Free Across a Thousand Miles by Nadia Nichols Page B

muffled, as if it was coming from inside a deep well. “I’d like to think you’re right, but I just don’t know. What I do know is that I have to pay her back what I owe her, and the sooner the better.”
    Rebecca could see Mac’s legs sticking out of the rear cockpit of the huge yellow Stearman. She could also see Sam standing near the top of the stepladder on the plane’s off side, but neither man had noticed her. “I’d like to start all over again without that big debt hanging over my head,” came Mac’s voice. “And who knows, maybe that won’t help. Maybe nothing will change her opinion of me. I seem to be in competition with a dead man and I’m losing. Do you have any idea what that does to a man’s ego?”
    Rebecca felt her face flush. She reached back, opened the door again and slammed it hard behind her.
    â€œSam? You in here?”
    â€œOver here, Rebecca,” came Sam’s slow, mellow voice.
    â€œEllin’s made a batch of her cinnamon rolls and she’s just taking them out of the oven.” Rebecca walked toward the old plane. She saw Mac’s legs writhe about wildly as he wriggled, twisted and levered his body out of the cockpit.
    Rebecca waited until he’d extricated himself and was sitting on the back of the pilot’s seat. “What are you doing in here?” she asked. “I should think you’d be out running your dogs. If you plan on entering the Quest, you’ll need to put at least another thousand miles on them. Better hop to it! Oh, and by the way, that was an interesting technique you employed yesterday coming down the Mazey Creek trail.”
    â€œYou liked that, did you?” Mac said.
    â€œThat was without a doubt the most spectacular crash I’ve ever witnessed,” Rebecca said. “And the most miraculous recovery, I might add.”
    â€œComing from you, I take that as high praise.”
    Rebecca nodded. Mac was dressed in dark-green wool army pants and a thick red-and-black-plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled back. His arms and hands looked strong and powerful, and she had no doubt that they were. For him to have held on to that sled yesterday had required Herculean strength. She noticed his fancy Rolex watch was missing. “Look, Mac, don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t have enough experience to run the Yukon Quest.”
    â€œMaybe you think I don’t, but the dogs, you have to admit, do,” Mac said, narrowing his eyes on her.
    â€œThe judges on the race committee don’t base their decision on the dogs. They want to be sure the musher is qualified to run a long-distance race, and you have to prove yourself by finishing some shorter races, like the Fireplug and the Percy DeWolf. They won’t let you run the Quest.”
    Mac’s grin was irritatingly arrogant. “They’ve waived that requirement,” he said with a casual gesture of the pliers he held in one hand. “Sam told them I’d been trapping up on the Flat with my brother’s team of dogs and they figured that was qualification enough. I’m good to go.”
    â€œGood to go?” Rebecca stared at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious! You have absolutely no idea what you’re getting yourself into!”
    â€œIgnorance is bliss,” he said.
    â€œBaloney! Ignorance can kill you out there!” she snapped. “Sam, I can’t believe you fronted his entry fee knowing how inexperienced he is!”
    â€œWell,” Sam said, dusting off his coveralls and avoiding her eyes, “I’d better get inside. Ellin’s cinnamon rolls don’t like to be kept waiting…”
    â€œTrapping up on Flat!” Rebecca scoffed when the door had closed behind Sam.
    Mac eyed her defiantly. “I lived there for four months with the dogs.”
    â€œYou trapped one fox and you let it go!”
    â€œWould it have