Scotch had laid wood in the stove the night before to save time. Now she lit scraps of paper and kindling with a match, watching until she was positive the wood had caught flame. While the stove heated, she measured coffee into the percolator's basket. She pushed on the lever until water spouted from the pump and filled the coffee pot. Once it was full, she continued pumping to fill a couple of water jugs. One she poured into a large pan, and set both it and the percolator on the stove to heat. The kitchen warmed, and Scotch began to feel drowsiness return. She yawned and scrubbed at her face. Testing the pan of water, it was just hot enough for her purposes. She cast a glance at the ceiling, assessing her chances. It still did not sound like her visitor had awakened. Decided, she transferred half of the heated water into a large bowl, returning the pan to the stove. She pulled a washcloth and towel from a cabinet, and grabbed the soap from the sink. A quick sponge bath would wake her right up.
Lainey drowsed, half awake. She heard movement below her, and vaguely wondered what Scotch was doing. Her curiosity was not enough to force her to rise. Instead, she wandered the halls of her mind, memories and fancies mixing and melding with the sounds and smells from the kitchen. Scotch laughed at a joke, her face lighting up until she glowed like copper, her lips curled in invitation, her eyes beckoning Lainey to cross the kitchen table, the other people there disappearing. Lainey felt free to experience what she desired, stood, leaned across the green laminate, their lips nearing, breath mingling. What was that smell?
She became more conscious, the dream dissipating, intrigued by what her nose was telling her. Coffee. Definitely coffee. And something else. She finally moved, rolling onto her back and inhaling to identify what it was. Soap. Yes, that was it. Pleased with her deductive abilities, she drifted a little longer.
A frown crossed her face as her body reminded her how much coffee she had imbibed the night before. What had Scotch said? There was an outhouse around here, somewhere. Groaning, Lainey rolled into a ball and covered her head with a pillow. The sun teased from behind the curtain, but she did not feel rested. She did not want to get out of her toasty bed. She toyed with the idea of introducing chamber pots to Scotch, though the thought of leaving her bed for even that was not appealing.
Lainey uncovered her head. Was it early or late? It had to be late, else why was Scotch making coffee? And she thought she had heard an alarm clock. Or was that part of a dream? Her bladder became insistent, washing away any other considerations. Partially reluctant, partially in a hurry, Lainey tossed off her quilt and jumped to her feet. She rubbed her bare upper arms, resolving to sleep in her long johns instead of t-shirt and shorts as she jammed her feet into her boots. She barely registered Scotch's empty bed as she passed through, intent on relieving her demanding bodily functions.
Outside, Lainey cursed. She had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Shivering almost set her bladder to release itself as she glanced wildly about the cabin. She stumbled a few steps further from the door, relieved to see a small wooden building nearby. Thank God! She hastened toward it, the door of the outhouse slamming loud in the pre-dawn stillness as she proceeded to do her business.
If it was warmer, Lainey might have drifted off again. Her body returned to its lethargic state, her eyelids becoming heavy despite the chill invading her body. A gentle ache in her side reminded her of where she was, and she finished her task. She trudged back to the cabin, pausing on the porch to look back. Despite the vague pain in her ribs, it was kind of nice out here. She hugged herself, her fingers finding the familiar thick scar tissue beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and returned to the cabin.
It was definitely warmer in here. Lainey shivered violently at the welcome heat, standing uncertain on the landing. She heard movement, saw a shadow as Scotch moved about the kitchen. The smell of coffee was wonderful.
She followed her nose. Scotch leaned against a counter, cradling a cup, eyes closed as she inhaled the steam rising from its contents. Her tawny curls were fringed in dampness, and she smelled heavily of the soap that had roused Lainey. She wore flannel shorts and a baggy sleeveless t-shirt, her feet covered by unlaced boots. Lainey did not know which made her mouth water more, the coffee cup's contents or the sleep tousled look of her roommate. She swallowed. "Good morning?”
Scotch smiled at the sound of her voice. "Good morning.” She opened her eyes. "Coffee cups are in that cabinet. Cream and sugar containers are over there.”
“thanks.” Lainey busied herself with attaining caffeine, trying to ignore the fact that the armholes of Scotch's t-shirt hung down almost to her elbow. If she moved her arms, Lainey would have a wonderful view of some compelling anatomy.
“Sleep well?”
Lainey basked in the heat from the stove, using a dish towel as a pot holder. "Like a rock.” She poured coffee, and inhaled deeply of its aroma. This was one thing she never took for granted. Not every culture had coffee, and Lainey sorely missed it when she was out of country. She sipped, pleased to note Scotch brewed it strong. Turning, she blinked. Was Scotch just checking out her legs?
Scotch said, “That's good. Sometimes newcomers have trouble sleeping with the constant sunlight.”
Deciding she must have imagined it, Lainey moved to copy Scotch's stance, leaning against the counter beside her to worship her coffee. ‘so, what are we doing up so late?”
Scotch chuckled. “This ain't late.”
Lainey liked the sound of her laugh, smiling. "What time is it?” she asked.
"About five thirty.”
"Ugh.” She stuck her tongue out, earning another warm laugh.
"We meet up with Rye and Irish in the dog kitchen at six. The dogs have to be fed.”
"And then we nap?” This time she got a nudge with a shoulder. Lainey could not help but grin like an idiot. God, she had it bad! Surely Scotch had some horribly bad habit Lainey could exploit to thwart this attraction - nose picking, uncontrollable urges to spit, foul tempers. Something!
"No. Then we clean the dog kitchen and barn, do pooper scooper duty, transfer the kennel dogs, let the Big Dog out, clean up, and eat breakfast.”
Lainey feigned horror. "All that before breakfast?” she demanded. Her voice became faint, her accent thickening into that of a Southern belle. "I think I have a case of the vapors.” She batted her eyes at Scotch.
She received a smirk. “That's all right. I hear dog crap can make wonderful smelling salts.”
"Hey!" She bumped her hip against Scotch's.
Scotch laughed, and drained her cup, distracting Lainey with the expected revelation of skin under her arms. “There's hot water on the stove, if you want to clean up some. I put out a towel and washcloth for you.” She moved away to set the cup in the sink. "I'll go up and change, give you some privacy. Let me know when you're done.”
Lainey lifted her cup in thanks, watching her disappear around the fireplace. She heard the tread of boots on steps, the light creak above her head as Scotch reached her room and began changing clothes.
She stared at the wood stove, her mind's eye upstairs. Separated by mere inches of wood, her lust object was getting naked, that beautiful body revealed as boots and sleep clothes were shucked. Sighing, Lainey was amazed at the flicker of desire tingling through her blood stream. Even at the crack of full sunlight, with little sleep, and the threat of sore ribs and hard work ahead, the mere whisper of sex could turn her on. What the hell was that about? It had not always been this way, had it?
As promised, Lainey learned more about the care and feeding of dogs than she ever thought possible. The sheer amount of time involved should not have surprised her, what with ninety- five dogs to feed, but it did. She and Howry watched as sixteen gallons of water were carefully measured out and poured into the metal drum by Rye. While he lit the propane fire below, Lainey helped Scotch collect fifteen frozen salmon from the freezer. They went into the pot, heads and all, and the Fullers had a laugh at Lainey's wrinkled nose. The dogs watched the process with eager anticipation.
The fishy mixture was brought to a boil, someone always stirring with a snow shovel, and then it was allowed to cool. The crew went over the lists posted by the door in the barn, figuring out which animal required something out of the ordinary and what sort of supplements were needed. The dog stew was brought back to a second boil. When allowed to cool again, Scotch utilized a stepladder and chopped the now pliable salmon into chunks. A third boil came and went, this time with Irish using a large empty coffee can to measure rice into the stew.
Lainey watched in dismay as yet a fourth boil was achieved. At the rate things were going, it would be noon before they finished. This time, Rye turned the propane completely off, and covered the pot. The reporters were given various measurements of vitamin supplements, bone meal, and dry chow that were added to the cooling result. Then they were handed pails to fill.
This was Lainey's first foray among the dogs. Fortunately, they seemed far more interested in the contents of her bucket than her, though there were one or two who gave her a suspicious eye. She noted the Fullers giving each animal a little undivided attention, and began to do the same. Before she was finished with her assigned section, she had stepped in three piles of dog crap, her sturdy work jeans were layered in dog hair, and her hands were slathered with saliva from polite dogs thanking her for their meal.
She returned to the kitchen with a stupid grin on her face, the canine enthusiasm having rubbed off on her as thick as their shedding coats.
More water was poured into the leftovers, and a second trip was made. Then followed a round of scooping up excrement. The dog kitchen was cleaned up, the proper animals put into the two runs, and one let off her chain to run free about the kennel. Lainey carefully placed a checkmark beside Heldig's name, wondering where the Fullers came up with the names and how they could keep them straight.
In the main house, she felt bone tired. It had been awhile since she had had a workout like this. She eyed the siblings with new respect; doing this day in and day out from childhood had to give them a hardiness that few their age acquired. She remembered seeing Scotch's bare arms that morning, seeing the play of muscle beneath the pale skin, and had a good understanding where it came from.
Breakfast was over. The family sat around the table, and Lainey realized this was standard practice for them. All meetings must take place here. Helen, dressed in sweater and jeans, had a notepad and pen. Her husband, Thom, was dressed in a long sleeve white shirt, the collar undone and a t-shirt peeking from beneath. Both of them worked today, and were ready to get with it as soon as business was concluded.
“The Fuller Kennel board of directors is called to order,” he said. "All members present and accounted for.”
Lainey blinked at the formality, glancing at Bon who played under the table with an empty shoebox.
As if reading her mind, Rye smiled. "Yeah, he's a board member, too. We all are.”
"Interesting,” Howry muttered, scribbling a note.
Thom said, "We're here to finalize some things with Ms. Hughes and Mr. Howry at their request.”
Everyone, including Howry, looked expectantly at Lainey.
She refrained from chewing her lip at the sudden attention. Barely. All those blue eyes, patient as they regarded her, seemed guileless. What would they look like when she explained the changes the magazine had insisted upon last month? Lainey focused on Scotch, wondering if she would be all right with it or not.
"Well, as you know, I made arrangements for Don to accompany me on this adventure. I wasn't sure what to tell you as to the why of it.” She took a deep breath. "I realize that what I tell you might be a deal breaker. If you don't agree to the changes my editor wants, then I understand.”
"What sort of changes, dear?” Helen asked. "It certainly can't be all that bad.”
Lainey steered her gaze away from Scotch's wary expression. What did she think would be said? Would she decide against the idea? "I originally contracted with Cognizance to do a series on Scotch's next run for the Iditarod. However, my editor's bosses have decided to do another piece, as well. Don,” and she waved to indicate the man beside her, "will do the series on Scotch.”
Irish frowned. ‘so, what'll you be doing?”
Lainey sighed. "I have been asked to run the Iditarod.”
CHAPTER NINE
"YOU MEAN LIKE enter the race on your own?” Irish asked.
“That's the idea.” Howry said.
"What?” Rye snorted. "You don't know the first thing about mushing.”
"Regrettably true,” Lainey said. She avoided Scotch's eyes, not wanting to see what her response was to the news. “The magazine has done some research into the cost of such a venture. “They're allowing me to offer you thirty thousand dollars to train me, and to give me the use of a team and equipment for the next Iditarod.”
Thom whistled at the amount. "You know some kennels would ask for more.”
She met his gaze squarely. "I know. In addition, you'll still receive the monthly amount we originally agreed to pay for our room and board. That ultimately works out to more than what you would get for a simple training contract. Besides, Don and I will both continue working, so there's the added manpower you won't be required to pay for.”
"What if I refuse?”
Lainey's heart thumped at the seriousness in Scotch's voice, and she finally looked at her. Regardless of the uncertain position she had put the Fullers in, Scotch emanated the same confidence that had first drawn Lainey. They both had no doubt that her family would back whatever Scotch decided. She wondered if this was the source of Scotch's self-assurance, and felt a little let down. Surely it could not be as simple as that.
Rather than blow smoke up Scotch's ass, Lainey chose to be truthful. This young woman deserved to know the reality of the situation, and Lainey knew she could handle the information. “Then I leave. Don will remain behind to do an original piece about your training. I've been instructed to approach two other kennels with the training offer.”
Scotch's ears almost perked up with interest. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Which kennels?”
The sudden interest confused Lainey, and Howry answered. "Either the Larsen's or Mythic Spirit Kennels.”
At the second name, Scotch scoffed, sitting upright. “The Thorpes?" she demanded. “They barely know how to point their dogs in the right direction!"
"You'd be lucky if they gave you a team worth the effort of training,” Rye said.
"Be lucky if she didn't have to scratch the first day,” Scotch told her brother.
"Don't they still bite their dogs' ears?” Helen asked, receiving a round of disgusted agreement from her family.
"Biting ears?” Lainey asked slowly, wondering if they were putting her on. Her face contorted at the thought of putting a furry ear in her mouth.
Scotch's demeanor lightened at her expression. She smiled. "Yeah, it's a method of control some people use to keep their teams in line.”
"Uck,” Lainey said. Shaking herself, she said, "Okay, maybe not Mythic Spirit Kennels.”
The laughter died away. Everyone focused on Scotch who rubbed her jaw in thought. Beneath the table, even Bon stared at her, and Lainey found his highly tuned familial instinct intriguing. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed a family dynamic; had she missed seeing the subtle wordless play in others, or were the Fullers unnaturally receptive to one another?
"I can't say that I like it,” Scotch finally said. "I need to concentrate on my team when I'm training for the race. I can't allow any distractions.”
Lainey felt her spirits flag. The other kennels were located across the state. She wondered if she could break the contract with Strauss without damaging her credibility or reputation. The prospects were not that good.
"Why'd they pick you?” Rye asked.
Brought out of her musings, Lainey said, "Excuse me?”
"Why you? Why not Don?”
Lainey considered the question. “The initial pitch was
mine, I guess. That and I focused my premise on a woman musher with potential for winning.” She shrugged. “They wanted a companion piece to a professional woman racer; hence a rookie woman racer.”
“So, if we don't go through with training you, Scotch still gets the national coverage?" Thom asked.
"Oh, yes.” Howry hastened to ease their minds. “That plan remains the same. It's just that I'll be doing the piece instead of Lainey.”
Scotch said, "Larsen's good, but his kennel isn't that large. His second string will be pretty poor. And he doesn't have the extra time to train anyone, either.” She snorted. "I'm not even going to get into the pros and cons of the Thorpes.”
"Just as well,” Helen murmured.
Lainey saw Scotch studying her with an odd intensity. Her body responded to the expression, and she was glad she had worn a heavy sweater as her nipples hardened. God, those eyes were penetrating.
Whatever Scotch was searching for, she seemed to have found it. "All right. Let's do it.”
Ears buzzing faintly, Lainey wondered if she was going to pass out from the shock of relief flooding her system.
"You sure?’ Thom asked his daughter.
"Yeah.” She nodded, sitting back with speculative demeanor. "Rye and Irish can help train her on the basics. And I can give her the specifics she'll need for the Iditarod itself.”
“Sure. Besides,” Rye said to Lainey, "you'll place higher with one of our teams. There's a better selection of dogs to choose from.”
Lainey cleared her throat, realizing that the decision had been made. "You don't need to vote?”
Thom grinned. "Well, I suppose. Just to make it official. All those for accepting a trainee for the Iditarod?”
Every Fuller raised their hand, even Bon who laughed and raised both.
"Well, there you go.’ Thom glanced at a clock. "Holy smokes, I've got to get going or I'll be late. Meeting adjourned.”
Broken Trails Page 6
