Alaskan Hearts. Teri Wilson

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

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