Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  He dropped his head and shook it. "Trying to get you to treat a run with your dogs as only business — " He raised his head again and gazed into her green eyes. " — Is like telling a child it's too old to play, when it still enjoys its toys. I blame myself as much as you for this mess. I knew the rut was starting, and I should've been armed."

  "Well," Laura said in a dismissing tone. "Everything turned out all right this time, thanks to Buck. And we'll bring our rifles tomorrow."

  "Our?" he questioned.

  "Of course. I have my own rifles and pistols in Father's study — and a few trophies from some of the competitions at the Gun Club."

  He should have known. There wasn't anything usual at all about Miss Laura Goodman. Just then Buck stumbled to his feet, and Laura held a steadying hand out to him.

  "Are your sure you're all right, Buck?"

  "Yes'm, Miss Laura," he said emphatically. "And I'm a gonna be a lot more all right when I get that there meat back to town. Why, I can make a lot selling that there meat to Mrs. Sterling's restaurant. And what with working for you again, like we discussed while Mr. Montdulac checked on the moose, why, I'll have enough money to enter your pa's race."

  "My father's race?" Laura said. "What are you talking about, Buck?"

  ***

  Chapter 6

  By the time David pulled the sleigh up at the village hall, it looked like everyone else in Grand Marais was already there for the Commissioner's meeting. Excitement filled the air, but Buck had admitted all he'd heard was a rumor, and David insisted he didn't know any more either.

  David helped Laura to the ground, then reached for Tracie, who rode in the rear seat of the sled with Cristy and Sandy.

  "Thank you, Davie," Tracie said, patting David on the face.

  Laura smiled tolerantly. David seemed enraptured with the child. More than once she and Sandy had returned from an over-long run to find David with Cristy and Tracie, Cristy at her easel. She'd been meaning to ask Sandy's sister to paint David's portrait for a wedding present and made a note to ask about that the next day.

  Even arriving somewhat late, since they had helped Buck with the moose, Laura found seats waiting for her and her party in the front row. Having a father as one of the Commissioners had its advantages. She wouldn't have to strain to hear and miss part of the announcement. Tom frowned a little at her tardiness, but she took it in stride. When he found out what caused her lateness, she'd probably end up with a lecture, but only until his anger changed to thankfulness she hadn't been hurt. She'd handle that when it happened.

  After the disruption from Laura's arrival quieted, Tom spoke to the men seated at the front table with him. "So. Is everyone in agreement to us going ahead and checking on the cost of getting wireless service to Grand Marais? Ayes?"

  A chorus of affirmative votes came from the rest of the Board of Commissioners, and not one negative vote sounded when Tom asked. The clerk made a notation in the records, and Tom leaned back in his chair.

  "Since what I have to stay now isn't commissioner's business, I'll entertain a motion to adjourn this meeting."

  The motion passed and was duly recorded, and Tom rose from his chair. "Most of you have already heard at least hints of what my idea is. This is a small town and not much is kept secret."

  Laura stood to face him. "I've been busy training, and I only heard a rumor today about something you planned, Father. I'd very much appreciate hearing everything from the beginning."

  "I'll tell you if you give me a chance, Laura," Tom said with a tolerant wink. She blushed and sat as he continued, "It's much like the rumors say. I plan to finance a dogsled race from Grand Marais to Duluth in mid-January. I believe it will give our town a nice boost of publicity and perhaps draw some interest to us. We could use a few more business enterprises in Grand Marais."

  He picked up a stack of papers from the table. "It will be good for the Ladyslipper Landing breeding business, too, as well as the other kennels in the area."

  "What's the prizes gonna be?" someone in the audience called. "Tell us the important stuff!"

  Shaking his head, Tom handed the stack of papers to the clerk, who read the top one, eyes widening. He scurried to the first row and started passing out the flyers, and immediately the buzz in the room grew louder. Catching the excited vibes, people in the back surged from their seats to snag a flyer before it was their turn.

  Tom motioned Laura to him, pulling another flyer from his inside coat pocket. She tugged on Sandy's sleeve, and he followed her behind the table, peering over her shoulder as she read.

  "A thousand dollars?!" Laura gasped. "Father, you'll have mushers from all the way up in Canada coming down here for this race."

  "That's the idea," Tom admitted. "We want a professional race — a race with a prize that will make the entrants serious about their intents. I want you to get a taste of what's in store for you up in Alaska before you get there."

  "This should do it." Laura handed the flyer to Sandy and stared at the crowd in the village hall. "Look at those people. They're already planning what they can do with that prize money. Even the second and third prizes are substantial enough to make a huge difference in their lives."

  "We'll call it the Northshore Race, like it says on the flyer," Tom said. "I've already talked to Pete Tallwolf — told him to get with John Beargrease and lay out a route, maybe along the old mail route John ran between here and Duluth up until a few years ago when the supply ship took over the mail. I've decided to have a mandatory overnight layover halfway between here and Duluth, to make it more interesting. It won't be nearly as long a race as the Alaskan ones, but the money should make the competition fierce."

  Laura looked up at her father. "The money isn't important to me, Father."

  "No, but I know what is important to you," Tom told her. "Winning."

  ~~~

  Winning.

  A cup of coffee in his hand, Sandy stood in front of the huge windows in his living room the next morning, staring out over Lake Superior as the eastern sky lightened. Ever since his first morning in this cabin, he got up in time to catch the sunrise. The panorama over the huge lake was always awe-inspiring, yet different each morning. He never tired of it.

  Blue-black clouds interspersed the red and violet colors today — clouds which darkened with the sure sign of snow after the sun crept over the horizon.

  Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

  The adage ran through his mind while he made a mental note to pay close attention to the other warning signs prior to heading out on the trail with Laura today. Squirrels feeding long past their usual morning hours would indicate they were storing food in their nests for a snowy siege. Birds huddled in trees indicated the storm wasn't far off. Of course, there was every possibility during the Alaskan race that Laura would not only get caught in a freak snowstorm, but also encounter a full-blown blizzard. He still hadn't spent any overnights on the trail with her to prepare her for that or judge her capabilities for survival.

  Hell, he couldn't trust himself on an overnight with her — not the way he felt. Not after that devastating kiss yesterday. It wasn't an excuse for kissing her at all, but he'd lost a dozen years off his life when the moose charged yesterday. Two dozen years, with that second charge. The animal could have snuffed out Laura's vibrancy without a break in stride. Thanks to that goddamned little runt Buck, they had both lived through it.

  It was no excuse at all, either, that he'd been overwrought with relief when Laura made it through that harrowing charge all in one piece. No excuse that he'd been dreaming of her, wanting her, yearning to kiss her every time he forgot and gazed into her face instead of keeping a distance from her.

  She was engaged, and even if she weren't, he had absolutely nothing to offer her. It was as simple — and as complicated — as that.

  He had the solution to all his problems. He only had to win the Northshore Race. With careful, astute handling, even the fi
ve hundred dollar second prize could give him a start on his own business. He could leave Grand Marais and settle elsewhere, maybe even further north, where sled dogs were still an important part of the transportation business. He'd made sure most of the dogs he brought from Alaska were breeding-age bitches, so he had a good start on a kennel of his own.

  He couldn't stay here. And he had to leave before he was forced to tell Tom Goodman there was no way he could return to Alaska. No way he could take a chance on being jailed and kept there until he sent for Tracie and delivered her into her grandparents' clutches, never to see her again himself.

  His strong attraction to Laura had no future, either. She was another man's property. She was beyond his reach, even if he had any sort of faint desire to change her mind.

  Faint desire? Hell, his desire for Laura was a raging beast! His feelings went far beyond the physical attraction the first time he saw her — the dream the first night after he met her. He admired her spunk and determination. When she laughed at herself or some amusing situation, the sound cut right into his chest, settling around his heart and warming it. So tiny, yet she handled her dogs with a strength of her will and loving training.

  Spoiled? Oh, a little. How could she help it, being the only child of the richest man in the area? She expected her desires to be met, but she didn't pout and throw tantrums to get her way when they weren't. She lent a hand when needed, then took the respect and gratitude she received in stride.

  Once the sun cleared the horizon, Sandy started a pot of oatmeal for breakfast. Tracie could live on that stuff as long as she had maple syrup to stir in it, he thought to himself with a smile. For him and Cristy, he cut off several thick slabs of bacon and set the pan of biscuits Katie had sent over the day before in the oven to warm. Cristy would huff and puff, as she did every morning he beat her into the kitchen, insisting she could prepare breakfast. But he still preferred his bacon crisp, not burned.

  Despite her late night, Tracie stumbled into the kitchen at the same time as usual this morning — about the time the water boiled for the oatmeal. He picked her up for a morning hug, and she snuggled into his shoulder, all warm and mussed and smelling of sleep and little girl.

  "G'morning, Daddy," she murmured.

  "Morning, sweetheart. What are your plans for today?" he asked as usual.

  She sat up in his arms and stifled a yawn with a small fist, then said, "Davie said we could come into Gan' Mary and eat lunch today. Then Aunt Cristy can start lookin' at the lake for his picture."

  "Gan'. . . oh, you mean Grand Marais," Sandy corrected. "And what picture? Has David commissioned Cristy to do a painting for him?"

  "Huh uh," Tracie denied. "He's gonna pay her to do one for him. It's a s'prise for Laura, and he wants this special rock in it. It's where he asted Laura to marry him."

  "Asked, not asted," Sandy murmured. Hell, now he'd be looking at every rock on the damned shoreline when he went into town, trying to guess which one it was! And he had no right at all feeling this tormenting stab of jealousy!

  "We can't's tell Laura, Daddy. You 'member that."

  "I'll 'member," Sandy promised.

  The water boiled on the stove, and he set Tracie in a chair at the table. After adding the oatmeal to the water and bacon to the skillet, he stepped away. Several minutes later, Tracie tugged on his trouser leg, startling him.

  "Daddy," she said urgently. "You's burnin' the bacon just like Aunt Cristy does sometimes."

  "Oh, sh . . . uh, dang it!" he muttered. He rescued the bacon just this side of inedible and stirred the oatmeal. Cristy wandered in just then, sniffing the air. He gave her a glare, but she didn't need to say a word. Her sparkling eyes teased him with the silent message she could cook every bit as well as he was managing that morning.

  He controlled his thoughts of Laura and got breakfast on the table. Once Tracie finished her meal and left the table, he and Cristy shared a final cup of coffee while he hesitantly spoke to his sister.

  "Tracie said you were going into town with David Hudson again today."

  "Uh huh. He's asked me to do a painting for him."

  "I suppose it's all right, if it's strictly business," Sandy mused.

  Cristy set her coffee cup down and met his gaze with a bristling, defensive look. "You mean I'm spending way too much time with another woman's fiancé, don't you, Sandy? You can rest assured it's strictly business — and some friendship — between David and me. Besides, Laura's the one who keeps asking David to entertain me, and vice versa, while she spends her time out on the trail with you. I really like Laura, Sandy, but if David were my fiancé, I don't think I'd leave him all that free time to fill. Or ask another woman to help fill it for him."

  "She's got to be in shape for that race. One little misstep in a race the caliber of the Alaskan one can mean a bad injury. Even death."

  Cristy's face creased in concern. "Yes, I understand Alaska is a dangerous place in the winter." She hesitated, picked up her coffee for a sip, then continued, "Sandy, can I ask you something?"

  Her tone of voice sparked an alertness in Sandy. "You can ask," he said grudgingly. "I'm not promising to answer."

  Setting her cup down, she leaned her elbows on the table, studying him with eyes an expressive mirror of his daughter's. He could tell the instant she decided to chance her inquiry.

  "You've kept an awful lot of secrets from me since I came to live with you," she began hesitantly. "I've managed to pick up on a few things, though."

  When he glared at her, she held up one hand in a shielding gesture. "Look, I'm not the total scatterbrain you appear to believe I am. Granted, I get lost in my muse at times, but for the most part I'm well aware what's going on around me. So is Tracie. She doesn't understand a lot of what happened in Alaska, but I think I've figured out part of it from some things Tracie asked me."

  "It's nothing to concern you, Cristy." Sandy rose, but Cristy's penetrating stare changed his mind about stalking away from the table.

  "Have you drawn up guardianship papers for me to use if it ever becomes necessary for me to take over caring for Tracie?" she asked.

  Legs weak, Sandy plopped back down into his seat. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, in case you get arrested when you return to Alaska with Laura. You know as well as I do the names of the race entrants are plastered all over every newspaper in Alaska, and also down into the States. If what I've concluded is true, you can't go back to Alaska without risking losing Tracie."

  Sandy leaned his head forward, cupping it in his hands. For so long he had carried the burden of what happened after Colleen's death alone. He hadn't realized it when he first fled Alaska, but he left it for life on the run. He had no choice. It was either that or obey the Alaskan Territorial Court Order his influential in-laws had arranged — possibly by bribing a high ranking judge. It directed him to give up custody of Tracie to her grandmother and grandfather, an unthinkable surrender.

  George Dyer also carefully manipulated the accounts and loans at the bank he owned, stripping Sandy of his financial security. He couldn't fight the man without money.

  He hadn't realized how much strain constantly looking over his shoulder would be, even thousands of miles away in Minnesota. How every time he glimpsed someone who faintly resembled either George or Elvina Dyer, his heart pounded nearly out of his chest until he confirmed it wasn't either of Tracie's grandparents.

  He had also forgotten during the last few years of financial stability how hard counting every penny was. How stressful it could be wondering if his money would last until the next payday

  — stretch far enough to buy his daughter a winter jacket and keep her tummy full.

  He'd been single and carefree during his pinch-penny days, with a home he could return to if things didn't pan out. He'd waited to marry until prospects allowed him to offer a wife and family a secure future. Then it had all been stripped away from him within a matter of weeks.

  The urge to share his fear and burden with t
he little sister, who had suddenly grown up without his noticing, was so great tears stung Sandy's eyes. He didn't know how Cristy found out the details, or even if she only suspected them. Since she already knew part of it, a compelling need for her to know — and share — the rest of it gripped him.

  "You could talk to David about it," Cristy murmured when Sandy looked at her again.

  "No. No, I can't," he denied. "Hell, he's engaged to Laura, and he might feel bound to tell Tom Goodman. Then where would we be? Tom might figure since I can't live up to the agreement, firing me is the next alternative. We wouldn't have a place to stay."

  "I doubt very much that would happen, Sandy. The Goodmans are wonderful people. I'll bet they'd understand, and even help."

  "Can you bet our lives on that?"

  Cristy hesitated, then sadly shook her head.

  "Let me tell you just how serious this is, Cristy. You can't help, but at least you'll know what the situation is if Tracie needs your care more than just as her aunt."

  ***

  Chapter 7

  Cristy contemplated the information Sandy had told her over and over. At least it kept her mind off her growing attraction for David Hudson, the fiancé Laura took for granted. Not that David didn't appear just as blasé' about his end of the relationship, she reminded herself as she stood in Tom Goodman's office, studying the shoreline through the huge windows.

  She sketched a preliminary drawing for the painting David wanted in the pad propped on her easel. Insisting it was way too cold to do her initial charcoal drawings on the shore, Tom and David had gone to David's office to handle their business that afternoon, leaving Cristy in semi-privacy. Tracie, never a bother at this point in Cristy's work, sat on a rug in front of the window, playing with a set of paper dolls David had given her.

  Cristy had a perfect view of the rock David wanted in the center of his picture. Over time waves had carved a smooth shelf into the boulder, the right height for a woman to sit on. With changes in the shoreline, the boulder was now far enough back from the water to escape the spray from the waves in the summer, although ice edged the shoreline now. David assured her this huge lake never froze completely, but the harbor would be inaccessible by Christmas, barely four weeks away. By then she would be ready to paint the surrounding landscape into the picture appropriately. David told her that he proposed to Laura on Christmas Day last year, right after they enjoyed a holiday dinner at Mrs. Sterling's restaurant.