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“I’ll find work.”
“What kind of work?”
Her eyes narrowed at the question. “Not the kind you think.”
“You need a change of clothes before you go job-hunting.”
She fingered the torn fabric at her knees, sighing.
“I don’t want to leave you on the side of the road.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
That was the problem: he was worried about it. He’d assumed a certain amount of responsibility for her when he’d agreed to give her a ride. He’d decided not to call the police, against his better judgment. Now he couldn’t just walk away. He was standing between her and danger, whether he liked it or not. He felt obligated to see her off safely. If he didn’t, he’d think about her all night. He’d obsess over worst-case scenarios. He’d imagine her climbing into a stranger’s car. Or freezing to death.
He hadn’t been able to save Jenny, and he’d never recovered from the loss. The helplessness. The soul-crushing futility.
He didn’t have to save Tala, per se, but he could at least offer her shelter for the night. He could give her a few bucks for clothes in the morning. She could find a job tomorrow. She was young and resourceful. She’d survive. It was no hardship for him to dig into his pockets, and it might make all the difference in the world for her. A minimal cost and effort on his part could keep her from doing something desperate.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She moistened her lips, not answering.
“I have to deliver this load first. Then we can grab some dinner.”
“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Not the reason you think.”
“No?”
“No.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, still wary. “What would your wife say about this?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “My wife?”
“Aren’t you married?”
“No.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring.”
He rubbed the band on his left hand absently. He’d forgotten it was there. “I’m not married anymore.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Then her features softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, clearing his throat. Saying the words out loud wasn’t easy, even after three years, but he’d learned to swallow the pain. Then the numbness returned to his chest and he could breathe again.
Maybe Tala felt sorry for him, because she didn’t reject his dinner offer. He continued to the stockyard to deliver the trailer. He’d get a new load tomorrow morning before he traveled north on the Dalton. The Dalton Highway was both his savior and his nemesis. The route wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a death-defying stretch of snowpack, black ice and whiteouts, with avalanche-prone areas and roller-coaster turns. He relished every mile.
He’d come to Alaska to be an ice-road trucker. Nothing else got his blood pumping like the Dalton. There was nothing more exciting, more addictive, or more life-affirming. Except maybe sex. It had been so long since he’d had any, he couldn’t quite remember. He’d stayed true to Jenny’s memory. He still wasn’t ready to move on.
He hadn’t lied to Tala about his intentions. He wasn’t being nice to her in hopes of getting laid. She was incredibly attractive, but he couldn’t imagine hooking up with her. Even if he was in the market for female company, she wasn’t an appropriate choice for a one-night stand. She’d had a close call this morning. She was on the run from someone. She needed protection, not seduction.
He unloaded the trailer and returned to the cab, invigorated by the chill in the air. It was perfect ice-road weather, with temperatures dropping below zero. He climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the yard.
There was a good burger joint off the main drag, so Cam headed in that direction. It was crowded with customers, despite the late hour. Tala kept her hood on as they entered the building. She chose a back booth in the corner, glancing around warily. Cam knew they hadn’t been followed from Willow. He’d checked his rearview mirror at regular intervals. He figured her skittishness was a side effect of past trauma, not an indication of current danger, but he made a point to stay alert.
The waitress arrived quickly. He ordered a salmon burger, iced tea and french fries. Tala asked for chicken strips and a strawberry soda. After the food was delivered, he offered her some of his fries, because he had a mountain of them.
“You like to eat healthy,” she said, grabbing a fry.
“I do.”
“That seems unusual, for a trucker.”
“I grew up on a farm in upstate Washington. My parents made me learn about sustainable agriculture and organic produce. We ate food we grew ourselves.” He shrugged, picking up his salmon burger. “It stayed with me.”
She nodded her understanding. “We ate food my dad caught.”
“Was he a fisherman?”
“He did a little bit of everything. Fishing, trapping, hunting. It was hard in the winter, but we got by.”
Cam swallowed the bite he’d taken. “You lived off the land exclusively?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. He thought his childhood had been atypical. Eating fresh farm produce instead of junk food was nothing compared to eking out a meager existence in the Northwest Territories.
“He died when I was sixteen. He was only forty at the time.”
“Jesus,” Cam said.
“He had a good life,” she said. “Short, but not wasted.”
“Is that what you want?”
She shook her head. “I’d rather take after my grandmother. She lived to be eighty. She used to say my dad used up all of his spirit in half the time because he never sat still. He never stopped working.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-five. You?”
“Thirty-four,” he said gruffly.
“That’s a good age,” she said, grabbing another fry.
Cam tried not to be captivated by her, and failed. She had a slight accent that sounded woodsy and pleasant to his ears. She was interesting, as well as beautiful. A wave of sexual awareness washed over him, heating his blood and kicking up his pulse. He felt mildly alarmed by his response to her. He needed to pump the brakes, and stop asking so many personal questions. This wasn’t a date.
She stuck a straw in her soda bottle and took a sip, drawing his attention to her mouth. Tulips in spring.
“What about you?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“Would you rather have a short life or a long one?”
He made a noncommittal sound and kept eating.
“You’re an ice-road trucker, so I’m guessing short. Then again, you eat healthy and take care of your body.” Her gaze traveled over him. “You work out, right?”
He flushed at her perusal. “I don’t work out to live longer.”
“No?”
“I sit in a truck all day. I’d get stir-crazy if I didn’t exercise.”
“It’s not natural to spend so much time inside a vehicle.”
Cam couldn’t argue there. The lack of activity didn’t bother some truckers. They each had their own vices. Chain-smoking and snacking were common ways to stay awake. The long hours of limited movement were difficult, but it was part of the job. He embraced the restrictions as much as the freedoms. He relished the danger and the solitude. He hadn’t become a trucker to take it easy. He’d done it to disconnect with the rest of the world, and from himself.
He also didn’t exercise just to combat inactivity. He did it to assuage his grief, to punish himself for living, and to sleep at night. The more grueling the workout, the better. He’d become obsessive. He’d made an effort to cut down last year, after pulling a muscle in his thigh. Overdoing it wasn’t healthy, either.
They were almost finished eating when a pair of uniformed officers walked in. Cam watched them dispassionately, reminded of his former self. Tala rose from the table after the officers paused at the front counter.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.
Cam paid the check while she was gone. The waitress came and went. So did the police officers, who ordered their coffee to go. Cam drummed his fingertips against the table. It dawned on him that Tala had taken her parka with her, which was odd.
He wondered if she’d ditched him. It wouldn’t be a big shock. She’d wanted a ride to Fairbanks, and here they were.
Curious, he went looking for her. The women’s restroom was at the end of the hall. An emergency exit on the opposite side of the restaurant offered the only escape. He paused outside the door, listening for a moment. Then he pushed it open. There were two stalls and two sinks under a big mirror. “Tala?”
No answer. Just a sharp intake of breath.
He waited another beat. “The officers are gone, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’ll be right out.”
Frowning to himself, he shut the door. What had he gotten himself into? It was one thing to risk death on the ice roads, quite another to risk arrest by harboring a female fugitive.
She emerged from the bathroom a second later, feigning innocence. They walked into the night together and approached his rig. He glanced in her direction, noting she was tight-mouthed and ghost-pale. He didn’t ask her why she’d been hiding from the police. She probably wouldn’t tell him, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He couldn’t afford to get wrapped up in whatever trouble she was in. He had to leave tomorrow.
She paused in the parking lot, her breaths visible in the frozen air. “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“You’ve done a lot. I won’t forget it.”
He realized she was trying to say goodbye. He shook his head in protest. “Come with me. I know where we can stay for free.”
“Where?”
“Ann’s Cabins.”
“Why is it free?”
“I split wood for her every time I’m in Fairbanks. We trade services.”
She searched his face for hints of deception. He was stretching the truth a little. Ann gave him a discount, but he hardly ever stayed at the cabins. He split wood because he liked doing it, not because he cared about saving money.
“Are we trading services, too?” she asked.
He laughed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Then he realized it was a serious question. She wanted to know what he expected of her, and she was smart to be cautious. Very few men would offer her a bed without intending to share it.
He held her gaze. “No. We’re not.”
She stared at him with undisguised curiosity. “Why are you helping me?”
An icy fist of grief squeezed around his heart. He couldn’t answer her question honestly. He couldn’t bear to talk about Jenny and his inability to save her. He opened his passenger door. “I didn’t bring you in from the cold just to let you freeze somewhere else.”
She didn’t appear satisfied with the response, but she climbed inside his truck. She must have trusted him more than another stranger. The next trucker she met might not be a gentleman. He might demand sexual favors in exchange for a ride. If she said no, he could leave her stranded on the side of the road. Or worse.
Cam got behind the wheel and started the engine. Ann’s was within walking distance of a major shopping center. Tala could rest tonight and look for work tomorrow.
The cabins were quaint and secluded. Romantic, even. Although it wasn’t a trucker hangout, it was known to truckers because the owner was a trucker’s widow. Her husband had died on the Dalton a few years ago, in an avalanche. Cam had heard chatter about it on the CB last winter. The truckers pitched in to help Ann with odd jobs. One of them said she needed someone to chop firewood for her. Cam had jumped at the task.
Turning off the main drag, he drove toward the cabins. He parked in the back of the lot and went inside the office while Tala waited in the truck.
The front desk was empty, so he rang the bell. Ann came out to greet him. She reminded him of Mrs. Claus, with her round-framed glasses and curly white hair. “If it isn’t my woodcutter,” she said with a smile. “How’s the season going?”
“It’s good. I’m keeping busy.”
“Have you been on the haul road?”
“I’m heading that way tomorrow.”
“You be careful out there.”
