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Alaskan Hearts
Teri Wilson


Inspiring and enriching romances about faith, hope and the healing power of love.WARMING HIS HEART Former Alaskan sled dog musher Ben Grayson is still grieving the tragic loss of his dog team. So much that he put the reins—and his dreams—away. Now a photographer, Ben’s covering the Gold Rush Trail sled dog race.He’s surprised his heart isn’t more guarded around lovely journalist Clementine Phillips—until he learns that Clementine plans to handle a sled dog team herself. Ben can’t bear the thought of Clementine in danger. So he comes up with a compromise—one to keep her close . . . forever.







Warming his heart

Former Alaskan sled-dog musher Ben Grayson is still grieving the tragic loss of his dog team. So much that he put the reins—and his dreams—away. Now a photographer, Ben’s covering the Gold Rush Trail sled-dog race. He’s surprised his heart isn’t more guarded around lovely journalist Clementine Phillips—until he learns that Clementine plans to handle a sled-dog team herself. Ben can’t bear the thought of Clementine in danger. So he comes up with a compromise—one to keep her close...forever.


“I didn’t come all the way to Alaska to make foot lotion for the dogs, Ben. I want to work with the dogs.”

“Paw ointment.” He spat out the words. “And it’s a very important part of the race.”

“I’m sure it is.” 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.”

“Clementine, it’s not an easy job. You could get hurt.” And what if I can’t save you?

“At least I’ll get hurt doing something amazing.”

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

She crossed her arms and lifted one brow.

Ben 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.


TERI WILSON

grew up as an only child and could often be found with her head in a book, lost in a world of heroes, heroines and exotic places. As an adult, her love of books has led her to her dream career—writing. Now an award-winning author of inspirational romance, Teri spends as much time as she can seeing exotic places for herself, then coming home and writing about them, of course. When she isn’t traveling or spending quality time with her laptop, she enjoys baking cupcakes, going to movies and hanging out with her family, friends and five dogs. Teri lives in San Antonio, Texas, and loves to hear from readers. She can be contacted via her website at www.teriwilson.net.


Alaskan Hearts

Teri Wilson










www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I have come that they may have life,

and have it to the full.

—John 10:10


For Cameron.

I’m so proud of the young man you’ve become.

And to my husband, David, for giving me the

time and encouragement to pursue my dreams.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my special writing friend

Beckie Ugolini, for all the hours spent reading, revising, cheering me on and having fun

over coffee. Also, thanks to my wonderful agent Liz Winick for seeing the potential in my writing and making the phone call that changed my career. And thanks to Rachel Burkot, the most supportive editor in the world! I feel so blessed to be part of the Love Inspired family. And thank you to my critique partners Tamra, Beckie, Sydney and Lupe.

This book is also dedicated to the people and dogs of Alaska’s Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.

I think I left a piece of my heart in Alaska the first year I volunteered at the race. I’ll see you again next year and the year after that!


Contents

Chapter One (#u975dc51a-8f43-5755-8add-88eb85930c43)

Chapter Two (#ud82e4c61-7bf5-5882-9926-5f8de6c2d53f)

Chapter Three (#ua9fec854-75ce-53eb-9146-c2c3990d313c)

Chapter Four (#u7cfa3d30-5ce2-5451-85f4-ebef5d7c9393)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

Clementine Phillips stared at the dead fish on the wall, only inches from her face, and shuddered. She’d shuddered quite a bit since arriving in Aurora, Alaska, but this time it wasn’t a result of the subzero temperatures.

Her gaze shifted from the enormous fish to the brass nameplate hanging directly beneath it. Wild Alaskan Salmon, it read.

Clementine looked back at the salmon, scrunched her brow and tried to reconcile this monstrous creature with the contents of the frozen dinner she’d eaten while sitting in her cubicle at Nature World magazine not more than twelve hours ago. Lean Cuisine. Wild Alaskan salmon in basil sauce. An homage to finally embarking on the research assignment of a lifetime.

She and her officemate, Natalie, had eaten twin low-cal, instant meals and toasted Clementine’s newfound freedom with diet sodas. Clementine hated to think about the fact that she’d landed this same assignment a year ago but turned it down to appease her worrywart fiancé.

Those days were over, as her ringless finger could attest to.

She forced the unpleasant memory from her mind and focused once again on the fish gaping at her.

Wild Alaskan salmon…just the name brought a smile to her lips. Every time she’d heard of Alaskan salmon, it was always preceded by the word wild. Was there even such a thing as tame Alaskan salmon? Or domesticated Alaskan salmon? It was always either wild Alaskan salmon or plain, generic salmon from nowhere.

Wild or not, she was surprised to discover salmon had such big teeth.

“How many photographs have I seen of grizzly bears snatching salmon out of raging rivers? Countless thousands,” she murmured to herself. “And yet I never once knew they had teeth.”

“Here you go,” a grandfatherly voice boomed from behind her, followed by the thud of her luggage landing on the slippery floor of the hotel entrance.

Clementine searched the pocket of her parka for tip money, but soon realized one of her bags was missing from the pile. The most important bag of all. “Um, I don’t see my…”

“Little pink bag?” The white-haired shuttle bus driver rolled his eyes and snorted. “Yeah, you’re going to have to come get that one yourself. When I tried to pick it up, it growled at me.”

Clementine’s cheeks burned. She’d had every intention of dragging her own luggage inside, especially her dog carrier. But once she’d gotten a look at the ice-covered sidewalk, her confidence had wavered. Sidewalks in Texas weren’t covered in ice. Not unless someone accidentally spilled a snow cone. Then again, the heat in Houston was often so unbearable that the ice would have melted before it hit the ground.

She pressed a few dollar bills into the driver’s hand. “I’ll be right out. Thank you.”

“Sure thing,” he grunted and clomped back to the shuttle bus. How he managed to clomp on three inches of ice, Clementine would never understand.

She shoved her suitcases against the wall, out of the way of the revolving doors she supposed led to the main lobby, and slipped into her parka. She pulled the zipper until it covered her entire mouth and the better part of her nose, heaved open the door and tiptoed onto the ice.

No sooner did her new pink UGGs make contact with the slick sidewalk than she slipped and went airborne. She squealed, closed her eyes and waited for the inevitable crash landing.

Except it never came. Instead, she found herself falling into a pair of very strong, masculine arms. Arms that belonged to an equally masculine voice.

“Whoa, there,” the voice said, and Clementine knew in an instant it wasn’t the shuttle bus driver who had come to her rescue.

Her eyelids fluttered open and, with that first glance at the pair of glacial-blue eyes peering down at her with concern, the salmon flipped in her stomach. The one from the Lean Cuisine, not the wall.

Her rescuer smiled down at her, and his blue eyes crinkled in the corners in a most charming way. “Are you okay?”

Clementine swallowed. “Um, yes. A little rattled, that’s all.”

“Let me help you up.” He lifted her to her feet, as if she weighed no more than her tiny Pomeranian, still waiting in the pink dog carrier in the shuttle bus.

“Thank you. I’m not accustomed to walking on ice.” Her mind flashed briefly to the Bible story about Jesus walking on water. She supposed if the gospels had taken place in Alaska, he would have walked on ice. It would have been equally miraculous in Clementine’s eyes.

“It comes with practice.” The man glanced down at her new UGGs and frowned. The frown did nothing to lessen the effect of his startling blue eyes and deep dimples, visible even through his closely trimmed beard. “And shoes with better traction. Take very slow steps. That ought to help.”

Something about the way he said it pricked Clementine’s nerves. She had to stop herself from asking him what he could possibly know about women’s shoes.

“Slow steps,” she repeated curtly, with a nod. Clementine could do that. She was, in fact, an expert at taking slow steps. She’d been taking things slowly her entire life. Stepping on the plane to Aurora had been the most daring thing she’d ever done.

“This is your first trip to Alaska I take it?”

Clementine flushed, although whether from the realization that he still had a protective grasp on her arm or the fact that he seemed to read her thoughts, she wasn’t sure. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Enjoy your stay.” He released her arm and lingered, watching to make sure she was steady on her feet.

“Thank you.” She did her best to ignore his rugged good looks and instead focused on keeping her feet flat on the icy sidewalk. Not falling seemed like the best way to avoid a lecture on her choice of footwear. And she was having enough trouble maintaining her balance without thinking about those dimples. “And thank you again for the rescue.”

“Anytime.” He winked and headed toward the parking lot.

Clementine followed him with her gaze and couldn’t help but notice his steps were most definitely not slow. In fact, they were downright brisk.

Then again, he looked Alaskan. He’d probably had more than enough practice walking on ice.

“Ahem.” The gruff voice of the shuttle bus driver interrupted her thoughts. “Are you coming or do you need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it.” She took a quick glance over her shoulder to check on her bags. They still sat right where she’d left them, under the cold, watchful eye of the mounted salmon.

Wild Alaskan salmon.

The words danced in her head.

Maybe everything in Alaska was wild. It certainly looked that way in the many photographs she’d sorted through for the magazine throughout the years. She thought about the calendar of Alaskan sled dogs that hung above her computer monitor. Mark had given it to her last year when she’d turned down the assignment in Alaska. As if looking at photos of Alaska could ever take the place of actually being there.

The dogs on her calendar looked nothing like her own sweet Pomeranian. They had hungry eyes and paws that moved so fast that they were nothing more than a blur.

Wild Alaskan sled dogs.

She laughed. She’d be willing to bet money they didn’t even have cubicles in Alaska. Or Lean Cuisines.

And maybe, simply going to such a place could change a person. Take an ordinary girl with an ordinary life and transform her into someone just a little bit wild herself.

Clementine could only hope so.

She repeated the words from John 10:10 to herself, the words she’d clung to since finally making the break with Mark.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

A shiver ran up her spine. She looked around for the blue-eyed stranger who’d rescued her from falling, but he’d vanished in the darkness. Anticipation swelled in her chest, and she inhaled a deep breath as she took her first tentative step onto the ice.

Oh Lord, I hope so.

* * *

Ben Grayson paused in front of the revolving door of the Northern Lights Inn, half hoping to find the woman who had fallen into his arms earlier. The woman with the mass of blond curls spilling from the fur-lined hood of her parka and the less-than-appropriate footwear.

When he found himself alone in the bitter cold, he pushed the memory of her delicate features out of his mind and whistled for his Alaskan husky.

“Kodiak, come on.”

The dog trotted to Ben’s side and nudged his head square underneath the palm of his hand.

Kodiak had always been an expert nudger.

“Subtle.” Ben gave him an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

The husky nuzzled against his knee until Ben pulled a worn, leather leash out of the pocket of his parka. As soon as Kodiak got a glimpse of the leash, his plumed tail uncurled into a straight line and hung between his hind legs. He furrowed his doggy brow and gazed up at Ben with sad copper eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not any happier about being here than you are, you know.” He snapped the leash onto Kodiak’s collar and told himself this was the last year he would darken the door of this place during race week. Even beautiful blonde women in need of rescue weren’t enough to keep him coming back. The way he saw it, there was no reason he couldn’t commute from his secluded cabin on the outskirts of Aurora to the official race events.

The plan was simple. Drive in, snap a few photos, drive out.

His boss at the Yukon Reporter didn’t quite agree. He had all sorts of reasons why Ben needed to be “in the thick of things” at the race headquarters. That, and the very real threat of an avalanche wiping out the one highway between Knik and Aurora, kept him coming back year after year.

So here he was. Again.

But this was absolutely the last time he would agree to this arrangement. He breathed out a weary sigh and led Kodiak into the hotel lobby.

He stomped the snow from his boots and looked around for a clock. This was a wasted effort, as every available square inch of wall space played host to some sort of mounted animal head. There was the customary Alaskan moose hanging above the enormous stone fireplace, surrounded by a variety of antlered cousins. Above the coffee bar, a bison watched over the mixing of flavored lattes and cappuccinos. Next to the registration desk, the full body of a polar bear rose up on its back legs and towered over guests waiting to check in.

Ben groaned when he saw the crowd of people waiting in line. His heavy eyelids told him it had to be well past midnight, but from the look of things, half the population of the Lower Forty-Eight—as Alaskans called the rest of the United States—stood between him and a room key.

“Welcome to race week.” A large hand smacked Ben between the shoulder blades. Hard enough that he dropped Kodiak’s leash amid a sudden coughing fit.

“Sorry.” Reggie Chase’s dark face split into a wide grin. “I would have thought living out there in the middle of nowhere would have toughened you up by now.”

“You live even farther out than I do,” Ben managed to sputter as his ability to speak returned. “Remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Reggie wore mukluks, the traditional winter moccasins common to those living in the bush. For as long as Ben had known Reggie, he’d made his home in the remote village of Prospect. Reggie enjoyed living in the bush, away from the road network. “Off the grid,” as he called it. Ben’s cabin in the woods seemed cosmopolitan by comparison, even with its long-abandoned doghouses dotting the landscape.

Reggie let out a hearty laugh. “I saw your name tag over at the registration desk and wondered when you’d be rolling in. There’s just one problem—that tag still says Media after your name.”

Ben’s jaw clenched, and a familiar throbbing flared in his temples. “Don’t start.”

“It’s a shame to let that nice dog yard out at your place sit empty. That’s all.” Reggie crossed his arms, leaned closer and lowered his voice. Ben noticed his beard had grown a shade or two closer to silver since last year’s Gold Rush Trail. “How many years has it been, friend?”

“You were the one who packed away all my sledding equipment, remember? You know exactly how many years it’s been.”

Four.

The number hung, unspoken, in the awkward space between them.

Four years, five…ten. Ben knew without a doubt the passing of time would in no way dim the memory of the land surrounding his cabin, once scattered with sledding equipment. A sled here, a cabled line there. After the accident that had ended his mushing career, Ben couldn’t bring himself to touch any of it. He was afraid of his own muscle memory—that the drive bow would still feel comfortable in his hands. He’d let the snow cover it all, inch by inch, day by day, until it became nothing more than a series of mysterious white mounds. Then one day, he’d come home from work and they were gone. His yard was flat, smooth and white as a snow-covered sea of ice. Ben had been almost afraid to walk on it. He’d sat in his car and stared at his property—an unnatural blank slate—until darkness hovered on the horizon.

He’d found his equipment cleaned, polished and carefully stacked in the shed out back. Reggie’s work to be sure, although he’d never admitted as much. Ben had taken one look, locked the door to the storage shed and never opened it again.

Now he massaged his forehead with his thumb and index finger. It made no difference. The throbbing only intensified. A war was being waged in his head, full of long-forgotten memories of the trail fighting to make themselves known. “Kodiak is the only dog I need these days.”

Reggie’s nostrils flared as he blew out a frustrated puff of breath. Let him be frustrated. Reggie could join the long list of people, led by Ben’s very own father, who were all frustrated with him. Ben couldn’t care less. “Where did that monster run off to anyway?”

At that precise moment, Kodiak’s deep bark echoed off the wood-paneled walls, followed by a distinctly feminine squeal.

“That didn’t sound good.” Despite his ominous declaration, Reggie chuckled.

“Kodiak!” Ben called.

By now, the barking had grown louder. Ben followed the sound to the crowd of people waiting at the registration desk, in the shadow of the outstretched paws of the rampant polar bear.

The group parted like the Red Sea as he approached, revealing a woman with thick waves of blond hair standing alone, frozen to the spot.

Her. Ben’s heart leaped with recognition.

Despite the way the color was draining from her face with alarming speed, she possessed a sort of innocent beauty. That, coupled with her mass of platinum curls, gave her the air and grace of a princess.

A princess who looked woefully out of place in Alaska.

Ben tore his gaze from her delicate face and took notice of the small pink suitcase at her feet, which for some reason rendered Kodiak spellbound.

The suitcase yipped. Kodiak yipped right back at it.

“Kodiak, no.” Ben stepped forward and picked up the leash, which was dragging on the floor behind the husky.

The suitcase yipped again. Kodiak whined, craned his neck toward the mysterious bag and swept Ben’s foot with his wagging tail.

With Kodiak safely restrained, the color returned to the woman’s face in the form of a scarlet flush. It settled in the vicinity of her exquisite cheekbones.

“You.” She scooped the pink bag off the floor and hugged it to her chest.

“I’m sorry if he frightened you.” Ben ruffled the fur on the scruff of Kodiak’s neck. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. He just likes to make noise.”

“I’m not scared.”

Clearly a bald-faced lie. She couldn’t have looked more terrified if the stuffed polar bear suddenly sprang to life and romped around the lobby. “All the same, I apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” Her reddened cheeks faded to a soft pink, the exact shade of her barking bag. And her fuzzy sweater. And those ridiculous shoes, which resembled some sort of sheepskin bedroom slippers. If sheep were pink.

Ben pointed to the bag. “What have you got in there? Whatever it is, my dog finds it fascinating.”

She smiled and gave the bag a little squeeze. “This is Nugget.”

He glanced down at Kodiak, who had flattened himself to the ground and was attempting a commando crawl to get to the bag. “Nugget, as in a tasty morsel for Alaskan huskies?”

Her lips settled into a straight line. “Nugget, as in my dog’s name.”

“I was only joking.” Ben gave Kodiak’s leash a tug to put some more distance between him and Nugget. “Although you might want to be careful. To some of the dogs around here, that purse will look an awful lot like a lunch box.”

“It’s not a purse,” she deadpanned. “It’s a dog carrier.”

Ben resisted the urge to laugh, figuring it would only lead to another apology. Purse, dog carrier…what was the difference? What kind of dog would actually fit into something that small? Kodiak would have outgrown that thing by the time he was twelve weeks old. “Dog carrier. Got it.”

His response seemed to satisfy her, if the return of her sweet smile was any indication. “Can I ask you a question?”

Weariness had begun to settle in his bones and the line at the registration desk had at last thinned out, but Ben found himself agreeing. “Sure.”

She slipped the dog carrier over her shoulder. Ben could see two tiny eyes staring at him through a mesh panel on the side of the bag. “Are they all this loud? Wild Alaskan huskies?”

The way her green eyes widened when she said it brought a smile to Ben’s lips—a genuine smile. It had been a long time since he’d smiled like that. It felt strange. “They’re just Alaskan huskies. You can drop the wild.”

She bit her full lip. “Of course. I knew that.”

“And the answer is no.” Ben looked down at Kodiak, who’d finally given up on his quest to meet the elusive Nugget. The bigger dog had rolled onto his back, with his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

“Really?”

He wasn’t sure why it made him glad to see that she looked more curious than relieved. “Most of them are louder.”

She laughed. “I’ve seen them in photographs so many times. I just didn’t realize.”

“They tend to be quieter on film.” I ought to know, he thought.

“I want to be prepared.” Her smile grew wider and her eyes sparkled like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Are you staying for the race?” She had to be. Why else would she be here, now of all times? Although he couldn’t imagine, for the life of him, why a woman like her would have any interest in the Gold Rush Trail sled-dog race.

“Of course. That’s what brought me here, to Alaska.” The sparkle in her eyes intensified when the word Alaska passed her lips.

A tangle of dread formed in the pit of Ben’s stomach. She wasn’t saying…no, she couldn’t be.

As if she could read his mind, she filled in the blanks for him. “I’m here to work with the dogs.”

Ben narrowed his gaze at her. “In what capacity, exactly?”

“I’m going to be a sled dog handler!” There was no way to describe her enthusiasm other than to say she was actually gushing.

Ben couldn’t help it. His mouth dropped open in shock. Did she have any idea what she was saying?

“Next!” a voice bellowed from the front desk.

“That’s us.” The woman—Ben still didn’t even know her name—gazed lovingly down at the pink dog carrier and hitched it farther up on her shoulder. She wiggled her fingers in a wave. “’Bye, Kodiak. ’Bye, Kodiak’s Dad.”

As she turned to head for the registration desk, Ben caught a glimpse of Nugget watching him from behind the mesh screen. Just as he suspected, the tiny creature in no way resembled a real dog.

Sled dog handler?

She couldn’t possibly be serious.


Chapter Two

Clementine wiggled her toes in the comfy warmth of her UGGs and looked out the window at the blinding swirl of white.

Snow.

It was everywhere. Piled up waist-deep along the carefully shoveled streets and the labyrinth of narrow sidewalks surrounding the hotel. And to Clementine’s complete and utter delight, it was still coming down in buckets.

Buckets…that might be more of a rain-related expression.

She struggled for an appropriate metaphor as she scooped Nugget into her arms. “Look, Nugget, it’s snowing cats and dogs.”

She supposed that didn’t really work, either. But it was the best she could do, because she’d never actually seen snow before. Other than in photographs anyway.

Of course it had been snowing last night when she and her queasy stomach finally escaped the airplane and caught the shuttle bus to the Northern Lights Inn. She hadn’t been able to fully appreciate the beauty of an Alaskan snowfall at such a late hour. This morning was a different story, however. She’d never seen anything like it. The coastal Texas area wasn’t exactly known for its harsh winter weather. It had snowed only once in Houston during Clementine’s lifetime. She had been four years old, too young to carry any memory of making a snowman in her front yard into her adult life. She’d seen the photos, though, in the thick albums that filled her parents’ bookshelves. The snowman had been a full head taller than she was. But, like so many things in Clementine’s life, she knew the experience only through pictures.

Not anymore.

She looked out on the strange, white world and was struck by the purity of it all.

Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be white as snow.

She would never think of those holy words the same way again.

Thank You, Lord, for Your love and forgiveness. And thank You for bringing me here. At last.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she sniffed and blinked them back. She scooped Nugget into her arms. “How would you like to go for our first walk in the snow?”

The hotel lobby was even busier than the night before and, save for the numerous dead animals on the walls, it seemed everyone had an official Gold Rush Trail name tag hanging around their neck. Clementine almost felt naked without one. A huge banner that read “Welcome Gold Rush Trail Volunteers!” was hoisted above a smooth, lacquered counter at the foot of the staircase. Behind the counter, a map of Alaska covered the wall, floor-to-ceiling. The trail the sled dog teams would cover during the race was marked out in red dashes, all the way from Aurora to the village of Nome, close to the Arctic Circle.

Look at that! I’m almost at the top of the world!

“Can I help you?” A tall woman wearing a neon-orange skullcap greeted her from behind the desk.

“Oh, sure.” Clementine took a step closer to the counter, and Nugget followed along at the end of her pink leather leash.

“Cute dog.” The woman, whose name was Bea, according to her name tag, smiled down at the Pomeranian. “We’re all dog lovers around here, although we don’t often see ones that are so tiny.”

Clementine’s thoughts immediately turned to the handsome man she’d met the night before—Kodiak’s dad. He was so rugged, so Alaskan. She remembered with less fondness his warning about Nugget looking more like a snack than a canine. And his reprimand about her shoes. “I’ll keep a close eye on her.”

“Good idea.” Bea nodded. “Are you a volunteer? Can I help get you checked in?”

“Yes. My name is Clementine Phillips from Houston, Texas. I’m a researcher for Nature World magazine. They sent me to volunteer and report back about the race.”

Bea flipped through the box of name badges on the countertop until she found the right one. “So you’re volunteering as a…sled dog handler?”

Her gaze flitted to Nugget once again, and her lips twitched into a smirk.

Clementine tightened her grip on Nugget’s leash. “Yes.”

“Have you ever worked with sled dogs before?” Bea appeared to be putting forth great effort to not look directly at Nugget anymore.

“Um, not exactly.” Did sifting through photos of sled dogs for Nature World count? She certainly wasn’t going to mention that she’d never actually seen one in the flesh—er, fur—until last night. “But there’s a training class, right?”

“Yes.” Bea’s voice turned dead serious. “The class is mandatory if you don’t already have your sled dog handler certification card.”

“I’ll be there. I’ve already registered for the class.”

“Good. It’s mandatory.”

“I understand.” What was her problem?

“Even if you have a Ph.D. in dog, you’ve got to take the class.” She held out Clementine’s name tag but didn’t appear willing to let it go.

Clementine tugged on it a few times until she finally managed to wrestle it out of Bea’s reluctant fingers. Good grief! “Thanks again for the reminder. I’ll be at the class. It’s tomorrow afternoon, right?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” She glanced down at Clementine’s pink UGGs. “Dress warm. You’ll be spending an hour or two outside in the parking lot.”

Clementine resisted the urge to salute and say “Yes, ma’am.” She said a silent prayer of thanks for Bea’s neon hat. At least she would be able to see her coming from a distance, and she could run in the other direction. “Okay.”

“Here’s your volunteer hat and T-shirt.” She slid them across the counter with no small amount of reluctance.

Clementine took the items and slipped her lanyard over her head, with her name tag facing outward. There! She looked as official as all of the other people milling about. “Thank you.”

“You know…” Bea called out to her as she turned to go. “You can always change your mind. We have plenty of other volunteer jobs. Like filing. Or answering phones.”

Clementine’s face burned, and it was a struggle to keep her voice even. “No, thank you. I’m here to work with the dogs.”

Honestly. Filing? Answering telephones? Those wouldn’t exactly make fascinating topics for an article in the magazine. She might as well be sitting back in her cubicle in Texas.

Even as the thought crossed her mind, her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and examined the screen.

Sure enough, her cubicle had managed to follow her to Alaska.

She cleared her throat, just in case it was her boss. If she didn’t come off as confident, he’d never send her anywhere again. He most certainly didn’t need to know the race personnel were trying to talk her into answering phones. “Hello?”

“Clementine, thank goodness. You made it in one piece.” Natalie Marshall, her officemate, sighed into the phone.

Clementine’s heart lifted at the sound of her voice. In addition to sharing a cubicle, she and Natalie were good friends. As close as two people who spend forty-plus hours a week within five feet of one another could be.

She settled on one of the brown leather sofas in the lobby and scooped Nugget into her lap. “I’m here.”

“Are you frozen solid?”

Clementine laughed. “Almost.”

“You asked for it. Remember? Over and over and over again, as I recall.”

“Oh, I recall.” Clementine’s voice turned wistful as she thought about all the times she’d begged to go on one of the plum research assignments out in the field, and the grim look on her fiancé’s face last year when she told him she’d finally gotten the one in Alaska.

It hadn’t been the first sign of trouble in their engagement, but it had been the one that really got her attention. Then, six short months later, there was no engagement.

Natalie whispered into the phone, signaling her call wasn’t all about work. “Listen, you will not believe what I saw driving down Memorial Drive this morning.”

Clementine took a wild guess. “A car?”

“No. I mean there were cars, obviously, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” Natalie huffed.

Clementine could almost hear her eyes roll from a thousand miles away. “What did you see driving down the street that was so interesting?”

“A motorcycle, complete with red flames on the side. I think it might have been a Harley. And guess who was riding it?” She didn’t wait for Clementine to speculate. It was a good thing because in a million years she never would have guessed the identity of the bike’s rider. “Mark!”

“Mark?” Clementine paused, trying to absorb this information. The pause served no purpose, however. She would never be able to wrap her mind around Mark on a Harley. Unless Harleys suddenly came in beige. “As in my ex-fiancé, Mark?”

“The one and only.”

Impossible.

Mark didn’t believe in motorcycles. Or any other type of vehicles with flames. Mark was safe. He wanted to live his life in a harmless little box.

He’d certainly wanted to keep Clementine in a box.

“What a hypocrite.” Natalie’s voice rose above a whisper with this proclamation. “Can you believe him?”

“Mark doesn’t concern me anymore.” Even faced with the literally flaming evidence of his double standard, she honestly meant it. She felt nothing at the mention of his name. A fact that spoke volumes.

Although a part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been right about Alaska. The attitudes of the people she’d met so far weren’t exactly encouraging.

Clementine gulped. “I’m in Alaska and I’m about to go enjoy my first snowfall.”

“Good for you. Forget about all of us back home, Mark included, and enjoy your trip. This is the adventure you’ve been waiting for.” Clementine could hear the hum of a computer monitor in the background and the familiar clickety-clack of Natalie’s fingers flying over the keyboard. “I’ve got to run. Duty calls. You take care.”

The line went dead. Clementine stared at the darkened screen and made a mental note to make sure to buy Natalie a souvenir before she went home. Something nice. A little piece of Alaska. She deserved it for holding down the fort in their cubicle while Clementine was off on her adventure.

She shoved the phone back in her pocket and headed toward the revolving door, anxious to get outside and sink her feet into the snow. Before she pushed her way through, she paused and pulled four tiny shoes from the other pocket of her parka. Correction—booties, not shoes. That’s what they called them here in Alaska. All the sled dogs wore them, and even dogs who weren’t professional athletes. They protected canine feet from the hazards of exposure to ice and snow.

It just happened to be an added bonus that the ones she’d found online for Nugget were beyond adorable.

She taped them into place. The little Pomeranian was remarkably cooperative, considering she’d never actually been a shoe-wearing dog before.

Bootie-wearing, not shoe-wearing.

With the booties firmly fastened, Clementine stood and admired them. Nugget pranced for a few steps and spun in a quick circle.

“Good girl,” Clementine cooed.

This was going so well that she’d have to consider the possibility of using them back home. Surely somewhere in Texas there existed a logical reason for a dog to wear booties. She’d lived there her entire life and never stumbled across such a reason, but that didn’t mean one didn’t exist. Right?

“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. “Lucky 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.”

Even the lattes here sounded exotic. Her mouth watered. “That sounds great, but…”

“But?” He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat.

She swept Nugget into her arms and narrowed her gaze at Ben. “You have to promise not to mention the foot lotion again.”

His jaw visibly clenched. “You mean paw ointment?”

Nugget trembled against her chest. As much as she hated to admit it, Ben was right—she needed to get inside. She hoped that was all he was right about. “You know what I mean.”

“Fine, I’ll drop it.” He released a sigh and picked up his camera bag from where it had fallen in the snow during their snowball fight. “For now.”

As Ben led her to the coffee bar with his hand on the small of her back, Clementine tried not to think about how long it had been since she’d been on a date. There hadn’t been anyone since Mark. Not that this qualified as a date. As inexperienced as she was in the rules of engagement for snowball fights, she supposed this could simply be some sort of truce ritual.

And to be honest, she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to count as a date. Dating didn’t really fit into the adventurous lifestyle she had in mind. Ben was certainly attractive. And so masculine. Nothing at all like the men back home. Beige would be the last word she would ever use to describe him.

He also thought she should spend her time making paw ointment instead of doing what she came here to do.

Let it go. He promised not to mention it again.

“What happened to you two?” The barista slid a single menu across the counter. “You look like a couple of drowned rats. Did you fall in the lake out back?”

“The lake is frozen solid, remember?” Ben nodded toward the big picture window behind the coffee bar. Behind the glass, what Clementine supposed was the lake stretched out like a blank, white canvas.

“That’s right. This is Alaska. I almost forgot, seeing as you look like you just went for a swim.” She cast a suggestive look in Clementine’s direction.

Okay, so maybe this is a date.

She waited for the inevitable feeling of suffocation to set in, like it had every time she even considered dating since breaking things off with Mark.

But the feeling never came.

Instead, she was surprised to find herself overcome by a strange sensation. She glanced over at Ben, sitting beside her. He smiled and she felt light as a feather. She wondered if she might float right off the bar stool and bump heads with the enormous bison looking down on them.

Ben leaned closer. He smelled of spruce and freshly fallen snow, like Alaska itself. “So two toasted marshmallow lattes?”

Clementine opened her mouth and started to order hers skinny, like she always ordered her coffee from the coffee bar down the block from the Nature World offices. The barista raised her brows and waited for an answer. Behind her, Clementine could see a small airplane skidding to a landing on two skis smack in the middle of the frozen lake. She’d never seen a plane with skis before. She didn’t even know such a thing existed. Probably because, like her coffee, everything in her life was boring. No fat, no whip, no sugar.

No life.

She tore her gaze from the plane with the skis and turned to Ben. “That sounds lovely. Can I have mine with extra whipped cream?”

“Of course.” He handed the menu back to the barista. Clementine finally focused on her Northern Lights name badge long enough to notice that her name was Anya. “Two toasted marshmallow lattes. Extra whipped cream on both.”

Anya scribbled a few lines on a notepad. “Coming right up. And I’ll bring a bowl of water for the dogs.”

Kodiak and Nugget lay curled together in the corner, under the belly of a stuffed grizzly bear standing on all fours. Clementine tilted her head and examined the fierce scowl on the bear’s face. “You know, I’ve always thought Pomeranians looked sort of like bears, until now. Nugget doesn’t look at all like that creature.”

Ben laughed. “A teddy bear maybe. But she’s no grizzly.”

“Have you ever seen one?” She focused on the bear’s huge, yellow teeth and gulped. “A live one, I mean?”

“A grizzly?” He shrugged, as if seeing a grizzly bear sauntering down one of Aurora’s sidewalks would be no big deal.

Clementine nodded and forced herself to look away from the bear’s snarl.

“Sure.” Ben took the two fresh lattes from Anya and set one down in front of Clementine. He blew on his, creating a subtle dip in the mountain of whipped cream. “In the summertime, you can see them catching salmon right on the riverbank. That’s why most everyone here carries bear insurance.”

Clementine wrapped her hands around her cup of coffee to warm them, and considered Ben’s comment. “Bear insurance? I don’t think we have coverage for that in Texas.”

He winked at her. “It’s only an expression.”

“For?”

He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, and his blue eyes turned serious. “Guns.”

“Oh.” She gripped her cup tighter.

“No one likes to shoot a bear, or any other creature for that matter. And ninety-nine percent of the time, it’s not necessary. But this is Alaska. Things are different here. This can be a dangerous place and it never hurts to be prepared.” His voice was gentle but firm.

Clementine’s eyes widened and she whispered, “Are you telling me I need to get a gun?”

Ben choked on his latte with such force that he popped right off his bar stool. His face turned three shades of red.

“You okay, sport?” Anya asked. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed a glass of water toward him.

He sipped the water and waited until his color returned to a somewhat normal shade before he said anything. Then, finally, he sat down again and spoke through clenched teeth. “I am most definitely not telling you to go out and get a gun. In fact, I forbid you to do any such thing.”

“Forbid me? Ha!” Clementine slung back a gulp of her coffee. The moment it touched her tongue, she decided that fat lattes were infinitely superior to skinny lattes. “You can’t tell me what to do, Ben Grayson. You don’t even know me. You, you…lotion peddler.”

“For the last time, it’s paw ointment.” He slammed his coffee cup on the bar.

Anya shot a worried glance between the two of them, then slipped out from behind the bar and disappeared.

“I know. I just like to see you get all hot under the collar when I call it foot lotion.” Clementine flashed him a syrupy-sweet smile and finished off her delicious coffee. She didn’t ordinarily consume hot beverages so quickly. Then again, she’d never before had one that tasted like a liquid s’more.

Ben let out a frustrated grunt and dropped his head in his hands.

Clementine wondered if he would notice if she stole the remains of his coffee. He most certainly didn’t need any more caffeine. “Don’t grunt at me. You deserve it. All I did was ask a simple question.”

He took a deep breath and spoke with exaggerated calmness. “I apologize. It’s just the thought of your running around with a loaded gun…you could kill yourself.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Anyway, you don’t need to worry about the bears. They can’t hurt you.”

She eyed the stuffed grizzly with suspicion. How the dogs could curl up right underneath it and sleep was beyond her. “Why not?”

“Because it’s winter.” The corners of his lips turned up into that charming lopsided grin of his. Finally. “They’re hibernating.”

“Oh.” Heat settled in Clementine’s cheeks. “I suppose you’re going to take back what you said earlier about how I was starting to sound like a real Alaskan.”

“No, I’ll cut you some slack.” His smile grew a bit wider. “But can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Like she could say no after making an idiot out of herself.

His blue eyes searched hers and he asked, “What brought you here? I know you’re a dog lover and you’re volunteering for the race as part of your job. But they could have sent anybody. I get the feeling this is about more than just work. Why here? Why now?”

“I’m not sure I can explain my reasoning.” Clementine’s throat tightened. It was a loaded question to be sure. “The last time I tried to explain it to a man, he didn’t understand.”

She thought for a moment about the day she’d finally told Mark she couldn’t marry him, that he seemed more like a brother to her than a husband. He didn’t understand that, either. She doubted if he ever would.

“Try me.” Ben’s voice was laced with an unexpected vulnerability that broke down Clementine’s resistance.

“I’ve lived in the same city my whole life. I’ve worked in the same cubicle since I took my job at Nature World over ten years ago. I’ve never taken more than one day of vacation at a time. Until yesterday, I’d never even been on an airplane.” She held her breath and waited for her words to sink in. She fully expected his expression to change to one of shock, or worse, sympathy. She looked down at her hands gripping the edge of the bar, afraid that when she looked back up, he would have that same baffled expression she’d seen on Mark’s face when she’d given him back his ring.

At last she looked up and met Ben’s gaze. She saw no trace of pity there, or judgment. So she continued. “After practically begging for this assignment, my boss finally relented and agreed to send me here last year. When I told my fiancé about it, he was horrified.”

Ben’s gaze flitted ever so briefly to her left hand.

“So I stayed home.” After all this time, it was almost shameful to admit. “Mark and I had grown up next door to one another. We were childhood friends and high school sweethearts. I think when he asked me to marry him, I said yes because it was what everyone expected us to do. It felt comfortable. Safe. It took me a while to realize that marriage…love…isn’t about being safe. I mean, love should be life’s greatest adventure, right?”

Ben’s expression grew pensive and he nodded slowly. “I suppose it should.”

“I have a favorite Bible verse, one that I memorized as a child. John 10:10, ‘I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’” Clementine’s voice trembled with emotion. “Do you have any idea how many photographs I’ve seen from this race? The dogs always look so happy, so free. That’s what God wants for me. I’m finally going to reach out and take it.”

“So you came to Alaska.” It was a statement, not a question.

A thoughtful silence settled between them. Clementine should have been embarrassed. Surely Ben didn’t need to know her whole life story. He’d probably only been making polite conversation when he’d asked her why she was here. But for some reason, she was glad she’d told him the truth. Even though she thought she detected a flicker of pain in his gaze when she mentioned the Bible.

This had already proven to be a most unusual date anyway. She doubted he would ever ask her for a second one, no matter how she answered his question. Even if he did, she wasn’t sure she would accept.

When he spoke, though, he didn’t seem overwhelmed by her bare honesty. He didn’t look at her like she was nuts, either. “Well, you came to the right place.”

She blinked up at him. “I did?”

“Sure. Alaska has always been a place for people who crave more from life. There’s nowhere else like it on earth. People come here from all over the world, searching for a new beginning. Usually, they find it.” Despite his words of hope, Ben’s features were still tinged with sadness.

Clementine recognized the haunted look in Ben’s crystal-blue eyes. It was one she’d seen looking back at her in her bathroom mirror. A look filled with longing. “Now can I ask you something?”

He gave her a meager smile. “I suppose that’s only fair.”

She chose her words with care. “What about the people who are already here? Where do they go to start over?”

He stared down into his coffee cup. “That’s a good question. I’ll let you know the answer as soon as I figure it out.”


Chapter Four

Ben slept in fits and spent most of the night tangled in his bedsheets. Every time he flipped over or pounded his fist into his pillow, Kodiak sighed and crept closer to the foot of the hotel bed. When Ben at last gave up, propped himself against the headboard and aimed the remote control at the room’s small television, Kodiak hopped off the bed altogether and settled in a ball on the floor.

Ben cast him a sympathetic glance. “Sorry, bud.”

He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for the husky. Kodiak was a sled dog. Not too many years had passed since he slept outside, on a bed of straw, surrounded by the other members of Ben’s dog team. Ben himself sometimes slept alongside them, wrapped in a thermal sleeping bag.

He’d never been the type of musher to leave his dogs unattended when they were out on the trail.

The television droned in the background, capturing his attention, exactly as he’d hoped it would. He stared at the flickering images of herds of wild musk oxen. With their woolly coats and curved horns, they looked almost prehistoric, even to a lifelong Alaskan like himself.

He’d landed on the hotel’s special Alaskan channel. Designed for tourists, it played a continuous loop of educational programming about the state’s history and wildlife. He supposed it was as good a channel as any. Maybe it would bore him to sleep.

Unlikely, with the thoughts that had kept him awake much of the night still tormenting him. Thoughts very un-Alaskan in nature.

Thoughts of Clementine Phillips.

Specifically, thoughts of her shoes.

She wouldn’t last half a minute as a dog handler in those glorified bedroom slippers. Once she grabbed hold of the gang line and felt the power of the dog team, her feet would slide right out from under her. If she was really intent on her plans—and it looked as though no amount of lecturing on Ben’s part would stop her—he was going to have to do something about those shoes.

Stay out of it. This isn’t your problem.

Clementine was a tourist. Whether she slid down the chute on her backside shouldn’t mean a thing to Ben. By this time next week, she would be gone.

Then why can’t I stop thinking about her?

Ben hadn’t given a second thought to romance in as long as he could remember. In his mushing days, there simply hadn’t been time. And since then, he’d walked around in a perpetual state of numbness, as though the frostbite in his hands on that long-ago night had somehow found its way to his heart.

Even if he did want to start a relationship with someone, it certainly wouldn’t be with a tourist who believed God had sent her here on some kind of divine adventure mission. Her unabashed thirst for life was alarming enough, even without the mention of the God who Ben had done his best to forget over the past four years.

So, he told himself, his concern for Clementine had nothing to do with romance. Thoughts of that nature would never have entered his mind if she hadn’t told him about her former fiancé—a complete idiot, in Ben’s opinion.

He pushed from his mind the image of her laughing, with snow clinging to the ringlets surrounding her face. He refused to think about her emerald eyes. Or the way her warm smile seemed to melt the block of ice surrounding his heart.

Instead, he focused on the shoes.

The shoes he could deal with.

* * *

Clementine almost didn’t hear her cell phone ringing, even though she’d been awake for at least an hour. After her morning devotional, she’d become mesmerized by a television show about musk oxen.

In honor of her trip, she’d changed her ring tone to barking dogs. This was, perhaps, not the best idea when traveling to a destination packed with happy, barking huskies. Already, she could hear dogs outside, howling for their breakfast.

She realized she must be getting a call when Nugget cocked her head and yapped at the cell phone, perched on the edge of the night table.

“Here, baby.” Clementine handed Nugget the moose-shaped dog toy she’d picked up in the lobby gift shop.

With her dog appeased, she picked up the cell phone. Fully prepared to see the familiar Nature World phone number on the screen, she cleared her throat and tried to remember the state of the papers strewn about her cubicle.

But the call wasn’t from her office. An unfamiliar number, preceded by the 907 Aurora area code, flashed on the screen.

“Hello?” she answered, as she gave Nugget’s moose toy a gentle tug.

“Hi, is this Clementine?” That rugged voice could only belong to one person.

She sat up straighter and abandoned the game of tug-of-war with her dog. “Yes.”

“This is Ben Grayson.” He cleared his throat and added, “You know, Kodiak’s dad.”

She knew, of course, exactly who Ben Grayson was. But his embellishment brought a smile to her lips. “Good morning, Ben.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I’m calling. I got your number from the race volunteer directory.”

“I don’t mind.” The way her heartbeat kicked up a notch told her this was an understatement.

“I was wondering…” Ben paused and Clementine held her breath, wondering if he was going to ask her out again.

She’d enjoyed their coffee date. And the bittersweet look on his face when he’d spoken about starting over told her there was more to Ben than met the eye. The possibility of getting to know him better intrigued her. Probably more than it should have, considering she had only a handful of days to spend in Alaska. Not to mention the fact that she wasn’t remotely ready for any kind of romantic relationship.

“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.




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