Teri Wilson - Alaskan Hearts

Except it never came. Instead, she found herself falling into a pair of very strong, masculine arms. Arms that belonged to an equally masculine voice.

“Whoa, there,” the voice said, and Clementine knew in an instant it wasn’t the shuttle bus driver who had come to her rescue.

Her eyelids fluttered open and, with that first glance at the pair of glacial-blue eyes peering down at her with concern, the salmon flipped in her stomach. The one from the Lean Cuisine, not the wall.

Her rescuer smiled down at her, and his blue eyes crinkled in the corners in a most charming way. “Are you okay?”

Clementine swallowed. “Um, yes. A little rattled, that’s all.”

“Let me help you up.” He lifted her to her feet, as if she weighed no more than her tiny Pomeranian, still waiting in the pink dog carrier in the shuttle bus.

“Thank you. I’m not accustomed to walking on ice.” Her mind flashed briefly to the Bible story about Jesus walking on water. She supposed if the gospels had taken place in Alaska, he would have walked on ice. It would have been equally miraculous in Clementine’s eyes.

“It comes with practice.” The man glanced down at her new UGGs and frowned. The frown did nothing to lessen the effect of his startling blue eyes and deep dimples, visible even through his closely trimmed beard. “And shoes with better traction. Take very slow steps. That ought to help.”

Something about the way he said it pricked Clementine’s nerves. She had to stop herself from asking him what he could possibly know about women’s shoes.

“Slow steps,” she repeated curtly, with a nod. Clementine could do that. She was, in fact, an expert at taking slow steps. She’d been taking things slowly her entire life. Stepping on the plane to Aurora had been the most daring thing she’d ever done.

“This is your first trip to Alaska I take it?”

Clementine flushed, although whether from the realization that he still had a protective grasp on her arm or the fact that he seemed to read her thoughts, she wasn’t sure. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Enjoy your stay.” He released her arm and lingered, watching to make sure she was steady on her feet.

“Thank you.” She did her best to ignore his rugged good looks and instead focused on keeping her feet flat on the icy sidewalk. Not falling seemed like the best way to avoid a lecture on her choice of footwear. And she was having enough trouble maintaining her balance without thinking about those dimples. “And thank you again for the rescue.”

“Anytime.” He winked and headed toward the parking lot.

Clementine followed him with her gaze and couldn’t help but notice his steps were most definitely not slow. In fact, they were downright brisk.

Then again, he looked Alaskan. He’d probably had more than enough practice walking on ice.

“Ahem.” The gruff voice of the shuttle bus driver interrupted her thoughts. “Are you coming or do you need some help?”

“No, I’ve got it.” She took a quick glance over her shoulder to check on her bags. They still sat right where she’d left them, under the cold, watchful eye of the mounted salmon.

Wild Alaskan salmon.

The words danced in her head.

Maybe everything in Alaska was wild. It certainly looked that way in the many photographs she’d sorted through for the magazine throughout the years. She thought about the calendar of Alaskan sled dogs that hung above her computer monitor. Mark had given it to her last year when she’d turned down the assignment in Alaska. As if looking at photos of Alaska could ever take the place of actually being there.

The dogs on her calendar looked nothing like her own sweet Pomeranian. They had hungry eyes and paws that moved so fast that they were nothing more than a blur.

Wild Alaskan sled dogs.

She laughed. She’d be willing to bet money they didn’t even have cubicles in Alaska. Or Lean Cuisines.

And maybe, simply going to such a place could change a person. Take an ordinary girl with an ordinary life and transform her into someone just a little bit wild herself.

Clementine could only hope so.

She repeated the words from John 10:10 to herself, the words she’d clung to since finally making the break with Mark.

I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.

A shiver ran up her spine. She looked around for the blue-eyed stranger who’d rescued her from falling, but he’d vanished in the darkness. Anticipation swelled in her chest, and she inhaled a deep breath as she took her first tentative step onto the ice.

Oh Lord, I hope so.

* * *

Ben Grayson paused in front of the revolving door of the Northern Lights Inn, half hoping to find the woman who had fallen into his arms earlier. The woman with the mass of blond curls spilling from the fur-lined hood of her parka and the less-than-appropriate footwear.

When he found himself alone in the bitter cold, he pushed the memory of her delicate features out of his mind and whistled for his Alaskan husky.

“Kodiak, come on.”

The dog trotted to Ben’s side and nudged his head square underneath the palm of his hand.

Kodiak had always been an expert nudger.

“Subtle.” Ben gave him an affectionate scratch behind the ears.

The husky nuzzled against his knee until Ben pulled a worn, leather leash out of the pocket of his parka. As soon as Kodiak got a glimpse of the leash, his plumed tail uncurled into a straight line and hung between his hind legs. He furrowed his doggy brow and gazed up at Ben with sad copper eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not any happier about being here than you are, you know.” He snapped the leash onto Kodiak’s collar and told himself this was the last year he would darken the door of this place during race week. Even beautiful blonde women in need of rescue weren’t enough to keep him coming back. The way he saw it, there was no reason he couldn’t commute from his secluded cabin on the outskirts of Aurora to the official race events.

The plan was simple. Drive in, snap a few photos, drive out.

His boss at the Yukon Reporter didn’t quite agree. He had all sorts of reasons why Ben needed to be “in the thick of things” at the race headquarters. That, and the very real threat of an avalanche wiping out the one highway between Knik and Aurora, kept him coming back year after year.

So here he was. Again.

But this was absolutely the last time he would agree to this arrangement. He breathed out a weary sigh and led Kodiak into the hotel lobby.

He stomped the snow from his boots and looked around for a clock. This was a wasted effort, as every available square inch of wall space played host to some sort of mounted animal head. There was the customary Alaskan moose hanging above the enormous stone fireplace, surrounded by a variety of antlered cousins. Above the coffee bar, a bison watched over the mixing of flavored lattes and cappuccinos. Next to the registration desk, the full body of a polar bear rose up on its back legs and towered over guests waiting to check in.

Ben groaned when he saw the crowd of people waiting in line. His heavy eyelids told him it had to be well past midnight, but from the look of things, half the population of the Lower Forty-Eight—as Alaskans called the rest of the United States—stood between him and a room key.

“Welcome to race week.” A large hand smacked Ben between the shoulder blades. Hard enough that he dropped Kodiak’s leash amid a sudden coughing fit.

“Sorry.” Reggie Chase’s dark face split into a wide grin. “I would have thought living out there in the middle of nowhere would have toughened you up by now.”

“You live even farther out than I do,” Ben managed to sputter as his ability to speak returned. “Remember?”