They passed another cabin, this one called Tommy Johnson's in her notes, and the trail filed between the ocean beach on one side and another frozen lagoon on the other. Several miles later they crossed the Solomon River. Lainey was careful to keep to the marked trail here. Visibility was decent enough but the driftwood barrier between the beach and sea was breached because of the river mouth here. If she were to get lost and head out onto sea ice, this would be the place to do it.
Safely past, they continued onward. The wind lightened more and Lainey took the opportunity to grab a snack while she could. She watched as they neared the Bonanza Ferry Bridge where the Nome-to-Council road met the mainland from the spit she traversed. Somewhere north of the bridge was the Last Train to Nowhere, a series of steam locomotives rusting away after their heyday in the early 1900's. In the dark, her head lamp did not shine far enough to illuminate them.
Then they jumped onto the road which was bare gravel in places due to the winds. She grinned, knowing they were close to Safety, in more ways than one, and urged her team to stay on the shoulder and follow the tracks of other mushers. What wind there was now flew up her back, relieving them from the constant cross breeze that had threatened to knock them down.
The next ten miles were a cinch compared to the previous forty. Up ahead was a bridge that lead into Safety, but the trail dropped down to the left. From there it rose and deposited Lainey and her team at what looked like a warehouse on the other side.
They had made it to the Safety checkpoint.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
"ONE OH FOUR and forty-eight seconds," the checker said, marking the time on her clipboard. "You look like you've been sitting in a freezer for the last six hours. How's the trail?"
"Not too bad for the most part," Lainey said, signing in. She had to pull her face mask off to talk, and it crackled with frost. "But the wind's blowing fierce on the third ridge and on the trail between the cabins." She opened her sled bag for the mandatory inventory and grabbed a bag of moose liver treats for her team.
"Visibility bad?"
"Surprisingly, no," she said. She waited for the veterinarians to finish checking her team. "On Topkok it was bad, but not on the coast."
The checker nodded. "Good. I'll radio that back to White Mountain then. Maybe you won't be the only lucky one tonight. We had a couple of mushers pinned at the Kennel Club cabin for a few hours yesterday."
Lainey followed her normal procedures - feeding, massaging, salving, and putting on fresh booties. When she returned to her sled, she donned the racing bib she had started with. The rest of her gear went into three piles; one to keep, one to discard, and one to ship back to the kennel. She was only twenty-two miles from Nome and the less weight she carried, the better.
Once everything was divvied up, put into shipping bags or piled in the donations pile by the checkpoint entrance, Lainey carefully inventoried what remained. The packet of promotional materials and her mandatory gear stayed with her. She kept only one of the coolers, the one with the team's next meal soaking, and left both of the cookers and their pots to be returned home.
Again she checked the demanded gear. She had heard of mushers forgetting their axe or the promotional items having to turn around and mush back to pick it up. No way was she going to give someone else the opportunity to pass her. She sat on the edge of taking the Rookie of the Year award and any backtracking she did would handicap her.
Finally satisfied, she checked out of Safety and headed for Nome and Scotch.
The trail stayed with the road for half the stretch and the wind remained at her back. A lot of snow machine traffic during the winter kept the snow packed here and the going was one of the easiest sections Lainey had seen in a while. It was not as featureless as the path to Shaktoolik had been, for which she was grateful. An easy trail that did not involve mind numbing boredom was always a good thing. Occasional areas of construction spiced things up and her team veered past berms and dipped into the infrequent ditch, but otherwise it was smooth mushing.
Ten miles passed quickly before the trail slipped off the road and onto the beach. For the first time in days, Lainey began to see signs of living human beings on the trail. Headlights from a car moved slowly on the road she had just left, pacing her run as she crossed snow covered sand. She wondered if it was a press car or an avid fan. At this early hour it could be no one else.
The car followed the road for the next five miles of her trek. Then it went over a bridge while she and her team dropped down to cross the Nome River. Three more miles to go. She could almost taste Scotch, a combination of the woman's natural scent, coffee, French toast, and syrup. Lainey swallowed. Nearly there.
Radio towers loomed to her right, their warning lights blinking, and the car on the road continued to pace her. She heard snow machines buzzing in the distance, coming closer as volunteers came out to check on her. A stupid grin crossed her face and her dogs echoed her sentiment, tails wagging and a frisky edge entering their steps. Her three trash talkers - Chibee, Montana and Himitsu - began yipping at their approaching company and the team picked up some speed.
"Almost there, guys!" Lainey called as she saw the lights of the first snow machine.
Two of the vehicles approached, each carrying two people who waved at Lainey. She waved back and they swung around to tail her. She was glad they stayed well enough back to not over excite her dogs. Chibee looked like he was ready to make an escape attempt and run with the newcomers rather than his team.
The car on the road slowed to a stop and the trail took a sudden turn off the river and up a steep embankment. On the other side, she saw the familiar view of Front Street, the famous burled arch of the Iditarod finish line crossing the road ahead. Flashing police lights caused her to blink, used to the darkness on the trail. She verified that the car that had been following her was press by the radio logo on the door.
It felt so odd to travel down this stretch of road. A year ago, she stood on the sidelines with the racing fans and news crews, taking photos of the half crazed men and women as they pushed their dogs and themselves to the limit for . . . what? A chance to torture themselves for ten to sixteen days and a thousand miles of deprivation? Ill equipped for the cold, freezing her ass off, Lainey had spent the entire time thinking the people here were loony while she daydreamed of a Mexican Caribbean gig.
The thought of an assignment on a tropical beach caused her to break out in a sweat.
She laughed to herself as she directed the team to the shoulder of the road. Here the snow did not cover the pavement but there was some on the sides to save her plastic runners. Not that it really mattered with only a couple of blocks to go. Shredded runners were the least of her concerns; it was an automatic gesture from months of running dogs.
The lights of the police escort faded behind her as she entered the barricaded chute. Even with it being the wee hours of the morning, people crowded the sidelines, yelling and cheering her on. Flash bulbs went off from all along the route, concentrated around the area reserved for press and she wondered if Howry was there. Would Scotch be here? Did anyone tell her she was coming in?
"Trace! Montana!" she yelled, hoping they could hear her over the mass of humanity waving their arms and calling to them. "Let's go home!"
Twelve hours after hanging up the phone, Scotch nursed a cup of coffee at the small Iditarod convention center. The place was open twenty-four hours a day while the race was on and the only place open at this hour. In fact, it looked like an overgrown checkpoint more than anything else. The double statistic board hung against one wall showing current times in and out of the checkpoints and the list of mushers who had completed their runs. Two large coffee urns squatted on a table joined by a more svelte pot of hot water and surrounded by packets of creamer, sugar, tea, and hot chocolate. Two tables had been crammed together in one corner, containing the nerve center of the Iditarod - ham radios and three telephone lines. Several smaller tables and chairs scattered across the rest of th
e room with volunteers, veterinarians, and fans awaiting the next musher into Nome.
She shared her table with Howry and Miguel, who had left the running of the kennel to the neighboring Schrams while he awaited the Fuller mushers at the finish line. After a week and a half on the trail, Howry looked bedraggled and grizzled. In comparison, Miguel was more animated, his beard well trimmed and minus the extra baggage under his eyes. Even Scotch was more alert than Howry, who had just come in that afternoon. High winds and threat of a blizzard had canceled his bush flight back to Nome and he had been forced to sit out the last few days as a volunteer at one of the checkpoints.
Scotch thought he was more angry at missing her finish than anything else, since the Cognizance story was assigned to him. He had spent the afternoon tracking down amateur photographers in an attempt to buy a picture of the finish instead of sleeping. She had consoled him with being able to catch Lainey's arrival on film. Strauss had called from White Mountain to say there would not be a flight in until morning due to high winds. Somewhat mollified, Howry had dragged his butt out of his hotel and now drowsed at the table, a mug of hot chocolate at his elbow.
A battery operated radio sat on the table between them, tuned to the Iditarod update frequency. Lainey had been spotted on the trail outside of Nome, moving at a good clip according to reports. In between mentions of her location and appearance, the reporters in the car chattered about her non-existent history of mushing and what they knew of her training. Scotch's name was mentioned fairly often, which brought the conversation to her third place win scant seconds before Drew Owens the day before. Then Lainey would navigate a pile of brush or move far enough ahead for another remark about her, and the entire thing would start over again.
It had been days since they had seen each other, and Scotch was feeling the withdrawals. She had come in almost a full day and a half earlier. After cleaning up and sleeping ten hours, Scotch had a huge steak dinner. With those needs met, she had spent the last day feeling empty. Now that she was not on the trail, there was nothing to distract her from the yearning.
How did Lainey get so strong a hold on her? What could become of them? Lainey would recuperate from the race, pack up her things and Scotch would be back to living alone.
Funny how that seemed so vacant now. It was less than a year ago that she had held reservations about sharing her cabin with a stranger. Now she did not want Lainey to leave her with the solitude, something Scotch had always treasured. Despite the heaviness trying to weigh her heart down, she hoped Lainey would stick around for at least a couple of weeks. And maybe she could come visit some time.
Scotch was not looking forward to summer.
The siren had already sounded once when Lainey was five miles minutes away. The radio announced she was almost to Front Street, interrupting Scotch's brooding on a future that would never take place.
She shoved Howry in the arm to wake him. "Come on. She's almost here." She did not wait to see if the men followed, pulling her parka over her head as she dashed for the door.
It was nearly three in the morning and very cold. Scotch pulled up her hood and snugged it tight, muscling her way toward the finish line. Even with the early hour, the sidewalk began filling with others who had been listening on the radio. This far along in the race, many of them would have been asleep, but this was the first rookie arrival and merited more attention than most.
By virtue of who she was - the trainer of the incoming musher and owner of the dogs arriving - Scotch was able to get right up to the finish line and out onto the street to help stop the team. Her appearance was fortuitous. Just as she stepped out onto the trail, Lainey's team came up from the river and hit the street.
Scotch's heart beat triple time at the sight of her even though she could barely make out who was on the sled at this distance. The parka and sled bag were familiar, though, and she felt a smile light up her face. Those dogs were familiar, too, and she shook her head in amazement. Montana in the lead and Bonaparte still with the team. Scotch would never have gotten that mutt to accept the harness for this long.
It seemed like seconds flashed by and then Lainey's dogs passed the finish line. Several volunteers reached out to stop the team before they kept going down the road. Scotch was supposed to do the same, but she completely forgot the animals as she made her way toward the musher.
"I made it!" Lainey yelled at her, trying to be heard over the applause and cheers. "I made it!"
"You made it!" Scotch agreed, picking her up in a hug. They were joined by Miguel and an exuberant Howry, the four of them dancing next to the sled with everybody watching.
Over the sound system, a race official announced, "Arriving in twenty-fourth place, Number Four, rookie Lainey Hughes for Fuller Kennels, two fifty-five am and twenty-three seconds."
More cheers and applause drowned out the speaker and he had to yell through the microphone to be heard. "Congratulations, Miss Hughes! You're no longer a rookie, you're a veteran, and you've won the Rookie of the Year award!"
Scotch ignored the words, ignored the slaps on Lainey's back from her well-wishers. She kept a tight hold on Lainey, basking in the contact, enjoying what could only be a brief and intense connection.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
SCOTCH EASED THE bedroom door closed, glad she had the foresight to oil the creaking hinges before Lainey arrived. The room was dark as she stood there waiting for her eyes to adjust. Not too dark, though, as a dull light glowed around the edges of the curtains. The clock on the night stand said it was mid afternoon. Lainey made an enticing lump in the center of the mattress, and Scotch heard a gentle burr coming from the general direction of the pillows. Lainey never admitted to snoring, which did not upset Scotch. She thought it was cute; at least it was never loud enough to be obnoxious.
It had been taken a superhuman will to stay away this long. Once Lainey had finished checking in, she had mushed the team to the dog lot with Scotch and Miguel in the sled. Miguel took over handling the dogs, effectively chasing Lainey away when she tried to intercede. Scotch walked her back to the truck she had borrowed from her friends and whisked Lainey away. Lainey was introduced to her hostesses, stuffed to the gills with a good country breakfast, and sent to the showers. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, smelling of lavender, she could barely keep her eyes open.
Still tired from her time on the trail, Scotch happily joined Lainey in their bedroom. Cuddling with the smaller woman was a balm to her doubts and insecurities, and her worries about their future faded away. In no time, the exhausted Lainey fell asleep, Scotch soon following her.
Hunger drove Scotch out of the warm blankets a few hours later. When she had eaten, she forced herself out of the house, borrowing Beth's truck to get to the dog lot and check both teams. She had to admit, Lainey had done her proud. Not only had she won the Rookie of the Year award, but she had done a spectacular job with her dogs. All of them appeared happy and healthy and glad to see her. Except Bonaparte, of course. He gave Scotch the cold shoulder and kept scanning the handlers in the dog lot. She had the distinct impression he was looking for Lainey, as absurd as that sounded.
With her obligations met, she returned to the house to torture herself while Lainey slept. As much as she wanted to wake her and show her exactly how much she had been missed, Scotch sat in the living room with Beth and her partner, Wanda, discussing the race with a few of their friends who had come over. After the hundredth time of staring wistfully down the hall, Wanda plucked the coffee cup from her hand and shooed her off.
Now Scotch stripped down to her t-shirt and panties before crawling under the covers. Lainey was sleep-warm and cozy, and Scotch sighed as she fitted her body to the smaller woman's. Lainey mumbled in her sleep and stirred, turning to snuggle closer. Smiling, Scotch adjusted herself to accommodate until they lay wrapped about each other.
She was not tired, but closed her eyes anyway to better enjoy the feel of Lainey's arms and legs entwined with hers. This was the place
to be, the rightness of their proximity overriding the reality of the situation. Lainey only wore a camisole and panties, and Scotch ran her palm along the bare arm. A smile curled her lips when Lainey hummed in sleepy response and sighed.
The temptation was too great. Several months spent necking on the couch in the cabin but sleeping in separate beds took their toll. Scotch slipped past Lainey's arm, caressing her shoulders and neck with a firm hand. Lainey's mumble encouraged her further, and she slid down to touch the bare skin of her lower back where the camisole had ridden up. It was a simple maneuver to slide beneath the waistband of her panties and explore previously untouched territory.
Well, not necessarily untouched. McGrath had given them both the opportunity to roam where they had not been before. The memory fired her already smoldering desires.
"That feels good," Lainey murmured.
"You're awake," Scotch said needlessly. Her touch became a little more forceful as she cupped the rounded flesh and gave it a gentle tweak.
Lainey chuckled, her lips finding Scotch's pulse point. "Mm hmm," she said, bringing her leg up to cross Scotch's torso. "In more ways than one."
Pleased, Scotch rolled onto her back, taking Lainey with her. Both her hands were free and while one remained where it was beneath Lainey's panties, the other crept up beneath the camisole. Her fingers brushed scar tissue and she examined the feel of the thick skin there, not shying away from the damage. She loved everything about Lainey, even this, and she wanted to get that point across.
Lainey shifted until she straddled Scotch's hips and pushed herself into a sitting position. The blankets fell away and she drew her camisole over her head, pausing to grind herself once against Scotch's belly before tossing the material to the floor.
Broken Trails Page 36