by Teri Wilson
“Are you busy this morning?”
Clementine tightened her grip on her cell phone. “I have my dog handling class this afternoon, but I’m free until then.”
Her mind raced with possibilities of what he might be thinking. Something adventurous probably. Snowshoeing? Or maybe a nice, scenic drive through the mountains. She’d heard there was a glacier nearby.
Then, in his manly tone that made Clementine picture a mountain man on the other end of the line, he asked, “How would you like to do some shopping?”
Shopping? Her gaze flitted to the ceiling. Lord, is he serious?
Before she had a chance to answer, Ben sighed. “I’ll be honest. I have an ulterior motive.”
Clementine furrowed her brow and gathered Nugget, complete with moose, in her lap. This was not sounding good. “What would that be exactly?”
“If you’re going to handle dogs at the start of the race, you need some better shoes. It’s a matter of safety.”
“You’re concerned for my safety?” Oh no, not again. At least he’d abandoned the foot lotion idea. It was progress. Sort of.
“Yes. I was thinking about it earlier and I’d like to help.”
“You were thinking about me?” She knew she shouldn’t have blurted it out like that, but she couldn’t resist. Sort of like the snowball she’d thrown at his head.
He was silent for a moment. “I guess I was,” he finally admitted, although he didn’t sound remotely pleased about it.
Clementine wondered if the invitation was really part of some elaborate conspiracy to drag her into the world of foot lotion, or maybe even to keep her away from the hotel long enough to miss her dog handling class. Well, she wasn’t about to fall for such trickery. She opened her mouth with every intention of saying no.
Instead she found herself saying, “Shopping sounds great.”
* * *
They met in the lobby an hour later, with Kodiak and Nugget in tow. Ben ordered two flavored coffees with extra whipped cream without any prompting from Clementine.
“You remembered.” She smiled as he handed her a cup of turtle caramel latte, the special of the day.
“I’ve never heard anyone order coffee with extra whip. It’s kind of hard to forget.” He looked down at his own cup, towering with a giant dollop of whipped cream. “Especially after I tasted it for myself.”
She sipped her drink. She wouldn’t have believed it could taste better than the toasted marshmallow coffee the day before, but it did. “Mmm. This one tastes like a candy bar.”
“Candy bar for breakfast. I aim to please.” His lips hitched into a grin.
Clementine could see his dimples, winking at her, through his beard. “Have you always had a beard? It seems as though everyone here has one.”
Ben ran his free hand over his strong jawline as they walked toward the revolving doors. “I guess I’ve had it for most of my adult life. This is short, though. It barely qualifies.”
“Look at that one.” She pointed to a Gold Rush Trail poster, propped on an easel by the registration desk. The poster featured a close-up photograph of a musher with a thick, heavy beard, dripping with icicles. “Beards must be an Alaskan thing.”
“Actually, they’re more of a keeping-warm thing.” Ben gave the poster an almost wistful once-over before looking back down at his coffee.
“Does it work?”
“The beard?” He laughed. “I guess you could say it does.”
Ben pushed the door open for her and she stepped outside. The cold air bit at her nose and her teeth chattered.
“Maybe I should try growing one, although I’m not sure I could pull it off.” She lifted her chin. “What do you think?”
He reached toward her and cupped her chin with a gentle graze of his fingertips. “I think you look beautiful just the way you are.”
His hand was rough, masculine. Clementine grew instantly warm despite the snow flurries swirling in the wind. In fact, she experienced an almost-melting sensation in her limbs. “So no beard, then?”
Ben frowned and pulled away so quickly that Clementine wondered if she had only just imagined the unexpected tenderness of the moment. “No beard.”
The pleasant warmth coursing through her cooled. For that, Clementine was grateful. Falling for Ben Grayson wasn’t part of her plan for her trip to Alaska. She took a step and fell—literally—into Ben’s solid chest.
“Here, hold on to me.” Ben hitched her dog carrier farther up on her shoulder before tucking her arm through his. “Let’s go get you some new shoes.”
They walked arm-in-arm through the streets of downtown Aurora, sipping their coffee, with Kodiak trotting out in front. A comfortable silence settled between them. Every so often, Clementine sneaked a look at Ben. Once or twice, she found him watching her as well.
His words resonated in her mind. I think you look beautiful just the way you are. And she realized she felt beautiful. She wondered if it was because she’d finally come to the realization that God wanted more for her life. Or maybe it had something to do with the man walking beside her. She couldn’t be sure, but she preferred the first option.
“Here we are.” Ben patted her arm and pulled her to a halt. Kodiak paused as well and looked back at them. “Are you ready to try on some shoes?”
Clementine took in the yellow Army Surplus sign in the shop window in front of her, as well as the mannequins dressed in army fatigues. She looked down at her own faux fur-trimmed parka and glanced back at Ben. “You’re joking, right?”
“Trust me.”
She eyed the sly smile on his well-formed lips with suspicion. “It’s hard to trust you when you’re smirking.”
“I’m not smirking,” he said with a smirk.
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You just look so traumatized at the idea of shopping here.” His smirk morphed into an ear-splitting grin.
Maybe he really was joking after all. “So we’re going somewhere else?”
“Nope.” His lips twitched, obviously in an effort to keep a straight face. “Trust me. Your feet will stay warm and you’ll stop slipping and sliding all over the place.”
“Okay.” She sighed and cast a fond farewell glance toward her pink boots, although she had to admit they weren’t at all practical. Ben was right. She’d never be able to handle sled dogs—or much else, for that matter—in these shoes.
They tossed their empty coffee cups in the trash can outside. Ben gave Kodiak a down command and ordered him to stay put. The husky watched with his warm gold eyes as Ben led Clementine into the store with a protective hand on her elbow.
He ushered her to the front counter where a bored-looking young man glanced up at them from his newspaper. “Can I help you?”
“You sure can.” Ben smiled, his dimples flashed and he looked a bit too pleased for Clementine’s taste.
Trust him.
He slid his gaze toward Clementine and winked.
The wink floated through her, like a snowflake on a soft breeze.
Then Ben turned his attention back toward the sales clerk. “We need some bunny boots.”
* * *
“Did you say bunny boots?” Clementine’s voice rose an octave, her eyes glimmered with surprise and she glanced down at Nugget, snoozing away in the confines of her dog carrier.
Where, no doubt, the dog’s pint-sized paws were encased in those crazy bunny slippers.
“Don’t get too excited.” Her delighted reaction caused a definite stir in Ben’s heart. “They don’t have ears.”
“I didn’t think they had ears.” Her cheeks took on a pleasant rosy hue.
Ben wasn’t sure he believed her. Ears or not, she willingly gave the kid
behind the counter her size. While he disappeared to the stockroom, Clementine shrugged out of her parka and situated herself on a bench. Once Nugget’s dog carrier was settled next to her feet, she removed her pink suede slippers. Ben couldn’t help but notice her socks were pink as well.
Of course.
All the while, Ben watched her, counting the seconds and waiting for her to break.
One…two…three.
“Okay, I’ll bite.” She threw her hands up. “What are bunny boots?”
Ben raised his brows in appreciation. “Three seconds. Wow, you held out longer than I expected.”
“I’m a pretty patient person.”
“Good.” He nodded. “That will serve you well later on this afternoon at your handling class.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, but he could see the slight flicker of nerves cross her features. Good. He hoped she was nervous. Nervous enough to skip the class and give the paw ointment proposition a fair amount of consideration.
Her glare intensified. “Are you going to tell me or not?”
Maybe she wasn’t nervous. It must have been wishful thinking on his part. “They aren’t actually called bunny boots. That’s just a widely used nickname.”
“For?”
“For extreme cold weather vapor boots. They were originally designed by the army for military use.” He nodded toward the fatigue-clad mannequins in the window.
“Hence the army surplus store.”
“They’re quite popular now among civilians, here and in other arctic regions. Mushers wear them all the time. Nothing on earth will keep your feet warmer.”
She lit up again, obviously pleased at the prospect of fitting in with the mushing world. “So how did they get their nickname?”
“Have you ever heard of the snowshoe rabbit?” He doubted it. The rabbit wasn’t a common resident of the Lower Forty-Eight. And he was certain one had never set foot—or was it paw?—as far south as Texas.
Foot. Rabbits have feet. Not paws.
Good grief, he was already starting to sound like her.
He allowed himself a moment to look at her—really look—and let his gaze see past the mass of curls dusted with a fine layer of snow, the dainty, upturned nose reddened from the cold, and the ladylike way she crossed her feet at the ankles. Instead, he took in the fiery sparkle in her luminous green eyes. Even though he’d known her only a few short days, he knew exactly what that expression meant.
For Clementine Phillips, this trip was no ordinary vacation. She was in Alaska looking for a life-changing adventure.
Ben couldn’t say why, but he’d taken it upon himself to make sure whatever adventure she managed to find was life-changing, not life-ending. The bears might be hibernating, but Alaska was full of other dangers she knew nothing about.
Ben’s sleepless night had convinced him he couldn’t leave her to her own devices. He hadn’t a clue how he would do it, but he would make sure she left the state in one, uninjured piece. The reasons behind this decision were purely selfish—he was looking for absolution.
He couldn’t change the past, but maybe he could somehow change the future.
She grinned at him and let one of her pink slippers dangle from her toe. The sparkle in those wide eyes intensified, and Ben’s temple throbbed.
Clearly he had his work cut out for him.
“Actually, I know all about snowshoe rabbits.” She raised a brow at him, and a proud gleam took the place of the dangerous twinkle in her eyes.
Ben would have been relieved if he hadn’t known its disappearance was only temporary. “You do?”
“I certainly do.” She checked off a few pertinent facts. “They earned the name snowshoe because of the tracks their large hind feet leave in the snow. And their fur changes color with the seasons, from brown in the spring and summer to snowy white in the winter. This change helps them blend in with the surroundings and hide from predators.”
Ben should have been annoyed, and probably would have been if it had been anyone else who had caught him off guard like that. He wasn’t annoyed, though. In fact, quite the opposite. “I’m impressed.”
“They’re hunted by foxes, weasels, owls and coyotes. But bobcats, in particular, find them to be a delicacy.” She sighed. “I had to research them for a story the magazine did last year on leporids.”
Ben shook his head. He didn’t know the part about the bobcats. He also had no idea what leporid meant but he wasn’t about to ask. “We don’t have leopards in Alaska.”
“Leporid. It comes from the Latin for hare.” She tilted her head and blinded him with another smile.
“Does it now?” He crossed his arms. “Because you seem to be an expert on such things, you should probably be able to figure out why they’re called bunny boots, Miss Smarty-Pants.”
The sales clerk returned from the back room holding a pair of white rubber boots, with their traditional bulbous toes.
“They’re white!” Clementine let her dangling pink shoe fall the rest of the way to the floor. “Just like the snowshoe hare’s feet. How perfectly adorable.”
Ben tried to remember the last time he’d heard anyone describe bunny boots as adorable and came up empty. He’d always thought they were flat-out ugly. Ugly but warm. “Try them on and see if they fit.”
She slid into the shoes and pranced up and down the center aisle of the store as if she were in some kind of fashion show.
Her delight even brought a hint of a smile to the bored-to-death clerk. He shrugged. “We also have the Mickey Mouse boots, if you’d prefer those.”
Clementine straightened from where she’d bent down to check on Nugget, snoozing away in the dog carrier. “Mickey Mouse boots? What are those?”
“They’re basically the same as the bunny boots, only they’re black.” The clerk gestured toward the stockroom. “I could bring some out if you like.”
“Black?” Clementine’s brow crumpled. “Why aren’t they yellow?”
“Uh?” The sales kid looked back and forth between Clementine and Ben.
Ben rolled his eyes. “Because they’re black.”
“That’s not an answer.” Clementine jammed her hands on her hips. “Mickey Mouse always wears yellow shoes. So does Minnie. Following that logic, shouldn’t Mickey Mouse boots also be yellow?”
The teenaged clerk nodded in agreement. “She has a point.”
Ben closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He tried his best not to think about the fact that he was standing in an army surplus store arguing about what color shoes some cartoon rodent wore, instead of sitting alone in his peaceful cabin in the woods.
When he opened his eyes, Clementine smiled sweetly at him, as if this were an entirely normal conversation.
He smiled back woodenly and decided to forgo the matter of color altogether. Because, now that he thought about it, the mouse’s shoes were yellow. “Mickey Mouse boots aren’t quite as warm.”
The clerk shot Clementine a questioning look. “They’re rated for temperatures down to negative twenty degrees. Aurora won’t get any colder than that. You’re here for the race, right? Are you here just for the start, or will you be going to Nome for the finish?”
“I’m only here for a week.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed.
Everything within Ben told him it was for the best. Nome was no place for a woman like Clementine. Its very location, on the coast of the Bering Sea, made it more than a little dangerous.
Still, it was a shame she would miss seeing the dogs cross the finish line.
Ben ground his teeth.
Keep your mouth shut. Don’t say it.
“You would really enjoy Nome.”
The words were quiet, barely audible. But they’d come from his own mouth
.
Clementine said nothing. She looked down at the white boots on her feet, her delicate features tinged with sadness.
She was lovely. Even without her exuberant smile, she was so beautiful that Ben’s heart clenched. And he had the sudden urge to kiss her, just as he had standing outside the hotel.
Ben cleared his throat. The army surplus store was hardly an appropriate place for such things. Not that kissing Clementine Phillips would ever be appropriate.
The clerk’s voice broke the heavy silence. “If you’re not going to Nome, either pair would be fine.”
Ben didn’t give her a chance to speak. “She’ll take the bunny boots,” he blurted.
Just in case.
He fully expected an argument from her. Or, at the very least, for her to say something sarcastic about his telling her what to do.
But she didn’t. She simply nodded and reached a graceful hand toward her collarbone, where she toyed with the slender chain around her neck. Ben followed the subtle movements of her fingertips until his gaze landed on the small gold cross dangling from her necklace. A tiny reminder of yet another reason why it was for the best that Clementine went home at the end of the week.
As Ben stared at the cross, any lingering thoughts of Nome fled from his mind.
“I’ll wait for you outside.” He ignored the look of confusion that passed through her features as he pushed his way out the door and back out into the cold.
The sidewalk was empty, save for Kodiak. Ben rested his hand on the dog’s head without bothering to pull on his gloves. He let the frigid air numb his fingertips and waited for it to once again do the same to his heart.
Chapter Five
Clementine was grateful for the intimidating stack of release forms the dog handling instructor expected her to read and sign. In her ordinary life, she never would have thought phrases such as physically demanding activity and injuries are not uncommon would inspire gratitude, but she would have been wrong. Sitting in the makeshift classroom at the Northern Lights Inn, she pored over the typewritten pages. Each word, each letter was a welcome distraction from the bewilderment of shopping with Ben.
