Broken Trails (5 page)

“So. Is this attraction fatal, or just a minor infatuation?”

Lainey scowled at him, then glanced around to see if anyone overheard. "It's not like that,” she said.

"Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. ‘she's cute, in an athletic sort of way. I mean, if you're attracted to that type - and I know you are.” He busied himself with taking a picture of their subject of conversation as she shook hands with the visitors.

“That's not why we're here.”

He turned his lens toward her, adjusting the focus. "You can't lie to the camera, Lainey.” Click.

Her face was hot, and she placed her hand on the lens to block further photos. She did not need photographic evidence of her folly. "All right,” she said, rolling her eyes. "I saw her last March. There’s something about her that won’t leave me alone.”

Howry dropped the camera, giving her his undivided attention.

She looked away, knowing she turned several shades of red. It was one thing to plot and daydream; speaking the words aloud gave her scheme a shock of ludicrous reality it had previously been missing. "I thought if I could spend some time with her, I'd get over whatever this is.” She glared at him. “But I still think it’s a good idea. That's why I pitched it to Ben in the first place.”

“Must have been a hell of a wrinkle when his boss added me to the equation.”

She looked at him, noting no rancor in his expression. Relaxing a little, she said, “To say the least.”

"What did they say when you told them?” he asked, tilting his head at the gathering by the kennel.

Lainey watched as Scotch knelt down to be on a level with a small boy, patient and smiling as she explained something to him. Her chest went tight with an unidentifiable emotion, and she resisted an urge to approach. "I haven't told them, yet.”

Howry was silent for a moment before whooping in laughter.

Irritated, she turned her back on him as he bent nearly double in his mirth. Lainey plastered on an apologetic smile as the others regarded them curiously. "It's not that funny,” she said from between clenched teeth.

It took a few more moments before he regained control, straightening and wiping his eyes. "Not from where I'm standing,” he answered.

"Are you the reporters?”

Lainey looked up to see a girl hanging over the railing of the deck. She promptly put on her best diplomatic face. "Yes, we are. I'm Lainey Hughes, and this is Don Howry.”

The girl smiled, and Lainey could see another echo of Scotch in the girl's face. She had to admit that their parents certainly threw good-looking offspring.

"I'm Irish Fuller.” She gave them a once over, tucking a length of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. "I heard the truck drive up, so I made coffee. Where's your stuff?”

"On the front porch. Scotch was going to give us the ten dollar tour, but got sidetracked.”

Irish screwed her face in thought, spying her older sister leading the family toward the carport structure. “They're just getting started. I can't leave Bon alone, or I'd take you.”

Howry said, “That's okay. We can manage on our own.”

"Why don't you come up here? I can bring you coffee, and you can wait for her to finish.” Irish opened a child and puppy proof gate, deftly intercepting a dog with her foot as it made a bumbling lurch toward freedom.

"Oh, no. We don't want to put you out.” Lainey took a step backward in mild protest.

Irish’s expression cooled, a flash of displeasure that was quickly replaced with comprehension. ‘mom said you wouldn't understand,” she said, almost as an afterthought. Taking on a slight lecturing tone, she continued. "It's really rude to not offer guests something to drink when they arrive.”

Lainey realized that, by extension, it was considered impolite to refuse an offer, as well.

Her companion also caught the hint, and slung his camera over his shoulder. "We'd be grateful for some coffee.”

Irish smiled, and gestured for them to come up the steps.

At least on the deck, Lainey had a better view of Scotch’s activities. Sitting on a patio chair, she leaned against the railing and watched the woman explain the operations of the kennel to her audience, her voice not quite carrying. Rye went into the building by the carport, and pulled out a racing sled. The group drifted toward it, and Scotch pointed out the various parts of the vehicle.

Lainey saw movement in the dog area. A Hispanic man in jeans released a chained animal, and brought it to a four-wheel ATV with as odd contraption attached to the front. It looked like a roller coaster car made of wood and painted with the logo she had seen on the sign out front. As the man moved through the yard, the dogs barked joyfully, jumping about to gain his attention. When Irish returned from inside, she asked, “Who’s that?”

After setting a tray of refreshments on a table, the girl skillfully stopped Bon’s attempt to climb into Howry’s lap. Keeping her little brother wrapped in her arms, she looked where indicated. “That’s Miguel. He’s our handler.”

Howry stood to get a better angle, looking through his camera. “What’s he doing?”

Irish set the squirming Bon down who immediately wrapped himself about Howry’s leg. “He’s hooking the dogs up to the ATV. Those people have paid for a tour. They get a dog ride, too.” She shrugged, a slight grin on her face. “It’s not a sled, but it does the trick when there’s no snow.”

Lainey split her attention between her lust object and the handler. No dog was ignored as he filtered through, though he only picked half a dozen to lead to the vehicle. Meanwhile, Scotch whistled, and a single unchained dog trotted over to her, tail wagging. She began to demonstrate how the canines were attached to the sled with the help of the boy who proudly beamed at his father.

"Why is that dog running loose?” Lainey asked.

At the same time, Howry asked, "How does he choose which dogs to use?”

Irish looked between them, uncertain who to answer first.

Bon had no problem, however. “Rock big dog!" he yelled.

Grinning, Irish nodded. "Yeah, Rock is the Big Dog today. Every day one dog is allowed to run free. It's usually run on a rotation except for race days or when the girls are in heat.”

Her question answered, Lainey watched as Scotch finished the lesson, barely hearing Irish's response to Howry.

“The rides are on a rotation schedule, too, at least during the tourist season. Once race training starts, at least half of them are dropped from the list. Those that aren't going to be racing take up the slack.” She set a steaming coffee cup in front of Lainey. "Any tourists wanting a real sled ride don't know the differences between first or second string.”

By now, Miguel finished his task. He climbed onto the ATV, and called out a command to the dogs. Lainey could not help but smile at the enthusiastic barks as the team leapt forward.

She watched him direct the animals to circle the dog yard, sending up a round of excited howls from those left behind. The clamor distracted the visitors, and they watched wide-eyed as Miguel expertly drove the team toward them, pulling to a halt nearby. Lainey felt the most amazing thing was that there were no reins, no method of control except verbal commands. Sure, the ATV could be steered, but the dogs followed their commands rather than tried to go a different way. Scotch made a show of greeting each dog, urging the children to do the same. Then she helped everyone aboard the cart, standing back as her brother joined them.

Lainey stared as sun dappled through the trees, lighting the golden highlights of Scotch's hair. A trickle of desire eased along her spine, exploding to mild warmth when the musher turned and smiled at her.

"Interesting,” Howry said.

She tore her attention away to give him a glare, but he ignored her, reaching for a cookie from the tray before resuming his seat.

“This cabin doesn't look all that big,” he observed. "Where are we going to bed down?”

“There's an extra bunk with Miguel for you, Mr. Howry. Miss Hughes will be sleeping with Scotch.” Irish said, watching Bon as his gaze fell upon the cookie in the man's hand.

Lainey almost choked on her coffee.

"Out of the mouths of babes,” Howry murmured, grinning.

Her attention darted to the girl, praying she had not heard him. Fortunately, Irish had zeroed in on Bon, scooping him out of reach of the cookies he made a dive for. Safe for the moment, Lainey whispered, ‘shut up!"

"Is everything okay?” Scotch asked. She climbed the steps, and opened the gate.

Howry, his expression impudent, and his eyes never leaving Lainey's, said, "Everything's fine. I hear Lainey's sleeping with you.”

Lainey seriously wondered how much of this she could stand. Surely there was some way to arrange a fatal accident for her associate, something that would result in extreme pain for an extended amount of time.

Guileless, Scotch looked from Howry's glee to Lainey's irritation. "If that's not a problem,” she said, appearing uncertain. "Unless you'd rather bunk alone. I guess I could move back in with Irish.”

The expressions of both the Fullers indicated their distaste for such an arrangement, and Lainey hastened to relieve them. "No! This is fine. I'm just . . . I tend to be a loner sometimes, that's all.” She wished she were close enough to kick Howry's shin and wipe that smarmy grin from his face.

Scotch relaxed, and she said, "I can understand that. I'm a loner, too.”

The gentle smile on her lips washed away Lainey's anger at the cameraman's teasing. She smiled back, lifting her cup in salute, not caring if her intentions were transparent to Howry. Right here, right now, under the friendly regard of Scotch was the only place to be.

CHAPTER SIX

THE PROMISED TOUR eventually took place. Lainey learned that the carport was actually referred to as a dog kitchen, and the building attached to it the dog barn. Like any standard barn, the loft held straw. Scotch told them it was for bedding during winter. The lower floor had nine fenced animal runs, all of them empty. These were used primarily during winter for injured dogs or new mothers, since this building was heated. Two chest freezers hulked in one corner, and the remainder of the room was relegated to storage - five sleds of varying styles, bins of dry dog chow and rice, assorted tack lines and cables, shelves of vitamin supplements, and cabinets filled with doggie blankets and booties. Several clipboards hung near the door, each clearly labeled. Lainey read “Big Dog” on one, and scanned down to see Rock had a grease pencil checkmark beside his name. Others proclaimed “Kennel Rotation,” ‘vaccinations,” and “Rides.”

Barking dogs interrupted their lesson as the visiting family returned from their outing, urging those left behind to give enthusiastic greeting to their companions. Miguel brought the team to a halt just outside the barn, and the dogs grinned at Lainey, panting from their exertions. While Scotch and her brother helped the family out of the cart, their handler tied the team to a post. He gave Lainey and Howry a nod of greeting as he passed them, emerging a few moments later with chunks of frozen treats that he fed to the dogs.

“I’m going to see these folks off,” Scotch said. “You’ll be okay for a minute?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.” Howry waggled his camera, indicating he had plenty to keep him entertained.

Lainey smiled in agreement, unable to contain the slight increase in her respiration as she received one in return. She was really beginning to think this was a bad idea. Scotch escorted the tourists away, and Lainey swallowed as she watched the slight sway of her hips.

“So, what are you feeding them?” Howry asked Miguel.

Steeling herself, Lainey remembered why she came here. After spending extensive time with Scotch this obsession would fade. The woman was young, probably stubborn, uneducated here in the wild, smelled of dog crap. She was also athletic, vibrant, possessed of an extraordinary confidence, and cute as a button . . . With an inner groan, Lainey turned her attention to the conversation nearby.

Miguel was halfway through the team. He had started at the leaders, and worked his way back, heaping praise and caresses as he treated each animal. “Frozen whitefish,” he said. His tenor voice held little in the way of an accent. ‘sometimes frozen salmon or chunks of liver. It helps them cool off from a run, and rewards them for a job well done. Isn’t that right, girl?” he asked the next in line.

“How long have you been working here?” Lainey asked, forcing herself to at least make an attempt at doing her job.

“Since the beginning.” Miguel returned to the front of the line, and began closely inspecting each dog. He massaged shoulders, hips, and spines before checking feet and wrists. “I worked for Thom on a couple of construction sites. When he conned Helen into starting a kennel, I volunteered to help build the vet hospital and this barn.” He shrugged. “Ended up hiring on permanently.”

They watched his thorough examination of each animal in silence. When he finished, he stood and stretched, arching his back.

“So, you’re the reporters, right?”

Lainey smacked her forehead lightly. “Whoops, sorry! Yes, I’m Lainey Hughes and this is Don Howry.”

Miguel wiped his hand on his jeans before offering it to them. ‘Miguel Sanchez, handler.”

Introductions over, Lainey now smelled of dog, and she fought the urge to rub her palm on her shirt. She was always fastidious upon first contact, some ingrained habit of cleanliness that would dissipate as she submerged herself into a new situation. Smelling of dog was better than some odors she had been forced to carry during her career. The handler appeared amused, and she wondered if she had given something away in her expression. As she worried the question, he continued speaking.

“You’ll be sleeping in my cabin,” he told Howry. “It’s kind of dormitory style, but all right. It’s just over there along that path.” He pointed out the trail, a cabin barely visible among the trees. “We even have running water.”

Alarm bells went off in Lainey’s head. With a feigned casualness, she asked, “No electricity?”

“Not yet,” Miguel said, chuckling. “I’ve been meaning to get a generator set up out there. Haven’t had the time.”