Northern Lights

used, lax sensation weighting her body. "You looked tired when you came in. Tired and mean, with a thin coat of ice over it all. Same look you had outside Town Hall. I've seen it a couple of other times—a quick glimpse of it. Cop face."
    He said nothing, only pulled on an old pair of sweats, tossed her a flannel shirt.
    "It's one of the things that stirred me up. Weird."
    "The road's dicey out to your place. You're going to need to stay here."
    She waited a moment, letting her thoughts coalesce again. "You shrugged me off. Before. Before when we were outside." She could still see Yukon, the slash in his throat, the knife buried to the hilt in his chest. "You shrugged me off, and you gave me orders, a kind of verbal strong-arming. I didn't like it."
    Again, he said nothing, but picked up the towel to dry his hair.
    "You're not going to apologize."
    "No."
    She sat up to draw on the borrowed shirt. "I knew that dog since he
    was a puppy." Because her voice wanted to break, she pressed her lips together. Controlled it. "I had a right to be upset."
    "I'm not saying you didn't." He walked to the window. The snow was barely a mist now. Maybe the forecaster was right.
    "And I had a right to be worried about my own dogs, Nate. A right to go see to them myself."
    "Partways there." He stepped away from the window but left the curtains open. "Natural enough to worry, but there was nothing to worry about."
    "They weren't hurt, but they might've been."
    "No. Whoever did this went for a solo dog, an old dog. Yours are young and strong and have two sets of healthy teeth. They're practically joined at the hip."
    "I don't see—"
    "Think for two seconds instead of just reacting." Impatience snapped in his voice as he tossed the towel aside. "Say somebody wanted to hurt them. Say somebody—even somebody they knew and let get close— tried to hurt one of them. Even managed to do it.The other'd be on him like God's own fury and tear him to pieces. And anybody who knows them enough to get close, knows that."
    She drew her knees up to her chest, pressed her face against them and began to cry. Without looking up, she waved a hand to hold him off when she heard him move toward her.
    "Don't. Don't. Give me a minute. I can't get the picture out of my head. It was easier when I was mad at you or turning that mad into sex. I hated sitting there waiting, not knowing. And I was scared for you, under it. I was scared something was going to happen to you. And that pissed me off."
    She lifted her head. Through the blur of tears she could see his face, and that he'd shut down again. "I've got something else to say."
    "Go ahead."
    "I . . . I have to figure out how to say this so it doesn't sound lame." She dragged the heels of her hands up over her cheeks to dry them. "Even being mad and being scared and wanting to plant my boot up your ass for making me both, I . . . admire what you do. How you do it. Who you are when you do. I admire the strength it takes to do it."
    He sat. Not beside her, not on the bed, but on the chair so there was distance between them. "Nobody I ever cared about—nobody outside of on the job—ever said anything like that to me."
    "Then I'd say you cared about the wrong people." She got up, walked to the bathroom to blow her nose. When she came out, she stood leaning on the doorjamb, watching him from across the room.
    "You went out and got my dogs for me. With all that was going on, you went out and brought them back for me. You could've sent someone else or just blown it off. Road's flooded, they'll have to wait. But you didn't. I have friends who'd have done the same for me, and me for them. But I can't think of any man I've been with, any man I've slept with, who would have done it."
    A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "Then I'd say you've slept with the wrong men."
    "I guess I have." She went over and picked up the shirt he'd discarded when they'd come in. With some care, she unpinned the badge, then brought it to him. "This looks good on you, by the way. Sexy."
    He gripped her hand before she could step back. Still holding it, he got to his feet. "I've got an awful need for you. It's more than I've had for anyone else, and may be more than you want."
    "I guess we'll find out."
    "You wouldn't have admired me a year ago. Six months ago. And you need to know that there are still days it seems like too much trouble to even get out of bed."
    "Why do you?"
    He opened his other hand, looked down at the badge. "I guess