and tending to the dogs. He’d bumped into her more than he cared for.
Kat chuckled. “Tazer has a way with pinning unlike any other.”
Tazer’s brows rose. “Tell Kat to keep her eye on the trail and a hand on her gun, just to be safe.” Then she turned toward Paul. “Got room for me up there? It’s getting damn cold out here.”
Paul scooted over, easing his ankle out of the door frame.
Tazer climbed into the truck next to Paul and smiled. “Don’t break her heart, will ya?”
Sam frowned. “Who?”
Paul chuckled from the interior of the truck. “Buddy, you’ve been out in the woods too long.” His smile faded. “Take care out there.”
Other teams were arriving, heralded by the barking of sixty dogs.
“The team’s all set.” Vic clapped a hand to Sam’s back. “Better get going if you want to make use of the remaining daylight.”
Sam pulled the scarf up over his mouth and nodded to Paul, Vic and Tazer before he stepped on the sled, pulled up the snow hook and yelled, “Let’s go!”
KAT HAD A HARD TIME slowing the team. They were trained to race, to go for as long and as hard as they could before they needed rest. Stopping every hour to waste fifteen minutes made the lead dogs nervous and the rest of the team impatient. Already, several teams passed her. Her team howled in protest when she applied the brake and snow hook.
As much as Paul wanted her to win this race, she couldn’t go off without Sam. He was the only reason she’d agreed to the race in the first place.
Now that she was out on the snow, a world away from the hustle and crowds of D.C., she was glad she’d agreed. She couldn’t ask for a better place to think, unimpeded by the well-meaning S.O.S. team or her family back at the house. Royce had told her to get away from it all. Hell, he’d practically kicked her out of the office, insisting she needed the downtime. Nothing like being on the last frontier to get away from it all.
With the cold wind in her face, making ice crystals form in her eyelashes, and the soft sound of the runners skimming across the crusty snow, she relaxed.
“Is this thing still working?”
Sam’s clear crisp voice in Kat’s ear jolted her back to reality. A muffled tapping sound beat against her eardrum.
Kat winced. “I can hear you. Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Then it works.” She could picture him frowning, and fiddling with the equipment, his gloved hands too bulky to be of much use with the small radio-transmitting device.
“Where’d they put the damn Off switch?” he asked.
“There’s a tiny switch on the piece that fits in the ear, but since we’ve got these things, we might as well use them.”
“Feels funny having a woman in my head.”
Kat chuckled. “No funnier than having a man in mine.”
“Just to set the record straight, I don’t need your protection for this race. If anything, I’m out here as your protection.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” Most men resisted having a woman provide protection of any kind—as if they conceded to being less of a man if they had a woman running interference.
“We don’t know that the accident was anything more than a onetime deal,” Sam continued.
“No, we don’t,” she answered smoothly, but Kat knew better. After inspecting the sled herself, she knew the damage had been deliberate. Question was, whose sled had the saboteur intended?
Sam sighed softly in her ear. “I don’t know about you, but I’m out here to win this race.”
Kat smiled behind the heavy wool neck scarf. “Sure you are. Like all the other sixty-six entrants and me.”
“That’s right.” He paused. “So look out, it won’t be long before you’re eating my dust.”
“Snow.” Kat couldn’t help correcting him. He needed it. The man was too independent. A lot like Marty. Determined to make it on his own and damn anyone who got in the way. That was one of the characteristics Kat had loved about Marty.
“Snow?”
“Eating my snow. We hope there’s not much dust at this time of year.”
Sam laughed in her ear, the sound warming Kat from the inside out. “Are you always this disagreeable?”
“Only when I’m confronted by a disagreeable man.”
“Point taken,” he conceded.
“I thought you didn’t like talking into these things.”
“I don’t.”
“Then shut up and get moving.”
His gentle snort was the last sound he made for a while.
When Kat realized she was still grinning, her lips turned downward. Where had that lighthearted feeling come from? And had she just been flirting with the man?
Sam was all right. For a transplant from Virginia, he seemed to understand the nature, care and feeding of the animals. And the dogs liked him.
Even Loki treated him like a member of the pack and Loki was a better judge of human character than most people. If Loki liked you, most likely, you were a good person. Not that Kat formed her impressions of strangers on the recommendation of a dog. Sam might have proven himself in the kennels, but would he have the stamina and drive to complete the eleven-hundred-mile race?
No matter whether he did or not, Kat planned to. Not so much to win as to prove to herself she still had it in her. She might have left Alaska for a few years, but the blood running through her veins was still ninety percent melted tundra snow.
Over the next hour of silence, the only sounds coming over the radio were the occasional commands Sam gave his team.
As she neared a good resting point, Kat asked, “Where are you?”
“Passed the Nome sign a few miles back.”
The famous Nome sign indicated only another one thousand forty-nine miles to go to the finish line. Kat’s breath always caught in her throat when her sled moved past the sign. Knowing she had so many more miles to go could be overwhelming, but not insurmountable. “You should be nearing Fish Creek. Watch out for the fifty-foot drop into the ravine. I almost spilled there. How are you holding up?” She didn’t know Sam or his abilities as a musher. He appeared to be in good condition and probably was from all the tromping around retrieving soil and mineral samples or whatever he did as a geologist.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m the one who’s been training for this event.”
She chuckled. “Think I’m not up to it?”
He paused before answering. “If the snowshoe fits…”
“I have to admit, the cold is a little more than I’m used to, but I’ll be fine after a couple days.” Physically, she’d never been in better shape. After Marty’s death, she’d poured herself into exercise and fitness. If not for any other reason than to eat up time between missions.
Lonely, empty time.
When friends, like Tazer, tried to include her in outings, trips or movies, she’d declined, retreating into her own world, preferring to handle her loss alone.
Kat removed one gloved hand from the handlebar and flexed her fingers. She’d been on the trail for four hours, the dogs were still full of energy and running, but they needed regular rest stops and snacks to keep up the pace.
Crisscrossed by snowmobile tracks, the trail opened onto a wide frozen swamp packed