Broken Trails (6 page)

Howry digested this information admirably. ‘so, propane lanterns are the rule rather than the exception?”

“For the most part,” Miguel said. He gave the man’s camera a significant look. “The main house, the clinic, and the barn here all have power, though. If you need to recharge batteries and the like, I’m sure we can accommodate you.” He waved at the cabin where Bon played under the watchful eyes of Irish. “They even have an internet connection.”

Lainey stared out over the dog yard, seeing a bleak winter without the simple amenity of electricity. Certainly, she had been in places as rustic as this - war-torn cities in the Middle East, tramping through the bush of innumerable countries. But this was America, for crissakes! She had expected a certain level of civilization. Another thought occurred to her. No electricity meant no water heater. Good Lord, what had her libido gotten her into?

“Where’s Scotch’s cabin from here?” Howry asked.

Lainey followed where Miguel pointed, seeing another path winding through the trees. She could not see the dwelling at all. “Is it far?”

“Yeah, a bit. It’s actually tucked back behind a small hill.” He sucked at his teeth. “Scotch likes her privacy.”

The unspoken warning brought Lainey’s gaze around. Her subject was a private person who not only agreed to be constantly followed about by strangers wielding cameras, but was allowing one to move into her sacred space for nine solid months. Lainey’s job was a mainly solitary pursuit; she understood the sacrifice Scotch was making in return for the publicity.

She resolved to tread lightly around Scotch. Regardless of her idiotic reasons for initiating this fiasco, Lainey could not let the gig disrupt her subject’s equilibrium. Yeah. Scotch was merely a subject, just like so many others over the years. Lainey simply needed to keep the proper perspective.

Scotch rounded the corner of the cabin, her brother beside her, and Lainey felt her proper perspective float away like a helium balloon.

Relaxed in spite of the reporters at the table, Scotch nursed her after dinner coffee as Howry regaled her family with an anecdote from one of his assignments in the Amazon. His voice became quieter as he described being in a canoe, evading another people’s war party, trusting his native guides to keep him alive, and his audience collectively leaned forward in anticipation. Even Lainey seemed enamored of his tale about the indigenous people he had come in contact with, and Scotch used the opportunity to study her.

Lainey seemed a contradiction. She carried an air of professionalism that appeared watertight. Yet Scotch had seen her blush and stammer like a schoolgirl over the smallest thing several times over the course of the afternoon. Was that because she worked predominantly with nature instead of people? Maybe she was uncomfortable around strangers. That did not sound right, but she could think of no other reason for the behavior.

Her features were a bit more careworn than the only picture Scotch could locate of her. Scotch supposed that made sense; that photo had been taken when Lainey was about Scotch’s age now. Since then, she had seen a few military actions and been wounded. Truth be told, Scotch liked the way Lainey looked now, and that pesky déjà vu would not go away. Where had she seen Lainey before? It was somewhere other than the photo she had found. Scotch would have remembered meeting her at the banquet function; she always had a good memory for faces.

She scanned the slight body, seeing the maroon plaid flannel shirt neatly tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Worn hiking boots were at odds with the designer label on her hip pocket. Where had Lainey been wounded? There were not any obvious scars anywhere, and she did not limp. Her sleeves had been rolled up during the day, and her forearms were as tanned as her face and neck. She had told Irish that she had been working in Africa earlier in the year. Scotch thought that seeing all those exotic places must certainly be exciting. Her hands were callused, so she was not a stranger to hard work, a plus in Scotch’s book. Winter in Alaska was hard, and not for the faint. Barring any unforeseen incidents, she thought that this agreement might work out very well indeed.

Her gaze returning to Lainey’s face, she found hazel eyes regarding her, an eyebrow raised in question. Busted in her visual perusal, Scotch hid her embarrassment as best she could. She smoothly brought her attention back to Howry, and sipped her coffee, knowing her blush contradicted her outward indifference.

Howry wrapped up his story, and there was a lull in the conversation. “Well, now that I’ve told you one of mine, Thom, maybe you could answer my question.”

Scotch’s father leaned back in his chair, Bon sleepily seated in his lap. On his face was a knowing grin. “Who named my kids?” he asked.

Helen tsked good-naturedly, feigning irritation. Scotch grinned, and winked at her equally amused brother. Irish rolled her eyes.

Lainey said, “I’m betting you did. I think the question is why the names you chose.”

Smug, Thom considered carefully before answering, though everyone could see it was a ploy. Scotch had seen the same expression on his face every time she heard the explanation. Her father enjoyed the attention.

“When I got married to this pretty little woman here,” he said, ignoring Helen’s snort, “we made a bet. Whoever guessed the gender right could name the kid.”

“And Mom’s shooting blanks in maternal instinct,” Rye said, shaking his head.

“She does well enough in the motherly things,” Thom said in his wife’s defense.

Helen waved him on. “Finish it, Thom. Don’t get distracted.”

He gave his wife an air kiss, and looked back to his guests. “Anyway, when Scotch arrived, I told Helen what I would name her, and she about had a fit.”

Lainey glanced at Scotch, bemused puzzlement on her face. Scotch smiled widely, ignoring the request for information.

“tell them what it was.”

“I’ll let Scotch tell them,” he said, magnanimously.

Scotch set her coffee cup down, waiting for the right moment before speaking. “Scottish, as in Scottish Terrier.” The look in Lainey’s eyes was priceless, and she tried hard to control her laughter.

“You’re kidding!” Lainey seemed unable to believe what she was hearing, her gaze traveling around the table, seeking confirmation.

“Oh, no,” Helen said. “He was quite serious at the time.”

“You were going to name your children after dog breeds?” Howry demanded, flabbergasted.

“Oh, yeah,” Rye said. “Dad loves his dogs.”

Scotch enjoyed the confusion on Lainey’s face as she struggled with the idea of a man labeling his kids in such a manner.

“So, why the change?”

Thom shrugged, appearing disappointed. “Well, you know women,” he said, dropping his voice as if responding conspiratorially, though they could all clearly hear him. “Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live with ‘em.” He yelped when Irish slapped his shoulder, and then laughed. ‘she told me there was no way she’d let me call my kids after dogs. But we still had an agreement.”

“Dad loves his dogs, but he also loves his whiskey,” Scotch said.

“And you let him get away with that?” Lainey asked Helen.

She smiled. “It was better than having a son called Labrador.”

Rye groaned, and covered his face with his hands, while the rest of them laughed.

When the amusement died down again, Howry said, “Okay, I can see Scotch, Rye, and Irish. But Bon? I’m a newsman, and we have livers of iron. I’ve never heard of a whiskey by that name. Did Helen finally win a bet?”

Bon, who was lounging half asleep in his father’s arms, barely roused at the mention of his name.

“Actually, that’s a nickname,” Scotch said. “His full name in Bourbon.”

Howry threw his hands up in the air. “Of course!”

As everyone had another good laugh, Scotch’s eyes met Lainey’s. She felt an odd connection forged between them, a simple joy of sharing something good. While a part of her relaxed into the sensation, Scotch wondered if perhaps her initial curiosity about the photojournalist had gotten too big, too obvious.

Since this morning she had become less worried about having an outsider living with her, and more concerned that she would appear to be an unsophisticated rube to the worldly woman. Miguel had mentioned Lainey seemed a little surprised that there was no electricity at her cabin. And the bush pilot, Cliff, had said she seemed high maintenance. Scotch had never set foot outside Alaska except to run the Yukon Quest in Canada. She had no earthly idea what her humble cabin would look like to the well-traveled Lainey Hughes.

Would they survive nine months together?

Her family began their nightly ritual of cleaning up, distracting Scotch from her meanderings. She helped clear the table. It was her turn to do dishes, so she started to fill the sink with hot soapy water. When Lainey offered to help, she wondered why she felt so happy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

LAINEY WALKED EASILY, her laden backpack seated comfortably on her shoulders and hips, and her camera bag in one hand, while Scotch led the way to her future home away from home. She was hard put to not study the well-shaped ass in front of her. Fortunately, for Lainey's dignity in any case, the trail required her full attention so she would not trip.

It was not that late, but Alaska was far from the equator. The sun had not set, confusing Lainey's sense of time over and above the jet lag. Even in New York she was used to it being dark by now. With the cooler temperature up here, her mind tried to tell her it was early morning instead of ten o'clock at night. She had to admit the overall effect was reminiscent of youthful camping trips in New England, enjoying a breakfast of flapjacks as the sun warmed the lake. Lainey smiled to herself; it had been years since she had thought of that. She wondered why.

"Almost there,” Scotch said, glancing over her shoulder. She carried Lainey's laptop case and another suitcase.

"I'm right behind you,” she said.

They rounded a bend in the path, and Lainey got her first glimpse of the cabin. It stood one level tall, with a neat little covered porch in front of the door. From the angle they arrived, Lainey saw windows placed higher than she expected. Maybe that was to combat snowdrifts. She followed Scotch up three steps, noting a swinging bench hanging from the porch rafters as her hostess opened the door and set the bags inside.

"Come on in, and watch your step,” Scotch said. She gestured Lainey to enter.

Mindful of her feet, Lainey understood the instructions when she found herself on a landing. Steps led down, and she carefully followed them into the cabin.

Scotch closed the door, and came after her. ‘set your stuff in the corner, and I'll show you around.”

Lainey dropped her pack and reached out to touch a natural stone wall. It was six feet high and was capped by the standard log walls she had expected this type of structure. "Are we below ground here, or did you build into the hill?” she asked.

"Both, actually,” Scotch said. "Out here we had to dig down, but in the back, it's the depth of the hill.”

Lainey nodded absently, looking around. The space was small, maybe four hundred square feet. The floor was wood, covered here and there with throw rugs. Central to the room was a large fireplace made of the same stone as the walls around her. A sofa and chair squatted before the hearth, accompanied by a couple of sturdy tables with odds and ends upon them. An old style dining table with chrome legs and green laminate top sat nearby, keeping company with three padded chairs in need of new vinyl.

Behind the fireplace was a kitchen area. Lainey noted a small metal stove butted up against the back of the hearth, and several pots and pans hanging from the stonework. Storage cabinets and counters ran the length of this side of the room. The surprising thing was a large metal sink with an old-fashioned water pump attached to it. Remembering Miguel's statement earlier in the day, she glanced at Scotch. "Running water?”

Scotch, removed her hands from the back pockets of her jeans, reaching up to pull off her baseball cap and run her hands through her hair. "Yeah, with a little elbow grease.”

She seemed embarrassed at the quality of her home, and Lainey hastened to show her appreciation. "It's really nice,” she said, smiling. "Did you to a lot of the work yourself?”

Flushing prettily, Scotch reset her cap, and dug her hands back into her pockets. "We had to get a backhoe in here to dig the pit, and the guys helped me set the logs, roof, and windows.” She waved at the stonework. "I laid the rock and built the fireplace, put in the flooring and porch.”

"Wow,” Lainey said, impressed. She gave the area another look around before smiling. ‘so, where do we sleep?”

"Upstairs.”

Only then did Lainey realize the kitchen area had a lower ceiling than the main room. She followed Scotch back to the stairs, seeing them lead up past the entry door to a sleeping loft.

The loft was open to below with a sturdy pine railing jutting out from the chimney. Long and narrow, it was divided in half by a curtain. Here was a window, and Lainey understood the reason for the high placement. Where else would a window be in a split-level? They passed a double bed with a large dresser at its foot, and a nightstand beside it.

“This is mine.” Scotch opened the curtain by the chimney, and gestured Lainey in. "And this one is yours.”

It was the same, in reverse. The bed frame was made of pine, just like the railing. The smell of the wood was pungent, telling Lainey that it was new; it was probably built just for her. The bed was made with a thick, inviting quilt and several pillows, and a rag rug draped the floorboards where she would step out of it. The dresser and nightstand were a bit more worn, but well cared for. On the nightstand was an oil lamp, and Scotch lit it with a wooden match before closing the thick curtains over the window.

"Is it okay?” Scotch asked. "If you want to swap or maybe move into the main cabin, I'd understand.”

Lainey grinned reassurance. "No! This is great, really.” She sat on the bed, testing the box springs. "You've put a lot of work into this, I can tell. Thank you.”