Forever Wild Page 4

  “It’s the right decision. I’ll call Agnes and give her the heads-up. She won’t mind. Mabel was whining that she wanted to stay out there, anyway.” Though that was before she learned that the Wi-Fi setup was delayed.

  “Thanks.” He nods slowly. “It caught me off guard. I didn’t think I’d have to start worrying about her health yet. She’s still so young.”

  “And it sounds like she has things under control.” I reach up to comb his freshly groomed beard with my fingertips. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah?” He sounds doubtful.

  “Yeah. Susan, Simon, Astrid, and Björn under one roof. What could go wrong?”

  He tips his head back with a groan. “Besides Björn calling Simon a quack?”

  “Besides that.” Björn doesn’t hide the fact that he thinks psychiatrists are fake doctors.

  “Maybe Björn can stay in the cabin by himself.”

  “Stop it.” I laugh as I stretch on tiptoes to kiss his lips.

  I ease my Jeep into the row of parked vehicles at the Trapper’s Crossing community center at twenty-five past ten, preparing myself for grief about my tardiness. Muriel doesn’t differentiate between paid positions and a person graciously volunteering their entire Saturday before Christmas. In her eyes, a job’s a job and you give it your all, no matter what.

  At least the sun is shining.

  Collecting my things—and my energy, because something tells me I’m going to be exhausted by the time I see the inside of this Jeep again—I hop out into the frigid day. A bang pulls my attention to the left, to the outdoor rink where a group of kids whip around the ice, hockey sticks in hand, practicing their shots on net.

  Marie strolls out the doors of the community center. Bonnie Hatchett is on her heels.

  My stomach twinges the way it always does when I first see the beautiful blonde veterinarian, though the reaction isn’t nearly as visceral as it used to be.

  “What do you mean? You saw him do this?” Marie asks.

  “Well … no.” Bonnie presses her thin lips together in a frown. “But we all know those dogs aren’t bein’ treated well. Who does he think he is, anyway? Showing up here, buying up all that land with no regard for anyone else.” Her tone bleeds with bitterness.

  “Just because you see him as direct competition to Harry’s business doesn’t mean you can throw around accusations of animal abuse,” Marie says gently. “Not unless you have proof.”

  “And what if we find proof? You’ll help us then, right?” Bonnie pushes.

  Marie’s sigh reveals her forced patience. “If you have proof, I’ll see what I can do. Look, I’ve got to go. I have appointments all afternoon.”

  Bonnie doesn’t seem to hear the reluctance in Marie’s voice because she nods vigorously and offers, “Thank you, Dr. Lehr. Thank you for your help.”

  Marie notices me approaching then and picks up speed to reach me.

  “What was that about?” I ask curiously.

  Marie barely stifles her groan. “Some young hotshot moved here a few months ago and bought up the Danson property, down the road from the Hatchetts’. Apparently, he’s breeding sled dogs.” She turns to watch the tiny, hunched woman climb into an old Dodge pickup. “Bonnie claims he’s abusing them.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  Marie shrugs. “Who knows? It happens. But Bonnie’s son also breeds sled dogs, and something tells me business hasn’t been good for him lately, so competition down the road is the last thing they need. Plus, this new guy won some big sled dog race wherever he’s from, and he’s signed up for the Iditarod.”

  “Didn’t her son win that this year?” It seems like everyone around here has a family member racing in the annual world-famous event.

  “He came in second. But he’s a favorite for the coming year.” Marie gives me a look. “Was a favorite. Now the new guy might throw a wrench into that.”

  I whistle. “The high-stakes drama of Alaska’s sled dog world.”

  “Right?” Marie laughs as she slips off a mitten to push strands of her long, silky blonde hair off her face. “And the Hatchetts are trying to drag me into the middle of this because they know I could never ignore hearing about an abused animal.” Even now, her jaw is taut with tension at the suggestion.

  “So, are you going to go over to this guy’s house to check it out?”

  She throws her arms in the air in resignation. “Yeah. Probably, knowing me.”

  I smile. My father once called Marie a crusader, flying from village to village, treating animals that otherwise wouldn’t receive care. At the time, she was just a friend of Jonah’s, and Jonah was still just the bullheaded yeti, determined to put me back on a plane for Toronto. But the moment I met the beautiful blonde veterinarian, I knew immediately that friends or not, she was in love with him. The problem was, by that point, I was falling hard for him, too.

  Since then, Marie and I have had our jealous ups and downs, all rooted in love for one man. While we’ll never be best friends, we’ve become so adept at this friendly dance around each other that even I’m beginning to think it could be genuine.

  I eye the double doors of Trapper’s Crossing community center, banked by urns dressed in bouquets of evergreen branches and donated white twinkle lights. Free décor is the best décor, Muriel proclaimed gleefully, ever the thrifty one. “Did you see Muriel when you went in there?”

  “You mean Sergeant?” Marie continues on to her truck. “She’s been here since before six. When I left, she was badgering Toby to ask Emily out to dinner.”

  I groan. “You think that’s a line item on her clipboard?”

  “As long as my name’s not a part of that task, she can set him up with whoever she deems acceptable.”

  I shake my head. While Marie hasn’t come out and said it, I think the idea of Muriel as a mother-in-law played a part in why she and Toby never made it past two dates. Lord knows it would scare any sane person away. Poor Toby might be a bachelor for life if he sticks around here.

  Marie’s truck engine starts with a roar. “Say hi to Jonah for me,” she hollers before slamming her door shut.

  I’m huddled in my jacket as I head for the double doors, shivering against the cold.

  Muriel once called the community center the hub of the town, and there isn’t a better way to describe it. Between the farmers’ market and planning the Winter Carnival, I’ve spent so much time within these old walls, the flickering fluorescent lights and musty smell have become familiar, and almost comforting.

  I enter the large hall to “Silent Night” playing over the speaker system and a flurry of activity buzzing throughout. Toby and a local named Benjamin are unfolding the last of the round dinner tables, while Emily and two other volunteers arrange chairs, ten to a table. On the far end of the room, next to the seventeen-foot Christmas tree that’s been up for the whole of the Winter Carnival, Teddy and the photographer are setting up the props around Santa’s ornate chair. All along the perimeter of the large room, long, rectangular tables that will be used to display items for a silent auction are already half full of donations, everything from gift baskets to handmade socks to painted mountain landscapes.

  And at the center of it all is my stocky neighbor, in her usual rolled-up jeans—on account of her short legs—and a flannel button-down shirt that barely closes over her ample chest. I can always tell when she’s just washed her hair because her gray curls are tight against her scalp.

  “Hey, Muriel,” I call out.

  She spins on her heels at the sound of my voice and makes an overt display of checking her watch. “Glad to see you could join us today, Calla.”

  I’ve long since learned not to let Muriel’s abrasive personality get under my skin. Her words carry no malice. It’s who she is. “Sorry. Jonah’s mom wants to do some baking today, so I had to dig through my cupboards. I didn’t want her running out to the store if she didn’t need to.”

  “Oh.” Muriel nods, as if she approves of my excuse fo
r the tardiness. “And how is everyone getting on over there so far?”

  “Fine.” Aside from Jonah wanting to strangle his stepfather, but I’m not getting into family drama with Muriel. “They’re still getting settled.”

  “I remember holidays with my in-laws. It was a stressful time every year.” She shakes her head. “Teddy’s mother was something else. You’ve never met a more controlling woman in your life, I’ll tell ya. He’s lucky I have as much patience as I do, or we might never have gotten married.”

  A bark of laughter sounds nearby. Toby, within earshot of our conversation.

  “What’s so funny over there?” Muriel’s eyes narrow at her son. “You got somethin’ to say?”

  I’m struggling to not let my own amusement slip. “So, Muriel, where do you want me to start?”

  She turns back to her clipboard, dragging a stubby finger down the left margin. “You can start on the table settings.”

  “Perfect.” Something I actually enjoy.

  “The linens are in the storage room in the back. Centerpieces are in the big green containers in the corner. There’s no need to get fancy with them,” she warns. “We have three candles per table and enough—No! Not that background!” she hollers at Teddy.

  He pauses to frown at the snowy landscape scene behind Santa’s chair, scratching his natural long, white beard. “What’s wrong with this one?”

  “We did that one last year.”

  “Well, I didn’t know that.”

  “You were here!” Muriel huffs and storms off toward him, clipboard tucked under her arm. “We alternate. This year is the fireplace background.”

  As much as I pity Teddy, at least Muriel is too distracted with him to hound after me.

  “They have this same argument every year.” Toby adjusts the table nearest me a few inches to the left, an amused smirk on his face. “Every year, he puts up the wrong one.”

  I frown. “Every year?”

  “Every year,” Emily chirps, smiling at Toby on her way past.

  Toby chuckles. “So, how are things really going over at your place?” He sees my expression and nods. “Yeah, Jonah seemed off this morning.”

  “He got some news he wasn’t happy about.” I tell Toby about Astrid’s health surprise and Jonah’s mounting guilt over her flying here.

  “Shit.”

  “She says it’s not a big deal, but …” I shrug.

  “It’s his mom,” Toby finishes off.

  “Exactly.” And as wild as Jonah can be sometimes when it comes to his own safety, he is overprotective to a fault when it comes to those he loves. It’s a double standard that is equal parts irritating and endearing.

  “And she’s going to have to fly all the way here again when you guys get married.”

  “I don’t think Jonah’s even thought about that yet.” He’s going to lose his mind when he does. My unease grows. “He’ll try to convince me to go to Oslo to get married.”

  “That could be nice.”

  “No, it could not.”

  Toby’s eyebrow arches in question.

  “It’s on the other side of the world and I have no roots there.”

  He considers that for a moment. “Yeah, but Jonah would rock the lederhosen.”

  I giggle-snort. “Do they wear those there? You know what? It doesn’t matter. No wedding in Norway. It’s got to be either Toronto or here. My mother is pushing for Toronto.” As much as it shocks me, the idea of an Alaskan wedding is sounding more appealing by the day.

  Toby scratches his head in thought. “Or you could get married now, since Jonah’s mom is already here.”

  I laugh off his joke. “Yeah, right.”

  But Toby’s expression says he isn’t kidding this time. “Why not? Your parents will be here, too. My dad could marry you.” He nods toward Teddy, fumbling with the screen stand while tugging at the back of his jeans to keep them from falling down. “He got his certification a bunch of years ago when my cousin was getting married. He can legally marry you. All you’d need is the license.”

  Toby is actually serious. “I can’t.”

  “Why not? Who else do you really need?”

  “Well, I mean … Diana! She’s my maid of honor. I can’t get married without her!” I sputter over my answer. While I haven’t begun planning our wedding yet, what Toby is suggesting is far from what I had envisioned.

  “I’m sure she’d understand, given the health concerns.”

  “My mother would kill me. She has her heart set on the real deal.”

  “It’ll still be real. Just … simpler.” Toby shrugs, his eyes flickering to the engagement ring on my finger, an intricate display of diamonds set in a snowflake design. “Anyway, it’s a thought.”

  “Hey! Enough gabbing, you two!” Muriel claps her hands. “We only have seven hours left before people start showing up.”

  “Only seven more hours of this,” Toby murmurs, casting a secretive wink before continuing to adjust the next table.

  I dash off to the storage room for the linens, Toby’s suggestion lingering in the back of my mind.

  “Did you find them?”

  I track Muriel’s voice to the doorway where she stands next to Roy. A sizeable cardboard box sits in his arms. “Yup.” I hold the packages of votive candles in the air as proof. Despite the persistent chill in the community center, rummaging around the cluttered storage room has made my skin feel clammy, and I use this opportunity to brush my forearm against my forehead. “They weren’t in the green bins.”

  Muriel purses her lips, her accusing gaze flipping to Jamie Gill, who oversaw last year’s Christmas dinner cleanup and is, in Muriel’s own words, “as scattered as an upturned bowl of glitter.”

  I toss the packages onto one of the rectangular buffet tables—someone else can fill and light a hundred and fifty candles because it’s almost four p.m. and I have yet to take a break—and stroll over to them. “Hey, Roy.”

  He grunts, his attention wandering over the hall.

  “Looks good in here, huh?” Supersized poinsettias donated from the local garden center mark the doors and Santa’s threshold. The centerpieces they’ve used every year were tacky and dated, so I repurposed the vases and pinecones and added birch branches that Emily and I scavenged from the forest to make chic displays. And, after twenty minutes of begging, I convinced Muriel to let Toby and me string strands of white twinkle lights canopy-style over the dressed tables, creating a cozy ambiance.

  We’ve managed to transform the drab, drafty room into a place primed for a festive party.

  I nod toward the box. “Whatcha got there?”

  “Somethin’ for the auction,” he grumbles.

  “A donation from Roy Donovan?” I can’t hide the surprise from my voice, even as I tease. Getting so much as a free egg out of this man is a rarity.

  Roy scowls. “Didn’t turn out. Was gonna burn it, but I figured I may as well let you guys have it. See if you can make a few bucks.”

  “What is it?” I lean over to steal a glimpse at a wooden basket nestled inside.

  “It’s for harvesting the garden,” Muriel explains.

  I frown. “You were going to burn this? It looks perfect to me.”

  “The handle’s wonky. Here.” He thrusts the box toward Muriel. “Gotta get back to milk the goats before it gets too dark.” He bolts out with nothing more than a nod my way.

  I chase after him, out into the hall. “Hey, Roy, why don’t you come back for dinner after you’re done with the animals? I know my table has a few extra seats.” I would have asked Astrid and Björn to come, but I figured they’ll be falling asleep at their table settings by five.

  He keeps marching toward the door. “I don’t do Christmas.”

  “But you do eat.” I temper the annoyance in my tone. “They’re serving turkey and roast beef … and apple pie for dessert.” A weakness of Roy’s, I learned this past fall when I was experimenting with pastry.

  “I’ve got dinner read
y.”

  “Yeah, canned meat.” Eating the same meal seven days a week is bound to make anyone certifiable. “Come on, Roy. You can sit with me. You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to. But you shouldn’t be alone.”

  He snorts. “I’ve been alone for over thirty years. No reason to change that now.”

  I can think of one reason. Three, actually. An impulsive urge strikes me. “Hey, Roy?” I clear my voice to steady it. “So, I was thinking … have you ever given any thought to maybe reaching out to your daughter? Maybe she’d want to hear from you. You never know.”

  He stops abruptly and spins around. His eyes narrow as he studies me for one … two … three long seconds. “You been snoopin’ through my things, girl?”

  “No.” I punctuate that with a firm headshake but have to avert my gaze to the speckled linoleum floor. Real smooth, Calla.

  Roy is a lot of things, but naïve is not one of them. “Yeah, you have. That’s why you’re being so pushy all of a sudden, isn’t it?”

  Shit. There’s no point lying. “I saw the Christmas card on your table yesterday and … I didn’t mean to snoop.”

  “Yes, you did.” He stabs the air with his index finger, his face turning beet red with anger. “You’re always pokin’ around, tryin’ to fix things for me. But you can’t fix this!” His deep, grating voice ricochets along the narrow hall.

  There’s no point backing down now. “It seems like she’d really like to talk to you, though.”

  “That’s ’cause she don’t know me. If she did, she’d figure out pretty quick that I’ve got nothin’ to give her or those two kids.”

  I frown. “I don’t think she was reaching out to you because she wants money, Roy.”

  “Mind your own business. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you!” He slams his palms against the double doors, throwing them open on his rush to exit. “And don’t be bringin’ over any more goddamn Christmas trees!” he hollers.

  I shiver against the gust of frigid that sweeps in. Or maybe it’s because of the layer of ice that’s just coated our relationship.

  “Haven’t seen him that mad in a while. For once, it’s not on account of me.” Muriel sidles up beside me, her eyes following his wiry body as he stomps to his truck. “So, his daughter’s finally wantin’ to get to know him.”