by K. A. Tucker
I shouldn’t allow any of this, and yet I can’t pull away, my eyes closing as I absorb this feeling, wishing this moment could last forever.
We slide home in silence.
* * *
“Happy birthday again!” I holler over my shoulder.
Mabel waves, and without hesitation, Reed waves back, his furry gift tucked beneath his arm as they disappear inside the barn.
Tyler is jogging from the house on a path toward us, and I instinctively slow my pace, allowing him to meet us just as we reach my truck.
“So, Mabel, what do you think? You interested in a part-time job here?” He holds her door open for her.
“Yeah, I think so.” She matches her words with a nod. “This was fun.” She holds up her torn gloves—one, care of Tank, and the other, Airi. “Except for this.”
Tyler chuckles. “Yeah, I have a box full just like those in the house. Okay, come next Saturday at the same time?” With Mabel seated inside, he rounds the front of my truck to meet me on my side. “I think that’s going to work out well.”
“Yeah, they seemed to get along.” Reed taught her how to unharness the dogs and water them when we returned. She took to the tasks naturally.
“Hey, I heard there was something going on at the Ale House tonight.” His voice has shifted a notch to a softer, more inquisitive tone. “I’m going to take Reed. If he wants to get serious about competitive mushing next year, he needs to get out of this place and start meeting people.”
“Those nights are usually fun.”
“I’m sure he’d love it if you came.” He hesitates. “So would I.”
Thoughts of the last time Tyler and I met at the Ale House burn in my mind.
Why is he inviting me out again? Why is he saying these things to me? Is this still his attempt at friendship or has something changed? Has …
No, Marie, you can’t go down this road again. “I’m sorry, I have plans tonight.”
He bites his bottom lip, shifting his focus to nudging at the snow with his boot. “Are they legit plans? Or ‘I’m being polite but drop dead, Tyler’ plans?” His face cracks with a sexy, crooked smile. “Just for my own understanding.”
There’s humor in his tone, but I sense him holding his breath for my answer.
“Legit.” I hesitate. “I’m seeing someone, and we’re doing something tonight.” Taking a trip up to Talkeetna to meet his friend at the brew house.
Tyler’s brow furrows and I instantly regret being so truthful. “Right. Well, have a good night, then.” With a gentle pat on my hood, he backs up. “And thanks again for coming out.”
Nausea roils in my stomach as I climb into my truck and crank the engine.
Mabel frowns. “What’s wrong?”
I force a smile. “Nothing.”
And everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The faint, sweet scent of tobacco is in the air when I climb into Steve’s truck. Lingering, I assume, from the package of cigars near the heat vent. I don’t mind those as much as I mind cigarettes. Besides, he said he only smokes them occasionally.
“You look nice tonight.” His blue eyes crinkle as he leans across the console to greet me with a spearmint gum–laced kiss, his lips lingering longer than usual. The first time he kissed me, it was at my porch door at the end of our first date, and he asked beforehand. Since then, he’s grown bolder, and the lip locks have lasted longer. And I’ve been willing.
Now, though, I pull away.
“Hard day?” Steve deftly navigates his truck along my driveway and out to the road.
“Long day.” Spent lost in conflicted thoughts, battling the urge to cancel this date. I should have canceled, but then I’d be sitting at home, battling the urge to show up at the Ale House. I unfurl the knit scarf from around my neck. The truck is warm, and the drive to Talkeetna is almost an hour from my place. I may as well get comfortable.
“So … plans have changed,” he announces. “A bunch of my friends are meeting up in Trapper’s Crossing. There’s a big wing night happening out there, and I think it’ll be a good time. Plus, it’s a lot closer, and I’ve been up since four. I’m beat.” Steve reaches over to collect my hand. His skin is calloused, his thumb wrapped in a bandage to hide a gnarly cut—one that should have seen stitches. “You’re good with that, right?”
My stomach sinks. There’s only one place in Trapper’s Crossing he could be talking about. Am I good with showing up on one man’s arm while the man who’s dominating my thoughts sits across the room? No, of course I’m not good with this! But what am I supposed to say? What excuse do I give that doesn’t trigger questions?
“Marie?” Steve’s gaze darts between the road and me, his hand giving mine a squeeze.
“Yeah.” I clear the strain from my voice. “I’m good.”
If I’m lucky, maybe Tyler will have changed his mind about coming.
* * *
The blazing firepit to the right of the Ale House’s front entrance is new, and a popular addition judging by the ring of people huddled around it, savoring pints. Above them, festive strands of colorful Christmas lights hang in the canopy. They match the ones lining the long, narrow building’s roof that Muriel keeps up year round.
I try to be inconspicuous in my scan of the parking lot as we walk toward the hum of casual conversation. But it’s dark, and there are several green trucks. I don’t see any familiar ones.
“You’ve been here before, right?” Steve loops his arm around my waist, and I try not to stiffen. “It’s a good place. Fun atmosphere. And Muriel and Teddy have owned it forever.”
“You know them? Wait, of course you would.” It only makes sense. They’re all in the fishing industry.
I catch a familiar, deep laugh a moment before a bellow of “Marie!” carries. I couldn’t see Jonah standing among the group before, with it being dark and me wrapped in growing dread. But there he is, Calla beside him. His presence is a life preserver thrown into deep waters, and some of the tension slips from my shoulders.
I check the other people in the circle. Some, I recognize. Locals who always make it out for the McGivneys’ more festive nights. None are Tyler or Reed.
Maybe I’ve lucked out tonight.
I turn to Steve. “I’ll meet you inside?”
A funny look skitters across his face, but it’s quickly gone. “Sure. I’ll grab you a beer.” He kisses my cheek and then diverts his path.
And all I can think about is how that kiss doesn’t stir an ounce of the desire that Tyler’s bristly cheek pressed against mine earlier today did.
Jonah ropes his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a side hug. “I thought you weren’t comin’ tonight.”
“Yeah, neither did I, but plans changed.”
He watches Steve slip through the door. “Who’s that guy?”
I smile at the wariness in his voice. “Just a guy.” That maybe I should have introduced to my best friend. I nod toward the rectangular structure and the propane-fueled flames that dance over its surface. “This is fancy.”
The diversion works. “Yeah. This was Calla’s brainchild. Muriel actually listened.”
I shift over to offer her a hug. Her hair smells like strawberries and cream. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good! This trimester is way easier.”
“Show her,” Jonah goads, holding open Calla’s coat.
I bark with laughter at her sweatshirt and the “future yeti” slogan printed across her adorable pregnant belly. “Did you change your mind about finding out what it is?”
Jonah’s firm head shake answers that.
Calla rolls her eyes at him and then shifts away, her rapt attention on me. “So, just a guy?”
“We’ve been on a few dates.” I shrug. “He’s nice.”
She lowers her voice to a whisper, “In case you care, Tyler’s inside.”
Nerves flutter in my stomach just hearing his name. “I knew he might be coming.”
&n
bsp; Her brow pinches with worry. “Are you going to be okay?”
“Honestly?” The fact that I’m standing here, talking about my trepidation concerning a man with Calla of all people, isn’t lost on me. I could continue the lie, but she’ll see right through me. “How long do you think I can hide out here before I’m a complete asshole?”
She winces and smooths her palm over my arm in a simple but comforting gesture. “Not long enough, I’m afraid.”
We last another five minutes around the fire before Calla’s teeth start chattering, and Jonah herds us both toward the door and into peak unease for me.
Outside was calm and casual and chilly. In here, it’s loud and boisterous and toasty, the woodstove blazing with an orange glow. Music plays in the background, but the conversations are too loud for anyone to decipher the song. A medley of spices permeates the air, drifting over from the far side of the room where Muriel and Teddy man a row of tables lined with a dozen chafing dishes.
“I ain’t never seen anyone drop a snow hook and run into the woods with a roll of shit tickets so fast in my life as Earl did!” A man with a straggly beard roars, slapping his hand across Harry Hatchett’s shoulder. The entire group gathered in the center of the Ale House erupts with laughter.
They must be trading old musher stories. There are plenty of them here tonight, some long since retired, but many I recognize from the Iditarod, both mushers and volunteers alike.
Despite my trepidation, the moment I spot Tyler, my heart begins to race. He and Reed are seated at a table, gripping their pints and chuckling at the tales. They haven’t noticed me yet, but this place isn’t that big. It’s only a matter of time.
“I was just about to come out to you.” Steve appears then, holding a pint. “Local IPA. One of my favorites. I think you’ll like it.”
I remember tasting it on Tyler’s tongue the last time I was here, and I loved it.
I smile politely as I accept it and then introduce Steve to Jonah and Calla. The conversation doesn’t last long before someone’s pulling Jonah aside, wanting to know about his planes. It’s inevitable.
“Well, the sergeant is waving me down, so … come see me when you’re hungry. Or for any reason.” With one last knowing look, Calla ambles toward Muriel, shedding her coat along the way.
“My friends are over there.” Steve points toward the corner where a group sits, his hand settling on the small of my back, goading me that way.
But my focus quickly snags elsewhere, on the set of hazel eyes locked on me. Tyler’s seen me, and there’s not much I can do but cast a tentative wave.
He returns it with a lazy salute, but his face is stony.
I feel sick, as if I’m doing something wrong when I know I’m not. He’s the one who isn’t ready. Not me. I was ready for everything.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, hoping it hides my inner turmoil. “You know what? I’ll be there in a minute. There’s someone at the bar I need to say hello to first.” I don’t wait for Steve’s response, rushing to the other side of the room, hoping to find temporary haven in Toby.
Only, Harry Hatchett cuts me off.
I stifle my groan.
“Hey, Marie! I was going to come into your clinic next week, but here you are. Man, it’s been awhile, huh?” He smooths a hand through his blond hair.
“Since you tried to tell me how to run my business and then set fire to a four-decade relationship between our families? A few months, yeah.” I am in no mood to be exchanging false pleasantries. I step to the side to go around him.
He moves with me. “I’m sorry.” His face is a mask of sincere apology. “I was an idiot, and I was wrong.”
His blunt admission takes me by surprise.
“The last few years have been hard. It may seem like I know what I’m doing, but half the time, I think I should quit.” He pauses, as if waiting for me to counter his frank words.
I allow the awkward break in conversation to drag on until Harry begins to fidget. “I appreciate your apology. Is there something else you want?” Bonnie must have relayed my father’s advice.
“Okay, what I mean to say is, you and Sid have always been good to us. Too good. You are the best vet I could ever hope for, and I was hoping you’d come back. At least consider it,” he adds quickly. “The dogs would love to see you.”
I know Harry is quickly running out of veterinarians, but I sense remorse in his voice. Taking on his kennel again would alleviate financial worries—that he aggravated in the first place. But I’m not in the right frame of mind to be making commitments to him. “I’ll consider it.”
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.
With an appreciative smile, I pull on my jacket.
Steve notices me heading out and flashes a questioning look.
I hold up my hand, palm out, and mouth, Five minutes, and then dismiss him from my thoughts as I walk out the door. A few people linger around the firepit, including Jonah. He pauses in his conversation, lifting his chin as if to ask what’s going on.