Actually, Peyton was half Native American, half Black, but she wasn’t going to argue. “She was here a few days ago and left with my dogs. But something happened . . . a few of the dogs made it back to the house, but Peyton’s missing.”

“I haven’t seen her.” His eyes, however, dragged over Echo. “You’re an awful long way from home. You’re by yourself?”

Idaho had a reputation for his loud opinions of women made during his between-trip visits to Vic’s place. Vic usually chased him away when he got out of hand, but now Echo saw something in his eyes that ran a chill through her. “If you see Peyton, just . . . can you call it in?”

“Radio’s down, sweetheart.” He smiled at her, and the smell of his breath turned her gut. “But I have food. And there’s another storm coming.” He glanced at the window. “You’re not going back out, are you?”

She took another step back. “I need to go.”

He lunged and his hand palmed the door as she tried to open it. “I think you should stay.”

She turned, her back to the door. A terrible stench washed over her, whiskey and body odor from days in the bush without a bath. “My dad will be expecting me.”

“Charlie’s at home, drunk, having nightmares about the bear I’m going to kill.” He leaned closer. “Maybe you want to help me.”

She stilled, closing her eyes against his halitosis. “You’re out here to kill the grizzly that attacked my dogs?”

He laughed and leaned away. “Naw. I’m just doing some scouting. Getting ready to meet my next group.” He ran his tongue along his teeth. “But I’ll be ready, if he decides to attack.” He reached up then and brushed snow off her jacket. “I heard he nearly killed one of your dogs.”

“I need to go.” She put her hand on the doorknob, trying to quell her insides.

She wasn’t a victim. She knew how to handle a handsy guy, thank you. But the fact she was out in the middle of—

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Echo. You’re staying.” His grip tightened on her.

She whirled, her arm up, and cut his grip off. “Back off, Idaho.”

He held his hands up as if in surrender, laughing. “That’s what I like about you. You’ve got sass. These girls from the bush—they’re tough on the outside.” He put his hands down and leaned near her ear. “But what are they like on the inside?”

She pushed him, but he caught her wrist. “C’mon. Can’t we be friends?”

She tried to jerk it away, but he tightened his hold to the point of pain. She refused to cry out. “Get your hands off me!”