Running Wild (Wild 3)

“They look good!” Terry signs the diary and hands it back. “I know things got kind of scrambled with all the chaos comin’ in. Not sure if Peter asked if you’re gonna rest here?”

Tyler juts his chin in answer, to the dark stretch leading out of the checkpoint. “I have some ground to catch up.”

Terry chuckles. “You’ve got at least seven days to make up the time, but you can grab your straw over there.” He directs Tyler to the bales with a pointed finger and a “good luck” before strolling away, heading toward the warmth of the cabin.

“Do you want to check over my dogs for me?” Tyler asks suddenly. “You know, make sure they have your approval?”

I set my jaw. I’m guessing that’s some sort of reference to last year’s debacle with Skip. “Nope, sounds like you’re good to go.”

“Are you sure?” he frowns. “Because you seemed to be watching that veterinarian very closely.”

It wasn’t Terry I was watching, not that I’m going to admit that.

Tyler shrugs. “And you said you don’t trust the others, so—”

“I never said that!” I hiss, glancing around to make sure we’re not within earshot of anyone. Despite the cold, my cheeks burn. The last thing I need is that rumor flowing through the volunteer crew. Finishing my examination, I climb to my feet, intent on calling the other volunteers over to look after Larry’s dogs while they sort out what to do about Larry, so I can get the hell away from Tyler. I assume the state troopers have already been called in to provide a medical check and evacuation, if required.

“I’m serious,” he calls out, his tone shifting to a more somber sound. “That guy seemed more interested in me than he was in my team. I don’t know how thorough he was with my dogs, and I wouldn’t want them to suffer because of it.”

Despite my annoyance, the genuine concern in his voice stalls my legs. “That’s just Terry being Terry. He’ll talk your ear off, but he’s one of the good ones.”

“Maybe. But that gorge was more challenging than I expected.” His gaze wanders behind him, back toward the trail, pitch-black now. “Tank injured his leg last spring. He looked good running today, but I’d still like a second look at him from someone I trust. If you wouldn’t mind.”

I can’t keep my jaw from gaping. Someone he trusts? Is this a joke? “Why? So you can accuse me of sabotaging you if I find something wrong with him?”

A pained expression flickers across his face. “We got off on the wrong foot. Harry pissed me off, and I took it out on you. But I think you’ll agree I’m not one of the bad guys, and I know you were only looking out for Nymeria.”

That sounds like an apology, or as close to it as I’m likely going to get. Oddly enough, it’s in the same vein as the handwritten note I didn’t deliver back in January.

I clear my throat. “How is she, by the way?”

“She’s doing well.” A slow, amused smile touches his lips. “I’m assuming you already know that, though, seeing as your friend was by Frank’s twice, asking. What? You didn’t think Frank would tell me?” If he’s at all irritated by that—or by my feigned obliviousness—he’s hiding it well. He shifts his attention to the curly-tailed silver-and-ash dog at the head of the pack who watches us quietly, as if understanding every word. “I’d appreciate your help with Tank now. I need him with me to the end.”

Tyler has already figured out how to play on my weakness.

With a glance over at the cabin to make sure Terry isn’t around—what would he think if he knew I was rechecking a dog, especially after what happened last year?—I abandon my escape plan and march for the left lead dog, crouching in front of him. “Remember me?” I whisper, scratching behind his ear.

He licks his lips in answer, his breath skating across my face.

“Yeah, of course you do. Don’t pee on me again,” I warn, listening to his breathing and measuring his pants across my cheek before I check his gums and the skin on the back of his neck for any signs of dehydration.

The whole time, I feel Tyler watching me closely, that penetrating stare unsettling.

“How old is he?” I ask.

“Nine, next month.”

“Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Though there’s intelligence in the dog’s eyes that only comes with age.

“It’s his left leg that was the problem.”

I gently palpate it, looking for any bumps or bulges, anything that might stir a flinch. “There’s nothing here. And no signs of muscle loss.” I finish off with my hands on his other joints, looking for any problems that might come with a nine-year-old dog. “No dehydration, no overheating, no aches.” I cap off the declaration with a pat before climbing to my feet. “He looks perfect. Ready to run another eight hundred miles. With adequate rest,” I add, my tone warning.