WINTER WONDERLAND by Belinda Jones Page B

eyes?’ I ask.
    ‘Yes.’
    As I do so, he slides his sunglasses back onto his head and I see he has two different coloured eyes – one warm hazel, the other milky blue.
    Perhaps I’m a little concussed because I hear myself asking, ‘Are you part-husky?’
    He smiles a little and then nods beyond my head. ‘Well, I do consider these my family.’
    There, staring back at me with lolling pink tongues and similarly random eye colours are six puffing husky dogs.
    ‘My sled team.’
    ‘My heroes!’ I breathe. ‘And what about the Samoyed?’
    ‘You know Samoyeds?’ He looks surprised.
    ‘It’s my dream dog – all that heavenly white fluff … ’
    He whistles and the dog angel appears. ‘This is Sibérie.’
    ‘As in Siberia?’
    He nods. ‘He’s a little old so he can’t pull any more.’
    I sit up to greet him, amazed at how deeply my hand disappears into his luxurious fur.
    ‘He’s just beautiful! They all are!’
    And then my gaze returns to his face. Now that I am adjusting to his bewitching eyes, I see something in them beyond the colour – something I can’t quite place but something that triggers a yearning in me …
    I have a million questions but we’re being closed in on by Gilles and Annique on one side and the snowmobilers on the other. Before I can even properly thank him for saving me, he has me back onto my feet and is asking my name.
    ‘Krista,’ I tell him.
    He steps closer. ‘Krista, please stay away from the snowmobiles. They are too dangerous.’
    His words have such an intensity, I find myself promising I will never go near one again. (And if he asked me to give up chocolate right now I’d probably do that too.)
    ‘ Mon dieu! ’ Annique exclaims, rushing to my side. ‘I was so afraid! I saw you fall and then disappear!’
    ‘I’m fine, really, just a little disorientated.’
    ‘Madame! Are you well?’
    ‘ Oui! ’ I assure the snowmobiler. ‘It was my fault – I should never have let go.’ And with that I turn to Gilles. ‘So, did you at least get a good picture of me falling?’
    ‘I-I … ’ he falters.
    I take that as a no.
    ‘Never mind. Could you get a picture of the team that saved me?’ I turn back but they are gone. All of them – six huskies, one elderly Samoyed and my rugged rescuer – totally and utterly disparu!

CHAPTER SEVEN
    I spin around. ‘D-did you see-’
    ‘ Oui, oui ,’ Annique confirms their existence. ‘That was L’homme Loup.’
    ‘Lom Loop?’ I frown.
    She spells out the French words for Wolfman for me. Then, while Gilles gives one of the snowmobilers a guided tour of his camera functions, Annique tells me that people say that the reason he wins the Carnival’s dog-sledding race every year is that his team are interbred with wolves. ‘Either way, he is very sympa with the canine. They run faster for him, it seems.’
    ‘I’d love to get a picture of him. For the website.’
    ‘Yes, but this is not possible now. He only runs the first morning of dog-sledding here at the Carnival. Now he goes home.’
    ‘Does he have a dog-sledding business?’
    ‘ Oui .’
    ‘Well, could we book a ride there?’
    ‘That is over on the Île d’Orléans, but we can go five minutes up the hill and do pictures with the team here.’
    She motions for me to follow her.
    So that’s that? We just move on as if nothing has happened? I take it neither Gilles or Annique has a mortal fear of being buried alive.
    I follow them in silence, repeatedly looking around for signs of the Wolfman. If I was atop the Hilton I’m sure I could track his progress, but here I’m at a loss.
    ‘Here we are.’ Annique steps aside so I can survey the dog-sledding attraction.
    ‘Oh.’ I look on in dismay. Nothing against mutts, I’ve had them my whole life, but these scrappy, skinny dogs with their mottled brown and cream coats simply cannot compare with the stark monochromatic beauty of the huskies. The track itself is a wonky oval, advertised as a ten-minute