Wicked Naughty Love

Chapter 3

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 s**t, why not take the job?

Once again, he thought about Gretel. She came from a rich family. Word around town was that both Gretel and her 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 felt.

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.”

He smiled at the thought of submitting a Bush Line praising Gretel Morrison. “When pigs fly, Niko. That ain’t happening.”

Niko had nothing to say.

The bus pulled up a few minutes later. It was already mostly empty, since their stop was the last on the route.

Jason, Petey, Chloeann and Eli came spilling out in a flurry of parkas and backpacks. The driver gave Zander a salute, performed a complicated five-point turn, and steered the bus toward town. It made a splash of yellow against the backdrop of snowy peaks across the bay.

The Suburban filled up with kids and chatter.

“I need new ski poles, I snapped one of mine in half,” Jason announced. “On accident,” he added quickly.

“I’m going to need a complete incident report,” said Zander. “Filed in triplicate.”

“Can Petey come over to play?” asked Eli hopefully from the passenger seat. “We got a new trampoline.”

“After his chores and depending on his homework.”

Zander glanced at Petey in the rearview mirror. He was listening to Chloeann whisper something in his ear and had missed the request from Eli. Being three years older than Eli, he wasn’t always interested in playing with him.

“A trampoline, huh? When did that happen?”

“Gretel got it. It’s a little one and it’s only in my room and I’m the only one allowed to jump on it. Except her, since she got it for me. And Petey if he comes over.”

Gretel got him a trampoline? Interesting. It made sense because Eli had a lot of energy to burn off, especially in the winter. And he would love having something that was just for him, since the twin toddlers got so much attention.

It was thoughtful.

Another surprise from the pretty girl next door.

“What if I come over? Can I try it?”

Eli shot him a dubious glance. “You might break it. No way.”

Zander hid a laugh. That was the thing about this whole surrogate parenting gig. The kids could really crack you up. Especially the ones you weren’t directly responsible for.

“Moose!” shouted Chloeann, pointing to the trees off the road. He located it—a spindly-legged youngster who swung his big head toward them and watched as they passed.

“Thanks for watching my six,” he told Chloeann.

“What?”

Jason rolled his eyes. “He means thanks for watching his back. That’s how they say it in the military. Like how he always says that he’ll pick us up at sixteen-thirty. Sixteen is four o’clock in normal people language.”

“But why does six mean the same thing as your back?”

“Imagine a clock face, and you’re looking toward the twelve. The six is at your back.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s by my feet.”

Zander laughed along with the other kids. She had a point, he couldn’t deny that.

Petey spoke up for the first time. “Zander, can I go to Chloeann’s and do homework?”

“Sorry, kid. You have chores to do.”

Storm clouds gathered on Petey’s face. “I always have chores. Life doesn’t stop because of chores. I’m not your prisoner.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. If you finish your chores quickly, I’ll drive you over to Chloeann’s.”

Petey subsided, though he still looked furious. Too bad—Zander took chores seriously, because if he didn’t, no one else would, that was for sure.

Just wait until Petey heard about the red dot on the chart.

They reached the mailbox that marked the end of Chloeann’s driveway. Zander pulled over and let her out. Out of habit, he watched her until she was safely at the door of her house.

“Come on, Z,” said Jason impatiently. “I’m already behind on my miles.”

Jason had set himself a goal of skiing twenty-five miles a week. That was a lot, but Zander approved of the goal-setting part.

He wasn’t so sure about the nickname.

“Since when do you call me Z?”

“Out loud? Just since today.”

Zander hid another laugh. These kids. They truly cracked him up. “Well, I’m not sure I like it.”

“There’s no rule about nicknames. Petey, is there a rule about nicknames?”

“Prisoners have numbers, not nicknames,” Petey said morosely.

“Good God, how’d I turn into a prison warden named Z? Sounds like a character in a movie.”

That lightened up the mood, and they spent the rest of the drive tossing out ideas for this hypothetical movie. The prison warden was also a bandit who went only by the letter Z. He jailed people by day, robbed people by night. He had an accomplice known only as X, who was a master swordsman, while Z specialized in archery.

“What about Y?” Zander asked.

“Y is their nemesis, he wants to kill everyone. Why, Y? Why?” Petey clutched his hands at his heart. The kid was such a natural when it came to drama.

When they dropped off Eli at the Noonans’ place, Zander got out to hand him the box of groceries. “Is that too much for you to carry? Want me to bring it in?”

“Course not. Jeez.” The boy shifted the box in his grip as he peered inside. “Pistachios?”

“They’re for Gretel. Hey, can you pass on a message to her?”

Eli nodded. His hat had gotten displaced during his exit from the van; Zander reached out and adjusted it for him.

“Tell her pistachios grow best in warm climates. Can you remember that?”

“Pistachios grow best in warm climates,” Eli repeated obediently, with little puffs of breath accenting every word.

“Good. Thanks, dude. And hey—Petey will come over and jump on your trampoline soon, okay?”

Eli nodded and marched toward the house with his bulky load.

On his way back to the driver’s seat, Zander noticed a piece of firewood in the culvert by the driveway. It must have rolled out of Gretel’s sight when the sled spilled over.

Should he pick it up despite all her instructions about not helping her?

Screw that. Firewood was valuable. And she didn’t even know it was there.

Quickly, he snatched it up and whisked it into the woodshed, then hurried back to the van.

“Why were you running?” Jason frowned at him from the backseat, where he was slouching with his iPhone. Service was very spotty in their area, but there were a few hot spots. The Noonans’ driveway occasionally got one bar.

“Exercise.” He didn’t feel like explaining anything related to Gretel. Maybe because he couldn’t really explain it to himself. Why did he think about her as much as he did?

Well, there was the obvious explanation—she was new around here.

And so beautiful.

And fun to talk to.

When she wasn’t actively trying to piss him off.

He took one last lingering look around the property, but she was nowhere to be seen. No flash of hair with magenta streaks or tasseled snow boots or sparkling blue-lagoon eyes.

He slowly backed out of the driveway. With his head turned to look behind him, he caught sight of a figure in the woods. Someone small, wearing a snowsuit, using snowshoes to wend their way through the woods. He couldn’t really get a good look, so he checked the rearview mirror, angling it to get a better view.

It was Gretel.

If he had to guess, this was her first time on snowshoes. She was exaggerating each step, making sure she didn’t catch the snowshoe on any stray brush. She wasn’t looking where she was going, at all. The contraptions on her feet drew all her attention.

The hood of her parka had blown back and her hair clung to her face. She must be sweating. Her vivid magenta streaks glinted in the dappled sun coming through the branches.

“Z!”

He snapped back to attention. Jesus, he’d nearly driven off the edge into the culvert. He’d completely forgotten that he was even driving.

He maneuvered the van back into the proper direction and continued reversing down the driveway.

When they passed Gretel, she waved. He pretended that he’d just spotted her and waved back. Then he winced as she tripped on a spruce branch and tumbled into a snowbank.

As soon as they reached the road, Jason burst out laughing. “You like Gretel.”

“What?”

“You were watching her. I saw you. You nearly crashed into a tree. That’s how much you like her.”

“I didn’t nearly crash. And I like her okay.” He reached the road and made a sharp swerve to head for home.

“I’m going to tell Eli.”

“Tell what?”

“That you nearly crashed the van because you were looking at her like this.” Jason widened his eyes as big as they could get and stuck out his tongue like a panting dog.

“The hell you are.”

“Is there a rule against talking to Eli now?”

Of course there wasn’t. Try as he might, Zander couldn’t think of any of their rules that applied to this situation. “Insubordination and disrespecting your superior officer?”

“Nice try.”

“Tell you what. I’ll take care of dinner tonight. That’s on your chart. You can go ski.”

“Buying my silence?”

“Want it or not?”

“Yes,” Jason said quickly.

A moment later they pulled up outside their house. Jason was already halfway out the door when Zander remembered the letter from the Office of Children’s Services. Jason was old enough now for Zander to run stuff like this by him.

“Wait.”

His younger brother sat back down and closed the door, but kept hold of the handle. “What now?”

“I got a letter about another home visit from a new caseworker. They usually only do that if there’s a problem. Is there anything I should know about?”

Jason’s eyebrows drew together. Just recently his voice had changed and his face had grown more bony. He too had their mother’s hazel eyes and dark hair, just like Zander did.

Sometimes it hurt to see the resemblance.

“What do you mean?”

“Grades are good? No trips to the principal’s office I didn’t hear about?”

“No.”

“Arrests? Drugs? Alcohol?” Zander was mostly joking about that, but it was worth throwing out there.

“Yuck, no. Dude, I’d never make the ski team if I did that s**t. Can I go now?”

“So there’s nothing?”

Something crossed Jason’s face—maybe guilt? “Why don’t you ask the caseworker why they’re coming?”

Okay, well, that was a good suggestion. But he didn’t want to look like he was scared of the caseworker.

Jason opened the door and made his escape, sending a swirl of cold air into the van.

Zander put the letter and the rest of the mail onto his box of groceries and hurried inside, Niko at his heels. Jason was already racing to his bedroom, stripping off his school clothes as he ran. Zander had gotten him a winter ski suit for Christmas. It was Jason’s favorite possession in the world, second only to his skis.

“Can I borrow your ski poles?” he asked as he came racing back out.

“Yup. No pole-vaulting with them, though.”

Jason came screeching to a halt. “How did you know?”

Zander burst out laughing. “Damn, I’m good, aren’t I?”

“Did someone tell you?”

“No one told me. I’m just that good. Remember that the next time you think of some dumbass stunt like that.”

Looking spooked, Jason loped out of the house. Zander chuckled to himself as he unpacked the box of groceries.

He’d broken two ski poles that same way when he was in high school. Why did kids always think they’d invented their stupid s**t? Someone else had always done it first—and probably worse.

He stuck the letter from Children’s Services on the pile of “important things he needed to deal with and better not forget about.”

Before this new caseworker, Susan Baker, showed up, he had to find out what was going on. Because he knew his little brother well enough to know that he was hiding something.