Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  He couldn't bring himself to accept the shipping position Tom Goodman offered, either. He couldn't stand to remain in Grand Marais and try to rebuild his finances, because it would take way too long to get the security he'd had before. His pride wouldn't allow him to offer Laura less, and she'd surely find someone else in the meantime. His heart wouldn't allow him to live his life somewhere he would constantly see her after she became another man's wife.

  Finally knowing he would risk frostbite if he stayed out any longer, Sandy reentered the tent. The meal still wasn't ready, and he sat on his camp stool again and pulled out a book he'd had the foresight to bring with him. He read the same page ten times before he felt he understood it well enough to turn to the next one.

  ***

  Chapter 16

  At least they had a pretty day for the start of the Northshore Race. Laura gazed at the ice-blue sky with powder puff clouds, which overlay the gay crowd and busy streets of town. Another wicked storm had hit the middle of the week, leaving high drifts behind, but the weather forecasters around the potbelly stove in the general store seemed in agreement the clear, frigid weather would hold for the race. According to the rumors Buck duly reported to Laura, that had some of the mushers grumbling. They'd hoped bad weather would make Laura shake her pretty little female head and sit the race out. Those hopes came from out-of-towners, Buck had said loyally — not locals who knew Laura's grit and determination.

  Plenty of out-of-towners were here. She'd perused the entry list the day before, finding teams from Grand Portage, Thunder Bay, and other parts of Canada. The thousand dollar prize money was more than a lot of these old trappers would earn in their entire lives, and for a while Laura felt guilty about the certainty she would be the one walking — no, mushing — away from the race with the money. Then she decided she would be foolish to pass up this opportunity for race experience, not that Sandy would allow her to do so anyway. She would donate the prize money to one of the charities in town.

  She'd done everything except carry around a ten-foot pole to measure how far to keep away from Sandy the past two or three weeks. Her heart hadn't healed at all, but perhaps she could keep it from shattering any more. Mostly she just gritted her teeth and looked on Sandy as any other man of her acquaintance.

  Huh! Tried to, anyway. On the trail she avoided his teal blue eyes and focused everywhere except on his bundled-up figure. She noticed a lot of things she never had before, like how bright the black capped chickadee's feathers looked against the snow. Pete didn't seem interested in discussing her new observations. The only times he paid attention were when they found game trails, which he could tell his brothers about in order for them to check out new trapping grounds.

  With practice she maintained a facade around Sandy, which she thought feigned appropriate disinterest in anything other than her desire to soak up his knowledge of sled dog racing. They talked without bristling or snapping at each other — as long as she remembered the ten-foot-pole distance she set for herself. Any closer, and those silken strands of yearning were almost inescapable.

  It was useless to try to distance herself from Tracie. She'd just have to endure that horrible wrench when Sandy took her away. For a while it would probably devastate Katie, too. Although the elderly woman had more experience than Laura in letting go of loved ones, Laura doubted the pain was less severe because you had experienced it before.

  Amid clusters of people and bright, multi-colored flags the Commissioners had used to decorate the streets, the tiny object of her thoughts raced up to Laura now. Laura held out her arms, and Tracie leapt into her embrace.

  "I told's Daddy I hads to come and wish you luck, too, Miss Laura. And Aunt Cristy and David are comin' over here." She shook her head. "We's all had an awful time."

  "What sort of awful time?" Laura said with a growl and a mock-fierce face. "Who's giving you an awful time? I'll go awful them right back!"

  Tracie giggled wildly. "You'd have to awful you and Daddy, 'cause it's you two givin' us the awful. We wants both of you to win the race. Oh, and Mr. Buck, too. And Pete. But it just can'ts be, can it?"

  Laura gently pinched Tracie's pert nose between her thumb and forefinger. "No, it can'ts, darling. Unless there's a four-way tie, and I've never heard of one of those in a race. There might be a two-way tie, though."

  "That don't help none." Tracie shook her head. "I can count, you know — all the way up to a hundred. A two-way tie'd still leave out two persons." She sighed dramatically. "I guess we's will just have to be happy with whoever wins."

  "Guess so, darling. Oh, I see David and Cristy coming. Where's your Daddy? He needs to line up for the start of the race."

  "He's comin', too. He don'ts like to put his dogs on the trail cold." She nodded in satisfaction at this exclusive knowledge of her father's race plans. "He gives them a little run first, then brings them to the startin' place right a'fore time for the gun to go off."

  "I'd think that would tire them right from the first," Laura mused.

  "No, it don'ts. He just takes them like 'round the block, so they get the k . . . kinks outta their legs."

  "I see." She smiled at David and Cristy as they approached. "Hello. Here to congratulate the winner before she even starts the race?"

  "Not unless you're referring to this cute little button," David said, chucking Tracie under the chin. "If she got on a sled and started driving a team to Duluth, I'll bet every one of these old mushers would pull over to the side and let her go. Then their eyes would be frozen with tears and they'd never get them open in time to catch her."

  "Why, David, how profound," Cristy said with a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a stodgy old lawyer at that."

  Laura tilted her head as she watched them, waiting for a stab of jealousy. None came, only a nice warm feeling of happiness for the two of them. She truly wished them well, and looked forward to having Cristy around for a friend.

  "It's almost starting time," David said, reaching for Tracie. "Come here, Button. Let's let Laura get ready."

  Tracie hugged her neck and whispered 'good luck' before she went into David's arms, and Laura gave her a wink. As the other teams headed to the starting line, she checked her harness. Buck and Pete halted their teams on either side of her, and her father pushed through the crowd to her.

  "I've turned the starting procedure over to Dick Berglind," he told her. "Didn't want to be accused of bias." Slipping an arm around her waist, he hugged her. "Good luck, darling. And please, be careful."

  "You've got Buck, Pete and Sandy watching out for me, Father," she said with a laugh. "How could I be anything else?"

  "Things can happen," he warned. "Just promise me."

  "I promise, Daddy," she whispered, standing on tip toe to kiss him on the cheek.

  "Listen up, everyone!" Dick Berglind shouted through a bull horn, and the crowd quieted at his admonishment. "We're drawing the numbers for the order of the race starts now. The teams will leave thirty seconds apart, and that time will be noted on Erik's high dollar stopwatch he got when he was in the Twin Cities last summer. So anyone with a gripe, see Erik after the race. The same staggered departure times will be used tomorrow morning, after the layover at the way station, but they'll depend on the time lags between the arrivals of the teams off the trail tonight. All of you get there as soon as you can!"

  Only a few chuckles sounded in the strained and waiting atmosphere. Laura had counted twenty entrants in the race, and it took Dick fifteen minutes to draw the numbers and line the teams up. She hadn't even realized she'd been searching for Sandy until he emerged from the crowd and pulled his team into the seventh position. Her own name came up for eighth, and she pulled in behind him, a good dozen feet separating them as John Beargrease indicated. The proud Ojibwa had been awarded the important position as starter's helper in honor of his work in planning the race route, and despite her nervousness, she remembered to thank him. She received a secretive wink in return.

  "My friend Pete Tallwolf
tells me the Ladyslipper Landing team is the one to beat," he said in a low voice. When she smiled back at him, he continued, "But there are three teams from there running in the race, as well as Buck's team, which might be part of your kennel. Pete didn't say which one he meant."

  Laura laughed with him, and after he walked away, she watched Sandy check his dogs' harness for a few minutes, vaguely aware of hearing that Buck drew number ten and Pete eleven. Evidently satisfied with his team's readiness, Sandy walked back to her sled.

  "Nervous?" he asked without a greeting.

  "Very," she admitted. "It's going to be extremely different competing against these strangers instead of in a friendly run against you and Pete or Buck."

  He nodded agreement. "The first thing is your safety," he reminded her, as he had at least a dozen times the past week. "Don't take any chances."

  "I understand," she said saucily. "If I die in this race, I won't have another race to prove myself in."

  A brief haggard look crossed Sandy's face, leaving his eyes dark and shadowy even when he smoothed his face into stoniness. "You could end up injured to the point where it would take you too long to heal in time to make the Alaskan race."

  She shrugged. "Since I'm not getting married this summer, there's no reason I couldn't still shoot for the following year's race. I heard you telling Father just a day or so ago that Pete's turning into a very capable trainer."

  "You be careful, damn it!" he snarled. Dropping his chin on his chest, he closed his eyes. When he looked back at her, he said "Please" in a softer voice. Then he stomped back over to his team and rechecked the harness, which she had no doubt was in the exact same shape as five minutes previously.

  Dick Berglind called number twenty and the name of the musher, and Laura walked up to Blancheur. Squatting beside him, she stroked his head. "I told everyone I wanted them to stay back during the start, Blancheur. I didn't want them distracting you and me."

  He licked her face, body quivering as though he caught her tenseness and realized this was no regular run. Sandy had reminded her it was Blancheur's first race, too, and to keep an eye on him so he wouldn't get distracted by the strange teams. His guidance would decide the actions of the rest of the team.

  "We've got a good start position," she told him. "The first two or three teams out will have problems breaking through the loose snow from the storm. I imagine the lead teams will change several times, and we'll probably have plenty of chances ourselves to break trail though. But one thing I like about you Siberian Huskies is that you're lighter than the Malamutes. If we find some windswept crusts of snow, we can probably cut off some distance by heading out over them. The Malamutes will break through easier than you dogs will."

  She'd proven that time and time again on her training runs, and Sandy had been forced to admit her choice of Huskies was valid. She also had the lightest sled possible, made from cured birch and cedar, and with her slight weight, compared to the muscular trappers on the other sleds, her team could fly across the snow.

  There were few rules in this free-for-all race, as Sandy had indicated there were in the Alaskan ones. It was every man — or woman, as the case might be — for him or herself. Anyone proven to have deliberately sabotaged or injured another driver or team would be dealt with under the same conditions as though a crime had been committed.

  Suddenly Laura realized the team ahead of Sandy had just pulled out. Concerned, excited and tense, she hadn't even heard the starter's pistol John Beargrease fired so near her. She only had sixty seconds before she would be on the trail herself, pitted against nineteen men of varying physiques and dispositions. Hurrying back to her snow anchor, she stood ready for her own name to be called. First John Beargrease moved into position by Sandy's sled, with Erik holding his stopwatch beside him.

  She fiercely admonished herself when she realized she was hoping Sandy would turn around and give her one last look. Shoot, they'd be passing each other closely on the trail, hopefully with her passing him and not relinquishing the lead — at least once they got near the end of the race.

  John Beargrease raised the pistol in the air, and Sandy turned. He gave her a thumb's up and a tentative smile. She responded with an excited wave, calling "good luck" over the pounding in her heart. He nodded and the pistol cracked. Sandy's dogs were off in a beautiful start, and John and Erik moved to her sled.

  Glancing briefly to the side, Laura saw her father, Cristy, David and Tracie all trying to be very quiet and not distract her. The hell with it. She waved wildly at them, also, then jerked her snow anchor free and laid it on the sled. When the pistol cracked for her, she called a gay "Mush! Mush!" to Blancheur and they were off.

  The first couple miles were fairly easy going, since the lead teams had broken trail. But, as she suspected, those teams soon tired and other teams were forced to take over while the initial teams rested. The first leaders would be back in contention soon, however, after restoring their strength by traveling at an easier pace.

  The word from Duluth was a clear trail for the last forty miles of the race, since the blizzard hadn't reached that far and they'd only had a few flurries the past couple weeks. Today would be rough going, but tomorrow, on the easier path, would weed out the qualified teams and skilled drivers from the lesser ones. The competition would become fiercer, she reminded herself.

  All too soon, she passed Sandy, who waved her on with a laugh.

  "Your turn," he called. "Give us a path to travel on!"

  She saluted him and went on by. Having to bound through the loose snow to break a trail for his teammates, Blancheur immediately slowed. A good foot and a half of loose snow covered the trail, the depth a distinct drawback to the Huskies. Their smaller stature made it harder going than for the larger Malamutes, and Laura quickly re-thought her race plan. She would take her turn breaking trail, of course. If not, she would risk antagonizing the rest of the mushers for not pulling her share of the trail-breaking load.

  Yet she could drop back among the laggers, if she wished, feigning lack of endurance to stay in front. That would give her fewer times to find herself in the lead and make less demands on her dogs. Tomorrow, on the easier trail and with her lighter dogs, she could take the lead and maintain it.

  She only had a slight qualm about the deceptiveness of that ploy, because there wasn't a doubt in her mind it was something every man in the race would employ if given the opportunity or the aptitude. She'd planned on winning by cutting off distances whenever possible, but this new scheme would give her both that opportunity and another advantage. Her dogs would be fresher and faster tomorrow if they endured less trail-breaking labor today.

  A strange team took over the lead when Laura pulled to the side, and she let several more teams pass before mushing back onto the trail. Pete waved at her, and she gave him a cocky smile. Buck, though, avoided her gaze, just barely nodding at her. She put his strange action down to concentration on the race and forgot about it.

  There were no requirements as to when anyone should stop and eat or feed their dogs. Any musher with any sense knew the dogs were of primary importance, and those who didn't wouldn't last the race. Laura fed her dogs lightly that morning, very early, so they wouldn't be running with full stomachs. The slow pace was good in another way, since she could pull over for at least a few minutes and give them another snack at some point, while she grabbed a bite herself.

  Katie's contribution had been a huge lunch. Not having the heart to tell the elderly lady she couldn't weigh her sled down with enough food to feed her for a week, Laura left most of it in the kennel before she headed into town. She'd stuffed a couple sandwiches inside her coat so they wouldn't freeze and be uneatable and put her supper in her pack to eat over a fire at the way station this evening.

  After a while, the slow pace also gave Laura an unanticipated problem — boredom. To her left stretched the huge lake, which she never tired of watching, but the underbrush and trees cut off her view. The dog teams, many strangers to
each other, meant there would be no wildlife, since they barked at each other and stretched their drivers' attempts at control time and time again. On the training runs her own dogs ran almost silently, as did the teams they ran with. Such was not the case in a race, she learned.

  She also learned very quickly that boredom led to complacency. Lucky for her and her dogs, she learned her lesson as a bystander, not the musher involved.

  Hearing shouts up ahead, Laura's heart pounded in fear. A moment ago she'd noticed Sandy pull up near the lead when they crossed a wide, flat expanse. Now they were in thick trees, and she couldn't see what was happening.

  Cobwebs fleeing from her mind, she shouted at her dogs to run faster.

  When she recognized Sandy's jacket and hat where he and the dogs were pulled off the trail, she sighed in relief. The teams ahead of her kept right on going, but she joined Sandy. The teams behind her, except for Pete, ignored them and kept moving.

  Sandy turned and saw her. "Go on, Laura," he called. "There's nothing you can do here."

  Disregarding his order, she hurried over to where he stood, halting abruptly when she realized they were on the edge of a cliff. Tracks from a team led over the bank.

  "Oh, no," she breathed. "Is he . . . who is it?"

  "One of the Canadian drivers," Pete told her as he stared downward. "He's not hurt, but I think a couple of his dogs

  are — "

  A gun shot sounded, and Laura clapped a hand to her mouth. A second shot rang out. She flinched and blinked away tears as the sounds reverberated through the huge trees. Suddenly a tender hand touched her shoulder and she turned to bury her face on Pete's chest.

  But it wasn't Pete. She knew the moment the arms went around her and tightened to hold her close. As much as she longed to linger in his embrace, it being Sandy holding her immediately brought back her grit. Straightening, she stepped back.