22
Julie sat in a chair pulled up to the folding table, rubbing her hand over Pax’s head. The sedative had him sleeping, but every once in a while, he’d whine, his leg twitching. She stared at his black mask that faded to tan, wishing she could see his bright blue eyes.
As she buried her face against his warm fur, a tear tracked a cold path down her cheek. What was she even doing here? Mushing had always been what drove life, first in her father’s career, then in hers, but the stress of racing, of making sponsors happy, suffocated her. How had her father dealt with it?
Pax groaned, and Julie massaged between his shoulders. Because of her drive to be the best, to follow her father’s trail, Pax would never run again. He’d never join his team and rush down the trails he loved with his tongue hanging out his mouth.
Why was she even doing this expedition?
She’d lost her father, her childhood, what pathetic life she had to this sport. Couldn’t she find a better way to merge her love of mushing with making a living? Heck, maybe it was time to find a job not tangled up with dogs and a sport that required everything from her.
She shook her head and sat up with a sniff. Could she really even consider giving up on racing? While the stress did knot in her stomach, she loved the thrill of running the trails and competing against the best in the world. But was that thrill enough?
“What do you want, Jules?” She groaned and scanned the small room set up as a field surgery.
Exhaustion weighed on her mind, making it slow and dramatic. She should just rest. Maybe then her brain wouldn’t circle with doubts. Thoughts she shouldn’t let freeze solid during an expedition that demanded her all. The future was best left alone until after they reached the North Pole.
She didn’t really know what she wanted, anyway.
The door swung open and in stomped Gunnar.
Scratch that.
She knew exactly what she wanted.
Even as messed up as their past was and as much as she feared he’d break her heart again, she wanted to find out if life had more for them together. Doing so may leave her broken-hearted again, but hadn’t she spent the last fifteen years like that already?
His attention stayed glued on her, assessing her as he crossed the room. She was out of the chair and into his arms before he made it halfway to her. Tears she’d bottled up streamed from her eyes in an embarrassing rush.
Gunnar said nothing, not that it surprised her. Didn’t shush her like her father always had or say everything would be okay.
Nope.
Gunnar just wrapped his arms firmly around her, leaning his head against hers. His quiet comfort multiplied her yearning for him, for the acceptance and respect he always gave to her.
She tucked her face into his neck and breathed in the crisp air that still clung to his skin. The burdens of Pax’s injury—shoot, of what to do with the kennel as a whole—lifted with his steady support. Not that she needed him to make the decision of what to do. Not at all. But having him there with her, knowing she could ask him for suggestions and he wouldn’t give a knee-jerk answer, gave her a confidence she didn’t have on her own.
With one arm secured around her waist, he rubbed the other hand up her spine. Her tension snapped like cracking sea ice warmed by the sun. If he kept it up, she’d float away. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and blew it out slowly.
“Better?” His low question rumbled in her ear, melting more of her tension away.
“Yeah.”
“How’s Pax?”
And that was why she loved Gunnar. Three words. With three words, he’d shown what was important: her and the dog.
She peeked up at him. The concern etched on his face as he took in Pax lying on the exam table rushed the rest of her stress and doubt away. No matter what her mushing future held, she’d make sure, come flood waters or freeze, that Gunnar Rebel ran the trails ahead with her.
She kissed him on the cheek, his beard tickling her skin, then moved back to the table to continue her vigil over the dog. “He’s stable. The vet won’t know until she gets him back to Fairbanks if he’ll lose the leg or not.”
Gunnar pulled a chair next to hers and combed his fingers through Pax’s fur. She pressed her leg against Gunnar’s and rubbed Pax’s ear like she knew he liked. The peacefulness of the moment quieted her racing thoughts.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She ran her hand down the dog’s neck, bumping up against Gunnar’s.
He captured her fingers with his and brought them to his lips. The tender kiss tingled up her arm. After placing her hand back on Pax’s side, Gunnar dragged her chair right up next to his, draped his arm over the back of the seat, then went back to petting the dog.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He ran his palm over her skin as he stroked Pax’s fur. “Never again.”
The tingles from Gunnar’s touch oozed into a warm puddle of happiness in her belly. She folded her feet beneath her and leaned against him. His arm wrapped around her back, anchoring her to him. As promises went, him always staying with her was one she hoped he would keep.