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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.
She’d often thought life would be so much simpler if the same could be said for people. It sure would have saved her the pain and heartache of getting involved with a man who specialized in secrets.
Piper’s chest grew tight.
She didn’t miss Stephen. She knew this now. Letting him go had been easy once she’d discovered the truth. Giving up on the idea of a home and a family—a real family—had cut closer to the bone.
She’d never had a family. The succession of foster homes where she’d grown up didn’t count. Neither did the four brief years she’d lived with her birth mother. Was a mother really a mother when you could no longer remember her face, or her voice, or what it felt like to be held?
A child needed a mother. A home. Children needed structure. They needed to know where they fit in the world.
So did wolves. It was in their nature. That was one of the things Piper liked best about them. Every wolf had a place in the pack. Every wolf belonged. So eventually she’d become one of them, an honorary wolf. It was easier than trying to fit into the regular world. Most people thought wolves were dangerous, but those people hadn’t grown up the way Piper had. Humans could be far more dangerous than wolves. And the damage they could do to a child’s heart was immensely greater than bodily injury.
She should have known things would end badly with Stephen. She’d been so foolish to think she’d found a man who actually wanted to build a life with her and the wolves. She’d thought she had. He’d slipped an engagement ring on her finger, and she’d believed. She’d believed her pack would finally be complete. At last.
And then she’d found out that Stephen already belonged to a pack, complete with a wife and two children.
“How are things up in the mountains? Everything at the sanctuary running smoothly?” Liam asked, dragging Piper’s attention back to the present.
Thank You, Lord.
She didn’t like to dwell on the past, on Stephen’s deception nor on her family. Most of the time, it didn’t bother her that she lived a solitary life. Because she had the wolves, and they were like family. They were her world.
But her thoughts had begun to wander all over the place since yesterday. Since Ethan Hale.
“Great. Just great.” She pasted on a smile. “At least I hope so.”
“You hope so?” Posy glanced quickly at Liam and then back at Piper.
“I had a visitor yesterday—a journalist from the Yukon Reporter. He’s doing a story on the sanctuary.” She sank into one of the chairs beside Posy, opposite Liam’s desk. Just thinking about the newspaper again hit her with a wave of exhaustion that made it difficult to stand up straight.
“Things didn’t go well,” Liam said. It was a statement, not a question. Piper was so preoccupied that she hardly noticed.
“It was a disaster. I just don’t understand what happened. It was almost as though he’d made his mind up about the sanctuary before he’d even seen it.” Yet there’d been a moment or two when she thought she’d spied a glimpse of a different Ethan Hale, a man who understood why she loved the wolves the way she did. Elusive, fleeting glances of a man with pine needles in his hair and the scent of wild things on his shoes instead of the gloomy journalist with storms in his eyes.
She swallowed around the lump that was quickly forming in her throat. “I’m worried about nothing. Maybe. Probably. I mean, surely things didn’t go as badly as I think they did.” She thought about mentioning Ethan’s shoes, or lack thereof, but it was too mortifying to talk about.
Posy and Liam exchanged another glance.
The lump in Piper’s throat grew three times larger. “Then again, perhaps I do have a reason to be worried.”
She prayed with every fiber of her being that either Posy or Liam would say something reassuring.
Neither of them did.
“Actually, the article came out in this morning’s paper. I have a copy of it right here.” Posy bent to unzip the large black dance bag at her feet.
Piper felt sick as the woman extracted a copy of the Yukon Reporter and unfolded it to the proper page.
“Here.” She handed it over.
Piper had to force herself to look at it.
Just rip it off. Like a Band-Aid.
She took a deep breath and started reading.
At first, things didn’t seem so bad. Ethan wrote that her wolves had seemed obviously well cared for and that her dedication to their plight was admirable.
So far, so good. Piper allowed herself to breathe. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d expected.
But then she read the next sentence, in which Ethan called wolves predatory and carnivorous. Which was technically true. But he’d gone on to include an entire paragraph on wolf maulings without mentioning that such attacks were rare. So rare that Alaskans were infinitely more likely to be attacked by their family dog than a wolf.
Worse, he then pointed out that the sanctuary was inadequately staffed. The staff that she did have were legal minors who lacked the proper training to interact with wild animals.
Also technically true. But he’d made things sound so much worse than they actually were. The kids didn’t interact with the wolves. They helped with things like fencing, preparing meat, landscaping and cleaning pens. Empty pens. She’d never allow one of the teens from the youth group to enter an enclosure without her close, personal supervision. She’d told Ethan as much.
This was bad. Really bad. Her panicked gaze flitted around the page, snagging on words like clear and present danger. Awful words. And apparently her wolves weren’t just a threat to the people of Aurora. He mentioned the neighboring reindeer farm, as well.
That was the final straw. Piper sniffed, and the black newsprint swam before her eyes. She stopped reading, and an awkward, uncomfortable silence fell over the youth pastor’s small office.
Not that Piper blamed the couple for going quiet. What were they supposed to say to the woman who’d apparently brought wolves to the area in order to ravage the townspeople and all of Santa’s reindeer?
She hoped barefoot Ethan Hale did have frostbite. She hoped all ten of his toes fell off.
“We’re so sorry, Piper,” Posy said. “We were there. We saw the work that the kids did. We know they weren’t any more in harm’s way than if they’d been anywhere else outdoors in Alaska.”
Liam leaned across his desk, his face so full of concern that it made Piper feel even worse. “What can we do to help?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. It was too late for help. The damage had been done. People all over Alaska were reading Ethan’s damning words right this very minute. “I just can’t believe it. This isn’t even a news article. It’s an attack on the sanctuary. It’s full of opinions. Biased, inflammatory opinions with no basis in fact. I thought journalists were supposed to be impartial. He can’t do this, can he? He just can’t.”
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 (#ulink_72e5789b-f1d7-5858-93eb-47c981941d06)
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.”
