by Maggie Ryan
“If I didn’t drive such an old bucket of bolts, there wouldn’t be any trouble. I had more fun with you tonight than I’ve had on my last three dates combined,” Piper retorted. Was there a hint of resignation in her tone? She tried to make it brighter. “Now, you just sit tight. I’ll be back in no time.” Again, she turned off the music and tried to exit the car.
Again, he held her seatbelt in place. “Get my wheelchair out. I can roll myself down to the intersection a lot faster than you can walk.”
“Really, Mr. Silberman! They’d never let me take you out again if they found out I’d let you roll down this road at night.”
“The administration at Shadestone Senior Living Apartments has no say in what I do or who I go out with,” the older man shot back.
“Wait, look! Who’s that?” Piper shaded her eyes in a futile attempt to identify the lights that were glaring in from behind them. They were shining right into her eyes, which told her that it must be some sort of sport utility vehicle, or some other kind of car that sat higher on the road.
They didn’t have to wait long to find out. Piper rolled her window down, but the dark figure approached Mr. Silberman’s side of the car. “What seems to be the trouble?”
“Dr. Karn? Is that you?” Piper asked.
Piper could picture the incredulity on the handsome face she knew went with the voice. Dr. Karn was certainly memorable, with his thick, black hair and kind blue eyes. Too bad they had to meet again under such embarrassing circumstances. “Piper? What do you think you’re doing out here this late at night?”
Piper answered a bit defensively. “We didn’t mean to stay out this late. We broke down.”
“Well, I can’t take you both in that thing.” He indicated the all-terrain vehicle he was driving. Now that his lights were off she could see that it only had two seats and only roll bars overhead. “I’ll head back to my ranch and get my truck so I can get you two wherever it is you’re headed. Where are you going, anyway?”
Mr. Silberman put his arm out the window and the two men shook hands. “Dr. Karn, is it? I’m Harold Silberman. She was taking me home to the Shadestone. Piper, why don’t you ride with the good doctor? I can wait here on my own.”
Piper knew the gleam that was in his eye, though it was too dark for her to see it. It was the expression he always wore when he was trying to fix her up with someone, which was any time he met a man of suitable age and unmarried status. She could only hope Dr. Karn didn’t notice Mr. Silberman’s matchmaking face. “We can’t wait that long, Mr. Silberman. You need your insulin now. Dr. Karn, you don’t have anything to help him in your emergency bag, do you?”
“I wish both of you would call me Blake,” the doctor answered, “And it would be better if he had his own medication. How overdue are you? Are you having any symptoms?”
“None at all. I feel fine. Well, as fine as any ninety-year-old codger like me has a right to feel.”
“He’s sweating, Blake.”
“And your hands were a bit clammy, Mr. Silberman,” Blake put in, his tone matter of fact, his words neither unkind nor patronizing. “No use John Wayning it out when it comes to insulin.” He opened the door. “You two can take the ATV back to town and call a tow truck after you get your shot. I’ll wait here.”
“I can’t drive a stick shift and now’s not the time to learn.” Piper told him. “Please, can’t you just bring him something?”
Mr. Silberman shook his head. “He could lose his medical license, Piper. It’s not a life or death thing. You two go on together. I’ll be fine. Piper knows where my kit is and what to bring.”
“I don’t think you’ve got that long, Mr. Silberman. Surely you can drive a stick? If you’ve let your driver’s license expire, that’s okay. You don’t have to drive on the roads. You can take a dirt track to my house and hop in my little pickup. It’s automatic.”
“I can’t hop anywhere, young man,” Mr. Silberman remarked. He patted the stumps of his legs which an ironic cackle of laughter. “But thanks for not noticing. It’s nice to be treated like a normal person for a change.”
“You are a normal person, Mr. Silberman,” Piper objected hotly.
“And you don’t patronize me when it comes to most things, Piper.” Turning to Blake, the older man went on. “She really is an amazing girl, you know. You ought to see her.”
“Not now, Mr. Silberman, please. This is serious,” Piper begged. “Now do you see why you’ve got to…” Her voice trailed off. There was no getting him into that ATV. The two of them could just barely manage the transfer between her car and his wheelchair with the help of his strong arms and a transfer board, but up into that ATV? Just then, Mr. Silberman gave a little gasp and leaned heavily forward, breathing hard. Piper reached over and took his shoulder. “Mr. Silberman? Can you hear me? Blake, please, do something.”
Blake was already in motion and had the door open before Piper knew what he was going to do. He reached over, popped the seatbelt open and jerked the elderly man out of the car as Piper got out on her side. “There’s no time to argue. Stay put! I’ll be back for you.” Blake tossed Mr. Silberman into the ATV as if he weighed nothing.
“He’s waking up,” Piper informed Blake as she leaned into the ATV from the driver’s side and rooted around between the seats. “But he’ll need help staying in. Where’s the seat belt?”
Blake shot her an “I’m not kidding” glare. “There aren’t usually seatbelts in an ATV.” He had produced a bungee cord from the back and was stretching it around the seat and hooking it so that it supported Mr. Silberman’s chest, keeping him upright.
“I’m all right,” Mr. Silberman declared. “Just fell asleep for a minute. No need to make a federal case out of it.” He grabbed the handholds in front of the seat. “But I would like to get home and get that shot if I can.”
“I’ll have you there in no time,” Blake declared. “In this thing, I can cut across country here and be at the intersection in a couple of minutes. From there, it’s a straight shot to Shadestone, five minutes tops.”
Piper scrambled out of the ATV and headed back toward her car. “Will that cord hold if you go through the woods?” As she spoke, Piper slung the wheelchair out of the back of her car.
“I’ll be fine,” Mr. Silberman told her, but he was forming the words with extra deliberation, as if it cost him great effort to speak loudly enough for her to hear him.
“Give me that.” Blake met her half way between the car and the ATV.
“I can manage it,” she objected, tugging to keep her hold on the wheelchair.
He wrenched it smoothly from her grasp. “Not while I’m around, you can’t. I’ll hold it while you clamp it into the cargo area.” As if it weighed no more than his emergency medical bag, he threw the chair into the thin cargo hold of the ATV. She saw the clamp he meant and snapped it shut.
That really did make sense, for him to do the heavy lifting. She would have struggled for quite a while if she had needed to wrestle that chair into that space. Still, it gave her a strange, roiling feeling in the pit of her stomach, to hear his words and accept his help. “He needs that chair. It’s important to him. Without it, he feels helpless.”
The Art of Love by Alyssa Bailey
Willow Ashcroft, an internationally acclaimed artist, lived in the little Alaskan island community of Eagle’s Landing. Until her vehicle was broken into, Willow had not thought herself lonely or at risk. Then she looked into the eyes of the town’s newest trooper and she knew her life was about to change forever.
Trooper Investigator Tristan Hart had only begun to settle into his new assignment when a call came in for a vandalized auto belonging to one of the artists in town. He arrived on the scene to find a free spirit with sass. All of his of protective instincts emerged, especially when Willow seemed so naïve about the world of crime and criminals. Incredibly, the culprit kept returning. Even more incredible was Willow’s determination to live life as usual.
Tri
stan wanted Willow to be his to love and protect. Willow wanted Tristan to be hers to love, but she didn’t need protection.
Chapter One
Sunrise on a clear morning in southeast Alaska was still one of the most beautiful visions Willow had ever seen. The rugged beauty of the shore before her called to her spirit, offering peace and tranquility. This place, as in most of Alaska, was rough but serene. The purity of the wilderness was never more pronounced than when the sunrise appeared on a calm morning in unobstructed splendor, like today. This picturesque island community on the Inside Passage had always been home. While content, she was of the belief that two enjoying the beauty together was better than one. Someday, she told herself, someone will enjoy it with me.
Willow raced to pull off her night flannels. She threw on her sweats and runners, securing her long dark hair in a ponytail as she went. She grabbed her fleece-lined lighter jacket, and knit gloves, knowing she would have to put it away for heavier wear soon. She hurried to the cove where the sunrise with its brilliant colors would dance over the landscape for a short time, kissing the frigid lips of the ocean that lay cradled in the protective arms of the snow-tipped mountains.
She kept her art supplies and her cameras in a bag at the door for just such an occasion. It had been raining hard the whole week, but today, the sky was clear and the sun was working its way up. She had to wait until past eight o’clock these days to run anyway because running in the dark was ill advised in Alaska.
Each Alaskan season had its own mystique but being a bear’s lunch was not one of them. It had been an uneventful autumn so far with more rain than expected. However, with bears less afraid of humans on the island, they were becoming more adventuresome and, therefore, more dangerous. Her ex-husband hated their wild home, the land covered with evergreens showing signs of too much old growth and patches of clear-cutting that grew back quickly in the rainforest.
Her ex even hated the ocean that was full of wildlife. Who did that? Unfortunately for him, the mountains surrounded and sheltered them, and the sea’s bounty was at their doorstep. She wondered what had attracted her to him and knew it had been his lack of community history. Simply put, he didn’t come from here, and that appealed to her. However, the fact that he was part of her history saddened her. She would go slow the next time around. She was determined there would be a next time.
Willow drove her car to the lookout point on the edge of the cove, her landing spot for rejuvenation outside of her own beach. She took pictures of the beauty before her. Those who had never experienced Alaska didn’t know the absolute awe seeing eagles circle the blue glaciers in search of prey amidst the blackened angular outline of the predawn mountains. Those sentinels stood stark and powerful, dominating the scene amidst a background of watercolor wisps of light. The glistening ocean so blue at times, it challenged the belief that perfection didn’t exist.
She was like the salmon in the summer, herself. She left for adventures away only to return to her place of origin, Eagle’s Landing. She sat a moment to sketch, and her muse must have been excited because the drawing was perfect to frame in its raw state. She was going to compete, possibly for the last time, in the Art of Alaska Show later this month. She loved it when her artwork seemed to create itself. She might even submit this piece instead of the one she had been working on. Whichever one she didn’t present she would sell and could expect a good price for it. As was her routine when setting any of her work aside, she took pictures of her art, quickly saved them to the cloud before locking her vehicle up. Settling her music and cell phone on her body, she happily took off to enjoy the run.
Nearly an hour later, tired but rejuvenated and proud that she had stayed the course missing most of the mud puddles today Willow leaned over, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath and finished listening to the last song. Unlocking her car, she stared at the scene before her. Her chest tightened as she tried to process what she was actually seeing. The inside of her car looked as though a cyclone had passed through, leaving no survivors. Seconds ticked by. She’d never experienced any type of vandalism before, and very few people she knew had either. What should she do? Did she call the troopers and report it? Was this enough to report?
It had to be enough. Part of her livelihood was in this car, and she needed to get it back. She felt violated even though it wasn’t her person ravaged. Her sketchpad was gone, her work stolen. She sighed watching the ocean’s waves caress the shore, trying to focus on the peaceful display before putting in a call to the trooper station. The dispatcher told her not to bother anything inside the car.
“My coat is in the car.”
“They are on their way, hon.”
Willow lived about fifteen miles outside of the largest community on the island, but when the weather was bad, it might as well be fifty miles. She figured the borough had to have about ten thousand in it now, during the winter. Half of them lived in the town proper, the rest on either side of it. She loved her island home.
She was beginning to chill from the cool down after her short run when a vehicle with two troopers arrived. They stepped out, and she stood from her seat on a damp log.
“Thanks for coming,” she said as though she had invited them to a cookout.
“Are you Willow Ashcroft?” A tallish trooper she had never met before was speaking to her. His deep voice was reminiscent of a creamy chocolate fondue, warm and decadent creating a surprising need to take a lick. His dark, vivid blue eyes seemed to mesmerize her. Lulled by the vibrant depths, Willow didn’t notice the chill.
She nodded, reaching her hand down to still a twinging tummy. “Yes.”
“Hey, Willow. What happened here?” asked Jonathon Matheson, another trooper stepping out of the vehicle’s passenger seat.
“Oh.” Willow gave herself a mental shake. “Hi, Jon, I don’t know for sure.” Willow tried to ignore the appreciative look of Jon, the same one since high school, and the impatient look of trooper number one.
“I took some pictures and sketched the sunrise before I went on my run. When I came back, I opened the door, to see my car ransacked and work gone.”
The unnamed trooper asked some questions. “Did you lock your doors?”
“My equipment was in it, so yes, I locked my doors. Who are you again?” Willow was irritated that someone she didn’t know would be so rude as to not introduce himself and then to act as though she was an idiot. This was rural Alaska; no one locked their doors.
“I’m Trooper Hart, ma’am, my apologies for not introducing myself.” Arrogant, but he apologized nicely. He had a killer smile that caused little crinkles in the olive complexion around his eyes. As tasty as he looked, though, attitude was everything, and he was flunking that part in a major way. She was willing to overlook it if the man found her things.
“Oh, sorry, Willow. He’s the new investigator transferred from Nome. He’s only been here a few weeks. He’ll get used to the place.”
“Oh, right. Does this rate an investigator?”
“You’d be surprised what we investigate.”
Willow nodded her understanding. “So what about my car, guys, my things?”
“Well, let’s look at it,” offered Jon.
“Ma’am, did you see anyone around here when you parked or at any other time?”
“Nope, don’t usually this far out of town this time of year.”
“Willow has the big stone and wood homestead at the end of the road. Her family has been on the island for generations. They were here before most people could find Alaska on a map. She’s one of the town’s most famous artists. In an area full of artists, that’s saying something.” He announced it with communal pride in his voice. “She wins most competitions she enters in the state such as the Art of Alaska Show. My sister Amy says since Willow’s gotten national mention now, she should bow out and let the amateurs compete,” Trooper Matheson said with a laugh.
Willow blushed. “I might do that actually, after this year. Amy has a g
ood chance of winning this year.”
Trooper Hart nodded and then stopped writing in his little notebook.
Turning towards her with dawning realization he asked, “Wait, Willow Ash? That’s you?”
She smiled and inclined her head. “Yep, that’s me.”
“You do incredible work, ma’am.” Trooper Hart’s voice was appreciative, and Willow's cheeks heated to a deeper red.
“Thank you and please, call me Willow, everyone does.”
He nodded in acknowledgment. “Now Willow, what about this break in? Anyone angry with you or anyone you owe money or art, maybe? Anything people might want to break into your car over?”
“No, I mean I’m on the borough council and some people might not like how I vote but this is a small community, and actually, I’ve lived here my whole life except for Art College back east and my little jaunts to travel. Most people know me.”
“Well, then might be kids or something. Is there anything missing?”
“Don’t know except my sketchpad seems gone.”
“What?” asked Officer Hart.
“You told me not to touch it and when I could see it had been gone through, I never opened the door all the way. I try to do what I’m told if it’s reasonable. Even as an unruly artist, I do respect authority and the law.”
“I didn’t mean…”
She waved his words off with a dismissive hand and a shake of her head.
“Right,” Officer Hart continued, “let’s look then shall we?”
As they sifted through the SUV, Willow’s teeth started to chatter. Officer Hart looked alarmed and asked in a gruff voice that had a touch of accusation in it, “You cold?”
“J-j-j-ust a little,” she answered. He looked annoyed and began to take off his jacket.
“No, I have a c-c-oat inside my car.”
“Put this on, we’ll be done in a minute.” Authority had spoken.
Willow sniffed. “No, I’m—”
Officer Hart leaned into her while he put his coat around her shoulders. “No arguing, just do it.”
