Across A Thousand Miles. Nadia Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ X rays showed a large obstruction, probably a rock. They were commencing surgery and would phone again to let him know how things went. Another ninety anxious minutes later, he got word that the operation had been successful and that Callie was fine. “That rock was as big as a hen’s egg,” the vet said. “I saved it for you.”

      Mac’s relief was followed by intense hunger. He ate a huge and satisfying meal, then had a couple of cold beers while watching some of the locals shoot pool in the barroom. His thoughts kept returning to Rebecca Reed. Try as he might, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Fred Turner was a taciturn old cuss, but he’d divulged a good deal about her when he’d stopped at Mac’s cabin for a visit two weeks back. “Terrible sad story,” Fred had said, shaking his head and blinking the sting of a large swallow of Jack Daniel’s from his eyes. “She came here with her husband, oh, must be five, six years ago. Quiet little thing. Shy. Hard worker, though. Worked right alongside her man, never shirked. Good with the dogs, too. She helped Bruce train, ran some races herself and did real well.

      “Bruce, he ran the long races. The Iditarod and the Yukon Quest. Those are thousand-mile races. Tough races. Rebecca ran some of the shorter ones. Two, three hundred milers like the Fireplug, the Copper Basin, the Percy DeWolf. They started up a business giving tours by dog team and selling dog food. Best prices in the Territory on dog food. And then Bruce went and got himself killed. Hit a moose with his truck coming back from a supply trip to Whitehorse. We all thought she’d pack up and leave, but by God she’s stuck it out, all by herself. Folks say she hasn’t smiled once since Bruce died, and she’s got no family to turn to, just a mother back East who thinks she’s crazy livin’ way out here in the wilderness.”

      Mac leaned his elbows on the bar and cradled the beer bottle between his palms. Fred hadn’t mentioned that Rebecca Reed was an arrestingly beautiful woman. Long, dark hair plaited in a thick braid, high forehead, wide-set blue eyes, straight nose, expressive mouth that wanted to smile but wouldn’t, and a determined chin with a little dimple in it. The thought of her living in that cabin all by herself, grieving for her husband, disturbed him more than he cared to admit. Divorced for several months, his own experiences with women had led him to conclude that most of them were fickle. Loyalty simply did not abide in them. Yet how could he explain this woman living in voluntary seclusion, this young widow who hadn’t smiled since her husband died? And might things have turned out differently for him in that military courtroom if he’d had the love and support of a wife like Rebecca? Would he have fought harder for his exoneration?

      Mac sighed. Taking care of forty dogs must be a hell of a lot of work for a woman! Caring for his brother’s dogs turned him inside out, and getting away from them for just one day was more of a vacation than a three-week holiday used to be. How on earth did she manage all by herself?

      “Hey, mister.” A man leaned on the bar beside him, olive-drab wool cap with the ear flaps turned up, windburned complexion, black eyes, red-and-black-plaid flannel shirt, green wool pants with bright orange suspenders. “Barkeep tells me you play a mean game of pool and you’re looking for some action.”

      Mac finished his beer and straightened. “Well, I don’t know how mean it is, but it’s pretty good, I guess.”

      “Good enough to place a bet on?”

      “Maybe.” Mac followed the woodsman to the pool table, thinking smugly, Ha! Easy money!

      Six hours later he opened his eyes and stared up at an unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was or why he felt so awful. Pool… He’d played pool with a guy named Joe Redshirt, and Joe played a pretty mean game of pool himself. Whiskey. Joe had bought him several shots over the course of the evening. One of the last coherent memories Mac had was of an easy rail shot he’d pooched, and Joe’s deadpan voice drawling, “Don’t worry, son, I couldn’t make those shots when I was young, either.”

      Mac closed his eyes, moaned, then opened them again, realization flooding through him. “Dammit!” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, not overly surprised to find himself fully clothed. He held on to the nightstand for a moment until his legs steadied beneath him, then staggered to the chair. His fingers dug into the frayed pockets of his parka with frantic movements, and he knew a moment of wild relief when he drew forth the carefully folded envelope that held the dog-food money. He spilled the bills out onto the coverlet and counted them. Sweat beaded his brow. He counted again, as if more might appear the second time around then sank onto the edge of the bed. By nature he was neither a gambler nor a heavy drinker, but betting on a game of pool had seemed like such an easy way to win money to help pay both the vet and the hotel charges, and Joe Redshirt had kept handing him those shots of whiskey…

      …and somehow Mac had gambled away half his dog-food money.

      One hot shower and thirty minutes later, he was standing in the vet’s office counting those same bills again. Then he pushed all but sixty dollars toward the receptionist. She counted it primly before writing him out a receipt. “I’ll get Callie for you now,” she said, and disappeared into the back room. Mac stared at the remaining bills in his hand with a feeling of doom. “Oh, God,” he said to the empty room. “I’m flat broke.”

      When he finally got Callie comfortably ensconced in the passenger seat of his old truck, he was stunned to realize that it was nearly 10 a.m. He had an early-morning appointment to pick up nearly a ton of dog food from a beautiful widow named Rebecca Reed, who lived about an hour outside of Dawson…and who didn’t sell dog food on credit.

      “Oh, God,” he said again, putting the truck in gear and heading down the Klondike Highway. “I’m a dead man.”

      “YOU’RE LATE! Rebecca said, hands on her hips. I could have trained three teams of dogs in the amount of time I’ve spent waiting around for you.”

      A stiff wind bent the tops of the spruce, and the overcast sky gave off an ominous thundering. “I’m sorry,” Mac said. He stood at the foot of the porch steps looking about as apologetic as she’d ever seen a man look. Those broad military shoulders were hunched, and his hands were shoved deep into his parka pockets. His tawny hair was tousled, though clean and freshly trimmed, and he had obviously shaved, revealing more clearly the strong, masculine planes of cheekbone and chin, but his eyes mirrored his abject guilt.

      “Well, I’m not going to help you load the dog food. That’s your job. Back your truck up to that door on the end of the dog barn. Your food is on pallets stacked to the right of the door. Forty bags, though I seriously doubt your truck will take the load.”

      He nodded again, looked over his shoulder at the old rusted truck, then dropped his gaze to the toes of his worn-out pack boots. He stood silently at the foot of the cabin steps until Rebecca felt a knot forming in the pit of her stomach.

      “What is it?” she said.

      He sighed and dug his hands deeper into his parka pockets. He lifted his shoulders and let them fall. A snowflake fluttered down from the leaden sky and brushed over his shoulder unseen. “Well, the thing is, I’m a little short of cash,” he said in a low voice, speaking to the ground at his feet. “The vet bill turned out to be higher than I expected. You see, Callie ate this big rock…” He raised his eyes and pulled one hand out of his pocket, fingers unfolding to reveal the smooth egg-shaped stone cradled within.

      Rebecca stared at the rock and crossed her arms in front of her. The wind was cold, but a curious feeling warmed her blood. “I see. Yes, that certainly is a big rock. So. You spent all your money on what had to be the most expensive surgery ever performed in the Yukon, and I suppose now you want me to extend credit to you?”

      Mac shook his head. “I have enough left to buy a couple СКАЧАТЬ