Forever Wild (The Simple Wild #2.5) - K.A. Tucker Page 0,12

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.

Marie’s truck engine starts with a roar. “Say hi to Jonah for me,” she hollers before slamming her door shut.

I’m huddled in my jacket as I head for the double doors, shivering against the cold.

Muriel once called the community center the hub of the town, and there isn’t a better way to describe it. Between the farmers’ market and planning the Winter Carnival, I’ve spent so much time within these old walls, the flickering fluorescent lights and musty smell have become familiar, and almost comforting.

I enter the large hall to “Silent Night” playing over the speaker system and a flurry of activity buzzing throughout. Toby and a local named Benjamin are unfolding the last of the round dinner tables, while Emily and two other volunteers arrange chairs,