Running Wild (Wild 3)

His shoulders sag with relief.

Seated at Harry’s table is a young woman twirling locks of auburn hair while scrolling through her phone, looking out of place surrounded by a pack of weathered mushers. “You should get back to your date. I’ll let you know what I decide next week.” Let him sweat for a few days.

With that, I head for the bar.

Toby sees me approaching, and his scruffy face splits with a wide smile. “Didn’t know you were coming.” He frowns at the pint in my hand. “Changing things up?”

“Don’t ask.” I set the drink on the counter.

Roy is on the stool next to me, gnawing on a chicken wing. In front of him is a full bottle of beer that will still be full at the end of the night.

“Good wings?”

He grunts in response.

I shrug off my coat and hang it next to his cowboy hat on the wall. “How’s Lucky?” That’s what Mabel’s been calling the white puppy after Roy refused to name it. Agnes and Mabel are keeping her at their place for now, until she gets bigger, and he gets used to the idea of owning another dog.

“Still alive and annoying.”

And wearing a pink collar that Roy drove into town to buy for her, from what I’ve heard.

“Marie!” Agnes saunters through the swinging tavern-style door, holding a tray of clean glasses. Around her hips is a bar apron with several beer bottle openers holstered in the pockets.

“Agnes? You work here now?”

“I’m helpin’ out. Pouring drinks and giving people advice.” She grins as she carefully positions a pint glass to the draft tap, dispensing the beer with the skill of a person just learning how. “I always wanted to be a bartender, ever since I saw Cocktail. What do you think? Do I look like Tom Cruise?”

“Just your hair.” Roy tosses a meatless bone onto his plate and then pauses mid reach for another one. For as long as I’ve known Agnes, her dark hair has been cropped short and always uneven, as if she cuts it herself. “It suits you better,” he offers after a moment.

I hide my smile behind a sip of my beer. Was it the wings or the bartender that drew the old grouch to the Ale House tonight?

“Was that a new fella I saw you with over there, Marie?” she asks.

“Yeah. We’ve been on a few dates.”

“You think it might be serious?” Her dark eyes flicker from the pour to my face. I don’t miss the hopefulness in that look. She was never blind to my feelings for Jonah.

“Not while she’s in love with that other one over there.” Roy waves his wing in Tyler’s direction.

My mouth gapes. “I’m not in—”

“Who?” Agnes follows his direction, leaning over the bar and searching the faces.

“Black and tan flannel. Tyler somethin’.”

“The musher who just hired Mabel at his kennel?”

“You should have seen those two at her vet place last week.” Roy takes another bite.

“Oh, that one,” she whispers conspiratorially, as if the two of them have been gossiping, before seeking Tyler out again.

My stomach drops. He’s watching us with a curious frown. “Would you two stop it?” I hiss.

“What?” Roy scowls. “All you young folk think I don’t know what’s what around here.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Tyler climbing out of his chair. He’s on his way over.

Excitement and panic compete for my attention.

“Hey.” The word drifts out on Tyler’s sigh. “Didn’t think you were coming.”

“Yeah, neither did I.” And that line is getting stale.

His focus flitters from me to the pint—he frowns—to Roy and his half-eaten plate of wings, then to Agnes behind the bar, as if he’s trying to figure out how we all fit, and more importantly, why we were talking about him just now.

“Tyler, you met Roy.” Kind of. I gesture across the bar. “This is Mabel’s mom, Agnes.”

Agnes smiles wide. “My daughter’s excited for her new job. She’s always loved dogs.”

“That’s great. We’re looking forward to having her there.” He bites his bottom lip in thought and then his expression turns somber. “Marie, can I talk to you for a minute? Outside?”

I guess we’re going to do this now.

I check the back corner where Steve is occupied with his friends. “Yeah, sure.” I reach around Roy to collect my coat again, the cold still clinging to the material.

“It’s because she knows when to not give up,” Roy murmurs quietly.

I frown. “What?”

“Calla. She always gets what she wants because she knows when to not give up.” Roy peers over his shoulder, his shrewd eyes meeting mine. “Maybe you should take a page out of her book this time.”

His words trigger my memory of our conversation back in the summer when Roy was cursing crooked cabinets, and I was envious of Calla’s full and perfect life.

I guess he’s not wrong. She didn’t give up on Jonah or on Alaska. She certainly didn’t give up on this prickly man, when I hazard most others have, and now I don’t think there’s a single thing he wouldn’t do for her if she asked. And even if she didn’t.