Wicked in Winter

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

“Is she okay out there?” At the window, Abby Noonan, holding her newborn in a sling that kept the baby above the level of her incision, rocked from one stockinged foot to another. Their dog, a rambunctious mutt named Groovy, snoozed by the woodstove.

“So she says.” Zander stayed in the arctic entry so he didn’t have to take off his snow boots. “Believe me, I tried. She doesn’t want help. My help, anyway. I don’t think she likes me much.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. She likes you just fine.”

Zander grunted. He completely disagreed with that assessment. But it didn’t matter anyway. He gave Gretel another month, at the most. A girl like her, so beautiful, so coddled, so magnetic, could go anywhere she wanted. Why would she choose to be here, twelve miles outside of Lost Harbor, at the end of the road that hugged Misty Bay, a seven-hour winter drive from anything resembling a city?

“I think she’s talking to herself again,” said Abby, peering out the triple-paned glass.

“Not exactly. She might be talking to the sled.”

Abby laughed, then halted the sound. “Can’t laugh yet. Stitches. It’s kind of a problem because Gretel is really very funny.”

“That is one way to describe her,” Zander said as diplomatically as he could. He still didn’t understand how Gretel had ended up here. He might never understand.

Again, not that it mattered. He had enough other things to worry about. “I’m headed into town, need anything?”

“Did the kids unplug the phone again? Damn it. I’d yell at them but they’re napping and I need those nap times more than oxygen. Did you hear that they might put another cell tower up and we might actually get real service out here?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Right? Anyway, sorry to make you ski all the way over here.”

“It was no problem,” he assured her. “It gave me a chance to set the trail.” Several times each winter, he had to set down new tracks for skiing between their properties. His brother Jason didn’t know it, but he was about to get assigned that task. Jason was thirteen now and a ski nut, so why not?

“Well, let me think.” Abby adjusted the hand-woven sling and glanced toward her kitchen. She and Earl had a passion for living off the land. They fished, hunted, canned vegetables from their summer gardens, picked berries in the fall, made jam, knitted their own sweaters. For a few years they’d made it all work, but once they’d reached three kids, Earl had taken a job on the North Slope to earn extra income. Two weeks away, two weeks helping Abby with the kids and doing what he could around the property.

Even though Zander had his hands full with Jason and Petey, he’d gotten in the habit of stopping by to see if Abby and her kids needed anything. This close to the edge of the wild, people had to stick together.

“We can always use more milk. But make sure it’s the hormone-free kind. Some toilet paper. The biggest case you can find. Unsalted butter. And Gretel has a thing for those shelled pistachios, so can you grab a bag of those?”

“Pistachios? Really?”

“Hey.” She frowned at him. “Anything to keep her here, you hear me? She can have pistachios day and night. Actually, get some pistachio ice cream too. Anything in the entire store that has pistachios in it. If that girl leaves me, I can’t be held responsible for my mental breakdown.”

Zander shook his head as he made a note in his phone. “Is she really that helpful? Has she made it back with the firewood yet?”

Abby glanced out the window. “She’s getting there. And you really need to open your eyes, kid. Considering she was raised with a silver spoon, she’s doing pretty well. Imagine if you were plopped into a situation that was completely new and strange and zero degrees on top of that? Think you’d do half as well?”

Zander gave her a hard stare, until she blinked in recognition.

“Right. You did that when your parents died. Sorry.”

He shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it.

“The main point is, all my babies love her and she’s great with them. So be nice to her. You don’t have to be all grumpy-pants around her. And get her the damn pistachios.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The baby was stirring, so he made his escape.

On his way out of the arctic entry, which was lined with coatracks holding winter gear from toddler size to adult, he passed Gretel. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and she held a full armload of firewood. She lifted her chin as they squeezed past each other. The scent of fresh snow and lavender swirled around her—along with a touch of spruce pitch. Carrying the firewood like that, she was going to get it all over her coat and that s**t never came off.

But she didn’t want advice from him.

“Zander,” she said, with a formal nod.

“Gretel,” he responded. He liked how her name felt in his mouth—like the sugar glass his mother used to make.

“Let the games begin.”

“Make it so.”

Her eyelids fluttered. God, those eyes—they were flat-out dazzling. Sparkling aqua, like sunlight on a tropical sea.

“I’ll see you in court,” she added.

He forgot about her eyes and frowned down at her. “In court?”

“Sorry. I like having the last word. Learn it, live with it.” She pushed open the door that separated the arctic entry from the rest of the house and disappeared inside.

He shook his head and stepped outside, where his skis were propped next to the door. Spoiled princess, that girl. And there was no frickin’ way she’d last through the winter.

Too bad—she definitely brightened things up around here. Oh well. He shrugged and snapped on his skis. She was a short-timer. Learn it, live with it.