Nadia Nichols - Across A Thousand Miles

“Good,” she said.

He nodded. “I’ll pay you within the month.”

“I’m sure you will.”

She couldn’t keep the edge of sarcasm from her voice. He nodded again and turned away, walked down the three steps and crossed the yard to where his truck was parked. He paused before climbing into the cab. “Need any mechanical work done on your truck?” he asked hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Two weeks,” he said. “I’ll have the money in two weeks!”

She didn’t reply, and he climbed into the cab and slammed the door. The truck started right up, but he had to work to get it into first gear. He pulled ahead with a lurch that stalled it. He started it again, waved his arm out the side window when the engine finally caught and slowly rumbled out of the yard, the old truck’s springs sagging under the heavy load. As he drove cautiously down the long rutted track that led to the main road, it began to snow in earnest, the flakes whirling past on a strong westerly wind. By morning there would be a foot or more. Winter came all at once in the north country and stayed for a very long time.

She stepped inside to fill the buckets with dog food, hurrying now to beat the darkness and the storm. The dogs howled with delight as she reemerged bearing their supper, which she ladled into the feed pans attached to the sides of their houses. “We’ll run tomorrow, Thor,” she promised the black lead dog, another of her husband’s favorites. “Maybe even with the sled.” She’d been training the dog teams with a four-wheeler since the weather had cooled in August, letting twelve dogs pull the ATV down miles of dirt roads, and while rig training was important, she couldn’t wait to get back onto the sled. Nothing compared to a fast run behind a good team of well-trained dogs. Rebecca had come to love the dogs and the lifestyle they represented. She had come to love this little place on the edge of the wilderness, the timeless cycle of the seasons, the ebb and flow of life, and the hard, harsh laws of the wild. If not for the aching loneliness that had hollowed her heart since losing Bruce, she would be quite content here.

“Okay, Quinn, I’m coming with the chow. Hold your horses!” She dished out the food quickly, moving amongst the whirl and dance of the excited animals with practiced ease, speaking each dog’s name as she fed it. Finally she dropped the scoop back into one of the empty buckets with a weary sigh. “Done and done.” The snow was already turning the ground white, and strong gusts of wind lifted it up in streamers. “Wild night ahead.”

She wondered how MacKenzie was making out on his long drive home, and no sooner did this unbidden thought enter her mind than the dogs erupted into a frenzy of barking, all eyes focused on the dirt track that led to the main road. She followed their gaze and after a few moments picked out the dark shape of a man moving through the thick veil of wind-driven snow. “It can’t be!” she said.

But it was. MacKenzie trudged into her yard and veered in her direction. His hair was plastered with snow. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he said over the roar of the wind. “My truck broke a U-joint about half a mile from here, just shy of the main road.”

Clutching both empty buckets in one mittened hand, she stared at him. “I guess it was too heavy a load,” she couldn’t resist saying.

“I guess,” he said.

“You got into that soft spot, didn’t you?” she said. He nodded. “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone.”

“You’re assuming I have one. Who do you plan to call?”

“God,” he said.

“I don’t have that kind of a phone. Mine is a limited-signal radio phone, and the best you can do with it is to call over to Sam and Ellin Dodge’s place. They have a ham radio and can call into Dawson for a wrecker, but nobody will come out tonight with a storm brewing. And even if someone does, a wrecker won’t get you home with a load of dog food for a pack of hungry dogs.”

“No, ma’am, probably not.”

“And if you don’t get home tonight, who’s going to feed your dogs?”

“Fred Turner. He’s staying at my place till I get back.”

“Fred Turner?” Rebecca glared at Mac. “Fred Turner’s about as dependable as one might expect an alcoholic amnesiac to be. If you left any liquor in your cabin, he’s drunk it all by now. Lord only knows what shape your dogs’ll be in when you get back.”

“I can fix that U-joint in jig time. All I need is the right part. I noticed you had an old, broken-down Ford parked behind the dog yard…”

“That old, broken-down Ford is my snowplow, mister, and you aren’t laying a hand on it! Sam Dodge has some junkers over at his place. He may have the part you need. Like I said, you can use my phone to call him, though you won’t be able to do much in the pitch-dark.”

“I have a headlamp in my truck,” Mac said. “Hell, I could work blind if I had to. I’m a fair enough mechanic. How far away do these folks live?”

“Sam and Ellin? Not far. Five miles down the trail, east of here.”

“Which trail?”

“That one.” Rebecca raised her free hand and pointed. “If you hurry you could get there and back in my four-wheeler before the snow gets too deep, but we’d better call ahead first.”

“I appreciate this,” Mac said, following her into the warmth of the cabin. He stopped inside the door and looked around while she hooked the radio phone to the twelve-volt battery. She noticed him staring at Bruce’s clothing on the wall pegs near the door and the pair of man-size Bunny boots behind the wood cookstove. “You have a real nice place here,” he offered. She said nothing, dialing Sam and Ellin’s number by heart and hoping that they had their phone turned on.

They did. Ellin answered on the second ring. Her voice was always warm and welcome to Rebecca’s ears. “’Becca! Sweetheart, how are you? I hope you’re all ready for winter, my dear, because its here!”

Rebecca quickly filled Ellin in, and within moments Sam was speaking directly to Mac about parts and pieces and tools and time. Finally, Mac handed her the phone and grinned. “All set!” he said. “They have the part I need. All I have to do is pull it, bring it back here, and fix my truck. Callie should be all right in the meantime.”

“I could drive you over,” she offered, albeit grudgingly. She had chores to finish, a column to write and a deadline to meet.

“No need, if I can borrow your four-wheeler.”

Relieved, she led him back out into the brumal blast, zipping her parka against the cold. It was rapidly growing dark. The four-wheeler was parked inside the barn, and she swung the door wide and held it open against the force of the wind while he started up the vehicle and drove it out. Once again she pointed at the mouth of the trail that led directly from her yard into the thick spruce forest. “Just follow that trail. You can’t possibly get lost. It takes you right into Sam and Ellin’s yard. Don’t worry about Callie. I’ll bring her into the cabin and keep an eye on her.”

“Thanks,” he said, visibly relieved. He shifted into first gear, and was swallowed up instantly by the darkness and the storm.

THE WIND MADE a noise in the eaves that sounded like a dying man’s moan, and Rebecca fed more sticks into the stove to thwart the deepening cold that worked its way through tiny cracks between the cabin logs and radiated up from the floorboards. It was nearing midnight, and still no sign of Bill MacKenzie. The storm had intensified, and more than eighteen inches already covered the frozen ground in some areas. Rebecca poured herself another cup of tea, her fifth of the night. Maybe it was time to get out of the dog-food business. The markup was so small, just fifty cents a bag. For the privilege of selling Bill MacKenzie forty bags, she had earned the tidy sum of twenty dollars, not even enough for one bag of food for her own huskies. And that was assuming he ever paid her.