The mournful whistle of the train sounded in the distance. None of the humans reacted, but Kirk straightened his shoulders, his unruly white-blond curls stirring in the brisk wind. Stig jumped down from the cab.
“Let’s wait for the train on the platform,” Stig suggested.
“Someone is eager. You realize we’ll have to shift all the freight ourselves?”
Stig shrugged and pulled a bright blue beanie from his pocket. He dragged it over his short hair, still missing the longer locks he’d had until last week. One of the female shifters had wanted his attention and grabbed him by the hair. Ma might have arranged a mating, but he intended to choose a mate when he was good and ready. He’d got Arve to chop off his hair that day and bore no regrets for his decision even if he regretted the loss of warmth. “So what?” he said. “I’m not afraid of demanding work.”
The train whistle pierced the general hum of conversation again, closer this time.
“We’ll sell the fruit and vegetables at a profit, and the Churchill locals will realize we’re doing what we promised,” Kirk said. “And we won’t need to worry as much about conserving our fuel. It was an excellent idea, Runt.”
“There’s the train now,” Stig said.
Stig glanced at his watch and Kirk tapped his right foot, his impatience showing, as they waited for the engine and carriages to pull up at the station and the passengers to disgorge. Once the platform cleared, they’d shift their purchases from the freight carriages, load up and get going on their return journey to Churchill.
“Whoa!” Kirk said, his unusual tone drawing Stig’s attention since his brother was a loner and slow to warm to people.
Stig turned to follow Kirk’s gaping stare. A woman. He blinked, shooting a disbelieving glance at his brother. She ambled toward them, a frown on her face. The ends of her dark brown hair caught the fickle winter sunshine and blew in the breeze.
His bear chuffed, startling him for a second time because the woman was a human. While she stood tall—around five foot eight or nine—she lacked the broad shoulders of a female shifter. With her solid build and the deep V of her cleavage visible beneath her black-and-white check coat, she stole his breath. Closer now, he could see her bright blue eyes.
“My bear wants her,” Kirk said in a shocked undertone.
“What?”Hell.
“I said—”
“I heard what you said. My bear is interested too.”
Stig exchanged a long glance with his brother. His bear stirred beneath his skin, and his brother’s bear glared at him, flashing in Kirk’s brown eyes. Stig’s shoulders rounded for an instant before he straightened. “We can’t argue over a woman, and neither of us have time to sweettalk her into bed. Our bears will have to wait.”
“Can’t we—”
“No.” Stig could have sworn his bear whined, the searing disappointment broadcast from his animal half, fogging his mind and hacking at his determination. “No, this is too important to sacrifice for a woman who might not be interested. She might be married.”
“She hasn’t got a ring on her finger,” Kirk countered.
“Come on. They’re unloading the train.”
When Kirk remained stock-still and staring like an idiot, Stig grasped his arm. Kirk dug in his heels and growled low in his throat.
“Fine,” Stig said. “You go chase tail and I’ll sort out our business.” He forced himself to walk away, ignoring the rumbling protests of his bear the entire time.
“This is the end of the line, Miss.” The man behind the ticket counter scratched the tip of his nose. He wore a black uniform a size too big and sported a black beanie on his head. Bright red curls poked from beneath the woolen hat.
“But I purchased a ticket to Churchill,” Fiona objected. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go to Churchill.” And she hated to return to Winnipeg. It was a hotbed of crime.
Someone had mislaid her bag. The conductor had checked her baggage receipt against his records. Yes, he agreed. Her bag had left Winnipeg on the train but he couldn’t locate it now. Although the man in charge of the luggage department had said it might yet turn up, she’d heard his doubt. Maybe this happened all the time. Maybe they had a problem with theft. Her mind skipped to the shooting and she shuddered. Winnipeg had left a nasty taste in her mouth.
“What sort of railroad is this? First, my bag goes missing and now you’re telling me you’ve sold me a ticket under false pretenses.”
An apologetic smile curved his mouth. “I’m sorry, Miss. The railway line isn’t passable from here, not since the massive storm. The owners aren’t in a hurry to make repairs. The ticket office in Winnipeg knows this. I can’t understand how this miscommunication has happened.”
“How far is it to Churchill? Can I catch a cab or is there a bus service?”
He gaped at her, his eyes widening to round, astonished circles. “A bus? No, Miss.”
“But I wanted to see polar bears.” The faint pressure behind her eyes foretold a bout of tears. She pinched her inner wrist, hoping to keep her emotions under control. “Isn’t there any way to get there?”
