by Rachel Lee
“Well, we kind of depend on them for some things. Like protection.”
“That’s one of the things, yes. So instead of slipping away into the forest when something unwanted approaches, they’ll bark, face it down, even attack to protect us.”
She looked at Noel, who had just “killed” and eaten his first biscuit and was now hunting for the other.
“I hadn’t thought of it that way before.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Dogs help us out in lots of ways, and have for a long time. Watch a good herding dog at work, then try to imagine life for the shepherd without him. It’s just…” He hesitated. “Well, I guess it’s just weird that we’re so scared of wolves when we’ve created more of a monster.”
At that she had to nod. “I agree there. Although it’s hard to think of it that way just now.”
He surprised her with a laugh. “Oh, Noel has me terrified, can’t you tell?”
She joined his laughter as the pup, having eaten his second biscuit, returned to her. She hooked the leash on him then and stepped back into her skis. “This could be interesting.”
“Just move slowly. He’ll figure it out. He’s bright.”
He was, too. Once he figured out that he wasn’t supposed to pull her, he settled down to trotting alongside. Apparently the biscuits had energized him enough to enter hyperdrive again.
Fifteen minutes of steady skiing brought them to the edge of the treeline. Melinda needed only one look to tell her just how dangerous the snowfall was. The wind had even blown the snow on the upper slope into an overhang that would probably come crashing down at any moment. Squatting, she sifted the snow through her fingers, checking its texture.
“Bad?” Jon asked.
“Very.”
Straightening, she looked around for the sign. It was buried beneath the snow, only one corner poking out. Handing Noel’s leash to Jon, she skied cautiously over and began to dig it out with her hands. Moments later, Jon joined her.
“It’s really unstable,” she said quietly. “I’ll need to ask the patrol to get out here and blast it loose before the holidays.
“I could just shout,” Jon suggested.
She gave him a sour look, and he grinned.
“Or maybe Noel will howl.”
But the dog seemed suddenly disinclined to bounce around and make noise. He was sitting very, very quietly.
“He senses it,” Jon said. “Huskies are supposed to be really good at sensing danger.”
“You’re not making me feel any better.”
“I just mean that you might want to think of him as an early-warning sensor when you’re out here on the snow.”
With the sign uncovered, she tied caution tape around it and began to string it up the edge of the treeline, wrapping it around a trunk to hold it in place. Jon stretched the tape down the slope and across the bottom of a large bowl-shaped indentation in the rock. She appreciated the help.
Well before the light began to wane, they had marked two other areas of serious concern.
“Are there any more?” Jon asked.
“None that I can get to without spending a couple of nights on the trail. But given the instability of what we’ve already checked, I think I’ll have to close the park until I can get the demolition team out. It’s bad now, and if we have another heavy snowfall, it’ll be truly deadly out here.”
“Yeah.”
She looked at him, taking in his cheeks ruddy with the cold and the sparkle that had come to his eyes. Something in her seemed to stop short, with a kind of wonder, and then she felt something she had thought she would never feel again: attraction.
At once she looked down, afraid he would see the sudden hunger on her face. She couldn’t allow that.
He bent and scooped up the puppy, managing to tuck him into the warmth of his parka, and then zipping it up so only the dog’s head stuck out. “Poor little guy is tuckered out.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t get tuckered out a long time ago.”
He flashed a smile, a surprisingly winning one. “Huskies are made for this. Their endurance is legendary.”
Skis on again, they headed back toward the cabin. “Do you have avalanches in Afghanistan?”
“Sure. They’re part of being in the mountains. With time, most folks have learned to live out of the way of the majority of them, though.”
“And I doubt they ski for pleasure.”
A laugh escaped him. “They’re smart. They stay at home. Unless they’re fighting.”
“Some of the folks who come up here on holiday aren’t so smart. We don’t have an official ski slope, but they can’t resist getting out there in the open areas anyway.”
“Do you have to rescue many?”
“Not in a couple of years now. Unfortunately, if someone goes out very far, they’re apt to be dead before I realize something is wrong.”
“So you try your best to keep them out of the open areas?”
“Absolutely. I warn and warn and warn.”
They settled into the easy rhythm of skiing on their way back toward the cabin. Melinda felt as if the world had become timeless. The sun didn’t seem to move, and the clouds she occasionally glimpsed gathering over the peaks seemed to grow no bigger.
Out here like this, she usually felt at her most peaceful, but now something was different. Now she had noticed Jon Erikson as a man. Her emotions roiled internally like building storm clouds. She didn’t want this. She most especially didn’t need this. Long ago she had decided to live her life essentially as a hermit, meeting the rest of humanity on her own terms as much as possible. It was the only safety she knew.
Now this man had intruded. To be fair, she had invited him to intrude for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom. She hadn’t needed to suggest they have dinner together at Maude’s. She hadn’t needed to offer him a ride or invite him to help with the Christmas decorations.
So the question became: what had gotten into her? The recognition of another wounded soul? The world was full of wounded souls.
In the end, she wasn’t in the best of moods when they reached the cabin. As if he sensed it, Jon put the pup down, let him do his business, then tucked him inside the front door.
“See you,” he said casually, and headed off toward his camp.
That made her feel worse than anything could have. She stood there watching him disappear and wondered why she seemed to have nothing to say.
Chapter 7
Two days later, utterly without warning, another blizzard swept into the mountains. It had come racing down from Canada, according to her radio communications with another ranger station, and it was moving fast and hard. In almost no time at all, Melinda watched the thermometer outside her window drop to twenty-seven below.
“It’s a bad one,” Larry Bluhfeld told her. “Radio will probably go out, so are you prepared?”
“Always.”
“Me too. I’ll try to check back with you every couple of hours, but with all this snow blowing, it might not work real well.”
“I’ll be fine, Larry. Will you?”
He laughed, his voice breaking up on the airwaves. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Mel. It’s my favorite weather. Makes me feel like an old mountain man.”
A burst of static filled the room, then Larry’s voice came through again. “You’re keeping an eye out for that bank robber, aren’t you?”
Melinda almost smiled. Larry was like a mother hen sometimes. “As much as possible, but, Larry, honestly, how likely is it he’d come here?”
“I talked to Nate a while ago. He said he was going to radio you again, too. Did he?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, he’s getting concerned the guy might have come up into the mountains, because there’s no sign of him anywhere else, and they had roadblocks out almost as soon as it happened.”
“Okay.” Melinda felt an uneasy quiver in her stomach but forced herself to ignore it. “I’ll be watchful. Did Nat
e say anything about Charlene?”
“She’s home and talking about going back to work. And the bank is installing bulletproof glass around the teller’s cage.”
“I never thought we’d come to that here.”
Another burst of static disrupted the transmission, and Larry’s voice never came back.
Melinda turned off the radio to conserve the battery pack and went to stand at the window, looking out. Just now it was reminiscent of being inside a snow globe. Noel snuffled around her ankles, and she looked down at him. “But you just went!”
His unwavering blue eyes peered up at her.
Jon Erikson. She hadn’t seen him since they’d skied out to the avalanche danger areas, and she hadn’t sought him out. Distance had seemed like the best choice. But with this clipper blowing in from the Arctic, could she leave him out there in nothing but a tent?
Conscience pricked her until at last she suited up in her survival gear and set out to get him. Like it or not, Noel was confined to the cabin. She didn’t need to worry about him, as well.
The woods had grown dark, since the storm cut out most of the light, but the trail was still clear. Of course, she knew it by heart, anyway.
Ten minutes later she reached the campsite. The fire was out, buried in snow. Her heart climbed to her throat, and she approached the tent cautiously. “Jon? Jon? Are you there?”
For interminable seconds, no one answered her. Then the flap of the tent opened a slit and his face peered out. “I’m hunkered down for the blow. What the hell are you doing out here?”
“Worrying about you. Come back to my cabin. This is going to be a really bad one.”
“I got that feeling.” But he didn’t move.
“Come on,” she said. “My conscience won’t rest if I leave you out here.”
Another half minute passed; then finally he nodded. “You go on back. I need to gather up a few things.”
“Are you sure?”
“That I’ll come? Yeah. No point staying out here if there’s a warm fire somewhere else.”
“Okay.” Satisfied, she turned and trekked back toward the cabin. When she stepped inside, Noel acted as if she’d been gone for a month. He’d also made good use of the time, gnawing the corner off one of the Christmas boxes and scattering cardboard everywhere.
She looked down at him, wondering how she could scold him now when he was doing nothing wrong. Instead the little devil was looking up at her from adoring eyes, his tail thumping the floor with delight.
“Sheesh,” she said, and scooped him up into her arms. He immediately started licking her face. “How am I ever going to train you if you only misbehave when I’m not around?”
He howled, as if that were a stupid question, then licked her again.
“Come on, I need to get out of these clothes.”
Windproof parka with a snorkel hood, windproof snow pants, wool-lined boots, gloves, goggles. It was a relief to get out of them and hang them from their hooks just outside her bedroom. What felt comfortable outside was miserable inside.
Wearing thick socks, jeans and a sweater, she returned to the front room and checked the fire. It was burning well, not too hot, although the wind required her to adjust the flue a bit. Nearby, her wood box held enough logs for a couple of days. No reason to go out again.
The wind gusted, and ice clattered against her windowpane. Noel looked startled and jumped up onto the couch, curling deep into the throw pillows. Almost laughing at him, Melinda decided to turn on her battery-operated CD player. Some Christmas carols should help cover the storm sounds.
The strains of the Canadian Brass filled the room with cheerful sound, holding the winter storm at bay. The Christmas decorations still sat in their boxes, but she felt not the least urge to put them up.
Instead, she curled up in her chair and closed her eyes, drinking in the music, seeking the spirit of the season. It had to be here somewhere.
The CD was just drawing to a close with the haunting sounds of “Silent Night” when Jon knocked on the door. She leapt up at once, nearly tripping over Noel, who was now running in excited circles, howling his little head off. When she unlatched the door and opened it, she stared dumbstruck at the world outside.
“Whiteout,” she said, amazed.
“Yeah, I almost got lost.” He shook the snow off himself and stamped his boots to clear them before entering. “It’s getting worse by the second.”
“What took you so long?”
“My tent blew down, which made it a little hard to gather up my stuff.” He smiled and shrugged. “Hence my sincere gratitude for your offer of shelter.”
“Nobody should be out in this. Even Eskimos would be inside.”
“I think you’re right.” He began to strip off his outerwear, considerably hindered by a dog underfoot. He didn’t seem to mind, though, and eventually got down to his sweatshirt, jeans and socks. Then he scooped up the puppy and settled on the couch. “Did I hear music?”
“I was playing some Christmas carols.”
“It’s been a long time since I heard any.”
“I don’t imagine they’re real popular over there.”
“Not exactly.”
Obliging him, she replaced the first CD with one by Mannheim Steamroller.
“God, I’ve missed that,” he said. He stretched his legs out in front of him and let his head rest against the back of the couch. “I ought to take a copy of that back with me.”
“It’s beautiful,” she agreed. Forcing herself to look away, she headed for the kitchen to get some cider to heat with a bit of cinnamon. The stove ordinarily warmed the entire cabin without difficulty, but the kitchen was chilled now, as if not even the thick logs could prevent heat from being sucked out by the storm. She lit a couple of oil lamps and pulled a gallon of cider out of the larder.
She poured the entire gallon into a stew pot, tossed in a few cinnamon sticks and a couple of cloves, and carried it out to the front room, where she put it on the stove.
Jon was sound asleep, the dog curled on his flat belly. She paused, drinking in the sight as if she’d somehow been hungry for it, noting the cleanly chiseled lines of Jon’s face, a face that spoke of hardships she could only imagine. Something she’d been ignoring for days ignited deep within her, terrifying her.
She fled back to the kitchen, where, with only the golden light of the oil lamps to drive away the darkness, she clung to the edge of the counter and tried to batter back the memories.
For so long she’d kept them locked safely away, aware that they existed, but not letting them touch her. All of a sudden they were forcing themselves into reality again, filling her with dread and anger and a million other emotions that had driven her to this hermitage in the woods.
Her hard-won peace shattered around her as if a picture window had been punctured, glass flying everywhere, and with it her composure, her safety and all her carefully constructed defenses.
Her fingers tightened on the counter’s edge until they ached. She pressed her forehead into the upper cabinet as hard as she could. But despite her every effort, tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Precious things had been stolen from her, and sometimes—just sometimes—mourning overwhelmed her.
“Melinda?”
Jon’s voice, quiet and cautious, reached her from behind.
“Go away,” she said, hating the way her own voice broke.
He didn’t speak again, but he must have moved very silently, because she felt his heat behind her, a stark contrast to the rest of the kitchen.
“Don’t touch me!” She almost shrieked the words, and then the tears started to roll like rivers and…
He didn’t listen. Before she could even try to twist away, he had wrapped his arms around her like steel bands, turning her and pressing her face-first into his chest. She struggled against him, but he seemed impervious.
Panic filled her. She struck out with everything she could move, her feet, her fists, her head, yet
he never even flinched.
Trapped!
But she had never been trapped like this before. Before it had been ropes and duct tape. Before it had hurt. Jon wasn’t hurting her at all. Unyielding, yes, but he absorbed her blows and never once hurt her back.
He just stood solid as rock and let the panic, terror and pain run through her. She cried, she screamed, she swore at him, but not really at him, and he seemed to know it.
A long, long time later, exhaustion left her weak as a kitten.
Then, and only then, did he shift his hold on her, lifting her gently in his arms and carrying her out to the front room. He sat on the couch with her in his lap. Moments later Noel scrambled up onto her and licked at her salty tears.
The storm outside still raged, but the one inside had quieted. Melinda felt utterly numb, as if she had not a single feeling left in her. Zombielike, she stared at the fire. She didn’t even raise a hand to pet the puppy.
But slowly, very slowly, strength began to seep back into her limbs. The internal deadness lasted longer, which was fine. She didn’t care if she ever felt anything again.
But life was rarely so kind. Embarrassment began to creep into her cheeks, and finally she had to get off Jon’s lap. The position was too intimate. Too welcome. That frightened her, too.
He helped her sit up beside him, never looking at her, giving her the privacy her recent actions seemed to demand.
Wiping the last of the sticky tears from her face with the sleeve of her sweater, she went to the stove. “Cider? It’s spiced.”
“I’d love some.”
She reached for the metal dipper on the wall and filled two mugs. She gave him one, then hesitated only a moment before choosing to sit by him on the couch, rather than in her habitual place in the easy chair.
Noel looked at her for a moment, then curled up on the rug before the fireplace. Outside, the storm’s battering seemed to grow.
Jon spoke quietly. “Want to talk about it?”
“No. Yes. I can’t.” As the words burst out of her in short spurts, she started shaking again.
He didn’t say anything. Instead, he went to the fire, stepping carefully over Noel, and put on another log. “It’s getting drafty in here.”