by Teri Wilson
And if that wasn’t cutesy—and annoying—enough, a wraparound label at the bottom of the jar urged contributors to Save the Reindeer!
Save the reindeer?
Bewildered, Alec picked up the jar and searched it for further information. None was forthcoming. Then as he sat there staring into Rudolph’s googly eyes, mortification settled in his gut.
Save the reindeer!
The whole thing had Zoey’s name written all over it.
So this was her grand plan of how she was going to pay him what she owed him? A kitschy little donation jar with twig antlers? What was next? Was she going to force Palmer to stand on the street corner with jingle bells around his neck and a red kettle, Salvation Army–style?
He blanched at the thought. Just when he’d come to terms with working on a reindeer farm, she’d gone and cranked things into saccharine Yuletide overdrive.
He peered into the jar. There were at least ten ones shoved inside, along with a five. Fifteen dollars.
Only nine hundred eighty-five to go.
“Can I help you?” the barista asked, giving him a suspicious once-over.
He replaced the jar and slid it away from him with a push of his pointer finger. Not that he didn’t have every right to fish the five out of there and use it to buy an espresso or something.
“Coffee. Black, please.”
Satisfied that he wasn’t about to steal from the reindeer who apparently needed saving, the barista aimed a megawatt smile at him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to try an iced gingerbread latte? Or a peppermint hot chocolate?”
Did he look like one of Santa’s elves or something? “No, thanks. Just the coffee.”
“Here you go.” She handed him a steaming mug. “It’s our special holiday blend.”
Of course it is. “Thanks.”
He took a sip. Holiday blend notwithstanding, it hit the spot. He took another swig, and an eerie feeling came over him, as though someone were watching him.
He lowered his coffee cup. The round plastic eyes on the mason reindeer jar bored into him. Alec scowled and turned it so it faced the other direction.
“Alec—hey, man.” Brock sauntered up to the coffee bar and slapped him on the back.
“Morning,” Alec said.
“I see the Save the Reindeer project has gotten off the ground.” Brock spun the jar back around.
“You knew about this?” Alec asked.
Brock snorted. “You didn’t?”
“The ranch hand is always the last to know.” Alec rolled his eyes.
“The girls got together early this morning and made dozens of these things.”
So that was where Zoey had gone. “Dozens?” Alec winced.
“They’re all over town,” Brock said and took a to-go cup from the barista.
Alec finished off the last of his coffee and shook his head.
All over town? He had to hand it to her—when she had a plan, she committed to it 100 percent.
A single adjective danced in his consciousness.
Spunky.
His heart gave a rebellious surge.
“You ready to head out of town?” Brock asked, tearing him from his thoughts.
Distance. That was what Alec needed. He needed it in spades. “Couldn’t be readier.”
* * *
Zoey took a deep breath and strode toward the administration office at the airport armed with one of her googly-eyed reindeer jars. Her gaze lingered on the coffee bar, visible through the big picture windows that lined the back entrance of the Northern Lights Inn. She thought she might spot Alec inside since she’d seen his motorcycle parked out front, but the barstools were empty.
Interesting.
She wondered where he was. Then she chastised herself for wondering.
She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t and didn’t. The only thing that mattered was that the reindeer were taken care of. She didn’t even need to think twice about their welfare. Alec had proven himself trustworthy in that regard, time and again. She could still hardly wrap her mind around the fact that he’d stuck around and tended to them after Gus had died. How long would he have stayed if she’d never shown up? A month? Two?
Forever?
Zoey shook off the thought. Alec might be devoted to the reindeer, but she had the distinct feeling that forever wasn’t part of his vocabulary. Maybe it was all the black. Or maybe it was the motorcycle.
Maybe it’s the way he always freezes up the minute the conversation turns personal.
She frowned as she remembered what he’d told her in the plane on the way to Anchorage.
I come from a bad place.
I was engaged... I could never be the kind of man she needed.
She’d wanted to get to know him, but she’d had no idea what she would find once he began to open up. He could have told her anything, but he’d picked something utterly private. And heartbreaking.
And then he’d retreated back into his shell.
Why did he even tell her, if he’d rather pretend he hadn’t? Had he simply been making conversation? Had she misinterpreted that soulful look he’d given her—the one that made her feel less alone than she’d felt in as long as she could remember? He’d held her hand.
And she’d thought...
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Never mind what she’d thought. She wasn’t here looking for Alec. She was here to plead her case with Chuck about the FAA fine.
A nervous flutter ran through her. She could do this. She could totally do this. But she might need to visit her plane first, to muster up some courage.
She gripped the reindeer jar tighter, being careful not to accidentally break one of the antlers as she bypassed the office doors and headed toward the lake. The snow was ankle-deep, and it would have been impossible to discern where the beach ended and the lake began if not for the ring of ski planes dotting the shoreline. Hers was the fourth in line, and her breath hitched in her throat when she spotted it.
There she is, Zoey thought. My baby.
The plane was yellow and black, as vivid as a bumblebee. If it wasn’t the most beautiful thing Zoey had ever seen, then it was close. And it would be all hers in just a matter of days.
God willing.
She stood and admired the way the muted sunlight glinted off its windows. If she stood in precisely the right spot, her reflection made it look as though she were sitting in the cockpit. Someday soon, she mused, and she tucked the reindeer jar under her arm as she brushed away a layer of snow that had piled up on the wing closest to her. She knew it was silly, but she didn’t like seeing her plane buried like that. It looked lonely.
Once the bright yellow wings were cleared of snow—and her mittens soaked—she turned around and headed back toward the airport offices. Pearl, the receptionist, greeted Zoey with a smile as she pushed through the glass door and stomped the snow from her boots.
“Morning, Zoey,” Pearl said. “Are you here on business, or is another one of your reindeer here for a visit?”
Zoey grimaced. Every one of Alaska’s estimated one hundred thousand glaciers would melt sooner than she would live down the Palmer incident. “Business. Is Chuck available, or is he up in the tower?”
“He’s around here somewhere. Let me page him for you.” Pearl picked up the phone, and Chuck’s name was echoing through the small building.
To Zoey’s relief, he soon appeared, coffee cup in hand. “Zoey, good to see you. Is today the big day?” He nodded toward the window. Her airplane now looked clean and well cared for.
Zoey’s stomach did a little flip-flop. The closing day on the purchase of her plane had once seemed so far down the road. Now it was looming closer and closer. “Not yet. Friday.”
“Friday.” He nodded. “Well, good for you.�
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He looked as though he meant it, which hadn’t always been the case.
When Zoey had first begun investigating flying lessons, she’d had trouble finding an instructor. Not that she didn’t know any teaching pilots—on the contrary, she knew plenty. All of her dad’s friends were still flying. She’d been sure one of them would be happy to take her on as a student. Truth be told, she’d actually thought they’d all be happy to take her into their fold.
Not so. No one wanted to teach her how to fly a plane. She was certain it had something to do with her parents’ deaths but wasn’t sure about the specifics. Maybe they thought she’d freak out once she got up there. Who knew? But no amount of begging or cajoling landed her an instructor.
Until she’d approached Gus Henderson.
Her throat tightened at the memory of him. She owed him so much.
“I was hoping we could have a word about the FAA fine,” she said in as confident a tone as she could muster.
Chuck’s smile dimmed somewhat. “Yes, that. Come on into my office.”
She followed him down the hall, her heart beating quicker with each step. She tried to calm herself down by focusing on the scenic photographs lining the walls—a shiny red biplane swooping over evergreen-covered hilltops, a full moon hanging low over pink Alaskan mountains at dusk. It was no use. By the time Chuck escorted her into his office, she felt as though she might faint.
Everything depended on this moment.
Lord, please.
She wasn’t praying so much as begging. Desperate times called for desperate measures. “About the fine...” she started.
Chuck exhaled a weary sigh.
Zoey felt bad continuing, but she didn’t have much of a choice. “When exactly is it due?”
“Immediately.”
Panic beat in frantic wings against her rib cage. “Um, how immediate is immediate?”
“Zoey.” Chuck leaned back in his chair. “You know I’d do anything to help you out, but my hands are tied. We’re talking about the federal government here. The FAA isn’t known for its flexibility. One of the conditions of the reduced fine is that it will be paid within ten days.”
“Ten days.” She gulped.
“Well, eight now. Another two days have passed.”
She sat perfectly still, trying to digest this information. She’d hoped she would have until the New Year to come up with the two thousand dollars she owed the FAA for Palmer’s little romp. She’d written a three-figure check the day before for the hay the reindeer needed. If she wrote another check right now for the FAA fine, she would be short for the down payment on the airplane. It was time for plan B....
Except there was no plan B.
She stared down at the googly-eyed reindeer jar in her hands, the closest thing to a plan B that she had at the moment.
“That’s cute,” Chuck said, following her gaze. “What is it, exactly?”
“It’s a donation jar. Part of my plan to save the reindeer farm.” She forced a smile. Things couldn’t be as bad as they seemed. They just couldn’t. “I was hoping I could leave one out in the reception area.”
“Of course.” He nodded. “Of course. You know we’re all on your side, Zoey. All of us. The whole town.”
The whole town was on her side. But was it enough?
“Excuse me.” Pearl popped her head inside the door. “I hate to interrupt, but there’s been an emergency of sorts.”
Chuck pushed out of his chair. “An emergency?”
“Sorry.” Pearl winced. “Not an airport emergency. A reindeer emergency.”
All eyes swiveled toward Zoey.
Not again. Seriously. This was getting beyond the scope of what any sane person could deal with. “Palmer isn’t in the middle of the runway again, is he?”
“No.” Pearl shook her head. “It’s not that.”
Relief zinged through Zoey. No new FAA fines! “What’s he gotten into this time? He’s not holding up traffic on Main Street or anything, is he?”
“Actually, he is on Main Street.” Pearl pulled a face.
Zoey stood, zipped up her parka and wished she’d thought to stuff her pockets with carrots before she’d left the house. She was probably going to have to start carrying them around with her wherever she went, which was just sad. Not to mention a little weird. “I’ll go round him up. Do you have any idea where on Main Street he’s camped out?”
“The courthouse.” Pearl nodded, but the worried glance she sent Chuck gave Zoey pause.
How bad could it be? At least he wasn’t holding up air traffic this time. “Pearl, what are you not telling me?”
“It seems Palmer has had a bit of an altercation.”
Zoey froze with one of her mittens halfway in place. Surely Palmer hadn’t hurt anyone. Alec had promised he wasn’t dangerous. “Altercation? With who?”
“With a few other reindeer,” Pearl said.
Zoey groaned. “Just how many of my reindeer escaped?”
“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Pearl gave Zoey’s shoulder a squeeze. “Just the one. Just Palmer. But it seems he’s a little confused.”
He wasn’t the only one. “Confused? How?”
“It seems he thinks the wooden reindeer that are part of the courthouse Christmas display are real.” Pearl offered a sympathetic smile. “And he’s attacking them.”
A staccato burst of laughter erupted from Chuck.
Zoey wanted to cry. “Okay, I can handle this. I can totally handle this.”
She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—Pearl and Chuck, or herself. Either way, she finished tugging on her mittens and readied herself to collect her macho-yet-woefully-disoriented reindeer.
If Palmer’s airport escapade had made the evening news, she hated to think what kind of coverage this latest antic would get. She clamped her eyes shut, fighting against the image of a bloodthirsty Palmer head-butting a fake reindeer on the front page of the Yukon Reporter. She could forget being known as the town orphan. Thanks to Palmer, she’d ventured into town-laughingstock territory.
I can do this. She forced her eyes open.
Just as she was about to leave, she remembered the donation jar. She handed it to Pearl. “Here. This is for the reception area.”
Pearl turned it over in her hand, and the googly eyes rolled around and around. “Save the Reindeer? Which ones? Yours, or the poor victims down at the courthouse?” She released a snort of laughter.
“Funny,” Zoey said with a shaky smile.
“I thought so,” Chuck said, laughing with even more gusto. So much so that his belly shook, not unlike a bowl full of jelly.
“Thank you for your help. Chuck, I’ll have a check on your desk by end of day tomorrow.” She heard more laughter from Chuck’s office as she made her way out of the building.
Was it crazy to think she could collect two thousand dollars in the donation jars by then? Surely it was no crazier than a reindeer attacking a Christmas display. That thought brought little comfort, however.
She bent her head against the wind as she strode away from the airport and toward her car. A solitary tear slipped down her cheek. She batted it away with a swipe of her mitten.
Lord, I’m not sure I can do this.
Chapter Nine
The dog looked like a bear. A fuzzy, brown bear with a curled tail, pricked ears and a coat so profuse that Alec wasn’t completely sure where all that fur ended and her body began. As they drove back to Aurora from Knik in Brock’s truck, puffs of chocolate-colored dog hair drifted through the air, propelled by the force of the heater.
“She won’t shed like this once we get to Zoey’s place,” Brock said. “She’s probably nervous, wondering where she’s headed. And she needs that thick double coat for working outdoors.�
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“What breed is she, again? In case Zoey asks.” He wanted to be able to accurately describe the animal he was bringing home. Now that his idea had become a living, breathing dog, seeds of doubt had begun to take root.
He was giving her a dog.
Did she even like dogs? He couldn’t imagine she didn’t. Dogs were sweet. And fluffy, this one in particular. And Zoey seemed like the type of girl—woman, his consciousness screamed—who appreciated all things sweet and fluffy.
But what kind of message was he sending her, giving her a dog?
He couldn’t worry about that now. The deed was done. He’d forked over several hundred dollars for the thing and sworn Brock to secrecy as to exactly how much she’d cost. And now she sat in the truck directly behind him, breathing hot air on the back of his neck.
“She’s a Finnish Lapphund, a true reindeer-herding breed.” Brock shook his head in wonder as he steered the truck into the Northern Lights Inn parking lot and pulled alongside Alec’s motorcycle. “A real find. They’re not all that common.”
“And this isn’t Finland,” Alec added dryly.
“Nope.” Brock laughed. “It’s not.”
Finland, Alaska—what difference did it make? Reindeer were reindeer. And the breeder had shown Alec and Brock what the dog could do with a herd of muskoxen. It had been extraordinary. Surely she could keep Palmer in check.
Alec paused with his hand on the door handle. “Listen, I want to thank you for all your help with this. I think it will mean a lot to Zoey.”
Brock nodded. “No problem. Zoey’s a good friend. I’d do anything for a friend, you included.”
He slapped Alec on the back.
Alec made every effort not to flinch. He wasn’t good with touching. It wasn’t any mystery as to why, and it rarely came up since he kept mostly to himself. Brock was a good guy. Alec could tell.
Still, edginess crept under Alec’s skin. He was going to have to say something about the forest and how their time there had overlapped. Even though the last thing he wanted to discuss was his past—any part of it—keeping it a secret no longer seemed right. “You know, we’ve met before. I’m not sure if you remember.”
