And yet, as the pilot unlatched his snowshoes from the skids of the chopper and strapped them on, as he straightened and trekked toward her, strong and fierce and determined, her heart knew.

Oh no.

Only one person had that singularity of mind, and frankly, the crazy steel-boned courage to fly a chopper into this wind.

She stiffened, found the place inside her that reminded her she knew how to survive anything the Alaskan winter dished out. Including needing the help of the man she’d destroyed.

Dodge Kingston.

He stalked toward her, his dark blue eyes on hers, his black hair peeking out of his hat, almost an angry expression on his face. She wasn’t sure he recognized her—not yet, because he didn’t even blink as he came near. Then again, she wore her balaclava, her wool hat, goggles, and an insulated snowsuit.

“Where is she?” he said as he came closer.

“Inside,” Echo said, practically shouting over the wind. She turned and led him onto the steps. He stopped, unstrapped his snowshoes, and set them near the deck. She went inside.

He followed her.

She couldn’t really explain what happened next. The silence as Dodge stared at her dog, struggling for life on the floor next to Peyton, who got up, wide-eyed. The way he then looked back at her, reached out, and grabbed at her face mask. The hard yank he gave it to reveal her face.

He stared at her a long moment, and she, like an idiot, said nothing, because just seeing him here, back in her world—

Yeah, it was akin to a north wind taking out her breath.

Oh, he looked good. Grown up. A man—filled out, thick shoulders, lean body, tall. A dark swath of whiskers layered his face, just slightly touched with snow, and those eyes—those dark blue eyes were older too. Fierce. Knowing.

Steely.

Now they fixed on her, his chest rising and falling. “Thank God.”

Huh?

“You’re not hurt?” He stepped closer, looking her over, and she had to admit just being around him hurt very, very much, what with her regrets rising up to choke her, to tighten a steel band around her chest.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m fine. It’s Holly.”

It took him a second, then he turned away from her, and it was like a fire being snuffed out, the sudden chill that layered the air.

“What happened?” He knelt beside the dog, putting his hand on her body.

“Grizzly attack.”

He lifted the snow pack, lowered it. Glanced at her leg. “Right. Okay, so we need to leave, right now. Let’s pack up.”

“I’ll bring the dogs home,” Peyton said, meeting Echo’s eyes.

Echo watched as Dodge grabbed Peyton’s sleeping bag, put it on the floor, then lifted Holly onto it. He wrapped her up in the bag, then took her in his arms.

He looked at Echo. “Are you coming?”