Brides of Alaska (37 page)

Yet, even though that had been her choice, here she was driving back home at her parents' urging. Well, not really her parents' urging, more like her father's. She'd always felt closer to her father. For reasons that were beyond Rita's understanding, she and her mother had never gotten along. It seemed that no matter how hard Rita tried, her relationship with her mother only deteriorated to the point that neither of them put much effort into mending the emotional cavern.

Her father, however, loved her, and of that Rita was certain. He never failed to call her on Monday nights to find out how her weekend had gone and how the week to come was shaping up. During the entire five years in Anchorage, Rita could remember her mother calling only twice and both those times were on Christmas.

With a shake of her head, Rita tried to ignore the pain she still felt whenever she thought of her mother. There was no sense in letting the past get a stronghold, Rita determined. Nothing was going to change between them. Hadn't time already proved that?

She didn't know how long the flashing red lights of the patrol car had followed her, but when the officer behind the wheel hit the blaring sirens, Rita nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Oh no!” she muttered and pulled the car to the side of the road. “I wonder how fast I was going?”

She rolled down the window and ran a hand through her newly cropped black hair. This trip was turning sour rather soon, she thought to herself.

“May I see your driver's license?” a voice called out from overhead.

Rita didn't even bother to look up. She reached over for her red clutch purse and produced her license. Without a word, she handed the license over and then sat tapping her fingers against the steering wheel.

“You were doing eighty-five miles an hour, Ms. Eriksson. Say, you wouldn't be related to August and Beth Eriksson?” the officer questioned.

Rita perked up. Maybe she could beat the ticket if she turned on a little hometown charm.

“Why, yes. They're my parents,” she said with a honey-smooth voice. Glancing up behind thick black lashes, Rita offered a smile to the stout-looking patrolman whose name tag read “Williams.”

The officer took off his sunglasses and returned Rita's smile. “Good friends of mine, your folks. I doubt they'd enjoy burying one of their own,” he stated evenly. “Being a native, you know better than to drive that fast on this highway. If the road doesn't tear up your vehicle, wrapping it around a moose or grizzly sure could do the job.”

“Sorry,” Rita said, trying hard to maintain her temper. She didn't appreciate being told what she should and shouldn't do.

“I would hope for at least that much,” the officer said as he returned Rita's license with a ticket attached. “I'd let you off with a warning, but being you're a native and not all that sorry, I'd just as soon you learn a lesson.”

Rita's temper got the best of her as she snatched the ticket and license from his hand. She thought to say something, but instead stuffed the items inside her purse and turned to roll up her window.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Eriksson. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other. By the way, I'm Mark Williams.”

“It wasn't a pleasure meeting you, Officer Williams, and I hope we don't meet again,” Rita said curtly and rolled up the car window. She barely waited for the man to walk past her car before hitting the gas and spraying gravel behind her as she pulled back up on the highway.

Rita watched uncomfortably for any sign that the patrol car intended to follow her. When it remained in place at the side of the highway, she breathed a sigh of relief and glanced at her watch.

She'd already been driving for four hours without stopping to get out and stretch, and her legs and some other body parts were beginning to ache.

She calculated that her destination was still another hour away. Making mental note of the scenery and the mile markers, Rita realized there wouldn't be much in the way of places to take a break, and when the first available turn off the highway presented itself, she took it.

Bouncing down the dusty gravel road, Rita found herself coming to a stop when the road dead-ended. Grimacing, Rita walked several yards into the trees and decided to walk a little farther and stretch her legs.

Tall, black spruce rose up in contrast against the long, white trunks of birch trees, while the lavender petals of fireweed waved welcomes from their red stems.

Rita pushed on through the trees and underbrush, enjoying the walk in spite of herself. Something about the area seemed more than just vaguely familiar and, when the trees gave way to a small lake, Rita recognized the place as one she and her father had dogsledded to on many occasions.

The very thought of dogsledding caused Rita to smile. If the truth were known, it was the main reason she'd allowed her father to talk her into coming back home for a visit. He was trying to help her dream of racing in the Iditarod come true.

The Iditarod! A dogsled race to equal no other and Rita was determined to one day be a part of it. She still remembered stories her father had told her about the old dogsled mail trails. Moonlit nights on the trail, the icy winds, and the solitude of having nothing and no one but yourself and the dogs against the elements. It thrilled Rita like nothing else and she wouldn't be complete until she'd experienced “The Last Great Race.”

“Ooof!”

The sound caused the hair to prickle on the back of Rita's neck. Snapping her head up, she searched the area for the unmistakable sound of a disturbed bear.

No more than twenty feet away, a mother grizzly woofed a command to her cub before striking a protective stance between Rita and her young.

Rita knew better than to run or cry. Bears seemed more inclined to attack humans when they made noises similar to animals in distress. August had told his daughter on more than one occasion to stand her ground silently and only as a last resort should she curl up into a ball and play dead.

Rita shoved her hands into the pockets of her fleece-lined sweat-top and made eye contact with the grizzly. The bear took a step forward and made a grunting woof.

Rita could feel her legs trembling beneath her jeans. She knew she was in grave danger, but there was nothing to do but wait out the situation. Somewhere to her left, Rita heard a rustling in the brush. Would it be another bear? Perhaps the cub had somehow gotten behind her.

The bear advanced another two steps at the same time Mark Williams emerged from the trees. Rita's relief was short-lived, however, as the mother bear let out a roar.

“Don't move,” Mark said in a hushed tone.

“Don't worry,” Rita breathed, “I won't.”

Rita struggled to keep from going back on her word. Her fear told her to run, and yet her mind rationalized that it would be exactly the wrong thing to do.

“Give her your jacket,” Mark suggested.

“What?” Rita questioned in a whisper.

“Take off your jacket and toss it on the ground. Move real slow and don't throw it at her, just over in that direction,” Mark said, while slowly pulling his revolver from its holster.

Rita slowly pulled her hands from her pockets. “But it's not a jacket,” Rita argued under her breath.

“I don't care if it's a ball gown. Just give it to her and maybe she'll be satisfied enough to let you back away. If not,” Mark leveled the .44 magnum in the direction of the bear, “I'll shoot and you back away.”

Rita contemplated his words for only a moment before reaching up to undo the zipper. Making deliberate, slow moves, Rita eased out of her top and tossed it to the side of the grizzly.

“Now, move away,” Mark said as he put himself between Rita and the bear.

The bear grunted and stomped at her shirt while Rita and Mark backed away. The bear clamped mighty jaws around the fabric of Rita's top and trotted off in the direction the cub had disappeared. When she was out of sight, Mark stopped and put a hand on Rita's arm.

“Are you all right?” he questioned.

Rita suddenly became conscious of being cold, wearing a thin, form-fitting tank top.

Mark tried to hide a grin while he eased out of his jacket. “Here, I wouldn't want you to catch a chill.”

Rita couldn't bear the humiliation and grabbed the jacket without a word. She pulled it on while walking back to her car.

“I have more clothes in the car,” she called over her shoulder. “I'll give this back to you in a minute.”

“What, no thanks?” Mark questioned in a teasing tone.

Rita refused to give in to his bantering. “I was doing okay,” she said, fumbling in her jeans for her car keys.

“Oh, yeah, I could see that,” Mark replied sarcastically.

Rita opened the trunk and pulled out a suitcase. Grabbing the first thing she could find, Rita produced an ecru-colored sweater, which she put on.

“There,” Rita said as she threw the jacket against Mark's back. “Now that you've done your good deed for the day you can go.”

Mark turned around and picked up his patrol jacket. “Is there some reason you can't be civil?” His tone of voice told Rita he wasn't kidding.

She stared for a moment at the brown-haired man. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her conscience. “Sorry,” she offered by way of an apology.

“Well, that's at least civil,” Mark said as he pulled his jacket back on. “Look, I'm mighty fond of your father and mother, and I know it'd pretty much break their hearts if you were to get yourself killed.”

“Don't worry about it,” Rita said, reverting to her anger. “I don't.”

“What's with you?” Mark questioned the angry, petite woman.

“I don't see that my private life is any of your business. This whole situation has been more than a little embarrassing and now, if you'll excuse me, I'm expected at home,” Rita stormed the words and climbed into her car.

“Don't speed,” Mark said with a grin.

Rita felt more frustration than she was willing to put into words. She flashed her dark eyes at Mark. “Like I said, don't worry about it. I'm a big girl.”

“I'm well aware of that, Ms. Eriksson,” Mark offered with a chuckle. “I'm very well aware of that.”

W
e're mighty glad to see you home safe,” August Eriksson said, embracing Rita.

Rita nearly fell into her father's arms. How she longed for a human touch, although she would have never admitted it. “It's good to see you, Dad,” Rita whispered against his ear. She pulled back and scrutinized the man before her. He seemed so much older than she remembered. His hair was snowy white and his face much more wrinkled and worn.

Beth Ericksson emerged from the kitchen to appraise the scene. “Hello, Rita,” she offered with a smile. “Good to have you back.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Rita replied and went to where her mother stood. The embrace they shared wasn't the same as the one Rita had just given her father. It was curt, almost a polite symbolic gesture.

“Are you hungry?” Beth asked her daughter.

“Starved and then some,” Rita answered with a laugh. “I didn't plan on taking so long to get here.”

“Well, I have some sandwich makings in the kitchen. Why don't you just leave your things until after you eat. Then you can get settled in your old room,” her mother said in an unemotional way. From the tone set between mother and daughter, it would have been impossible to tell that they were anything more than acquaintances. And, in Rita's mind, they were merely that and little more.

Rita followed her mother and father into the kitchen. They seemed as happy with one another as they had when she was a child. Her father still looked at her mother with a glow of admiration in his eyes. What was it that he saw in her that merited such praise?

Rita sat politely listening as her parents filled her in on the community and all that had happened in five years. She hung on her father's every word, while barely commenting on her mother's information regarding the family.

“And so, have you considered what I suggested?” August asked.

“And what was that, dear?” Beth asked with a note of surprise in her voice.

“I suggested that our daughter take time off before joining the work force grind and race the Iditarod next year,” August answered his wife.

Beth's face masked any reaction she had to August's words and instead she simply replied, “How interesting.”

Rita wondered how her mother really felt about the matter. Would she resent her youngest daughter's presence in the big, rambling log home?

“I have been thinking about it,” Rita admitted. “I know the opportunity is one that will probably never come again.”

“That's why you should jump at the chance,” her father remarked.

“I'm so out of shape though. What with all my studies and work at the hospital, I haven't been outdoors long enough to walk around the block. I can only imagine what it would be like to run with a dogsled team,” Rita replied, taking the plate her mother offered. Despite their differences, Rita noted that her mother had made her favorite, roast beef sandwiches.

“Thanks, Mom,” Rita added and offered her mother a hint of a smile.

“But all of that will come back to you. You can start this summer and run with the dogs. You can spend all fall and winter on the trails around here, maybe even run in another race or two just to get primed for the big one,” August said in a way that almost sounded as though he were begging.

“And you really think I'd be able to do it?” Rita asked, hopefully. “You think I could manage it all? All the training and getting into shape?”

“You're no Eriksson if you can't!” August exclaimed good-naturedly. “Besides, you'll have nine months to do it in. I've got plenty of good dogs and there's a friend or two in the area that would be happy to have you along on practice runs.”