He said nothing. Outside, a whine sounded at the door, and Echo must have heard it also, because she got up and opened it. Granite came inside, shook off the snow, and came over to settle in front of the fire.

Dodge finished his pie and set the plate on the table.

“He’s an inside dog now?”

“He deserves it, after all these years. Are you going to answer my question?”

“Yeah, I got them.”

She looked away, at the window, the gathering storm. He blinked.

It occurred to him then. “Wasn’t Granite out with you and Peyton?”

She nodded and walked over to the dog. Knelt next to him. “He came home yesterday, alone.”

“Weird. He should be on the gangline.”

“Yeah. But I checked in with the station, and Peyton texted in, so maybe she let him go. Or he ran off. I don’t tether him when we’re out and he might have slipped away when we picked up Holly and found his way home.” He couldn’t tell if she was worried or not. But Peyton had grown up in the bush. She knew how to take care of herself. Maybe she’d let Granite go, knowing his heart was turned toward home.

Clearly. The animal groaned happily as Echo rubbed behind his ears. “He loves me.”

And for a moment, Dodge was sitting with her in front of the fire, doing a puzzle with her on the coffee table, caught inside the quiet cocoon of winter, their fingers brushing now and again as they fought for pieces.

Yes, this was a very bad idea. “I should go. The storm is going to sock me in.” He stood to leave.

She looked up at him, and he startled to see the wetness in her eyes.

“Echo—?”

“I’m okay.” She stood up as well, wiped her cheek. “Just worried about Peyton.”

Oh. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’s an Alaskan. She knows how to survive.”

“Yeah.” She took a breath. “I’m glad you’re back, Dodge. I did worry about you overseas.”

“Thanks.” He turned, trying not to run.

Because he very much wanted to pull her into his arms, tell her that everything would be okay.

That he’d not only received her letters—thirty-eight of them, to be exact—but read them, tucked them away, and read them again, over and over until they turned creased and thin.

Wanted to let himself believe them.

He took his dishes to the sink, then went into the arctic entry for his boots and coat.

She came in and leaned against the door as he got dressed. “Thanks again, Dodge.”

“Sure.” He looked at her. “Take care of yourself, Echo.”

There. That was a better version of a goodbye, something he could live with without digging up the past, the regrets.

The skeleton of their happy ending.

He could walk away and never turn around.