“On my way.” The last thing she needed was Sheriff Deacon Starr showing up to haul her dad into lockup.

She climbed into the truck and looked at her dad as she fired up the engine. “How many shots did it take for you and Otto to figure out that part you needed?”

He didn’t look at her as they pulled out. “She looked like Elsa.”

“But she wasn’t. You gotta bring it down to DEFCON 3, Dad.”

“We already lost George.”

“We don’t know that. His collar just went off the radar.”

He said nothing as she headed south, took the bridge over the river, then drove back north to their homestead in the woods. By the time they arrived it would be nearly dark, and she’d have to haul the propane tanks in alone, feed her dogs, light the stove, and start dinner.

Her dad let out a snore.

Nice.

The stars came out slowly, arching over the nightscape, the moon an eye, tracking her as she finally turned off the main road and headed along the snow-packed route toward the homestead, a half mile deeper into the woods. She followed the narrow, rutted road until it finally led to the open space of their settlement. The wood cabin had long ago turned into an impressive lodge with two stories, a wraparound porch, a balcony that overlooked the river in the back, and a number of outbuildings. But only because her father couldn’t leave well enough alone. He was a jack-of-all-trades when he wasn’t under the sauce, but it was his injury that led him to drink, so she gave him grace.

After all, they had only each other now.

Their subsistence footprint had also grown in the years after her mother left. They’d added a permanent greenhouse with hot lights for a longer growing season. A chicken coop housed nearly twenty hens, with chicken wire protecting the large roaming area. She made good egg money at the farmers market during the summer.

Her father had also enlarged the sawmill shed and took in business on the side, cutting wood for a few of the locals. It supplemented his honey business and, of course, paid for the motley crew of rescued and rehabilitated animals he fostered for Alaska Wildlife Rescue. A wolf pup, separated from his pack and caught in a trap, a bald eagle with an injured wing, a coyote who’d been shot, three baby red fox pups, and a pair of black bear cubs. The foster animal pens lay beyond the barn, out of the reach of her sled dogs, who were sleeping in furry mounds in another large pen.

In the barn were their snowmobiles, an ATV, a small Alumacraft fishing boat, and, of course, her sleds.