Page 39 of Wind Valley

21

Lachlan was deep into an article about extremophiles—bacteria that were able to survive extreme temperatures—when a sound wrenched him out of his thoughts. He stilled, listening.

The house was quiet, as Gil and Ani were on a shopping run to Blackbear, and not due back until the next day. Snow fell softly in the darkness outside the picture window in the living room. He was reading by the light of a propane lantern that cast snowflake shadows on the ceiling. The only reason he knew it was snowing was that it was collecting on the lower frame of the window, like a low dune.

“Hello?” he called into the empty house.

He should really adopt a dog, he thought, for the millionth time. Maybe Lasse had a puppy that wasn’t suitable for a dog team—too much of a runt, or too disobedient, or too rascally. A misfit dog who needed a home.

The sound came again, and he realized it was a muffled knock on the door, as if the visitor was wearing gloves so thick they didn’t make much of a sound against the wood.

He checked the time on his phone. Even though it felt like the middle of the night, it was only eight. Which, here in Firelight Ridge, was the same thing as midnight except for the hardy folks who liked to shut down The Fang, then count on muscle memory to get themselves home.

In his thick wool socks—a hand-knitted gift from Lila—he crossed to the door, which had a glass lunette through which he could see exactly nothing at night. “Who is it?”

“It’s Maura. Jeez. It’s freezing out here.”

He opened the door and stepped aside for what looked like a walking bundle of outerwear, as if a pile of coats at a party had come to life. From between two hats and a scarf that she’d wound several times around her neck, Maura’s deep blue eyes met his.

“How long have you been standing out here?”

“I don’t know, maybe five minutes? I knocked a bunch of times. Didn’t you hear?”

“I was in the middle of something.” He was embarrassed to admit how lost to the world he became when he was immersed in something interesting.

“Reading?” she guessed dryly.

So she knew that about him by now. Figured. “What are you doing here?” Then, alarmed, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, don’t worry, I wasn’t chased by any wolves.” She unwound the scarf, which was crusted with ice crystals from her warm breath. “Not that I know of, anyway. I came because…can you help me?”

She thrust her right arm toward him, and he realized she’d layered so many coats, one on top of the other, that she couldn’t get them off. He held her cuff while she tugged her arm out of the sleeve.

It took them a good five minutes to extract her from all her layers. “I couldn’t find my parka,” she explained, breathless, when she was finally down to a turtleneck sweater and fleece leggings that might have technically been long underwear. Lachlan forced himself not to look too closely at them. Static electricity made her black hair dance around her head. “Pinky wouldn’t let me leave the house until I layered up like the Michelin Man.”

He led the way to the kitchen, where he poured her a glass of water from the filtered jug. “Here, you’re probably dehydrated.”

She drank it down in one gulp, then gasped with relief. “You’re right, I was. That’s the best water I’ve ever tasted.”

He smiled as she used her damp hands to get control of her hair. “So, it must have been something urgent to bring you all the way out here.”

“No. Not exactly. Well, sort of. I needed some exercise anyway. I’ve been cooped up working on lesson plans and Pinky’s holding a cribbage tournament at the house and…”

He waited patiently. None of those things explained why she was here, specifically, in his house. He’d been sticking to his arm’s-length approach so as not to crowd her. At the same time, he’d kept a watchful eye on anyone and everyone who came through The Fang, especially strangers.

“I wanted to talk to you,” she finally said. “About some things Ruth told me.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t think that was the whole reason. Information from Ruth could have waited until daylight, or until they were both in town. She’d taken the trouble to ski from her house to his after dark. Had something happened involving the mystery officer in that photograph? He couldn’t push her about that; if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.

“Are you hungry?” he asked instead.

“You have food?”

“You sound surprised. Of course I have food. A man can’t live on soil samples. How about some smoked salmon chowder?”

“You have smoked salmon chowder? Did you make it?”

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