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“You seem to know what you’re doing.”
“Well, yeah. I grew up in the sled dog capital of Alaska with a veterinarian for a father. Of course I do. But I’ve never been interested in the racing side of it. Just the athletes.” I give the gentle husky one last scratch before shifting to the next.
“You’ve gone mushing, though, right?”
“A few times. Short runs, usually once the snow is on the ground and the dogs are starting their seasonal training, so I can watch them move.”
“Let me guess, with Harry?” He says that name with scorn.
“Yes, with Harry. With his father, Earl, before him.” He was a nice man.
Tyler makes a noise. “How do you put up with that arrogant little punk, anyway?”
“I’ve known him forever, and he’s not all bad. And the Hatchetts have been loyal clients to my family for decades.” I hesitate. “Plus, I have a lot of bills to pay, and he has a lot of dogs.” It feels like a betrayal to my profession to admit that I’m with him, in part, for the money, but it’s the truth. And the way Harry has been behaving, it’s becoming the only respectable excuse. “I’m sure Frank Hartley would go out on the trail with you for the right price.”
“Yeah, I’m noticing he likes to nickel and dime, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” he says dryly.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t do your research.” I give Tank my bare hand to sniff, but he dives for my glove instead, nipping at the thumb. I manage to pry it from his teeth with a soft scold. It’s always a good sign, though, to see a sled dog’s playfulness.
From the corner of my eye, I feel Tyler watching me.
“Maybe I should switch veterinarians. What would you think about that?”
I think that would be a huge problem for my steadfast commitment to never date a client again. I school my expression. “You’d have to make sure your new veterinarian can handle having you on her roster. She might be too busy.”
He ladles hot water into the dishes. “She wouldn’t be too busy for me.”
I chuckle. “You sound pretty confident about that.”
“Am I wrong?”
I search for the right answer. How hard to get should I play? Who am I kidding? I don’t have time for games. “No, you’re not wrong.”
He smiles as he passes the bowls out to the dogs. Tank abandons all interest in my gloves. “Seriously, though, you should try mushing. There’s nothing like being in the wilderness, just you and your dogs.”
I shift out of his way, collecting my coffee from its perch on his sled. “I’m sure it’s an experience.” My attention wanders over the frozen tundra before us. I can’t see much in the dark, but I’ve seen it in the daylight, and I know there’s a whole lot of nothing between us and any other living person.
“Come out with me when I train for next year’s race, so you can see what I mean.”
“You haven’t even finished this race, and you’re already planning the next one?”
“As long as this team wants to run, I’ll keep them running.” He pats each dog’s head as they dive into their meals.
“I’ll think about it.”
“I hope you do. My runs aren’t short, like Harry’s, though. I go all night.”
I wasn’t expecting that, and I choke on my coffee, coughing and sputtering.
My shocked reaction earns a chuckle from Tyler as he leans down to shift two bowls apart, separating the dogs. He meant exactly what his words imply, and I’m not sure we’re talking about him hiring me as his veterinarian anymore.
Blood rushes with the knowledge that this exploding attraction isn’t one-sided, not in the least. Whoever would’ve thought the angry, spiteful man I met in January would end up being someone I might be attracted to?
Definitely not me.
The sky is murky with predawn light when bundled bodies begin emerging from tents with more frequency, some heading to the outhouse, others to the hut, where a hearty plume of smoke billows from the pipe. Tyler’s team will be ready to settle into another long stretch of sleep when they’re done eating.
And I’ve lingered around one musher’s team for too long to not stir a few whispers, if anyone’s paying attention. Thankfully, Harry must still be asleep. I’ll have to deal with him at some point, but I’ll happily avoid him for as long as possible.
I brush off the snowflakes falling from my forehead. “They’ll have a stack of pancakes ready in there, if you’re hungry.” While the mushers all have a supply of vacuum-sealed pizza and burritos in their drop bags to sustain them, checkpoint volunteers like Karen take pride in offering a hot meal.
“Starving.” Tyler kneels in the snow, investigating his runners. Deciding what needs fixing later, after the dogs wake up from their second sleep. If these mushers aren’t fussing over their dogs or catching up on rest, they’re tinkering with their sleds. Some send an entire new one to a checkpoint ahead of time so they can swap out. “I’ll be there in ten. Save me a few?” He caps that off with a wink.
