Running Wild(Wild #3)(29)

“Wait!” My eyes peel open, the sleepy fog lifting. “Do you know who it is?”

“I hear it’s that handsome rookie from Finland. See ya out there!”

There’s only one person she can mean. Tyler did it. He’s going to get his gold nuggets.

And Harry is going to be so pissed.

My soft chuckle carries through the tent.





*



Cheers and applause explode as the silhouette approaches through the stunted black spruce that dapple the otherwise empty, flat tundra. Tyler’s red musher’s jacket and the dogs’ matching red booties and coats provide a picturesque contrast to the sea of snow in the waning daylight. A trail photographer on-site for the grand entrance takes full advantage, snapping as the team slides in.

Tyler eases his sled into a long-term spot and drops his snow hook, then steps off. He pushes back his hood, revealing a few more days’ worth of growth across his jaw. Eyes that look like they haven’t shut for more than an hour at a time for days—they probably haven’t—scan the various functional sheds and arctic tents that make up the isolated checkpoint, now bustling with excitement from volunteers and media personnel who’ve been waiting for this monumental arrival.

When his tired gaze passes over me, it doubles back quickly. He offers me a lazy smile that seems to say, “Told you so.”

I smile back.

And maybe it’s because we’re both exhausted, but our eyes hang there, fastened on each other for a long moment.

“So? You gonna take the TV or the gold?” the prize sponsor rep, a burly man bundled in a parka, drops his beefy hand onto Tyler’s shoulder and then turns to pose for a semi-candid shot. Hopper, the race judge at this checkpoint, hovers beside him.

“I can get a TV anywhere,” comes Tyler’s wry response.

“That, you can.” The rep’s laughter booms in the vast, empty wilderness. “How about we head over there for the little ceremony?” He gestures toward a table nearby where the trophy and gold await.

Tyler rubs a palm across the stubble on his cheek. “Can I take care of my dogs first?”

The rep holds his hands up in surrender. “Fair enough. You do what you gotta do. I’ll be inside, where it’s warm.” He lumbers toward the hut.

Tyler’s shoulders seem to sink as he heads for the straw—the first step in a lengthy process of caring for the team before he can even think about a moment’s rest for himself.

“Well, kid?” Terry sidles up to me, his attention on the dogs ahead. “How are you feeling? Good nap?”

I grunt.

“You shouldn’t be so tired. You’re half my age.”

“More like two-thirds. And you got way more sleep than I did last night.” The fifty-nine-year-old veterinarian vanished at nine p.m. I found him snoring in his sleeping bag, with no request for a wake-up call. He had no intention of getting up until his alarm went off this morning.

“True,” he admits with a chuckle that slips away as quickly. “It’s just you and me till Sam can catch a flight in the morning.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sam, the third veterinarian assigned to this checkpoint, left here yesterday morning to cover for an ill veterinarian in McGrath. Coordinating all the flights—of dogs heading back to Anchorage, of volunteers and media moving between checkpoints—is a monumental task that requires a lot of flexibility, especially when juggling the unexpected.

So right now, it’s just me and what I’m beginning to think is my assigned babysitter, care of Wade.

“The tracking report says Skip’s about two hours out if he keeps his pace, and Harry’s not too far behind him. We might have as many as four more teams rolling in overnight. So why don’t I steal a bit of sleep now while you take this one?” He nods toward Tyler’s dogs. “Then I’ll look over Skip and Harry while you get a few more hours’ rest. Sound like a plan?” He’s already making his way toward the yellow dome.

“Don’t put too much wood in!” I holler after him.

“It’s the stove!” he counters.

“No, it’s definitely the operator.”

Tyler is already spreading a thick layer of straw for his dogs and doesn’t seem to notice me approaching.

An unexpected spike of nerves stirs in my stomach as I watch him. “I guess your goals weren’t too lofty.”

“Hey, Crusader.” He looks up briefly and meets my eyes, allowing me to see the heavy bags under his. “I told you I would make it here first.”

I ignore the nickname, crouching to greet Tank with a head scratch. His panting is hot against my cheek. “What are you going to do with your big prize?”

“I promised it to Reed.”

I can’t keep the surprise from my voice. “You’re giving Reed $3000 in gold nuggets?”

“Yeah. He deserves it.” A curious frown touches his brow. “Why?”

“No reason.” Reed probably does deserve it. He must spend a lot of time with the dogs. “So is he your nephew or cousin?” Tyler referred to him as family.

“Brother.”

They must be fifteen to twenty years apart. “Wow, that’s a big age difference between you two.”

“Yup.” He drops the last pile of straw beside me for Tank. The other dogs have already settled in their spots, waiting for their meals. “He’s a good kid.”