“I can tell how much you miss him.”
He glanced back at her. “I do. He shouldn’t have died so young. He was healthy, active, got his checkups. But he was a workaholic and the stress killed him.” He missed Charles Mikkelson every day, the man who’d been the only real father he’d ever known.
“How can you be sure it was stress?”
“I know it in my gut. That makes it tough for me to root for this merger. It’s going to put my whole family in the middle of power plays at an even higher level.”
“Perhaps the collective effort of working together will distribute the work.” She angled toward him, her feet brushing against his.
“Doubtful, but something to hope for.” He stroked the arch of her foot with his toe.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t pull away. “Tell me more about the race and the family gatherings.”
“The Iditarod is named for the trail, and the race can take anywhere from eight to eleven days depending on the weather conditions.”
“I’ve lived here for two years and I find it inconceivable to think of eleven days in the elements.” She stroked her fingers through the frothing waters.
“That’s our Alaska.” His gaze gravitated to the mountain view. His home. “The trail was used by Inuits hundreds of years before the Russian fur traders came in around the 1800s. Coal miners and other traders used it too. The race is an important part of our culture, even more so now that snowmobiles have all but made dog sledding extinct.”
“What about the dogs? Isn’t it...um...” She looked at Paige sleeping on the floor by the pool, then back at him, her blue eyes concerned.
“There are groups that feel the race is cruel to the dogs, but the commission responded to those criticisms with stricter monitoring and punishments for those who don’t care properly for their dogs. There’s debate, and I can’t speak to everyone. But I know my father’s dogs were a part of our family life. Dad would lose a race before harming his dogs. If a pup didn’t show joy for the run, then that pup wasn’t a sled dog.” He nodded toward Paige. “The same way she was screened for the right job for her.”
Isabeau nodded slowly, pensively. “I’ve heard it said that the moment a dog opens its eyes, he or she is searching for a purpose, a job, whether that be as a house pet or service dog.”
“Or search and rescue or agility... Yes, that’s the way I see it. I have a purpose too, and it’s not to head a company. I’m made to run the ranch, to commune with the land.” But he was also honor bound to protect his siblings and their stake in their father’s legacy.
It’s what Charles would have wanted him to do.
“The turmoil of this merger, the way they need you to help—it won’t last forever.”
“I know that.”
“But you also can’t exclude yourself from all family events just because you don’t like crowds or the spotlight. You’re lucky to have so many people who love you and care about you.”
“What about you?” He settled back onto the lounger, some of the deep tension seeping from him—tension that had started with this business merger. “Are you living your dream? What if you couldn’t live in a city, building celebrities?”
She set aside her glass of sparkling water, shifting uncomfortably. He seemed to have a touched a nerve, but had no idea how.
She started to stand, the V of her emerald swimsuit offering a tantalizing view of her breasts. “I may have reached my limit in the pool.”
He touched her arm lightly, concerned by the skittishness in her eyes. While he wanted her, he absolutely needed her to feel the same. “You’re safe with me. I mean it. Nothing happens unless you’re on board too.”
After a second’s hesitation, she settled back into the tub. “That’s important to know... Paige doesn’t just alert to diabetes. She also alerts to my anxiety and helps me during an attack.”
He didn’t want to assume and guess wrong. “Could you explain what you mean?”
“In addition to diabetes, I have generalized anxiety disorder.” She met his gaze defensively. “In certain situations, I have panic attacks. She has quite a few tasks she can perform, but a couple of examples... Paige uses pressure therapy to alert and soothe me. If I come home and am afraid someone could be lurking inside, she can clear the house, checking every room.”
She rushed on, that defensive brace to her shoulders only strengthening. “Some people confuse service dogs and emotional support animals. An emotional support animal is an untrained pet that provides comfort. He or she can’t be denied access to rental property if there’s a doctor’s note, but the pet can’t go into restaurants and such. A service dog is a highly trained animal, performing specific tasks and granted public access but expected to behave. I know I’m babbling, but so many people just don’t know the difference. And there’s still a lot of education needed regarding service dogs for PTSD and anxiety.”
“It’s okay, Isabeau. You don’t need to explain or justify to me. You’re impressive and so is Paige.” As much as he’d wanted to learn more about her tonight, he hated hearing that she grappled with worries that might get in the way of her happiness. Many pieces of things she’d said before came together in his mind, finally making sense. “You mentioned that you prefer to be behind the camera.”
“That’s a part of it, yes.”
“I’m very sorry,” he said and meant it. He wished he’d known earlier so he could have moved forward more carefully. Not that it stopped him from wanting her.
“Take the pity out of your eyes. I have health issues, but I’m not made of eggshells and I’m taking care of myself. This is my life. I’m a survivor and I’m pleased with the life I’ve built. Paige enables me
