"Regardless of the vote, you are the most affected,” Helen said. "If you don't want to go through with it, that's that.”
Scotch scanned the people around the table. Her parents remained carefully neutral. In her arms, Bon clapped twice at the expectant feeling in the air, then made a dive for a slice of bacon still on the platter. She got it for him, and he succumbed to quietly nibble the meat. Irish watched with wide blue eyes, twirling a lock of strawberry hair with one hand.
It was Rye who gave her the answer. He all but yelled at her to accept the proposal with his expression. Still too young to run the Iditarod, he had placed well in the Junior Iditarod the previous two years, and was heavily involved with the Junior Alaskan and Sled Dog Racing Association. Any national exposure to his sister would naturally shine on him, as well.
The reporter would only be there a few months. Scotch would be so busy training through winter, she probably would not even notice the woman's existence. The payoff would mean an easy season, free from financial concerns.
"All right. Let's vote.”
“Those in favor of accepting Miss Hughes' offer?” Thomas asked.
Everyone around the table raised their hands except Bon. Seeing the movement, he grinned and waved his half-.eaten bacon, almost swatting Scotch in the head.
"Whoa there!" she said, laughing with her family as she ducked out of the way.
"You'd better put that thing away before you poke an eye out.”
"Poke, poke!" Bon crowed at the attention.
“Meeting adjourned,” Thomas said, standing. "I'm going to call that reporter, and give her the good news.”
Scotch watched him leave. Bon demanded down, and he slid out of her lap. Everyone else took her father's lead, and stood. Chores needed doing, even on a fine Sunday morning. As she helped finish clearing the table, Rye leaned close, his voice low.
"You won't regret it, sis. This is a hell of an opportunity for you.”
She risked a glance at their mother when he cursed. ‘mind your tongue or Mom's going to cut it off.”
He grinned impishly, and sauntered away with a handful of plates.
Watching him, she hoped he was right.
CHAPTER FOUR
End of June
SCOTCH STARED NERVOUSLY at the airstrip before her, tapping a staccato on the steering wheel in time with a bluegrass tune on the radio. The June morning had dawned beautifully, the temperature sitting at a balmy fifty-eight degrees. It was expected to reach sixty-five before the day was through, a perfect day to welcome a pair of newcomers.
Over the last three months, her father had remained in close contact with the reporter, Lainey Hughes. Or was it the other way around? She seemed to call the house fairly regularly to discuss the best time to arrive, what sort of clothes to pack, and other particulars with the senior Fuller. In May, Lainey had also added another photographer to her entourage, increasing the Fuller population by an additional body. Rye was still not allowed to move into his unfinished cabin, as much as he tried to change his mother's mind. Instead, another bunk had been added to the handler's cabin where Miguel Sanchez, the kennel's sole employee, resided.
Scotch wondered why the woman needed a cameraman when she was an accomplished photographer in her own right. A quick search on the Internet had provided a wealth of information on the mysterious reporter. Scotch found her body of work fascinating. Early in her career, Lainey had spent time in Africa, covering a civil war in Rwanda. Her photos of the atrocities between the Hutu and Tutsi people eventually helped convict the prime minister for war crimes, and made her career. From there, she wandered the globe, following wars and military coups. The scenes she revealed to the world showed the true brutality of war, fresh corpses and celebrating radicals. They also highlighted the humanity. Scotch's favorite was one of a Middle Eastern boy, maybe five or six years old, playing in the dusty street before a bombed out building. She liked it so much, she had the image printed up and framed. It sat in her cabin on an end table.
Lainey had been wounded in Kosovo, though all Scotch could find was that she had been shot. After a year of nothing, the photojournalist returned to work. Instead of war, this time, she focused her lens on nature. She still traveled extensively, but seemed to avoid the hot spots of the world. Scotch could not blame her; being shot must have been a terrifying experience.
The extensive research did not calm Scotch's nerves, though. She continued to be leery of having a stranger live with her. Scotch enjoyed her solitude. When she had moved out of the main house and into her cabin five years ago, it had been wondrous not having to share the space with her little sister. Attending the college based in nearby Anchorage, she had taken online and correspondence courses, never having to resort to a dorm or roommates. This would be an alien experience for her, and she did not know how she would handle it.
Scotch's ears picked up the sound of an engine. She turned off the radio, and leaned forward to peer out the windshield, trying to locate the airplane. It cut into sight, emerging from the tree line on her left. The tiny plane swung around, lining up with the rudimentary runway as it approached. There was just enough clearance for it to land, leaving little room to taxi, and it halted no more than fifteen feet away from her. As the motor shut down, she got out of the truck, to lean against the side panel with one hip.
The door popped open, and a stool plunked beneath it to accommodate a gruff man in coveralls. He clambered out of the plane, spying her. With an exuberant wave, he marched toward her. “Scotch! How the hell are you?”
Grinning, she met the pilot halfway, giving him a hug. "I'm doing great, Cliff. You?”
"Been better,” he confided. “These old bones are acting up. And Delores in threatening to quit on me.”
She looked properly horrified, though he said the same thing every time she saw him. "No way! Delores loves you. It'll be a long time before her wings are clipped.”
He eyeballed the small charter plane. The only section of its hull that did not appear banged or scraped was a carefully painted pin up girl by the pilot's seat. She wore a skimpy red dress, and smiled coyly at her admirers. "You think so?”
"Guaranteed.”
Cheered, Cliff's gaze shifted to the two people unloading luggage and gear. “That little girl there says she's doing a big magazine article on you this year. That true?”
Scotch blushed. "It's true. We're hoping to get a national sponsor out of the publicity.”
He nodded in agreeable contemplation. ‘sounds like a plan. Hope it works out for you.”
His tone rang with uncertainty, catching Scotch's attention. "You think it won't?” she asked, lowering her voice.
Sucking his teeth, Cliff said, "I think it can go either way. She seems a bit high maintenance to me.” He chuckled, and nudged a now worried Scotch with his shoulder. "But don't mind me; I could be wrong. If I could judge women as well as airplanes, I'd be married by now.”
She laughed with him, stowing his reservations for later perusal. The reporters finished unloading the plane, and she stepped forward to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Scotch Fuller. Welcome to Alaska.”
"It's nice to finally meet you,” the woman said, offering her hand. She stood a few inches shorter, her curly dark hair cut short, and shot through with threads of silver. Scotch knew from her research that she was only six years younger than the reporter, and found the premature coloring of interest. "Obviously, I'm Lainey Hughes, and this is my associate, Don Howry.”
"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fuller.”
Hands were shaken, and Scotch offered to take one of the bags. She had the weirdest sensation that she had met Lainey before. Her father had said that she had covered the last race, so maybe that was the connection. "Call me Scotch,” she instructed, leading the way to the truck. ‘since you'll be with us a while, no reason to not to be an a first name basis.”
With Cliff's help, they loaded the bags into the back of the truck. He declined an invitation to the kennel for coffee, b
ut gratefully swapped his thermos with Scotch's. Soon he was back in his plane, cranking it up for the trip back to Anchorage. They watched as he turned Delores around, and took off, the landing gears just barely missing the tops of the trees at the other end of the airstrip.
Left alone with the strangers, Scotch sighed and forced a smile. "Let's get you back to the kennel, and settled in,” she said, opening the truck and folding the seat back. "I've only got jump seats here. It's kind of small, so maybe Lainey should take the back.”
“That sounds fine.” Lainey smiled, and stepped forward as Howry went around to the passenger door.
Still holding the seat out of the way, Scotch leaned back against the door hinge to give Lainey room to climb inside. She could not help but notice the snug fitting designer jeans, and a light scent of perfume. Shaking her head, she waited until Lainey folded down the seat behind Howry, and settled in the cramped space before clambering into the truck.
Soon they were on a paved rural road, heading into the village she called home. The silence was unnerving to Scotch. While she could see Howry with her peripheral vision avidly soaking up the sights of small town Alaska, she swore she felt the eyes of Lainey staring at her. A quick glance proved her instincts correct as the photojournalist looked away. Scotch, somewhat out of her element, reddened at the intensity of Lainey's expression, and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Lainey cleared her throat. ‘so, how long have you been driving dogs?” she asked.
Scotch grinned, welcoming the distraction of dog talk. "Almost twenty years.” At the abrupt quiet, she regarded her passengers, noting Howry's puzzled look and Lainey's expression of denial. ‘my parents started the kennel when I was two. As soon as I could stand and hang on alone, I was on a sled.”
"Wow,” Howry said. ‘sledding as long as you've been walking. That's cool.”
She negotiated through the small town, driving automatically. "I only had one dog for a team, of course, but it was a beginning. My brother and sister started the same way.”
“That would be . . . Irish and Rye?” Lainey asked.
Scotch nodded, turning off the road and onto a hard packed dirt lane. "Irish is nine; she's up to ten dogs now. And Rye runs a full load.”
"Interesting names,” Howry said, hinting for more information.
Chuckling, Scotch said, “Talk to my dad. He loves telling the story.”
"I will,” Lainey responded, her voice soft.
Scotch looked sharply over her shoulder, not certain what she thought she would see. Lainey merely smiled back at her. Turning back to her driving, she wondered why the woman unsettled her so.
Deep in her thoughts Scotch did not catch Howry giving Lainey a raised eyebrow. She returned a warning look, not quite sticking her tongue out at him, though she did give his seat a slight nudge. He slid his eyes back to the scenery.
Her sexual interests were no mystery to the man; they had worked together in South America once. Two months of close association left little in the way of secrets. By the time they returned to the states, they were old hands at discussing the topic of bringing a woman to climax, bragging about their abilities and sharing techniques.
Watching Scotch's profile, her libido kicked into overdrive. Her masturbatory fantasy of the last three months sat merely inches away. Good God, how was she going to survive this? What ever possessed her to pitch this idea in the first place? Lainey's sudden rush of nerves unsettled her. She had never felt this way about any woman she was interested in.
Scotch held an unconscious beauty. She needed no makeup, and apparently did not wear any. Her nose was lightly crooked, and Lainey wondered if it was natural or the result of a break. Otherwise her features were flawless. Scotch's skin was tanned with a light brushing of freckles across her nose. It was not as weathered as when Lainey had first seen her, but back in March, Scotch had just come off the Iditarod trail. Tawny golden curls stuck out haphazardly from beneath a cream-colored baseball cap, curling at the nape of her neck. Lainey was hard pressed to not reach over and finger the tresses.
Her perusal was interrupted by a growing cacophony of sound, distracting both she and Howry. Scotch drove the truck down a driveway, past a sign welcoming them to Fuller Kennels. Hours of operation were posted there, and Lainey wondered why. She made a mental note to get a picture of the sign, focusing her attention on the nearing buildings.
The drive was a huge loop, with a central rest area holding a smattering of wooden chairs and a stone barbecue grill. A station wagon with Virginia license plates sat in a rudimentary parking area to the left, the back piled high with camping gear. Two log buildings were central to the drive, one with a rustic wooden sign proclaiming the Fuller Veterinarian Hospital. That would be why there were hours of operation, of course.
Lainey identified the noise as several dogs barking in excited welcome.
Scotch grinned as she parked in front of the second cabin. "Don't worry. The dogs only make that kind of racket for our dog trucks. They won't wake you up for everything on wheels that passes by.”
“That's a relief,” Howry said, opening his door. "I need my beauty sleep.”
"I'll say.” Lainey grinned, unrepentant at her dig.
The canine enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. She took Scotch's hand to steady herself as she climbed out of the truck. A shock traveled up her arm at the touch, and she quickly drew away, lest she follow her body's natural instincts. Lainey promptly began fishing for the luggage in the bed of the truck, receiving another questioning look from Howry. She ignored him. Now was not the time to get into a discussion of what was going on with her. It was bad enough the head honchos at Cognizance had altered her plan, thereby insuring she would have a colleague witness her foolishness. She did not need to give him any more ammunition than necessary.
Scotch said, "We'll wait until after lunch to get you settled in.” She hefted a duffel bag with ease, and clambered up the steps of the cabin, setting it near the front door. "In the meantime, let's leave your stuff here, and I'll take you on the guided tour.”
"Guided tour, huh?” Howry asked, dropping a suitcase on the porch. “That sounds like you do it regularly.”
"We do,” she said. She relieved Lainey of a full sized backpack, an expression of surprise flickering on her face as she noted how heavy it was. “Two tours a day, Monday through Friday. We also arrange day trips, overnight camp outs with the dogs, weekend excursions, and sled rides or lessons.”
"Impressive,” Lainey said. She pointed at the building they passed as they swung into the drive. "Plus an animal hospital?”
Scotch grinned. "Yeah. That's my mom's. She takes care of all the dogs here, and is a volunteer vet for the Iditarod.”
Howry, his camera already in hand, fiddled with a lens as he eyed Lainey with a cocked brow.
She realized she was staring at Scotch with more than average interest, and quickly dissembled.
The cabin's screen door burst open, a welcome distraction for Lainey, and two bundles of energy rolled out, one human and one canine.
"Dey here! Dey here!"
Scotch scooped both of them up in an effort to contain the potential disaster. Only then were they still enough for Lainey to register what they looked like.
Hefting the child, Scotch said, "I'd like to introduce you to Bon, my youngest brother.” Turning slightly to indicate the puppy, she continued, "And this is Aphrodite.”
Lainey reached out and shook Bon's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you.” The boy extended a bashful smile, and she grinned as he clung to his sister. There was no doubt they were related; both had wavy golden hair, though his coloring was much lighter. Hearing a shutter click, she saw Howry taking a picture.
"Oh, watch out,” Scotch warned, setting her burdens down. "He's a major ham.”
Bon laughed, and bustled to the screen door, throwing it open. "C'mon, Aph'dite!" The pup gamboled forward, tail wagging eagerly, and they disappeared inside.
Chuckling, Scot
ch stared after them as she removed her ball cap to run her hand through her hair. Lainey wondered if it felt as wonderful as it looked, mesmerized until Howry bumped her from behind. She gave him a quick glare, knowing she would have a lot to explain the next time they were alone.
Breaking the silence, she smiled brightly. "Well! How about that tour?”
He snorted at her, but followed Scotch's lead as she headed down the steps and around the cabin.
What was it they said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Lainey did not know if she had grown more interested about Scotch over the last three months as she planned this excursion. Her attraction was just as strong as it had been the minute she had first laid eyes on the musher. It seemed as if the intrigue was much stronger in Scotch's presence than when Lainey was in New York. At least there she could fool herself into believing this was all a legitimate gig with a little eye candy to stimulate the senses. Here in Scotch's presence, everything quadrupled.
She dearly hoped constant contact would break her of this infatuation.
"Lainey? You coming?”
Startled from her musing, she waved at Scotch, noting the guarded expression in her eyes. Small wonder, since Lainey was acting bizarre, even in her estimation. She trotted down the steps to join them.
CHAPTER FIVE
SCOTCH LED THEM around the side of the cabin on a gravel path. Instead of a traditional back yard, complete with manicured grass and rose bushes, the bed of rock opened up before them, encompassing most of the available area. The cabin had a raised deck attached where Bon played with his canine goddess and two other puppies. A handful of out buildings and what appeared to be a carport peppered the expanse, though the covered concrete section did not seem accessible to a vehicle with the clutter of equipment there. Two large kennels held a handful of dogs receiving cautious attention from a family of four.
Beyond them, Lainey saw the dog yard. She was amazed at the sheer number of animals, having never seen so many at once. No, she corrected herself. She had seen many more during the race in March. What she had not been prepared for were the neat rows of wooden houses, each with a dog chained nearby. Lainey immediately wondered how this could be healthy for the animals. Literally kept chained, she noted some sleeping in the sun. Others played enthusiastically with toys or bones, and a few stood atop their homes, tails wagging as they yipped for attention from the people in the yard. They hardly appeared to be abused.
Broken Trails Page 3
