Ursula seemed to have a gift of knowing exactly what was needed. Cinnamon rolls when he was hungry. A listening ear when he needed to talk. A coat for the dog, nuts for the squirrel, brownies for the quilters. Maybe it was a skill developed from running her B&B, but he suspected empathy was a fundamental personality trait of hers. He could have done a lot worse than her for a neighbor.
And now he’d discovered she was raising someone else’s child. He’d assumed when Ursula introduced the girl as her goddaughter that she was visiting, but it sounded permanent. Ursula Anderson was an exceptional woman.
Up at the road, he saw a couple hiking along the shoulder, skis propped over their shoulders. No doubt guests at her B&B, heading out to the cross-country ski trails. A twinge of guilt disturbed what, up until that moment, had been a pleasant morning. Closing that shortcut across his property meant that Ursula’s guests had to hike along the highway to the trails. If they’d had direct access in the past, they were sure to complain about the change to their friends, which was bound to have a negative effect on Ursula’s business, eventually.
But just because the former owner had agreed to the shortcut didn’t obligate him. He needed the fence to keep Blossom contained, as well as to keep people off his property. So far, no reporters had managed to track him to Alaska, but it was only a matter of time before they did. Bottom line, it was his land. He’d returned Ursula’s plate and apologized to her for thinking she dognapped Blossom. They were square. He was not going to feel guilty about the gate.
He finished clearing the driveway and shoveling the steps. Somewhere along the way, his good mood had deserted him. His stomach growled. That was it. Low blood sugar. He’d just taken the first bite of his ham and cheese sandwich when his phone rang. Ronald.
With a grunt, he set his sandwich on the plate and answered the phone. “What?”
“Good afternoon to you, too. Just thought I’d check in, see if everything went okay with the internet.”
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I was just about to eat...”
“Sorry. Okay, I won’t keep you. I just wanted to see if you’d made any progress on that manuscript.”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I had a talk with the publisher and they’re willing to be flexible on the deadline if—”
“Not happening.” Ronald wasn’t used to taking no for an answer, but Mac was tired of having this conversation. “I’ve already given you the check returning the full advance. Tell them I’m not going to write it. I’m done.”
“But it’s already half-written. You can use this book to wrap up the series, if you want, just to complete the contract. What about your fans? Don’t you owe them some sort of closure?”
Low blow. Mac knew he owed his living to his fans, and he’d always treated them with respect. Their letters of support when Andi disappeared were one of the few things that gave him any comfort. But he couldn’t write. He’d tried. He’d stared down at his computer, trying to make the words come, but he couldn’t stand to crawl inside the killer’s head, couldn’t immerse himself in the violence. Not now.
His publicist could handle this. “I’ll draft up a statement and send it to Laura apologizing for leaving the readers hanging. She’ll know how to spin it. They’ll understand.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” Ronald warned. “There will be some unhappy people on social media when this goes public. They love Quillon Ashford, and you’re killing him.”
“Duly noted. Anything else?”
“I guess not.”
“All right. I’ll get that statement to Laura by tomorrow and tell her you need a copy before it goes public. Goodbye.”
Mac ended the call and pushed his sandwich away. It was official. He was no longer a writer. No longer a father. He was nobody. He had nobody.
When Mac was seventeen, his family had been hanging onto the ranch by their fingernails after three years of drought. Mac’s father had been forced to sell off most of their cattle, but he’d resolved never to sell the bull. That prize bull was going to be the making of their ranch when the rain returned.
But that all changed the day Mac tried to herd the bull away from the cows to a different pasture. Dad had told him to wait until he got there but, full of typical teenage arrogance, Mac was sure he could handle the job alone. The bull had other ideas. Mac’s father arrived just about the time Mac got bucked off his horse and the bull tried to drive him into the ground. A single shot from his father’s Winchester saved Mac’s life and sealed the ranch’s fate. His father found a job in town, but he was never the same. Ten years later, cancer stole Mac’s mother from them, and her husband followed shortly behind her. Technically the cause of his death was pneumonia, but Mac knew he’d died of a broken heart.
Mac’s parents were gone. His wife was gone—lost to postpartum depression. And now his daughter was gone, as well. Everyone he’d ever loved was dead.
Blossom laid her head in his lap. He wasn’t sure if she sensed his mood or just wanted his sandwich, but either way her message was clear. Without Andi, Mac was the most important person in Blossom’s world. He took some comfort in that.
CHAPTER SIX
THREE DAYS LATER, Mac finished nailing the last of the fence panels he had installed along the edge of the trail. He grabbed the top of the panel and gave it a shake. Concrete anchors at the base of the poles held firm. Once the ground thawed, he’d have a fencing contractor replace it with a permanent installation, but for now this should keep the dog in and still let the skiers use the trails.
Blossom galloped along the fence line where he’d cleared the snow. She grabbed a stick and brought it to him, begging for a game. He played fetch with her for a few minutes until a raven landed on one of the new fenceposts and cackled at them. Blossom dropped the stick to bark and throw herself against the fence until the raven relocated to a dead tree across the ravine. Good. If that didn’t topple the fence, it should hold until spring.
Now, how best to let Ursula know the trail shortcut was once again available? After his insistence at keeping it closed, he didn’t want to make a grand announcement, as though he expected her gratitude. If anyone owed, it was him.
He had promised to find that website about mystery weekend kits. He took Blossom inside and removed her coat and his. The email address for Ursula’s inn was easy enough to find. He sent an email with a link to the mystery website, along with a brief mention that the gates to the ski trails were open.
He sat down in his chair and pulled out his knife to put the finishing touches on the wood spirit Ursula had started the other day. A pixie face, eyes wide in wonder. When Andi was little, sometimes they’d go outside on summer evenings, just after sunset. Her mouth would pucker and her eyes open wide like this when she watched the nighthawks perform their aerial acrobatics, dipping and swerving as they chased mosquitoes.
Blossom raised an ear, then trotted to the door. A moment later, someone knocked. Funny she didn’t bark. Mac answered the door to find Ursula on the other side. Blossom apparently now recognized her step. For once, Ursula wasn’t offering food, just a big smile. “Mac, I got your message. What’s this about opening the gates?”
“I’ll show you.” Mac grabbed his coat. “Follow me.” The three of them trooped along the path he’d beaten in the snow to the back corner of his property. “I decided if I used solid panels, I could let your skiers through and still maintain privacy.”
“Wow. How did you—oh, I see. They’re attached to concrete footers. That’s clever.”
“I suppose you’ll have to wait for a snowfall to cover the trail where I had to dig it out to build the fence.”
“No, the groomer can take care of that. I’ll give him a call and let him know the trail is open again.”
“Good. Then you’re all set.”
“This was a lot of work.” She turned to face him. “You didn�
��t have to do this.”
“I know. But I realize you’re trying to run a business, and I felt bad for disrupting it.”
“Oh, Mac.” She reached out to lay a gloved hand on his arm. “Now I feel bad.”
“What for?”
“Because I feel like I manipulated you into this. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy we’ll be able to access the trails directly again. But I’ve since realized I was being selfish, expecting you to keep the shortcut open. It upset me to discover the gate closed, and I felt like someone had taken something from me. But it’s your property, not mine. And now I’ve guilted you into building a fence.”
“I thought this was what you wanted.”
“It was. It is.” She smiled. “I’m thrilled. But, Mac, you had no reason to feel guilty. Betty chose to allow that shortcut, and you didn’t. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“So you’re happy about the trail, but you’re unhappy because I did it for the wrong reasons?”
She chuckled. “It sounds ridiculous when you say it like that. Let me start again.” She cleared her throat. “Mac, your generosity is overwhelming. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“To show my appreciation, I’d like to make you dinner tomorrow night.”
“I happen to be free.”
“Hmm. I could make halibut, although if you grew up on a ranch, I’m guessing you prefer beef.”
He laughed. “I am quite fond of halibut, but as it happens, meat loaf is my favorite all-time meal.”
“Meat loaf it is. Six thirty okay?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Great. And bring Blossom. Rory misses her.”
* * *
MAC ARRIVED RIGHT on time, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand and Blossom’s leash in the other. “In accordance with advice from a local wine expert, I brought a Bordeaux to go with the meat loaf.”
“How thoughtful. Where did you find a wine expert?”
“The cashier at the liquor department at the grocery store had strong opinions.”
“Jimmy?” She chuckled. “I heard through the grapevine he accidentally doubled his order on the Bordeaux, and he’s been recommending it to everyone. I happen to be quite fond of Bordeaux, though, so thank you.”
“Are they here?” Rory burst through the kitchen door. “Blossom!”
Mac unsnapped the leash, and the dog dashed across the room, their greeting involving a frenzy of face-licking, hugging, tail-wagging and giggles.
Ursula hung up Mac’s coat and led the way through the great room and into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind eating in here. I don’t have guests tonight, so we could use the dining room if you like but it’s a little cavernous for three.”
“This is fine. In my experience, the best meals always take place in the kitchen.”
Rory and Blossom followed them. Ursula opened the gate to let the dog into the dining area. Blossom hurried over to sniff noses with Van Gogh, who had been sleeping on the seat of a chair. Rory stroked the cat’s back with one hand and hugged the dog with the other.
Ursula handed Mac a corkscrew. “Dinner’s almost ready. If you’ll open the bottle, I’ll get some glasses.”
Mac poured the wine and carried his into the dining area where Blossom was now lying on her back on the rug, encouraging Rory to rub her tummy. Van Gogh rubbed against Rory and then against Blossom, purring loudly. Mac chuckled. “You’re quite the pet whisperer.”
“What’s that?” Rory asked.
“That means you know how to treat animals, and they trust you.”
“Blossom likes it when I rub her here.”
“She does. Let me show you her secret spot.” Mac knelt beside Rory and scratched Blossom’s belly between her front legs. Her back leg twitched.
Rory’s eyes opened wide. “Let me try.” She scratched, and the dog’s leg shook harder. Blossom raised her head to look at her leg as though she couldn’t understand why it was moving on its own. Rory laughed. “Why does she do that?”
“She can’t help it. It’s like laughing when you get tickled.”
“Daddy used to tickle me sometimes.” Ursula held her breath, expecting tears, but Rory spoke matter-of-factly, still smiling. “It was fun.”
They continued to talk about what kinds of toys Blossom liked and what tricks she could do while Ursula got dinner on the table. Since losing her parents, Rory sometimes acted shy with adults she didn’t know well, but she chattered away with Mac as though they were old friends. Ursula almost hated to break up the conversation, but dinner would get cold. “It’s ready. Time to wash up.”
“I’ll show you where.” Rory took Mac’s hand and led him through the doors to the bathroom.
Rory entertained Mac all through dinner, talking about the art project she was doing in school, and how they couldn’t go out for recess yesterday because of the moose on the playground which was good because she’d been in trouble for not following directions and had to stay in five minutes late, but since everybody had to stay in the teacher forgot all about it and today she got to go outside with the rest of the class. She only paused long enough to gulp down her dinner while Mac asked her questions.
Ursula listened in amazement. She would have had to drag this information from Rory, piece by piece, but with Mac it all came pouring out. She would follow up on that not following directions comment later, but right now she wasn’t willing to let anything spoil the mood. Mac listened, only shifting his attention away from Rory long enough to accept Ursula’s offer of second helpings. Finally, when Ursula was serving dessert, Rory seemed to run out of things to say.
Ursula smiled at her. “Do you want whipped cream on your pudding?”
“Yes, please. Can I squirt it?”
“Go for it.” Ursula handed her the can of cream. “Mac, would you like coffee?”
“Do you have decaf?”
“I do.” She made coffee while Rory built a mountain of whipped cream on top of her pumpkin custard.
Mac laughed. “I’d like cream on mine, too, please, but only about a third that much.”
Rory concentrated, the tip of her tongue caught in the corner of her mouth, and managed to create pretty mounds on top of Mac’s and Ursula’s ramekins before tasting her own. “This is good.”
“Thank you, sweetie. Did Mac tell you he fixed the gates so we can take the shortcut to the ski trails again?”
“You did?” Rory dropped her spoon, slid from her chair and hugged him. “Thank you.”
Mac seemed surprised by the hug, but not displeased. “You’re quite welcome.”
Rory grabbed Ursula’s arm in excitement. “Can we go skiing tomorrow after school?”
“If the groomer’s had a chance to set track. If not, we could snowshoe.”
“You’ll come with us, won’t you?” Rory bounced on her toes, waiting for Mac’s response.
“Me? I don’t know how to cross-country ski.”
“You don’t?” Rory was aghast. “Everybody knows how to ski.”
“Where I used to live, snow didn’t last long. I’ve done some downhill skiing but never cross-country.”
“Can you snowshoe?”
“I’ve never tried.”
“It’s easy. I’ll show you how.”
“I don’t have snowshoes.”
“Actually, you do.” Maybe Ursula shouldn’t put him on the spot, but it was so good to see Rory excited about something. “There are snowshoes hanging on the wall in your garage.”
He chuckled. “In that case, I guess I’m in.”
“Yay!” Rory beamed at him. “You’ll like it. It’s fun.”
“Sweetie, you need to finish eating and get to work on your homework,” Ursula said. “You have a math worksheet, remember?”
“But Blossom’s here.” Rory
tried the sad eyes but Ursula didn’t back down. Rory sighed and finished her dessert. “Don’t leave before I can tell Blossom goodbye, okay?”
“All right,” Mac promised. Rory stopped to rub the dog’s ears before disappearing through the door.
Ursula set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Thank you for your patience. I haven’t seen her talk this much in a long time. Not since...” She trailed off.
Mac gave her a sympathetic smile, but didn’t answer. After a moment, he tried a bite of dessert. “Say, this is good. It’s almost like crème brûlée, but with pumpkin and pecans.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“The whole dinner was excellent. Best meat loaf I’ve had in a long time. Your husband was a lucky man.”
“I was the lucky one.”
“How long were you married?”
“Eighteen years. Sam was a senior in high school when Tommy died.”
“I’m surprised you never remarried, especially with all the men here in Alaska.” He looked up. “Sorry, that was an inappropriate comment. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
Ursula laughed. “It’s okay. I had a few men who showed some interest but it always felt...forced. Maybe I was spoiled.” She smiled and shook her head. “I felt like I’d had my allotment. One happy marriage per customer.”
“So you found the perfect man.”
“Tommy?” She laughed. “He was far from perfect. He flipped channels between different ballgames so I could never figure out who was playing. He would only eat three vegetables. And he couldn’t dance to save his soul. Worse, he didn’t know he couldn’t dance.”
Mac chuckled. “So what was it about this ungraceful, channel-flipping, meat-lover you found so attractive?”
Alaskan Hideaway Page 8
