Broken Trails (3 page)

Grinning, Lainey stood, and donned her jacket. She could not wait to get started. Her heart filled with enthusiasm, even though this was only the first step. There were still so many things she needed to get done, so many plans to make.

She supposed now would be a good time to call Scotch Fuller and pitch the idea to her.

CHAPTER THREE

April

SCOTCH DOLED THE last of breakfast into Idduna's bowl. The dog gazed at her with adoration, ignoring the food as she wriggled in pleasure. Dropping the feed pail, Scotch lavished her with a thorough scratching. Only then would Idduna attend her meal, a combination of moistened chow, rice and hot water.

Around Scotch, the rest of the kennel greedily ate up their offerings. Her brother and sister had finished their sections, both threading through the canine population toward the dog kitchen, and she joined them. After years of habit, they hardly spoke as they continued their daily ritual. Irish, nine years old, collected the feed pails to rinse out, and store inside the barn. Scotch and her brother, Rye, pulled the fifty-five gallon drum that doubled as a huge pot off the barrel stove. While Rye rolled it outside the kitchen area for cleaning, Scotch hung the stir 'spoon' - a snow shovel - on a hook. Then she threw sand across the floor to soak up any spills before sweeping the concrete floor clean.

As she worked, she kept her mind occupied with thoughts of Idduna. The dog had gone into heat a week into the Iditarod, considerably distracting the team. It had taken quite a bit of creative management to keep her separated from the eager boys, but Scotch had succeeded. When the race was over, she had allowed one of her leaders, Sukita, to breed the bitch. She expected Idduna would give birth by mid-May, and she already contemplated the potential of the pups. Idduna was a solid dog in her team, and Sukita one of the smartest. He could sense a blown out trail where most dogs would get lost. Scotch wondered if she should have called him Sonar, because he certainly had the gift. Would the pups inherit that gift, too?

When she finished her chore, she and Rye returned the pot to its place in preparation of the next feeding that afternoon. In the meantime, Irish gave their two large free run kennels a cursory inspection. They evidently met with her approval, and she began the process of transferring five dogs into each one for some playtime. Ten more would have an opportunity to carouse together that afternoon.

"Kids!"

Turning back to the cabin, she saw her mother leaning out the back door.

"When you're done with the scooping, we've got a board meeting.”

Rye waved comprehension. "Okay, Mom.”

"Wonder what that's about,” Scotch said, pulling two shovels from their storage pegs. She followed Rye, who lugged a plastic trash barrel, out to the dog yard.

"You got me,” he said. "I didn't expect a board meeting until the first of the month.”

“Me neither.” They began the job of scooping excrement from around the dog enclosures, a nasty yet entertaining one as the canines did their level best to distract them. As usual, the dogs succeeded somewhat, receiving scratches and pats as the siblings worked their way through the crap left by ninety-five animals. Fortunately, break up had not yet occurred, making the chore not as filthy as it would have been had there been melt off and mud on the ground. That would happen soon enough.

“Maybe it's your adoring public,” Rye eventually said, grinning as he wiped sweat from his forehead with one arm.

Scotch snorted, a smile on her face, and kept shoveling. "If my 'adoring public' will bring in money to sponsor me for next year, I'm for it.”

"I hear you, sis.”

With the job completed, they put things away, and headed into the main house. The minimal heat of the entry was uncomfortable after her work out. Scotch divested herself of boots, work gloves, and jacket. She followed her siblings inside, inhaling the aroma of bacon and eggs with appreciation as she removed further layers of clothing. After cleaning up, the family sat down to a big Sunday breakfast.

Leaning back in his chair, Rye patted his belly in contentment. “That was wonderful,” he said to his mother who had begun clearing the table.

Helen Fuller, still clad in a bathrobe and slippers, put dishes in the sink for later washing. She wiped her hands on a towel. “Thank you.”

Scotch passed her, pausing to kiss her mother's cheek. Dodging two-year-old Bon, who precariously balanced his silverware on his plate, Scotch rid herself of her dish before scooping him up.

“Sco' help!" Bon exclaimed as his older sister lifted him high enough to put his brightly colored plastic plate with the rest.

"Bon help,” Scotch said. She planted him on her hip, reaching for a washcloth to remove the sticky residue of pancakes and syrup from his grinning face.

“So what's up with a board meeting?” Rye asked, ruffling Bon's white blond hair in passing, and returning to the table. "Is it that phone call you got last night?”

Scotch drifted back to her chair, and Bon contented himself for the moment to remain in her lap. "What phone call?”

"It was after you'd gone back to your cabin, dear,” her mother said. She sat down, and retrieved a notepad and pen from an armoire behind her. ‘shall we begin?”

Thomas Fuller nodded, and he wiped his red mustache and beard with a napkin. “The Fuller Kennel board of directors is called to order,” he said. "All members present and accounted for.”

Scotch smiled. She had been a member of the board since she was Bon's age when the kennel had come into existence. Her parents had legally incorporated it and, at the birth of each child after, officially added a new member.

"Last night we got a call from a reporter for Cognizance.”

“They just published an article about the Iditarod,” Helen informed them.

Both Rye and Irish immediately looked at their sister. Scotch felt her face heat up. She smothered a shiver, and her entire being seemed to pause between one heartbeat and the next. It was similar to what she experienced when the team first took off from the starting line; anything could and would happen in the coming moments.

“They want to do an in-depth piece on Scotch for next year.”

Irish whooped, clapping her hands. Bon followed suit, enthusiastic as he enjoyed the atmosphere.

“That's fantastic!" Rye said, when things died down. ‘so, why the meeting? What's this got to do with the kennel?”

Thomas leaned back in his chair. “The reporter has requested to live and work here from sign up to the race next year.”

Scotch's innards swooped low. It was one thing to get decent publicity, opening avenues of sponsors to help defray the costs of the kennel and racing itself. But to have some stranger living with her family? The idea of being under constant surveillance was creepy at best.

"Live here?” Irish asked, wrinkling her freckled nose. "I'm not giving up my room.”

"You won't have to,” Thomas said.

"I get to move into my cabin?” Rye's eyebrows rose in anticipation. The property was large enough that several cabins and out buildings had been erected over the years. As his sister before him, one was being built for his eighteenth birthday and official adulthood.

"Not at sixteen, mister,” his mother said.

Rye's face fell.

"Well, providing we vote to accept him, where's he going to sleep?” Scotch asked.

Her father grinned. "He's a she, and there's room at your place.”

“My place?” The entire idea was going beyond creepy now. "Why my place?”

“She'll be here to do an article on you, honey,” Helen said. "What better place for her?”

Unable to argue the logic, Scotch held her tongue.

“This reporter, Miss Hughes, she says the magazine will either do an intensive issue after the race, or do a series of articles leading up to and past it.” Thomas leaned his elbows on the table. "You know how tight money is. She's willing to pay room and board, and work at the kennel on top of things. With this exposure, Scotch, you could get national sponsorship. Hell!" He slapped the table, causing the detritus of their meal to rattle. "You might even get the magazine to sponsor you!"

Scotch considered her father's words. Being intimately acquainted with the kennel and finances as all of them were, she saw the truth of his words. Granted, the Fullers were well enough off to afford nice things, but that was in large part due to Fuller Construction, Thomas' business, and Helen's veterinarian practice. The kennel itself paid for Scotch's racing fees, and she spent summers running tours and adventures to bring in money to cover costs.

She weighed the absence of financial problems against the thought of some stranger living in her cabin with her. For months. What if this woman was a shrew, or a neat freak? What if she snored?

Realizing that everyone was looking to her for a cue, Scotch blushed, covering her embarrassment by jostling Bon who was still in her lap. "What did she sound like?” she asked, not pleased with the wistful tone in her voice.

Her father seemed to understand the true question. ‘she sounds excited with the idea. Apparently she was at the awards banquet, and that's where she came up with it.” He gave his oldest daughter a serious look. "I think she's done her research, and really wants to make this work.”

"Regardless of the vote, you are the most affected,” Helen said. "If you don't want to go through with it, that's that.”

Scotch scanned the people around the table. Her parents remained carefully neutral. In her arms, Bon clapped twice at the expectant feeling in the air, then made a dive for a slice of bacon still on the platter. She got it for him, and he succumbed to quietly nibble the meat. Irish watched with wide blue eyes, twirling a lock of strawberry hair with one hand.

It was Rye who gave her the answer. He all but yelled at her to accept the proposal with his expression. Still too young to run the Iditarod, he had placed well in the Junior Iditarod the previous two years, and was heavily involved with the Junior Alaskan and Sled Dog Racing Association. Any national exposure to his sister would naturally shine on him, as well.

The reporter would only be there a few months. Scotch would be so busy training through winter, she probably would not even notice the woman's existence. The payoff would mean an easy season, free from financial concerns.

"All right. Let's vote.”

“Those in favor of accepting Miss Hughes' offer?” Thomas asked.

Everyone around the table raised their hands except Bon. Seeing the movement, he grinned and waved his half-.eaten bacon, almost swatting Scotch in the head.

"Whoa there!" she said, laughing with her family as she ducked out of the way.

"You'd better put that thing away before you poke an eye out.”

"Poke, poke!" Bon crowed at the attention.

“Meeting adjourned,” Thomas said, standing. "I'm going to call that reporter, and give her the good news.”

Scotch watched him leave. Bon demanded down, and he slid out of her lap. Everyone else took her father's lead, and stood. Chores needed doing, even on a fine Sunday morning. As she helped finish clearing the table, Rye leaned close, his voice low.

"You won't regret it, sis. This is a hell of an opportunity for you.”

She risked a glance at their mother when he cursed. ‘mind your tongue or Mom's going to cut it off.”

He grinned impishly, and sauntered away with a handful of plates.

Watching him, she hoped he was right.

CHAPTER FOUR

End of June

SCOTCH STARED NERVOUSLY at the airstrip before her, tapping a staccato on the steering wheel in time with a bluegrass tune on the radio. The June morning had dawned beautifully, the temperature sitting at a balmy fifty-eight degrees. It was expected to reach sixty-five before the day was through, a perfect day to welcome a pair of newcomers.

Over the last three months, her father had remained in close contact with the reporter, Lainey Hughes. Or was it the other way around? She seemed to call the house fairly regularly to discuss the best time to arrive, what sort of clothes to pack, and other particulars with the senior Fuller. In May, Lainey had also added another photographer to her entourage, increasing the Fuller population by an additional body. Rye was still not allowed to move into his unfinished cabin, as much as he tried to change his mother's mind. Instead, another bunk had been added to the handler's cabin where Miguel Sanchez, the kennel's sole employee, resided.

Scotch wondered why the woman needed a cameraman when she was an accomplished photographer in her own right. A quick search on the Internet had provided a wealth of information on the mysterious reporter. Scotch found her body of work fascinating. Early in her career, Lainey had spent time in Africa, covering a civil war in Rwanda. Her photos of the atrocities between the Hutu and Tutsi people eventually helped convict the prime minister for war crimes, and made her career. From there, she wandered the globe, following wars and military coups. The scenes she revealed to the world showed the true brutality of war, fresh corpses and celebrating radicals. They also highlighted the humanity. Scotch's favorite was one of a Middle Eastern boy, maybe five or six years old, playing in the dusty street before a bombed out building. She liked it so much, she had the image printed up and framed. It sat in her cabin on an end table.

Lainey had been wounded in Kosovo, though all Scotch could find was that she had been shot. After a year of nothing, the photojournalist returned to work. Instead of war, this time, she focused her lens on nature. She still traveled extensively, but seemed to avoid the hot spots of the world. Scotch could not blame her; being shot must have been a terrifying experience.

The extensive research did not calm Scotch's nerves, though. She continued to be leery of having a stranger live with her. Scotch enjoyed her solitude. When she had moved out of the main house and into her cabin five years ago, it had been wondrous not having to share the space with her little sister. Attending the college based in nearby Anchorage, she had taken online and correspondence courses, never having to resort to a dorm or roommates. This would be an alien experience for her, and she did not know how she would handle it.