An Alaskan Wedding. Belle Calhoune

village in pursuit of riches.

      It’s not my problem, she reminded herself. Eyes on the prize. In six weeks’ time this town would be nothing more than a memory for her. The only person she had any allegiance to was herself. And her job at the New York Tribune.

      “It’s only about an eight-minute drive to the cabins,” Hazel explained as she navigated her truck along the snow-covered streets of downtown Love. Grace quietly took in all the quaint shops along Jarvis Street as Sophie chattered away in the front seat. There was a barbershop, a small bookstore called The Bookworm, a trading post, a post office and a pawnshop. Grace wrinkled her nose. Where were the nail salon and the beauty shop? Had her research led her astray? She’d been certain that at least one beauty shop existed in Love. Perhaps it had closed down or it wasn’t located in the center of town. Maybe nails and hair weren’t deemed important here.

      “How do you drive in all this snow?” Grace asked, her eyes transfixed by the snowflakes swirling through the air. It fascinated her to see Hazel tackling the rugged, icy terrain as if it was no big deal.

      “As long as I have my all-wheel drive and studded tires, I’m good. You get used to driving in snow and ice in this type of climate. We’re heading into the rainy season, too, which has its own challenges. Luckily, winters aren’t as brutal here on the coast as they are in the interior. At least here in Love we can enjoy outdoor activities without freezing our tails off.”

      Nope! Grace thought. Freezing her tail off was definitely not an option.

      Along the way they passed a few other cars and some townsfolk. Each and every time, Hazel tooted her horn and waved. If nothing else, Grace got the impression that the folks here in town were part of a tight-knit community. In New York, people typically honked their horns as a sign of annoyance and rarely as a way of greeting their neighbors.

      They sped by several moose-crossing signs, a sight that caused Grace to take out her camera and snap a few pictures. Although she had no idea what happened when you ran across a moose, the very idea of it seemed surreal. When Hazel turned off the main road, a faded, rusted sign announced the Black Bear Cabins. Snow-covered trees lined the lane leading to the property. Beautiful white-capped mountains loomed in the distance, serving as a reminder that she was in a completely different world than the one she normally inhabited. The cabins were a reddish brown color and were rustic in appearance. Each one had a porch out front with two Adirondack chairs filling up the small space.

      Hazel helped them lug their suitcases to their front porches. As she made her way to her new lodging, snow and ice seeped into her shoes, bringing into sharp focus her earlier conversation with the sheriff of Love. She hated to admit it, but her shoe choice hadn’t been practical. Sooner rather than later, she was going to have to dig out her furry, heeled boots.

      Their new landlord took out a key and opened up the cabin door. She ushered them in with a flourish, extending her hand as she said, “Here are your digs. Living room, kitchen, bed and bath. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and safe.” She handed Sophie another key. “Your place is next door. If you need anything I’m at the lodge right down the road. There’s a blue rock outside poking through the snow. You can’t miss it.” Before Grace could blink, Hazel was gone.

      Grace frowned as she looked around the utilitarian cabin. Every single thing in the cabin was brown and no-frills. She had a sudden flashback to Camp Hiawatha, the overnight camp her parents had stuck her for three long weeks when she’d been twelve. The word bleak instantly came to mind. “This place is—”

      “Full of possibilities,” Sophie interjected.

      Grace turned toward the closest thing she had to a friend in Love. Although she was hoping to see a look of dismay on her face, all she saw was a perky little smile. She dropped her bags to the hardwood floor with a thud and heaved a tremendous sigh. She liked Sophie an awful lot, but there was no way on Earth she could fix this situation. As far as Grace was concerned, the next six weeks couldn’t go by fast enough.

       Chapter Three

      Boone put his feet up on his desk and settled back in his chair, his hands braced behind his head as he made himself comfortable. Although his shift was officially done, he planned on hanging out at his office for a bit longer.

      It wasn’t as if he had anything to go home to at night. Maybe if Kona was a stay-at-home dog, Boone would be raring to leave the office after a full day’s work, if only to reunite with his four-legged friend. So far, being at the sheriff’s office trumped going home to an empty house. With every passing day he was beginning to realize that God hadn’t intended him to walk through life alone. Lately, there had been a relentless ache inside him. A desire to settle down. An unwillingness to spend another Valentine’s Day without a special someone in his life. Perhaps Operation Love wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

      He shook his head and chuckled at the memory of Thomas and Seth fighting over Grace. Although he didn’t advocate using one’s fists to solve problems, he had to admit that a woman like Grace Corbett might cause a man to get carried away. One look into those sapphire-blue eyes and a person could start thinking of things he’d avoided for a long time.

      He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he barely heard the rapping on his office door. Shelly peered in, orange curls bouncing as she bobbed her head. “I just fielded a call from one of the ladies staying at the Black Bear Cabins. She identified herself as Grace Corbett.”

      Grace? Shelly now had his undivided attention. He swung his legs off the desk and sat up ramrod straight in his chair. “What’s the problem?”

      “She said she’s trapped inside her cabin with a wild animal.”

      * * *

      Grace sat on the front porch of her cabin, her arms wrapped around her middle as the cold night air began to whip relentlessly against her body. It was fair to say that Sophie must sleep like the dead since she hadn’t emerged from her cabin despite Grace’s desperate cries for help. Nor had she answered her door when Grace had banged on it a few minutes ago. Her current predicament was courtesy of one onyx-colored animal who’d scampered across the living room and scooted under the sofa. For more terrifying minutes than she wanted to admit, she’d stayed frozen in place, afraid to move an inch lest her movement provoked the creature to come out of hiding and attack her.

      She’d cried out for help to no avail. She didn’t even have Hazel’s phone number. Feeling desperate, she’d reached for her cell phone and dialed 911 to report the emergency situation. Once she’d gathered her courage to make a break for it, she’d dashed to the front door and escaped. In her panic she’d forgotten to grab her coat. Oh, well. She’d rather freeze to death than venture back into the cabin and run the risk of coming face-to-face with the creature. In the brief seconds she’d laid eyes on him, he’d seemed vicious and mean. She’d seen fangs. Of that she was certain.

      Within the space of five minutes she heard the sound of tires crunching against the snow and ice in the driveway. A blue-and-white cruiser quickly came into view, illuminated by the glowing porch light. Once the car pulled up in front of the cabin, she watched as none other than Sheriff Boone Prescott emerged from the cruiser. She’d recognize those broad shoulders of his anywhere. In all her life she didn’t think she’d ever been happier to see anyone. In the face of this crisis, he seemed even bigger and broader and manlier than he’d appeared to be earlier this afternoon.

      He tipped his sheriff’s hat at her. “Third time I’ve seen you today, Miss Corbett. I’m getting a strong suspicion you missed me.”

      Annoyance flooded her. “Can you please stop calling me Miss Corbett? My name is Grace. You make me sound like someone’s spinster aunt. And might I add that your ego is in rare form, Sheriff Prescott. I called your office because of the creature in my cabin, not in order to see you again.”

      He chuckled, seemingly amused by her mild outrage. “If I’m to call you Grace, you’re going to have to call me Boone.”

      She