Across a Thousand Miles (11 page)

“You've been going into my cabin while I'm out on training runs, haven't you!” she accused. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright with anger. “I want you to stop doing that! That's
my
cabin,
my
private place, and you have no right to be inside it!”

“Okay, step on 'em,” he called up to Sam. He reached up to bleed the brake line.

“Are you denying it?” she demanded.

“I haven't said a thing,” Mac replied mildly. “But no, I'm not denying it. I went into your cabin. I filled your wood box. I filled your water barrel. I must have done that five, six times now on my way back home. Just swung my team through your yard so's I could lend a hand with your chores. Sorry if I overstepped my bounds. I honestly thought you might like the help. I thought it would give you more time to write.”

“Well, I don't need your help, I don't like it, and I want it to stop!”

“Okay, let off!” he said to Sam, and turned his head and looked at her for the first time. “Then it will stop,” he said calmly.

“Good!” She whirled and stormed out of the hangar. Sam leaned out over the cockpit to catch Mac's eye and shrugged sympathetically.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Mac said. “But I can see my efforts did nothing to win her over. In fact, they seem to have had quite the opposite effect.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Sam remarked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. “She waited until you'd been in her cabin doing her chores five or six times before she got around to complaining about it. I'd take that as a real promising sign.”

 

E
LLIN WAS PUTTING
the finishing touches on a pair of curtains when Rebecca burst into the kitchen, fairly hopping up and down with indignation. “He has one hell of a nerve!”

“Do you mean Mac?” Ellin said, looping the needle.

“He's been going into my cabin when I'm not home, without asking my permission, and I've had enough!”

“My dear,” Ellin said, resting the sewing in her lap and raising her eyebrows, “why on earth would Mac be going into your cabin?”

Rebecca flushed. “He's been filling my wood box and my water barrel!”

“Ah. I see,” Ellin nodded. “And that offends you?”

“I don't need his help. I didn't ask for it!”

“We don't ask for Mac's help, either, but since he's come here, we haven't had to carry wood once. He spends an hour a day splitting, stacking and lugging firewood, and he does all sorts of odd jobs around the place when he isn't helping Sam or fixing vehicles or training his dogs. I count my blessings for his help. He's worth his weight in gold as far as we're concerned.”

Rebecca paced to the stove, held her hands over it a moment, and then spun around. “He's only doing it because he thinks if he helps me out, I might like him better.”

“What's wrong with that? If I were you I'd take full advantage. Put him to work. I told you before, that would be the perfect solution.”

“Ellin, I wish he'd never come here! I wish I'd never laid eyes on the man!” Rebecca said vehemently.

Ellin stared at her, openly amazed. “No, you don't!” she said. “You don't wish anything of the kind! You're attracted to him, and you feel guilty because you believe that you're betraying Bruce's memory. But, my dear girl,
you're not. Bruce was a good man, a good husband, and you loved him and were loyal to him. He was a lucky man to have had you. But it's time for you to take off your widow's weeds and start living again. Life is too short to squander it in mourning.”

Rebecca gazed at Ellin's kindly face and shook her head. Her eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. “No,” she said.

Ellin sighed, shook her head and took up her sewing again. “As you wish,” she said.

“I can't!” Rebecca whispered.

Ellin peered at her. “My dear girl, how would you know? You haven't even tried!”

M
AC TOSSED A FEW MORE STICKS
into his wood stove, refilled his mug of coffee and carried it with him to the table, glancing at the calendar pinned to the back of the cabin door as he passed it. He felt a lurch of apprehension. January 20. Only a few short weeks to the start of the Yukon Quest.

Did he have enough miles on his team? He had kept careful records of each run, and the dogs seemed to be doing well, but he had nothing to compare their performance to. Maybe Rebecca was right. Maybe he was foolish to even contemplate running the thousand mile race.

He dropped into his chair and took a sip of the strong black brew.

Rebecca. Try as he might, he couldn't get her out of his thoughts. She'd made it perfectly clear she had no interest in him, yet last night he'd woken up with an overwhelming feeling of panic, filled with the realization that he was in love with her.

He sighed and picked up the pencil lying beside his notebook. He began to write down the names of the dogs he would run that morning. Merlin, Callie, Wally, Jessie, Dozer—Rebecca MacKenzie. He wrote the words slowly and sighed again, tossing the pencil aside. He was behaving like a lovesick pup!

He had nothing to offer her. Nothing she needed or
wanted. He had no money, no respectable job, no mushing skills and his irresistible personality obviously held no sway with her. Worse, once she found out about his past, she'd turn her back on him with a vengeance.

It was hopeless.

And yet, he wasn't ready to give up. What could he do to improve her opinion of him? Why did Sadie chase after him, while Rebecca pushed him away? Just yesterday, Sadie had shown up at chore time. “My truck's running funny again,” she'd said. He'd found nothing wrong, but then when he'd taken it for a brief test drive with her sitting beside him, chattering away a mile a minute, who should he pass? Rebecca. It bothered the hell out of him that she'd seen them together, even though Rebecca herself had suggested that he romance Sadie.

Mac dropped his head into his hands and moaned aloud. He'd never felt this way about a woman before. He'd never lost his appetite, his ability to sleep. Suddenly he was unable to focus on anything except how to prove his worth to Rebecca. Dammit, there had to be something he could do.

He pushed out his chair so abruptly that it crashed behind him as he grabbed his parka and shrugged into it. He had a team of dogs to train. And one thing was for certain. He wasn't going to impress anyone—least of all Rebecca—by sitting here feeling sorry for himself.

 

S
OME TIME DURING THE NIGHT
the fire went out, and when Rebecca opened her eyes she knew her morning was going to have a very chilly beginning. Tuffy had given up her blanket beside the cold stove and had climbed the steep stairs to the loft, tucking herself into a ball at Rebecca's feet and shivering periodically.
“Tuffy,” she murmured, “why can't you make yourself useful and start the fire? Make me a pot of coffee, too, while you're at it.”

She lay for a few moments thinking about the coming day, the dogs she would run, the trail she would take, the pace she would try to set. In a few short days she'd have to start organizing her food drops for the race checkpoints. Kanemoto would be arriving next week and he'd be a big help with that. From now on, every waking moment would be focused on the race. Preparing for it, mentally and physically. Already Rebecca was experiencing pre-race jitters, and the starting line was still fourteen days away.

Her team was ready—but was she? Today she'd train in the hills, give her dogs a taste of what lay ahead on the race trail when they would have to climb American and Eagle summits. Bruce had told her tales of scaling those heights, of how the wind had blown his fully loaded sled over, of how his lead dogs had crouched down, refusing to continue. He had tried every dog in lead until finally he hooked Tuffy in, an older team dog he'd never paid much attention. Tuffy had dug in and hauled the rest of the team over the summit. Tuffy was no longer part of the team, but Rebecca had confidence in Thor, Raven and Cookie. They were tough little ladies, no doubt about it.

In the midst of these early-morning thoughts, barging in unwanted and unsummoned, came William “Mac” MacKenzie and all his troubling ways. The troubling way he pierced her soul when he looked at her with those clear, keen eyes of his, as if he could read her innermost thoughts. The troubling way her heart quickened at the sound of his voice. The troubling way she enjoyed being in his company. The troubling memory of
that brief kiss they had shared, and the breathless tingling warmth she'd felt afterward. All of it scared her. In fact,
he
scared her! She could never, ever allow herself to love anyone the way she had loved Bruce. She never wanted to suffer that kind of loss again.

There was little chance she would. Her self-imposed isolation and her emotional cowardice had directed Mac's attention elsewhere. Rebecca had seen Sadie's truck just yesterday afternoon heading into Dawson. Mac had been in the driver's seat. Just a glimpse of them she'd had, but Sadie had been laughing at something he'd said. They'd been on their way into Dawson…to catch a movie, perhaps? To go out to dinner? Chinese food? Pizza? Rebecca couldn't have explained why on earth the sight of them had bothered her so, yet there was no denying that it had. In fact, still did. Damn the man! Why did he have to land here, of all places, just when she was starting to get her life in order again?

And why was it so difficult to stop thinking about him? Already she'd missed two deadlines. Instead of writing her column, she been staring out the window wondering about Mac. Wondering what could possibly have happened in his past to give him such a poor self-image. Wondering what kind of woman his ex-wife had been. Wondering…

Rebecca threw off the goose-down coverlet and jumped out of bed, the cold galvanizing her into immediate action. Paper, kindling, a few split pieces of dry spruce, a match, and soon the fire in the stove was roaring, though it would be a while before it threw enough heat to warm the cabin. She set the big pot of half-frozen water on the propane stove and lit the burner beneath it, set the coffeepot over another burner and lit that, as well. She dressed quickly in the usual layers, glancing at the
thermometer on her way to the outhouse. Thirty-six below. No wonder she was cold!

The smell of perking coffee buoyed her spirits, and she drank her first cup while mixing the dogs' breakfast. She planned the team's lineup on a scrap of paper while she drank her second cup, and an hour later she was out on the trail. The sky was lightening in the east, the stars still shone in the west. It was the most promising time of the day.

Rebecca relaxed on the runners as the trail unwound before her. It followed the river for several miles before swinging away and climbing into the hills. Then the relaxing was over. On the steepest part, she jumped off and ran alongside the sled, and when she stood on the runners, she pedaled to help the team. It wasn't long before she was exhausted. The muscles in her legs burned, her lungs gasped for air, sweat trickled from her scalp. She ripped off her hat and threw it onto the sled bag, but within moments her sweat-soaked hair had frozen, and she was pulling her hat back onto her head. Hill work was like that. Running uphill was a churning struggle that produced tons of heat, but the downhills that followed had her zipping up her coat, pulling down her hat and looking forward to the next uphill section when she could jump off the sled and run, warming up her toes again.

Three hours later, she stopped to snack her dogs, and she heard the unmistakable sound of another team ahead, yelping and howling. She tossed each of her dogs a chunk of frozen meat and when they had wolfed it down, she pulled the snow hook and continued up the trail. A quarter of a mile farther, the trail dropped suddenly, winding through a thick grove of wind-stunted spruce before leveling off on a high bog. She saw a dog team
in front and brought her own to a stop. The man bending over his wheel dog was unmistakable even from a distance in that shabby old parka. William Kimball MacKenzie! Rebecca's heart gladdened even as her brain reminded her that she was Bruce Reed's widow, and Mac was Sadie's man.

“Hey!” she called, and at the sound of her voice he straightened and turned, clearly startled.

“Hey yourself!” he replied. “What are you doing out here? Chasing after me?”

“Same thing you are,” she said. “Getting in some hill training. What's wrong? And why aren't you wearing your fancy new parka?”

“Nothing. My wheel dog threw a bootie, and I stopped to replace it. I'm saving my fancy parka for the race. Why don't you go by? Your team is faster than mine.”

Rebecca was surprised that he would admit such a thing but relieved that she wouldn't have to travel behind him, staring at his irritatingly broad shoulders and thinking about how happy Sadie had looked in his truck. She nodded. “All right!” she said to Cookie and Raven. “On by. On by!”

Rebecca felt her cheeks burn as she remembered the heated words she'd flung at Mac the last time she'd seen him. She'd treated him poorly, and he hadn't deserved it. He grinned at her as she passed, and she wondered what he was thinking. Probably that she was quite a bitch. Which, come to think of it, wasn't too far off the mark, Rebecca thought.
He has every right to think of me that way!

“Good dogs,” she said as they continued across the muskeg. The trail was drifted in here, and her leaders had to push through chest-deep snow. Rebecca jumped
off the runners to help them and felt her feet break through the surface of something hard and brittle. She dropped like a stone into very cold water. She pulled herself back onto the runners of the sled, turned to look behind her and felt the sudden, sickening lurch of the sled itself breaking through the ice. “All right!” she shouted as the sled plunged with a heart-stopping drop while she kept a death grip on the driver's bow. “All right!”

She kept her eyes on her dogs. The sled was still moving but very slowly now because of the increased drag. Her body was immersed in water clear up to her chest. The icy shock of it was overwhelming. She tried to put her feet down but couldn't. Her lower body was being pulled sideways by a surprisingly strong current that ran beneath the ice. What creek was this? She had no recollection of ever crossing one on this particular trail. Had she taken a wrong turn? She was in trouble—in deep, fast-moving water—and there was no time to dwell on whether or not she was on the right trail.

“All right!” she shouted again, fear giving strident shrillness to her words.
Don't let my dogs break through,
she thought.
Don't let my dogs break through!

They didn't, although the heavy sled kept breaking through the ice as it was hauled forward. The dogs came to an abrupt halt when the front of the sled jammed beneath a lip of solid ice. Rebecca tried to put her feet down again, and this time she felt the solid roll of river gravel beneath her boots. It was difficult to keep her footing in the strong current. She pulled herself alongside the slowly sinking sled and took hold of the brush bow with hands that were completely numb. To free the sled, she needed to pull it back until it was clear of the ice, then lift it up and over the ice shelf. Each time she
managed to pull the sled back, the dogs pulled it forward. They didn't know a command for backing up, and the longer they remained stopped, the more excited they were to get going again.

Rebecca heaved mightily and gained two inches. The dogs jumped forward and hauled the sled back underneath the ice. This scenario repeated itself several agonizing times until Rebecca decided to try a different approach. “Whoa, Raven, whoa, Cookie, let's take a break,” she said in as calm a voice as she could manage. These were the exact words she used when she stopped the team to snack them.

It worked. The dogs instantly relaxed, turning to look behind in anticipation of a snack. Rebecca didn't waste any time hauling the sled back. When there was just enough slack in the line to free the brush bow, she lifted the front of the sled with all of her strength and called out to her leaders. Her voice had an unfamiliar snap to it that startled them. Cookie and Raven jumped to their feet and sprang ahead, dragging the rest of the team behind them and hauling the sled up onto the solid ice. Rebecca moved her feet woodenly onto the runners. She looked ahead to the safety of the dark line of spruce woods that her dogs were already winding into. When it seemed certain that they were off the ice, she stepped on the sled brake and turned around. Mac would be right behind her. He'd fall through just the way she had. Maybe he'd lose his grip on his sled and be swept beneath the ice.

Within moments of stopping, she saw Merlin coming into view with the rest of Mac's team trotting briskly behind. “Mac!” she shouted, waving one arm wildly above her head. “Bad ice! Turn around! Go back!”

Mac paused his team at the sound of her shouts,
peered ahead at the visible span of dark, turbulent water where her sled had fallen through, and then spoke to his leader. Instead of turning around, they came onward.

“No!” Rebecca shouted again. “Go back! The ice is bad! Go back!”

But he didn't, and even as she watched, Merlin, listening to commands given by Mac, left the trail that her dogs had already broken and veered into deep, unbroken snow. Head down, body taut and finely attuned, that wonderful dog led Mac's team safely across the river.

Mac drove his team up behind hers, threw his snow hook down, stomped it in, and ran through the snow toward her. “God, Rebecca!” he said. “You're soaking wet! We've got to get you dried out in a hurry—it's at least thirty below and the wind's coming up!”

Rebecca's teeth had begun to chatter so hard she couldn't speak. She nodded, pulled her snub line out of the snow with numb fingers and walked to the nearest stalwart spruce to tie off her team. Already ice was forming on her clothing, turning it into an unyielding suit of armor. In a few short moments she would be unable to move.