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“Don’t mind if I do, actually.” Jim reaches across the table and grabs a thigh by the end with his fingers, dropping it unceremoniously on his plate.
“I mean, not that I’m looking to add you to my collection of sons-in-law,” my father continues.
I groan. “Dad.”
Beside me, Tyler chuckles.
“So, where did you two meet again?” Vicki asks as she wipes a smear of carrot off Molly’s chubby cheek.
“At the race,” I lie, at the same time that Tyler answers with, “On my property, when Marie trespassed to accuse me of neglecting my dogs.”
I give the side of his leg a swift kick.
“This is the one you were talking about that night?” Liz stares at me, genuinely surprised. As am I. I didn’t think she was listening.
“You’ve been talking about me with your family? All good things, I hope.” He smirks as he carves into his chicken. But beneath the table, he gently nudges his knee against mine.
The simple contact makes me falter. “That was a misunderstanding that we cleared up during the race. Now I’m his veterinarian.”
“Funny, I don’t remember Harry ever coming to dinner,” Vicki quips, flashing a wry smile my way that says she doesn’t buy the emphasized just a friend label I threw on when I introduced Tyler to a kitchen full of curious stares.
As if waiting for her mother’s fleeting distraction, Molly throws her bowl, splattering pureed carrots all over the floor and nearby walls. She shrieks with delight as Yukon and Bentley dive in for the cleanup.
“No one can say those dogs don’t eat well.” My mom laughs, climbing out of her chair and heading for the cupboard for a fresh bowl. “You eat, Vicki. I’ll finish feeding her.”
“It’s the new game around here this week.” Dad grunts as Vicki cradles her forehead in her hands in frustration. “So, Tyler, how’s the off-season training going? Must be tough to handle, with your day job.”
“It’s busy. My handler works on commands with them through the day, and I take them out for short runs on their harnesses with the ATV at night, when it’s cool enough. Between work and the dogs, I don’t have much time for anything else.”
And yet he’s here now, having dinner with my family, I think with a bubble of satisfaction.
“Earl Hatchett used to love takin’ his dogs out under a midnight sun.” My dad waggles a finger at Nicole and Tillie. “Girls, that’s how these mushers keep these dogs in shape when there’s no snow. They have them run ahead of the ATVs.”
“I know.” Tillie’s eyes flick upward to the ceiling.
“Oh, of course you do. I forgot you’re nine years old and you already know everything. Tyler, you gonna do tours?”
“Nah.”
“Not interested, huh. Yeah, don’t blame you. Dealin’ with all those people traipsing all over your property. Besides, you already have an off-season income. I heard Harry’s been pushing those kennel tours hard this summer.”
“I’d believe it. I’ve seen quite a few cars heading into his place.” If Tyler is annoyed by the traffic, he doesn’t let on.
“Anything to save that kennel. I hope for Earl’s sake, he can. His father and I were good friends.”
“You’re good friends with everyone, Dad,” I tease.
“Can’t help being such a likable guy.” He winks. “Which reminds me … I was tellin’ my good friend Bill Compton all about your kennel, Tyler. Marie was raving about it. He would love to do a piece on you. Come out, ask you a bunch of questions. Maybe spend the day. Thinks it would be good for the sport. The bad apples have been getting way too much attention.”
I should’ve known there was an ulterior motive here. “Dad …” I give him a look. “Tyler doesn’t like doing interviews.” Something both he and Bill have learned already.
He shrugs. “Was worth a shot. I guess he can go to Harry. Lord knows that guy likes to talk about himself.”
“Hey, what happened with the Hatchetts, by the way?” Jim tears off a chunk of meat from the bone. “Sid says you lost their business?”
His choice of words and the very fact that he’s asking stiffens my spine. “Harry thought he had a say in how I run things, but he doesn’t. Nobody does,” I say pointedly.
“Still, that’s a lot of revenue gone.” Jim shakes his head as if in disapproval.
I grit my teeth against the urge to tell him to fuck off.
Even my father is annoyed. “Mind your business before she finds a new accountant, Jim.”
But my brother-in-law, as obtuse as usual, doesn’t take the hint. “Just pointing out the obvious, Sid. Especially now that you’ve got all these people to feed under this roof.”
“Tyler, you must want another beer,” my mom declares suddenly. “Marie, why don’t you grab your guest another from the fridge.”
I know what she’s doing—trying to fend off an explosive argument. For Tyler’s sake, I appreciate it.
