Brides of Alaska (45 page)

“May I help you?” he asked in a rich baritone voice.

“I'm here to see Mr. Simons,” Rita related. “My father sent me with this package and instructions that I am to pick up a gift he ordered for my mother.”

“You must be Rita Eriksson,” the man replied. “I'm Jim Simons.” He extended a friendly hand forward that Rita took with less enthusiasm.

“I'm glad to meet you. This is the package my father sent me with,” Rita stated, quickly dropping the man's hand. She handed the heavy box to Mr. Simons, halfway expecting him to open it. When he didn't, Rita couldn't contain her surprise. “If you need to look it over,” she said, “I have time to wait.”

“That isn't necessary at all,” Mr. Simons replied. “Your father and I have already arranged the matter. I have your mother's gift already wrapped.” Mr. Simons moved to the back side of the counter, where he placed the package Rita had brought and retrieved a smaller, gift-wrapped box. “He'll find everything in order.”

Rita nodded and took the gift.

“May I show you anything?” the man questioned. “I have some lovely necklaces just in and also there's a sale on some of my finest rings.”

“I don't think so, thank you,” Rita said with a glance at her watch. “I have to meet Mark, I mean my ride, at three o'clock and I still have a few more stops to make.”

“Would your companion be Mark Williams?” Mr. Simons asked, surprising Rita.

“Why, yes,” Rita answered. “How did you know?”

Mr. Simons laughed. “I guess that does seem a bit strange, doesn't it. I seemed to recall your father mentioning that you and Mr. Williams would be riding into town together. I have the wedding ring Mr. Williams picked out when he was here last weekend, and I presumed he would stop by today and pick it up. I wasn't certain, however, that it would be ready so I didn't call him ahead of time. If you would be so kind as to tell him that it's finished, I would sincerely appreciate it.”

Rita felt as though she'd been delivered a blow. A wedding ring! Mark had never mentioned having a girlfriend, much less someone he planned to marry. Trying hard to keep her astonishment to herself, Rita agreed to pass Mr. Simons's message on to his client.

Walking from the store, Rita tried not to let the news bother her. Of course Mark was free to see whomever he chose and marry whenever he decided to, but Rita was amazed that her father hadn't even alluded to the fact that Mark was dating someone. In fact, Rita thought, her father had pushed her toward a relationship with Mark. Maybe he didn't know that Mark planned to marry someone else.

Unless … Surely Mark hadn't bought the ring for Rita! No, Mark wouldn't do things that way. He was too straightforward and honest.
Honest to a fault
, she thought.

Rita hadn't realized the apprehension and disappointment that was creeping into her heart. Had she really become more interested in her father's rugged business partner than she'd allowed herself to see?

“He's getting married,” Rita muttered under her breath. “I would never have guessed it in a million years.”

She made her other stops, barely able to concentrate on what she was doing, and made her way back to where Mark sat waiting in the pickup.

“Well, Texas Rita, get everything you were after?” he asked with a good-natured smile.

“I guess so,” she answered, not even acknowledging the nickname. Rita looked up at him as if really seeing him for the first time. She felt saddened to realize they would never be more than friends. How could she have been so blind to the fact that she was falling in love with Mark Williams?

“Well then, we'd best head home. We can stop and pick up something to eat on the way out of town. That is, if you don't mind fast food,” Mark said, reaching down to start the truck.

“I don't mind,” Rita replied. She suddenly remembered Mr. Simons's request and reached out to prevent Mark from starting the engine. “I almost forgot. I had to pick up something for Dad at Simons's Jewelry Store. Mr. Simons said to tell you that your package is ready.”

Rita watched purposefully to catch Mark's reaction. He smiled broadly and patted his coat pocket. “I've already taken care of it,” he answered.

Rita thought he seemed quite pleased with himself. She fastened her seat belt and nodded. “Then I'm ready to go,” she said and turned to stare out the passenger window.

Aside from giving Mark her order for a hamburger, french fries, and iced tea, Rita was silent in her brooding.

“How could I have been so stupid as to let my guard down and get interested in him?” she whispered to herself. She sighed and accepted the food that Mark had generously paid for.

Wasn't this exactly why she didn't allow herself to be vulnerable? The pain she was feeling brought it all back to her. She had to build the wall up higher to protect herself from ever feeling this way again. How could she have been so stupid?

Of course
, she reasoned with herself,
I never gave Mark the slightest bit of encouragement. He had no reason to believe I was interested
. Rita made a pact with her heart that from that moment forward, she would care about nothing else but the Iditarod. She wouldn't allow herself to care about anyone else in a way that would distract her from accomplishing her dream of racing and completing the Iditarod.

From now on, Rita vowed silently, Mark was nothing more than the rival she'd originally seen him as and, despite her aunt Julie's encouragement to be less severe with him, she wouldn't allow him even an inch into her life.

Mark was baffled by Rita's silent treatment. Just when he thought she was thawing a bit and starting to open up to him—bang! She always slammed the door in his face.

When they got back to Rita's house, Mark started to say something about it, but Rita darted quickly from the truck and nearly ran into the house. What was with her, anyway?

Mark started unloading the supplies, and August soon came out to join him. August immediately noticed the furrows that lined Mark's forehead and knew the cause was most likely Rita.

“You want to talk about it?” August asked, following Mark into the shed where they stored dog supplies.

“I suppose that would be the logical thing,” Mark said, slamming a fifty-pound bag of commercial dog food to the ground. “However, I'm not feeling very logical. I'm confused and frustrated, but that's nothing unusual after spending the day with your daughter.”

August grinned; he knew how infuriating Rita could be. “What happened?”

“I don't even know,” Mark began. “She was reserved as always when we headed out, but by the time we got to Fairbanks, I thought she was starting to relax a bit. I figured on having a really nice trip home. You know, maybe talk through some of our feelings, but she was quieter than ever and never offered me so much as a single word.”

August frowned and followed Mark to the truck. “She never said a word? She didn't even fight with you?”

“Nope,” Mark replied and hoisted another bag of dog food on his shoulder.

“That's not like her,” August said. “She must have it bad for you.”

Mark nearly dropped the feed. “What? I just told you she wasn't even speaking to me. How can you say she has it bad for me?”

“Because Rita fights with people she doesn't care about. If the relationship isn't that important to her, she won't be put down, cast aside, or trod on in any manner. However, if she has feelings for you and the relationship is important to her, she handles it totally differently. Look at her and her mother. They scarcely share two words. Now, on occasion they will argue, but Rita hardly ever handles it in the same flippant manner she does when dealing with strangers,” August stated. “Rita cares for you, Mark, of this I'm certain. Her silence speaks more clearly than any words could.”

“Then what do I do?” Mark asked seriously.

“Pray for her, Mark. Pray good and hard for her. I found the Bible open on her bed the other night. I think the Lord is really working her over and she needs to come to terms with Him first.”

Mark nodded. “I'll pray.” Inside the house, Rita found herself face-to-face with another mountain of emotion—her mother. Beth had purposefully sought out her daughter in order to take some measurements for Rita's insulated pants.

“Did you enjoy your time with Mark?” Beth asked innocently.

“Why?” Rita snapped, rather irritably. “Why do you ask that?”

“I just thought maybe you and he—”

“Well, don't think about him and me,” Rita interrupted. “There is nothing to think about. He's my trainer along with Dad, nothing more.”

“You sound awfully firm on the matter,” Beth said, taking the final measurement.

“I am,” Rita replied. “Getting close to people only hurts you when they don't return your feelings.”

I
can't believe you sold them!” Rita nearly yelled the words. “How could you give up your Iditarod ingots, just to finance me in this race?”

“They weren't that important to me,” August said with a shrug. “And I didn't think they were that important to anyone else.”

Rita stomped her snowy boots against the straw-covered floor of her father's supply shed. “Well, they were to me,” she finally said. She tried to ignore the fact that Mark was sitting not three feet away.

“Look, Rita,” August began, “Mr. Simons wanted to make them into tourist necklaces. He paid me more than I deserved to be paid because he's a fair man and knows that by adding a simple silver chain to each, he'll net a small fortune. Added to that I sold four more dogs. Now we have enough money to travel in style and keep everyone fed and healthy. Don't begrudge me doing things my way, Rita. It's important for me to see you accomplish this. It may be your only chance to ever compete. Don't spoil it now.”

Rita bit back a retort and nodded her head. “If that's what you want, Dad,” she murmured.

“Good,” August said with a smile. “We've got a lot of work to do and a great deal of information to go over. Mark, did you bring your notes on the trail?”

“Yup.” Mark got to his feet, patting the pocket of his insulated overalls. “They're right here.”

“Well, why don't we get started then. Let's go into the office where it's warm,” August suggested, and the other two followed his lead.

Mark set aside his gloves and pulled a thick packet of papers from his pocket. Rita and her father joined him at the small table. “It's important to keep checking your list of supplies. You never know when you'll leave something out,” Mark began the conversation.

Rita nodded and tried to quell the rapid beat of her heart when Mark gave her a quick wink.

“You know the mandatory items, but you've got important decisions to make about the rest of your gear. Most mushers on the Iditarod don't bother with the weight of a tent, they usually sleep on the sled or at one of the offered shelters—”

“If they sleep,” August interrupted. “I don't imagine I got more than seven hours that first week.”

Mark nodded and added with a laugh, “I think that's why they insist on the mandatory layovers. There's the twenty-four-hour one that you must take at one time or another and a six-hour stop in White Mountain before the final push to Nome.”

“Where do you take the twenty-four-hour stop?” Rita asked.

“A lot of folks take it at Rohn,” answered Mark. “You've just come through the mountains, and you're physically and emotionally drained. There's good shelter, food, and water there, and the people are great, too, but we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. First, you have to get that far.”

“I'll get there,” Rita said in a determined way that left both men little doubt that she would.

“There are other things to consider,” Mark continued. “We'll head down to Anchorage in plenty of time to have the race-appointed veterinarians check out the dogs. You have to have all the shots up to date for parvovirus, rabies, and distemper.”

“I have the records for all of that,” August assured them. “You'll be given the Official Iditarod Cachet to carry with you. This is promotional material from the racing committee. It usually weighs about five pounds and has envelopes to be postmarked in Anchorage as well as Nome. It kind of celebrates the fact that the Iditarod trail is the old mail trail. The top finisher's envelopes are usually auctioned off to raise money for the race.”

“Sounds like I'll have a crowded sled basket,” muttered Rita.

“That's why what you choose to take along is so critical,” Mark said, meeting Rita's dark eyes. He wished silently that he could find some sign of closeness in them, but Rita was expert at masking her feelings, and he saw nothing. “You can always dump stuff off as you go, but you can't get what you need in the middle of the Alaskan interior when you realize you've neglected to bring something.”

“That's true,” August stated. “I ran low on headlamp batteries early on and then I forgot to pack an extra pair of boots as well. When I got my only pair soaking wet and the windchill made the temperature seventy below zero, I knew I'd just cashed in the race.”

Rita nodded, remembering how her father always reminded her to take extra boots whenever she and Mark trekked out into the wilds.

“Boots, extra clothes, batteries, lightbulbs, gloves, ropes, harnesses, even sled runners are all things you'll have to choose carefully. You must also be able to transport any injured or ill dog on that sled and, in a pinch, sleep in it instead of on top of it. You have to be careful, and you have to be smart,” Mark added.

Rita tried to absorb it all. She wanted very much to show both Mark and her father that she was fully capable of caring for herself. It was a dangerous position to put herself in, because with her prideful attitude, she purposefully avoided asking important questions, questions that could very well mean the difference between life and death.