Running Wild (Wild 3)

“Did Harry mention that he showed up here when I moved in?” Tyler’s fingers stroke behind Nymeria’s ear. “He came to tell me not to bother starting up any kind of touring or breeding business, seeing as his family has cornered that market around here.”

“He didn’t mention that, no.” Friendly meet ’n’ greet, my ass. What was Harry thinking?

Tyler smirks. “He’s lucky I have no interest in a bunch of strangers traipsing all over my property and near my dogs. But do me a favor, will you? When you stop by his place to give him the good news, you know, that he’ll still have to lose to me in March—”

I roll my eyes.

“Let him know that I wasn’t planning on breeding to sell, but you’ve helped me change my mind. Tank here would love to see some of his pups in the Iditarod one day.” He ruffled the dog’s head. “What do you think? Will mushers around here want my dogs?” The haughty smile that curls his lips tells me the question is rhetorical.

I don’t bother feeding his ego with an answer, turning on my heels to walk away.

“Can’t wait to see you on the trail!” he hollers after me.

Yeah, can’t wait.

The truck’s cab is warm when I climb in. That knot in my stomach that I arrived with has dissolved, only to be replaced with general unease.

Howie backs the truck far enough to turn. “Can’t say I’ve seen you so ruffled before. You’re normally the levelheaded one.”

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.”