Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  The realities of her situation firmly in mind, Lainey took a deep, bracing breath. As soon as the snow hit, things would be different. Training would fill most of her days and nights. Rye had said that winter was a very busy season for the kennel in terms of weekend tourist outings, preparing for the larger races, and attending small sprints and the like. Lainey would just have to make an extra effort to exhaust herself over the coming months. Once the Iditarod was over, she and Howry would take their leave, and she could lose herself in Carol's arms. For about a month. Lainey had not been laid in a year or more; she had stopped counting the days long ago. All those unspent hormones had to go somewhere. Certainly that had a lot to do with her volatile emotions now.

  Heartened with the possible explanation, Lainey stepped off the porch. The ground crunched beneath her boot, and she finally focused on the clearing around her. A thick layer of snow covered the ground, seeming to glow in the growing daylight. The air was crisp, and she saw a stream of smoke rising from the other side of the hill where the main cabin lay. Huddled within her jacket, she trudged toward the outhouse. Oh, yes, it was definitely colder today.

  A light sprinkle of snow continued to dust the kennel as Scotch and the rest of the feeding crew did their morning chores. The difficulty lay in paying proper attention to the task. She kept trying to assess how much snow had fallen during the night, whether the trails were thick enough to warrant a shakedown run with the sleds, and which dogs to take on the first official run of the season. Irish and Rye were no doubt thinking along the same lines as they went about their jobs on autopilot. Scotch shared glances of anticipation with her siblings, knowing nothing would keep them off the trails today. There were no tour reservations this morning, and any sightseer in the area might be too caught up in the beauty of an Alaskan snowfall to consider dropping by the kennel.

  Howry was equally distracted. He had brought his camera with him this morning, pausing in his chores to grab several shots of Scotch and her dogs excitedly playing in the powder. The animals knew what the change of weather meant, as well, and showed it with an extra level of enthusiasm. Scotch ignored Howry's activities, having become accustomed to the endless attention. His constant presence was the price she had to pay for agreeing to the magazine articles about her. She had to admit that some days were very trying. Having a bad day sooner or later was inevitable; having one with an observer photographing her every mistake or temper tantrum did not improve matters.

  She glanced at Lainey who had become a veteran at chopping the salmon into chunks. The shorter woman stood on the step stool, shovel in hand, as she used the edge of the tool to break up the boiled fish. This scene was a far cry from Lainey's first day, cringing away from the idea of feeding entire fish to the dogs, to include the heads. Scotch grinned at the recollection. She remembered Cliff, the bush pilot, and his remark that Lainey appeared high maintenance. Scotch was relieved that this had not been the case. If anything, Lainey was extremely low maintenance, more than capable of rolling up her sleeves and digging into whatever was required to complete a task regardless of the level of filth involved.

  Sometimes it was weird how wrong first impressions could be.

  Lainey finished the chopping, and Rye put the lid back on the kettle before turning up the propane for another boil. As soon as Lainey was clear of the stool, she retrieved her camera from a hook. She caught Scotch watching and promptly took a picture of her. Laughing, Scotch waved her away, stepping into the dog barn to consult the daily lists.

  What would it have been like if the magazine had stuck with the original agreement?

  Scotch had to admit the thought of Lainey pursuing her with a camera was not nearly as irritating as Howry doing the same. Come to think of it, Lainey already did follow her about; she probably had as many photos of Scotch as Howry did. It must be a requirement for all photojournalists, to literally have a camera grafted to their hands.

  Lainey entered the barn. "Hey there. Anything new?”

  "Nope. Same old, same old. We can start gathering the additives.” Scotch shared a grin with her as they opened a cabinet to pull out large measuring bowls. They worked in silent tandem, almost as an extension of one another as they retrieved vitamin supplements, rice and bone meal to add to the morning stew.

  "We'll have to alter the dogs' diets for the weather, won't we?” Lainey asked.

  Scotch said, "Eventually. More fats and proteins, less filler. That'll take place once we get them past seven miles a day.”

  "And when will that be?”

  “Soon.” Scotch finished what she was doing. She turned toward Lainey, resting a hip on the edge of the counter. "I think we'll skip a run today. Let's take the snow machines out of storage and out on the trails; get an idea of how they're faring, how deep the snow truly is, and to pack it down a bit. If we're lucky, the snow will keep up for a few more days. It'll give us a healthy base to run on.”

  Lainey nodded. ‘sounds like a plan. I take it there are no tours today?”

  "Nope. And even if there are visitors today, Miguel can do the deed. Once the snow flies, training begins. He and Dad are going to take up a lot of the slack as our winter tourists come through.”

  Frowning, Lainey said, "But your dad works.”

  "Construction,” she reminded her. "Business slows down enough he can leave a lot of the work to his foreman. There's some interior work to be had, but he'll have fewer jobs available until spring. If the snow holds, work will taper off enough that he'll be home a lot more.”

  Lainey smacked her forehead lightly at her momentary lapse of intelligence. Scotch smiled, enjoying the humor. Lainey certainly was a good looking woman, even wearing a pair of heavy coveralls layered in dog hair and mud. Her features were expressive, and her dark eyes always reflected cheer. All in all, it had been a good decision when she had agreed to this in-depth article last spring.

  "What?”

  She pushed the thoughts out of her head. ‘sorry. Just thinking I'm glad you're here.”

  Lainey's grin softened. “Thanks. I'm glad I'm here, too.”

  Scotch's heart thumped, and she took a step closer, not certain what she was doing. “That's good to know,” she said, her voice lowering. She focused on Lainey's face. Fascinated, she watched her friend's lips slightly part.

  "Are you guys ready yet?” Irish asked, coming into the dog barn.

  Bewildered, Scotch turned, barely noting that Lainey took a smooth step away from her. "Just about.”

  Irish stopped and stared at them. "What's going on?”

  Lainey smiled at her. "We were just talking about what to do today.”

  "Check the trails, of course," the girl said as if it were a foregone conclusion. She continued forward and grabbed the tin of rice. "Rye says it's time.”

  “Then let's go. We have a lot of dogs to feed.” Lainey scooped up the bone meal, following Irish to the door. Once there, she paused. "Are you coming?”

  Scotch took a deep breath, regaining her equilibrium. "Yeah,” she said. She turned to study Lainey, seeing a flush cross the woman's tanned skin and knowing an answering blush tinted hers. "I'll be there in a minute.”

  Lainey loitered a moment, on the verge of saying something.

  "Hey, where's the rest?” Howry called from outside.

  The moment passed. "On my way!" Lainey answered. Her expression flickered with regret, and she gave a little half shrug before disappearing outside.

  Scotch turned back to the counter, placing her hands on the edge. Was she planning on kissing Lainey just now? In answer, her mind delivered up an erotic vision of just such an action. Her body responded with a rush of sensation that swept from her heart to her groin, and she swallowed hard. Good God, she had been!

  "What's taking so long?” Irish asked, marching up to the counter.

  "Nothing. I . . .” Scotch picked up the nearest clipboard. "I was wondering whether or not to start the dogs on the extra protein now.”

  Irish quirked an eyebrow,
questioning. "Don't we want to wait until they've been training first?”

  Scotch nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right.” She slid the measured additives toward her little sister. "Here. I'll get started on breaking the snow machines out until the stew's ready for the dogs.”

  "Okay.” Irish took the tin and left, unaware of Scotch's confusion.

  Using the opposite door, Scotch walked to the storage barn, avoiding the dog kitchen completely. Entering, she switched on the overhead lights and located the vehicles, automatically going through the process of getting them out of their mothballs and prepared for use. The familiar actions grounded her, and she was better able to think about what had happened in the dog barn.

  She had never been strongly attracted to anyone before, male or female. Scotch had had her share of kisses and heavy petting over the years, but those were with boys during her adolescence and a couple of semi-serious lesbian relationships when she attended college. She had always felt something had been lacking, however, some crucial linchpin of emotion that she seemed incapable of feeling. She finally gave up trying. Whatever people found in such relationships was not something she would ever share; or so she had thought. Nothing had ever come of it, least of all the amount of sensation she had just experienced at the mere thought of kissing Lainey.

  Scotch pulled the tarps off the vehicles, her nose itching at the dust that flew from her action. A healthy round of sneezing later, she had the coverings folded up and set aside, and she began the process of preparing the snow machines for use.

  This sudden desire to kiss Lainey certainly complicated things. Scotch grumbled under her breath as she forced a sticking gas cap open. Even if she did make the attempt, that did not necessarily mean that Lainey was a lesbian, too. What were the odds of that occurring? And what difference did it make, anyway? Once the Iditarod was over, Lainey would move on to other pastures, and Scotch would return to living alone. Besides, the Iditarod was far too important to screw up for a roll in the hay, no matter how appealing that roll seemed.

  "Hey, Scotch.”

  "What?" she demanded, glaring at the interruption.

  Howry raised his hands in surrender and took a step backward. "We're getting ready to feed the dogs, that's all.”

  She slumped before giving the reporter a contrite look. "I'm sorry. Guess I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Didn't mean to snap.”

  He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's an exciting day for you, I'm sure.”

  Chuckling at the irony, she said, "You don't know the half of it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  LAINEY KEPT THE pleasant expression plastered on her face as she left Scotch in the dog barn. She poured the bone meal into the kettle, her actions on automatic as the sight of Scotch leaning closer filled her mind. Damn, that had been close! She had almost thrown herself at Scotch. Or did Scotch make the first move? Was it wishful thinking on Lainey's part? Had Scotch started the seduction?

  "Where's the rest?” Rye asked, stirring the mixture.

  “Scotch has it,” Lainey said. She made no move to return to the barn, not wanting to face her friend quite yet. Her priority was to slow her thundering heart, and quell the rich wave of yearning rolling through her.

  Irish pursed her lips in pre-adolescent aggravation. "I'll go get it.” She took the measuring bowl from Lainey and stomped toward the door.

  Rye rolled his eyes at his sister as he continued to mix the stew, but said nothing.

  At loose ends, Lainey took the opportunity to flee, picking up her camera and heading into the dog yard. Standing behind the lens calmed her erratic nerves, allowing her to detach from her immediate surroundings. During her counseling sessions after being shot, the psychiatrist had said the camera was a crutch, protecting her from reality. No argument there. At least this way she was able to chill out enough to contemplate what happened.

  What had happened?

  First they were talking, working side by side as they had for months, comfortable in their proximity. Then... Scotch had put the moves on her.

  "No. That can't be right.” Lainey shook her head, and returned to finding the right shot through the viewfinder. Bonaparte demanded a state portrait with his elegant profile, and she snapped the picture.

  As far as she had been able to ascertain, Scotch was straight . Certainly there had been times she wondered if perhaps she was wrong. She had always chalked it up to wishful thinking on her part. Every instance of ambiguousness could be calculated as a simple misunderstanding. Living with a person for three and a half months had to count for something. She would know if her roommate shared her attraction to women, right?

  Hell, Howry had done his fair share of talking with Scotch, attempting to discover the true nature of her sexuality. Even he had come to the conclusion Scotch was a very sheltered and innocent straight woman.

  So, what just happened in the dog barn?

  Lainey growled under her breath. Nothing but the obvious could explain what had transpired. She had too much experience in the art of seduction to not see an attempted kiss. Scotch did make the first move! But, why? And, more importantly, why now?

  The steam from her sharp exhalation clouded the vision from her lens for a moment. It was no wonder she was constantly confused about Scotch's intentions. That could only mean that Scotch was probably just as confounded. Which explained, at the very least, that she was only now discovering who she was.

  Great. Not only did Scotch not have the common decency to know her own sexual orientation at the tender age of twenty-four, she had to complicate Lainey's attraction by figuring it out now. The last thing Lainey needed was a virgin.

  Despite the sardonic thought, she felt a tremor of excitement at that possibility.

  “Stop that!" she ordered, forcing away ribald visions of what ‘lessons’ she could teach Scotch. "Dirty old woman.”

  Kaara cocked an ear at her.

  "Not you, girl,” Lainey said, rubbing her head.

  What to do? It was one thing to have a crush on a straight roommate. Lainey had experienced such unrequited fiascos in her youth. All she needed to do in such a case was keep a tight rein on her desires and suffer the consequences.

  But if Lainey's suspicions were correct, Scotch was waking up to something fundamental about herself. Such a revelation was difficult enough in the best of times; here in the backwoods of Alaska, however, it could cause major trauma. Lainey really liked Scotch. She did not want to lose their friendship because of a mistake. Scotch might make a pass in experimentation, but Lainey was not sure she could defend against one.

  She snorted to herself, grinning when Jonah did the same as he nosed his empty bowl. "You'll be fed soon,” she promised, scratching his back.

  Irish's timely interruption was the only thing that saved the morning. Now that Lainey was aware of Scotch's mutual attraction, for whatever reasons, she was positive it would be three times as hard to deny her.

  Perhaps she should move into the main cabin. She could cite the cold as a reason. Scotch knew of her ribs; it would be nothing to expand a bit on that to feign a need for a steady form of heating through the winter.

  Unless Scotch offered a more entertaining manner of keeping warm in the evenings . . .

  "Ugh!" Lainey wished there was something to pound her head against.

  "Lainey! Breakfast time!"

  She sighed and turned toward the dog kitchen. Waving to Rye, she trudged back to her chores.

  The snow still came down after breakfast. Weather reports said the system had dumped fourteen inches over night, and estimated another foot before it was over. This news was met with lively praise from the Fuller clan as they ate breakfast.

  Howry noted that his primary subject was less than enthusiastic, her brow creased in thought. She kept glancing at Lainey from across the table, and he watched the two of them carefully.

  Lainey had her professional face on; he had seen it often enough over the years to spot it on sight. Something had happened
, and she had tossed up the facade to keep anyone from noticing. In their business, it was required to be in horrible places or interview people with the moral integrity of a sewer. Such professionalism was required to get the job done, regardless of any negative opinions one had with the subject. Not to mention such a demeanor could mean life or death depending on who was involved.

  He spooned a healthy dose of brown sugar onto his oatmeal, and stirred.

  Things had been different this morning because of the snow. The Fullers had radiated a ton of energy, just as their dogs did, filling the air with a high level of breathless expectation. Howry supposed that the first snow of the season always evinced the same emotions for them. It had been pretty contagious; he fell sway to it, too. Lainey and Scotch acted as they had every morning. He had noticed that Lainey was a bit stiffer, probably from the cold, but just as excited as the rest of them. The time had finally come to do some serious dog training, and they all looked forward to the prospect.

  Something had happened though. Scotch disappeared, and Lainey wandered off to photograph dogs. Howry about had his head ripped off when he finally found Scotch in the storage barn. She had not been irritated before she and Lainey had gone to collect the additives for the dog stew. Granted, some people reacted to fervor with crankiness, but Scotch was rarely bitchy. Why start now? There was no pressure, yet. He expected her to become more stressed the closer they got to the Iditarod, not now.

  He focused on his friend, not buying the pleasant exterior as she joked with Helen over something. She, too, had transformed from simply enjoying the morning to become this ultra professional journalist putting her subjects at ease. He ate slowly, recognizing the subtle signs telling him she was flustered. And she would not look at Scotch except the occasional pan across the room.