worse—investments in bad economic times. Or how that affected a recent relationship she had briefly and painfully thought to be true love.
Nor would she mention her last job writing incisive articles on people, not animals—sometimes amounting to near sensationalism. That was in the past.
“A job as a staff writer for Alaskan Nature Magazine is a dream come true,” she finished. “There’s no place else in the U.S. with so much unique wildlife in an unexplored and pristine habitat. And how about you? How did you decide to work on a dogsled ranch?”
His turn to break the silence.
“I needed a different direction for my life, and Alaska seemed like a good place to start.”
She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. All she heard was the sound of their footsteps crunching on the salt strewn on the sidewalks to melt ice. Their way along the town’s main street, Tagoga Avenue, was illuminated by the occasional streetlight as they walked by closed businesses that sold everything from the heavy clothing needed for the upcoming winter, to hunting gear—which made Mariah shiver. She was not a vegetarian, but her love of wildlife caused her to cringe at the thought of killing the beautiful and majestic creatures in Alaska’s wilderness. As a resident of this glorious state, though, she had come to terms with it, as long as hunting was done for food and not simply for trophies or fur. And the culling of predatory animals like wolves to protect game, like caribou—not something she could buy into.
The silence grew uncomfortable again. Mariah wondered why Patrick wasn’t saying more about his background, especially after all she had spewed out to him about herself.
Was he hiding something?
She was a magazine writer, not an investigative journalist—or even a paparazzo—now, but she still enjoyed tossing controversy into her stories where appropriate. She reveled in her curiosity and cultivated the knack of prying out of people details of their interest in, and treatment of, wildlife—good and bad.
She wasn’t about to allow Patrick to get away with his reticence.
“So what did you do before that required a change?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“This and that.” Hearing amusement in his voice, she looked up to find him smiling at her. And what a smile. Despite the wary ruefulness she read in it and his body language—hands stuffed stiffly into the pockets at the side of his rustic jacket—the guy was gorgeous. Sexy. Intriguing.
She wanted to know more. A lot more.
But they had just turned the corner onto Kaley Street. Her B and B was on this block, and Patrick apparently knew that. He picked up his pace.
“What this and what that?” She tried to make her demand sound like idle chitchat, but she wanted answers.
“Isn’t this where you’re staying?” Patrick had stopped in front of a three-story redbrick building that was, in fact, Mariah’s B and B—Inez’s Inn. A bright yellow light illuminated the large, closed white door with a stylized, smiling moose face hung at the top.
“Well, yes,” she said. “But I’d really like to know—”
Before she could insist any further, he leaned down. Grasped her arms.
And lowered his face toward hers.
Quite unexpectedly, the thought that crossed her mind earlier, sharing his warmth, turned into reality as he melded his body against hers. He covered her lips with his, expertly insisting on her kissing him back. His kiss was fiery in the briskness of the surrounding air, his tongue searching, suggestive of even more sensual delights.
She shivered, leaning against him, her body suddenly and sensitively primed for more.
A sound of voices erupted from inside the building, and in moments Patrick stood several feet away. He looked bemused, then another expression—anger?—washed over his face.
He looked into her eyes almost challengingly. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Garver.”
He strode away into the night as the door opened behind her.
It was ten o’clock the next morning. The time Mariah Garver was scheduled to appear at Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.
Toby Dawes was off to his meeting in Nome. Wes was out with the tour group. Most of the ranch’s other employees were also already hosting tourists, except for Shaun.
Patrick stood inside the main house, keeping an eye on the antics of the dogs in the fenced-in area below, including his own dog, Duke.
Mostly, he watched the driveway, certain Mariah wouldn’t appear. He hoped fervently that he’d chased her away with that kiss last night, not that it had been his intention at the time.
At this point, he wasn’t sure what he had intended. Oh, sure, he’d wanted to keep her from asking more questions about his background. He had a cover story, of course—one that Shaun and he had developed, with input from others on Alpha Force. Wes Dawes, with his military background, knew one version—some unspecified covert assignment. But the rest of the world was to be fed quite a different story.
One Patrick feared that inquisitive Mariah might see right through.
But, hell, he couldn’t change it. It was the background Toby knew. So did other ranch employees. If necessary, he would feed it to Mariah, too, then shut up about it. Let her wonder without being sure.
Better yet, he wouldn’t have to see her again, ever, if she didn’t come for her sled ride. Although … some part of him didn’t like that idea, either. He was attracted to her. Had been even before that spontaneous kiss. And after? Hell, he wanted her. All of her. In bed, where they would create their own uninhibited heat in a fiery bout of mind-blowing sex, and—
Dream on, Worley. That was one bad idea. First and foremost, Mariah was a nosy writer. One who was into wildlife. If she ever learned just how close he was to nature, his secret would be out. Worse, so would Alpha Force’s secrets.
That could not happen.
Patrick glanced at the waterproof watch on his wrist. Ten-fifteen. Good. Maybe she actually had decided to stay far away. He’d wait another couple of minutes, then go back to the building where the ranch hands had tiny apartments, check on Shaun and his online research, and—
An SUV pulled in at the bottom of the driveway. The one he had seen here yesterday. Mariah’s.
Damn. Time for the show to begin.
But first he’d have to erase the big, inappropriate grin from his face.
So far, the outing hadn’t been too awkward, Mariah thought with relief as Patrick showed her how to sit on the sled to which he had already harnessed the team of dogs—nine, all unique-looking Alaskan huskies, which he had explained were a combination of diverse breeds, chosen more for their intelligence and performance than their bloodlines.
After a restless night, with that kiss replaying over and over in her mind, she had considered postponing her ride to another day—like the fifteenth of never.
But she was here to research her article. She could ignore her discomfort in Patrick’s
