Iditarod Nights (4 page)

"You warned me."

"Still, it's no excuse to go on the attack. I
apologize."

Dillon felt a tug at his conscience. He had
his reasons for not wanting to talk about his past, but those
reasons didn't involve this woman. "You're looking out for your
friends. I respect that." Then because he didn't want her to think
he was an ungrateful asshole, he said, "They're good people. I
shouldn't have embarrassed you in front of them earlier."

"Yes, well, I left myself open for it. I'll
be more careful in the future."

He'd bet on it. "Janey doesn't miss a
beat."

The comment brought a smile. "I warned you
about that too."

"I'll watch my step."

"I have the feeling you always do. Were you
ever a cop?"

Dillon stilled. "What makes you ask?"

"The way you enter a room. The way you size
people up. I have a feeling you don't miss much. I've worked with
my share of police in criminal defense."

"I fit the profile."

She caught the sarcasm in his voice and her
mouth tipped. "I'm doing it again. Sorry." She slid to her feet and
stood facing him.

She had more to say; he saw it in her eyes.
He willed her to drop it, tried not to let the scars her questions
picked at show. Her scrutiny left him feeling exposed. Then her
expression relaxed and he felt downright naked.

"I'm going inside," she said, "before I
embarrass myself more than I already have. Breakfast is at seven.
We feed the dogs at eight. I'd like to leave for the Warrens' as
soon after that as possible."

"You don't have to go with me tomorrow."

She gave a snort that made him smile. "And
stick around here so Janey can hound me about missed opportunities?
No thanks."

***

"When were you going to tell me?" She looked
at the airline itinerary she'd found on the table. One way to New
York. One seat reservation. She'd managed to get home early for the
first time in weeks, anticipated kicking her shoes off and fixing a
nice dinner. She lifted her gaze to the man she planned to share
that meal with, the man she thought she knew.

The man who now seemed to have other plans.
His dark blond hair, longer than she'd seen him ever let it get,
brushed the collar of his pastel blue shirt. When did he start
wearing blue? She thought he hated blue. Is he growing a chin
strip? Odd that she hadn't noticed until now.

"You haven't been around to talk," he said.
"When you're here, you're not. You're too focused on defending a
man who doesn't deserve it. "

"I'm a defense attorney. It's what I do."

"It's all you do."

Is that what you want? To be a law partner
some day?

"You've shut off your emotions," he accused.
"How else could you defend that animal and not feel anything?"

She felt too much, that was the problem. She
locked herself in the bathroom to throw up in secret, took hot
showers until her skin burned, downed an extra glass of wine at the
end of the day to wash the taste of her client's crime out of her
mouth. She thought it easier to deal with if she didn't talk about
it, if she tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy at home.

"I didn't ask for this case but I'm obligated
to see it through. I can't just pack up and walk away, like you
appear ready to do."

Am I on trial?

"I've got work waiting for me in New
York."

"Once the jury delivers – "

"I'm not hanging around that long."

The itinerary slipped through her fingers.
She watched it drift downward and come to rest on the toes of her
snow boots.

Claire opened her eyes and stared at the
darkened ceiling. It took her a few heartbeats to determine she
wasn't in her Portland apartment, lying alone in her queen-size
bed. She was in Alaska, in Andy's narrow bed, while the boy slept
on the couch in the other room. The red block numbers on the
nightstand clock – "Mater" from Disney's
Cars
– showed she'd
been asleep only a short while. Just long enough to dream. She
hadn't dreamed of Grant in months. Why now?

And why did he sound like the musher from
Nome?

Chapter 4

The following day dawned clear and sharp as
Claire pulled onto the Warrens' property. It had taken the Land
Cruiser's engine longer to warm up than it took to make the drive.
Finding the place hardly required a guide, Dillon thought, exposing
Janey Sommer's matchmaking scheme. He might have commented on that
fact, but the strain in Claire's silence didn't invite
conversation. She'd been about as prickly as a briar all morning.
He figured it had something to do with their talk the night before
but decided the less said the better.

They got out of the four-wheel drive as a
lanky teenager in a black snowsuit emerged from the cookhouse,
towing a cooler of steaming chow on a plastic sled. The sight of
the food set the fifty or more dogs in the kennel yard straining
against their stake-out chains in a dissonance of short, eager
barks and hungry woofs.

"Alright, alright," the teen hollered above
the noise. "I know you're hungry. I'm movin' as fast as I can."

"Good morning, Brian!" Claire called.

Brian Warren's scowl broke into a
self-conscious grin. His narrow chest expanded. I'll be damned,
Dillon thought, the kid's got a thing for the lady lawyer.

"Morning! I didn't hear you drive up."

Claire laughed and reached out to rub the
ears of the first dog she came to, a black husky howling as if he
hadn't eaten in weeks. "Gee, I wonder why!"

"Mingo, shut up," Brian ordered, but the dog
had already quieted at Claire's attention.

"Brian, this is Dillon Cord, the musher from
Nome," Claire said.

The teenager's expression tightened, as
though he resented the intrusion on his territory. Dillon
suppressing an amused smile. "Good to meet you." He didn't make an
effort to shift the box of supplies in his arms to offer his hand
and risk having it ignored, or crushed in a juvenile, purely
masculine, show of strength.

"Mr. Cord," Brian acknowledged. "Your bags of
chow are in the back of the cookhouse."

"I appreciate that. Where would you like me
to put this?"

Brian stepped forward and took the box from
him. "I told Mrs. Sommer she didn't have to bother."

"Any news about your dad?" Claire asked.

"He'll be coming home tomorrow."

"That's wonderful." She put a hand on Brian's
arm. "We all wish him the best."

The kid's face reddened. "Thanks."

His awkward embarrassment reminded Dillon of
a crush he'd had at that same age. Alice Lovelace, his English
teacher. He wasted a lot of daydreams on the petite redhead with
the tiny nose and dazzling smile. Until he saw her kiss Mr.
Mathers, the geometry teacher, in the parking lot and crushed his
young heart. Just like Miss Lovelace, Claire seemed oblivious to
Brian's adoration, her hand still resting on his arm, his face
bright against his pale complexion.

Dillon almost felt sorry for the kid. "Looks
like you could use some help," he remarked, taking in the size of
the dog yard.

"I can handle it."

"I'm sure you can. But since we're here, why
don't you let Claire put those things away and I'll clean kennels
while you feed the dogs?"

He could tell the kid was surprised he'd
offered to do the dirty work. Still, pride wouldn't allow him to
accept too easy. Dillon gave what he hoped was a convincing smile
and slapped his hands together as if he couldn't wait to shovel dog
shit. "Where do you want me to start?"

***

Dillon offered to drive once his bags of dog
chow had been loaded into the Land Cruiser. Claire tossed him the
keys. "It was nice of you to help Brian," she said as they returned
to Sommer Kennels.

"He's got a lot to manage by himself."

"Maybe Matt can get somebody from town to –
"

"I told him I'd be back this evening."

"Oh. Good. That's good." Claire cringed.
People around here helped each other. Their survival often depended
on it. Why would she think Dillon any different?

It had to be that damn dream. It left her
tired and on edge. She caught him smiling. "What?"

"The kid's got a crush on you,
counselor."

His nickname for her didn't go unnoticed. She
filed it away. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm old enough to be his
mother...almost."

"Age doesn't mean anything when you're
seventeen and a beautiful woman moves in next door."

The compliment skittered through her. Damn
it, he was doing it again. She could pretend it had no affect on
her, and look like a fool, or acknowledge it and move on. "Thank
you. But you're wrong about Brian. He's a polite, considerate –
"

"Walking hormone. Has he asked you out
yet?"

"To a movie in Anchorage." Claire didn't care
for the defensiveness in her voice. "Only because we both wanted to
see the same movie. What?" she asked again at his smirk.

"You aren't that naive."

No, she wasn't. She'd found a last-minute
excuse to get out of going to the movie. In time, Brian's misguided
hormones would be aimed at some other female, one closer to his own
age. "I'm not about to encourage a teenager."

"And if he was twenty years older?"

"As I said yesterday, I'm not looking for a
relationship."

"What if one finds you?"

You've shut off your emotions.
The
echo of Grant's accusation shivered across Claire's shoulders like
an icy wind. Her throat tightened. "Am I on trial?"

"No. I'm – "

"Going to miss the turnoff," she
interrupted.

"Shit." He made the turn to Sommer Kennels
and brought the Land Cruiser to a stop at the cookhouse. "Listen,
Claire, I'm sorry."

Spoken with rough sincerity. "I'll make a
deal with you. Since it's obvious we get on each other's nerves,
how about I stay out of your way and you stay out of mine until
after the race."

He gave her a long, intent look with those
unreadable eyes of his. She felt her jaw clinch.

"You've got a deal," he said, then nodded
toward Janey working in the dog yard. "Your friend will be
disappointed."

"She'll get over it." Claire climbed out and
slammed the door.

Chapter 5

She pulled the flaps of her bomber cap
farther over her numbed cheeks, the smell of tanned leather and fur
filling her frosted nostrils. Her flexed knees absorbed the trail's
rough contours. The three-foot base had crusted overnight. Late
morning sunlight bounced off spikes of ice hanging from branches of
spruce and birch. Attached to the gangline – a plastic-coated steel
cable – in pairs spaced eight feet apart, her team followed the
packed trail through the trees, their collars jingling in rhythm
with their breath plumes.

"Hey, Handsome!" Claire shouted from the back
of the sled. "How's my pretty boy doing up there?"

The tricolored Alaskan husky running right
lead perked his ears but didn't slow his steady trot. Claire
smiled. She and Matt chose the five-year-old Iditarod veteran to
lead her team out of Anchorage next Saturday. All the dogs looked
healthy and ready. With only a week to go, she took them out in
groups of eight for short twenty- to thirty-mile runs to keep their
muscles toned and interest high.

She'd loaded the toboggan-style sled with
four sixty-pound bags of dog food but wasn't lured into any false
sense of control. Even with the added weight, if her four-legged
powerhouses decided on another course, her only option would be to
hold on. The first rule of dog sledding, don't let go of the sled.
She'd taken countless wild rides dragged behind a sled in the past
two years, let go only once. The sinking feeling of watching dogs
and sled take off without her wasn't something she cared to
repeat.

Except for meals and kennel chores, she'd
seen little of Dillon in the past forty-eight hours. Given all
there was to do before the race, staying out of each other's way
wasn't difficult. Food and gear destined for checkpoint drops along
the trail were shipped through the Iditarod Trail Committee
headquarters in Wasilla last week. But mandatory and personal items
for the sleds needed to be gathered and organized, along with
upkeep of the dogs' gear and daily runs. True to his word, Dillon
headed for the Warrens' place as soon as his own dogs were taken
care of. Ted came home from the hospital yesterday afternoon but
was still weak. Helen had her hands full. This morning, Brian's
friend John moved in short-term to help with chores, freeing Dillon
to spend more time running his own dogs.

As predicted, Janey wasn't happy. She
cornered Claire in Andy's room after dinner last night, under
pretense of putting away folded laundry. "It looks like the two of
you are deliberately avoiding each other," she commented as she
arranged an armload of rolled socks in the dresser drawer.

"Not at all." Claire hated lying to her
friend, hated being put in a position where she felt the need to.
"We've got a race to prep for."

"What about after the race?"

I'll stay out of your way and you stay out
of mine until after the race.
"You know the answer to
that."

"I know you made a promise. But what does
Claire
want?" Janey lifted a silencing hand. "Just think
about it, okay? And for heaven's sake, stop treating Dillon like he
has a communicable disease." She frowned. "He doesn't, does
he?"

Claire gave an incredulous laugh. "How should
I know?"

That was the problem. She didn't know
anything about the man. Other than his apparent distaste for
lawyers. She could respect his secrets, but she didn't have to like
them.

Her team approached a fork in the trail.
"Gee, Handsome! Treker, gee!" The husky leaders tugged in their
nylon harnesses. With help from the swing dogs, Toolik and Ranger,
they took the right fork, followed by Pepper and Trouble. Moments
later, the lead dogs dropped out of sight. The sled rushed through
the trees as if pulled by an invisible force and Claire's pulse
tripped with excitement. Tightening her grip on the handlebar, she
leaned into the turn.