left the poles lying on the ground and spoke in a gentle voice. âDonât worry, sweetie. Iâd never hurt you.â She unzipped her backpack, pulled out a stick of jerky and tore off a bite-size piece. âWould you like a treat?â She tossed the bite to the dog.
The dog jumped into the air to catch the tidbit. Tail wagging, it waited expectantly. Ursula smiled. âThatâs a good boy.â She checked. âGirl, I mean. Want some more?â
The pit bull cocked her head. Ursula tossed another bite. The dog came closer and stuck her nose between the gate and the fence, wagging her tail harder. Ursula handed her another bit of jerky. The dog licked her hand and gently took the meat from her. âAll that bluster is just for show, isnât it? Youâre really a marshmallow.â
The dog wagged in agreement. Leaving the ski poles behind, Ursula pulled the chain up over the post to unlatch the gate and slipped inside. She fastened the gate behind her and gave her new best friend another bite of jerky. Together, they crossed the meadow between the gate and the house, Ursula on snowshoes and the dog crashing through the snow beside her.
Before she reached the house, Ursula noticed a light in the window of the oversize detached garage. When Bettyâs husband built it forty years ago, heâd included a woodworking space as well as room for cars. The light was coming from the workshop area.
The dog headed straight for the workshop and squeezed through a new dog hatch cut into the outer door. The door must not have been completely latched, because it opened when the dog pushed against it. Ursula removed her snowshoes, pulled the crock of salmon dip from her backpack and followed the dog inside.
The workshop featured an arctic entry, a small alcove inside the door leading to another door off to one side to keep the wind from blowing in every time someone opened the door. The inside door stood open, and the dog padded on into the main room. A bench against the wall held a box full of carved wood. Curious, Ursula picked up one of the pieces.
The polished wood retained the natural curves of a tree limb, but a face peered out from the wood grainâan inquisitive gnome with shaggy eyebrows and a long beard. The piece gave the impression that the face had been in the wood all along and just needed a skilled craftsman to let it out. A quick glance showed maybe a dozen similar carvings, each face unique. Enchanting.
The sound of the dogâs toenails clicking across the concrete floor of the shop reminded Ursula why she was there.
She returned the carving to the box and stepped inside, inhaling the piney scent of fresh sawdust. At the far end, a man perched on a stool. His profile revealed a strong brow and a determined jawline. A few gray threads wove through thick brown hair that could have used a trim. His full concentration was on the blade he was using to remove chips of wood from the chunk in his hand. The dog, lying on a cushion at his feet, wagged her tail when Ursula appeared. The man looked up and seemed anything but pleased to see her there.
Before he could speak, Ursula jumped in, determined to be friendly. âForgive me for just walking in. The door was open.â
He didnât smile back. âThe sign says No Trespassing.â
âOh, but Iâm your next-door neighbor.â She took a step closer. âUrsula.â
He remained where he was. âHow did you get past the dog?â
âWeâre friends. Arenât we, sweetie?â The dog trotted over to her and nudged her hand. Ursula smiled. âShe likes my jerky.â
The man let out a huff of exasperation. âWhat do you want?â
Ursula licked her lip. âI came to see you. That is, I brought you some salmon dip. Itâs homemade, from Copper River sockeye I smoked myself.â She held out the crock. âI hope you found the cinnamon rolls I left a few days ago.â
He made no move to accept her offering. âNo, thanks. Iâm busy right now, soââ
Okay, the friendly approach wasnât working. Time to get down to business. She straightened to her full height. âThis wonât take but a minute. What are your plans for the house? Are you fixing it up to sell? Because if you are, Iâm interested in buying.â
âNo. I have no plans to sell.â
âWhat if Iâm willing to pay, say, ten percent more than you did? Thatâs a decent rate of return for a quick investment.â
âNot interested.â He returned his attention to the carving in his hand and flicked away a stray curl of wood.
For the first time, Ursula noticed more of the carved faces lying on the workbench beside him. Unlike the ones sheâd seen in the box, these seemed tortured, in pain. The half-finished carving in his hand appeared to be screaming. She looked away. âIf you do decide to sell, will you let me know before you list the property?â
âYes. Fine. If I ever do, youâll be at the top of my list. What was your name again?â
âUrsula. Ursula Anderson.â
âAll right, Ms. Anderson. But donât hold your breath.â He pushed his knife blade against the wood.
âYour carvings are amazing. I saw the ones on the bench in the entryway. Is there a name for that sort of sculpture?â
He concentrated on a cut he was making before he replied. âPeople call them wood spirits.â
âWood spirits. Thatâs perfect.â She stepped closer and touched one lying on the workbench that appeared to be weeping. The wood was cool and smooth under her finger. âHow do you decide what sort of face to carve?â
He gathered up the carvings and set them out of her reach. âI donât have time for a discussion right now. If youâll excuse me...â
She held up a hand. âJust one more little thing and then Iâll let you be. I donât know if you know, but I run a bed-and-breakfast inn. The main skiing and hiking trails are just behind and to the east of your property, and thereâs always been a right-of-way through your back corner connecting the ski trails to the trail across my property.â
âNo. I donât know anything about that.â
âWell, there is. Your gates are cutting my guests off from the trails. Iâd much appreciate it if youâd open them.â
He stared at her as if sheâd suggested he cut off his foot. âYou want me to let a bunch of strangers traipse across my property?â
âOnly that little corner in the back.â
âThat rather defeats the purpose behind private property, donât you think?â
âNot at all. Iâll make sure my guests understand they are to stay on the trails and not disturb you in any way.â
He stood, towering over her by a good six inches. âBut I am disturbed. Youâre disturbing me right now. One of the main selling points of this property was that itâs completely
