Page 19 of One Last Storm
The place was nestled amongst the evergreen, under the swirl of a blizzard like a scene from a Christmas card. Fifteen wooden cabins clustered around a central building, peaked roofs heavy with snow that caught the aurora borealis dancing overhead. Green and silver light rippled across the midnight sky. Wood smoke curled from stone chimneys, golden light spilling from frost-etched windows.
Warmth. Safety.
“Daddy, look! Packages!” A little girl bounced on the nearest porch, dark braids flying as she pointed mittened hands at the sled teams.
Sweet.
Everest Matthews and Wilder Frost called commands to their lead dogs as they pulled into the village center. The men possessed a sort of authority in every word—decades of working with these magnificent animals. Moose and Axel sat ice-crusted and exhausted on the second sled.
The animals slowed, stopped, thick coats steaming in the arctic air.
London pushed herself up, trying to untangle herself from the sled’s layers, muscles screaming protest after hours of gripping handholds. Snow crunched under her boots. She pulled down her face mask, drew her first still breath since leaving the Matthews homestead.
“Welcome!” A woman emerged from the community building. Silver-streaked hair, face lined by Alaska winters, eyes warm despite the cold, she wore a heavy leather coat, pulling up the hood against the wind’s howl. “Echo Kingson radioed and said you folks were coming through. I’m Mary Clearwater.” She reached out in a hug for London. “So thankful you made it.”
London stripped off outer gloves, revealing thin liners underneath. She worked her fingers, needles pressing into them as the blood flowed. “We’ve got Christmas packages for the village.”
“You are angels, all of you. Good, good people,” Mary said. “The storm had us worried, but Wilder knows these trails better than anyone.”
Shep and Axel were unloading packages from their sled.
“Shep, there’s a ham in the blue bag,” London called.
Shep brought it over to Mary and plunked into her arms.
“You’re angels, all of you,” Mary said. “We’re all a little tired of venison.”
Angels.
Right. But it felt good.
Moose delivered packages onto the deck of the central building. “You guys have a ham?”
“Yeah.” Another man had appeared, bundled up. “We’re still getting through to Copper Mountain and the area.” He held out a hand to Moose. “Elton Clearwater.”
Moose shook it and London headed back to her sled for another load.
She delivered the bag of smaller gifts to the porch where a few more men had arrived to carry them inside.
Moose had gone inside, too.
Something seemed to be eating him. She glanced at Shep, carrying in the last package. Maybe he’d finally talked to their boss.
Who might be taking it hard.
“Where do we house the dogs?” Shep appeared beside them, face red from cold. He clapped his hands, probably also trying to work the circulation back inside. But his blue eyes seemed bright, and he wore a smile. Mission accomplished—she read it in his expression. This was what he lived for.
And she was asking him to give it up.
“Barn’s set up for them,” said Elton and gestured toward a large wooden structure behind the community center. “Fresh straw, food, water. They’ve earned their rest.”
“I’ll help you get them settled.” London fell into step beside Shep who walked over to Wilder. The animals moved with tired grace, tails wagging as children ran alongside, chattering about the biggest dogs they’d ever seen.
Wilder directed them toward the barn, Everest behind them.
Warmth hit her as they entered the barn—the smell of the earth, dairy cows, goats, chickens and hay in troughs. A refuge that weirdly conjured up the manger story. As if, but still, inside here, the wind seemed shunted, a waystation of warmth in the midst of the storm.
Fresh straw plumped the stalls, prepared for the team. Metal bowls filled with water. Wilder show her how to remove the harnesses and she helped him as Everest worked with his dogs and Shep distributed kibble.
