Running Wild(Wild #3)(14)

I realize I’m scowling. “He’s spiteful.”

“What do you expect, Marie? You showed up here with a spike for his head, and he knows it.”

“I guess I did.”

“If the guy takes care of his dogs as well as he says he does, he’s gonna take offense to this. It’s like accusing a parent of abusing their kid.” Howie smooths his palm over his face. “We should’ve handled this differently. Let’s just hope he’s all talk. That last thing I need is to be on the police chief’s shit list.”

And the absolute last thing I need is another formal complaint to Wade.

I steal one last glance in the side-view mirror as we head down the driveway. Tyler is walking toward the barn, Nymeria hobbling beside him.





CHAPTER THREE





“I asked my cat what’s two minus two.” My father pauses for effect. “She said nothing.”

A medley of laughter and exasperated groans greets me as I shake off my snow-covered boots at the door and stroll into the familiar living room. This is the only home of my parents that I’ve ever known. Aside from updated pictures within the frames and a growing collection of trinkets, nothing has changed. It still smells the same—of burning wood, apple-cinnamon potpourri, and a well-used kitchen. Even the three twin beds in the loft room that my sisters and I shared as children are the same.

“Grandpa,” Tillie moans. “You don’t even have a cat.”

“She liked my joke.” Dad gestures at Nicole, who’s rolling around on the rug, laughing hysterically. Beside her, Bentley reclines on his side, unruffled by her theatrics. No one would ever guess the black-and-white husky spent years racing across the Alaskan terrain in subarctic temperatures with the way he basks in the warmth from the woodstove.

“That’s because she’s five and she laughs at anything. She can’t even do math!”

“Oh.” His blue-gray eyes flicker to me, amusement in them. “Well, maybe I should tell the joke to your aunt Marie and see what she thinks—”

“The nine-year-old is right. It’s terrible, Pops.” I lean forward to press a kiss against his forehead.

“Ha!” My precocious niece grins, victorious.

“Jeez. Tough crowd tonight, huh, Yukon?”

The golden husky who’s never more than five feet from Dad rests his chin on my father’s arm, earning himself a head scratch. Somewhere in the house, there’s a smaller, female version of him named Aurora, who I rescued from an unsavory owner with Howie’s help. She’s skittish and likely hiding upstairs until the pint-sized people are gone.

I hug the girls. “Where is everyone?”

“Where else? Hanging out in the kitchen while they’ve left me with these two wolves.” My father adjusts his wire-rimmed glasses and then smooths a hand over his belly to fix his button-down shirt. He has always been a tall, slim man, but retirement and age have softened his body and slowed his walk. Neither have kept him from his regular hikes, though, where the seventy-four-year-old will spend hours during the summer months, his trekking poles gripped for balance and the dogs at his side. But even with that activity, my father has developed various health issues over the last decade, with type 2 diabetes being the most surprising and concerning.

“Okay, Tillie, grab those cards over there for me, will ya?”

“What for?” She collects the deck and trots over to hand it to him.

“Seeing as you’re so grown up, it’s time I taught you how to play poker. That way you can take all your daddy’s money.”

Nicole bursts with another round of roll-on-the-floor laughter. “Grandpa Jokey, you’re so funny.”

Tillie is right, her little sister finds anything my father says amusing, even when she has no idea what he’s talking about.

I chuckle as I head toward the voices. Sidney Lehr may be known around these parts as an exceptional veterinarian, but I’ve never seen anyone prouder to wear the title of “Grandpa Jokey.”

The smell of pot roast, potatoes, and roasted root vegetables—a typical Sunday meal in the Lehr household for as long as I can recall—hits me as I stroll into the kitchen.

“… maybe she’s changed her mind about having kids. She’s always on the go with work.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. We all know she wants a baby. She’s almost thirty-eight. Does she realize how hard it can be to get pregnant in your forties?” Liz’s back is to the door, her lengthy golden-blonde hair worn down today rather than in a ponytail. She’s perfectly positioned to block my mother’s view of me behind her. “And all because she had to spend years chasing after that bush pilot who wasn’t interested in her. Now she’s alone, with no prospects.”

My ears burn as I listen to my sister critique my life choices and check the ticking clock on my womb between sips of chardonnay. Also a typical Sunday event in the Lehr household, it feels sometimes.

“Well, I don’t know what to say—Marie!” Mom pulls a pan of sizzling vegetables from the oven, offering me an exaggerated smile and then Liz a scolding glare as she hip-checks the door closed. At five foot one, it’s a struggle. “You’re later than usual.”

“Yeah, busy day.”

“Hey, Mare.” Liz doesn’t have the decency to look sheepish at getting caught gossiping about me, but she’s never done ashamed well. “How was your weekend?”