Jonah’s ice-blue eyes study me for a moment. “Something buggin’ you, Lehr?”
Besides this gnawing feeling on my conscience that I allowed the Hatchetts to play on my vulnerability, that my behavior that day was far less than exemplary? Wouldn’t that be something, if word got around that I accused this guy of animal abuse, only to have him win the humanitarian award a month later? Skip would have a field day with that.
I should have at least been the bigger person and left that note in his mailbox.
I push my regret aside. “I’m fine. Just tired. I had a lot to do before I could leave.” Volunteering at race checkpoints means time away from earning money and tending to patients. Cory is holding down the fort, and my father can step in for emergencies, but it’s still a long time to shut down. Thankfully, Jonah’s offered to fly me out, saving me from hitching a ride a day early with the other veterinarians from the crew.
“Don’t worry.” He drops a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You can catch up on your sleep at the checkpoint.”
I laugh. “Jerk.” I’ll be stationed at two this year, both remote locations, without even a village for supplies or running water for a hot shower. The first, Rohn, a cabin nestled between two mountain ranges and where two major rivers converge, could see fifty-eight teams and upward of eight hundred dogs come through within a thirty-hour span. Some will stay for only a few minutes, others for a few hours. A few might decide to make the checkpoint one of their mandatory rest stops.
From there, an IAF pilot will fly me five checkpoints down the trail to Cripple, a ghost town from the days of the gold rush and the official halfway point on the route, where I’ll do it all over again.
It’ll be a cold, challenging week, and I’ll contemplate my life choices at least once a day, usually when I’m struggling to crawl out of my sleeping bag.
“You ready to get a move on soon?”
“Yeah, stuff’s loaded. You need help with yours?”
“Nah. I’m good. I don’t have much.” A subzero sleeping bag and mattress pad, and a duffel bag of warm layers to cycle through. And, of course, my medical bag that I never go anywhere without. “Where’s Calla?” She never misses seeing Jonah off before a flight.
“She had to stop by the cabin to help the renters work the coffee maker, but she should be here soon.”
I peer across the frozen lake, though the derelict little shack they turned into an Airbnb cabin rental can’t be seen from this angle. “You guys getting a lot of bookings?”
“Solid since the honeymoon. Who knew?” He shakes his head. “I thought she was crazy for wanting to sink all that money into that place, but she was right.”
“She’s right about a lot of things.” And while Calla was resistant to move to Trapper’s Crossing, she’s made what was once a rustic and trash-filled log cabin into a cozy paradise.
“Don’t tell her that. She’ll use it against me in our next fight.” He tosses a tool into the box and reaches for his coat.
I’m trekking back to my truck when I catch the faint buzz of a snowmachine. By the time I’ve hauled my belongings from the back, Calla is coasting up.
Her eyes sparkle as they size up my loaded arms. “You look like a Sherpa.”
“I feel like one.” And you look ready to grace the cover of an outdoor magazine. She’s picture-perfect as always, her long, caramel-colored hair framing her face, the fur pom-pom on her black knit hat dusted with snow. It’s hard to pinpoint what it is, but Calla has a look about her that can make even a pair of jeans and a plain white T-shirt look stylish. I met her mother, Susan, at the wedding, and it’s clear Calla inherited that flair from her. I’m not sure there’s a room Calla walks into where she doesn’t draw attention, without even trying.
There was a time when I was jealous of her for that, and for everything else she is that I’m not—namely, Jonah’s first choice. His only choice. I’d lie in bed at night, itemizing all the ways I’m better suited to Jonah, reasons why he should pick me. I wished she would be another Teegan, an interest that faded with time and distance. I cursed myself for not letting Jonah know how I felt sooner, as if that might have made any difference.
None of it mattered.
I wish I could say I was above the bitterness and envy, but as Cory has reminded me on more than one occasion, I’m only human. I have a heart that aches when dreams are shattered, and emotions that can pull a river of tears when hope proves false.