Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 403(@300wpm)
Jonah checks his watch. “Quarter to twelve.”
My heart skips a few beats. “I’m actually gonna try to get an hour or two of sleep before the afternoon rush.” Several teams are on their way here and, with the balmy minus-ten-degree weather, they’ll be resting their dogs for a few hours to keep them from overheating.
He grimaces and looks around. “Am I gonna have to deal with that idiot?”
It’s my turn to reach out and shove him. I don’t have to ask who he means. Jonah has heard me gripe about the Hatchetts enough times to have made up his mind about Harry without even meeting him. “He’s sleeping.” Thankfully.
Jonah grunts in response. “Fine. I’ll get your sandwich for you.”
I bark out a laugh. “Bullshit, you’ll eat my sandwich for me.”
“You know me too well, Lehr.” He winks.
I do know Jonah too well, and he’d give me the boots off his feet if I needed them. “Don’t leave without saying goodbye!” I watch his back as he veers off, sauntering to the little hut that will surely feel smaller with his larger-than-life presence in it.
My stomach is a ball of tension as I approach the yellow tent, toying with the idea of turning around and coming back in fifteen minutes, when it wouldn’t seem like I’m angling to pick up where we left off.
The tents are spread out, away from the cook hut and the dog teams, guaranteeing some degree of quiet. I’m careful as I draw open the zipper, hoping the sound of it sliding against its teeth doesn’t disturb Tyler. Inside, the air is on the verge of being too cool, the wood in the stove nothing more than glowing embers.
Tyler sleeps on his back like before, his arctic bag pulled to his chin.
I admire his still, handsome face for a moment before turning away. I shuck my outer clothes and boots, hanging them on the line next to his, thankful for the stop Terry and I made in McGrath on the way here yesterday morning to shower at the laundromat. By the time I catch a flight home, I’ll smell as bad as the sled dogs I’m treating.
My attention gets caught on the black-and-white badge on Tyler’s sleeve.
Mila. Am I right? Was that his wife’s name?
Is he wearing her name on his sleeve in her honor?
His heart on his sleeve?
What has this man been through?
There’s so much about Tyler that I don’t know, and yet here I am, eager to hear him tell me how beautiful I am again, hoping this time he’ll roll over to kiss me and it won’t be a mistake.
“It’s not noon already, is it?” Tyler’s sleepy croak startles me.
“In another fifteen minutes. I’m sorry, I thought I was being quiet enough.”
“You were.” He smooths his hands over his face. “It’s me. I’ve been drifting in and out.”
“That’s not good.” I step over him to stuff a log into the stove and then I make my way around to slip into the warmth of my sleeping bag, adrenaline racing.
He rolls onto his side. “Is something wrong?”
I realize my flurry of thoughts sits plainly on my face. “I was looking forward to kicking you awake, is all.”
His crooked smile may as well be an accusation of my ulterior motives. “I can close my eyes and pretend to be asleep so this plays out.” Our mattress pads are still butted against each other. He’s lying so close to me.
“My plan has already lost its luster.” I pray the cold air hides the flush from my reddened cheeks.
“I should have kept quiet, then. I’m not always a smart man.”
I shift to face him. “Wow. I never thought I’d hear you admit that.”
“I have moments of weakness.” His voice has turned raspy. “This is definitely shaping up to be one of them.”
The silence in the tent is palpable as I study the tiny golden flecks in his irises and the deep green ring that surrounds his pupils. I sense him shifting ever so slowly toward me, and my heart rate races with anticipation.
But then a troubled expression fills his face, as if he’s remembering something that perturbs him.
“Is something wrong?” I echo his question of a few moments ago.
“No, nothing. Just …” Turning onto his back once again, he studies the tent’s ceiling, his breathing measured and slow. “I should get up. I have a long way to the finish line, and my dogs need all my focus.”
As opposed to giving some of it to the infatuated veterinarian who is eager to climb onto your lap.
I smile, even as my discontent stirs. “You’re right, they do.” We can always pick this up back home, after the race. “Get out of here already and let me sleep.”
He climbs out of his sleeping bag with a stretch.
I watch him as he collects his bedroll and sleeping bag, securing them to tuck back into his sled. Too fast, he has all his outer gear on and is pulling on his hat.