Chapter 8
fir better or worse
Ivar
Kisses were a nice way to wake up. Dog kisses? Not so much.
Ivar opened his eyes to find Al’s enormous amber ones staring back at him from inches away, tail thumping with impatience.
“Morning to you too,” he muttered.
Al gave a short, huffy bark, meaning, let’s go then.
Ivar groaned, pushed back the covers, and let him out into the yard.
Cold air swept in as Al bounded through the snow, leaving a flurry of paw prints in his wake.
When the dog was done, he tapped at the door to be let back in and then jumped straight onto the bed, scattering wet paw prints across the clean sheets.
“I guess I’m up,” Ivar muttered, sighing.
Al curled into a ball and promptly went back to sleep.
If only he could do that too. It wasn’t that he was dreading the day.
Okay, he was absolutely dreading the day.
Spending his time off with someone who might limit access to the forest wasn’t his idea of a good time. And that was the best-case scenario. Worst case, Holly Kringle and her mysterious “family business” could tear apart the land he loved most.
While his coffee brewed, he stood by the window and stared out at the pond behind the house. A record-breaking cold month meant that the pond was frozen solid now, a smooth white sheet framed by spruce and birch. The trees stood dusted with snow, silent and watchful.
The possibility of losing all those trees made his stomach twist. What if one of those cut down was his tree?
He shivered.
Despite everything, he knew he had to go. It was the only way to find out what Holly Kringle planned.
He packed his bag with the first aid kit, water, and safety equipment, then attached the snowmobile trailer to his truck.
He also threw in two pairs of snowshoes, walking sticks, and extra gloves.
If she was going to wander the Hale property, he wasn’t letting her freeze or fall through a snowdrift.
“Let’s go, Al.”
The husky jumped up, eager as ever.
They reached the Winterwood Inn fifteen minutes early, which gave Ivar just enough time to sneak a cinnamon bun from the breakfast buffet.
The inn’s chef baked them fresh every morning, and they were always warm, gooey, and heavy with icing.
Exactly the kind of fuel he needed for a long day in the cold.
He was halfway through licking frosting off his fingers when his sister appeared, hands on her hips.
“You are going to pay for that, right?”
“Of course,” Ivar said, wiping icing from his chin. “Right after you pay me for fixing your leaky bathroom faucet.”
“Uh-huh.” Liv arched an eyebrow.
He shrugged. “I’m early.”
“That’s a first.”
Before he could reply, footsteps sounded on the stairs. Holly’s dark hair and warm brown eyes were almost completely hidden beneath her scarf and hat. When she stepped off the stairs, wrapped in enough layers to summit Everest, he had to bite back a smile.
“Good morning,” she said brightly, then caught his expression. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“I can tell by your face it’s not nothing.”
He tried unsuccessfully to hide his grin. “We’re in Vermont, not the Yukon.”
“I know,” she said, sounding mildly offended. “But I don’t like being cold.”
“That’s fair,” he said. “But you’ll need to be able to bend your arms and legs at some point.”
Holly’s eyes narrowed and were cold enough to freeze his coffee.
“I made arrangements with Liv,” he said quickly, still smiling. “You can borrow her snowmobile suit. Trust me. You won’t be cold in that.”
As if on cue, Liv emerged from the back hallway, holding up a teal snowsuit.
“Here you go,” she said, grinning. “Guaranteed to keep you toasty. It’s practically magic.”
“Thank you,” Holly said. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to lose a few layers.” She clutched the suit and headed back up the stairs. “Give me two minutes.”
“I’ll warm up the truck,” Ivar said, slipping on his gloves. “Liv, Al’s in your office, by the way, already asleep.”
“I’ll keep him company. You sure you’re good with this?”
“Define ‘good,’” Ivar said.
She smirked. “Define ‘grumpy.’”
He shot her a look, but there was no heat behind it.
“Be nice,” she added. “She seems nervous.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not the only one,” he said, tugging his hat down over his ears.
Liv laughed softly as he headed for the door. “Be careful out there, Ranger.”
“Always am,” he said.
Outside, Ivar crossed to his truck, wondering what bothered him more—the idea of losing the forest or his growing curiosity about a woman with an odd name who traveled with a broom.
What was up with that thing? His fingers tingled slightly at the memory of their hands brushing over its handle. That strange vibration. He flexed his hand absently, trying to dismiss the sensation as either static electricity or the cold.
He allowed himself a big stretch before climbing into the truck, hoping to clear his head. Brooms don’t vibrate. He was imagining things. Probably due to his stress over the forest’s future.
What else could it be?