Alaskan Hearts. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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, СКАЧАТЬ