Alaskan Hideaway. Beth Carpenter

flashlight. Once his eyes adjusted, the moon reflecting off the snow provided plenty of light for him to make his way to the road and along to the Forget-me-not Inn sign.

      He followed the drive, flicking on his light when he reached the trees. After a few minutes, he came to a clearing. Moonlight illuminated a cedar building crowned with steep gables. A bench, small tables and several rocking chairs were scattered across the wide front porch. A snow shovel leaned against the wall.

      He’d just leave the plate on the bench beside the door. He commanded the dog to sit-stay and started for the porch. As he reached the second stair, the front door opened and Ursula stepped outside, shaking dust and gravel off a rug and all over him.

      â€œOh my goodness, I’m sorry.” Her voice was apologetic, but the corners of her mouth twitched.

      â€œNo problem.” Mac dusted his coat with his free hand. “I was just returning your plate.”

      â€œThat’s thoughtful, but you didn’t have to do that.” She smiled, and it was like a sudden flash of sunshine, warming him. Her silver-shot hair fluttered in the breeze. “Come on in.”

      â€œNo, I need to go.” He handed her the plate. “But I did want to thank you for the cinnamon rolls. They were delicious.”

      â€œI’m glad you enjoyed them.” She accepted the plate. “Seriously, come in for a cup of coffee. I just took a batch of blueberry muffins from the oven.”

      â€œI don’t think—”

      A squirrel scurried onto the porch and ran right up Ursula’s leg and body to sit on her shoulder. Ursula absentmindedly pulled an almond from the pocket of her jeans and handed it to the squirrel, who accepted it and stuffed it into his cheek. “What if I promise not to mention gates or property?”

      Mac stared. “That’s a squirrel.”

      â€œWhat? Oh, yes. This is Frankie.”

      â€œYou have a pet squirrel?”

      She chuckled. “He’s not a pet, exactly. Frankie was orphaned, and I bottle-fed him until he was old enough to forage on his own. He stops by often to say hello.”

      The dog had been trying her best to stay as instructed, but seeing the squirrel was too much. She bounded onto the porch. The squirrel took a flying leap to the railing, dashed up a pillar and jumped onto a tree limb. Within seconds, it was twenty feet into the tree. The dog gave a final bark, came back to Ursula and nudged her hand in greeting and then ran through the open door into the inn.

      Before Mac could apologize, Ursula laughed. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

      He followed her inside. She hung his coat on a hook and led them through an expansive dining and living room into a kitchen, which somehow managed to look functional and cozy at the same time. A collection of African violets bloomed in shades of purple and pink on a shelf under a grow light. Ursula opened a gate, which separated the kitchen from a small dining area. A cat, curled up on a chair cushion, took one look at the dog and took refuge on top of a corner cabinet.

      The dog stiffened, but Ursula made an uh-uh noise and shook her head. She pulled a dog biscuit from a cookie jar on a shelf by the back door and soon had the pit bull lying peacefully on a rug. She nodded at the cat. “That’s Van Gogh.”

      â€œVan Gogh?”

      â€œHe’s missing an ear.”

      Mac chuckled, and soon found himself sitting at a wooden table sipping an excellent cup of coffee. Fruit-scented steam rose from the muffin on the plate in front of him. Considering he’d only intended to drop off the plate, he wasn’t sure how he’d wound up here, but maybe it wasn’t too surprising that a woman who could pacify pit bulls and tame squirrels could maneuver him wherever she wanted him. She slipped into the chair across the table. “So, as I said, I’m Ursula Anderson.”

      â€œMac. Macleod.”

      â€œNice to meet you, Mac. And where do you hail from?”

      â€œOklahoma.” He bit into the muffin. Jammed with sweet blueberries, with a hint of something else, maybe orange? The woman had a way with baked goods.

      She raised a delicately arched eyebrow. “I’m surprised. I knew cowboys from Oklahoma when I was growing up in Wyoming. You don’t have much of an accent.”

      â€œI’ve lost it over time, living in Tulsa. People from all over the country live there.”

      â€œSo what brings you to Alaska?”

      Mac paused before his next bite. Here was an opportunity to make his point. He met her eyes. “Solitude.”

      She nodded. “I got that. I apologize for bursting in yesterday, and realize I was overstepping. I’ll try not to bother you again.” She nodded at the plate she’d set on the table. “Thanks again for returning that.”

      He shrugged. “My mother would turn over in her grave if I didn’t.”

      â€œI think I’d have liked your mother.” Ursula’s eyes crinkled in the corners. “What would she say if she knew you’d threatened to have me arrested for trespassing?”

      â€œI didn’t exactly...” She gave him the same look his mother used to when he was trying to talk his way out of trouble. He had to laugh. “Okay, I admit it. She’d have given me an earful.”

      Ursula laughed. “Now you sound like an Okie cowboy.”

      â€œI suppose that’s because I am one. Or I was, until I was seventeen and we moved to town.”

      â€œDid you raise cattle?”

      â€œYes, Herefords.” At least until that last year of drought, when Dad had to sell off the herd, bit by bit. And then they lost the bull. But Mac didn’t want to think about that. “Were your family ranchers in Wyoming?” he asked quickly.

      She met his eyes and paused, just long enough for him to wonder if she’d read his mind, before she gave a gentle smile. “My father was a mailman and my mother taught school. After I graduated from high school, I worked in the office for an oil company, where I happened to fall in love with a certain roughneck. Tommy believed Alaska was the land of opportunity. So we got married, packed up a truck and headed to Alaska.”

      â€œAnd was it? The land of opportunity?”

      â€œIt was for us. We had a wonderful life here.” She rubbed the bare ring finger of her left hand. “I scattered Tommy’s ashes on Flattop. That’s what he wanted.” Suddenly she smiled. “Look at that.” She inclined her head toward the dog.

      Mac turned. The cat had come down from the cabinet and was gingerly touching noses with the pit bull, who thumped her tail against the floor. After a moment, the cat rubbed against the big dog’s face and then curled up against her. The dog seemed fine with that.

      Ursula chuckled. “That’s quite a ferocious beast you have there. What’s her name?” She took a sip from her cup.

      Mac glanced down at his plate. “Blossom.”

      Ursula snorted and almost choked on her coffee. Once she quit coughing, she grinned at him. “Blossom? Really?”

      Mac shook his head. “I know. My daughter adopted her as a puppy. Andi happened to be volunteering at the shelter when they brought in this half-grown pit bull. She’d been starved and beaten, but Andi was convinced with love and care she’d blossom into a great dog. She was right.”

      â€œShe certainly was. Blossom is the perfect name for