Running Wild: A novel

by K. A. Tucker

  I watch from the window as his green truck disappears, an uncomfortable swirl of emotions churning within. Why am I such a glutton for punishment?

  “I’m taking this one,” Mabel declares as she and Roy push through the door, holding up the brown-and-white puppy. Her grin is a wide mirror of her mother’s as she adds, “And Roy’s taking the white one.”

  He harrumphs.

  But doesn’t argue.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The gate is already open when I turn into Tyler’s freshly plowed driveway, the snow crunching beneath my tires.

  “So, this Reed guy knows I don’t know anything about sled dogs, right? Like, he’s not going to be annoyed with me for asking stupid questions?” Mabel fidgets with the heat dial, adjusting it down. Between that and my radio, she’s been playing with the truck’s buttons and vents since I picked her up outside her house. I can’t tell if it’s nerves or just a subtle reminder that there’s still a kid in there.

  “I highly doubt it. But he’s really shy, so if he doesn’t say much, don’t take it personally, okay? You can check things out, and if you want to work here on the weekends, I’ll let Tyler know.”

  Smoke swirls from the chimney of the small, ranch-style house as I pull up behind the green truck. Reed sits by the barn next to a blazing fire in the outdoor firepit, stitching a gangline, his curly mop of hair covered in the same trapper hat he wore the first time I met him.

  “That’s him?” Mabel frowns. “I thought he’d be older.”

  “He’s twenty-one. Today, actually. Hence, this guy.” I pluck the gray puppy from Mabel’s clutches and tuck him inside my coat before hopping out of the truck, my arms wrapped around me to keep him secure. Still, the puppy squirms as we walk toward the barn, and I struggle not to laugh as I try to keep him contained.

  Only Pope is running loose this morning, but the dogs howl and bark from their little houses, wanting to know who’s arrived.

  “You’re up early!” I holler as we approach.

  Reed’s big brown eyes dart between me and Mabel before frowning at the moving bulge in my chest.

  “Got you something for your birthday.” I hoist the puppy out, adjusting the blue bow I fastened to its collar.

  He drops the line and collects the writhing pup from my grip. He’s grinning, his dimples on display. “How old is he?”

  “Only a few weeks younger than Nala’s puppies.”

  Reeds lift him in the air, studying his face, much like Tyler did. As if he can see something that the rest of us can’t.

  “I figured you can train them all together. See how he does. Maybe he’ll be a good runner.” Pope rolls over to show us his belly and waits for a scratch. “Or maybe he’ll be like him.” But either way, I know this dog will live a good life.

  Reed’s mouth gapes as he searches for something to say. “Does Ty know?”

  “He’s not Tyler’s dog. He’s yours.” And I may be an asshole for springing a puppy on them, but if there’s a place and people built for this kind of surprise, it’s here with these two.

  “I have his brother,” Mabel offers. An attempt to forge a connection, perhaps, and she’s never been shy.

  I tug off my glove and lean down to grant Pope’s wishes. His belly is warm beneath my bare fingertips. “Is Tyler in the barn?”

  “No. He’s in the … house.” Reed pauses in his study of his birthday gift. “He said for you to meet him in there. I mean, in the house.”

  “Really?” For all the times I’ve been here, I’ve only ever been in the barn. But … “Okay.”

  Reed smiles as he ducks his head, his attention back on the new addition to the kennel.

  I leave Mabel there and walk to the side door that the two of them always use. It creaks as I step into a galley kitchen with terra-cotta tiles and rustic wooden walls covered in cast-iron pans of various sizes. Beyond is a long, narrow table against the bank of windows overlooking the property, and a corner closed off by gates, where I assume Nala and her puppies sleep at night. I smile at the collection of large dog beds that litter the floor, creating an obstacle course. The dogs may have their homes outside, but it’s clear they have one in here, too.

  I’m about to announce myself when Tyler’s deep voice calls out from another room in the house.

  “Hey, come here for a sec?”

  My stomach tenses at the sound of his beckon. I take a calming breath while I shed my snow-covered boots and then weave through the kitchen and around to the living room. Hardwood scratched up by countless paws groans beneath my socked feet.

  “Marie should be here soon. I haven’t told her about—”

  Tyler freezes midsentence when he looks up to find me standing at the threshold, my mouth gaping as he slides on a pair of briefs. The towel he dropped is heaped on the floor, the couch covered with spilled laundry that he’s obviously washed but not folded.

  Surprise is painted across his face. “I thought you were Reed.”

  “Clearly.” My face burns, but my gaze can’t stay off his body, still as perfectly sculpted as the last time I saw it in its entirety. “He sent me in here.”

  “Really?” Tyler frowns. “He knew I was in the shower.” Understanding fills his face at the same time as it dawns on me.

  That little smile. Reed pulled a Cory. I’m not sure whether to laugh or scream.

  By Tyler’s smirk and head shake, he’s thinking along the same line.

  I try to ignore the way my blood races and my body flushes, memories I’ve been struggling to suppress dragged to the surface. “What haven’t you—actually, you know what? I’ll meet you in the barn once you’re dressed.” I rush for my boots and push out the door, welcoming the frigid cold across my cheeks.

  Reed and Mabel are standing by the trophy case, watching the puppy investigate its new home. I stab the air with my index finger, pointing at Reed. “Not funny.” My cheeks burn anew.

  I get an unabashed grin in return.

  Five minutes later, as Mabel and I are stealing heat from the bonfire, Tyler makes his way down, dressed and donning his mushing jacket and a black beanie. But the fresh image of everything beneath still blazes in my mind. “Where is he?”

  I nod toward the barn.

  Tyler passes me. Through the open door, I hear his chuckle and, “I don’t care if it’s your birthday. You’re gonna pay for that one later, man. Swear to God.”

  “Bring it on,” Reed chirps back, hinting at a playfulness between the two of them that he hides from the rest of us.

  Despite everything, I smile.

  “What happened?” Mabel whispers, but I only shake my head, still listening.

  Waiting.

  “Why is that dog here? And why does it have a bow?”

  * * *

  I check Tyler’s expression to see if he’s joking. “You want to race her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “In the Iditarod.”

  “Yes.” He crouches in front of Nymeria, his hand weaving through her thick coat as he strokes her neck. She sits on her haunches, accepting the affection with an occasional contented whine. “Reed’s been working with her all summer, but she already knew all the commands. And she kept up with the dryland training. She loved it.”

  I can’t help but look at this dog and still see the frail and wounded one dangling from Harry’s arms. “You think she can handle a hundred miles a day?”

  “Not yet, but none of them can, yet. Not even Tank. They’re all out of shape. But she’s keeping up. And she and Tank seem to be a good match—”

  “Match. Wait, you want to run her as a lead dog?” A position that is typically earned after years of running.

  Tyler chuckles at the gobsmacked look on my face. “I know. But I’m telling you she’s done this before. Zed said she’d been a team dog for a few years before he started breeding her. She knows what she’s doing. And I have a good feeling about her, Marie.”

  “What about Nala?”

  “Nala doesn’t
want to run. We pull out the harness, and the enthusiasm isn’t there. She’d rather stay close to her puppies.” He shrugs. “I can’t force her.”

  “So then you need Nymeria for the Iditarod.” Unless he leases a dog from someone like Harry.

  He leans back against the barn wall, resting his arms on his bent knees. “I can run with one lead dog if I have to. Tank is strong-willed enough for two. But if she wants to do this, then why wouldn’t we give her a chance? After what she’s been through, she deserves another shot at being happy.” He reaches for her, and she tilts against his leg, lifting her chin to give him her jowls for attention.

  “There’re other ways for her to be happy. Smaller races. It doesn’t have to be the Iditarod.”

  “But what if she wants it?”

  “Maybe it’s not worth the struggle.”

  “Maybe it is.” Tyler frowns, but whatever is on his mind, he keeps to himself. “I am going to start her off in smaller races. There’s one out of Cantwell next month, and one in Paxson in January.”

  “It sounds like you’ve already decided, so what do you want from me?”

  “You know her full history. Things I can’t tell Don or anyone else. Come out with me and watch. Tell me if you think I’m crazy. That’s all I ask.”

  I peer through the far door to where Mabel observes Reed harnessing the team.

  With a heavy sigh, I climb to my feet.

  * * *

  “Gee.” Tyler’s voice is barely above conversational level and yet the dogs veer right on the groomed path ahead, working in tandem. There’s nothing to hear but the soft crunch beneath the sled’s runners and forty paws as the ten dogs run the trail through trees and brush, and we glide across the snow.

  I look up from my seat in the sled’s basket to find Tyler standing over me, grinning smugly.

  Despite the turmoil churning inside me, this moment is oddly peaceful.

  “Whoa,” he calls out, dropping the snow hook to stop the dogs and anchor us. The team is happy for the pause so they can test their lines and pee on the nearby brush.

  I climb out to stretch my legs. My cheeks and nose are numb from the cold air, and I wish I’d worn a different scarf. We haven’t gone far—maybe a mile or two—but we’re deep within the trees of Tyler’s property. Ahead is the river, and beyond that the mountain range. Somewhere to the right of us are Harry’s seventy-five dogs.

  But out here, it feels like we’re alone.

  “So? What do you think?” Tyler asks, watching me as I edge along the path toward the front.

  Dropping to my knees beside Nymeria, I tuck my gloves inside my coat to keep from Tank’s nipping teeth. I check her joints and muscles with my fingers, searching for any tenderness or other warning signs. I can’t find anything.

  “Hey, girl. You want to do this?” I murmur.

  She answers with a hot lick across my cheek.

  I settle on my haunches. “Officially, I think you’re nuts, Tyler. You do realize how risky this is, right? You want to race a stolen dog in the Iditarod. As the returning champion. There will be pictures of her all over the paper and the news.” Which Zed will surely see, as will his nephew Jody and countless others.

  He cocks his head. “Come on, Marie. She’s a beautiful dog, but she’s not that distinctive.”

  I mock gasp and playfully cover her ears. “Don’t listen to him!” But he’s right. Heterochromia is common in huskies. And Zed is likely arrogant enough to believe that if she wouldn’t run for him, she’d never run for anyone else.

  Tyler chuckles as he helps two of the dogs untangle themselves from their line. “Seriously, though, she wasn’t chipped before, so there’s no proof that way. And you have to admit—she’s a different dog from the one you met last January.”

  I stroke her fur. “She is.”

  She’s a different dog.

  He’s a different man.

  What am I, besides the same old Marie?

  I stand and move back toward the sled. “It’s hard to see her gait from the basket when she’s up front.” Harry always took me out in a tour sled that could accommodate two people standing. “But she obviously has the enthusiasm and the drive, and the temperament. If you can get her physically ready, then … I don’t see why she can’t do it, if she wants to.” I steal another glance to see Nymeria and Tank brush up against each other. She seems happy.

  Tyler lets out a deep exhale, as if he’s been waiting for my verdict. “Well, wait, if you can’t see her like that, then you should stand.” He hooks his hand on my elbow and gently tugs me toward him. “Come on, we can both fit.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Trust me. I used to do this with Mila all the time.”

  It has nothing to do with trusting Tyler and everything to do with being this close to him again. Unable to find an excuse I’m comfortable using, I step onto the footboards and take hold of the handlebar with gloved hands. Tyler settles in behind me, his toes at my heels, his body snug behind mine.

  He cages me in with his arms as he seizes the handlebar. “You ready?”

  He’s asking me, but the dogs hear the command and begin to bark and tug against their lines, earning his chuckle. He releases the hook, and we take off in a jolt. Tyler’s muscles tense to hold us in place. After a moment, he leans in and whispers into my ear, “See? I told you it would work.”

  A shiver runs down my spine.

  I do my best to focus on the gaits of the dogs ahead and ignore the strong, hard torso pressed against my back, the way his beard scratches my skin every so often as our bodies bump and his jaw brushes across my cheek.

  We follow the trail around a loop in silence and then meet up with our tracks from earlier, hinting that we’re already heading back toward the house.

  “By the way, how is everything going at the clinic?”

  I know what he’s really asking: How is everything at the clinic now that I’ve lost the income from both Harry and Tyler’s business?

  I should answer with a dismissive lie, but the moment I open my mouth, the truth tumbles out. I tell him everything—working in Anchorage for Wade, my parents selling the property, my growing sense that I’m holding them back, this feeling that my entire life is in limbo. Talking to Tyler has always been so easy.

  “What happened to opening up a hair salon in your cabin?”

  “That was a half-baked option Jim threw out. It wouldn’t work, anyway. Vicki doesn’t want to live there. She wants to be on her own.” But the issues Liz raised are fair. The clinic and cabin aren’t mine. There are three of us, and short of me buying them out one day, tough decisions will have to be made.

  Will I still feel the same desire to live on that property and walk through that clinic door and look at the house across the field once my parents are gone? Once Sunday dinners and the blare of the clown horn are nothing but a memory?

  I remember Jonah in those weeks and months after Wren’s death. He said everything had changed. Everything felt hollow.

  Maybe I’m dwelling too much on something that won’t happen for another ten or fifteen years.

  But what if it happens tomorrow?

  “I’m beginning to think they should sell now. Go to Mexico or Europe or wherever else they want. Enjoy life while they still can. But I don’t think my father will make that call. I have to make the decision for him.” I worry my bottom lip. “It’s hard, pulling the plug like that. Making such a big change that you don’t want.” Letting go of the clinic, the house. My childhood. My life as I’ve always known it, up until now.

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” A soft sigh slips from him. “But in the end, it’s just a building. It’s replaceable. The people in it aren’t. You aren’t. You can set up a new clinic anywhere, and people will come to you.”

  I smile. “That’s what Jonah said.”

  “It’s true. Have you ever looked into one of those mobile vet clinic trailers? They had one on a show I was watching, and it made me think of you. You’
re always coming out to kennels, anyway, so why not drive your clinic there?”

  I laugh. “Do you have any idea how much those cost?” I have looked into it. “Plus, then I’d need somewhere to park it.”

  “You could park it here.”

  “What? No. I’m not parking a clinic here.”

  “Why not? Look at all the land I’ve got, Marie. And I have a third bedroom we don’t use. You’re always welcome to it.”

  I don’t know where these offers are coming from, but I assume they’re empty. “I saw enough this morning about how you guys live around here to pass on that, but thanks, anyway.”

  He chuckles. “Didn’t appreciate that one, huh?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I’m sure I’ll be dwelling on it late into the night.

  “Haw,” he calls out, directing the dogs to the left. I brace for the turn as they propel us forward.

  “So, you did? Is that what you’re saying?” There’s a hint of something in his voice, and I sense him leaning closer into me, that familiar and intoxicating scent of cedar and citrus teasing my nostrils.

  We’re falling back into dangerous territory where he flirts, and I flirt back, and we both forget that he’s going to hurt me. “I’ll make sure to meet you in the barn from now on,” I say in a more even tone, adding, “With more puppies, if you ever ask me to do this again.”

  He snorts. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “He needed a home, and really? You don’t know me very well, then. I have no boundaries when it comes to dogs, remember?”

  “I may not know everything about you, but I know you, Marie.” His breath skates across my cheek. “And I miss you.”

  The longing in his voice tugs at my heart. “I miss you, too,” I admit in a whisper before I can talk myself out of it.

  His arms tighten around me, and he leans in to press his bristly cheek against mine, the corners of our mouths lined up perfectly. Just the tiniest turn from me, and our lips would find each other.