Alaskan Hideaway. Beth Carpenter

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       CHAPTER THREE

      MAC ALMOST MADE it through the night, but early in the morning, the dreams came. He sat upright in bed, waiting for his heart rate to return to normal. No more sleep tonight. He fed the dog, did his push-ups and started a pot of coffee. The blue-and-white plate still resting in the drainer scratched at his conscience. He was well within his rights to refuse to sell his property or allow strangers to cut through it, but that plate bugged him. He could almost hear his mother sighing.

      You’d think one more feather on top of the load of guilt he was already carrying wouldn’t be noticeable, but it was. Fine. The rooster-shaped clock on the kitchen wall read five twenty-five. He could drop off the plate now and eat his breakfast with a clear conscience. Relatively.

      After dressing and bundling up in a down parka and wool hat, he grabbed the plate and set off. The dog scratched on the window and barked. He hesitated. This errand required stealth. “If I take you, will you be good?”

      Her body wiggled in agreement. He returned to rub some balm on her paws. He’d picked it up in Whitehorse when he’d noticed her feet seemed sore after playing in the snow, and it seemed to work well. He clipped a leash to her collar and set off once again. Surprisingly, he didn’t need his flashlight. Once his eyes adjusted, the moon reflecting off the snow provided plenty of light for him to make his way to the road and along to the Forget-me-not Inn sign.

      He followed the drive, flicking on his light when he reached the trees. After a few minutes, he came to a clearing. Moonlight illuminated a cedar building crowned with steep gables. A bench, small tables and several rocking chairs were scattered across the wide front porch. A snow shovel leaned against the wall.

      He’d just leave the plate on the bench beside the door. He commanded the dog to sit-stay and started for the porch. As he reached the second stair, the front door opened and Ursula stepped outside, shaking dust and gravel off a rug and all over him.

      â€œOh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Her voice was apologetic, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

      â€œNo problem.” Mac dusted his coat with his free hand. “I was just returning your plate.”

      â€œThat’s thoughtful, but you didn’t have to do that.” She smiled, and it was like a sudden flash of sunshine, warming him. Her silver-shot hair fluttered in the breeze. “Come on in.”

      â€œNo, I need to go.” He handed her the plate. “But I did want to thank you for the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious.”

      â€œI’m glad you enjoyed them.” She accepted the plate. “Seriously, come in for a cup of coffee. I just took a batch of blueberry muffins from the oven.”

      â€œI don’t think—”

      A squirrel scurried onto the porch and ran right up Ursula’s leg and body to sit on her shoulder. Ursula absentmindedly pulled an almond from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the squirrel, who accepted it and stuffed it into his cheek. “What if I promise not to mention gates or property?”

      Mac stared. “That’s a squirrel.”

      â€œWhat? Oh, yes. This is Frankie.”

      â€œYou have a pet squirrel?”

      She chuckled. “He’s not a pet, exactly. Frankie was orphaned, and I bottle-fed him until he was old enough to forage on his own. He stops by often to say hello.”

      The dog had been trying her best to stay as instructed, but seeing the squirrel was too much. She bounded onto the porch. The squirrel took a flying leap to the railing, dashed up СКАЧАТЬ