Running Wild (Wild 3)

He’s staring at me.

Waiting for my answer.

“Good. You look good,” I mumble. “I mean, the dogs look good.”

“Good.” Yet still he hovers there.

It’s another long second before I realize he’s holding out the dog diary, waiting for me to accept it. That’s why he’s looking at me like that.

“Oh! Right.” I snatch it from his hand, my cheeks burning as I bury my head in the pages of veterinarian notes. “You still have your full team.”

“And it’ll stay that way, if they can handle it.”

“Really? You’re not going to drop any near the end?” Even the top mushers will leave a few dogs in that last stretch. Fewer dogs means less time taken out of the race to care for them when every minute counts.

“Not if I can help it. They’ve all worked hard, and they all deserve to finish the race.” He scratches the jet-black dog’s head on his way past.

We work quietly as we get the team settled. I focus on my routine examination, pulling my stethoscope out to check each dog’s heart and lungs, gums, paws, and joints, earning myself plenty of licks in the line.

Tyler is busy rubbing down each dog’s muscles and smoothing ointment on their paws to keep the pads from getting chapped. “So, I’ve always been curious, who was it that cut through my gate? You? Or your animal control friend?” He fastens the insulated jacket on the blond husky again.

His tone is casual, but his question makes me wary. “Why? You want to send a bill?”

“Relax.” He chuckles. “I’m just wondering how far past the line Marie the Crusader is willing to go for the sake of an animal?”

I shift to the black swing dog, pressing my stethoscope to his chest. “As far as I’m concerned, there is no line.”

Tyler’s silent for a moment and I feel him watching me, but I keep my focus on my patient.

“I think I like that answer.”

“Enough to take down your stupid sign?” I quip without much thought.

His lips part, but he falters on his words. “How do you know about that?”

“I may have driven out to your place to apologize the next day.”

“Really? What happened? You forgot your bolt cutters?”

An unexpected laugh slips out, and it earns me his crinkly-eyed smile.

“Better yet, you decided I didn’t deserve an apology.”

“Something like that.” I lift the dog’s lip to check his gums, and he snarls.

“Airi, settle down,” Tyler warns, adding, “He likes to make noise. Especially when he’s hungry.”

“I don’t blame you, Airi. I get grumpy when I’m hungry, too.” I stroke his neck.

“You should stop distracting me, then, so I can hurry up and feed them.” His gaze skates over my face, stalling on my mouth. I see raw curiosity, interest.

Is Tyler flirting, or is he this way with everyone? I don’t know him at all.

But a part of me admits that I want to.

I take my time with my medical checks to make sure they’re thorough while Tyler shifts to food preparation, examining the kettle he set up to melt snow for water and then hauling his weighty drop bag of food to his sled.

The dogs whine and bark as they watch him pour kibble into fourteen identical red bowls and mix it with chunks of meat and warm broth that he prepared in a cooler. Only when each dog has a bowl in front of it does Tyler step back and take a breath. The fur ruff that protected him from the harshest elements is frozen, caked with snow and ice.

“Tired?”

“Exhausted,” he admits. “I can’t wait to sleep.”

Which he’ll get to do soon, based on how all the dogs are inhaling their meals. With full stomachs and beds to rest, they can easily log eight hours without stirring. “Your team looks healthy.”

He nods, his shoulders sinking with relief as if he was anxiously waiting for me to declare that. “Good.”

The checkpoint is buzzing again as volunteers spill out from the communal hut.

“Skip must be almost here.” I do a poor job hiding my disdain. It’s time to wake up Terry, before I get stuck facing off with the old musher again.

“I was hoping it was Hatchett.”

“He’s not far behind.” I scribble my name in Tyler’s dog diary. “Go get some sleep.”

“I plan on it. As soon as I see the look on Hatchett’s face when he rolls in.” He grins as he collects the book from my grasp, our fingertips grazing in the exchange, stirring something inside me.

“I’m sure you’ll find it gratifying.” Harry was that kid who threw baseball bats across the base in a fit of frustration when he struck out. After how obnoxious he was in Rohn, a part of me wants to watch this showdown unfold, but then I’ll be stuck playing his sounding board, and I’m not choosing sides in this neighborly spat. “Have a good night.” I pull my gloves back on, savoring that lingering spark against my skin as I walk away, accepting that, despite our rocky introduction, I’m attracted to this guy.