Running Wild(Wild #3)(5)

No, that door is closed forever. It’s time for me to move on.

If I could only figure out how.

“Just know if you ever need a nonjudgmental ear, I’m here for you. And, you know, I’m also more than willing to set you up with one of Joe’s friends.”

My head falls back with an exasperated groan.

“I’m serious! He has a few cute, single ones. Are they the smartest? No. Are they relationship material? Also, no. But you’ll have a good time.”

My laughter drowns out the singsong lilt of her words. “Aren’t they all his age?” Younger than Cory by two years.

“So?” She shrugs. “You’re a youthful thirty-seven-year-old.”

“I’ll be thirty-eight next month,” I remind her. “And I don’t want a twenty-six-year-old boy. Even for that.” Joe is a sweet guy, but Cory is the mature one in that relationship. Just being around him makes me feel old.

Knuckles rapping on the door makes us both jump.

Harry Hatchett and his mother Bonnie are huddled outside, a blonde husky dangling from Harry’s arms.

“Speaking of annoying boys,” Cory whispers. “He doesn’t have an appointment.”

“No, and I usually head out there.” To the Hatchett property, halfway between Meadow Lakes and Fishhook, to their kennel of seventy-five sled dogs. That Harry showed up here now, carrying one of them, means something must be very wrong.

I move swiftly to unlock the door and get them out of the polar vortex that has gripped the entire Mat-Su region this past week.

“We were hoping we’d catch you,” Harry says. He’s a lean man who matches my height, with a trimmed beard that complements the mop of blond hair hiding beneath his winter cap. His baby-blue eyes and trademark playful grin have won plenty of female attention; the latter is noticeably absent.

I’ve known Harry for years, since I was fifteen and tagging along on clinic runs with my dad, and Harry was a rambunctious toddler, clambering onto his father Earl’s sled to yell “Ready!” at an empty gangline. It’s no surprise he grew up to become a competitive musher. He’s a second-generation racer in the Iditarod, the historic thousand-mile dogsled race across two mountain ranges. It’s in his blood. And while he hasn’t won the Iditarod yet, he’s determined to beat his father’s record of five first place finishes.

It was always assumed that Earl and Harry would be lining up trophies next to each other for years to come. But three years ago, Earl suffered a massive heart attack while out training on their property. Their lead dogs brought the sled back without guidance, and without him. He’d collapsed on the trail.

By the time Harry and Bonnie found him, it was too late.

And Harry, only twenty-two, and an immature twenty-two at that, was left to take over the family operation.

“Dr. Lehr.” Bonnie’s pointy chin dips in greeting, and my skin prickles with awareness. She only uses my official title when they want something specific from me.

“Who’s this?” I take in the dog’s eyes—one a pale blue, the other brown. Apprehension fills them, but it doesn’t make a sound. It’s skinny and weathered, with oozing bite marks on its thigh.

It can’t be one of theirs. Around here, the Hatchett name is synonymous with winning races, and breeding and keeping champion sled dogs. Between my father and me, we’ve treated the Hatchett Kennels for four decades, and they take exceptional care of their dogs.

“She wandered over from the old Danson place,” Harry says with a sharp look.

“Right, your mother mentioned you had a new neighbor.” A musher who moved here from somewhere abroad and bought the sizable property next to them.

“Look what he’s done to her!” Bonnie shakes a gnarled index finger at the sad-looking animal in Harry’s arms, her pinched face an odd mix of sympathy and triumph. This isn’t the first time she’s suggested that her new neighbor abuses his dogs, approaching me for help to expose him. But she’s never had any evidence, only hunches.

Now, it appears she might have proof to back up her claim.

“I’ll bet he’s been using her to churn out litters of puppies.” Harry bends his athletic body over to ease the dog onto the floor.

Her nose twitches, taking in the medley of antiseptic and animal scents as she looks around the lobby, searching for an escape, I’m sure.

I crouch to my haunches. “Hey, girl.” I’d put her at about forty pounds. Not emaciated, but underweight for her size. She should tip the scale at fifty.

It’s a long moment before she takes the few hobbled steps over to sniff my outstretched hand with a cautious pass of her snout.

From this angle, I’m able to see the loose skin and enlarged nipples on her underbelly. She’s had puppies. Probably multiple litters, the latest one within the past six months. My nostrils fill with the smell of her fetid breath. “Have you met this guy yet?”

“Once. Mom and I headed over the week he moved in for a little meet ’n’ greet. You know, the friendly neighbor thing to do. We ran into him halfway up his laneway. He didn’t invite us to the house, and by the next week he had a gate up on the driveway and a dozen warning signs to keep people off his property. Seems weird, doesn’t it? To be so unfriendly with your neighbors right off the bat, especially us? And in a tight community like this where people help each other out?” Harry shakes his head. “It’s gotta make you wonder what he’s hiding back there.”