Chapter 4
AXEL
Axel stared at the ring in the small velvet box, the firelight flickering off the simple solitaire diamond, the white gold band. Oops. He hadn’t meant to bring it on this trek but…
Aw, who was he kidding. He wasn’t letting it out of his sight until he put it on Flynn’s finger.
He closed the case and slipped it into the zipper chest pocket of his Air One jumpsuit.
Don’t panic. He turned away from the fire and patted the pocket. Yes, zipped in, safe.
“You keep doing that.” Luna Frost sat cross-legged on a braided rug near the wood-burning stove, bright pink winter coat unzipped to reveal a Christmas sweater covered in reindeer.
Dark hair spilled over her shoulders as she tilted her head, studying him with the unblinking curiosity of a six-year-old.
Heat crept up Axel’s neck. “Just making sure I didn’t lose anything.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing important.” Nothing important? The engagement ring that had cost him three months’ salary and represented his entire future with Flynn. Yes, it was definitely something.
Everything, actually.
He should have proposed a year ago when Moose had gotten married. But she’d been involved in an investigation of a drug trafficker, and when she put her nose to a hunt…well, he’d sort of stood on the sidelines, not sure if he should wave his arms or just wait it out.
According to Flynn, they’d lost their suspect, vanished—poof—into the Alaskan interior.
Which meant, maybe…
Through the frosted windows of the Matthews homestead’s main cabin, wind shrieked like a living thing, rattling glass and sending snow in horizontal sheets across their remote compound.
What had started as challenging flying conditions three hours ago had become a full-scale Alaskan blizzard that grounded helicopters and trapped rescue teams ten miles from their destination.
Ten miles from the Clearwater village where Christmas packages waited to be delivered.
Forty miles from Flynn.
The lodge’s main room buzzed with quiet activity as the Matthews clan—Dr. Caius Matthews, his wife Una, and his three adult children—Everest, Sage and Bear—sorted through the medical supplies Winter had been carrying.
The Matthews had developed a sort of family compound in the woods, with Caius and his wife settling here, at the edge of a small lake some thirty years ago.
They’d built a cabin, then a lodge, then more cabins and a couple barns and managed to eke out an impressive compound here in the middle of nowhere.
Axel knew them from their occasional forays to Copper Mountain, the town at the foothills of Denali where he and Moose grew up.
Mid-fifties, the bush doctor had a reputation here for being a sort of healer. He combined ancient natural remedies with current medicines and had probably seen every baby born in the bush for the past twenty years. Including his own children and grandchildren.
Luna Frost’s mother had been Caius’s daughter, so no wonder she spent Christmas here, on the Matthews homestead, with her widowed father, Wilder.
“These’ll take care of the Thompson baby,” Dr. Matthews said, holding up a package of antibiotics. “Pneumonia’s been touch and go for weeks.”
“We’ll get them there, Dad,” Bear said. His son, also a physician, came in, stamping his feet from where he’d loaded up the snowmobiles for the trek to the Thompsons. “Storm or no storm.”
Una Matthews, the doctor’s wife, was sorting through a different pile—wrapped Christmas packages bound for the Clearwater village. Children’s toys, family letters, and precious supplies that connected the remote settlement to the outside world.
“Forty-three packages for Clearwater,” she announced, voice warm despite the concern creasing her features. “Including toys for twelve children.”
Axel’s stomach clenched, even as he glanced outside.
Brains said that they stayed here, hunkered down and wait out the storm.
His hand went to his pocket again.
“We’ll get them delivered,” Moose said from where he stood studying a hand-drawn map spread across the dining table. His brother’s voice carried that quiet confidence that had gotten Air One through a hundred impossible situations. “Question is how.”
“Not by air,” London said, her tone grim. She’d been monitoring weather reports on the cabin’s ham radio for the past hour, each update worse than the last. “Winds are gusting to forty miles per hour, and visibility is down to zero. Nothing’s flying until this system moves through.”
“How long?” Axel asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.
Sage Matthews—the doctor’s daughter and clearly the practical one—looked up from the radio, expression apologetic. “Weather service is saying maybe two days. Storm’s stalled over the region.”
Two days?
So much for his Christmas proposal. And worse, his phone had died hours ago and they had no way to charge it here.
The velvet box burned through his pocket.
“There might be another option.”
The voice came from the corner where Wilder Frost sat with his back against the log wall, long legs stretched out in front of him.
Mid-thirties, the man seemed quiet, a musher and homesteader, a sort of sturdiness about him, with his deep gray-blue eyes, a sense of seeing the worst of life, and somehow surviving.
But now his gaze held something that made Axel’s chest stir with something like hope.
“What kind of option?” Shep asked.
“Dogs.”
Luna bounced up from her spot by the fireplace. “Daddy’s got the best sled dogs in Alaska! Uncle Everest too!”
Everest Matthews—Dr. Matthews’ son and clearly the outdoorsman of the family—looked up from where he’d been packing more gear.
Broader than Wilder but with the same weathered competence, he nodded slowly.
“With Wilder’s team, we’ve got two full teams—twelve dogs each.
They can travel in conditions no helicopter would attempt. ”
“Dogs don’t care about visibility,” Wilder added. “They follow scent trails and instinct.”
“How far could we go?” Moose said, leaning up, folding his arms, his jaw tight. But he glanced at Axel, and he spotted the same flicker of hope.
“Clearwater’s about four hours following the creek bed,” Everest replied. “Even in this weather. From there, we’d still have another six-hour push to reach the outskirts of Anchorage following the river valleys.”
Axel’s heart hammered against his ribs. They could still make it, maybe even for Christmas Eve. They’d get to Clearwater first, deliver the packages, and then push on home. He could still propose to Flynn on Christmas, still watch her face when she opened the ring box, still—
“In these conditions?” Winter shook her head. She’d been unusually quiet since the rescue. She’d stripped off her big parka, still wearing her insulated overalls. Now, she shook her head. “That’s not travel, that’s desperation. We’re not there yet.”
Um, speak for yourself there, Winter.
“My daddy’s the best musher ever,” Luna said with six-year-old certainty. “He took me and Mama on a thousand-mile trip once.”
Something flickered across Wilder’s face at the mention of his wife. A wince, a deep swallow. Then it was gone, replaced by a sturdiness, probably that resolve that had gotten him through whatever tragedy had made him a single father three years ago.
“Luna’s right about my mushing, but it was a lot shorter than a thousand miles.” His voice carried gentle correction mixed with obvious love. “And that was in better weather than this.”
“Could be done, though,” Everest added, studying the map. “Creek route to Clearwater’s protected from the worst winds. Dogs know the way. And from Clearwater, the river route home follows the highway for most of the way.”
“What about the packages?” Topher asked. “Both the medical supplies and the Christmas deliveries?”
“Dad and I’ll take the medical supplies to the Thompsons,” Bear said, shouldering his pack. “Their place is only five miles west. We can make that run and be back by morning.”
“And the Clearwater packages?” Una asked, gesturing toward the pile of wrapped gifts.
“Dogs can pull a lot more than people think,” Sage said. Pretty, early twenties, she’d returned to the bush after moving away for college, returning to act as a climbing guide up Denali. She wore her hair in a sleek ponytail, a pair of cargo pants, a homemade knitted sweater.
She moved to stand beside her brother Everest, hand resting on his shoulder. “A good team can haul the packages plus passengers across creek terrain.”
“This isn’t a pleasure ride,” London pointed out.
“No,” Wilder agreed. “But it’s doable. Question is whether you’re willing to risk it.”
The words hung in the cabin’s warm air like smoke. Outside, wind hammered against the walls with increasing fury, and somewhere in the distance, Axel could hear the howling of dogs—the Matthews and Frost teams, probably tucked into their shelters but restless in the storm.
Risk meant they might not make it. Risk meant the engagement ring in his pocket could end up buried in an Alaskan snowdrift along with his body.
But staying here meant definitely missing Christmas. Definitely letting down the families counting on those packages.
“I need to get home,” Axel said, words coming out rougher than intended. “I mean, we all do, but I—” He stopped, heat flooding his face as everyone turned to look at him.
“Got plans?” Shep asked, a grin sliding up his face.
Funny, it occurred to Axel that Shep had seemed a little dark the past few days. So, he grinned back. “Maybe.”
Shep nodded, still grinning.
“Is that why you’re carrying around a ring?” Luna, her eyes wide.
The room went quiet.
“I saw it—”
“Luna, honey, maybe that’s not any of our business.” This from her grandmother, who came over to her, but looked at Axel. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He sighed. “But yes. I want to get home to propose.”
Moose smiled. And London glanced at Shep for some reason, then held up her fist for a bump. Whatever.