Alaskan Sanctuary by Teri Wilson

that she’d never seen before, a softness she could fall into like a feather bed.
    She swallowed. What was wrong with her? Feather beds weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Everyone knew that. Feather beds were lumpy. And they made people sneeze.
    “Listen.” Ethan sighed. “When I said I was glad you weren’t around earlier, it was because there’s been some trouble here.”
    “Trouble?” she echoed, thoughts of feather beds and floating snowflakes replaced with panic. Heart racing, she spun around and headed for the enclosures. “The wolves. Is everyone okay?”
    Ethan tugged on the hood of her parka and reeled her back toward him. “Your precious wolves are perfectly fine.”
    “Oh.” She straightened and took a step away from him, out of reach. “Don’t frighten me like that.”
    It didn’t escape her notice when he neglected to apologize. “The cabin was defaced.”
    She glanced at the damp wall. “Defaced? How?”
    “Graffiti. Red spray paint.”
    Graffiti? In small-town Alaska? Vandalism was the last thing she should have worried about in a place like this. “Do you know if that happens here often?”
    Ethan shrugged and busied himself with washing the paintbrush in a bucket of water. “Tate Hudson thinks it was some bored kids.”
    That didn’t really answer her question, did it? “Tate Hudson? The state trooper? You called the police?”
    “It seemed like a good idea, and Tate’s a friend.” He glanced up from his chore, but didn’t quite meet her gaze. “I asked him to stop by and check on things out here regularly. So try not to worry.”
    Piper wrapped her arms around her middle, hugging herself, and remembered passing the police cruiser on her way up the mountain. Someone had come onto her property and sprayed the cabin with graffiti, the police had been called, and she’d missed the entire thing. Unbelievable.
    She felt oddly vulnerable, which was a feeling Piper despised. Her entire existence was pretty much crafted around avoiding it. Feeling weak in any capacity was far too reminiscent of her turbulent childhood. There was a limit to how much vulnerability one person could take, and she’d reached her limit by her eighteenth birthday. Finding out about Stephen’s lies had been the icing on the cake.
    “Should I? Worry, I mean?” She was forced to speak to Ethan’s back, since he was still cleaning up his mess instead of looking at her. Which was fine, really.
    The only thing worse than feeling vulnerable would have been to feel vulnerable in front of Ethan Hale.
    * * *
    Tell her.
    Ethan hadn’t intended on erasing the evidence of all that had transpired at the wolf sanctuary in Piper’s absence. He really hadn’t. But when he’d accompanied Tate on a final search of the property, he’d spotted the painting supplies in the shed. And seeing them there had seemed like a sign.
    A sign. What an odd thing to consider.
    Ethan wasn’t even sure he believed in signs. Or prayers. Or the God he’d once trusted with all his heart. Not anymore. It had been a long time since anything remotely resembling faith had stirred in his soul. Or anything at all, really.
    He’d been numb for the better part of the past five years. He preferred it that way. He’d felt enough for one lifetime already. Too much. Even when his wife had left, he hadn’t fallen into despair. He hadn’t even tried to persuade her to stay. At the time he’d thought her leaving had seemed only natural. Susan had been looking for a way out of Alaska since the moment they’d set foot there. She’d actually thought his independence was a passing phase and that he’d be working for his father before their first anniversary. That they’d live in an ivory tower somewhere in Manhattan—or even worse, the family hotel—and attend black-tie galas every night of the week.
    It had been almost a relief when the divorce papers came. Without Susan there, he didn’t have to act as if his life hadn’t been torn apart