“Did you know she was going to leave you?” She had never asked him this before, never wanted to bring it up. But maybe, if she knew, then . . .

Well, then she could prepare her heart for the day Dodge left again.

Her dad was quiet as he cracked eggs into the pan. “Maybe. There were signs. She hated the dark and cold and would pore over medical books, trying to keep her brain sharp. She’d left Wisconsin without finishing her residency, and that wasn’t fair to her, but she did it for me. But I know it tugged at her, this longing to become the woman she’d left behind.”

“Did you fight?”

He shook his head. “Not really. She just sorta . . . slipped away. We stopped saying yes to each other, I guess. Yes, I see you. Yes, I need you. Yes, I trust you. And then one day, she simply said no and walked away.”

He slid two sunny-side up eggs and some bacon on a plate and gave it to her.

She got up, grabbed a fork, filled her coffee, and sat back down. “I always thought it was me.”

“I know.” He plated his own eggs. “Scared me to death when you went after her.”

He met her eyes, but she looked away.

“She loved you.”

“She just didn’t love me enough.”

He sat down. Picked up his coffee. Studied her. “That’s why you said no to Dodge, wasn’t it?”

She stilled, a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Why you told him no when he proposed. Because, when you’ve lost someone, you fear giving yourself to someone else.”

She stared at him.

“Your mother’s betrayal uprooted everything you knew about love, threw your life into chaos, and suddenly you didn’t know who to trust.” He poured ketchup on his eggs. “You were scared to be vulnerable again. To let someone have any control over your heart.”

She wasn’t sure now if they were talking about her . . . or him. But it didn’t matter. “It was a long time ago. I’m over it.”

“Her leaving blew up your entire life, Echo.” He picked up his fork, then met her eyes. “You might have healed from the event, but you continue to bleed from the impact.”

She had nothing. His words raw, brutal.

True.

Outside, a sharp bark bit the silence. She put down her fork. “That’s Granite. I forgot he’s out there in the storm.” She practically fled to the arctic entry and opened the door.

But Granite wasn’t waiting at the stoop. He barked again, a warning, in the dark.

The cold air rushed in, cooling the heat in her chest. “I think the coyote is back.” She lifted her jacket from the hook, slipped on her mukluks without tying them, and grabbed her capture gun and a headlamp.