Alaskan Hearts. Teri Wilson

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       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.”

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