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Feeling the Arctic chill in the air, I tug on my gloves. My breath puffs white in front of my face as Keena’s sharp whines cut through the February night.
Need to walk. Need to get that fucked up image of Charlie’s truck hanging off the lip of Dead Fred’s Curve out of my mind. The cops don’t know who did it. No witnesses, no sign of the vehicle. I can’t shake the feeling that whoever did this poses a threat to my family. To Dakota.
I want to punch a hole in the side of the lodge. Break stone, break my hand, just to feel something other than the shadows building inside.
That same poisonous combination I carried home with me from the Marines is trying to rise up. Rage. Failure. Helplessness.
I step off the porch, eyeing Ruby and Charlie’s cabin. It’s lit up with light.
Sleep isn’t coming easy for any of us.
The paw on the side of my leg redirects my attention. A pleading whine comes from the dog beside me.
“Listen to me,” I tell Keena, who’s now in a full-on spin. “We’re outside to walk. There’s no biting, there’s no playing.There’s focus. There’s no damn time to roll around. You got me?”
Ears pricked to attention, Keena whines once more.
I look up as the back door slides open and Dakota steps out onto the porch, wrapped in her parka. “Late night stroll?”
“Taking Keena for a walk.”
She lifts her brow. “At midnight?”
“Never miss.”
“Mmm. So, this is the real reason you don’t sleep.” She steps toward me. “Can I come?”
I shake my head, not wanting her outside. “It’s freezing. Go inside, Dakota.”
She lifts a defiant chin, hands on her belly. “Exercise is good for the baby.”
“You don’t listen,” I grumble.
She smiles, knowing she’s won the battle. “Never have.”
Fuck. This woman could play every card in the book and I still couldn’t say no to her.
“Fifteen minutes,” I say with a sigh. I put my trapper hat on her head, my gloves on her hands, and when I’m satisfied that she’s snugly bundled, we step into the yard.
“Hold on to my arm,” I tell her. “I don’t want you slipping.”
She links her arm through mine and my cock jerks like a bobber on a string.
Keena lets out a hearty bark and bolts into the dark.
I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face. “She makes her own rules.”
Dakota bumps her shoulder into mine. “Sounds like someone I know.”
Far off, a wolf cries. The sound is distinct from a coyote.
“Is that her?” Dakota asks, curiosity staining her voice. “The wolf?”
I stare into the blackness. “She’s close. But she’s smart and knows how to stay away from the traps.”
“Good for her,” Dakota murmurs.
“Yeah. Good for her.”
