that had kept him sane in the aftermath. He couldn’t very well leave. Who would care for them?
“Can I get you something?” the barista asked.
Alec looked up. “Sure, thanks. Coffee. Black.”
“Tough day?” The guy seated two barstools away glanced in Alec’s direction. He had a red parka slung on the back of his chair and a copper-colored dog curled at his feet.
Alec noticed they both looked vaguely familiar. “You could say that.”
Working for the forest service in Olympic State Park back in Washington had prepared him somewhat for the brutal weather, but he’d been completely inexperienced in the reindeer department. He’d gotten himself up to speed on the reindeer soon enough, but traveling north through Canada on his bike, the sudden death of his new employer and the daily demands of running the ranch solo were beginning to catch up with him.
And now there was the farm’s new owner to contend with.
Alec couldn’t help but wonder if she would prove to be far more trouble than she was worth.
“You new in town?” the stranger asked. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”
“I just moved here a week ago.” Alec accepted his coffee from the barista and took a long, hot swallow. It burned its way down his throat. “Alec Wynn. I’m working at a reindeer farm up in the hills about five miles from here. Nice dog, by the way.”
“Thanks. Brock Parker.” He offered his hand over the empty barstool between them. “Welcome.”
“Thank you.” Alec frowned. Brock looked familiar, and Alec was almost certain he’d heard the name before. Just what he didn’t want, or need—a face from his past.
Brock appeared to study him for a moment. He took a sip of his own coffee and grinned. “I think you may have met my wife earlier today out at the reindeer farm.”
Wife?
A wholly unexpected pang hit Alec in the chest. Could Zoey Hathaway be married?
Then he remembered the rather heart-wrenching look in those green eyes of hers when she’d unleashed her I’m-not-your-average-heiress outburst on him. She couldn’t possibly have a husband. Not a decent kind of guy, anyway. A decent man wouldn’t make her feel as if she hadn’t come from a loving home, even if it were the case.
He swallowed. What did he know about decent guys? It wasn’t as if he would ever be that kind of man, considering where he’d come from. He’d tried the decent route before—the Sunday-school, one-woman kind of route. He’d even gone so far as to put a ring on the woman’s finger.
Marriage. He’d thought it was something he could do. Not like his parents, of course. Better. He’d reveled in the idea of doing it the right way—two people bound together by God.
He’d never gotten the chance. His fiancée’s family had made sure of it. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, they’d said.
She’d believed it. Why shouldn’t Alec? He’d be lying if he said he’d never wrestled with the fear that he would one day end up like his parents.
He turned his attention once again to Brock. “Your wife?”
Brock nodded. “Her name is Anya.”
Anya. The friend. Of course. “Yes, we met. Very nice lady.”
“She and Zoey are good friends. I think they’re out getting pedicures right now, actually.” Brock shrugged. “They worked together for a while here at the coffee bar, before Anya started up full time with the ski patrol and Zoey decided to buy her airplane.”
Alec’s hand tightened around his coffee mug.
So Zoey Hathaway went around getting pedicures and buying airplanes...but she wasn’t a spoiled princess.
Yeah, right.
And to think for a split second, he’d thought they might actually have something in common.
“Hey, speaking of Zoey...” Brock rose from his barstool and took a few steps toward the window overlooking the frozen lake behind the hotel. The dog scrambled to its feet and followed on Brock’s heels. “Is that her?”
Alec took another swig of his coffee. He didn’t bother looking out the window. Unless she was writing him a check, what Zoey did was none of his concern. “Hmm?” he muttered, more to have something to say rather than expressing any real interest in whatever was going on outside.
“That’s her, all right.” There was a hint of worry in Brock’s tone that Alec did his best to ignore. “Is she trying to get herself killed?”
Now how was he supposed to ignore a question like that?
Alec dragged his reluctant gaze to the window. Sure enough, there was Zoey Hathaway—her blond princess hair tumbling out of her merry red hat and flying around in the wind as she tiptoed her way past a row of small airplanes, across the ice-covered lake.
Forget it. Forget her. It’s not your business. “That’s not the runway, is it?”
“I’m afraid it is,” Brock said.
“What is she doing out there?” Alec slid off his barstool for a closer look. Not that he had any intention of rescuing her. He was curious. That was all.
Brock said nothing. He simply pointed.
As Alec followed the direction of Brock’s finger, his gaze landed on a familiar antlered friend.
Palmer.
Chapter Three
Alec struggled to gain his footing on the slippery surface of the lake. He’d already slid his way to the middle of the runway, and Zoey was still a good ten feet ahead of him. She was shockingly fast. And agile.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.
She turned her head and stopped in her tracks when she spotted him. “What are you doing here?”
“I asked first.” He kept plodding toward her.
“If you must know, I’m trying to save myself a bucketful of money.” She resumed her trek across the ice.
“Could you stop for one minute? Please,” he all but growled.
Amazingly, she did.
By the time he reached her, he was struggling to catch his breath. She, on the other hand, was perfectly composed—waiting for him with her hands on her hips.
“How can I help you?” she asked, as if the situation was completely normal—as if standing in the center of an active airport runway, pausing for a moment from her pursuit of a petulant reindeer, was an everyday occurrence.
“This is crazy dangerous. You know that, right?” He glowered at her.
“You seem mad.” She frowned. “Are you mad at me? I mean, about something other than the thousand dollars?”
Alec inhaled a ragged breath. The cold Alaskan air burned his lungs, making him long for the coffee he’d abandoned in order to take up this wild-goose chase. “This doesn’t have anything to do with how I feel about you.”
Her cheeks blazed almost as red as her hat.
“What I mean to say is that I’ve already had one boss die on me this week. Let’s not make it two.” He jammed a hand through his hair and noticed his fingers were already numb. In the rush to get out here and put an end to this madness, he’d forgone his hat and gloves. “I have no desire to see you splattered under the wheels of an airplane. What are you doing?”
She waved a dainty hand toward Palmer, who appeared blissfully unaware that he was in her cross hairs. “I’m removing my reindeer from the path of air traffic.”
“By