Alaskan Wolf. Linda O. Johnston
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turned onto the main road. “I’ll let Toby know you’re interested in another expedition and have him line up someone to take you.”
Mariah felt incongruously hurt that he didn’t offer to take her himself. “Thanks.” She remained silent for most of the ride back to the ranch, except to call to the dogs and thank them, too. And to insist that Patrick stop when she spotted a moose in the woods beside the road that she wanted to photograph.
They soon arrived at their starting point. Wes Dawes was outside with some other dogs, his sledding that day apparently over. Mariah popped out of the van as soon as it stopped, though Patrick came toward her side to help her out.
“Thank you,” she said again, looking into those hot light brown eyes with their unfathomable expression. “See you around.”
Did a hint of sorrow at her brush-off momentarily cross his face? No, she was just projecting. She turned, arranged her tote bag on her shoulder, and crunched her way over the driveway to say hi to Wes.
That evening, Patrick invited Wes and Shaun to join him in town for a drink. Toby, too. He had already returned from his meeting in Nome. He had flown there and back in a small, private plane—a major way of getting around in Alaska, where towns were spaced so far apart.
They drove in separate vehicles. Shaun had told Patrick that his online research on backgrounds of glaciers, and investigations of them by some scientists who had previously visited Tagoga or who were now in town, seemed to be yielding interesting results. Very interesting, in fact, but he refused to elaborate until he had followed some threads to their ends. He wanted to return to his research as soon as possible, since he would have little time with it the next day, when he was scheduled to take some tourists on a sled.
Plus, they had already decided that Patrick would spend the next evening on the glaciers in wolf form. His daytime visits as a musher hadn’t yielded much information so far. Shaun would need to be there as his backup.
They wound up at Fiske’s Hangout, supposedly the best place in town for a drink and dinner despite the existence of similar nearby bars.
But Patrick wasn’t really fooling himself. He hoped that Emil Charteris would be there for him to try to question again. But mostly, he hoped that Mariah would be there talking with Emil. Or even on her own.
When he spotted her, his insides leaped. She wasn’t with Emil, though, but hanging out with another scientist Patrick had met before, one only too happy to share the fruit of his investigations—not that Patrick could rely on them. Flynn Shulster seemed more of a pseudo-scientist than a real one. His television show on the Science Channel featured all kinds of unusual nature events.
Patrick wondered if Mariah’s articles were ever similar to Shulster’s Alaskan tales. He wanted to read one. More likely, they were not like Shulster’s at all. From her attitude, he had a sense that Mariah would go out of her way to ensure accuracy in her articles, but Shulster seemed all about sensationalism.
Which was undoubtedly why he was here looking into the untimely retreat of the glaciers.
Since that was why Patrick was here, too, he led his group toward the area of the ornate bar where Shulster held court, Mariah sitting next to him.
“Hi, mushers,” Shulster called over the piano music when he spotted them. He had obviously been drinking. He was dressed in a snazzy blue-and-black sweater over snug black slacks. Patrick supposed he was decent-looking, in a show-biz kind of way, with his light brown hair short and styled, his face bright-eyed and smiling. Which was what he was: more appearance than substance. “You didn’t bring your dogs.”
“I suspect Thea Fiske wouldn’t be too happy if I did,” Patrick responded.
Shulster returned to the tale he had been spinning to his rapt audience of local drinkers and tourists, all about his experiences in the Himalayas looking for yetis. Nothing about his examination of the local glaciers, though. So nothing interesting to Patrick.
He edged over to Mariah. “Hi,” he said in a low voice.
“Hello, Patrick.” Her tone sounded welcoming—a surprise, considering the less than amiable way they had parted earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.” He heard the drollness in her voice and smiled.
“I could say the same. Have you eaten yet?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. Was he going to invite her to join them, like he wanted to turn this chance—well, not so chance—meeting into a date?
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I stuck around because I’m interested in hearing what Flynn has to say.”
So was Patrick, eventually, after he’d eaten a barbecue sandwich and drunk a couple of beers with Shaun and the Daweses. Shaun headed off to talk to some other bar patrons as Shulster started describing what he had seen so far on the local glaciers.
Which meant Patrick had to hang out longer as the conversation segued into discussions of what others had seen and experienced. He stayed when the Daweses left because Toby was exhausted after his day traveling to Nome and back—and when Shaun excused himself, to resume his online research.
And when Flynn Shulster left, as well as some of the waitstaff and even the piano player. Patrick told himself he was staying to listen to other patrons’ tales of glacier experiences. Some stories weren’t as interesting as he had hoped. The bar customers, in various states of inebriation, seemed to want to outdo one another in their descriptions—not only of the calving, but of things they had seen regarding the effects on wildlife—and were urged to focus on the facts by Mariah.
But when Mariah decided it was time to leave, though the place was still far from empty, Patrick figured he’d heard enough, too.
Outside in the cold, Mariah turned to him. “Are you walking me back to my B and B tonight?” It sounded like a challenge, not a request, and the look she turned on him with her glowing blue eyes appeared anything but welcoming.
“Sure,” he said. “Just want to make certain you arrive safely. With all those guys having a good time in there, you never know when one’ll try to follow you home.”
“Like you.” She smiled briefly and started walking in the direction of her inn. “So, are you going to tell me more about your background tonight—stuff you wouldn’t talk about yesterday?”
“No,” he said.
“I’m going to keep asking.”
“And I’m going to keep avoiding the question.”
She laughed. “I figured.” Instead of pressing him, she asked more detailed questions about things they had seen on the glaciers that day, and the care and training of sled dogs.
When they reached her B and B, Patrick hesitated. Lord, how he wanted to grab her and kiss her again. Turn it into a habit.
But that made no sense, given this woman’s professional curiosity and his need for secrecy.
“See you around,” he said.
Which was when she grabbed his arm, reached up to pull his head down, and planted one hell of a quick but sexy kiss on his lips. And then she disappeared inside the inn.
Patrick had driven to town in the sedan the military had supplied him with. He took the roads back to the dogsled ranch as fast as possible without killing himself or anyone else.
Why had he decided, in some split second of chivalry and self-preservation, not to kiss Mariah?
And why had she kissed him anyway?
The touch of her lips had driven him nearly wild. Her scent intoxicated him more than all the beer he had drunk in Alaska. He felt as if he had engulfed a small swallow of the elixir that allowed him to turn wolfen on demand, had turned instantly into the wild animal within him.
Had wanted to claim her, take her to a secluded place and make love to her all night.
It was a good thing she had fled inside—wasn’t it?
Somehow,