Page 12 of One Last Storm
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.
