Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  She scanned the slight body, seeing the maroon plaid flannel shirt neatly tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Worn hiking boots were at odds with the designer label on her hip pocket. Where had Lainey been wounded? There were not any obvious scars anywhere, and she did not limp. Her sleeves had been rolled up during the day, and her forearms were as tanned as her face and neck. She had told Irish that she had been working in Africa earlier in the year. Scotch thought that seeing all those exotic places must certainly be exciting. Her hands were callused, so she was not a stranger to hard work, a plus in Scotch’s book. Winter in Alaska was hard, and not for the faint. Barring any unforeseen incidents, she thought that this agreement might work out very well indeed.

  Her gaze returning to Lainey’s face, she found hazel eyes regarding her, an eyebrow raised in question. Busted in her visual perusal, Scotch hid her embarrassment as best she could. She smoothly brought her attention back to Howry, and sipped her coffee, knowing her blush contradicted her outward indifference.

  Howry wrapped up his story, and there was a lull in the conversation. “Well, now that I’ve told you one of mine, Thom, maybe you could answer my question.”

  Scotch’s father leaned back in his chair, Bon sleepily seated in his lap. On his face was a knowing grin. “Who named my kids?” he asked.

  Helen tsked good-naturedly, feigning irritation. Scotch grinned, and winked at her equally amused brother. Irish rolled her eyes.

  Lainey said, “I’m betting you did. I think the question is why the names you chose.”

  Smug, Thom considered carefully before answering, though everyone could see it was a ploy. Scotch had seen the same expression on his face every time she heard the explanation. Her father enjoyed the attention.

  “When I got married to this pretty little woman here,” he said, ignoring Helen’s snort, “we made a bet. Whoever guessed the gender right could name the kid.”

  “And Mom’s shooting blanks in maternal instinct,” Rye said, shaking his head.

  “She does well enough in the motherly things,” Thom said in his wife’s defense.

  Helen waved him on. “Finish it, Thom. Don’t get distracted.”

  He gave his wife an air kiss, and looked back to his guests. “Anyway, when Scotch arrived, I told Helen what I would name her, and she about had a fit.”

  Lainey glanced at Scotch, bemused puzzlement on her face. Scotch smiled widely, ignoring the request for information.

  “tell them what it was.”

  “I’ll let Scotch tell them,” he said, magnanimously.

  Scotch set her coffee cup down, waiting for the right moment before speaking. “Scottish, as in Scottish Terrier.” The look in Lainey’s eyes was priceless, and she tried hard to control her laughter.

  “You’re kidding!” Lainey seemed unable to believe what she was hearing, her gaze traveling around the table, seeking confirmation.

  “Oh, no,” Helen said. “He was quite serious at the time.”

  “You were going to name your children after dog breeds?” Howry demanded, flabbergasted.

  “Oh, yeah,” Rye said. “Dad loves his dogs.”

  Scotch enjoyed the confusion on Lainey’s face as she struggled with the idea of a man labeling his kids in such a manner.

  “So, why the change?”

  Thom shrugged, appearing disappointed. “Well, you know women,” he said, dropping his voice as if responding conspiratorially, though they could all clearly hear him. “Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live with ‘em.” He yelped when Irish slapped his shoulder, and then laughed. ‘she told me there was no way she’d let me call my kids after dogs. But we still had an agreement.”

  “Dad loves his dogs, but he also loves his whiskey,” Scotch said.

  “And you let him get away with that?” Lainey asked Helen.

  She smiled. “It was better than having a son called Labrador.”

  Rye groaned, and covered his face with his hands, while the rest of them laughed.

  When the amusement died down again, Howry said, “Okay, I can see Scotch, Rye, and Irish. But Bon? I’m a newsman, and we have livers of iron. I’ve never heard of a whiskey by that name. Did Helen finally win a bet?”

  Bon, who was lounging half asleep in his father’s arms, barely roused at the mention of his name.

  “Actually, that’s a nickname,” Scotch said. “His full name in Bourbon.”

  Howry threw his hands up in the air. “Of course!”

  As everyone had another good laugh, Scotch’s eyes met Lainey’s. She felt an odd connection forged between them, a simple joy of sharing something good. While a part of her relaxed into the sensation, Scotch wondered if perhaps her initial curiosity about the photojournalist had gotten too big, too obvious.

  Since this morning she had become less worried about having an outsider living with her, and more concerned that she would appear to be an unsophisticated rube to the worldly woman. Miguel had mentioned Lainey seemed a little surprised that there was no electricity at her cabin. And the bush pilot, Cliff, had said she seemed high maintenance. Scotch had never set foot outside Alaska except to run the Yukon Quest in Canada. She had no earthly idea what her humble cabin would look like to the well-traveled Lainey Hughes.

  Would they survive nine months together?

  Her family began their nightly ritual of cleaning up, distracting Scotch from her meanderings. She helped clear the table. It was her turn to do dishes, so she started to fill the sink with hot soapy water. When Lainey offered to help, she wondered why she felt so happy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAINEY WALKED EASILY, her laden backpack seated comfortably on her shoulders and hips, and her camera bag in one hand, while Scotch led the way to her future home away from home. She was hard put to not study the well-shaped ass in front of her. Fortunately, for Lainey's dignity in any case, the trail required her full attention so she would not trip.

  It was not that late, but Alaska was far from the equator. The sun had not set, confusing Lainey's sense of time over and above the jet lag. Even in New York she was used to it being dark by now. With the cooler temperature up here, her mind tried to tell her it was early morning instead of ten o'clock at night. She had to admit the overall effect was reminiscent of youthful camping trips in New England, enjoying a breakfast of flapjacks as the sun warmed the lake. Lainey smiled to herself; it had been years since she had thought of that. She wondered why.

  "Almost there,” Scotch said, glancing over her shoulder. She carried Lainey's laptop case and another suitcase.

  "I'm right behind you,” she said.

  They rounded a bend in the path, and Lainey got her first glimpse of the cabin. It stood one level tall, with a neat little covered porch in front of the door. From the angle they arrived, Lainey saw windows placed higher than she expected. Maybe that was to combat snowdrifts. She followed Scotch up three steps, noting a swinging bench hanging from the porch rafters as her hostess opened the door and set the bags inside.

  "Come on in, and watch your step,” Scotch said. She gestured Lainey to enter.

  Mindful of her feet, Lainey understood the instructions when she found herself on a landing. Steps led down, and she carefully followed them into the cabin.

  Scotch closed the door, and came after her. ‘set your stuff in the corner, and I'll show you around.”

  Lainey dropped her pack and reached out to touch a natural stone wall. It was six feet high and was capped by the standard log walls she had expected this type of structure. "Are we below ground here, or did you build into the hill?” she asked.

  "Both, actually,” Scotch said. "Out here we had to dig down, but in the back, it's the depth of the hill.”

  Lainey nodded absently, looking around. The space was small, maybe four hundred square feet. The floor was wood, covered here and there with throw rugs. Central to the room was a large fireplace made of the same stone as the walls around her. A sofa and chair squatted before the hearth, accompanied by a couple of
sturdy tables with odds and ends upon them. An old style dining table with chrome legs and green laminate top sat nearby, keeping company with three padded chairs in need of new vinyl.

  Behind the fireplace was a kitchen area. Lainey noted a small metal stove butted up against the back of the hearth, and several pots and pans hanging from the stonework. Storage cabinets and counters ran the length of this side of the room. The surprising thing was a large metal sink with an old-fashioned water pump attached to it. Remembering Miguel's statement earlier in the day, she glanced at Scotch. "Running water?”

  Scotch, removed her hands from the back pockets of her jeans, reaching up to pull off her baseball cap and run her hands through her hair. "Yeah, with a little elbow grease.”

  She seemed embarrassed at the quality of her home, and Lainey hastened to show her appreciation. "It's really nice,” she said, smiling. "Did you to a lot of the work yourself?”

  Flushing prettily, Scotch reset her cap, and dug her hands back into her pockets. "We had to get a backhoe in here to dig the pit, and the guys helped me set the logs, roof, and windows.” She waved at the stonework. "I laid the rock and built the fireplace, put in the flooring and porch.”

  "Wow,” Lainey said, impressed. She gave the area another look around before smiling. ‘so, where do we sleep?”

  "Upstairs.”

  Only then did Lainey realize the kitchen area had a lower ceiling than the main room. She followed Scotch back to the stairs, seeing them lead up past the entry door to a sleeping loft.

  The loft was open to below with a sturdy pine railing jutting out from the chimney. Long and narrow, it was divided in half by a curtain. Here was a window, and Lainey understood the reason for the high placement. Where else would a window be in a split-level? They passed a double bed with a large dresser at its foot, and a nightstand beside it.

  “This is mine.” Scotch opened the curtain by the chimney, and gestured Lainey in. "And this one is yours.”

  It was the same, in reverse. The bed frame was made of pine, just like the railing. The smell of the wood was pungent, telling Lainey that it was new; it was probably built just for her. The bed was made with a thick, inviting quilt and several pillows, and a rag rug draped the floorboards where she would step out of it. The dresser and nightstand were a bit more worn, but well cared for. On the nightstand was an oil lamp, and Scotch lit it with a wooden match before closing the thick curtains over the window.

  "Is it okay?” Scotch asked. "If you want to swap or maybe move into the main cabin, I'd understand.”

  Lainey grinned reassurance. "No! This is great, really.” She sat on the bed, testing the box springs. "You've put a lot of work into this, I can tell. Thank you.”

  Again Scotch reddened and looked away, trying to find something to say. And again Lainey wondered if this feeling of infatuation would pass as she licked her lips. God, she could almost taste her! The swell of lust was mild, but enough to set her heart thumping.

  "Well then. I guess we should get your stuff up here so you can settle in. We get up pretty early in the morning, so it's best if we hit the sack soon.”

  Heartily agreeing with the thought of getting to bed with Scotch, Lainey scolded herself for her lewd thoughts. ‘sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to my first board meeting.”

  Scotch, back on secure territory, chuckled. "Chores come before breakfast or meetings,” she said, heading down the stairs. "I doubt you'll be looking forward to that when you understand what all has to be done.”

  Lainey, enamored of the lithe body trotting down the steps, did not answer.

  Scotch did not know how late it was. Twilight filtered from around the curtains in her room. Her body lay in languid stupor, unmoving. Her mind, however, refused to release her to sleep, preferring instead to play back the entire day's activities.

  Not surprisingly, neither Lainey nor Don Howry were what she had anticipated. She was not sure what she expected, but then she had never been in this type of situation before. Scotch had spoken with several mushers since March, focusing her attention on the big names in the Iditarod world. Few had had this experience. The closest was a fellow whose major sponsor was an outdoor clothing company; they had put up an extensive web site about his training methods, but he had written most of the copy himself. The only other reporters Scotch had dealt with before were those involved with racing.

  Lainey and Howry were not fans of the sport. Their ignorance was . . . refreshing. When questioned, Lainey said that she had not arrived at the last Iditarod until it was half complete, covering for a colleague who had injured himself. Whatever the reason, she must have been bitten by the dog racing bug. Why else would she return so quickly after the last one?

  Scotch had expected sports reporters, people who knew their way around a kennel and sled, someone who understood the intricacies of racing, the specialized training and language. It did not matter that she had done her homework on Lainey Hughes, and knew the woman had never been involved in sports reporting of any kind. For some naive reason, Scotch's mind simply had not made the connection.

  Their lack of knowledge would actually work to the kennel's benefit, in her opinion. With no prior experience, neither reporter could confuse things. Every kennel trained their animals in different ways. At least Scotch did not have to worry about defending her methods compared to others. Each racer trained in their own styles, some less scrupulous in caring for their dogs, some more interested in the process than the results. Sure, Scotch had hopes of coming in to Nome first some day, but not at the expense of her team.

  She sighed and rolled over. On the other side of the room divider she heard the steady breathing of her new roommate. It had been five years since she had shared a room with Irish. Scotch wondered if that was part of her inability to get to sleep, this sudden communal space where once she had been alone. Her ears picked up noise that should not be there; the occasional squeak of bedsprings, the rustle of sheets as Lainey shifted, a gentle murmur when she spoke in her sleep.

  Scotch had helped Lainey unpack, avidly curious about the woman. Why the backpack? Some of the gear was worn with use, like her hiking boots. Other pieces were obviously new. Why did she bring an arctic sleeping bag? If she followed the race with the rest of the reporters, she would hardly have an opportunity to use the thing. Usually magazines and newspapers had hotels lined up in Anchorage and Nome for their reporters. Did this mean that Lainey would follow the trail with the other hardcore journalists? The thought was actually comforting to Scotch, the potential to see a familiar and friendly face at each checkpoint a gratifying idea.

  The suitcase had held clothing and toiletries. Lainey had taken her phone conversations with Thom to heart, for it held assorted woolen pants, flannel shirts, jeans, and thick socks. There were even two sets of thermal and silk underwear.

  As they unpacked, they discussed inconsequential things, becoming acquainted with one another. It felt vaguely familiar to Scotch, and now in the dark she worried the sensation until she discovered why. Smiling in the night, she remembered feeling a similar sense of camaraderie during sleep overs at friends' homes. She had not attended one of those since she was fourteen. No wonder she felt practically giddy with Lainey's presence. Those rare moments of sleeping over at a friend's house had been new and exciting. The feelings were no different now.

  Her eyes tired, she still could not sleep. She flopped onto her back. Regardless of the new arrivals, tomorrow was another day, another round of visitors, another set of chores. Tomorrow, she was scheduled to go into town and pick up a tour group of retirees for a day trip. She might even be able to swing a donation or two out of them if she played her cards right. Normally, the knowledge of a planned day trip lightened her spirits, but not this evening. Tonight she regretted the fact that Lainey would no doubt remain behind, beginning to learn the ropes of kennel life. The reservation for the day trip had called for ten people. That would fill up two carts, leaving no room for anyone else but she and Rye
to lead them.

  She finally drifted off to sleep, her thoughts aimlessly wandering between plans for tomorrow, Lainey's smile, the sight of designer jeans, and the sound of laughter.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE BIG BEN alarm clock on her nightstand jangled Scotch awake. She slapped at it until it went silent, then sat up in bed, eyes still closed. The coolness of morning against her sleep heated skin felt nice, but she could not stop a shiver as she stretched and yawned. Why did she feel so tired this morning?

  On the other side of the curtain, she heard a mumbled protest and squeaking bedsprings.

  Oh, yeah. Grainy eyes opened wide in remembrance. Her guest. Scotch had spent too much time not being able to get to sleep the previous night.

  Suddenly uncertain, she wondered if she should check on Lainey, make sure she was getting out of bed. From the sounds of things, she probably rolled over to return to her dreams, since Scotch heard no further movement. Her bladder insisted on attention, and she decided to wait a bit, giving Lainey a chance to wake on her own. Scotch climbed out of bed and shoved her feet into her boots, not lacing them. She paused long enough to stretch her full height with a light groan before heading down the stairs. At the door, she grabbed a light jacket from a peg. Opening the door, she stepped outside.

  The air was crisp and cool. She trembled as a light breeze caressed her bare legs. Stepping off the porch, she made her way to the outhouse, the path familiar after years of travel. When she returned from her nature call, she stood silent on the landing, listening. It did not sound like Lainey had risen, and Scotch wondered if she should venture into the woman's space to roust her. She hung her jacket up, and continued down the steps. She would wait until the coffee was done. If Lainey was a morning sourpuss, it would be better to have some sort of offering to appease any ill humor.