Page 188 of Track of Courage

“That’s Donald Cooper,” Sully said from behind them. “And the one with the ladder, I think, is Griffin Talon.”

Donald lifted a hand, waving.

Dawson waved back, still not moving.

The two men came to the shore, and Griffin set the ladder onto the ice, then held it as Donald stepped out, walking on the rungs, towing the toboggan.

He set it down and pushed it out to Dawson, holding a long lead.

Dawson reached out and grabbed it, pulling it closer. He started to lower Keely toward it. “Get on.”

“What?”

“It’ll disperse your weight. Trust me.” He kept lowering her down.

She grabbed him around the neck and held on as he maneuvered her onto the sled.

“Roll over and hold on.”

She didn’t want to let go, but she nodded, scooted back, and rolled over, holding onto a strap dangling from the curled front edge.

Donald pulled her to the ladder. Then he helped her up to step onto it.

“I’ll crawl.” She took it rung by rung to the shoreline.

She rolled out onto solid ground, watching as Dawson came in, then Sully.

Dawson stepped off the ladder, limped over to her. “You okay?”

Caspian came and lay beside her, his warmth almost calming. Still, she didn’t think she’d ever be okay again. But she nodded.

Sully groaned as he stepped off the ladder. “Thanks, Griff.”

“Bear attack?” Griffin pointed to his leg, then walked over to put an arm around him.

“Long story,” Sully said. “Let’s get inside.”

Dawson pulled her up, again securing her against himself. Looked at her. “See, we’re going to be fine.”

She waited for a gunshot to part his words, but only the wind chased them as they headed to the lodge. So maybe he was right.

Next stop,anywherebut Alaska.

Okay, maybe a detour to the warm and embracing lodge.

Hello, North Woods escape. She stepped into the centerfold ofMountain Livingmagazine, the rustic version, but still sweeping and inviting. The entire building bespoke craftsmanship, from the hand-hewn logs chinked with white plaster to massive, log-framed sofas padded with overstuffed cushions that circled a towering, three-story river rock fireplace. It rose from the far end of the room, flanked by windows that overlooked the frozen lake. Inside a hearth that seemed large enough to walk into, a fire crackled, emanating heat through the massive protective screen.

Wooden pine tables with long benches ran down either side of the room, and above them hung a multitiered antler chandelierthe size of a Volkswagen. At the tables in clusters sat men and women with children, a few with books open, some of the children coloring, others playing games.

A balcony ran down each side of the lodge, with rooms on the upper level, and below them, more rooms, the doors closed. They bore nameplates, like Med Clinic and Supplies. Other doors had designs carved into them, one with a cross.

The delicious aromas of baking bread and maybe a rustic stew with garlic and tomatoes reached inside and roused a hunger Keely didn’t realize she possessed. Following the smells, she spotted a massive kitchen behind a serving counter.

A man, mid-twenties, sat on one of the sofas in the front of the room, playing a guitar.

Caspian came in and sat as a couple kids ran over to him. His tail brushed the floor, but he didn’t move, his back to Dawson.

So clearly not the attack dog she’d thought him to be.