IT WAS STRANGE, really, how things worked out. Mac had spent the last eighty miles thinking about all the choices he’d made, all the roads he’d traveled, all the things he’d regretted doing and the things he wished he’d done but hadn’t. He tried to think of what he’d do differently if he had it all to do over again, but when it came right down it, there weren’t many things he’d change. There weren’t many he could change. Sometimes a man’s path is laid down by forces greater than himself, and Mac was bound by his sense of honor and duty to walk his no matter how difficult it was.
He felt that way, sometimes, when he thought about his naval career and his father. He’d had no choice but to do what he had done, and he had no regrets. Well, almost none. He wished he hadn’t had to kill the two Iranian pilots. But he wouldn’t have traded those years of flying for anything. As for his father, the old man might come to realize that he’d been wrong about his son. It was possible. All things were possible. It was even possible that Rebecca might fall madly in love with him, though by the time she did, he would probably be a very old man.
“We’re in the home stretch, Merlin. Not far now.” Mac pulled up the sleeve of his parka to glance at his watch. It was exactly 1400 hours, and the afternoon was clear and sunny, a balmy zero degrees. He had seen his first houses a few miles back along the Chena River, and he had returned waves to a few spectators lining the Chena Hot Springs Road. He had no idea what day it was. He did know that he was at least two days behind the winners and about twenty miles from the finish line, and the way he was feeling, if he could just hang on to the sled and keep his eyes open for the next two hours of river trail, he’d be doing fine.
He hoped these last miles would be easy miles. He hoped that soon he’d be seeing Rebecca with his own eyes, be able to touch her, feel the warmth and the life of her and know that she was really and truly all right. Kanemoto had assured him she was fine, and in fact, Mac had spoken to her by phone on his Angel Creek layover. She had left her number with race officials there, and he had dialed it with his heart in his throat. A motel operator answered and connected him to her room. “Mac!” she had said when she heard his voice. “Mac! Are you okay?”
She’d been worried about him? What was wrong with that girl? Didn’t she realize that she was the one who’d been hurt? She had told him she was fine, but knowing Rebecca, he knew she’d say the same thing if she’d been told she only had one day to live. He needed to see her. He needed to be sure she was really all right. That awful night he’d carried her up the hill, that terrible, mind-numbing moment when he’d stumbled to his knees, and she’d gone limp in his arms…
He’d never driven his team harder than he’d driven them to reach Mile 101. It had taken more than two hours for them to travel a mere six miles, each step an immense struggle. His dogs had collapsed in their harnesses, completely played out, when they’d finally reached the checkpoint. If it hadn’t been for Kanemoto, Mac never would have survived the horror of that night. Stress took on a whole new dimension when a loved one’s life hung in the balance.
It was daybreak before he persuaded a snowmobiler to take him back to where Rebecca’s team had been blown off the trail, and the steepness of the slope astounded him. He was glad it had been dark when he’d carried Rebecca up it. Had it been daylight he might have deemed the task impossible. It was a good 150 feet to where her sled had come to rest against an outcropping of rock. He and the race volunteer spent an hour getting the dogs up, and then the sled had to be unloaded and its contents carried up to the trail before they could haul it, step by agonizing step, back up that hellish stretch of mountain. They’d reloaded the sled, hooked in the dogs, and then Mac had driven Rebecca’s team six miles to where Kanemoto waited with the dog truck and news of Rebecca. By the time Mac was finally on the trail to the Angel Creek checkpoint with his own team of dogs, it was nearly 6 p.m. and he was once again way behind the front-runners.
“All right, Merlin. Steady as she goes. Good dogs.” For having just completed a one-thousand-mile run, his team looked good. They were still moving along well, and in spite of the stress of the past few days, they still seemed happy to be trotting down the trail.
Rebecca had told him about Guy Johnson, the sick pilot, when Mac called her from the Angel Creek checkpoint. She’d given him a blow-by-blow description of the diagnosis, the emergency open-heart surgery and the prognosis. “He’s doing nicely, but it was touch-and-go for a while. You saved his life! The doctor said if you hadn’t gotten him there when you did, he’d have been a goner. Johnson and his family know it, too. They want to thank you in person.
“And, Mac, did you know that Guy Johnson was the pilot who took over Sam’s mail route when Sam retired? Don’t you think that’s quite a coincidence? Oh, and by the way, Sam and Ellin won’t be at the finish—Ellin caught Sam’s cold—but I promised I’d let them know just as soon as you arrived. How’s your team doing? How’s Merlin?”
Mac had never heard Rebecca talk so much all at once, her words tumbling out in a bright, breathless rush. “The dogs are fine but they’re tired. I’m going to stay right here until they tell me it’s time to go. I know it’s only eighty miles to the finish, but I pushed them too hard coming over Eagle Summit. I really burned them out. Don’t expect me for at least another day or so.”
At the end of their conversation he replaced the phone in the receiver and sat for a few moments, his head spinning. “I don’t care about Guy Johnson and his mail route!” he’d wanted tell her. “I only care about you!”
Not that he had anything against Guy Johnson. Well, he did resent the fact that if Guy hadn’t had that damn heart attack, Mac and Rebecca would probably be counting their race winnings right now. None of that was Johnson’s fault, of course.
Mac raised his arm in response to a riverside wave. More and more people were turning out along the riverbank as he drove his team nearer to town. A stray dog ran out onto the ice, yapping at the team, but his dogs ignored it, trotting steadily on. He wondered if they would travel like that forever, this incredible team of dogs who had been his loyal companions for the past fourteen days.
He had stayed a long time at the Angel Creek checkpoint, fussing over his team, feeding them special treats, apologizing to them for the way he’d driven them over Eagle Summit. He didn’t pull out of there until all of them were ready to roll, and he’d babied them on this last stretch of trail, stopping every hour to snack, to rub tired muscles, to tell them what grand and glorious dogs they truly were.
Mac heard a noise coming from up around the next bend in the river. He thought at first it was the sound of water rushing over a dam or a strong gusting wind that never diminished. His dogs heard it, too, and checked their pace so much that he had to step on the section of snowmobile track dragging between the runners to keep the brush bow of the sled from bumping into his wheel dogs. “All right,” he said reassuringly. “All right.” They pulled forward again, but their ears were pricked and their tails were raised. The noise grew louder as they approached the curve. More people were lining the riverbank waving to him, and he wondered what all the commotion was about. He turned to look behind him, but the river trail was empty. He knew there were no mushers between his team and the finish line. He’d left Angel Creek nearly a day behind the last group of middle-of-the-pack mushers, and the back-of-the-pack mushers were another day or so behind him. He’d had the trail to himself for the past seventy-five miles.
Merlin rounded the corner and trotted in his bold, brisk way, leading the team. Mac’s first impression was that he was driving his team into the midst of some kind of parade or winter carnival. There were people everywhere, thousands of people, more than there’d been at the start of the race. People were waving little Canadian and American flags and jumping up and down and raising their voices in one continuous roar as his team trotted toward them. The massive crowd parted to form a long, ragged chute and as they did he suddenly saw, at the end of it, a big banner strung on high with
huge black lettering against a white background. The letters spelled out just one word, but it was undoubtedly the sweetest word he’d ever read from one hundred yards away.
FINISH!
“My God,” he said, amazed. He found it difficult to comprehend that this crowd of people was standing here waiting for him to finish the race. Why would they be so interested in a musher who was running so far back? He was in sixteenth place, or so he thought. Maybe even seventeenth. This had to be some awful and embarrassing mistake, or maybe the first group of mushers had gotten lost and were somewhere out on the edge of nowhere, running their teams in circles for days while desperately trying to find the trail to Fairbanks.
Well, a man could always dream.
Merlin’s nose crossed the finish line to a deafening roar and an intimidating stampede of the crowd. The dogs spooked and bolted, ducked and cowered, and Mac had no idea what to do. He stepped on the sled brake and stared around at the wall of unfamiliar faces, felt the slap of unfamiliar hands on his back and shoulders, saw several microphones and large video cameras zooming toward him, and wondered where Rebecca was. He took the clipboard from the checker and signed his name while a race official checked his sled bag for the mandatory gear.
And then he heard a high, excited voice. A foreign voice. Japanese. He caught sight of a small, slender man, forcing his way through the crowd. Kanemoto emerged, out of breath. “Mac!” he said, and bowed, reaching at the same time to pump Mac’s mittened hand, a unique Japanese-American greeting. “Congratulations!”
“Excuse me,” a sonorous voice interrupted, and a microphone was pushed closer. “Could you tell the crowd how you feel at this moment? What emotions are running through you as you stand at the finish line, after having just completed such a long and challenging journey? How did you feel when you carried that young woman to safety and when you flew Guy Johnson to Fairbanks, knowing that you’d given up any chance of winning this race?”
Mac felt acutely embarrassed. “It feels good to be here,” he said. He looked at Kanemoto, ignoring the reporters and their microphones, cameras and questions. “Where’s Rebecca?”
Kanemoto pointed vaguely and then walked to the front of the team, grabbed Merlin’s harness and trotted through the crowd, leading the team while Mac handled the sled as he threaded his way to the dog truck. The truck was Rebecca’s. Where Brian was, Mac hadn’t a clue. Maybe he was at class. Maybe it wasn’t a Saturday or a Sunday.
And then it didn’t matter where his brother was, because suddenly he saw her. She edged her way through the crowd, walked up to Merlin, knelt and gave the dog a warm, one-armed hug. She grinned at Mac as she rose to her feet. He knew he should be tending his dogs, seeing to them first, but for the moment he only had eyes for the woman standing at the head of his team. He walked toward her and didn’t stop until he had pulled her very gently into his embrace. He felt her good arm squeeze him fiercely and he heard her say in a choked voice, “Oh, Mac!”
The crowd had followed them to the truck. People thronged around, their voices an unintelligible babble, asking questions and patting the dogs while Mac and Rebecca clung wordlessly to each other. Finally, he set her back at arm’s length and looked her up and down. She looked alive and well, he thought. Hell, she looked beautiful. “I’m so damn glad to see you!” he said. “I missed you like crazy!” He knew by the bright, shining joy in her face that the feeling was mutual, even if she didn’t voice it. He wanted to tell her a hundred things, a thousand things, but first he had to tend to his team, those loyal, courageous dogs who had brought him safely across a thousand miles of rugged wilderness, from Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, to Fairbanks, Alaska.
“My dogs,” he said, knowing that she would understand.
“They’re in good hands,” she said, nodding behind him. He turned. Beech was helping Kanemoto unhook the team and tether them around the truck. The dogs’ food bowls were out and Wilton was already dishing up their snack. He stared for a moment, then turned back to Rebecca, perplexed. “Why are all these people here?”
“They’re all here,” she explained patiently as if he were a very young child, “because everyone wanted to see you finish. What you did out there on the trail made them want to be a part of your race. You’re a hero, Mac, and heroes are a rare commodity these days.”
He pulled her back into his arms and bent his head over hers, intoxicated by her nearness. “Rebecca, are you all right? I mean, really all right?”
“One hundred percent,” she said.
“You can’t be one hundred percent if your arm is broken,” he said with mock exasperation. They drew apart and looked at each other, grinning like idiots.
“Well, ninety percent, if you want to get technical. You, on the other hand, look like you could use a hot meal, a cold beer and about two or three months of sleep. But, Mac, be forewarned. You have less than two hours until the awards banquet, and you absolutely have to attend. It’s mandatory. You can’t skip out, and you can’t fall asleep. I have a hunch you’re going to be the star of the show.”
Mac reached out for her again. “Rebecca, listen,” he began.
She shook her head again. “Not now, Mac. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. At the banquet.”
Talk! He didn’t want to talk! He wanted to wrap her in his arms. He wanted to kiss her so badly that he was giddy with desire. He was about to grab her and do something in front of all these people that might just shock the hell out of them when someone behind him apparently caught her attention. She looked over his shoulder and raised her arm in a beckoning wave.
“It’s Sadie,” she said. “She’s been here since early this morning, waiting for you to finish.”
Mac whirled around. Sure enough, there she was. Sadie Hedda, making a determined beeline through the crowd toward them. She caught Mac’s gaze and waved her hand wildly, grinning from ear to ear as she approached. Drat and damnation! “Look, Rebecca—” he said.
“Later!” she repeated. “Right now I think you’d better pay some attention to Sadie. Here,” she said, pressing a key into his hand. “Brian got you a room. He was around here just an hour or so ago but some friends of his showed up and they drove off to get something to eat. They should be back soon. You can walk to the room from here, and the banquet’s in the same building. Don’t worry about your dogs. We’ll take good care of them. And I’ll see you at the banquet.”
“Rebecca!” he said as she nimbly eluded his grasp, ducked beneath an approaching video camera and disappeared behind a wall of humanity.
“Mac!” Sadie was calling his name, but Mac was staring after Rebecca and thinking about later—later being that long-awaited time when they could finally be alone together, when he could finally tell her all the things he’d been thinking about and wanting to say for the past thousand miles.
Later! Could he possibly wait that long?
CHAPTER TWELVE
REBECCA SAT ON HER BED in the motel room she’d been holed up in for the past two days and nights and stared at the wall. It was time to leave for the banquet. Any moment now Kanemoto would tap on her door and drive her to the place where all the mushers and race fans would be gathered. Mac would be there. Sadie would be there. Sadie would be at Mac’s side. Sadie and Mac. Rebecca had always known it would work out between the two of them. They were a good match for each other. She should be happy for them, but instead, she was immersed in self-pity. She didn’t want to go to the banquet, sit with them, watch them, listen to them. She didn’t think she could bear seeing how Sadie looked at Mac, how she reached out her hand and laid it on his arm whenever she spoke to him. Oh, God, in spite of all her precautions, Rebecca had fallen in love with Bill MacKenzie, and she had no one to blame but herself for the way she was feeling now.
She had sworn she would never love anyone the way she had loved Bruce, but she had forsaken the memory of her husband. Worse, she no longer felt the guilty sting of her transgression. Bruce was dead. Mac was alive. Loving Mac felt so g
ood, so right. But it was too late! She’d driven him into another woman’s arms, and with Sadie he would find all the loving he needed. He’d soon forget about her and the dogs and the wild and lonely land known as the Yukon.
The tap at the door startled her even though she was expecting it. She stood up, reached for her parka and wondered if she could beg off the banquet. Nobody would care if she didn’t go. After all, she hadn’t even finished the race. She’d tell Kanemoto she was ill. He would understand. She dropped her parka on the sofa, drew a measured breath to compose herself and opened the door.
“Mac!” she said to the man who stood before her, freshly showered, shaved and dressed in decent clothes. His face was drawn with fatigue, and there were two small patches of frostbite, one on the bridge of his nose and the other over his left cheekbone. Rebecca thought he’d never looked sexier. She raised a hand to the side of her face and stared. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too,” Mac said. “Mind if I come in?” She opened the door wide and he stepped past her into the room. “For the past hour I’ve been sharing the same hotel room with my brother, but all he wants to talk about is how broke he is and how desperately he needs to sell the team, so I told him that you were my date and I was taking you to the banquet. He gave me the keys to the dog truck and here I am. Hope you don’t mind too much.”
Rebecca’s heart rate accelerated. “But—” she glanced outside the door before closing it, spying his dog truck parked next to hers with no one sitting in the passenger seat “—where’s Sadie?”
“Sadie?” Mac said with a puzzled look. “She stayed long enough to congratulate me and then headed back to Dawson, but before she left she gave us this to share!” He held up a bottle of champagne with a triumphant grin, which slowly faded in response to Rebecca’s frown and long silence. “It’s good champagne,” he said.
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