. And as much as she wanted to blame her atypical mood swings on the fact that someone had come onto her property and vandalized the cabin, she knew that wasn’t the root cause of her weepiness.