And the Hatchetts wouldn’t want that kind of attention, either. Earl bred a few of his dogs with Zed’s. Plus, any negative news against a musher is bad for the sport overall. While Harry might have seen Tyler as a threat worth going after, Zed’s crimes would only hurt the Hatchetts’ kennel in the end.
Tyler has given this serious thought.
“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”
“What kind of secrets are we tellin’？” The snow crunches beneath Hopper’s heavy boots as he storms up to the bonfire, lifting his arms over it as if to collect some warmth. “You whisperin’ sweet nothings to our beautiful veterinarian, musher?”
“That’s what I was just telling her, actually. How beautiful she is.” Tyler’s eyes roam my features, and I see appreciation within.
I’m caught off guard by the blatant compliment, even if it’s just a cover for our conversation, and I feel my cheeks flush.
“We got a team comin’ in.” Hopper abandons the fire. “Number forty-two!”
“I guess that means I’m back on duty.” I peer over my shoulder toward the trail, and then at the bodies on the move, readying to greet them. They’ll be here in minutes. There’s no sign of Terry. He must still be in the tent. I’ll let him sleep, seeing as he was kind enough to do the same for me last night.
“You planning on greeting number forty-two with that?” Tyler nods to the half-eaten reindeer sausage I still have within my mitt.
In the depth of our conversation, I’d forgotten it. I laugh, shove it into my mouth, and stand, stretching to rid myself of the chill of the hard surface against my backside. The move does nothing for my reluctance. “You should get your sleep while the dogs are resting,” I say between chews. Because he’ll be lucky to get one or two hours over the next several days that it’ll take to get to the finish line in Nome.
He tosses the line he was working on into the crate. “I will.”
Will he still be sleeping later when it’s my turn to nap? If I lie down next to Tyler, will I catch a repeat of this morning?
The practical side of me asks if I want that, without learning more about this guy. But now is not the time to ask about his late wife. I wouldn’t even know how, anyway. But he’s been flirting with me all morning, so he must have made peace with the loss.
He just told me he thinks I’m beautiful.
“Hey, Marie?”
I stall, happy for any excuse to linger. “Yeah?”
“If I’m not up by noon, you mind waking me?”
It’s not uncommon for a musher to ask a volunteer for a wake-up call. It’s on our list of duties. And yet nerves stir in my stomach. “No problem.”
“Just, you know,” he peers at me from below that thick fringe of lashes, “give me a kick, or something.”
“A kick?” I echo. “Is that what you want?” That isn’t what I had in mind.
He bows his head for a moment and when he lifts it again, he’s grinning. “Or something.”
The volunteers are beginning their celebratory cheer as the dogs charge forward, tongues lolling. It’s time for me to go, though I want to follow Tyler back to the tent.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re up.” I march away before he can see the color in my face that isn’t caused by the cold. I’m halfway to the checkpoint entrance when I can no longer fight the urge to peek over my shoulder.
Tyler is still sitting on the stump, watching me, his expression pensive.
CHAPTER NINE
“I’m starvin’。” Jonah rubs his stomach. “What do they got here today?”
“Soup and sandwiches, Karen said earlier.”
Hopper, within earshot, corrects, “A sandwich.” He drops a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “Not nearly enough to feed men our size, my friend. Not nearly enough.”
It’s true that they’re both big men with appetites, though where Hopper’s parka stretches across a bulbous midsection, beneath Jonah’s down coat, there’s nothing but flat muscle.
“How big are these sandwiches?” Jonah squints at the hut. The sun has climbed high in the sky, and its reflection against the blanket of snow is blinding without sunglasses, which he must have left in his plane when he arrived at the checkpoint with Sam.
As thrilled as I was to see the familiar orange and white plane, I can already hear the complaints brewing on his tongue. Jonah gets cranky when he hasn’t eaten—worse than me. “Don’t start whining.”