“Oh my God. Yes.” My momentary shock over seeing Tyler here disintegrates as I explain the situation and my father’s compound fracture.
I’ve barely finished talking when Tyler’s reaching for his radio. He calls in to dispatch as he calmly strolls back to the truck.
I don’t think a park ranger uniform has ever fit someone so well, but I shift my gaze—and my thoughts—to more pressing issues.
He climbs in, throws his hazards on, and pulls over precariously close to the narrow, shoulder-free edge before stepping out again. “An ambulance is on the way.”
My pace is brisk as I lead Tyler toward my father, an uncomfortable silence sitting on my shoulders, interrupted only by the occasional buzz of his radio.
“Slow down, Marie.”
“He’s been sitting out there alone for almost twenty minutes. He’s diabetic, and he has high blood pressure.” Not to mention the bone sticking out of his leg.
“I get it, but the ground is uneven, you’re panicking, and we don’t need more than one broken leg today.”
“I’m not panicking. I don’t panic. And I’ve been hiking here since I was five. I know how to walk—ahh!” The stones beneath my hiking boots roll, much like what caught my father off guard, and I lose my balance.
Before I tumble to the ground, Tyler is there, his viselike grip locking on my biceps while his other arm loops around my waist. I feel his strength as he hauls me back to my feet. “You good?”
I test my ankle. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I falter on a thanks, stealing a glance upward to find sincerity in his eyes. His hands are hot against my skin, even through my shirt, and a pleasing masculine scent of cedar and citrus peel teases my nose.
He shifts away and opens his mouth, but promptly shuts it before a told you so comment escapes.
Good. He has some restraint.
“So … is this a seasonal thing? This …” I wave a hand at Tyler’s uniform as we continue at a slightly slower pace. It must be. There’s no way he can carry a full-time job and train his dogs for the Iditarod.
“Yeah. Started back in April.”
“Those positions are hard to come by.” I remember Howie saying that his friend had been applying religiously for years and couldn’t get so much as a toe in. He ended up going down to the lower forty-eight.
“They are. Luckily, I know a few people.”
“Like the head of parks and rec,” I answer for myself, recalling that name-drop way back when. “Is this something you’ve done before?” Specializing in law enforcement, too, based on the vest and gun.
“I am qualified, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh yeah? How?”
He smirks. “Do you want to see my résumé?”
“Maybe.” There are so many things about this guy that I still don’t know. “Who takes care of the dogs while you’re here? Your brother?”
“Reed. Yeah.”
“How old is he?”
“This feels like an interrogation. Is the crusader worried that my dogs aren’t well cared for during the off-season? Do I need to bust out that humanitarian trophy you gave me?”
“I’m beginning to regret that vote.” It’s the second time he’s brought it up. “He just seemed a little young.” I spent ten minutes with that kid, and while he was at ease with the dogs, that’s a lot for anyone to handle.
“He’ll be twenty-one in the fall, and yeah, he is, in some ways. He can be painfully shy, especially around girls, but I’ve never seen anyone more in tune with those dogs.” Tyler hesitates. “Reed is my wife’s half brother. Her parents split when she was about ten. Her dad married an American and moved to Montana, where they had him. They have a mushing tour company down there, so he’s grown up around sled dogs. When I told him I was moving here and bringing her team with me, he asked if he could move, too.”
I don’t miss the way he refers to her as his wife. Not his late wife.
“And you just took him in.”
“Of course. He’s family. Plus, he’s a good kid, I trust him, and I like having him around.” He nods ahead. “Yours?”
Yukon and Bentley trot toward us, their leashes dragging behind them.
“Yes.” Panic surges. While the pass is a wide-open space, the knolls and low bushes make it easy to miss someone who might be sitting on the ground.
Or lying there, unconscious.
We pick up the pace and while I’m normally coolheaded in emergency situations, now I’m holding my breath while my mind churns through terrible worst-case thoughts.