Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  In the winter, Danny liked to crank his heat up to eighty and walk around his house in his board shorts and sunglasses. He filled a kiddie pool with water so things didn’t get too dry, then set up a chaise lounge and pretended he was still a lifeguard at the resort where he used to work.

  “Might take you up on that.” He slung a towel over his shoulder and went to unload the dishwasher.

  Poor Danny. The long dark nights must be getting to him, as she’d been warned they would. When it didn’t get fully light until ten in the morning, then right away started getting dark again by four-thirty, people could get depressed. Light lamps and tropical vacations were basic survival strategies.

  So far, the short days and long nights hadn’t bothered her.

  She looked for something wood to rap her knuckles on, but could find only a wooden spoon. Close enough. Knock on wood, she wouldn’t suffer from seasonal affective disorder as so many others did. Was it some kind of natural immunity, or the fact that this was all new and exciting to her, or was it—Zander Ross?

  Just thinking about Zander gave her a warm sensation deep in the core of her being. The look in his eyes during their discussion of “marriage”—she couldn’t help mentally putting quote marks around the word—still thrilled her. Intimate and intense. Real. As if he was looking deep into her heart and appreciating what he saw.

  And his suggestion that they should conduct some kind of “courtship”—on speed? She found that so adorable. That was something people used to do back in the fifties, or pioneer days, or Renaissance Faire times. Courtship was a quaint, old-school concept that had long since been replaced with “hanging out” or “hooking up.”

  It sounded boring, to be honest.

  Unless it was with Zander. That didn’t sound boring at all.

  She was still working when she got a text from him.

  Up for an adventure?

  Always. What do you have in mind?

  It’s a surprise. No guesses.

  Behind the bar, she gave a little hop of joy. She loved surprises. And adventures. Sure.

  Meet me at my house tomorrow after all the kids leave for school. Dress warmly. Unless you have to work?

  She was a little disappointed that this surprise wouldn’t be taking place indoors. Say, in his bedroom. But that was what courtships were all about, she supposed.

  Nope. See you there.

  That night, she was so excited she could barely sleep. Every time she dozed off, images of Zander filled her head. His bare chest, skin gleaming with sweat, muscles bunching as he braced his naked body over her. His black-green eyes hot with desire, eating her up. His face set in stern lines—not grouchy, as she’d first thought. But intense. Focused. Passionate.

  She tossed from one side to the other, trying to chase the images away so she could sleep. But even in the dreams that followed, Zander appeared. He cupped her face in his calloused hand and whispered that he couldn’t stop thinking about her. That he dreamed about her every night, and that he wanted her every minute. Then they were sledding down the main street of Lost Harbor, but standing up, as if they were surfing. She was holding onto his waist, exhilarated, shouting that they were going to crash.

  She woke with a start and sat up in bed. It was just growing light outside—pearly blue dawn tapping at the window. It must be late. The kids were probably already gone off to school.

  A note sat on the kitchen counter; Earl was taking Abby in for a checkup.

  A completely free day lay before her. A free day with Zander.

  She sent him a quick text—I’ll be there in half an hour—then grabbed a bowl of cereal and poured herself a cup of barely warm coffee left from the morning chaos routine. A check out the window told her it was snowing, but only lightly. The sky was a flat misty gray that promised more snow to come.

  Dress warmly. Hopefully that didn’t mean “dress ugly,” because she had no intention of compromising her style just so she could fend off frostbite. She dragged on a base layer of silk long underwear, then a thick pair of snowflake-patterned fleece leggings, along with her favorite new sweater, found at the thrift store, silver angora with a howling wolf stitched on the front, along with the words “Born to howl.”

  Parka, scarf, gloves, and a fake fur pillbox hat that looked almost Jackie O-ish except with ear flap—and she jumped into her Nissan Frontier and headed for Zander’s.

  Even though Zander had told her not to guess, of course she had. Snowshoeing? More sledding? Snowball fight? Snowman construction project? But none of her guesses even came close.

  A sled for two sat in Zander’s expansive snow-covered yard—with six dogs harnessed to it, in three pairs. Eager, excited dogs who nipped at the snowflakes falling from above—and at each other.

  Zander knelt by the dog in the front left position. He rubbed her head and whispered in her ear.

  Gretel wasn’t sure why she thought that dog was a “she.” But somehow she was sure of it.

  Zander rose to his feet, grinning. He wore a full snowsuit and fresh snowflakes dotted his dark hair. “My buddy’s a dog musher, and I’m his backup when he’s out of town. He wants me to take these guys for a run. He says they’re getting antsy and need a real workout.”

  “Wow.” Her mouth fell open as she stepped closer. One of the dogs cocked his head at her; his eyes were yellow, like a wolf’s. “Do they like this? Pulling a sled?”

  “Hell yes. They love it. Fiona’s the lead dog.” He gestured to the dog he’d been whispering to. “She’s unbelievably fast. She was the lead of a team that came in second in the Iditarod. Now she’s retired from racing but she still loves to run. She keeps the other dogs in line.”

  “What are their names?”

  He ran down the line, naming each dog and bestowing rubs and pats to each. Most were some kind of husky mix, with thick fur and sturdy bodies and enough energy to power a train.

  “In the old days, before we had so many roads, dog sleds were common around here. Some homesteads can only be reached by sled. The dog sleds can go across ice, frozen rivers…even the bay, when it used to freeze over. It doesn’t do that anymore.”

  She crouched down and offered her hand to the closest dog so he could sniff it. “You sure they don’t mind being harnessed like this?”

  “Dogs are pack animals. They do well in teams, like this, as long as they’re treated well. And these pups are treated like the champion athletes they are.” One more scratch behind Fiona’s ears, and he stepped over to the sled. He offered his hand to Gretel.

  Gretel glanced again at the dog team. Fiona was looking curiously behind her, as if wondering who this unfamiliar human was. She caught the dog’s eye and got a whoosh of intuition—Fiona was wondering what the holdup was. She wanted speed and snow and woods.

  Holding Zander’s hand, Gretel settled herself into the sled. Zander tucked a blanket around her. The proximity of his head, bedazzled with snowflakes, made her breath catch.

  It stopped entirely when he paused, so close she could see his pupils darken, then slowly dropped a kiss onto her lips. She stayed still, letting him take the lead, giving herself over the sensation of his firm mouth savoring hers. The contrast between his warmth and the cold air just outside their little bubble sharpened the sensation.

  She sighed, her warm breath mingling like mist with his. His dark gaze held her for a moment, the strong lines of his face softening. “Hi there,” he said softly.

  “Hi.”

  They smiled at each other, as if it was Christmas and they were just about to open the present they were most excited about.

  He stepped behind the sled. “I have to push off, they can’t go from a dead stop. Be right there.”

  He took hold of the back of the sled and yelled, “Hike!” to the dogs. As he pushed, the dogs lurched forward in a chaotic tumble. Gretel grabbed onto the side, ready for the sled to dump her into the snow—as usual. But it steadied as the dogs got themselves straightened out. Zander jogged behind, pushing unt
il the sled was well underway. Finally he hopped into the sled and snuggled next to her.

  He worked with the reins, calling out directions, as Fiona yelped at her team. The exuberant dogs settled into a coordinated pace and the sled glided forward from the snowy yard into the forest. The runners of the sled made a crunchy sound, as if they were carving through an ice field. The dogs yipped and bumped against each other.

  In the woods, the dogs really got into their groove. They loped at an easy pace, smoothly synchronized with each other and with Zander. He chose a course over new snow, winding through the deep forest toward the valley below.

  She scrunched down in the sled to avoid the lower branches of the spruce trees, but even so, her head brushed against one of them and a cold spritz of snow scattered across her face.

  She didn’t mind; it felt like a “hi there” from the forest—a greeting in the language of ice. It made her laugh out loud. In fact, she’d been smiling ever since the sled had gotten underway. What a joy to be here with these trees, this snow, these dogs…this man. It took her breath away. It was magical.

  Chapter Eighteen

  When they reached the stream bed at the bottom of the valley, the mature spruce gave way to baby trees barely poking their tops above the snowpack. No trails had been broken down here. No human had ventured this far, at least recently. Virgin snow glistened on the branches of the spruce. A raven croaked overhead, its glossy black wings startling against the snow-heavy sky.

  Zander called out, “Whoa,” and they came to a stop and the dogs sat down in the snow, panting and bright-eyed. Gretel gazed around at the low slopes rising on each side of the valley, everything coated with a meringue of snow.

  “Ready to go fast?” Zander grinned down at her. Frost clung to the scruff covering his jaw. His hood kept falling back, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyes shone bright, wild with exhilaration. Reddened cheeks, windblown hair—she’d never seen this side of him, as if all his cares and duties had been blown away by the rush of their ride.

  “They can go faster?”

  “Oh yeah. I was holding back because of all the branches, but down here they can go and go. They love it. They’re just waiting for us to say the word.”

  “What’s the word? What are those words you say to them?”

  “Hike to run, whoa to stop. Gee to turn right. Haw to turn left. Want to try?” He handed her the reins.

  “Really?” Her jaw dropped. “You…trust me that much? You’ve seen how many times I get dumped into the snow.”

  Another grin split his face. “I’ll be right here. Nothing will go wrong. I got you.”

  And that felt like such a true statement. That was how Zander made her feel, in general. That with him around, things would be okay.

  She took the reins and nestled in close to his side. “Hike,” she called to the dogs—but mostly to Fiona. Fiona was in charge here. The dogs knew it and the humans knew it.

  “You’re a bad bitch, girl,” she called to her. “Show your stuff.”

  This time, the sled didn’t lurch at all. It zoomed across the snow as if gravity had loosened and they were all skimming a few inches above the snow. Joyful laughter spun from her lips, snatched by the wind. She was floating, no, she was flying. The cold air rushed past her face, and sang in her ears. It was a wild cry, the voice of the wilderness calling her like a siren.

  Zander kept her anchored with his strong arms and steady presence. With the reassurance of his nearness, she let the dogs go at the speed they were craving. She felt their joy course through the reins and into her own bloodstream. This is life. This is it. Right here.

  Eventually, Zander nudged her to bring them into a slowdown. They came to a stop in a clearing dotted with moose tracks. Some of the dogs pranced in place, some plopped their butts down in the snow. Spruce trees weighted with snow seemed to nod at them from both sides. Other than the panting of the dogs, the hush was absolute.

  “I love it down here,” Zander said softly, gazing at the clearing and the forest beyond. “My mother used to say that she felt connected to the trees around here. She believed that trees are wiser than people. I think about that every time I’m in the woods.”

  Gretel smiled with delight. “I totally agree with her. But what does responsible, practical Zander think?”

  With a cryptic look, he said, “That you don’t know everything about my bones, either. I’m not always practical.”

  Electricity throbbed between them.

  He had a good point; if he was always practical, he probably wouldn’t be considering her crazy marriage-with-an-asterisk scheme.

  But then Zander did turn practical. “We should give them a short rest, then turn back. Want to hand out some treats? I have to check something.”

  He dug in one of his coat pockets for a Ziploc bag of dog treats, handed it to her, then stepped out of the sled. He opened a water bottle and gave each dog a drink and a compliment and a rub.

  “Wait. Zander. Before you go. That was amazing. Thank you so much.”

  With a smile, he lifted one eyebrow. “Pretty good first date, right?”

  “The greatest,” she said sincerely. There was some stiff competition for that title—but all of those other first dates seemed to fade away in comparison.

  She busied herself feeding treats to the dogs while Zander followed the moose tracks into the woods. They all wore little booties on each paw. She wondered if someone had crocheted them.

  When Zander came back, he carried a set of antlers, awkward as a coat rack.

  “The male moose shed their antlers this time of year,” he explained. “I’ve been noticing this guy roaming around these woods. I knew he’d drop them soon.”

  “What do you want them for? They’re so huge.”

  “I can use them in my woodworking. Clean them up, polish them, work them into some kind of art installation.”

  While he lashed the antlers to the back of the sled, she rubbed her forehead against Fiona’s. “Such a good girl,” she murmured to the lead dog. “Thank you for not toppling me into the snow.”

  Zander was watching her with amusement when she finally left the dogs and climbed back onto the sled. “You like to talk, don’t you? To dogs, to sleds, to people?”

  “Well, people are my favorite, but yes. I don’t like to leave anyone out.”

  “Lost Harbor doesn’t have a lot of people. Seems like an odd place for you.” She understood the real question he was asking.

  “You’re wondering why I’m here. In Alaska. At the Noonans’.”

  “Basically, yeah.”

  She tugged her lip between her teeth and tried to figure out how to explain it.

  “Remember that big blizzard last fall, when Abby was still pregnant? Bethany was her doctor, and she asked me to help her out, play with the kids and so forth, especially when Earl was gone. I was with them when the blizzard hit and all the power went out. We had to light candles and keep the woodstove going or we might literally freeze to death. It was…survival, you know? And then Abby had a seizure.”

  It had been the most terrifying moment of her life. Abby, eight months pregnant, suddenly gripped by convulsions. Gretel had rushed to catch her before she hit her head on the table. She’d managed to maneuver her onto her back and get all the furniture out of the way. She’d yelled at Eli to take the twins into the bedroom and keep them there—she hadn’t wanted them to get hurt somehow.

  With no cell service, she’d used the landline to call 911, and then Bethany because the dispatcher said it would take at least half an hour for the ambulance to get there. Bethany and Nate had rushed to the Noonans; Gretel had never been so relieved in her life. They’d taken care of Abby while Gretel had comforted the kids.

  “I heard the story from Abby. She says you came through like a champ.”

  Gretel smiled at the compliment. “Thank you. The thing is, it was literally the first time anyone was depending on me. And I handled it. I wasn’t just flirty-funny Gretel th
e partier. It’s like—I used to think of myself as like the powdered sugar on top of a cake. This time, I was…” She trailed off, searching for the right image.

  “The cake?” Zander frowned in puzzlement.

  “No, more like…”

  “The main dish?” he suggested. “Something not so sweet?”

  “Okay, so it’s not the perfect metaphor.” Gretel cupped her hand to watch the snowflakes gather on her mitten. “The point is, I handled the situation. I was the grownup. Me, Gretel Zsa Zsa Whitney Morrison.”

  Zander looked slightly stunned—probably by that recitation of all her middle names.

  “My mother likes celebrities,” she explained.

  “Fair enough. I’ll memorize your middle names later. Go on.”

  “ So then, when my father cut me off for real, I wasn’t as panicked as I could have been. Because of that incident at the Noonans’. They need me, and no one ever needs me. People might like me, or enjoy having me around, or like the way I look lounging in a bikini on their yacht—but they don’t need me.”

  He gave her another of those cryptic looks. “Are you so sure about that?”

  She sighed. “You don’t understand because people do need you. Look at your brothers. Look at your friend the dog musher. These dogs. They need you.”

  As if she knew they were talking about her, Fiona gave an impatient yip and pawed at the snow.

  Gretel and Zander looked at each other and laughed. “I think she’s saying she needs you to get off your ass and start the sled,” Gretel told him.

  “Yup. She was born to run. We think she’s part wolf. See those long legs?”

  “Part wolf!” That made her give the lead dog another look. Fiona pranced in place, nipped at her neighbor, who was trying to lie down. “No wonder I like her.” She unzipped her parka to show off her sweater, with the howling wolf and the lettering “Born to Howl.”

  He laughed and tipped his head back to let out a long howl of his own.

  Zander the lead wolf, taking care of his pack of brothers.