Chapter 61

The next critical problem was how to get back to the chalet.

Sven sorted through their options. They weren’t far from Snowy Peaks, for all the driving he’d had to do. The cabin was in such a weird, out-of-the-way place, there was no way to access it easily. Hiking would have been faster. Yet with the weather and the conditions, it had been impossible.

Buddy had settled, seemed to be holding his own. But the heater was out of fuel, and with that came a new worry. They could very literally freeze to death here.

In the past, the little shack had had firewood. There was none left, now. Nothing.

Well, Terrence Point had given him round one.

But it had also exacted payment. Sven had gone out, during a lull in the wind, and squinted down over the edge. He’d been careful. He’d made sure he was on solid ground, and he’d tied a rope to one of the foundation posts of the little shed, one that would hold him in case he slipped. But he’d had to know.

He hadn’t even been able to see Blaine’s body. It was a sheer drop. The man was gone, and by his own hand. What that would do to his son, he couldn’t even imagine. Possibly nothing, if he was utterly self-absorbed.

He turned an eye up to the path that he’d skied down to get here. He hoped like hell he and Buddy only had the elements left to battle. If there was a dog fight brewing on this crazy night and someone was coming here, to collect the old man and the chief attraction…

“Quit borrowing trouble, Golden.” He spoke harshly to himself. “Man up, and do what needs to be done. Quickly.”

He’d already done a critical piece of that.

He’d sent the text, so at least she knew. He hadn’t gotten a response, but even if there was a signal issue, she’d get it later. So that was done. His heart eased. Keara would always know, even if he and Buddy didn’t make it.

He looked down, and the dog was half sitting up, alert. He lay on a thick blanket, along the earthen floor, where Sven had rolled him.

He looked at Buddy’s backend, saw the tail. Swish, swish, swish. Saw the spark in this amazing dog for the next thing.

As long as we’re together. And heading back. To her.

Hell—he heard it. The dog didn’t speak, obviously. But he heard it nonetheless.

Maybe it was the crazy elements getting to him, he didn’t know. But it was undeniable. It was time.

He took one last moment to remove his glove, reached quickly into his pocket, fingered the tiny strand of wool. Paused.

Then pulled the glove back on, looked over the scene before them with a glint in his gaze, spoke to the animal watching him.

“If you’re ready now, Boy, it’s the last leg of our journey back to your mistress. Time’s running out, as is our fuel, and the warmth we’ve enjoyed here. Let’s go.”

* * *

He oiled the canine’s feet, in case something happened, and he had to run. The wound on his leg seemed fine. He put on the Ruf Wear coat, strapped it to him. Attached the beacon. Fixed the doggy goggles, then laid him on the airlift hammock. It wasn’t the first time he’d rescued another soul.

The dog fixed big eyes on him, seemed to query him.

“It’ll be safer for you. I don’t know how much you can handle.” The plan was to carry him on his back while skiing slowly down, through inhospitable terrain, then take the angle that cut to the chalet.

But the dog squirmed. Didn’t want to cooperate. And the more he thought about it, perhaps, the other thing he’d brought was a better solution.

“Okay, boy. Let’s try this first.” Buddy was suddenly up, full of vigor. Maybe it was the canine performance drink he’d poured down his throat, but whatever it was, the dog was really energetic.

Skijoring. He attached the dog sledding harness to Buddy, tugged on it. All good there. Next, he quickly put on the skijoring harness made for the human, and attached the towline to Buddy.

Now Buddy could run ahead of him as long as he could. He’d be skiing, so Buddy wouldn’t be pulling him, he’d made sure of that.

And if he couldn’t run, he’d carry the animal himself, using the airlift.

They left the shed, faced the indigo night. He snapped on the light attached to the front of his helmet. It broadcast its beam, highlighted thousands of squirming white flakes that were still inundating the air.

“We’re on our way, Buddy. Let’s get home to your mistress.”

The dog took a tentative step, didn’t sink, due to the built-up crust. Took another, felt his way, gained confidence. Took yet another, and this time, put some energy behind it. Soon, Buddy was running, lightly. Sven powered himself on his skis. The first few meters went well, and his heart rose. He hoped all would go well. Yet deep in his always practical heart, fear still lived.

There were so many things that could go wrong. They could hit a rock, or a bush, half buried. Buddy could run out of steam. They were just starting out, this burst of energy could very likely be momentary. Or, the animal could get further injured. This was tough work for an older dog, even one who hadn’t just been shot.

In addition, the mountain here was steep. Avalanches typically could not occur on a gradient of less than 25 or 30 degrees. They were steeper than that. It was a definite possibility.

And the worst thing that could happen? They were close to a fracture line. Yes, it was foolhardy. Entirely foolish to set out. Typically many tiny avalanches would have been set to mitigate the threat of a larger one.

But things had been sparse around the watch station, as of late. He knew. And they’d closed everything. They’d had no reason to expect anyone to be out tonight.

I had no choice, he implored the mountain. It’s either this or freeze the both of us.

But a vicious, high-powered gust of wind tunneled through the air and shot at him, almost knocked him off his skis. After a few unsure seconds, he managed to right himself, not yank Buddy to kingdom come by a fall.

And deep within his soul, he knew the meaning of what had just happened.

The mountain? It was still master.