The view to the kitchen was open, with a ramp for kids to watch from, their noses pressed against the Plexiglas as Levi and his team flipped pizza dough and slathered on rich red sauce.

Despite the chilly afternoon weather, the doors to the deck were open, with tall heaters blasting out warm air. Edison party lights lit up the area, and music played throughout the place—“Arms,” by Christina Perri. “You put your arms around me and I’m home . . .”

The team had congregated outside, but a few stood inside, and of course, like she had some eerie Dodge radar, Echo’s gaze fell right on him. He stood near the door, dressed in his jeans and an open parka, a wool cap, his dark hair just visible around the edges. He was talking with Malachi and laughing.

That laugh again. It curled inside her and tugged.

Yes, she should probably run. But Goodwin was behind the bar, serving up beer and sodas, and called out to her. “Echo!”

She turned her attention to him, and he nodded toward the nook by the back door. She spotted her father talking with Hank and Ace.

Her dad didn’t see her, evident from his animated hands. Hank sat back in his chair, his arms folded over his chest, nodding.

She didn’t want to get anywhere near that conversation.

Instead, she walked up to Goodwin. “Got any lonely pieces of pepperoni back there?”

“I’ll see what I can find. Want something to drink?”

“Just a Coke.”

He scooped up ice and filled her glass. “Did you see our boy out there take me down?”

Maybe he’d missed Dodge as much as she had. Once upon a time, he’d practically worshipped the guy. Apparently, over the years, the town lore had swung back in Dodge’s direction.

“He smoked you,” she said and took the Coke.

“It’ll be a good tournament. Now, if we can just get Range and Colt home.”

Echo gave a tight-lipped nod. She had a feeling, given her conversation in the vet’s office yesterday, that might not go down quite as well as Goodie thought.

She moved down the bar, watching the news on the flat-screen. The first of the Iditarod runners had come over the line. A Norwegian in first place, a fellow Alaskan in second.

“Still thinking of running it?”

The voice made her freeze, and she stood, wordless, as she looked up at Dodge. His dark blue eyes settled on her, and he smelled of sunshine and fresh air. He looked downright woodsy with the finest layer of grizzle on his chin. He set his drink—also a Coke—down on the counter. Up close, and without all the anger that had hued his face at Anuk’s clinic, he was downright breathtaking.

At least, she couldn’t breathe.