Free Alaska Heart by Christine DePetrillo Page A

“So what’d you do today?”
    “Slept as I indicated I would.” The coy expression on his face hypnotized me. “Then Gypsy and I tended to all the other dogs.”
    “How many do you have?”
    “Eighteen.”
    “Holy shit. You have to take care of eighteen dogs every day?”
    “Yep. I like it though. They’re good dogs. They’re champions.”
    “Under your direction, of course.”
    “Of course.” Dale puffed out his chest in pride. Again, my gaze swooped to the contours of his chest. Couldn’t help but wonder what those muscles would feel like under my fingertips.
    “What else?” Had to stop fantasizing.
    “Repaired things around my house that I’d let go during race time. Small stuff. Busted gutter. Loose step on the porch. That sort of thing. Then Gypsy and I had books to return, which you already know. And now I’m here, where I’ve wanted to be since meeting you last night.” He paused to trace a finger across the back of my hand resting on the table. “What did you do today?”
    “Spent the whole day in the library. Got lost in many books. Took a few back to the hotel with me. Couldn’t resist.” I shrugged. “Made a sizable dent in the background info for my article.”
    “Ah, yes, your article. The ‘real’ reason you came to Alaska.” Dale winked at me.
    “It is the real reason.” I was prepared to launch into my I-don’t-make-illogical-decisions-to-visit-strangers-across-the-country speech, but Jerry came over with a pitcher and two glasses.
    “Dale said the lady fancies sangria?” Jerry set down the pitcher and poured the deep burgundy brew into the glasses.
    I took a sip. “Oh, Jerry. You’ve got the secret here.”
    “Glad you approve. Enjoy.” He abruptly slid off to a nearby table.
    “So, do you have a way with drinks or chicken?” I asked, taking another sip. “It seems to run in the family.”
    “I’ve been known to whip up something tasty now and again.” Dale held his glass to mine. I tapped mine to his as he said, “To face-to-face conversations.”
    “And to enjoying Alaska,” I added.
    “I’d like to help with that.” Dale drank and then set down his glass.
    “You already are.” I toyed with the end of my hair. Dale’s eyes shifted to my hand and then back to my face. He blinked slowly several times. Was he fantasizing too?
    “So you headed to Denali for this so-called story of yours?”
    “Yes, tomorrow actually.”
    “The best way to go to Denali is with someone who’s been going there for years, knows it like the back of his hand, and has a special access pass.”
    I grinned at his little plan. “And I suppose you know someone who fits that particular description?”
    “Mmm-hmm.” He angled his left hand at himself. “Let me take you, Alanna.”
    “You’ve already helped me land this opportunity with your responses to my questions. I’ve bothered you enough.” The prospect of going to Denali with him made my stomach flutter excitedly. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy after your win, not acting as tour guide to some New Yorker.”
    “First of all,” Dale began, “you’re not ‘some New Yorker.’ It’s silly, I know, but I feel as if know you from all the emails. As if we’re friends already.”
    “Agreed. This”—I gestured between the two of us—“is familiar.”
    He nodded. “Besides, I told you to come here because I was going to get bored resting, and I am. I want to show you Denali. Please?”
    I didn’t want to seem too eager to accept, too easily swayed by him. “What about your wrist? Shouldn’t you be lying low?”
    “It’s nothing.” He looked to the brace still covering his right hand and forearm. “It’s actually pissing me off. I made it past the finish line no problem, and then the right wheel dog jerked to the left when a photographer snapped a picture. The whole sled nearly went right over. Instead of hopping off like I was supposed to, I clamped onto the sled handle and got jerked to the left