“I’ll make a fire,” he said, his throat tight. Who thought this was a good idea? He knelt in front of the stove and began to pile in the wood—birch shavings for a starter, and then he broke off kindling from the logs, using the axe from his pack.

Meanwhile, she had assembled her camp stove and lit it, putting the pan on top.

He soon had a fire lit, and it added an orange glow to the room. “We’ll be warm soon.”

She glanced at him, giving him a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Echo.” He came over to her. He touched her arms. “I know what you’re thinking. But this is not your fault. You offered to stay with her, but Peyton practically ordered you away. She said she could mush the dogs herself. And she could. Sheesh, she grew up out here. She knows what she’s doing.”

She was nodding, but by her torn expression, it wasn’t sinking in. And he, of course, knew why.

“This is not you, Echo. This is not you left in the woods, alone.”

She looked at him, swallowed.

“Okay, listen. Here’s how this is not the same. First, Peyton’s not a child, left alone with the dogs while Sheldon Starr flies her father, who is fighting for his life, to Anchorage. Second, we know where she is—she’s out checking her cameras—we don’t have to search the entire county for her armed with a sketchy PLB signal. Thirdly, you, Echo, are not alone.”

She nodded, but he touched her chin, lifted it. “You’re not alone.”

She smiled. “Yeah.” She blew out a long breath and pulled away. “Thanks, Dodge. I know that I’m probably the last person you want to trek out into the bush with, but—”

“I’m here because I chose to be here, Echo.” Because, surprisingly, his father was right. “There’s no way this is over . . . Maybe that’s why God brought you back—for her. And to set you free from all that darkness.”

Yes. To get closure. To have that conversation he probably should have had in the vet’s office.

The one that would set them both free from the past, where he could leave Copper Mountain behind without the stings of regret.

That’s all.

He unpacked his bag and set the sleeping bag on the upper bunk, along with a small pad that he partially inflated.

“I have some jerky noodles,” he said.

“Really?” she said, looking over his things. “Peanut butter, beef jerky, and ramen. You never change.” She shook her head.

“What? It’s good. I’m a ramen master.”

She laughed and he was like Granite, leaning into it. Oh brother. “Fine. What did you bring?”

“Leftover stew.” She pulled a baggie from her pack, still frozen, and waggled the bag. “I brought enough for two just in case . . .” Her smile fell.