Alaskan Sanctuary

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 be 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 rational 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.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ethan stared into his empty coffee cup.

“Seriously, though. What gives with the socks?”

Ethan sighed. “I had a run-in with a wolf.”

Tate’s grin faded. “A wolf? Are you okay?”

Ethan pretended not to notice when his friend’s gaze flitted briefly to the stuffed grizzly bear in the corner. Tate was one of the few people in Aurora who knew about what had happened in Denali. Since his work as a state trooper sometimes took him to other parts of Alaska, he’d known Ethan back then. Before. He was the only person Ethan still communicated with who’d been part of that world. He was a trusted friend. But that didn’t mean Ethan wanted to have another heart-to-heart about his past.

He didn’t want Tate’s sympathy. He didn’t want sympathy from anyone. He just wanted to write his piece and move on to something else. Another assignment. Something involving politics or sports. Or anything else he could write about without feeling as if he’d been emotionally eviscerated.

He gritted his teeth. “It wasn’t like that.”

The wolf had put an untimely end to his hiking boots, and Ethan had been a little rattled. That’s all. Once his article was written, he’d forget all about Piper and her wolves and get on with his life.

Unless something happens to her.

“I’m doing a story on the new wolf sanctuary. Have you heard about it?”

Tate nodded. “A little. They just opened, right?”

“She just opened.” They wasn’t exactly accurate considering Piper’s rescue center was essentially a one-woman show.

“She?” Tate’s eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”

“Anyhow, I’m fine.” Ethan swallowed. “For the most part.”

“If you say so.” Tate studied him for a moment. Then, apparently convinced that Ethan wasn’t on the verge of some kind of breakdown, he blew out a breath. “Try not to break any more laws, though.”

Ethan slid him a sideways glance. “So going without shoes is, in fact, illegal?”

“Could be.” Tate shrugged. “Should be, seeing as it’s twenty degrees outside. Either way, just don’t give me a reason to arrest you. I wouldn’t want to have to take back the stellar job recommendation I gave you.”

Ethan paused. Job recommendation? “The Seattle Tribune? You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Not kidding. They called me yesterday afternoon.”

The Seattle Tribune. Finally. For almost a year now, Ethan had been applying for jobs at bigger newspapers. It was time to leave Alaska. Past time. But finding a newspaper job when print journalists were somewhat of a dying breed wasn’t easy, especially given the fact that Ethan’s only work experience was for a small regional paper.

His entire higher education had been designed to get him out of Manhattan and into the Land of the Midnight Sun. While his prep school friends had gone on to earn business or law degrees, Ethan had studied forestry and ecology, despite the overwhelming disapproval of his father. Ethan couldn’t have cared less what his dad thought. Every move he’d made since he’d been old enough to formulate a plan had been designed to get him out of New York and into the wilds of Alaska. And he’d actually managed to do it.

For a time, life had been perfect. But then those wilds had gotten the better of him.

Of course, if he’d wanted to leave badly enough, he could have gone back to Manhattan. It’s what his ex-wife had wanted. She’d begged him to leave Alaska and take the job his father had waiting for him in New York. Alaska had never been Susan’s dream. She’d wanted to be a Madison Avenue wife and believed that once he’d gotten his Alaskan folly out of his system, they’d pack up and move back home.

Home.

New York had never felt like home. Not even when he was a kid. Growing up in his father’s luxury hotel in the heart of Midtown, Ethan had had everything any boy could ever want. Except a backyard. Or a tree house. He’d spent the majority of his childhood indoors under the watchful eyes of the Pinnacle Hotel staff. He lived for outings to the park and rare weekends at the beach. He’d craved a place where he could see shooting stars at night and feel damp grass on his bare feet. Wide-open spaces where snow fell with a whisper of silence instead of the incessant cacophony of sirens and car horns.

In Alaska, he’d found the place of his dreams. Then in one tragic moment that dream had become a nightmare. The bear mauling changed Ethan. Or so Susan said when she’d packed her bags and gone back to Manhattan without him. Ethan didn’t know what to believe. Not anymore.

“Yesterday? The Seattle Tribune called you yesterday, and you didn’t think to mention it?”

“I’m mentioning it now, aren’t I?” Tate drained his coffee cup and handed it to the barista for a refill. “Don’t worry. I said only nice things about you, despite the fact that I think it’s a mistake.”

“It’s not a mistake.” It was a way to leave Alaska on his terms. Not his father’s.

Of course, that was assuming Ethan got the job, which was an enormous assumption, considering he hadn’t even been able to land a face-to-face interview. Yet. But this time they’d actually called his references. That had to be a good sign.

Tate swiveled to face him. “You belong here, Ethan. You always did, and you still do. Give it time, man.”

Time.

Five years had already passed since the mauling in Denali, and it still felt as fresh as yesterday. He was beginning to give up on the notion that time healed all wounds.

“Can we not discuss this now?” Ethan ground out the words.

“Fine. But this isn’t over. I’m not letting you pack up and move to the Lower 48 without having an actual conversation about it.” Tate sighed, then mercifully changed the subject. “What’s she like?”

“Who?” Ethan asked.

“The wolf woman.”

Ethan paused. He’d been fully prepared to write the director of the Aurora Wolf and Wildlife Center off as hopelessly naive, or possibly even crazy. The drive from the Yukon Reporter offices to the thick forest of fir and aspen trees that covered the southern slope of the Chugach Mountains had been a long and winding one. There were moments when his SUV had hugged the edge of the cliff so closely that his speed didn’t crawl above a cautious thirty miles per hour. The experience had afforded him plenty of opportunity to think about what kind of woman moved to a secluded spot halfway up a mountain with a pack of wolves.

But all the time in the world couldn’t have prepared him for the reality of meeting Piper Quinn.

She was quite a bit younger than he’d expected. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, yet somehow she’d found the funding and ambition to open a thirty-five acre wildlife rescue center. He couldn’t help but be impressed, despite the fact that he considered her project ill-advised at best, and at worst, just plain dangerous.

For starters, the sanctuary was too close to Aurora. The heart of the town was nestled right at the foot of the mountain. It might have been a slow crawl for an SUV, but an escaped wolf wouldn’t need to travel the paved roads. A wolf could charge straight down the slope.

And then, while melted marshmallows had been dripping down his arm, she’d talked to him about saving species on the endangered list, the ecological importance of wolves and the National Nature Conservatory. Once upon a time, words such as those had been Ethan’s vocabulary. He’d all but forgotten what it felt like to be passionate about nature, the bounty of the Alaskan wilderness and the beauty of creation. He’d forgotten pretty much everything, other than existing from day to day. And the things he would have given anything not to remember.

But he could see sparks of his former life in the fire that burned in Piper Quinn’s eyes. He got the feeling she’d done more living in her twenty-something years than most people did in a lifetime. She was smart. And she cared. Deeply.

What was she like? Brilliant. Brave. Lovely.

Something moved in Ethan. An ache. A different kind of ache than the hopeless regret that had become like a second skin. Different, but just as dangerous. Maybe even more so.

He swallowed. “She’s interesting. Quite interesting, actually.”

Not that it mattered.

Come morning, the lovely Piper Quinn was sure to despise him.

* * *

Piper didn’t sleep a wink the night after Ethan Hale’s visit. Instead she stayed up until all hours worrying about what he might write in his article. He’d been forced to leave the sanctuary in his sock feet, for goodness’ sake. It was beyond mortifying. The man was probably suffering from frostbite now, and it was all her fault. She buried her head under her pillow, but it was no use. Not even a thick layer of goose down could keep the worry from finding its way into her thoughts.

Even the wolves seemed to sense that something was wrong. When Tundra let loose with a mournful howl right around midnight, the others didn’t even bother chiming in. They were quiet, too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. A typewritten typhoon penned by Ethan Hale.

Sometime around one in the morning, she gave up the fight and made a batch of chocolate chip cookies. When that failed to make her drowsy enough to fall asleep, she whipped up a few dozen oatmeal raisin. Then molasses. By the time a misty violet dawn descended on the mountain, Piper couldn’t tell if she was running a wildlife center or a bakery.

After checking on the wolves, she packed up the cookies and headed for the church. She would never manage to consume the fruits of her anxiety-fueled baking spree on her own, and she figured teenagers might be the only creatures walking the planet who were more ravenous than wolves. Besides, she owed the youth group a culinary thank-you for helping put up the fencing last week.

She pushed through the door of Aurora Community Church’s fellowship hall with a nudge of her hip, her arms piled high with plastic bins.

“Piper, here. Let me help you.” Liam Blake, the youth pastor, grabbed two containers from the top of her teetering stack.

His wife, Posy, a willowy ballerina who ran Aurora’s one and only dance school and sometimes taught ballet at the church, snatched the rest. “Hi, Piper. What a surprise. What is all of this?”

“Cookies. Just a thank-you for the kids in the youth group.” Arms free at last, Piper loosened the scarf around her neck and stomped the snow from her feet. Then she followed Posy and Liam to the youth pastor’s office, where her Tupperware pretty much took up the entire surface of the desk.

So many cookies, so little sleep.

“This really wasn’t necessary, although I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.” Liam opened one of the containers and popped a chocolate chip cookie in his mouth.

“If there are any left once school gets out,” Posy teased.

“I couldn’t plow my way through all of these if I tried.” Liam laughed. “But I just might. They’re delicious.”

“Thanks. I’m glad you like them.” Piper smiled. It was nice to have new friends. Different, but nice.

She was consciously aware of the fact that she spent the majority of her time with wolves. For the most part, she preferred it that way. Wolves were easier to understand than most people. Wolves had an organized, predictable social structure. You knew where you stood with wolves. Wolves didn’t lie. And they didn’t keep secrets.

Not that they were particularly noble. Like other animals, they were simply incapable of deception. What you saw was what you got. Their emotions showed clearly in their body language. Piper could tell if Koko was happy, sad, fearful or angry just by the way he carried his tail.