"Yeah," Sandy growled. "But your safety is a little more important than money, wouldn't you think?"
"I see," Laura mused. "I believe my father has chosen well then, since you feel that way."
"Hell, it wouldn't do my reputation as a trainer any good if you got hurt now, would it?" Sandy snarled. He expected Laura to flare back at him, but instead her face creased with concern. Whatever she was thinking, though, she kept to herself.
"You'll need somewhere to stay while you're making your decision," Laura said. "And Father said you were bringing your own dogs with you, so they'll need a kennel. Everything is ready for you at Ladyslipper Landing, if you'd like to stay there. And you can look over the facilities, which I believe you'll find more than adequate."
"The dogs will be fine in their cages on the dock, and I saw a place called the Lake Side Hotel as the ship pulled in. I very much doubt it's full, since the ship's captain told me that he seldom gets passengers for up here this late in the season."
"Suit yourself, I guess. We'll wait to hear from you."
Over Laura's shoulder Sandy caught a glimpse of a man crouched behind a bush. Enough dry leaves remained stuck on the branches to camouflage the man somewhat, but his red-plaid shirt gave him away. He dropped to his knees and inched toward Laura's sled dog, tied right behind her.
Grabbing Laura, Sandy swung her away from the dog and thrust Tracie into her arms. He ordered Laura to stay — as he would have a sled dog under his control — swiveled, and launched himself at the skulking man. The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground beneath the white Husky, a set of snarling teeth in his face and one brown, one blue eye, glaring at him. A vicious growl sounded in his ears.
"Blancheur! No!" Laura yelled. "Buck, pull Blancheur off!"
A red-plaid-sleeved arm reached for the dog's harness, and Sandy jerked his gaze away from the Husky, centering on the skulking man's rummy brown eyes. The man's lips pouted in his tobacco-stained beard, and he sniffed as though he had a cold. Astonished, Sandy realized the man was on the verge of crying.
"Here Blancheur, old boy," he said. "Get offa that there man a'fore you get me in more trouble."
"Trouble's right, Buck!" Leading Tracie by the hand, Laura stomped over beside the dog as Sandy rose to his feet. "Look, I know you like Blancheur, but I've told you before to ask permission from me when you want to say hello to him."
Buck hung his head. Thin and wiry, he wasn't much taller than Laura. His hips were almost nonexistent, and Sandy figured if he hadn't worn a pair of bedraggled suspenders, Buck's trousers would have been down around his feet.
"I know, Miss Laura," Buck said with a whimper. "But — "
Laura took a step back. "You've been drinking, haven't you, Buck? I can smell it."
"Yes, ma'am," Buck whispered. "And I knowed you wouldn't let me 'round Blancheur like that. Like you said, I just wanted to say hello to him."
The dog made his own decision. He sidled up to Buck, whining and begging for attention. Buck knelt and laid an arm around the white neck, scratching behind a pointed ear with his other hand.
"Hi, boy," he murmured.
Laura heaved an exasperated sigh, then glanced at Sandy. "He used to work at my kennels. But he got drunk one afternoon, and I came out and found him asleep, with the dogs unfed and unwatered on a hot summer day. I've since hired Pete Tallwolf, who'll be your assistant."
"I haven't agreed to take the job yet," Sandy reminded her. But though she couldn't have known it, his ending up beneath that snarling Husky had given Sandy another reason to accept the position rather than walk away from it. As he strived to hide his humiliation that a rummy drunk could approach the Husky with no problem, while it turned vicious on him, he vowed silently to dominate that animal if it was the last thing he did.
"I prefer Malamutes to Huskies," he informed Laura.
"I used to myself. But be assured, I'm well aware a team of Huskies won the last Alaskan race."
"Yeah," Tracie unfortunately put in. "Daddy was in that race. He only got second."
Ignoring his daughter's comment, which threatened to bring on another spurt of humiliation, he abruptly motioned his head at Laura's sled dog. "That animal will have to be taught obedience around me if I come to work for your kennel."
"Blancheur will learn who you are fairly quickly," Laura assured him. "Whether or not he learns to like you will be up to how you handle him. But he will obey you. I'll see to that."
"No," Sandy corrected her. "If I take the job, I'll see to that."
"Agreed," Laura said, yet again defusing his antagonism by simply refusing to rise to the bait. She told Buck she was leaving, and the little man rose, nodding to her and shuffling off. Pulling her snow anchor free, Laura up-tilted the sled. Before she stepped onto the runners, she replaced her mittens, then gathered her skirts around her waist and tied them in a knot, exposing her trousered legs.
"I will be hearing from you shortly, I assume," she said, and Sandy responded with a curt nod. She slipped Tracie a wink. "Good-bye, Tracie, honey."
"Bye-bye." Tracie lifted a hand, waving it back and forth.
A soft "mush" was all it took for Laura to get Blancheur moving. She stopped and retrieved her scattered packages on the walkway and quickly stacked them on the sled. With another quick wave back at them, she remounted the runners.
Sandy's expert eye told him that she handled the sled well, but driving one dog for a short distance was a world away from handling a full team of sled dogs day in and day out on a trail. Efficient functioning of the team could even depend on the personalities of the dogs harnessed as partners. He'd withhold his opinion until he saw her in action on a trail run.
And see her in action he would, given the fact he already knew he had no choice right now other than to accept the position Tom Goodman offered. He'd also fallen more under the spell of this area of the States the further north he came, since it reminded him a lot of his beloved Alaska. He might be able to make it as far back south as Duluth if he were extremely careful with the money he had left, but he'd be safer up here from discovery. He'd make her and her father wait at least until tomorrow, but then he'd give them his affirmative answer. By the day after that, he'd probably be harnessing up his own team and making a run with her.
She still had no damned business even thinking about participating in one of those dangerous Alaskan runs, but he very much doubted her father would let that happen. Surely Tom Goodman was just humoring his daughter, since he had plenty of money to be able to afford to do that. Surely.
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