Alaskan Hideaway. Beth Carpenter

on essentials like coffee and pickles and needed to run into Seward. “I could have picked up the modem myself next time I’m in Anchorage.”

      â€œBut when would that be? I feel responsible, since I’m the one who mentioned if you wanted to get away, one of my clients had a cabin in Alaska she planned to sell. I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.”

      â€œHow can I take you seriously, when you put me at the mercy of some internet installer?”

      â€œI need to be able to reach you out there in the wilderness.”

      â€œThe cabin is only fifteen minutes from town, and only two hours from Anchorage. I have cell phone coverage, which you obviously know since you’re talking to me.”

      â€œI just want to make sure you don’t go dark. You might need to email me about royalty questions or something.”

      Mac didn’t bother to point out he could email from his phone. They both knew it wasn’t email Ronald was worried about; it was the manuscript due in a few months. Mac had already told him it wasn’t going to happen. Ronald had mentioned the possibility of a deadline extension, hoping Mac would pull out of his funk, but Mac knew he couldn’t write that book. Not after what happened to Andi. He wasn’t sure he’d ever write again. But there was no use retreading that discussion now. Ronald would have to face facts eventually. “Fine. I’ll get internet. Bye.”

      â€œWith all that solitude, have you had a chance to—”

      â€œGoodbye, Ronald.” Mac ended the call. Pain in the butt. Still, Ronald was the closest thing Mac had to a friend these days. If it made him feel better, Mac would hang around and wait for the installer. Meanwhile, he’d make a list.

      He found a pen in a kitchen drawer and pulled an envelope from the wastepaper basket. Milk, bread, coffee, pickles, musta—the pen gave up the ghost midword. Somewhere in this house were a handful of pens and pencils he’d thrown into a box. But which box? There were still at least a dozen stacked in the second bedroom.

      He shrugged. Since he wasn’t going anywhere until the internet guy showed up, he might as well finish unpacking. In the first box, he found T-shirts, underwear and socks. Good, because he was almost out of clean clothes and until he bought laundry detergent, he couldn’t wash. Now if he could find a pen to add it to the list.

      The next box held an assortment of items nested in newspaper. He unwrapped his favorite coffee cup and one of Blossom’s chew toys and then a silver frame. He ran his finger over the smooth edge.

      The photo was of Andi, the summer after her senior year of high school, bathing an elephant. He smiled. Andi had been fascinated by them since he read her a book about an elephant when she was about four. She used to insist on reading it almost every day. When she was in high school, he heard about a sanctuary where she could spend a weekend interacting with pachyderms, and knew he’d found the perfect graduation gift. When she opened the envelope, she’d squealed and given him a big hug. That was a good day.

      They hadn’t all been good. Somewhere in middle school, Andi seemed to go from sweet little girl to moody teenager overnight, and as a single dad, Mac was clueless on how to handle the drama. Maybe he’d had more rules than she’d have liked, but how could he not? He didn’t want to see his little girl hurt. Even so, she managed to get that big heart of hers broken more than once before she left for college. Although tempted to put out a hit on the culprits, Mac only killed them off in his books. That showed a certain restraint, didn’t it? He’d often wondered if the lack of a mother to talk to made all Andi’s problems loom larger than life, or if it was just typical teenage angst.

      Maybe it was his overprotective tendencies when Andi was a teenager that made her so insistent on her independence as an adult. Maybe if he’d been a little more relaxed, she would have confided in him, let him help her when she got into trouble. He set the photo on his nightstand.

      The next item in the box was a plain brown envelope with Andi’s name on it. Her personal items. Mac swallowed. These were the things she’d had on her when the police found her. Silver earrings, a watch and a charm bracelet.

      The bracelet had been her mother’s. Mac bought the silver chain with a jingle bell heart charm while he was on shore leave in Thailand and sent it to Carla, hoping it would make her smile. He never knew if it did. A year later, after she died, he found it in her jewelry box, beside her wedding ring.

      When Andi was five, Mac had come across the bracelet again and decided to give it to his daughter. He’d added an elephant charm after she saw her first live elephants at the zoo, and many more charms over the years. Andi had loved that bracelet. She’d worn it every day. Mac set the envelope aside.

      The next item he unwrapped turned out to be a clutch of pens and pencils in the lopsided mug Andi had made in pottery class and given him for Father’s Day one year. He carried it into the kitchen and used one of the pens to finish his shopping list. He was flattening out the newspapers to add to the recycling bin when an opinion piece caught his eye.

      The article questioned the ethics of releasing violent books and movies, and whether society as a whole became more violent when exposed to fictional violence. As an example, the columnist used a popular movie involving a serial killer, saying that although the main character was on the side of good, the serial killer was a complex and powerful character in his own right. Some moviegoers might identify with the villain more than the hero, which could encourage them to act upon their violent tendencies.

      Mac read the entire article twice. Then he picked up the paper and ripped it in half. And ripped those pieces in half, again and again, until the newspaper page had been reduced to confetti at his feet. He hoped to God the person who wrote that article was wrong. Because the movie he’d mentioned was based on one of Mac’s books.

      * * *

      URSULA DROPPED A birthday card for a friend in her mailbox and put up the flag before heading out to Anchorage to stock up on essentials and visit her adorable grandson. She pulled onto the highway and headed toward the turnoff to Mac’s cabin. Should she stop and offer to pick up anything he needed in Anchorage? She’d always collected Betty’s prescriptions for her. It would be the neighborly thing to do.

      But who was she kidding? Mac was perfectly capable of running his own errands, and judging by the lean muscles of his forearms, healthy and fit. He said he’d once been a cowboy, and she could picture it. As they’d talked yesterday and he’d started to relax, a hint of Oklahoma drawl crept into his speech. Now, she was hoping for another chance to talk with him, and not about selling her the property or allowing the trail to cut through. She’d seen the pain in his eyes when he talked about his daughter.

      The man was suffering. And she suspected it wasn’t just the pain of loss. She’d been there, when Tommy died. She knew how hard it was to go on while missing someone you loved. But there was something else going on inside his head, and she was afraid she recognized it. His eyes held the same haunted look as her father’s had after her little brother died. That look had never gone away.

      She slowed, debating whether to check on him. But Mac was clear. He was after solitude. She had no right to badger him while he grieved. If he wanted to be alone with his daughter’s dog, she wouldn’t bother him.

      The sound of frantic barking changed her mind. Blossom was at the fence line near the road, dashing forward and jumping back. She seemed to have some sort of animal cornered. Ursula pulled her car over and jumped out, running along the driveway and slipping through the gate for a closer look. A bald eagle had somehow gotten a wing caught in the fence. Blossom jumped back, a trickle of blood running from her nose. Those talons could be lethal.

      The eagle screeched. Ursula plunged into the snow and struggled toward the fence. “Blossom. Come.”

      The dog looked toward her but didn’t seem inclined to leave the fight. Ursula stopped