She glanced at Dodge. “Sorry about that. He’ll fall asleep in his recliner and be okay in the morning. He sleeps better sitting up anyway. His shoulder doesn’t hurt as much.” She bent to take off her boots. “Thanks, Dodge, for bringing him home.” She dropped her mukluks onto a boot warmer. “Do you want some coffee?”

He should say no. He’d done his good deed, brought Charlie home, a peace offering of sorts to cement his apology.

“Sure.” And suddenly he was taking off his shoes and jacket and following her in his wool socks into the house. As he walked by Charlie’s office, he noticed he was already in his recliner, his head back, a snore emanating.

Echo closed his door. Glanced at Dodge. “He was dry all winter. Then this stuff with Idaho started and suddenly he’s drinking beer with Hank and picking fights.” She walked into the kitchen and grabbed a kettle. “It’s his pain meds. They interact with the alcohol and suddenly he’s three sheets to the wind. Pie? I found a can of pumpkin from last fall and didn’t know what to do with it.”

“I like pie.” Really, what was he doing?

She laughed, and it was both so familiar and unexpected that it blew past all his defenses and landed inside, lancing something open, almost a welcome pain.

He fled to the fireplace, grabbed a couple split logs, noted that she probably needed a couple loads before he left, and added the logs to the hearth. Then he tucked in some birch scrapings and sticks from the kindling bucket and struck a match.

In a moment, the fire lit, crackling through the birch. He stood, his gaze on the pictures on the mantel—Echo with Granite, one with a salmon. A family picture, dust on the frame, showcased beautiful Effie and Charlie holding Echo by each hand, lifting her in the air. Echo wore a red cap with bunny ears, a smaller version of the cabin behind them.

“She’s had enough people leaving her.”

He heard the indictment. But whose fault had that been?

“Here you go.” Echo came up behind him and handed him a piece of pie and a cup of hot coffee. She’d put it through her French press.

He inhaled. “Now this is coffee.” He took a sip and turned to a set of pictures on the wall, wildlife shots. A gorgeous red fox sitting in the snow, its fluffy red tail curled around itself, yellow-gray eyes fixed, staring at the camera. A coyote in a field of wild lavender irises, ears alert, staring into the horizon. A shot of two black bear cubs wrestling on a rocky river shore.

“These are amazing.”

“Thanks.” She took a sip of the coffee. “Those are some of the animals that my dad has fostered.”

“You’re a real talent, Echo.”