Offerings intended, maybe, to woo her into staying.

It hadn’t worked. Effie Yazzie had left him nearly twenty years ago, and yet her Southern Cooking magazines still filled the bookshelf, a few of them dog-eared. And pictures of their family still sat on the mantel. Her dad, Effie, and Echo bundled up to watch their first Iditarod, the one by the river with her holding a giant salmon, and one with Echo holding Granite as a puppy. But, of course, that one was taken after her mother had left.

Her own pictures also hung on the walls, photographs in unnecessary frames, but what could she do? Her dad insisted.

And she’d do anything for her father.

The soup was boiling, so she got up and ladled it into bowls.

Her dad sat and she set a bowl in front of him. “I know I shouldn’t let him get under my skin.”

“Idaho is a criminal, there’s no doubt. And I am just as angry as you are. But short of following him into the bush and catching him red-handed, I’m not sure what you can do.” She gave him a look. “Especially since you’re supposed to be five hundred feet away from him.”

He made a face.

“Good thing Hank is on our side,” she said.

“I hate cheechakos,” he said as he dug into the soup. “Especially the ones who act like they belong here.”

She said nothing, because he had his reasons.

Her kettle whistled and she got up, turned off the heat. Pulled down a cup and a box of tea and added a bag of Earl Grey to the cup. Poured in the water.

Then she set it in front of her father.

He grabbed her wrist as she turned away. “Echo. I’m sorry.”

She put her hand over his. “I know, Dad. I know.”

“You should have left a long time ago.”

“Where am I going to go? I belong here.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it. “You are more of this place than I am.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, and he let her go.

Fixing another cup of tea, she took it out to the back porch, the one overlooking the river, and stood, a sweater wrapped around her, her fingers absently playing with the heart charm on her gold necklace. She stared at the darkness, at the great wash of starlight, clear and bright and gleaming on the dark, jagged horizon.

Undulating ribbons of green and pink folded over each other from the light refracting off the polar ice caps, and as she watched them, she wondered if the mushers had reached the first checkpoint on their journey into the wild frontier.

And what dangers lay beyond, in the darkness.

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