Alaskan Hideaway

CHAPTER THREE

MAC ALMOST MADE it through the night, but early in the morning, the dreams came. He sat upright in bed, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. No more sleep tonight. He fed the dog, did his push-ups and started a pot of coffee. The blue-and-white plate still resting in the drainer scratched at his conscience. He was well within his rights to refuse to sell his property or allow strangers to cut through it, but that plate bugged him. He could almost hear his mother sighing.

You’d think one more feather on top of the load of guilt he was already carrying wouldn’t be noticeable, but it was. Fine. The rooster-shaped clock on the kitchen wall read five twenty-five. He could drop off the plate now and eat his breakfast with a clear conscience. Relatively.

After dressing and bundling up in a down parka and wool hat, he grabbed the plate and set off. The dog scratched on the window and barked. He hesitated. This errand required stealth. “If I take you, will you be good?”

Her body wiggled in agreement. He returned to rub some balm on her paws. He’d picked it up in Whitehorse when he’d noticed her feet seemed sore after playing in the snow, and it seemed to work well. He clipped a leash to her collar and set off once again. Surprisingly, he didn’t need his flashlight. Once his eyes adjusted, the moon reflecting off the snow provided plenty of light for him to make his way to the road and along to the Forget-me-not Inn sign.

He followed the drive, flicking on his light when he reached the trees. After a few minutes, he came to a clearing. Moonlight illuminated a cedar building crowned with steep gables. A bench, small tables and several rocking chairs were scattered across the wide front porch. A snow shovel leaned against the wall.

He’d just leave the plate on the bench beside the door. He commanded the dog to sit-stay and started for the porch. As he reached the second stair, the front door opened and Ursula stepped outside, shaking dust and gravel off a rug and all over him.

“Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Her voice was apologetic, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

“No problem.” Mac dusted his coat with his free hand. “I was just returning your plate.”

“That’s thoughtful, but you didn’t have to do that.” She smiled, and it was like a sudden flash of sunshine, warming him. Her silver-shot hair fluttered in the breeze. “Come on in.”

“No, I need to go.” He handed her the plate. “But I did want to thank you for the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” She accepted the plate. “Seriously, come in for a cup of coffee. I just took a batch of blueberry muffins from the oven.”

“I don’t think—”

A squirrel scurried onto the porch and ran right up Ursula’s leg and body to sit on her shoulder. Ursula absentmindedly pulled an almond from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the squirrel, who accepted it and stuffed it into his cheek. “What if I promise not to mention gates or property?”

Mac stared. “That’s a squirrel.”

“What? Oh, yes. This is Frankie.”

“You have a pet squirrel?”

She chuckled. “He’s not a pet, exactly. Frankie was orphaned, and I bottle-fed him until he was old enough to forage on his own. He stops by often to say hello.”

The dog had been trying her best to stay as instructed, but seeing the squirrel was too much. She bounded onto the porch. The squirrel took a flying leap to the railing, dashed up a pillar and jumped onto a tree limb. Within seconds, it was twenty feet into the tree. The dog gave a final bark, came back to Ursula and nudged her hand in greeting and then ran through the open door into the inn.

Before Mac could apologize, Ursula laughed. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He followed her inside. She hung his coat on a hook and led them through an expansive dining and living room into a kitchen, which somehow managed to look functional and cozy at the same time. A collection of African violets bloomed in shades of purple and pink on a shelf under a grow light. Ursula opened a gate, which separated the kitchen from a small dining area. A cat, curled up on a chair cushion, took one look at the dog and took refuge on top of a corner cabinet.

The dog stiffened, but Ursula made an uh-uh noise and shook her head. She pulled a dog biscuit from a cookie jar on a shelf by the back door and soon had the pit bull lying peacefully on a rug. She nodded at the cat. “That’s Van Gogh.”

“Van Gogh?”

“He’s missing an ear.”

Mac chuckled, and soon found himself sitting at a wooden table sipping an excellent cup of coffee. Fruit-scented steam rose from the muffin on the plate in front of him. Considering he’d only intended to drop off the plate, he wasn’t sure how he’d wound up here, but maybe it wasn’t too surprising that a woman who could pacify pit bulls and tame squirrels could maneuver him wherever she wanted him. She slipped into the chair across the table. “So, as I said, I’m Ursula Anderson.”

“Mac. Macleod.”

“Nice to meet you, Mac. And where do you hail from?”

“Oklahoma.” He bit into the muffin. Jammed with sweet blueberries, with a hint of something else, maybe orange? The woman had a way with baked goods.

She raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “I’m surprised. I knew cowboys from Oklahoma when I was growing up in Wyoming. You don’t have much of an accent.”

“I’ve lost it over time, living in Tulsa. People from all over the country live there.”

“So what brings you to Alaska?”

Mac paused before his next bite. Here was an opportunity to make his point. He met her eyes. “Solitude.”

She nodded. “I got that. I apologize for bursting in yesterday, and realize I was overstepping. I’ll try not to bother you again.” She nodded at the plate she’d set on the table. “Thanks again for returning that.”

He shrugged. “My mother would turn over in her grave if I didn’t.”

“I think I’d have liked your mother.” Ursula’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “What would she say if she knew you’d threatened to have me arrested for trespassing?”

“I didn’t exactly...” She gave him the same look his mother used to when he was trying to talk his way out of trouble. He had to laugh. “Okay, I admit it. She’d have given me an earful.”

Ursula laughed. “Now you sound like an Okie cowboy.”

“I suppose that’s because I am one. Or I was, until I was seventeen and we moved to town.”

“Did you raise cattle?”

“Yes, Herefords.” At least until that last year of drought, when Dad had to sell off the herd, bit by bit. And then they lost the bull. But Mac didn’t want to think about that. “Were your family ranchers in Wyoming?” he asked quickly.

She met his eyes and paused, just long enough for him to wonder if she’d read his mind, before she gave a gentle smile. “My father was a mailman and my mother taught school. After I graduated from high school, I worked in the office for an oil company, where I happened to fall in love with a certain roughneck. Tommy believed Alaska was the land of opportunity. So we got married, packed up a truck and headed to Alaska.”

“And was it? The land of opportunity?”

“It was for us. We had a wonderful life here.” She rubbed the bare ring finger of her left hand. “I scattered Tommy’s ashes on Flattop. That’s what he wanted.” Suddenly she smiled. “Look at that.” She inclined her head toward the dog.

Mac turned. The cat had come down from the cabinet and was gingerly touching noses with the pit bull, who thumped her tail against the floor. After a moment, the cat rubbed against the big dog’s face and then curled up against her. The dog seemed fine with that.

Ursula chuckled. “That’s quite a ferocious beast you have there. What’s her name?” She took a sip from her cup.

Mac glanced down at his plate. “Blossom.”

Ursula snorted and almost choked on her coffee. Once she quit coughing, she grinned at him. “Blossom? Really?”

Mac shook his head. “I know. My daughter adopted her as a puppy. Andi happened to be volunteering at the shelter when they brought in this half-grown pit bull. She’d been starved and beaten, but Andi was convinced with love and care she’d blossom into a great dog. She was right.”

“She certainly was. Blossom is the perfect name for her. Where’s your daughter now?”

Mac kept his gaze on the dog. “She’s dead.” It was the first time he’d ever said it aloud to someone who didn’t know the story. His daughter was gone. Forever.

Ursula laid her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”

Mac nodded, unable to speak. That familiar wave of grief washed over him, but in a way it was a relief, to acknowledge what he’d lost. For some reason it was easier with Ursula, maybe because she didn’t know him, didn’t know the story, had no preconceived ideas. She didn’t rush in with some platitude or awkwardly edge away as though grief was contagious. She simply accepted what he told her.

Ursula looked over at Blossom, snoozing on the rug with a cat under her chin. “Your daughter must have been a gentle person, to raise such a gentle pit bull.”

“She was.” Mac swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering. “She was too gentle for her own good sometimes. Always saw the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it.”

“If everyone could be like your daughter, the world would be a better place.”

“Yes it would.” If only there were no predators, no evil. But they were there, preying on the innocent, and it was her very goodness that had cost Andi her life. Her murderer had disappeared, but eventually they would find him and he’d go to prison for the rest of his sorry life. Mac would make sure of it.

But today—today he could talk about the daughter he loved. He told Ursula stories, about Andi as a girl, giving away her school supplies to other kids. About how she would make him chicken soup when he had a cold. About how she’d volunteered at the animal shelter, and done every walkathon and fund-raiser that came along. “When she was seventeen, she spent two weeks with a team in Peru, building a new dormitory for an orphanage.”

“Wow. How did she learn about building?”

“We’d both done some weekend work building houses locally. Andi was pretty handy with a nail gun. I was all set to go, too, but she wanted to do it without me.”

“Brave girl. At seventeen, I’d never been more than a state away from Wyoming. Didn’t her mother worry?”

Mac shook his head. “Her mother died when she was a baby. I worried. But Andi was fine.”

“She sounds like a special person.”

Mac sighed. “She was.”

Ursula refilled his cup. Mac realized he’d monopolized the conversation but she didn’t seem to mind. On the wall behind her, a calendar featured a picture of the inn. An emerald green mountain rose behind it. The setting was spectacular, summer or winter. He could see why people wanted to stay here. “How many rooms do you have in your inn?”

“Six. Besides my private quarters.” She nodded toward the back door leading from the kitchen.

“You run it by yourself?”

“I have a housekeeper three times a week. I do the rest.”

“Sounds like a big job.”

“It is, but I love it. I’ve been running the inn for about six years now.”

The back door opened and a blond girl about seven or eight peeked through the crack. Ursula smiled at her and held out her arms. The girl ran over and climbed into her lap.

Ursula stroked her hair from her forehead. “You’re up early. Did we wake you?”

The girl gave a sleepy nod. An ache formed in Mac’s chest. She didn’t look much like his daughter. Andi had brown hair and eyes, while this girl was fair, but the way she cuddled against Ursula while watching him through her lashes brought back memories.

“Sorry, sweetie. Mac, I’d like you to meet my goddaughter, Aurora Houston. Rory, this is our new neighbor, Mr. Macleod.”

“You can call me Mac.”

The little girl watched him for a moment before her eyes opened wide. “You’re the old grouch who blocked the ski trails.”

“Rory, you shouldn’t say—”

“But that’s what you said. That the old grouch wouldn’t open the gate and we have to go all the way over to Marge’s to ski.”

“No. I, uh...” Ursula’s cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. Who knew women still blushed? It was all Mac could do to keep a straight face. “That is, yes, I did say that but it was wrong. I was frustrated, but Mac has every right to decide how to manage his property, and I apologize to you both for what I said. Besides, he needs to keep the gates closed to keep the dog in.” She pointed toward Blossom.

“A dog!” Rory scrambled off her lap and dropped onto the rug beside the dog and cat.

Mac had to smile. Andi would have had exactly the same reaction. “Her name is Blossom.”

She stroked the dog’s head, and Blossom thumped her tail. Rory looked up. “Look Ursula, she’s really nice. She must have just been having a bad day when she saw us before.”

“I think it was the ski poles. She’s afraid of them.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Mac had forgotten. “My housekeeper mentioned she always has to put the dog out before she sweeps because Blossom doesn’t like the broom.”

“Why doesn’t she like poles?” Rory asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mac responded, “but I suspect someone was mean to her when she was a puppy and might have hurt her with a stick. It’s funny, because she doesn’t seem to mind if I carry sticks and poles.”

“That’s because she knows she can trust you.” Ursula smiled at him. “And I do apologize for calling you an old grouch.”

She’d only spoken the truth, but she was obviously trying to set an example for her goddaughter. “Apology accepted.”

Ursula glanced at the clock. “Oops, time flies. Rory, you need to get dressed for school while I get your breakfast ready.”

“But I want to pet Blossom.”

Mac stood. “It was nice to meet you, Rory. Blossom and I need to go, but maybe you can see her another time.”

“Go on, sweetie.” Ursula allowed her to give the dog one last hug before she shooed her through the door. Ursula turned back to Mac. “Thank you for returning the plate.”

“No problem. Thanks for the muffins. And...everything.”

“You’re welcome. Stop by anytime, if the solitude gets to be too much for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will be.” Odd phrasing, but then he realized she wasn’t just being polite. She acknowledged his loss and believed he would get through it. He wasn’t nearly so sure, himself. He looked back just before he stepped out the door. She gave him one last smile. “Goodbye, Mac. Take care of yourself.”

* * *

THE CELL PHONE RANG, again. Mac considered ignoring it, but Ronald would just keep calling. Persistence was a good trait in an agent, most of the time. “It’s Mac.”

“So you’re still on the planet. I assume you made it to Alaska okay?”

“I did.”

“Everything all right with the cabin?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good. Danielle gave me the address, and I arranged for them to install Wi-Fi.”

“You what?”

“It’s DSL. They’re supposed to be there between ten and three today.”

“You don’t have to babysit me,” Mac growled. He wasn’t keen on working around an installer’s schedule. He was running low on essentials like coffee and pickles and needed to run into Seward. “I could have picked up the modem myself next time I’m in Anchorage.”

“But when would that be? I feel responsible, since I’m the one who mentioned if you wanted to get away, one of my clients had a cabin in Alaska she planned to sell. I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

“How can I take you seriously, when you put me at the mercy of some internet installer?”

“I need to be able to reach you out there in the wilderness.”

“The cabin is only fifteen minutes from town, and only two hours from Anchorage. I have cell phone coverage, which you obviously know since you’re talking to me.”

“I just want to make sure you don’t go dark. You might need to email me about royalty questions or something.”

Mac didn’t bother to point out he could email from his phone. They both knew it wasn’t email Ronald was worried about; it was the manuscript due in a few months. Mac had already told him it wasn’t going to happen. Ronald had mentioned the possibility of a deadline extension, hoping Mac would pull out of his funk, but Mac knew he couldn’t write that book. Not after what happened to Andi. He wasn’t sure he’d ever write again. But there was no use retreading that discussion now. Ronald would have to face facts eventually. “Fine. I’ll get internet. Bye.”

“With all that solitude, have you had a chance to—”

“Goodbye, Ronald.” Mac ended the call. Pain in the butt. Still, Ronald was the closest thing Mac had to a friend these days. If it made him feel better, Mac would hang around and wait for the installer. Meanwhile, he’d make a list.

He found a pen in a kitchen drawer and pulled an envelope from the wastepaper basket. Milk, bread, coffee, pickles, musta—the pen gave up the ghost midword. Somewhere in this house were a handful of pens and pencils he’d thrown into a box. But which box? There were still at least a dozen stacked in the second bedroom.

He shrugged. Since he wasn’t going anywhere until the internet guy showed up, he might as well finish unpacking. In the first box, he found T-shirts, underwear and socks. Good, because he was almost out of clean clothes and until he bought laundry detergent, he couldn’t wash. Now if he could find a pen to add it to the list.

The next box held an assortment of items nested in newspaper. He unwrapped his favorite coffee cup and one of Blossom’s chew toys and then a silver frame. He ran his finger over the smooth edge.

The photo was of Andi, the summer after her senior year of high school, bathing an elephant. He smiled. Andi had been fascinated by them since he read her a book about an elephant when she was about four. She used to insist on reading it almost every day. When she was in high school, he heard about a sanctuary where she could spend a weekend interacting with pachyderms, and knew he’d found the perfect graduation gift. When she opened the envelope, she’d squealed and given him a big hug. That was a good day.

They hadn’t all been good. Somewhere in middle school, Andi seemed to go from sweet little girl to moody teenager overnight, and as a single dad, Mac was clueless on how to handle the drama. Maybe he’d had more rules than she’d have liked, but how could he not? He didn’t want to see his little girl hurt. Even so, she managed to get that big heart of hers broken more than once before she left for college. Although tempted to put out a hit on the culprits, Mac only killed them off in his books. That showed a certain restraint, didn’t it? He’d often wondered if the lack of a mother to talk to made all Andi’s problems loom larger than life, or if it was just typical teenage angst.

Maybe it was his overprotective tendencies when Andi was a teenager that made her so insistent on her independence as an adult. Maybe if he’d been a little more relaxed, she would have confided in him, let him help her when she got into trouble. He set the photo on his nightstand.