Beth Carpenter - Alaskan Hideaway

She met his eyes and paused, just long enough for him to wonder if she’d read his mind, before she gave a gentle smile. “My father was a mailman and my mother taught school. After I graduated from high school, I worked in the office for an oil company, where I happened to fall in love with a certain roughneck. Tommy believed Alaska was the land of opportunity. So we got married, packed up a truck and headed to Alaska.”

“And was it? The land of opportunity?”

“It was for us. We had a wonderful life here.” She rubbed the bare ring finger of her left hand. “I scattered Tommy’s ashes on Flattop. That’s what he wanted.” Suddenly she smiled. “Look at that.” She inclined her head toward the dog.

Mac turned. The cat had come down from the cabinet and was gingerly touching noses with the pit bull, who thumped her tail against the floor. After a moment, the cat rubbed against the big dog’s face and then curled up against her. The dog seemed fine with that.

Ursula chuckled. “That’s quite a ferocious beast you have there. What’s her name?” She took a sip from her cup.

Mac glanced down at his plate. “Blossom.”

Ursula snorted and almost choked on her coffee. Once she quit coughing, she grinned at him. “Blossom? Really?”

Mac shook his head. “I know. My daughter adopted her as a puppy. Andi happened to be volunteering at the shelter when they brought in this half-grown pit bull. She’d been starved and beaten, but Andi was convinced with love and care she’d blossom into a great dog. She was right.”

“She certainly was. Blossom is the perfect name for her. Where’s your daughter now?”

Mac kept his gaze on the dog. “She’s dead.” It was the first time he’d ever said it aloud to someone who didn’t know the story. His daughter was gone. Forever.

Ursula laid her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m so sorry.”

Mac nodded, unable to speak. That familiar wave of grief washed over him, but in a way it was a relief, to acknowledge what he’d lost. For some reason it was easier with Ursula, maybe because she didn’t know him, didn’t know the story, had no preconceived ideas. She didn’t rush in with some platitude or awkwardly edge away as though grief was contagious. She simply accepted what he told her.

Ursula looked over at Blossom, snoozing on the rug with a cat under her chin. “Your daughter must have been a gentle person, to raise such a gentle pit bull.”

“She was.” Mac swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering. “She was too gentle for her own good sometimes. Always saw the best in people, even when they didn’t deserve it.”

“If everyone could be like your daughter, the world would be a better place.”

“Yes it would.” If only there were no predators, no evil. But they were there, preying on the innocent, and it was her very goodness that had cost Andi her life. Her murderer had disappeared, but eventually they would find him and he’d go to prison for the rest of his sorry life. Mac would make sure of it.

But today—today he could talk about the daughter he loved. He told Ursula stories, about Andi as a girl, giving away her school supplies to other kids. About how she would make him chicken soup when he had a cold. About how she’d volunteered at the animal shelter, and done every walkathon and fund-raiser that came along. “When she was seventeen, she spent two weeks with a team in Peru, building a new dormitory for an orphanage.”

“Wow. How did she learn about building?”

“We’d both done some weekend work building houses locally. Andi was pretty handy with a nail gun. I was all set to go, too, but she wanted to do it without me.”

“Brave girl. At seventeen, I’d never been more than a state away from Wyoming. Didn’t her mother worry?”

Mac shook his head. “Her mother died when she was a baby. I worried. But Andi was fine.”

“She sounds like a special person.”

Mac sighed. “She was.”

Ursula refilled his cup. Mac realized he’d monopolized the conversation but she didn’t seem to mind. On the wall behind her, a calendar featured a picture of the inn. An emerald green mountain rose behind it. The setting was spectacular, summer or winter. He could see why people wanted to stay here. “How many rooms do you have in your inn?”

“Six. Besides my private quarters.” She nodded toward the back door leading from the kitchen.

“You run it by yourself?”

“I have a housekeeper three times a week. I do the rest.”

“Sounds like a big job.”

“It is, but I love it. I’ve been running the inn for about six years now.”

The back door opened and a blond girl about seven or eight peeked through the crack. Ursula smiled at her and held out her arms. The girl ran over and climbed into her lap.

Ursula stroked her hair from her forehead. “You’re up early. Did we wake you?”

The girl gave a sleepy nod. An ache formed in Mac’s chest. She didn’t look much like his daughter. Andi had brown hair and eyes, while this girl was fair, but the way she cuddled against Ursula while watching him through her lashes brought back memories.

“Sorry, sweetie. Mac, I’d like you to meet my goddaughter, Aurora Houston. Rory, this is our new neighbor, Mr. Macleod.”

“You can call me Mac.”

The little girl watched him for a moment before her eyes opened wide. “You’re the old grouch who blocked the ski trails.”

“Rory, you shouldn’t say—”

“But that’s what you said. That the old grouch wouldn’t open the gate and we have to go all the way over to Marge’s to ski.”

“No. I, uh...” Ursula’s cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink. Who knew women still blushed? It was all Mac could do to keep a straight face. “That is, yes, I did say that but it was wrong. I was frustrated, but Mac has every right to decide how to manage his property, and I apologize to you both for what I said. Besides, he needs to keep the gates closed to keep the dog in.” She pointed toward Blossom.

“A dog!” Rory scrambled off her lap and dropped onto the rug beside the dog and cat.

Mac had to smile. Andi would have had exactly the same reaction. “Her name is Blossom.”

She stroked the dog’s head, and Blossom thumped her tail. Rory looked up. “Look Ursula, she’s really nice. She must have just been having a bad day when she saw us before.”

“I think it was the ski poles. She’s afraid of them.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Mac had forgotten. “My housekeeper mentioned she always has to put the dog out before she sweeps because Blossom doesn’t like the broom.”

“Why doesn’t she like poles?” Rory asked.

“I’m not sure,” Mac responded, “but I suspect someone was mean to her when she was a puppy and might have hurt her with a stick. It’s funny, because she doesn’t seem to mind if I carry sticks and poles.”

“That’s because she knows she can trust you.” Ursula smiled at him. “And I do apologize for calling you an old grouch.”

She’d only spoken the truth, but she was obviously trying to set an example for her goddaughter. “Apology accepted.”

Ursula glanced at the clock. “Oops, time flies. Rory, you need to get dressed for school while I get your breakfast ready.”

“But I want to pet Blossom.”