Running Wild(Wild #3)(33)

Tyler chuckles as I work through possible meaning in that single word, as if able to read my inner turmoil. “See you out there.” With that, he ducks out of the tent.

And I take a few minutes to calm my heart and my burgeoning hopes.





*



Steam rises from the paper cup as I trek along the path from the hut, my head lamp guiding my way through the darkness. It’s eerily quiet with only the odd crackle from the blazing firepit and my own boots crunching through the snow to keep me company. But Rick, the guy manning the kitchen while Karen rests, confirmed that along with the twenty or so volunteers on-site, sixty-seven dogs and their mushers are asleep here tonight. The next team is expected to arrive in a few hours with the dawn. Thankfully, Skip came and went, aiming to get to Ruby for his big rest and the cash prize.

The closer I get to the glowing light in the distance, the more the flutters in my stomach stir. I haven’t felt this sort of reaction to someone since … well, Jonah.

Tyler already has his cook pot going when I reach him. The dogs are up and stretching their legs as far as their lines will allow them, eager for their second soupy meal of kibble, meat, and broth, before they curl up for another eight-hour stretch of sleep. They’re the only ones who eat and sleep well during this race, the mushers and volunteers running ragged at their beck and call.

Tyler looks up at the last minute, his eyes far more alert now than they were in the tent, but still lined with bags. He accepts the coffee from my mittened grasp with his bare hands and a murmur of thanks. “Did you find Terry?”

“Yeah, he decided to let me sleep and then crashed in your old spot.” Rick confirmed that he went down right after the last check-in a few hours ago. “He likes an uncomfortably hot tent, too, so it’s a win-win for all of us.”

“He can spoon with Hatchett if he wants.” Tyler takes a long draw from his cup.

I can still feel those lips against my knuckles. And my mouth. “I doubt he’ll get as good a wake-up as I did, though.”

Tyler coughs on his coffee. “So that’s where we’re at? Joking about it already?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“Good question.” A secretive smile disappears behind another sip.

What I would do to read his thoughts at this moment.

I shift my focus to one of his wheel dogs, straddling her body so I can stroke her front legs the way mushers often do, warming up and loosening her muscles. She thanks me with a swipe of her nose against my chin.

“You have a team?” Tyler asks, tearing open the bag of kibble and pouring it into the lined-up bowls.

“Of sled dogs?” I chuckle. “I can’t even commit to a goldfish, let alone a pile of dogs.”

“You seem to know what you’re doing.”

“Well, yeah. I grew up in the sled dog capital of Alaska with a veterinarian for a father. Of course I do. But I’ve never been interested in the racing side of it. Just the athletes.” I give the gentle husky one last scratch before shifting to the next.

“You’ve gone mushing, though, right?”

“A few times. Short runs, usually once the snow is on the ground and the dogs are starting their seasonal training, so I can watch them move.”

“Let me guess, with Harry?” He says that name with scorn.

“Yes, with Harry. With his father, Earl, before him.” He was a nice man.

Tyler makes a noise. “How do you put up with that arrogant little punk, anyway?”

“I’ve known him forever, and he’s not all bad. And the Hatchetts have been loyal clients to my family for decades.” I hesitate. “Plus, I have a lot of bills to pay, and he has a lot of dogs.” It feels like a betrayal to my profession to admit that I’m with him, in part, for the money, but it’s the truth. And the way Harry has been behaving, it’s becoming the only respectable excuse. “I’m sure Frank Hartley would go out on the trail with you for the right price.”

“Yeah, I’m noticing he likes to nickel and dime, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” he says dryly.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t do your research.” I give Tank my bare hand to sniff, but he dives for my glove instead, nipping at the thumb. I manage to pry it from his teeth with a soft scold. It’s always a good sign, though, to see a sled dog’s playfulness.

From the corner of my eye, I feel Tyler watching me.

“Maybe I should switch veterinarians. What would you think about that?”

I think that would be a huge problem for my steadfast commitment to never date a client again. I school my expression. “You’d have to make sure your new veterinarian can handle having you on her roster. She might be too busy.”

He ladles hot water into the dishes. “She wouldn’t be too busy for me.”

I chuckle. “You sound pretty confident about that.”

“Am I wrong?”

I search for the right answer. How hard to get should I play? Who am I kidding? I don’t have time for games. “No, you’re not wrong.”

He smiles as he passes the bowls out to the dogs. Tank abandons all interest in my gloves. “Seriously, though, you should try mushing. There’s nothing like being in the wilderness, just you and your dogs.”