Iditarod Nights Read online

  "Your past doesn't scare me."

  She told him then, about the promise she'd made to her mother. Because he had a right to know. Because she needed him to realize they both had emotional baggage to deal with. His may be heavier, but hers was no less significant. "You know as well as I do, we can't escape our pasts. It's what we learn from them that matters."

  "What have you learned?" he asked.

  "Mama was right. I'm pretty damn strong when I need to be." This made him smile. "And so are you."

  "It's easier with the right people around me."

  "Agreed."

  "Will you marry me, Claire?"

  Her pulse stumbled, then raced. "What? I mean...that's quite a leap."

  "Am I wrong to think you love me?"

  "No. God no. I do love you."

  "But marriage scares you."

  "Yes. No. I don't know." She laughed at herself, fussed with the front of her robe. "Being proposed to in a robe over coffee and take-out pizza isn't exactly what I had in mind...if I thought that far ahead at all." Which she hadn't. Marriage?

  "I don't want to push you into anything you're not sure of."

  She stopped fussing. "I'm sure I love you."

  "That's a good start." He came around the table, drew her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I'll give you candlelight and champagne, if those things will make you happy."

  She draped her arms around his neck. "You don't drink, remember?"

  "I didn't say I'd join you. Even when I was drinking, I couldn't stand the bubbly stuff. And for the record, I like you in a robe."

  The look in his eyes, the slant to his smile, sent a rush of heat from the top of her head to her toes. Her bare toes. A light laugh escaped her. "I don't need candlelight and champagne." She brushed her lips across his, whispered, "This is perfect," and kissed him. Intimate. Lingering. She felt his body respond, his heart rate pick up. "I guess you do like me in a robe."

  "And I guess you've changed your mind about kissing pepperoni breath."

  "I'm full of surprises."

  "I like surprises. You haven't answered my question."

  Her pulse didn't stumble this time. She couldn't think of anything more right than sharing her life with this man. "The answer's yes, Dillon. I'll marry you."

  Air whooshed from him. "Hell of a surprise, counselor." He grinned. "I suppose you'll want a honeymoon."

  "Absolutely. I know where there's a cozy loft over a bar and grill, has a great view of the sunset."

  "Sounds perfect," he murmured, and gave her a kiss that could warm the coldest Iditarod night.

  Epilogue

  The clouds cleared over night, bringing blue skies and sunshine the following morning. Dillon parked the rental car at the curb in front of his childhood home on Tillamook Street. Unlike the apartment complex the day before, the two-story house with tan vinyl siding and faux-wood louvered shutters was just as he remembered. The blue spruce bordering the driveway looked fat and healthy – a live Christmas tree he helped his dad plant thirty years ago. Mom's roses bloomed scarlet, apricot and lemon under the picture window.

  A concrete pedestal birdbath planted midway across the lawn was new. A gray squirrel drinking from the birdbath's edge saw him get out of the car and bounded off around the corner of the house. Probably toward one of the many feeders Dillon knew his mom kept filled in back. He could still hear his dad grumble about the small fortune they spent on critter feed, while tossing peanuts to any squirrel brave enough to get within range of his lawn chair.

  A lot of memories stored in this place. Good and bad. He remembered every spot under every shrub and tree where he'd buried a pet: Trixie the turtle, hamsters Tom and Jerry, his mutt Spike, hit by a car in front of the house. Dillon could still hear the screech of tires as the startled driver tried to stop in time.

  Other sounds filled his head. Shattering glass. Mom's cry. Dad shouting at him to get out of the house and don't come back until he was sober. The slam of the door.

  Now that he was here, he wished he'd accepted Claire's offer to come with him. He still couldn't believe she said yes to marrying him. He'd do everything in his power to keep his mental shit from spilling over onto her, but it didn't scare him like it used to. This trip had been good for him. The lady lawyer was good for him. If not for her, he wouldn't have come to Portland.

  His therapist had advised against it. "You shouldn't go alone," she said.

  "I won't be alone," he told her. "Claire will be there." At the time, he had no idea if Claire would even see him, much less want to help. He took a leap of faith and she caught him. This is huge, he heard her say. Yes, it was. Gargantuan.

  And now he was taking another leap of faith, that his parents would allow him back into their lives, that they'd give him another chance. That they'd even answer the door. The front drapes hung open; his parents' Subaru sat in the driveway.

  He started up the walk.

  You're not welcome in this house.

  His pulse hammered in his chest as he put one foot in front of the other. He reached the covered porch and grasped the wood handrail. The third step gave a familiar groan. He caught the fragrance of damask and peaches drifting from the roses and paused to pull in a deep breath.

  The doorbell had always been quirky, one of those things nobody ever seemed to get around to fixing. He would take care of it for them while he was in town, if they let him. His hand shook as he reached for the brass doorknocker. It thundered. Once. Twice. Three times.

  Long seconds passed. Dillon sensed someone stealing a look at him through the peephole. The chain rattled free. The deadbolt snapped. The door pulled inward. Dillon's heart squeezed at how much his dad had aged. The man regarding him with wary surprise from the other side of the screen looked shorter, stooped, his thick hair grayer.

  "Dillon?"

  "Hi, Dad." It's good to see you. I'm sorry I haven't called. How are you? "I'm six years sober."

  His dad nodded – a silent gesture of approval Dillon recognized. He felt another piece of his life shift back into place.

  The screen swung open. "Welcome home, son."

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  My goal was to write about a woman and a man who meet under extreme circumstances and overcome personal trauma to find love. Claire and Dillon are fictional characters; The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog race is an annual event that began in 1973. I could not have written this book without the invaluable information provided by the Iditarod Insider, musher Aliy Zirkle and her "Aliy Cam," along with numerous videos by other mushers, volunteers and race fans, and a bounty of great articles and books published on the subject. There is so much more to the sport than what I have covered in these pages. Any discrepancies or errors are solely my own.

  Contrary to common belief, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is not just a military, combat-related trauma. Anyone who is exposed to a terrifying incident that puts them in physical danger, or is witness to a horrific event, is at risk of developing PTSD: firefighters, rescue workers, accident survivors, assault victims, people caught in natural or human-caused disasters, adults and children alike. Law enforcement officers deal with the violent side of life daily, sometimes with devastating consequences. My research taught me a new respect for the men and women who wear the badge and respond when called. I urge my readers to learn more about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, its symptoms and treatments.

  Deepest thanks to the editors and readers who helped me make this a better story: Kimberly A. Cook, Claudia DeGailler, Bettina Spencer, and my patient husband, Jack Hiday. My appreciation is boundless. I love you!

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Cindy Hiday teaches the Professional Novel & Memoir Writers Workshop program at Mt. Hood Community College. She is a member of Willamette Writers and lives in Oregon with her husband and four-legged friends. Her must-haves are coffee, chocolate, books, and tomatoes warm off the vine.

  />
  Cindy Hiday, Iditarod Nights