Alaskan Sanctuary (7 page)

Where had that fearless soul gone?

Ethan stabbed at a pile of straw with the pitchfork and heaved it into the wheelbarrow. Then he did the same thing again, and again. With each jab, he felt the muscles in his arms and back loosen, then begin to burn. But it was a good burn, the kind of sharp ache that came with physical work.

He made short work of cleaning out Tundra’s pen. Piper seemed genuinely surprised, and possibly even a little impressed, when he told her he was ready to move on to the next enclosure. She even smiled as she escorted Tundra back to her pen. And the way she did was altogether different from the sassy grin she’d greeted him with earlier. This was a genuine smile, full of sweetness and light. Looking at it brought about an ache in the center of his chest that made him forget the burn in his biceps.

But Ethan knew better. The smile was for the wolf. Not for him. What he didn’t know was why it made him feel so empty inside.

Chapter Four

“I
s this true?” Posy lowered the morning edition of the
Yukon Reporter
and, mouth agape, stared at Piper. “Did you really make him clean out the wolf pens?”

Piper swallowed. “He put that in his article?”

“Yes. It says so right here.” Posy tapped the front page with her index finger.

Piper hadn’t been able to bring herself to read Ethan’s account of his first day volunteering at the sanctuary, even though procuring a copy of the newspaper was precisely why she’d driven into town.

That had been the plan, anyway, when she’d headed down the mountain. She’d intended to grab a newspaper at the corner store and then head right back up. Instead, she’d found herself at the church with three coffees in tow—hers, plus one each for Liam and Posy. The church had been quiet, though. The parking lot had been empty and the doors locked.

She should have headed straight back to the wildlife sanctuary. She had work to do. Loads of it. But when she’d driven past Posy’s ballet school and seen the warm glow of light through its windows, her car had somehow parked itself in the closest parking space.

She liked Posy. Posy was the closest thing to a friend she had here, so it was only natural that Piper should stop by and say good morning. She wasn’t putting off going back to the sanctuary because she was nervous about being alone with Ethan. He had nothing to do with it.

Well, maybe a little. Just a tad.

“He wrote all about it.” Posy pulled a face. “In excruciating detail, I might add.”

Piper shrugged. “It’s a dirty job, but somebody’s got to do it.”
And that somebody may as well be Ethan.

Posy narrowed her gaze at Piper over the rim of her coffee cup. “I thought the point of having him write these articles was for the community to see the wolf sanctuary in a more positive light.”

“It is.” A small knot of something that felt too much like guilt settled in Piper’s stomach. She had nothing to feel guilty about. If anyone should be tormented by remorse, it was Ethan. He should be racked with guilt day and night over what he’d done.

Okay, so maybe that would be extreme. Then again, maybe not.

She turned the newspaper facedown on Posy’s desk so she wouldn’t have to see Ethan’s penetrating gaze staring back at her from the thumbnail photo above his byline. It was altogether distracting. “All I want is for people to support the sanctuary and appreciate the wolves.”

“Are you sure that’s
all
you want?” Posy’s lips quirked into a grin that she apparently couldn’t hold back any longer.

Busted.

So maybe Piper wanted some retribution. Just the tiniest possible amount. She was only human, after all. “Point taken. Revenge will get me nowhere. Plus it’s wrong. I’ll give Ethan something less...messy to do today.”

She’d do just that as soon as she got to the sanctuary. Of course, who knew when exactly that would be, since she apparently wasn’t in any hurry to get there.

Caleb’s mother had called Piper late the night before to tell her that he’d come down with a nasty stomach bug. He wouldn’t be around as a buffer. It would be her and Ethan. Just the two of them. Alone.

Except for the wolves.

She should get going. Ethan was probably roaming around the sanctuary right now, wondering where she was. If only he didn’t look so ruggedly handsome while he did so. Then maybe, just maybe, the thought of working in tandem with him wouldn’t make her feel so uncomfortable.

A nervous flutter passed through her.
Get a grip. You can’t hide in the ballet studio until school gets out.
She ordered herself to stand and go, but her backside stubbornly remained planted in the chair opposite Posy’s desk. Since when had she turned into the kind of woman who hid from a little meaningless confrontation?

Since that confrontation had somehow become meaningful.

She pushed that thought away and watched Posy slip her feet into a pair of soft pink ballet slippers.

“You’re welcome to stay and watch my baby ballerina class if you like,” she said, rising from her chair and moving into a series of deep knee bends.

Piper blinked. “Baby ballerinas? You mean babies, as in infants?”

“Sorry.” Posy laughed. “Not actual babies. Four-year-olds. As far as ballet goes, they’re babies.”

“That’s actually impressive. I’m surprised four-year-olds can even do ballet.” Not that Piper could stay and watch. That would be taking her avoidance of Ethan to a whole new level.

“They can plié. And they love to glissade.” Posy noticed what was surely the blank look on Piper’s face. “That means gliding.”

“Of course it does.” Piper grinned. “Maybe I need to sign up for baby ballet. It sounds like I could learn a few things.”

Posy laughed. “You don’t quite fit the age requirements, but since opening this place has cost Liam and me a small fortune, I might be persuaded to make an exception. I could use a new student. Or twelve. You’d be the tallest in the class. You could be the tree in the center of our forest.”

“There’s a forest?” Piper looked around the pristine studio, with its mirrored walls and smooth wood floor, and tried to imagine a cluster of aspen and paper birch trees taking root.

“Well, for right now it’s only imaginary. I’m having the girls pretend that the wind is blowing their arms out and they have to tiptoe through the trees. We have a recital coming up next month, and it would be great if the baby ballerina class could participate. I just have to come up with a story of some sort. A story that could be told with very simple steps and inexpensive costumes.”

“In a pretend forest.” Suddenly caring for a ragtag pack of rescued wolves didn’t seem all that difficult.

“Right.” Posy grimaced. “Surely I can come up with something. The older girls are doing
Cinderella
and
Snow White
. There’s got to be something for the little ones to do. They look so cute in their tiny ballet shoes. I know their parents would love to see them dance. The rest of the town, too, possibly.”

Cinderella
and
Snow White
, the quintessential fairy-tale princesses. Of course, Piper’s tastes ran more along the lines of
Little Red Riding Hood
. That story had everything—wind, a forest, trees.

A wolf.

Piper grew very still in her chair, her coffee cup midway to her mouth. But her thoughts were suddenly spinning out of control. She could already see it—Posy’s youngest students tiptoeing across the floor in bright red tutus and capes, papier-mâché trees rising up from the floor and green tissue paper leaves hanging from the ceiling. Dim lights, whimsical music and a wolf, a
real
wolf. One of Piper’s wolves.

Koko could do it. In Colorado, she’d taken him on at least half a dozen school visits. At a year and a half, he hadn’t yet developed enough adult wolf tendencies to be standoffish around people. Adolescent wolves were almost like puppies. They were interested. Curious. But most wolves were easily spooked by strange people and new places.

Koko was unique. He didn’t get stressed around crowds, so long as the atmosphere was calm. He’d grown up on a photo farm, bred and born to look cute in pictures for calendars, T-shirts and coffee mugs. As a tiny wolf pup, he’d been handled constantly.

Then he’d outgrown his cuteness, and things had taken a turn for the worse.

He was too big. Too imposing. Too wolfish. So he’d been abandoned, left in a Dumpster to starve. He was barely found in time. Then the hands that touched him no longer belonged to people he knew from the farm, but rather to strangers. Veterinarians. Medical professionals.

Piper felt sick every time she thought about what had happened to Koko, but at least he was safe now. And his constant exposure to human interaction made him an ideal ambassador for his species. He was accustomed to people. He could even walk on a leash. She could bring him onstage, on a lead, near the end of the dance.

It would be adorable. The townspeople would love it.

Best of all, it would draw a huge amount of attention to both the ballet school and the wolf sanctuary. Posy had just mentioned that the school was struggling. She could use some new students. And the rescued wolves could use all the positive attention they could get.

It would be perfect.

Wouldn’t it?

Of course Piper thought it was a precious idea. But Posy might think she’d lost her mind. Ethan most certainly would.

This has nothing whatsoever to do with that man.

With one notable exception. Along with being a great public relations opportunity for the ballet school and the wolf sanctuary, helping out with Posy’s recital would give Piper something to think about other than Ethan Hale.

Her gaze met Posy’s and held. “I might have an idea.”

* * *

Ethan didn’t intend to get to the wolf sanctuary a full hour before Piper expected him. He didn’t aim to get there early at all, lest she mistakenly think her reprimand for his tardiness the day before carried any weight whatsoever. He’d planned on arriving right at eight-thirty. No earlier, no later.

But at six in the morning, the very minute the early edition of the
Yukon Reporter
hit newsstands, his cell phone had begun ringing. An hour and a half later, it still hadn’t stopped.

He’d resorted to putting it on vibrate so he could have a moment of peace as he drove to the wolf sanctuary. He needed a minute—or ten—to collect himself before he embarked on another day as Piper Quinn’s assistant.

Assistant.
Right. Slave labor was a more accurate description. He’d tossed and turned more than once during the night, wondering what delightful task she had in store for him today. Worry. Anxiety. Dread. Those had to be the reasons for his sleeplessness. He refused to believe it had anything to do with the fact that every time he closed his eyes, he saw Piper’s exquisite face, sapphire eyes sparkling with life, her flaxen hair whipping in the wind. She had such an animated spirit that even the air around her refused to stand still. Snow flurries danced. The boughs of the evergreens waved as she walked past. It was as if nature were every bit as enamored with her as she was with it.

Not Ethan. He was irritated, not enamored. Not by any stretch. Definitely irritated. Possibly intrigued. But that’s where his feelings stopped, sleepless nights notwithstanding.

He scowled at his phone buzzing away in the cup holder of his SUV. Lou had already called three times, as had pretty much every columnist and reporter at the office. Ethan had never been on the receiving end of so much effusive praise.

He should be happy. His work was getting the sort of attention he’d wanted since he’d given up his park ranger days for a cubicle in a newsroom. Correction: this was the
amount
of attention he’d wished for. The
nature
of the accolades was another story.

His column wasn’t newsworthy. It was scandalous. The feud between the “reporter and the wolf lady” was suddenly all that the people of Aurora were talking about it. According to Lou, it was on the tip of every tongue in the Land of the Midnight Sun, from the frozen shores of the Chukchi Sea to Sitka, near the southernmost tip of the state. Ethan’s newspaper account of his first day on the job had only added fuel to the fire.

Readers were thrilled. Lou was thrilled. Ethan
should
have been thrilled.

He wasn’t. Not quite. Because it had suddenly occurred to him that he was no longer writing the news. He
was
the news. And that didn’t sit well.

Even worse, he should have seen this coming. He should have realized that instead of signing on to write a series of articles about a dangerous situation that posed a threat to the community, he’d actually agreed to pen what amounted to a gossip column. About himself, no less.

All the red flags had been there. They still were. When he’d sat down at the Northern Lights Inn coffee bar earlier this morning, every pair of eyes in the place had been on him. Every customer had asked him about Piper. And her wolves. And what she might have in store for him next, now that he’d cleaned out the wolf enclosures. Even the barista had peppered him with inquiries before handing over Ethan’s coffee. He’d stood on the other side of the counter holding the large paper cup of Gold Rush blend hostage until Ethan had finally answered one of his questions. Questions that had nothing to do with the ecological and social realities of the wolf sanctuary, but everything to do with his plans to get even with Piper. And vice versa.

What had he done? Maybe he should pull the plug on this whole thing and tell Lou he was finished.

Right. And then Lou would fire him on the spot.

Ethan swallowed the dregs of his coffee as he maneuvered his SUV off the highway and onto the snow-covered road that led to the wolf sanctuary. Maybe there was a way to salvage this situation, to draw attention to the actual matter at hand—the danger that the wolves posed—rather than the “war” between him and Piper. Ethan was a man of words. Granted, his words of late hadn’t been pretty. But
war
was an ugly word. The ugliest of all.