Alaskan Hero Read online

  Sherlock wagged his tail, sending snow flying in all directions.

  Brock shook his head and stepped out of the way. “He’s developing a crush on you, you know.”

  Anya straightened. “What?”

  “Sherlock.” Brock pinned the dog with a stern look. “He’s falling for you.”

  So she couldn’t manage to get a man to stick around, but a dog was in love with her? “Be still my heart.”

  “I’m serious,” he said. If he thought she could take a single word he said seriously while he was wearing that hat, he was kidding himself.

  She shrugged. “He likes me.”

  “So long as he keeps his focus...”

  She gave Sherlock a kiss on the head. “You will, won’t you, boy?”

  The dog writhed with delight.

  Brock shook his head. “Told you.” And he strode off in the other direction.

  Anya fell in step beside him, the deep snow gobbling up her footsteps as they went. She’d expected him to lead her to the ski patrol cabin, but once it came into view he bypassed the front door and walked instead to an outer building. Like the patrol headquarters, it was fashioned to resemble a log cabin, only smaller.

  Brock pulled on the building’s wide double door, and it opened with a creak. Two snowmobiles—both candy-apple red and adorned with the ski patrol’s signature white cross—sat side by side.

  Anya raised her brows. “Are we going for a ride?”

  “The dogs are. Their inaugural ride, actually. Do you know how to drive one of these things?” He eyed the snow machines.

  “Are you kidding? I could drive one of these before I ever got behind the wheel of a car.” Of course, it had been years since she’d driven one—she hadn’t come within ten feet of a snow machine since the days when she used to accompany Speed to the ski mountain—but Brock didn’t need to know that. It wasn’t as though she’d forgotten how. It was like riding a bicycle, wasn’t it? A very fast, very powerful bicycle.

  “Excellent. That’s what I like to hear.” Brock smiled and looked directly at her for the briefest of moments. Her toes, still buried under inches of snow, began to thaw slightly. “Hop on.”

  She did as he asked, settling herself on one of the smooth leather seats. She had no clue where she was supposed to put a dog, but Brock soon solved that dilemma by having Sherlock sit directly in front of her. Then he took her hands and placed them on the handlebars, effectively caging Sherlock in.

  Brock walked a few feet backward and narrowed his gaze at them. “Comfortable?”

  “Sure.” It was a nice machine. Far nicer than any of the others she’d driven. Having Sherlock nestled against her somehow made her relax too. He smelled like puppy. That was always a good thing.

  “Sherlock looks pretty happy up there.” Brock smirked.

  “He should. He’s in love with me. Remember?”

  Brock just shook his head, peeled off the ridiculous wolf hat and climbed onto the other snowmobile.

  Once Aspen was in place, Brock revved his machine to life and gave Anya the signal to do the same. Then she followed him out of the little log building and onto the trail.

  All the while she could hear Brock murmuring soothing words of encouragement to Aspen, even over the hum of the engines. Although the reassurance was clearly not meant for her, Anya felt buoyed by it. Soon, memories of being on these same slopes, riding alongside Speed up to the “sweet spot” as he’d always called it—the piste, where he could really let loose on his skis—faded. With the wind whipping against her face, blowing and lifting Sherlock’s copper-colored ears until they looked as though they were floating, Anya began to feel alive. Alive in a way she hadn’t felt for a very long time.

  When it was clear Sherlock was enjoying the ride every bit as much as she was, Anya pushed her thumb against the throttle and upped her speed. Soon, she’d passed Brock and instead of riding side by side, he was following her along the tree-lined path of packed snow. At the end of the trail, she pulled her machine to a stop and waited for Brock and Aspen to catch up.

  “Good boy, Sherlock. That was fun, huh?”

  The dog swiped her face with his tongue. She laughed and smoothed down her hair. She was sure she looked like a mess—her eyes stung and watered from the bite of arctic air, and her cheeks felt chapped, burned by the wind. Sure enough, though, when Brock pulled his snowmobile alongside hers, he looked like he’d ridden straight off the cover of an adventure magazine. Rugged and disheveled just to the point of wildness, causing her to feel suddenly off-kilter.

  It was unnerving.

  So she decided a punishment was in order. She leaned forward and shook the peeling trunk of a slender pine tree until one of its low-lying branches dumped a pile of snow directly on Brock’s head.

  “Hey,” he shouted.

  A deep, throaty laugh rose up from her lungs, raw from the rush of Alaskan air.

  “You’re not afraid of much, are you?” He raked a gloved hand through his hair, now wet with slush.

  On the contrary, she thought. You scare me, Brock Parker. You scare me very much.

  “No.” She lifted her chin, but his gaze was focused on the center of her forehead. Again. “While that was loads of fun, and obviously helpful for the avalanche dogs, how exactly does playing around on snow machines help Dolce?”

  “It doesn’t.” Before she could protest, he pulled something from the pocket of his parka—a toy that resembled three rubber balls stacked one on top of the other. It was as red as the snow mobiles and topped with a shiny bow. “But this does.”

  He tossed it to her. She caught it and turned it over in her hand, inspecting it. She chose to ignore the bow, not even wanting to venture a guess what it meant. “What is this?”

  “It’s a training tool. See the hole in the top?”

  Sure enough, there was a hole about the size of a quarter on the top of the toy. She peered inside and saw nothing. “Yes?”

  “Next time you need to leave the house and Dolce is there unattended, fill that thing up with treats. Then seal the hole with a good dollop of peanut butter.”

  “Peanut butter?” She lifted a brow.

  “I guarantee it will keep her quiet.” He shrugged. “You could even hide it somewhere for her to find. That would keep her busy even longer. But start out with an easy spot.”

  “Okay.” She looked down at the red toy again, topped with the pretty bow, and grew suddenly bashful. “This is very sweet of you. Thank you.”

  Brock cleared his throat and looked at an insignificant spot on the snowy ground. He suddenly appeared as self-conscious as a man who wore such ridiculous get-ups possibly could. “You’re welcome.”

  Neither one of them said a word for a prolonged, awkward moment. Finally, Brock lifted his gaze to her again. “There’s something I want to ask you.”

  Anya’s hands began to shake. She buried them in Sherlock’s soft fur. “Okay.”

  “I was wondering if you’d like to make this a regular thing...helping me train the avalanche dogs up here on the mountain. Cole and the others are stretched to their limit, and frankly, I could use another pair of hands. You obviously have a knack for it.” He glanced at Sherlock and then back at Anya. “What do you think?”

  Anya didn’t need to think about it at all. It was a terrible idea. Things were already confusing enough without spending even more time with Brock than absolutely necessary.

  She would just say no. Plain and simple.

  “Yes.” The word slipped right out of her rebellious mouth. “I’d love to.”

  “Great. Care to race back?” Brock gave her a quick wink, a simple gesture that was the physical embodiment of all the reasons this new arrangement was a bad idea. Or maybe the way it made her stomach flutter was the actual reason.

  Either w
ay, Anya was grateful for the opportunity to zip away from him. “You’re on.”

  Chapter Six

  “Remind me why we’re doing this again.” Anya slipped off her hiking boots and wiggled her sock feet. “It’s winter. In Alaska. Our toes won’t see the light of day for months.”

  Sue let out a sigh as she dipped her feet in the small tub of bubbly water attached to the chair where she sat between Anya and Clementine. “Just obey Clementine’s orders. This feels divine.”

  “I told you,” Clementine said in a singsong voice. “Who needs a reason for pedicures?”

  “Exactly. In fact, right now I’m wondering why we don’t do this more often.” Sue leaned back and closed her eyes.

  The three of them were lined up, side by side, in plush leather chairs at Aurora’s one and only nail salon, North Pole Nails. Anya couldn’t quite figure out where the name had come from because it wasn’t exactly geographically accurate. Sure, it snowed in Aurora more often than not. A lot more often. And there was an abundance of reindeer in and around the area. But the town wasn’t even inside the Arctic Circle, much less at the North Pole.

  None of that mattered once Anya’s feet were immersed in hot, soapy water. Santa Claus could have walked right through the door and she’d scarcely have noticed.

  “Oh my. This is nice. Very nice.” Anya leaned back against the soft leather and allowed herself to relax. As the bubbles danced against her toes, the part of her brain that constantly wondered what Dolce was doing in her absence even seemed to let out a sigh.

  The nail technician smiled and dropped a scoop of what looked like bath salts in the water.

  “Mmm. What’s that scent?” Sue asked. “It smells fantastic.”

  “Frosted Snowflake,” the nail tech said. “It’s our most popular scent.”

  Again, a mistake. Anya was certain snow didn’t have a scent. Nor did frost, for that matter. But who cared? Her toes were warm and toasty, and in a minute, someone would be massaging her feet.

  “I’ve been trying to get you two to come do this for weeks now,” Clementine said.

  Sue laughed. “Don’t worry. Next time, just say the word and we’ll be here. Right, Anya?”

  “Right.” Anya nodded. “Although my schedule is getting crazier by the day.”

  Clementine looked up from the magazine she’d brought along—Nature World. Before moving to Alaska, Clementine worked for the slick publication as a photo researcher. Nowadays, she liked to flip through it and show them the photographs her friend and former coworker, Natalie, had selected to accompany the articles. “What do you mean? Are you working extra hours at the coffee bar?”

  “No.” Anya felt lightheaded all of a sudden. Silly, really. She attributed it to the bubbly footbath. “Brock has asked me to help him train the new avalanche search dogs. We took them out on snowmobiles yesterday.”

  “Wow, that sounds...interesting.” Clementine lifted a brow. “Snowmobiling together? It wasn’t a date, was it?”

  “Hardly.” Then why were her cheeks growing so warm just thinking about it? “Ben didn’t bring dogs along on your first date, did he?”

  “Actually, he did. A dozen or so of them. We went dog sledding.”

  Sue laughed. “Ahh, the life of a musher’s wife. I can relate.”

  For some reason, Anya’s chest felt hollow while she listened to Sue and Clementine talk about their husbands. “I repeat—it wasn’t a date.”

  Clementine and Sue exchanged loaded glances. Anya ignored them.

  Clementine cleared her throat. “What exactly will you be doing with the avalanche dogs?”

  “I’m not sure. Brock isn’t what I’d call forthcoming with information.” That was possibly the understatement of the century. “All I managed to get out of him was that tomorrow I’ll be hiding in a trench so the dogs can practice finding me.”

  “Where?” Sue asked.

  “Up on the mountain.” Anya nodded toward the window. Its frame perfectly showcased the snowcapped mountains of the ski resort.

  Pretty as a picture, Anya mused.

  That was odd. She hadn’t thought of the ski mountain with anything but dread in a long time. As much as she hated to admit it, she supposed Brock was to thank for her new attitude.

  “Being buried alive in the snow? On a mountain?” Sue’s brow furrowed. “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  Anya shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t actually thought about it. I really enjoy working with the dogs, though. It’s fun, and I feel like I’m doing something important.”

  “That’s great. I’m happy for you.” Clementine lifted her feet from the sudsy water, and the nail tech patted them dry.

  “Just be careful.” Sue reached over and gave her arm a squeeze. “Please.”

  “I will. I promise.” Anya closed her eyes again and burrowed into the comfy chair.

  She wondered why she hadn’t given any thought to the dangers of working on the mountain. In a typical week, dozens of people were injured up there. That’s why the ski patrol was so important.

  The mountain didn’t scare Anya, though. Some things just seemed far more perilous than snow, wind and jagged peaks.

  Unfortunately for her, Brock Parker was at the tip-top of that list.

  * * *

  Brock didn’t like the looks of the weather. There was something about the sky—that odd shade of dove gray with hints of mossy green. It resembled a bruise, as if the sky had taken a good pummeling and was biding its time until it healed, readying itself to unleash a torrent of retribution.

  “Something wrong?” Cole stomped toward him through the inches of fresh powder the storm had dumped on them the night before.

  Brock shook his head but kept his mouth shut. Now wasn’t the time to bring up his thoughts of impending trouble. Three people were scheduled to join them any minute for the ski patrol’s first avalanche drill. As gray as the sky might appear, it wasn’t altogether out of the ordinary. His apprehension wasn’t rooted in any real, physical threat. It was more of a feeling, a certain intuition he’d honed over the years. Besides, they were already doing anything and everything that could be done to make the mountain safe. Ideally, today’s training would be the beginning of regularly scheduled avalanche drills that would continue long after Brock had gone. But the ski patrol was clearly spread pretty thin, and Cole had yet to make a decision about who would be in charge of the program once Brock got it up and running. From what Brock had seen, none of the other members of the patrol had the time required to really make the program a success.

  He ran his fingers over the top of Sherlock’s soft red fur. The dog’s tail beat happily against Brock’s leg, taking the edge off his worry. He couldn’t micromanage Aurora’s ski patrol. That wasn’t his job. It was Cole’s. Brock didn’t know why he’d begun to lose sleep over what would happen on the mountain once he’d gone. He usually didn’t have this problem.

  Sherlock’s tail wagged with even greater enthusiasm, prompting Brock to look up. Anya approached them, dressed in a fur-trimmed parka and a knit hat that was nearly as red as her cheeks.

  “Good morning,” she said, rather crisply, when she reached him.

  She was all business.

  Until Sherlock bounded to her side.

  Then she dropped to her knees right there in the snow and rubbed Sherlock from head to tail in a frenzy-inducing fit of affection. The dog gave her a gleeful swipe of his tongue, and she threw her head back and laughed.

  The set of Brock’s jaw hardened involuntarily, and with horror he realized he was jealous. Jealous of a dog.

  It was ludicrous.

  Yet the truth of it settled in his gut.

  “Shall we get started?” he asked, an edge creeping into his voice.

  Anya straightened. “Sure. What would you
like me to do, boss?”

  Boss?

  “I’m not your boss,” he said. Didn’t she realize how much he needed her help? Maybe not. It wasn’t as if he’d told her so. “We’re in this together, you know. We’re a team. All of us.”

  “Of course.” Her voice softened a bit. “Thank you again, by the way, for the rubber toy. Dolce was quiet as a mouse when I left the house just now.”

  “Good.” Brock warmed with pleasure. Pleasure inordinately out of proportion to the situation. He’d given her a dog toy, not a diamond. What was wrong with him?

  He shook off the feeling. What did diamonds have to do with avalanche training anyway? He was losing it. “Here come the others. Luke and Jackson have been busy digging trenches for our exercise.”

  “For hiding?”

  “Yes, for hiding. It’s the first step in getting the dogs acclimated to the idea of searching.” He paused while Luke and Jackson waded through the snow to join them. Aspen bounded alongside Jackson, and just like Sherlock, his tail began to wag when he spotted Anya.

  The difference was that anyone and everyone made Aspen’s tail wag. Sherlock, however, only had eyes for Anya. It was beginning to pose a problem. Not that he could do anything about it right now. They had work to do.

  Brock began to introduce Anya to Cole, Luke and Jackson, but with Aurora being such a tight-knit community, they all knew one another already. “Okay then, time to get started. Today we’re going to have the dogs work to find their own handlers. In the beginning, it’s best to have them search for someone they already know and love.”

  He pointed a gloved hand at Jackson and Aspen. “Jackson, you’ve been assigned to work with Aspen, right?”

  “Yep.”

  Brock turned to Cole. “Who’ve you picked as a handler for Sherlock?”

  “No one.” Cole shrugged. “We’re short-handed. I can’t really afford to put another member of the patrol with a dog full time.”

  Brock’s temples throbbed. There it was again—that tug of worry about what would happen here after he’d gone. Against his better judgment, he ventured a glance in Anya’s direction. The nagging pain in his head only intensified. He didn’t want to believe she was the reason he cared so much about Aurora. But there it was—the truth looking right back at him with striking violet eyes.