"You should think of something on your own. What do you want to say to her?"

Joe wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how much he loved to be with her. He wanted to ask her to spend the night with him. But he couldn't put that on a valentine. "How about if I ask her to go to the dance at Doyle's?"

"That's good," Sam replied. "Girls like dancing."

"I'm going to have to remember these tips. Girls like doilies, sequins, poetry and dancing." Joe finished the valentine, then took a few moments to compose his message before he stepped to the kitchen sink to wash the glitter off his hands.

"Are you gonna give it to her now?"

"I thought I would. She's out practicing her wood splitting."

Sammy picked up his valentine and held it out in front of him. "Just remember," he said distractedly, "if she tries to kiss you, run away as fast as you can."

Joe wasn't about to follow that bit of Sam's advice. If Perrie did decide to kiss him, he'd probably drag her into the cabin and begin where they had left off the night before. He grabbed his valentine from the table and tucked it inside his jacket, then ruffled Sam's hair as he walked past. "Thanks for the help, buddy."

Joe found Perrie back at her cabin. She sat on the porch, her attention centered on adjusting the straps on her snowshoes. "How's the training going?"

She glanced up and he thought he detected a blush rise on her already rosy cheeks. Her smile warmed his blood and he bent down and kissed her mouth. Strange how kissing her felt so natural, how he barely had to think before he pressed his lips to hers.

"I can't seem to get this strap right."

"Here, let me see." He took the snowshoe from her and carefully readjusted the strap. "How's that?"

"Why are you doing this? I thought you'd be the last person to help me."

"If you're going to compete, you should do your best."

"Do you really mean that?"

"Yes," Joe said, knowing the truth in his words. "I'd like to see you leave all those wimpy brides in the dust."

Her green eyes sparkled with surprise. "I'm getting really good at the wood splitting. I'm still a little shaky on the snowshoes, but I think, with Hawk's dog team, I've got the mushing competition sewn up."

"Did you know there's a dance at Doyle's after the games are over?"

She sent him a curious glance, the corners of her mouth quirking up. "I heard something about that."

Joe withdrew the valentine from his jacket and held it out to her. He didn't know what to say. To tell the truth, he felt a little silly handing her a handmade card. But all his reservations dissolved at the tender smile she gave him. He said a silent thank-you for Sam's advice, then sat down beside her on the steps.

"You made this yourself?"

"With some advice from Sam. He told me not to let you kiss me."

Perrie laughed. "You're taking your cues from a nine-year-old?"

Joe bumped against her shoulder playfully. "So, will you go to the dance with me, Kincaid?"

"Only if you kiss me again," Perrie teased.

He leaned closer, their noses nearly touching. "I think that could be arranged."

He kissed her then, a soft, simple kiss. He didn't know such an innocent act could bring such a powerful reaction. Desire flooded his senses and every thought dissolved in his mind until all he was conscious of was the feel of her lips on his. Her mouth was so sweet; he had become addicted to the taste, needing more and more.

Then she drew back, her gaze fixed on his mouth. "I'll go to the party at Doyle's with you," she murmured.

"Good," Joe said. He pushed to his feet, then brushed the snow from the back of his jeans. "I guess I'll see you after the competition."

"We aren't going to see each other tonight?"

He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. "Sweetheart, I think you better get some rest tonight."

"All right," Perrie said. "It's a date. I'll see you tomorrow."

Joe shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and nodded. "Yeah, a date. I'll come down tomorrow morning and get you. We'll ride into Muleshoe together."

"That would be nice," Perrie said.

He whistled a cheery tune as he walked back down the path to the lodge. He'd never really set much store in romance. But he had to admit that a handmade valentine had touched Perrie's heart. His mind flashed an image of her reaction and he smiled to himself.

He was through with waiting. The next time he touched Perrie Kincaid, he wouldn't stop until every desire, every secret fantasy they shared had been completely satisfied.

Chapter Eight

Every person in Muleshoe, from the smallest child to the town's oldest citizen, one-hundred-year-old prospector Ed Bert Jarvis, gathered on Main Street to watch the games. In the middle of a long winter, any social activity was hailed as an "event." And this year's event was even more special.

Ed Bert, born in the year of Muleshoe's "boom," served as the grand marshal of the parade, a ragtag collection of decorated pickup trucks, dogsleds, snowmobiles and a pair of bicycles. They were accompanied by the town band, which consisted of Wally Weller on trumpet, his wife, Louise, on saxophone, and son, Wally Jr., on drums.

Perrie had never seen anything like it. Though the temperature still hovered around zero, no one seemed to notice. Fur parkas and mukluks were standard uniform for half the population, while the more stylish half chose down jackets and Sorel boots. No one stayed home.

She'd convinced Paddy Doyle to cover the event as a stringer for the Seattle Star. The barkeeper wandered around with his camera, hoping to find a few good shots to accompany Perrie's article on the mail-order brides and boasting about the press pass that she'd clipped to his collar.

The brides' competition had been scheduled for mid-afternoon, the final event after the general competition for the townsfolk. Contests of strength and speed were interspersed with a bed race, an ice-carving contest and an event that involved stuffing as many pickled eggs into a competitor's mouth as humanly possible.

To Perrie's surprise, the three brides from Seattle hadn't offered much competition in the snowshoe race. They had all dropped to the rear of the pack and watched excitedly as Perrie and four other women raced ahead. The four other competitors, all longtime Alaskan residents, hadn't entered to find a husband. Like Perrie, they were after the first prize.

Perrie managed to finish third behind a pair of sisters, trappers who ran their own mitten-sewing business from a cabin ten miles from town. They were stout women without Perrie's quickness. But then, they spent most of the winter walking around in snowshoes.

To Perrie's surprise, Joe met her at the finish line, offering words of encouragement as he helped her unstrap her snowshoes. Hawk joined them, and as the trio headed over to hitch up the dogs, both men gave her more advice on proper race strategy.

The dogsled competition was Perrie's best chance at a win. Hawk had informed her that his dogs were the fastest and best trained of all the teams. To add a measure of safety, the women didn't race together. Instead they covered a course of nearly a mile that wove in and out of town and were timed from start to finish.

Perrie nervously waited at the starting line, trying to keep the dogs from bolting in the excitement. Joe stood at the head of the team, hanging tight to Loki's collar. He sent Perrie a confident smile and a wink as she listened to Hawk's simple instructions.

"Don't let the team get away from you," he said.

"You're always in control. Anticipate the turns and make sure the dogs are ready. Then balance yourself."

Perrie glanced over at the woman who held the fastest time so far, a tall, slender competitor in her early forties whose brother had once raced in the Iditarod. "She was fast," Perrie murmured.

"She was smart," Hawk countered as he stepped away from the sled. "But you're faster."

Joe let go of Loki's collar and joined Hawk on the sidelines. "Go get 'em, Kincaid."

Perrie took a deep breath and waited for the starter's gun. At the sound, she yanked out the snow hook and urged the dogs on, running behind the sled for the first twenty yards. In her nervousness, she nearly tripped and fell, but she gathered her composure and hopped on the back of the sled just in time to make the first turn off Main Street.

"Mush, boys," she called, her voice gaining confidence as the sled gained speed. "Come on, boys, mush!"

The race seemed to pass in a blur, the wind cold on her face and her breath coming in short gasps. The dogs responded well, as if their pride were at stake along with Perrie's. Loki anticipated each command and Perrie's turns were smooth and easy. When she reached the final straightaway, Perrie urged them on and she nearly flew down the snow-packed street.

She crossed the finish line to a rousing cheer from the crowd, then instantly forgot the command to stop the sled. Panicked, she shouted to the dogs as they ran right through a small crowd of onlookers beyond the finish line. Now that she'd given them a chance to run, they didn't want to stop.

She saw Joe's face pass by and wondered if the dogs would continue running until they got back to the lodge.

Finally a voice boomed over the crowd. "Ho, Loki, ho!" Hawk called.

"Ho, Loki," Perrie cried. "Ho, damn it, ho!"

The dogs slowed, then stopped, and she tumbled off the back of the sled into the snow. A few moments later, Joe knelt down beside her, laughing and brushing the snow off her face.

"Are you all right?"

"I feel like an idiot," Perrie muttered, sitting up. "I couldn't remember how to stop them."