Alaskan Hero. Teri Wilson

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Dolce, the poor dog was being kicked in the ribs. She’d watched, horrified, from the window at the coffee shop where she worked at the Northern Lights Inn, convinced what she was seeing wasn’t real...until the little dog let out a yelp.

      Then she’d marched right outside and confronted the abuser. He’d been huge, easily a foot taller and nearly twice as broad as Anya. He’d also been more than a little drunk, which was no excuse for mistreating an animal. Anya had wedged herself between dog and man, crossed her arms and told him to behave himself or she’d call the police. She could only attribute the fact that he’d gone still to the frantic prayers she’d been uttering under her breath. Or perhaps, in his drunken haze, he’d seen two or three of her. A whole group of angry females instead of only one. Her heart had just about beat right out of her chest as she stood there, fully expecting the man to unleash his fury on her in place of his dog. In the end, he’d stumbled away, abandoning the pup without a parting glance.

      And Anya had suddenly found herself with a dog.

      She’d made up her mind right then and there to show the dog what love—and a real home—was all about. Something about seeing her shivering out in the cold, beaten down and all alone in the world, reminded Anya of herself as a baby. She’d never been abused, thank goodness. And she’d had her mother, of course, even after her father had walked out. But her mother had been too caught up in the bitterness of being left to provide much comfort to Anya, even as she grew into a young woman.

      Anya knew better than to fantasize about changing the past, but she could change the future. At least for Dolce. She wouldn’t abandon her now, even if things were less than ideal.

      But if Dolce didn’t get over her anxiety soon, Anya might not have a choice in the matter. In addition to being only marginally fulfilling, working as a barista also meant she was only marginally solvent. She couldn’t afford to move out of her rent-free cottage.

      Her disappointment in the first “training session” with Brock ebbed somewhat as she put on her parking brake and headed inside Aurora Community Church’s Fellowship Hall. Even though she’d been attending church regularly for several months now, the feeling of peace evoked by simply walking through the front door never failed to catch her by surprise. She’d spent many years uncomfortable with even the mention of God. Something about growing up with an absent dad didn’t exactly inspire confidence in a God known to most as God the Father.

      When Clementine, an avid churchgoer, had moved to Aurora and she and Anya became fast friends, the invitations to church events came rolling in. Anya managed to decline each one politely yet succinctly. Then Clementine’s husband, Ben, left town for two weeks to mush his dog sledding team in a race out by Fairbanks. Anya’s resistance wavered at the thought of Clementine sitting in a pew alone, so she finally gave in. And that day the pastor had read a verse from the Bible that had stolen the breath from Anya’s lungs.

      Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.

      Anya had experienced her fair share of leaving. The holy words had hit her square in the chest and burrowed deep inside. They’d danced in her thoughts all week until she found herself back in the pew the following Sunday. And the Sunday after that—the day she’d rescued Dolce. She’d known at once the timing of saving her couldn’t be a coincidence. For the first time, she felt as though she’d been put somewhere for a reason.

      And here she was now, headed to church again. On a Monday night, no less.

      “Anya, hi.”

      “Hey, Anya.”

      A chorus of hellos rose up to greet her as she breezed into the fellowship hall, a former gymnasium the church now used for casual events such as youth group meetings and potluck suppers. And knitting, of course. She waved at the half-dozen women gathered around the long, rectangular table situated in the center of the room and found a seat between Clementine and Sue Chase. Like Clementine, Sue was a musher’s wife. The two of them were long-time Christians. Not babies in the faith, as Anya sometimes thought of herself. They were very involved in organizing ways to help the community. In fact, the knitting group had been Sue’s idea.

      “Good evening, ladies,” Sue said, and the clickety-clack of knitting needles came to a stop.

      Anya pulled her own needles and ball of yarn out of her tote bag as she listened.

      “Next week, Gus is taking a couple of volunteer doctors out to the Bush to treat people in some of the more impoverished villages.” Sue absently wound a length of red yarn around her fingers.

      Gus was the manager of Aurora’s one and only grocery store. He was also a pilot who made regular runs out to the Bush, the area of Alaska that was off the road network and inaccessible by car.

      “I’d love it if we could get together at least two dozen hats to send along. So far we have twenty.” Sue’s gaze flitted around the table. “Do you all think we could get together four more before next week?”

      “I’m almost finished with mine.” Clementine held up a nearly complete hat, crafted of pink yarn sprinkled with sequins.

      Anya couldn’t help but laugh. It was classic Clementine.

      “What’s so funny?” Clementine whispered.

      “Nothing.” Anya shrugged. “I hope the underprivileged like sparkle, that’s all.”

      Clementine looked down at her hat. “Of course they do. Doesn’t everyone?”

      Anya’s hat was a bit simpler, crafted of a fuzzy plum-colored yarn. She was a baby knitter, in addition to being a baby Christian. Finishing her hat by next week would be a challenge, but she really liked the idea of keeping someone warm in a cold Alaskan winter. Since discovering God, Anya was trying to make her life count for something. Something bigger than herself. Saving Dolce was only the start.

      She’d need to start knitting at home to get caught up. She bit her lip and went to work wrapping the yarn around her needles.

      “Oh.” Clementine’s hands stopped moving. “I almost forgot to ask. Did you make it out to Brock Parker’s house today?”

      Anya frowned. “I sure did.” She hadn’t meant to inject an edge to her voice, but there it was.

      Clementine’s knitting dropped to her lap. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.”

      “That row you just purled is so tight, it’s about to snap in two. Something’s most definitely wrong.”

      Ugh, she was right. The row was way too snug. Anya unraveled it. “Nothing’s wrong. Brock Parker is a crazy man, that’s all.”

      “Crazy?” Clementine tilted her head. “Are you sure? He’s kind of a big deal, you know.”

      “A big deal? How?” Unless she meant big as in tall and rather strapping—ahem—Anya wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

      “He’s pretty famous. He goes all over the world setting up special canine rescue teams for areas prone to avalanches. And Ben says he’s found dozens of people who got caught in slides. You should Google him.”

      Anya raised her brows. “Does Google mention that he enjoys dressing as a bear?”

      “What?”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ