Race Against Time

by kimberly

  He shook the thoughts away and smiled at the woman manning the front desk. “Good morning, Wanda. Lovely day, isn’t it?”

  “Why, good morning, Mr. Connolly. And um, yes, it is. Even though the sun won’t be up for a while yet.” Her smile always made him feel at home.

  “So it is morning?”

  She laughed. “I guess we’re so used to the dark up here that we don’t think twice about it. And yes, it’s definitely morning.” She pointed at him. “Wait right there, Mr. Connolly. I’m about to take some cookies out of the oven.” Wanda scurried away and returned in a few minutes with a plate of warm cookies. “Here you go. Nice and gooey.”

  Sean hesitated, then gave in and grabbed a napkin and two cookies. He stepped aside as another guest commandeered Wanda’s attention. No hurry.

  He took his time munching on the warm, sweet snack. Now . . . how to find a job in a town as small as North Pole? Probably best to find out from a local.

  The guest left the desk, and Sean stepped up to get Wanda’s attention.

  “Do you need more cookies?” She pointed at her chin with a wiping motion.

  He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his chin. “No, ma’am. As you can see, I’ve had enough. But I do need your assistance in finding a job.”

  She stepped back and lowered her eyebrows. “A job? Here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Really? You need a job?” She covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Connolly. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. I thought you were another tourist passing through.” Wanda pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “What can I do to help you?”

  “I’m looking for something long-term.”

  “That’s wonderful, Mr. Connolly! I know you will love it here.” She flipped open the phone and he watched her scroll through the contact list. “Now, what kind of job are you looking for? There’s not a lot in North Pole, but I’m sure we can find somebody who knows something.”

  He furrowed his brow. What did he want to do? He loved photography but wasn’t sure he even wanted to try to make a living that way. Being outside was always good. Even in the bitter cold. “Something outdoors.”

  “Okay.” She giggled at him. “Do you have anything else? Other than being outdoors?”

  Sean leaned over the desk and scratched his head. “Seems a little on the ridiculous side, huh?”

  “No.” She smothered another laugh. “Not at all. You just seem very . . . well, very educated, and well . . . established.”

  Sean straightened again. It was true. Her honesty made him comfortable in his own skin, even if he wasn’t sure he liked who he was anymore. “I’m starting over.”

  Her fingernails tapped on the counter as she looked lost in thought. Then, with a grin, she pointed at him. “You know, I have a friend who owns a large kennel.”

  “Kennel?”

  “As in dog kennel. She breeds and trains dogs for sprint racing. She’s won a lot of races. And her daughter. Wow. Her daughter is definitely an up-and-coming star.”

  “She?”

  “Yes.” Wanda peered over her glasses at him. “She’s one of the top breeders and racers in the country and told me the other day she was looking for a new hand to help with the upkeep and training.” She continued to scroll through numbers on her phone.

  “Sprint racing? Like the Iditarod?”

  She grinned at him again eyeing him over her glasses. “No. Iditarod is long-distance. It’s like runners—you have long-distance runners and sprinters.”

  Dog sprint racing. Never heard of it. Well, it was outdoors. And there were dogs. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to learn something new. Maybe he’d want to invest in it after he learned all about it.

  Wanda waited, fingers hovering over the land line phone. “So, you want me to give her a call?”

  Sean was ready to take the plunge. “Yes. I’d like that very much.”

  Fifteen minutes later he was on his way. Anesia Nal-something-he-couldn’t-pronounce was looking for a full-time employee and wanted him to come for an interview immediately. He hadn’t even had time to change before Wanda shoved a Coke and napkin full of cookies into his hands and scurried him out the door. Small towns did things a tad different. In the city an appointment would have been made for at least two weeks out, then he would’ve had time to research all about sprint racing and this kennel.

  But now, as he drove into the sticks with Wanda’s handwritten directions, he was unprepared. Thankful for four-wheel-drive, he bounced along a semi-gravel, semi-ice-and-snow-covered road.

  The top of a red painted barrel on the side of the road was barely visible above all the snow. That was his last landmark and only signal to turn onto the unmarked dirt road. As he bounced along, a sign about 100 feet in front caught his eye.

  Naltsiine Kennels.

  Sean slowed and stopped. Was that the place? Were there other kennels in the same area? That name didn’t look anything like the way Wanda pronounced it. He tried to sound it out, but everything his tongue spit out sounded even further from the name he’d heard less than an hour prior.

  Not wanting to be late, he drove on up to the main house. Hands slick with perspiration. His first real job interview. All on his own. Without a soul knowing who he was or what family he came from.

  It thrilled him. A glance down to the seat beside him brought his new camera to mind. Maybe he could take pictures of her dogs. He reached for it, but then thought better of the impulse. He was here for a job interview.

  As he parked his new truck, a tiny lady hopped off the porch and approached him. Her jet black hair pulled back in a thick braid swung like a pendulum, her parka and boots seemed to swallow her whole.

  And she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ANESIA

  January 14

  Naltsiine Kennels

  North Pole, Alaska

  10:20 a.m.

  The door slammed behind her. No doubt Detective Sheldon wanted to hover again. She was appreciative of the concern, but she needed to stand on her own. Anesia stopped and waited for the detective to catch up. Sasha followed on his heels.

  “And you said Wanda recommended this guy?”

  “Yep. She called me earlier. Said she liked him. That he was new to town and had been staying at the hotel. You know Wanda. She gets to know all of her guests and spoils them rotten.” She watched the object of their attention open his door.

  Detective Sheldon grunted. “You’re right. And you know what? I recognize the truck. I ran plates on him the other day. Looked like a tourist with a cup of coffee in one hand and rubbernecking when he spotted a moose. Thought I was going to have to confiscate his camera to keep the guy safe.”

  So the good detective had run plates. “Did you find anything?”

  “Nope. Seemed clean. Nice guy. A bit stiff. But a nice guy.”

  Anesia couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of relief. But trusting anyone at this point just didn’t seem possible.

  “How many interviews have you done?”

  She laughed as her next interviewee approached. “Too many.”

  Sasha darted ahead, barking. The husky stopped in front of the newcomer and sniffed. Barked. Sniffed again. Then her tail kicked into high gear. Well, score one for you, Mr. Connolly.

  She wasn’t sure what she expected in Sean Connolly, but this wasn’t it.

  Tall and lean, he exuded an air of sophistication she hadn’t seen in this neck of the woods since . . . well, ever. His short, thick blond hair stuck out in every direction as he removed his hat to greet her. Green eyes held a depth—and a hint of a twinkle. Was he laughing at her? Better not be.

  Not if he wanted a job.

  Anesia narrowed her eyes to examine him closer. No, it wasn’t laughter in his eyes, it was more like a sense of wonder. Even delight. Like a child exploring for the first time.

  And yet, there was nothing childish about him. He wore confidence like most men wore
baseball hats. Easy. Comfortable. Add to that his good looks . . . make that his very good looks . . .

  No. Mr. Connolly wasn’t what she’d expected. And she wasn’t exactly thrilled. That a man like this was here, asking her for a job at her kennel—it was strange. At least he didn’t fit Zoya’s description of the shooter.

  She held her hand out to him. “I’m Anesia. And you must be Sean Connolly.” That’s it. Try to be nice.

  “Yes.” His grip was strong, assured.

  “This is Detective Sheldon.” Keep him on his toes.

  “Sir. Yes, I believe we’ve met.”

  “Good to see you again, Connolly.”

  “Yes, Detective. You too.” He cleared his throat. “I have since refrained from taking pictures while driving.”

  Detective Sheldon smiled. “Good to hear.”

  Anesia needed control of the situation and soon. The detective was only doing his job, but she needed them to know she was in charge at Naltsiine Kennels. That threats and murderers didn’t scare her. At least she wanted them to think that. “So, I appreciate you coming on such short notice, Sean. I hear you’re looking for a job?”

  “Yes.” He stared at her.

  “Nervous?” Or, more to the point . . . “On the run? Eluding the law, perhaps?”

  Something flickered in those eyes, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “None of the above.”

  Detective Sheldon laughed and patted Anesia on the shoulder. “I need to get back to the station.” He turned to Sean. “Good luck.”

  Anesia slid her hands in her pockets as Sheldon drove away. “Didn’t mean to get personal. It’s . . . well, I don’t normally get an older—I mean a full-grown—I mean—”

  “Someone my age?”

  “Well, to be blunt, yes. My usual applicants are a bunch of teenagers looking for jobs. Sometimes a college kid who wants to work their way through.” Was she sure she wanted to hire this man? No, but life had to return to some semblance of normal. For Zoya. “Do you mind me asking your age, Sean?”

  “Not at all. I’m thirty-seven.”

  She scanned him again. He looked strong. But could he protect them if they needed it? “And you realize I’m looking for someone full-time?”

  “Yes.”

  “But I don’t think I can pay you what you’re looking for.”

  He lowered his eyebrows. “And what do you think I’m looking for?”

  No beating around the bush. That was good. “I’m sure you’ve probably got a family to support, and I don’t think I pay enough for that.”

  “No. It’s just me.”

  “Really?” That surprised her. And, for some odd reason, pleased her.

  “Really. Just me.”

  This was getting more interesting all the time. “Welcome to Naltsiine Kennels. Shall we get on with the interview?”

  “Yes.”

  Not bad. Maybe this guy would work out after all. Anesia turned to lead him up the steps.

  “Ma’am?”

  She looked back at him. “Please, call me Anesia.”

  “Anesia.” He angled a look at her. “Would you mind saying your last name again? I haven’t grasped the pronunciation yet.”

  Nice that he addressed it right up front. Too many people kept trying, only to butcher her name until it was unrecognizable. “Nall-chee-neh.”

  His lips moved as if attempting the name but shook his head. “Once more, please.”

  “Nall. Chee. Neh.”

  “Nalcheeneh.” He nodded. “Different. Unlike any other language I’ve studied. Thanks for the help. I like to be accurate when I pronounce people’s names.”

  “I appreciate that, Sean.” How many languages had this guy studied? She led him through the front door and they removed boots and coats in the mudroom. She opened another door and led him toward her office at the front of the house. “Thank you for asking. It’s Ahtna-Athabaskan. And not many people speak the traditional language anymore.”

  “So you’re Native Alaskan?”

  “Yes, I am.” She walked into the office and offered him a chair. “And very proud of my heritage.” She nodded toward artifacts lining the west wall. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Another rarity in this area: impeccable manners. His speech had a lilt that suggested . . . what? Obviously from the lower forty-eight . . . maybe a city-boy? Whatever it was, he was way out of her league. Way out of Alaska’s league, for that matter. Here, people were down to earth and helped one another survive. So what on earth was he doing in this place?

  “All right then. How about we get down to the nitty gritty?”

  He sat back and lifted an ankle to rest on his knee. In control. Comfortable with the business of the situation.

  “I need someone full-time, probably more than forty hours a week. Since you’re single, if you’re hired, I can offer you the one-bedroom cabin at the back of the property to live in. I need someone to live here to help keep an eye on things. We won’t take advantage of you being there, but it would add to your”—she made quote signs in the air—“‘benefit package.’” She looked into his eyes to see if he caught her joke, but he just seemed to be listening. With serious intent.

  “Anyway, as you can tell, we have extensive property. One hundred and fifty acres total, with plenty of trail space to run the dogs. The kennel”—she pointed out the window—“the fenced-in area over there, takes up a good acre. We have seventy-five dogs at the present time, but that will be decreasing soon since two of the new litters are already sold.”

  “Excuse me.” He cleared his throat. “Did you say seventy-five dogs?”

  “Yes.” She watched the proverbial wheels turn.

  “Wow.”

  “Cleanup and feeding alone is a huge task.”

  “An enormous undertaking, yes.” The first hint of uncertainty touched his features. “Would I handle cleanup and feeding?”

  He was quick too. Seemingly unafraid of hard work. Not bad. Now to see if pretty boy passed the background check. “You would help me. You’d also watch over the kennel and dogs if I need to leave, help us train and run them, and assist at races. It would also be your responsibility to oversee the property and keep the trails in shape. A lot of it is trees and along the river, but we still keep the trails clear and watch out for anything that could potentially hurt us or the dogs.”

  “Do you have other help?”

  “I do. My daughter, Zoya, and I run the kennel together, and I normally have two or three part-timers who help out. Right now we have Joe, Beth, and Derek. Beth will be returning to the lower forty-eight soon, her grandmother is ill. That’s why I decided to bring on someone full-time again.”

  “So you’ve had a full-time employee before?”

  “Yes.” Anesia stood up and walked over to the window. She hadn’t anticipated this. She should have thought it through.

  “Would you mind if I spoke to him or her to get a feel for the job? I’d like to be as prepared as possible.”

  She turned to face him. No way around it now. “I’m sorry. But that’s impossible. Peter was killed last year.”

  * * *

  ZOYA

  11:03 a.m.

  My Bible sat open on my lap.

  Nothing seemed to make any sense. No heavenly words of wisdom popped out on the page. No trumpet sounded.

  No magnificent instruction came.

  Nothing.

  I swallowed and focused on the words in front of me.

  “Many, O LORD my God, are the wonders which You have done.”

  Wonders? Like a murder was wonderful.

  “You, O LORD, will not withhold Your compassion from me; Your lovingkindness and Your truth will continually preserve me.”

  Lovingkindness? Preserve me?

  A little voice in the back of my mind started talking . . .

  “He hasn’t done anything for you. He’s abandoned you. He didn’t protect you from those murderers. He didn’t he
lp that man.”

  My eyes shut. No . . . I would not let those thoughts take over. And yet, everything in me said to let the anger burn. To let God have a piece of my mind.

  But why? The Bible said He was watching over me . . .

  Why couldn’t I believe that?

  I frowned down at the thick book. And I thought you were supposed to be full of the truth . . .

  I slammed it shut. Then walked over to the window.

  Lovingkindness?

  If You loved me, then why did You let this happen? If You’re a kind God, then why was that man murdered?

  I tried to hold back the tears. Blinked.

  What was I thinking? He was there.

  Wasn’t He?

  My squeezed eyelids did little to stop the flow of tears from escaping. One by one they fell.

  Like bodies on a battlefield.

  I may have failed Him, but He had abandoned me. He was the one that left, took off without warning. Left me behind to fend for myself. Couldn’t He see that I’d needed Him most right then and there? Did He know what kind of suffering I was going through?

  Did He want me to go through this?

  My brow furrowed. No, how could He? He was loving, kind, caring, devoted . . .

  Or was I supposed to be the devoted one?

  No! A strong shake of my head sent pain shooting through my shoulder, reminding me once again of the murder, of the images. Of the scars. Mute proof that God hadn’t watched out for me.

  Or had He? I mean, I wasn’t killed, was I?

  Ugh!

  I flopped back onto my bed. Grabbed the blanket and held it against me. I needed to feel something . . . anything. Even if it was a soft ts’ede’. Or anger.

  The bandage on my neck itched, hurt, was too tight. My wound hurt, burned. Just another reminder of the murder. Of that man . . .

  Would those murderers come after me? Did they know who I was?

  Of course not. How could they?

  Stop it. Just focus. Everything would be fine, I just needed to get back to normal.