Running Wild (Wild 3)

I roll my eyes, even as my cheeks flush.

“Oh yes, she’s a regular butterfly, that one.” But my dad frowns curiously at me. He knows better than anyone that my calendar is always kept open for animals and my friend circle is tiny. Almost nonexistent, it feels lately.

And now I look like an ass, but it’s better than having to explain why I’m unwilling to play friends with a man I’m attracted to ever again.

An ambulance siren carries in the distance, saving me from that conversation.

“Sounds like the cavalry is here.” My dad tries to shift and winces. “Good thing. My left butt cheek is asleep.”

“How long do you think it’ll take them to make it down?” I ask, worry tugging at my nerves.

“Not long. Hang in there.” Tyler pats my dad on the shoulder before standing. He starts back in the direction of the road, radio in hand.

My father’s focus trails after him. “So, that’s the one who saved the dog from Zed Snyder’s rifle?”

“Dad!” I hiss, glaring at him. I told him that in strict confidence, never to be repeated. It’d be bad enough if the mushing community found out about his gallant dognapping. Now that I know what his off-season gig is, what would his boss do if he found out?

“Don’t worry, I haven’t said anything to anyone. What is he? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?”

“Thirty-seven. Why?”

“No reason. It’s just … that’s a good age. He saves animals and people. Not squeamish. And he sure is a handsome fellow. Polite. Nice teeth.”

I groan. “Not you, too—”

“I just don’t see why you can’t be friends.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Probably not that complicated.”

“It is. And we’re not doing this now.” Or ever. It’s bad enough I’m constantly badgered by my sisters and brothers-in-law.

“Can’t a dying father share his last wish for his daughter’s happiness?”

“Oh my God, stop it!” I can’t help my laughter. “You’re not dying.”

He winces with pain. “I might, after your mother finds out about this.”

Fear that my father might say something highly inappropriate in front of Tyler urges me to explain in a whisper, “He lost his wife and unborn son two years ago.”

Dad grimaces. “Oh, now that you mention it, I do remember Grant telling me that.”

“So he’s nowhere near dating anyone, anytime soon.”

“Here!” Tyler hollers, waving. Two male paramedics are making their way down, a stretcher in hand.

Yukon and Bentley take off toward the newcomers, barking.

Tyler’s sharp whistle reins them in.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Dad murmurs as we watch Tyler collect their leashes and give them each a friendly pat. “Dogs know the good ones, Marie. Dogs always know.”

* * *

The sight of my father lying in the back of an ambulance brings both relief and anxiety. “I’m going to take them home and then I’ll meet you there, okay?” I holler as the paramedic is about to shut the door.

“Tell your mother it’s too late to get a refund on me,” he calls back, his voice strained.

The paramedic chuckles as he closes them in.

I shift out of the way, hugging myself as I watch the ambulance driver maneuver the wide switchback in the road so he can turn around and head toward the route to the hospital in Wasilla.

Tyler smiles. “He’s a funny guy, that one.”

“He can be.”

The dogs are testing Tyler’s grip on their leashes, but they’ve settled with each command from him.

“Here. I’ll take them. Thanks.” I reach for the leashes, grabbing them below the handle to avoid any contact. Simple hand grazes always seem to be my undoing.

Tyler watches Bentley with interest. “They were sled dogs?”

“Yeah. Retired. The owner wanted Yukon to be a sled dog, but he had other plans. Didn’t you?” I scratch his chin. “I should get them home and let my family know what’s going on.” I begin backing away. “So … thank you, for your help.”

“Just doin’ my job.” He lifts his hat off his head, only to put it back.

I stumble over a step.

Jonah does that all the time.

In fact, so many things about Tyler remind me of Jonah. He’s nowhere near as brash as Jonah can be, but there’s that quiet confidence and a deeply ingrained integrity that screams of always doing the right thing and helping where he can.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and I realize I’m staring.

“Nothing. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Seeing as I can’t seem to avoid him.

“I was hoping to talk to you, actually.” He steps forward, his focus drifting along the shallow valley, the result of a glacier wearing down rock between the ridges. “I’m looking for a new veterinarian.”

“Frank’s not working out?” I already suspected that would eventually be the case, given our conversation at the checkpoint.

“No, Frank and I are not working out. Our personalities don’t mesh, and the fucking guy won’t pick up his phone.”

“Never would have guessed that.”