Alaskan Hero

by Teri Wilson

  Then why did he feel so hollow now that it had ended?

  He leveled his gaze at her for a long, electrically charged moment and waited for her to change her mind. Brock was certain she would. Could she really stand there and pretend that kiss hadn’t meant something? Hadn’t she felt it—that all too brief moment of perfection when their lips met?

  He knew she had. He could see it in the faint tremor of her hands. That subtle movement was a visible reminder of the hum of life that had traveled through both of them only a moment ago.

  He took another step closer and angled his head. “Anya, please.”

  He was begging now?

  Apparently so.

  And he wasn’t sure what he was begging for. He only knew that he didn’t want to see her so upset, so filled with regret.

  She lifted her chin and stared back at him, her violet eyes darkening to a deep, troubled purple. “I think it would be best if you went home now, Brock.”

  He nodded. “You’re right.”

  The need to leave—to get as far away from Anya as he could manage—hit him with an urgency that sent him walking straight to his parka and jamming his arms inside its sleeves.

  Anya didn’t take so much as a step toward him. She stayed right where she was and watched him with a quiet determination that Brock felt like the snap of a cold, arctic wind.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I kissed Brock,” Anya announced, rather unceremoniously, as she slid Clementine’s latte across the counter.

  Clementine didn’t make a move to touch the latte, which only underscored the magnitude of Anya’s predicament.

  “You should probably take a sip. That mountain of whipped cream you requested is going to melt.” Anya nodded toward the latte cup.

  Clementine glanced at her drink and then back at Anya. “You can’t just drop a bomb on me like that and expect me to dive into a pile of whipped cream.”

  Protestations aside, she dipped her finger into the whipped cream, scooping a generous portion of it into her mouth. “Mmmm. Okay, now that we’ve averted a whipped topping crisis, could you please enlighten me? Brock kissed you? When? Where?”

  “No.” Anya’s neck grew hot. “I kissed him. Last night, at the cottage. It was an accident.”

  “An accident?” Clementine raised an eyebrow and reached for her latte. “How do you kiss someone by accident?”

  “Okay, it wasn’t an accident. I knew good and well what I was doing. But there were extenuating circumstances—The Karate Kid, a snowstorm and a breakthrough with Dolce. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “The Karate Kid? Really?” Clementine smirked behind her latte cup. “We’re in Alaska. There’s a snowstorm every other day. I don’t remember it ever being cause for you to go around kissing people.”

  “The point is, it was a mistake,” Anya groaned. “A horrible mistake.”

  Clementine frowned and plunked her coffee on the counter. A few drops sloshed over the rim. “Really? A mistake? That surprises me. I’ve seen the way Brock looks at you. Was it really that awful?”

  Awful? No. It was actually rather wonderful. More wonderful than I could have ever expected...

  “Not that kind of mistake.” Anya wiped the latte mess from the countertop and slipped her apron over her head.

  The coffee bar wasn’t even technically open, but Anya couldn’t bring herself to face avalanche training with Brock this morning without a little emergency girl-talk session first. Although she hated to call Clementine at such an early hour, she knew the promise of a gourmet coffee drink would go a long way toward making it tolerable.

  “Oh,” Clementine said. “I see. You have feelings for him, don’t you?”

  Feelings for Brock? No, of course not. She’d just been caught up in the moment. That’s all.

  Yes, she was currently knitting a hat for the man in question. But that didn’t necessarily mean anything either. She had to have something to occupy her time while she sat on the floor with Dolce.

  “No,” Anya said. She frowned when she realized how unconvincing she sounded. “Dolce walked out of the bedroom all on her own. I was elated. Brock was there, and I was...vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable. I see.” Clementine nodded.

  Anya was grateful she refrained from pointing out that vulnerable people typically allowed themselves to be kissed rather than doing the actual kissing.

  “I repeat—it was a mistake. Brock and I work together. I’m supposed to hide in a snow cave with him.” She glanced at her watch. “In less than an hour. What should I do?”

  “Personally, I think you’ll end up regretting it if you decide not to go. You love volunteering with the ski patrol, and Brock will be leaving town soon anyway. Problem solved. But you have a choice. You don’t have to do this.”

  Anya’s thoughts turned at once to her Bible, sitting open on her night table. When Brock had left the night before—when she’d practically forced him out the door and into that snowstorm—and she couldn’t make sense of what had happened, she’d sought clarity in God’s word. Her Bible was still new enough that the spine cracked when she opened it. She hadn’t really expected to find anything inside that would speak to her situation, but the book itself—the heaviness of it—was always a comfort.

  She hadn’t been quite sure what she was looking for. Something along the lines of Blessed is she who kisses a handsome man by mistake would have been nice. Of course she’d found nothing of the sort. Her eyes had landed on a verse right in the middle of the book of Isaiah, however, that gave her goose bumps.

  Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken.

  Mountains that shook? Hills that gave way?

  It had to be a sign. She was meant to help the avalanche search team. She knew it now with even greater certainty than she had before.

  “Actually, I do.” Anya squared her shoulders. “This is what God wants for me. I just know it.”

  Clementine sighed and polished off the last of her latte. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I know it might sound crazy, but it feels right.” As much as she believed she was following God’s plan, there was still the awkward matter of the kiss to deal with. “The part I’m not so sure about is working side by side with Brock now.”

  “Anya, if working with the search team is really part of God’s plan, you don’t need to worry about the rest.” Clementine gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You just need to trust Him. It’s His plan, not yours. The details are His to work out.”

  Could it really be that simple?

  “You have a point,” Anya said, letting Clementine’s words sink in.

  Kiss or no kiss, Brock was leaving. At least she knew about it in advance. She would just be more careful around him. He’d helped her so much with Dolce—his being in Aurora was certainly part of the plan. She could accept that. As Clementine had said, it wasn’t her plan anyway. But Anya couldn’t help but wonder exactly how much longer God intended for Brock to stick around—and how much easier things would be if He would consider sharing that information. She shook her head and reached for her parka. She needed to get going if she was going to make it to the ski mountain on time.

  * * *

  Clementine slid off her barstool and fell in step beside Anya as she headed toward the parking lot. “Maybe it’s time to rethink your no-dating policy. You kissed Brock. That seems like a pretty good indication you’re ready.”

  Must they talk about the kiss again?

  “I told you. It was a mistake.” Anya pulled her hat down lower over her ears.

  The air had an extra bite to it as it sometimes did the morning after a snowstorm—colder and damper than usual. Swollen gray clouds filled the sky and hung so low that Anya imagined she
could reach up and graze them with her fingertips. She shivered against the cold.

  “Be careful up on the mountain.” Clementine gave Anya a tight hug. “This weather makes me nervous.”

  Anya grinned as she headed for her car. “What kind of Alaskan would I be if I let a little snow scare me?”

  She wasn’t afraid of the snow or the cold or the eerie gray sky. What frightened her most was the thought of dating again.

  Especially Brock Parker.

  * * *

  By the time the ski patrol was scheduled to begin its snow cave drills, Anya had begun to dream of snow. It came as no surprise, considering she’d spent more time in the snow over the course of the past few weeks than she had thus far in her entire life. This was quite a sweeping statement, given that she was Alaskan through and through. But accurate, nonetheless.

  She’d hidden in holes, boxed in by snow on all sides. She’d rolled around playing with the dogs until snow filled her ears and drenched her hair. She’d even begun to ski again, finding her balance more quickly than she’d expected, given that she hadn’t slipped her foot into a ski binding since Speed had left town. Sherlock would lie across her lap as they rode the chairlift to the top of the mountain. Then they would execute what Brock called a dog snowplow to reach the training site—Anya would aim the front tips of her skis together, keeping the tails pushed wide apart so Sherlock could romp behind her legs. Once at the site, Anya and the others had dug more holes, trenches and snow caves than she could count.

  And she’d loved every minute of it.

  This was different from pouring coffee all day. When she was working with the dogs, Anya felt as though she’d found her place. She’d return to the coffee bar each day with her face glowing from the wind and the sheer excitement of it all and thinking about things like scent cones and snow density while she mixed lattes.

  Under Brock’s tutelage, she and Sherlock had increased the level of their training by introducing a series of challenges. First, Cole held onto Sherlock for longer and longer periods while Anya ran and hid from view. When the dog passed that test with flying colors, still zipping right toward the trench to find Anya even after a five-minute waiting period, it was time for the hiding place to become more obscured.

  The first time Anya had been buried in the trench, Brock had covered her with just a light dusting of snow—maybe an inch or two at most. He’d started with her feet, working his way up to her head. The last thing she’d seen before she closed her eyes was the smile on his face. It had lingered in her memory as the snow fell from his shovel and onto her cheeks, as soft and light as feathers.

  Now as she trudged through the snow toward the ski patrol cabin, she was doing her best to forget about Brock’s smile. And most of all, the kiss. She pledged to keep a degree of distance between the two of them before he left for good and that distance became even greater. And permanent.

  So ten minutes later, when Anya found herself sitting less than an arm’s length away from Brock in the confines of a tiny snow cave, she did her best to concentrate on her surroundings rather than on the company.

  “I can’t believe how warm it is in here.” She peeled off one of her gloves and gingerly ran her fingertips along the ceiling, the wall, the packed snow floor. “Why is that?”

  “It’s not quite as warm as it seems. The temperature in here is probably around thirty-two degrees, although I suppose that’s a good ten to fifteen degrees warmer than outside.” Brock tugged off his black skullcap and ran his hand through his hair. “We’re out of the wind. Plus, the cave itself retains heat.”

  Good to know. Anya had hoped there was some legitimate reason for the warmth coursing through her other than Brock’s closeness. “How long do you think it will take Aspen and Jackson to find us?”

  It was only the second day the dogs had begun working alongside their own handlers to find pretend avalanche victims and the first time the “victims” weren’t hiding in plain sight.

  Brock had decided it was best for the pretend victims to hide in pairs to saturate the area with scent. Before either of them could object, Cole announced he’d hide with Luke.

  That left Brock and Anya. Together. In extremely close quarters. All around them, ice crystals glittered like diamonds in the snowy walls. Anya blinked against the romantic assault on her senses.

  Brock appeared to consider her question and shrugged. “Who knows? They may find Cole and Luke first.”

  “True,” she said. If that was the case, Cole would come and get them. Then it would be Anya’s turn to search for victims with Sherlock. “Do you think Sherlock will be able to find someone in a cave? This seems much harder than searching for people in trenches.”

  Brock shook his head and smiled at his feet. He appeared to be as determined to avoid eye contact as she was. “If he were looking for you, he’d be able to do it in record speed. That dog is head over heels for you.”

  Anya’s face grew a degree or two warmer. “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. But so far, it’s worked out okay. He does whatever you ask. I only hope that he adapts this well to his permanent partner.” He glanced at her ever so briefly. The inside of the snow cave was bathed in soft blue light, perfectly mirroring the color of his eyes.

  She looked away. “I’m sure he will. He’s a good dog.”

  “It doesn’t always go so smoothly. Believe me.” He frowned, and once again Anya caught a glimpse of the world weariness she’d seen in the fine lines of his face. This time, his expression told her he was more than just tired. She got the sense he carried a secret sadness somewhere deep inside.

  She wanted to ask him about it. But she knew she had no right to ask questions of him, especially after pushing him away that memorable night. Why should she care anyway? It wasn’t as if he was in her life to stay.

  She needed to turn her attention to safer things. She looked around and saw nothing but snow on every side.

  “I dreamed about the snow last night,” she said.

  “Did you?”

  She nodded. “I dreamed I was alone under the stars on a very dark night, swishing my arms and legs in the snow to make a snow angel. Isn’t that funny? I haven’t made a snow angel in years.”

  He replied with a small smile.

  “You must dream of the snow all the time. Or have you been doing this so long it no longer fazes you?” She’d meant it as a casual question, just something to talk about until their “rescue.”

  But something in his expression gave her pause. He was unusually still, even for Brock. And when he turned his gaze on her, she found it impossible to look away.

  His handsome features, so strong and chiseled, appeared to soften before her eyes. He seemed uncharacteristically vulnerable, a word she’d never before associated with Brock.

  “I’ve dreamed of the snow every night for the past twenty-five years,” he said in a way that made it clear those dreams didn’t include snow angels.

  “Oh?” Anya swallowed. She was suddenly very conscious of every breath she took, every subtle movement her body made in their close quarters. “That’s a long time.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, his jaw clenching. “Very long. Sometimes I don’t think I’ll ever dream of anything else.”

  She wondered if she should change the subject. Clearly, this wasn’t a happy one. But she was intrigued with the idea of knowing him more. She’d told him so many things about her past, but she knew next to nothing of his. “Why, Brock?”

  He sighed, breathing out a cloud of vapor that hung in the small space between them. “On a very snowy night when I was eight years old, my little brother went missing.”

  “Missing? Did he run away?” Anya held her breath and waited for an answer.

  “No.” Brock gave her a solemn look, and she knew what he would say even before the words lef
t his lips. “He was taken.”

  A shiver ran up Anya’s spine.

  “Was he ever...” She gulped, unable to complete the question.

  “No.” He shook his head. “Never.”

  “How awful. I’m so sorry, Brock.” She reached out and touched his arm.

  He looked at her fingertips resting against the sleeve of his parka, then fixed his gaze on hers. Sadness seemed to pour from his blue eyes and settle inside her chest.

  She had the distinct sensation she was somehow unlocking him, seeing a part of him no one had ever seen before. It made her feel as though her limbs were melting, becoming liquid, even though the temperature in the cave hovered close to freezing.

  “This is why you do what you do, isn’t it? Why you work so hard at search and rescue?” she asked.

  “It was the snow. That night. It made it impossible for the police to find clues the next day.” His voice drifted somewhere between bitterness and grief. “It was everywhere. Inches and inches of it. I guess in a way, I declared war against the snow back then. I decided to go wherever it was worst and beat it. I’d hold it back with my bare hands if I could.”

  “And you’re still fighting.” Tears stung the backs of Anya’s eyes as she realized what he was telling her. This was why he was leaving. He was fighting an adversary that could never be beaten.

  “I can’t stop.” His eyes were practically pleading, as if she could tell him how to give up the fight. As if she held all the answers.

  It was both humbling and stirring. “You can’t keep fighting an unbeatable enemy. No matter where you go, no matter how many people you save, you can’t bring back your brother. Aren’t you tired? I don’t know much about God, Brock. But I do know He can help you. Don’t you just sometimes want to let it all go?”