by Teri Wilson
“That’s what I’m hoping.” The barista shifted her gaze toward the stray. “Do you think she’d like some water?”
“She might. We’ve had quite the adventure this afternoon. We walked all over Aurora.”
“I’ll get some for her.” Anya glanced around the lobby—checking around for customers, Clementine presumed—before disappearing behind a slick wooden door labeled Employees Only.
She returned a few moments later with a large bowl of water and a tiny white bag.
“What’s this?” Clementine asked as Anya dropped the bag on the counter.
“A doggy bag, of course.” Anya winked. “I grabbed a few bites of tenderloin from the restaurant kitchen. The poor girl is homeless. I figured she could use a special treat.”
“Thank you.” Clementine tucked the bag in her purse. She’d mix the steak with dog food for the next few meals.
The next few meals.
Her stomach lurched. How long would she have this dog? And what would she do if she hadn’t found her a home before it was time to go back to Texas?
As if she could read her thoughts, Anya cleared her throat and whispered, “What do you think you’ll do with her?”
The way she lowered her voice when she asked the question, as if the dog might overhear, touched Clementine. Yes, she could definitely see herself becoming fast friends with Anya.
“I honestly don’t know.” Clementine took another sip of her latte and tried not to look at the stray. She was afraid she might cry if she did. “I really thought Ben would want her. Or that he’d at least think about it.”
Anya scrubbed an invisible spot on the counter with her dishrag. “You and Ben seem to be getting close.”
Clementine gave a tiny nod. She’d thought they were, especially after he’d kissed her. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Why am I so disappointed? I’m not looking for love. Or a relationship. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be with someone who lives across the world.
Would it?
“Go easy on him.” Anya’s eyes grew serious. “He’s been through…a lot. I haven’t seen him get close to anyone for years.”
Her words had the effect of both worrying Clementine and reassuring her all at the same time. She wondered what exactly Anya meant when she’d said Ben had gone through a lot. Whatever it was, she knew it must have something to do with why he no longer mushed.
She closed her eyes and all those sad, empty doghouses flashed in her memory. They brought a pang to her heart, and she let her eyes flutter open once more.
Of one thing, she was certain—whatever Anya knew about Ben’s past would remain a secret until he told her the story himself. She had a feeling that if Anya knew about it, everyone else in Aurora did as well. Alaska might be the biggest state in the country, but Aurora was still a small town. Clementine had been upset when Ben refused to take the stray, but she wasn’t about to betray his trust by digging into his past hurts behind his back.
She gave Anya a smile. It was a weary one, but the best she could muster under the circumstances.
Anya gathered their empty coffee cups and offered a few more words of reassurance. “He’ll come around. It’s like with my dog. He needs time. That’s all.”
Clementine watched as she turned toward the sink and plunged the cups in soapy water. She wished she could take Anya’s encouragement to heart, but the one thing she and Ben didn’t have was time.
* * *
In the dim glow of the morning sunrise, Ben paced a worn trail in front of the Northern Lights Inn. Sometime during the night, the temperature had dropped close to zero. About an hour ago, he’d ventured a look at himself in the reflection of the glass doors and noticed his beard glittering, filled with ice crystals. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d stayed outside in the cold long enough for that to happen.
Yet here he was, pacing in the snow.
It had begun as a penance. Any man fool enough to kiss a woman until she saw stars and then turn around and disappoint her so bitterly deserved to suffer. Or so Ben had thought as he lay sleepless in his hotel bed.
He’d been so convinced she was the one in the wrong. How could she ask him to take the dog after what he’d been through? Then, as he’d asked the question aloud—to God, he presumed—it had hit him with startling clarity.
Clementine didn’t know what he’d been through.
How could she possibly know that when Ben looked into the eyes of that stray, he saw the eyes of all the dogs he’d loved and lost?
It was his fault, of course. He’d never told her about the accident. He’d been all too ready to believe the omission was because he didn’t talk about his past. To anyone. But in the dead of night he’d come to the realization that he hadn’t told her because he didn’t want her to look at him like everyone else did. To the rest of the mushing world, he was a disappointment. He couldn’t disappoint Clementine if she never knew he was once on the cusp of greatness.
But it was too late. The look in her eyes when he’d walked away from her spoke volumes. He’d disappointed her plenty.
Would it have killed him to take the dog?
Maybe.
Probably not.
The very idea wove a knot of anxiety in his gut. But that would pass, wouldn’t it?
He wasn’t sure. The only thing he knew without a doubt was that he needed to explain himself to Clementine. He owed her that much.
The moment he reached that decision was the instant his penance had turned into a vigil. Sleep had eluded him thus far. He might as well stay outside until Clementine brought Nugget out for her morning walk. And the stray, if she had taken up residence in Clementine’s room. Ben would bet his life that she had. Clementine would probably mush that dog all the way back to Texas before she’d turn her in to the animal shelter. That’s the kind of person she was. Caring. Compassionate. Beneath all of her carefree spontaneity and quest for independence, she was a marshmallow.
The marshmallow was getting to him.
He should have known he was treading on thin ice when he’d agreed to take her mushing. Deep down, he knew she would have been fine learning how to mush with Aidan. Most likely. But most likely wasn’t good enough where Clementine was concerned. If she was going to mush, he’d wanted to be the one to teach her. He’d wanted to see the delight on her face when she felt that first swish through the snow. And she had lit up, almost as much as when he’d kissed her.
Then he’d gone and ruined everything by running like a frightened rabbit at the sight of that stray dog.
Perfect love casts out fear.
He’d looked up the verse in the Bible back in his room after Clementine had first quoted it to him. He let the words soothe him. Concentrating on them stopped the shaking of his hands, still cold despite the hand warmers in his pockets.
Calmed, at least for the moment, Ben decided to put his restless energy to good use and do something nice for Clementine. Perhaps if he could put a smile on her face, she’d be more likely to listen to the explanation of his disappearing act. Armed with little more than snow, he didn’t have many options. Flowers would have been near impossible to find in Aurora in the dead of winter, even if he did want to leave and risk the chance of missing her when she emerged from the hotel. A risk he most definitely did not want to take.
So he went to work, constructing the perfectly proportioned snowman.
His effort earned more than a few snickers from passersby. Alaskans lived with snow nine months out of the year, so for most of them, snowmen had lost their novelty. He looked like a tourist. Fortunately, the number of amused witnesses was few in the predawn hours. Just as he finished shaping the head and adding two almost evenly sized stick arms, Clementine spun out of the revolving door.
He knew it was her w
ithout even having to turn to look, as if he could sense her presence. When he did turn, it was as if the sun had been waiting to rise until she appeared. Gentle rays of morning sunshine caressed her cheeks, giving her a warm, cozy glow. No amount of diamond dust could have made her more beautiful in Ben’s eyes.
He swallowed, with great difficulty.
Just as he’d suspected, she was flanked on either side by dogs. Tiny Nugget scurried alongside her right, and the stray stuck like glue to her left. Neither were tethered with leashes, but like planets circling the sun, they stayed in her orbit. Ben felt the pull himself and was powerless against it.
She spotted him before he could say anything. The smile that was her constant accessory dimmed at first until she noticed his frozen companion. As her gaze swept the giant snowman—its size was impressive, even for Alaska—she let out a little laugh. Her steps slowed, but she walked toward him, accompanied by her canine entourage.
Ben forced himself to look at Nugget and the sled dog and include them both in his greeting. “Good morning.”
“Good morning. Who’s your friend?” The fact that she echoed the question he’d asked when he’d first seen the stray wasn’t lost on Ben.
“This guy?” Ben nodded toward the snowman. “I suppose you could consider him a peace offering.”
“For me?” Her eyes danced, and Ben’s heart danced along with them.
“Yes, for you,” he answered, loving that she found such pleasure in something as simple as a snowman. “Do you like it?”
“Very much.” She grinned and inspected the snowman from all angles. “So he’s a peace offering?”
Ben nodded, his throat growing dry with apprehension. But he plowed on. “Yes. I’m sorry about yesterday.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s fine, really.” Her lovely lips turned down in the corners, and Ben wanted to tell her no, everything was not fine. How could it be when he’d made her sad?
“Walk with me?” He held out his hand and hoped against hope she would take it.
She did.
* * *
Ben’s hand was freezing. It felt inhumanely cold, so Clementine clasped it with both of hers, hoping to warm it. His beard was even coated with a fine layer of frost. He looked wilder than she’d ever seen him, like the musher he’d once been.
As if privy to her thoughts, he whispered, “I want to explain why I don’t mush anymore.”
“Okay.” She bit her lip, suddenly afraid of whatever he was going to say.
She knew with certainty that this was it. He was going to tell her the secret that Anya and everyone else in Aurora already knew. Ben Grayson was a man of few words. The snowman towering beside them only underscored the importance of the moment. If Ben wanted to explain himself, she was more than willing to listen.
Ben pulled her alongside him and led her to the small path that trailed around to the back of the hotel. Kodiak uncurled himself from the tight ball where he’d half buried himself in the snow and quickly caught up with the other two dogs. They all moved in silence until they reached the frozen lake.
Clementine had never ventured back here before, and she found it like another world. The white, barren patch of lake stretched out almost as far as she could see. Where it stopped, tall pine trees stood guard, as if separating this quiet, private space from the rest of existence.
The dogs scampered into the fresh snow, yipping and barking. The echo of their voices bouncing off the trees broke the silence. Clementine was aware of only one other sound—Ben, breathing steadily beside her.
Finally he spoke. “I mushed the Gold Rush Trail for the first time eight years ago. It was my dad’s final year in the race. He finished in the top five as usual, and I came in at number twenty.”
Clementine nodded. Finishing the race at all as a rookie was an impressive feat. Placing in the top twenty the first time out was almost unheard of. When Ben told her he knew how to mush, he’d never mentioned he’d been a professional. Yet on some level, she must have known because she wasn’t a bit surprised by this revelation.
“By my fourth year, I was a contender. Everyone expected me to win, or at least place in the top three.” He shrugged. “The funny thing is, I couldn’t have cared less where I ended up. I loved the race. Being out in the open, enjoying the company of my dogs was all I cared about.”
His voice broke, sending a spasm of worry straight to Clementine’s chest. She squeezed his hand and he continued.
“We were crossing the Bering Sea, heading into Nome. The worst of the trail was behind us—the burn, Dalzell Gorge, Rainy Pass. It should have been a clear shot to the finish. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. There were a few snow flurries, but visibility was good. In fact, it was a day quite like this one.” He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe what happened next. “It caught me so off guard. I had no idea.”
Clementine waited for Ben to continue, but instead he grew quiet and kept his gaze fixed on the distance. He stared out across the frozen water until Clementine prompted him. “What happened?”
He cleared his throat, blinked and tore himself away from his memories of the past. Painful memories, to be sure. With each passing minute of silence, Clementine grew more fearful of what she was about to hear.
“It wasn’t my first time on the Bering Sea and at first, this one was no different. Then I heard it, an unmistakable crack that made my heart stop.” Ben’s free hand flew to his chest, clutching the ache that clearly had never gone away.
Clementine wished she knew how to comfort him. She kept holding his free hand, hoping it provided some sort of reassurance.
“I watched my team, all sixteen dogs, disappear under the ice. One by one.”
Before she could stop herself, Clementine gasped. She couldn’t imagine witnessing something so awful. Just the thought of it made her want to squeeze her eyes shut tight. But she forced them to stay open and meet Ben’s gaze.
His blue eyes were etched with equal parts pain and weariness. “I threw the ice hook and the sled stopped. The hole in the ice was small—no bigger than the width of a pair of dogs. But they were all attached to the gang line, so they followed one another into the sea. I tried everything I could to get them out. I was up to my shoulders in half-frozen water when the next musher on the trail found me, frostbit and in shock.”
“Just you?” She hated to ask the question but needed to know the answer.
“Me and Kodiak. He was the only one I managed to save.” Ben’s gaze locked on to the husky, romping through the fresh snow with the other two dogs. Ben’s masculine features seemed to soften whenever he looked at Kodiak.
No wonder the two of them share such a bond, Clementine thought.
She swallowed around the lump lodged in her throat. “And the others?”
“Gone.” He shook his head slowly, thoughtfully. “All fifteen of them. They were my team, my family, and I let them down.”
“No,” Clementine protested. “It was an accident.”
He didn’t argue with her, but the stubborn set of his jaw told her he would never believe it was something as simple as an accident.
The mystery of Ben Grayson became crystal clear at once. Everything Clementine knew about him, from his overprotective streak to his unexplained anger toward God, could be traced back to one moment in time. What happened on the Bering Sea had birthed the man that stood next to her. The man he’d been before had vanished along with his dog team. And even though she’d never known that man, Clementine found herself blinking back tears of grief for his loss.
“Ben, I had no idea.” Her voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.” He shook his head and gave her a weak attempt at a smile. “I took you mushing because I wanted to do it. And I enjoye
d every minute of it.”
Clementine bit her lip, unsure what to say next.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m going to return to that life.” Ben glanced at the stray husky. For the first time, he really seemed to look directly at her. “And I don’t know if I can take that dog. I want to do it…for you. I just don’t know if I can. All of my dogs were rescues. They started as strays, just like this one.”
“It’s okay.” She fought the tears that wanted to stream down her cheeks. “Really.”
“Don’t take her back to the shelter yet. Give me some time. Can you do that?” He lifted her hand and covered it with a gentle touch of his lips.
“Yes, I can do that.” He’d asked for time, just what Anya said he needed. Yet Clementine knew that was the one thing she couldn’t give him. Time. She was due to fly back to Texas as soon as the race got under way. But what else could she say?
Ben withdrew a small packet from his pocket and tossed it from one palm to another.
“Hand warmers,” he said with a sad smile.
“How bad was the frostbite?” Clementine asked.
“Bad. I was hospitalized for six days and nearly lost my fingers.” He didn’t have to tell her that he would have gladly traded his fingers for the lives of his dogs. It was written all over his face.
“Do your hands prevent you from mushing competitively again? Would it be possible? If you ever changed your mind, I mean.”
An angry vein in his temple throbbed. “My hands aren’t the problem.”
“You don’t miss it? Not at all?” She knew it wasn’t what he wanted to hear, and it wasn’t any of her business. But she’d seen the way he’d come to life riding on that sled. He belonged on the sled runners.
Irritation flashed in his gaze, but his temper remained in check. “Until I took you out, no. No, I didn’t.”
“But now you might?” She smiled and made an attempt to lighten the somber mood. “Ben, I know what it’s like to go through life not really living. I don’t want you to end up with regrets one day. Then you might end up on the back of a motorcycle. With flames.”