Alaskan Hearts

by Teri Wilson

  “It looks like we’re ready to brave the cold. Let’s go, Nugget.” She headed outside with a booty-clad Nugget bobbing at the end of her leash.

  The revolving door had barely spun them out on the snowy pavement when a blast of frigid air hit Clementine in the face. It was cold. Biting cold. Arctic cold. Colder-than-her-parents’-fancy-subzero-refrigerator cold.

  Despite the burning sensation in her lungs when she inhaled, Clementine smiled into the wind. This was her first day in Alaska, her first snow-covered morning since that long-forgotten day chronicled in her family photo albums. And she knew exactly how she was going to spend it.

  * * *

  Ben snapped the lens cap on his camera and slid it into his shoulder bag. His fingers ached from the cold, and as soon as the camera was put away, he stuffed his hands back into his pockets for the comfort of the hand-warmer packets he always kept inside. Comfort might have been a stretch, but they helped a little. As much as he could expect anyway.

  Reggie walked silently beside him, his dark eyes tracing Ben’s every move. Between them, Kodiak moved in a relaxed lope. He panted softly, his breath coming out in soft clouds with each step.

  “Your hands still giving you trouble?” Reggie raised his brows.

  Ben shrugged. “Sometimes. Nothing I can’t handle.” He knew Reggie had noticed. His keen eyes didn’t miss much, an attribute that made him a fine dog musher.

  Reggie shook his head. “You need some mittens. Good ones. Beaver or moose hide.”

  Ben laughed to himself. Good old Reggie. If he couldn’t turn Ben into a musher again, he would at least make sure he looked like one. “I’ve still got my old ones, but it’s a little hard to take photographs with my fingers encased in moose hide.”

  “You and your pictures.” An eye roll followed. “You make sure and keep those hand-warmer people in business. It’s hard to booty a dog without any fingers.”

  Ben didn’t bother reminding Reggie there would be no dog-bootying in his future. It was a waste of breath. His energy was better spent trying to change the subject altogether. “Thanks for letting me get some shots of your dogs this morning. I think we got a few good ones.”

  “No problem.” Reggie’s dark face creased into a grin. The pride he felt in his team showed clearly in his expression. “Although you’d probably get more money for those pictures if they were of Mackey’s dogs.”

  “Every other photographer here is taking photos of Mackey’s dogs.” Ben squinted into the distance. He could see clear across the parking lot to where the throng of photographers clustered around the three-time champion’s truck with its musher box on top. “No, thanks.”

  Mackey was the musher to beat, the sport’s greatest champion. Once upon a time, Ben had been the musher to beat.

  He pushed the thought away and concentrated instead on the comfort of the hand warmers.

  “You might want to get that camera out again, friend. Here’s something else your competition is missing out on.” Reggie slowed to a stop.

  Ben turned away from the Mackey hoopla and followed the direction of Reggie’s gaze toward a snowy embankment off to the side of the hotel. The area was deserted, save for a lone woman, with a tiny creature yapping and dancing around her feet. Ben knew in an instant it was the same woman from last night—the one who referred to him as “Kodiak’s dad.” The tiny ball of fur beside her must be Nugget, even though Nugget resembled a squirrel more than any dog Ben had ever seen. A lopsided tower of snow was heaped next to them and looked as though it might topple over at any moment.

  Ben resisted the nonsensical urge to run over, sweep her out of the way and into his arms. He cleared his throat. “Would you look at that?”

  “Pink booties.” Reggie shielded the sun from his eyes with his hands, probably to get a better look. “She’s got pink booties on that dog.”

  Ben pulled his camera from his bag and looked through the telephoto lens. He told himself it was only to verify that Nugget was in fact a member of the canine species. “They’ve got ears.”

  “Of course they have ears. Although if she doesn’t cover hers with a hat, she might just lose ’em. Like you and your fingers.” Reggie laughed aloud at his own joke.

  “Not the woman…the booties.” Ben handed Reggie his camera. Someone else had to get a look at this. “This doesn’t make a bit of sense, but I think they might be bunny slippers.”

  “What? Bunny slippers?” Reggie furrowed his brows and peered through the camera. He shook his head and handed it back to Ben. “Well, I’ll be. What do you suppose she’s doing out there anyway?”

  Ben watched her grab an armful of snow with her bare hands and add it to the heap. Her cheeks and nose glowed bright pink from the cold, which didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest. She bounced around her snowy creation and scrutinized it from all angles.

  A slow smile found its way to Ben’s lips. “I think she’s making a snowman.”

  Reggie snorted with laughter. “Cheechako. It figures.”

  Irritation pricked Ben’s nerves. He couldn’t say why. He’d used the same word to describe newcomers to Alaska countless times. Everyone did. There wasn’t anything inherently disrespectful about it.

  Still, he wasn’t laughing. “You go on ahead. I’m going to get a few shots of the dog.”

  “That dog?” Reggie nodded his head toward Nugget. “Seriously?”

  Ben shrugged and looked through the viewfinder again. “You never know, my editor might use it as a human interest–type piece.”

  “I can see it now. My sled dogs are going to get upstaged by a puffball that wears bunny slippers.” Reggie shook his head and wandered toward the hotel. “I’m off to the mushers’ meeting.”

  “Later,” Ben muttered, entranced by the sight of the woman through his zoom lens. There was something about the way she seemed to glow from the inside out…he found it fascinating.

  What am I doing? I’m supposed to be getting shots of the dog, not acting like some sort of stalker.

  He redirected his lens to the little dog, who was busy kicking up a fine dust of snow with her pink booties. It didn’t take long to get a dozen or so shots, the majority of which were guaranteed to make the most hardened sourdough crack a smile. Even one like Reggie.

  Just to be on the safe side, he snapped a few more. Kodiak waited by his side, with his paw resting on the top of Ben’s left foot, until the camera was packed away again.

  Ben patted Kodiak between his pricked ears. “Let’s go say hello and let her know I took some photos.”

  If only to assure himself he was a journalist, and most definitely not a stalker, he needed to get permission to use the pictures. He snapped Kodiak’s leash in place and headed over to the trio—woman, dog and snowman.

  The closer they got, the more excited Kodiak became, until he let out a prolonged woo-woo. Nugget responded by pawing frantically at her owner’s shins.

  “Good morning, Kodiak’s Dad.” She scooped the little pup into her arms and directed her blinding smile at Ben.

  A smile so bright that it almost hurt his eyes to look directly at it. “Hey, there, Nugget’s Mom.”

  “It’s Clementine, actually.” Ben wouldn’t have thought it was possible for her smile to grow wider, but it did.

  “Nice to meet you, officially. I’m Ben.” He glanced at the name tag dangling from the lanyard around her neck. Sure enough, it indicated her name was Clementine Phillips, from Houston, Texas. Texas. That explained her unabashed glee at the freshly fallen snow. “Something tells me this is the first time you’ve seen so much snow.”

  She laughed and cast a sheepish glance toward the lopsided snowman. “How could you tell?”

  Ben followed her gaze and took in Frosty’s egg-shaped head and his drooping stick arms. “Luck
y guess.”

  “My first snowman, too. Well, sort of.” Nugget wiggled in her arms and craned her tiny head toward Kodiak. Clementine looked at Ben, with questions shining her eyes. “Can I let her down? I think she wants to play.”

  “Sure.” Ben unsnapped Kodiak’s leash and ruffled the fur behind his ears. “Try not to step on your new friend, okay, buddy?”

  Nugget barked and took off running, a sure invitation for Kodiak to chase her. The two dogs cut a path through the snow and made a big loop around Ben, Clementine and the snowman.

  Ben nodded toward the dogs. “Nice bunny slippers, by the way. I took a few pictures of Nugget. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Thank you.” Clementine glanced at his name tag. “Media? Are you a reporter?”

  “Photographer. For the Yukon Reporter.” He averted his gaze away from Kodiak. He was a photographer now. That’s all. No matter how fervently Reggie, along with the other mushers, tried to tell him otherwise.

  Clementine simply smiled. For all she knew, he’d always been a photographer. It was a welcome relief. “You work for a paper? Really? I work as a media researcher back in Texas.”

  “Is that right? For a newspaper?”

  “No.” She shook her head and looked down at her feet, clad in the same pink sheepskin boots she’d worn the night before. This woman clearly had a thing for slippers. “Nature World.”

  “Nature World. That’s impress…” Before Ben could finish his thought, he caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of his eye. He snapped his head to the right, just in time to see Nugget and Kodiak barrel into the side of Clementine’s snowman.

  Snow flew in every direction, but somehow the majority of it landed on Clementine’s face. At first, she stood completely still. She seemed too shocked to do or say anything. Then, just as Ben reached to brush some of the snow away, she started giggling.

  Soon she was laughing so hard that she could barely stand up straight. Kodiak joined in, barking at the top of his lungs, until he resumed digging at a pile of snow in search of a halfway-buried Nugget.

  “Are you okay?” Ben wiped a wet blob of slush from her cheek. The cold water stung his thumb, but not so much that he failed to appreciate the softness of her skin.

  Her cheeks flushed pinker than ever. “I’m fine. I’m a mess, but I’m fine.” She wiped her laminated name tag against her parka to dry it off.

  It was then that Ben noticed the words printed beneath her name and hometown. Sled Dog Handler.

  He stiffened. He’d nearly forgotten why she was here. “So you’re still planning on handling dogs for the race?”

  “Of course. The magazine sent me here for that explicit purpose.” The giggling abruptly stopped. He thought he spotted a flicker of worry in her bright green eyes, but it vanished in an instant. “You thought I’d changed my mind since last night?”

  Ben made a feeble attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “There are other things you can do, you know. I could probably get you involved with the group that’s getting together to make the ointment for the dogs’ paws.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying things like that?” She threw her hands up in the air. Snow flew off a few of her fingertips.

  “Well, you…”

  She refused to let him finish. “I didn’t come all the way to Alaska to make foot lotion. I want to work with the dogs.”

  “Paw ointment,” he spat. “And it’s a very important part of the race.”

  “I’m sure it is.” She jammed her hands on her hips. Her blond curls whipped around her face in the cold wind. Even in her angry, disheveled state, she still looked like a princess. “But I’m here as a sled dog handler. I know I can do it.”

  Ben wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince—him or herself.

  “Clementine, it’s not an easy job. You could get hurt.” And what if I can’t save you? The thought hit him like a cold slap in the face.

  “So what if I do? At least I’ll get hurt doing something with myself. Something amazing.” Stars twinkled in her eyes. Naive, dangerous stars.

  Ben’s stomach tied itself in a familiar knot. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’m saying that I’m going to handle sled dogs.” She crossed her arms and lifted one perfect brow.

  Ben clenched and unclenched his fists. He could barely feel his fingers anymore. The numbness was a reminder of everything he wished he could forget. “Fine, go ahead. Get yourself trampled. Or run over by a sled. That would be a lot more fun than making paw ointment, wouldn’t it?”

  He let out a sharp whistle and, when he was certain Kodiak was bounding toward him, he turned on his heel to walk away.

  “Oh, Ben, guess what else I’ve never done before?” Behind him, Clementine’s voice rang like a bell. Innocent, sweet.

  Still, he knew better than to think she’d changed her mind.

  Everything within him told him to keep walking. He couldn’t protect Clementine. He couldn’t even protect her silly dog. Experience had taught him that much, in the cruelest way possible.

  But he was helpless to resist the strange pull he felt toward her.

  Against his better judgment, he turned around. He barely had time to notice the snowball whizzing toward him before it hit him square in the forehead.

  Chapter Three

  Clementine watched in horror as the snowball flew toward Ben. With a squishy-sounding splat, it made contact with his forehead. His eyes widened as a blob of slush ran down his face and lodged in his closely trimmed beard.

  Clementine was mortified to her very core.

  Dear Lord, what has gotten into me?

  She blamed it on Alaska. She’d gone wild. Just like the salmon.

  “Your first snowball, I take it?” Ben wiped the slush from his beard and leveled his gaze at her.

  “I was aiming at your back.” She held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “I promise.”

  “Unbelievable.” He shook his head and one corner of his mouth tugged up into a crooked grin.

  It was only half a smile, but she’d take what she could get. At the sight of it, Clementine released a relieved lungful of air. She stopped breathing again when he bent down and scooped a generous blob of snow into his big hands.

  “I can’t remember the last time I was part of a snowball fight.” The gleam in his eyes was positively wicked as he went to work packing the snow into a perfect, round ball.

  Clementine looked at the snowball with envy. Wow, he’s good.

  “Fortunately, it’s like riding a bike. Some skills seem to stick with you.” He came toward her and launched the snowball in one swift movement.

  She squealed and ran toward the makeshift shelter of the pitiful remains of her snowman, but not before Ben’s snowball hit the back of her parka with a thud.

  “Wait!” she wailed, as she plunged her hands in the snow.

  Ben pelted her with three more snowballs in rapid succession before she could even form one of her own. She wasn’t sure if hers even qualified as a snowball. It wasn’t quite round, if truth be told. It was shaped more like an amoeba.

  She threw it as hard as she could and jumped up and down in delight when she discovered that snow amoebas were every bit as effective as snowballs. Ben’s beard was once again covered in snow. He looked like Santa Claus.

  Wild Alaskan Santa.

  Laughter bubbled up Clementine’s throat until tears streamed down her cheeks. She scrambled to form another snowball, but lost her balance on the slippery ground. She screamed through her laughter, even as Ben loomed over her with another of his perfectly packed snowballs.

  He aimed it directly at her face and held it there, taunting her. “What’s so funny?”

 
A cold drop of snow landed on her nose, and she let out a shriek. “Your beard is full of snow. You look like a certain man who dresses in red suits and has a fondness for caribou.”

  “Caribou, huh?” He lifted his brows. “You’re starting to sound like a real Alaskan.”

  Her stomach flipped. “Really?”

  His only response was to grind the snowball on the top of her head.

  Ice-cold water ran down her curls, soaking her neck. A shiver ran up her spine. “I give up. You win.”

  He flashed a triumphant grin and Clementine shivered again, this time at the reappearance of those charming crinkles in the corners of his eyes. “Great. I suppose that means you’ll reconsider the paw ointment idea.”

  And just like that, the crinkles lost their appeal.

  “It means nothing of the sort,” she spat. “You’ve won the battle, but not the war.”

  His grin faded, along with the laugh lines. “I don’t want to be at war with you, Clementine.”

  The genuine concern written all over his face nearly did her in. “It’s only an expression. We’re not at war.”

  “Good.” He offered his hand to help her up.

  She took it and tried not to think about how comforting his grasp was. Or about how delicate and feminine she felt standing next to him. Those were dangerous thoughts. The sort of thoughts that would keep her from her destiny. Although sometimes she wondered what exactly that destiny might be. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He peeled a few of her wet ringlets away from her face. “You’re soaked. You should probably get inside.”

  Again with the unsolicited advice. Just like Mark. Two could play at that game. “And your hands are freezing. You should do the same.”

  Ben jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded his head toward the hotel. “Would you like to get some coffee? They usually have a daily special. I think today it’s something called a toasted marshmallow latte.”