It's the strongest passion that God has given His creations, Laura, dear, she remembered Katie saying. And it's the most beautiful one, because it creates life.
A cloud drifted away from the moon, and a filter of light caressed Sandy's face. She almost laughed again, because he didn't look as though what he was feeling was beautiful. Instead his lips were compressed, and his eyes tightly closed as though in pain. Just as quickly, the hint of laughter died, and a spiral of sensation curled from her core.
Scared of the spiking sensation, she broke his hold somehow and surged to her feet. The muffled howl of agony from Sandy sounded as though he'd stepped on a hidden bear trap on a wilderness trail. Puzzled, she bent to rub her knee, which had come into contact with that hardness she was trying to escape, while Sandy curled on his side and into a tight ball.
Suddenly another one of Katie's pieces of advice rang in her thoughts, and it dawned on her what had happened. If a randy boy tries to touch you when you don't want him to, Laura, child, you ram that knee right here on him. She'd used Laura's body for the demonstration, but her knee had hit the place Katie had meant on Sandy.
"Uh-oh." She didn't think it a good idea to stick around and try to explain it was an accident. Katie had also said something about how cold chilled a man's ardor. Maybe Sandy could roll over into the snow and get some relief.
***
Chapter 18
Pete snored! Of all nights to enlighten her about that, he picked this one. Either that, or he was coming down with a cold, because Laura didn't remember him snoring the other three nights they'd spent together in this same tent. Yet she'd been exhausted those nights, although she probably would have heard every tiny rasp if Sandy had snored. Today's journey hadn't been nearly as tiring as the training runs with Sandy, yet Pete didn't seem to have any trouble sleeping.
If she were a man, she could go over and crawl in with Sandy and Buck. She needed to get some sleep — and would if the picture of herself in between Sandy's legs would get out of her mind. If the sensations she'd experienced would fade. The sensations might if the picture would pale, but each kept circling in her mind. Picture fired sensations. Sensations fired picture.
Sighing, she jerkily rolled to her other side, punching her small camping pillow with a fist. She found a rock beneath it for her trouble — and resulting pain. Somewhere near dawn she fell asleep, estimating the time because the tent lightened enough for her to make out the side walls.
And she overslept. She wrenched awake, feeling the cold in the tent from the missing camp stove Pete must have already packed. One of the other few rules, one of Sandy's, was that everyone was on their own as much as possible in a race. No one took care of anyone else's dogs. No one woke anyone else if they overslept. Scrambling from her sleeping bag, she jammed her feet into her boots and started out of the tent. She halted abruptly at the tent flap, hearing Sandy's voice clearly in her head, reminding her to protect herself from the cold as her first priority.
Trying to ignore the jittery tenseness of her muscles and the mental voice telling her to hurry, she clumped back to her sleeping bag and sat down. As she fastened her boots snugly, she could hear the sounds of the other mushers getting ready to start the race outside — the excited yips of the dogs, rattles of chains and gruff voices of the men.
The smell of coffee drifted to her, and her stomach growled. She would have no time to eat, but she'd packed some trail mix. The blend of honey, dried meat, nuts and raisins would have to do her until they reached Duluth. The balance of the race today was less than half the distance from Grand Marais, and most of the mushers anticipated arriving early in the afternoon.
She raced out the tent flap this time, almost colliding with Pete. "What time is it?" she demanded.
"Ten minutes until race time," he said. "I did everything else, so you can take the tent down. The teams are already lining up."
"There's no rule about me having to take the tent with me," she said defiantly. "I'm running late, so it and the rest of the gear can stay here until I get back to pick it up! And if it's gone by then, whoever takes it is welcome to it."
Pete gave her an admiring wink. "Sounds like a decision a man would make. I'm going over to take my place in line."
"I'll be there as soon as I harness my team. I've got fifteen minutes yet, since I'm starting tenth today."
She hurried to the area where she'd pegged her dogs out, checking the sky as much as she could through the tall trees. That concentration, and her worry over how soon she could get to the starting line, kept her mind off what would happen the first time she ran into Sandy today. Almost. She keep wondering how long it took a man to recover from a kick like that.
Horrors. Would a kick like that do permanent damage? No, it couldn't. Since that protective move was common knowledge to be passed down among women, she imagined more than one man had suffered like that, then gone on to procreate. Besides, she'd watched some of the mating dances between her dogs get rather violent, and the stud still was anxious to cover the next bitch she put him to — able to, too.
Her dogs whined and jerked against their chains, but she patted only Blancheur as she got to the sled. Fumbling with the rope on the feed sack, she finally got it open and hurriedly grabbed a few pieces of frozen fish. She'd give them a small portion of frozen fish this morning, then feed them a big meal when they hit Duluth. Within a minute all eleven of the dogs had their breakfast.
Laura threw back the fur covering on the rest of her sled next, then cried out in anguish.
Her harness lay there cut into pieces. She picked up one portion of leather and stared at the clean slice on one end. No doubt about it. Someone had deliberately slashed it apart with a knife. She gripped the leather in her mittened fist and slowly sank to the sled.
Who could have done this to her? She would report it to the race officials, but what good would that do? Extra harnesses were not among the emergency supplies the officials carried.
She tossed the harness down and bent her head, fighting tears. It shouldn't matter so much. She could race another time, and she didn't need the money. What hurt the most, though, was all the time she had spent training both her and her dogs going down the drain. She'd had no idea what a big hole not finishing this race would leave in her life. How badly having her goal jerked out of her reach this close to accomplishment would devastate her.
"Laura, what's wrong?" Sandy came up to her and grabbed a piece of the harness beside her. "Who the hell did this?"
"Someone who obviously doesn't want me to win the race," she said sarcastically. "I'd think that would be clear."
"Go over to the officials' tent and come into Duluth with them," he ordered. "I'll stop by there on my way back to the starting point and tell them to expect you."
"Yes!" She stood, placing her hands on her hips. "You go on! You get back on the trail!"
He spread his hands out to his side. "Laura, there's nothing I can do. There's no sense in both of us being out of the race. It won't do your kennel's name any good if that happens, since our teams are supposed to be the top contenders."
She glared at him suspiciously. Sandy wouldn't sabotage her, would he? Why? In retaliation for what she did to him last night? She couldn't rationalize that. He might roar his anger and threaten her with dire possibilities he would never follow through on, but he wouldn't do something sneaky like this. Would he?
Biting her inside cheek, she told herself her suspicions were groundless. What did she expect him to do? Drop out of the race just because she couldn't finish? It wasn't as if there weren't plenty of people around to make sure she and her dogs got on into Duluth. That reason didn't make the idea of staying behind any more palatable, though.
The starter's voice, amplified by the bullhorn, called for any stragglers to line up, and Sandy's head swiveled toward the noise. He looked back at her, pain, uncertainty and indecisiveness in his eyes.
"Laura, I need to win this race," he said quietly. "For the money more
than anything else. It's not just for me; it's for Tracie and her future. Things . . . things happened in Alaska that didn't come out at the hearing. If it weren't for Tracie, I'd stay here with you, and believe me, it's hurting me like hell to have to go on. But I have to decide."
A chorus of yaps from a team starting out onto the trail sounded, but Sandy kept his attention on her.
"If you were hurt — I'd never leave you. If I didn't have Tracie to think about — "
His concern over the tiny girl who also meant so much to Laura defused her anger. "Go, Sandy. Go. You'll miss your start."
He hesitated, then asked, "Laura, why do you want to run in the Alaskan race?"
She gave him a wobbly grin. She'd wanted so badly for him to ask her that question, for so long. "Because I have to," she murmured. "Because it's there."
"I understand," he breathed more than spoke, and she knew without doubt he did. "I understand."
Cupping his hand behind her head, Sandy bent forward and kissed her cheek. The soft caress meant more than if he'd ravaged her mouth, and she blinked at the sudden renewed mist of tears in her eyes.
"Go," she ordered in a choked voice. "Win for Ladyslipper Landing. And win for yourself."
"Promise me you'll head straight over to the officials' tent."
She nodded. "Go."
"And save me a dance at the victory celebration tonight."
"One," she promised. "Now, go!"
After a deep look, which probed her very core, he turned and strode off. As soon as he was out of hearing, she sat back down on the sled and let the sobs have full rein. God, she never cried, but the sobs escalated into gut-wrenching shakes, and she covered her face with her mittens. Blancheur, pegged near enough to the sled to guard it, nuzzled her arm and whined.
She threw her arms around his neck, and the storm of weeping immediately subsided. Sniffing in further control, she raised her head. "Boy, this is stupid, isn't it, Blancheur? If I don't get over to the tent, the officials will be gone and we'll be stranded out here. I — "
"Miss Laura!" Buck pulled his team to a halt beside her.
"What are you doing here, Buck? You'll miss the start of the race!"
"I . . . I . . . ." He stared at her for a moment, a frown crossing his forehead as though he'd forgotten what he meant to say. "I heard Sandy tellin' them officials what had happened," he finally said, emphasizing the explanation with a funny nod of his head. "Can't believe he's just gonna go off and leave you here! An' you was cryin'!"
"There's nothing Sandy can do, Buck. The harness isn't repairable. I might piece together enough of it to have Blancheur at least pull the sled into Duluth, but that's about it."
Buck tossed out his snow anchor and stepped from the runners. He glanced over his shoulder toward the starting line through the trees, a look of longing on his face. Laura sniffed and wiped the back of her mitten against a lingering tear gliding down her cheek.
"Aw, Miss Laura," Buck said in a forlorn voice. "I didn't think — " He clamped his mouth shut and chewed his cheek, then said, "I mean, I don't want you to be cryin'. You take my harness. We can switch it real quick here, and you won't have to lose too much time getting back in the race."
"I couldn't do that, Buck!" she said with a gasp, but with a rising sense of excitement. "You've talked about this race from the moment my father announced it. It means the world to you to run in it."
He avoided her gaze, but that was Buck. At times she tried to figure out if it was shyness or maybe a slight infatuation he had with her, but she'd never decided.
"It don't mean as much to me as not hearing you cry again, Miss Laura," he said stoutly. "I don't never want to hear you cry like you was cryin' when I drove over here to check on you. If it means that much to you to finish this race, I want you to do it. All it means to me is havin' a little money in my pocket, so's I don't have to trap so hard next winter."
For a fleeting instant she heard some contradiction in his words, but before she could focus on it, the idea of truly being able to get back in the race blotted all other thought from her mind.
"Then I'll buy your harness," she said eagerly, jumping to her feet. "I'll give you five hundred dollars for it, the same as if you'd won second place. And you can have Snowstorm for your team when we get home. I know you've been eyeing him." Racing over to him, Laura hugged Buck's neck. "I'd give you first place money, but that's mine!"
"You don't have to — "
Laura ignored him and headed for his lead dog, which she knew well. "I'll start unharnessing your team up here. Where are your peg chains?"
Chain rattled, and by the time Laura had Buck's lead dog free of harness, Buck handed her a chain and reached for the next dog. They tied the dogs to nearby trees as they worked, and very shortly after Laura heard the last shot from the starter's pistol, she had her own team ready to go. She waited impatiently until Buck gave Blancheur a hug and told the dog to take care of Miss Laura, then reached out and hugged Buck one more time herself.
"I'll give you your money out of my winnings, Buck," she said gaily. "And Snowstorm's yours whenever you want him!"
She yelled "Mush" so loudly she imagined the officials could hear she was on her way. Blancheur took off and hit his stride of a dead run within three leaps, the rest of the team as eager as him. Laura had trouble halting the dogs at the starting line, and had to make a wide loop back round in order to satisfy the requirement of allowing the officials to be the ones to set her on the trail.
"I don't know how you did it, Miss Goodman," the official with the starting pistol said with a chuckle, "but there's no rule saying you've gotta be here when it's your turn. So all it's costing you is the place you won in the race yesterday."
"I'll make up for it," she promised both herself and the official.
He raised the pistol while the other official put a check on the list in his hand. "The deep snow gives out about a mile from here," the starter said helpfully. "We saw that on our way up here. Them little dogs of yours ought to be able to fly over the trail after that."
"I'm counting on it."
He grin at her and fired the pistol. Laura raced after the other teams, heart pounding in excitement and her laughter blown behind her by the rushing wind. Buck's dogs were bigger than her Huskies, but the harness had adjusted easily. Along with his dogs, Buck maintained his equipment in top shape. Her team flew down the trial as smoothly as always, their swift pace in time with Laura's winging joy at still being in the race.
No wonder men liked to compete against each other in various sports, she thought, giving in to her joy with a shout that echoed from the treetops and perked Blancheur's ears. The exhilaration she felt could only be topped if — no, when — she won the race.
Within the first hour, she passed four teams. A stab of worry hit her when she didn't see another team ahead of her in the next half hour. The packed snow allowed the other teams to make top speeds of their own, and she realized the race might not be won on speed alone, as Sandy had repeated over and over. While she hadn't totally ignored him, she'd counted on her dogs' fleetness and endurance. Knowing now that might not be enough, she turned her mind to the other pieces of wisdom Sandy had passed on to her.
She'd traveled between Grand Marais and Duluth many times in her life, both in summer and winter, by ship and by the shoreline trail. As far as she knew, every other man in the race, except Sandy, had been over the shore trail, too. Many of those from the Grand Marais area probably had as much experience as she did herself with the landscape.
Several rivers cut paths across the trail, beautiful in the summertime with water rushing over the glistening stones and boulders on its way into the huge lake. Now they were frozen, their step banks extremely perilous for a team to traverse down one side and back up the other.
On the Gooseberry River Laura ran across her first casualty and recalled Sandy's caution that still more mushers would be forced out of the race today. The river ran through a steep and treacherously
deep gorge. A sled lay scattered in pieces at the bottom of the drop, evidently having tumbled over when the driver lost his battle to hold it back on the steep slope. Her heart actually stopped for a long moment until she could tell it wasn't Sandy or Pete. The driver and his dogs appeared all right, and her lighter team and sled navigated the descending bank successfully. She paused for a second before starting up the other side.
"I'm fine," the musher said before she could ask. "Go on, little missy. Show them there men what you can do."
"Thank you!" Laura called. "Mush, Blancheur!" She held the harness reins and climbed with the dogs, allowing them to pull the sled without her weight, but using their strength to also help her up the bank.
A few hundred yards on down the trail, she found another musher out of the race, one of his sled runners broken.
"Hit a rock the wrong way," he called, waving her on. "Go get 'em, Miss Goodman! Glad to see you back in the race!"
Laura's heart swelled with his words and she waved at him. He and the other musher could have been angry and frustrated over their failures and bad luck, but instead they wished her well and cheered her on. Right then she decided to make this race an annual event, giving the mushers other chances to win.
The next silent stretch of trail gave her a chance again to plot some way to shorten the distance for herself. The upcoming river, the Encampment, didn't have as rugged a bank as some of the others but the slope was still bad enough. She remembered a picnic with some of her friends one summer at the mouth of the Encampment, though. There, it opened up into a smooth expanse of beach, where some of the young men with them had even stood and fished. Making a quick decision, she hied her team to the left of the trail. If this worked, she'd make a lot better time crossing the mouth of that river than she would negotiating the steep banks.
Alert in case she'd made a wrong decision and had to pull her team up, she scanned the river mouth as soon as she emerged from the trees. It looked exactly as she remembered, and she let the dogs keep on running. They flew across the frozen water almost without pause, then Laura headed them up an easier trail she remembered using when they carried their picnic supplies down to the shoreline. The dogs barely slowed on the upward path, and when they hit the top of the trail, she heard a shout behind her.
Winter Dreams Page 21