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Alaskan Fantasy
Alaskan Fantasy
Elle James
I dedicate this book to the many adventurers who participate in the Iditarod race, and specifically to Paul and Evy Gebhardt. These wonderful people took the time to read through this manuscript to make sure I got the details correct on the terrain and equipment. I’d also like to thank my cousin Victor Hughes and his lovely wife, Nancy, who love dogsledding, the dogs and Alaska so much they inspired me to write this story.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Snow glittered like a million scattered diamonds in the light cast by the fat, gold moon hovering low on the horizon. Winter in Alaska may be filled with dark days, but its nights were no less beautiful than summer. Silence reigned, broken only by the crackle of the sled runners and the patter of sixteen sets of paws skimming across the icy crust.
Sam Russell tugged the wool scarf down off the lower half of his face and breathed in the frigid, clean air. The moisture in his breath crystallized as it left his mouth. After living in the frozen North for the past four years, he couldn’t imagine returning to the the lower forty-eight states with their noise, traffic and pollution.
His broken engagement and his career change were the best things to ever happen to him. He couldn’t picture his ex-fiancée, Leanne, braving freezing temperatures or enjoying the solitude. She’d have gone stark raving mad without the shopping malls and soirees of her busy social life.
A shiver coursed down his spine and he replaced the scarf over his nose and mouth.
The sight of another sled in the clearing ahead reminded Sam he wasn’t completely alone. Not that he minded Paul Jenkins. Paul was one of the few friends he’d made in his time here.
Although he caught glimpses of Paul through the branches of the spruce trees and lodgepole pine, the trail veered sharply to the right, skirting a jumble of fallen logs crisscrossing the forest floor. Sam leaned to the right and shouted, “Gee!” to lead dogs Hammer and Striker. They turned down the path, the other fourteen dogs following, pulling hard in the traces. The long line of dogs dipped down into a frozen creek bed and back up on the other side.
When the sled hit the bottom of the creek, the runners slammed against a rock hidden beneath the snow and lurched to the right. Sam bent his knees, absorbing the jolt, then compensated for the listing sled by leaning left. The dogs pressed forward, driven by the need to run.
When canines and sled topped the creek bank, the trail opened to the clearing nestled in the pine forest where Paul awaited them. The team sent up a chorus of yelps, their excitement over meeting with others of their kind apparent in the added bounce in their step and the frantic tail wagging.
“Whoa!” Sam stepped on the foot brake and anchored the snow hook in the powder, bringing the dogs to a halt beside Paul and his sled. Hammer and Striker flopped down on the snow, barely breathing hard, their ears perked in anticipation of Sam’s next command.
“About time you showed up.” Paul strode toward him, his boots sinking into snow up to his knees. He pulled his goggles down around his neck and smiled. The man always had an infectious grin, as if he saw something funny in every situation. Paul loved his life in Alaska and wanted everyone to love it right along with him. “Any problems?”
Sam tugged his goggles up on his forehead. “I hit a rock in the creek bottom.”
Dark brows angled down over light blue eyes as Paul shot a glance toward Sam’s sled. “Any damage?”
“It handled beautifully.” He climbed from the runners and sank into the snow.
Paul’s frown cleared. “So, how do you like the new sled?”
“So far so good.” The sled had arrived two weeks ago and he’d been working with it ever since, testing it thorughly before he decided whether or not to use it on the Iditarod. It had to be good to make it in the eleven-hundred-mile race from Anchorage to Nome.
“I’ve been thinking about investing in a new one myself.” Paul scratched at the week-old beard on his chin. “But I’m kinda attached to the one I used last year.”
Sam waved a hand toward his sled and team of dogs. “Want to try it out?”
Paul’s eyes sparkled. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.” Sam stepped away from the sled. “Did you plan to take them any farther today?”
“No. I didn’t want to work the team too hard with the race only two days away. I’m ready to head back and start packing, if you are.”
“Yeah. I hadn’t planned on going more than ten miles today. Had to replace Jonesy with Trooper and wanted to see how the team reacted to the placement.”
“What happened to Jonesy?” Paul knew all the dogs in the shared kennel and cared as much as Sam or Vic about their well-being, not just because of their importance to the race. They were part of the family.
“Vic said Jonesy was favoring his left shoulder. I didn’t want to chance it with him.”
Paul nodded. “Not with the race so close.”
“Tell you what.” Sam waved at his sled and team. “Why don’t you take my sled back to the house.”
“No need. I’ll just take it a couple miles to get the feel for it. Don’t want to confuse the dogs with a different musher.”
Sam snorted. “They’re more used to you than me. You’re the one who feeds and trains them year-round. I only show up during the wintertime.”
“Yeah, but what I wouldn’t give for the fun job you do. The Anchorage police force isn’t nearly as thrilling as tramping through the woods discovering the next great oil field in the interior.”
Sam had to admit he liked being out in the wild, although sometimes it was lonely. “It’s not as exciting as you make it sound. It’s got its drawbacks. Mainly the politics.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t make me laugh. I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat to get out in the woods more often.” Paul shrugged. “But I know what you mean. We have our own share of politics in the police force, but nothing like what you’re dealing with.”
“Maybe I’ll take you up on that trade. Tramping through the wild with nothing more substantial than an ATV can be hair-raising at times. Especially when you come face-to-face with a grizzly. Although, I think I’d rather face a grizzly than the congressional committees of the White House, any day.”
Paul grinned. “Same here. And I’d rather face a grizzly than a moose. I once stood completely still for two hours waiting for a two-thousand-pound bull moose to finish grazing and move off the trail so I could get by. That damn moose really bit into my finish time on the Yukon Quest. Ended up in fourth place that year.”
“Out of how many entrants?” Sam asked.
“Fifty.”
Sam grinned, shaking his head. “I’m not feeling sorry for you.”
Paul laughed out loud. “I was pretty proud of my placement. Never got that close before. I’m really looking forward to this race.”
“I think you have a shot at the top ten this year.”
“So do you, my friend,” Paul said.
“I’ve only been at it for the past three years, I’m glad just to participate. I wouldn’t even have considered it without you and Vic leading me by the hand.” Sixty-eight entrants were preparing for the race to begin that Saturday, the first weekend of March. Sam still couldn’t believe he was going to run in one of the world’s most famous dogsled races.
“Yeah, thank God for Vic.” Paul pulled his goggles back up over his eyes. “He taught me and Kat everything we know about sledding.”
“Speaking of your sister, isn’t she getting in today? I’m surprised you’re out here running the dogs when she hasn’t been home in a year.”
“She insisted on Vic picking her up at the airport. She knows this close to the race the dogs need to exercise regularly. Her plane got in around five, so she should be at the house by the time we get back.”
“Then we better get going.” Sam shifted the brake and walked to the front of his team. As he passed by, the dogs hopped to their feet, tails wagging, ready to resume the run. Sam reached out, patting heads and checking necklines and ganglines along the way. When he reached Striker and Hammer, he knelt and scratched behind the two dogs’ ears. “Ready for another run, boys?”
Hammer jumped up in Sam’s face, planting a long wet tongue across his cheek.
Sam laughed and wiped away the quickly freezing moisture with the back of his gloved hand. “Line out.” Striker immediately leaned forward in his traces, stretching the length of the tethered team. He kicked up snow and dirt with his back feet like a bull facing a matador, as if reminding the rest of the team he was boss. Hammer was a little slower in the effort, but leaned into his harness next to Striker.
“You teamed them well,” Paul said. “Striker’s the strongest and smartest, but, Hammer has the desire to stay the head of the pack.”
Striker stood still, his brown-black eyes peering intently down his pale red snout. He wouldn’t jump up in Sam’s face unless directed to do so. Striker was the serious, patient lead, chosen for his intelligence and stamina. And in the pecking order among the pack, he was top dog. Even Hammer didn’t cross him without retribution.
“Good dog.” Sam ruffled Striker’s neck and, grabbing the dog’s harness, he led the team in a sweeping circle, turning them to face the direction they’d come.
Paul performed the same task with his team, then strode over to Sam’s sled. “Ready to go? I want to see how this baby flies.”
“You’ll like it.” Sam grabbed the handlebar of Paul’s sled and prepared to follow his friend out of the clearing and back to Paul’s home, where he stayed during the winter months.
Paul clicked his tongue and the dogs shot forward and down into the creek bed. Heading home, they stretched out and ran like the wind.
Sam waited until they cleared the creek bed and then shouted, “Let’s go!” Paul’s team strained against the harnesses as Sam pedaled one foot in the snow until the sled was moving fast enough for him to hop aboard. Down into the creek and back up, they maintained a two-hundred-yard distance behind Paul on the new sled.
The trail wound along the base of a mountain and through the woods, curving with the steep banks of a river.
Sam sank back into the trance of solitude he’d achieved on the trek out. His mind drifted over the snow, erasing all his cares in the wake of the powder stirred up by his runners. This was the life he was meant to lead. No pretense, no corporate clowns calling the shots. Just him, the dogs and hundreds of miles of snow and silence.
Beat the hell out of the shouting matches he had to look forward to in the congressional committee meeting he was due to attend two weeks after the race. The Alaskan senator, James Blalock, wouldn’t listen to him when he’d warned that the initial oil samples weren’t of a grade sufficient to warrant drilling. With all the stink over disturbing the natural order of the Alaskan interior, he thought Blalock would be happy. Sam shook his head. Who knew what the senator was thinking.
Ahead, Paul raced around a sharp bend in the river on the right and disappeared behind a hill to his left.
Twenty yards from the curve in the trail, the silence was shattered by the sound of dogs yelping. Not the excited yelp of running a race, but the kind of barking they used when hurt or frightened. Sam’s heart slammed against his rib cage. What happened? The dogs had been on this path before, they knew the way. Had a moose stepped into the trail?
His team leaped forward without Sam having to encourage them, as if they were just as worried about the other dogs as Sam was about Paul.
When he rounded the corner on the narrow strip of land between the base of the hill and the river below, he didn’t see the sled or the dogs. But the yelping continued. Then he saw the runner marks in the snow leading over the ledge of the steep riverbank.
“Whoa!” Sam hit the brake and jammed the hook into the snow, bringing the team to a halt. He leaped off the sled and stared down the embankment toward the frozen river.
The sled lay sideways on the chunky ice fifteen feet below. Sixteen dogs struggled against their tangled ganglines only making the mess worse. Paul was nowhere to be seen.
“Stay!” Sam shouted to the team on the trail and he scrambled down the riverbank to the snow-covered ice below.
When he reached the sled, he clambered to the other side. There on the cold, hard surface of the river lay Paul, as still as death.
“THANKS FOR PICKING us up, Vic,” Kat Sikes said quietly as the truck ate the miles between Anchorage International Airport and the house nestled in the breathtaking mountains surrounding the city. The ragged peaks were outlined against the starlit night sky, calling to her, welcoming her home.
“I wouldn’t have missed you for the world. We don’t get to see you very often.” He reached across and squeezed her hand. Vic Hughes had been as happy as a little kid to see her step through the security gate. He’d practically crushed every bone in her body hugging her.
Her friend, Nicole “Tazer” Steele had been treated to the same bone-crunching hug as Kat. Unlike Kat’s curly mop flying every which way, Tazer’s shoulder-length, straight blond hair fell back in place leaving her looking like a model poised to step onto the runway. Beneath the blond beauty’s feminine looks was a core of steel. Unarmed, she could drop a two-hundred-fifty-pound man to his knees in seconds. Kat had seen it happen. Thus Nicole had earned her team nickname of Tazer. No one called her Nicole.
Tazer insisted on sitting quietly in the backseat of the SUV. Kat sat up front with Vic. She loved Vic like the father she and Paul lost when they were still in their teens. Vic was the only family they had left in Alaska, a distant cousin, but family nonetheless. Kat struggled to suppress the quick rise of tears. She’d missed Vic and Paul, the dogs and…well, everything about home. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “How are the preparations for the race?”
“Paul and Sam are out exercising the dogs. You should ask them. Paul’s really excited about his team this year. He thinks he might have a chance to win. And Sam won’t do so badly, either. His team’s looking really strong.”
“Is Sam the boarder Paul took in?”
“Sure is.” Vic shot a grin her way. “Nice guy. You’re gonna love him.”
Kat still wasn’t sure whether or not she liked the idea of someone besides family living in their home. Not that she’d been there in over a year. After her husband, Marty, died, she’d felt a distinct tug of jealousy and homesickness that Paul had a friend to keep him company in their family home and all she had was her lonely apartment in D.C.
It had been a year since Marty was killed on an assignment at the embassy in the small African nation of Dindi. A year of loneliness and drifting from one operation to the next, barely able to focus on the mission at hand. Her boss finally insisted she get away and “pull herself together.”
At first she’d resented his inference that she was falling apart. Forced into taking leave, she headed to the only place she knew Marty had never been. It still struck her as ironic that Marty had never seen her home. Paul had always come out to visit them and, with their jobs being so demanding and dangerous, they never got around to doing anything other than brief trips into the North Carolina mountains to bike or backpack. They’d both been dedicated to their jobs and loved the thrill of being Stealth Operations Specialists—ultra-secret agents. But after Marty’s death…
“Is that your house?” Tazer leaned over the back of the seat, staring ahead.
The two-story log cabin perched on the side of a hill, the roof banked in a foot of snow, warm yellow light streaming through every window. Kat’s heart lodged in her throat and tears burned behind her eyelids. She would not cry. Having been raised in a malecentric household, tears were considered worse than the plague. On top of her upbringing, she’d spent time in the army as a criminal investigator and in Washington, D.C., on the Capitol police force before she was recruited to be an S.O.S. agent. Everywhere she’d been tears were taboo.
Kat wasn’t a woman prone to waterworks. At first she’d been glad Tazer had asked to go along with her to Alaska, but now she wished her friend was back in D.C. The homecoming would be twice as hard if she had to wear a game face all the time.
Vic pulled up in the driveway and all three climbed out of the SUV. “I’ll take your luggage in. Loki is around back. He’ll be glad to see you.”
“Loki?” Tazer pulled her collar up around her neck, hunching her shoulders against the frigid breeze.
Kat’s tears pushed closer to the surface as she managed to choke out, “My lead dog.”
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to go in and climb into a cup of really hot coffee.” Tazer stamped her feet in the snow.
“No, please. Vic will show you to your room. I’ll join you for coffee in a few.” Kat took off around the side of the house, knowing if she didn’t, she’d break down in front of Tazer.
As she approached the rows of doghouses, a light sensor triggered the outside flood lamp and a familiar, furry face lifted from his paws. As soon as Loki saw her, he leaped to his feet and barked, his body twisting and shaking in his excitement.
Kat dropped to her knees before the Alaskan husky launched himself into her arms, licking her face and whining at the same time.
Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Kat couldn’t hold back any longer. She wrapped her arms around Loki’s neck, buried her face in his thick black-and-white fur and let the past year wash over her in a tsunami of emotions.
Visions of Marty laughing among the group at the S.O.S. office in D.C., Marty on their wedding day when they’d flown to Atlantic City to get married, and the last time she’d seen him alive as he boarded the plane to Dindi. He’d kissed her goodbye and tapped her beneath the chin. “See ya in a few.”
The only time he’d ever mentioned the L-word had been when he’d promised to love, honor and cherish her until death do us part. And death had parted them only a year after their whirlwind courtship and marriage. Sometimes Kat wondered if they really had been married. A year in the life of an S.O.S. agent was short. With the dangerous work they did, flying all over the world, they’d barely seen each other.
She’d loved him hard, as if each day would be the last. And she felt the pain of his loss no less than if they’d been married fifty years. But she’d learned one thing. Love hurt too much to invest in a second time. “Oh, Loki, it’s so good to be home.”
“Hey!” A voice called out from somewhere down the hill at the rear of the house. “Hey! Help!”
Kat’s head jerked up and she scrubbed the tears from her eyes before she could see a team of dogs and a sled in the moonlight coming across the clearing behind the house. The team was twice as long as the usual team. The sled had a large lump sprawled across it, and a man with a voice she didn’t recognize behind it.
From across the clearing, the man yelled, “Call an ambulance! Paul’s hurt!”
Chapter Two
Sam leaned against the wall of the crisp, clean hospital room, awaiting his chance to speak to Paul alone.
Kat leaned over her brother and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Her dark hair slid across his chest in a cloud of ebony waves. “I’m going to get some coffee.” Kat tucked the blanket up around Paul’s shoulders.
“About time,” he grumbled. “You’d think I was dying or something with everyone hanging around like vultures ready to pick my bones clean.”
“Come on, Tazer. Let’s get that coffee we promised you hours ago before my inconsiderate brother decided to play the kamikaze musher.”
Paul threw an empty pill cup at her. “Out!”
Kat grabbed Tazer’s arm and ducked through the open door.
“See what I have to put up with? I practically kill myself and she thinks I did it on purpose.” Paul shook his head, a grin teasing the corners of his lips.
Sam envied the camaraderie between brother and sister. He let the good vibes chase away the bad as he steeled himself to tell Paul what really happened back on the trail.
By the time Emergency Medical Services arrived, Paul had regained consciousness and insisted he was fine. But because he’d been unconscious and there seemed to be damage to his ankle, they’d hauled him to the hospital. Kat rode alongside him in the back of the ambulance.
Sam stayed behind, insisting Vic and Tazer join Paul at the hospital. He’d taken the snowmobile and gone back out on the trail to retrieve his sled.
When he brought it back to the barn and gotten a good look at it, his heart ran as cold as the frozen river Paul had fallen on.
“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, breaking into Sam’s reverie. “Look, I must have been too close to the edge. It’s not your fault I crashed.”
“In a way it was.”
Paul shook his head, a teasing look lifting the corners of his mouth. “I insisted on taking your sled. Apparently I wasn’t ready for its superior speed and maneuverability.”
“Paul, you don’t understand.” Sam held up a hand, stopping Paul’s attempt to make him feel better about something that should never have happened. “That crash was no accident.”
“What do you mean?” Paul punched the button adjusting the head of the bed upward.
“The stanchions had been cut clean through.”
Silence followed as Paul’s forehead wrinkled into a deep frown. “You sure they didn’t break in the crash?”
“No, they were sawed at the base except a tiny piece to hold it temporarily.” Sam’s mouth tightened. “Someone did it deliberately. Someone who knew what to cut that wouldn’t be obvious.”
“Why?” Paul pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t know, but that crash was intended for me, not you.” Sam jammed his hands into his pockets and paced across the room and back.
“Assuming you’re right and someone actually sabotaged your sled, it could just as easily have been mine. Yours sits next to mine in the barn.”
“Correct, but everyone in Anchorage likes you.” It was true. Sam hadn’t met a soul in the city who had a bad word to say about Paul. “I’m the outsider stirring up trouble for the state.”
“I bust people all the time. It could have been someone I put in jail,” Paul argued.
“Yeah, but you don’t have an entire political venue riding on your work.” Or a past that might have caught up to him. Sam shrugged the thought away. No. He’d assumed a different identity when he’d left the agency. No one knew him by his new name or where he was except his old boss, Royce. As far as Sam was concerned, Russell Samson no longer existed. His old employer had helped him change all his records, even arranging for his name to be altered on his social-security card and Stanford University diploma to reflect his new identity.
“You’re a geologist, not a politician, for Pete’s sake.” Paul scooted into an upright sitting position, wincing as he moved.
“That ankle still hurt?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.” The dark-haired man’s lips twisted. “I’m waiting for the doctor to come back with the results of the X-rays.”
“Think he’ll bar you from the race?” Sam wished he hadn’t let Paul borrow his sled. None of this would have happened—at least not to Paul.
