Timberline Trail (7 page)

Some sort of sixth sense
must have alerted the somber man for he turned in the darkness, his dark green eyes seeking hers through the flickering light. He did not seem unduly surprised to observe her framed within the doorway and draped in the unshapely flannel nightgown. A half-smile, half-grimace briefly flitted across his face before he nodded silently toward her. Tia broke eye contact and tip-toed to the entryway door, checking on the wounded wolf as Jon watched.

Sugar
appeared to be breathing easier. Though the lap rug lay wadded at the canine’s feet, Tia made no move to open the door and replace the warm wool over the reclining wolf. Satisfied, Tia returned to her bedroom door, aware Jon never removed his eyes from her the entire time she’d checked on the wolf. Now, he simply raised a hand to her in a brief good night gesture before turning back to the flickering warmth of the glowing fire and she closed the door gently, strangely disturbed by the desperate sadness in his eyes.

The snow had completely slackened off by
seven a.m. the next morning when Tia finally awoke, still feeling bone weary. Both men had risen and the smell of percolating coffee entered her snug bedroom enticingly. She took a quick shower before rejoining the two men in the front room. Steve had straightened the blankets on his cot and rummaged through his backpack, his blonde hair tousled. He straightened abruptly, eyeing Tia who’d dressed in her everyday uniform of warm blue jeans and a blue-striped wool sweater. Feet clad in her favorite moccasin slippers lined with sheepskin, the large room still seemed chilly.

“A good morning to you,” Steve said pleasantly.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a razor a weary traveler could borrow?” He rubbed his rough chin and smiled ruefully at her.

“I think I could scrounge up something,” a
nswered a tired Tia, but instead of fetching the desired razor she headed toward the entryway. The wolf was finally alert and turned his silver head toward her. Like a dog he thumped his long bushy tail, but made no move to rise.

“I think Sugar could use something to eat but I’m hesitant to feed him myself,” said Jon quietly
, behind her. She turned and saw his jean-clad form leaning against the door frame. Today he pulled a cream-colored knotty sweater over his long frame and his feet were once again shod in his worn hiking boots.

“I’ve been outside to check on the weather and it looks like the snow is already melting.
Hopefully I’ll be able to make it to my camp today,” said Jon. “Do you think you might have something the wolf could eat?”

“I could defrost some beef bones I’ve been saving for soup,” stated Tia, heading into the compact kitchen and opening the freezer.
“Were you the one who made the coffee?”

“Yes,” answered Jon, “I thought I could use a li
ttle wake up help.”

Tia noted his tired eyes.
“Me too. Thanks for making the coffee; I haven’t smelled the scent of fresh perked coffee stealing into my bedroom for a long while. It’s a real pleasure.”

Jon shuffled uncomfortably before giving her his reluctant half-smile.
Tia felt a strange feeling in her stomach and quickly cast her eyes to the snow-covered trees in the near distance.

“And if I could trouble you for a razor as well,” asked Jon tentatively.
“I’m beginning to wonder what my face looks like underneath all these whiskers.”

“I’ll see what I can rummage up,” she stated gruffly
, moving away from the tall photographer and placing the beef bones into the microwave.

For now the generator appeared to be still working and she might as well enjoy the microwave and the mo
dern conveniences electricity brought. The emergency generator didn’t carry enough power to run more than the lights and hopefully wouldn’t be necessary this early in the season. The refrigerator ran on propane and the cabin had been skillfully designed by her father and uncle to heat without electricity; the fireplace and wooden stove adequate to keep the chill away. Tia, however, enjoyed the use of her modern appliances, especially the microwave and VCR during the long, dark winter nights and was glad they were still running. While the bones defrosted, Tia rummaged through her bathroom supplies and found a pack of disposable razors left by her father.

“Here you go guys; this ought to make you feel more presentable.”

“You’re a true friend,” laughed Steve, while he packed the old sweats he’d worn for bed back into his bag. “I have first dibs on the shower.”

“Be my guest,” said Jon stiffly. “I’ll help Tia ru
stle something up for breakfast and add wood to your stove. It’s gone out.”

Tia wondered at his brittle tone “I have just the thing,” she said lightly. “I baked some cinnamon rolls just last week and froze an extra batch. How about some of those with hash browns and a couple eggs?”

“Sounds great,” acknowledged Jon. He added wood to the cast-iron stove and within minutes it glowed, emitting heat instantly. He then rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands at the sink as Steve showered.

Tia discovered Jon was a quiet worker, quickly setting the table before returning to peel the potatoes, only asking where he could find the grater when it came time for him to shred the hash browns.
He wasted little effort on superfluous words or actions. It seemed natural he’d be a photographer; one who used photos to illustrate what a hundred words had to say since he appeared such a quiet and preoccupied man.

“I notice you have a computer,” Jon said
, as Tia heard the shower turn on. “Steve mentioned you were a writer.”

Tia wondered if Steve had
really mentioned it or Jon had just noticed his slip up from the night before.

“That’s right; I’m a children’s book author and have a friend in LA who illustrates my stories.
Elaine comes up to Alaska a couple times a year to photograph her backgrounds and then, using my text, creates the most incredible scenes. I believe that my stories and picture books would be nothing without her.”

“Just a
s my photos would be insignificant without Ben’s text. I’m sorry,” he admitted stiffly, “but I’m afraid I’ve never read any of your books.”

Tia gave a short laugh.
“Well, you’d probably only enjoy them if you were 6 to 10 years old.”

She cracked half a dozen eggs and added milk, salt and pepper, and bit of onion flakes for flavor b
efore beating them into the frothy mixture.

“So I take it you like your solitude then?”

“I love it here,” answered Tia truthfully. “I find the scenery and quiet a genuine motivation for my stories. The peace enables me to create. You probably find Alaska does the same for you?”

“It’s true,” agreed Jon
, walking to the sink and rinsing off the grater. “I’ve traveled a great deal as a photographer, but this region is one of my favorites; though I must admit Nepal and the Amazon basin have captured my imagination as well. Your last name is Heath right?”

“Yes,” replied Tia. “Why do you ask?”

“I saw the photograph on the shelf above your computer and I swore I recognized the man in the photo. He looks just like Anthony Heath of Heath Enterprise.”

Tia straightened stiffly.
“He’s my father.”

“Oh,” was all Jon said
, but the monosyllabic tone indicated a great deal. He must have heard the sensational stories about her father regarding the murder of his long-time partner and friend, Andrew Carson. Happily for Tia, Jon didn’t pursue the matter instead stating simply, “Then this must be a lovely place to get away from it all.”

Fifteen minutes later a scrubbed and attractive Steve joined them.
The hash browns sizzled in butter next to several strips of honey-cured bacon as Tia poured the omelet mixture into a greased pan.

“The shower’s all yours Jon.
So what’s that wonderful smell?” he asked Tia, scarcely glancing at Jon who wiped his hands on the kitchen towel before heading for the bathroom.

“Home
made cinnamon buns. You can take out the butter and then flip over the hash browns. I think the bones are ready to feed the wolf.”

“You be careful,” intoned Steve
, once again looking nervous. It was clear he had forgotten the injured canine for awhile.

“Here Sugar,” soothed Tia
, cautiously opening the entryway door. The wolf struggled to rise to its feet but failed, sinking back onto the heavy rag rug that covered the floorboards. “It’s okay sweetheart, you just relax. Here’s some water and a couple juicy bones to gnaw on. Good boy, good boy.” Tia slowly placed her hand upon the wolf’s head, relieved to hear the thump of the loafer’s tail upon the wooden floorboards. She spoke gently and softly for a few minutes but kept her hands away from the vicinity of the bones, recognizing the wolf’s keen teeth could unknowingly shred her arms to pieces if she was silly enough to handle the bones near the wolf’s jaws.

“How is he?” came Steve’s deep voice from b
ehind her. Sugar turned his head and suddenly gave a warning growl.

“Whoa!” exclaimed Steve, backing away from the door.
The wolf continued growling at Steve’s image through the small pane of glass in the door.

Jon had been right abo
ut the wolf, thought Tia. No longer as tame as Tia remembered, any newcomer was now perceived as a threat. Tia rose slowly, sadly making sure she made no sudden movements that might distress the wolf, and eased out of the doorway, latching it securely once again.

“He used to be so tame,” lamented Tia. “I guess I should be grateful he’s acclimating himself to the wild and becoming less used to human ways, but in some ways it’s sad to see him revert so completely.”

Steve retreated to the kitchen and nodded ruefully back at her.
“He’s a wild animal and that’s to be expected.”

The smell
of bacon mixed with the heavenly scents of the toasting cinnamon rolls caused her stomach to growl and at the telltale sound Steve laughed.

“We’d better feed you girl.
Um… Tia... I just wanted to say this while I can. You know, there’s something about this Simons’ fellow that puts me on edge. I can’t buy his story of just happening to drive by at that late hour, it seems totally...” Steve halted abruptly as the bathroom door slammed. “I think the bacon’s ready, but I’m no expert on the hash browns.”

Jon materialized by the round kitchen table, his dark hair plastered damply to his head.
Tia started, for the whiskers had disguised a lean, dark face hosting a powerful jaw and straight, even nose. Jon Simons was a great deal more attractive and younger than she’d previously determined. He cocked an eyebrow at her, noting her surprise.

“I must look like a different kind of beast,” he commented seriously.

“You do,” said Steve rudely, not appreciating Jon’s new image one bit. “At least now you look civilized.”

Tia turned away uncomfortably, pulling on her oven mitts and opening the propane
-powered stove. She removed the now toasted cinnamon rolls and placed them on top of the counter. The cinnamon had melted into gooey globs over the large round rolls, sending up a delightful aroma.

Steve peered over her shoulder and smiled broa
dly. “I can hardly wait; that looks and smells divine.”

His brown eyes crinkled appreciatively as Tia placed the cinnamon rolls on a long white platter with a spatula.
Within minutes the sweet smelling buns sat in the middle of the table as Tia piled their plates with the lightly browned cheese omelet and several strips of bacon. Steaming hot coffee, as well as orange juice, finished off the meal as Steve helped himself to a delicious cinnamon roll, now swimming in butter.

The three ate quietly until finally Steve commen
ted, “These have got to be the best cinnamon rolls I’ve ever had the pleasure to taste. There’s a place in Seattle that
claims
to have the best cinnamon buns on the west coast, but you, sweet lady, could put them out of business within a week.”

“
Why thank you. Would you like some more coffee Jon?” He’d been silent throughout most of the meal and had hardily touched his breakfast.

“No thanks,” he answered.
“I’ll check on the wolf and then start packing up my things.”

“Be careful,” cautioned Tia.
“Sugar growled at Steve this morning and I think he’s becoming wilder each day.” Jon shrugged, carrying his now empty plate to the ceramic sink.

Soon Steve and Tia could hear his strong but ge
ntle voice disarming the wolf.

“I’ll clear up,” said Steve as he began to gather up the dishes, “Why don’t you see how Jon’s faring.”

Tia approached the entryway where Jon slowly stroked the gray wolf’s head while inspecting his wound cautiously.

Jon glanced up at her. “He looks a lot better this morning; the wound
isn’t seeping at all.” He rose as the wolf continued to gnaw the beef bone, obviously unperturbed by Jon’s presence.

“There is a definite lull in the storm,” Jon continued. “I should probably try to get back to my camp.”