“Nothing. I thought maybe the dog was in distress, so I headed out to where we last saw the bear. I found tracks. It’s a big one. I don’t think it’s the one who was tormenting Spike or who attacked your dogs. That bear was smaller, in the nine hundred range. This one is a good hundred pounds larger.” He dropped his hat on the table, his dark hair tousled and glistening at the edges.

He made a ring with his hands. “Prints are a good six or seven inches wide, and the back paw is a foot long. And deep.” He unwound his scarf. “I saw evidence of the dog too. Could have been a wolf—it circled the bear a few times, but didn’t attack, then took off through the woods. I followed its trail, but it cut into the trees and . . .”

“And with that bear out there, you didn’t want to get off the sled.”

He made a face. “First thing in the morning, we’re back out there.”

She nodded. And couldn’t blame him. It might have been a wolf—clearly she’d heard one out there, and they were close to the wolf pack that Peyton studied.

Echo warmed herself in front of the fire as he shucked off his outerwear, down to his fleece pants and shirt.

Then he came to stand behind her. “Echo. I’ve been thinking—”

“I can’t bear the thought of her out there, by herself.” She stepped away from him.

He frowned but nodded. “Peyton is smart. She’ll find some place to hole up, get warm.”

She folded her arms over herself. “You don’t get it, Dodge. To be out there, by yourself . . .” She drew in a breath. “You don’t get the thoughts that run through your head, that feeling of being completely abandoned, over your head, helpless to the elements . . .”

He closed the gap between them, his strong hands on her arms. “Stop what-iffing.”

“It’s not a what-if!” She pulled away from him and headed to the window. Played with the charm at her neck as she watched Dodge’s reflection in the glass, the way he turned, the worry on his face. “If you hadn’t found me, I would have died out there—”

It took him a second, but his voice quieted. “You’re talking about when you were nine, and you went looking for your mother.”

Her eyes burned. “I was stupid and impulsive and . . . I didn’t have a plan. I probably deserved to die out there.”

“No, you didn’t. You were upset—your mother had left you. Of course you went out to find her.”

She gave a harsh laugh. “My plan was to mush the dogs to Anchorage.” She shook her head. “I had Susan Butcher in my head, maybe, but I thought . . . I was so naive.”

“I thought you were brave.”

She turned back to him at his words.