Brikelle Manwaring pounded along the pavement of the back roads of Eden, Utah, early Wednesday evening. Sweat she hadn’t earned trickled down her back as her head swiveled constantly to check for dogs. As always, she prayed silently, Please bless the dogs won’t see me. Back home in Idaho, she knew the routes that had scary dogs on them and avoided them, but she’d only moved to Eden a few weeks ago and wasn’t familiar with all the routes. Her legs had a few scars from running and biking adventures that had ended badly with the four-legged beasts, but it was remembering how she received the scars on the side of her face that truly sent her heart racing, vestiges from a dog attack when she was only eight years old. She’d never forget feeling certain she was going to die as the dog ripped into her face, abdomen, and back. She covered the scars with makeup and could usually hide her fears almost as well.

Her steps slowed as she ascended the hill to Wolf Creek. The warm sun was a couple of hours from setting, but the trees gave her shade. She passed numerous condos and then assorted large homes leading up to the narrow canyon and Powder Mountain Ski Resort. She was admiring a gorgeous house with timbered beams along the front and supporting the porch. Her work in interior design was really taking off right now and she could hardly wait to go to work tomorrow. Those beams gave her an idea. Maybe she could incorporate more of an outdoorsy theme in one of the bedrooms—

A tan dog, almost as big as her, came charging out from behind the trees. His black snout and wide teeth were vicious-looking. Brikelle screamed and leapt into the air, before remembering forward momentum was her only hope, besides spraying her pepper spray in the dog’s face. She didn’t want to hurt the animal unless there was no choice, but by the look of this beast, there might be no choice.

“Go home!” she yelled frantically.

The dog didn’t seem to register she didn’t want him around and brushed up against her leg. Brikelle screamed again and ran faster. Her heart thumped uncontrollably. She fumbled in her pocket for the pepper spray. Her palms were clammy. She pulled it out and almost dropped the small canister.

“No!” She clung to her only defense, breath coming in short pants.

The dog barked low and deep. Brikelle yelped, heart thudding in her ears. She dodged to the side, but the dog shadowed her, lagging just enough so she had to look over her shoulder to see if he was going to bite. The dog kept pace with her, his tongue and tail both waving like they were in some kind of parade. She’d heard dogs could sense fear, but this dog seemed oblivious to hers.

“Go away!” Her body was shaking uncontrollably, making her voice sound feeble. What word combination would get him to leave? “Heel! Stop! Leave! Play dead!” She pulled in a ragged breath and tried to think of more dog words, continually checking over her shoulder. Any second now and his teeth would sink into her leg. “Oh, help, oh, help!”

He barked again, rattling her entire body. She could feel that bark down into her bones.

“No!” Brikelle scurried to one side, then the other, continually checking on the position of the dangerous animal. He was so close, his dark snout and glistening teeth within inches of her leg. Brikelle tried to go faster, but her legs were tiring with the hill and the speed. The canyon was narrow with no trees big enough to climb up. She had no clue what to do, how to escape. She was barely able to hold on to the pepper spray as her hands shook and she prayed desperately for some kind of help.

* * *

Colt Jepson drove his four-door truck into his yard at the base of the canyon that led to Powder Mountain. He parked in his three-car garage, but left his bay door open, surprised Ike hadn’t come running to him yet. “Ike?” he called out. “Where are you, bud?”

His older sisters liked to tease him because he talked to his dog, but what could he say? His dog was a good listener, and Ike wouldn’t dream of complaining—unlike some of his clients, who made it clear if the cabinet bid came in higher than they wanted, or the color or grain of the cabinet doors was different than the sample. He rolled his neck, anxious to find his dog and feed him, then feed himself and soak in the hot tub.

“Ike?” He walked around the half-acre wooded lot, not seeing any sign of his Great Dane. Had he chased off after a rabbit or something? He was usually pretty good to stay close to home, especially as he’d gotten older, but sometimes he ran off to explore or chase a car. Ike had been with him since Callie, the woman Colt thought he was going to marry, ditched him five years ago. The dog had been great therapy and Colt didn’t like to be without him.

Colt sighed and grabbed his mountain bike from the garage. It would be faster than running, and even though his shoulders ached from lifting cabinets, it would feel good to get a short ride in and give his legs some movement.

Ike loved the canyon, so Colt headed deeper into it first. Hopefully he’d just chased after a car and would return shortly. The old boy always returned, but sometimes it took longer than Colt liked. Having grown up with two brothers, two sisters, an outspoken mother, and a dad who used to be his best friend before the stroke stripped him of his ability to communicate, Colt didn’t like being alone much.

A couple miles up, he spotted a runner with long, dark hair, his dog trotting along dutifully beside her. She was running fast, her legs and arms pumping as if she was trying to put distance between herself and somebody.

The woman looked fit and—from what he could tell from here—really attractive. Ike was a smart old boy, he’d give him that.

“Ike!” Colt called as he approached them from behind.

Ike woofed a loud greeting, but stayed plastered to the woman’s side, even though she sidestepped, trying to shy away from him.

“Ike, come here, boy.”

The woman stopped running, whirled around, and screamed at him, “Is this your dog?”

Colt slammed on his brakes so he didn’t run into her, surprised at how angry she looked. Her deep brown eyes glared at him and her pretty little bow of a mouth was pursed. Her face was red and splotchy. Even mad, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Yeah. Sorry if he was bothering you.”

“Sorry? Sorry?” Her voice rose as she moved farther away from Ike. “You need to keep a beast like this on a leash. He’s vicious!”

“Vicious?” Colt repeated in disbelief, clenching his handle bars. He glanced at Ike, who was happily wagging his tail. “Ike wouldn’t hurt a kitty cat.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s what you think. You need to keep him tied up!”

“I’m … sorry?” he managed. He’d never had trouble with Ike before. He was naturally friendly and most people, especially women, fussed over him.

“You should be.” She whirled on her heel and took off up the hill at a pretty impressive speed.

Ike barked happily, and took off after her.

She squealed, did a cute little cheerleader-looking jump, and then ran faster. Colt groaned and pedaled after both of them. “Ike! Get back here!”

Ike barked louder, but obediently trotted to his side. “Good boy.” Colt braked and patted the dog on the head. “Let’s go home and get you fed.”

The woman kept glancing back over her shoulder as if Ike, or maybe Colt, was going to track her down and tear her apart.

“Whew, you ticked that pretty lady off,” Colt said to Ike. “Chase a friendly one next time, will you?”

Ike barked and padded toward home. Colt followed him, irritated and confused. Had Ike really scared that girl, or was she just a brat? One more reason a man should never confuse exterior beauty with a desirable woman. That woman had been over-the-top beautiful, but what a piece of work. It reminded him of Cally. He’d thought he’d found forever with a beautiful, fun, and smart woman once, and she’d turned out to be more selfish and bratty than he could’ve ever imagined. He pedaled slowly by Ike’s side. Thank heavens he’d decided to just date nice girls, no matter how boring it could be sometimes.