Juneau to Kenai

by Debra Dunbar

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Juneau to Kenai

  Debra Dunbar

  Copyright © 2017 by Debra Dunbar

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  1. Chapter 1

  2. Chapter 2

  3. Chapter 3

  4. Chapter 4

  5. Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  7. Chapter 7

  8. Chapter 8

  9. Chapter 9

  10. Chapter 10

  11. Chapter 11

  12. Chapter 12

  13. Chapter 13

  14. Chapter 14

  15. Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Debra Dunbar

  Chapter 1

  Brent

  “You’re an idiot.”

  I was, but it wasn’t my second’s place to tell me so. Not that Sabrina had ever had any marked respect for authority. The woman was loyal, tough, and just as much of an alpha as I was. I’d encouraged her many times over the last five years to start her own pack—a spin-off from our main one, but she was content to remain second in charge and a pain in my butt.

  “So what do you expect me to do, Sabrina?”

  “Go after her. You haven’t looked at a woman like that in…well, you’ve never looked at a woman like that. You’re a wolf. You’re an Alpha. Don’t be an insecure wuss. Go win her love.”

  If only it were that easy. “She’s a surgeon. She’s got a career in Seattle that she spent fifteen years and a gazillion dollars in student loans studying for. She’s forty-three. She’s got a life she’s happy with. She’s got friends at home. She’s probably got a boyfriend at home.”

  Sabrina snorted. “If she’s got a boyfriend at home, he’s on the edge of being kicked to the curb. That woman wants you. And you want her.”

  True, but there was more to building a long-term relationship than lust. I’d found that out too many times in my life. “The attraction was one of those heat-of-battle things. I want more than sex; I want a partner. She won’t want to abandon the life she’s built to come up to Alaska and be my mate, and I have responsibilities that I can’t—and won’t—leave. There’s no sense in pursing something that clearly wouldn’t work, that would only end in heartbreak for us both.”

  Well, heartbreak for me. I was physically attracted to her. I was ridiculously physically attracted to her. And I admired her. She was smart, with a quick, dry wit. She was brave, kept calm in a crisis, had good judgement. I could depend on her. I respected her council. I saw her as more than an equal; in some regards I viewed her as having superior skills and knowledge—skills and knowledge that complimented mine. Together we’d make an amazing team.

  And did I mention I wanted to bury myself into her softness, make her cry out my name in the heat of passion, wrap myself around her as we slept. I wanted to feed her, protect her, trust her with my soft underbelly, lean on her in dark hours. She was strong and steady. Seeing her walk away to her hotel and turning my back on her had been the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life.

  “Idiot.” Sabrina swatted me on the shoulder. My second and I had known each other since we were pups. She, Ahia, and Zeph were my closest friends, my confidents, the ones that saw the me behind the Alpha.

  “She’s gone off on some ten-day hiking/climbing thing up in Kenai,” I told Sabrina. “Then she’ll fly from Anchorage to Seattle, and go back to work at the hospital. What am I supposed to do, conduct a long-distance romance? Fly back and forth to Seattle every two weekends? Her schedule is all over the place crazy. She hardly ever gets days off. It’s not going to work.”

  Sabrina gave me a knowing one-eyebrow-raised look. “Seems like you’ve thought an awful lot about why this isn’t going to work. How about you just go with it? Hunt her down, see where the next ten days take you, then make your decision. I’ll hold down the fort with the pack. Go get your woman.”

  Where the next ten days would take me? They’d take me into a broken heart, that’s where they’d take me. I, the Alpha of the Juneau Pack, was scared of a diminutive, confident woman. No, I was scared of me. I was scared of losing my heart at the age of forty-five and feeling the ache for the rest of my life.

  Those sleepy bedroom eyes. That slim, wiry, athletic body. The dark, fine hair, soft as strands of silk. Every cell in my body wanted her. And my heart wanted her too.

  “What does your wolf feel?” Sabrina asked.

  I grimaced. My wolf wholeheartedly approved. My wolf wanted me to take her to bed that first night we’d met, in the cave. My wolf wanted me to shift and haul ass across the state to find her.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But if she thinks I’m a complete weirdo-stalker for showing up uninvited on her hiking/climbing vacation, I’m going to be thoroughly humiliated.”

  Sabrina grinned. “Don’t worry, Brent. I won’t tell a soul.”

  She would though. I’d have the whole pack waiting for me to come out of the wilderness, Kennedy scooped up in my arms like a bride on her wedding day. They’d cheer. They’d toast our nuptials. They’d plan the details of our mating ceremony. Werewolves might have a fierce reputation, but we were suckers for weddings and babies. And when I came out of the wilderness alone, I’d have to endure years of sad, sympathetic looks. Half the pack would bring casseroles to my door. The other half would try to drag me out to titty bars to drown my sorrows. The reaction of my pack would be worse than the rejection itself. Well, not really, but close.

  But Sabrina was right. I doubted Kennedy would ever want to give up her career, her life’s purpose, to move here with me, but I needed to know that for sure. I needed to see if the slim chance we had a future together might be enough. And if I suffered the inevitable heartbreak, well, so be it.

  Chapter 2

  Kennedy

  I was an idiot. These things didn’t last. I’d been in the Army. I’d seen my share of romances forged in the stress of battle. Heck, I’d had my share of adrenaline-sparked romances, where life-threatening circumstances gave rise to some of the most passionate sex I’d ever had. Those relationships never survived outside of the environment they’d been born in, and I was sure the same would be true of whatever that werewolf and I had been heading toward. It wouldn’t have lasted. But it would have been nice to have actually had sex with him before we were rescued and went on about our normal lives.

  No, it wouldn’t have. Sex with him would have been a high-speed journey to heartbreak.

  I’d watched him in the tourist store, because who could keep their eyes away from a powerful, sexy guy like that? He had a presence to go along with his good looks—the sort of presence that made everyone take notice, that made everyone jump to obey his orders, to long for his smile and nod of approval.

  And I’d watched him close in conversation with a curvy, pretty native girl at the counter. I’d seen him pinch her chin, give her a soft, affectionate kiss on the forehead, and look at her with love in his face as he turned to l
eave. But after what happened on the other side of that interdimensional rift, I was pretty sure what he felt for that angel was the same as I felt for my brother, or my best friend back in Seattle. She was in love with the other angel, and that left Brent available. But available didn’t mean squat if he wasn’t interested in anything beyond a heat-of-the-moment quickie.

  He’d walked away. I’d given the police my very weird statement, then gotten in the squad car for them to take me back to my hotel. When I glanced back as the officer drove off, I’d seen him heading away with his friends. He hadn’t watched me leave. He hadn’t given me any indication that he ever wanted to see me again. Whatever might have been didn’t happen, and I needed to stop obsessing over his broad shoulders, his deep voice, the feel of his fingers as he tucked my hair behind my ear, his calm, authoritative, commanding presence.

  Gah, I had it bad. Stop thinking about Brent and enjoy your vacation. I had this ten-day hike and climb that included some rafting, then I’d return to Anchorage and board the plane back to Seattle and the hospital. Once there, I’d throw myself into my job, and forget about everything except the patients rushed through the emergency room door.

  “You up for s’mores, Kennedy?”

  I looked up at Leon. I’d felt a little uncomfortable at first that this hike/climb excursion consisted of only me and a guide. Seems I was the sole weirdo wanting to tromp through the snow and ice of late April in Alaska, which left me with a private tour.

  I’d missed a day hike in Juneau because I’d been caught in the tourist-shop explosion that sucked me, six other humans, and a werewolf through an interdimensional rift. Not that I’d known Brent was a werewolf at the time. We’d been rescued and rather than just go back to Seattle, I’d decided to salvage what I could of my vacation and do this planned ten-day hike in Kenai.

  Leon and I had loaded up a plane first thing this morning. Another outfitter employee had flown us to our entry zone, landing on a glacier lake so we could promptly start our hike. I liked to think of myself as fairly athletic but after spending the entire day tromping through boreal forests and ascending to the alpine tundra, I was tired. Not so tired that I didn’t plan on doing our climbs tomorrow, though. And not so tired that I’d turn down an offer for s’mores.

  “Sure. I’ll grab some sticks for the marshmallows.”

  I walked away from the campsite and down a narrow trail that was barely the size of a deer path to search for sticks, careful of my surroundings. I had bear spray. I didn’t have a rifle, although Leon had one. I guess if I ran out of bear spray I could always beat one over the head with a camp chair. Oddly, I wasn’t all that concerned about encountering a bear out here. Fighting raggedy bug-guys with laser shooting sticks just a few days ago tended to make wildlife seem harmless in comparison.

  S’mores weren’t the only highlight of our meal. When I got back from my stick-gathering, I found Leon grilling up salmon and vegetables. My stomach knotted with hunger as I smelled the lemon and herb marinade. After tomorrow we’d be back to more traditional backpacking food—stuff that was lightweight enough to haul for the remaining eight days through the mountains, but for now I was going to savor every bite of that salmon.

  Once we’d eaten and finished clean-up, I decided I was done for the evening. Pulling my collapsible crutches out of my pack, I sat down and unzipped the side of my hiking pants. With a push of a button I released the vacuum lock on the socket, and eased my leg off. Setting it aside, I took off the sealing sleeve and sock, then began to carefully remove the liner.

  “You’re an amputee?” Leon’s voice conveyed his disbelief and shock. I was used to this. I’d rather people come right out and ask me about my accident and my prosthesis then stay silent and wonder.

  “Yep. I lost my leg in a car accident sixteen years ago. I’m lucky to be alive. I’m even luckier to have only lost the one leg. I was told it was touch-and-go with the other one.”

  He shook his head. “I had no idea. I mean, you don’t walk like you’ve got an artificial leg or anything. Are you going to be able to do this trip? We’re going to be covering some challenging terrain. We’ll be ascending over four thousand feet, then back down. We’ll be crossing rivers and streams, walking on rocky trails. There will be some muddy spots that are really slippery.”

  I got it. This was a difficult excursion for a fit, two-legged person. Leon was afraid I’d gotten in over my head and that he’d somehow have to drag me out of here to a spot where he could call for an airlift rescue. He couldn’t imagine doing all this as an above-the-knee amputee, so he assumed it was impossible. In sixteen years, I’d learned there was very little in life that was impossible—if you were creative, persistent, willing to fail over and over without giving up, and open to trying new things.

  “I’ve climbed in Colorado. I’ve skied in Wyoming. I’ve kayaked in Oregon. I’ve hiked all over Washington State, Montana, and Utah. I think you’ll find that I’m just as capable as any other experienced backpacker.”

  “But…” He looked skeptically at the leg I’d just removed. “You really can hike all day with that on? Did I mention crossing streams and muddy, slippery spots?”

  “The days of the wooden pirate leg are far gone, my friend.” I held up the prosthesis. “This here sucker is one hundred thousand dollars of top-notch technology. Waterproof. Sand proof. Five-day battery life, which I brought a back-up for, thank you very much. I’m just as stable in slippery mud as you are. Even standing for an eighteen-hour surgery doesn’t bother me. Trust me, I’ll be fine. I’ll probably be tired as all heck, but I’ll be fine.”

  He eyed the leg with surprise. “A hundred grand? Sheesh, that’s as much as some houses.”

  I nodded. “But what price do you put on your mobility? On being able to do all the things you love to do?”

  I was lucky that I’d managed to scrape together the money and loans for such an expensive prosthesis. Yeah, I had a fortune in loans, both from this and from my schooling but as a trauma surgeon, I made good money. Eventually everything would be paid off, and I’d look for houses in some of Seattle’s nicer areas. Unbidden, an image of a brawny dark-haired man surfaced in my mind. I would love to come home to him, to share my life with him, but he was the leader of his pack, and he clearly wasn’t interested.

  He grinned. “Yeah, I’d live in my car and eat Ramen noodles for that. Okay, bionic woman, let’s drink our wine, get some sleep, and tomorrow we climb.”

  Leon was up before me, frying pancakes that were more blueberries than batter. It was colder here than in Juneau and I was grateful for my thick sleeping bag and puffy coat. After breakfast, we gathered our climbing gear, I put on the prototype climbing leg I was testing, and we set out.

  I’d used the leg once when we’d been sucked through that interdimensional rift, and felt confident enough in it that I left the prosthesis with the microprocessor knee back at the camp. We were going to climb all day, then return to the camp at night. Tomorrow we’d head out for a long hike, then hopefully the weather would cooperate and we’d be able to get on the river and do some paddling.

  The climb Leon had chosen to start was a mixed pitch with a snowy approach, a forty-five degree snow and ice covered slope leading to a rock headwall. The second pitch had an ice overhang that looked fun and some rather menacing jagged daggers of ice over a rock roof.

  Down in Juneau there had been patches of snow here and there, but only in the higher elevations and shaded areas. Here, in spite of it being nearly May, there was a good bit of white. Some spots in the lower alpine area would still have basins of foot-deep snow. I wanted to come back here, to hike and climb in Denali, to kayak the Lemon Creek Canyon, to explore the ice fields outside of Juneau.

  That wasn’t the only reason I kept thinking of Juneau. If I came back for another vacation, would I see him? Would I be able to make up some excuse to look him up? Hey, I was just in the area cross-country skiing and thought we could catch up over a beer.

  Yeah. N
o. I’d be better off avoiding Juneau. I’d be better off avoiding this state. Otherwise I’d be thinking up ways to look like a pathetic, love-struck idiot.

  I shook off thoughts of the sexy werewolf and started climbing. My experience was mostly in sport climbing and I’d done very little ice climbing in the lower forty-eight. By the time we were heading up the first pitch, I realized I needed to spend more time in the gym. I belayed while Leon climbed, then I did a top-rope climb on the first section. After that, Leon and I took turns belaying. It was a blast, thinking about the best route up, working out the handholds and footholds. Climbing required strength, but it also required balance and equilibrium, a calm, cool head and the patience to backtrack when the route you thought was ideal didn’t quite work out the way you wanted.

  At the top of the headwall, we chilled on a ledge for a bit, then set up a second belay point and continued up the third pitch. There I got to use my crampons and tools and really fall in love with ice climbing. It made me want to come back…but I probably shouldn’t come back. Although Alaska was a huge state. There was no reason I couldn’t vacation here without thinking about Brent.

  No. Alaska to me would always be about Brent. Every bit of rock and ice, each spruce and hemlock, every breathtaking view reminded me of him—made me wish he was here to share the beauty with me.

  We rested again at the top of the ice-ledge, looking down at the green treetops in the valleys, the deep blue-gray of the lakes and rivers. The ridgeline went on for miles, in the background cloud-covered mountains, monochromatic with their black rock and white snow.