“A large Gold Rush blend. Black, please,” Ethan said. “Thanks.”
“Sure thing.” The barista smiled again. Either Ethan was imagining things or Sam seemed more outwardly cheerful than usual.
“So everyone in Aurora is talking about your article. You know...the one about the wolves.” Sam eyed him over the top of the espresso machine.
The one about the wolves. It had to be that one? Couldn’t they talk about the piece he’d written about the upcoming city elections or the one about Arctic ice melt season?
“Is that right?” Ethan shifted on his bar stool.
He shouldn’t feel uncomfortable about what he’d written. He absolutely shouldn’t. He’d been doing his job. That was all. His extensive knowledge of Alaskan ecology and wildlife was one of the reasons he’d landed his job at the paper in the first place. They’d asked him to write an educated opinion on the wolf sanctuary, and he’d complied.
He’d done the right thing. The safe thing. The town would be better off without the wolves. So would Piper Quinn. She just didn’t know it.
“Oh, yes.” Sam let out a laugh. “Your article already caused quite a stir around here, and now this morning—”
Ethan’s cell phone rang, cutting the barista off.
It was just as well. Ethan may have had no reason to feel bad about what he’d written, but that didn’t mean he wanted to discuss it with Sam. Or with Tate, who’d left a few voice mails the day before.
Ethan couldn’t keep avoiding his closest friend. Tate probably wanted to make sure he was okay after losing his shoes to a wild animal. There had been an underlying note of concern in his voice in the messages he’d left.
That hint of worry was exactly why Ethan had been reluctant to return his calls. Couldn’t he leave the past dead and buried, where it belonged?
Dead.
Buried.
Ethan’s temples throbbed. He glanced at the display on his phone, expecting to see Tate’s name. It wasn’t. LOU MARSHALL. His editor. “Hello, Lou.”
“Ethan, I’m glad you picked up. I need you to get into the office early today.” He sounded urgent. Even more urgent than he usually did, which was extremely urgent. He was, after all, a newsman.
“How early?”
“As soon as you can get here. We need to talk about this wolf woman. Immediately. Just get here.”
The line went dead.
We need to talk about this wolf woman.
Super.
Ethan sighed. “Sam, I’m going to need that coffee to go.”
Half an hour later, after breaking as few traffic laws as possible, he plunked two cups of Gold Rush blend down on Lou Marshall’s desk and pushed one toward his boss. “Morning. You said we needed to talk?”
Lou took a gulp of coffee and nodded. “Yes. Have you seen the paper yet this morning?”
“No. I just got here.” He frowned at the copy of the Yukon Reporter early edition in Lou’s hands and remembered Sam’s line of questioning at the coffee bar. “Has there been a new development in the wolf story?”
“You could say that.” Lou tossed the newspaper at him.
Ethan caught it with one hand.
He died a thousand deaths in the handful of seconds it took for him to find the “development” that Lou had referred to. A thousand deaths in which he imagined every potential tragedy, every conceivable fatal accident that could have taken place. Escaped wolves. Wounded people.
Not her. God, please. Not her.
The hasty prayer caught him nearly as off guard as Piper’s letter to the editor on page three. Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he’d prayed. Actually, he could. It had been on a cold Denali night five years ago when the world had fallen apart. He’d screamed to the heavens that night as he’d tried in vain to put it back together, mistakenly believing that there was a God somewhere up there who listened. Who cared.
He stared at the letter, and the panic that had caught him in its grip morphed into irritation. Piper hadn’t been hurt. She was perfectly fine. So fine that she’d been busy writing a letter to his boss. And Lou had printed it in the paper.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Ethan muttered, scanning the contents as quickly as his gaze could move over the page, catching glimpses of words such as yellow journalism, unfair reporting and retraction.
Blood boiling, he wadded the paper into a ball and pitched it into the trash. Retraction? She wanted him to take his words back? Out of the question. “If you’ve called me in here to demand that I print a retraction, you’re wasting your breath. I won’t do it.”
“I wouldn’t dream of making such a demand.” A smile creased Lou’s face and he calmly raised his coffee cup to his mouth again.
Then what was Ethan doing here? He was almost afraid to ask.
As it turned out, he had reason to be afraid. “On the contrary, I want you to write whatever you like about Ms. Quinn and her wolves. Repeatedly. The paper is sold out all over the state. This wolf thing is moving papers faster than we can print them. I want you to keep writing about the wolves, provided you do so on location.”
Ethan froze while reaching for his coffee. “On location?”
“Yes. On location. I’ve already arranged everything. You’re to spend the next two weeks volunteering at the Aurora Wolf and Wildlife Center alongside Ms. Quinn. You’ll document the experience in a daily diary that will run on the front page of the Yukon Reporter.” Lou slung back the final dregs of his coffee. “It’s genius, don’t you think?”
Volunteer at the wolf sanctuary? For two weeks? With wolves?
With Piper?
Ethan had plenty of thoughts on the idea. Genius was nowhere on the list.
“No.” His temples throbbed harder. The notion of facing Piper after the things he’d written about her—not to mention the things that she’d written about him—was enough to give him an aneurysm. “Just...no.”
“You heard me say that your daily diary will run on the front page, right?” Lou waggled his eyebrows.
“Why? I’ve been asking you for a spot on the front page for months.” That was an understatement. He was certain it had been a regular topic of conversation for the better part of a year. “Why now? Why this?”
“Because the readers are eating it up.” Lou threw up his hands and laughed. “Since her response to your op-ed came out this morning, the phone hasn’t stopped ringing. People love it. You and Piper Quinn are all that anyone in Alaska can talk about.”
This cannot be happening. Ethan was supposed to write the article. Piper was supposed to close her doors, and that would be the end of it.
He should have known she wouldn’t give up this easily.
He breathed out a sigh. “But I don’t want people talking about Piper and me. Not in the same breath, anyway.”
“Too late. Just do a Google search of yourself. The first two screens are chock-full of results about the war of words between you and the wolf woman.”
A Google search? “No, thank you.”
Lou shrugged. “Suit yourself, but get packing. I’ve already made a reservation for you at the Northern Lights Inn. That way, you can spend as much time as possible on the property.”
At