“My fault!” one of the Canadians yelled from the ice.

Marci shook her head at Blayne. “Told you to duck, now didn’t I? You don’t listen, Blayne Thorpe.”

Bo went behind the goal, the entire opposition right on his ass. They’d been riding him for almost the entire game, knowing he was the one they had to stop. He hard-charged around, the other team’s winger coming at him from the front, their left defenseman at his back. The rest of Bo’s team moving in and the opposition’s goalie crouched and ready to block Bo’s shot.

Could he get through them all and possibly get the goal? Yeah. He could also get his head cut open in the process and end up spending the rest of the night icing his wounds and taking massive amounts of over-the-counter pain meds to get rid of what would be a monstrous headache rather than playing what had become his favorite game outside of hockey—Making the Naughty Wolfdog Squeal.

Using an overabundance of peripheral vision that gave him almost a 360-degree view of everything around him, Bo saw Raymond Chestnut push past the other team’s right winger. Where he was going, Bo didn’t know or care. Instead he yelled out, “Chestnut!”

The nearly eight-foot polar stopped on a dime and turned toward him. Bo swung his stick back—hitting someone in the face—then forward, the slap shot sending the puck away from the group and at Raymond. The polar blinked in surprise. He’d played with Bo throughout grade, junior high, and high school, and never once had Bo purposely shot the puck to anyone. He seemed so stunned that Bo was sure he’d let the puck go right by him.

Thankfully, he didn’t. Raymond halted the puck with his stick, spun, and sent it off—right past the goalie who’d only seconds ago realized that for once Bo no longer had the damn thing.

The puck sailed into the ratty net that had been used for every inside town game for the past forty years, the goalie diving in after it, his team piling on top of him, trying to help. It was a lost cause. The puck was in and Grigori threw up his arms and blew his whistle. The game was over and Raymond Chestnut had made the winning shot.

The crowd roared in approval, everyone coming off the bench and across the ice. Raymond shook hands and gave hugs while appearing stunned out of his mind. A polar sow threw herself into Raymond’s arms as did five cubs. It took Bo a second, but he eventually recognized Meg D’Accosta. Raymond’s girlfriend throughout high school and apparently his mate now.

“That was impressive!” Blayne smiled up at him, her hand holding an icepack to her forehead. “I thought you were going to not do it.”

“I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy for me. And how’s your head?”

“Oh, you know . . .” A sound like a shot ricocheted around them, and the bears and foxes all fell silent,focusing on Blayne.

Her cheeks bright red, she lowered the icepack and, except for the nasty cut still there, even the swelling was gone. Once again her bones had “snapped” back.

“It’s much better,” she muttered.

“I see that.”

“Huh,” Grigori said next to them. “And I thought the boy had the hardest head in Ursus County.”

Everyone laughed, and Bo pulled an embarrassed but giggling Blayne against him, hugging her tight.

“We’re all going to the Chestnuts’ bar for drinks,” Dr. Luntz said, her hand patting Bo’s back. “You’ll come with us.”

Bo shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve got stuff to do back at Grigori’s house.”

His uncle growled, and Blayne stepped away from him. “What stuff?” she asked.

He pulled the list out of his hockey pants and unfolded it. “Let’s see—”

Before he could read off the first item, Blayne leaped up and snatched the paper out of his hand, Grigori and Marci laughing.

Bo stared at his empty hand for a moment, shocked, before turning his gaze to Blayne. She held the sheet with two hands, and he could see the evil intent in her eyes.

“Blayne Thorpe, don’t you dare—”

Too late. She ripped the paper into shreds and tossed the shreds into the air. “It’s snowing!” she cheered.

Unlike before with his uncle, Bo didn’t have time to write a copy of this list. His precious, detailed, perfectly timed out list! How could she?

Bo skated toward her, and Blayne squealed and stumbled back from him.

“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you?” she asked.

“That was my list.”

“It was too confining!” she argued. “You need to learn to live in the moment.”

“And you need a good dousing in Small Bear River.” He reached for her, but Raymond Chestnut swept her up in his arms and took off running toward town, the rest of the two teams right behind him, the town cheering them on.

“You want your wolfdog back, Bold Novikov, guess you’re going to have to come and get her!” Raymond crowed, everyone applauding in agreement.

Grigori stood beside Bo now. “The boys seem to have taken to your Blayne.”

“I don’t run after women,” he said, still pissed off about his list.

“You shouldn’t run after them. None of them deserve it.”

“Right.”

“ ’Course everyone in town knows that Blayne can put whatever she wants on account, in your name. And if you walk to town now, those boys can probably damn-near clean out Chestnut’s bar long before you get there.”