Running Wild (Wild 3)

“I did check them when they came in. They were all fine.”

“Well, you need to check again—”

“I did, just now, and they’re fine,” I say through gritted teeth. I know what he’s doing. “How about I leave the racing stuff to you, and you leave the vet stuff to me, ’kay?” I throw the words he said to me in Rohn back in his face.

He works a retort around in his smarmy mouth, but when he meets my challenging glare, he seems to think better of it.

“I’m going to grab a bite—”

“Man, that last stretch coming in here last night was rough,” he cuts in, taking a sip of his coffee. “There were a bunch of markers missing.”

At least he’s attempting a normal conversation. “It happens. Those things aren’t permanently affixed to the ground.” It’s a monumental task every year to set some twelve thousand fluorescent-orange-tipped lath markers so the mushers don’t get lost, especially if caught in a blizzard. “You told the crew so they can go out and fix them, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. And sounds like people made it through fine.” He pauses in thought. “Skip said they were down when he went through, too. Makes ya think, doesn’t it?” He glances in Tyler’s direction again. “It’s like someone kicked them over.”

There’s only one “someone” that could be.

I realize which angle Harry’s working, and my disgust swells. Not only is he arrogant enough to think he can manipulate me like this but it’s beyond poor sportsmanship. “So, first, you accuse him of pushing his dogs too hard to get here ahead of you, and now you’re saying he took time out of racing to sabotage you? A guy who went out of his way and put himself in danger to help Larry Reese in the gorge? Who stayed with him the whole way to make sure he made it in?” That story is circulating through all the checkpoints, earning Tyler prominence among both volunteers and mushers. “Harry, if you start going around accusing him of things without any proof, it’s going to look bad, and not on him. On you.”

“I didn’t say it was Brady,” Harry stumbles as he backpedals over his allegation.

“He was the first one through. Who else do you think it could be?”

“Yeah, well … How is that possible, anyway? He’s a rookie. How’s he in the lead?”

“Maybe he’s just that good, Harry.”

He sneers as if tasting something sour. “Whose side are you on here?”

I’ve run out of patience. “The dogs’ side. Always the dogs. Now go and take care of yours. I’m sure they’re as hungry as I am.” I move to leave.

“Wait, Marie—”

“And don’t lecture Lynn again, unless you want to get strangled in your sleep.” The list of potential assailants is growing by the minute. I’m ready to add my name to the page.

I march for the hut, not waiting for his response.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Laughter spills out with the warmth as I slip into the hut, shutting the door quickly behind me.

“… thought there might be a critter hidin’ up in there, but there was nothing! And he spent half an hour barking at the damn tree before he’d run again!” Gary slaps his thigh as he chortles. “I sat there on my sled, freezin’ my nuts off. I swear, he’s the sweetest boy, but he’s got bricks for brains.”

A few volunteers are awake at this hour, and three of them are cramped around the table, holding paper plates for Karen to fill and sharing stories while they mentally prepare for the day. Most of these people just love the sport and the dogs, but some, like Gary, are recreational mushers themselves, and a few have tackled the two- and three-hundred-mile races—snack-sized qualifiers for anyone running in the Iditarod.

“Look who decided to join us!” Karen flips a pancake on her propane griddle. “I heard Terry burned the midnight oil and let you log in a few extra. Hope it helped?”

“It did. I’ll have to thank him for that.” And for sending Tyler to my tent. I hang my coat on a bent nail—a makeshift hook—by the door. The woodstove is kept blazing in the hut, and most people need to escape to the outdoors for relief. Sometimes I think that’s by design, so no one lingers too long inside.

“Annie’s about five miles out.” Karen checks the watch strapped to her sturdy wrist. She’s down to her base layer and an apron while she cooks. “After that, we likely won’t see any new teams rolling in until the afternoon. So, you might be able to get a little more rest.”

That depends on where Tyler is. He’ll grab a few more hours once his dogs are settled, and I can’t see myself getting a second of sleep, no matter how tired I am, if he’s lying beside me.