Warming Trend by Karin Kallmaker Page A

she’d said the right thing. And it was true. She liked dogs well enough. She’d just never been around one that was to a Chihuahua what Alaska was to Rhode Island.
    “Sit!” Ani’s firm gesture had Tonk happily ensconced in the corner of the kitchen. She took off her boots again with the same apology about the mud on them she’d made when she’d arrived.
    “It’s okay, really. The floor has seen more messes than a little mud. There’s the great spaghetti sauce spill of two years ago—when it gets really warm in here I crave garlic bread.” She broke off when Tonk flopped over onto Ani’s boots with a deep groaning sigh, his nose buried in the depths. “What do you put in your shoes?”
    “Just my feet. They must smell like steak or something.” Ani looked mildly embarrassed. “And it’s only ever been my shoes. Nobody else’s.”
    Eve giggled at the happy noises Tonk made, and realized she was just a bit envious. Part of her wanted to flop onto Ani and make the same sounds. She was glad to have the oven to tend to because suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She’d been worried dinner wouldn’t be elegant enough, that she hadn’t fussed enough, but Ani wasn’t a 30-ingredient-sauce kind of a woman, not when butter and a bit of salt and pepper would do most of the time. She was casual, but that wasn’t the same as ignorant. And kissing her…
    Eve leaned into the heat blasting from the broiler, hoping it would explain her flushed cheeks. Those kisses… She’d been kissed before and found it great fun, especially after she’d figured out women’s kisses were what could make her knees melt. When she’d kissed Ani she’d realized that she’d been subsisting on nice table wines, unaware that there was a deep, powerful special reserve wine, grown and matured right here in Fairbanks. After those kisses she wasn’t sure about being able to go back to an everyday vintage.
    How do you know? Eve asked herself as they ate dinner. You know when you meet someone and they’re not right and you don’t question it, you move on. So how come it’s not that kind of certainty when you meet someone who’s right?
    “Tell me about dogsledding. I can’t believe you put something that size in a harness.” Eve gestured at Tonk, who had stayed in his corner though many longing looks were cast their direction.
    “I started with junior competitions more as something to do nights. My dad had a good team but they weren’t racers, they were working dogs. I had Tonk Senior and borrowed three dogs. We were totally mismatched, but—” She tapped one temple. “The Bycalls have fabulous night vision. When everyone else goes off course, slow but steady wins the race.”
    She took another hearty bite of the pie. “This is fabulous, by the way. I swear it’s something I could make, though I haven’t a clue how to make it all juicy. I’d be using Betty Crocker.”
    “I’m a comfort food cook, though I find every way I can to cut out fat and sodium. It’s just a good habit to have.” Eve added more wine to Ani’s glass. “Thanks for this, by the way. I hadn’t realized Oregon had some good vineyards.”
    “I cheated and asked Monica. Professor Tyndell. She said she never admitted to her friends how inexpensive it was for the taste.”
    Eve had another tingle of misgiving, but then reminded herself that it was probably typical for grad students to idolize a mentor who was at the top of her field. My, my, a critical inner voice added, aren’t you feeling proprietary already?
    “The thing about dogsledding is the diet for the dogs. They only sweat through their feet and they are furnaces. If it weren’t below freezing they wouldn’t survive the effort. You have to feed them a high fat diet, just to meet the fuel needs. Sixty percent at least.”
    “So your father had serious sled dogs.”
    “Yeah—that’s how you get out on the ice. Dogs are a piece of the equipment. But unlike a sled they lick your face and are