Looking back, she saw two teams just emerging over the river bank. She waved at them, unable to hold back a laugh of glee. A few minutes later, when she looked over her shoulder, she saw no sight of them.
Her dogs resisted the few times she tried to slow them for a rest, but she sternly made them obey. Still she passed all the teams except Sandy's, Pete's and one other within the next three hours, keeping count as she went. The closer she got to Duluth, the less steep the hills were, but then again, the less reserve strength her dogs had. She paced them, chewing on her thoughts and trying to think of a shortcut the other drivers might not know about.
Once in a while the reason she was so far behind the leaders of the race crept into her mind. She tried to banish those thoughts and concentrate on the race, but the doubts remained.
Sandy's primary interest in winning was the prize money. Even if he hadn't admitted that to her, she would have had to be blind the last few months not to notice how he watched every penny — how he bristled each time money was mentioned. How she had learned fairly quickly not to bring Tracie back from their trips to Grand Marais with any expensive bauble.
She, like everyone else in town, had noticed the Dyers' rich attire at the hearing. She'd been too caught up the last few weeks in her shattered emotions to puzzle it out, but here on the lonesome trail she had time to wonder about the story behind that. Sandy's own words about there being a lot more to the story than what came out at the hearing fired her curiosity.
The Dyers hadn't appeared to be the type of people who would stand for their daughter marrying a poor sled dog trainer, and her father had also hired Sandy to manage his shipping business, so he had to have other experience.
As sometimes happens, when Laura let her mind wander away from the problem at hand — winning the race — a sudden idea burst into her head. This one chased away her interest in Sandy's prior life.
Two more rivers lay in her path — the Knife and French — but the lakeshore also curved inward closer to Duluth. She knew exactly where the finish line was — halfway down the brick-paved expanse of Superior Street. If she headed out onto the lake, then cut back on the other side of the Knife —
Laura pulled her dogs up and dropped her snow anchor. She dug in her supplies, and within a few minutes, she had protective leather booties on all of her dogs. The dogs accepted the gear without protest, and she blessed Sandy for making her practice over the rough lakeshores on her training runs. After one final perusal and a chew of her bottom lip as she rethought her decision, she nodded and pulled her snow anchor free.
"Mush!" she called. "Haw!" The team headed toward the lake.
Near the shore, as she expected, the ice was rough and could have cut her dogs' feet to pieces without the tough moose hide booties. Yet further out the ice smoothed and slickened, covered by enough snow to give the dogs plenty of traction. They picked up speed, enjoying the run as much as Laura.
She'd spent enough winters here — all her life — to know how far out the lake froze, so she had no fear of encountering any thin ice. She passed the mouth of the Knife, glancing aside when she heard a shout. Far along the river's path, two teams struggled up the bank. She recognized the dogs, Pete's team and a strange one. Shouting back an excited challenge of "Catch me if you can," which carried on the frozen air, she headed for the French River.
She reached it within a half hour. Beyond it the landscape was an easy grade, and she guided her dogs into shore just on the other side of the mouth. They scrambled up the bank and hit the trail, panting heavily with exertion but still as enthusiastic as ever to keep on running. Ahead of her she saw the last sled she had to pass. Sandy.
He was pacing beside his sled instead of riding the runners. And she was closing the distance between them! Hard as she tried to keep quiet and sneak up on him, she failed. While she was still at least fifty feet behind him, she yelled her invitation for him to make this final portion of the race a sight for the spectators to enjoy.
"Hey, Montdulac! How come you're moving so slow?"
Sandy jerked and looked over his shoulder. He stumbled as he did so, and she gained another few feet on him when his team had to drag against his pull on the reins. Ahead of them she saw the first spectators lining the street and imagined she could hear a roar go up even through the wind in her ears.
She moved up beside Sandy, and he leapt onto his runners, giving her a broad grin. "Let's do it!" he shouted. "Let's make a race out of it!"
Grinning wildly, she leaned over her sled handles to offer less wind resistance and screamed at her dogs to go. Sandy did the same, and Keever and Blancheur gave each other one quick glance before they put even more muscle into the harness. The two teams raced neck and neck until they hit the edge of the spectators, and she and Sandy glanced at each other joyously at least twice.
Then her Huskies began to pull ahead — inch by hard-gained inch.
The finish line streaked past Laura in a blur of flying red, white and blue ribbon, and she straightened on her runners. One hand flew over her head, her fist reaching for the sky, and she threw back her head, shouting in elation.
Her voice broke, and she realized she was on the verge of going hoarse. While she still had the ability, she called to her dogs, whoa'ing them and hearing Sandy's voice beside her — just behind her, she thought with a grin — doing the same. The dogs obeyed willingly, seeming to realize the fun was over.
When the sleds both stopped, she looked over at Sandy. He was already at her side, and he swung her into the air, then around and around again. She clung to his neck, and when he finally set her down, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
At first his lips were unyielding, but just as quickly they softened and he kissed her back. Deeply. Satisfyingly. Hotly and thrillingly.
She broke free with a gasp and placed her hands on his chest. "I'm not apologizing for doing that," she told him. "Just consider it done in the excitement of the moment. And to thank you for teaching me what it took to win this race."
"I'm not asking for an apology, Laura," he growled. "And you're welcome. Congratulations."
"Thank you! Let's get back and collect our accolades from the crowd."
He nodded agreement, and they both got back on their sled runners. A half a minute later, they rode through the crowds lining the street again, waving and accepting the cheers. Sandy graciously allowed her to keep a few feet in front of him.
***
Chapter 19
The Duluth officials held the victory celebration at the Dubuque Mansion, a fine old house set back from Lake Superior and with snow-covered grounds stretching down to the rocky shore. Some of the mushers had never been in such a grand place, but Laura frequently visited the Dubuques. Their fortune had initially sprung from the fur trade, and they never forgot it. They opened their ballroom to the town officials and crusty old mushers alike, making plenty of liquor available along with the overflowing tables of food, and soon not one person stood alone against a wall.
Laura managed to slip away from the mayor finally, using the tired but workable excuse of a friend she had to greet. She cautiously glanced around before she stepped behind a large potted plant by one of the back windows. Sipping the glass of champagne the mayor had almost spilled down her dress when he forced it on her, she gazed out over the huge back gardens of the mansion.
The moon hung low over the lake, reflecting a twin in the open waters out in the middle. The ethereal light gave the snow a silver tone, accenting the gray and black colors on the trees, and even the dark green pines looked black in the night. She stepped closer to the floor-length window, but a chill emanated from it and goose bumps covered her bare shoulders. She moved back a step.
She'd chosen this dress with care while in Duluth over Christmas, leaving it at the Dubuques in anticipation of tonight. Every once in a while she did like to enhance her femininity by wearing pretty clothing, and the muted elegance of the emerald green velvet, banded with black, had immediately caught he
r eye. She'd decided she had to have it as soon as she tried it on and saw what it did to her eyes and hair.
At the time she had tried to imagine what David would think of her in the dress, but Sandy Montdulac's blue eyes kept overriding David's brown ones in her mind. And Sandy Montdulac hadn't even shown up tonight. So much for his insistence she save him a dance!
She took another sip of champagne, grimacing when it hit her empty stomach. She was starving, but every time the mayor spied her, he hurried to her side, chattering a mile a minute. Turning, she dumped the champagne on the plant, heard the band start tuning up and pushed aside a leafy branch to peer out. If she could find Pete or Buck, one of them could run interference for her until she got a bite to eat.
She didn't see either one, but she immediately recognized the broad shoulders at the buffet table. So, he'd shown up at last. And he wasn't having any trouble fending off the mayor while he browsed the food. He shifted, and she caught a glimpse of the over laden plate. Her mouth watered.
Scanning the room, she saw the mayor over beside some elderly, portly lady dripping with diamonds. She looked important enough for him not to offend by walking away before she finished talking, and from the animated way she waved her hands and poked her finger now and then on his arm, that might be a while. Laura eagerly scurried out from behind the plant and headed for the table.
"Thank you," she said in a breathless voice, taking the plate from Sandy's hand. "There's a small table over there in the corner. I'll go sit down and hold it for us, while you get another plate."
"Yes, ma'am," Sandy said with a grin and a salute. "I wouldn't want you to injure my private parts if I failed to obey."
Her skin heated in a fiery blush, but she reached out and grabbed the fork from him. It had an olive on the end of it, and she popped it in her mouth, chewing the tart morsel eagerly.
"Lord, I'm starved," she said after she swallowed. "I haven't eaten all day."
"Go sit down, Laura," Sandy said. "I'll be there in a minute with some more food and something to drink. Anything on the table that's not already on the plate strike your fancy?"
"Ummmm." She chewed on a piece of cheese and pointed the fork, her mouth too full to speak.
"Ham. All right, I'll get some of that."
She surreptitiously cast a look over her shoulder. The diamond lady still collared the mayor, and Laura headed for the table in the corner. Since another convenient plant sat by the table, she stuffed a piece of beef into her mouth and set the plate down, then tugged the table behind the plant. Grabbing one of the chairs, she pulled it to the far side of the table and sat, eyeing the plate in anticipation.
Within minutes, Sandy arrived with another heaping plate and two cups of punch. Laura took a fluffy roll from the plate he brought, something not on the other plate, and bit off a piece. It was warm and buttery, and she closed her eyes in delight.
"You keep eating like that," Sandy said, picking up a napkin and unfolding it, "and you'll split the seams on that lovely dress."
She opened her eyes and tilted her head. "Do you really like the dress?"
"What man wouldn't?" he asked with a shrug.
What had she expected? For him to say the woman inside the dress was what made it lovely, as any other halfway courteous man would say? But Sandy Montdulac wasn't any man, as she well knew. And he could easily get up from the table and leave her to finish the meal alone, if she pushed him.
Since that afternoon, they had shared an easiness, both excited over their victories. He'd never once sounded disgruntled over her beating him out of first place, and his praise rang sincere. Of course, it could be because he assumed his training had been the deciding factor in her ability to win. Which it was, she admitted.
She took a huge bite from a pickle, pursing her mouth in dismay when sourness filled it. Glancing around instinctively to see if anyone was watching — which they couldn't be with her behind the plant — she whipped her napkin to her mouth and deposited the pickle in it.
"Ohhhh," she said when her mouth was empty. "I thought that was going to be a sweet pickle!"
Sandy held out his fork, a piece of fluffy cake icing clinging to it. "Here. This will take away the sour taste."
Letting him keep hold of the fork, she licked the entire glob of icing off it, savoring the sweetness as it chased away the sour. A dab of icing didn't make it all the way into her mouth, and she flicked her tongue to her lower lip to catch it before it dropped to her dress bodice.
She missed. Ducking her head, she saw the icing in the valley between her breasts. Shrugging, since no one would see her except Sandy, she flipped her index finger down there and retrieved the icing, then put it in her mouth where it belonged.
Sandy grunted as though she'd kicked him between the legs again, and she widened her eyes and stared at him. "Did you eat something that's not agreeing with your stomach?"
"It's lower than my stomach," he growled back at her. "God, Laura, are you really so innocent, or do you know exactly what you do to a man?"
"I don't understand — "
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Laura strained to see through the plant leaves, but she recognized the mayor's voice. "It's time for the band to take a break and for us to give out the prizes from the race. Tom Goodman is very sorry he couldn't be here, but he made arrangement with our banker, Clyde Clebert, to do the honors. Will all the prize winners come up here, please? And the losers, also, since there's something for each entrant, even those who didn't make it across the finish line by themselves."
"Have you eaten enough to get you through this ceremony?" Sandy asked as he stood and stepped behind Laura's chair.
"Ummmph." She chewed the bite of ham and swallowed it as she rose. Sandy moved her chair out of the way, and she started around the table. "Oh!" She stopped, and Sandy plowed right into her, grabbing her around the waist to steady her.
"For such a thing of flowing beauty on the trail, Laura," he said with a wry laugh, "you sure do stumble around when you don't have a sled to lean on."
"Oh, hush," she said. "You ran into me, not the other way around. I just remembered, I have something for you." Reaching into the deep pocket on the gown, where she kept her handkerchief, she pulled out a small package. "Here."
"We need to go collect our prizes," he murmured, but he didn't hand the package back.
"Oh, pooh. They won't give our money to anyone else. Open it, please."
He tore the paper off and held the small scrimshaw dogsled in the palm of his hand. Laura had known it was for Sandy the minute she saw it. The detail was amazing, with some of the dogs even showing open mouths, teeth and tongues panting in their eagerness. They stretched out in a run, and the tiny driver on the sled runners wore the mandatory boots, heavy trousers and thick coat.
"You can even see the wolf skin around his hood," Sandy murmured.
"Isn't it amazing? One of John Beargrease's sons carved it. I was going to give it to you at Christmas, but . . . ." She lifted a shoulder, not wishing to go into that. "Now seems a more appropriate time anyway."
"Thank you." Sandy closed his hand around the dogsled. "I'll remember you whenever I look at it."
She ignored the stab of hurt his words sent through her, fathoming at once he was referring to the time after he left Ladyslipper Landing. With a nod, she said, "We better get on up there. That mayor is a persistent man, and he'll probably come looking for us."
She led the way to where the Dubuques had placed a podium on one corner of the room and started to take her place among the crowd of mushers.
"No, no, Miss Goodman," the mayor said. "Since your father sponsored this race, you come on up here with me."
"I was a participant in the race, just like the rest of these people," she told him firmly. "I'll wait with them."
The mushers crowded around her, one of them slapping her on the back and nearly knocking her down. Sandy caught her, and she glanced up to thank him, seeing him glaring at the too enthusiastic man.
/> "It's all right," she whispered. "It didn't hurt, and he's just happy for me."
Sandy's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her waist, then he nodded and dropped his hands. They turned their attention to the mayor, who began calling names while Clyde Clebert passed out consolation prizes of a refund on the men's entry fees plus five dollars. Two prizes went unclaimed but would be held for the recipients — the one for the man who broke his arm and Buck's. Laura frowned when Buck didn't emerge from the crowd around her, knowing she had seen him earlier in the evening. She glanced toward the bar set up in the corner of the room — the most likely place to find Buck — but he wasn't there either.
Third place of two hundred and fifty dollars went to Pete, and he and Sandy shook hands before Pete went up to collect his money. Sandy followed, and a few minutes later, Laura walked up to the podium.
"Won't you say a few words on your father's behalf, Miss Goodman?" the mayor asked after he handed her a pouch of money. He reached out a sweaty hand to pull her behind the podium, but she managed to evade his grasp.
"I'll tell you what I'd rather do," she said to the people gathered around. "I'd rather celebrate my victory with a dance. Do you think we could ask the band to play again?"
Beaming, the mayor waved a hand at the band, and the strains of a waltz filled the room. He turned to offer Laura his arm to lead her onto the floor, evidently thinking she meant to dance with him. She ignored his arm and glided over to Sandy.
"I believe you asked for a dance," she said.
"I believe I did," he agreed in a quiet voice.
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