“I don’t understand,” Rebecca said. “I mean, why would Sadie give us champagne? Why did she leave? She’s crazy about you and—”
Mac set the champagne bottle on the desk and reached out to her. His strong hands closed on her shoulders. “Listen to me very carefully, Rebecca. I told you before and I’ll tell you again—there’s nothing between Sadie and me. She wishes us all the best. She really does! Why in God’s name are you looking at me that way? When are you going to realize that you’re desperately in love with me? And when, for the love of Pete, are you going to ask me to kiss you? Dammit, woman, these last few days without you have been the loneliest of my life!”
Rebecca could scarcely draw breath. His words addled her tormented mind and wreaked havoc with her heart. Her eyes stung with tears. He cared about her! In spite of all the cold shoulders she’d given him, in spite of a total lack of encouragement, in spite of all the awful things she’d said, he still cared about her! She’d treated him badly from the very beginning and repeatedly pushed him in Sadie’s direction, and yet he’d come back to her. He was here, standing before her, pledging a loyalty she didn’t begin to deserve but a loyalty she craved more than anything else on earth.
“Mac,” she said, a quaver in her voice. She raised her hand, her fingers closing lightly around his powerful wrist. “Mac, I—”
Another tap at the door. This time it was Kanemoto. He stuck his head around it, beaming at the sight of them together. “Okay, okay! Time to go! Quick!” he said, pointing at his watch. “We’ll be late! I want to get pictures! Lots of pictures!”
MAC COULDN’T REMEMBER a thing he ate or drank during the long, drawn-out process of feeding hundreds of people crammed into a hot, stuffy banquet hall, followed by the even longer and more drawn-out process of awarding prize monies and trophies to the top-placing fifteen mushers. It seemed that every musher had to make a long speech that encompassed the race’s high and low points, and there were a lot of high and low points over a thousand miles of wilderness trail. And then, of course, they had to thank all of their sponsors, and the luckier ones had a list of sponsors as long as the race itself.
The awards started with the fifteenth musher. It was a good sixty minutes before they awarded the first-place prize to Jim Wilton, who then proceeded to talk on and on about the race trail, the checkpoints, the veterinarians, his sponsors, his dogs, himself, until finally, finally! he ran out of steam. But instead of leaving the podium, he leaned toward the race officials and they murmured together for a few moments. Mac leaned his shoulder into Rebecca’s and said, “Can’t we cut out of here? It must be about over.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Special awards are next,” she told him. Mac closed his eyes and groaned. He’d never last. He was sinking fast. “Get me some toothpicks for my eyes,” he said, and Rebecca laughed.
Wilton was talking again. He talked glibly and well, making humorous comments that provoked bursts of laughter from the crowded banquet hall. “I’ve always thought that there were 5,280 feet in a mile,” he said, “but up on Eagle Summit they’ve added about five thousand additional feet to each mile, and every one of them is vertical. You know, there’s a musher here tonight I’ve always envied because she don’t weigh no more’n one of my legs. I always thought Rebecca Reed had quite an advantage on all us fat old men, but after watching her sail off Eagle Summit in that stiff breeze I’ve changed my mind. Rebecca, next time you run the Summit, I suggest carrying some ballast in your boots, like about fifty pounds of lead sinkers in each.”
Wilton rustled some papers in front of him on the podium and took a drink of water. Mac groaned again. This guy was settling in to talk all night.
“I’ve asked the race officials if I could say a little something about this next award. The Sportsmanship Award, as most of you know, is presented to the musher who demonstrates the best sportsmanship along the trail. The vote is made by fellow mushers, and there’s been years when some of us scratched our heads trying to figure out who in hell the nice guy was, but this year’s choice was a shoe-in. The vote was unanimous. For those of you who might have been born a few minutes ago, I’ll fill you in on a few minor things this particular musher did.
“Me and Beech were camped at Slaven’s Roadhouse when Guy Johnson landed his plane right out on the river. It wasn’t a good place to land a plane, and the landing was pretty damn rough. Johnson stopped there because he was having some real severe chest pains and he couldn’t catch his breath. We carted him up to the roadhouse and were wondering what to do when all of a sudden this rookie musher drives his team up, walks inside, looks old Guy Johnson over in the most steely-eyed way I’ve ever seen, and the next thing you know he’s flying Guy Johnson to Fairbanks. He might be a rookie musher, but he ain’t no rookie pilot. From what I understand, he did a long stint in the navy flying planes onto boats. Guy Johnson’s doing okay—he’s at Fairbanks Memorial—but he’d be dead right now if he hadn’t gotten there as fast as he did.
“So this rookie saves Guy Johnson’s life. By hook and crook he manages to get back to where he left his team at Slaven’s Roadhouse and he’s back on the race trail. Now, when he took Guy to Fairbanks, this musher was running in third or fourth place, right behind me and Beech. But now he’s way behind. No chance of winning. That doesn’t stop him, though. He gets to Central and finds out we’re all pinned down on Eagle Summit, so he fires up his team and charges up the hill. He catches up to us and we tell him about Rebecca Reed being blown off the summit. So what does he do? You guessed it! He rescues her. I mean, this guy would put Superman out of business in about a week! He carries the little lady up a slope you and I couldn’t walk up with crampons and an ice pick, loads her into his sled and drives her to a rendezvous with a rescue helicopter at Mile 101. And another thing. This rookie’s lead dog is undoubtedly the most phenomenal dog in the race. No one’s team was moving on that summit, but this rookie musher says one word to his leader and they’re outta there. Me and Beech followed right behind him, and his team broke trail for us clear to Mile 101.
“Did he keep going after he dropped the injured musher at Mile 101? Nope. Me and Beech did, but this guy stayed until the chopper came, and then the next morning he and a race volunteer went back and got Rebecca Reed’s dog team and brought it to safety. Only then did he continue on and finish the race.
“This rookie musher’s face is plastered over all the major newspapers in Canada and the United States, and all that publicity paid off for you, Bill MacKenzie, because not only do we have a beautiful fur musher’s hat and five hundred dollars donated by MAPCO Alaska Petroleum, but we also have an anonymous donation of ten thousand dollars for this year’s Sportsmanship Award winner. Come on up here, Mac, and get your loot!”
Mac sat rooted to his chair. Wilton’s speech had paralyzed him. He felt Rebecca squeeze his arm. “Go on, Mac!” She spoke gently into his ear. “Get up there! You deserve it.”
He stood to thunderous applause and earsplitting wolf whistles. The entire room stood with him. He walked up on wooden legs and awkwardly accepted the hat and the check, shook hands with Wilton and the race officials, and was trying to escape when Wilton dragged him in front of the podium for a mandatory speech.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you all very much!” He started to turn away, and Wilton grabbed him again.
“You might as well stand right here, MacKenzie,” he said. “You got another one coming.”
The race marshal stepped up and took over the mike. “This next award is given to the musher who best exemplifies the spirit of the Yukon Quest. I guess I don’t have to explain how the race officials came up with the nominee this year, proof positive that this is a race where you don’t have to finish first to be a winner. Bill MacKenzie, it is my honor to present you with the Challenge of the North Award and a check for two thousand dollars. I sure hope we see you on the trail again next year!”
Mac accepted the trophy and the check, mumbled his embarrassed thanks once a
gain, but was prevented yet a second time from making his escape as the race’s head veterinarian approached the podium and took her place behind the microphone. She gave Mac a warm smile before beginning her speech.
“Each year the race veterinarians vote on the musher who demonstrates the most humane treatment and overall excellence in caring for his or her dogs throughout the race. This award is a legacy for aspiring mushers to emulate in the treatment and care of their team. I think it’s the first time in the history of the Yukon Quest that a rookie musher has won this prestigious award, and I’d like to say that personally, I wouldn’t mind being one of Bill MacKenzie’s sled dogs. He kept all of his fourteen dogs happy and healthy throughout the entire race, and not only that, he recovered Rebecca Reed’s team from a perilous place and brought them to safety at the cost of his own race. Mac, I’m proud to present to you this year’s Vet’s Choice Award of three thousand dollars, along with this beautiful plaque. I hope you hang it on your wall in some prominent place, because it’s something for you to be very proud of.”
Once again he was dragged in front of the podium. He stared out at the blur of faces, dry-mouthed. When the applause eased, he leaned forward. “Thank you again. I have to admit that I’m a little overwhelmed. I wish my dogs were here right now, because they deserve all this praise, not me. They may not have won the race, but they’re the winningest team I’ll ever have the privilege to drive. As far as my lead dog, Merlin, goes, there’s no better dog on the face of this earth. Amen. Thanks also to Sam and Ellin Dodge for sponsoring me right down to the ground, to Donny for all his smoked salmon and to Rebecca Reed for sponsoring my extremely, incredibly excellent dog food, as well as the tastiest homemade thousand-mile chili I’ve ever eaten and eaten and eaten!”
He returned to his seat amidst the thunder of applause and another standing ovation, and studiously avoided looking at Rebecca.
Brian leaned toward him. “Your dogs, Mac? The least you could have done while you were up there is announce that the team’s for sale!”
“Shut up, Brian!” Rebecca snapped, startling the hell out of both Mac and Brian. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright with indignation. “Now is hardly the time for that kind of talk!”
Mac turned his gaze to her, astounded and enormously pleased by her response to Brian’s comment. “No, it sure isn’t,” he agreed. “It’s time for bed. Hell, it’s past time for bed. Way past. You coming?”
Rebecca’s eyes widened. She glanced to see if anyone had overheard. Kanemoto was talking animatedly to someone on his right, and Brian had jumped out of his chair in a sulk to find himself another drink. She looked back at Mac. “Let’s go,” he said. He stood up and reached for her hand. When Kanemoto turned to look up questioningly, Mac said, “Here’s the key to my truck, Kanemoto. It’s parked out back. I’ll drive Rebecca back to the motel in her truck and take care of her dogs, if you’ll take care of mine.”
Kanemoto nodded. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” And he smiled a big smile as he watched them leave.
Mac kept his hand on the small of her back as he guided her out of the crowded banquet hall where the special awards were still being given out. The cold night air embraced them when he opened the door for her and they stepped into it, drawing it gratefully into lungs that hadn’t known that much hot stuffy indoor air in a long, long time. They began walking along the side of the building toward the back parking lot, and when they passed into a dark alley, Mac pulled her to a stop. He didn’t say a word, he just backed her up gently until her shoulders bumped against the building behind her. He braced his hands on either side of her and lowered his head, stopping just shy of kissing her.
“I promised you a long time ago that I’d never kiss you again unless you asked me to,” he said, “but God help me, I’ve been wanting to do this for the past thousand miles. I’m afraid I’m about to break my promise.”
Rebecca felt the strong masculine warmth of his nearness, and a delicious, sensual shiver rippled through her. “Oh, no you’re not. For the past thousand miles I’ve been hoping you’d kiss me,” she said.
He drew his head back to look at her in the near darkness. “Really?”
“For the past two thousand,” she amended. “So please, please, William MacKenzie, kiss me.”
“At last,” he breathed, lowering his head again.
Finally! Rebecca thought as his lips touched hers. The kiss was so electric she was surprised sparks didn’t fly. She reached up with her good arm to curl her fingers around the nape of his neck and stood on tiptoe to bring him closer. Their lips parted simultaneously, and Mac’s tentative, questing mouth insinuated itself upon hers with growing passion. Rebecca lost herself in the icy, hot tingling sensation of Mac’s long-awaited kiss. At the same time she felt the empty, aching feeling in the pit of her stomach—that had been with her since Bruce died—dissipate. She lost all track of time as Mac’s mouth awakened feelings inside her she had thought long dead. Her knees buckled abruptly and he dropped his arms to grab her against himself. They broke apart, gasping for breath. Mac groaned as if in agony. “Where in hell’s your room?”
“It’s clear across town, remember? What about the dogs?”
“What dogs?”
“We have to drop my dogs, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Mac slumped against her, bracing one hand against the wall and running the fingers of his other through the hair over her left temple. “Damn! I forgot about the dogs…”
He kissed her again in the shadow of the building and once more at the dog truck, once at each stoplight on the drive across town and five times while he let twelve dogs out of their dog boxes to stretch their legs one last time before being boxed for the night. Rebecca’s room was a typical motel one, but there was plenty of hot water and they could park the truck right outside the door, which is where they left it when Mac finished reloading the team and took the room key from Rebecca.
Once inside the room, he locked and chained the door, flipped on the bedside light, closed the curtains and began undressing as fast as he could. Rebecca stood for a moment watching him and then began to laugh. He stopped in the act of pulling off his boots, standing first on one leg and then the other as he hopped around the room. “What’s so funny?” he said, boot in hand.
“You’re in an awful hurry,” she said. “You’re beginning to make me a little bit nervous.”
He dropped the boot on the floor with a heavy thump. “Why’s that?”
She crossed to where he stood and reached up her hand to trace the side of his face. “Because I was kind of hoping that this was going to last all night.”
LATER SHE AWOKE in the dimly lit room and stifled another rueful laugh. All night? He’d barely lasted ten minutes before collapsing beside her, sound asleep before his head hit the pillow. No one could blame him. He hadn’t really slept in more than five days, and the physical exertion he’d expended on the race would have wiped out a handful of lesser men. Rebecca curled on her side and contemplated him from a delicious twelve inches away. He was lying on his stomach with his arms flung out, taking up most of the bed. He was naked, the bedsheet bunched at his waist. His back and shoulders were exquisite. The muscles in his upper arms and shoulders were rounded and powerful, and in his back they were perfectly knit over his ribs. She longed to touch him but didn’t dare. He needed sleep so desperately.
The bedside clock read 4 a.m. She rolled onto her back with a silent sigh and then made an awkward one-armed clutch at the mattress as she felt herself start to slide off the side of the bed. She hit the floor with a muffled thump and a startled cry, dragging most of the bedding with her. Above her on the bed Mac groaned. He reached his arm out, encountered nothing and came awake with a lunge that propelled his upper body over the edge of the bed. “Rebecca? What the hell are you doing down there?” He helped her back up onto the bed. “Are you all right? Did I push you off? Is your arm okay?”
“My arm’s fine. I
slid off, that’s all.”
He knelt over her, one leg on either side of her thighs, and examined her closely. “You sure?” She nodded. “Well, you look okay to me,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “In fact, you look pretty damn wonderful.” He lowered his head and kissed her very gently, drawing back for a moment. “You taste pretty damn wonderful, too.” He grinned slowly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to try something.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like to try making love to you again without falling asleep before we even get started.”
“Think you can do it?”
He turned his head to look at the bedside clock and then looked back at her. “The way I’ve got it figured, I should be able to keep you entertained for at least four hours. I’ve been sleeping since midnight or thereabouts. Equal run, equal rest, isn’t that right?” He lowered himself carefully on top of her, keeping his upper body braced to avoid the cast on her arm.
“That formula was devised for sled dogs,” Rebecca said, catching her breath as he slid his body sensuously against hers. “I don’t know how it translates to mushers.”
“Well, let’s try it and see,” Mac said, with a grin. “You could write a column on the results for the Whitehorse Star,” he suggested.
“I’m not sure they’d print it,” Rebecca said, smiling and then laughing aloud as he kissed a ticklish spot on her neck, just below her ear.
“I’m not sure I’d want them to.” Mac moved his head until his mouth covered hers. She reached up to pull him closer, savoring the exquisite sensations, the very nearness of him. Ten minutes later, she was muffling her moans into a pillow…and the column was the last thing on her mind.
THE SHRILL RING of the bedside phone was a very rude interruption of a very beautiful moment. Rebecca was awake, relishing the sensation of Mac’s warm, hard body spooned against hers. His legs and arms embraced her, his warm breath and the rise and fall of his chest made her feel incredibly safe. Yet, at the same time, he made her feel like a deliciously wanton wench. He made her feel that she wanted very much to love again, something she swore she’d never do. Mac hadn’t said he loved her, and a small voice inside her begged caution, but a much louder voice demanded audience, for she was desperately, deeply, hopelessly in love with Bill MacKenzie and there was absolutely no denying it.
Across a Thousand Miles Page 24