Winter Dreams

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  He took her hand and led her onto the floor. In an old-fashioned gesture, which brought a smile to her face and a wonderful warmth to her breast, he bowed to her. Then he raised one of her arms over her head.

  "To the winner of the Northshore Race," he called to the crowd. As the clapping and cheers spread through the room, he folded her into his arms and began to dance.

  She felt as though she were made for his arms, but she'd felt that way every time he held her. They glided across the floor, matching step for step, and it was a slower version of the wild and beautiful rides behind her dogs. On the trail she felt alone with nature and her dogs, an addicting feeling she treasured. Here in Sandy's arms she found the same type of addiction, and the rest of the room receded to the fringe of her consciousness, then completely out of her awareness.

  He gazed down at her face, his eyes deep blue and caressing. His thumb stroked the tender skin on the inside of her right wrist, and she inched her other hand up on his shoulder until her fingers tangled in his hair. It was as though a cocoon surrounded her and Sandy alone, separating them from the entire rest of the world.

  A shrieking woman's voice shattered the cocoon.

  "There he is! Arrest him! Now!"

  Sandy halted abruptly, and the waltz ended in a few raucous chords from the band. Laura whirled to see the woman who had been at the hearing in Grand Marais — Tracie's grandmother — standing on the edge of the crowd, her finger pointing at Sandy and her eyes gleaming malevolently. Behind her stood two men in policeman uniforms.

  "What's going on here?" the mayor blustered. "You're interrupting our celebration."

  Elvina Dyer turned on him with a malicious glare, and her husband stepped out from behind the policemen. "We have a perfect right to be here and have the police take that man into custody," George Dyer said. "We appealed that asinine ruling the judge in Grand Marais made, and a higher court judge here in Duluth issued a warrant to take this man into custody until he examines things himself. He agreed we didn't want to take a chance on this man fleeing again with our granddaughter, as he did once already."

  "And as soon as he rules in our favor, we're going up to that backwater town to get our granddaughter," Elvina snarled. "Take him to jail. Now!"

  She pointed at Sandy again with one hand and shoved at one of the policemen with the other. The policeman had a pained look on his face, but he shrugged and moved forward.

  "Sorry," he said in an undertone when he approached Sandy. "She's a harridan, but they do have a warrant."

  Laura moved in front of Sandy, but he pushed her aside. "Don't get yourself in trouble, Laura," he said through gritted teeth, his tone of voice a contradiction to his gentleness when he moved her away from him. "There's nothing you can do."

  "The hell there isn't," she muttered. "You watch me!"

  "Don't," he ordered. "This isn't any of your business."

  Distress flared through her, so deep she gasped with the hurt, and she searched his face in amazement. How could he hold her so close — so lovingly — just a minute ago and now tell her to stay out of his business? As if she were some stranger on the street?

  Suddenly it dawned on her what he was trying to do. For one thing, he was embarrassed. Who wouldn't be? The policeman pulled out a pair of handcuffs, and Sandy closed his eyes as he held out his hands. But mostly he wanted to protect her, Laura realized. He evidently thought the Dyers were dangerous people, since they had the power and influence to get a judge to look at possibly overruling Judge Barstow's decision.

  She glared across the room at Elvina and George Dyer. Well, she thought, feeling the anger in her eyes wave across the room and settle on the two of them, Dyers, meet Goodman. I have a hunch you might be out-powered here, because Katie always told me good will win out over evil.

  Elvina Dyer seemed to sense Laura's glare, and their gazes locked for a second. A touch of fear or uncertainty — Laura wasn't sure which — flickered in Elvina's eyes. When the policeman started to lead Sandy away, Laura quickly moved back to his side.

  "Just a minute, Officer," she said.

  The policeman knew her from her many visits to town, and he nodded respectfully at her. "I need to get him out of here, Miss Goodman, but you can have about ten seconds."

  She ignored Sandy's scowl and stepped in front of him, her back to the crowd and her voice low so no one could overhear. But she would make it clear to everyone watching who's side the Goodman faction favored.

  "I'm not going to stay out of this, Sandy. If you can't take my assistance as that of a friend who cares about what happens to you, then take it as a boss helping an employee. Or as a part of my friendship to your sister and love for your daughter."

  "Laura," he said in a matching low voice, "I'll handle this somehow."

  "Damn your pride, Sandy Montdulac," she snarled. "Or is it your lack of trust in anyone else?" He started to say something, but she overrode his words. "This isn't the place to talk about this, so just go on and I'll do what I can to get you out of jail as soon as possible."

  "The judge won't be available until Monday, Miss Goodman," the policeman said in what she assumed was an attempt to be helpful. "But he is in town, and he lives about a block from here." He gave her the address, then continued, "But it will be an hour or two before we can even have him ready to release, what with the booking and all. You've got plenty of time to get the judge out of bed."

  "Thank you," Laura said.

  He nodded and took Sandy's arm again. For an intense moment, Sandy stared at her, his face devoid of emotion. Finally, he said, "Thanks. For Tracie's sake, I need someone with some influence to help me out."

  Laura nodded, and the policeman led him away. The crowd parted, some of the people with confused looks on their faces. Others, who had been privy to the happenings in Grand Marais, began answering questions as to what was going on. Laura knew the Grand Marais people were enjoying being the center of attention as they spread their knowledge, and she made a quick decision not to quell their doing so. Sliding to the side of the room, she listened for a few minutes, hearing the tide of opinion shift in Sandy's favor. The people were banding together against the outsiders in their midst, and on the side of a father's love for his little girl.

  George and Elvina Dyer made a few attempts to plead their own case, but soon they stomped out of the room in disgust. The chatter in the room kept everyone's attention, and Laura followed them unnoticed and at a distance. She retrieved her cloak from the coatroom off the front foyer and stepped out into the cold just shortly after the Dyers. They were standing halfway down the brick walkway, and since the Dubuque's door opened silently, they didn't observe her presence.

  "I told you not to pay that nasty little man until after he did what you ordered during that race," Elvina hissed. "Those people in there should have already been halfway on our side when we went in there."

  "I did what I could," George snarled back. "And he did part of the job. You heard about that this afternoon, when people were talking about how the race went. But he double-crossed us, and he didn't leave the evidence that pointed to that damned son-in-law of ours, so he'd be arrested. You're lucky the judge here is a reasonable man. And that I was able to make you keep your mouth shut instead of trying to bribe him. I could tell right off the bat that he wasn't the type of man to take kindly to something like that."

  "You still should have forced the police chief to arrest him this afternoon, right after he crossed the finish line."

  "You heard the chief. The mayor would have had his ass if he'd pulled something like that and marred these festivities. I had a hell of a time getting him to agree to do it during this celebration this evening. He only gave in after I told him that I'd go to the papers and let them know how he'd refused to serve a legal warrant. I told him Sandy might sneak off tonight, if he got wind we were still in town instead of back in Alaska, and I'd make a stink heard all the way to the State Capitol if that happened."

  Silence stretched for a mom
ent, then Laura heard a sniff.

  "I want my granddaughter, George," Elvina said.

  "We'll get her, my dear. Haven't I been doing everything possible?"

  "I don't know," Elvina said in a weary voice. "Sometimes I wonder what Colleen would think."

  Something sparked in Laura's mind, and she moved without examining it too closely. Pulling her light-colored shawl from her cloak pocket, she wrapped it around her neck and removed the hairpins from her hair, letting it stream down her back. Then she draped the shawl across her lower face, cleared her throat to get the Dyer's attention, and stepped down from the door stoop beneath a tree limb with beams of moonlight filtering through it.

  "I think you're a couple of fools, who don't deserve a wonderful granddaughter like Tracie," she growled, the shawl muffling her voice.

  Elvina Dyer whirled. "Colleen!" she screamed. "No! George, it's Colleen's ghost!"

  "It can't be." But George Dyer didn't step close enough to unmask Laura. Grabbing his wife's arm, he raced down the walkway and continued on down the street. The last Laura saw of the two of them, they were scrambling into a carriage parked at the end of the line waiting for the party attendees to leave. The horse took off in a clatter of hoof beats audible even where Laura stood.

  Had she not been so worried over Sandy and involved in trying to figure out who George Dyer had paid to sabotage the race — her cut harness without doubt the result — she would have laughed at them. When they gained control over their fear and had a moment to think about it, they'd come to the conclusion fairly easily that it was her and not their daughter's ghost in the moonlight. They'd seen her very clearly at the party and had to have noticed the resemblance.

  They'd also be aware she'd heard every blasted word as they rehashed their atrocious plans!

  Right now it was more important to get Sandy out of jail. She had no doubt he would be treated fairly, since she wasn't without influence in Duluth, and her support of him had been clear at the party. Frowning into the darkness, she chewed on her lip and tried to decide her next move.

  She had a sneaking suspicion who might have cut her team's harness, and if so, his confession might help her plea to the judge. If she could prove the Dyers were dishonest people —

  The door opened, and she turned to see Pete.

  "The mayor's looking for you," he said, the light from the hallway illuminating his face and his wry grin. "He thinks you might be so upset over the disruption of the celebration that you found a fainting couch somewhere to lie down on. He's searching all the bedrooms."

  "Slip back in and ask Mrs. Dubuque if we can borrow a carriage, Pete. I'm sure she'll accommodate us, so I'll meet you around back at the stables. Do you have any idea where Buck might be staying?"

  "Probably the Superior Hotel. Your father arranged for rooms for two nights for all the race participants who wanted one."

  "Let's go."

  Laura headed around the side of the house on the walkway the Dubuques' servants kept clear of snow. The stable was set back a ways from the house, and electric lights burned inside. Laura still marveled at the wonder of those lights and nagged her father every possible chance about getting electricity to Grand Marais. Stepping inside the stable door, she flipped a switch she'd seen on previous visits to the stable, where it was always possible for the young people visiting in town to borrow a horse for a ride in the country.

  A wiry little man emerged from a snug room on the side. "Miss Goodman," Shaun said. "It's wonderful to see you. Can I do something for you?"

  "Hello, Shaun. Yes, you could help. Pete's asking the Dubuque's if we can borrow a carriage, and I'm assuming they'll be agreeable. Would you get one ready?"

  "Of course."

  By the time Pete got there, Shaun had the horse hitched to the carriage. Laura climbed in and Pete jumped in beside her, taking the reins from her hands. "Dogs you know how to drive," he said in a typical masculine move. "I'll handle these horses."

  "Just get us there in a hurry, Pete. I have a feeling Buck is hiding from us because he knows more than he should about what the Dyers are up to."

  ***

  Chapter 20

  The Superior Hotel on Lake Avenue wasn't the best in town, nor the worst. Her father obviously knew the mushers wouldn't be comfortable in a luxurious setting following the race. They'd rather have a place to relax and have a few more drinks after the celebration dinner. Rather small, the hotel was neat and clean, with electric lights, like the other businesses in town. Laughter sounded in the bar set off the lobby area, and Laura glanced at Pete questioningly.

  "Knowing Buck," he said agreeably, "that's probably where he is. You stay right beside me, Laura. I don't want to end this evening fending off a drunk who wants to get his grubby paws on you."

  "Oh, masterful Pete!" Laura clasped her hands together under her chin and mischievously batted her eyes at him. "I'll have nothing to worry about as long as I'm with big, strong you. And you drive a horse soooo well."

  Pete snorted with laughter and shook his head. "All right, Laura, maybe I did sound overbearing. But the bars here in Duluth aren't like Bootsie's place back home. And I'd hate for Sandy and me to end up back in jail for fighting after we get him out. He'd cold-cock me halfway into the next county if I let some drunk lay a hand on you."

  Pete suddenly looked away from her, as though embarrassed to have said that. He took a step toward the bar, but Laura grabbed his arm. "What do you mean, Pete? I could understand if you said my father would give you what-for if something happened to me. But Sandy?"

  Pete sighed and looked back at her. "Laura, it's none of my business. Let's go find Buck."

  "Are you saying that Sandy cares for me? More than just as a friend?"

  "I don't want to talk about this, Laura."

  Tilting her head, she pursed her lips and set a fist on one hip.

  Pete shook his head. "Don't get that look, Laura. I can be just as stubborn as you, and I'm not about to turn traitor to my race. We men have a code, and it's worth my right to call myself a man to break it."

  Laura caught a twinkle in his eye and tightened her grip on his arm. "We can stand here all night, if you want. Sandy's not going anywhere until we bail him out of jail."

  "You forget. He's got his prize money. If they set bail, he can get out. But I think it's going to take a little influence to get the judge to even set bail this time of night, along with the money. And that's where you come in."

  "I might be more inclined to use my influence if you told me what you didn't want to say a minute ago," Laura lied. Nothing was going to stand in her way of getting Sandy out of jail. Nothing. And the smirk Pete gave her let her know he was fully aware she was lying through her teeth.

  "I can't tell you, Laura. You heard me. I can't tell you that, when Sandy thinks no one's watching, he looks at you like a bull moose in dire need of a tender look from a cow."

  "A moose?" Laura fumed. "You're comparing me to a moose?"

  "That's just what comes to mind when I catch Sandy pining after you," he said with a shrug. "And remember, I'm not saying this — not breaking the man code thing. I'm also not saying that those two weeks on the trail with him when you had to stay home were hell. I couldn't do a damned thing right, from digging in my snow anchor to fixing the fire for lunch. I knew he was thinking Laura does it better. In fact, once I even heard him mutter — " He mimicked a prissy voice. " — Laura would have had that fire going five minutes ago. Laura knows how to find dry wood instead of that damn damp stuff."

  With an effort, Laura kept from preening. Suddenly the simmering emotions of the last few months boiled over and hit her like a wildfire gone out of control.

  She loved him. She loved that stubborn, overbearing, independent, tender, oh-so-masculine man. That's why his barriers against her hurt so badly. Why her broken heart hadn't pieced itself back together yet.

  But if Pete were right, Sandy did care for her, yet something held him back from a complete commitment or even
a chance to explore their feelings for each other. As if she didn't already know that. Her heart sank again. That something might very well be insurmountable. It sure seemed to be so far.

  She wasn't a quitter, but how could she fight for Sandy's love if she didn't even know what the enemy was?

  "Why, Pete?" she asked in a sad voice she hardly recognized as her own. "If he cares for me, why is he so adamant about leaving Grand Marais and starting another life somewhere else?"

  "I don't know," Pete said. "There's some things even men don't tell each other. I think that's going to be up to you to find out." He winked. "And remember, we haven't had this conversation."

  She managed a half-hearted smile, and Pete shifted her hand to beneath his forearm, then started toward the bar again. The bartender glanced up, giving a start when he saw them. Laura lifted her chin, daring the man to make a remark about her presence in a male-dominated establishment, but then she noticed he was glaring at Pete.

  "Shoot," she muttered in a low voice, but nevertheless loud enough to carry to the bartender's ears. "I forgot about the prejudice against Indians in some places, Pete. If that man gives us any trouble, I'm going to have my father buy this place and fire him."

  The warning worked. The bartender studied her for an instant, fortunately taking her words to heart. He moved to her end of the bar and asked courteously, "Can I help you, ma'am? Miss Goodman, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Laura replied. "And I'm looking for one of my employees. Buck Svenson."

  "Haven't seen Buck tonight, Miss Goodman. Is he staying here with the other mushers from the Northshore Race?"

  "That's what I understand."

  "Then he might be up in his room. The hotel clerk can give you the number."

  "Thank you." Laura swept out of the bar and over to the check-in desk at the far end of the lobby. The clerk sprang to attention as soon as he saw her. A minute later, she and Pete were climbing the stairs to the second floor, where the clerk informed her Buck's room was located. She knocked on two-oh-nine and Buck's shaky voice called out, asking who was there.