“I would have gone to Oslo!”

“Right.”

He seems to consider that for a long moment. “I would have flown back the second she told me, and then I might have not been there for Wren when he died. Or you.”

I’m not sure what to say to ease Jonah’s frustration. If that had been my mother or Simon, I would be just as furious to find out more than a year after the fact.

“And then fucking Björn”—he spits his name out like a curse—“he has the nerve to lay a guilt trip on me for making her fly all the way here to see me when I had no clue this was going on in the first place! Like, of course I would never have agreed to this, had I known! She shouldn’t be flying halfway across the world! Long plane rides are a risk for people with her condition. What if the thinners stop working and she’s out there, in the middle of the night, with a huge blood clot working through her veins? And she can’t even get a signal to call for help.”

“That’s why you want them staying at our house.” The pieces are beginning to fit together.

“At least if she’s in our house and something goes wrong, I’m there.”

Whether that’s a legitimate concern, I’m not sure. What I do know is that Jonah won’t sleep a wink with her across the lake.

“It’s the right decision. I’ll call Agnes and give her the heads-up. She won’t mind. Mabel was whining that she wanted to stay out there, anyway.” Though that was before she learned that the Wi-Fi setup was delayed.

“Thanks.” He nods slowly. “It caught me off guard. I didn’t think I’d have to start worrying about her health yet. She’s still so young.”

“And it sounds like she has things under control.” I reach up to comb his freshly groomed beard with my fingertips. “She’ll be fine.”

“Yeah?” He sounds doubtful.

“Yeah. Susan, Simon, Astrid, and Björn under one roof. What could go wrong?”

He tips his head back with a groan. “Besides Björn calling Simon a quack?”

“Besides that.” Björn doesn’t hide the fact that he thinks psychiatrists are fake doctors.

“Maybe Björn can stay in the cabin by himself.”

“Stop it.” I laugh as I stretch on tiptoes to kiss his lips.

I ease my Jeep into the row of parked vehicles at the Trapper’s Crossing community center at twenty-five past ten, preparing myself for grief about my tardiness. Muriel doesn’t differentiate between paid positions and a person graciously volunteering their entire Saturday before Christmas. In her eyes, a job’s a job and you give it your all, no matter what.

At least the sun is shining.

Collecting my things—and my energy, because something tells me I’m going to be exhausted by the time I see the inside of this Jeep again—I hop out into the frigid day. A bang pulls my attention to the left, to the outdoor rink where a group of kids whip around the ice, hockey sticks in hand, practicing their shots on net.

Marie strolls out the doors of the community center. Bonnie Hatchett is on her heels.

My stomach twinges the way it always does when I first see the beautiful blonde veterinarian, though the reaction isn’t nearly as visceral as it used to be.

“What do you mean? You saw him do this?” Marie asks.

“Well … no.” Bonnie presses her thin lips together in a frown. “But we all know those dogs aren’t bein’ treated well. Who does he think he is, anyway? Showing up here, buying up all that land with no regard for anyone else.” Her tone bleeds with bitterness.

“Just because you see him as direct competition to Harry’s business doesn’t mean you can throw around accusations of animal abuse,” Marie says gently. “Not unless you have proof.”

“And what if we find proof? You’ll help us then, right?” Bonnie pushes.

Marie’s sigh reveals her forced patience. “If you have proof, I’ll see what I can do. Look, I’ve got to go. I have appointments all afternoon.”

Bonnie doesn’t seem to hear the reluctance in Marie’s voice because she nods vigorously and offers, “Thank you, Dr. Lehr. Thank you for your help.”

Marie notices me approaching then and picks up speed to reach me.

“What was that about?” I ask curiously.

Marie barely stifles her groan. “Some young hotshot moved here a few months ago and bought up the Danson property, down the road from the Hatchetts’. Apparently, he’s breeding sled dogs.” She turns to watch the tiny, hunched woman climb into an old Dodge pickup. “Bonnie claims he’s abusing them.”

“Do you believe her?”

Marie shrugs. “Who knows? It happens. But Bonnie’s son also breeds sled dogs, and something tells me business hasn’t been good for him lately, so competition down the road is the last thing they need. Plus, this new guy won some big sled dog race wherever he’s from, and he’s signed up for the Iditarod.”

“Didn’t her son win that this year?” It seems like everyone around here has a family member racing in the annual world-famous event.

“He came in second. But he’s a favorite for the coming year.” Marie gives me a look. “Was a favorite. Now the new guy might throw a wrench into that.”

I whistle. “The high-stakes drama of Alaska’s sled dog world.”

“Right?” Marie laughs as she slips off a mitten to push strands of her long, silky blonde hair off her face. “And the Hatchetts are trying to drag me into the middle of this because they know I could never ignore hearing about an abused animal.” Even now, her jaw is taut with tension at the suggestion.

“So, are you going to go over to this guy’s house to check it out?”

She throws her arms in the air in resignation. “Yeah. Probably, knowing me.”

I smile. My father once called Marie a crusader, flying from village to village, treating animals that otherwise wouldn’t receive care. At the time, she was just a friend of Jonah’s, and Jonah was still just the bullheaded yeti, determined to put me back on a plane for Toronto. But the moment I met the beautiful blonde veterinarian, I knew immediately that friends or not, she was in love with him. The problem was, by that point, I was falling hard for him, too.

Since then, Marie and I have had our jealous ups and downs, all rooted in love for one man. While we’ll never be best friends, we’ve become so adept at this friendly dance around each other that even I’m beginning to think it could be genuine.

I eye the double doors of Trapper’s Crossing community center, banked by urns dressed in bouquets of evergreen branches and donated white twinkle lights. Free décor is the best décor, Muriel proclaimed gleefully, ever the thrifty one. “Did you see Muriel when you went in there?”

“You mean Sergeant?” Marie continues on to her truck. “She’s been here since before six. When I left, she was badgering Toby to ask Emily out to dinner.”

I groan. “You think that’s a line item on her clipboard?”

“As long as my name’s not a part of that task, she can set him up with whoever she deems acceptable.”

I shake my head. While Marie hasn’t come out and said it, I think the idea of Muriel as a mother-in-law played a part in why she and Toby never made it past two dates. Lord knows it would scare any sane person away. Poor Toby might be a bachelor for life if he sticks around here.