Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "I'm the one training you. If your dog's ready, I'll make the run with you."

  He glanced around the small confines of the office, and Laura could feel the tension sizzling in the air. Why was it at times she could almost read his mind and other times he was an enigma? Now she knew he was recalling what had happened the last time the two of them found themselves alone in the kennel office

  — the last time they'd been alone at all.

  Two steps on her part would take her into his arms. With his longer legs, only one step on his part would bring them together. All her rationalization and assurances to herself that Sandy Montdulac meant nothing to her — that David was the man for her future — melted away into a figurative puddle of snow at her feet.

  Sandy turned and strode out of the office. "I need to make sure Buck got all the supplies I ordered," he tossed over his shoulder. "We can talk out here."

  She hesitated for a moment before following him, relieved when her mind searched and found the stern admonishments she had spent so many days formulating. No matter how drawn she was to him, Sandy had made it clear during their moonlight quarrel he wanted nothing more to do with her than as her trainer. She ran through the facts once again — facts she had listed over and over in her mind on sleepless nights.

  They were woman and man, but the pull between them had to be ignored. It was only a physical thing, with no other basis to build on.

  They were total opposites, with her enjoying life and Sandy carrying with him a moroseness it would take a saint to tolerate. Yes, she sensed some shadowy need behind the moroseness, some deep pain he tried to hide. But it wasn't her place to delve into his life. He'd told her a little about his marriage, but the barriers between them had frozen tight again right afterwards.

  She loved David! She had her life planned with David. David tolerated her enthusiasm and nonconformity — actually admired that in her. Well, at least until they were married. But she had agreed to settle down then and be a good example for their children.

  Sandy was total male, expecting to be the caretaker and provider, the rule maker. He only bore her nonconformity because she paid his salary. He would never accept a woman like her for a wife. For Tracie's mother.

  She gasped at the last thought, which came out of the blue, perhaps because of the wonderful times she'd had with Tracie the last two weeks. Any lingering thought of postponing her Duluth trip flew from her mind. She wasn't afraid of impossible situations — look at her determination to win the Alaskan race, something no woman had never attempted. Yet anything beyond an employer-employee relationship with Sandy Montdulac, or a friendly aunt-type relationship with Tracie, was more than impossible. It was utterly unattainable. She had enough sense to realize that, given all the ponderings during those restless nights.

  Rather than going over to the supply cabinets, where Sandy stood with the doors open and a list in his hand, she waited outside the office door. She became aware of the deepening chill in the room and noticed the potbelly stove barely glowing. Building up the fire would be wasteful with evening coming, so she took her cloak from the peg. Its protection afforded her an extra measure of comfort as Sandy came toward her.

  "The supplies are fine," he said. "I'll have to admit, I had doubts about Buck when you rehired him, but he's a good hand. I've never smelled liquor on him here, but I've seen him drinking in one of the saloons in town at night."

  "I didn't know you went into town at night."

  "Why wouldn't I?" he snapped. "My evenings are my own."

  "Of course they are!" she said in frustration. "I was just carrying on polite conversation."

  His shoulders heaved and he jammed his hands into his coat pockets. "Sorry," he said tersely, turning his gaze away from her. "You need a report on the teams. They're doing extremely well. It is time to get Blancheur back in charge of your team, though, before they get too used to Snowstorm. In fact, after you get back from Alaska, put Snowstorm up for sale so he can lead his own team. He's too good to play second fiddle to Blancheur, and he'll never be happy in harness behind him now."

  "Thank you, Mr. Montdulac, for your advice. I'll take it into consideration for my plans with my dogs." Laura was sorry the moment the words were out of her mouth, but her emotions were too much on edge around him right then. He flicked his eyes at her face, then shrugged and remained silent.

  "I assume you'll have Pete working with Blancheur again while I'm gone," she said in a less antagonistic tone.

  "That's the plan."

  "The day after I get back, I'll be ready to take over my own team fully. The Northshore Race will only be two weeks after that."

  "Of course."

  He held himself so rigid, avoided her gaze so studiously, she fought the urge to hit his chest — or do something to make him look at her. That would be flirting with disaster, though. The last time the explosion between them had been nearly catastrophic.

  She opened the door. "If you need anything else before I leave, please let me know tomorrow. Your wages are on the desk in the office. The extra is from Father. He gives all his employees bonuses at holiday time, so you don't have to be stubborn about accepting it — thinking it's from me. Pete and Buck have extra in their pay envelopes, too."

  She started through the door.

  "Laura?"

  Hopefully she turned back and caught the deep sadness in Sandy's eyes before he could blank it out.

  "If I forget to mention it tomorrow, have a good time in Duluth — and a Merry Christmas."

  "And you," she whispered. After a searching look at him, she whirled and headed for the house. A film of tears misted her eyes, but she hurriedly blinked them away. On the back porch, she suddenly remembered she'd left Blancheur in the kennel, but when she looked back, she saw Sandy lead the dog toward his doghouse.

  Night fell early in December, yet Katie kept the supper time at six o'clock, as always. The landscape was already black and white, as well as variegated shades of gray, the moon waning in its final quarter from the fullness of two weeks ago. A dim light crept through the tops of the tall pines, but starlight winking overhead sparkled in glittering pinpoints.

  When Sandy got to Blancheur's doghouse, he unsnapped the lead rope. Blancheur bounded away before Sandy could secure him to the chain, and Sandy's chuckle of laughter carried on the still air. The sound crawled through her on sensations of yearning, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from him.

  His blond hair needed trimmed again, and it gleamed in the darkness. He tossed a lock off his forehead, then pushed his coat aside and placed his hands on his trim hips. Blancheur circled around him, barking joyfully and scattering new-fallen snow in his path. It was a far cry from the distrust the dog had shown Sandy when they first met.

  "Hey, you. Dog!" Sandy called. "Laura took you for a walk today already. It's time to settle in for the night now."

  Blancheur's antics had a few of the other dogs sitting up, and here and there Laura could hear a whine. In a moment, the entire pack would be howling and barking. Sandy snapped his fingers and whistled, and Blancheur trotted over to him. When Sandy lunged for him, Blancheur teasingly danced away.

  Losing his balance, Sandy tumbled to the ground. Blancheur pounced on him, and the two of them tussled, rolling over and over in the snow. Jealous, a few of the other dogs jerked against their chains, barking for attention. From the other side of the yard, Sandy's dogs sat on their haunches and howled into the night air.

  Sandy sat up and grabbed Blancheur around the neck, rubbing his head with his other hand. Voice rumbling with laughter that made Laura crave being closer, he said, "Dog, look what we've done. We've got the rest of the pack all stirred up. Come on now. Let's put you on your chain."

  He stood, and Blancheur obediently allowed him to snap the chain on his collar. When Sandy straightened, the dog rose on his hind legs, propping his forelegs on Sandy's shoulders. He slurped Sandy in the face, and Sandy jerked his head back with a laugh. Then Sandy wrapped his arms aroun
d Blancheur and they stood silent for a moment. Dropping his head, Sandy buried his face on the dog's neck briefly before stepping away.

  "See you in the morning, boy," he said. "I want some time with Tracie before she goes to bed."

  He strode across the yard, still not noticing Laura in the darkness of the porch overhang. He stopped and patted Keever for a minute, and the dogs in the yard settled down. Laura waited until he disappeared into his own cabin before she went into the house.

  What a different man he was when he didn't know he was being watched, she thought as she walked through the kitchen. For a while after they started working together, she'd hoped he would let down his reserve, and he'd started to the day the moose attacked them. Yet after their night in the kennel, he'd refrozen the blocks of ice between them into glacial thickness.

  Tomorrow would be a good test for her. She would keep their relationship on a business basis and then have time away from here to firm that resolve. She'd show him they could be trail partners and nothing else.

  ***

  Chapter 11

  Motioning for Laura to halt, Sandy whoa'ed his team on top of a hill the next morning. "This is an easy downhill grade," he told her, "and Blancheur's aching for a run. Why don't you go ahead? I'll watch from here and examine your driving style. See if I notice anything you've gotten lax on because of not training the past two weeks."

  She bristled, and Sandy held up a hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean that like it sounded. You may have gotten lax, but the only reason I'm concerned is because it's my job to keep you in top shape. Anything I point out will be helpful criticism, so you can have a better chance at winning a race."

  "I was hoping I could forget training just for today," Laura said, her voice almost pleading. "Like you point out, this is my first run in two weeks, and it's also the last one I'll have for another two weeks. Couldn't we just enjoy today and get serious after I return?"

  He studied her for a moment, already knowing he would agree to anything she wanted today. Already knowing he was going to miss the hell out of her the next two weeks. Even on the days she wasn't on the trail with him — the days he had to put up with Pete — he'd known he would see her in the evenings.

  Not that he had any right to look forward to seeing her. But his damned heart overrode his head every day when they started back in off the trails, quickening faster in anticipation the closer they got to Ladyslipper Landing. It took every bit of willpower he could dredge up last night to let her walk away without telling her how desolate he would be while she was in Duluth. As usual, he'd fought his feelings by acting like a bastard with her.

  "Go ahead," he said, failing utterly to put a growl of annoyance in his voice. He would allow himself just these few hours of pleasure with her. "Just enjoy yourself and forget about training."

  She flashed a brilliant smile and turned back to her dogs. "Mush!" she shouted joyously. "Mush, Blancheur! Let's run!"

  With a yap of pleasure, Blancheur leapt forward, the other dogs willingly following his lead. It was a great team, Sandy admitted. He'd never seen a better one, except for his own. He'd been beaten in Alaska because of circumstances beyond his control, when Keever stepped on a jagged stone in the trail near the finish line. Sandy had pulled the team in the moment he noticed Keever limping, which gave the second place team time to pass. There were always other races, but lead dogs with hearts like Keever and Blancheur were few and far between.

  Thankfully, second place money had been enough to get him and Tracie, as well as part of his dogs, out of Alaska.

  He watched Laura fling her head back and breathe in the crystal pure, cold air, hanging onto the sled handles and riding the runners, her dogs carrying her along at full speed. Her slight weight kept a drag on the sled on the gradual downhill grade, but he had in mind a steeper grade to train her on in January. Sometimes the sled would get going so fast it threatened to overtake the dogs, and tossing out a drag line was necessary. It took practice to know when to do that and not lose the momentum of the race.

  Laura had enough sense not to let Blancheur run too long at full speed, but in the meantime he could tell she fully enjoyed herself. He was so tuned into her after all their time together he could sense her emotions — see her jubilant face in his mind.

  Excited, her green eyes sparkled like rain-washed leaves after a spring shower. Cold air blushed her cheeks with a red tint, and her full mouth would be open in exhilaration. Unless it was a bitter cold day, she refused to tie her hood into place, and today's temperature hovered above zero, mild to a born-and-bred northerner like Laura. More often than not her hair came loose from the tight coils she started out with every morning, streaming down her back in waves — silk fire a man could warm his hands in. It flowed behind her now.

  Damn, he would miss her while she was gone. And damn, he needed to win that Northshore Race, so he could get the hell out of Grand Marais before he broke down and admitted to someone besides himself how deep his feelings had become. The person most likely to be on the receiving end of his admission was the object of those feelings — the woman who rode on the sled runners as light as a fairy and as excited as a child.

  The woman who had the potential to fill a day with laughter and whose voice threatened the ice around his heart. The woman who fired his senses with the way she came alive in his arms one dark night. The woman who belonged to another man. The woman he didn't dare become involved with because he was on the run.

  As he had known she would, Laura swung her team into a circle and headed them back toward the hill, bringing them to a halt at the bottom.

  "Come on," she called, waving a beckoning hand. "It's a wonderful day for a run!"

  Shaking his head, he ordered his dogs on. Laura was right, he agreed as soon as he got started. It was a lot more fun once in a while to let yourself go and enjoy the run instead of worrying about whether you were taking advantage of every opportunity to cut off a winning foot or two from your path. His dogs sensed the difference, also, and Keever raced down the hill, barking now and then in pleasure. His team passed Laura's without a glance, tearing full speed along the path broken by the other dogs. Though his own dogs, led by a lead dog back in top physical condition, could have gone on, Sandy ordered them along the same curve Laura's team had taken, heading them back to where she waited.

  Laura stood tense, gazing out over the lake on their left. As he halted his team near her, she let out a cry.

  "No! Oh, Sandy, look!" She pointed at the lake. "Our dogs frightened a doe out of the woods. She started across the lake and fell through the thin ice out near the middle. Now she can't get out."

  She turned an anxious gaze on him. "She'll drown, Sandy. What can we do?"

  "Nothing," Sandy denied. "It's too dangerous for us to try to help her."

  "We can't just stand here and watch her die! Oh, Sandy!"

  "It's the way of the wilderness . . ." he began, but Laura grabbed a rope from her sled and raced toward the lake.

  His surprise and fear for what she had in mind gave her a head start as he stared at her for a moment in disbelief. Then he shouted and tore out after her.

  Lighter than him, Laura raced across the snow without floundering, while he broke through the firm crust time and again. She reached the frozen edge of the lake before him, but he quickly made up the distance across the ice, swept somewhat clear of snow but with enough powder to give him some traction for his boots. He caught her still a safe distance away from where the doe struggled in the water, front legs scrabbling on the ice but failing to make purchase. Already Sandy could see the doe tiring, both from her useless struggle and her fear.

  "Listen!" he said. Laura tried to jerk away from him, and he shook her slightly. "There's nothing we can do, Laura."

  "We have to try!" Tears misted her beseeching eyes, tearing at Sandy's heart. "What if it were a person out there?"

  "It's not. It's an animal."

  A splash drew his attention to the deer, and his hold loosene
d on Laura, allowing her to turn. The deer had fallen completely back into the water, but her head reappeared. She somehow managed to get her front legs back onto the ice again, and she looked over at them, bleating in fear.

  "Sandy. Oh, Sandy, please," Laura pleaded.

  She placed her small hand on his chest. In an instinctive reaction, he cupped her cheek, his fingers folding into the auburn silk of her hair. His gut wrenched, and his mind told him to pull away, but his heart won, even overriding the danger his mind threw in to caution him. He couldn't deny her when she was within kissing distance. If he couldn't have her kisses, at least he would have her gratitude and respect.

  He dropped his hand — lingeringly, which she didn't protest — and took the rope from her. Stepping back, so he could think about the rescue instead of her, he quickly fashioned a loop in the rope.

  "I'm not a cowboy," he told her, "so I'm going to have to hope I can get this over that doe's head. In the meantime, you stay back. Your weight added to mine is liable to send us both through the ice."

  "You'll need my help when you're ready to pull her out," she insisted.

  He held the rope out of her reach. "I've got this now, Laura. And I will not take a chance on your drowning to save a damned deer. You do what I say, or I'll forget this whole thing."

  She stuck her bottom lip out, but nodded in agreement, backing away a few paces.

  "Stay there unless I call you to help me. Then get down on your belly and crawl as soon as I order you to. That way, your weight will distribute on the ice and be less likely to break through."

  After another warning look, Sandy turned and walked closer to the doe, testing the ice at each step before he put his full weight on it. Finally he neared the thinner ice.