Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  He nodded.

  "I don't have anything else scheduled after the party, so let's wait and start out the next day. I'll inform Father and Katie as to what days we'll be gone."

  She continued as she walked away, "I assume you and Pete will inventory the supplies and make sure we have the proper food to take along. If you need anything from town, please put it on our bill at the general store, as usual."

  Proud of herself for holding together, she didn't realize she'd forgotten to get her ration pack from the supply shelf until she reached the house. She knew the contents, though, and could carry replacements for the staler rations out when she returned to the kennel.

  She could also replenish her store of emotional fortitude — or guts, as Buck called it. All she needed was a few minutes privacy again, away from those teal blue eyes, which were filled with unreadable shadows.

  ***

  Chapter 15

  Sandy thought only teachers and children anxious for Christmas to arrive X'ed off days on the calendar, but he stared at the one hanging in his cabin kitchen the morning they were to begin their overnight trail run. So far, only three X's were marked, and he added a fourth one. He restrained himself from re-counting the days until the Northshore Race — thirteen — and the days after that until Laura would depart for Alaska and he could leave Grand Marais — thirty-four.

  Hell, he didn't need to count the days. The numbers were ingrained in his mind like descending numbers on an upside down yardstick.

  He'd pushed it a little when he told Laura and Tom he'd leave in the spring. Laura would head for Alaska the fifth of February, still the dead of winter in northern Minnesota. But she would need a week and a half of travel time — by rail across the States and then ship up the western coast. He'd warned them they should also plan for at least a week of training time in Alaska to familiarize themselves with the climate and terrain. The week-long race would be run the end of February, and Laura would be back in Grand Marais sometime the second or third week in March.

  Once she was gone, though, he would have some leeway to make his own plans and be gone before she returned. A lot depended on whether or not he won the Northshore Race, or at least placed in it. He'd managed to save some money from his wages, but with the daily needs of his family, as well as Christmas, it wasn't nearly enough to satisfy him that he could make a move, unless he already had another job waiting for him.

  He had, however, subscribed to a couple newspapers and even a dog breeder's magazine, which had employment ads in it, on their layover in Duluth. Already, he'd sent out several letters. "Good morning, Sandy. You're up even earlier than usual." Cristy poured herself a cup of coffee at the stove before sitting at the table and yawning hugely. "For some reason I woke up early, too. Maybe because I knew you were leaving for three days today."

  "I hope you manage to feed Tracie something that isn't burned during that time," he teased lightly. "Does David know you can't cook?"

  "I told him, so there, brother!" Childishly, she stuck out her tongue at him, reminding him of his daughter. Their features did resemble each other, although both he and Cristy had blond hair.

  "And he told me that Laura can't cook, either," Cristy continued saucily. "He'd already known if he married Laura, he'd have to hire a cook unless he wanted to eat out every night."

  Sandy refilled his own coffee cup and joined her at the table. "You handle talking about David's former fiancée very easily."

  She shrugged. "It happened. He was engaged to her, and Laura is a very good friend of mine. David's, too. Living in Grand Marais, we'll be seeing a lot of her, and I don't want any uneasiness between us."

  When he didn't respond, she said, "We've set our wedding date for February fourth, the day before Laura leaves for Alaska. I want her to be in my wedding. And I want to be married to David before you leave. I'll spend a lot of time getting David's house in town ready for us to live in, but I'll keep Tracie with me during the day, so don't worry a bit about her when you're on the trail with Pete and Laura."

  "I don't worry when she's with you, Cristy. I tease you, but you know I trust you."

  "I know. And Sandy, I don't want you to take this the wrong way." He gave her a cautious look, and she went on, "If you need to leave Tracie with me for a few days or weeks, until you find another job, I want you to know she's welcome."

  "Thank you," he said in a growl. "But Tracie goes with me."

  Taking a deep breath, Cristy gazed at him sternly. "I promised myself I'd stay out of your business, Sandy, but if a sister can't tell a brother when he's being an asshole, who can?"

  "Cristy, watch your damned language," was all he could think of to say. He stood, preparing to go over to the kennel.

  "Sit down, Sandy," Cristy ordered.

  Instead he leaned on the table. "Look, little sister. Just because you're getting married doesn't make you a full-grown adult with the experience behind you to give out advice to other people. I — "

  "You," Cristy said, standing up to face him, "are throwing away the best thing that ever happened to you since Colleen died. But that's something you'll have to find out for yourself and live with the consequences. The other decision you're making is effecting more than just your own life — your own feelings. I can't just stand by and watch you uproot Tracie again and take her off somewhere in the wilderness to grow up with a pack of dogs and mushers! She's much too loving a child and enjoys being with people too much for you to force her into that sort of life."

  Sandy sat down with a hard jar. "I'm not . . . I mean . . . Cristy, you don't know what you're saying."

  "I think I do. And so do you, if you'll quit being so darned self-involved and look around you. You're hurting people, Sandy, by keeping yourself so closed off and now planning to drag Tracie off to heaven knows where and lock her up with you in your loneliness. I can't stop you, but I can't let it happen without trying to make you listen to me and see what you're doing."

  "What the hell am I supposed to do then?" Sandy shouted, and Cristy flinched. "Lose my daughter, too, like I've lost everything else in my life — my wife, my home, my money? Leave Tracie here with you to raise, or give her to her grandparents?" Shoving his chair back violently, he stood and flung his coffee cup across the kitchen. It shattered on the wall.

  Before Cristy could gather her wits and overcome the fear he saw in her eyes, Sandy stomped from the kitchen to the mud porch. Jamming his feet into his boots, he wrenched the door open and went out, pulling on his coat and cap as he walked.

  "No, Sandy," Cristy said into the silence left behind. She could feel the smile on her face. "You're supposed to start having emotions again, like you just did. You're supposed to start feeling again instead of being the ice man you've been most of the time ever since you picked me up in Washington."

  She went out on the mud porch for the broom and dustpan, glancing through the window. Sandy strode angrily across the snow-covered yard toward the kennel. "You're supposed to turn back into the fun-loving, wonderful brother I knew growing up. Laura got you started on that, but you froze over again. I hope Laura can find the fortitude somewhere to keep trying. Can see that the fissures she initiated aren't completely closed up again."

  Shivering, she carried the broom and dustpan back into the kitchen and shut the door. She cleaned up the mess from the cup without anger at her brother, then poured herself a fresh cup of coffee and took it to the writing desk in the living room to examine the list of things to do before her wedding she'd started yesterday.

  Tears filled her eyes, blurring the list, when she recalled Sandy's face the previous evening when he came in and found her working on the list after he put Tracie to bed. She'd known immediately he would begin worrying about the cost of the wedding and hastily assured him that she had enough money from her paintings to pay for the small ceremony she and David planned.

  Still she could see the hurt in his eyes — the damage to his pride over not being able to give her a huge wedding.

&
nbsp; "Pride is a good thing at times, brother," she whispered. "But not when you make it as important as it seems to be in your life. When you let it effect other people's lives in a negative way. And as much as I like Laura, she has a touch of willfulness, which I suppose comes from being a little bit spoiled. I wonder if your two lives can ever merge? If Laura can understand all the heartache you've gone through, which makes you cling so desperately to the pride you have left? She's had it so easy in her life."

  Pulling her handkerchief from her robe pocket, Cristy wiped her eyes. Sandy could shout at her all he wanted and demand she keep her nose out of his business a million times. Perhaps it was being so happy herself making her want the people she loved be happy, also. Whatever, she had no intentions of letting her brother wallow in his loneliness if she could help it.

  "Pride's a lonely bed fellow," she quoted to herself. "I intend to enjoy that 'bed' part of my life with David, also, and if it's as much fun as I think it will be, I want Sandy to find that enjoyment again. And Tracie to have that with some wonderful man in the future."

  #

  She could at least pretend to be miserable, Sandy thought to himself the second night on the trail.

  The blizzard hit an hour earlier, although they'd had plenty of warning when the sky started clouding over that afternoon. The storm's fierceness made it very probable they'd have to spend an additional night on the trail, but he'd told Tom that he was packing plenty of supplies for just such a contingency. Only if they failed to return the day after the blizzard stopped would a search be launched.

  Laura and Pete didn't seem to care one way or the other whether their trip ended tomorrow or the day after. He thought he'd have to preach about the need for them to form a bond and be able to trust each other fully on the trail, forgetting Laura and Pete had a firm friendship already. Had he a right, he might even find himself jealous of their camaraderie and easiness with each other.

  They unloaded their sleds and pitched the tent together, leaving Sandy to his own devices, as he had insisted. He wanted them to form the habit of being partners and trail mates immediately and hadn't realized they intended to have a rollicking good time doing the necessary chores. Yet he should have. They enjoyed themselves together at the kennel, and Laura always loved being on the trail. Pete shared her high spirits, as he did at the kennel when they bantered back and forth over the bookwork or whose turn it was to order supplies.

  When it had been only Laura and him, she tried to bring him out of his moroseness at times. Now, with Pete to banter with, she had no reason to tolerate his moodiness or grumpiness. In fact, she barely acknowledged his presence unless he spoke to her directly.

  The hell with it. He had what he wanted, didn't he? Pete was a suitable partner to watch over Laura if she continued with this asinine insistence of running in a dangerous Alaskan race. Laura was extremely proficient on the trail, carrying her share of the load of chores as though she'd been doing that all her life. In no time at all, and despite high winds and blowing snow, all three of them were inside the tent with a kerosene heater going, which also served as a stove. The two of them dug in the food packs, arguing over what to fix for supper.

  "You know, Pete," Laura said. "Before we start out for Alaska, I think we should sit down and decide what our meals will be on the trail."

  "Well, if you'd eat decent, stick-to-you food instead of stuff your stomach will forget you even fed it a half hour after you eat, we'd get along better. I'm not about to go hungry when I'm pushing myself and my dogs to make a hundred miles a day."

  "He's right, Laura," Sandy put in. "I know women are told from the time they're born they need to watch their figures, but on the trail, you use up ten times as much energy as you do off the trail. You need a meat and potatoes diet, as well as lots of sweets for energy."

  "Sweets I can handle," Laura said with a laugh, the first time she had said anything even halfway pleasant to him in days. "I only wish Pete's idea of what to fix on his day to cook wasn't dumping a bunch of odds and ends in the pot and seeing what it tastes like when it's done. I prefer eating my peaches separate from my potatoes."

  "Hey," Pete said. "They looked like carrots. I thought I was making stew. I can't help it if frozen peaches look the same as frozen carrots."

  "That's what we have a lantern in here for, dummy." Laura flipped a hand towel at Pete, and he caught the end of it, jerking it from her with an unexpected twist.

  "It all gets mixed up in your stomach anyway," he said with a chuckle.

  "I'd prefer to actually wait until it gets to my stomach to mix it up. Now, it's my turn tonight, so you don't have anything to say about what I choose."

  Bending her head, she dug in the pack again, the long braid she'd taken to wearing on the trail falling over her shoulder and gleaming in the lantern light. Sandy knew the weather had turned too frigid for her to leave her hood back, but he missed seeing the brilliant fire of her tresses streaming behind her. Even the braid gleamed, however, and he'd touched her hair enough times to remember how it caressed a man's hand.

  "Oh, no," Pete grumbled. "Laura, if you pack any turkey when we go to Alaska, I'm going to feed it to the dogs! I guess Katie must have over-estimated what size turkey to cook for Christmas this year, because we've had some sort of turkey almost every day for lunch at Ladyslipper Landing. And my wife made turkey soup, turkey sandwiches — and darn it! She even cut up turkey and put it in my eggs one morning! I'm gonna start gobbling the next time I even smell turkey!"

  Laura sniffed at him. "Well, gobble, gobble, because I happen to like turkey."

  "It's not filling enough for a trail run," Pete told her. "Goose might be, since it's got a lot of good fat on it, but turkey's too lean."

  "Yuk. I hate goose. But all right, no turkey for the Alaskan run," Laura conceded. "I'd already made up my mind that's what we'd have tonight, though, and since you cooked last night — "

  "From what I've heard," Pete broke in, "what you do might not be called cooking." He glanced over at Sandy. "I believe you've overlooked one portion of her training, Sandy. I'm going to step in here and say Laura needs to find enough time to take a few cooking lessons from Katie before we leave — if nothing more than at least how much salt to put in something."

  Sandy nodded, recalling what Cristy had told him about David planning to hire a cook so Laura wouldn't have to bother with that chore. One more thing to add to his mental list of reasons the distance between them was unbreachable. He could never afford a cook, although when he left Ladyslipper Landing with Tracie, he would have to find some way to hire a woman to take care of her while he worked.

  Since Pete had his attention on him, Sandy noticed Laura reach toward the pot of now boiling water. His eyes must have flickered, because Pete jerked his head around and grabbed for Laura's hand, shouting a playful "no!" at her. She dropped the frozen piece of turkey breast into the water before he could stop her, then pulled the salt shaker from behind her back. Pete had more success with that. He grabbed it from her and carefully measured in a small palm full of salt.

  "Did you see how much I put in there?" he asked. "That'll be enough for the potatoes and anything else, too, so don't add any more."

  "Yes, boss," Laura said with a chuckle.

  Sandy stood up from his camp stool. "I'm going out to check on the dogs."

  Neither Pete nor Laura admonished him to stay out of the blowing cold, he thought as he ducked out the tent flap. Of course, he probably would have snapped either one of their heads off, telling them he didn't need their concern. Or maybe they wondered why he even bothered going out, given the violent weather and the knowledge the dogs were no doubt already curled into warm balls, waiting out the storm while snow piled over them and insulated them.

  Laura accepted spending the night together in the confines of the tent without any problem the previous evening. He had slept barely two hours, and that near dawn. Her scent filled the tent, and her even breathing invaded his senses from where she lay
only two feet away.

  Hell, he couldn't see two feet in front of him, and he had better judgment than to try to find the dogs in this whiteout. Still it was better than sitting in there feeling lonely even with two other people within touching distance. Out here, the loneliness had substance.

  Above the wind Laura's gay laughter sounded, followed by Pete's rumbled response. Walking over to one of the sleds, Sandy sat on it, facing away from the wind and letting its roar drown out the sounds inside the tent. How could he stand being inside that tent for another entire day and night with Laura so near yet so absolutely untouchable? How could he handle the thirty-three days left until she left for Alaska?

  He could go ahead and leave now, he supposed, or at least right after the Northshore Race. But if he heard later that Laura and Pete had made some stupid mistake in the Alaskan race that caused either one of them to be injured — or killed — he couldn't live with himself. Though they appeared ready for the race now, they might get lax if he weren't around to keep them in training. He alone knew a person was never totally prepared for the rigors of an Alaskan race — that only the actual event would give you the experience to build on the next time you undertook one of those races.

  The wind heightened further, but Sandy gritted his teeth, fighting the cold. As he had to do every time Laura's close proximity threatened to make him throw caution to hell and forget the consequences, he reiterated why he could never have her.

  He could never give her a comfortable life, as she had now. Maybe he could build up financial security again. Maybe in another fifteen years, the same length of time it had taken him to make not a fortune, but the secure financial base George Dyer had cheated him out of. He'd barely salvaged his pride from the mess in Alaska, and despite what Cristy appeared to feel, Sandy couldn't swallow it and become what a lot of people might consider a fortune hunter. He couldn't court Laura and be forced to depend on her father's good will in order to give her a prosperous lifestyle if they married.