Across a Thousand Miles (12 page)

Mac was snubbing his own team off and grabbing something out of his sled bag. He ran toward her, and she saw that he was pulling his sleeping bag out of its sack. “You've got to get out of those wet clothes!” he snapped. “Hurry up, get them off and get into my sleeping bag.”

She nodded stupidly. That was the correct thing to do, of course. Hypothermia was already taking hold and her fingers were frozen, useless, unable to perform the simplest of tasks. Mac's hands were suddenly slapping hers aside, and he was unzipping the frozen zipper of her parka, forcing it down in a shower of brittle ice, stripping
it off her, doing the same with her bibs, making her stand on the growing stack of soaked and fast-freezing clothing. “How many damn layers are you wearing?” he said as he attacked yet another layer.

“Mac—” she said.

“This is no time for modesty, woman!” he said, and then finally she was naked. Her skin was cold and very blue. He snatched the sleeping bag and held it while she stepped awkwardly inside, then he zipped it up around her, clear to her neck, and pulled the hood down over her head. He took his parka off and wrapped it around her, as well, then scooped her into his arms and carried her back to his sled where he placed her on top of his sled bag. “I'm going to build a fire,” he told her. “We have to get your clothes dried.”

She nodded, or thought she did, but her entire body was convulsed with cold. She'd been cold before, plenty of times, but never like this. She watched Mac build the fire not six feet from where she lay. He was crouched over a blue curl of smoke, and she saw the yellow lick of flames. Daylight was waning. In another hour it would be dark. Rebecca closed her eyes, her convulsive shivers slowly ebbing. She wasn't quite as cold now. Warm, almost. And tired. So very tired. She needed to sleep. Needed to close her eyes and—

“Rebecca!” Mac's voice again. What a nuisance that man was! she thought groggily. “Rebecca! I found a thermos in your sled. I want you to take a drink.” He hoisted her up and held the steaming cup to her mouth. She swallowed obediently. Orange-spice tea, sweetened with a dollop of honey. She closed her eyes, shuddering again with the cold. “Open your eyes!” Mac ordered. “Take another swallow! That's my girl! The fire's going strong,” Mac said. “I'm going to get some more wood
and hang your clothes to dry. You keep shivering and you stay awake. You hear me? You stay awake!”

Moments later she heard the sounds of his ax, the sound of crackling flames, and then his arms were lifting her again as if she were weightless. “I'm so cold!” she heard herself say.

“I know, baby, I know,” she heard him reply. “I'm going to get you warm.”

He had spread a ground cloth near the fire and he lowered her onto it. Then he unloaded his sled, tipped it onto its side so that it opened toward the fire, extended one of the top flaps as a ground cloth and used two sticks to prop the other flap up. An instant lean-to. He picked her up again and placed her inside it. Suddenly the reflected warmth of the fire enveloped her. Moments later she looked out and saw her frozen clothing draped over a thin line of twine strung between two spruce that flanked either side of the fire. She heard a loud chattering noise and wondered for a moment what it was, then realized that it was her teeth. She tried to stop but couldn't. “My dogs?” she said when he approached with an armful of wood.

“Your dogs are fine. Curled up and sleeping. None of them broke through the ice. Rebecca, drink some more tea.” He propped her up and she swallowed again. “Good girl,” he said. “We'll get you warmed up.” She watched through drowsy eyes as he threw more wood on the blaze and then pulled off his boots, his wool pants, his old wool army sweater. Her eyes opened a bit at the sight of him in his red union suit, and opened wider when he unzipped the bag again and wriggled in beside her.

“Mac!” she chattered.

“Don't worry, this is purely professional. I learned
these techniques in navy survival school. They teach you all kinds of things like how to eat snakes, find water in the desert, elude capture, deal with hypothermia and, of course, how to share a sleeping bag with a beautiful woman. Life and death stuff like that,” he said, as he pulled her tightly against him and then rezipped the sleeping bag. “Relax. You're perfectly safe with me. I promised I wouldn't kiss you again until you asked me to, and I won't,” he said, his big, rough, strong hands rubbing the icy skin of her back. “But as you'll recall, I never said anything about heavy petting.”

 

B
RUCE USED TO CALL HER
“Coldfoot Classic” and tease her mercilessly when she cuddled with him in bed. “You only want me for a foot-warmer, girl,” he'd say, and flinch when she'd tuck her icy feet between his. “That's true enough,” she'd say smiling, “and you're a good one, Bruce Reed.”

She'd snuggle into him, into the warm, solid curve of his body, and let his warmth soak into her like a sweet and sensual solution. His fingers would tease the hair at the nape of her neck, and he would breathe into the shell of her ear, his breath moist and hot. “Reeba,” he'd whisper with growing passion. “Reeba!”

Rebecca stirred against him, felt the need, the urgent need, to have him close to her, closer to her. She moaned with desire. It had been so long. So long! Why had he stayed away so long? Where had he been? She had missed him so! She slid her feet between his, wondered why he was wearing socks—he never wore socks to bed—wondered why he wasn't stroking her the way she liked to be stroked. She pressed against him, against the long, lovely hard masculine length of him. He felt so good, so solid and so real. He smelled so good, and
when she nuzzled her face against his neck, he responded. His hands moved over her willing, pliant body exactly the way they should, and his body moved against hers in a way that made her catch her breath and moan again. His mouth sought hers the way she so desperately wanted it to.

It was electrical, that kiss. Oh, God, it dazzled her! That long, hot, passionate kiss was undoubtedly the best she'd ever had. The raw, powerful voltage of it made every fiber of her body throb. She tightened her fingers in his hair, moaned into his mouth, and when finally she broke away to breathe, she gasped his name aloud, her eyes filling with joyous tears. “Bruce!” she said. “Bruce, oh, Bruce!”

“Rebecca?”

The voice that breathed in her ear was not Bruce's. She opened her eyes and for a moment didn't know where she was or whom she was with—except that it wasn't Bruce. She stiffened as realization struck. With a growing sense of dismay, she realized that she'd fallen asleep and that her limbs were intimately intertwined with those of the man she had tried so desperately to avoid! Bill MacKenzie lay flat on his back, and she lay full-length on top of him, cocooned within the tight confines of his sleeping bag and encircled by his warm, powerful arms. He was breathing as rapidly as she was, and she sensed that this dream had not been hers alone. She lay motionless, stricken with remorse, trying to determine what had just happened. She'd been dreaming of Bruce, but had she…? Had they…? She pushed away from him abruptly as if to bolt from the sleeping bag, but his hands held her close.

“Whoa, now!” he said. “It's a little too cold out there to be running around in your birthday suit.”

“Oh, God!” she gasped. “I was dreaming and I thought… I thought…” Her throat closed up and tears stung her eyes.

“It's okay,” Mac soothed. “We both fell asleep.”

“But I thought… I mean, I dreamt… Did we…?”

“Nothing happened,” Mac said. “You spoke his name and started to cry.”

The taste of her kiss was still in his mouth, the tender, passionate sweetness of it. He could still feel the sensual movements of her lithe, graceful body against his. For a moment, as he'd awakened, he'd thought that all his wishes were finally coming true, but then she had spoken her dead husband's name and Mac's hopes had been dashed. He felt as if his heart would break for wanting her, but Rebecca Reed still belonged to another man.

“Mac,” she said, removing her feet from between his and drawing her weight off him. “It's time to go,” she said.

“You okay?” His hand touched her face in the darkness, briefly curved itself to the contour of her cheek and then brushed back to smooth her hair. He wanted her so badly! He would not give up the fight! A curious kind of anger coursed through him, anger channeled toward a dead man.
Let her go!
he raged silently to the husband she still loved.
Let her go! You can't help her now. You can't protect her now. You can't love her now. Let her go!

 

R
EBECCA FELT
M
AC
shift into position, and his hands slid down her back again. “You feel a lot warmer than you did.” His fingers expertly kneaded the muscles between her shoulders. “But there's always room for improvement. Your feet are still solid blocks of ice and could definitely use a little more quality cuddle time.”
His hands slid lower and closed around her hips as he pulled her gently back down against him. “You know, pretty woman, if you asked me real nice, I just might kiss you in spite of the fact that your feet are so damn cold!”

Rebecca stifled a nervous laugh that came unbidden. The dream had been so real. So real! She laid her cheek against his chest and drew a breath, listening to the strong, rapid cadence of his heartbeat, hoping he couldn't feel how her own was racing. They lay in silence for what seemed like a very long time before she spoke again. “I'm scared of drowning, Mac,” she said softly. “I'm afraid of falling through the ice.”

Mac's hands moved over her as tenderly as if she were a baby needing comfort. “I didn't think you were afraid of anything,” he murmured into her ear. “But I promise I won't hold it against you, and I won't tell anyone else about your weakness, just as long as you ask me to kiss you. Go ahead. I know you want me to. Just say the words, woman. I'm bilingual, in case you didn't know. English, French, either works for me.”

This time her laugh was audible, and she was grateful for his humor. “Mac, I have to get home and feed my dogs. It must be late.”

Mac groaned. “I'll get your clothes and hand them to you. You can wear my parka. I don't think yours'll be dry yet.”

True to his word, he handed over her clothing, giving her time between items to awkwardly dress herself inside the sleeping bag. When she'd put on her undergarments, he threw a few more sticks onto the coals and the flames lit the immediate area. She saw several pairs of eyes glowing in the darkness. “My dogs?” she said.

Mac walked out and checked both teams. “They're
fine,” he said, coming back to her. “Still sleeping like babes.”

Her clothes, with the exception of her parka, were reasonably dry. Her boot liners were still damp but they warmed up promisingly when she put on her boots and stomped her feet.

“Thank you, Mac,” she said quietly as he was stuffing his sleeping bag back into its sack. He paused as if surprised by her words and then nodded.

“My pleasure.”

 

T
WO HOURS LATER
Rebecca drove her team into her kennel yard. Mac was behind her, and she expected him to continue down the trail to Sam and Ellin's. Instead, he snubbed his team to the post in front of the cabin, and when she looked questioningly at him, he paused in the act of unsnapping his dogs' tug lines. “I know,” he said, raising one hand as if to quell her protest. “You don't need my help. You're perfectly capable of taking care of things here, more perfectly capable than the most perfectly capable person on the face of this planet. But just this once you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do, Rebecca Reed. Go inside the cabin and get the woodstove going. Put your big kettle of water on to boil. Stoke up the fire, light all the lamps, heat some water for a pot of coffee, get out of those clothes and into something warm and dry, and bundle yourself into bed.”

That said, he continued tending his dogs. She stood for a moment beside her own team and was about to open her mouth to protest when he turned suddenly, walked toward her with a determined step, took her by the arm, marched her up the cabin steps and propelled her through the cabin door, shutting it firmly behind her.

She opened it immediately. “My dogs!” she said.

“I'll take care of them. You do what I told you to do.”

“But they haven't been fed!”

“Dammit all, woman, I know how to feed dogs! I've learned that much at least in the past few months. Now shut that door! You're wasting heat!”

He came into the cabin about an hour later, stamping his feet to rid them of snow, pulling off his hat and gloves and holding his hands over the stove to warm them. He looked at her in the lamplight and grinned. “That coffee sure smells good.”

“Won't Ellin and Sam be worried about you?” she asked as she poured him a cup.

He shook his head, shrugging out of his parka. “I planned this run as an all-nighter. I was going to run five hours, rest five hours, then run another five. They don't expect me to haul in until one or two in the morning.” He took the offered mug with a nod of thanks and cupped his hands around it appreciatively. I figure it must be seven now, or somewhere thereabouts.”

“Seven-thirty,” Rebecca said.

“I just fed both teams, and if I could just hang here for another hour, I'll take mine down onto the river for another run. I don't have to stay in here with you,” he added hastily. “I can wait outside until it's time to go. I just want to give them a little time to digest their supper. If that's okay.”

Rebecca lowered her eyes and lifted her coffee for a sip. His words stung and made her feel small. “Mac, I never meant what I said the other day.” Her voice was low. “I don't know what came over me. I said things I shouldn't have. I'm sorry.” Mac's surprised look made her feel even worse. “I get in moods,” she said, her
cheeks coloring. “I guess sometimes I can be a real pain in the neck.”