Broken Trails (7 page)

Again Scotch reddened and looked away, trying to find something to say. And again Lainey wondered if this feeling of infatuation would pass as she licked her lips. God, she could almost taste her! The swell of lust was mild, but enough to set her heart thumping.

"Well then. I guess we should get your stuff up here so you can settle in. We get up pretty early in the morning, so it's best if we hit the sack soon.”

Heartily agreeing with the thought of getting to bed with Scotch, Lainey scolded herself for her lewd thoughts. ‘sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to my first board meeting.”

Scotch, back on secure territory, chuckled. "Chores come before breakfast or meetings,” she said, heading down the stairs. "I doubt you'll be looking forward to that when you understand what all has to be done.”

Lainey, enamored of the lithe body trotting down the steps, did not answer.

Scotch did not know how late it was. Twilight filtered from around the curtains in her room. Her body lay in languid stupor, unmoving. Her mind, however, refused to release her to sleep, preferring instead to play back the entire day's activities.

Not surprisingly, neither Lainey nor Don Howry were what she had anticipated. She was not sure what she expected, but then she had never been in this type of situation before. Scotch had spoken with several mushers since March, focusing her attention on the big names in the Iditarod world. Few had had this experience. The closest was a fellow whose major sponsor was an outdoor clothing company; they had put up an extensive web site about his training methods, but he had written most of the copy himself. The only other reporters Scotch had dealt with before were those involved with racing.

Lainey and Howry were not fans of the sport. Their ignorance was . . . refreshing. When questioned, Lainey said that she had not arrived at the last Iditarod until it was half complete, covering for a colleague who had injured himself. Whatever the reason, she must have been bitten by the dog racing bug. Why else would she return so quickly after the last one?

Scotch had expected sports reporters, people who knew their way around a kennel and sled, someone who understood the intricacies of racing, the specialized training and language. It did not matter that she had done her homework on Lainey Hughes, and knew the woman had never been involved in sports reporting of any kind. For some naive reason, Scotch's mind simply had not made the connection.

Their lack of knowledge would actually work to the kennel's benefit, in her opinion. With no prior experience, neither reporter could confuse things. Every kennel trained their animals in different ways. At least Scotch did not have to worry about defending her methods compared to others. Each racer trained in their own styles, some less scrupulous in caring for their dogs, some more interested in the process than the results. Sure, Scotch had hopes of coming in to Nome first some day, but not at the expense of her team.

She sighed and rolled over. On the other side of the room divider she heard the steady breathing of her new roommate. It had been five years since she had shared a room with Irish. Scotch wondered if that was part of her inability to get to sleep, this sudden communal space where once she had been alone. Her ears picked up noise that should not be there; the occasional squeak of bedsprings, the rustle of sheets as Lainey shifted, a gentle murmur when she spoke in her sleep.

Scotch had helped Lainey unpack, avidly curious about the woman. Why the backpack? Some of the gear was worn with use, like her hiking boots. Other pieces were obviously new. Why did she bring an arctic sleeping bag? If she followed the race with the rest of the reporters, she would hardly have an opportunity to use the thing. Usually magazines and newspapers had hotels lined up in Anchorage and Nome for their reporters. Did this mean that Lainey would follow the trail with the other hardcore journalists? The thought was actually comforting to Scotch, the potential to see a familiar and friendly face at each checkpoint a gratifying idea.

The suitcase had held clothing and toiletries. Lainey had taken her phone conversations with Thom to heart, for it held assorted woolen pants, flannel shirts, jeans, and thick socks. There were even two sets of thermal and silk underwear.

As they unpacked, they discussed inconsequential things, becoming acquainted with one another. It felt vaguely familiar to Scotch, and now in the dark she worried the sensation until she discovered why. Smiling in the night, she remembered feeling a similar sense of camaraderie during sleep overs at friends' homes. She had not attended one of those since she was fourteen. No wonder she felt practically giddy with Lainey's presence. Those rare moments of sleeping over at a friend's house had been new and exciting. The feelings were no different now.

Her eyes tired, she still could not sleep. She flopped onto her back. Regardless of the new arrivals, tomorrow was another day, another round of visitors, another set of chores. Tomorrow, she was scheduled to go into town and pick up a tour group of retirees for a day trip. She might even be able to swing a donation or two out of them if she played her cards right. Normally, the knowledge of a planned day trip lightened her spirits, but not this evening. Tonight she regretted the fact that Lainey would no doubt remain behind, beginning to learn the ropes of kennel life. The reservation for the day trip had called for ten people. That would fill up two carts, leaving no room for anyone else but she and Rye to lead them.

She finally drifted off to sleep, her thoughts aimlessly wandering between plans for tomorrow, Lainey's smile, the sight of designer jeans, and the sound of laughter.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE BIG BEN alarm clock on her nightstand jangled Scotch awake. She slapped at it until it went silent, then sat up in bed, eyes still closed. The coolness of morning against her sleep heated skin felt nice, but she could not stop a shiver as she stretched and yawned. Why did she feel so tired this morning?

On the other side of the curtain, she heard a mumbled protest and squeaking bedsprings.

Oh, yeah. Grainy eyes opened wide in remembrance. Her guest. Scotch had spent too much time not being able to get to sleep the previous night.

Suddenly uncertain, she wondered if she should check on Lainey, make sure she was getting out of bed. From the sounds of things, she probably rolled over to return to her dreams, since Scotch heard no further movement. Her bladder insisted on attention, and she decided to wait a bit, giving Lainey a chance to wake on her own. Scotch climbed out of bed and shoved her feet into her boots, not lacing them. She paused long enough to stretch her full height with a light groan before heading down the stairs. At the door, she grabbed a light jacket from a peg. Opening the door, she stepped outside.

The air was crisp and cool. She trembled as a light breeze caressed her bare legs. Stepping off the porch, she made her way to the outhouse, the path familiar after years of travel. When she returned from her nature call, she stood silent on the landing, listening. It did not sound like Lainey had risen, and Scotch wondered if she should venture into the woman's space to roust her. She hung her jacket up, and continued down the steps. She would wait until the coffee was done. If Lainey was a morning sourpuss, it would be better to have some sort of offering to appease any ill humor.

Scotch had laid wood in the stove the night before to save time. Now she lit scraps of paper and kindling with a match, watching until she was positive the wood had caught flame. While the stove heated, she measured coffee into the percolator's basket. She pushed on the lever until water spouted from the pump and filled the coffee pot. Once it was full, she continued pumping to fill a couple of water jugs. One she poured into a large pan, and set both it and the percolator on the stove to heat. The kitchen warmed, and Scotch began to feel drowsiness return. She yawned and scrubbed at her face. Testing the pan of water, it was just hot enough for her purposes. She cast a glance at the ceiling, assessing her chances. It still did not sound like her visitor had awakened. Decided, she transferred half of the heated water into a large bowl, returning the pan to the stove. She pulled a washcloth and towel from a cabinet, and grabbed the soap from the sink. A quick sponge bath would wake her right up.

Lainey drowsed, half awake. She heard movement below her, and vaguely wondered what Scotch was doing. Her curiosity was not enough to force her to rise. Instead, she wandered the halls of her mind, memories and fancies mixing and melding with the sounds and smells from the kitchen. Scotch laughed at a joke, her face lighting up until she glowed like copper, her lips curled in invitation, her eyes beckoning Lainey to cross the kitchen table, the other people there disappearing. Lainey felt free to experience what she desired, stood, leaned across the green laminate, their lips nearing, breath mingling. What was that smell?

She became more conscious, the dream dissipating, intrigued by what her nose was telling her. Coffee. Definitely coffee. And something else. She finally moved, rolling onto her back and inhaling to identify what it was. Soap. Yes, that was it. Pleased with her deductive abilities, she drifted a little longer.

A frown crossed her face as her body reminded her how much coffee she had imbibed the night before. What had Scotch said? There was an outhouse around here, somewhere. Groaning, Lainey rolled into a ball and covered her head with a pillow. The sun teased from behind the curtain, but she did not feel rested. She did not want to get out of her toasty bed. She toyed with the idea of introducing chamber pots to Scotch, though the thought of leaving her bed for even that was not appealing.

Lainey uncovered her head. Was it early or late? It had to be late, else why was Scotch making coffee? And she thought she had heard an alarm clock. Or was that part of a dream? Her bladder became insistent, washing away any other considerations. Partially reluctant, partially in a hurry, Lainey tossed off her quilt and jumped to her feet. She rubbed her bare upper arms, resolving to sleep in her long johns instead of t-shirt and shorts as she jammed her feet into her boots. She barely registered Scotch's empty bed as she passed through, intent on relieving her demanding bodily functions.

Outside, Lainey cursed. She had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Shivering almost set her bladder to release itself as she glanced wildly about the cabin. She stumbled a few steps further from the door, relieved to see a small wooden building nearby. Thank God! She hastened toward it, the door of the outhouse slamming loud in the pre-dawn stillness as she proceeded to do her business.

If it was warmer, Lainey might have drifted off again. Her body returned to its lethargic state, her eyelids becoming heavy despite the chill invading her body. A gentle ache in her side reminded her of where she was, and she finished her task. She trudged back to the cabin, pausing on the porch to look back. Despite the vague pain in her ribs, it was kind of nice out here. She hugged herself, her fingers finding the familiar thick scar tissue beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and returned to the cabin.

It was definitely warmer in here. Lainey shivered violently at the welcome heat, standing uncertain on the landing. She heard movement, saw a shadow as Scotch moved about the kitchen. The smell of coffee was wonderful.

She followed her nose. Scotch leaned against a counter, cradling a cup, eyes closed as she inhaled the steam rising from its contents. Her tawny curls were fringed in dampness, and she smelled heavily of the soap that had roused Lainey. She wore flannel shorts and a baggy sleeveless t-shirt, her feet covered by unlaced boots. Lainey did not know which made her mouth water more, the coffee cup's contents or the sleep tousled look of her roommate. She swallowed. "Good morning?”

Scotch smiled at the sound of her voice. "Good morning.” She opened her eyes. "Coffee cups are in that cabinet. Cream and sugar containers are over there.”

“thanks.” Lainey busied herself with attaining caffeine, trying to ignore the fact that the armholes of Scotch's t-shirt hung down almost to her elbow. If she moved her arms, Lainey would have a wonderful view of some compelling anatomy.

“Sleep well?”

Lainey basked in the heat from the stove, using a dish towel as a pot holder. "Like a rock.” She poured coffee, and inhaled deeply of its aroma. This was one thing she never took for granted. Not every culture had coffee, and Lainey sorely missed it when she was out of country. She sipped, pleased to note Scotch brewed it strong. Turning, she blinked. Was Scotch just checking out her legs?

Scotch said, “That's good. Sometimes newcomers have trouble sleeping with the constant sunlight.”

Deciding she must have imagined it, Lainey moved to copy Scotch's stance, leaning against the counter beside her to worship her coffee. ‘so, what are we doing up so late?”

Scotch chuckled. “This ain't late.”

Lainey liked the sound of her laugh, smiling. "What time is it?” she asked.

"About five thirty.”

"Ugh.” She stuck her tongue out, earning another warm laugh.

"We meet up with Rye and Irish in the dog kitchen at six. The dogs have to be fed.”

"And then we nap?” This time she got a nudge with a shoulder. Lainey could not help but grin like an idiot. God, she had it bad! Surely Scotch had some horribly bad habit Lainey could exploit to thwart this attraction - nose picking, uncontrollable urges to spit, foul tempers. Something!

"No. Then we clean the dog kitchen and barn, do pooper scooper duty, transfer the kennel dogs, let the Big Dog out, clean up, and eat breakfast.”

Lainey feigned horror. "All that before breakfast?” she demanded. Her voice became faint, her accent thickening into that of a Southern belle. "I think I have a case of the vapors.” She batted her eyes at Scotch.

She received a smirk. “That's all right. I hear dog crap can make wonderful smelling salts.”

"Hey!" She bumped her hip against Scotch's.

Scotch laughed, and drained her cup, distracting Lainey with the expected revelation of skin under her arms. “There's hot water on the stove, if you want to clean up some. I put out a towel and washcloth for you.” She moved away to set the cup in the sink. "I'll go up and change, give you some privacy. Let me know when you're done.”