by Teri Wilson
Reggie’s nostrils flared as he blew out a frustrated puff of breath. Let him be frustrated. Reggie could join the long list of people, led by Ben’s very own father, who were all frustrated with him. Ben couldn’t care less. “Where did that monster run off to anyway?”
At that precise moment, Kodiak’s deep bark echoed off the wood-paneled walls, followed by a distinctly feminine squeal.
“That didn’t sound good.” Despite his ominous declaration, Reggie chuckled.
“Kodiak!” Ben called.
By now, the barking had grown louder. Ben followed the sound to the crowd of people waiting at the registration desk, in the shadow of the outstretched paws of the rampant polar bear.
The group parted like the Red Sea as he approached, revealing a woman with thick waves of blond hair standing alone, frozen to the spot.
Her. Ben’s heart leaped with recognition.
Despite the way the color was draining from her face with alarming speed, she possessed a sort of innocent beauty. That, coupled with her mass of platinum curls, gave her the air and grace of a princess.
A princess who looked woefully out of place in Alaska.
Ben tore his gaze from her delicate face and took notice of the small pink suitcase at her feet, which for some reason rendered Kodiak spellbound.
The suitcase yipped. Kodiak yipped right back at it.
“Kodiak, no.” Ben stepped forward and picked up the leash, which was dragging on the floor behind the husky.
The suitcase yipped again. Kodiak whined, craned his neck toward the mysterious bag and swept Ben’s foot with his wagging tail.
With Kodiak safely restrained, the color returned to the woman’s face in the form of a scarlet flush. It settled in the vicinity of her exquisite cheekbones.
“You.” She scooped the pink bag off the floor and hugged it to her chest.
“I’m sorry if he frightened you.” Ben ruffled the fur on the scruff of Kodiak’s neck. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just likes to make noise.”
“I’m not scared.”
Clearly a bald-faced lie. She couldn’t have looked more terrified if the stuffed polar bear suddenly sprang to life and romped around the lobby. “All the same, I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.” Her reddened cheeks faded to a soft pink, the exact shade of her barking bag. And her fuzzy sweater. And those ridiculous shoes, which resembled some sort of sheepskin bedroom slippers. If sheep were pink.
Ben pointed to the bag. “What have you got in there? Whatever it is, my dog finds it fascinating.”
She smiled and gave the bag a little squeeze. “This is Nugget.”
He glanced down at Kodiak, who had flattened himself to the ground and was attempting a commando crawl to get to the bag. “Nugget, as in a tasty morsel for Alaskan huskies?”
Her lips settled into a straight line. “Nugget, as in my dog’s name.”
“I was only joking.” Ben gave Kodiak’s leash a tug to put some more distance between him and Nugget. “Although you might want to be careful. To some of the dogs around here, that purse will look an awful lot like a lunch box.”
“It’s not a purse,” she deadpanned. “It’s a dog carrier.”
Ben resisted the urge to laugh, figuring it would only lead to another apology. Purse, dog carrier…what was the difference? What kind of dog would actually fit into something that small? Kodiak would have outgrown that thing by the time he was twelve weeks old. “Dog carrier. Got it.”
His response seemed to satisfy her, if the return of her sweet smile was any indication. “Can I ask you a question?”
Weariness had begun to settle in his bones and the line at the registration desk had at last thinned out, but Ben found himself agreeing. “Sure.”
She slipped the dog carrier over her shoulder. Ben could see two tiny eyes staring at him through a mesh panel on the side of the bag. “Are they all this loud? Wild Alaskan huskies?”
The way her green eyes widened when she said it brought a smile to Ben’s lips—a genuine smile. It had been a long time since he’d smiled like that. It felt strange. “They’re just Alaskan huskies. You can drop the wild.”
She bit her full lip. “Of course. I knew that.”
“And the answer is no.” Ben looked down at Kodiak, who’d finally given up on his quest to meet the elusive Nugget. The bigger dog had rolled onto his back, with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.
“Really?”
He wasn’t sure why it made him glad to see that she looked more curious than relieved. “Most of them are louder.”
She laughed. “I’ve seen them in photographs so many times. I just didn’t realize.”
“They tend to be quieter on film.” I ought to know, he thought.
“I want to be prepared.” Her smile grew wider and her eyes sparkled like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Are you staying for the race?” She had to be. Why else would she be here, now of all times? Although he couldn’t imagine, for the life of him, why a woman like her would have any interest in the Gold Rush Trail sled-dog race.
“Of course. That’s what brought me here, to Alaska.” The sparkle in her eyes intensified when the word Alaska passed her lips.
A tangle of dread formed in the pit of Ben’s stomach. She wasn’t saying…no, she couldn’t be.
As if she could read his mind, she filled in the blanks for him. “I’m here to work with the dogs.”
Ben narrowed his gaze at her. “In what capacity, exactly?”
“I’m going to be a sled dog handler!” There was no way to describe her enthusiasm other than to say she was actually gushing.
Ben couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open in shock. Did she have any idea what she was saying?
“Next!” a voice bellowed from the front desk.
“That’s us.” The woman—Ben still didn’t even know her name—gazed lovingly down at the pink dog carrier and hitched it farther up on her shoulder. She wiggled her fingers in a wave. “’Bye, Kodiak. ’Bye, Kodiak’s Dad.”
As she turned to head for the registration desk, Ben caught a glimpse of Nugget watching him from behind the mesh screen. Just as he suspected, the tiny creature in no way resembled a real dog.
Sled dog handler?
She couldn’t possibly be serious.
Chapter Two
Clementine wiggled her toes in the comfy warmth of her UGGs and looked out the window at the blinding swirl of white.
Snow.
It was everywhere. Piled up waist-deep along the carefully shoveled streets and the labyrinth of narrow sidewalks surrounding the hotel. And to Clementine’s complete and utter delight, it was still coming down in buckets.
Buckets…that might be more of a rain-related expression.
She struggled for an appropriate metaphor as she scooped Nugget into her arms. “Look, Nugget, it’s snowing cats and dogs.”
She supposed that didn’t really work, either. But it was the best she could do, because she’d never actually seen snow before. Other than in photographs anyway.
Of course it had been snowing last night when she and her queasy stomach finally escaped the airplane and caught the shuttle bus to the Northern Lights Inn. She hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the beauty of an Alaskan snowfall at such a late hour. This morning was a different story, however. She’d never seen anything like it. The coastal Texas area wasn’t exactly known for its harsh winter weather. It had snowed only once in Houston during Clementine’s lifetime. She had been four years old, too young to carry any memory of making a snowman in her front yard into her adult life. She’d seen the photos, though, in the thick albums that filled her parents’ bookshelves. The snowman had been a full head taller t
han she was. But, like so many things in Clementine’s life, she knew the experience only through pictures.
Not anymore.
She looked out on the strange, white world and was struck by the purity of it all.
Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow.
She would never think of those holy words the same way again.
Thank You, Lord, for Your love and forgiveness. And thank You for bringing me here. At last.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she sniffed and blinked them back. She scooped Nugget into her arms. “How would you like to go for our first walk in the snow?”
The hotel lobby was even busier than the night before and, save for the numerous dead animals on the walls, it seemed everyone had an official Gold Rush Trail name tag hanging around their neck. Clementine almost felt naked without one. A huge banner that read “Welcome Gold Rush Trail Volunteers!” was hoisted above a smooth, lacquered counter at the foot of the staircase. Behind the counter, a map of Alaska covered the wall, floor-to-ceiling. The trail the sled dog teams would cover during the race was marked out in red dashes, all the way from Aurora to the village of Nome, close to the Arctic Circle.
Look at that! I’m almost at the top of the world!
“Can I help you?” A tall woman wearing a neon-orange skullcap greeted her from behind the desk.
“Oh, sure.” Clementine took a step closer to the counter, and Nugget followed along at the end of her pink leather leash.
“Cute dog.” The woman, whose name was Bea, according to her name tag, smiled down at the Pomeranian. “We’re all dog lovers around here, although we don’t often see ones that are so tiny.”
Clementine’s thoughts immediately turned to the handsome man she’d met the night before—Kodiak’s dad. He was so rugged, so Alaskan. She remembered with less fondness his warning about Nugget looking more like a snack than a canine. And his reprimand about her shoes. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”
“Good idea.” Bea nodded. “Are you a volunteer? Can I help get you checked in?”
“Yes. My name is Clementine Phillips from Houston, Texas. I’m a researcher for Nature World magazine. They sent me to volunteer and report back about the race.”
Bea flipped through the box of name badges on the countertop until she found the right one. “So you’re volunteering as a…sled dog handler?”
Her gaze flitted to Nugget once again, and her lips twitched into a smirk.
Clementine tightened her grip on Nugget’s leash. “Yes.”
“Have you ever worked with sled dogs before?” Bea appeared to be putting forth great effort to not look directly at Nugget anymore.
“Um, not exactly.” Did sifting through photos of sled dogs for Nature World count? She certainly wasn’t going to mention that she’d never actually seen one in the flesh—er, fur—until last night. “But there’s a training class, right?”
“Yes.” Bea’s voice turned dead serious. “The class is mandatory if you don’t already have your sled dog handler certification card.”
“I’ll be there. I’ve already registered for the class.”
“Good. It’s mandatory.”
“I understand.” What was her problem?
“Even if you have a Ph.D. in dog, you’ve got to take the class.” She held out Clementine’s name tag but didn’t appear willing to let it go.
Clementine tugged on it a few times until she finally managed to wrestle it out of Bea’s reluctant fingers. Good grief! “Thanks again for the reminder. I’ll be at the class. It’s tomorrow afternoon, right?”
“Tomorrow at noon.” She glanced down at Clementine’s pink UGGs. “Dress warm. You’ll be spending an hour or two outside in the parking lot.”
Clementine resisted the urge to salute and say “Yes, ma’am.” She said a silent prayer of thanks for Bea’s neon hat. At least she would be able to see her coming from a distance, and she could run in the other direction. “Okay.”
“Here’s your volunteer hat and T-shirt.” She slid them across the counter with no small amount of reluctance.
Clementine took the items and slipped her lanyard over her head, with her name tag facing outward. There! She looked as official as all of the other people milling about. “Thank you.”
“You know…” Bea called out to her as she turned to go. “You can always change your mind. We have plenty of other volunteer jobs. Like filing. Or answering phones.”
Clementine’s face burned, and it was a struggle to keep her voice even. “No, thank you. I’m here to work with the dogs.”
Honestly. Filing? Answering telephones? Those wouldn’t exactly make fascinating topics for an article in the magazine. She might as well be sitting back in her cubicle in Texas.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and examined the screen.
Sure enough, her cubicle had managed to follow her to Alaska.
She cleared her throat, just in case it was her boss. If she didn’t come off as confident, he’d never send her anywhere again. He most certainly didn’t need to know the race personnel were trying to talk her into answering phones. “Hello?”
“Clementine, thank goodness. You made it in one piece.” Natalie Marshall, her officemate, sighed into the phone.
Clementine’s heart lifted at the sound of her voice. In addition to sharing a cubicle, she and Natalie were good friends. As close as two people who spend forty-plus hours a week within five feet of one another could be.
She settled on one of the brown leather sofas in the lobby and scooped Nugget into her lap. “I’m here.”
“Are you frozen solid?”
Clementine laughed. “Almost.”
“You asked for it. Remember? Over and over and over again, as I recall.”
“Oh, I recall.” Clementine’s voice turned wistful as she thought about all the times she’d begged to go on one of the plum research assignments out in the field, and the grim look on her fiancé’s face last year when she told him she’d finally gotten the one in Alaska.
It hadn’t been the first sign of trouble in their engagement, but it had been the one that really got her attention. Then, six short months later, there was no engagement.
Natalie whispered into the phone, signaling her call wasn’t all about work. “Listen, you will not believe what I saw driving down Memorial Drive this morning.”
Clementine took a wild guess. “A car?”
“No. I mean there were cars, obviously, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Natalie huffed.
Clementine could almost hear her eyes roll from a thousand miles away. “What did you see driving down the street that was so interesting?”
“A motorcycle, complete with red flames on the side. I think it might have been a Harley. And guess who was riding it?” She didn’t wait for Clementine to speculate. It was a good thing because in a million years she never would have guessed the identity of the bike’s rider. “Mark!”
“Mark?” Clementine paused, trying to absorb this information. The pause served no purpose, however. She would never be able to wrap her mind around Mark on a Harley. Unless Harleys suddenly came in beige. “As in my ex-fiancé, Mark?”
“The one and only.”
Impossible.
Mark didn’t believe in motorcycles. Or any other type of vehicles with flames. Mark was safe. He wanted to live his life in a harmless little box.
He’d certainly wanted to keep Clementine in a box.
“What a hypocrite.” Natalie’s voice rose above a whisper with this proclamation. “Can you believe him?”
“Mark doesn’t concern me anymore.” Even faced with the literally flaming evidence of his double
standard, she honestly meant it. She felt nothing at the mention of his name. A fact that spoke volumes.
Although a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right about Alaska. The attitudes of the people she’d met so far weren’t exactly encouraging.
Clementine gulped. “I’m in Alaska and I’m about to go enjoy my first snowfall.”
“Good for you. Forget about all of us back home, Mark included, and enjoy your trip. This is the adventure you’ve been waiting for.” Clementine could hear the hum of a computer monitor in the background and the familiar clickety-clack of Natalie’s fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’ve got to run. Duty calls. You take care.”
The line went dead. Clementine stared at the darkened screen and made a mental note to make sure to buy Natalie a souvenir before she went home. Something nice. A little piece of Alaska. She deserved it for holding down the fort in their cubicle while Clementine was off on her adventure.
She shoved the phone back in her pocket and headed toward the revolving door, anxious to get outside and sink her feet into the snow. Before she pushed her way through, she paused and pulled four tiny shoes from the other pocket of her parka. Correction—booties, not shoes. That’s what they called them here in Alaska. All the sled dogs wore them, and even dogs who weren’t professional athletes. They protected canine feet from the hazards of exposure to ice and snow.
It just happened to be an added bonus that the ones she’d found online for Nugget were beyond adorable.
She taped them into place. The little Pomeranian was remarkably cooperative, considering she’d never actually been a shoe-wearing dog before.
Bootie-wearing, not shoe-wearing.
With the booties firmly fastened, Clementine stood and admired them. Nugget pranced for a few steps and spun in a quick circle.
“Good girl,” Clementine cooed.
This was going so well that she’d have to consider the possibility of using them back home. Surely somewhere in Texas there existed a logical reason for a dog to wear booties. She’d lived there her entire life and never stumbled across such a reason, but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. Right?
