Chapter 1 #4
“Sometimes a man’s got to choose between safe and right.” He looked at Wilder. “Can’t say I’d do different if it was my kid out there.” He dropped the keys into Wilder’s palm.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. That machine’s got enough gas to get you there and back, but not if you get lost. Stick to the main trails, and for the love, don’t try to be a hero.”
Jenni had gone to the kitchen, and now came back, a first aid kit in her hand. “If that wound starts bleeding again—”
“I’ll be careful.”
“No, you won’t.” Her smile was sad and knowing. “But you’ll survive. You’re too stubborn to die.”
Probably.
The wind buffeted him like a punch when he stepped outside. Snow pelleted the air, fat flakes that stuck to everything and blurred the world into white and gray. The cold bit through Orion’s borrowed gear and went straight to his bones.
The snowmobile started on the second pull. Its engine roared against the gathering storm.
But he knew Alaska better than he knew himself.
He set off, the headlights plowing through the darkness. And yes, his wounded leg cramped every time he shifted position, vibration from the machine sending fire through healing tissue. But the pain kept him focused. Kept him from thinking too hard about what he might find at the crash site.
By the third mile, the storm stirred, angry, serious. He’d grown up in this country, knew every ridge and valley, but everything looked different in a whiteout.
His leg burned, the wound probably seeping blood that saturated his bandages. Jenni had been right—he was in no shape for this.
But if Luna was hurt . . .
Mile marker forty-seven materialized out of the snow and he spotted a dark shape in the ditch.
A sedan. Dark blue. The same color as Vic’s.
His heart stopped.
But as he got closer, wait—Washington license plates. A rental.
Not Vic’s sedan.
Okay, so he’d overreacted.
He was about to turn around when he spotted them—pawprints in the snow around the crash site. Big ones. Familiar ones.
Rome?
Stormi’s dog. The beautiful Malador who’d caught his attention during veterinary visits.
He seemed to be tracking boot prints.
And it occurred to Wilder, then, that maybe whoever had trekked out into the white might be in trouble.
The tracks led deeper into the forest. Winding around fallen logs and through underbrush. Whatever Rome had been tracking, it had taken him well away from the main crash site.
Wilder gunned his snowmobile into the white, following the vanishing imprints in the snow.
And then he spotted him.
A man. Face down, wearing a ski jacket, jeans, and hiking boots that would have been inadequate for Alaska even in summer. He’d made it maybe a half mile from the road before the cold took him.
The father. Had to be. He’d tried to go for help while his family waited in the car.
Wilder knelt beside the body and turned the man over to check for signs of life. Futile, really. The man’s skin held the gray pallor of death, eyes open and staring at nothing.
This would have been Wilder’s fate if Orion hadn’t found him, and maybe that’s why his leg gave out as he tried to stand, sending him to one knee in the snow.
The wound was bleeding freely now, soaking through his pants and leaving dark spots in the white around him.
Jenni’s warnings echoed in his head. Aw, shoot—but he was too far to turn back.
The lights of the sled illuminated deep indents. Rome had taken a different route back. One that bypassed the main road and headed cross-country toward a cluster of lights in the distance.
A building. Maybe a house. Definitely shelter. Shoot, he’d turned desperate again.
See, that’s what happened when he let his emotions take over. And now he’d flung himself so far from common sense, from logic, that he hadn’t a clue how to find his way home. And he was running out of gas.
Maybe it was better for everyone if he just disappeared into the wind.
Maybe. But he couldn’t tear his gaze off the lights in the distance, glowing through the storm.
It had to be a cabin. And a barn, or outbuilding—something substantial enough to have generator power. Wait—he recognized Anuk’s vet clinic.
Thank you, God. Although honestly, Wilder wasn’t sure the Almighty listened to him anymore. Still.
By the time he reached the building, his vision blurred dark around the edges. From blood loss, hypothermia, or both. He pulled up in front of the cabin, the lights pushing out into the gloom.
He fell off the snow machine and stumbled toward the front porch, his wounded leg dragging behind him. “Anuk!”
The lights promised heat and safety and please, please, let Anuk and her husband be home.
Or at least someone who might find his body before the dogs did.
And wasn’t that a happy thought.
He made it three steps up the porch before his leg gave out. The pain shot through him, a white-hot spike that drove him to his knees. He fell onto the snowy porch, the wind casting bullets into him.
This was how it ended. Not in a gunfight with the Sorros family or a plane crash into the wilderness, but alone in the snow.
Him ruing every decision he’d ever made.
He should be cold, but the numbness was spreading from his extremities inward, taking the pain with it.
Maybe this was better. Luna was safe. Vic was safe. He’d spent years running from death and dragging everyone he loved into danger. Maybe it was time to stop running.
Something warm pressed against his back. Fur. And then a huff as a large dog settled down beside him. Sharing body heat.
Wilder turned his head, expecting to see some stray or working dog seeking shelter. Instead, amber eyes looked back at him.
Rome. His thick coat was already dusted with white, but he showed no sign of moving.
“Good boy,” Wilder whispered.
Rome’s tail thumped once against the snowy porch. Then he settled his head on his paws and kept watch while the wind howled and Wilder lay on the porch.
The dog’s warmth might not be enough to save him, but it would make the end less lonely.