Broken Trails (12 page)

Scotch had been a wonderful instructor. Lainey had learned so much from her about how to handle the dogs; not just about discipline but to get them to want the same things she did. During the mornings, the women spent time together with their chores. Afternoons were for training or tourists. Lainey was not allowed to take any guests out on cart rides yet because she had not learned all the trails. Evenings consisted of another round of feeding and poop scooping, followed by dinner and spending time with the Fullers and Howry. When it was time for bed, Lainey and Scotch would make the trek to their cabin, swapping stories about their day. So many times Lainey wanted to take Scotch's hand, and give her a hug or a kiss. Now that she had gotten to know the woman, she discovered she really liked Scotch as a person. It did not dampen her original desire one bit, much to her chagrin. If anything, she wanted Scotch much more now than when she had started this assignment.

Lainey forced herself back to the paper. Having never missed a deadline, she did not plan on starting now. Her feelings for Scotch could not be used as an excuse. Maybe if she started with a description of one of her runs. Retrieving her pen from the middle of the table, she began to write.

The wind brushes past me at a whopping eleven miles per hour. I hear nothing but the sound of panting dogs, and rubber tires crunching across the previous season's detritus. The smell of pine and loam fill my nostrils, competing with the ever-present odor of dog fur that has become the center of my world for the last forty-five days.

This is one of my first lessons as a musher. I have no license here, no insurance. My only company is a team of eight canine athletes who have decided to give me a shot at leading them. Up ahead is another all-terrain vehicle disappearing around a bend. My partner in crime - my mentor, Scotch Fuller, three time Iditarod finisher - is leading the way. I have no idea where I'm going, just that I'm to follow her lead. Oh, and make sure my team thinks I'm in charge.

Such begins my day of training for the Iditarod sled dog race that takes place every March in Anchorage, Alaska. I am one of thirty-eight rookies signed up for the next one, thirty-eight novices taking on the challenge of what is billed as the Last Great Race in the World.

The days all seem to run together here. The constant sunlight doesn't help my sense of time; I've yet to see full dark since my arrival at the end of June. I hear it might make an appearance by the end of August, at least for a little bit. Until then, I go to sleep in daylight and wake up to daylight, even at 10:00pm and 5:00am.

In the morning, the dogs are seen to first. There are almost a hundred of them at Fuller Kennels. You'd think with that amount they would all sort of run together in the mind, a mass of wet fur and wagging tails with little in the way of distinction but markings on their coats. That's not the case, however, as I've discovered. In the last month and a half I've gotten to know all the animals, and each is different from the last with his or her unique foibles and strengths.

The ones I know the best are my team.

Sholo is all white with bright blue eyes flickering with intelligence. He's a hard worker who has little patience for incompetence, though he's at least polite when I exhibit mine. His ability to stick to a trail is astounding. I've found he'll refuse orders from me and, when I try to call him on it, I discover I was the one in the wrong - the trail didn't go the direction I wanted, or an obvious obstacle that I couldn't see blocked our way. I swear this dog is a barking, shedding dowsing rod.

Trace is Sholo's diametric opposite in appearance. His black coat and eyes will make him difficult to see in the dark (providing I ever see him at night. Some days I have my doubts.) He's finished the Iditarod twice before, leading part of the way. His experience will be a tremendous asset to us when we get to Anchorage.

Behind the lead dogs are another couple of characters. Meshindi is a rookie at two. His only experience has been in sprints last year. His brown eyes are almond shaped, making it seem he's more Asian than canine. He's not 'inscrutable,' by any means. I have no doubts about his opinion on anything as he grins or grumbles at me. Most of his grumbling has to do with interrupting his naps during out training breaks; his grins are for frozen moose liver treats, his favorite.

A leader in training, Montana has had experience in several mid-distance races. This will be the first Iditarod for him, too, but I'm hoping Trace will take him under his . . . paw and show the new guy the ropes. He has a tendency to swagger as he runs, as a young male is prone to do, and is more than willing to wrestle with anyone willing to play.

Behind them is Bonaparte. No one else is allowed in his section of the mainline; he'll balk if he's not treated with proper deference. He's a small dog with a big attitude, and God help the handler who doesn't give His Majesty his due. Despite the regal behavior, he doesn't want to lead - such is the job of mere mortals. Instead, he follows just behind the leaders, keeping the rest of the team in line.

His consort is Kaara. Her name means 'shining light of the morning' and it's so apt. Off white with mottled brows and grays, she gives off a calm and cheerful aura. She's the only dog in the kennel that doesn't call Bonaparte on his snotty attitudes. In fact, she adores him, playing Josephine to his high falutin' ways. It's rumored that she's in love with him. If ever there was a living example of puppy love, Kaara carries it with pride.

Just in front of my ATV are Jonah and Aegis. Male and female, they're the largest dogs on my team, weighing in at a total of one hundred fifty-seven pounds. They're that big because they're the wheel dogs - the animals right in front of the sled. They need the extra power to keep control of a six hundred pound sled during turns. Yet they also must be fast enough to avoid getting run over.

Jonah is a wild and wooly fellow, the mountain man of the team, with shaggy hair and an obsession with pulling. Given the chance, he'd be happy to do all the work, and leave his mates back at home. When the rest of the team hears the command, "Ready,” he's the one who leaps forward with the most eagerness to get going.

Aegis is my sweetheart. Her size makes her appear somewhat threatening (though all the dogs are thoroughly adapted to humans from the time they're born.) In reality, she's nothing more than a big mushball who enjoys tummy rubs, and daintily nibbles on her treats while the others wolf theirs down.

The cabin door opened, interrupting Lainey. She looked up to see Scotch clattering down the steps.

"Want to go swimming?” she asked, eyes sparkling. Scotch was without a cap, her tawny blonde curls uncontained. Her skin had taken on a light gold color from her constant exposure to the outdoors. From the looks of her peeling nose, perhaps she had had too much time in the sun.

Lainey smiled in return, wondering how much longer she could take this unrequited yearning. "I don't have a swimsuit,” she said. Truth be told, she had been so worried about the coming winter, she had not packed much in the way of summer clothes at all. Last week she had to go into the general store to get some lighter clothing, having not expected to become so acclimated to the Alaskan summer.

Scotch sat down across from her. "Doesn't matter. You can use your sleep clothes. All you need are shorts and a t-shirt. That's what I do.”

"Who's going?” Lainey asked, more to keep her talking than to get an answer. She enjoyed hearing the woman's voice, enjoyed the undertone of happiness there.

Scotch's face became even more animated. "Pretty much everybody. You know the trail near the river?” At Lainey's nod, she said, "About a hundred feet around the bend there's a cove. We swim there every summer.”

Lainey looked at her article, chewing her lip. "I don't know. I've really got to get this done...”

Scotch leaned forward, elbows on the table that showed its age as it wobbled from her weight. “There's a rope swing,” she said, a slight wheedling tone coming into her voice.

Looking at her, Lainey could see flecks of dark mixed with the light blue of her irises. At this range, the freckles dusting Scotch's slightly crooked and peeling nose were adorable. She felt her resolve waver, the call of playing with this woman far louder than the professional demand to get the job done and in early.

"You're evil,” she finally said.

Realizing she had won, Scotch jumped up with a whoop. "All right!" She headed toward the stairs. "You can change here or at the river.”

Lainey stood, refusing to look at the article lest it cause her to change her mind. "Where do you change?” she asked.

Past the door and almost to the loft, Scotch grinned down at her. "At the river. Nothing like getting nekkid in the great outdoors.” She disappeared into her half of the sleeping loft.

Staring after her, Lainey felt alternating hot and cold. Surely Scotch was joking, not flirting. Wasn't she?

She carefully put the very vivid image of a naked Scotch out of her mind. Her skin remained flushed, and she muttered under her breath, "God help me. Seven more months of this.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE DOGS WERE not pleased to be left behind. As the ATV roared away without them, they set up a clamor loud enough for Lainey to hear over the engine. She held on for dear life, as Scotch played dare devil, accelerating along the familiar trails at speeds Lainey had not attained. Not that holding Scotch was such a hardship on Lainey's part. Had she known she would be allowed to cuddle against Scotch's back, arms about her slim waist, she would have leapt at the chance to go to the swimming hole long ago.

As they traveled, Lainey tried to keep her lascivious thoughts in line, though her success rate left much to be desired. She mentally followed the trail, noting familiar landmarks, known distances, and turnoffs to other paths. Never mind that Scotch's belly held just the right amount of give to it, indicating a muscled figure with the proper amount of curve to be interesting; or that even with the wind whipping by, the smell of Scotch's hair was strong enough to induce Lainey into hyperventilation as she inhaled as deeply as possible again and again.

The vibration through the seat made thinking of anything else difficult, too.

Feeling deliciously illicit, Lainey leaned her cheek against Scotch's back, soaking in her proximity. Without thought, she gave Scotch a gentle hug, only realizing what she had done when Scotch responded with a squeeze of her arm on Lainey's. Horrified at her faux pas, Lainey attempted to release her, but was held firmly in place.

“Hang on!” Scotch called back.

Lainey, her insides as jittery as her emotions, signaled her understanding with another hug. Scotch patted her arm and returned to driving the ATV.

She closed her eyes, adding this latest interaction to the host of others she had gathered over the last month and a half. Sometimes it seemed Scotch was definitely gay. The woman often made comments that could be misconstrued in a certain way if she were so inclined. But, if she were straight, her remarks would seem normal in every day conversation. Even Howry had noticed, and the two of them had spent quite a bit of time comparing notes.

It was enough to make Lainey cry.

“Almost there.'

In an effort to distract herself, Lainey returned her attention to her surroundings. She recognized the trail though she had not taken the turn that Scotch drove toward. They dropped fairly fast down an incline, and she clutched at Scotch, feeling a rumble of laughter through her arms. The air become cooler almost immediately as they leveled off onto a trail that paralleled a river.

“When the river's frozen, we take the dogs through here,” Scotch yelled. “There are more trails on the other side.'

The trees seemed to draw back as they pulled into a clearing already occupied by most of the Fuller clan. One of the trucks, sans dog trailer, sat off a dirt road with its tailgate down, its bed filled with a couple of coolers, an assortment of towels and Bon playing with a beach ball. His mother rummaged through one of the coolers for drinks. The clean smell of fresh water was disturbed by mesquite charcoal smoke as a barbecue squatted nearby, manned by Miguel. Two folding tables and a number of deck chairs clustered together, various picnic items scattered on their surfaces.

Scotch drove up to the truck and turned off the engine.

A whoop of sheer joy exploded into the sudden quiet. Lainey turned to see Howry, wearing a pair of shorts and ratty tennis shoes, swinging on a rope that hung from a tree looming over a small cove. At the apex of his swing, he let the rope go to fly a short way before hitting the water like a cannonball. Irish and another girl her age were already swimming, and yelled at his boisterous arrival in mock indignation.

Lainey's brow furrowed at seeing the strange girl. She reluctantly released Scotch and dismounted the ATV, taking a closer look at the clearing.

The rope moved of its own accord. Lainey followed the action with confusion until she realized there was another rope attached to it, and someone was hoisting it back up the embankment for another round. A young man about Scotch's age stood there, long brown hair tied back in a tail and a light beard adorning his jaw. He wore less than Howry, who had surfaced with another shout.

“Who's that?" she asked, nodding toward the man, not too pleased with his physique. Obviously he worked out with regularity, and his tight swim trunks left little to the imagination.

Scotch, who had begun rummaging in a carry sack she had cradled between her legs for the trip, looked up and smiled. “That's Martin Schram. His family lives right over that ridge." She waved. 'Hey, Martin!'

The man turned toward them and smiled when he saw Scotch. He waved back. 'Get up here, Scotch! Let's show these chechakos how to swim in Alaskan waters!'

Laughing, Scotch nodded and returned to her bag, pulling out her swimming gear.

Disgruntled, and trying not to show it, Lainey asked, 'Chechakos?'

Scotch chuckled. 'Newcomers, greenhorns, people who haven't lived in Alaska before.'