Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "It's me, Buck," she said. "Laura. And Pete's with me. May we come in?"

  Barely two seconds later the door flew open. "Miss Laura!" Buck exclaimed. "You didn't have to hunt me up to pay me. I could've waited 'til we got back home."

  Whiskey fumes hit her full in the face, and Laura instinctively lifted a hand to wave them away. Beyond Buck a half full bottle sat on a table beside an overstuffed chair, but no sign of a glass. When Buck wobbled and leaned against the door jamb, she shook her head.

  "I didn't come for that, Buck. Can we come in?"

  Red-veined eyes gazed at her mournfully, and Laura thought for a moment he was going to cry. He sniffed and bowed his head, staggering back from the door and holding out a trembling hand.

  "Please come in, Miss Laura," he said. "I ain't got but one chair, but it's yours."

  Pete followed her in and shut the door.

  "I don't believe I'll be here long enough to sit down and visit, Buck," she said sternly. "I want you to answer a couple questions for me. Did you know the Dyers were still in town?"

  Buck crumbled, covering his face with shaking hands and reeling back against the wall. "He come back to town one night and was a'waitin' when I got home from the bar," he said in an agonized voice. "Told me he'd pay someone to kill my dogs, I didn't do what he said." Buck dropped his hands and gazed at Laura with a look that filled her with pity. "They's just about all I got, Miss Laura. My dogs. I couldn't let nothin' happen to them."

  "Oh, Buck."

  "He started out 'bout me doing somethin' to the dogs — yours and Sandy's dogs. But I told him that'd never go over, 'cause no one who knew Sandy would believe he made the dogs sick. So he told me I had to cut the harness so you wouldn't win. Make it look like Sandy had done it."

  "He wanted people to think Sandy had done that?"

  "Yeah." Buck pulled a dirty hanky from his back pocket and blew his nose. He stared longingly at the liquor bottle, but didn't move toward it. "Only thing is, I forgot to leave Sandy's glove there, like it'd dropped out of his pocket. So no one really knew who had done it."

  Laura tried to muster up anger at Buck, but the pitiful sight of him leaning against the wall, tears trembling in his eyes and the dirty hanky crumbled in his hand only made her sorry for him. Pete evidently didn't have that problem.

  He stepped forward, grabbing Buck by the front of his shirt and lifting him off the floor. "Do you know what happens to men who turn on their friends? My ancestors would make you pay slowly. By the time they got done with you, you'd be afraid to ever even tell a lie to a pretty woman to try to get her skirts up!"

  "Pete!"

  He glanced at her. "Well, he would, although I guess I could've picked a better comparison, huh?"

  "Yes, you could have. Now put him down. We need him with us when we go to the police station."

  Pete let Buck slide down the wall, then stepped back and dusted his palms on his trousers. Pete's words must have had a sobering effect on Buck, because Laura could see a gleam of rationality in his runny eyes.

  "How did anyone find out what I done, Miss Laura?" he asked. "We didn't know for sure who did it, Buck, but I had a suspicion it might be you. I overheard the Dyers talking, and what they said pointed to you. But that's not the reason they took Sandy to jail."

  "They took Sandy to jail? I don't understand, Miss Laura. We need to get over there and tell them I done it — I cut your harness. It weren't Sandy. I didn't even leave the clue that made it look like Sandy. So why'd they take him to jail?"

  His willingness to confess and take the blame from Sandy didn't make Laura respect Buck, but she tolerated his shortcomings a little better. "I'll explain on the way, Buck. And on the way, we're going to detour by a judge's house."

  "A judge? Aw, Miss Laura," Buck whined. "I'll see the judge soon enough — when he tells me how long I gotta lay in jail."

  "I told you I'd explain on the way, Buck. Get your coat."

  He turned slowly and took his heavy coat from a closet behind him, giving Laura a pitiful look as he put it on. "Will you take care of my dogs, Miss Laura? I'll work for you for free to pay you back soon's I get outta jail."

  Laura sighed and glanced at Pete. Simultaneously, they both burst out laughing, and the laughter alleviated Laura's worry somewhat. She shook her head and couldn't resist teasing Buck, "What makes you think you still have a job with me?"

  His lower lip protruded. "I didn't think of that. But I can pay you outta that money you're gonna give me."

  "Buck! That money was for a harness to replace the one you cut up! You don't think I'm still going to give that to you, do you?"

  "Oh. No. No, I guess not." His face creased in a frown of concern. "I don't guess I'll get Snowstorm either, huh?"

  "Snowstorm? Buck — !" A giggle caught Laura unaware and she bit her inside cheek to keep it back. Her shoulders heaved in a sigh. She didn't have it in her to take revenge on Buck. He'd made a mistake — a bad one — but he'd been coerced by people a lot smarter than him.

  "Buck, I've been meaning to give you Snowstorm for quite a while now, and you can still have him. But I want to be able to use him for stud."

  A hopeful light glinted in Buck's eyes, though Laura saw he wasn't too drunk to forget the team he already had. "Thank you, Miss Laura. But I won't be able to take care of him, neither, even if he is mine."

  Knowing his deep worry over his animals, Laura gave in more. "Buck, your dogs will be taken care of. Don't worry. But believe me, you're going to pay for every penny's worth of food they eat."

  "I will, Miss Laura." He nodded his head vigorously. "I will. I will."

  "Then let's go." Pete opened the door again, and they all left.

  In the carriage, they had to squeeze together, as it only had one seat. Laura could still smell liquor fumes on Buck, but as soon as the horse started moving, the breeze blew the odor away. Pete, in the middle of the seat, started explaining Sandy's situation to Buck. With nothing to distract her from her worry until they arrived at the judge's house and she had to use her influence to make him realize it would behoove him to get dressed and come to the jail with her, her thoughts settled once again on her worry over Sandy.

  Surely they would be able to get him out. She couldn't imagine returning to Grand Marais and telling Tracie her father was in jail. If need be, she would send for her father, she thought with an emphatic nod. Tom Goodman wouldn't take kindly to what the Dyers were trying to do. And she probably didn't have to worry about the Dyers trying to get Tracie until after Monday. They'd have to wait for a new court order overriding the one from Judge Barlow. Elvina Dyer had let that slip during her tirade at the celebration dinner.

  Laura recalled the look in Sandy's eyes when she gave him the scrimshaw dogsled at dinner. Remembered how she felt when he held her for their interrupted dance. Why, oh, why didn't he want to at least try to explore their feelings for each other? Could it be he still loved his dead wife so desperately? That she reminded him of Colleen whenever he looked at her?

  Something told her that wasn't the case, but if she couldn't get Sandy to talk about this, how would she ever know the truth? Was Pete completely mistaken? Had he misread Sandy's — her lips quirked — "moose-eyed looks" as interest, when it was really just a longing to be gone from her? To get her training over with and start his new life far away from her?

  "Laura?"

  She swiveled her head. Pete stood beside the carriage, arms lifted to help her down.

  "Are you going to set there all night?" Pete asked. "I don't think the judge will take too kindly to an Indian and a drunk waking him up. We need you to come with us."

  She huffed and scrambled from the carriage. "He better not give us any trouble," she told Pete, gathering her skirts and striding up the walk. "I'll tell him that I'll let Buck breathe on him until he passes out and then you can scalp him."

  Even Buck joined their chuckles, but when the stood on the door stoop and Laura lifted the knocker, they all fell silent. Laura
took a breath for courage and knocked, repeating her action an additional three times. Almost immediately a light went on inside.

  Half a minute later, a tiny, elderly lady opened the door, peering near-sightedly at them and holding a fluffy housecoat tight around her.

  "We need to see the judge," Laura said imperiously. "Tell him Laura Goodman is here."

  "Yes, ma'am," the lady said. "Come in, ma'am."

  She held the door, and Laura could see at once that she wasn't as nearsighted as she appeared. Her eyes widened when Buck and Pete followed her inside, then they twinkled.

  "I think this might be worth losing a little sleep over," she murmured, then raised her voice. "I'll get Judge Nordic. The parlor is the door on your right. You can wait there."

  When the judge arrived in the parlor a while later, Laura had a feeling it was a good thing she'd given her name. He must have weighed three hundred pounds, and there wasn't an ounce of fat on him that Laura could see. She very much doubted Pete and Buck together could stop him if he decided to throw them out of the house for disturbing his exalted presence at such an ungodly hour.

  "Miss Goodman," he said. He'd dressed, although his eyes were still sleepy looking. "I assume this must be important, since a lady of your standing is involved."

  "It is, Judge Nordic, sir." No sense taking a chance of him being offended if she didn't address him properly. "I understand you signed a warrant for the arrest of one of my employees, Sandy Montdulac. I believe you were led to do this under false pretenses, and if not that, at least by some dishonest people."

  "Have a seat, Miss Goodman. And your escorts, too. My housekeeper is making coffee."

  After Laura introduced Buck and Pete, she explained the Dyers' underhanded dealings. The judge's face grew grimmer and grimmer, and by the time the housekeeper brought the coffee, he was fairly glowering.

  "I'm a student of the Old West," he told Laura as the housekeeper handed him a cup of coffee. "In case you're wondering what that has to do with anything, I'll tell you. In the Old West, messing with a man's horse was a hanging offense. We feel the same about our sled dogs here in the Northland."

  He turned his glare on Buck, and the little man slid down in his chair. "I'm not saying that what you did won't be cause for punishment. And you will be punished. But what we have here is called mitigating circumstances."

  Though Laura could tell Buck didn't understand the word, a flicker of hope fluttered in his eyes. He straightened just a hair and sipped his coffee.

  "These Dyers threatened your dogs — " Judge Nordic continued. " — your way of traveling to your job to make a living. Your way of going hunting for food for yourself. Men take dire umbrage when their horses are messed with out West, just like we do with our dogs."

  "Umbrage," Buck repeated. "Yeah, that's what I did." He glanced at Laura. "What's umbrage?"

  "I think what Judge Nordic is saying is that you won't be punished quite as badly because the Dyers threatened you into cutting my harness. That is, if you agree to testify against them."

  "That's true, Miss Goodman," Judge Nordic said. "I assume you will testify, Mr. Svenson?"

  Laura didn't know whether Buck straightened his shoulders completely in response to the proper name the judge called him or the chance to get back at the Dyers for threatening his dogs. But the Buck in the chair now was a far cry from the one in the hotel room a while ago.

  "You can bet on it, Your Honor. Sir. Uh . . . Your . . . Whateverness," he said with a firm nod.

  Laura covered her mouth, and Pete suffered a coughing fit, explaining it when he got his breath back as coffee going down the wrong way. Even the judge put his cup down on the table, the saucer full of spilled coffee from his hands, which shook with suppressed laughter.

  "We need to get going," he said. "I'll get my coat."

  ***

  Chapter 21

  The jail didn't bother Sandy that much. Despite his admonitions to Laura, no doubt she'd use the Goodman influence to turn the town upside down until she got him out. He figured he wouldn't be here much beyond morning, and only that long if the judge Laura woke up had more gumption than most men to stand against her. He didn't even try to sleep. Sitting on the edge of the bunk, elbows on knees, he stared at the floor.

  Laura looked so lovely tonight. Felt so wonderful in his arms. And when they raced each other to the finish line that afternoon, he'd admitted to himself once again how desperately he loved her.

  Her mischievous challenge to him had gone straight to his heart, and he'd almost fallen into those sparking green eyes, diamond bright with the joy of the race. Her ringing cheer and raised fist of victory reminded him of his youth and love of life before everything crashed around him. He wanted that joy again — wanted it with Laura — wanted it so badly he ached with yearning.

  But it could never be. A year and a half ago, he would have had way too much influence and been too well respected for the authorities to ever slap a pair of handcuffs on him and haul him off to jail in front of dozens of people. A year and a half ago, he wouldn't have to depend on someone else to rescue him. To free him, so he could return home and care for his daughter.

  He'd thought his pride beyond battering, but this evening it sank even lower.

  Too, this probably wouldn't be the end of the Dyers' attempts to gain custody of Tracie. After the Grand Marais hearing, he'd thought he and Tracie would be safe from their attempts as long as they stayed out of Alaska. Now he knew differently. George Dyer would storm the capitol of Minnesota next, and maybe even all the way to Washington, D.C. Sandy would never be free of looking over his shoulder.

  He might have to go all the way overseas to keep his daughter, but if that's what it took, that's what he'd do. He would make a living somehow. He'd heard they needed trainers for some sort of rescue dogs in the Swiss Alps.

  Laura Goodman could never be a part of that life. Even if she thought it somewhat romantic and begged to go with him, she would grow disillusioned very quickly. His love for her was too great to put her through something like that. He would rather never let her know how he felt than chance her returning his love, then see it die later on.

  He had loved Colleen, but in a different way. Colleen had needed protection — needed caring for. Their love was a quiet thing, and she was a prim and proper wife, having been raised by her mother to take her appropriate place at some man's side. Their love life had been satisfying, if not earth shattering, with Colleen shyly eager for his embraces as long as he didn't try anything shocking. They'd had a good life, and Sandy would have been perfectly happy growing old with her. It wasn't to be.

  Then he met Laura. She, too, came from a moneyed background, but what a different woman. She could effortlessly manage a social occasion with everyone attending from the mayor to the core group of the town's old money. Yet the next day, she'd be ready to mush through the cold with her pack of dogs, wearing a pair of trousers, cheeks red with both the excitement of the moment and the frigid air. Life with Laura Goodman — both in bed and out — would never be dull. On the contrary, it would be exciting.

  Tracie thought Laura walked on water, and Laura had the patience of a saint with his daughter. He supposed Laura would want children of her own, given her delight with Tracie. Hell, he couldn't support even one daughter, and he'd never be able to keep his hands off Laura if she were his wife. There were ways, of course, to avoid pregnancies, but you had to keep a somewhat clear head during lovemaking for those to work. He doubted very much making love with Laura would allow that. They'd have those children if some miracle ever made it possible for them to have a life together.

  He shook his head. It would take more than a miracle for him and Laura to ever be together. It would take a different life, on a different planet. No chance of that.

  He would never subject Laura to the life forced upon him. He could take the brunt of the bad times himself and keep Tracie from suffering, but it would be different for a woman at his side.

  Foot
steps sounded down the hallway, and Sandy looked up. The same policeman who had led him out of the Dubuques' mansion came toward him. Of the six cells in the room, two held drunks who had already had their weekend disrupted by being hauled into jail. The policeman had placed Sandy in a far cell, so he would have a little distance from the men's buzz-saw snores.

  "Judge Nordic is here," the policeman said. "He wants you in the interrogation room, so he can talk to you."

  Fitting a key in the door, he unlocked it, then turned to lead Sandy away. Sandy chuckled wryly. The man didn't even think him dangerous enough to bother guarding against his escape.

  The policeman looked back over his shoulder. "You won't try to run, will you, Mr. Montdulac? I know you wouldn't want to be stuck in here for a real charge, and not be able to get back to your daughter."

  Respect for the man filled Sandy, along with gratitude for the way the policeman treated him. "You don't have to worry," he assured him.

  The interrogation room was off the main entryway, a grim room without windows and painted a sickly green. One electric light bulb hung from the ceiling on a wire, the atmosphere conducive to bringing a confession from a true criminal. At a table in the far corner, Laura, Pete and Buck sat with a huge man, who could probably break Sandy in two with one hand. Laura looked tiny enough beside that man for a careless breath to blow her away.

  The policeman indicated for Sandy to approach the table, then retreated, leaving the door open behind him. Sandy's eyes unerringly settled on Laura, and it took a determined effort on his part to keep a poker face when she smiled at him. But he'd had plenty of practice hiding his love from Laura.

  "Mr. Montdulac," the large man said. "I'm Judge Nordic. If you'll sit down here, we need to talk."

  Sandy complied, taking the only empty chair, which was beside Laura. Her scent filled his nose, and he felt the caress of her gaze as she kept her eyes on him. As he recalled holding her while they danced, his palms tingled, and he curled his hands into fists, then hurriedly released them. Laura placed a hand on his forearm, and he could no more resist the pull to look at her than he could have flown to that different planet where they might have a life together.