Wicked in Winter Read online

  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 her and his 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 fe
lt.

  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.”