CONTENTS

Foreword

Wicked in Winter

Naughty All Night

Love at First Light

FOREWORD

The charming harbor town of Lost Harbor, Alaska, is bursting with stories filled with adventure, fun, and lots of sexy sizzle. Each of the books in this box set is a standalone romance, but you’ll encounter familiar settings and characters (and I do mean characters!) along the way. This is Alaska, after all, where life on the edge of the wilderness makes for unforgettable romance.

Wicked in Winter

Former party girl Gretel Morrison has vowed to rely on herself instead of her wealthy and controlling family. If she can survive the winter in Lost Harbor, Alaska, she can survive anything—although maybe not the lethally sexy and attractive next-door neighbor, Zander Ross, and the two little brothers he's raising on his own. When a threat to the Ross family surfaces, Zander gets the shock of his life when Gretel steps up with an outrageous idea that might help them both.

Naughty All Night

Lawyer Kate Robinson is lying low at her grandmother’s Lost Harbor peony farm, where she used to spend summers. She’s always had a knack for trouble, but nothing has prepared her for the likes of “hottie fire chief” Darius Boone. Why not have some harmless naughty fun while she figures out her next move? She never expected the heat the two of them would generate—or to fall so hard. The next time trouble strikes, everything she loves is on the line.

Love at First Light

Private investigator Ethan James’ newest case should be simple—it’s just a birth-parents search in stunning Lost Harbor. But now he has a sidekick he never expected—the super sexy, endlessly quirky local baker, Jessica Dixon. When these two opposites attract, Jessica may come down to Earth long enough to find love, while Ethan might learn to trust his heart instead of his head…if they make it out of the wilderness alive.

CHAPTER ONE

“You have one job,” Gretel Morrison told herself as she walked down the snowy path to the Noonans’ woodshed. “Don’t end up in the snowbank. That’s it. You can do this.”

She pulled up her zipper the last inch so the fleece-lined hood of her parka snapped into place. It felt like wearing a biohazard suit. But the only hazard in this ice-pure Alaskan air was the snow.

Well…and hazards like loading firewood onto the sled. The last time she’d attempted this task, she’d wound up face down in the snow while the sled headed down the path like a magic carpet on the run.

She flat-out refused to let a sled of firewood defeat her. She was trying to turn a corner in her life, after all.

She confronted the woodshed, a sturdy structure about fifty yards from the main house of Abby and Earl Noonan’s homestead. Apparently the family spent much of the fall chopping down dead trees and chain-sawing them into rounds to stack inside the woodshed. On one of his two weeks off from his job on the North Slope, Earl had given her a tour of the shed—green wood in the back, seasoned wood in the front, cut logs to the right, kindling to the left.

He’d shown her the stump that served as a chopping block and the maul used for cutting the rounds into more burnable “splits.”

“Next time I’m here I’ll show you how to split wood,” he’d offered.

She’d laughed out loud, until she realized he was serious. “Oh, um…yeah, sure…that would be—”

“You’re right. It’s not hard. Anyone can show you, Abby or even Eli.”

Eli was their seven-year-old son. Granted, he was tall for his age and had grown up on this homestead. But still.

At that moment, Gretel had vowed to teach herself how to chop wood. Maybe after she managed to fill a sled without diving into a snowbank.

She could do this. She had to do this.

The whole purpose of her living here on this remote homestead was to help Abby through her recovery from brain surgery and a C-section, and right now, the household needed firewood. The Noonans had been so kind to her—she loved them dearly—and she couldn’t let them freeze to death because she was afraid of a sled.

Straightening her spine, she trudged through the snow to her nemesis, which was propped inside the woodshed.

“Let’s talk, shall we?” she said to the sled, a long orange molded-plastic monstrosity. “This isn’t about me. This is about Abby and the kids and the new baby. Whatever your beef is with me, can you just put it aside and think about the Noonans? They’re counting on us here. Do we understand each other?”

A tiny creature darted from inside the woodshed and scurried across the snow. She gave a shriek and staggered a step backwards. The vole or ermine—she didn’t yet know how to distinguish them—disappeared under one of the Noonans’ ancient trucks.

After she caught her balance, Gretel balled up her fists inside her gloves and marched toward the sled. “Oh ho. That’s how you’re going to play it? Calling in your little friends for backup? That ain’t going to fly, mister. Big mistake. Now I’m really fired up.”

She grabbed hold of the sled and lifted it away from the stack of wood it was leaning against. Even though she dislodged some kindling and nearly tripped over the chopping stump in the process, she managed to wrangle it out of the woodshed. When it was entirely clear, she let it slide onto the snow-packed ground, where she quickly placed one foot on it.

“Gotcha,” she told it. “Now just…chill there for a minute while I get the wood. We cool?”

Oh my God, she was talking to a sled. Had she totally lost it? Had the last couple of months in Alaska caused her to completely lose her mind?

Shaking her head at her own absurdity, she lifted her foot off the sled. It didn’t move—whew—so she headed into the woodshed to fill her arms with logs. Earl had taught her to start by anchoring the load with a couple of the rounds—which were unfortunately the heaviest of all. With the near-zero temperature, they sometimes got iced together by bits of frozen sap.

Of course. Because nothing could be easy here in Alaska.

It took her a moment to pry a round off the top of the stack. “If you fall on my toe, you’re dead to me,” she warned it as she settled it into her arms like a baby.

Carrying her prize, she ducked out of the woodshed and blinked in the pearly morning light. The sled was gone. The sneaky bastard had slid down the path and was now pinned under the ski-booted foot of Zander Ross.

Zander could definitely be considered another Alaska hazard. The rugged and smolderingly sexy male kind.

He’d stuck his skis in the snowbank next to the path. He must have skied over from his own place about half a mile away.

“So…” Zander called to her as he did some kind of flippy move with his boot that sent the sled flying from the ground into the secure grip of his right hand. “I’m trying to figure out if you’re talking to the wood or to the vole or just to the world in general.”

“You left out imaginary friend.” She lifted her chin in defiance. With his height and physique, Zander was one of those men who reminded her of her small size. “Probably because the concept of friend eludes you.”

“Now that’s funny, because if I were your friend I might offer to help you out.”

“I don’t need your help. But I do need my sled back.” Pointedly, she gestured with her head for him to bring it her way.

“Your sled just made a run for it.” Nevertheless, he walked toward her with the sled slung behind his shoulder, its tether hooked by one finger.

She clenched her teeth together. Did he have to be so fricking attractive while he was teasing her? He had the body of an outdoorsman and super-fit former Marine, which Abby had told her he was. His hair was very dark, almost black, in a cut no actual barber would take credit for. He wore Carhartts—the standard outdoor work gear in Alaska—but he somehow made them look mouthwatering.

The closer he came, the more she could make out the hazel green in his eyes and the stubble on his jaw. Like many men here, he kept a short beard to fend off the winter rawness. Unlike some of those men, Zander maintained his facial hair properly.

She’d noticed because one of her talents was cutting hair—not because she’d been closely assessing him. Not at all.

He dropped the sled on the ground at her feet and angled it so that it couldn’t go anywhere.

“Thank you,” she said with dignity. “You can go now. You must have important things to do over at your own place.”

Zander and his younger brothers were the Noonans’ closest neighbors. That didn’t mean much; their house was down the road, with a thick growth of spruce forest between them. But still, they saw more of the Ross family than anyone else.

“I came to see if Abby needs anything from town. Couldn’t reach anyone by phone and I got worried.”

“Ugh. The kids keep unplugging it by mistake. Sorry to make you ski all the way over here.”

“No problem.” Still, he lingered. “Sure you don’t need any help? It’d take about a minute to load this up between the two of us.”

“I’m sure,” she said firmly.

Zander didn’t understand; how could he? Her entire life, things had been made easy for her. Money did that. With enough money, you could pay anyone to do anything for you. She hadn’t become fully aware of this reality until she’d come to Alaska—and until her father had cut her off.

Which was painful, but probably the best thing that could have happened to her. She’d jumped on the opportunity to try something different. To become someone different.

He was still watching her, a perplexed frown on his face. It wasn’t exactly a handsome face—his eyebrows were too strong, his cheekbones too prominent, jaw too stubborn. But it was hard to look away from. He wasn’t a big talker, in her experience, and his face reflected that with a kind of banked intensity. He looked like someone who kept things inside. Maybe not handsome—but definitely smoldering.

Silence always made her nervous—as if it was her job to fill it. And so she added, “I’m on a mission to do things for myself.”

Right away, she regretted telling him that. One of his eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah? How’s that going?”

Maybe he wasn’t being sarcastic, but it sure felt that way.

“Super,” she said firmly as she placed the log in the sled exactly as Earl had instructed. “Everything’s great. But you’d better check with Abby about town. The only thing I need is eyeshadow, maybe in a sapphire-blue shade?”

He cocked his head at her. “Nah. I’d go for more of a light brown to set off the turquoise.”

As she gaped at him, a smile quirked one corner of his mouth. “YouTube makeup tutorial. Don’t ask.”

A wisp of wind brushed against her cheeks and drew her attention to the fact that her face was growing numb. She turned away to stack more firewood.

“So you’re serious about this,” he said.

“About not needing your help? A thousand and twenty-eight percent.”

“Very specific. That’s not what I mean. I mean you’re serious about staying here?”

She dislodged another round from the pile and hauled it to the sled. She saw his gloved hands twitch, as if he could barely stop himself from helping.

“Staying with Abby? Sure, as long as she needs me. She’s not supposed to lift her arms above her head for like, another month, poor thing.”

“Okay, so another month. And then?”

She scrunched her forehead at him, then turned away to fill her arms with cut logs. “Our arrangement is open-ended. We’re going to see how it goes. Why, are you trying to get rid of me?”

But she’d loaded her arms with too much wood, and one of the logs went rogue and slid off the stack. It bounced on the ground, then landed on her foot. “Ow.”

He made a move toward her, as if to help—but she made a snarly face at him. “Don’t you dare. This is a minor setback.”

With a snort, he shook his head. A puff of condensation curled through the air. His mouth must be so...warm. “It’s not my job to get rid of you. Alaska’s going to do that all on its own.”

“Excuse me?” She dumped the rest of her armful of logs onto the sled with a satisfying clunk. A raven cawed from the woods, as if she’d surprised him.

“You’ll never make it through the winter.”

Gretel bent over to pick up the runaway log. She could have simply knelt, but that wouldn’t have been nearly as provocative a move. Hopefully, even in her snow pants and parka, Zander would take notice. Just because she was trying to do things for herself didn’t mean she was giving up flirting—even with cocky, annoying neighbors. “Is that a challenge?”

She peered through her eyelashes at him. He flicked his eyes away from her ass just in time. Oh yes, he’d noticed her. Good. Busted, Zander Ross.

“It’s more of a prediction, but sure,” he said coolly. As if she hadn’t just caught him checking her out. “You can call it a challenge. Do you know how many people think a winter in Alaska would be a fun adventure? And how many take off for Hawaii come March?”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

“Never understood that phrase. Am I supposed to smear dollar bills on my face?”

She laughed despite herself as she fetched another armload of firewood. “Nice image. Very creative. I was thinking more of a bet.”

“What are the terms?” he asked promptly. That was one thing she liked about Zander. He picked up on things quickly and he didn’t beat around the bush.

“If I make it through the winter, you have to go on KLSW and make a public proclamation that you underestimated me.”

“Done.”

He was so quick to say it that she had to add on a little more. Blame the deal-making gene she’d inherited from her father. “On the Bush Lines.”

The Bush Lines were a way for people out in Lost Souls Wilderness who could only communicate by radio to get messages to people in Lost Harbor or elsewhere around Misty Bay. Birthday wishes, love notes, requests for ride shares, items for sale—all kinds of things found their way into the Bush Lines.

“On the Bush Lines,” he agreed. “And if you ditch before the winter is over, then you will…do something. To be named later.”

“Oh no. I’m not committing to anything that vague.”

“What does it matter, since you’re going to make it through the winter anyway?” He pulled off his glove, preparing for a handshake.

“Schoolboy taunts are not going to work on me. Come on. Be specific.”

He scratched at the underside of his jaw with his bared hand. It was so large, that hand, and looked so capable. Zander was the surrogate parent of his two brothers, and he had a lot of responsibility loaded onto him. But with those wide shoulders and big hands, he looked like he could handle it.

“You’ll sing something. Abby said you’re a good singer.”

Oh ho, so Abby had been talking about her to Zander? She’d very much like to know more about that conversation.

“Sing what?”

“Whatever. Something about the Alaska winter. About how great it is.”

“I don’t know any songs about how great the Alaska winter is. They probably don’t exist.”

“So write one. Whatever. That’s the bet. If you can’t handle the winter in Alaska, you’ll perform a song in praise of our great state. If you do make it through the winter, I’ll go on the Bush Lines and talk about how stupid I was to underestimate you like that.”

She stuck out her hand. “I like the sound of that. You have a deal.” They moved to shake hands, but she whipped hers away at the last second.

He squinted at her. “What are you, twelve?”

“I thought of something else. Define winter. Is it the first day of spring? Is it when the temperature stays above freezing for a week? Is it when girls start wearing sundresses?”

First he laughed. Then he sobered quickly and his expression went back to its usual reserve. “Everyone knows the winter isn’t over until the snow melts.”

“All of the snow?” She looked around at the Noonans’ homestead. It was composed of a house, a barn, the woodshed, an outhouse, a well house, a spacious hooped plastic tunnel for early planting, a shop, and acres of land—all of which was tucked under at least two feet of snow.

And it was still only early January. People were predicting many more feet of snow to come.

“When does that usually happen?”

“It’s different every winter. Hard to say.”

Gretel considered that, then shrugged. She didn’t actually know if she would stay for the entire winter. She wasn’t really planning that far ahead. She might leave, she might not. But she intended to leave on her own terms.

Besides, she loved to sing.

“Okay, it’s a deal. We can work out the rest of the details later.”

Almost formally, she drew off her glove and stuck out her hand. He wrapped his big palm around hers. The flood of warmth from his hand made her a little dizzy. A big guy like Zander really put out some body heat.

He looked down at their joined hands with a funny expression, as if almost incredulous that her hand had disappeared so completely within his. “May the odds be ever in your favor,” he said solemnly.

“I feel like it’s a bad sign to quote Hunger Games at me.”

“Too late now. Deal’s a deal.”

She pulled her hand away and tugged her glove back on. One more handful of kindling and her sled would be full and she could get her ass inside the house. She grabbed some branches from the kindling stack and added them to the sled. “Excuse me.”

Zander stepped out of her way and edged down the path toward his skis.

She took hold of the tether with both hands. Facing the sled, with her back toward the house, she leaned backwards and tried to make it move across the snow. But the weight of the wood pinned it in place. Once again she’d piled it too high.

She tried again, jerking the line. This time it moved, practically leaping toward her. Yes! She had forward motion. That was the first step. She backed toward the house, digging her cleats into the hard-packed snow. Now all she had to do was turn around and pull it behind her the rest of the way.

The fact that Zander was watching made it extra sweet.

As gracefully as possible, she turned around, switched her hands on the tether. But she pulled too hard on one side of the strap and caused the sled to tilt up.

Before she knew it, she lost her balance and about half the firewood spilled into the snow. She windmilled her arms—don’t end up in the snow. Don’t end up in the snow. It worked, but in the process, the tether strap got wrapped around her glove. Somehow it got ripped off her hand and flung toward Zander.

He caught it just before it landed on the snow.

“So…uh…need a little—”

“No!”

He snapped his mouth shut.

“I don’t need help,” she added stubbornly.

“Fine. At least take this.” He tossed her the glove. “I draw the line at frostbite.”

She caught the glove and quickly pulled it on. In that short time, the chill had already reddened her skin. By now, her face was practically numb. She clapped her hands together, then bent to load the firewood back onto the sled. The raven cawed from a closer perch, almost as if mocking her. She glanced up to locate the bird, and caught one of those dazzling moments that sometimes came her way here at the Noonans’.

The raven launched itself off the branch, dislodging a cloud of snow. The movement of the branch let the morning sun shine through. For a quiet moment, the myriad of snow crystals hung suspended in the air, vibrating with golden light. The snow cloud gently wafted to the ground, where she noticed the tiny snow tracks of the creature who’d fled the woodshed.

She caught her breath in wonder at the perfect serendipity of the moment—the raven, the snow, the ray of sun, the tracks. The fact that she was here in the cold and the snow to witness it.

“Did you see that?” she said softly after all the snow crystals had settled onto the ground. “The raven and the...” She trailed off as she glanced in Zander’s direction. He was already gone, skiing toward the big house to consult with Abby.

She was talking to herself again.

“Anyway, it was beautiful. Totally worth nearly freezing my ass off while I reload this mother-forking sled. You orange beast, I’m going to take you to an incinerator one of these days. I thought we had a deal. But no, you had to betray me in front of Zander Ross, of all people.”

Muttering to herself, she set to work reloading the sled. No way was she going to give Zander the satisfaction of seeing her give up.

CHAPTER TWO

“Is she okay out there?” At the window, Abby Noonan, holding her newborn in a sling that kept the baby above the level of her incision, rocked from one stockinged foot to another. Their dog, a rambunctious mutt named Groovy, snoozed by the woodstove.

“So she says.” Zander stayed in the arctic entry so he didn’t have to take off his snow boots. “Believe me, I tried. She doesn’t want help. My help, anyway. I don’t think she likes me much.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. She likes you just fine.”

Zander grunted. He completely disagreed with that assessment. But it didn’t matter anyway. He gave Gretel another month, at the most. A girl like her, so beautiful, so coddled, so magnetic, could go anywhere she wanted. Why would she choose to be here, twelve miles outside of Lost Harbor, at the end of the road that hugged Misty Bay, a seven-hour winter drive from anything resembling a city?

“I think she’s talking to herself again,” said Abby, peering out the triple-paned glass.

“Not exactly. She might be talking to the sled.”

Abby laughed, then halted the sound. “Can’t laugh yet. Stitches. It’s kind of a problem because Gretel is really very funny.”

“That is one way to describe her,” Zander said as diplomatically as he could. He still didn’t understand how Gretel had ended up here. He might never understand.

Again, not that it mattered. He had enough other things to worry about. “I’m headed into town, need anything?”

“Did the kids unplug the phone again? Damn it. I’d yell at them but they’re napping and I need those nap times more than oxygen. Did you hear that they might put another cell tower up and we might actually get real service out here?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Right? Anyway, sorry to make you ski all the way over here.”

“It was no problem,” he assured her. “It gave me a chance to set the trail.” Several times each winter, he had to set down new tracks for skiing between their properties. His brother Jason didn’t know it, but he was about to get assigned that task. Jason was thirteen now and a ski nut, so why not?

“Well, let me think.” Abby adjusted the hand-woven sling and glanced toward her kitchen. She and Earl had a passion for living off the land. They fished, hunted, canned vegetables from their summer gardens, picked berries in the fall, made jam, knitted their own sweaters. For a few years they’d made it all work, but once they’d reached three kids, Earl had taken a job on the North Slope to earn extra income. Two weeks away, two weeks helping Abby with the kids and doing what he could around the property.

Even though Zander had his hands full with Jason and Petey, he’d gotten in the habit of stopping by to see if Abby and her kids needed anything. This close to the edge of the wild, people had to stick together.

“We can always use more milk. But make sure it’s the hormone-free kind. Some toilet paper. The biggest case you can find. Unsalted butter. And Gretel has a thing for those shelled pistachios, so can you grab a bag of those?”

“Pistachios? Really?”

“Hey.” She frowned at him. “Anything to keep her here, you hear me? She can have pistachios day and night. Actually, get some pistachio ice cream too. Anything in the entire store that has pistachios in it. If that girl leaves me, I can’t be held responsible for my mental breakdown.”

Zander shook his head as he made a note in his phone. “Is she really that helpful? Has she made it back with the firewood yet?”

Abby glanced out the window. “She’s getting there. And you really need to open your eyes, kid. Considering she was raised with a silver spoon, she’s doing pretty well. Imagine if you were plopped into a situation that was completely new and strange and zero degrees on top of that? Think you’d do half as well?”

Zander gave her a hard stare, until she blinked in recognition.

“Right. You did that when your parents died. Sorry.”

He shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“The main point is, all my babies love her and she’s great with them. So be nice to her. You don’t have to be all grumpy-pants around her. And get her the damn pistachios.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The baby was stirring, so he made his escape.

On his way out of the arctic entry, which was lined with coatracks holding winter gear from toddler size to adult, he passed Gretel. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and she held a full armload of firewood. She lifted her chin as they squeezed past each other. The scent of fresh snow and lavender swirled around her—along with a touch of spruce pitch. Carrying the firewood like that, she was going to get it all over her coat and that shit never came off.

But she didn’t want advice from him.

“Zander,” she said, with a formal nod.

“Gretel,” he responded. He liked how her name felt in his mouth—like the sugar glass his mother used to make.

“Let the games begin.”

“Make it so.”

Her eyelids fluttered. God, those eyes—they were flat-out dazzling. Sparkling aqua, like sunlight on a tropical sea.

“I’ll see you in court,” she added.

He forgot about her eyes and frowned down at her. “In court?”

“Sorry. I like having the last word. Learn it, live with it.” She pushed open the door that separated the arctic entry from the rest of the house and disappeared inside.

He shook his head and stepped outside, where his skis were propped next to the door. Spoiled princess, that girl. And there was no frickin’ way she’d last through the winter.

Too bad—she definitely brightened things up around here. Oh well. He shrugged and snapped on his skis. She was a short-timer. Learn it, live with it.

CHAPTER THREE

Both the Noonan and the Ross homesteads were carved out of the vast spruce forests that covered the hills and valleys east of Lost Harbor. Previous generations had cleared the land and put up the first buildings from fallen trees.

Zander’s grandfather had purchased their fifty-acre lot, worked it, then willed it to Zander’s mother. She’d married an airline pilot; they’d lived in Colorado until Zander was about fourteen.

When Brenda Ross got pregnant again, they’d all moved onto the Lost Harbor property. His father had flown for the National Park Service and his mother had worked on the house. She was the one with the hands-on skills and artistic eye. Jason was born and three years later, Petey.

Zander had graduated from Lost Harbor High, then joined the military. That life hadn’t suited him much—he’d chafed under all the rules—but it had given him a sense of purpose. After a freak boating accident had killed his parents, he hadn’t hesitated to resign from the Marines and come home to raise his younger brothers. They were ten and seven at that point. He’d been twenty-four.

How was a twenty-four-year-old former Marine supposed to know how to raise two wild and grieving boys?

Three words. Chain of command.

Thank God for his military experience, because that was the structure he’d relied on for the past three years. Rules, consequences, order, accountability. Those were the pillars that kept the teetering Ross household from falling apart.

But being the stern platoon leader could get exhausting, so he cherished moments like this when he was all alone in the peaceful woods, skiing between snow-laden spruce with the wind against his face.

The hissing strokes of his skis were the only sounds—at first. But as he skied, he caught more. The curious chirping of a flock of waxwings wheeling high above. The croak of a raven. The distant whine of a twin-engine plane.

Those few sounds only emphasized how quiet these woods were in winter. The snow absorbed sound, almost like a layer of insulation.

Which reminded him that he needed to patch up the hole that Jason had made in the wall of the weight room during a freak free weight incident. He’d have to pick up some spackle when he was in town.

He checked his watch—set to military time—and picked up the pace. Today was his day for the carpool, which meant he had to pick up his brothers, Abby’s oldest son, and Chloeann, another neighbor girl, from the school bus drop-off about three miles down the road. He and Chloeann’s parents did most of the driving except when Earl Noonan was in town.

So far, no one had suggested that Gretel Morrison take a shift. Winter driving was too sketchy to take that kind of chance.

Abby’s words came back to him—don’t be such a grumpy-pants around her.

Was he? He didn’t intend to be. It wasn’t personal. Maybe he was just that kind of guy. The grumpy kind with a lot of responsibilities.

When he reached his house, he ditched his skis, hanging them on their assigned hook under the overhang. The house that his grandfather had begun was still under construction—and probably always would be. It had a steep metal roof to shed the snow and cedar siding most of the way around. The fourth side still had patches of Tyvek showing.

He really needed to get to that. And to the floors, which were still bare plywood. And a million other things.

But the boys were weirdly sentimental about the house and didn’t like big changes. They staged a rebellion every time he talked about putting down flooring.

Inside, he added a log to the fire in the woodstove and damped it down.

A smile flitted across his face as he remembered Gretel and her firewood struggles. He had to give her credit—she was persistent. And that kind of determination went a long way in a place like this.

He did a quick whirlwind cleanup of the kitchen, putting away the dishes Jason had washed that morning and wiping off the counter Petey had forgotten. Niko, their Alaskan Malamute, followed him as he worked. Even though he was getting on, he still loved to be part of whatever was happening.

He checked the giant chore chart that lived on an erasable easel he’d found at the dump. Yup, Petey had also neglected to take out his choice of frozen meat from the freezer. He added a red dot to that box. Uncompleted chore.

Petey had three red dots already this week. Five red dots and he’d get assigned a much bigger chore, a really no-fun task like scrubbing the bathroom floor.

Oh well—those were the rules. Created by him, the leader of the family, and handed down the chain of command. The only nod to democracy that he offered was a monthly family meeting during which changes to the rules could be discussed. Occasionally—very occasionally—he agreed to revise a rule. But nothing changed unless he said so.

Sometimes one of his brothers would have a meltdown and yell at him that he was being a dictator. He didn’t disagree. His usual answer was something about “power” and “responsibility” and “do you want to be in charge for a day? Be my guest.” That usually worked. Because they could see for themselves that being in charge mostly sucked.

He stepped outside and jogged through the cold to his workshop, which had been the original barn on the homestead. He was repairing an antique chair for one of the wealthy retirees who’d moved to Lost Harbor. His woodworking skills were paying the bills until the life insurance came through. If it ever came through; after three years of angry phone calls, sometimes he wondered if it was a lost cause.

Luckily, his father had taught him woodworking and he’d always loved it. Best of all, it allowed him to stay close to home. It still amazed him that people were willing to pay for simple things like regluing a chair leg. But if someone was willing to pay him to take care of easy shit, why not take the job?

Once again, he thought about Gretel. She came from a rich family. Word around town was that both Gretel and her sister Bethany had grown up with plenty of money to spare. Bethany was now a doctor at the hospital, and had recently gotten engaged to Nate Prudhoe, the firefighter.

He knew that Gretel had come to Lost Harbor because of Bethany, but he wasn’t clear on how she’d ended up living at the Noonans’. He was definitely curious about that, and about most things related to Gretel. He wanted to know more about her.

But what was the point, when she’d be gone before he could blink twice, like some kind of fairy flitting through the woods?

He shook off that ridiculous thought and focused on his handiwork. The glue was dry, so he loosened the clamp that had been holding the broken pieces together. Great. He could deliver this baby and collect a check.

After securing the chair in the back of the big Suburban he used for deliveries and carpooling, he let Niko hop in the back and headed into town. The gravel road had been plowed just this morning; he could still see the ridges of dirty ice left by the blade. The plow truck driver who had the contract for this area had recently asked Zander if he wanted to take over.

He was still wrestling with that decision. Yes, it would be another source of income. But it would also be another layer of responsibility. It would mean early mornings and possibly long hours. It meant more time for Jason and Petey to tear the house apart in his absence.

He let out a sigh as he reached the start of the wider paved road that led to town. Sometimes he felt more like forty-seven than twenty-seven.

His last girlfriend had flung that insult at him. “You’re like an old man, except you still like to fuck.”

She wasn’t wrong.

He stopped at the cluster of mailboxes that served their road—Wolf Ridge Road. Among the bills and circulars, the return address on one piece of mail sent a bolt of fear right to his gut.

The Alaska Department of Health, Office of Children’s Services.

Fuck. He hated hearing from them. Even though he’d been successfully caring for his brothers for three years, they still watched over his shoulder like a set of vultures ready to swoop down if he screwed something up.

Or at least that was how it felt.

He pulled forward and took a moment to scan the letter.

This is to inform you that a new caseworker has been assigned to Jason and Peter Ross. Susan Baker will be contacting you within the next few weeks to arrange a home visit.

A home visit? What the hell? That didn’t happen very often because the department was located in Juneau and extremely understaffed. Alaska was a big territory to cover. Usually the caseworkers only made home visits when there was a good reason—like when he’d first assumed guardianship of his brothers. A caseworker had shown up after Jason had gotten into a few fights at school. Trouble like that could inspire a home visit.

But things were fine at the moment. Jason was pulling a solid B average in eighth grade, which wasn’t bad considering he spent all his time either skiing or thinking about skiing. His main goal in life was making the ski team once he got to high school.

Petey was…Petey. A stubborn little ball of energy who did things his own particular way. Sometimes the other kids thought he was weird, but so what? They just didn’t know him the way his family did.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe this was a routine visit from a dedicated new caseworker. Maybe the only problem was how clean they’d have to keep the house until she’d come and gone.

An hour later—chair delivered, groceries and spackle acquired—Zander pulled up at the turnaround where the school bus dropped the kids. The spot happened to offer an incredible view of Misty Bay and the snow-covered mountain range on the other side. Clouds hovered over Zertuche glacier, which was wedged between steep slopes. More clouds were stacked behind those, as if a storm was flowing from the ice fields into Lost Souls Wilderness.

He turned on the radio to listen to the forecast. Ironically, the announcer was reading out the Bush Lines. “To the fishing boat that stopped at Ninlik Cove two days ago, please come back for your cooler. It’s becoming litter, and that’s rude. Ride needed from Lost Harbor to Anchorage on January 13, willing to share the usuals.”

He smiled at the thought of submitting a Bush Line praising Gretel Morrison. “When pigs fly, Niko. That ain’t happening.”

Niko had nothing to say.

The bus pulled up a few minutes later. It was already mostly empty, since their stop was the last on the route.

Jason, Petey, Chloeann and Eli came spilling out in a flurry of parkas and backpacks. The driver gave Zander a salute, performed a complicated five-point turn, and steered the bus toward town. It made a splash of yellow against the backdrop of snowy peaks across the bay.

The Suburban filled up with kids and chatter.

“I need new ski poles, I snapped one of mine in half,” Jason announced. “On accident,” he added quickly.

“I’m going to need a complete incident report,” said Zander. “Filed in triplicate.”

“Can Petey come over to play?” asked Eli hopefully from the passenger seat. “We got a new trampoline.”

“After his chores and depending on his homework.”

Zander glanced at Petey in the rearview mirror. He was listening to Chloeann whisper something in his ear and had missed the request from Eli. Being three years older than Eli, he wasn’t always interested in playing with him.

“A trampoline, huh? When did that happen?”

“Gretel got it. It’s a little one and it’s only in my room and I’m the only one allowed to jump on it. Except her, since she got it for me. And Petey if he comes over.”

Gretel got him a trampoline? Interesting. It made sense because Eli had a lot of energy to burn off, especially in the winter. And he would love having something that was just for him, since the twin toddlers got so much attention.

It was thoughtful.

Another surprise from the pretty girl next door.

“What if I come over? Can I try it?”

Eli shot him a dubious glance. “You might break it. No way.”

Zander hid a laugh. That was the thing about this whole surrogate parenting gig. The kids could really crack you up. Especially the ones you weren’t directly responsible for.

“Moose!” shouted Chloeann, pointing to the trees off the road. He located it—a spindly-legged youngster who swung his big head toward them and watched as they passed.

“Thanks for watching my six,” he told Chloeann.

“What?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “He means thanks for watching his back. That’s how they say it in the military. Like how he always says that he’ll pick us up at sixteen-thirty. Sixteen is four o’clock in normal people language.”

“But why does six mean the same thing as your back?”

“Imagine a clock face, and you’re looking toward the twelve. The six is at your back.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s by my feet.”

Zander laughed along with the other kids. She had a point, he couldn’t deny that.

Petey spoke up for the first time. “Zander, can I go to Chloeann’s and do homework?”

“Sorry, kid. You have chores to do.”

Storm clouds gathered on Petey’s face. “I always have chores. Life doesn’t stop because of chores. I’m not your prisoner.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. If you finish your chores quickly, I’ll drive you over to Chloeann’s.”

Petey subsided, though he still looked furious. Too bad—Zander took chores seriously, because if he didn’t, no one else would, that was for sure.

Just wait until Petey heard about the red dot on the chart.

They reached the mailbox that marked the end of Chloeann’s driveway. Zander pulled over and let her out. Out of habit, he watched her until she was safely at the door of her house.

“Come on, Z,” said Jason impatiently. “I’m already behind on my miles.”

Jason had set himself a goal of skiing twenty-five miles a week. That was a lot, but Zander approved of the goal-setting part.

He wasn’t so sure about the nickname.

“Since when do you call me Z?”

“Out loud? Just since today.”

Zander hid another laugh. These kids. They truly cracked him up. “Well, I’m not sure I like it.”

“There’s no rule about nicknames. Petey, is there a rule about nicknames?”

“Prisoners have numbers, not nicknames,” Petey said morosely.

“Good God, how’d I turn into a prison warden named Z? Sounds like a character in a movie.”

That lightened up the mood, and they spent the rest of the drive tossing out ideas for this hypothetical movie. The prison warden was also a bandit who went only by the letter Z. He jailed people by day, robbed people by night. He had an accomplice known only as X, who was a master swordsman, while Z specialized in archery.

“What about Y?” Zander asked.

“Y is their nemesis, he wants to kill everyone. Why, Y? Why?” Petey clutched his hands at his heart. The kid was such a natural when it came to drama.

When they dropped off Eli at the Noonans’ place, Zander got out to hand him the box of groceries. “Is that too much for you to carry? Want me to bring it in?”

“Course not. Jeez.” The boy shifted the box in his grip as he peered inside. “Pistachios?”

“They’re for Gretel. Hey, can you pass on a message to her?”

Eli nodded. His hat had gotten displaced during his exit from the van; Zander reached out and adjusted it for him.

“Tell her pistachios grow best in warm climates. Can you remember that?”

“Pistachios grow best in warm climates,” Eli repeated obediently, with little puffs of breath accenting every word.

“Good. Thanks, dude. And hey—Petey will come over and jump on your trampoline soon, okay?”

Eli nodded and marched toward the house with his bulky load.

On his way back to the driver’s seat, Zander noticed a piece of firewood in the culvert by the driveway. It must have rolled out of Gretel’s sight when the sled spilled over.

Should he pick it up despite all her instructions about not helping her?

Screw that. Firewood was valuable. And she didn’t even know it was there.

Quickly, he snatched it up and whisked it into the woodshed, then hurried back to the van.

“Why were you running?” Jason frowned at him from the backseat, where he was slouching with his iPhone. Service was very spotty in their area, but there were a few hot spots. The Noonans’ driveway occasionally got one bar.

“Exercise.” He didn’t feel like explaining anything related to Gretel. Maybe because he couldn’t really explain it to himself. Why did he think about her as much as he did?

Well, there was the obvious explanation—she was new around here.

And so beautiful.

And fun to talk to.

When she wasn’t actively trying to piss him off.

He took one last lingering look around the property, but she was nowhere to be seen. No flash of hair with magenta streaks or tasseled snow boots or sparkling blue-lagoon eyes.

He slowly backed out of the driveway. With his head turned to look behind him, he caught sight of a figure in the woods. Someone small, wearing a snowsuit, using snowshoes to wend their way through the woods. He couldn’t really get a good look, so he checked the rearview mirror, angling it to get a better view.

It was Gretel.

If he had to guess, this was her first time on snowshoes. She was exaggerating each step, making sure she didn’t catch the snowshoe on any stray brush. She wasn’t looking where she was going, at all. The contraptions on her feet drew all her attention.

The hood of her parka had blown back and her hair clung to her face. She must be sweating. Her vivid magenta streaks glinted in the dappled sun coming through the branches.

“Z!”

He snapped back to attention. Jesus, he’d nearly driven off the edge into the culvert. He’d completely forgotten that he was even driving.

He maneuvered the van back into the proper direction and continued reversing down the driveway.

When they passed Gretel, she waved. He pretended that he’d just spotted her and waved back. Then he winced as she tripped on a spruce branch and tumbled into a snowbank.

As soon as they reached the road, Jason burst out laughing. “You like Gretel.”

“What?”

“You were watching her. I saw you. You nearly crashed into a tree. That’s how much you like her.”

“I didn’t nearly crash. And I like her okay.” He reached the road and made a sharp swerve to head for home.

“I’m going to tell Eli.”

“Tell what?”

“That you nearly crashed the van because you were looking at her like this.” Jason widened his eyes as big as they could get and stuck out his tongue like a panting dog.

“The hell you are.”

“Is there a rule against talking to Eli now?”

Of course there wasn’t. Try as he might, Zander couldn’t think of any of their rules that applied to this situation. “Insubordination and disrespecting your superior officer?”

“Nice try.”

“Tell you what. I’ll take care of dinner tonight. That’s on your chart. You can go ski.”

“Buying my silence?”

“Want it or not?”

“Yes,” Jason said quickly.

A moment later they pulled up outside their house. Jason was already halfway out the door when Zander remembered the letter from the Office of Children’s Services. Jason was old enough now for Zander to run stuff like this by him.

“Wait.”

His younger brother sat back down and closed the door, but kept hold of the handle. “What now?”

“I got a letter about another home visit from a new caseworker. They usually only do that if there’s a problem. Is there anything I should know about?”

Jason’s eyebrows drew together. Just recently his voice had changed and his face had grown more bony. He too had their mother’s hazel eyes and dark hair, just like Zander did.

Sometimes it hurt to see the resemblance.

“What do you mean?”

“Grades are good? No trips to the principal’s office I didn’t hear about?”

“No.”

“Arrests? Drugs? Alcohol?” Zander was mostly joking about that, but it was worth throwing out there.

“Yuck, no. Dude, I’d never make the ski team if I did that shit. Can I go now?”

“So there’s nothing?”

Something crossed Jason’s face—maybe guilt? “Why don’t you ask the caseworker why they’re coming?”

Okay, well, that was a good suggestion. But he didn’t want to look like he was scared of the caseworker.

Jason opened the door and made his escape, sending a swirl of cold air into the van.

Zander put the letter and the rest of the mail onto his box of groceries and hurried inside, Niko at his heels. Jason was already racing to his bedroom, stripping off his school clothes as he ran. Zander had gotten him a winter ski suit for Christmas. It was Jason’s favorite possession in the world, second only to his skis.

“Can I borrow your ski poles?” he asked as he came racing back out.

“Yup. No pole-vaulting with them, though.”

Jason came screeching to a halt. “How did you know?”

Zander burst out laughing. “Damn, I’m good, aren’t I?”

“Did someone tell you?”

“No one told me. I’m just that good. Remember that the next time you think of some dumbass stunt like that.”

Looking spooked, Jason loped out of the house. Zander chuckled to himself as he unpacked the box of groceries.

He’d broken two ski poles that same way when he was in high school. Why did kids always think they’d invented their stupid shit? Someone else had always done it first—and probably worse.

He stuck the letter from Children’s Services on the pile of “important things he needed to deal with and better not forget about.”

Before this new caseworker, Susan Baker, showed up, he had to find out what was going on. Because he knew his little brother well enough to know that he was hiding something.

CHAPTER FOUR

When Lloyd Morrison—mega-millionaire, father, and control freak—had cut Gretel off last fall, she’d panicked at first. She’d never had to completely rely on herself before, since she’d always had his credit cards as a safety net. She knew that he liked funding her life because that gave him a say in what she did. It worked out well for both of them.

But then two things had happened. One, he’d gotten mad at Bethany and wanted to punish her. Since Bethany didn’t need his money, he’d gone after Gretel. That wasn’t the real reason, though. Even Bethany didn’t know the real reason. Gretel had done something he considered unforgivable—she’d played Robin Hood with his money. She’d donated funds to a group fighting to protect a butterfly sanctuary from the Morrison Group. Yup, her own father’s investment firm was trying to develop that land, and she’d gone directly against him. To the tune of seventy-five thousand dollars.

Oops. Sorry not sorry.

“You can earn your own money and throw it away,” he’d raged. “Let your sister take you in. I’m done.”

She couldn’t really complain because she’d brought it on herself. But yeah, she’d panicked.

Her mother, Aimee, had begged her to consider one of the wealthy older men who filled her contacts. Why get a job when she could simply marry a rich man?

But Gretel kept refusing her suggestions. It was time to grow up and fend for herself.

She’d accepted the position with the Noonans and taken an extra job at the Wicked Brew Coffee Shop, which had recently been purchased by a Hawaiian guy named Danny D. He’d changed the name from the Dark Brew to the Wicked Brew to give it some edginess.

“I’m here!” she announced as she twirled through the door.

“You always say that as if you deserve a medal.” Danny D rolled his eyes as she waltzed toward the espresso counter.

The idea of showing up at the same time at the same place over and over again—that was new to her, she had to admit.

“Have you seen those roads? And have you seen my truck? It might honestly be faster to snowshoe into town.”

She took off her parka—the hot-pink fur one she’d found at the thrift shop—and hung it on the coatrack in the back. She found an apron and tied it around her waist. For today’s shift, she’d chosen a black lacy top layered over a form-fitting burgundy long-sleeve leotard. A striped spandex miniskirt over leggings and her zebra-print boots completed her outfit.

Joining Danny D behind the bar, she pulled herself an espresso shot. All the coffee she could drink—a reason to dress up—a chance to chat with the Lost Harborites—honestly, she loved this job.

“So you finally got out there with the snowshoes, huh?”

“Yup. And you know something? I am not a sporty person. I suck at skiing and tennis and swimming and jogging and skating and anything that has a ball—except for croquet, I’m pretty good at that—but I think I’ve found a sport I can get behind.”

“Basically walking?”

“In my case, there’s a lot of standing too. The occasional fall into the snow.” She grinned at him and blew on her espresso. “But I love it because you’re absolutely encased in fluff. Snowsuit, lots of fleecy gloves and so forth, fluffy snow. And it’s literally impossible to go fast so there’s no pressure. There’s a reason why there’s no Olympic event for snowshoeing. It would be like watching tortoises race.”

He shook his head with a laugh and untied his apron. He wore a Kingdom of Hawaii bandanna to keep his dark hair off his face. He claimed to be a descendant of King Kamehameha and from his imperial manner, Gretel didn’t doubt it. “You almost talked me into it.”

“Into what? Don’t let her talk you into anything, before you know it you’ll be hot air ballooning over the South Pacific or something.” Her sister Bethany strolled toward the bar, holding hands with her new sweetie, Nate.

“Now that doesn’t sound so bad.” Danny D balled up his apron and headed for the back room. “Don’t burn the place down, Gretel. No freebies for anyone.”

Gretel mouthed “ignore him,” and poured mugs of coffee for Nate and Bethany. “Looks like we have cranberry muffins this morning, are you guys hungry?”

“No, we ate. Nate made pancakes.” The adoring glance that Bethany gave Nate was sweeter than the triple dose of simple syrup Gretel added to her coffee.

Nate smiled down at her, just as blissful as Bethany. On the surface, the two of them seemed very different—Nate was lighthearted and fun, whereas Bethany was a doctor and more serious and reliable. On the other hand, they’d both dedicated their lives to helping others, so they weren’t so different. And they’d fallen madly in love with each other after a few false starts. They were both wonderful people who deserved happiness. Gretel couldn’t wait for their wedding next summer.

An actual wedding between two people who intended to stay together for life? Imagine that. Having witnessed Lloyd and Aimee’s divorce, then two subsequent marriages apiece, honestly it was difficult.

“Do you both have the day off?” Gretel set to work preparing the behind-the-counter workspace the way she liked it.

“Yes, for once. Do you have any time off today? There’s a new movie at the theater.”

“I’m here until three, and then I need to drive Abby to a checkup.”

Bethany frowned as she tucked a long strand of blond hair behind her ear. “You’re working too much. I’m worried about you. When you’re not helping Abby, you’re working here, and you never have any free time. Why do you need this job, too? Isn’t one enough?”

“It’s fine. I’m making up for my lazy past when I didn’t work at all.” Gretel tossed back her espresso shot.

“You were not lazy. You were fun-loving,” Bethany said sternly. “Don’t you dare criticize my favorite person. Besides Nate, but he’s in a different category,” she added quickly.

Nate put a hand on his heart. “Ego check. Yup, still holding strong.”

“I was a party girl.” Gretel shrugged lightly. “No point in denying it, the evidence is all over social media. The internet is forever. Anyway, I like this job. I’m going to get a sound system in here and get some live music going. Danny has this dark moody vibe that he likes, but he couldn’t say no to some local talent.”

“That’s a great idea. But you’re trying to change the subject from your overbooked schedule. Can you cut back on your hours here, at least? Maybe Abby and Earl can make up the shortfall?”

Gretel had no ability to withstand her sister’s concern. Her whole life, Bethany had been the one person she could rely on, the one person who loved her unconditionally.

“Our arrangement isn’t about cash flow,” she finally said. “They give me room and board and a truck and that’s more than enough. They offered to pay me but I refused. Anyway, as soon as Abby’s healed, she won’t need me as much.”

Bethany opened her mouth to respond, but Nate slung an arm around her shoulders. “It sounds like Gretel has it worked out the way she wants.”

“Yes.” She gave her future brother-in-law a tiny, grateful smile. “Even if they paid me, it wouldn’t be much because they give me room and board. And I need quite a bit of money.”

Bethany’s eyebrows lifted. “For what?”

“I kind of…committed some money to some people.”

“Oh my God. Are you in debt? Do you need a loan? Are there people after you?”

Crap, she’d phrased that wrong and now her sister was panicking.

“No, nothing like that. I don’t owe the money. I donated it. Thinking that I had it, thanks to Daddy. But I didn’t and now the group is in trouble thanks to me. So I need to work as much as I can to make up for it.”

Bethany blinked at her in confusion. “What group?”

“It’s a…butterfly sanctuary in Texas…”

Catching on, Bethany burst out laughing. “Oh boy. It’s all making sense now. The one near Daddy’s development?”

“That’s the one.”

“How much did you pledge?”

“A lot. But it’s not your problem. It’s mine.”

Someone cleared their throat. “Uh, I got a problem. I need a quad shot cappuccino with two pulls of coconut syrup if you’re done blabbing.”

She turned to see Old Crow, one of the weather-beaten fishermen who mostly hung out in the harbor. “Well, look who the halibut dragged in. Shouldn’t you be bugging the poor bartenders at the Olde Salt?”

“Toni told me to broaden my horizons,” he grumbled as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “Besides, their coffeemaker broke.”

“Oh really, is that the story you’re going with?”

He scratched at the salt-and-pepper stubble on his chin. “Fine. You make a damn good cappuccino. When you stop gossiping.”

She accepted the compliment with a gracious nod and slid over to the espresso machine. “No one in this town gossips more than the fishermen, so you can just eat those words for breakfast along with your quad shot.”

“You know she’s right.” Nate laughed and tugged his hat back over his thatch of brown hair. “Didn’t take her long to figure this place out. Though the firehouse could give the fishermen a run for first place.”

“I’ve heard stitch-and-bitch is a good source too,” added Bethany over the sound of the milk steamer.

“Ooh, I actually got invited to stitch-and-bitch!” Gretel finished the steaming process, added two pumps of coconut syrup to the cappuccino and carefully brought it to Old Crow. “They’re going to teach me how to knit. I already know how to bitch pretty well.”

“Speaking of gossip, did you hear about Ian Finnegan?” Bethany said. “He has a stalker. He warned all of us at the hospital so we can watch out for her.”

“Yikes.” Last fall, Gretel had spent a crazy night with Ian Finnegan, a neurosurgeon friend of Bethany’s. Since there were champagne cocktails involved, she couldn’t remember all the details, but it hadn’t ended in bed. He had confessed that he had an enormous crush on her, but she’d let him down easy and their friendship vibe still felt pretty good. “I hope he’s okay. I’ll call him later.”

Old Crow was staring down at his cappuccino. She’d mixed a bit of the foam with coffee and made a jaunty little crow on the foamy surface. “What the hell is that?”

“Coffee art. You know they have competitions for that.”

He looked up at her, his weathered face set in forbidding lines. “But now I can’t drink it. Don’t want to mess it up.”

She laughed and pulled out her phone to snap a photo of it. “There, now you can drink. Enjoy. Nothing lasts forever, you know.”

Nate, still smiling, took Bethany’s hand. “We’ll get out of your way, Gretel. Good luck with all these degenerates.”

“Oh, I can handle them just fine. They know who’s boss around here.” She winked at Old Crow, who was now sipping his drink with an expression somewhere between crusty and blissful.

The town had a saying—strange things happen around Lost Souls Wilderness. She would extend that to “strange people”—which were her favorite kind.

The rest of her shift flew by. During her downtimes, she scoured Craigslist for used sound systems. She sent off emails to a few potential sellers. Then she made the whole project even more real by posting in the town’s Facebook group that an open mic night would be coming to the Wicked Brew soon. Within a few minutes, six people had responded with excited comments.

Let Danny D try to back out now.

Her mother called while she was filling a large order of coffees to-go for the real estate office on the next block. She tapped out a text telling Aimee she’d call her in a couple of days.

Her mother sent back a long text filled with uppercase words and exclamation points.

In other words, the usual.

After her shift ended, she raced to pick up Abby and Lulu for the baby’s checkup. She actually dozed in the foyer, curled up in a hardback chair, during Lulu’s appointment. Sometimes her small size came in handy.

She came awake with a start when Abby reappeared, covered in smiles. “She’s doing great! She gained three ounces already.”

“Woohoo!” Gretel clapped her hands and jumped to her feet. “That’s great news! On a side note, the last time I celebrated someone gaining weight was with my anorexic bestie in Bali.”

Abby shook her head in amusement. She was a tall, willowy woman who wore her hair in short curls that had never seen hair dye. She found all of Gretel’s stories about her past life endlessly entertaining.

“Hey, I just got a message from Eli. He and the twins are playing over at Zander’s house and we’re invited to come for dinner. Zander picked up some pizzas from the Last Chance. Just so you know, no one in Lost Harbor ever says no to Last Chance pizza.”

“Cool. Great. Pizza. I’m in.” Did she sound funny? As if an unsettling thrill had shot through her at the mention of Zander?

Because it had.

“You sure? I can tell them to come on home. I know you and Zander are…” She trailed off delicately. Gretel had ranted about Zander once, early on, after he’d criticized the way she parked the truck.

“What? Me and Zander are what? I don’t know what you mean. Go ahead and finish your thought.”

“You’re not his biggest fan, that’s all. Though I really think if you got to know him more, you’d appreciate him. There is not a better, more honorable or responsible human being on this planet than Zander Ross.”

Abby handed the baby to Gretel so she could get her coat on. The sleeping bundle settled sweetly into her arms.

“He’s very responsible. He’s also kind of…judgmental.”

“Really, you think so?” Abby shrugged into her coat and pulled on her bright knitted hat. Earl had knitted it for her—how adorable was that?

“It’s probably just me.” Gretel handed the baby back and zipped up her own coat. “Since he has so much material to work with.”

“Oh stop. If I catch him being anything but sweet to you, I’ll hurl used baby wipes at him. You know I would, too.”

Gretel giggled as they headed for the street, where they’d parked next to a snowbank.

Lost Harbor didn’t have a single parking garage. Or a single parking meter. Or a single valet. It was weird.

But it did have Arctic sunsets the shade of peach bellinis and air like the purest champagne. She drank it in as she drove Abby and the baby up the ridge, each curve revealing a new vision to her dazzled eyes. It was almost enough to give her a buzz—without a drop of alcohol.

CHAPTER FIVE

Gretel had never been to Zander’s house before. From the outside, it had the look of a gingerbread house with its steep roof and the smoke curling from the smokestack vent. On the front porch, a lamp hung from an ironwork bracket in the shape of a raven. That wasn’t the only artistic touch; the whole house had a handcrafted feel to it. A jumble of skis was stored under the overhang, along with snowboards, snow shovels, snowshoes, skateboards, bicycles and even an old plastic tricycle.

Inside, it had the same unfinished feel as the Noonans’, with pine board walls and open rafters, though it was much tidier. A wrought-iron spiral staircase led to an upper loft, which was closed off by a hatch. The kitchen and living room were all one big open space. A sturdy worktable occupied the center of the space. It held jars filled with crayons and pens, stacks of schoolbooks, and someone’s science project, which appeared to be bug-related.

All the kids were sitting around the table playing a board game she didn’t recognize. They were completely absorbed and barely noticed Abby and Gretel’s arrival. Groovy joined Niko by the fire and they sniffed each other like old friends.

In the kitchen, they found Zander in the midst of taking pizza out of the oven. He wore jeans and a soft t-shirt, revealing mouthwateringly defined arm muscles and a tattoo she couldn’t make out.

Gretel’s eyes widened as she scanned him, head to toe. She realized that she’d never seen Zander without his outdoor gear on. He was…ripped. Chiseled. Whatever the right word was for a perfectly honed masterpiece of masculinity.

“Smells good,” said Abby, sniffing the steam coming from the pizza. It was lucky she spoke first, because Gretel was having trouble finding her voice. “But I hope you have more of those. My appetite is absurd these days.”

“I got five.” Zander greeted them with a nod. A very impersonal nod—maybe a judgmental one? “I learned my lesson the time I thought me and the boys could split two.”

He gestured toward a stack of plates that sat on the stainless steel counter next to the sink. “Gretel, want to grab those and I’ll bring the pizza? Abby, you just relax and don’t try to carry anything. Earl told me he’d beat my ass if I didn’t stop you from overdoing it.”

Finally Gretel got her wits back. “What do you think my entire job is? The other day I had to tackle her to keep her from reaching for a jar on the top shelf.”

“And then she had to stand on a chair to get it.” Abby smiled at her affectionately. “It was pretty adorable, I’ll be honest.”

From his expression, Zander didn’t do “adorable.”

“Cover your ears, ladies.” He put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. “Orders incoming.”

At the table, Jason and Petey jumped to attention and swiveled to listen.

“Jason, put away the game in whatever manner you choose. Petey, grab another chair from my bedroom. Eli, come get some forks and help Gretel with the plates. Littler kids, go wash your hands. Big kids too.”

Incredibly, all the children launched into action and zoomed off to perform their assigned tasks.

Abby’s face wore the same expression that Gretel’s probably did—stunned and disbelieving. “How the heck? You should never have left the Marines, Zander. You should be a damn colonel or something.”

“Discipline is important,” he said seriously. He bent over to pull another pizza from the oven and Gretel tried to keep from staring at his ass. But not too hard—it was such a fine one. It deserved some appreciation. “We ran a drill before dinner to make sure they had it all down.”

“You ran a drill?” Gretel slid a hot pad under the pizza as he set it on the counter. “They’re little kids, not toy soldiers. Kids are supposed to have fun, especially when there’s pizza—”

“I’m kidding.” He grinned, which was such a rare thing for him that Gretel wished she could take a picture. It turned him from a serious grownup into a hottie about her own age. “I bribed them,” he admitted. “I said if they made me look good we could talk about ice cream sundaes for dessert.”

Gretel narrowed her eyes at him. “Bullshit. I’ve never seen you kid. You always say what you mean, which means you totally ran a drill.”

He plopped down the pizza and planted his hands on his hips. “We practiced, but I wouldn’t call it a drill. And I do kid sometimes. Like now.”

Their gazes held in a standoff, which didn’t end until Abby cleared her throat. “Well, whatever you did, bribery or drill or both, it worked like a charm. The dinner table is ready except for those plates. Can you guys relax so we can eat? Is there an order for that?”

“At ease,” said Zander after a moment. “Or stand down.”

“You can’t aim your orders at me,” Gretel told him. “I’m not really good about taking orders.”

“Really? Shocker. Well, suit yourself. You can keep glaring at me if you want or you can come have some pizza.”

“See, I’m so talented that I think I can probably do both.”

He grunted, which she interpreted as a complete victory. Lifting her chin, she took hold of the stack of plates. As she carried them toward the worktable, she heard him say to Abby, “She likes the last word. I already learned that lesson.”

“Don’t make me throw a plate at you,” Gretel warned him. “Because I’d probably miss and hit Abby and Earl would kill us both.”

Zander’s snort of laughter followed her to the table, warming her down to her soul.

Zander had noticed something interesting about Gretel. She had the ability to change the mood of a room—like, completely. Before she’d arrived, the kids had been focused on their game. Even the little ones were caught up in it—or maybe in the thrill of hanging out with the big ones. They’d interrupted the game only long enough to hurry up and complete whatever task he’d asked them to do.

After Gretel arrived, they were suddenly eager to talk. They even competed to share stories with her.

Jason wanted to talk about the practice session he’d attended with the ski team. “We went on an adventure ski out past Faraway Point and I kept up even with the seniors. They said I can definitely make the team.”

Gretel reached across the table and high-fived him. “That’s awesome, dude. I’m in awe of anyone who likes to go fast in the snow. I also think it’s crazy, but hey. You love it, and I’m rooting for you. When can I watch you race?”

“Well, next year. If I make the team.”

“It’s a date. I’m going to mark it down in the giant empty space marked ‘next year.’”

Yeah, Gretel didn’t strike Zander as someone who planned ahead much.

“Gretel, can you dye my hair?” asked Petey.

Zander was still spluttering through a mouthful of 7Up when Gretel answered cheerfully, “Sure, what color? Or colors? If we do foils, I can do more than one.”

“I want more than one,” Petey declared. “At least five.”

“Sounds complicated. Maybe we should start with two.”

“Maybe you should start by asking permission,” Zander told his little brother.

“It’s my hair.”

For a moment, Zander couldn’t think of the right response to that. Petey made a good point; of course it was his hair. “But I’m responsible for you. And that includes your hair.”

Petey aimed a death glare at him. “I can tell everyone that you aren’t responsible.”

“It doesn’t work that way, kid.”

Gretel chimed in—of course. Naturally she would think she had something to say in this situation. “Changing your hair color is a pretty harmless form of self-expression, if you ask me.”

“No one did,” Zander said gruffly.

“I do!” Petey raised his hand. “I ask her!”

Abby, who was a pro with his kids, butted in at that point. “One good reason not to use dye on your hair when you’re young is that we’re talking about chemicals that can be pretty toxic.”

“So we’ll use the nontoxic brands, or we can even use something like henna.” Gretel’s face lit up with that magnetic smile of hers. “Problem solved.”

“Gretel, can I talk to you in private for a minute?” He shoved his chair back and stood up.

His brothers oohed as if they were the ones in trouble, but Gretel shrugged and followed him away from the table. The house was so small—almost more of a cabin—that the only place he could guarantee privacy was his bedroom. Even the bathroom wouldn’t do because sound echoed off the tiles his mother had finished installing just before the crash.

He closed the door behind them, while Gretel surveyed his room curiously. The walls were made of rough white pine and a whimsical wrought-iron chandelier hung from the ceiling. Its best feature—aside from the king-size bed and the huge supply room that was now a walk-in closet—was a set of crank windows that opened onto the forest.

“You’re the only boy I know with a chandelier in his bedroom,” she said as she eyed it.

“This room used to be my mother’s studio. She made that chandelier. The boys have my parents’ old bedroom,” he said curtly.

“Your mother made a chandelier?” Her eyes widened and she tilted her head back to stare up at it. The glow from the copper light shades turned her hair to fire.

“She was an artist. And a welder, among other things.”

“Your mother was a welder?”

“Can we get back to the main topic?”

“Oh, sure. What was it again? I thought you just wanted to get me into your bedroom.” She tossed a wink at him, as if throwing candy into a crowd.

“It’s the only place they won’t hear us.”

“Yes, that’s a good quality in a bedroom.” Another wink, this one even more naughty and exaggerated.

“Stop that.” He ground his teeth together. “I’m trying for a serious conversation here.”

“All of your conversations seem pretty serious to me. Do you ever just sit around and shoot the shit?”

He dragged a hand through his hair. “Not very often, no. Back to my point.” He paused, trying to bring his point back into focus. Hair. It had to do with hair. And hers was the color of firelight in a glass of Cabernet right now.

“Hair dye,” he ground out. “Don’t encourage Petey to dye his hair. I won’t allow it and you’re just going to get him upset.”

“Why won’t you allow it? It’s seriously so common these days. At my old school in Connecticut half the kids—”

“I don’t care. We live here, and I’m responsible for Petey, and I say no to the hair dye.” The truth was, he didn’t know this new caseworker and he didn’t want anything to look out of the ordinary when she showed up for the home visit. But he didn’t know Gretel well enough to tell her that. He didn’t trust her not to blab it all over town during a shift at the Wicked Brew.

“You’re being very narrow-minded.”

“Okay.”

She drew in a long breath, as if trying to keep her cool. “Petey is very imaginative, he needs to express himself. I can relate to that. I was the same way when I was growing up. Obviously, I still am.” She gestured at her outfit, which featured a blend of colors and layers that was uniquely Gretel. “I don’t think it’s fair that girls can have fun with their appearance but boys can’t.”

“Life isn’t fair, is that big news?”

If life was fair, he would still be in the Marines. Or maybe he’d be doing something else. Sometimes he forgot the other dreams he’d had before enlisting.

“No. I know life isn’t fair.”

“Yeah? Did you figure that out when you were on a cruise or at a five-star restaurant?”

She drew in a sharp breath, and color flushed across her cheeks.

Fuck, he’d gone too far. He’d let his temper get away from him. He knew better than that. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No. Let it out. You think I’m just a spoiled rich girl who doesn’t understand reality.”

He didn’t answer, since part of him did think that, but he didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

“Come on. Express yourself, Zander. I can take it.”

She was goading him, he knew that. But Zander had all those years of military service under his belt, not to mention three years of playing single dad to his brothers. He wasn’t about to let a barely five-foot tall Lower Forty-eight princess make him lose his cool.

“No hair dye,” he said firmly, fixing her with a steady stare to emphasize his point.

Her nostrils flared, and he remembered what she’d said about taking orders—or not taking them. “If you’re too strict with them they’re going to rebel. That’s like, a universal law of parenting.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“It’s not just your chances,” she cried. “What about your brothers? This is about Petey, not you.”

She was persistent, he’d give her that.

“You’re right. It’s about Petey and the fact that you are not going to dye his hair.”

“But…name one good reason—”

He interrupted. “Why are you so worried about his hair? Maybe this is about you, not Petey.”

Her mouth dropped open, making him notice the pretty color of her lips. Not that he hadn’t noticed before. He’d tried hard not to notice. But here in the close quarters of his bedroom, with his bed lurking right behind her, it was impossible to ignore their lovely curved shape and imagine their flower-petal taste.

She snapped her mouth shut; maybe she’d caught him looking at her lips. He dragged his gaze away and resorted to his best chain-of-command expression. “Since you aren’t saying anything more, I’m going to assume we’re done here.”

She lifted her chin and stalked past him. “Oh, we’re definitely done here.”

And just like that, she took command of the moment. “And to think, there are so many other and better things you could have dragged me to your bedroom for. Oh well. I guess you’ll never know.”

He followed her out of the room. He might never know, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use his imagination. He probably would. Later that night, right there in that bed.

CHAPTER SIX

When all the pizza had been gobbled up—and ice cream sundaes served—Gretel called on all her newly acquired maturity and offered to do the dishes.

She was still fuming over the way Zander had shut her out.

On the one hand, he was right that it was his call. She was just a random neighbor.

On the other hand, she hated to see young boys forced to fit into a box that might not suit them. Petey reminded her of one of her boyfriends in high school. A few years ago, he’d transitioned to a she, and their entire rocky relationship suddenly made sense.

But it wasn’t her business. Point taken, Zander Ross. Ross the Boss.

“That’s okay, we got it.” Zander gave one of his piercing whistles. Jason, rolling his eyes, dragged himself over to the kitchen. Petey darted ahead of him and grabbed a dishtowel from a drawer.

As the rest of them watched, the three Rosses swung into the most amazing dishwashing drill Gretel had ever seen—or imagined. It was one step away from ballet, the way they operated in perfect coordination and timing. Zander scrubbed a dish, handed it to Jason, who rinsed it and handed it to Petey, who dried it and put it away. Partway through, Zander called, “Switch,” and they all changed places so that Petey washed, Zander rinsed and Jason dried.

Abby laughed until tears came to her eyes. Gretel hoped she wasn’t stretching her stitches, but maybe it was good for her to be so entertained.

When all the dishes were done, Zander had possession of the dishtowel. He tossed it long to Jason, who was jogging the length of the kitchen toward a laundry hamper against the wall. He caught it just in time for Petey to slide in and lift the top off. Jason slam-dunked the towel into the hamper and Petey plopped the top back on.

“Time?” Jason asked.

Zander was checking his phone. “Fifth best. Not bad. Good job. One hour before bedtime, Petey. Use it wisely.”

With a grin, he ambled back to the table. Both of the toddlers, Iris and India, were sound asleep, curled-up with their heads on Gretel’s lap. Eli was yawning from the aftermath of the sugar rush. Abby wiped tears of laughter off her cheeks.

“That was really something, Zander.”

“It’s one of our favorite drills. Breakfast is pretty good too.”

“I’d love to see that sometime. We go for the barely controlled chaos technique. Gretel can tell you.”

Gretel whispered so as not to wake up the little ones. “Sorry, did you say controlled? Did I hear that right?”

Abby and Zander both laughed.

“Need a hand getting all these kids into your rig?” he offered.

“That’d be great,” Abby said, before Gretel could answer. She would have loved to tell Zander to back off, that she could handle it. But that would be ridiculous.

He leaned over and gently pried Iris’ curled up hand off Gretel’s sweater. She inhaled the scent of dish soap and wood smoke as his head came close to hers. The skin of his neck looked almost vulnerable at that angle. There was a whorl of hair at the back of his neck; almost a cowlick. She wondered if he knew about it, or if he cared.

His big hands enveloped Iris and he lifted her away from Gretel. He draped her over his chest, her head snuggling into the crook of his neck.

Gretel’s heart did the funniest little skip and jump at the sight of such a big guy cradling the tiny human that was Iris.

Abby handed him Iris’ coat and Zander draped it over her. Groovy hauled herself to her feet and prepared to follow them out.

“Hand me the keys, I’ll get the rig started,” he told Gretel. Ordered her, practically.

Still, a warmed-up car was better than an icy one. She gave him the keys without comment and he disappeared with Iris. Abby roused Eli while Gretel managed to stand up without waking India. She settled her gently against her shoulder.

Gretel popped her head into the boys’ room to say goodbye, and found them both reading on their stomachs on their twin beds. They weren’t ordinary beds, she noticed. They looked handcrafted, and each of them had an animal carved into the headboard. Jason’s was a wolf and Petey’s was a raven.

“Goodnight, guys,” she said softly. “It was fun hanging out with you.”

“Night, Gretel.” Petey lifted his head and gave her a wistful smile. “Maybe you can dye my hair when I’m sixteen.”

“It’s a date.”

Still smiling, she carried her bundle of toddler through the steamy arctic entry and into the starlit night. The cold bit at her exposed cheeks. The snow crunched under her snow boots as she picked her way toward the Noonans’ Tahoe. A rising spiral of exhaust rose from the tailpipe—lazily, as if fighting the weight of the cold air. She tilted her head to take in the brilliance of the stars against the profound darkness.

The night sky was like a never-ending show that didn’t care whether or not anyone was paying attention. How many people were going about their business—eating out, sleeping, watching TV, partying, dancing—with no idea that such an incredible drama was playing out in the sky above their heads?

She’d never given the sky much thought before coming to Lost Harbor, except for a quick glance now and then. But then again, there were so many things she hadn’t thought about. Like how the feel of a sleeping toddler in your arms could make your heart ache with happiness. Or the way a man’s attention to things like buckling up a car seat could make him even more attractive.

“Thanks,” she told Zander after he’d gotten both the toddlers buckled in.

“No problem. Happy to help.”

He emphasized that last word, help.

Okay then. Game back on. “Funny thing. I was thinking about leaving Alaska until you got them into their carseats,” she murmured, so only he could hear. “Better start writing your Bush Lines speech.”

He gave a burst of laughter, causing Abby to poke her head from the passenger seat with an expression of surprise. “You sounded like a little kid for sec there, Zander.”

“I guarantee I’m not a little kid,” he murmured in Gretel’s ear.

She couldn’t think of a PG-rated response to that, so she let him have that one.

The new caseworker, Susan Baker, showed up a few days later. She surprised Zander while he was in his workshop, which was never a good thing. He was in the middle of setting two freshly glued pieces of an old toboggan together. The glue was a fast-acting adhesive that left him only seconds to make sure everything was properly aligned.

Her knock at the door made him jump and smear glue across his work pants.

“Damn it,” he exclaimed before he could even see who was there. “Hang on,” he called to the visitor. Quickly he adjusted the two pieces into their proper position and set a clamp to hold them together.

He didn’t worry about his work pants, since they were already covered with paint stains, pitch stains, plaster stains, and who knew what else.

He got to his feet and stretched his back, then opened the door to the stranger. She was a Native Alaskan woman, maybe around fifty, and she did not look pleased.

“I’ve been calling, didn’t you get my messages?”

“No, sorry. Service is terrible out here. Who are you?”

“I’m Susan Baker from the Office of Children’s Services. I assume you got the notification that I was coming?” She spoke in a blunt manner that reminded him of his platoon leader.

“Susan—Of course. Susan Baker. Nice to meet you.” He rubbed his hands on his work pants and offered one. She declined.

“I have allergies,” she told him. “Toxic substances, having my calls ignored, that sort of thing.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you. Did you try the landline?”

“I tried all the numbers in your file.” She sniffed at the air. “What is that smell?”

“It’s how I make money to support the family.” He spoke more sharply than he’d intended, and she reacted immediately by narrowing her eyes.

“Tell me about that. Is it a struggle for you, being sole caretaker and sole money-earner?”

Oh no. If he had to have that conversation, he didn’t want to be ambushed with it.

He gestured toward the door. “Why don’t we go into the house and I’ll get you some coffee?”

“I’m allergic to coffee.”

“Maybe some tea?”

Did he even have any tea? Luckily, she shook her head. “I take care of my own beverages.”

“That’s smart.” He ushered her out the door and they crossed the snowy yard to the side entrance of the house. Niko was out on a perimeter check, so at least he didn’t have a dog to deal with.

“Why do you find that smart?”

Wow, this woman was sharp as a razor knife. She didn’t miss a thing. By the time they reached the living room, he knew she’d catalogued every single dirty dish and balled up sock that had escaped the laundry hamper.

He hurried to put the sock back where it belonged. “It’s usually much tidier than this, but Jason had an early ski practice and—”

She waved him off. “It’s quite clean. I’m impressed.”

The relief hit him like a blow to the chest. He felt his entire body relax. “We try,” he managed. “The boys are a big help in that respect. I’m teaching them to hold up their end. Our parents always emphasized self-reliance.”

She looked around one more time, then gestured to the worktable, which was still littered with the makings of a Lego fighter space station Petey had been working on.

“Can we sit?”

“Yeah, of course.” He snagged the letter from the OCS and brought it with him. When he reached the table, she’d already opened up a binder and had a pen in hand.

Feeling outmatched in every way, he sat down across from her.

“So you’ve been taking care of Jason and Petey for three years now?”

“Yes. Since our parents passed.”

“You were named as the guardian?”

His stomach tightened. “No, not technically. Their death was sudden and they hadn’t named anyone specifically. I was the logical choice and I wanted to do it. I wanted them to be able to stay here in Alaska and stay together.”

“And you left your military career to do it?”

“Yes. The Marines are all about duty. You don’t get to choose what that duty is. Mine was clear.”

She made a note on a page in her binder. He craned his neck to see what she was writing, but couldn’t make out her handwriting.

“So you saw it—see it—as your duty to come back to Lost Harbor.”

Wait, that didn’t sound right. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to. I love this place and I love my brothers.”

“That’s lovely. It’s also not entirely the point. What is it that you feel you offer the boys?”

“Stability. Consistency. Family.”

“And you’re sure that’s everything they need?”

Ice curdled in his veins. “What does that mean? Food, education, friends, of course they have what they need. Is something missing?”

She made another note.

“Is there a problem? If there is, I don’t know about it and I deserve to. You can’t just come in here and ask weird questions that sound like accusations.”

“No accusations, Mr. Ross. You misunderstand. My job is to make sure the best interests of the minor children are being served. That should be your job too.”

“It is. Of course it is. What—”

“What about your personal life?”

“Excuse me?” He sat back in his chair and heard it squeak.

“You’re a young, single man. I assume you have girlfriends. How do you handle that with your brothers?”

“Well, I…I…” Think of something that makes me look good. “I try to set a good example. Serious relationships only.”

She raised an eyebrow, expressing all kinds of skepticism. “Are you in one now?”

Could a flirtation with the girl next door count? He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead, where a layer of sweat had gathered. “I suppose you could say that.”

He braced himself for a request for more details, but she moved on.

“What if I were to tell you that another situation might be an option for Jason?”

“What situation?” He shifted position again. By now he was so agitated that one chair leg cracked under the pressure. Great, another chair to repair. “What are you talking about?”

“Calm down, Mr. Ross. Please. There’s no need to overreact. You are the boys’ guardian until further notice, and nothing will change without you being part of that discussion.”

Zander felt as if his head was about to explode. “I don’t understand any of this. It’s coming out of nowhere. Jason and Petey belong here, with me. Together. All of us. You’re talking about Jason going somewhere else? The hell—I mean, no way.”

“You really shouldn’t worry so much.” She made another note in her goddamn binder, then snapped it closed. “Please answer your phone in the future.”

“I—” Fighting to stop the panic, he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I’ll do my best.”

She rose to her feet and gave him a nod. “My assessment says that you’re a caring surrogate father making the best of a difficult situation. Good for you.”

He followed suit and came to his feet. “Thank you. Does that mean—”

She held up a hand. “Take the praise. Let’s leave it at that.”

Holy Jesus, this woman was unlike any caseworker he’d ever dealt with. “Yes, ma’am.”

After she left, he returned to the chair and stared down at it. Then kicked it.

It shuddered and jumped across the floor. His toe throbbed. But damn, it felt good to release a little tension. And what the hell, it was already broken.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“Mom…mom…hang on. Stop talking for a second.” Gretel adjusted her headset and smiled sweetly at the fire chief, Darius Boone. He was even larger than Zander, and more intimidating if only because he was in his thirties as opposed to his twenties. “What can I get you, Chief? And other chief?”

She added that bit just in time as Maya Badger stepped next to Darius. Just lately, Maya Badger had been named as Lost Harbor’s newest police chief, after the townspeople got tired of her doing all the work while the old chief spent his time ice fishing.

“I’m buying,” Darius told Maya. “My way of saying congratulations.”

“Are you sure it’s not your way of saying you need extra space now that we’re down an officer?” Maya said dryly.

“You’re so young to be so cynical. But now that you mention it…”

Maya rolled her eyes and turned to Gretel. “Macchiato, put it on my tab. And throw a muffin in there.”

“A normal muffin, or a gluten-free sugar-free—”

“Make it a peanut butter cookie. And get one for the big guy too. I’m in a sweet mood.”

Darius heaved a long sigh. “Okay, what do you need, Badger? I’ll have a latte, Gretel. Large and hot.”

“I like your style.” She shooed them both away. “Now please go bicker—I mean discuss town business—at a table. I have a fight with my mother to get back to.”

The two chiefs both looked at her in astonishment and then at each other. Maya laughed first, her smooth brown face breaking into a wide smile. “You are something else, Gretel Morrison. Glad you decided to stick around. I won’t be at all surprised if you find yourself in trouble, though.”

Gretel shot her a sassy smile and readjusted her headset. Since Maya was her future brother-in-law Nate’s best friend, she wasn’t too worried.

On the other hand, she had a reputation for being extra ethical, so—“On the house,” she called after them.

She flicked the unmute button while she made their drinks. Her mother Aimee was still ranting, as if she hadn’t even realized that Gretel had muted her.

Kind of the story of their relationship, come to think of it.

“Mom. Mom. I missed all of that. Can you boil it down to the essentials?”

“Oh darling, did you miss the bit about modeling the spring collection?”

“Uh, yes. I missed that. Congratulations, that’s amazing.” Aimee was a former world-class model, incredibly photogenic, and only in her mid-forties. She still got plenty of work, though she didn’t need the money. Her three divorce settlements had left her in excellent financial shape.

“I don’t mean me, darling. I mean you. They’re looking for someone younger.” Gretel winced at the hurt in Aimee’s voice.

“Well then, they’re fools. You’re the best. And I’m not a model. You know that, Mom.”

“You just need to work on your—”

“No. You know I suck at it. I’m too short and I can’t control my facial expressions enough. No modeling.”

“Okay. But there’s something else to discuss. That honeymoon fund I set aside for you.”

“No, Mom. I’m not marrying one of your douchebags. Moving on. What else is going on, Mom? Have you talked to Daddy?”

“He can’t stop calling me. He’s devastated. He wants you back in the family fold, honey. Would it kill you to just apologize and—”

Sweet Sofia Coppola, this conversation was a minefield. “He’ll survive. Why isn’t he happy that he has all his money to himself now?”

“All his money? What do you think I am, an amateur?”

“Of course not. Prenup, monthly allowance, blah blah blah. You know, you really ought to thank me for being born because that doubled your monthly check.”

“You don’t need to be so catty. Men don’t like that, you know.”

“Too bad for them.” She removed two peanut butter cookies from the case and slid them each onto a plate.

“Baby, I’m worried about your attitude. When I was younger than you, I’d already married a millionaire and given birth to you! I was set for life at the age of twenty-three. And you’re—where are you working again?”

“The Wicked Brew in Lost Harbor, Alaska, across from Lost Souls Wilderness.”

“Which might as well be nowhere.”

Not nowhere. Just very far from her parents. And yet, maybe not quite far enough.

“Bethany’s here too. You should stop worrying.”

“You shouldn’t be so trusting with Bethany. Do I have to remind you that—”

“No! You don’t have to. Please don’t.”

But this was Aimee’s favorite story, so she couldn’t be stopped. Gretel screwed her eyes shut and hoped she would tell the short version. “I was just the mistress, but I always knew the key was to be patient. Then after Bethany’s mother died, God rest her soul, Lloyd turned to me, like I always knew he would. It was best for everyone that we got married, but poor little Bethany had a hard time. You can’t trust—”

Gretel had heard enough. “Bethany loves me. She always has. You should just stop right there.”

Aimee knew when she’d crossed the line. “Will you think about Fiji, darling? We had such fun there the last time.”

Gretel pressed her lips together to keep the truth from spilling out—she’d spent most of that vacation completely buzzed.

“I have commitments here, Mom. I’m not leaving.”

“Excuse you? I didn’t catch that. You have what?”

Hmm…maybe Aimee wasn’t actually familiar with the word ‘commitment.’ Come to think of it, Gretel had never heard her use it.

She put the cookies and drinks on a serving tray and stepped from behind the bar to bring them to Maya and Darius. The two of them were deep into an argument. All she overheard was “S.G.,” who was a mysterious runaway who had turned up in Lost Harbor last fall.

“I can’t leave,” she said firmly. “I’m very busy here and there are people depending on me.”

Her mother gave a trill of laughter. “Depending on you?”

Gretel bit her lip, wounded despite herself. As she unloaded the tray, Maya caught her expression. In a raised voice, the police chief said, “A lot of people depend on you, Gretel. We couldn’t do without you.”

Maya nudged Chief Boone, who spoke up in a deep rumble. “That’s right. Lost Harbor needs you, Gretel. Please don’t leave us.”

A burst of sunshine warmed Gretel’s heart. How sweet that two such professional and respected town officials would stand up for her. How unexpected.

“Who was that?” her mother was asking.

“That,” Gretel answered proudly as she finished delivering their order, “was the police chief and the fire chief of Lost Harbor.”

She mouthed ‘thank you’ to Darius and Maya and stepped back behind the counter, where Toni, the bartender from the Olde Salt Saloon, was waiting to place an order.

After a pause, Aimee laughed again. “I do hope they don’t get too attached to you, baby. Have they seen your passport? When’s the last time you stayed anywhere for more than two months?”

Gretel slammed the tray down harder than she meant to. “Goodbye, Mom. I can’t spend all day getting insulted, I’m working.”

“So I’ll book the Fiji trip?”

She ended the call and rested both hands on the counter, heaving in deep breaths to get a grip on her emotions. Then she plastered on a smile and faced Toni. The slim, tattooed bartender looked like someone who never took shit from anyone, including her mother.

“Coffeemaker at the Olde Salt still broken?” Gretel asked her.

“Yep. Black coffee to go, hold the drama.”

Still a little shaky from that conversation with her mother, Gretel filled a large to-go cup with coffee and snapped on the lid.

Toni handed her a five dollar bill, along with a sympathetic look. “If you need to let off some steam, come on out to the Olde Salt. I’m working all night. Haven’t seen you out there lately.”

“Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy. But thanks, a break might be nice.” A champagne cocktail, maybe. She’d float on a cloud of bubbles into the sky, where nothing could wound her. Where her mother couldn’t remind her that her primary reason for existing was to cement Aimee’s relationship with a millionaire. Where she could chase away that sense of shame always lurking under the surface.

Not even playing Robin Hood had gotten rid of it. And now she couldn’t even do that. Her wages and tips weren’t doing much to fulfill the pledge she’d made.

CHAPTER EIGHT

After her shift ended, Gretel bundled up in her blue fake fur shortie coat and her Burberry beret. Even though most of the Olde Salt regulars were crusty fishermen and hardcore drinkers, they’d accepted her as one of them from the very beginning. She liked to amuse them with her outrageous outfits. She rarely paid for her own drinks there, but she’d never felt in any kind of danger.

To them, she was just another drinking buddy—with some extra flair.

She was still all jangled up from her conversation with her mother. She hated this feeling—it made her want to run, to flee, to escape, to get high, to blot out everything and find some fun.

As she scraped off the ice that had formed on the windshield of the old Nissan Frontier the Noonans had given her, she could already taste the prickle of champagne sliding down her throat. She’d been so busy lately that she hadn’t had time for partying, or even a glass of wine.

When was the last time she’d had a drink? Jeez, she didn’t even remember.

She snapped back the windshield wiper and chipped away at the ice under it.

When was the last time she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink?

Never, she realized with a shock. Because she didn’t generally go long without one.

Was that a problem?

But she didn’t have time to think about it because a small figure down the street caught her eye. She recognized that particular bright red parka.

Petey Ross was just emerging from Eller’s Drugs. Eller’s carried everything from fishing gear to housewares, birthday cards to crochet supplies. Before he’d taken more than two steps onto the sidewalk, a large man stepped from inside and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Petey tried to run, but the man tightened his grip. It looked as if he was furiously scolding Petey, who yelled right back at him. Gretel knew Petey well enough to predict what would come next—nothing good. Petey never shied away from a fight.

She tossed the ice scraper back into the truck and ran down the street.

“Hey! Hey you! Mister! What’s going on here?”

The man wheeled on her as she skidded to a stop before him. Literally skidded—her zebra-striped boots had very little traction.

“This kid stole something. Are you his mother?”

She shot a quick glance at Petey, who was a red-faced ball of misery. But at least he wasn’t throwing any punches.

“No, I’m not, but I was supposed to meet him here and do a little shopping with him. I was late, so that’s on me.” She dug in her coat pocket for her tips. “I’m happy to cover whatever he may or may not have taken, though it was probably by mistake and you should give him a chance to tell his side of the story. Petey, was there something you wanted to buy here?”

Petey nodded slowly and pulled an object from his coat pocket. It was a bottle of nail polish. He handed it to her and she turned it over. Kir Royale—a gorgeous shade of purple.

“Excellent choice,” she told him. She turned back to the man. Without a coat, he was starting to shiver in his flannel shirt. “How much do we owe you?”

“Five dollars and seventy-nine cents, but that’s not the point. Shoplifting is a crime and—”

“And he’s a kid and that’s a very important lesson to learn from his parent…al figures.” She handed him six dollars and put the nail polish in her pocket. Petey would get it back once she’d sorted this out with him.

She put her hand around the boy. “You ready to go? I’m sorry I was late.”

He nodded, then ducked under her arm and marched toward the truck. “We’ll handle this,” she told the man. She pulled a scrap of paper and a lipstick from her bag and wrote down her number. “Please call me if you have any more trouble.”

“I should report this,” he grumbled.

“Why? He’s ten. Is this because it’s nail polish? Because discrimination based on sexuality is illegal and—”

At the word ‘sexuality,’ the owner shuddered and backed toward the door. “Let’s call it good. But straighten that kid out before he gets himself in trouble.”

“Straighten him out?” But he’d already pushed open the door and disappeared inside.

In her truck, she found Petey with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. “You gonna tell Zander?”

“Well, I was thinking you should tell him. But if you don’t want to, I will. One of us is going to have to. But it could be both of us. We can do it together.” She turned the key in the ignition. “Wasn’t Chloeann’s dad doing the carpool today?”

“Yeah, but I had to work on a project with Trent. Zander’s coming to get me.”

That phrasing sounded extra morbid. “I’ll text him and let him know you’re with me.”

“Okay.” The relief in his voice told her that he wasn’t quite ready to face his brother yet.

She could relate to that. She’d been in trouble almost constantly since about his age. But unlike him, she always got away with it. Probably because her mother knew how to sweet-talk authority figures.

After she’d alerted Zander, they drove through the town in comfortable silence. Petey ignored the picturesque storefronts with their profusion of twinkle lights that apparently stayed up all winter long.

She didn’t try to quiz him about what he’d done. That wasn’t her job, she figured. Her job was to keep him company while he worked it out in his own mind.

As they passed the turnoff that led to the harbor, where the Olde Salt perched like a drunken sailor at the end of the boardwalk, she waved a wistful goodbye to her hypothetical champagne cocktail.

Sure, a drink would have been nice. But this was much more important.

“Ravens steal,” Petey said abruptly. “They’re really good scavengers.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Sometimes they wait for other birds to bring down their prey, then steal it away from them. They’re really smart birds. If they find a carcass, they’ll call to the wolves or the coyotes to come in first so the meat will get exposed.”

“Gruesome. You like ravens?”

“Ravens are awesome. They’re my favorite bird.”

“That’s cool.” Did the boy see himself as a raven, scavenging for nail polish? “I’m not sure that comparison is going to work with Zander.”

“Zander’s more like a bear,” Petey said gloomily. “He’s going to ground me to the den.”

The boy knew what he was talking about. Zander was even more furious than Gretel could have predicted.

“You shoplifted from Eller’s?” He laced his hands on top of his head and tilted it back with a groan. “Of all places. That man is a hard-ass.”

“Exactly!” Gretel loosened her scarf so the melting ice crystals didn’t drip down her shirt. “I paid him back and he still wanted to make a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, well…why shouldn’t he? No one wants to be stolen from. Petey, you want me to go into your room and steal your stuff?”

“I was going to pay it back! I just didn’t have my allowance with me.”

“No excuses.” Zander dropped his hands and planted his fists on his hips. “You’re going to write a letter of apology to Eller’s. You’re going to do Jason’s chores and your chores for the rest of the week. And I’m going to confiscate that nail polish. You shouldn’t be able to keep something you stole.”

Storm clouds had been building on Petey’s face from “letter of apology” on. But that last part broke open the dam.

“Zander! No fair!”

“It’s completely fair. Hand it over.”

“I don’t even have it! Ask her!” Petey ran to his room and slammed the door shut.

Jason snorted from his perch next to the woodstove, where he’d been waxing his skis. “Nice.”

“Zander.” Gretel drew in a long breath. “Can I speak to you in private?”

Once again, Zander found himself closed up in his bedroom with Gretel. This time, he wasn’t the only furious one.

“You are being way too harsh on him!” she cried. “It’s just a bottle of nail polish and I paid for it.”

“That’s not the point. He shoplifted. That’s not okay.” His jaw tightened and his gut roiled. This was exactly the kind of thing that could be a red flag for the caseworker.

“Then we’ll say it’s my nail polish and I’ll just give it to him.”

“The hell you will. He needs to get this. Don’t get in the middle of it, Gretel.”

Her eyebrows drew together in an offended frown. Turquoise daggers flashed from her eyes. “You should be grateful I did get in the middle of it. That idiot would have hauled him off to the police.”

What a disaster that would have been. “Thank you,” he managed stiffly. Truly, he did appreciate it, but his worry about Susan Baker blotted out everything else.

“Very gracious of you.” Sarcasm radiated through her voice. “I’m overwhelmed.”

“I’ll pay you back the money for the nail polish. I’ll buy it from you.”

“And do what with it?”

“What does that matter?”

She took a step toward him and tapped him on the chest. Her touch reverberated through him. “Because it does. Because Petey wanted it enough to break the rules, and he knows how you are about rules. So he must have wanted it really badly.”

Flabbergasted, he stared at her while his thoughts churned. He hadn’t thought about it like that. He was entirely focused on the potential threat to their family.

“So he wanted it enough to steal. How does that let him off the hook?”

“My point is, I think you’re being extra hard on him because it’s nail polish.”

Out of nowhere, the thought came—he wanted her to touch him again. He shoved it aside. “What are you getting at?”

“You’re freaking out because he’s a boy and he took nail polish. Just like you wouldn’t let me dye his hair.”

Finally Zander put it all together. He gave a short bark of laughter. Ironically, it eased the tension inside him.

And there it came—another touch from Gretel. This time, she swatted him lightly on the arm. “Why is that funny?”

He caught her hand and held it against his chest. Not for any reason other than he wanted to feel it there. “The first time Petey watched a YouTube makeup tutorial, I asked him why he was so interested in it. He said he was curious, and I should butt out. So I did.”

She curled her hand against his chest, but didn’t pull away. “And?”

“Petey’s kind of…an explorer. And he’s a kid. He’s going to be who he’s going to be. Gay, straight, something else, whatever. That’s not my job.”

Finally she tugged her hand away from his chest. He still felt an electric tingle where it had rested. “What is, then?”

“My job is to make sure he’s safe and doesn’t break any laws while he’s figuring shit out.”

She ran the tip of her tongue across her lips. He couldn’t help tracking that pink bit of flesh. What did the rest of her body look like under all those layers of winter clothing?

“What about the man at Eller’s? I saw his face when he saw the nail polish.”

“That guy’s a dick. Always has been.”

“I basically accused him of being homophobic.”

He grinned. “You’re not wrong. Better you said it than me.”

One corner of her mouth lifted, then the other. It was a glorious process, watching those fresh-petal lips curve into a mischievous, dazzling smile.

And maybe he should stop staring at her mouth right about now.

“I think you might be telling the truth,” she murmured.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t lie.”

“Okay, then why won’t you let him dye his hair? That didn’t involve any kind of law-breaking. If he’s trying to figure out—”

He cut her off with a gesture. “No hair dye. No nail polish.”

“And no explanation?”

“No explanation.” The finality in his voice made her beautiful smile vanish.

Seeing it go created an empty ache in his heart, but what could he do? He couldn’t tell her about the caseworker’s veiled threat. He didn’t even know the full situation yet.

Maybe you can trust Gretel. The thought came out of the blue.

He considered it. She’d come to Petey’s rescue. She’d handled the situation at Eller’s pretty damn well. She obviously cared about Petey.

He wanted to trust her. He wanted to talk to her. He liked talking to her—even though he wasn’t generally a big talker. With Gretel it was different. Why not just take the leap and explain about Susan Baker?

Unless…what if this was his dick talking? Gretel was outrageously attractive to him. When she was around, he always knew exactly where she was—as if he could sixth-sense her location. His ears picked up her voice quicker than any other sound, as if he was tuned to her specific vocal frequency. It was weird.

How was he supposed to make good decisions about someone who scrambled his brain as much as Gretel did? He wanted her, bad. His cock was already partially hard just from this conversation—and it wasn’t even a sexy one.

If he trusted her enough to tell her about the caseworker, things would change between them. They’d probably get closer.

But he couldn’t sell out his family’s secrets just to get a smile from Gretel.

He had responsibilities and they came first.

“Okay then.” She whirled around, her blue fur coat swinging behind her. His gaze dropped to her ass, which was encased in a clinging skirt that barely came to her thighs. Under that she wore thick wool leggings and zebra-print boots and damn, the sexy sight could bring a guy to tears. “I guess I’ll go now. Good luck and all.”

“Gretel,” he called after her, making her pause in mid-flight. “Thank you. Really. I owe you one.”

She shot him a quick, unreadable glance, and disappeared out the door.

He let out a long rush of breath and adjusted his jeans. Damn. He needed to get a grip on this attraction before it got him into trouble.

But still—he did owe Gretel. And he knew just how to thank her.

CHAPTER NINE

A few days after the shoplifting incident, Gretel padded out in her panda slippers from the guest room she inhabited at the Noonans’. They’d gone to great lengths to make it as comfy as possible for her—they’d acquired a queen-size bed, bought her an electric heater, and even added an extra router so she could get Wi-Fi in her room.

Earl was back from the North Slope, which meant that she didn’t have to get up early and help Eli get off to school. When Earl was here, she was able to work more shifts at the Wicked Brew and do things like practice her snowshoeing.

She could drink coffee made by someone else for once. Which she enjoyed to the max, especially when Earl splurged on the high-end coffee beans he loved.

After pouring herself a mug, she petted Groovy for a while, then wandered into the playroom, where the toddlers were knocking over a set of blocks and laughing hysterically. They really knew how to keep each other entertained. Abby sat in a rocking chair, nursing the baby and keeping an eye on the toddlers.

“Is Earl on car-pool duty?”

“Morning shift only. He’ll be home soon.”

Gretel shivered and wrapped her long angora sweater around her. It had a unicorn on the back and she loved its silky warmth. It was so comfy that it worked as a kind of shield against hurtful things like Zander shutting her out.

“Are you chilly?” Abby asked right away. “I haven’t checked the fire in a while, would you mind? After that you should help yourself to the coffee cake Earl made. He’s having fun playing homemaker, the big beast.”

The affection on her voice took any hint of sting out of her words. No one who knew Abby and Earl had any doubt about their love for each other, but they did have a rough-edged way of showing it sometimes.

Gretel shuffled into the living room and added a log to the fire. The last log.

Darn it. She’d have to go out into the deep freeze to collect some more. Wasn’t Earl supposed to do that sort of thing when he was here?

She spotted the coffee cake, still in its pan on the kitchen counter. He’d used some of the currants that the family had gathered in the fall. The cake’s warm aroma made her mouth water and her grumbling disappear.

“All is forgiven, Earl,” she murmured under her breath. She cut a small square and popped it into her mouth, then wandered into the arctic entry. After kicking off her slippers, she stuck her feet into her boots and sorted through the coats looking for one of hers.

Finally she located her blue faux fur and pulled it on over her fuzzy pajamas. Yawning, she pushed open the door that led outside and right away realized her mistake. Cold air blasted right into her mouth. She slammed the door and snapped her mouth shut.

“Everything okay?” Abby called.

“Peachy!” she croaked.

She was definitely awake now. Every nerve tingled from the shock of that elemental collision between her and the outside air.

It must have dropped below zero.

She grabbed a scarf—Eli’s, she believed—and tried again. This time she angled her body sideways so that she wasn’t getting the full blast head on.

“Wooooh,” she called into the bitter wind as soon as she’d made it outside. “Let’s do this! Bring it, baby. Bring it!”

The wind answered with a howl. It tugged at the scarf, bit at her cheeks—but not in an attacking way. It felt more like an exuberant dog—Groovy. Like a wild, barely trained force of nature begging her to play with it.

“Okay, I’m here, aren’t I? Gotta make this quick, though. Unless you want to blow a few sticks of wood out of that shed for me.” She murmured the words into Eli’s scarf to avoid another episode of wind-down-her-windpipe.

Leaning into the full force of the wind, she trudged down the path to the woodshed. Please cooperate, she silently begged the sled. Just this once. I’ll be extra nice to you. I’ll take you down a real hill for fun instead of making you work all the time.

God, she was so silly, talking to a sled. Smiling at her own absurdity, she took the last step into the woodshed and stopped short. The wind whistled through the planks of the shed as she blinked whirling snow out of her eyes.

The orange plastic sled was gone. Nowhere to be seen.

A sleek new sled had taken its place. It had actual metal runners, polished wooden boards, and vintage writing on the side. “Flame Runner,” was its name.

“Well, look at you, handsome stranger,” she murmured. Here in the shed, she couldn’t feel the buffeting of the wind, and didn’t mind speaking out loud again. “Where did you come from? Did Earl find you?”

Then she spotted an envelope wedged between two of the sled’s slats. She tugged it out and saw that it was addressed to her.

“This doesn’t count as ‘help’ because I owe you. Found this at the dump and restored it. It’s a classic. Enjoy, it’s yours.”

It was signed with a big Z.

Wow. This was Zander’s handiwork? She ran a hand over the smooth fine-grained wood with its perfect sheen of varnish. She knew about his woodworking projects—but she hadn’t realized that he had this kind of skill. The sled was a work of art. Having grown up with expensive things, she knew how to recognize quality. This was top-of-the-line meticulous craftsmanship, on the part of both the original creator and the loving restorer.

It was almost too beautiful to pile full of wood. But the cold was creeping in around the edges of her coat, so she set aside that worry and set the sled—more of a toboggan, really—onto the snowpack.

It stayed right where it was supposed to, sturdy and solid, its own weight keeping it from squirreling all over the place the way the plastic sled used to. Quickly she loaded it with several armloads of firewood, until it was filled to the top of its side rails.

Now the big test. She gripped its leash and walked toward the house. With a quiet swish, it followed behind her as sweet as a lamb. Not once did it threaten to tumble over or lunge down the snow bank. On the entire path to the house, not a single stick of wood went overboard.

“Flame Runner, I think I love you,” she sang to it. “I wanna know for sure—”

Up ahead, she spotted Zander emerging from the ski trail that connected the two properties. “Hey, you,” she called.

He changed direction and skied across the yard toward her. “How’s it working?” With his eyes gleaming green against his wind-chapped face, he made her mouth water.

“Like a dream.” She dropped the tether and stepped toward him. She probably looked like a homeless woman in her pajamas and winter gear, but she didn’t care. He was still skiing toward her when she stepped directly into his path. He dropped his ski poles and grabbed her in his arms. His momentum kept them sliding a few more feet.

“Watch where you’re go—” he began, but she cut him off by planting a kiss right on his lips. It was a quick kiss—touch and withdraw—but it felt like a thunderclap. The detonation echoed through her.

They came to a stop but he didn’t release her. He stared down at her with a look of shock. “Was that a thank you or—”

“Of course,” she said lightly, even though her heart was fluttering like a trapped moth. “This sled is my new best friend. It’s beautiful, Zander. Really wonderful. I had no idea you were so talented.”

He lifted one eyebrow, but still didn’t release her. “Do you thank everyone with a kiss on the lips?”

“Maybe I was aiming for that spot right next to your lips. That little scar.” She touched the mark with her mitten. His eyes darkened.

“You still didn’t answer the question.”

“Is this an interrogation? I can take the kiss back if you want.”

His lips quirked. “Then I’d have to take back the sled.”

“I guess you’re stuck with that kiss then.”

“I guess I am.” He tilted his head, considering. “I have more sleds where that came from.”

Oh no. This was trouble. Her insides were starting to melt in a liquid pool of heat. Her nipples were hardening against his chest, though luckily several layers of winter gear separated her from Zander. “Are you ever going to let me go?”

“I’m thinking about that.”

He was so warm, and it felt so good to be held against him while the cold wind whipped around them. Frosty crystals had formed on the hair that curled under the edge of his hat. His head lowered, his lips came closer, she could feel his warm breath on her face. Anticipation flooded her veins in a hot rush.

Then the door of the house opened and Groovy galloped into the yard. She spotted Gretel and Zander and hurtled toward them with her tongue lolling.

Gretel found herself in a controlled slide toward the ground. Zander held her steady as her boots touched the snow. Good thing, because as soon as Groovy reached them, she began running tight little circles around the two of them.

“No, Groovy! You’d better not knock over my new sled!” Gretel cried and rushed to secure her load.

Too late. Curious about the new object, Groovy bumped against the Flame Runner, sniffing and pushing, and somehow got it sliding toward the snowbank.

And once again, there went half her firewood.

First she groaned, but then she had to laugh. Zander was laughing too, as he skied toward the fallen sled.

“You grab Groovy while I get the wood,” he called.

“Groovy! Come here, you wild thing.” When she finally got a hand on her collar, she saw that Zander was already herringboning up the bank, sled in tow.

That took strength. So did holding her in his arms, entirely off the ground, for the eternity it had taken for them to almost kiss.

That almost-kiss was going to haunt her, she could tell already.

“I have bad sled karma, that’s all there is to it,” she said cheerfully as he skied to her side. She took the tether from him and headed for the house.

“I was actually going to see if you wanted to try the sled out on Wolf Pack Hill.”

“Wolf Pack…is that safe?”

He smiled. “It’s the best sledding hill around. It’s supposed to warm up a bit, should be perfect sledding weather.”

She hesitated. Was this a … date? How would she feel about it if it was a date? “It sounds fun, but I have to check my schedule at the Wicked Brew.”

His face shuttered a bit. “Okay. Let us know. Petey in particular is hoping you’ll come.”

Ah. So it wasn’t a date. It was a Ross family outing.

“Tell Eli too. I don’t know if the twins are ready for Wolf Pack Hill, but everyone’s invited.”

And not just a Ross family outing, but the Noonans too. It was for the best. Safer that way.

A gust of wind whirled past her and she shivered. “Let’s plan on it. I’ll bring the hot cocoa. Employee perk from the Wicked Brew. Thanks again for this miraculous magic carpet, Zander!”

She hurried back to the house, the sled in tow, Groovy capering at her heels, a tingling sensation still coursing through her. She assumed it was from the cold, but even later, after she’d warmed up by the fire, it hadn’t left her. Those tingles were entirely Zander Ross-inspired. Damn it.

CHAPTER TEN

Zander loved all winter sports, from hockey to skiing—he even played with the Lost Harbor Puffins when he had time. He didn’t really consider sledding to be a sport. It was a little-kid thing, a way to have fun in the snow, like building a snowman or making snow angels.

But sledding with Gretel Morrison was a completely different kind of experience. She had a way of making everything more fun. With her bright smile and playful lighthearted spirit, she had all the kids laughing and vying for the right to climb into her sled on the first run.

Wolf Pack Hill was perfect for sledding not only because it was long, with the optimal degree of steepness. But also because it was safe; it had been cleared for pastureland at some point, and no trees had ever grown back. There was no possible way for anyone to get hurt sledding Wolf Pack.

At the top of the hill, someone had installed a platform made from four by fours, with a burn barrel mounted on it. On good sledding days, when it wasn’t too cold and there was a good layer of snow, people often gathered here with firewood and thermoses. Someone would start a fire in the burn barrel and the adults would gather around catching up on the news while the kids hurtled down the hill, then slogged back up towing their sleds.

But today, they had the hill to themselves, except for a couple in ski gear enjoying the view. Earl got a fire going in the barrel while Abby nursed the baby in the warm car. Zander unloaded all the sleds he’d brought along; they had a huge collection that they’d gathered over the years, from circular pieces of foam to kick sleds that you could ride upright.

Jason went right for the fastest one and raced to his favorite launch spot on the steeper side of the hill. He went airborne, on his belly, howling like a wolf.

Gretel gasped as she watched him fly through the air. “He knows what he’s doing, right?”

“If there’s snow involved, he knows what he’s doing,” Zander told her. Ever since she’d gotten out of the Noonans’ Tahoe, in her fluffy pink hat and silver insulated jacket, his heart had been doing odd things. Sudden lurches of joy alternating with quiet moments of trying-to-be-reasonable.

“Someone’s waving at you,” Gretel told him, gesturing toward the couple in ski gear.

Recognizing them, he waved back. “That’s Doug and Sandy Stern, the ski coaches at the high school.”

“Married ski coaches?”

“Yup. Stern and Sterner, that’s what the players call them. He was an alternate at the Olympics once. She was a champion biathlete. They’re the reason why Lost Harbor High has such a great ski team.”

“So they might be Jason’s coaches? Maybe I should butter them up with some hot chocolate.” She held up the giant thermos she’d brought.

“They’re going to be his coaches. I got an email from them basically guaranteeing Jason a spot. They said he’s ‘surpassed all their expectations’ and they invited him to practice with the team for the rest of the school year.”

“Wow. Jason must be so psyched about that.”

“He’s already planning his cross training regime for the summer. They actually want him to work out with the team before school, but—”

He broke off, because something had just occurred to him. When he’d emailed back, he’d explained that Jason would only be available for afterschool sessions. Early mornings were out of the question because of the drive and the carpool schedule.

The Sterns had pushed back on that, suggesting various options for transportation, even offering gas money. Although he’d been pretty offended by that, he’d kept it simple and answered, “When he’s on the team we can discuss it again. For now, that’s the most he can do.”

They’d dropped it with a gracious, “We understand.”

But it had been weird.

He looked over at the coaches again and saw that Jason was jogging over the snow toward them, looking eager and excited. The way he only looked while skiing.

He sorted through everything he knew about the Sterns, which wasn’t much. They were a dynamic couple with a big fancy house close to town where they threw fundraising parties for the ski team. They were a hundred percent focused on skiing. They had plenty of money, lots of connections in Lost Harbor and beyond. They had no children of their own, but they often took in ski students and foreign exchange students.

Was the “other option” Susan Baker had referred to … them? Or was he just being paranoid?

“Zander!” Gretel nudged him with her elbow. “You look like you just saw a ghost. Is everything okay?”

“I—” he shook it off. “Yeah, fine.”

The ski coaches couldn’t just take Jason away, could they? They were a family. They needed to stay together.

“I need to make a quick phone call,” he told Gretel. He had to get to the bottom of this or he wouldn’t have any fun sledding.

He stepped away from Gretel just as another car pulled over at the top of the hill. He waved at Lucas Holt and his fiancée, Megan Miller, along with her eight-year-old, Ruby. Ruby went racing ahead while Lucas and Megan unloaded their sleds. A perfect nuclear family with a twist—Ruby’s father lived in California and sometimes Ruby flew down there for advanced math tutoring.

No one would try to take Ruby away from Megan and Lucas. Zander knew that Megan and Dev, Ruby’s father, had run into some custody issues—how much time Ruby would spend with each parent, and where. But they’d worked it out and now Megan, Lucas and Ruby had a beautiful little family.

He dialed the number Susan Baker had left with him. All he got was a voicemail.

“Hi, this is Zander Ross and I’m calling with an urgent question. Please call me back. If someone is trying to—if there’s a threat to—sorry, I just need to know what’s going on. Please call me back. I have a right to know.”

When he ended the call, he swung around and surveyed the scene of happy kids gliding down the snow, shouting and laughing. Stern and Sterner were gone.

Where was Jason? He panicked when he couldn’t locate him. Then his brother’s curly brown head popped up from the bottom of the hill, way past the point at which they usually stopped. He was making his way up the long hill with his sled held over his head. It was probably an extra workout he’d devised—climb the hill without using his hands.

The kid was crazy.

The panic faded and the world tilted back to normal. Jason wasn’t going anywhere. Their family needed to stay exactly the way it was. Losing one brother was not an option.

Gretel and Petey were flying down the hill in the sled he’d restored for her. Gretel sat in back, with Petey between her legs, which meant that she had the controls.

They spotted Jason and aimed toward him, shouting something he couldn’t make out. It looked as if Petey was leaning to the right to make the turn happen. As they passed Jason, he jettisoned his own sled and jumped on behind Gretel.

Everyone shrieked and the toboggan tilted on one runner and they all went tumbling into the snow in a laughing pile.

Not proper sledding protocol.

But what the hell, everyone was fine and Zander was tired of being the prison warden.

He grabbed a round foam sled—those things could really move—and jumped onto it in a kneeling position. Using a paddling motion of his hands to gain speed, he raced down the hill in their direction. The three of them were trying to untangle themselves, but every time one of them got free, someone else would tug them back down into the snow.

Petey was gathering up snowballs and winging them every which way—at Gretel, at Earl zooming past with the toddlers, at the sky. Jason was still trying to get the snow out of his face but he was laughing too hard to manage it. Gretel spotted Zander first.

“Watch out, boys, here comes trouble!” she shouted. “Get those snowballs ready.”

“He’s probably gonna be mad,” Zander heard Jason say as he careened toward them on his spinning perch.

“Watch out!” Zander shouted as he shifted his weight on the sled. Timing it perfectly, he made a rooster tail of snow spurt from under the sled—right onto Gretel and his brothers. They all tumbled back into the snow, bright splashes of winter coats against the white.

“It’s on!” Jason howled.

Exhilarated, Zander kept going. He let fly a long whoop of pure joy at the speed and the wind against his face and the snow whirling around him.

When he finally spun to a stop, he glanced up the hill and saw Gretel standing up, legs braced apart, brandishing a fist at him.

“You’re going down, Zander Ross!”

After that came chaos. They turned the sled on its side and used it as a shield while they pelted him with snowballs every time he tried to come up the hill. But then Ruby felt sorry for him and joined his cause, using herself as a human shield while he crawled behind her.

“Double fudge sundae, what do you say, Ruby?”

“You don’t have to pay me in dessert. I fight injustice wherever I see it.” Her dark eyes shone down at him over her widespread arms.

“Lucky for me.”

But even Ruby could only do so much, and when they reached the sled his brothers gave a war cry and attacked with armfuls of snowballs, while Gretel whirled Ruby out of the way.