Broken Trails

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  "Well, until you become a prima donna and start throwing tantrums, how about I buy dinner?" Howry asked.

  "You're on," Lainey said.

  "Let me go get Mom." Rye turned back to the hotel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  January

  LAINEY CLIMBED OUT of the vehicle, feeling exhausted and exuberant. The dogs in the yard greeted her, and her team responded with just as much excitement from inside the dog truck. On the deck, Thom held Bon in his arms and Miguel stood beside him.

  The second dog truck pulled up, disgorging its occupants, and Thom called, "Well, rookie, how'd you do?"

  "Twelfth place!" Howry yelled from the other truck.

  "And she's officially finished one qualifying race for the Iditarod," Helen added. She shut the truck door and went up the steps, silencing Bon's cries of "Mama!" by taking him from his father.

  "One down, one to go," Scotch said, throwing her arm around Lainey's shoulders.

  Lainey blushed at the public familiarity from her friend, but did not move away. They had spent the last week in Bethel, Alaska, either sleeping in the living room of a family friend or out on the race trail. Quiet moments alone had been hard to come by and she craved the contact. "Scotch did better," she said. "She placed third."

  Thom trotted down from the deck, Miguel on his heels, and gave them both a hug. "Third place? Fantastic! What was the purse?"

  "Ten grand." Scotch proudly withdrew a check and handed it to her father.

  Miguel whooped in congratulations, and Scotch turned bright red. Her smile split her face as he clapped her on the back.

  Thom gave both women another rough hug. "You two must be exhausted. Get on to your cabin and catch some sleep. We'll take care of the dogs."

  "Thanks, Dad." Scotch released him and Lainey, returning to her truck for her gear.

  Lainey drew her winning check from her pocket. It was decidedly less than ten thousand dollars, but still a hefty sum. She handed it to Thom. "Here. I want you to have this, too."

  He did not take the check. "Oh, Lainey, I can't do that. You paid your own entry fee, and won that money fair and square."

  "That's right, I did. So I get a say on where it goes." She raised an eyebrow. "Consider it a donation to the kennel. You've all worked so hard to make me feel welcome and get me trained for this. I'd never have done it without your support and encouragement."

  Thom looked tempted but still made no move to accept the money. "You contracted for the training and team; you're only getting what the magazine paid for to begin with."

  Lainey thrust it closer to him. "Fine, I'm sponsoring Rye for the Yukon 300. How's that?"

  He blinked, a grin crossing his face. "I'll let him know who to acknowledge," he said, finally taking the check from her.

  "Thanks." Unable to help herself, she stood on tip toe and delivered a kiss to his bearded cheek.

  "No, thank you, Lainey Hughes," he said, turning as beet red as his daughter only moments ago.

  "You coming or what?" Scotch asked.

  "Yeah." Lainey winked at Thom before getting her bag from the truck, and together they walked toward the trail leading home.

  It was cold inside the cabin, so they kept their parkas on as they set about lighting the fires and lanterns. While Scotch worked at the hearth, Lainey built a fire in the wood stove to start a pot of water. Soon the interior warmed up enough that they were able to shed their outer layers. Not long later they sat together on the couch, sock covered feet propped on the coffee table, and mugs of hot chocolate in hand.

  "That was fun," Lainey said.

  "Yeah, you did pretty good for being from Outside."

  Lainey grinned and looked at Scotch. "I had an excellent teacher."

  "I totally agree."

  She laughed and kissed Scotch, losing herself to the gentle caress. Long moments passed as the reacquainted themselves with one another, drinks forgotten as they relaxed together. Eventually the kiss ended, and Lainey snuggled against Scotch, a luxuriant smile on her face. "I missed that."

  "Me, too."

  They lounged on the couch, the heat from the fire easing the last of the tension from Lainey's sore muscles.

  "I heard you tell Rye you fell near Bogus Creek."

  Lainey, whose eyes had drooped closed, grunted lethargically. "Yeah. You saw the overflow?" she asked, referring to the layer of standing water along the frozen creek bed.

  "Yup."

  "Coming up out of that I missed the trail by a few feet. The sled went on its side."

  "Ate some snow?"

  Her expression sour, she nodded. "About ten feet of it before the dogs stopped."

  Scotch's voice held a note of superiority. "Well, you are a rookie."

  Lainey's weariness rushed away at the insult. "A rookie, huh?" she demanded, sitting up. Before Scotch could reply, Lainey had taken their cups and set both on the table. Her fingers unerringly found the woman's ribs, and she tickled her. "I seem to remember you eating snow a few weeks ago in that sprint in Wasilla!"

  Scotch recoiled from Lainey, curling her long limbs to avoid the attack, laughing. "No! That wasn't me. That was someone else. Stop!"

  "Hah! Don got photos. Admit it or I'll make sure the next article Cognizance runs will have your snow covered butt plastered all over it."

  "All right! All right! I admit it!" Lainey stopped tickling and Scotch slumped in relief.

  She sprawled across the couch with Lainey on top of her. As she caught her breath, they adjusted themselves into a more comfortable position.

  "That was mean."

  Lainey grinned, eyes closed. "Journalism is a brutal world, my dear. You've got to learn to swim with the sharks."

  Beneath her, Scotch chuckled and yawned. "I think I'm going to fall asleep right here."

  "Nothing wrong with that," Lainey murmured. She sighed in pleasure as Scotch wrapped her arms around her, turning until they lay on their sides.

  "That's good, because I don't think I can move any more."

  "Shhh, go to sleep," Lainey whispered.

  The following afternoon Scotch and Lainey wandered down the path, hand in hand.

  "I don't know how you didn't get a crick in your neck, sleeping on the couch like that."

  Scotch laughed and squeezed her hand. "I could say the same about you."

  "I had a nice soft pillow," Lainey said, a smile on her face. They continued walking. "I can't believe we slept so late. Everybody's going to be ticked off that we didn't feed the dogs this morning."

  "Naw. You always get a day off after a big race. Next month it'll be you and Rye lounging about while the rest of us slave away."

  They rounded a bend in the path, coming into sight of the yard. Lainey tried to release Scotch's hand, offering discretion in dealing with her family, but Scotch held tight and winked at her.

  They had never discussed their relationship beyond the need to concentrate on the Iditarod. The longer things went, the less likely it seemed that Scotch was only now realizing her sexual orientation. Nothing Lainey said or did startled Scotch; no reference to obvious gay topics befuddled her, no flirtatious remark or action caused more than the expected blush of anticipation. When they were out among people, which was seldom due to the nature of their training, Scotch did seem more interested in watching women than men, but she approached both with the same confident skill.

  Training the dogs was a full time adventure, and Lainey had found little time to open a conversation on Scotch's experiences with women. When the time did present itself, as it had last night, she was more inclined to savor the moment than miss an opportunity to cuddle. She supposed that as soon as the Iditarod was over, the two of them would have to sit down and discuss things in detail. If they were to have more than just a fling, certain things had to be figured out.

  Lainey wondered if Scotch had said anything to her parents. Neither seemed any more or less friendly with her, but surely one of them had figured out their daughter's friendship with her
had grown a bit more intense. Did Scotch know she was a lesbian before Lainey came along? Did her parents know? The whole situation was confusing. Lainey had known women who were blatantly out of the closet; some had accepting families, but most did not. The Fullers did not fall into either category.

  Howry came into view, pulling a plastic children's sled piled with packages. It had to weigh a lot, for he had removed his parka and was bent over in exertion. He spotted them and stopped. "About time you two got up. We've got a meat delivery out front. All hands on deck."

  Scotch came to rigid attention and saluted him. "Yes, sir!"

  He wiped sweat from his forehead and snorted at her. "Get going, you two. You've slacked enough today."

  "But we haven't even had breakfast," Lainey complained to him, her words cut short as Scotch yanked her along.

  "It's almost lunch time," she reminded Lainey, walking past the back deck and around the side of the main cabin. "And I seem to recall you having a toasted cheese sandwich an hour ago."

  Lainey grinned, lowering her voice. "Well, he didn't know that." She laughed with Scotch, who raised their linked hands to kiss hers.

  Irish hustled past with another sled, dragging it behind her with both hands. Her load was smaller, but she put as much effort into it as Howry. "About time," she grumbled without stopping.

  They came around the cabin. "Oh. My. God." Lainey stared at a large meat truck in the parking area of the circular drive. Three men, the driver and two helpers, were halfway through the process of emptying its entire contents onto the snowy ground. Thom stood by with a clipboard, making check marks on it as items came off the truck. Rye, Irish, Miguel and Howry then took each sack of meat and carted off toward the kennel. "Are we getting all of that?" she asked Scotch.

  "Yup," she answered cheerfully. "And then some. We'll each be using about nine hundred pounds apiece. Of course that doesn't count dry or canned food and rice. Come on." She finally released Lainey's hand and strode forward, calling and waving to the delivery men.

  Three days later, Lainey huddled over two cookers. One boiled water in which a plastic bag of beef stroganoff heated for her lunch. The other carried a quart of water, a pound of lamb, and a half pound of fat. Nearby, a ration of dry dog chow sat in readiness. The dogs had already eaten, and they lay on the line, curled up to sleep while they could. She had already examined each of them for stress and strains, fed them, and released their neck lines to ensure their comfort. The batch of food she made now would go into the cooler she carried so that it would be ready for their next stop. She had to be forty or so miles from the kennel. Somewhere out here, Scotch was doing similar chores. Her team was faster and more experienced, though. Chances were good she was at least another five or ten miles away.

  Despite being alone in the wilderness, miles from civilization, Lainey smiled. She could see the draw of long distant racing now. Only the hardiest of souls, those not afraid to be by themselves for extensive periods of time, could attempt the solitude. Lainey had heard many stories about newcomers who arrived in Alaska, determined to live a rustic life, to build a cabin in the wilds and live off the land. A great many never succeeded, the constant silence and darkness of winter too hard to bear. Not everyone could live in their heads without going crazy, and many soon fled the country for civilization.

  Lainey would not have been able to survive had she decided on this course a few years ago. She had turned to the bottle to drown the grisly memories of her career, to silence the questions of right and wrong that inevitably came up as she photographed the latest atrocity by some dictator. Her alcoholism was a release from responsibility, enabling her to witness the shit man heaped upon man and ignore her natural human desire to change things for the better.

  When she had admitted her problem and gone into a twelve step program, she had learned so much about herself - not merely her weaknesses, but the strengths she carried, as well. With the support of friends and sponsors, she cleaned up her act, examined her life, and strove to make changes. For the most part, she succeeded. There were obstacles and stumbling points along the way, but she kept her feet, kept listening to her inner voice rather than try to smother it with something else.

  It was this ability to hear herself that stood her in good stead out here on the trail. Lainey was no longer afraid to be alone with her thoughts. The dog food was finished. She turned off the cooker and added the measure of dry chow to the hot mixture. With mittened hands, she took the pot to the sled and poured its contents into the cooler there. Once the lid was secure and the pot cooling in the snow, she returned to the second cooker and her lunch.

  Lainey made another trip up the line with the hot water, giving her team a warm drink. When she returned, she used a pocket knife to open the bag and ate hungrily. She used no utensils, squeezing the food up to the opening. When she was finished, she deposited the bag in a trash bag in her sled. Making another trip along her team, she collected their plates.

  Only after all chores were done did she curl up in her sleeping bag, seated on the cooler and leaning backward to drowse. She had about three hours before her wrist alarm went off. Then it was back on the trail. As she drifted to sleep, she saw Scotch smiling at her, a promise in her blue eyes, and laughter on her lips.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  February

  THE YARD WAS a disaster area.

  Earlier in the week Rye had gone around and stapled paper plates to wooden stakes, each one labeled with the name of an Iditarod drop site. At each marker were two heaps of goods for each of the two mushers entered in the race. Eventually these piles would be consolidated into two or three large bags apiece to be shipped to the various checkpoints along the Iditarod trail, a delivery of doggie groceries made available as Lainey and Scotch took the arduous trek to Nome. Until that time, however, they remained semi-contained mounds of sealed plastic bags.

  Lainey was taking her turn at the meat saw in the dog kitchen. She wore heavy work gloves and goggles, the sound of the table saw buzzing loud across the kennel. In her hands was a haunch of frozen horse meat which she diligently sliced down to manageable chunks. The goal was to keep the meat unthawed but in small enough pieces to easily boil up for dog stew. Her arms trembled unpleasantly with the vibrations, but she kept working.

  She tossed the meat into a nearby bucket that Howry occasionally swapped out with an empty one. His job was to weigh the meat on a scale and hand it off to Miguel when it reached the one pound mark. From there, the dog handler transferred it into heavy grade plastic bags. He used a machine to remove the air and heat seal the bag, passing the finished product to Scotch.

  Scotch, working from a clipboard of notes, took the package and deposited it at one of the thirty-six growing piles. She prowled the yard constantly, checking and rechecking the eighteen drop points, muttering under her breath and adding notes to the margins of her checklist.

  Lainey finished the meat and stepped back, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms. She was glad she had had the summer to get into shape; she could well imagine the pain she would be in had she just arrived to enter the race.

  "Want me to take a turn?" Howry asked.

  She considered her soreness. "No, I'm still good. Besides, it's Scotch's turn next." With a resigned exhalation, Lainey reached for another chunk of meat, not letting her mind settle on the animal it had come from. When she had seen the donation request form in June, she had almost thought it a joke. Horse meat? The four hundred pounds delivered last month that she slogged through now showed her the error.

  Time passed as she fell into the routine. Running meat through the saw, brushing away meat dust to keep it from clogging the machine, dropping chunks into a bucket, turning away for more, and starting again. She saw movement from the corner of her eyes - Howry replacing her bucket with an empty one, Miguel sealing bags, and Scotch taking the bags into the yard. Her world was motion and sound, the buzz of the saw blocking out all other considerations.

  A pat on
her back broke her reverie. Looking up in surprise, she noticed Miguel and Howry halfway across the yard. Lainey turned off the saw and looked at Scotch standing beside her.

  "Come on, it's lunch time." She squeezed Lainey's shoulder.

  Lainey groaned as the touch massaged tender muscles. Scotch stepped behind her and began kneading Lainey's tense shoulders, and she sighed in pleasure. "That feels wonderful."

  "I believe it," Scotch chuckled. "When we get back out here, we'll rotate. I need to change the blade, anyway."

  "Okay." Scotch pulled away and Lainey stretched. She glanced at the horse meat, amazed at how much she had gotten accomplished. "Wow. Time flies when you're having fun."

  "You must be a cheap date if this is fun." Scotch laughed and ducked the swat Lainey aimed at her. "Let's go. I'm starved."

  "You are so going to pay for that remark," Lainey promised as they walked to the main cabin.

  Scotch gave her a sultry smile. "Good."

  Lainey felt a surge of lust and wished for the millionth time that Scotch was less responsible and level-headed. She would give anything to be able to drag the woman back to their cabin and quench her lecherous thirst. They had a training run scheduled at midnight, however, and she knew she would never make it through the night without a decent nap. There was still too much to do, too much riding on the dogs and training and preparation.

  "You'll pay for that, too."

  Scotch grinned and climbed the steps to the deck.

  Shaking her head mournfully, Lainey followed, not quite succeeding in quelling the lewd thoughts inspired by an eye level view of Scotch's rear. They entered the mud room, an enclosed entry crowded with coats, boots, brooms and shovels. It was not much warmer here, but they quickly shed their outer wear, using a broom to knock excess snow from their boots before tugging them off, too. Lainey finished first and stepped into the kitchen.

  The warm blast of air burned her cheeks, and she shivered in pleasure. Smells of apple tarts warred with meat loaf and fried potatoes. The counter was buried under an avalanche of food, far more than what was needed for their afternoon meal. Past the counter was the dining room, most denizens of the kennel already sat around the large table. A rumble in her stomach urged Lainey forward, and she sat down to lunch, Scotch beside her.