by K. A. Tucker
And then he drops to his knees, fitting his shoulders between my thighs. His mouth takes over for his hands, and the sounds that escape me are raw and deep and uninhibited, my fingers grasping handfuls of his hair. The scratch of his soft stubble against sensitive flesh has me lifting my body into him, and words that I shouldn’t dare say yet cling to my tongue, ready to slip free.
A deep, heady pulse erupts in my spine, sending my body into a wave of euphoria.
Somewhere in the hazy moments right after, I hear him shucking his jeans, and then he’s standing before me, giving me my first uninhibited view of his body. I admire his size as he lines his powerful thighs up with mine, his palms hot and forceful as they seize my hips.
Only when he pushes into me, when my body stretches around him, welcoming him, and his hips are already moving, do I finally remember.
“Wait.” My God. Why can’t I seem to think straight when I’m with him? “Did you bring anything with you?” The only condoms in my drawer are surely expired.
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?”
If diseases were the concern, yes. I hesitate, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’m not on any birth control.”
His hips stall, his focus drifting from my face down to our current predicament.
I search for a hint of annoyance in Tyler’s expression, but I see only curiosity. “There was no risk the last time.” Unlike Vicki, I’ve always been aware of my cycle and able to tell the signs. “I haven’t been on it in years.” All the Lehr women have struggled with hampering side effects. I relied on an IUD while I was with Jonathan, but never replaced it with a new one when the old one was removed. There was no need.
“And now?”
“It’s pretty risky,” I admit sheepishly.
His mood is unreadable as he studies my face for a long moment, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.
And then he leans down to kiss me again, his lips supple and affectionate as they pry mine open. I prepare for him to slip out, but instead he whispers, “Do you want me to stop?”
“Well, no.” I laugh, my hands smoothing over his jaw, the moment oddly intimate, even on my dining table. “I never want you to stop this.” If I can feel like this every day for the rest of my life, I’d die happy.
His lips catch the corner of mine in a teasing caress.
And then his hips start moving again, a slow grind.
“Tyler.” My warning is weak as my hips curl into him.
“I can pull out right before.”
I chuckle. “And if that foolproof method doesn’t work?”
He sets his forehead against mine. “Then it doesn’t work.”
I push his face back to get a good look, to make sure I understand him, and make sure he understood me.
He seems to be searching for the same answer in mine. “Tell me that’s not what you want, Marie. Tell me you don’t want that with me.” Vulnerability shines in his gaze.
I open my mouth to say … what? Every day that I spend with this man, every detail I learn about him, I fall harder. In my gut, I already know I want this—all of it. Tyler, sitting beside me at the dinner table; Tyler, stripping me down the moment we step inside our home; Tyler, next to me when I wake, whether it’s in my bed or in the frigid Alaskan tundra.
Tyler, loving me.
And, fate willing, a chance at what I’ve started believing I would never experience.
Tyler knows all my secrets, he knows what I want, and he’s not shying away from any of it.
At this moment, I know there is nothing I want more than him. All of him.
“Then it doesn’t work,” I echo, granting permission of sorts.
In seconds, he’s collected me in his arms and lifted me off the table to carry me to my bed. My body feels like it’s about to erupt beneath his weight and his hot skin as he climbs on top of me, even as my mind grapples with what’s happening, with what I’ve agreed to.
Tyler completely takes over, pinning my arms above my head, his hips thrusting against mine without any hesitation. Soon, I’ve dismissed any concerns that dare poke at my conscience, and I’m rocking my hips to meet his, our bodies moving together in an erotic dance full of unspoken promises, our lips never breaking, all the way to the end.
Our cries meld in the quiet night.
I welcome each pulse of Tyler inside me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I note the red Honda Civic in the parking lot as I push through the clinic’s front door.
“See? Click there.” Mom and Cory are behind the desk, Mom squinting at the computer screen through her thick-rimmed bifocals while Cory hovers over her shoulder, explaining the booking system we installed years ago.
A plate of home-baked muffins sits on the desk counter, as it always did on Monday mornings when Mom sat behind that desk. The scene brings a wave of nostalgia. “Morning,” I call out in a singsong voice that’s very unlike me. But the high I’ve been floating on since my eyelids cracked this morning shows no sign of abating.
I can still feel Tyler’s weight on my body, his hands all over me.
Him, so deep inside.
I struggle to clear thoughts of what we did last night as I focus on a day at work. “Hey, Cory, did you get a new car?”
“No. Joe dropped me off. But Mrs. Perkins is here.” She nods to the lobby chair tucked in the corner where a woman sits, a Jack Russell on her lap.
I double-check the clock on the wall in case I somehow lost track of time while getting dressed. But no, we don’t open for another half hour.
“I know I’m a bit early,” the woman calls out in a reedy voice.
“That’s okay.” I shift my focus to her young terrier, its tail wagging. “This must be Jacqueline?” I let her sniff my hand in greeting.
“Yes! Jackie, for short.” Mrs. Perkins’s clouded blue gaze lights up with a mix of surprise and delight. “But I needed to talk to you.” Slowly, she lifts herself out of her chair and sets the dog on it with a soft command of stay, and then leads me a few feet away. “Your receptionist already said there were no men working here.” She speaks in a hush, as if afraid her dog might overhear. “It’s just that Jackie gets very stressed around male doctors and techs. Any men, really. I had such problems at the last clinic, with her shaking and vomiting and biting. The place was just too big, and they weren’t very accommodating.” Her wrinkled face furrows, as if with unpleasant memories.
I remember Cory mentioning the dog’s hatred of men. I resist the urge to ask who they went to. “As you can see, this is a very small clinic. It’s usually just Cory and me. My mother’s helping out this week because I have a lot of procedures. Occasionally, my father does help out, but only if I’m unreachable and there’s an emergency. He’s a retired veterinarian and lives next door, so he can get here pretty fast. But honestly? Other than the two weeks in March when I’m volunteering for the Iditarod, or a few days here and there when I’m out west helping in the villages, I’m always around.”
“Oh.” She frowns as she considers this. “Well, if, God forbid, something were to happen and we needed his help while you were away, do you think he would mind wearing this?” She checks over her shoulder once at the dog and then reaches into her purse to pull out a lengthy blond wig. “Bob wears it when he comes to fix things around the house and check on me. Bob’s a neighbor. He was good friends with my husband. Anyway, it’s been working. She even let him hold her!” She shrugs as if to say, who knew?
On the spectrum of pet owners, from people who shouldn’t be trusted with keeping so much as a snail alive to those who name their pets in their will, Mrs. Perkins is clearly on the end that I will go out of my way to accommodate. “Mom? What do you think?” I already know the answer. Dad always got a kick out of strange requests owners made on behalf of their pets. To this day, I think his favorite story to tell is about the man who insisted my father speak directly to his dog and the man would translate the dog’s responses. Though, in that case, it
had nothing to do with meeting the animal’s needs.
“Oh, my Sidney would be more than happy to oblige, I’m sure.” My mom nods her approval, her grin broad and genuine.
“Yeah, the only problem you might have is getting the wig back from him after.”
“That’s a relief to hear.” Mrs. Perkins’s shoulders sink as she tucks the wig back into her purse.
“So, Jackie’s pregnant? That’s why you’re here?” I steal a glance at the Jack Russell, sitting quietly in the chair, her midsection bulging and likely the only reason she isn’t investigating every corner. She looks young—less than a year old—and ready to deliver any day.
“They said there’s three in there. Her first veterinarian wanted to wait a cycle before he fixed her. I agreed, because what do I know? I’ve never owned a dog before. I got her after Ned passed. Anyway, it’s just me at home, my son’s living in California, and I’ve taken to chucking her into my neighbor’s yard to burn off some of that energy with Dax, their husky.” She shakes her head, her face a mask of bewilderment. “No one told me he wasn’t neutered! Imagine my shock when I saw what he was doin’ to my sweet Jackie that day!”
I stifle my laughter.
She peers at her dog, her face a mix of adoration and concern. “I’m eighty-three years old. What on earth am I going to do with a litter of puppies?”
The struggle in her voice tugs at my heart. “We can help you find homes for them, if you’d like.”
“Vets do that?”
“I do that. Sometimes.” When it’s warranted, and in just a few minutes, I’ve learned more than enough about Mrs. Perkins to know that she can barely manage little Jackie, let alone the energy of three Husky Jacks. I gesture toward the first door. “Why don’t you two head into exam room one. I’ll be there in a minute.” Cory squeezed this appointment in before a morning of surgeries, and we have several patients coming in to be prepped for surgery soon, so the sooner I can shuttle Mrs. Perkins and Jackie out, the better for all.
With a smile, she leads the pregnant dog into the room.
“Tell me I didn’t just earn myself three new dogs?” my mom whispers, and I can’t get a read on her tone, whether it’s humor or panic. Maybe it’s both.
“Relax. Puppies are way easier to place than old sled dogs. We’ll figure it out,” I promise around a sip of coffee from my travel mug, reaching down to test a leaf on the fake plant Calla dropped off while I was delivering Nala’s puppies. “What all’s on the schedule for today again?”
“Well, you have an appointment at six tonight at Tyler’s.”
“Yeah, I remember—”
“I’ll bet you do.” Cory leans against the desk, chin propped in her hand. “So?”
Beside her, my mother adjusts her glasses and feigns deep concentration on the computer screen. Clearly, they’ve been gossiping. I don’t doubt that my mother hovered at the kitchen window, noting when Tyler’s truck pulled away just before eleven, much to my dismay.
“So, what?” I try to play clueless, but it lasts all of three seconds before the foolish grin stretches across my face.
“I knew it!” Cory explodes. “I knew it was only a matter of time!”
My mom’s face lights up. “Will he be coming to Sunday dinner again?”
Shaking my head, I leave the two of them to their squeals as I head for the exam room, my hope riding on a cloud.
* * *
I hum to the song on the radio as I coast up Tyler’s driveway, hoping the simple act will allay the nervous flutters in my stomach. Last night was unexpected, and I’m still reeling from it. But I don’t regret it or the possibilities that might transpire.
What Tyler does to my heart …
This is happening, and in the most unconventional way.
So many people find the start of a relationship exciting, but I’ve always found it more unsettling than anything. If you get past the first few dates and decide you want more, you’re in an all-consuming testing stage—uncovering delightful secrets that make you fall harder while discovering flaws that will endear or annoy you, or both, catching glimpses of troublesome things that you downplay or pretend don’t exist because you’re focused on the here and now. You might faintly wonder about five, ten, twenty years down the road, but you can’t see it. You make your decisions for your future based on what you want to see.
When I met Jonathan in my late twenties, I was still figuring out who I was, revealing the best parts of myself and hoping that when my flaws and insecurities exposed themselves in the months and years to come, he’d be in too deep to be scared away. I fell for Jonathan’s sense of humor, his work ethic, and the stability he gave my life. I convinced myself that he didn’t understand my love of animals because he didn’t grow up in a house like mine. I outright ignored the fact that our nights in bed were often lacking the passion I’d found with others.
And then I met Jonah, and everything I thought I knew—about myself, about men, about what I wanted in life—blew up.
Now, here I am, a year and a half to forty, and I don’t have the time or patience for any of it anymore. But nothing about this thing with Tyler has been conventional, from the first day we met to now, seven months later, as I pull up behind his green truck, wondering how long I should wait before I buy a pregnancy test.
It’s insane and reckless.
And I desperately want this to be real.
I hop out of the driver’s seat, smoothing my hands over my favorite jeans and adjusting my flowing green top. I spent far too much time after my shower deciding what to wear for a post-birth examination.
The barn doors are open, so I collect my black bag and head toward the raucous barking. It’s as if all the dogs have congregated in one post.
When I stroll through to the other side of the barn and the farthest set of open doors, I see that they have. The entire team, minus Nala, are untethered and trotting in circles within the expansive enclosure, barking and playfully nipping at each other. Even Sleet is there and tolerating Pope.
And in the middle of them is Tyler, his back to me, his cargo pants already covered in streaks of mud, his stance wide as he tosses out names and warnings, like a schoolyard supervisor watching children.
Now that I know the feel of his body far more intimately, the pull to him is much more potent.
The dogs notice me before Tyler does, and several charge forward. The rush would be daunting, had I not grown up around this, had I not already met each of them personally at the race. I laugh as they all greet me at once, nipping at my fingers, brushing past, several jumping, leaving muddy paw prints on my legs and waist, reminding me why I don’t dress nicely when I visit kennels.
“Airi,” Tyler calls out, his voice calm but his tone warning as the black swing dog tests the leather handle on my bag with his teeth.
“They’re excited today.”
“They know I’m taking them to the creek.”
There’s a strained note in Tyler’s voice that prickles my senses. I’ve heard that in his voice before—when he was preparing to leave the Cripple checkpoint. And when he turns, when I see the dark circles that line his eyes, as if he didn’t sleep last night after he went home, I know something is wrong.
“You got them?” he asks Reed as he walks my way.
Reed pauses in his attempt to harness Nymeria with a gray husky nipping at his hands, stealing a glance my way before he nods.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
Tyler’s hand slips over the small of my back to guide me toward the barn, but even that simple touch feels off compared to how his hands felt on me last night.
I hold my breath to calm the dread already building along my spine as he pulls the barn door shut to keep the dogs from following.
And when his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow …
I know, before the words have even left his mouth.
“I thought I was ready. But I’m not.” Hazel eyes plead with me to understand.
I absorb those words like a hard punch to my chest.
“I’m so sorry, Marie.”
“I just … What does that even mean?” I can’t help the sharpness in my voice. We both know what we did last night. And when he left me, he seemed to do so reluctantly, turning back three times for another kiss. So, what happened between then and now?
I’m afraid I already know the answer.
When I’m with you, I forget about everything else.
But then Tyler went home, and he remembered.
“I didn’t think about them once all night, Marie. Not once while I was with you. It’s as if I was ready to replace him, just like that.” His voice grows hoarse, his lengthy eyelashes blinking against the sheen materializing.
Him. He must be talking about his son.
My heart pangs with sorrow as I reach for him. “Tyler, that’s not what that was—”
“I know. But it’s how I feel right now.” He swallows again. “I’m not ready to move on. God, Marie, you are incredible. I love everything about you … and when I’m with you, I fool myself into believing that I’m ready, but I’m not.” He shakes his head with resolution. “I don’t know how to love two women at the same time.”
I’m not sure what that means—is Tyler admitting that he loves me? Or that he won’t be able to—but it confirms what I always knew would be a problem.
A snarl sounds outside. Too many dogs left waiting for too long.
“They’re getting impatient.” Tyler reaches for the handle but stalls. “I’ll stand by whatever you decide to do. You know, if it comes to that.”
He means if I’m pregnant. It feels like another punch, this time to my stomach. “How considerate.”
“Marie—”
“No. Just … no.” I spin and rush away, needing distance to process this.
Rolling in behind the nauseating wave of hurt and disappointment is resentment. At Tyler, for leading me so far down this path only to leave me stranded, but mostly at myself, for being so damn stupid. I knew Tyler was still very much in love with someone else. A woman he still reaches for in the night, who he races a thousand miles across the Alaskan tundra for while wearing her name on his sleeve.
