"John, he's claimin' he saw a polar bear." Duffy turned around to his boss, an inscrutable look upon his plain face.  John Biebe wasn't paying a lick of attention to his deputy, he was lost in his own thoughts.  Duffy watched the sheriff for a moment, these contemplative spells were coming on more often now...ever since his wife left him for the lower 48 and took his three boys with her.  Now John only had his hockey and his work.  "Hey, John, did you hear me?"

"Wha....what did you want, Duffy?"  John finally focused his teal eyes, once so full of life and laughter, now dull and disinterested, upon the young gangly deputy.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, just thinkin' about some stuff.  What did you want?"  John asked absently as he cast a weary gaze down upon his desk at the paperwork that was piling up.  He'd have to get his act together and soon.  Losing her was hard enough, he couldn't afford to lose his job on top of it.

"You know those fellas that come from down south."  Down south meaning anything south of Fairbanks in Mystery estimation.  John nodded.  "They was the ones that came up to take them pictures.  Anyhoo, one of the guys, always complainin', claims that he saw a polar bear up on Jackson's Ridge.  Chased 'em right out of there."

"Polar bears don't come this far south, Duffy," John reasoned.

"I tried to tell him that, but he swore up and down that it was a polar bear.  Reckon we oughta go and check it out?"

"I'm not about to go up on Jackson's Ridge this time a year, much less send anyone from the office up there.  The weather's too unpredictable.  As I remember, we told those guys that as well."  John shuffled some of the papers around on his desk, not really looking at them, just rearranging them.  "They are down for good, aren't they?"

"I think so."

"Well, we don't have anything to worry about."

"Okay, John, whatever you say."  Duffy held his hat in his hand as he walked to the door.  He turned and faced John for a moment.

"Anything else you need?"  John grunted in Duffy's direction.

"Uh....no.  See ya at the game Saturday, John."

"Yeah, sure."  Duffy knew then John had it bad, when even the thought of Saturday's game didn't cheer his boss.

A sharp ring bristled through the empty house.  John attempted to ignore it for a brief time but the caller was too insistant to allow him a decent night's sleep.  Well....maybe just simply a couple hours of sleep, that was about all he got anymore. Never before had he realized the night sounds around his littlehouse, not until the boys had gone with their mother back to her parents in Colorado.

RING!!!

That goddamn phone.  John was half tempted to pitch it out the window, but picked the handset up instead.  "What do ya want?" he growled into the receiver.

"Johnny, sorry to call so late, but we need you to take a look over at the Michaelson's barn.  Something strange happened and we can't figger out what's goin' on," rambled Chaney, the head night deputy.  Well, there were really only two deputies, but Tree's younger (and bigger) brother Bear wasn't the brightest light on the Christmas tree, so John had been forced to make Chaney the one in charge.  Talk about the blind leading the visually impaired.

"I'll be over there in about 10 minutes."  John hung the phone up, even before Chaney had the opportunity to respond.  He stared at the wall for a brief moment.  He had even offered to go with Donna, to leave the town he had lived in his entire life.  It was then when she told him, it wasn't Mystery.  It was him.  So he hadn't said another word and let her go.  He loved her that much to do that.  It was the loss of his sons that had devastated him more than anything.

He pulled on his long johns, jeans over his muscled legs and a heavy flannel shirt.  Then heavy woolen socks and water-proof mid-calf boots.  As he walked to the door, he shrugged on his parka, shoved his fur cap on his head, and checked to make sure his badge and gun were in the pocket of his coat.  Not that he really need them, but he was a professional and they did live in the outback of Alaska, so it always paid to be on the safe side.

The damn Blazer resisted starting for a moment.  Even the fact that the engine block was plugged into the house electricals for easier starting in cold weather didn't make a difference.  John knew what it was - the car didn't want to wake up, just like him.  He turned the key, and the Blazer reluctantly roared to life.  John wrote himself a mental message to propose the purchase of a new vehicle next spring.

A few minutes and a couple slick roads later, John arrived at the Michaelson's farm right outside of Mystery proper.  Chaney and Bear were waiting outside the barn, Mr. Michaelson standing, rather shaking next to them in the open doorway.  John got out of the Blazer and walked across the snow to greet the men.  He had always loved the sound of fresh snow, the way it crunched under your feet as you walked upon it.

"Chaney, why in the hell did you drag me out of bed?"  John gave both the men a long look.  Although both men were quite larger than the medium-sized Biebe, they cowed to John's demeanor easily.

"Johnny,"  Mr. Michaelson's raspy old man's voice admonished the younger sheriff softly.  "I asked them to call you.  I've lived here over seventy years and I've never seen anything like it."

"What is it, Toby?"  John's demeanor softened slightly, embarrassed he took out his aggressions upon his personnel in front of another.

Michaelson led the three men into the back of the barn.  The rear door that opened into a fenced paddock was wide open, the cold wind whistling through the barn.  There in the doorway was a grisly sight.  One of Michaelson's milch cows, his best to hear him tell it, was lying upon her side, viscera leaching out upon the frozen ground.  Deep slashes about the back and throat indicated a rather large animal had at least gripped the surprised cow, and most likely ripped huge gashes in the abdomen.  Gore trailed away from the body into the snow, but it was too dark to see out in the night.

"John, like I said, never seen anything like it.  Heard the animals making quite a ruckus.  Took me a few minutes to get down here and that's when I found this." Michaelson simply stared at his prize cow, dead upon the snow.

Chaney piped in, "Do ya think it was wolves?"

"Not sure,"  John said thoughtfully.  "But don't think so.  It'd have to be a pack and they don't usually mess with people. Sometimes livestock in the fields, but never heard tell of any attacks in a barn.  Might be a bear."

"I didn't do it, John.  I swear," Bear railed nervously.

"I didn't mean you specifically, Bear."  John patted the large man upon the shoulder.  "I meant the animal."  He almost had to laugh as he watched his deputy visibly relax.

"We haven't seen bears around these parts in many a year, young John."  Michaelson peered at the sheriff.  "I'd lay money on some of those natives doing something like this."

"Why do you say that, Toby?"

"They're always gettin' in the way o' my farmin'.  We done gone to court a couple times already,  and I won both times."

"Well, keep a careful look out and don't go takin' anything on yourself.  I'm going to send Roger down with the truck tomorrow and take the cow back to have an autopsy done.  Would like to know what happened.  That okay with you?"  John asked politely.

"Whatever you say, Sheriff."  Toby smiled toothlessly at John.

"Okay, guys.  Throw a tarp over this and I'll let Roger know to come up here in the morning.  Maybe it'll tell us more in the daylight."

John walked into the office, the girls stopping their chatter immediately.  It used to be funny to him, now it was slightly annoying because he knew they were speculating about him again.  He hung up his coat and hat, murmured a good morning and walked into his office.  Running his strong, blunt fingers through his chestnut shoulder-length hair, he stared hopelessly at the desk with even more papers piled upon it.  The drifts of paper were higher than the drifts of snow outside.

Shawna popped her head in the office a couple moments later, casting an appreciative glance at her very handsome boss.  "Hey, John."

John looked up from his writing.  "What?"

"Toby Michaelson called, askin' when Roger's goin' to come and get his cow?"

"Long story, Shawna.  Anything else?"

"Yeah, someone was lookin' for you this morning.  Said they'd come back later."

"That's real helpful," John stated.

"Said somethin' about Jackson Ridge and that's all I know."  Shawna retreated out the office, wishing to herself....let's just say, less that G-rated thoughts about her boss and a bottle of Hersey's chocolate syrup.

John had just returned from a public nuisance call, just Jamie McKendrick on another binge.  How odd that once he had looked at Jamie, a guy he had known his entire life, with pity and disbelief.  Now he realized how close he was coming to Jamie's circumstances, a wife gone, the kids with her, nothing really to live for but too scared to take any way out of his miserable existence.  John turned the Blazer's ignition to the off position and opened the door, to be suddenly assailed by an obnoxious little man who barely cleared John's nose in height and looked to be quite out of his element.

"Sheriff!"  John stepped back slightly, but the little man neared him anyway.  He put out a restraining hand to the stranger to keep him from actually coming in contact with him.  The man, forty-ish and red faced from the blistering cold, panted, his chest rising from the exertion and his breath exhaling in short crystalline puffs.  "You have to help me," he pleaded.  John had the distinct impression that if the man could have physically gripped his jacket, he would have.

"Calm down."  John spoke slowly, nothing ever happened in Mystery so it couldn't be that serious.  "Now what happened?"

"I've been here three times today looking for you.  You have to go and get them before it's too late," he puffed.

John's eyes narrowed.  "Get who?"

"My partner and his so-called guide.  They're up on Jackson Ridge."

"Are they crazy?  That's a really dangerous area this time of year."  John stared at the man for a moment.  "Who are you?"  He guided the desperate man to the door of the sheriff's office and opened the door.  The heated air rushed out to meet the frozen skin of their faces like a balmy breeze.  He escorted the man to his office and closed the door to the prying eyes of his deputies.

The man collapse in the wooden chair opposite his desk and struggled to slow his breathing.  "Brenley Hardison.  My partner, Rodney Cameron, and I are professional photographers, this trip was his ill-designed scheme.  We hired a guide a few days ago to take us into the mountains.  When we got up to Jackson Ridge, the weather was already starting to look threatening.  That's when we saw the big white bear."

John sat back in his chair, his long fingers steepled in front of him.  "Ah, you're the ones spreading rumors about the mysterious polar bear."

"It's not a rumor."  Hardison's eyes were wide with fear.  John didn't doubt the man had seen a perceived threat, he just knew it couldn't be a bear.  "Sheriff, we came back down as soon as we could.  I would have been happy to return home, but Rodney, well, he wanted to go back up there.  Didn't explain why, kinda irrational about the whole thing. He hired another guy, a native, I think, to take him up there. They left this morning and I'm afraid something's going to happen to them."

John sat there a moment, silent.  He leaned forward, his head nearing Hardison's, his hair following to balance precariously there, not quite daring to tumble in his eyes.  "You mean, you want me to risk my life and the lives of my deputies to chase down your certifiable friend who doesn't have enough sense to stay off that damn mountain."  His voice was chillier than the wind outside, his eyes an icy bluish-green.  "No, Mr. Hardison. I will not do it."

"But you are the law about these parts."

"I am aware of that.  But technically he has not gone missing and he made a choice to go up there despite the warnings," John rationalized, wincing at the sharp tone he took with Hardison.  "Listen, Mr. Hardison, if you haven't heard from them in a couple of days, come and find me.  I don't want to mounta search party unless it's absolutely necessary.  If the weather changes, well....let's just wait and see."

John stood up and shook the hand of the reluctant Mr. Hardison and escorted him to the front door of the building.  He closed the door behind him and turned around both deputies and the office staff were staring at him.  "WHAT?" He barked before going back into his office and slamming the door.

The hockey pucks slammed into the makeshift goal with a loud TWANG, the old metal dinged and protesting the abuse.  John didn't care, it was the only thing that kept him from thinking about Donna and the kids and from becoming another Jamie McKendrick.  He had once prided himself on being a good husband, he had been proven wrong.  He could have been a good father, but now he'd never get the chance.  He tried to be a good sheriff, but now he wasn't able to get up off his ass to go and find the dumbasses that were bound to get lost on the mountain.  The only thing left was his hockey, and damn it, he couldn't hit the broad side of a barn tonight.

Sweat poured down his face, soaking his long hair.  He stomped up to the house, shucking his heavy boots off in the mud room before entering the main part of the house.  He guessed it didn't really matter anymore, since Donna wasn't around but he did it anyway.  In sock feet, John padded into the kitchen to fix himself some dinner.  That was one thing that he had taken for granted, Donna always fixed the meals.  If he was lucky, he wouldn't burn the cold cereal.  He made a sandwich and took it into the living room, plopping down on the couch in front of the TV to eat it in relative peace.

Something niggled in the back of his mind.  Hardison's claims had lodged in his mind and refused to budge.  You would think that if you even thought you saw a bear, a polar bear at that, you would hightail it outta there and not go back.  But for some strange reason Rodney Cameron did just that.  John was fixated on the WHY part of the equation.  There's got to be more to it, but what?

John went to the hall closet and pulled out his outdoor gear.  A worn, but heavy parka was thrown in on top of his camping and climbing equipment.  He probably wouldn't need much of the climbing stuff, Jackson Ridge for the most part was hikable, not a sheer rock face, but he threw it in anyway.  Better be safe than sorry.  Threw in a box of shells for the nine-millimeter as well.  He didn't know what Hardison had seen but he wasn't about to face it down unarmed.  He could pick up some supplies in town tomorrow, take the snowmobile up to the outskirts of the ridge and hike the rest of the way.

He also knew he would be violating one of the cardinal rules of the Alaska wilderness, he planned on going it alone.  Not really a death wish, but he didn't want to drag anyone else into it just in case.  He'd let 'em know in the office tomorrow and if he didn't call in by his portable radio in a couple of days, they should send a search party to find him and the other two fellas as well.  John stumbled off to bed, knowing he was going to have a long day in front of him and not fully understanding his change of mind.

"But John, let someone go with you," reasoned one of his deputies.  "I could go, or Bear, or any of us."

"Chase, it won't take that long and it isn't really necessary.  Anyway I need you here to look after everything while I'm gone."  John gave a half-hearted smile and patted Chase on the shoulder.  He turned to the snow machine to finish loading it.  "I promise, I won't do anything stupid."

"Going up there is stupid, John."

"I need to find those guys, if just simply for my piece of mind, okay?"  He tugged his hood over his fur hat, very little of his face was visible to Chase as he stared at him for a moment.  "I'm trusting you to take care of Mystery, Chase."  A slight worry infused his baritone.

"I'll do my best.  Don't worry."

John mounted the machine and reved the engine as he turned the ignition.  "Oh, I forgot to tell you.  Check with Dr. Morrison about that cow and get back with Toby Michaelson, Chase.  I don't want the old man spouting off about natives doing things like that, especially if they're unfounded. That could cause a lot of problems."

"Okay, John.  Be careful.  I'll talk to you in a couple of days."

John waved slightly as he headed off in the direction of Jackson Ridge, the snow machine spewing white crystals in its wake.

The trees glided by as the wind whipped his chapped face.  John was oblivious to the punishing cold as he pulled up the trail towards Jackson Ridge.  The blinding snow was beginning to fall faster now, he knew from experience he would have to throw up a shelter soon or prevail upon some remote hunting cabin before the precipitation became worrisome.  He just hoped those dumbasses up on the Ridge were smart enough to get out of the elements.  The snowmachine growled as it protested the abusive speed he took up a hill, and quit altogether as he cleared the other side.  One of the skids had broken loose from the frame, and he didn't have the tools to fix it here.  Damn it, he grumbled to himself as he unloaded his gear and thought once again about how sled dogs never broke down, and at least they provided some body heat on these frigid nights.

He set off across the snow, towards a copse of trees a few hundred yards off when he heard a gun shot resonate through the crisp late afternoon air.  John dropped his pack and lay down flat to the snow, slowly pulling the automatic from the holster clipped to his belt.  He flinched as a few flakes of snow damped his chilled skin when they crept inside his waistband.

"Drop the gun and stand up slowly."  The slightly husky feminine voice wrapped around him as he heard the distinctive click of a rifle's hammer being drawn back.  She was standing behind him and not too far off.  John hadn't even heard her footsteps crunch on the new snow.  He set the automatic gently on the snow, and pushed himself up, dusting the snow from his coat as he slowly stretched upright.  "Now turn around so I can see you.  Real slow, now."

John turned in the knee-deep snow, expending a great deal of energy just to face the woman.  As his head turned and his eyes met hers, he froze there, the blistering cold having nothing to do with the cold lump in the pit of his stomach.  Recognition flickered in the woman's brilliant indigo eyes, her abundant raven hair pulled inside the hood of her heavy parka, its seal fur trim protecting her from the bitter elements.  John knew as soon as she realized who he was, he would be a dead man.

"Johnny Biebe.  It has been a long time."

"Dascha.  I didn't know you were back."

"I don't get into town much.  What are you doing out here?"

"I'm going after two guys up on Jackson Ridge.  My snowmachine broke down a little ways back.  I was looking to set up camp around here."

"You can come up to the cabin and call your office from there.  I don't have to say how stupid it would be to go up on the Ridge this time of year, do I?"  Her rosy lips pursed slightly as if she had tasted something sour.  John guessed he deserved it, even though it had been years since he had seen her.  "Come on, you can hop on the sled."  She led the way back to where her pack of dogs and the large wooden sled was "parked" behind a large drift of snow and ice.  The dogs had not made a sound, unusual in this situation.  She restacked the load so he could climb in and they set off for her cabin near the mountain.

Dascha Petrovic had only been in Mystery's high school for a couple of days when she met John Biebe, hot-shot Mystery hockey star.  Never having been a fan of the game, that had  already placed her on the outside.  With a mother of Inuit blood and her father a Russian immigrant, Dascha had grown up in some of the most remote locations Alaska had to offer.  Never having attended a public school until now, the number of people, despite the diminuitive size of Mystery, was overwhelming.  She withdrew into herself.  Her father had moved here after her mother died and he needed a steady job to support her and her two older brothers.  What Dascha wouldn't have given to set foot on the Bering Sea once again, the desolate landscape where the sun only made a brilliant line in the horizon between the white sky above and the white snow and ice below.  She had been home there, not in this mountainous wilderness where trees and unfamiliar wildlife abounded.

Back to John.  All the girls in her senior class had a huge crush on John, or Johnny as he was called by his friends.  Not many of the boys paid attention to Dascha, however.  She was a bit overweight, strong from her days working with her father, and had a quiet aloofness about her.  All that changed when John asked her to the Valentine's dance.  Dascha's excitement was tangible, finally being recognized by one of the most attractive boys in school.  She took extra care with her hair, even talking her father into buying a new dress with their scant funds.  She waited by the window for him to pick her up, looking out at every noise or dog bark to see if he had arrived.  Finally he arrived and whisked her off to the dance.

Except they never made it there.  John pulled off on the side of the road and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.  Dascha couldn't believe her luck.  In her naivety, she allowed him to kiss her deeply.  Those kisses remained with her to this very day.  As he tried to press his attentions further, Dascha was hesitant and withdrew.  He had tried to coax her into continuing but she was adamant.  When she wouldn't return his advances, John told her angrily to get out of the car.  Dascha did as she was told and he sped off in a flurry of snow.  She had trekked back the three frigid miles to the cabin, icy tears streaming down her face.  The only that kept her shame from being complete was that her father had gone out for the evening and wasn't there.

When she showed up at school on Monday, Dascha returned to scathing glances from the girls and leers from the boys.  Not knowing what had happened, one kind soul had spared her the secrecy of the glances and sneers, and told her that John had made a bet with the rest of the guys on the hockey team that he could get Dascha to go all the way with him.  Apparently according to what John had said to his cronies, he definitely won the bet and ruined her reputation at the same time.  She tracked him down in the guy's locker room, not caring what was said about her at this point.  When he refused to recant his story in front of his friends, Dascha grabbed a hockey stick from the corner and made a very nice slap-shot right upside John Biebe's handsome head.

Even after her suspension, Dascha refused to return to high school.  She finished up her diplomawork at home and left Alaska to attend college, desperately hoping never to see Mystery and John Biebe ever again.

Dascha shouted something in Russian out above the howling wind to the dogs, who slowed their progress as they neared the old cabin.  John flinched at the harsh sounding words.  He helped to unload the dogsled, then she ushered him inside to use the phone while she unhitched the dogs and led them to their boxes in the kennel.  The storm was picking up in intensity, night was rapidly falling.  John was on the phone, static a permanent part of the communication to his office, when the door blew open and Dascha struggled inside.  Snow fell out of her heavy snowsuit, from her face and hair as she shrugged out of the coat.  John had laid his coat upon the chair and wasn't relishing going back out in the snow, but it was better that staying here with the mortification he felt at the memories of almost ten years ago.

She climbed the stairs to the loft, presumably where her bedroom was.  John swallowed at the thought.  Even with the bulky clothes, Dascha had lost quite a bit of weight.  When she returned, she had dressed in a pair of jeans that hugged every curve and tight knit sweater of indigo blue, a perfect compliment to her eyes.  She didn't move with the clumsiness of her youth, but he could also tell she hadn't lost any of that strength she had as a teenager.  Too bad he had been so callow as young man.  John completed his call and moved to pick up his jacket.

"What are you doing?"  Her voice was soft, still a bit husky and slight tinged with her Russian heritage.  She began to pull out fixings for dinner, as John's stomach rumbled in agreement.

"Going out to wait with the snowmachine.  Thanks for the phone call."

"You really do have a death wish, don't you, Biebe?"  She hadn't turned her attention from her cooking.  John caught himself staring at her delectable backside.  Oh how he wished he could fix things with Dascha.  He didn't relish having to go out in that storm again.

"It's not that bad," he replied nonchalantly.  "Anyway, I hate to impose."

"Why?  Afraid someone will spread some rumor?  Maybe your wife will find out?"  The voice held no censure, just a disarming evenness.

John sat down in the chair abruptly.  Her comment about Donna cut him to the bone, without Dascha even knowing it.  He whispered softly, his aqua eyes haunted.  "I doubt she'd care.  She's living in the 48 now with our sons."

Dacsha spun around and gazed at the forlorn figure he made.  "I am sorry, John Biebe.  I didn't know."

"You're right to be angry with me."

"About what happened ten years ago?  I don't know about you, but I've lived too much since then to really care. Not that I'm happy you're here, but I won't shoot you in your sleep, if that's what you're thinkin'."  She dumped out a can into the simmering pot on the stove.  Wonderful smells wafted through the house, making John hungry and heartsick at the same time.  His stomach rumbled once again, this time loud enough for Dascha to hear it.  John blushed crimson at the wayward behavior of his belly.  "It's okay.  This is a hungry snow."

"Can I help you with something?"

"No, almost finished."  She turned to face him again. "Listen, your people won't make it out here until morning at least, so go ahead and put your sleeping bag in the living room.  No sense in freezin' to death out there in the snow.  You can get a clear start in the morning."

John went to remove his sleeping bag from his pack, then walked over to where Dascha was putting the finishing touches on dinner.  His heart tingled at the thought of being in a kitchen with a beautiful woman once again.  He reached out and took her hand in his.  Pressing his chilled lips to the back of her smooth hand, he gazed at her with those brilliant aquamarine eyes that had charmed her so long ago and smiled.  His first real smile in months.  "I don't know why you are doing this, but thank you."

Dascha swallowed hard as he released her hand and went to spread his pallet on the floor.  The skin still tingled with the sensation of his kiss.  This time she was determined not to lose her heart to John Biebe.

To be continued....