Broken Trails (11 page)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“WHAT’RE YOU READING?” Scotch asked.

Lainey sat up from her sprawl across the couch, making room for the woman to join her. “The Call of the Wild.” She waggled the book at Scotch, taking care to keep her place with one finger.

Scotch chuckled and dropped into the vacated space. “Trying to get a dog’s eye view of an Alaskan winter?”

“Something like that.” She marked her page with a scrap of paper, setting the book down on the rough-hewn coffee table.

“While the story is historically accurate, don’t go basing the Iditarod on it. Modern dogs are way different.”

“Okay.” Sitting back, Lainey propped her feet on its edge, and turned to regard her roommate. “How’d it go on the day trip? Get any sponsors?”

“Investors only this time,” Scotch said. She turned on the couch until she faced Lainey, her legs stretched out along the floor beneath the woman’s feet. Frowning, Scotch stared at the ceiling in calculation, silently counting on the fingers of one hand. “I got enough booty money for all the dogs two times over.”

Lainey did the math. A buck per booty, four booties per dog, times sixteen dogs and doubled. “That’s not bad. Only about a thousand more to go.”

“Not bad at all considering it was all from the kids. They saw our website and began saving their allowances last year when their family planned a vacation up here.”

“Wow. That is impressive.”

Scotch stretched and yawned. “Yeah, they studied the Iditarod in school last year. I promised to list them as supporters on the website next time we update.”

Lainey watched her, a slight smile on her face. It would be so nice to cuddle with her. Maybe she could get a series of candid photos of Scotch sometime, something she could take with her when this assignment was over.

“What?”

Her grin widened at the suspicious look she received. She was always getting busted daydreaming. “How much more in donations do you think you’ll need to cover the costs of running the Iditarod this year?”

Scotch eyed her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Is this an interview question?”

“It could be.”

“I thought Don was the one doing the articles on me. You’re supposed to be reporting about your training instead.”

Lainey lifted her chin in slight defiance. “It’s still my gig; he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my initial pitch.” Her lips curved as she saw mischievousness reflected in Scotch’s demeanor. The confidence that originally drew Lainey seemed to emanate throughout the woman in every situation, even playfulness. It was quite a turn on.

“I’ll answer you if you answer a question for me.”

The glint in Scotch’s eye gave Lainey pause. “What's this? An Alaskan form of Truth or Dare?” she asked, hiding her wariness behind humor.

Scotch grinned. “Well, we could do that, too.”

Lainey had a moment of dizziness at the thought of playing Truth or Dare with the woman who filled her wet dreams. What a game that would be! Yowza! Forcing her overactive imagination down, Lainey said, “All right. A question for a question. I asked mine first.”

With a satisfied air, Scotch relaxed further into the couch. She draped one long arm across the back of it, not quite reaching Lainey’s head. “Technically, I’m set for the race. Figure it runs about ten grand after entry fees, gear replacement, food and freight. When you made the deal to train for the race, the money you brought covered both of us.”

“Yeah?” Lainey felt a sense of satisfaction.

“Yeah. This is a year of plenty for the kennel. The formula for running one is a buck fifty per dog per day. And we have almost a hundred dogs.”

“Have you done this before?” Lainey asked. “Taken on a rookie to train?”

Scotch grinned. “That’s two questions, and it’s my turn.”

Lainey held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fire away.”

“What’s it like to report from a war zone?”

“Oooh.” She could not help but wince, having not expected the query. ‘man, you shoot from the hip, don’t you?”

A contrite look crossed Scotch’s face. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s really none of my business.”

Lainey reached out and patted Scotch’s thigh just above the knee. “No, that’s okay. It just surprised me.” She drew one foot up to the edge of the couch, wrapping her arms around her shin in thought. “It’s one part challenge, one part terror, and three parts excitement - shaken, not stirred.”

“On the rocks?”

She laughed. “Yup, you got it.” Lainey sobered, remembering. “You hear an explosion or gunfire in the distance; you grab whatever transportation you can find to get to the scene. Your heart is pumping, your nerves jittery. Your destination smells of dust, cordite, and blood. If you’re lucky, the perpetrators are long gone. And if you’re luckier, they’re still there, shooting it out with whoever claims that area.

“Nothing is truly real. You see it all through the viewfinder. It’s a photo op, the destruction, the death. There’s no time to feel; you have to record the event as it unfolds and hope to God you’ll remain in one piece after.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Lainey returned to the present. “Ah, ah, ah,” she said, waving a finger. ‘my turn.”

Scotch grinned, and shook her head. “You want me to answer your last one?”

“Nope. I retract it. Why do you run the Iditarod? What’s the draw?”

Scotch pressed back against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think you’ve already said it. One part challenge, one part terror, and three parts excitement, though it’s stirred in this case.”

“On the rocks?”

“Only in warmer years with little snowfall.” She remained quiet for a moment.

Lainey snorted. “Oh, no. Now’s not the time to get terse. Give me something to go on here.”

Scotch chuckled. “Okay, give me a minute.”

As she paused in contemplation, Lainey’s fascination grew. The aura of strength Scotch already held in abundance solidified and grew around her. The race or the dog sledding was the root of her confidence. Lainey’s heart thumped with the realization. Why? How? Not everyone carried themselves this way despite having raced; she had met many of the racers last year, including women, and had not seen it with any of them.

“You’re alone with sixteen dogs, crossing the tundra or weaving through trees and brush. It’s so cold and the air so crisp that you can actually see better than at any other time, crystal clear. There’s nothing but the dogs panting, their feet crunching in the snow, and the next turn of the trail. You feel so small and so insignificant, but the dogs rely on you as you rely on them. I can’t really explain it. It’s the ultimate high.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Scotch mulling over her memories, and Lainey soaking in the feelings those recollections invoked.

“My turn.”

Lainey bowed her head in a nod. She watched Scotch shift her gaze away, and begin chewing the inside of her cheek. A frown rippled across her fair features. Lainey braced herself for the next question, sensing it would not be an easy one.

“It’s been bugging me since you got here. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t seem to shake it.” Scotch looked back at her. “Where were you shot?”

She stared blankly at her roommate. Here she thought she would have to answer something really tough like, “·¢Are you really drooling every time I walk by or do you just have an advanced case of rabies?” Scotch seemed to retract from the conversation when she did not immediately answer, so Lainey hastened to reassure her. “It’s all right. Really.”

Sitting up, Lainey dropped her feet to the floor, upsetting Scotch’s legs beneath her. They laughed nervously as they readjusted their positions. Lainey stood and turned so that her right side faced Scotch. “I was out with a US military patrol in Kosovo. They were ordered to do a standard sweep through a village for insurgents. Luck was with me then.” She lifted her shirt to reveal the scar on her side. “There was an ambush. I got a lot of really good photos of the action.”

Scotch grimaced at the jagged scar about six inches long. “Damn, that must have hurt.”

Unaccountably nervous, Lainey laughed. “Not at the time.” She peered past her shirt at the cause of her sudden career change. “I was prone on the ground behind cover. Nobody realized there was a flanking team until we started getting shot at from behind. The bullet came in at a very low angle.” She touched the bottom of the scar, and traced upward. “He was aiming for my heart. Instead it hit and shattered my ribs, poking holes in my lungs.”

“Ow,” Scotch said in soft sympathy, engrossed in the damage. She reached out and traced the upraised tissue with gentle fingers.

Lainey had not expected her to take the liberty. She swallowed against a desire to cry. What the hell? Shaking her head, she forced a chuckle. “Anyway, I hardly felt it; just a sharp sting in my side. When I tried to get up to follow the rest of the firing team to safety, I couldn’t. That’s when I passed out. One of them realized I was wounded and carried me out.” She stepped slightly away, and pulled her shirt back down. “I don’t remember much else until I woke in the hospital.”

“You were out for a year. Was most of it in the hospital?”

Despite the fact it was Lainey’s turn, she answered. “I was in Kosovo for about two weeks before I could be shipped back to the states. Spent another month in a hospital in Washington DC before being released as an in-patient.” She sat down, leaning her elbows on her knees rather than sitting back. “Had some counseling and some physical therapy, but got a clean bill of health after a couple of months. I guess I just needed some time to think about what happened.” She did not volunteer that she had spent a good portion of the rest of the year attempting to pickle what inner organs had not been damaged.

Scotch seemed to be at a loss for words, and they sat for a moment.

Lainey pushed away the sudden vulnerability that had reared up at Scotch’s touch. She did not know what that was, and had no time to investigate it. After a deep breath, she propped her feet on the coffee table, and relaxed. ‘my turn.”

Smiling, Scotch went with the change of subject, visibly easing.

“Have you ever been hurt on a race?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scotch agreed. “Though nowhere nearly as bad as you were. When I was seventeen, I was finally eligible for my first adult race. Ran the Yukon Quest 250 that year. It was my first overnighter that wasn’t on familiar territory.”

“What happened?”

“Frostbite,” she said. “I set my gloves down while feeding the dogs during a break. I haven’t a clue where they went. It was pretty warm out when I left the checkpoint, so I didn’t even notice they weren’t with me until it started to cool off.”

“Ew.” Lainey wrinkled her nose.

Scotch grinned, holding out her hands to study them. “Yeah. The 250 takes about two and a half days to run. I lost the gloves on the second day; had to go through the night and into the next morning to get to the finish line.”

“Looks like your hands survived.”

“They did. I was lucky that it was such a warm year. I had some leather work gloves with me. My sled wasn’t in the best of shape, so I was prepared to make repairs on it. Those and a couple of pairs of socks for mittens kept the worst of the frostbite away.” Scotch leaned closer, showing the side of one hand. “You can see where I lost a bit of skin there. The seam on the gloves was worn, and the damage was too much to recuperate from.”

Lainey shivered and shook her hands in excess empathy. “Yuck! That gives me the willies.”

Scotch leaned back and laughed. “Well, you asked.”

“Yuck,” she repeated.

“Your turn.”

“Anything I ask now will seem anticlimactic.”

“Probably.”

Lainey smiled. “How about we head over to the main cabin for dinner instead? I believe I have a date to beat you at Monopoly.”

Scoffing, Scotch said, “You wish. I am the Monopoly Kingpin in this family.” She stood and offered her hand.

Lainey accepted the assistance, enjoying the touch too much, and rose. “Time for me to topple your funny money empire, sister.”

They shared a look before bursting into laughter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

August

LAINEY SAT AT the dining table in Scotch's cabin. She stared at the blank legal pad before her, a pen rapidly waggling back and forth between her index and middle finger. Normally she would be typing her work into her laptop, but she did not want to run the battery down any more than necessary. Her computer stayed at the main cabin for the most part, keeping itself juiced up and available for the final copies and email correspondence.

Daylight poured in from the two windows above her, as well as through the windows in the loft, as it did almost twenty hours a day. It was August and Lainey was only now getting used to the constant sun. In a couple of months, she might even see darkness go beyond twilight before she fell asleep. The idea that January would find her sitting here with a lantern at three in the afternoon to ward off the constant night seemed almost as alien.

Her training was going well. She had eighteen dogs assigned to her to choose from for March. With Scotch and Rye's help, Lainey had created an elaborate training schedule to keep all animals working together. She had graduated to driving eight dogs at a time now, and had to rotate between her canine companions to ensure each was getting the proper workout. Lainey was the only one to feed her dogs, the only one to spend any significant amount of time with them. Miguel Sanchez, the handler, helped with all the animals, of course, but those on Lainey's team had to look to her as their pack leader.

Lainey tossed down her pen with a grunt and leaned back in the chair. Poked in the back by a torn piece of vinyl for her effort, she readjusted herself, forcing the flap flat with her shoulder.

Howry was working on the final preparations for his first article. Their editor, Strauss, had arranged for their articles to run hand in hand on a quarterly basis rather than filling an entire spring issue. Lainey had to have something to give him by the end of the week or miss her deadline. But she could not seem to focus on anything.