Alaskan Sanctuary. Teri Wilson

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      “My field notes.” She held the book tighter to her chest. “A written record of the daily behavior patterns of my subject. In this case, the wolves.”

      “I know what a field notebook is. Does that surprise you?” He planted his hands on his hips, and Piper vowed not to look at his arms again.

      Half a second later, her gaze zeroed in on his forearms. She cleared her throat. “Actually, it does surprise me. Quite a bit.”

      “May I have a look?” he asked, gesturing to her notebook.

      “Certainly.” She offered it to him. Maybe if he realized how seriously she took her work with the wolves, he’d relent and give her at least an ounce of respect.

      He flipped through the pages and glanced up only when he’d reached the end. “Impressive.”

      “Thank you.” Heat rose to her cheeks. One kind word from Ethan Hale, wolf hater extraordinaire, and she was blushing like a schoolgirl. She’d never hated herself more in her entire life.

      “Is this part of your paperwork for the NNC grant?”

      “Yes, it is.” How in the world could he possibly know that? Why would he be familiar with NNC grant requirements?

      “I see,” he said, cryptic as always. Good grief, he could be annoying.

      She held out her hand. “Now give it back, please. I have a tour to conduct, and you have work to do.”

      Field notes back in hand, she turned, stomped through the snow toward the wheelbarrow that was propped beside the log cabin, and wheeled it back toward him to park it at his immaculate feet.

      He eyed it with trepidation. “What’s this?”

      “It’s your first assignment.” She smiled. She was enjoying herself. Too much, probably. But she couldn’t help it. “I’d like you to clean up Tundra’s enclosure. The pitchfork is leaning against the fence. And don’t worry. I’ve relocated her to a different pen for the time being so you can move about without fear of being eaten alive.”

      A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You want me to clean a wolf pen.”

      “No.” She shook her head. “I want you to clean all the wolf pens.”

      Ethan narrowed his gaze and released a controlled breath. “All of them?”

      “They’re not going to clean themselves, are they?” She was fully aware he would write about this. And she didn’t care. Anyone who’d read his less-than-flattering portrayal of her life’s work would understand. “Start with Tundra’s enclosure. Just remove the dirty straw and replace it with fresh. New bales are piled behind the cabin. Your main job is to remove all of the soiled material.”

      “Soiled material,” he repeated. He didn’t sound the least bit amused anymore. In fact, he sounded angry.

      Good.

      “I’m referring to animal waste.” She smiled sweetly.

      He glared at her. Hard. “Believe me. I know exactly what you’re referring to, Piper.”

      “Excellent. I’m so glad we understand one another.” Since we’re going to be spending so much time together...

      The flicker in his gaze told her that he was thinking about the same thing she was—hours, days, weeks in one another’s company. She already felt distinctly ill at ease after little more than three minutes.

      “Piper...” His voice grew soft, almost tender.

      If she listened closely, she could almost hear an unspoken apology. Almost.

      She wanted to tell him not to bother. It was too little, too late. The damage had been done. Words had created this mess. Words could fix it...maybe...but those words were going to have to be addressed to a bigger audience.

      Besides, she didn’t like hearing him say her name like that, as if he knew her. As if he cared. It was confusing. And she’d had more than enough confusion in her life.

      “I think it’s best that you go back to calling me Ms. Quinn, since you’re working here now.” Maybe she was pouring it on a little thick. Then again, maybe not.

      Ethan’s gaze hardened. “Is that what the kid calls you?” He jerked his head toward Caleb, who was busy filling water buckets. “He works here, too, doesn’t he?”

      Ethan sounded almost jealous, which was just plain ludicrous. Almost as ludicrous as the way his potential jealousy made her feel all warm inside, despite the snow flurries enveloping them both.

      She squared her shoulders. “Caleb calls me Piper. And yes, he works here. But he’s also managed to refrain from slandering me to the greater Alaskan population.”

      She glanced down at the wheelbarrow, then at Ethan’s shiny new boots. Footwear that would likely be unrecognizable by the end of the day. He’d probably also acquire a blister or two. Such a pity.

      She beamed up at him. “Enjoy yourself. I have a tour to give.”

      * * *

      Ethan stood seething as Piper strode through the snow toward a small group that had assembled by the log cabin headquarters while they’d been exchanging pleasantries. Not that their interaction had been entirely pleasant. Or pleasant at all, for that matter.

      He wasn’t an idiot. He’d expected Piper to be angry. Just not quite this angry.

      He had a diary entry to write at the end of the day. No, not a diary entry. A newspaper article. For all practical purposes, she’d just demanded that he spend the afternoon cleaning a thirty-five-acre litter box. If she thought he wouldn’t write about this, she was fooling herself. How exactly did she expect to gain the respect of his readership when she was behaving this way?

      More importantly, how was he supposed to write eight hundred words about such a repugnant task?

      Ethan pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. He’d been nursing a headache since the moment Lou had dumped this crazy assignment on him. Ethan was embedded all right. And now that he’d arrived in enemy territory, the pounding behind his eyes had intensified tenfold.

      He huffed out a breath. He needed to forget about trying to write something riveting about cleaning up wolf pens. He just needed to report the sloppy truth. And he really needed to stop worrying about how that truth would make Piper look. Let her shoot herself in the foot. At least her public humiliation wouldn’t be his fault. This time.

      He grabbed the handles of the wheelbarrow and aimed it in the direction of the enclosure. The first gate to the pen stood propped open with a pitchfork. Ethan took it, gripping the handle a little too tightly as he unlatched the second gate and stepped inside. His gaze swept the snow-covered ground, the pale bark of the aspen trees and the silver slate rocks that punctuated the landscape. So much white.

      The memory of Tundra’s snowy coat crept into his consciousness. His throat grew tight, and he searched the area for a glimpse of lupine copper eyes. Just in case.

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