Page 40 of Rescued By the Dog Trainer

"He received two liters of warm saline at twenty-two hundred with core temp stabilized at zero three hundred." Maren hands the lead paramedic a folded sheet of medical notes. "Femur fracture is aligned and immobilized. No signs of compartment syndrome. Good pulses."

"Textbook triage." The paramedic glances at the paper and looks up at Maren with respect. "Thanks."

They slide the gurney into the back of the snowcat and shut the steel doors. The engine roars as the machine turns back down the mountain, leaving wide track marks in the white snow.

Wyatt stands on the lodge porch with his hands in the pockets of his canvas coat as the snowcat vanishes around the lower bend.

"That rescue search was textbook last night." Wyatt turns as Maren and I walk up the porch steps. "Bella and I had an easy night watch after you two stabilized him."

"Maren ran the field triage." I clear my throat.

"I just kept him warm." Maren keeps her gaze on the road down.

"Town road is open." Wyatt points toward the valley. "Ruth called ten minutes ago. The PickAxe is open with fresh coffee and hot biscuits waiting. She said if you don't bring the supply truck down for dog food and kibble sacks by noon, she's coming up here herself."

"I'll drive." I look at Maren. "You need anything from town?"

"I should check on my room at Mabel's Guest House." Maren rests her hand on the wooden porch railing. "The others need to head down for clean gear too. Griff and Sarah offered to stay on kennel duty while Brody and Nadia ride down with us."

"Tell Brody and Nadia to grab their coats." I head toward the parking pad. "We'll take the Dodge."

The four-wheel-drive Dodge truck rumbles down the switchbacks. Heavy snow chains clink against the wheel wells in a steady rhythm. The sky above Angel's Peak opens into brilliant blue while the winter sun reflects off pine needles caked in ice.

Angel's Peak dug itself out by committee. Shovel crews on the boardwalk. A kid selling cocoa off a card table in front of the hardware store. Half the county's trucks nosed in outside the PickAxe. Every building has smoke curling straight up from stone chimneys.

I stop at Mabel's Guest House to let Brody and Nadia out for their bags. They head up the porch steps to grab clean gear while the truck cab settles into quiet.

I park the truck across the street in front of the PickAxe. The carved wooden sign over the porch drips water while the midday sun melts icicles along the eaves.

When we step inside, the bell above the door rings with a brass chime. Heat from the cast-iron stove hits us with the scent of roasted coffee and fried bacon, along with maple syrup and cinnamon rolls.

The tavern is half-full with locals taking shelter after the storm. At the counter, Eleanor Morgan sits over a mug of black tea with her red notebook open beside her plate. In the corner booth, Ruth Fletcher talks with two ranch hands from the upper valley.

Every head turns when the bell rings.

I rarely come into town during the day. For three years, I kept to the shelter ridge to buy dog food in bulk and stay clear of town talk. But today I walk in beside Maren, placing my hand at the small of her back to guide her past the coat rack.

"Look what the snow cat dragged in." Ruth Fletcher sets two ceramic mugs on the table by the front window. Her sharp eyes move from my face down to my hand at Maren's waist, then back to Maren's face. She trades a knowing glance with Eleanor Morgan across the room. "Three years of living up on that ridge like a hermit, and all it took was one fierce flight nurse to bring you down for a hot breakfast."

"Pass was rough?" Eleanor looks up from her notebook while taking a sip of her tea.

"Four feet at the ridge." I pull out a wooden chair for Maren, then sit across from her. "Montoya's on his way to the valley hospital. Closed femur, stabilized."

"Wyatt reported that Major Hale handled the field triage like a surgeon." Eleanor turns toward Maren while her glasses slide down her nose. "Mabel told me your room lease is month-to-month down at the guest house, dear. Though looking at the way the two of you walk together, I doubt Mabel will be re-signing that lease past March."

Maren stiffens. Her fingers tighten around her coffee mug, a sudden flush rising past her collar.

"I'm just here for the sixty-day handler program." Maren's voice comes out tight as her eyes stay fixed on her dark coffee. "Once Juno and I finish training, I'm moving on."

Her words hit my chest like a cold blast off the pass. The heat in my bed an hour ago makes her flat statement about leaving tighten a knot behind my ribs. My jaw sets while I keep my hands flat on the table, letting no part of the punch show on my face.

"Nobody stays temporary on Angel's Peak, dear." Ruth sets a platter of steaming buttermilk biscuits and gravy between us. "The mountain catches you whether you plan on it or not. And you two look like you haven't slept a wink all night."

"We slept fine." I keep my voice steady, though my focus stays locked on Maren.

"I bet you did." Ruth chuckles softly and walks back to the counter. "I bet you did."

Maren keeps her eyes down to pour cream into her mug. Distance opens between us across the small laminate table. Under the tabletop, the boot that had been resting comfortably near mine shifts back an inch.