Authors: Kimberly,Kayla Woodhouse
How appropriate. The chill in the air matched the one in her heart.
For thirteen years she’d raised her daughter, Zoya. For thirteen years she’d raced her heart out over the snow and built her kennel up to the prestige it held today. For thirteen years . . .
She’d been alone.
If only Dan—
Her braid whipped against her face as she shook her head. Cut it out. World Championships were tomorrow. And she’d keep her thoughts on that if it killed her.
Every major championship the past five years had her name at the top. She owned this race. She owned a good and decent legacy to pass down to her daughter.
Rubbing the heads of her dogs as she passed each one, Anesia visualized the race. The snow. Her dogs. The sled. When she closed her eyes, she could feel the wind freezing her face as the dogs flew over the snow. She could hear them yip and yap and feel the runners under her feet. She lived and breathed racing. Other than Zoya, it was the one thing that made her feel alive.
Anesia popped another Atomic Fireball into her mouth and checked the gear for tomorrow. The hot and spicy cinnamon burned her tongue. Over the years she’d tried to break the habit of sucking on the red jawbreakers as she raced. Far too often she almost choked on one when her sled hit a bump. Or when one of the curves jolted her. Then there was the time her best friend’s husband, Marc, threatened to take a picture and send it to the paper.
But she wouldn’t give them up. The spicy balls of fire were her good luck charm.
The press loved the shot Marc took of her flying down the trail on her sled. Her dogs all appeared to be in midair, her hood and hair whipped back by the wind. An exultant expression filled her face.
And red drool streaked down her chin from both corners of her mouth.
The shot ran on the front page. In full color. Marc and Jenna never let her live it down, and yet she continued the crazy ritual.
Marc and Jenna. How many times had Anesia longed for that same kind of love? Even felt jealousy over the relationship they shared?
Guilt flooded her heart as she pictured Jenna.
Alone.
Marc died almost a year ago.
Anesia wanted to be there for Jenna. She did. But her heart often betrayed her and still longed for a companion—a husband—of her own.
A tidal wave of loneliness washed over her. Might as well be honest with herself. She longed to be loved again. Longed to find someone special.
A sharp, stabbing pain to her midsection made her catch her breath. She pushed it, and her morose thoughts, away. She had no right to feel sorry for herself. She had Zoya. Her beautiful, bright daughter.
She had her kennel. And all her dogs.
She had Jenna and her daughter, Andie.
The ache intensified. Maybe she’d pushed too hard. She must be tired.
Needed to focus.
Win the race.
Then she’d take a break.
She and Zoya could take some time off from home school and enjoy the spring. Besides, Andie’s one-year anniversary of her brain surgery was coming up. As soon as the Tikaani-Grays returned from the one-year checkup with the neurosurgeon, they’d celebrate. Maybe planning would help take her mind off the conflict and desire churning inside her.
She nodded to confirm her decision. No more selfish thoughts. Zoya needed her. Her dogs needed her. Jenna and Andie needed her.
Her life was full.
And it was going great. No time for loneliness. Besides, she’d made a vow. Never, ever repeating past mistakes.
Squashing down the yearning inside, she gathered a few dogs in her arms and closed her eyes again. Pictured herself racing tomorrow . . .
Cheers from fans cascade over her like a warm blanket as she passes the marker at the mid-way turnaround and her body turns with the sled . . . The race passes by in a blur . . . A smile splits her lips as she crosses the finish line and raises her fist in the air in answer to the roaring crowd. Once again the champion.
And desperately alone.
CHAPTER ONE
ZOYA
Ten Months Later
January 2
Outside North Pole, Alaska
1:12 p.m.
Trees and the soft blanket of pure white snow zoomed past. I took a deep breath and caught the smell of fresh forest wilderness. The trees, the snow, the breeze.
Everything seemed so . . . perfect. As always.
The Painkiller Litter ran with everything in them. We flew down the trail. I could hear the harnesses rattle, the dogs panting, birds chirping.
I smiled. My sled slithered and slid across the pristine paleness, my hands gripping the fiberglass handle.
Out here I was free. Free from school, free from anything that stressed me. In this beautiful escape I was free to fly. Fly like the wind, and not worry about anything.
Thank You, God
. I smiled and giggled at the dogs’ antics. Silly
łic’ae.
“Stop clowning around or you’ll get tangled.”
Morphine looked back at me, mischief in his eyes.
I rotated my shoulders.
Sore. How could I be sore when the Junior Championships were still weeks away?
Would we win?
Just thinking about the upcoming events sent a thrilled shiver down my spine. Yes, we would. Mom was a champion. Dad was a champion. I would be a champion. The dogs were champs already. Everybody knew we could do it.
Newspaper articles and TV interviews flashed in my mind . . .
“Thirteen-year-old, Zoya Naltsiine, wins Junior North American Championships . . .”
“Thirteen-year-old, Zoya Naltsiine, wins Junior World Championships . . .”
What would the reporters say then? And all those people who gossiped about Mom and Dad? Who disapproved of them?
Like the terrain flying passed, my imagination went wild. I could see myself racing across the professional trails that only the best of the best got to traverse. I could feel the excitement of finally winning the race I’d always dreamed of winning. I could almost hear the cheers as I won . . .
First place.
The dogs whined, bringing my attention back to the present. Ibuprofen and Aspirin panted. Morphine barked. We approached a clearing. My eyes widened.
BANG!
The sound echoed through the trees. Slow-motion pictures sailed by . . .
An old man fell to the ground. His head surrounded by a pool of blood.
Three men turned to me. One of them grabbed something out of the victim’s pocket. Another reached for a gun. Pointed it at me.
Another gunshot.
Sharp pain shot through my neck and up into my head. I gasped and grabbed my shoulder, holding back a scream. “
All right!
” My command sent the dogs into full-speed. They barked and growled, looking over their shoulders.
“Morphine, RUN!” I blinked. Fog closed in. No . . . Unconsciousness? “All right!
All right!”
I turned to face the front of the sled. I could hear the men shouting behind me.
The dogs gained speed.
I grasped the sled handle and steadied my weight onto one of the runners, kicking the snow behind with one foot. We couldn’t go fast enough.
The fog lifted. Then returned.
Pain. As if a thousand arrows had been stabbed into my neck, shoulder, back . . .
Blurry shapes . . .
I blinked. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
God, help us!
Another bullet
zinged
passed.
I screamed and ducked. Then everything from my neck down my spine went numb. I winced and tried to stay upright.
We rounded a corner. Keep going, keep going! Oh, please, keep going!
I sucked in short gasps. Air . . . the pain . . . My eyes squeezed shut.
Don’t pass out!
Adrenaline pumped throughout my veins. Dizziness took over.
No! I couldn’t pass out. Needed to keep going. My heart beat faster. Faster. Faster. I thought it might explode.
I needed to keep going . . .
Reality wasn’t listening.
Zoya, stay focused!
We rounded another corner. Then another. Then another.
Had we lost them?
My knees almost gave out. I straightened my elbows, trying to hold myself up. “Whoa!”
The Painkiller Litter stopped. Glanced back at me as if I were crazy.
My entire body shook. Fuzzy, spinning images floated around me. I staggered over to the front of the sled and fell. Morphine whined and walked over to me. Licked my face.
Would those men come after me? Could I get to safety before they caught up?
Spots danced in front of me. Trees swirled above. The cold wind filled my lungs.
The scene replayed . . .
An old man fell to the ground. His head surrounded by a pool of blood.
Three men turned to me. One grabbed something out of the victim’s pocket.
Another reached for a gun. Pointed it at me . . .
My eyes popped open. Blue sky, white fluffy clouds . . .
The blood sliding down my shoulder and the thumping of my pulse made me sit up with determination.
I blinked. Stood.
We had to get out.
Now.
ANESIA
January 2
Naltsiine Kennels
North Pole, Alaska
1:56 p.m.
Dog feces flew through the air as Anesia cleaned the kennel and prepared it for fresh straw. Dozens of champion sprint racers sure could make a mess.
Not that she was much better. Why did she want to go and mess up her life?
Because she was lonely. That’s why.
Watching Jenna and Cole the past few months had fanned the loneliness embers inside her into flames. Her best friends loved her. She knew that. They wanted what was best for her. She knew that too. But did they know how much the ache inside grew every time she saw them together?
Man, she was a bad friend. She should be rejoicing in the fact that Jenna had found love again after Marc’s murder. So how was she supposed to know it would open old wounds and make her desire someone for herself?
Anesia thrust the shovel into another snow-crusted pile of poo. On a normal day she loved mucking the kennel. Hard labor invigorated her. Today?
It gave her too much time to think.
Jenna’s words after church yesterday forced their way into the forefront of her mind. “Anesia, you are amazing. You deserve to be loved. Why won’t you even give yourself the chance?”
Sure, Jenna meant well. But Anesia couldn’t help it. She’d bristled. Crossed her arms over her chest. But Jenna wasn’t deterred. She just stuck her finger in Anesia’s frowning face.
“I’m not saying you’re not independent and fully capable of taking care of yourself, so don’t go getting yourself riled up. But you know as well as I do that Zoya could use a dad. And you could use someone to walk this journey of life with you. You have a beautiful heart. Now open it up.”
Mint and Basil from the Herb Litter nosed up to her leg and cocked their heads. Could her dogs be in on the conspiracy as well?
Her laughter filled the frozen air as she loved on the dogs. Funny, how open and loving she was with them. Why couldn’t she be like that with people?
God, could You please help me? I want to be open to loving someone again, but I don’t want to mess up. Like the last time . . .
Even so she couldn’t stop the longing. So. Time to face the music. It scared her spitless. No doubt about it.
Maybe she should spill her guts to Jenna and get it all out in the open. There’d be no turning back once her best friend heard the words from her lips. That was the best part of their friendship—accountability. They’d promised each other decades ago that they’d hold each other’s toes to the fire.
Decision made, Anesia put her tools away and pulled a small bag of smoked and dried salmon from her pocket. Popping a few strips of the
natsagga
into her mouth, she savored the flavor and headed to the house.
She rehearsed her words for Jenna as she walked—
“Anesia!” Beth, one of her employees, ran toward her from the house. “Anesia! The hospital is on the phone.”
The urgency in Beth’s voice and her complete abandon of coat and shoes set Anesia’s pulse racing. Could something have happened to Jenna and Andie again?
Oh God, please no
!
Her heart raced in rhythm to her feet as she barreled into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. “Hello? This is Anesia Naltsiine.”
“Ms. Naltsiine, we need you to come to the emergency room as quickly as possible—”
“What’s happened?”
“Ms. Naltsiine, your daughter, Zoya, is being treated. It isn’t life-threatening, but she’s been shot . . .”
The woman’s words slurred into random noise in her ear. Zoya? Shot? How could this happen? Anesia’s knees collapsed and she sank to the floor. Her baby—
“Ms. Naltsiine? Ms. Naltsiine? Are you there?”
The voice brought her attention back to the phone in her hands. “Yes, yes, I’m here. Is she okay? Who shot her?”
“I don’t know the details, it was relayed to me that her injuries are not life-threatening. Ma’am, how soon can you be here? Your daughter is asking for you.”
She grabbed the counter, pulled herself up, and stiffened her spine. Zoya needed her. “I’m on my way.”
COLE
January 2
North Pole, Alaska
2:23 p.m.
Cole Maddox swiped chocolate chips from the bag on the counter as his stepdaughter, Andie Tikaani-Gray, stirred cookie dough.
Without blinking an eye, she swatted him with the wooden spoon. “No cookies for you, Cole, unless you stop stealing all the chocolate.” She turned to him, wiping her other hand on her apron and planted her feet in a fencing position. “
En garde!
” The spoon slashed through the air.
“So that’s how it’s going to be!” He shot her his best scowl.
“You don’t fool me, Echo.”
He grinned. The kid loved using the nickname she’d given him when they were trapped on the side of Sultana.
He loved it too.
With lightning reflexes, he reached for a spatula. “You ready to get trounced again?”
“Not a chance, old man. You’re losing your touch.” She smacked the back of his hand with the spoon. “See?” She hopped around the kitchen wielding the spoon like a sword. “Gotcha again.”