Free The Snowflake by Jamie Carie

team by seven o’clock.
    I would like to discuss your future plans so you can be moved from your present location. If I don’t see you in the morning, I will leave some money for you at the Bodega Hotel where I am staying. Just ask for it at the front desk. But I do hope to see you, Ellen. Please come.
    Yours,
    Buck
    I turned back toward Kate and Randy, both silent and staring, with the note clutched to my chest. He was leaving! And so soon! I took a long breath. “Thank you for bringing the note, Randy. If you see Buck, please tell him I will be there in the morning.”
    “Where are you going?” Kate looked alarmed.
    “I’m leaving in the morning. I have to see Buck, and then I will find another place to stay.”
    She started to speak, but I raised my hand. “Thank you for your care, Kate. I really do appreciate it, but it’s time.”
    Kate sniffed and I was surprised by how genuinely upset she looked as she rapidly blinked and pressed one hand against her chest. She sighed, though, and gave me a brief nod. “I suppose so.” She turned toward Randy and started to usher him from the room. “Well, get some sleep, my dear. It sounds as if you have a busy day ahead of you tomorrow.”
    I took a step forward and then another.
    She stopped and turned at the door. “Good night, Ellen.”
    I gave her a small smile. “Good-bye, Kate.”

Chapter Seven
    Seven o’clock. It was time.
    I ignored the curious glances of the townsfolk as I trudged through six inches of new snow down Front Street toward the warehouse on the white bank of the Yukon River. The cold and the miseries of the trail washed back over me as I sucked in the freezing air. How could Buck face going back out there? And alone this time? More important, was there any way to talk him out of it?
    The warehouse was easy to spot, painted a pale yellow and sitting beside a wharf full of ice-locked boats. There were hundreds of them in all shapes and sizes. My gaze scanned the homemade crafts as I walked up the cleared path to the door. Who were all these people? What were their lives like? What were their stories and what had brought them here?
    Making my way to the front door, I noted the deep snowdrift on either side and signs of Buck, the footprints I had followed and knew so well. A pang of longing stopped me, shocking in its intensity.
    I longed to see his face—sure, intense, and purpose filled. I longed to see his eyes and the way he looked at me as if we were the only two people on earth, as if no one mattered to him as much as I did. I longed for the current of understanding between us that was instant and as natural as breath. I longed to touch his hands and his face, feel the whiskers of his beard rub rough under my fingertips. Most of all, I longed to hear his voice telling me he would stay and that . . .
    I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
    It swung shut behind me leaving me in semidarkness. The place smelled of freshly sawed lumber and hay. Bales of livestock feed were stacked in rows to the ceiling against one wall. A light came from around a corner and a faint noise. I picked my way around piles of crates and various boxes, clumps of snow dripping from my moccasins and turning to slush around my feet. I came around the corner and saw him.
    Buck’s back was to me, and I watched, unnoticed, as he sorted the packs from one of the dogsleds. He stacked them in a pile and anything belonging to him—his pack, sleeping furs, tarp, dog harnesses—in another pile.
    I held my breath as he lifted my pack. He held it for a long moment, leaning his head over it, appearing to be weighing a decision. His neck and shoulders stiffened, and he sighed before he set it down with aching slowness on the ground, away from his pile but not quite in the other pile either.
    Tears stung my eyes. “I wish I could go with you, Buck.”
    He turned toward me, a startled movement of his head and shoulders. “Ellen.” His voice was colored with surprise and