But Mal was grinning, and shoot, there was something infectious about Mal and the way he called Dodge by his old jersey number. It could make a guy remember the good times. “But yeah, I’m back. You guys still running the guiding service?”

“Yep, although we opened the outfitter’s shop a few years ago, and it’s almost doubled our sales. We’re running mostly fishing trips. Not much going on right now. A few moose hunts, but we’re pretty dry. Idaho has all the work.”

“Who?”

“Ray Kelly. He’s from Idaho, has his residency here, has sort of taken over the guiding work—we’re not sure how, but a few of the guys think he’s doing double tagging.”

Double tagging—when a guide used their own catch permit to help a client bag more kills than allowed.

“Brought in a grizzly last weekend—a sow—and Charlie Yazzie went off on him. Said he’d killed one of Elsa’s cubs, and it got dicey.”

Elsa. Echo’s bear. Dodge had been in town less than ten minutes and already she’d walked into the conversation. Well, what did he expect? “That’s terrible. Was it one of Elsa’s cubs?”

“Dunno yet. Hank took DNA samples to make sure, but you know how Charlie is.”

Yes, he did. Which was why, maybe, Dodge had made such a colossal, impulsive mistake so many years ago.

He feared Charlie’s hold on Echo.

But really, Dodge had only himself to blame for the fiasco that had followed.

“So, you back for good? Taking over Sky King Ranch? Oh, how’s your dad, by the way? I heard about the accident.”

“Getting better. Sleeping a lot. I just dropped Larke and her husband off at the train. I’m taking over starting tomorrow. Doing his homestead route.”

A truck rolled down the street behind Mal and turned into the lot for the Alaska Fish and Game office.

“So that’s a yes,” Mal said. “Good. We need you for the annual hockey tourney. I’ll tell the guys you’re back.”

He wasn’t—

And that’s when the driver of the truck got out of the cab. A woman. Trim but fit, she wore a pair of black leggings, tall, laced mukluks, and a down jacket. And even from here, he could make out her profile—that pretty nose, the angled jaw that could clench hard with a stubborn streak to rival his own. And long, dark, golden hair that turned almost bronze in the setting sun.

She glanced his direction but didn’t seem to notice him, then headed toward the ranger station.

“Dodge?”

He took a breath, looked back at Mal, who turned around to see what had caught his attention.

Mal turned back. “So—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A stiff wind shuffled down the street, wrapping around him.