never heard from him again,” Anya said tersely. She left out the part about the local media questioning her about Speed’s comments and the Yukon Reporter article that had called her Speed’s “broken-hearted hometown honey.” Clementine knew enough now to get the picture. “And that’s why I don’t date. Anyone. Most especially a hotshot like Brock Parker.”
“Well, I for one hope you give the lessons with Brock another chance.” Sue gave her shoulder a pat before rising and heading to help one of the knitters who seemed to be having trouble casting off.
“Me too.” Clementine nodded. “I’m sure he can help Dolce. There has to be a method to his madness.”
A method to his madness.
Anya turned the phrase over in her mind. He was mad all right. She just hoped there was a method involved. That’s what really mattered, not his looks.
The fact that those chiseled features of his made her stomach flip was an inconvenience she’d have to grow accustomed to.
That’s all.
* * *
Brock was forced to trudge through what he estimated to be two and a half feet of snow to get to his truck. He’d shoveled the sidewalk from his front door to the driveway late the night before, but by morning it was once again indistinguishable. Nothing but snow stretched out before him—an unspoiled blanket of white glittering in the morning sunshine.
Welcome to Alaska, he thought as he cranked the truck engine to life.
There was a time when Brock would have found it beautiful, before snow had become an enemy to be conquered. Sometimes he had to struggle to remember how it had felt back then—building a snowman on the first day of winter, snowball fights that left his fingers prickly and numb, sledding down the hill behind his elementary school, shouting out to his brother to be careful of the trees. His memories of childhood snow days were so tangled up with his memories of Drew that it was hard to separate them. Then Drew had disappeared. Taken right from his bedroom window, according to the police. The snow had kept on falling and, inch by inch, swallowed up any evidence that could lead to Drew’s whereabouts.
They’d never found Drew, never found who’d taken him. Unable to concentrate his rage and confusion onto an actual person, Brock had instead focused it all on the snow. He supposed in a way, he still did.
He maneuvered his truck through what passed for downtown in Aurora. Nestled between a lake—frozen completely over at the moment, of course—and the foot of the Chugach Mountain range, the hub of the small town appeared to be the Northern Lights Inn. Judging from the staggering number of cars in the parking lot, it was Aurora’s hotspot. This struck Brock as odd, considering the ski area boasted its own chalet-type quarters, complete with gingerbread trim and old-world, fairytale charm. He narrowed his gaze at the ordinary-looking hotel, wondering what the draw could possibly be, and turned onto the road leading to the tiny log cabin that served as the Ski Patrol headquarters.
The three full-time members of the Aurora Ski Patrol Unit were already waiting for him when he arrived. They sat around a sturdy wood table that was loaded down with bagels and coffee, grinning at him as if he were the answer to all the town’s prayers. Which he probably was.
Brock had never felt comfortable being the object of adoration. And no matter how many finds, no matter how large the number of people he’d saved, he still didn’t.
“Good morning,” he said and shifted from one booted foot to the other.
“Mr. Parker.” The man in the center rose. “I’m Cole Weston, senior member of the ski patrol. We’re delighted to have you. Welcome to Aurora.”
Brock nodded. He recognized Cole’s voice from their numerous telephone conversations. “Call me Brock. Please.”
“Of course.” Cole smiled and introduced him to the men on either side of him—Luke and Jackson, respectively. “Have a seat, please.”
Brock poured himself a cup of coffee and eyed it suspiciously before lowering himself into one of the chairs.
“So how do you like the snow?” Cole, unaware he’d asked a very loaded question, grinned and bobbed his head in the direction of the window where flurries swirled against the pane.
Brock blinked. How was he supposed to come up with an answer to that? He chose not to and took a sip of his coffee instead.
Not bad, he mused. Not bad at all.
Hands down, it was the best cup of coffee he’d had since leaving Seattle.
“So Brock, have you given much thought to what we discussed about making your position here in Aurora permanent?” Cole pushed the plate of bagels toward him.
Brock had to give him credit. Cole had certainly cut to the chase faster than most of the ski resorts where he’d done consultant work. Of those resorts, one hundred percent had offered him permanent positions at one time or another. They typically waited until they’d seen his work firsthand, though. Or at least until he’d finished his first cup of coffee.
“I have to be honest, Cole. Permanent relocation is not something I’m considering at this time.”
He swallowed, hoping his answer—which had been fine-tuned through years of practice—didn’t constitute a lie. Relocation implied that somewhere out there he had a permanent residence, which he most definitely didn’t. Brock didn’t do permanent.
“The offer still stands.” Cole’s gaze flitted briefly to Jackson and Luke, who both nodded their agreement. “We’re short-staffed here, and as you know, the mountains surrounding Aurora are made up of miles of avalanche terrain. We could really use your help. Permanently.”
There was that word again. Brock shrugged out of his parka. The small room was beginning to feel rather warm. “Don’t worry. I’ve brought with me two fine pups—Sherlock and Aspen—who are coming along nicely with their search and rescue training. They’ll both be staying here long term after I’ve gone. I’ll make sure everything is up and running before I leave. You have my promise on that.”
“Very well then.” Cole nodded grimly. He looked somewhat resigned, but not as much as Brock would have liked. Something told him he hadn’t heard the last of the offer.
Luke crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “How long do you estimate it will take to establish an avalanche rescue unit here before you go?”
“It depends. The dogs need a few months to become acclimated to the mountain, and the four of us will need to meet for training exercises daily. All in all, I’d guess you’ll be good to go in three or four months. Perhaps sooner.”
“Then it looks like we have three or four months to change your mind about staying.” Jackson reached for a bagel. “Once you’ve had a chance to familiarize yourself with the town, you might find that you like it here. Alaska is rather, ah, unique.”
“Yea, we’ve got our annual Reindeer Run coming up. That’s always a good time.” Luke grinned.
Don’t hold your breath.
Brock took another bite of his bagel to stop himself from saying it out loud. Aurora, Alaska, no matter how quaint or picturesque, surely couldn’t have more to offer than Banff, Canada, Mont-Tremblant, France,
