Broken Trails

D. Jordan Redhawk

P.D. Publishing, Inc. (2012)

Lainey Hughes, former war correspondent and current nature photo-journalist, has been given a challenge: head to the bush of Alaska to experience life as a rookie Iditarod musher from sign-up, through training, and on the trail itself. But Lainey has a secret, one that she’s kept even from herself – she’s broken, heart and soul, from her devastating days reporting from the front lines.

Scotch Fuller has been racing dogs all her life, and is considered a potential contender for first place in next year’s Iditarod. She loves her dogs, loves her family, and has loved so deeply in the past that it nearly ended her.

These two women end up together, each training and learning from one another, each beginning to understand that a broken trail can be mended, as can a broken heart.

Broken Trails

CHAPTER ONE

March

"ALASKA?” LAINEY HUGHES' voice rang off the pale green concrete walls. Internally wincing at the abrupt silence in the room, she peered over her shoulder at her fellow travelers awaiting the next bus out of the small African village. She gave the neatly uniformed customs agent and his well-armed guards an apologetic wave, not caring for their sour attention, and turned back to the cracked plastic pay phone.

"It's March, Ben. Do you know what that means?” She swiped at a trickle of sweat running along her temple. Even with a rudimentary fan, the tiny building could not battle the heat here along the equator. Truth be told, she would not have it any other way.

Benjamin Strauss, editor of the acclaimed cultural magazine, Cognizance, said, "It means that the Iditarod is in full swing, and the second best photo journalist in the world is in the Providence Medical Center with a compound fracture.”

"No,” Lainey said, closing hazel eyes. She took on a lecturing tone. "It means that it's fucking cold, with huge snow drifts, frozen lakes, and hibernating bears. I don't do cold. The only ice I want to see is floating in my scotch. And I don't drink, you follow?”

"I need you, Lainey.”

She leaned her forehead against the wall. "Why should I do this?”

"Because you love me?”

Her lips thinned as she did a passable impression of Marge Simpson's growl.

Apparently, Strauss understood the fine tightrope he balanced upon. "Look, it's not like Henry planned to slip off that bluff. The piece isn't done; I need at least a dozen more shots of racers crossing the finish line, and some coverage at the awards banquet an Sunday.”

“That doesn't answer my question.”

"All right, you want the truth?”

His tone became grim, and Lainey fought the desire to wince again. When he asked a question like that, it was best not to hear the answer. Still, she dreaded the thought of making it easy for him. She was freelance, not free labor. "Yeah.”

"One, I need someone of the same caliber as Henry. Two, you're the best in the business. Three, you've just finished up a piece for me, and are already in transit, making your travel plans easier to alter. Four, it's only for two days, and you know I'll compensate you damned well for your trouble. And five-"

Lainey flinched in anticipation, knowing what he was going to say before it left his lips a half a world away.

"You owe me.”

She thumped her head once against the wall. It had to be a pretty important layout for him to remind her of that. Behind her, she heard the motor of an approaching bus. Only one was due today and, if she missed it, she would be stuck in the bush for another week.

"Lainey?”

"You'll never be able to use that ace again,” she said with a sigh.

"I know, and I didn't want to use it at all.” Strauss' voice lightened. "What's your itinerary?”

"Providing things go well, I'll be leaving out of Nairobi tomorrow, arrive at London International the following day, and then on to New York.” She looked over her shoulder to see the bus idling in the dirt road. Most of those who had been waiting were already outside, passing their bags and parcels to a several men balanced on top.

"Go ahead and fly into London. I'll leave a ticket for Anchorage at the British Airways desk. You can find a connecting flight into Nome when you get there.”

Lainey scrabbled for a pencil and pad, jotting down the directions.

"Henry's in Anchorage, but I'll get him to make arrangements to give you his hotel room in Nome. Just go to the Polaris when you get to Nome.”

"I'll be there,” she said, stashing the pad, and grabbing her gear.

“Thank you, Lainey. I promise I'll make it worth your while.”

The last of the passengers were boarding, and the customs agent glared pointedly in her direction. "Yeah?” she asked Strauss. "Next time I pitch an idea, buy it and we'll call it even.” She did not hear his response as she hung up. Checking her camera bag was still secure across her shoulder, she grabbed her duffel, and ran into the hot Ugandan sun.

Delegated by her late arrival to the back floor of the bus, Lainey sat on the duffel bag and cradled her precious camera bag. At least she was not riding on the roof with some of the other passengers. She leaned her elbows on her knees, and her head on her folded arms. The constant sway of the transport coupled with a number of conversations in the native Swahili and Ganda languages allowed her to focus on her phone call to Strauss.

She had only wanted him to know she was finished with the assignment, not that she was available for another. To goad her into the job meant he was under a lot of pressure to get it completed. It was a sure bet he had nothing to take its place in time for the next issue to hit the stands. What he said was true, though. Lainey owed him her life. If it had not been for Strauss, she would have died in a bottle years ago, taking along anyone misfortunate enough to give her the keys to a vehicle. She had been sober for four years, three months, and nine days because of his friendship. The least she could do was brave arctic weather for him; he had braved her anger and despair to return her to the living.

When she arrived in London, she would have to call her mother, and let her know their visit would be delayed. She would miss her lunch date with Carol, too. Damn. Lainey had so wanted to get laid. Being in the African bush, hunting small colorful birds for an upcoming spread left little opportunity for such matters. The only thing they grew in Alaska were sled dogs and polar bears; the women had to be beyond butch to survive the wilds and weather, and Lainey preferred women who looked like women.

Grumpily, she pondered what exciting and very tropical idea to pitch when she next met with Strauss.

For the hundredth time, Lainey felt thankful for the tripod stand she packed on her travels around the globe. The thing was worth its weight in gold on this assignment, what with all the shivering she did. Taking pictures without it would have resulted in nothing but one blur after another. She trembled again, and stamped around in a futile attempt to get warm, ignoring the vague ache in her side. Her snowsuit, rated for forty below, did not seem to work as well as advertised, and she toyed with the idea of writing a letter of complaint to the manufacturer.

A slight gust of wind brushed the edges of the fake fur ruff about her face, the frigid temperature at odds with the brilliant sunlight reflecting off snow. She entertained herself with thoughts of demanding Strauss send her somewhere in Mexico for a yearlong assignment. Burrowing her hands in her pockets, she wondered why the hell people wanted to live in a place like this. Granted, most of them were not in as much pain as she was, her old 'football injury' putting her in need of occasional medication, which probably had something to do with it.

An air raid siren went off, the second blast in the last ten minutes, and her attention diverted to the far end of Front Street. The incoming racer would soon make an appearance. As she watched, the sleepy street began to fill, doors opening to spill out people who happily awaited the new arrivals. When not outside to cheer the mushers on, the spectators sat around the bars and restaurants, visiting. It was one big, happy party, a town-wide celebration that lasted a week or more.

Lainey reluctantly removed her hands from her pockets, taking off the thick Gore-Tex mittens. She tried, albeit unsuccessfully, to ignore the stabs of pain as her fingers began to freeze, adjusting her camera for the upcoming shot. She consoled herself with visions of a tropical beach, half naked women, and fruity drinks with little umbrellas sticking out of coconuts. Glancing through the viewfinder, she saw the flashing police lights of the escort nearing her position. Rather than lose her appendages to frostbite, she thrust her hands back into her pockets until she could get a decent shot. The gathering crowd began to cheer the new arrival, an excited swell of sound. It seemed louder than normal, however, compared to Lainey's admittedly rudimentary experience. It took a moment for her to realize why.

Two dog sleds approached the fenced in run, both drivers hollering instructions at their animals for all they were worth. In a race that lasted two weeks or more, seeing more than one musher headed for the finish line at the same time was an exciting event. The police cars stopped where the fence began so as not to impede the racers who continued toward the finish line. Lainey zoomed in on the dogs, her pleasure of being in the right place at the right time over shadowing her irritability. Though she could not hear them above the noise of the spectators, the animals barked and grinned as they ran for the finish line, tongues lolling out in excitement. Lainey took a series of photos, pulling back her focus as they neared and passed. For variety, she turned her camera on the audience across the way to capture their emotions.

As quick as that it was over. They reached the race's end, a wooden arch spanning the street, and several volunteers grabbed the dogs to halt their progress. An announcer called out who won the miniature race as well as a reminder that the awards banquet was that evening. The crowd dissipated, faded away, returning to the warmth of houses, bars, and hotel rooms until the call of the siren urged them to the street once more.

Lainey knew from race reports that the next mushers were not expected for three or four hours. Her elation faded, the bad temper reasserting itself. With chattering teeth and numb fingers she collected her gear, stashing her camera inside her jacket to better protect it from the elements. There was a hot tub in her hotel, and she planned on making full use of it before the awards ceremony. Hopefully that would soak the ache out of her ribs for a time. Tomorrow, she would be on her way to New York, allowing Strauss an opportunity to show his thanks by buying her a monster bottle of ibuprofen, and dinner at the most expensive restaurant in town.

A few people remained outside to enjoy the bright yet insubstantial sunlight. Lainey slung her camera bag over her shoulder, musing about the shots she had gotten, deciding that there might be four or five good ones in the lot. Hands deep in her pockets, she trundled off toward her hotel. She had to upload the digital data to her laptop, fine tune the photos, research the Iditarod public relations folder for the names of the new arrivals, write a proper blurb, and email the entire mess to her editor. All of that had to be done before she could reach her ultimate destination of the hotel hot tub.

Pondering her to do list, Lainey did not pay much attention to the sidewalk. One minute she was walking on the slush created by salt and sand used to aid traction. Then her foot hit a patch of solid ice. She yanked her hands from her pockets as she slid about, making a comedic attempt to remain upright, flailing her arms to keep balance. Gravity was ever victorious, and she barely had time to clutch her precious camera against her chest before landing on her rump. She grunted as her ribs jarred with the impact, sharply jabbing at her chest.

"Whoa! You okay?”

"I'm fine!" Lainey snapped. It was bad enough performing the perfect pratfall. Having witnesses only made matters worse. She unsuccessfully tried to stand, only to return to the ice with a thump, and another grimace. Hands grabbed her upper arms, and she was hauled to her feet like a sack of potatoes.

“Those shoes aren't made for this weather.”

Exasperated, Lainey said, "Well, thank you for that shrewd observation.” She pulled away from the hands still holding her, double-checking the camera through her jacket before belatedly looking at the woman standing before her. Lainey's mind stuttered to a halt.

She was taller than Lainey by about four inches, her build hidden under a bulky pullover parka that was as blue as her eyes. The fur-lined hood was pushed back, revealing a rust brown baseball cap with tawny golden curls sticking out from beneath. Her skin was tan and slightly weathered, an incongruity to Lainey who assumed women in the north would have pasty complexions from being inside all winter. The friendly smile on her lips faded in light of Lainey's acerbic attitude and rude stare.

For Lainey was staring. She could not seem to help herself; something about the woman's stance, subtly confident in ways most women did not possess, was so intriguing. "I'm . . . I'm sorry,” Lainey said, yet again wishing she had developed the habit of thinking before opening her mouth. “Thank you for the help.”

The woman seemed mollified, but the smile was gone. She nodded politely and stepped away, returning to whatever errand she had been on prior to running into a klutzy photo journalist with no manners. Only then did Lainey realize the woman was not alone; a younger version of her was with her, a teenager with a hint of peach fuzz on his upper lip.

Not knowing what to say, Lainey watched helplessly as they walked away.

Shivering, her side reminded her that she was in Alaska, where the men were tough, and the women were tougher. As she headed toward the hotel, she wondered why God would be so cruel as to taunt her admittedly overactive libido with a gorgeous woman like that.

CHAPTER TWO

LAINEY SIPPED A club soda at one of the press tables. She had struck up a rudimentary friendship with the other journalists here, pleased that no one recognized her name. They were enthusiastic supporters of the Iditarod, unlike herself, inclined to focus more on local or sporting news than global. Many came out every year to slog through the snow, and brave blizzards to reach distant checkpoints and that elusive interview. Most were newspaper reporters with steady jobs in the northern states or Canada. It did not leave much common ground between them.

There was also the natural level of animosity between the regular joes and free lancers, and Lainey expected the gentle cold shoulder she received. She supposed it would have been more rabid had this not been Alaska. One thing she had noticed was the care everybody had for one another; it gave a small town feel to the air, though there were several thousand people in Nome. The only other free lancers following the race were a pair from Norway, and a half dozen Japanese seated at other tables. In both cases, the language barrier and level of interest in their subject were reasons enough to keep them apart.

Her attitude had not changed much from the afternoon, regardless of her ability to breathe easier after her soak at the hotel. This was yet another reason for her peers to keep their distance, as her decided lack of enthusiasm clouded the area around her. She consoled herself with the weather report she had received from the front desk. Tomorrow was going to be bright and sunny, her plane leaving out of the airport in the morning, on time. That would be worth a drink if she were still drinking. She silently toasted her good fortune with the last of her soda, then ordered another from a passing waitress.

The other cause for her attitude was the woman. Lainey had tried everything she could think of, but the vision helping her to her feet remained firmly lodged in her brain. Unable to pry loose the thoughts of her, Lainey had chalked it up to an under active sex life, but it still nibbled at the back of her mind.

The meal nearly finished, it looked like things were picking up on the stage. In response, the diners became quieter, and the reporters more active. Lainey took the camera hanging at her neck, and gave it a final once over. She left her table with a handful of other photographers as they all jockeyed for position on the floor. Rather than fight for the prime real estate, she remained to one side, giving her a clear shot of the audience and a profile of the current Iditarod president as he began his speech. She had a fifty-fifty shot of catching the award winners as they came past her to the stage or, if they chose the other side, a full frontal shot as they approached the dais. Later, there would be a posed photo shoot while the scheduled dancing began.

The winner of this year's race, a ramshackle man with a droopy blond mustache, chose to head to the opposite side, pleasing Lainey. No doubt everyone else would follow his lead. This afforded her an advantageous position, and she used it well as her camera shutter clicked away.

Mentally, she filed the names and awards as they passed through. The big winner won the grand prize, a check for sixty-nine grand, and a new diesel truck from a local dealership. She knew there were monetary prizes for the next thirty finishers, ranging from sixty-three thousand to eighteen. Rather than bore her editor with all of them, Lainey stopped photographing after the fifth place winner went through, checking her digital readouts and readjusting for the next round of prizes.

“Tenth place, Scotch Fuller of Fuller Kennels! Twenty-eight thousand dollars!"

Scotch? Who would name their kid Scotch? Intrigued despite herself, Lainey searched the audience for the owner of such a moniker. One table burst into rowdy cheering at the announcement, several standing as they clapped the mysterious Scotch on the back. Lainey half expected the man to be as drunk as his friends or family appeared to be. It was a couple of moments before she realized the tenth place winner was a woman, not a sloppy drunkard. When she got to the base of the stairs and into the lights of the stage wash, Lainey's mouth dropped open.

It was the woman who had helped her to her feet that afternoon.

Without the parka, she looked better than Lainey remembered. She wore jeans and a rose-colored turtleneck sweater, revealing a lanky form that held more than a hint of femininity Her hair was short and curly, like Lainey's, but the lights sparked it into golden fire. Her smile was brilliant as she accepted her winnings, and a handshake from the Iditarod president. Then she spoke into the microphone, thanking her family and sponsors.

With a start, Lainey aimed and shot, allowing the automatic shutter to keep collecting data as Scotch finished her speech. Completely enamored, it was not until the digital camera ceased that Lainey returned to the present. With a curse, she examined the readout to discover she had used up the entire data storage disk. She fumbled another from her pocket, but did not replace it quick enough to get a close up of Scotch leaving the stage.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of photo ops and reveling. Knowing the job came first did little to console Lainey as she got the required interview with the top three placers. Her mind simply would not allow her to focus, constantly dragging her attention to one particular table. Disgusted at her lack of control, and at her inability to get more photos of that intriguing woman, Lainey was almost relieved when she saw the Fuller celebrants leaving the banquet. At the same time, however, she had an abrupt urge to follow them, properly introduce herself and thank Scotch again for her assistance that afternoon.

Late that night, after her final installment had been sent to Strauss, she sat in the dark of her hotel room. The only illumination was her laptop display. Lainey had taken the consecutive photos of Scotch Fuller, stringing them together to create a movie of sorts. She sat at the desk, chin in her hands as the impromptu movie played on a continuous loop.

What kind of person was she? Was her name real or a nickname? Did she have a boyfriend? A husband? She had to be a strong individual. Winning tenth place in a thousand mile dog sled race was not something to sneeze at. She was the highest placing woman this year, too.

An Internet search had turned up some interesting facts. Scotch was twenty-three, and this was her third Iditarod, her best time overall. This year she had also won the Leonhard Seppala Humanitarian Award for the care she had given her dogs. Would she make another Iditarod attempt next year? Did she have what it took to win? And why the hell would a beautiful woman want to torture herself by racing dogs?

Most importantly, where had she acquired such self-assurance and poise? She was a kid, born and raised in the boonies. Yet, she carried herself with a level of confidence Lainey had only seen in ancient matriarchs of various cultures around the world. Sure, a lot of women in America held themselves the same way, what with the advent of the women's liberation movement. If feminism had made such great strides in the Alaskan bush, however, then why was Lainey routinely referred to as “little missy' by the front desk clerk? Scotch seemed to carry a lot of weight with the men around her, more of an equal than as a woman. It was only natural Lainey found the subtle authority . . . exciting.

She closed her eyes, the light of the display flickering against her lids. Regardless of her blindness, she still saw Scotch, sharing a smile with her. Her thoughts took her to other, more intimate questions, as her fingers began to stray along her body.

What did she taste like?

"Alaska?” Benjamin Strauss asked. To give him credit, he did not sound nearly as confused as his expression indicated. "You're kidding.”

Lainey leaned back in her chair, and sipped her espresso. "Nope. I'm dead serious.”

They sat in a small coffee shop in midtown Manhattan. Through the window, Lainey watched the wildlife of New York rush about on the corner of 57th Street and Sixth Avenue, every one of them bundled against the chill of a late winter rain. Even with the cold, she only felt a twinge from her injury, a relief after her sojourn north.

Strauss' tan was incongruent with his business suit and well-trimmed salt and pepper hair. Ruddy features proclaimed an outdoorsman, though his clothes and demeanor screamed corporate executive. Lainey knew him to be more the former than the latter, having spent several months in the Australian outback on a shoot with him. They had met and become fast friends, the intervening years tightening their bond. He had been her sponsor in Alcoholics Anonymous, and remained a staunch supporter of her through her abrupt shift from war correspondent to nature photographer.

He scrubbed his worn face, and peered closely at her. "Who are you and what have you done with Lainey Hughes?”

"Ha ha,” she said, her face stony though the humor flashed in her eyes. "You did say you would agree to the next story I pitched.”

"No, I didn't,” he said, waving a finger at her. "You hung up on me.”

Lainey made a rude noise. "We both know you would have said yes.”

A grin crossed his face. ‘maybe,” he allowed.

She waved his objections away, and returned to the subject. "Well? What do you think? Is it feasible?”

He mirrored her seriousness. "Considering we just published an Iditarod story this issue,” he said, tapping the current copy of Cognizance on the table between them, "why should I do it again in a year?”

"Because this spread was a onetime article about the race.” Lainey set down her cup, and leaned forward to convey her enthusiasm. "I propose following one musher from sign up in June, through training, and the race itself. We could pull it off as an in-depth expose of an up and comer; either a full cover to cover issue next year, or quarterly installments beginning this July.”

Strauss' fingers drummed upon the table. "Which up and comer?”

She casually relaxed in an effort to disguise her true interest. “Scotch Fuller, tenth place winner this year.”

"What makes this guy so special?”

“The fact that she's a woman,” Lainey said. “This was her third Iditarod, and she's consistently improved over the years. Talk is that she has a good shot at winning next year' all things being equal.”

"A woman?”

"Yeah.” Lainey felt her hackles rise at his tone. She forced herself to not respond to her defensiveness. In this case, Strauss had every right to be on his guard. She did not understand this bizarre instinct calling her back to a snow locked hinterland; she doubted he would either, even if she tried to explain it to him. In any case, this was still a potentially lucrative idea.

"A good looker, no doubt.”

“She's not bad on the eyes,” she said. Before he could go any further, she sat up, thrusting out her chin. "It's not about that.”

Strauss feigned innocence. "About what, exactly?”

Scoffing, she said, "It's not about a roll in the hay, Ben. I really think there's a story here.” Lainey attempted to appear earnest. That her idea involved her spending more time in the presence of Scotch Fuller only sweetened the pot.

He frowned at her. "What about the cold? I know how it messes with your ribs. You're not going to do either of us any good if you're too racked with pain to get out in the field.”

She dismissed his fears with a scornful expression. "Come on, it's been years since I've been anywhere that was below forty-five degrees. I admit I ached some on this trip, but it wasn't as bad as I expected,” she lied.

His examination remained focused, as if he sensed her falsehood.

"Oh, please,” Lainey said. "Besides, no piece of ass is worth that amount of aggravation. And she's straight.”

She seemed to have pacified him, his suspicious expression fading. "All right. Say I go for it. What are you looking at for compensation?”

Lainey grinned. If he was talking money, the gig was a sure bet. "Put me on the payroll from June through March of next year. I'll have to pay living expenses, and you know how much photojournalists make in a year. My savings account ain't going to cut it for that long.”

Ever the journalist despite being the editor of a magazine these days, Strauss pulled a leather bound notepad from his breast pocket. As he scribbled a note, he asked, "What about copyright?”

"It stays with me.”

He looked at her from beneath his brows. "As much as I understand your end of the business, Lainey, my bosses aren't going to let that fly. I'm putting my neck on the line to hire you, as temporary as that will be, and with little immediate payoff. I need something to bargain with, or you peddle this story someplace else.”

She narrowed her eyes in thought, staring at the street. The rain had stopped, though the sun remained muted by the clouds overhead. After a long pause, she said, "Okay. You retain copyright of what I send you. But I reserve the right to not send you everything. The salary pays for three full pictorial and written articles.”

Strauss pursed his lips, and then nodded. ‘sounds fair. I know you won't stint on the articles at the magazine's expense.” He wrote the agreement down. "Let's get back to my office, and have the legal department draw up a contract. As of this afternoon, you'll be an official temporary employee of Cognizance.”

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.

Scotch's ears picked up the sound of an engine. She turned off the radio, and leaned forward to peer out the windshield, trying to locate the airplane. It cut into sight, emerging from the tree line on her left. The tiny plane swung around, lining up with the rudimentary runway as it approached. There was just enough clearance for it to land, leaving little room to taxi, and it halted no more than fifteen feet away from her. As the motor shut down, she got out of the truck, to lean against the side panel with one hip.

The door popped open, and a stool plunked beneath it to accommodate a gruff man in coveralls. He clambered out of the plane, spying her. With an exuberant wave, he marched toward her. “Scotch! How the hell are you?”

Grinning, she met the pilot halfway, giving him a hug. "I'm doing great, Cliff. You?”

"Been better,” he confided. “These old bones are acting up. And Delores in threatening to quit on me.”

She looked properly horrified, though he said the same thing every time she saw him. "No way! Delores loves you. It'll be a long time before her wings are clipped.”

He eyeballed the small charter plane. The only section of its hull that did not appear banged or scraped was a carefully painted pin up girl by the pilot's seat. She wore a skimpy red dress, and smiled coyly at her admirers. "You think so?”

"Guaranteed.”

Cheered, Cliff's gaze shifted to the two people unloading luggage and gear. “That little girl there says she's doing a big magazine article on you this year. That true?”

Scotch blushed. "It's true. We're hoping to get a national sponsor out of the publicity.”

He nodded in agreeable contemplation. ‘sounds like a plan. Hope it works out for you.”

His tone rang with uncertainty, catching Scotch's attention. "You think it won't?” she asked, lowering her voice.

Sucking his teeth, Cliff said, "I think it can go either way. She seems a bit high maintenance to me.” He chuckled, and nudged a now worried Scotch with his shoulder. "But don't mind me; I could be wrong. If I could judge women as well as airplanes, I'd be married by now.”

She laughed with him, stowing his reservations for later perusal. The reporters finished unloading the plane, and she stepped forward to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Scotch Fuller. Welcome to Alaska.”

"It's nice to finally meet you,” the woman said, offering her hand. She stood a few inches shorter, her curly dark hair cut short, and shot through with threads of silver. Scotch knew from her research that she was only six years younger than the reporter, and found the premature coloring of interest. "Obviously, I'm Lainey Hughes, and this is my associate, Don Howry.”

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fuller.”

Hands were shaken, and Scotch offered to take one of the bags. She had the weirdest sensation that she had met Lainey before. Her father had said that she had covered the last race, so maybe that was the connection. "Call me Scotch,” she instructed, leading the way to the truck. ‘since you'll be with us a while, no reason to not to be an a first name basis.”

With Cliff's help, they loaded the bags into the back of the truck. He declined an invitation to the kennel for coffee, but gratefully swapped his thermos with Scotch's. Soon he was back in his plane, cranking it up for the trip back to Anchorage. They watched as he turned Delores around, and took off, the landing gears just barely missing the tops of the trees at the other end of the airstrip.

Left alone with the strangers, Scotch sighed and forced a smile. "Let's get you back to the kennel, and settled in,” she said, opening the truck and folding the seat back. "I've only got jump seats here. It's kind of small, so maybe Lainey should take the back.”

“That sounds fine.” Lainey smiled, and stepped forward as Howry went around to the passenger door.

Still holding the seat out of the way, Scotch leaned back against the door hinge to give Lainey room to climb inside. She could not help but notice the snug fitting designer jeans, and a light scent of perfume. Shaking her head, she waited until Lainey folded down the seat behind Howry, and settled in the cramped space before clambering into the truck.

Soon they were on a paved rural road, heading into the village she called home. The silence was unnerving to Scotch. While she could see Howry with her peripheral vision avidly soaking up the sights of small town Alaska, she swore she felt the eyes of Lainey staring at her. A quick glance proved her instincts correct as the photojournalist looked away. Scotch, somewhat out of her element, reddened at the intensity of Lainey's expression, and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Lainey cleared her throat. ‘so, how long have you been driving dogs?” she asked.

Scotch grinned, welcoming the distraction of dog talk. "Almost twenty years.” At the abrupt quiet, she regarded her passengers, noting Howry's puzzled look and Lainey's expression of denial. ‘my parents started the kennel when I was two. As soon as I could stand and hang on alone, I was on a sled.”

"Wow,” Howry said. ‘sledding as long as you've been walking. That's cool.”

She negotiated through the small town, driving automatically. "I only had one dog for a team, of course, but it was a beginning. My brother and sister started the same way.”

“That would be . . . Irish and Rye?” Lainey asked.

Scotch nodded, turning off the road and onto a hard packed dirt lane. "Irish is nine; she's up to ten dogs now. And Rye runs a full load.”

"Interesting names,” Howry said, hinting for more information.

Chuckling, Scotch said, “Talk to my dad. He loves telling the story.”

"I will,” Lainey responded, her voice soft.

Scotch looked sharply over her shoulder, not certain what she thought she would see. Lainey merely smiled back at her. Turning back to her driving, she wondered why the woman unsettled her so.

Deep in her thoughts Scotch did not catch Howry giving Lainey a raised eyebrow. She returned a warning look, not quite sticking her tongue out at him, though she did give his seat a slight nudge. He slid his eyes back to the scenery.

Her sexual interests were no mystery to the man; they had worked together in South America once. Two months of close association left little in the way of secrets. By the time they returned to the states, they were old hands at discussing the topic of bringing a woman to climax, bragging about their abilities and sharing techniques.

Watching Scotch's profile, her libido kicked into overdrive. Her masturbatory fantasy of the last three months sat merely inches away. Good God, how was she going to survive this? What ever possessed her to pitch this idea in the first place? Lainey's sudden rush of nerves unsettled her. She had never felt this way about any woman she was interested in.

Scotch held an unconscious beauty. She needed no makeup, and apparently did not wear any. Her nose was lightly crooked, and Lainey wondered if it was natural or the result of a break. Otherwise her features were flawless. Scotch's skin was tanned with a light brushing of freckles across her nose. It was not as weathered as when Lainey had first seen her, but back in March, Scotch had just come off the Iditarod trail. Tawny golden curls stuck out haphazardly from beneath a cream-colored baseball cap, curling at the nape of her neck. Lainey was hard pressed to not reach over and finger the tresses.

Her perusal was interrupted by a growing cacophony of sound, distracting both she and Howry. Scotch drove the truck down a driveway, past a sign welcoming them to Fuller Kennels. Hours of operation were posted there, and Lainey wondered why. She made a mental note to get a picture of the sign, focusing her attention on the nearing buildings.

The drive was a huge loop, with a central rest area holding a smattering of wooden chairs and a stone barbecue grill. A station wagon with Virginia license plates sat in a rudimentary parking area to the left, the back piled high with camping gear. Two log buildings were central to the drive, one with a rustic wooden sign proclaiming the Fuller Veterinarian Hospital. That would be why there were hours of operation, of course.

Lainey identified the noise as several dogs barking in excited welcome.

Scotch grinned as she parked in front of the second cabin. "Don't worry. The dogs only make that kind of racket for our dog trucks. They won't wake you up for everything on wheels that passes by.”

“That's a relief,” Howry said, opening his door. "I need my beauty sleep.”

"I'll say.” Lainey grinned, unrepentant at her dig.

The canine enthusiasm seemed to be contagious. She took Scotch's hand to steady herself as she climbed out of the truck. A shock traveled up her arm at the touch, and she quickly drew away, lest she follow her body's natural instincts. Lainey promptly began fishing for the luggage in the bed of the truck, receiving another questioning look from Howry. She ignored him. Now was not the time to get into a discussion of what was going on with her. It was bad enough the head honchos at Cognizance had altered her plan, thereby insuring she would have a colleague witness her foolishness. She did not need to give him any more ammunition than necessary.

Scotch said, "We'll wait until after lunch to get you settled in.” She hefted a duffel bag with ease, and clambered up the steps of the cabin, setting it near the front door. "In the meantime, let's leave your stuff here, and I'll take you on the guided tour.”

"Guided tour, huh?” Howry asked, dropping a suitcase on the porch. “That sounds like you do it regularly.”

"We do,” she said. She relieved Lainey of a full sized backpack, an expression of surprise flickering on her face as she noted how heavy it was. “Two tours a day, Monday through Friday. We also arrange day trips, overnight camp outs with the dogs, weekend excursions, and sled rides or lessons.”

"Impressive,” Lainey said. She pointed at the building they passed as they swung into the drive. "Plus an animal hospital?”

Scotch grinned. "Yeah. That's my mom's. She takes care of all the dogs here, and is a volunteer vet for the Iditarod.”

Howry, his camera already in hand, fiddled with a lens as he eyed Lainey with a cocked brow.

She realized she was staring at Scotch with more than average interest, and quickly dissembled.

The cabin's screen door burst open, a welcome distraction for Lainey, and two bundles of energy rolled out, one human and one canine.

"Dey here! Dey here!"

Scotch scooped both of them up in an effort to contain the potential disaster. Only then were they still enough for Lainey to register what they looked like.

Hefting the child, Scotch said, "I'd like to introduce you to Bon, my youngest brother.” Turning slightly to indicate the puppy, she continued, "And this is Aphrodite.”

Lainey reached out and shook Bon's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you.” The boy extended a bashful smile, and she grinned as he clung to his sister. There was no doubt they were related; both had wavy golden hair, though his coloring was much lighter. Hearing a shutter click, she saw Howry taking a picture.

"Oh, watch out,” Scotch warned, setting her burdens down. "He's a major ham.”

Bon laughed, and bustled to the screen door, throwing it open. "C'mon, Aph'dite!" The pup gamboled forward, tail wagging eagerly, and they disappeared inside.

Chuckling, Scotch stared after them as she removed her ball cap to run her hand through her hair. Lainey wondered if it felt as wonderful as it looked, mesmerized until Howry bumped her from behind. She gave him a quick glare, knowing she would have a lot to explain the next time they were alone.

Breaking the silence, she smiled brightly. "Well! How about that tour?”

He snorted at her, but followed Scotch's lead as she headed down the steps and around the cabin.

What was it they said? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Lainey did not know if she had grown more interested about Scotch over the last three months as she planned this excursion. Her attraction was just as strong as it had been the minute she had first laid eyes on the musher. It seemed as if the intrigue was much stronger in Scotch's presence than when Lainey was in New York. At least there she could fool herself into believing this was all a legitimate gig with a little eye candy to stimulate the senses. Here in Scotch's presence, everything quadrupled.

She dearly hoped constant contact would break her of this infatuation.

"Lainey? You coming?”

Startled from her musing, she waved at Scotch, noting the guarded expression in her eyes. Small wonder, since Lainey was acting bizarre, even in her estimation. She trotted down the steps to join them.

CHAPTER FIVE

SCOTCH LED THEM around the side of the cabin on a gravel path. Instead of a traditional back yard, complete with manicured grass and rose bushes, the bed of rock opened up before them, encompassing most of the available area. The cabin had a raised deck attached where Bon played with his canine goddess and two other puppies. A handful of out buildings and what appeared to be a carport peppered the expanse, though the covered concrete section did not seem accessible to a vehicle with the clutter of equipment there. Two large kennels held a handful of dogs receiving cautious attention from a family of four.

Beyond them, Lainey saw the dog yard. She was amazed at the sheer number of animals, having never seen so many at once. No, she corrected herself. She had seen many more during the race in March. What she had not been prepared for were the neat rows of wooden houses, each with a dog chained nearby. Lainey immediately wondered how this could be healthy for the animals. Literally kept chained, she noted some sleeping in the sun. Others played enthusiastically with toys or bones, and a few stood atop their homes, tails wagging as they yipped for attention from the people in the yard. They hardly appeared to be abused.

“Scotch!"

A young man waved from the group at the kennel. Lainey recognized him as the boy who had been with Scotch last winter. "C'mere!"

Scotch waved at him. "I'll be right back. Go ahead and poke around some. Don't worry; all the dogs are friendly.”

Howry gave a non-committal murmur of agreement, and she trotted toward the kennels and, presumably, her fans.

“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.”

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.”

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.”

Lainey lifted her cup in thanks, watching her disappear around the fireplace. She heard the tread of boots on steps, the light creak above her head as Scotch reached her room and began changing clothes.

She stared at the wood stove, her mind's eye upstairs. Separated by mere inches of wood, her lust object was getting naked, that beautiful body revealed as boots and sleep clothes were shucked. Sighing, Lainey was amazed at the flicker of desire tingling through her blood stream. Even at the crack of full sunlight, with little sleep, and the threat of sore ribs and hard work ahead, the mere whisper of sex could turn her on. What the hell was that about? It had not always been this way, had it?

As promised, Lainey learned more about the care and feeding of dogs than she ever thought possible. The sheer amount of time involved should not have surprised her, what with ninety- five dogs to feed, but it did. She and Howry watched as sixteen gallons of water were carefully measured out and poured into the metal drum by Rye. While he lit the propane fire below, Lainey helped Scotch collect fifteen frozen salmon from the freezer. They went into the pot, heads and all, and the Fullers had a laugh at Lainey's wrinkled nose. The dogs watched the process with eager anticipation.

The fishy mixture was brought to a boil, someone always stirring with a snow shovel, and then it was allowed to cool. The crew went over the lists posted by the door in the barn, figuring out which animal required something out of the ordinary and what sort of supplements were needed. The dog stew was brought back to a second boil. When allowed to cool again, Scotch utilized a stepladder and chopped the now pliable salmon into chunks. A third boil came and went, this time with Irish using a large empty coffee can to measure rice into the stew.

Lainey watched in dismay as yet a fourth boil was achieved. At the rate things were going, it would be noon before they finished. This time, Rye turned the propane completely off, and covered the pot. The reporters were given various measurements of vitamin supplements, bone meal, and dry chow that were added to the cooling result. Then they were handed pails to fill.

This was Lainey's first foray among the dogs. Fortunately, they seemed far more interested in the contents of her bucket than her, though there were one or two who gave her a suspicious eye. She noted the Fullers giving each animal a little undivided attention, and began to do the same. Before she was finished with her assigned section, she had stepped in three piles of dog crap, her sturdy work jeans were layered in dog hair, and her hands were slathered with saliva from polite dogs thanking her for their meal.

She returned to the kitchen with a stupid grin on her face, the canine enthusiasm having rubbed off on her as thick as their shedding coats.

More water was poured into the leftovers, and a second trip was made. Then followed a round of scooping up excrement. The dog kitchen was cleaned up, the proper animals put into the two runs, and one let off her chain to run free about the kennel. Lainey carefully placed a checkmark beside Heldig's name, wondering where the Fullers came up with the names and how they could keep them straight.

In the main house, she felt bone tired. It had been awhile since she had had a workout like this. She eyed the siblings with new respect; doing this day in and day out from childhood had to give them a hardiness that few their age acquired. She remembered seeing Scotch's bare arms that morning, seeing the play of muscle beneath the pale skin, and had a good understanding where it came from.

Breakfast was over. The family sat around the table, and Lainey realized this was standard practice for them. All meetings must take place here. Helen, dressed in sweater and jeans, had a notepad and pen. Her husband, Thom, was dressed in a long sleeve white shirt, the collar undone and a t-shirt peeking from beneath. Both of them worked today, and were ready to get with it as soon as business was concluded.

“The Fuller Kennel board of directors is called to order,” he said. "All members present and accounted for.”

Lainey blinked at the formality, glancing at Bon who played under the table with an empty shoebox.

As if reading her mind, Rye smiled. "Yeah, he's a board member, too. We all are.”

"Interesting,” Howry muttered, scribbling a note.

Thom said, "We're here to finalize some things with Ms. Hughes and Mr. Howry at their request.”

Everyone, including Howry, looked expectantly at Lainey.

She refrained from chewing her lip at the sudden attention. Barely. All those blue eyes, patient as they regarded her, seemed guileless. What would they look like when she explained the changes the magazine had insisted upon last month? Lainey focused on Scotch, wondering if she would be all right with it or not.

"Well, as you know, I made arrangements for Don to accompany me on this adventure. I wasn't sure what to tell you as to the why of it.” She took a deep breath. "I realize that what I tell you might be a deal breaker. If you don't agree to the changes my editor wants, then I understand.”

"What sort of changes, dear?” Helen asked. "It certainly can't be all that bad.”

Lainey steered her gaze away from Scotch's wary expression. What did she think would be said? Would she decide against the idea? "I originally contracted with Cognizance to do a series on Scotch's next run for the Iditarod. However, my editor's bosses have decided to do another piece, as well. Don,” and she waved to indicate the man beside her, "will do the series on Scotch.”

Irish frowned. ‘so, what'll you be doing?”

Lainey sighed. "I have been asked to run the Iditarod.”

CHAPTER NINE

"YOU MEAN LIKE enter the race on your own?” Irish asked.

“That's the idea.” Howry said.

"What?” Rye snorted. "You don't know the first thing about mushing.”

"Regrettably true,” Lainey said. She avoided Scotch's eyes, not wanting to see what her response was to the news. “The magazine has done some research into the cost of such a venture. “They're allowing me to offer you thirty thousand dollars to train me, and to give me the use of a team and equipment for the next Iditarod.”

Thom whistled at the amount. "You know some kennels would ask for more.”

She met his gaze squarely. "I know. In addition, you'll still receive the monthly amount we originally agreed to pay for our room and board. That ultimately works out to more than what you would get for a simple training contract. Besides, Don and I will both continue working, so there's the added manpower you won't be required to pay for.”

"What if I refuse?”

Lainey's heart thumped at the seriousness in Scotch's voice, and she finally looked at her. Regardless of the uncertain position she had put the Fullers in, Scotch emanated the same confidence that had first drawn Lainey. They both had no doubt that her family would back whatever Scotch decided. She wondered if this was the source of Scotch's self-assurance, and felt a little let down. Surely it could not be as simple as that.

Rather than blow smoke up Scotch's ass, Lainey chose to be truthful. This young woman deserved to know the reality of the situation, and Lainey knew she could handle the information. “Then I leave. Don will remain behind to do an original piece about your training. I've been instructed to approach two other kennels with the training offer.”

Scotch's ears almost perked up with interest. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Which kennels?”

The sudden interest confused Lainey, and Howry answered. "Either the Larsen's or Mythic Spirit Kennels.”

At the second name, Scotch scoffed, sitting upright. “The Thorpes?" she demanded. “They barely know how to point their dogs in the right direction!"

"You'd be lucky if they gave you a team worth the effort of training,” Rye said.

"Be lucky if she didn't have to scratch the first day,” Scotch told her brother.

"Don't they still bite their dogs' ears?” Helen asked, receiving a round of disgusted agreement from her family.

"Biting ears?” Lainey asked slowly, wondering if they were putting her on. Her face contorted at the thought of putting a furry ear in her mouth.

Scotch's demeanor lightened at her expression. She smiled. "Yeah, it's a method of control some people use to keep their teams in line.”

"Uck,” Lainey said. Shaking herself, she said, "Okay, maybe not Mythic Spirit Kennels.”

The laughter died away. Everyone focused on Scotch who rubbed her jaw in thought. Beneath the table, even Bon stared at her, and Lainey found his highly tuned familial instinct intriguing. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed a family dynamic; had she missed seeing the subtle wordless play in others, or were the Fullers unnaturally receptive to one another?

"I can't say that I like it,” Scotch finally said. "I need to concentrate on my team when I'm training for the race. I can't allow any distractions.”

Lainey felt her spirits flag. The other kennels were located across the state. She wondered if she could break the contract with Strauss without damaging her credibility or reputation. The prospects were not that good.

"Why'd they pick you?” Rye asked.

Brought out of her musings, Lainey said, "Excuse me?”

"Why you? Why not Don?”

Lainey considered the question. “The initial pitch was mine, I guess. That and I focused my premise on a woman musher with potential for winning.” She shrugged. “They wanted a companion piece to a professional woman racer; hence a rookie woman racer.”

“So, if we don't go through with training you, Scotch still gets the national coverage?" Thom asked.

"Oh, yes.” Howry hastened to ease their minds. “That plan remains the same. It's just that I'll be doing the piece instead of Lainey.”

Scotch said, "Larsen's good, but his kennel isn't that large. His second string will be pretty poor. And he doesn't have the extra time to train anyone, either.” She snorted. "I'm not even going to get into the pros and cons of the Thorpes.”

"Just as well,” Helen murmured.

Lainey saw Scotch studying her with an odd intensity. Her body responded to the expression, and she was glad she had worn a heavy sweater as her nipples hardened. God, those eyes were penetrating.

Whatever Scotch was searching for, she seemed to have found it. "All right. Let's do it.”

Ears buzzing faintly, Lainey wondered if she was going to pass out from the shock of relief flooding her system.

"You sure?’ Thom asked his daughter.

"Yeah.” She nodded, sitting back with speculative demeanor. "Rye and Irish can help train her on the basics. And I can give her the specifics she'll need for the Iditarod itself.”

“Sure. Besides,” Rye said to Lainey, "you'll place higher with one of our teams. There's a better selection of dogs to choose from.”

Lainey cleared her throat, realizing that the decision had been made. "You don't need to vote?”

Thom grinned. "Well, I suppose. Just to make it official. All those for accepting a trainee for the Iditarod?”

Every Fuller raised their hand, even Bon who laughed and raised both.

"Well, there you go.’ Thom glanced at a clock. "Holy smokes, I've got to get going or I'll be late. Meeting adjourned.”

That was the catalyst as everyone stood. Thom headed out the door, grabbing a construction helmet on the way. Helen chased after to give him a kiss good bye, and then returned to the table.

"Welcome to the family, dear,” she said, giving Lainey a hug. "You, too, Don. I'll see you at lunch.” With that, she scooped Bon from beneath the table, and carted him out the door.

"I'll be back in a half hour,” Scotch said after placing her plate in the sink.

Lainey wondered if Scotch was a bit more wary around her. Or was Lainey projecting her uncertainty about the situation? She had hoped to spend time with Scotch after this revelation to assess the potential damage to their non-existent working relationship. "Where are you going?”

"We have a day trip scheduled for some tourists. I've got to pick them up in town. You'll be on your own today.”

"You can hang with me,” Irish offered.

"What are the chances of joining the day trip?” Howry asked.

Rye filled the sink with water in preparation of doing dishes. "Not good. Only if there's a cancellation. The carts hold five people each, and the reservation is for ten.”

"I've got to scoot.” Scotch strode out of the kitchen.

It was all Lainey could do to not follow her. Had she irreparably damaged things? Was Scotch's attitude just a tad cooler than earlier this morning? Lainey did not know whether to laugh at the ridiculous concern or cry that it could be true.

This draw was too strong, it was more than she had imagined in March. Maybe she should back out now. Find a lawyer to help annul her contract with Cognizance, and take the next flight to Peru to photograph monasteries. That brought a different level of panic than what she already experienced. When the hell did life get so damned complicated? Christ, she needed a drink!

The thought dashed cold water on her jitters. Nothing was so bad she needed to resort to the bottle again. Not even absurd physical attractions that caused her to question everything about her sanity.

She took a bracing breath, and smiled at Irish. "I'd love to hang with you today. You can show me the ropes about sleds, and give me a personal introduction to the dogs.”

Her reward was a brilliant smile, so like Scotch's that it took Lainey's breath away. Irish grabbed Lainey's hand, and tugged her toward the door. "Cool! Come on!"

Lainey gave Howry a wave, receiving a wink for the effort before she was dragged out the door by the pleased nine-year-old.

Scotch had a difficult time keeping her attention on their visitors. They were a group of retirees living out of their motor homes as they traveled Alaska. The youngest was an energetic fifty-four years of age. It helped that Scotch spent a good deal of their trip guiding the dogs. Ahead of her, Rye had a full load, as well.

The group pulled into Lafferty's fish camp, a regular stop on this run, and met by Ray Lafferty himself. Whenever an over night or daytrip was scheduled, the old timer was notified by radio. In return for a percentage of the fees the kennel charged, he gave the tourists a fun mountain man experience, and fed them a rustic lunch.

"Fuller!" he bellowed as the vehicle engines died down. "How the hell are you?”

Scotch grinned, seeing a couple of the tourists shrink away from his larger than life persona. "Pretty good, Ray,” she said before disappearing into a bear hug. He stood at about the same height, and his thick beard scratched her cheek. Pulling away, she grinned, gesturing at her charges. "Let me introduce you to our guests.”

Lafferty personally welcomed everyone with a warm handshake and equally warm smile, relaxing even the most aloof of the visitors. As he distracted them, she and Rye snacked the dogs on chunks of moose liver. Half of the tourists went with Lafferty as he showed them around his camp. The rest watched as Scotch and her brother saw to the dogs. She relaxed into teaching mode, explaining as she massaged each dog that she searched for mild injuries as well as kept the animals used to intimate handling.

Eventually, the smell of frying fish drew their admirers away. She went to the river to collect water for her team as Lafferty regaled his audience with tall tales of life on the frontier.

“So what do you think about this training business?”

She looked over at Rye who squatted beside her on the same errand. "I don't know,” she said. "It makes sense, I guess. I just wasn't expecting it.”

"Yeah.” They filled their water jugs in silence. "What's she like?”

A well of emotion surged as Scotch tried to formulate an answer. ‘she's nice,” she finally stated, painfully aware of how little that truly conveyed. What else could she say? The fact of the matter was that she hardly knew Lainey, and did not have a clue to her motivation in wanting to do run the Iditarod.

She trudged away from the bank toward the dogs. Spartacus and Cleatis were posturing, looking to squabble. They worked well together but, given an opportunity, would brawl like overgrown puppies. Scotch welcomed the distraction, pulling Cleatis from the line to tie off to a sturdy tree nearby.

After she watered the rest of her team, she settled down in the shade to think. Her brother, sensing her need for solitude, joined the party at the fire.

How the hell was she going to train Lainey to run the Iditarod? It was tough enough training her first string dogs to do the job. Scotch had never tried teaching someone else to do what she did. She had grown up with dogs and sleds. It was second nature for her.

To be honest, Irish and Rye did not have the time to instruct Lainey, either. When the snow flew, all three of them would be found on their sleds, preparing for the races. This winter, Irish had her eye on winning a handful of sprints sponsored by her youth organization and local businesses. Rye would run the Junior Iditarod for his third year, and probably hit the Junior Yukon Quest if the kennel could afford it. Scotch was aiming to hit the Copper Basin, a handful of adult sprints, and the Iditarod itself. There was little time any of them could devote to a rookie.

Lainey seemed a knowledgeable woman. She had faced the business end of a gun at some point and survived. But the Iditarod was an endurance run that could last anywhere from nine days to three weeks, weather and trail permitting. There would be places where no one would be able to help her if she got into a life or death jam. Was the photojournalist tough enough to withstand that type of test?

The arctic gear made sense now. Most of it was new, too, indicating that Lainey had little experience with severe cold. Would Scotch and her family be able to impart the importance of how to deal with the extremes? Or would Lainey suffer frostbite and potential amputation in her ignorance?

Scotch's stomach grumbled, reminding her it had been some time since breakfast. The smell of grilling fish was strong, and she saw most of her tour group filling up on Lafferty's lunch buffet. She had already agreed to teach Lainey. Nothing to be done about it now except follow through with the deed. There was plenty of time to worry it to death.

She stood and dusted off the butt of her pants before joining the group at the fire.

CHAPTER TEN

July

LAINEY HARDLY NOTICED the road, intent on the packet of papers in her lap. “The undersigned hereby elects to voluntarily enter the Race, knowing that it may be a hazardous and dangerous activity. The undersigned hereby voluntarily assumes all risks of loss, damage, or injury, including death!’ she quoted. She looked at the driver. "Death?”

Scotch grinned. "Don't worry. The trail is watched round the clock. If it looks like there's a problem or a musher is lost, snow machines are sent out from the checkpoints to find him. The worst you'll have to worry about is frostbite or hypothermia.” She glanced at her passenger. "Didn't you read that when you notarized it at the bank this morning?”

"Well, yeah. Sort of.” She allowed herself to be distracted, not wanting to dwell on the issue of frostbite. Indicating the stack of paperwork, she said, "I guess I got a little overwhelmed with the amount of forms required.”

"Read it carefully before you sign up this morning. You'll lose a portion of your entry fee if you pull out before the race starts.”

Lainey nodded, and returned to the forms the Fullers had given her the previous night. The rules and regulations she knew, having done her research as soon as the senior editors approached her with their creative twist to her pitch. She and Scotch had left the kennel at seven in the morning to notarize their release waivers at a bank in Wasilla. Now she had a race application, a housing request for her eventual arrival at the finish line in Nome, forms to list her sponsors and request banquet tickets, a questionnaire about her possible needs that included everything from dog booties to horsemeat, a membership application for the Iditarod Trail Committee, and a list of smaller races that she could attend to qualify for the real thing. "I never figured there'd be such a paper trail,” she said.

"You ain't seen nothing yet.” Scotch turned off the main road with familiar ease. “There's also the dog care agreement, a local contact list, a vet form, and a vet check form for every dog on your training team, whether they make the final cut or not.”

"And you do this every year?” Lainey asked.

"When we can afford it. I usually run one year on, one year off. This will be the first time I've run two years in a row, thanks to your training money.” She pulled into a busy parking lot. "We're here.”

Lainey looked at the crowd milling outside Iditarod headquarters. There had to be close to fifty or sixty people there, and she recognized several veteran mushers from the last race's press packet. An awning was set up near the building where an impromptu office had been prepared for the sign up. A few feet away, smoke from a barbecue already streamed into the air. "Are all of these guys signing up?" she asked as the truck was driven into a parking spot.

Scotch chuckled. "No. Maybe a handful are proxy - holding places for someone else who can't make it today.” She turned off the engine and leaned on the steering wheel to assess the gathering. "Looks like maybe thirty or so mushers are here. Don't know about rookies, though. A lot of them come from established kennels or out of state. For all I know, half the family members here are rookies looking to sign up.”

The woman's profile captured Lainey's attention, and she stared at the motion of light and shadow from sun shining through trees and playing upon Scotch's golden skin. Today, the cap she wore was rust brown; it was the same one Lainey had first seen her wearing in Nome. It seemed somewhat appropriate.

Aware of her scrutiny, Scotch turned with a curious smile on her face. "What?”

"I see Rye and Don.” Lainey covered, pointing to where another dog truck was parked, the photographer comfortably seated on the hood and the teenager leaning against the front wheel well. She smothered a sigh of relief as Scotch looked where indicated, distracted from whatever she thought Lainey was thinking.

"Come on,” Scotch said, opening the door. "Let's go see where we stand.” She scooped up a folder from the seat, her entry forms.

Lainey climbed out of the truck, but remained behind to dig her camera out of the bag on the floorboard. She watched Scotch casually wave greeting to people she knew, amazed again at the way she carried herself. Perhaps it was the sense of community that fueled the easy assurance Scotch portrayed. It seemed she knew almost everyone here, despite her denial that not all those present were racing next year. As she observed, Lainey recognized several reporters from the awards banquet. Of course Scotch would know the regulars, supporters and press alike. Her family had become supporters of the Iditarod not long after its inception in 1973.

What was it like to grow up in one place, never moving, never having to make new friends?

Satisfied her equipment was in excellent condition, Lainey hung one camera from her neck, and another from her shoulder. She retrieved her paperwork, and closed the truck door.

"Welcome to Iditarod headquarters,” Howry said as she approached, hopping down from the hood. “Scotch is number twenty-seven and you're number twenty-eight, respectively.”

"Geez, and you got here early?” Lainey asked.

"Yeah,” Rye said. ‘some of these guys actually come out the night before and make a party of it.” Someone called his name, and he excused himself, leaving the photojournalists alone.

"You ready for this?”

Lainey gave her colleague a rueful grin. "Not really. I don't have much choice, though.”

“Sure you do. You can always call Ben and tell him the deal is off. He'd understand.”

The idea of backing out failed to appeal to Lainey. Not that she had a problem admitting she was in over her head, but she had worked too hard the last three months setting this up. She had barely scratched the surface on what made Scotch Fuller tick; Lainey was not willing to jeopardize that. Then there was that little morsel Scotch spoke of. If Lainey reneged on the contract, Scotch would have a tougher time paying the fees and kennel costs for an Iditarod run this year. The Fullers had taken a major financial chance agreeing to this article last April.

Besides, the longer things went and the more she learned gave Lainey cause to take on the challenge for its own sake.

"Nope. Not an option,” she repeated.

Howry shrugged. "Hope she's worth the hassle.”

Lainey felt the anger as a stab of ice through her veins. She leaned closer, her voice lowered to avoid projecting. "Get this straight. This is not for a lay, not for a seduction. I don't want to hear any more innuendo in that area. Understand?”

First Howry's face blanched, his tan fading. Then it flushed red as blood suffused his skin.

She had not seen him furious in some time, and almost did not recognize the signals as his anger blossomed.

Before she could backpedal, he said, “The hassle I was referring to was the potential injury you're facing for a stupid magazine spread, not to getting into her pants.”

Her irritation fled, replaced quickly with regret. Lainey placed a hand on his forearm. She was relieved when he did not pull away. "I'm sorry. I'm an idiot.”

He seemed mollified but still glared at her. "If we're going to work together, you need to get over this hypersensitivity. We both have a good idea why you started this, but if I thought for a minute that was the only reason for this venture, I'd bail in a heartbeat. Give me a little credit.”

She blushed and dropped her gaze, unable to look at him. "I know. I'm sorry. I just . . . I haven't figured out this draw, and it's driving me batty.”

"Lainey.”

Forcing herself to face him, she saw his expression had changed.

"I wasn't forced here, okay? It's a damn good idea, regardless of why you came up with it. I think it'll sell magazines and, if we're lucky, win us a couple of awards.” He grinned and winked, the familiar devil-may-care attitude returning full force. "If you get laid, all the better.”

Lainey wondered if she should laugh or smack him. She did neither, hearing Scotch call her name. Squeezing Howry's forearm, she released him and turned.

Scotch lounged in a plastic chair, her legs crossed at the ankles and hands laced over her belly, a bottle of beer within easy reach. She had lowered the bill of her cap over her sunglasses, looking as if she were napping. In reality, she watched the comings and goings at the sign up tent as the sun slipped further west. Rye was talking with friends from the Junior Alaskan Sled Dog and Racing Association. She recognized some of the kids from her time as a member of the organization.

Howry was wondering about with a hamburger in one hand, getting what he called 'flavor' for the first article. He had already taken photos of she and Lainey signing up for the race, as well as a handful of the better-known mushers. Her father had exercised his right as owner of Fuller Construction to take the afternoon off. Thom hung out under the sign up tent, swapping tall tales with the older men there. Hardly anyone had left after signing up for the Iditarod. The party was in full swing and would continue on into the evening. Scotch figured Irish would be by when their mother and Miguel were finished at the kennels. What held most of her attention, however, was her roommate.

Lainey lay in a patch of sunlight, leaning on her elbows as she soaked up the rays. She looked like she was enjoying herself immensely, and Scotch had to admit she took pleasure in watching. Damned if she could figure out why, though. It was not as if she had never seen a woman sunbathe before. Still, she mused on the color of Lainey's skin tones. Her complexion was darker than Scotch's, something the musher envied. No matter how hard she tried, she could never get more than a light gold tan during the summer. Lainey would become almost bronze given the proper amount of exposure.

She idly wandered the slim body. Scotch had had the opportunity to see Lainey wearing the shorts and t-shirt in which she slept. There were no gunshot wounds evident on her arms and legs. That boiled it down to her torso or maybe a head wound. It would have to have been a minor injury if Lainey had been wounded in the head. Otherwise, she would be dead, right?

Scotch frowned at the thought of how a wound like that would scar. She knew a boy who had shot himself with his father's pistol; it was not a pretty sight. Did Lainey feel self conscious about it? Or did she receive reconstructive surgery?

Did Lainey have a boyfriend?

The thought startled her. Her eyes automatically searched her memory. Lainey had not mentioned anyone special in her life, and Scotch could not remember seeing a ring or anything. Would a strange man show up at some point to visit Lainey? The very idea made her nose wrinkle in distaste. It suddenly became very important to know. "Do you have a boyfriend?" she asked, unable to help herself.

Lainey opened her eyes, shifting to one elbow as she brought her other hand up to shade her face. "No.”

Scotch felt a wave of relief followed by disgruntlement. What the hell was her problem? Whether or not Lainey had someone was not something Scotch should be concerned with. Right? Unable to think of a response, she said, "Oh.”

A smile curled Lainey's lips. "Do you?”

She laughed, relaxing into the increasingly familiar friendship they were developing. "Nope. Most the men I know aren't what I'd consider dating material.”

Lainey nodded without speaking.

Nervous under her examination, Scotch picked up her bottle. "You want a beer?" she asked, preparing to rise.

"I don't drink.”

There seemed to be a wealth of meaning in the simple phrase, and Scotch paused in the process of standing. "Ever?”

Lainey smiled, though it had a tinge of wistfulness to it. "Not anymore.”

Scotch stared at her a moment. "All right then.” She finished rising. "Want a soda instead?”

"Yeah, that'd be nice.”

"One soda coming up.” She took her beer bottle, pouring the rest of it out as she headed for the coolers located near the barbecue. Once there, she retrieved two cans of soda, wondering why she was doing it. The smile she received from Lainey upon her return might not have answered the question, but it definitely gave her cause to do whatever she could to see it more often.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

UNDER THE WATCHFUL eye of Scotch, Lainey carefully attached the tugline to Jonah’s harness. She finished the connection by attaching a short neckline from the main towline to the dog’s collar. Laughing, she fended off the exuberant licking of her new friend, and stood up to examine her work. Jonah was, by far, the largest of the six dogs given the dubious benefit of being on Lainey’s team. As soon as she stepped away he began pulling, trying to get the ATV to move. With all the effort he was putting into it, she almost expected the vehicle to pop its brakes and take off without her. “He certainly seems... eager,” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Scotch agreed. She leaned against the second ATV, her team already hitched and clamoring to get on the trail. Her arms were crossed, and she regarded Jonah with indulgent pride. “He’s run all three Iditarods with me. The boy’s a go-getter; a powerhouse.”

Lainey wondered why Scotch was allowing her the use of dogs from her previous races. Surely she would want the more experienced animals on her team. Maybe Lainey had misunderstood when Scotch officially introduced her to her team this morning at breakfast. Perhaps Lainey would train them, but Scotch would take them on the Iditarod when March arrived.

“Who’s next?”

“Aegis,” Lainey said, grinning as she gave the right answer. Scotch waved her off to retrieve the dog.

Shy and sweet, Aegis” attitude was at odds for her size. She, too, was a heavy animal, and Lainey remembered from her lecture that the four-year-old was close to eighty pounds. Both she and Jonah ran in the wheel positions and needed the extra weight and power. Their job was to turn the sled that would weigh upwards of five or six hundred pounds.

Once Aegis was in position, Lainey went back to get the next one. She stopped at an off white bitch called Kaara, but before she could release the dog, Scotch called to her.

“That’s a mistake, believe me.”

Lainey frowned, ignoring the smiling animal at her feet. “But she’s on my team, right?”

“That she is,” Scotch said, smothering a grin. “But who’s her partner in crime?”

“Bonaparte!” Lainey turned to see the black and white male standing majestic upon his doghouse, nose held in the air with disdain for his canine comrades. “I can’t believe I almost forgot that,” she muttered to herself, leaving Kaara. Bonaparte was small and just as snooty as his namesake. Lainey had been warned that if he felt slighted in any way, he would refuse to run. She detached his chain, and got a firm grip on his collar in anticipation of his lunge, only to have him stalk regally toward the ATV. Lainey bit back a chuckle, feeling more like a courtesan than a dog handler.

“Whew!” Scotch said, wiping feigned sweat from her brow. “That could have been a disaster.”

“Oh, come on. He’s a dog; in a week, he wouldn’t remember that it was me who flubbed up,” Lainey said, attaching the neck and tuglines.

Scotch shrugged. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

She did not offer more, and Lainey was left wondering. “Now, Kaara,” she said.

“Yup. She’s the only one that can work with him. I think it’s true love.”

“Is that so, Kaara? Are you in love with Bonaparte?” Lainey asked when she returned for the animal. Kaara squirmed as she wagged her entire body in response. Lainey gave her a good scratching before leading her away from her house. “Well, far be it for me to interfere with Cupid’s arrows.”

Both Bonaparte and Kaara were swing dogs. Their purpose was to not only play follow the leader, but to keep the team in line on turns. They heard the commands from the driver, but heeded the lead dogs in front of them. As Scotch had explained things, if she called out “·¢Gee!” and every dog immediately obeyed, the entire team would take a right turn at the same time. Instead, the swing dogs kept the team moving forward until they could arrive at and move into the turn.

Next up were the lead dogs. Lainey had been given two of them. Sholo was an all black male with liquid brown eyes. He had never run a long distance endurance race before, though he had experience leading in smaller races. In particular, he had been with Rye during the last Junior Yukon Quest, which gave Lainey an edge on the next Yukon 250. She would have to run it to qualify for the Iditarod, and Sholo knew the trail from a firsthand encounter.

Trace was Sholo’s opposite in appearance, all white with bright blue eyes. If Lainey were allowed to keep him on her team, he would be the one worth his weight in gold. He had run the Iditarod with Scotch for two years, finishing both times. Only a training injury had kept him at the kennel last year.

Lainey hooked Trace and Sholo’s collars together, and stood to regard her handiwork. Six sets of canine eyes looked back at her, and she smiled.

“Who’s the lead dog?” Scotch asked, climbing aboard her ATV.

“I am.” Lainey felt anticipation skitter down her spine as she walked down the line to her vehicle.

Scotch’s team tried to pull as soon as she started the engine though the brakes were still on. “These guys are used to a more knowledgeable driver. They’ll mind their P’s and Q’s for a day or two. Expect some acting out after that.”

Lainey clambered onto her four-wheel vehicle. “Yes, ma'am,” she called over the sounds of engines and anxious barking, sending an impish grin to her mentor. Directly in front of her, Jonah redoubled his efforts to no avail, almost standing in his harness as he tried to get them moving.

Shaking her head, Scotch returned the smile. “Follow me, don’t let your dogs get too close to us. Remember your commands.”

“Are we talking, or are we driving?”

Scotch’s expression changed to amused warning at the challenge. Rather than speak, she called out, “Ready!” Her team tightened any slack on the mainline in anticipation. “Let’s go!” She released the brake, and jerked forward as the dogs did what they loved to do.

Lainey watched them go, her team barking in demand to go after them. Sudden anxiety hit her, and she swallowed. What if she could not control them?

Sholo and Trace stared over their shoulders at her. Brown and blue eyes begged the question. She could almost hear their thoughts: Why did you suit us up for the big game if we’re stuck sitting on the bench? Let’s go!

“Ready!” she called, her voice holding more confidence than she felt. Her leaders swung their heads around in preparation. She popped the brake. “Let’s go!”

Her head snapped back as the team surged forward and she clutched at the handles to retain her seat. The dogs happily barked and frolicked on their run, kicking up their feet, tails wagging madly as they towed her along. Thoughts of acquiring a neck brace in the future flew away along the wind that caressed her face.

The team followed Scotch’s out of the dog yard and along a wide path. Trees whipped by, and Lainey was amazed to see the speedometer hit eleven miles per hour. She grinned in delight, focusing on the journey. Up ahead, Scotch’s team turned right, leaving the main trail. Lainey glanced quickly at her right hand where a large “·¢G” was written in blue ink. On her left hand was an “·¢H” to remind her of the word “·¢haw.” When Sholo and Trace arrived at the turn, she hollered, “Gee!”

Her smile widened as the leaders made an easy turn onto the new trail. The rest of the team followed smoothly, and she steered the ATV after them. With a sled in snow, steering was impossible except by dog power. Here, however, it was necessary; the dogs were not strong enough to pull against thick rubber tires pointing the wrong direction.

Heeding Scotch’s warning, Lainey made sure the vehicles remained apart by about two car lengths for the entire trip. The smaller path was rougher than the previous one, and Lainey realized she might have saddle sores before the summer was out. Needing little encouragement from her, the dogs joyfully chased after Scotch. The air was thick with the smell of pine, and the sun flickered from between the trees to splash across Lainey’s face.

After a very short time, Scotch raised her hand to signal a stop. Lainey frowned, the mood of her dogs contagious. It was too early; they had hardly gotten started. Despite her disaffection, she called out, “Whoa!” With steady pressure, she applied the brake, bringing her team to a halt behind Scotch’s. The woman had parked the ATV. She now stood beside it and rummaged in her backpack for treats.

Lainey parked, as well. “Is that it?” she asked, climbing down, disappointment in her voice.

Scotch looked up at her, pleased surprise on her face. “Not enough for you?”

Refusing to be drawn in, feeling a need to be petulant, Lainey crossed her arms. “No. Not for them, either.” She nodded at her eager team.

Laughing, Scotch untied a gallon water jug from the ATV. “Boy, do I understand that. But it’s way too hot to give these guys a decent work out. It’ll be better when it snows.”

Lainey narrowed her eyes. The sun filled the small clearing, and she felt a slight haze of sweat on her face, even though she had not done anything. She looked at her team, noting the thick coats, and panting tongues. If she was hot, she could only imagine how they felt; they had done all the work. Grudgingly, she had to agree to the wisdom of stopping.

“You’d better snack them, or you’ll have a riot on your hands.”

That was when she noticed the six pairs of eyes staring at her. Lainey blushed under their scrutiny. ‘sorry, guys. Lost my head for a moment.” She removed her daypack and pulled a large, cold food storage bag from within. Starting with Sholo and Trace, she gave each dog praise, petting, and a healthy chunk of frozen white fish. Kaara waited politely while Bonaparte was served first. Lainey gave her an extra bit to reward her for her patience. Jonah was as exuberant in his snacking as he was in pulling, standing in his harness to accept his treat. In contrast, Aegis daintily took the fish from Lainey’s hand.

“Now we give them a going over to make sure there aren’t any strains or injuries,” Scotch said. “Nothing too extensive; that’s for when you stop for a few hours rest. But if you’re snacking the dogs to take a quick break, you still want to give a cursory examination.”

Lainey nodded, and went back over her team. Again she started with her leaders. She checked the leads from their collars, examined where their harnesses created pressure across their chests, and gave each animal’s shoulders a swift massage. When she was done, she said, “They all look good.”

Scotch grinned. “Yeah, they do.” She shrugged her pack over her shoulders. “Ready for the return trip?”

“I guess so.” Lainey proceeded to pack up.

“Lead the way,” Scotch said. “Just remember to turn left at the trail head.”

Lainey blinked. ‘me?” she asked.

“Well, you’re going to have to learn all these trails before winter hits. Best start now.” Scotch boarded her ATV, looking over her shoulder. “By snowfall, you should know enough about them to gauge how far to travel in your training. You don’t want to over extend your team by going too far too early; it’ll cause injuries.”

Lainey turned to stare at her dogs. Bonaparte was the only one watching her. Kaara watched him, Jonah rolled on the grass, and Aegis was delicately finishing her snack. Trace and Sholo seemed more interested in Scotch’s doings, probably wondering why they were not on her string. They had no idea Lainey was a novice. What would happen if they ever figured it out? A “·¢riot” as Scotch called it?

Bonaparte sniffed and looked away.

Feeling irritated with his canine challenge, Lainey smiled in feral anticipation. No way was she going to let some snotty mutt run the show. With a renewed sense of purpose, she marched up to Sholo and Trace, taking the mainline and bringing the dogs around until they faced back the way they had come. She climbed aboard the ATV, cranking the handlebars to the left as far as they would go. Her team was used to such activity, and seemed ready to move out. Lainey made certain the ATV brake was set, and started the vehicle.

“Ready!”

Trace and Sholo pulled forward, forcing the other dogs to straighten their line. Jonah’s hindquarters flexed as he tried to get them moving by sheer will alone. Kaara gave Bonaparte a quick nuzzle before settling down to business.

Lainey glanced at Scotch, grinning when the woman tipped her baseball cap at her.

“Let’s go!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“WHAT’RE YOU READING?” Scotch asked.

Lainey sat up from her sprawl across the couch, making room for the woman to join her. “The Call of the Wild.” She waggled the book at Scotch, taking care to keep her place with one finger.

Scotch chuckled and dropped into the vacated space. “Trying to get a dog’s eye view of an Alaskan winter?”

“Something like that.” She marked her page with a scrap of paper, setting the book down on the rough-hewn coffee table.

“While the story is historically accurate, don’t go basing the Iditarod on it. Modern dogs are way different.”

“Okay.” Sitting back, Lainey propped her feet on its edge, and turned to regard her roommate. “How’d it go on the day trip? Get any sponsors?”

“Investors only this time,” Scotch said. She turned on the couch until she faced Lainey, her legs stretched out along the floor beneath the woman’s feet. Frowning, Scotch stared at the ceiling in calculation, silently counting on the fingers of one hand. “I got enough booty money for all the dogs two times over.”

Lainey did the math. A buck per booty, four booties per dog, times sixteen dogs and doubled. “That’s not bad. Only about a thousand more to go.”

“Not bad at all considering it was all from the kids. They saw our website and began saving their allowances last year when their family planned a vacation up here.”

“Wow. That is impressive.”

Scotch stretched and yawned. “Yeah, they studied the Iditarod in school last year. I promised to list them as supporters on the website next time we update.”

Lainey watched her, a slight smile on her face. It would be so nice to cuddle with her. Maybe she could get a series of candid photos of Scotch sometime, something she could take with her when this assignment was over.

“What?”

Her grin widened at the suspicious look she received. She was always getting busted daydreaming. “How much more in donations do you think you’ll need to cover the costs of running the Iditarod this year?”

Scotch eyed her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Is this an interview question?”

“It could be.”

“I thought Don was the one doing the articles on me. You’re supposed to be reporting about your training instead.”

Lainey lifted her chin in slight defiance. “It’s still my gig; he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my initial pitch.” Her lips curved as she saw mischievousness reflected in Scotch’s demeanor. The confidence that originally drew Lainey seemed to emanate throughout the woman in every situation, even playfulness. It was quite a turn on.

“I’ll answer you if you answer a question for me.”

The glint in Scotch’s eye gave Lainey pause. “What's this? An Alaskan form of Truth or Dare?” she asked, hiding her wariness behind humor.

Scotch grinned. “Well, we could do that, too.”

Lainey had a moment of dizziness at the thought of playing Truth or Dare with the woman who filled her wet dreams. What a game that would be! Yowza! Forcing her overactive imagination down, Lainey said, “All right. A question for a question. I asked mine first.”

With a satisfied air, Scotch relaxed further into the couch. She draped one long arm across the back of it, not quite reaching Lainey’s head. “Technically, I’m set for the race. Figure it runs about ten grand after entry fees, gear replacement, food and freight. When you made the deal to train for the race, the money you brought covered both of us.”

“Yeah?” Lainey felt a sense of satisfaction.

“Yeah. This is a year of plenty for the kennel. The formula for running one is a buck fifty per dog per day. And we have almost a hundred dogs.”

“Have you done this before?” Lainey asked. “Taken on a rookie to train?”

Scotch grinned. “That’s two questions, and it’s my turn.”

Lainey held up her hands in mock surrender. “Fire away.”

“What’s it like to report from a war zone?”

“Oooh.” She could not help but wince, having not expected the query. ‘man, you shoot from the hip, don’t you?”

A contrite look crossed Scotch’s face. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that. It’s really none of my business.”

Lainey reached out and patted Scotch’s thigh just above the knee. “No, that’s okay. It just surprised me.” She drew one foot up to the edge of the couch, wrapping her arms around her shin in thought. “It’s one part challenge, one part terror, and three parts excitement - shaken, not stirred.”

“On the rocks?”

She laughed. “Yup, you got it.” Lainey sobered, remembering. “You hear an explosion or gunfire in the distance; you grab whatever transportation you can find to get to the scene. Your heart is pumping, your nerves jittery. Your destination smells of dust, cordite, and blood. If you’re lucky, the perpetrators are long gone. And if you’re luckier, they’re still there, shooting it out with whoever claims that area.

“Nothing is truly real. You see it all through the viewfinder. It’s a photo op, the destruction, the death. There’s no time to feel; you have to record the event as it unfolds and hope to God you’ll remain in one piece after.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

Lainey returned to the present. “Ah, ah, ah,” she said, waving a finger. ‘my turn.”

Scotch grinned, and shook her head. “You want me to answer your last one?”

“Nope. I retract it. Why do you run the Iditarod? What’s the draw?”

Scotch pressed back against the arm of the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “I think you’ve already said it. One part challenge, one part terror, and three parts excitement, though it’s stirred in this case.”

“On the rocks?”

“Only in warmer years with little snowfall.” She remained quiet for a moment.

Lainey snorted. “Oh, no. Now’s not the time to get terse. Give me something to go on here.”

Scotch chuckled. “Okay, give me a minute.”

As she paused in contemplation, Lainey’s fascination grew. The aura of strength Scotch already held in abundance solidified and grew around her. The race or the dog sledding was the root of her confidence. Lainey’s heart thumped with the realization. Why? How? Not everyone carried themselves this way despite having raced; she had met many of the racers last year, including women, and had not seen it with any of them.

“You’re alone with sixteen dogs, crossing the tundra or weaving through trees and brush. It’s so cold and the air so crisp that you can actually see better than at any other time, crystal clear. There’s nothing but the dogs panting, their feet crunching in the snow, and the next turn of the trail. You feel so small and so insignificant, but the dogs rely on you as you rely on them. I can’t really explain it. It’s the ultimate high.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Scotch mulling over her memories, and Lainey soaking in the feelings those recollections invoked.

“My turn.”

Lainey bowed her head in a nod. She watched Scotch shift her gaze away, and begin chewing the inside of her cheek. A frown rippled across her fair features. Lainey braced herself for the next question, sensing it would not be an easy one.

“It’s been bugging me since you got here. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t seem to shake it.” Scotch looked back at her. “Where were you shot?”

She stared blankly at her roommate. Here she thought she would have to answer something really tough like, “·¢Are you really drooling every time I walk by or do you just have an advanced case of rabies?” Scotch seemed to retract from the conversation when she did not immediately answer, so Lainey hastened to reassure her. “It’s all right. Really.”

Sitting up, Lainey dropped her feet to the floor, upsetting Scotch’s legs beneath her. They laughed nervously as they readjusted their positions. Lainey stood and turned so that her right side faced Scotch. “I was out with a US military patrol in Kosovo. They were ordered to do a standard sweep through a village for insurgents. Luck was with me then.” She lifted her shirt to reveal the scar on her side. “There was an ambush. I got a lot of really good photos of the action.”

Scotch grimaced at the jagged scar about six inches long. “Damn, that must have hurt.”

Unaccountably nervous, Lainey laughed. “Not at the time.” She peered past her shirt at the cause of her sudden career change. “I was prone on the ground behind cover. Nobody realized there was a flanking team until we started getting shot at from behind. The bullet came in at a very low angle.” She touched the bottom of the scar, and traced upward. “He was aiming for my heart. Instead it hit and shattered my ribs, poking holes in my lungs.”

“Ow,” Scotch said in soft sympathy, engrossed in the damage. She reached out and traced the upraised tissue with gentle fingers.

Lainey had not expected her to take the liberty. She swallowed against a desire to cry. What the hell? Shaking her head, she forced a chuckle. “Anyway, I hardly felt it; just a sharp sting in my side. When I tried to get up to follow the rest of the firing team to safety, I couldn’t. That’s when I passed out. One of them realized I was wounded and carried me out.” She stepped slightly away, and pulled her shirt back down. “I don’t remember much else until I woke in the hospital.”

“You were out for a year. Was most of it in the hospital?”

Despite the fact it was Lainey’s turn, she answered. “I was in Kosovo for about two weeks before I could be shipped back to the states. Spent another month in a hospital in Washington DC before being released as an in-patient.” She sat down, leaning her elbows on her knees rather than sitting back. “Had some counseling and some physical therapy, but got a clean bill of health after a couple of months. I guess I just needed some time to think about what happened.” She did not volunteer that she had spent a good portion of the rest of the year attempting to pickle what inner organs had not been damaged.

Scotch seemed to be at a loss for words, and they sat for a moment.

Lainey pushed away the sudden vulnerability that had reared up at Scotch’s touch. She did not know what that was, and had no time to investigate it. After a deep breath, she propped her feet on the coffee table, and relaxed. ‘my turn.”

Smiling, Scotch went with the change of subject, visibly easing.

“Have you ever been hurt on a race?”

“Oh, yeah,” Scotch agreed. “Though nowhere nearly as bad as you were. When I was seventeen, I was finally eligible for my first adult race. Ran the Yukon Quest 250 that year. It was my first overnighter that wasn’t on familiar territory.”

“What happened?”

“Frostbite,” she said. “I set my gloves down while feeding the dogs during a break. I haven’t a clue where they went. It was pretty warm out when I left the checkpoint, so I didn’t even notice they weren’t with me until it started to cool off.”

“Ew.” Lainey wrinkled her nose.

Scotch grinned, holding out her hands to study them. “Yeah. The 250 takes about two and a half days to run. I lost the gloves on the second day; had to go through the night and into the next morning to get to the finish line.”

“Looks like your hands survived.”

“They did. I was lucky that it was such a warm year. I had some leather work gloves with me. My sled wasn’t in the best of shape, so I was prepared to make repairs on it. Those and a couple of pairs of socks for mittens kept the worst of the frostbite away.” Scotch leaned closer, showing the side of one hand. “You can see where I lost a bit of skin there. The seam on the gloves was worn, and the damage was too much to recuperate from.”

Lainey shivered and shook her hands in excess empathy. “Yuck! That gives me the willies.”

Scotch leaned back and laughed. “Well, you asked.”

“Yuck,” she repeated.

“Your turn.”

“Anything I ask now will seem anticlimactic.”

“Probably.”

Lainey smiled. “How about we head over to the main cabin for dinner instead? I believe I have a date to beat you at Monopoly.”

Scoffing, Scotch said, “You wish. I am the Monopoly Kingpin in this family.” She stood and offered her hand.

Lainey accepted the assistance, enjoying the touch too much, and rose. “Time for me to topple your funny money empire, sister.”

They shared a look before bursting into laughter.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

August

LAINEY SAT AT the dining table in Scotch's cabin. She stared at the blank legal pad before her, a pen rapidly waggling back and forth between her index and middle finger. Normally she would be typing her work into her laptop, but she did not want to run the battery down any more than necessary. Her computer stayed at the main cabin for the most part, keeping itself juiced up and available for the final copies and email correspondence.

Daylight poured in from the two windows above her, as well as through the windows in the loft, as it did almost twenty hours a day. It was August and Lainey was only now getting used to the constant sun. In a couple of months, she might even see darkness go beyond twilight before she fell asleep. The idea that January would find her sitting here with a lantern at three in the afternoon to ward off the constant night seemed almost as alien.

Her training was going well. She had eighteen dogs assigned to her to choose from for March. With Scotch and Rye's help, Lainey had created an elaborate training schedule to keep all animals working together. She had graduated to driving eight dogs at a time now, and had to rotate between her canine companions to ensure each was getting the proper workout. Lainey was the only one to feed her dogs, the only one to spend any significant amount of time with them. Miguel Sanchez, the handler, helped with all the animals, of course, but those on Lainey's team had to look to her as their pack leader.

Lainey tossed down her pen with a grunt and leaned back in the chair. Poked in the back by a torn piece of vinyl for her effort, she readjusted herself, forcing the flap flat with her shoulder.

Howry was working on the final preparations for his first article. Their editor, Strauss, had arranged for their articles to run hand in hand on a quarterly basis rather than filling an entire spring issue. Lainey had to have something to give him by the end of the week or miss her deadline. But she could not seem to focus on anything.

Scotch had been a wonderful instructor. Lainey had learned so much from her about how to handle the dogs; not just about discipline but to get them to want the same things she did. During the mornings, the women spent time together with their chores. Afternoons were for training or tourists. Lainey was not allowed to take any guests out on cart rides yet because she had not learned all the trails. Evenings consisted of another round of feeding and poop scooping, followed by dinner and spending time with the Fullers and Howry. When it was time for bed, Lainey and Scotch would make the trek to their cabin, swapping stories about their day. So many times Lainey wanted to take Scotch's hand, and give her a hug or a kiss. Now that she had gotten to know the woman, she discovered she really liked Scotch as a person. It did not dampen her original desire one bit, much to her chagrin. If anything, she wanted Scotch much more now than when she had started this assignment.

Lainey forced herself back to the paper. Having never missed a deadline, she did not plan on starting now. Her feelings for Scotch could not be used as an excuse. Maybe if she started with a description of one of her runs. Retrieving her pen from the middle of the table, she began to write.

The wind brushes past me at a whopping eleven miles per hour. I hear nothing but the sound of panting dogs, and rubber tires crunching across the previous season's detritus. The smell of pine and loam fill my nostrils, competing with the ever-present odor of dog fur that has become the center of my world for the last forty-five days.

This is one of my first lessons as a musher. I have no license here, no insurance. My only company is a team of eight canine athletes who have decided to give me a shot at leading them. Up ahead is another all-terrain vehicle disappearing around a bend. My partner in crime - my mentor, Scotch Fuller, three time Iditarod finisher - is leading the way. I have no idea where I'm going, just that I'm to follow her lead. Oh, and make sure my team thinks I'm in charge.

Such begins my day of training for the Iditarod sled dog race that takes place every March in Anchorage, Alaska. I am one of thirty-eight rookies signed up for the next one, thirty-eight novices taking on the challenge of what is billed as the Last Great Race in the World.

The days all seem to run together here. The constant sunlight doesn't help my sense of time; I've yet to see full dark since my arrival at the end of June. I hear it might make an appearance by the end of August, at least for a little bit. Until then, I go to sleep in daylight and wake up to daylight, even at 10:00pm and 5:00am.

In the morning, the dogs are seen to first. There are almost a hundred of them at Fuller Kennels. You'd think with that amount they would all sort of run together in the mind, a mass of wet fur and wagging tails with little in the way of distinction but markings on their coats. That's not the case, however, as I've discovered. In the last month and a half I've gotten to know all the animals, and each is different from the last with his or her unique foibles and strengths.

The ones I know the best are my team.

Sholo is all white with bright blue eyes flickering with intelligence. He's a hard worker who has little patience for incompetence, though he's at least polite when I exhibit mine. His ability to stick to a trail is astounding. I've found he'll refuse orders from me and, when I try to call him on it, I discover I was the one in the wrong - the trail didn't go the direction I wanted, or an obvious obstacle that I couldn't see blocked our way. I swear this dog is a barking, shedding dowsing rod.

Trace is Sholo's diametric opposite in appearance. His black coat and eyes will make him difficult to see in the dark (providing I ever see him at night. Some days I have my doubts.) He's finished the Iditarod twice before, leading part of the way. His experience will be a tremendous asset to us when we get to Anchorage.

Behind the lead dogs are another couple of characters. Meshindi is a rookie at two. His only experience has been in sprints last year. His brown eyes are almond shaped, making it seem he's more Asian than canine. He's not 'inscrutable,' by any means. I have no doubts about his opinion on anything as he grins or grumbles at me. Most of his grumbling has to do with interrupting his naps during out training breaks; his grins are for frozen moose liver treats, his favorite.

A leader in training, Montana has had experience in several mid-distance races. This will be the first Iditarod for him, too, but I'm hoping Trace will take him under his . . . paw and show the new guy the ropes. He has a tendency to swagger as he runs, as a young male is prone to do, and is more than willing to wrestle with anyone willing to play.

Behind them is Bonaparte. No one else is allowed in his section of the mainline; he'll balk if he's not treated with proper deference. He's a small dog with a big attitude, and God help the handler who doesn't give His Majesty his due. Despite the regal behavior, he doesn't want to lead - such is the job of mere mortals. Instead, he follows just behind the leaders, keeping the rest of the team in line.

His consort is Kaara. Her name means 'shining light of the morning' and it's so apt. Off white with mottled brows and grays, she gives off a calm and cheerful aura. She's the only dog in the kennel that doesn't call Bonaparte on his snotty attitudes. In fact, she adores him, playing Josephine to his high falutin' ways. It's rumored that she's in love with him. If ever there was a living example of puppy love, Kaara carries it with pride.

Just in front of my ATV are Jonah and Aegis. Male and female, they're the largest dogs on my team, weighing in at a total of one hundred fifty-seven pounds. They're that big because they're the wheel dogs - the animals right in front of the sled. They need the extra power to keep control of a six hundred pound sled during turns. Yet they also must be fast enough to avoid getting run over.

Jonah is a wild and wooly fellow, the mountain man of the team, with shaggy hair and an obsession with pulling. Given the chance, he'd be happy to do all the work, and leave his mates back at home. When the rest of the team hears the command, "Ready,” he's the one who leaps forward with the most eagerness to get going.

Aegis is my sweetheart. Her size makes her appear somewhat threatening (though all the dogs are thoroughly adapted to humans from the time they're born.) In reality, she's nothing more than a big mushball who enjoys tummy rubs, and daintily nibbles on her treats while the others wolf theirs down.

The cabin door opened, interrupting Lainey. She looked up to see Scotch clattering down the steps.

"Want to go swimming?” she asked, eyes sparkling. Scotch was without a cap, her tawny blonde curls uncontained. Her skin had taken on a light gold color from her constant exposure to the outdoors. From the looks of her peeling nose, perhaps she had had too much time in the sun.

Lainey smiled in return, wondering how much longer she could take this unrequited yearning. "I don't have a swimsuit,” she said. Truth be told, she had been so worried about the coming winter, she had not packed much in the way of summer clothes at all. Last week she had to go into the general store to get some lighter clothing, having not expected to become so acclimated to the Alaskan summer.

Scotch sat down across from her. "Doesn't matter. You can use your sleep clothes. All you need are shorts and a t-shirt. That's what I do.”

"Who's going?” Lainey asked, more to keep her talking than to get an answer. She enjoyed hearing the woman's voice, enjoyed the undertone of happiness there.

Scotch's face became even more animated. "Pretty much everybody. You know the trail near the river?” At Lainey's nod, she said, "About a hundred feet around the bend there's a cove. We swim there every summer.”

Lainey looked at her article, chewing her lip. "I don't know. I've really got to get this done...”

Scotch leaned forward, elbows on the table that showed its age as it wobbled from her weight. “There's a rope swing,” she said, a slight wheedling tone coming into her voice.

Looking at her, Lainey could see flecks of dark mixed with the light blue of her irises. At this range, the freckles dusting Scotch's slightly crooked and peeling nose were adorable. She felt her resolve waver, the call of playing with this woman far louder than the professional demand to get the job done and in early.

"You're evil,” she finally said.

Realizing she had won, Scotch jumped up with a whoop. "All right!" She headed toward the stairs. "You can change here or at the river.”

Lainey stood, refusing to look at the article lest it cause her to change her mind. "Where do you change?” she asked.

Past the door and almost to the loft, Scotch grinned down at her. "At the river. Nothing like getting nekkid in the great outdoors.” She disappeared into her half of the sleeping loft.

Staring after her, Lainey felt alternating hot and cold. Surely Scotch was joking, not flirting. Wasn't she?

She carefully put the very vivid image of a naked Scotch out of her mind. Her skin remained flushed, and she muttered under her breath, "God help me. Seven more months of this.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE DOGS WERE not pleased to be left behind. As the ATV roared away without them, they set up a clamor loud enough for Lainey to hear over the engine. She held on for dear life, as Scotch played dare devil, accelerating along the familiar trails at speeds Lainey had not attained. Not that holding Scotch was such a hardship on Lainey's part. Had she known she would be allowed to cuddle against Scotch's back, arms about her slim waist, she would have leapt at the chance to go to the swimming hole long ago.

As they traveled, Lainey tried to keep her lascivious thoughts in line, though her success rate left much to be desired. She mentally followed the trail, noting familiar landmarks, known distances, and turnoffs to other paths. Never mind that Scotch's belly held just the right amount of give to it, indicating a muscled figure with the proper amount of curve to be interesting; or that even with the wind whipping by, the smell of Scotch's hair was strong enough to induce Lainey into hyperventilation as she inhaled as deeply as possible again and again.

The vibration through the seat made thinking of anything else difficult, too.

Feeling deliciously illicit, Lainey leaned her cheek against Scotch's back, soaking in her proximity. Without thought, she gave Scotch a gentle hug, only realizing what she had done when Scotch responded with a squeeze of her arm on Lainey's. Horrified at her faux pas, Lainey attempted to release her, but was held firmly in place.

“Hang on!” Scotch called back.

Lainey, her insides as jittery as her emotions, signaled her understanding with another hug. Scotch patted her arm and returned to driving the ATV.

She closed her eyes, adding this latest interaction to the host of others she had gathered over the last month and a half. Sometimes it seemed Scotch was definitely gay. The woman often made comments that could be misconstrued in a certain way if she were so inclined. But, if she were straight, her remarks would seem normal in every day conversation. Even Howry had noticed, and the two of them had spent quite a bit of time comparing notes.

It was enough to make Lainey cry.

“Almost there.'

In an effort to distract herself, Lainey returned her attention to her surroundings. She recognized the trail though she had not taken the turn that Scotch drove toward. They dropped fairly fast down an incline, and she clutched at Scotch, feeling a rumble of laughter through her arms. The air become cooler almost immediately as they leveled off onto a trail that paralleled a river.

“When the river's frozen, we take the dogs through here,” Scotch yelled. “There are more trails on the other side.'

The trees seemed to draw back as they pulled into a clearing already occupied by most of the Fuller clan. One of the trucks, sans dog trailer, sat off a dirt road with its tailgate down, its bed filled with a couple of coolers, an assortment of towels and Bon playing with a beach ball. His mother rummaged through one of the coolers for drinks. The clean smell of fresh water was disturbed by mesquite charcoal smoke as a barbecue squatted nearby, manned by Miguel. Two folding tables and a number of deck chairs clustered together, various picnic items scattered on their surfaces.

Scotch drove up to the truck and turned off the engine.

A whoop of sheer joy exploded into the sudden quiet. Lainey turned to see Howry, wearing a pair of shorts and ratty tennis shoes, swinging on a rope that hung from a tree looming over a small cove. At the apex of his swing, he let the rope go to fly a short way before hitting the water like a cannonball. Irish and another girl her age were already swimming, and yelled at his boisterous arrival in mock indignation.

Lainey's brow furrowed at seeing the strange girl. She reluctantly released Scotch and dismounted the ATV, taking a closer look at the clearing.

The rope moved of its own accord. Lainey followed the action with confusion until she realized there was another rope attached to it, and someone was hoisting it back up the embankment for another round. A young man about Scotch's age stood there, long brown hair tied back in a tail and a light beard adorning his jaw. He wore less than Howry, who had surfaced with another shout.

“Who's that?" she asked, nodding toward the man, not too pleased with his physique. Obviously he worked out with regularity, and his tight swim trunks left little to the imagination.

Scotch, who had begun rummaging in a carry sack she had cradled between her legs for the trip, looked up and smiled. “That's Martin Schram. His family lives right over that ridge." She waved. 'Hey, Martin!'

The man turned toward them and smiled when he saw Scotch. He waved back. 'Get up here, Scotch! Let's show these chechakos how to swim in Alaskan waters!'

Laughing, Scotch nodded and returned to her bag, pulling out her swimming gear.

Disgruntled, and trying not to show it, Lainey asked, 'Chechakos?'

Scotch chuckled. 'Newcomers, greenhorns, people who haven't lived in Alaska before.'

“Oh.'

“Where's Dad and Rye?” Scotch asked her mother.

Helen, playing catch with her youngest son in the back of the truck, said, 'Soaking around the bend. Phyllis is with them.'

Scotch saw the question before Lainey could utter it. 'Martin's mom. And the girl with Irish is his sister, Teresa." She scanned the vegetation a safe distance from the river. 'We can probably change over there. If the others are soaking, they'll be on the other side of those boulders.'

Lainey ignored the stab of jealousy as she watched Martin sail gracefully through the air to splash into the natural pool. It was not as if she had any claim to Scotch's attention. Hell, she still had no true idea if Scotch was straight or not. It looked like the question would probably be answered here and now.

“Lainey?'

She spun around, focusing on Scotch. 'Um, yeah, over there is fine," she answered hastily. Whether her sudden forced cheerfulness registered with Helen or not was moot. The smile Scotch gave her more than triggered Lainey's warning bells. She promptly busied herself with her daypack, extricating her shorts and t-shirt. 'Shall we?" she asked, doing her damnedest to look innocent.

Scotch led the way. Behind them, the girls and squealed at some game or other they played. Lainey's last sight was of Martin picking over the stones at the riverbank, rubbing his muscular upper arms. He looked cold, and Lainey suddenly wondered about the wisdom of swimming in an Alaskan river.

“You can change here,” Scotch said, gesturing to a sheltered area behind some huckleberry bushes. 'But keep your eyes open. The hot springs are right through there; sometimes people cut through here to get to the swing.'

Lainey blinked. 'Hot springs? Now that sounds like fun.'

“It is,” Scotch said with a grin. 'And when you get too hot, you can take a dip in the river. It's a hell of a wake up, let me tell you.'

She laughed. 'Where are you going to change?'

Scotch pointed to another cluster of berry bushes. 'Right over there. See you in a couple of minutes.'

“Okay.'

Lainey waited until she saw Scotch disappear into her impromptu changing room before beginning to undress. She shucked out of her clothes, keeping a wary eye on her surroundings as she donned her sleep shorts and a black t-shirt. Folding her clothing, she set her boots on top of the pile. On her feet were the tennis shoes she had purchased at the general store in the village for working in the dog yard.

Now dressed, her attention wavered toward the cluster of bushes where Scotch disappeared. She saw some movement, caught a tantalizing flash of pale skin, but nothing more. Unable to help herself, she took a step closer, standing on her toes to maybe catch sight of her libido's desire.

“See anything interesting?'

Startled, Lainey jumped and spun around at the loud voice. Howry stood on a passing trail, water still dripping from his body. He shivered, and clutched a towel tighter across his shoulders, but his obvious discomfort did not lessen his joy at busting his friend in a little peeping action. His grin was almost insolent, and he wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Lainey scowled at him. She could not respond the way she wanted, being so close to Scotch's hiding place, and he knew it. "Nope, just waiting for Scotch to finish," she said, waving him urgently to move along.

Howry's smile widened. 'Hey, Scotch. Need any help in there? Lainey's offering.'

Her mouth dropped open as she glared daggers at him. She took a step forward, intent on strangling him with his towel, when Scotch answered.

“Naw, I'm done."

Lainey plastered a pleasant expression onto her face as she turned to see Scotch emerging from her hiding place.

“What do you say we drop these at the truck, and then go to the springs?" she asked, indicating the clothing in her arms.

“I'll see you there," Howry said, winking at Lainey before continuing down the path.

“Sounds like a plan," Lainey agreed, relieved he was going away, but dreading the fact he would now be laying in wait for them.

At the truck, Lainey was formerly introduced to Teresa. The two girls were eating hot dogs, doing their level best to ignore Bon making a mess of his ketchup and mustard just out of reach. The handsome Martin was nowhere to be seen. Lainey figured he was with the others at the hot springs.

There was still time to back out. Scotch would not mind if she took the ATV back, would she? Howry would be a pest, Lainey knew, but his teasing was a known entity. What if this Martin fellow had designs on Scotch? She was a beautiful - and single - young woman; he would be a fool not to notice her in that manner.

What if Scotch felt the same way toward him?

Lainey's heart sunk further as Scotch showed her the way to the springs. Well, you wanted to know where you stand, she thought, castigating herself.

The atmosphere became more humid as they neared. The springs were just past the boulders, an area both natural and manmade. Sturdy wooden steps led down to the pool, ending at a long deck flanking the two edges of the pool. Large flat stones circled the remainder of the water, and it was here that Lainey discovered Thom, Rye, and a woman who had to be Phyllis Schram. Martin and Howry sat shoulder deep in the water, warming up after their dip in the river.

Scotch called a greeting and went down the steps toward the deck. Lainey followed, displeased at the overt interest she sensed in Martin, who swam closer.

“Lainey Hughes, Martin Schram. Martin, Lainey,” Scotch said in introduction. She slipped into the water with a sigh, not looking to see if Lainey joined them.

“Pleasure to meet you," Martin said.

Up close, Lainey was heartened to see that at least the man had bad teeth. Unfortunately, that was the only negative thing she found about his appearance. 'It's nice to meet you, too," she lied.

The water was deep enough that Scotch was treading it as she moved away from the deck. 'You coming in? It's cooler over here. Warms up as you make your way to the rocks.'

“Sure." Lainey sat on the deck and put a tentative foot in the water. Her tennis shoe immediately became sodden as warm water washed over her ankle. "Oh, it is nice," she said with a smile, forgetting Martin's presence for a moment. She eased over the side, holding the deck to keep afloat.

“It's really good in winter," Martin said.

Scotch agreed and they shared a smile. Lainey's lip curled. When the woman looked back at her, she ducked under the water to hide her expression, surfacing with a grin. 'I'll bet it is.'

“Come on,” Scotch said, beginning to swim toward the others.

Lainey had little choice but to follow.

Scotch lounged in the back of the truck. Her brother, Bon, lay beside her, napping. Irish and Teresa had left with Phyllis to stay the night at the Schram cabin. Helen had taken the ATV home, needing to check on one of her canine patients at the clinic. The coals in the barbecue had long since burned out, and the men idled around the clearing in patio chairs, digesting a heavy lunch of potato salad and hamburgers as they discussed life, evolution and politics.

As expected, Martin had put the moves on Lainey. Scotch felt a combination of relief and displeasure at his antics. He had always been a player, even when they were children. She had fended off hundreds of advances from him over the years, so his distraction had been a joy. Still, when he had first begun flirting with her friend, happiness was not her first response.

She watched him walking with Lainey along the river. Scotch was uncertain whether Lainey's suggestion of a stroll had been to spend more time with the outgoing young man or to be rid of him. Lainey was a healthy woman. Surely she would want to sow some oats here and there; it wasn't as if she had a steady boyfriend. Traveling the world as she did, she probably had a man in every port and no strings attached.

Did this particular port have to hold Martin though?

And what if Lainey had meant to take a walk with Scotch instead? There was a moment there that Scotch could not tell which her friend wanted. For some reason she had had difficulty reading Lainey's signals all day, which caused Scotch quite a bit of consternation. After a month and a half of close quarters, she thought she knew Lainey pretty well. Today every look or word made her question that supposition. It was like Lainey was hiding something from her. Did she think Scotch and Martin had a thing for each other, and did not want to cause a scene between them? What else could explain that sense of duplicity she had?

Scotch saw they were returning. She eased out of the truck bed, careful to not wake Bon. Wandering over to one of the tables, she stood and nibbled at potato chips until Lainey and Martin were near enough. 'Welcome back," she said. 'I think I'm going to head home and catch a nap before feeding the dogs. Want to come?'

“That sounds like a great idea!" Lainey answered.

Her lack of hesitation buoyed Scotch's spirits. 'Mom took the ATV, but we can walk.'

“I'm in." Lainey turned to Martin. 'It was really nice meeting you." She offered her hand and gave him a handshake.

Scotch grinned at the reappearance of her friend's ultra professionalism. Apparently Martin had not swayed Lainey to his side after all.

He could do nothing but respond in kind under the watchful eye of the others. 'Sure. Let me know if you want to go fishing. I know the perfect spots.'

“I'm sure you do. We'll see how it goes," Lainey said.

Howry snorted in humor, and Scotch glanced at him. She wondered what was funny, but let it go as Lainey returned to the truck to gather her clothes and change back into her boots.

“Ready? "

Hastily, Scotch grabbed her belongings. “Yeah, let's go."

Feeling light at heart, and not knowing why, Scotch joined Lainey at the trailhead.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

October

LAINEY WOKE BEFORE Scotch's alarm went off. Her room was gray, a product of the eventual return of winter to this area. If she stayed up late enough at night, she could be treated to full dark instead of the impending nightfall that had been all she had seen since her arrival. She stretched in the warmth of her bed, noting the chill on her face. Was it colder than usual this morning?

Knowing from experience to not prolong the torture, she sat up and tossed off her blankets. Had she wanted to return to sleep, she would have eased out from the covers to preserve her body heat inside. At least this way she gave herself a reason to stay out of bed rather than to have a warm haven to which to return. It was colder. She cursed under her breath as her bare feet came in contact with chill boot leather. It was time to start sleeping with a change of clothes. She could kill for warm socks right now.

She shivered, feeling the beginning ache in her ribs. She could even see her breath as she stood and tiptoed toward the stairs. Quietly, she eased past the curtain dividing her half of the loft from Scotch's. She smiled as she passed through the room, unable to keep from studying her sleeping roommate. This was one of the reasons Lainey enjoyed waking so early; it afforded her an opportunity to examine her favorite subject unawares.

Despite the appearance of not noticing the cold, Scotch had graduated to a long sleeve t-shirt instead of the sleeveless one she had worn through summer. Still, she lay sprawled across her bed, blankets gathered at her waist. Lainey saw an appetizing flash of skin where the t-shirt had hiked up from the waistband of her sleep shorts. Glimpses like this were what fueled Lainey's desire. She supposed if Scotch had flaunted nudity, Lainey would have become inured to its effect. Instead, the bits and pieces teased her almost to desperation.

Lainey resisted the urge to cover Scotch with her blankets. She had no illusions that she simply desired to be congenial. What she wanted was to touch and explore the available skin, to finally taste it, and to see what remained hidden beneath the layers of cloth and personality.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. Scotch seemed to respond to Lainey's surge of desire. Sighing, she rolled over onto her side, facing her audience, the blankets falling further to reveal the incredible curve of waist, swell of hip, and the barest hint of a pale thigh.

Lainey fled. Considering the strength of her yearning, it was safer to stay far, far away; she was not sure she could fight the impulse in any other manner. It was helpful that Scotch had no return interest in her. At the door, she grabbed a jacket and stepped outside, closing the door softly behind her.

Christ! This was the worst case of infatuation she had ever experienced. Lainey leaned back against the door, its solidness a balm to her unstable emotions. She tried to recollect the number of times she had felt this way about anyone, and was not pleased to realize the answer was never. Part of her uneasiness stemmed from the fact that she was in completely new territory. Even her best friend and fuck buddy, Carol, did not cause this sort of confusion and desire.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to be done about it now. The Fullers had entered into a contractual agreement with Lainey to train her for the Iditarod. She had authorized the transfer of money from her magazine, Cognizance, months ago. Everything was signed, sealed, and - while not necessarily delivered - she expected to run the race of her life in March. If Lainey folded now, she would owe her editor, Strauss, a lot of money. Running was not an option.

The realities of her situation firmly in mind, Lainey took a deep, bracing breath. As soon as the snow hit, things would be different. Training would fill most of her days and nights. Rye had said that winter was a very busy season for the kennel in terms of weekend tourist outings, preparing for the larger races, and attending small sprints and the like. Lainey would just have to make an extra effort to exhaust herself over the coming months. Once the Iditarod was over, she and Howry would take their leave, and she could lose herself in Carol's arms. For about a month. Lainey had not been laid in a year or more; she had stopped counting the days long ago. All those unspent hormones had to go somewhere. Certainly that had a lot to do with her volatile emotions now.

Heartened with the possible explanation, Lainey stepped off the porch. The ground crunched beneath her boot, and she finally focused on the clearing around her. A thick layer of snow covered the ground, seeming to glow in the growing daylight. The air was crisp, and she saw a stream of smoke rising from the other side of the hill where the main cabin lay. Huddled within her jacket, she trudged toward the outhouse. Oh, yes, it was definitely colder today.

A light sprinkle of snow continued to dust the kennel as Scotch and the rest of the feeding crew did their morning chores. The difficulty lay in paying proper attention to the task. She kept trying to assess how much snow had fallen during the night, whether the trails were thick enough to warrant a shakedown run with the sleds, and which dogs to take on the first official run of the season. Irish and Rye were no doubt thinking along the same lines as they went about their jobs on autopilot. Scotch shared glances of anticipation with her siblings, knowing nothing would keep them off the trails today. There were no tour reservations this morning, and any sightseer in the area might be too caught up in the beauty of an Alaskan snowfall to consider dropping by the kennel.

Howry was equally distracted. He had brought his camera with him this morning, pausing in his chores to grab several shots of Scotch and her dogs excitedly playing in the powder. The animals knew what the change of weather meant, as well, and showed it with an extra level of enthusiasm. Scotch ignored Howry's activities, having become accustomed to the endless attention. His constant presence was the price she had to pay for agreeing to the magazine articles about her. She had to admit that some days were very trying. Having a bad day sooner or later was inevitable; having one with an observer photographing her every mistake or temper tantrum did not improve matters.

She glanced at Lainey who had become a veteran at chopping the salmon into chunks. The shorter woman stood on the step stool, shovel in hand, as she used the edge of the tool to break up the boiled fish. This scene was a far cry from Lainey's first day, cringing away from the idea of feeding entire fish to the dogs, to include the heads. Scotch grinned at the recollection. She remembered Cliff, the bush pilot, and his remark that Lainey appeared high maintenance. Scotch was relieved that this had not been the case. If anything, Lainey was extremely low maintenance, more than capable of rolling up her sleeves and digging into whatever was required to complete a task regardless of the level of filth involved.

Sometimes it was weird how wrong first impressions could be.

Lainey finished the chopping, and Rye put the lid back on the kettle before turning up the propane for another boil. As soon as Lainey was clear of the stool, she retrieved her camera from a hook. She caught Scotch watching and promptly took a picture of her. Laughing, Scotch waved her away, stepping into the dog barn to consult the daily lists.

What would it have been like if the magazine had stuck with the original agreement?

Scotch had to admit the thought of Lainey pursuing her with a camera was not nearly as irritating as Howry doing the same. Come to think of it, Lainey already did follow her about; she probably had as many photos of Scotch as Howry did. It must be a requirement for all photojournalists, to literally have a camera grafted to their hands.

Lainey entered the barn. "Hey there. Anything new?”

"Nope. Same old, same old. We can start gathering the additives.” Scotch shared a grin with her as they opened a cabinet to pull out large measuring bowls. They worked in silent tandem, almost as an extension of one another as they retrieved vitamin supplements, rice and bone meal to add to the morning stew.

"We'll have to alter the dogs' diets for the weather, won't we?” Lainey asked.

Scotch said, "Eventually. More fats and proteins, less filler. That'll take place once we get them past seven miles a day.”

"And when will that be?”

“Soon.” Scotch finished what she was doing. She turned toward Lainey, resting a hip on the edge of the counter. "I think we'll skip a run today. Let's take the snow machines out of storage and out on the trails; get an idea of how they're faring, how deep the snow truly is, and to pack it down a bit. If we're lucky, the snow will keep up for a few more days. It'll give us a healthy base to run on.”

Lainey nodded. ‘sounds like a plan. I take it there are no tours today?”

"Nope. And even if there are visitors today, Miguel can do the deed. Once the snow flies, training begins. He and Dad are going to take up a lot of the slack as our winter tourists come through.”

Frowning, Lainey said, "But your dad works.”

"Construction,” she reminded her. "Business slows down enough he can leave a lot of the work to his foreman. There's some interior work to be had, but he'll have fewer jobs available until spring. If the snow holds, work will taper off enough that he'll be home a lot more.”

Lainey smacked her forehead lightly at her momentary lapse of intelligence. Scotch smiled, enjoying the humor. Lainey certainly was a good looking woman, even wearing a pair of heavy coveralls layered in dog hair and mud. Her features were expressive, and her dark eyes always reflected cheer. All in all, it had been a good decision when she had agreed to this in-depth article last spring.

"What?”

She pushed the thoughts out of her head. ‘sorry. Just thinking I'm glad you're here.”

Lainey's grin softened. “Thanks. I'm glad I'm here, too.”

Scotch's heart thumped, and she took a step closer, not certain what she was doing. “That's good to know,” she said, her voice lowering. She focused on Lainey's face. Fascinated, she watched her friend's lips slightly part.

"Are you guys ready yet?” Irish asked, coming into the dog barn.

Bewildered, Scotch turned, barely noting that Lainey took a smooth step away from her. "Just about.”

Irish stopped and stared at them. "What's going on?”

Lainey smiled at her. "We were just talking about what to do today.”

"Check the trails, of course," the girl said as if it were a foregone conclusion. She continued forward and grabbed the tin of rice. "Rye says it's time.”

“Then let's go. We have a lot of dogs to feed.” Lainey scooped up the bone meal, following Irish to the door. Once there, she paused. "Are you coming?”

Scotch took a deep breath, regaining her equilibrium. "Yeah,” she said. She turned to study Lainey, seeing a flush cross the woman's tanned skin and knowing an answering blush tinted hers. "I'll be there in a minute.”

Lainey loitered a moment, on the verge of saying something.

"Hey, where's the rest?” Howry called from outside.

The moment passed. "On my way!" Lainey answered. Her expression flickered with regret, and she gave a little half shrug before disappearing outside.

Scotch turned back to the counter, placing her hands on the edge. Was she planning on kissing Lainey just now? In answer, her mind delivered up an erotic vision of just such an action. Her body responded with a rush of sensation that swept from her heart to her groin, and she swallowed hard. Good God, she had been!

"What's taking so long?” Irish asked, marching up to the counter.

"Nothing. I . . .” Scotch picked up the nearest clipboard. "I was wondering whether or not to start the dogs on the extra protein now.”

Irish quirked an eyebrow, questioning. "Don't we want to wait until they've been training first?”

Scotch nodded. "Yeah, you're probably right.” She slid the measured additives toward her little sister. "Here. I'll get started on breaking the snow machines out until the stew's ready for the dogs.”

"Okay.” Irish took the tin and left, unaware of Scotch's confusion.

Using the opposite door, Scotch walked to the storage barn, avoiding the dog kitchen completely. Entering, she switched on the overhead lights and located the vehicles, automatically going through the process of getting them out of their mothballs and prepared for use. The familiar actions grounded her, and she was better able to think about what had happened in the dog barn.

She had never been strongly attracted to anyone before, male or female. Scotch had had her share of kisses and heavy petting over the years, but those were with boys during her adolescence and a couple of semi-serious lesbian relationships when she attended college. She had always felt something had been lacking, however, some crucial linchpin of emotion that she seemed incapable of feeling. She finally gave up trying. Whatever people found in such relationships was not something she would ever share; or so she had thought. Nothing had ever come of it, least of all the amount of sensation she had just experienced at the mere thought of kissing Lainey.

Scotch pulled the tarps off the vehicles, her nose itching at the dust that flew from her action. A healthy round of sneezing later, she had the coverings folded up and set aside, and she began the process of preparing the snow machines for use.

This sudden desire to kiss Lainey certainly complicated things. Scotch grumbled under her breath as she forced a sticking gas cap open. Even if she did make the attempt, that did not necessarily mean that Lainey was a lesbian, too. What were the odds of that occurring? And what difference did it make, anyway? Once the Iditarod was over, Lainey would move on to other pastures, and Scotch would return to living alone. Besides, the Iditarod was far too important to screw up for a roll in the hay, no matter how appealing that roll seemed.

"Hey, Scotch.”

"What?" she demanded, glaring at the interruption.

Howry raised his hands in surrender and took a step backward. "We're getting ready to feed the dogs, that's all.”

She slumped before giving the reporter a contrite look. "I'm sorry. Guess I got up on the wrong side of the bed. Didn't mean to snap.”

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's an exciting day for you, I'm sure.”

Chuckling at the irony, she said, "You don't know the half of it.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LAINEY KEPT THE pleasant expression plastered on her face as she left Scotch in the dog barn. She poured the bone meal into the kettle, her actions on automatic as the sight of Scotch leaning closer filled her mind. Damn, that had been close! She had almost thrown herself at Scotch. Or did Scotch make the first move? Was it wishful thinking on Lainey's part? Had Scotch started the seduction?

"Where's the rest?” Rye asked, stirring the mixture.

“Scotch has it,” Lainey said. She made no move to return to the barn, not wanting to face her friend quite yet. Her priority was to slow her thundering heart, and quell the rich wave of yearning rolling through her.

Irish pursed her lips in pre-adolescent aggravation. "I'll go get it.” She took the measuring bowl from Lainey and stomped toward the door.

Rye rolled his eyes at his sister as he continued to mix the stew, but said nothing.

At loose ends, Lainey took the opportunity to flee, picking up her camera and heading into the dog yard. Standing behind the lens calmed her erratic nerves, allowing her to detach from her immediate surroundings. During her counseling sessions after being shot, the psychiatrist had said the camera was a crutch, protecting her from reality. No argument there. At least this way she was able to chill out enough to contemplate what happened.

What had happened?

First they were talking, working side by side as they had for months, comfortable in their proximity. Then... Scotch had put the moves on her.

"No. That can't be right.” Lainey shook her head, and returned to finding the right shot through the viewfinder. Bonaparte demanded a state portrait with his elegant profile, and she snapped the picture.

As far as she had been able to ascertain, Scotch was straight . Certainly there had been times she wondered if perhaps she was wrong. She had always chalked it up to wishful thinking on her part. Every instance of ambiguousness could be calculated as a simple misunderstanding. Living with a person for three and a half months had to count for something. She would know if her roommate shared her attraction to women, right?

Hell, Howry had done his fair share of talking with Scotch, attempting to discover the true nature of her sexuality. Even he had come to the conclusion Scotch was a very sheltered and innocent straight woman.

So, what just happened in the dog barn?

Lainey growled under her breath. Nothing but the obvious could explain what had transpired. She had too much experience in the art of seduction to not see an attempted kiss. Scotch did make the first move! But, why? And, more importantly, why now?

The steam from her sharp exhalation clouded the vision from her lens for a moment. It was no wonder she was constantly confused about Scotch's intentions. That could only mean that Scotch was probably just as confounded. Which explained, at the very least, that she was only now discovering who she was.

Great. Not only did Scotch not have the common decency to know her own sexual orientation at the tender age of twenty-four, she had to complicate Lainey's attraction by figuring it out now. The last thing Lainey needed was a virgin.

Despite the sardonic thought, she felt a tremor of excitement at that possibility.

“Stop that!" she ordered, forcing away ribald visions of what ‘lessons’ she could teach Scotch. "Dirty old woman.”

Kaara cocked an ear at her.

"Not you, girl,” Lainey said, rubbing her head.

What to do? It was one thing to have a crush on a straight roommate. Lainey had experienced such unrequited fiascos in her youth. All she needed to do in such a case was keep a tight rein on her desires and suffer the consequences.

But if Lainey's suspicions were correct, Scotch was waking up to something fundamental about herself. Such a revelation was difficult enough in the best of times; here in the backwoods of Alaska, however, it could cause major trauma. Lainey really liked Scotch. She did not want to lose their friendship because of a mistake. Scotch might make a pass in experimentation, but Lainey was not sure she could defend against one.

She snorted to herself, grinning when Jonah did the same as he nosed his empty bowl. "You'll be fed soon,” she promised, scratching his back.

Irish's timely interruption was the only thing that saved the morning. Now that Lainey was aware of Scotch's mutual attraction, for whatever reasons, she was positive it would be three times as hard to deny her.

Perhaps she should move into the main cabin. She could cite the cold as a reason. Scotch knew of her ribs; it would be nothing to expand a bit on that to feign a need for a steady form of heating through the winter.

Unless Scotch offered a more entertaining manner of keeping warm in the evenings . . .

"Ugh!" Lainey wished there was something to pound her head against.

"Lainey! Breakfast time!"

She sighed and turned toward the dog kitchen. Waving to Rye, she trudged back to her chores.

The snow still came down after breakfast. Weather reports said the system had dumped fourteen inches over night, and estimated another foot before it was over. This news was met with lively praise from the Fuller clan as they ate breakfast.

Howry noted that his primary subject was less than enthusiastic, her brow creased in thought. She kept glancing at Lainey from across the table, and he watched the two of them carefully.

Lainey had her professional face on; he had seen it often enough over the years to spot it on sight. Something had happened, and she had tossed up the facade to keep anyone from noticing. In their business, it was required to be in horrible places or interview people with the moral integrity of a sewer. Such professionalism was required to get the job done, regardless of any negative opinions one had with the subject. Not to mention such a demeanor could mean life or death depending on who was involved.

He spooned a healthy dose of brown sugar onto his oatmeal, and stirred.

Things had been different this morning because of the snow. The Fullers had radiated a ton of energy, just as their dogs did, filling the air with a high level of breathless expectation. Howry supposed that the first snow of the season always evinced the same emotions for them. It had been pretty contagious; he fell sway to it, too. Lainey and Scotch acted as they had every morning. He had noticed that Lainey was a bit stiffer, probably from the cold, but just as excited as the rest of them. The time had finally come to do some serious dog training, and they all looked forward to the prospect.

Something had happened though. Scotch disappeared, and Lainey wandered off to photograph dogs. Howry about had his head ripped off when he finally found Scotch in the storage barn. She had not been irritated before she and Lainey had gone to collect the additives for the dog stew. Granted, some people reacted to fervor with crankiness, but Scotch was rarely bitchy. Why start now? There was no pressure, yet. He expected her to become more stressed the closer they got to the Iditarod, not now.

He focused on his friend, not buying the pleasant exterior as she joked with Helen over something. She, too, had transformed from simply enjoying the morning to become this ultra professional journalist putting her subjects at ease. He ate slowly, recognizing the subtle signs telling him she was flustered. And she would not look at Scotch except the occasional pan across the room.

Scotch also portrayed a cheer that was not quite real in its appearance. She kept giving Lainey furtive looks, searching for something and not finding it. At those moments her expression was closer to resignation than anything else, as if she were trying to buck up under the weight of her unpleasant thoughts.

Howry scraped the last of his breakfast from his bowl. Time to corner one of them and find out what was happening here.

Lainey refused to believe that Howry's insistence on riding with her was just to get better shots of Scotch on her snow machine. She had seen his examination of her at breakfast. He knew something was up and, like any good journalist, would not let it go until he got the scoop.

She forced a smile and agreed, unable to come up with a valid reason to deny him.

After a quick lesson on the operation of the snow machine, she saddled up with Howry behind her. The controls were not much different than the ATVs she had used all summer. Too bad, she thought. If she could not drive one, maybe she could have ridden with someone else.

Rye, Irish, and Scotch each rode a machine, and the yard was filled with the whine of engines and the barking of the dogs. Scotch looked back and waved at Lainey to follow her. Her brother and sister each went in another direction, off to check the snow levels of their favorite stretches of trail.

Lainey surged forward with a jerk, causing Howry to clutch at her and curse. She grinned despite trepidation at his upcoming questions. As she became used to the vehicle controls, she felt him relax his grip, and she heaved a sigh of relief. Her ribs were definitely giving her more trouble today. She could already tell she would be spending a large amount of her free time at the hot springs.

The trails were almost alien to her, though she had just been on them the day before. White powder covered the familiar landscape, turning it into another realm. Branches which had been above her head now drooped under the weight of snow. In some places, only the brightly fluttering plastic markers indicated where she should go, jogging her memory. Scotch rode ahead of her, breaking the trail, and Lainey gave her plenty of lead to keep from running into her when she occasionally bogged down in snow drifts.

“So, what happened this morning?”

Lainey pursed her lips. "What do you mean?" she asked, not willing to give in so easily.

"Don't be coy, Lainey. You don't wear it well,” Howry said, his voice raised to be heard over the engine. "We both know what I'm talking about.”

"What if I don't want to talk about it?”

He remained silent behind her for a full minute. “Think I should talk to Scotch instead?”

"Bastard,” she said under her breath.

Howry hugged her closer. "What was that?”

Lainey looked over her shoulder. "I said you're a bastard.”

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch.”

His laugh triggered her sense of the absurd, and she joined him. It was far better than crying.

“Seriously, Lainey, what's going on? You two have a fight over something?”

She sobered. Before her, Scotch took the left branch of a trail, standing on the machine as she disappeared down an embankment. Lainey braced herself and followed. Once they were back on level ground, she slowed to give Scotch more room. "I don't think Scotch is straight.”

"What? I don't think I heard you right. Scotch isn't...?”

“Straight!" she yelled. Up ahead, the topic of conversation must have heard something because she glanced backwards. No, surely Lainey had not shouted loud enough for that. Scotch was only checking the distance between them.

"Really?” Howry drawled. "How do you figure?”

"Oh, I don't know, Don. I guess when she tried to kiss me I kind of figured things were off.”

He loosened his grip, slightly pulling away from her deep sarcasm. "You're joking.”

Lainey grumbled to herself. "I wish.”

He did not need to hear her to understand what she said.

As he digested this new information, she concentrated on driving. Scotch pulled onto another trail, waving Lainey toward one that paralleled her course. She gave the snow machine more gas and caught up to her roommate. Breaking the trail made the journey a bit rougher, but no less enjoyable. A thin line of deciduous trees flickered between them, giving Lainey the weird sensation of watching a reel of film at slow speed. Her heart warmed as she saw Scotch smile at her. At least the morning's oddness had not affected their friendship too severely.

Howry took advantage of their proximity to take a rapid series of photos.

"How're you doing?” Scotch yelled.

"Great! Where to next?”

"Let's head to the river, see how it's doing there. We'll need to slow down some.”

"Okay. Lead on!"

Scotch nodded agreement and pulled ahead. At a break in the tree line, Lainey crossed over to the other trail, feeling the fine mist of granulated snow as Scotch picked up speed and rooster tailed. Howry laughed and she joined him.

“So, she made the moves on you, huh?”

Lainey rolled her eyes. She had hoped he would drop the topic, but she supposed she had not given him his due. He was a newsman, through and through. "Yeah. She said she was happy I was here, and the next thing I knew, we were closing in for the clincher.”

"Did she come to her senses and realize I'm a far better catch than an old, broken down war horse like you?”

Despite the churn of emotions, Lainey smiled. "Actually, we were saved by the sister. Irish interrupted before anything could happen.”

"Hmmm, my sympathies to you then.”

"Don...”

"I know! I know! Even though you've wandered around for months mooning over her, you can't conceive of slaking your unrequited passions in her bed. I understand.”

She wondered if she could find a ditch to jump and dislodge him from behind her.

"No. Scratch that. I don't understand,” he continued. "What's the problem? I'd think you'd be shedding your parka and skipping into her arms by now.”

"God, you're an idiot,” she told him.

“That's not news.”

She chuckled. "You don't get it. Scotch has just figured out she's either gay or bi. This is all new ground for her.”

Howry whistled. "Lucky for her you're here to show her the ropes, huh?”

"Don!"

"What?” he asked in the same sharp tone. "I'm just a straight man; I'm not getting it here. Enlighten me.”

Lainey refused to speak. Howry was not a dense man. If he could not figure it out, she certainly was not going to tell him. Scotch took the a trail to the right. Lainey pushed the snow machine to its limit as she turned followed, causing Howry to clutch at her in abrupt fear of being thrown.

"Holy shit.”

At first, she thought he swore because of her attempt to lose him in a snow drift.

"You love her.”

Lainey swallowed, her lungs suddenly not big enough to give her enough oxygen. She wheezed a couple of times, her heart thumping so hard, she was certain he could feel it through his thick gloves and her parka.

Love.

As she regained control of her body, a sardonic grunt left her throat. Of course. Infatuation was the wrong word entirely. Being a journalist, she needed a good command of the language. Funny how her mind had danced around the term but never allowed her to focus on it.

Her mother always said if you can name your demons, you can control them. Lainey wondered how to control this.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

REGARDLESS OF HER sudden emotional revelation, Lainey spent the rest of the expedition doing her damnedest to banish her demon. She doubted she was a hundred percent successful when every time she got a good look at Scotch racing ahead of her, her heart thumped in muted joy. As they neared the kennel, she felt she might have gotten a handle on her ardor. It helped that Howry had let her stew in silence after his observation. Not having to defend herself to him gave her plenty of time to work through her available options and come up with a plan.

Not that it was a good plan, but at least she had something.

The last thing Scotch needed was a distraction like this. She was aiming for the top ten in the Iditarod this year and needed to stay concentrated on her dogs and their training. It was never easy for someone to question their sexuality; coming out to one's self was worse than coming out to family and friends. Lives had a tendency to fall apart as the soul searching took over, and Scotch could ill afford the time or heartache.

Moving out of the cabin, while the easiest way to achieve the space needed between them, would make Scotch question Lainey's motives. Even the argument of requiring warmth for her 'football injury' would fall flat. They would both know the reality of the situation. It would only serve to highlight the attempted kiss in the dog barn, and Lainey had to draw the focus away from that.

No, she had to be the adult here, the experienced one. She had to stay put to allay Scotch's fears yet not get intimately involved with her. It would be hell, but Lainey would just have to hang onto this demon for all it was worth. When the race was over, then and only then could she consider sitting Scotch down for a real heart to heart discussion about what was going on with her.

Lainey felt vaguely pleased with her decision, not to mention a bit perplexed at the self-imposed distance she would have to place between them. She would much rather do exactly what Howry had suggested and teach Scotch all the joys of loving a woman. She consoled herself with the knowledge that after the race, things would be different. If Scotch truly felt desire for her, Lainey would be more than happy to reciprocate.

She pushed away the rush of arousal that followed that particular notion. By the time they returned to the kennel, Lainey had set aside her internal debate. Her nerves still fluttered, but she was resolute. She drove the snow machine into the yard, hearing the welcome clamor from the dogs. Pulling up next to Scotch, she saw that Irish and Rye had already returned, their vehicles covered with a light dusting of still falling snow. She turned off the engine, and glanced at the woman beside her.

Scotch's cheeks and nose were red from cold, her eyes sparkling as she grinned. She had yanked back her hood and tawny curls stuck out about her face, flakes of snow starting to settle there. Lainey's heart ached as she returned the smile. Stay away from this? God was a cruel, cruel being.

"It's looking really good," Scotch said, climbing off the snow machine. She pulled off her thick gloves and opened the neck of her parka. "We can only hope the snow stays like this for the entire season!"

The vehicle shifted as Howry got off. "I think it's time to switch to manual cameras," he said, pulling a plastic bag from his pocket. He stuffed his camera inside and zipped it closed. "I ran out of film on the run. If I wind it now, it'll shatter."

"You can always switch to digital," Lainey said sweetly, revisiting an old argument.

"Blasphemy," he muttered. "A camera without real film is an abomination in the sight of the gods."

Lainey smiled and swung her leg over the snow machine, remaining seated. She too removed her gloves. "Are we taking the dogs out today?"

"No. Let's give the trails another run after lunch. Pack 'em down some more. If it keeps coming down, we'll do more tomorrow. The tighter we pack the trails now, the longer they'll last if the temperature rises. It's still early in the season; who knows what the weather will do?"

Standing, Lainey stretched with light misgiving as her ribs gave her a slight jab. The pain was far less than it should be after the extensive ride. They had spent a good three hours roaming the trails surrounding the kennel. By all rights, she should be emulating a rheumatic old woman.

"You okay?"

Lainey nodded at Howry. "Surprisingly. I'm glad I heeded Thom's advice. That jacket I had last March was crap."

Without warning, Scotch reached out and grabbed her right hand, forcing Lainey to raise it above her head. The ache was bearable, and completely overshadowed by Scotch's skin against hers.

"You know that liniment we use for wrist injuries?" she asked, still focused on Lainey's ribs.

Blushing at Howry's smirk, she said, "Um, the one for strains and sprains?"

"Yeah." Scotch released her. "I'd bet it'd work on your ribs."

Howry snorted, no doubt entertained with the notion of Scotch possibly offering to apply it to the injury. Lainey so wanted to kick him in the shin, but knew she would have to explain herself to their witness afterward. Instead, she rolled her eyes. "It's for dogs," she reminded Scotch.

"It's been used on people upon occasion." She chuckled. "It might do the trick. You should give it a try."

Scotch's matter-of-fact tone made Lainey view the salve in another light. Its primary purpose was to ease joint aches in the wrists and shoulders of overworked dogs. It was a homegrown remedy created by God only knew who, but it seemed every musher worth his or her salt had a variation on the recipe. An herbal mixture, it was blended with petroleum jelly to give it substance and make it easy to apply. Scotch and her brother both swore by the stuff.

"All right," Lainey conceded. "I'll think about it." Scotch opened her mouth to say something, and Lainey interrupted her. "I'll think about it! Right now, though, I'm starved. Let's get some lunch!"

"That sounds like a great idea," Howry said, moving toward the back deck. Scotch grinned and nodded, dropping whatever she had been planning to say.

Lainey followed both of them, relief coursing through her. She had known exactly what Scotch was going to say. Despite Lainey's recent pledge to avoid awkward situations with Scotch, there was no way she could deny her if she offered to apply ointment.

And that would be a bad, bad idea.

Scotch idled in front of the fire, her feet propped up on an old footstool she had liberated from a thrift store years ago. She wiggled her sock covered toes, and sipped a cup of hot chocolate.

The first snowfall of the season had been a good one. If things held up like this, training would be a breeze. She recalled the winter before last, unseasonably warm, and no major flurries to speak of. It had been bad enough that snow had to be trucked into Anchorage for the ceremonial start of the race. The first third of the journey had been treacherous with bared ground and free running water. A lot of mushers had been forced to scratch the race from injuries to their animals and broken equipment.

Not this year. Scotch relished her contentment. Even if it warmed up a bit, chances were it would not interfere with the hardening trails. After lunch, they had gone another round, packing the trails down for future runs. Tomorrow the sleds would come out and the training would begin in earnest.

The cabin door opened and Lainey stomped inside. A draft followed her, but Scotch was warm enough that the cool air felt nice.

"Still snowing?"

Lainey glanced over her shoulder as she hung her jacket on a peg. "No. It finally stopped." She saw Scotch's face and laughed as she moved down the stairs to return to the couch. "Give it a rest, Fuller! We got two feet today, maybe more."

Scotch's petulant frown eased into a smile. "Yeah, I guess."

Snorting, Lainey kicked off her boots, tucking her feet back underneath a quilt. She leaned forward to retrieve her mug of tea and sank back with a sigh. "You know, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," she said, staring into her cup.

Sudden wariness disrupted Scotch's composure. She had been expecting this all day. Initially she had hoped that Lainey had not realized how close Scotch had come to kissing her. As the day progressed, however, there had been several moments where it seemed she wanted to discuss something. What was Scotch going to say when she asked what had happened? Sorry about the pass, but I've got a crush on you that just won't quit?

Her silence was noticed, and she looked up to see Lainey watching her. "Uh, yeah?" she asked.

"Have you ever considered the benefits of chamber pots as opposed to out houses?"

Scotch stared at Lainey, her mind stuttering to a halt. She blinked and shook her head. "What . . .?"

Lainey grinned and sat up. "Chamber pots. You know. Porcelain pots that you squat in rather than shuffle around in the dark and cold, baring your ass to freezing temperatures." She gave her friend a wave. "I, of all people, understand the rustic life here. I've lived and worked in third world countries. But even in Africa they have a version of the chamber pot. Why don't you?"

Her trepidation faded, replaced with a healthy dose of relief and amusement as she registered what Lainey said. Scotch ruefully ran her hand through her hair. "They're called honey pots around here, and I don't know why I haven't got one. Can't say it's ever come up in conversation."

"Well, it is now," Lainey replied in crisp tones.

Warming to the conversation, Scotch shifted in her chair. "What do you suggest, O Worldly One?"

Lainey stuck out her tongue, causing Scotch to laugh.

"Funny you should ask. I happen to have noticed that there are a lot of five gallon buckets over by the dog barn. I think one of those would make a wonderful indoor privy for those of us without ice in our veins."

"It's you that's cold blooded."

Lainey's brow furrowed. "How do you figure?"

"It's a scientific fact that cold blooded animals get sluggish in lower temperatures. If that doesn't describe you in the morning, I don't know what does."

Lainey stuck out her tongue again.

Scotch barely refrained from asking her if she was offering her services. She blushed and shied away from where that would lead the conversation. "So what are you wanting? My permission to set up a honey pot in the cabin?"

"You live here, too," Lainey said. "I realize that no matter how often it's emptied or how clean I keep it, there'll be some odor involved."

Shrugging one shoulder, Scotch said, "It really won't be that bad." She gave Lainey an inquisitive look, receiving a nod in return. "We could go into town tomorrow after lunch and pick up plastic bags and some lye or something to help control the smell."

Lainey's smile was beautiful. "That'll be great!"

Scotch echoed her grin, an ache in her heart. God, she would love to snuggle under that quilt and kiss Lainey senseless. She ducked her head, unable to shake her amusement, and brought her cup to her lips instead. Of all the people to fall for it had to be an international photo journalist who soon would be off on another adventure.

She wondered again if Lainey was gay. There was nothing definite Scotch could point her finger to, but sometimes it was a word or a look that made her question her initial supposition that Lainey had a man in every port. Or maybe it was Howry. He had a wicked humor and had made several comments in Scotch's hearing. Was he gay and saying those things to Lainey because they were friends?

"What are you thinking?"

Startled from her thoughts, Scotch groped for something to say. "Just thinking about Don."

Lainey cocked her head in silent question.

"He's going to have a tough time keeping up with me now that the snow has flown."

"Yeah." Lainey chuckled. "Yeah, he is. But don't underestimate him. He'll probably follow you around on a snowmobile every day if you let him."

"Snowmobile? What the hell, Miss Hughes!" Scotch held her cup in her lap, a stern expression on her face.

"Snow machine! Snow machine!" Lainey raised both hands in surrender, almost upsetting her tea. "I'm sorry, master! I had a momentary relapse!"

"Damned right you did," Scotch groused. "By the time you leave this great state of Alaska, you'll be able to pass for a native." She enjoyed their shared laughter. It was less than what she truly wanted, but good friendships were hard to find. This was one she did not want to screw up.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

November

LAINEY WENT OVER her sled with care, checking the plastic runners for damage and tugging this way and that to test the rigging. As soon as it passed inspection, she pulled the towlines from the sled bag, laying them out on the icy ground. A few feet away, Scotch mirrored her activities.

Rye and Irish were gone, having left immediately after breakfast, a dog truck full to the brim with excited mutts and three racing sleds. There was a junior event in nearby Wasilla, and they had entered a handful of sprints for the day. It was after lunch now. Chances were good that one if not both of them had placed well and were finishing the last race before heading home.

Once Lainey had the line in place and tested for wear and tear, she set her snow hook, stomping it deep into the snow. For the most part the large curved metal hook served as an anchor to keep the sled immobile. Mindful of the fact that she was running Jonah today, she also tied her snubline to a post. She had learned the hard way that her muscle man wheel dog had a tendency to pop the hook. It took one morning of chasing her team down on foot to retain that particular lesson.

It was a weekend so there were no tourists scheduled. The handler, Miguel, had a group of amateur mushers on a weekend excursion. By now six eager teachers from Minnesota had left a filling and educational lunch at Lafferty's fish camp and were on their way to the other side of the river for an overnight stop at the hot springs.

Lainey had been surprised to discover that after the snow flew, visitors became more frequent, not less. Not only were nearby schools busing their students to outlying kennels for field trips, but Helen received a fair share of veterinary classes from Anchorage. Apparently, hers was the only local animal hospital attached to a racing kennel, and the graduate students came from miles around to see the full operation.

And then there were the neighbors. It seemed like everyone in and around the nearby village had stopped by at least once since the snow began, many of them on dog sleds. Of those, most used their dogs as winter transportation, a string of three or four animals hauling them around the area. One man lived in the bush, trapping and fishing for a living, and he followed his trap line like clockwork. Three others were in training for various races, to include the Iditarod. While they idled over the requisite cup of coffee, Lainey listened raptly to their tales of races won and lost, gleaning as much as possible from their experiences.

Lainey pulled a small notebook from her pocket and flipped it open. She had twenty dogs to train, and had worked up a running schedule with Scotch's help. When it came down to the race, she would only be allowed sixteen, but Scotch had made certain she had a decent selection from which to draw. This early in the training season, they were both running ten dog teams, mixing and matching the animals to get them comfortable with working together. She checked her list for Saturday afternoons, and went to round up her team.

Soon a mass of furry barking animals tugged on the sled, their vocalizations answered by Scotch's team and the anguished demands of those being left behind. Though Lainey had been mushing dogs for a month now, their excitement was catching, and she found herself wanting to hurry through the final checks. Instead, she calmed her exhilaration and went down the line, rechecking tuglines, necklines and the heavy rubber shock cord.

At her sled, she did a quick inventory of the mandatory items required for the Iditarod. She had eighty dog booties, a cooker with three bottles of fuel, a three gallon pot and a cooler for cooking and soaking dog chow, another pan for people food, ten plastic bucket lids for dog bowls, an arctic weather sleeping bag, an axe, eight pounds of emergency dog food, a pair of snowshoes, and a plastic bag of frozen white fish to snack the dogs. It seemed a lot in light of the fact she was only going to be gone for three or four hours. But Scotch had insisted on these items as well as some odds and ends survival gear, explaining that a sudden blizzard would kill her just as quick whether she was two miles away from home or two hundred. The one thing Lainey hated to carry was the holstered .44 automatic. She had enough nightmares about guns after her injury; she saw no reason to drag the baleful weapon along, regardless of the danger of wolves or moose on the trail. Though the gun was not mandatory, Scotch had put her foot down, threatening to renege on their contract if she refused. Given no other option, Lainey kept the loathsome thing buried at the foot of the bag.

She zipped up the sled bag, and checked the munchie bag hanging between the handles. Here was a thermos of warm Gatorade, a couple of bags of candy, and some trail mix. Another lesson learned - the dogs were not the only ones working on a run. Tangles with brush, balking dogs, and running behind the sled to lighten the load gave her lots of exercise. The mushers at the finish line last March had made the whole thing seem easy. Lainey was discovering how much work was truly involved for the human element of the team. She was glad she had let Scotch bully her into running every day through summer and fall.

Lainey looked over at Scotch who finished her last minute checks. They had agreed to head out together, but split up about three miles out. Scotch wanted to take her dogs through the ravine, mushing them along a narrow creek bed and up onto the road near the kennel. Lainey hated that run. It reminded her of an Olympic toboggan chute more than anything else. If something happened, she would never be able to muscle her dogs and sled out of it, and probably be dragged behind instead. She already had a couple of experiences of eating snow; she did not wish to repeat them.

She planned on hitting a milder trail near a snow covered meadow. There was a loop there the Fullers had dubbed Dupont Circle after the notorious traffic circle in Washington, DC, with several trails sprouting from its central path. It reiterated Lainey's spoken commands to her leaders, as they had to pay attention or go off on the wrong trail. The run might not be as hazardous as Scotch's destination, but there were some wonderful switchbacks along the route Lainey chose. The Iditarod was over a thousand miles long, and she needed to prepare her dogs for any eventuality.

After the run, she and Scotch planned to meet up at the hot springs to greet Miguel's overnighters and snack the dogs. They’d take a rest break there and bring the teams home in time for dinner.

Everything was ready. Lainey glanced over at Scotch, who stood on the runners of her sled, grinning at her expectantly. She smiled and waved back, mirroring the woman's stance. With one hand on the handlebar, Lainey crouched down to pull the snow hook, placing it in the specially made pouch at the back of the sled bag. She heard Scotch call out commands, and watched from the corner of her eye as her team pulled out of the yard.

Not wanting to be left behind, her team lunged forward, wanting to follow, barking for all they were worth. The sled skimmed sideways, still attached to the pole by the snub line, and she held the handle tightly.

"Ready!" she called. Cochise and Sholo, her leads, pulled forward, straightening the line of dogs. Lainey released the last mooring, and yelled, "Let's go!"

Free to run, the team shot forward, tails wagging and tongues lolling. Within minutes, they were out of the yard, the clamor of those left behind fading in the distance. The dogs always went quiet when they began running, and Lainey sighed at the silence broken only by panting dogs and the swish of a sled going over snow. This was so much better than with an ATV. No running motors, just her and the dogs and the wilderness. Lainey had worked in the bush of many different countries, always enjoying the chance to be alone with nature. It was with some delight that she realized she would be afforded an even deeper sense of solitude on this race.

Up ahead, she barely caught sight of Scotch as she rounded a bend. Small wonder considering the distance. Cochise and Sholo were about twenty feet in front of Lainey, and there had to be a thirty foot gap between them and Scotch. That was another thing about sledding; she could be mushing with all three Fullers and rarely catch a glimpse of any of them unless they passed one another.

The dogs were going at a good clip; Lainey figured they were running at about ten miles per hour. That was to be expected since they were all well rested and eager. A couple of more trails would pass and she would cut off this one and onto another, leaving Scotch to her breakneck roller coaster ride.

The trailhead came up, its entry marked by a fluttering red strip of cloth. As Cochise came abreast of it, Lainey called, "Haw!" The husky and his all black partner automatically turned left and onto the path. Behind them, the swing dogs - Montana and Meshindi - followed the smooth arc, leading the rest of the team forward and into the turn. Dablo, Bast, Tecumseh, and Heldig plodded dutifully along. When the sled arrived at the turn, Jonah and Aziz, the burly wheel dogs, put their formidable strength into it, yanking the sled onto the now trail with relative ease.

"Good dogs!" Lainey called, watching ears prick back to hear her praise. She grinned against the chill wind along her cheeks. Had anyone told her she would one day relish being in below freezing temperatures on the back of a dog sled, she would have laughed in their faces.

All in all, it had been a good idea to arrive at the end of June. It had given Lainey an opportunity to become acclimated to the cooler temperatures and gradual change of seasons. The weather did not affect her nearly as bad as it had in March, coming from sweltering sun to icy expanses. With Thom Fuller's help, she had purchased the proper arctic gear, as well, and she rode her sled with little discomfort. Native mukluks covered her feet, and she wore bibbed snowpants recommended for mountaineering. Her parka was a pullover, like Scotch's, the lack of zippers and snaps giving added protection as wind and snow had no points of entry. Helen had sewn an extra pocket high up on the right side, its size perfect to accommodate a hand warmer nestled against Lainey's ribs.

Toasty and warm, she watched the world open up as the team pulled into Dupont Circle. Each of the half dozen trails were marked with a different colored flag. The one she wanted flickered green, but Lainey allowed her team to pass it without command. There had been another spate of snow the night before, and the dogs took the opportunity to bite at snow drifts as they passed quenching their thirst and cooling off. She looked over the lot of them, careful to note their body language, searching for anything out of the ordinary to indicate discomfort or injury.

The dogs ran well, loping back around the circle. Sholo glanced over his shoulder as they passed their point of entry. Lainey could imagine what he was thinking - You brought us here. Where the hell are we going? She laughed aloud and called the command when they got to the proper trailhead. "Gee!"

Like a well-oiled machine, the team turned right, leaving the meadow for a run through dense brush. Here Lainey paid more attention to her surroundings as trees crowded close. Sweepers were a real danger, limbs hanging low enough to knock the musher from the sled. The close confines caused the dogs to slow a bit, and Lainey hopped off the runners, trotting behind the sled to lighten the load. Up ahead she saw orange paint on a tree trunk, indicating the first switchback.

Sholo and Cochise easily navigated the trail as it doubled back on itself. Of course, they had the benefit of years of experience on the paths around the kennel. They ran out of sight, and Lainey watched the rest of her team disappear around the bend. When the swing dogs were the last, she jumped back on the runners, leaning hard to the left. The sled jerked left, the momentum forcing her right like the end of a whip, but her preparation kept the her upright and on course. Exhilarated, she stepped off the sled and ran some more, her breath steaming in front of her. The dogs, tails wagging, continued on to the next hairpin turn.

After the third turn, Lainey noticed the team's attention diverted from the trail. Their ears pricked toward the right, and she peered in that direction, unable to see anything through the undergrowth. Maybe they smelled a rabbit or another dog team in the area. In any case, their divided attention became her concern. She kept close eye on the dogs. One or two of them were young and untrained enough that a romp through the woods in search of an elusive rabbit would be quite entertaining. Something like that had the potential to either cause a mutiny in the ranks or some major damage to the sled and gear should they make a run for it. Lainey reached into the sled for the snow hook, hanging it over the back of the sled bag for easy accessibility.

Pulling through the next turn, Lainey heard Sholo and Cochise barking before she rounded the bend. The sled jerked forward as the dogs pulled with more enthusiasm, more of her team taking up the call. The dogs had never acted this way before. What could have them in such a tumult? Lainey felt the cold tickle of apprehension and adrenaline pumped through her veins. She leaned into the turn, and the thing setting off the dogs came into view.

A bull moose stood near the next switchback, right in the center of the trail. He looked huge, the velvet covering of his antlers long since rubbed off, revealing heavy bone. Lainey knew from lessons with Scotch that rutting season was over. The bulls had finished their annual mating confrontations and were now back to regaining the weight they had lost. The dogs had caught this one stripping bark off a tree that quivered nearby. He had turned from his task to glare at them, but did not seem daunted by being out numbered.

Lainey noted all the details in split seconds, the hormones flushing her system giving her a crisp, clear image. She saw a snort of steam rise from the moose's flared nostrils, saw his shoulders give a shake, the coarse hair bristling, and the slight change of stance as he moved the weight off one of his front legs. A distant part of her mind regretted there was no time to get a decent photograph; she had left her camera in the cabin.

Sholo and Cochise were almost upon the interloper.

"Whoa!" she bellowed. Time slowed more as her feet left the runners to stand on the brake and drag between them. The first was a metal bar with two hooks that dug into the snow, the second a rubber mat with bolts on the underside. She held on to the handlebars one handed, simultaneously pulling the snow hook from its temporary place. Squatting, she forced the tines into the trail beside her, then stood to stomp it down.

The dogs pulled up short, their clamor interrupted by a collective grunt as their chest harnesses held them back. The shock cord did its duty, and none of the animals were injured by the abrupt stop. They now barked joyously at the interesting obstacle in their path, tails wagging in furious anticipation of more fun.

Her leaders were less than thirty feet from the moose, riding high on the exhilaration of their comrades, telling the bull off for blocking their trail. Knowing the true danger, Lainey wildly looked about her for something sturdy enough to tie her snub line to. Her heart sank when she realized she would have to get off the brake to reach the nearest tree. The sled jolted as the dogs tried to surge forward, and she stamped harder on the brake and hook. Tears of frustration and stress stung her eyes as she returned her attention to the moose, praying he would decide to leave the trail.

The bull eyed the noisy gathering and snorted again. He considered his options, and Lainey could almost see the thoughts on his big ugly face. His tormenters did not close in, and he was in a foul mood from a combination of their noise and his hunger. Obviously he had the upper hoof, so to speak.

Horrified, Lainey watched the bull step forward, her dogs barking louder in response. His next step was quicker, and he dropped his head, preparing to charge, his formidable antlers lunging toward them.

"Hard gee!" she screamed. "Sholo! Hard gee!"

Her voice, high and panicked, pierced the ruckus. Amazingly, Sholo tugged to the right, yanking Cochise with him. As the moose rushed the team the leaders began to double back toward the sled.

No longer needed to stay on the brake, Lainey scooped up the snow hook, yelling at the dogs to hurry, hurry! The bull had a head start, however, and Cochise yelped as the deadly antlers tossed him into the air.

The carefully regimented line of dogs fell apart. Sholo continued to pull, Montana and Meshindi doing what they were trained to do. Unfortunately, that meant all of Lainey's dogs were moving forward, into the turn, and closing with an angry moose. The team slowed, Sholo dragging Cochise's limp body along as the wild animal made another lunge, tangling his antlers in tuglines.

The pistol!

Lainey dove over the handlebars, unzipping the sled bag with clumsy hands. It took forever before she rooted it out. She knelt in the sled, the cold heavy steel of the .44 in her hand. There came a moment of terror when she could not reach the trigger, and she swore, ripping her mitten off with her teeth.

Her first attempt did nothing and she stared blankly at the weapon. The safety! The safety's on! With a quick flick of her finger, she released the safety catch and fired.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

THE SOUND OF a gun echoed across the wilderness, and Scotch cocked her head. Hunting season was over for most game. Besides, had there been hunters in the area, someone surely would have mentioned seeing them during the many evening visitations winter always seemed to draw. The only people with guns in the immediate area were she, Miguel, and Lainey.

Another shot rang out, and Scotch felt her heart jump in her chest. With hunters out of the equation, the only reason someone would shoot a firearm would be in defending him or herself. Providing Miguel's tour followed the usual route, they were much too far away for that to be them. Those shots had to have come from Lainey. It had been like pulling teeth to get her to carry a pistol in the first place, something dire must have happened for her to shoot it.

Scotch scanned the trail ahead of her, seeing in her mind the paths that branched away. Her team had yet to reach their destination; the creek bed was several miles from the kennel. She knew where Lainey had headed, now she had to find a way to get there. Shaking her head with a grimace, she realized her only route would be too roundabout and delay her arrival at the switchbacks. All the nearest side trails moved away from Lainey's position.

She called, "Whoa!" and put on the brakes. As soon as her team halted, Scotch jumped from her sled and ran to the head of the line. She grabbed the collars of her lead dogs, Cleatis and Sukita, and brought them around. The rest of the team followed until they faced back the way they had come. Muscling the sled about, she popped the snow hook when everything was ready and yelled, "Let's go! Get up!"

The dogs happily trotted along at a brisk pace per Scotch's command. She heard no more gunshots, but that did little to ease her mind. What could have coerced Lainey to use the pistol? Scotch was not even sure Lainey knew how to use the thing. She had flat out refused to do more than listen to a general run through about the weapon before putting it in her sled bag with a distasteful expression. Only Scotch's threat to terminate their contract made Lainey accept the gun as part of her racing gear.

They were not moving fast enough. "Get up!" she called again. "Let's go!" Her team put in a little more effort, but she knew it would not last for long. This speed was primarily for sprints, not extensive runs. She fought the urge to jump off and run with them, knowing they were sliding along faster than her feet could carry her, but feeling an overwhelming need to do something to get there faster.

Anxiety raced through her as she conjured up all manner of scenarios, none of them pretty. As the visions ran through her mind, she gave the commands to get them to Dupont Circle. Several minutes passed until they pulled into the meadow, and she wasted no time getting the dogs on the proper trail. In the distance, she heard a snow machine nearing, and felt a vague sense of relief at the added assistance on the way.

The switchbacks were fairly hazardous on the best of days. Going at breakneck speed increased the danger of tangles and falls, but Scotch and her team had extensive experience with the even more perilous trails of the Iditarod trail and the Yukon Quest. Still, she barely managed to remain upright as the dogs took the fourth turn. Jubilant barking met her ears and she barely registered Lainey's team before she stood on the brakes and halted her dogs beside her sled.

Setting the snow hook was an automatic gesture as Scotch flung herself from the sled. Lainey sat in the snow amid a tangle of tuglines and dogs. She seemed well enough and Scotch looked over the mess, glad to see that none of the animals were so snarled that their lines choked them. A few feet away blood from a dead moose stained the snow where it had collapsed. She carefully noted it was dead and dismissed it as a threat.

Scotch almost swooned as the weight of fear lifted. She had a good idea what had happened, and Lainey was safe. Her knees became rubbery with relief, and she stumbled forward. Lainey held a bleeding dog in her lap, and Scotch's initial respite faded into dread. The pistol lay nearby, its black metal sunk into the snow.

"Are you all right?" she asked, kneeling in the snow beside her. She grimaced as she saw the wounded dog was Cochise. He panted and whimpered, but held still in Lainey's arms. His snout was bloody and one eye had swollen shut. Scotch could not tell if he had a simple head injury or the blood around his mouth was from internal bleeding.

Lainey nodded in response to her question. "There wasn't any time. He was already a few feet away when I came around the bend." She sniffled.

Scotch hugged the crying woman, resting her cheek on the dark head. "It's okay. It's all right. It's over."

She sobbed and burrowed closer, her hands never leaving Cochise, gently stroking his fur.

The snow machine drew closer and then stopped. Scotch heard the motor drop into an idle, and a voice call out.

"Hang on, help is here," she told Lainey. Reluctant to release her, Scotch did so anyway, standing to yell back, "Over here! In the switchback!"

She received an answering shout, and the motor revved. As much as she wanted to return to Lainey's side, this disaster had to be cleaned up. The smell of blood would draw any predators or scavengers in the area, and the dogs needed to be straightened out and returned to the kennel. Scotch bent and unhooked Cochise from his neckline as the snow machine came into view from the other side of the switchback.

"What the hell?" Ray Lafferty exclaimed, swerving at the last minute to avoid the bull in his path. He turned off the engine and clambered from the snow machine. "I heard the shots. Everybody okay?"

"For the most part," Scotch said, stepping forward to shake his hand. "I'm glad you're here. Cochise has been injured, and I don't know how bad."

"I'll take him to your mom," he volunteered. He looked over her shoulder at Lainey. "Should I take her, too?"

Scotch turned to regard the quietly weeping woman. "Yeah. Maybe you should. I can rig the dogs together and pull her sled in."

Lafferty nodded his grizzled head. "Let's get going then. Time's a wasting." He went back to his snow machine to start it anew.

"Lainey?" Scotch said as she neared. "Ray's going to take you and Cochise to Mom's hospital."

"What?" Lainey asked, looking confused.

"Ray's here," Scotch said, gesturing to the old timer who neared with the vehicle. "Cochise needs to get to a vet. Ray will take both of you to Mom."

Lainey studied Ray as he dismounted and neared, then the dog in her lap. She scanned the tiny clearing. "What about my team?"

"I'll get them in, don't worry about that." Scotch's voice was calm and soothing. Lainey was obviously in shock. With the right tone, she would be compliant and follow orders. Killing was not an easy thing to do, regardless of the situation. The photo journalist had seen a lot of death over her career, but had never been its cause. It had to mess with her head.

"No."

"Excuse me, miss?" Lafferty asked. "The sooner we get in, the better chance that dog has to survive."

Lainey wiped her face, lifting her chin. "I'm not going with you. It's my team, and my mess. I'll help clean it up."

Lafferty blinked at her, taken aback at her sudden defiant attitude. He shook himself and gave Scotch a rueful grin. "Whatever you say, ma'am."

"That's what I say." She glared up at them.

Scotch regarded her for a long moment. She saw the stubborn need for Lainey to follow through, no matter how difficult the task. Most women, those of a less hardy nature, would have taken the offer for what it was - an escape from the emotional upheaval of dealing with the state of affairs. Lainey had not only overcome her fear of guns, but had successfully defended herself with one. She had kept her head when others would have crawled under a rock, defeated.

Her opinion of Lainey Hughes, already high by most standards, raised a notch. This was one tough lady. If any Outsider rookie had a shot at completing the Iditarod, this one did.

"All right. Let's get a move on."

Her words were a catalyst and Lainey's shoulders squared in determination. With Lafferty's help, Lainey wrapped Cochise in her sleeping bag and helped him cradle the dog between his legs on the snow machine. When they were ready, he told her he would take care of her lead dog, and slowly drove the vehicle toward Fuller Kennels.

Scotch used the time to untangle the team and get both of them facing home. She tied off the snub lines on both sleds. Lainey snacked her dogs on frozen white fish, heaping praise on them for their level heads, and Scotch did the same. Once that muddle was cleared up, Scotch approached the moose. Close inspection showed two bullet wounds, one on its forehead and one in the neck. From the amount of blood, it looked like Lainey had nicked an artery.

Behind her, she heard the crunch of snow as Lainey approached.

"Damned good shot for not knowing what to do," Scotch said. She poked at the head wound, noting a streak of damage that went up past its ear. "Looks like your first shot hit him at just the right angle to deflect the bullet. It was your second shot that did him in."

"He reared up. He didn't look like he was leaving, and I didn't want him trampling the team, so I fired again."

"You did what you needed to do," Scotch said simply. "Now you're going to learn what to do if this happens again. If you kill a game animal on the trail, you're required to gut it and report it at the next checkpoint. Here at home you have to report it to the Fish and Game department."

Lainey swallowed, her complexion growing pale. "How often does this happen on the trail?"

Scotch heard the tremor in her voice. "On the Iditarod itself? Not often. Maybe once every couple of years. For the most part, a moose will leave the trail rather than fight it out. If you were as close as you say you were, he probably didn't think he had any other alternative." Unable to stop herself, she reached out and cupped Lainey's cheek. "I don't think this will happen to you again."

She closed her eyes and nodded, leaning into the touch.

Scotch was familiar with the forceful steel of Lainey's personality. This hint of vulnerability slipped free of that and the rare moment called to her. Ever since her aborted attempt to kiss Lainey, she had forced herself to stay aloof. They never discussed what had happened in the dog barn, and for a time Scotch was not even sure Lainey had realized what had almost occurred. But this felt too right to pass up. Scotch leaned forward and brushed her lips against Lainey's, her desire overshadowing her vow of abstinence and fear of driving the woman away.

Far from being appalled at the forward behavior, Lainey returned the kiss, her hand drifting up to touch Scotch's. It was sweet and gentle, and Scotch fought the urge to demand more. Now was not the time. She only wanted Lainey to know she was there for her, a friend to support her rather than a sex crazed roommate.

Even with the promising response, she ended the kiss, reminding herself that Lainey had never shown an inclination toward sleeping with women. Wishful thinking would not change fact. She leaned her forehead against Lainey's a moment, regaining her equilibrium. "Are you okay?" Scotch opened her eyes to see Lainey peering at her.

"Yeah. I'm good."

Nodding, she released her and sat back. "As I said, you have to learn to gut the carcass. Watch closely." With businesslike movements she began the process, not speculating on Lainey's lack of complaint at the liberty she had taken.

CHAPTER TWENTY

WHEN THEY ARRIVED at the kennel, they were met by friends, family and neighbors alike. Howry, Thom, and Lafferty, alerted by the dogs in the yard, stood out on the back deck. Rye and Irish had returned from their races, and promptly set to work taking over Lainey's team despite her insistence that she was supposed to take care of them.

"You've done more than enough today," Irish said in no uncertain terms. Her manner was brisk and business like as she turned Lainey away. "Get over to the clinic and check on Cochise."

Lainey still felt a little numb from the ordeal, but recognized Helen's mannerisms in the nine year old.

"Don't argue with a Fuller woman," Thom said, draping an arm around Lainey's shoulder. He and the other men had gathered at her sled to look over the moose carcass. "It's a lost cause."

She glanced at Scotch who was snacking her dogs again before kenneling them. Her lips tingled at the remembered kiss, knowing that her promise to not come on to the woman had not been as strong as she had thought. It had shattered in that instant like the thin, beautiful icicle it was, and there was no going back.

Scotch glanced up from checking one of her dogs and smiled at her. "I think you're right."

Thom chuckled. "I'm right. I've just had a few years to get used to the idea." He released her and turned to Lafferty. "Since you were kind enough to help out, what do you say to a couple of steaks for dinner tonight?"

"That sounds like a fine idea." Lafferty licked his lips.

Lainey shuddered. It had been horrible having to gut the moose and carry it home. She did not want to know where her meat came from, preferring the tidy package found in the butcher's department at the grocery store. Unfortunately, even the Fullers diet held a large proportion of game rather than hamburger. Subsistence hunting and fishing was an Alaskan institution.

She stepped away from her sled, and headed for the clinic.

"How are you?"

Lainey gave Howry a wan smile. "I've been better."

He walked with her, hands in his pockets. "I heard Lafferty say you got a hell of trophy there. He thinks that moose is close to a thousand pounds."

"It sure felt that way," she said, shaking her head. "I'm going to be so sore tomorrow. I'm surprised Scotch and I were able to get it into the sled at all."

He was silent a moment. "How did you get it loaded, anyway?"

"After a lot of messing around, we finally harnessed our wheel dogs together, wrapped rope around the carcass, and used the dogs to roll it into the sled."

"Should prove to be an interesting article, huh?" he said. "Intrepid reporter takes down bull moose in the wilds of Alaska."

Lainey snorted, but said, "It might sell copy, but it's not something I want to repeat."

"Were you scared?"

"Terrified," she agreed.

"I would be, too."

She debated on whether or not to admit to Scotch kissing her, but remained silent. He would figure it out sooner or later; he was an astute man. Until then it was her secret. She and Scotch needed to sit down and have a serious talk about where things were going anyway. The closer the Iditarod came, the less inclined Lainey was to upset the training - not for Scotch's sake, but for her own. As stupid as the original premise had been, the racing fever had rooted firmly in her heart and, come hell or high water, Lainey was going to be at that starting line in Anchorage come March. She would much rather do it without the emotional turmoil that hung over her head, however.

They took the steps up to the cabin that housed the veterinary hospital two at a time. The waiting room was empty though the lights blazed against the early Alaskan sunset. Lainey stomped snow from her mukluks and promptly shed her bloodstained parka.

"Helen?"

"In here," came the answer. "Second door on the left."

Lainey hastened down the hall, Howry on her heels. "How is he?" she asked, entering the examination room.

Cochise lay on the table, his breathing easy. Stark white bandages covered his eye, a hint of pink blushing the center. His chest was tightly wrapped, and he was unconscious. Lainey went to his side to run her hands over his fur.

Helen, wearing a white smock over a heavy ribbed sweater, smiled. "Actually quite good. He's got a couple of cracked ribs, but I think they're nothing more than hairline fractures. No internal bleeding. There's damage to the eye - we won't know whether he's lost his sight for a couple of weeks. He'll have a grand headache when the drugs wear off."

Lainey's shoulders slumped in relief and tears spilled down her cheeks. "Thank God." Cochise would live through his injuries, maybe even heal well enough to pull a sled again. She had been intensely worried that the moose had done serious damage to him.

"What exactly happened?" Helen asked. "I know there was a moose in the trail, but how did Cochise get hurt?"

Lainey explained the incident to both of them, how she had not seen the moose until it was too late, trying to get the dogs out of danger, and the ultimate act of killing the animal as it began a rampage through her team. By the time she was finished, she found herself sitting on a stool, shaking and crying, feeling very much like a complete idiot. Howry handed her a handkerchief and she blew her nose while he rubbed her shoulders. She heard footsteps and looked up to see Helen returning from somewhere with a glass of clear liquid in her hand.

"Here. Drink this down. Doctor's orders."

Lainey almost did, but caught a pungent whiff of alcohol. Her entire being sang with the need to bring it to her lips, the yearning almost overwhelming in its strength. Instead, she handed it to Howry. "No, thank you."

Helen gave her an odd look.

Howry drained the glass in one swallow and wheezed. "Good!" he gasped.

"How long?"

"Four years, eleven months, and twenty-two days," Lainey said without a pause.

Helen gave her a respectful nod.

"What the hell is this?" Howry asked, handing her the glass.

Smug, Helen took it from him and set it on a nearby counter. "White lightning. Not everybody pays cash for my services, you know."

"Mom?"

"In here."

Scotch arrived in the door, her expression worried as she scanned Lainey's tear stained face.

"It's all right, Scotch. He'll be fine."

She leaned against the door jamb, and blew out a breath. "Good." She dislodged her cap and ran a hand through her hair.

"He's out of the running this year," Helen said. "But I expect him to heal up fine for another season."

Her manner was a weird echo to Irish's out at the sled, and Lainey fought to not laugh. She saw the answering humor in Scotch's eyes, and felt warmed to her toes.

Helen continued, not noticing their distraction. "Now I want both of you to get a change of clothes and get up to the main cabin for a hot shower. Thom should have the grill going by then, and dinner will be not long after." No one moved. "Scoot!"

"Yes, ma'am." Scotch grinned. "Come on," she said to the others, "before she gets out the broom to chase us."

Her mother snorted and turned away from them.

Out on the porch, Scotch turned to Lainey. "If you want, I can go get your clothes. You can go on up to the main cabin and get the first shower."

Was this an attempt to avoid discussing what happened out there? Lainey studied Scotch's face, liking the blush that sprang across her cheeks. No, this did not look like she was dodging the issue. She thought only to help Lainey deal with the emotional repercussions of the gun and killing.

Howry cleared his throat, his reporter instincts picking up the smell of a story.

"No, that's okay," Lainey said. "We'll go together."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." Lainey raised an eyebrow at her colleague. "We'll see you there."

Howry squinted his eyes at her, knowing something was up. He also knew he would get nothing now, so he smiled. "You got it." He trotted down the steps and toward the main cabin where a fire blazed merrily in the barrel barbecue on the deck.

Lainey was still warm enough in her bibbed snow pants that she did not don her parka. It was stained with blood from both Cochise and the moose, and she hoped a thorough laundering would remove the worst of the discoloration. She carried it in the hook of one elbow as they left the clinic.

Scotch had a small flashlight which she used to illuminate their way along the now familiar path. Lainey remembered her first time down this trail, sunlit at ten o'clock at night, lugging gear and belongings, and dreading being alone with her lust object. Now it was barely five in the afternoon and dark.

She reached for Scotch's hand, smiling as their fingers twined together. Squeezing, she felt the answering grasp.

At the cabin, she reluctantly released Scotch and followed her inside. "Let me stoke up the fire," Scotch said, heading down into the living area. "You go get your things."

Lainey stood on the landing, a fond smile on her face as she watched her friend hunker before the banked coals in the fireplace. As Scotch stirred them to life and added kindling, the orange glow both highlighted and silhouetted her, warming her.

When Scotch rose, Lainey was beside her. She turned, startled at their proximity. She swallowed hard. "Thought you were going to get your things."

"I've got something more important to do," Lainey said. She took Scotch's hands in hers and leaned close, kissing her.

At first, the kiss was as gentle as it had been on the trail. As Lainey debated escalating it, Scotch beat her to the punch, her tongue brushing Lainey's lower lip in polite request. Her mouth opened, and Scotch slipped inside to explore with lazy insistence. Lainey moaned against the welcome invasion. She released Scotch's hands, her fingers finally enjoying the softness of those tawny curls that had so interested her in the beginning. They stepped into each other, and she felt strong arms encircle her waist and shoulder as Scotch tasted her, warm hands roaming her back and sides.

It seemed to go on forever, yet hardly lasted a blink of the eye as Scotch toned things down. She drew back, humming in amusement as Lainey tried to force the issue, and eventually pulled away. Lainey grumbled under her breath, but secretly reveled in the lips caressing her nose and eyelids.

"I've been wanting to do that with you for a long time," Scotch whispered, resting their foreheads together.

Lainey's fingers stroked the back of Scotch's neck. "I've been wanting to do it longer."

Scotch drew back enough to look at her, a grin on her face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Ever since the first time I saw you."

She tilted her head. "At the banquet in Nome?"

Lainey chuckled, realizing it was time to confess. "No. Before the banquet. You helped a klutz of a woman to her feet that afternoon, and received nothing but an attitude for thanks."

Scotch looked blank for a moment. When she recalled the incident, she jerked back even more. "That was you?" she asked, a mixture of amusement and dismay on her face.

"Guilty as charged." She watched a myriad of emotions cross Scotch's expression and winced a little. "I made that bad of an impression?"

Laughing, Scotch hugged her. "At the time, yes. I think I can forgive you now, though. You were in pain from your ribs, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but that's not an excuse for rude behavior."

"Not in this family," Scotch agreed. "But you were an unsophisticated rube from Outside at the time. I can cut you some slack."

Lainey dropped her head, leaning against Scotch's chest. "Gee, thanks." She received a hug in response.

"About today . . ."

"Yeah, about today." Lainey stepped away. "As much as I would love to march you upstairs and show you a thing or two, I don't think we should."

"I agree."

Lainey blinked. "You do?"

Scotch grinned. She took Lainey's hand and led them to the couch. As they sat, she pulled Lainey close, draping an arm over her shoulders. "We've got a lot of energy invested in the race. I don't have much more to spare, and I don't think you do, either. We can't afford to be distracted."

"Like I haven't already been distracted," Lainey said, disgruntled. When the hell had Scotch gotten so responsible and adult? She certainly did not act like a lesbian on the verge of awakening to her sexuality.

"Man, do I agree with that." Scotch brought her free hand up to chuck Lainey's chin. "But we have time, and I think we can swing a wonderful celebration in Nome when we both get there."

"Is this enticement for the rookie?" Lainey asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No."

Scotch looked into her eyes and the world fell away. How had she missed the expressiveness in that sky blue color? She saw how much the waiting would affect Scotch, as much if not more than it would affect her. Lainey also saw the truth of their situation, the same truth she had arrived at a month ago when she barely avoided the last kiss. There was no time, and could be no distractions. Not yet. They had to focus on their teams and the ultimate goal.

Lainey nodded in understanding, pleased to see the answering agreement reflected back. Her reward was another long kiss, and she accepted in with relish.

"We should get our stuff," Scotch murmured when they were finished.

"Uh huh."

Neither of them moved.

"First one back down here gets another kiss?" she suggested.

Scotch bolted for the stairs, Lainey in hot pursuit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

December

"ARE YOU READY?"

Lainey smiled at Scotch. "You bet." They were parked in the lot of an Anchorage hotel.

"Let's go then." She gave Lainey's hand a squeeze and released it to climb out of the truck.

Following suit, Lainey grabbed her notebook, camera and paperwork before stepping into the parking lot. Howry, Rye and Helen were waiting at the doors, and she made her way through the slush and snow toward them, Scotch behind her. It was too bad they had the company. She might have been able to talk Scotch into a room for the night. The idea of enjoying a leisurely necking session in the sauna did wonderful things to Lainey's libido.

"Got your paperwork?" Howry asked.

"Oh, yeah," Lainey said. "And a whole lot of paper for notes."

He held the door open for them. "Some techno geek you are," he snorted. "I thought for sure you'd make a digital recording of the entire meeting."

She grinned and fished an iPod and accompanying microphone from her pocket. "Might not get it all, but I should be able to get half of it before the batteries go."

Howry shook his head as he shared laughter with the Fullers.

The hotel lobby was crowded. Lainey wondered if everyone lounging out here were going to the mandatory rookie meeting. There were only thirty-two rookies registered, but there seemed far more than that number milling around the foyer. December in Anchorage was not the ideal place for a vacation.

Rye returned from the front desk. "Meeting's in the Redington ballroom," he said.

Scotch led the way and moments later Lainey stood before a registration table with her paperwork in hand.

The Inuit woman behind the table stood up, a smile on her broad face. She bustled around, arms wide. "Helen! I heard you were speaking today! It's so good to see you!"

"And you," Helen said, returning the hug. "Doris, you remember Scotch and Rye, my children?"

Doris beamed at the siblings. "I most certainly do. Scotch, you did a wonderful job last year. I bet Rye will give you a run for your money when he's old enough to enter, though."

"I don't doubt that," Scotch said with a laugh. Rye grinned, though his face reddened.

"And this is Don Howry. He's doing a series of articles on Scotch for Cognizance magazine."

Howry shook Doris' hand.

"This is Lainey Hughes. She's a photo journalist for Cognizance, and is our resident rookie this year." Helen turned to the reporters. "Doris is one of our most avid volunteers. She's assisted the vets at the checkpoints for . . . how many years?"

Doris waved Helen away. "Fourteen, but who's counting?" She bobbed behind her table, suddenly all business. "Lainey Hughes?" Peering closely at her paperwork, she said, "Ah, here it is. I'll need you to sign in, dear."

Lainey signed the sheet of paper, handed over her required paperwork and received more in return.

When the transaction was complete, Doris shook her hand. "Welcome to the Iditarod, Miss Hughes. I hope you have a wonderful race. There's a coffee station right there, and then you go on in and have a seat."

"Thank you."

The room was fairly spacious with a stage and podium at the front. Several rows of narrow tables were set up, giving the place the appearance of a school room. Additional chairs lined the back wall, and Rye and Howry found seating there. Scotch directed her forward.

"Mom and I are speaking, so we're in the front row. You want to sit behind us?"

"Sure." They found places, and dropped their heavy coats.

"Scotch Fuller!"

They both turned to see a man waving at them from across the room.

Grinning, Scotch said, "I'll be right back."

Lainey nodded and sat down, watching her greet the man with a hug. It was nice seeing Scotch as she worked the room. The confidence that had first drawn Lainey was out in full force today. She encountered friends and acquaintances and met newcomers alike, greeting each as if they were long lost comrades. Scotch never seemed to need to be on guard; she had a strength of will that sheltered her from the pettiness of others with ease. Any negative feelings simply slid off her back like so much water. Sighing, Lainey enjoyed the show. Every once in awhile, Scotch would look her way and they would share a smile that warmed Lainey's heart.

There had been many nights of kisses since their first, but nothing more. Both of them had agreed to take things slow. Indeed, Lainey considered it glacially slow. They had little choice, however. The dogs were racking up forty miles a day, five days a week, with training sessions lasting through lunch and into the afternoon. Soon they would graduate to all night sessions, as well. There was simply no time to indulge in her late night fantasies when they were both exhausted from running dogs. Their days off were just as busy with tours, chores, and articles to write.

Lainey allowed thoughts of training to take her mind off Scotch, and she considered her current team.

Cochise had been benched for the season, his injuries severe enough that he still resided in the heated dog barn rather than out in the kennel with the rest of the dogs. Fortunately, he was not alone, as there had been a late batch of puppies born. They and their mother were in one of the stalls, as well. As things remained on Lainey's team, her leaders, Trace and Sholo, would make the final cut barring further accidents. It seemed that one of her swing dogs, Montana, was also developing into a leader. She had started putting him in the harness with one of the other two to give him more time at the front of the pack. It was now a matter of keeping his spirits up with the proper praise without undermining his confidence when he made mistakes.

If she took Bonaparte, she would have to take Kaara. They were a package deal. Meshindi worked well with everybody, but Bonaparte was a snob. Lainey was not sure his skill as a swing dog outweighed the hassle he could create when his back was up. She had learned the hard way, stuck out on the trail one stormy afternoon when the stubborn mutt staged a mutiny because she had forgotten his favorite snack. In retaliation, she had refused to run him for a week. It seemed to have done the trick - Bonaparte had the brains to make the connection between his behavior and the punishment - but if he pulled a stunt like that on the Iditarod, she could be stuck for hours. Granted, her chances of winning a thousand mile race were minuscule, but those hours could count at keeping her from being the last musher into Nome.

More people filtered into the room, and she idly watched them, her mind still on her team.

Everyone else seemed to be working up fine. She had six wheel dogs to choose from. Rye had suggested she keep four of them. Some parts of the trail held steep inclines and the Farewell Burn was notorious for abrupt changes. She would need the extra muscle. Jonah and Aegis were definitely going. Both had finished the Iditarod with Scotch, Jonah for three years running. His experience on the trail would be very welcome.

Of her seven team dogs - those animals who had not shown aptitude for leadership or had the extra strength needed for a wheel dog - she had serious misgivings about Dablo. He was Trace's brother, twin to him right down to the bright blue eyes. That was where the resemblance ended, however. Trace seemed to be the go-getter in his line. More times than Lainey could count, she saw Dablo's tug line slackening. He ran with the team, letting the others do the work, not pulling his weight. Occasionally, she could urge him into taking the load, but only when he knew they were heading back to the kennel for dinner.

"Anybody sitting here?"

Lainey looked up at a young man standing by the chair next to her. "No. Go ahead."

He grinned his thanks and draped his jacket over the chair back before sitting down. Turning toward her, he offered his hand. "Roman Spencer, Iditarod rookie."

"Lainey Hughes, the same," she said, smiling.

Spencer cocked his head. "Lainey Hughes? The reporter for that magazine?"

"Yeah, that would be me. My checkered reputation precedes me." She shrugged ruefully. "And you? Spencer sounds familiar."

He blushed. "My dad and older brother are Iditarod veterans," he said.

"Ah. Looks like I've got some healthy competition then."

His skin darkened further, but he was saved from responding by the return of Scotch.

"Hey, Roman! Good to see you. How's your dad?"

Their conversation fell into the normal topics for mushers - one that Lainey was quite familiar with after six months - namely dogs, trails, and races. Scotch sat in her first row chair, straddling it to face them. She had worn a powder blue cable knit sweater and jeans, her ever-present baseball cap sat on the table behind her. The discussion drew a couple of other rookies to sit close, throwing in their questions and comments.

Lainey was content to watch as Scotch held court. Thoughts of dog teams and races faded away as she basked in the fervor her friend felt for her subject. Scotch's light blue eyes sparkled with delight at something someone said. When she looked at Lainey, she gave a wink, her gaze reflecting something else entirely. Lainey tried not to sigh like a schoolgirl, and was pleased no one seemed to have noticed the interaction.

The talk was interrupted by Helen Fuller coming to her seat. Looking around the room, Lainey saw it was packed, all the tables full and most of the chairs in the back occupied. These were definitely not all rookies. She recognized some of the faces from the race sign up in June as well as the awards banquet in March.

The president of the Iditarod racing committee took the stage and stood at the podium. Clearing his throat, he said, "Well, everybody, welcome to the mandatory rookies meeting." There was a smattering of applause, and his thick white mustache twitched in a combination of embarrassment and pleasure. "Well, we've got a lot of ground to cover, so let's get started."

Lainey put aside her gentle desire for Scotch and set up her iPod as last year's winner took over the podium. She caught an envious look from Roman at the recording instrument, and gave him a crooked grin. Then she focused on the ramshackle man on the stage as he explained the realities of running the Iditarod trail.

"Well, what'd you think?" Howry asked as they stepped outside.

Lainey juggled her notes and camera, and whistled. "I learned a lot." Scotch came up behind her and she looked over her shoulder at the woman. "I mean, you've taught me a hell of a lot about how to care for the dogs and get them to want the same things I do, but not much about the trail itself. Or running long distances. Or the true importance of pacing. Or any of a lot of other things."

Scotch reached for Lainey's paperwork with a smile. "You have to learn to walk before you can run," she said. "Now that you've gotten the basics down, we can start branching out into other areas. In fact, I've made arrangements next week for a road trip with the dogs. It'll be good to get them in an area they don't see often; different trails, different smells. And once we increase their mileage, you'll learn more about long distance running and pacing."

"You're doing about forty miles a day now," Howry said. "When do you increase the mileage?"

"This month," Rye answered, joining them. "Lainey's got qualifying races in January and February, and she needs to be ready for them."

"We'll be pushing for seventy miles a day and running larger teams by Christmas. It's going to be hectic. Rye and Irish are prepping for the Two Rivers Solstice junior races, too." Scotch grinned. "This is the month from hell," she told Howry. "The pressure's starting to turn on, and tempers are going to be short."

"Well, until you become a prima donna and start throwing tantrums, how about I buy dinner?" Howry asked.

"You're on," Lainey said.

"Let me go get Mom." Rye turned back to the hotel.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

January

LAINEY CLIMBED OUT of the vehicle, feeling exhausted and exuberant. The dogs in the yard greeted her, and her team responded with just as much excitement from inside the dog truck. On the deck, Thom held Bon in his arms and Miguel stood beside him.

The second dog truck pulled up, disgorging its occupants, and Thom called, "Well, rookie, how'd you do?"

"Twelfth place!" Howry yelled from the other truck.

"And she's officially finished one qualifying race for the Iditarod," Helen added. She shut the truck door and went up the steps, silencing Bon's cries of "Mama!" by taking him from his father.

"One down, one to go," Scotch said, throwing her arm around Lainey's shoulders.

Lainey blushed at the public familiarity from her friend, but did not move away. They had spent the last week in Bethel, Alaska, either sleeping in the living room of a family friend or out on the race trail. Quiet moments alone had been hard to come by and she craved the contact. "Scotch did better," she said. "She placed third."

Thom trotted down from the deck, Miguel on his heels, and gave them both a hug. "Third place? Fantastic! What was the purse?"

"Ten grand." Scotch proudly withdrew a check and handed it to her father.

Miguel whooped in congratulations, and Scotch turned bright red. Her smile split her face as he clapped her on the back.

Thom gave both women another rough hug. "You two must be exhausted. Get on to your cabin and catch some sleep. We'll take care of the dogs."

"Thanks, Dad." Scotch released him and Lainey, returning to her truck for her gear.

Lainey drew her winning check from her pocket. It was decidedly less than ten thousand dollars, but still a hefty sum. She handed it to Thom. "Here. I want you to have this, too."

He did not take the check. "Oh, Lainey, I can't do that. You paid your own entry fee, and won that money fair and square."

"That's right, I did. So I get a say on where it goes." She raised an eyebrow. "Consider it a donation to the kennel. You've all worked so hard to make me feel welcome and get me trained for this. I'd never have done it without your support and encouragement."

Thom looked tempted but still made no move to accept the money. "You contracted for the training and team; you're only getting what the magazine paid for to begin with."

Lainey thrust it closer to him. "Fine, I'm sponsoring Rye for the Yukon 300. How's that?"

He blinked, a grin crossing his face. "I'll let him know who to acknowledge," he said, finally taking the check from her.

"Thanks." Unable to help herself, she stood on tip toe and delivered a kiss to his bearded cheek.

"No, thank you, Lainey Hughes," he said, turning as beet red as his daughter only moments ago.

"You coming or what?" Scotch asked.

"Yeah." Lainey winked at Thom before getting her bag from the truck, and together they walked toward the trail leading home.

It was cold inside the cabin, so they kept their parkas on as they set about lighting the fires and lanterns. While Scotch worked at the hearth, Lainey built a fire in the wood stove to start a pot of water. Soon the interior warmed up enough that they were able to shed their outer layers. Not long later they sat together on the couch, sock covered feet propped on the coffee table, and mugs of hot chocolate in hand.

"That was fun," Lainey said.

"Yeah, you did pretty good for being from Outside."

Lainey grinned and looked at Scotch. "I had an excellent teacher."

"I totally agree."

She laughed and kissed Scotch, losing herself to the gentle caress. Long moments passed as the reacquainted themselves with one another, drinks forgotten as they relaxed together. Eventually the kiss ended, and Lainey snuggled against Scotch, a luxuriant smile on her face. "I missed that."

"Me, too."

They lounged on the couch, the heat from the fire easing the last of the tension from Lainey's sore muscles.

"I heard you tell Rye you fell near Bogus Creek."

Lainey, whose eyes had drooped closed, grunted lethargically. "Yeah. You saw the overflow?" she asked, referring to the layer of standing water along the frozen creek bed.

"Yup."

"Coming up out of that I missed the trail by a few feet. The sled went on its side."

"Ate some snow?"

Her expression sour, she nodded. "About ten feet of it before the dogs stopped."

Scotch's voice held a note of superiority. "Well, you are a rookie."

Lainey's weariness rushed away at the insult. "A rookie, huh?" she demanded, sitting up. Before Scotch could reply, Lainey had taken their cups and set both on the table. Her fingers unerringly found the woman's ribs, and she tickled her. "I seem to remember you eating snow a few weeks ago in that sprint in Wasilla!"

Scotch recoiled from Lainey, curling her long limbs to avoid the attack, laughing. "No! That wasn't me. That was someone else. Stop!"

"Hah! Don got photos. Admit it or I'll make sure the next article Cognizance runs will have your snow covered butt plastered all over it."

"All right! All right! I admit it!" Lainey stopped tickling and Scotch slumped in relief.

She sprawled across the couch with Lainey on top of her. As she caught her breath, they adjusted themselves into a more comfortable position.

"That was mean."

Lainey grinned, eyes closed. "Journalism is a brutal world, my dear. You've got to learn to swim with the sharks."

Beneath her, Scotch chuckled and yawned. "I think I'm going to fall asleep right here."

"Nothing wrong with that," Lainey murmured. She sighed in pleasure as Scotch wrapped her arms around her, turning until they lay on their sides.

"That's good, because I don't think I can move any more."

"Shhh, go to sleep," Lainey whispered.

The following afternoon Scotch and Lainey wandered down the path, hand in hand.

"I don't know how you didn't get a crick in your neck, sleeping on the couch like that."

Scotch laughed and squeezed her hand. "I could say the same about you."

"I had a nice soft pillow," Lainey said, a smile on her face. They continued walking. "I can't believe we slept so late. Everybody's going to be ticked off that we didn't feed the dogs this morning."

"Naw. You always get a day off after a big race. Next month it'll be you and Rye lounging about while the rest of us slave away."

They rounded a bend in the path, coming into sight of the yard. Lainey tried to release Scotch's hand, offering discretion in dealing with her family, but Scotch held tight and winked at her.

They had never discussed their relationship beyond the need to concentrate on the Iditarod. The longer things went, the less likely it seemed that Scotch was only now realizing her sexual orientation. Nothing Lainey said or did startled Scotch; no reference to obvious gay topics befuddled her, no flirtatious remark or action caused more than the expected blush of anticipation. When they were out among people, which was seldom due to the nature of their training, Scotch did seem more interested in watching women than men, but she approached both with the same confident skill.

Training the dogs was a full time adventure, and Lainey had found little time to open a conversation on Scotch's experiences with women. When the time did present itself, as it had last night, she was more inclined to savor the moment than miss an opportunity to cuddle. She supposed that as soon as the Iditarod was over, the two of them would have to sit down and discuss things in detail. If they were to have more than just a fling, certain things had to be figured out.

Lainey wondered if Scotch had said anything to her parents. Neither seemed any more or less friendly with her, but surely one of them had figured out their daughter's friendship with her had grown a bit more intense. Did Scotch know she was a lesbian before Lainey came along? Did her parents know? The whole situation was confusing. Lainey had known women who were blatantly out of the closet; some had accepting families, but most did not. The Fullers did not fall into either category.

Howry came into view, pulling a plastic children's sled piled with packages. It had to weigh a lot, for he had removed his parka and was bent over in exertion. He spotted them and stopped. "About time you two got up. We've got a meat delivery out front. All hands on deck."

Scotch came to rigid attention and saluted him. "Yes, sir!"

He wiped sweat from his forehead and snorted at her. "Get going, you two. You've slacked enough today."

"But we haven't even had breakfast," Lainey complained to him, her words cut short as Scotch yanked her along.

"It's almost lunch time," she reminded Lainey, walking past the back deck and around the side of the main cabin. "And I seem to recall you having a toasted cheese sandwich an hour ago."

Lainey grinned, lowering her voice. "Well, he didn't know that." She laughed with Scotch, who raised their linked hands to kiss hers.

Irish hustled past with another sled, dragging it behind her with both hands. Her load was smaller, but she put as much effort into it as Howry. "About time," she grumbled without stopping.

They came around the cabin. "Oh. My. God." Lainey stared at a large meat truck in the parking area of the circular drive. Three men, the driver and two helpers, were halfway through the process of emptying its entire contents onto the snowy ground. Thom stood by with a clipboard, making check marks on it as items came off the truck. Rye, Irish, Miguel and Howry then took each sack of meat and carted off toward the kennel. "Are we getting all of that?" she asked Scotch.

"Yup," she answered cheerfully. "And then some. We'll each be using about nine hundred pounds apiece. Of course that doesn't count dry or canned food and rice. Come on." She finally released Lainey's hand and strode forward, calling and waving to the delivery men.

Three days later, Lainey huddled over two cookers. One boiled water in which a plastic bag of beef stroganoff heated for her lunch. The other carried a quart of water, a pound of lamb, and a half pound of fat. Nearby, a ration of dry dog chow sat in readiness. The dogs had already eaten, and they lay on the line, curled up to sleep while they could. She had already examined each of them for stress and strains, fed them, and released their neck lines to ensure their comfort. The batch of food she made now would go into the cooler she carried so that it would be ready for their next stop. She had to be forty or so miles from the kennel. Somewhere out here, Scotch was doing similar chores. Her team was faster and more experienced, though. Chances were good she was at least another five or ten miles away.

Despite being alone in the wilderness, miles from civilization, Lainey smiled. She could see the draw of long distant racing now. Only the hardiest of souls, those not afraid to be by themselves for extensive periods of time, could attempt the solitude. Lainey had heard many stories about newcomers who arrived in Alaska, determined to live a rustic life, to build a cabin in the wilds and live off the land. A great many never succeeded, the constant silence and darkness of winter too hard to bear. Not everyone could live in their heads without going crazy, and many soon fled the country for civilization.

Lainey would not have been able to survive had she decided on this course a few years ago. She had turned to the bottle to drown the grisly memories of her career, to silence the questions of right and wrong that inevitably came up as she photographed the latest atrocity by some dictator. Her alcoholism was a release from responsibility, enabling her to witness the shit man heaped upon man and ignore her natural human desire to change things for the better.

When she had admitted her problem and gone into a twelve step program, she had learned so much about herself - not merely her weaknesses, but the strengths she carried, as well. With the support of friends and sponsors, she cleaned up her act, examined her life, and strove to make changes. For the most part, she succeeded. There were obstacles and stumbling points along the way, but she kept her feet, kept listening to her inner voice rather than try to smother it with something else.

It was this ability to hear herself that stood her in good stead out here on the trail. Lainey was no longer afraid to be alone with her thoughts. The dog food was finished. She turned off the cooker and added the measure of dry chow to the hot mixture. With mittened hands, she took the pot to the sled and poured its contents into the cooler there. Once the lid was secure and the pot cooling in the snow, she returned to the second cooker and her lunch.

Lainey made another trip up the line with the hot water, giving her team a warm drink. When she returned, she used a pocket knife to open the bag and ate hungrily. She used no utensils, squeezing the food up to the opening. When she was finished, she deposited the bag in a trash bag in her sled. Making another trip along her team, she collected their plates.

Only after all chores were done did she curl up in her sleeping bag, seated on the cooler and leaning backward to drowse. She had about three hours before her wrist alarm went off. Then it was back on the trail. As she drifted to sleep, she saw Scotch smiling at her, a promise in her blue eyes, and laughter on her lips.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

February

THE YARD WAS a disaster area.

Earlier in the week Rye had gone around and stapled paper plates to wooden stakes, each one labeled with the name of an Iditarod drop site. At each marker were two heaps of goods for each of the two mushers entered in the race. Eventually these piles would be consolidated into two or three large bags apiece to be shipped to the various checkpoints along the Iditarod trail, a delivery of doggie groceries made available as Lainey and Scotch took the arduous trek to Nome. Until that time, however, they remained semi-contained mounds of sealed plastic bags.

Lainey was taking her turn at the meat saw in the dog kitchen. She wore heavy work gloves and goggles, the sound of the table saw buzzing loud across the kennel. In her hands was a haunch of frozen horse meat which she diligently sliced down to manageable chunks. The goal was to keep the meat unthawed but in small enough pieces to easily boil up for dog stew. Her arms trembled unpleasantly with the vibrations, but she kept working.

She tossed the meat into a nearby bucket that Howry occasionally swapped out with an empty one. His job was to weigh the meat on a scale and hand it off to Miguel when it reached the one pound mark. From there, the dog handler transferred it into heavy grade plastic bags. He used a machine to remove the air and heat seal the bag, passing the finished product to Scotch.

Scotch, working from a clipboard of notes, took the package and deposited it at one of the thirty-six growing piles. She prowled the yard constantly, checking and rechecking the eighteen drop points, muttering under her breath and adding notes to the margins of her checklist.

Lainey finished the meat and stepped back, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms. She was glad she had had the summer to get into shape; she could well imagine the pain she would be in had she just arrived to enter the race.

"Want me to take a turn?" Howry asked.

She considered her soreness. "No, I'm still good. Besides, it's Scotch's turn next." With a resigned exhalation, Lainey reached for another chunk of meat, not letting her mind settle on the animal it had come from. When she had seen the donation request form in June, she had almost thought it a joke. Horse meat? The four hundred pounds delivered last month that she slogged through now showed her the error.

Time passed as she fell into the routine. Running meat through the saw, brushing away meat dust to keep it from clogging the machine, dropping chunks into a bucket, turning away for more, and starting again. She saw movement from the corner of her eyes - Howry replacing her bucket with an empty one, Miguel sealing bags, and Scotch taking the bags into the yard. Her world was motion and sound, the buzz of the saw blocking out all other considerations.

A pat on her back broke her reverie. Looking up in surprise, she noticed Miguel and Howry halfway across the yard. Lainey turned off the saw and looked at Scotch standing beside her.

"Come on, it's lunch time." She squeezed Lainey's shoulder.

Lainey groaned as the touch massaged tender muscles. Scotch stepped behind her and began kneading Lainey's tense shoulders, and she sighed in pleasure. "That feels wonderful."

"I believe it," Scotch chuckled. "When we get back out here, we'll rotate. I need to change the blade, anyway."

"Okay." Scotch pulled away and Lainey stretched. She glanced at the horse meat, amazed at how much she had gotten accomplished. "Wow. Time flies when you're having fun."

"You must be a cheap date if this is fun." Scotch laughed and ducked the swat Lainey aimed at her. "Let's go. I'm starved."

"You are so going to pay for that remark," Lainey promised as they walked to the main cabin.

Scotch gave her a sultry smile. "Good."

Lainey felt a surge of lust and wished for the millionth time that Scotch was less responsible and level-headed. She would give anything to be able to drag the woman back to their cabin and quench her lecherous thirst. They had a training run scheduled at midnight, however, and she knew she would never make it through the night without a decent nap. There was still too much to do, too much riding on the dogs and training and preparation.

"You'll pay for that, too."

Scotch grinned and climbed the steps to the deck.

Shaking her head mournfully, Lainey followed, not quite succeeding in quelling the lewd thoughts inspired by an eye level view of Scotch's rear. They entered the mud room, an enclosed entry crowded with coats, boots, brooms and shovels. It was not much warmer here, but they quickly shed their outer wear, using a broom to knock excess snow from their boots before tugging them off, too. Lainey finished first and stepped into the kitchen.

The warm blast of air burned her cheeks, and she shivered in pleasure. Smells of apple tarts warred with meat loaf and fried potatoes. The counter was buried under an avalanche of food, far more than what was needed for their afternoon meal. Past the counter was the dining room, most denizens of the kennel already sat around the large table. A rumble in her stomach urged Lainey forward, and she sat down to lunch, Scotch beside her.

Two seats were empty. Rye was on a long distance run in preparation for his first adult race. The Yukon 300 was open to seventeen year olds, and he was eager to get out on the trail and prove himself. He planned to enter the Iditarod next year.

"Where's Thom?" Howry asked as he buttered a roll.

Helen dished gravy over mashed potatoes for Bon. "In town. Scotch wanted some more batteries for the head lights. He's going to pick up the pizza, too."

"Pizza!" Bon yelled, getting a laugh in response.

"Not for you, little man," Scotch said, waving a fork at him. "It's for the race."

"Idit'od!"

Miguel reached over and tousled Bon's blond hair. "That's right. The Iditarod."

"Well, I think you two can miss one pizza..." Helen drawled.

"How are things going in here?" Scotch asked.

"Not bad," Irish said. "But if I see another dog booty after March, I'm going to throw it into the fire."

Scotch grinned. "You say that every year."

Her sister glared at her. "I can't wait until I'm old enough to saw meat with you instead. Then Bon can get sick of booties."

Lainey held up her hands, still feeling a phantom vibration in them. "You'll change your mind after a couple of hours at it."

"Will not." Helen raised an eyebrow at her daughter and Irish blushed. "Sorry."

"No problem," Lainey said, smiling. Irish had taken to treating her and Howry as extended members of the family. It was kind of nice in an offhand way. Lainey had not been involved in a homelife like this since she was a teenager. She had always wondered what it would be like to have siblings, and the last few months had been a real eye opener.

As she ate, she glanced over at the living room. It, too, looked like a dump. Here the eighteen checkpoints were indicated by colorful paper taped to the walls. At each place were piles of dog booties, dog blankets, socks, gloves, and all other manner of tools and comforts from home that Lainey and Scotch would need to survive the race.

She nodded at the mess. "You guys do this every year?" she asked, dismay coloring her voice. "It's a lot of work for only a couple of weeks of racing."

"This year it's twice the work," Scotch said.

Helen tsked. "Don't listen to her," she told Lainey. "You're actually forcing us to practice what we'll be doing next year anyway. I seriously doubt we'd be able to talk Rye out of running. He's already drumming up sponsors for his rookie year."

"I don't think you'll cooking so much meatloaf next year," Scotch said, referring to her brother's distaste for the meal.

"No, but if he can figure out how to pack my turkey vegetable stew, he'll be in heaven."

"Freeze it in an ice tray," Lainey suggested, reaching for a second helping.

"There's an idea. Stewsicles." Scotch winked at Irish's laughter.

The dogs began barking a rowdy greeting to an oncoming vehicle.

"Daddy!"

"Pizza," Howry reminded the toddler.

"Pizza!" Bon agreed, waving his hands in the air.

Lainey scowled at her colleague. "You know that's my dinner you're talking about, the one I'm going to be missing a month from now because you're eating it today."

Howry snickered. "You can afford to skip a meal or two. Less weight for the dogs to haul."

Before she could respond to his joke, Helen gave Howry a stern look. With amazement, Lainey watched him redden just as Irish had moments before.

"Sorry," he said, eyes twinkling.

Thom stomped into the kitchen from the back deck, carrying a paper sack. "Here's your batteries," he said to Scotch as he came into the dining room. He paused to kiss his wife in greeting before handing the bag to his daughter. "Got a couple of bags of Jolly Ranchers and chocolate kisses, too."

"What about the pizza?" Irish asked.

Thom shrugged and sat down. "It's in the truck. Figured you wouldn't need it yet. Mom's got to get all this stuff packed and ready to go first." He gestured toward the food laden counter and began dishing up his lunch.

"First one there gets his choice of pizza," Howry said.

They stared at one another for a split second before exploding from the table. When the dust settled and the yells fell away in the distance, Thom looked at his wife and son, the only ones remaining in the room. "Pass the potatoes, please?"

As the dogs reached the finish line of the Yukon 300, Lainey whooped with euphoria. Several people stepped out to grab the team and she was greeted by race officials who called her official time in.

"Eighth place!" Scotch yelled as she rushed forward.

Lainey leapt into her friend's arms, and they spun around in the middle of the street under the indulgent eyes of the racing committee.

"You beat Rye in!" Scotch continued. "He's about thirty minutes behind you."

"I know! I passed him at the last checkpoint. Tundra's got a strained ankle. He had to pull her off the line."

Scotch winced in sympathy as she released Lainey. "Did you eat snow this time?"

Standing on her own, Lainey gave her another hug. "Nope. Stayed upright the entire way."

"Very good." She turned to the team of dogs. "Let's get these guys bedded down. We're staying about a mile from here at the Baker's place."

"Are you hitchhiking?" Lainey asked.

Scotch grinned. "Depends. You going to offer me candy if I get in your sled?"

Lainey's smile was devious. "Oh, I'll offer a lot more than candy, sweetheart."

"Hell, what are we waiting for?" Scotch jumped into the bed of the sled. "Mush on, oh Iditarod qualifier."

Lainey laughed and waved at the handlers holding her dogs. "Ready? Let's go!" Tails wagging, the team trotted down the street.

"You're doing damned good, Lainey," Scotch said over her shoulder. "The dogs look like they could go for another couple of days."

"Not all of them," Lainey said. "Apollo's heading for home now. Strained his shoulder by the first checkpoint and I had to drop him."

"He probably took a turn wrong. The rest of them seem ready for bear, though."

"I hope so. These runs are too short. Just about the time I get into the swing of things, the race is over and it's time to stand down." On Scotch's direction, she ordered the team onto a side road. "On by," she called as a pick-up truck came toward them. She did not relax until the vehicle was past - Chibee, a two year old team dog full of fun, had a tendency to pull away from the team in a puppyish effort to chase things. Fortunately, the three hundred miles he had already run seemed to have mellowed his playful nature and the truck went by without incident.

"That won't be a problem next month," Scotch said. "You've been sticking to the six hour rule?"

"Yeah. Six on, six off. It wasn't easy when people were passing me, though."

Scotch laughed at her disgruntled response. "Remember the rookie meeting. Just because they're passing doesn't mean you won't be gaining on them four days down the line. If a musher wears out his dogs too early, it's a blessing for you."

"I know." Lainey sniffed. "I still don't like it. And neither does my team."

"Good. Got to keep the competitive juices flowing. Sometimes it's the only thing keeping you slogging down the trail."

She finally drove her team into a large yard with a cabin. She followed Scotch's directions and brought the dogs around to the back. A small barn sat there and she halted the team in front of it. Within the hour they had all the dogs fed and bedded down on straw inside. Only then did Lainey begin to feel the exhaustion sweep over her.

Scotch's arm around her waist held her up as they trudged toward the cabin. "Margaret's fixed a turkey dinner for you. We'll get you fed, watered, showered, and bedded down in no time."

Lainey mumbled a response, simply pleased to be where she was right this minute.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

March

LAINEY STARED AT the mound of gear on the hotel bed. "Do you always get this much stuff at the musher meeting?" she asked as Scotch dumped a matching pile on her bed. Irish, who shared the room with them, happily began sorting through her sister's items.

"Oh, yeah. Every year we get something from the sponsors. It's best not to count on it, though." She pulled out a pair of leather work gloves marked with the name of a business and tried them on.

Sitting down, Lainey started rooting through the goods. She also had work gloves, as well as a two pound sample bag of dry dog food, heavy duty mittens from a sporting goods store, nearly one hundred dog booties in bright neon orange, a travel toothbrush courtesy of a local dentist, two medium sized dog harnesses, and a handy little tool kit in a plastic pouch. Everything was prominently marked with the appropriate logos.

"Can I have this?" Irish asked her sister, holding up the tool kit.

"Sure. You can have the mittens, too, if you want them."

Pleased, the girl pulled out the mittens and tried them on.

Lainey set the dog food, booties, and work gloves with her gear, sweeping the rest back into the bag she had used to transport them from the musher's meeting. "I wasn't expecting the turnout," she said, laying back on the bed, hands behind her head.

Scotch examined one of the booties with a critical eye. "It's easier for folks to get to the start than the finish. At least they know when the race starts. Depending on weather and dogs, the ending can happen anywhere from eight to twelve days from now. No one can guarantee being there for the winner." She collected the booties and put them in a travel bag. "If you don't want all of that, you can leave it in the lobby for someone else to pick up. A lot of mushers can't afford much - keeping the dogs fed and happy takes a lot of money. An extra set of booties or gloves can come in handy."

Still lying on the bed, Lainey nodded, her mind on the information packed meeting in which they had spent the day. The trail conditions had been the most informative, the race manager warning that temperatures had warmed areas of the interior, causing overflows at rivers and creeks. The rest of the time had been spent with the other mushers signing commemorative items, turning in the last of their paperwork, and hearing speeches from the executive director, three sponsors, and several race officials.

A knock interrupted her musings, and Irish hastened to answer the door.

"Come on. We're heading over to Sullivan Arena," Rye said, sticking his head in the door. Behind him stood Miguel and Howry.

"Don't want to miss that!" Scotch grabbed her parka.

Lainey grinned and got up. Time for dinner, more speeches, and the drawing of numbers to see in what order mushers would be starting.

The Fuller Kennel clan had their own table. One seat remained empty, but that hardly mattered. Not only mushers and their families or supporters were in attendance; many avid racing buffs had paid their entry fees, as did a multitude of reporters. The vacant seat was continually occupied by roaming fans arriving at the table to meet Scotch and get autographs or pictures taken. Lainey was startled to discover a rudimentary fame of her own. She took it in stride, following Scotch's example by treating each visitor with courtesy and humor.

Once the latest Iditarod enthusiast had left, Lainey leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "They must be hard up for material if they're asking me for autographs."

Thom laughed. "Who knows? You might be Rookie of the Year this race. That alone will make your autograph worth something."

"Yeah, and maybe I'll win the race, too," Lainey said, chuckling at the unlikeliness of such an occurrence.

"Lainey?" someone asked behind her.

She rolled her eyes at the Fullers before putting on a pleasant face and turning to the new arrival. Her expression faltered and she gaped at the man standing there. "Ben?"

Benjamin Strauss, Cognizance editor, smiled, his teeth white against the tan of his skin. "Is this seat taken?"

Howry came around to shake Strauss' hand and make introductions to the rest of the people at their table. Lainey remained flabbergasted at her friend's sudden appearance. She vaguely heard Thom insist that he join them for dinner, and then he was sitting beside her.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, finally reaching over to give him a pleased hug.

"Since we've been covering the bills and training articles, of course we'd be here to cover the race itself. The magazine also bid on the Idita-Rider auction," he said, referring to the extra weight needed to slow the excited dogs down at the start of the race. He ordered coffee from a passing waiter, and smiled at her. "Guess who's riding in your sled on Friday?"

"You?" She laughed at his nod. "I hope you didn't have to pay too much!"

Strauss busied himself with adjusting his silverware, an air of self-satisfaction about him. "You'd be surprised. It's no secret that the impressive Scotch Fuller has been training you. We actually had a bit of competition to win the bid."

"Really?" Rye asked. "How much did it go for?"

"Sixteen hundred."

"Wow. That's not bad at all," Scotch said.

"Thanks to you," Strauss said, raising his cup in salute.

Lainey grinned as Scotch blushed, and patted her thigh under the table. Dinner was served not long after the new arrival. Most of the race followers settled at their own tables to eat, leaving the mushers in peace. Conversation was stimulating, especially when the Fullers discovered that Strauss also had field experience under his belt. The tales grew taller as the three journalists attempted to outdo each other for the most exotic locations and bizarre situations in their careers.

As dessert was served, the chief executive officer approached the stage. He got to the podium and cleared his throat over the microphone. "Well, ladies and gentlemen, it's about that time." He waggled an elaborate cowboy boot.

The audience cheered and clapped, and Lainey felt her heart beat hard in her chest. There were a lot of people attending this event, and she had never spoken to more than thirty or forty at a time. She nervously glanced around at the other tables as a name was called out. How many people were here, anyway?

The names were called in order of sign up. As each musher picked a number from the hat, indicating his or her starting position, he or she took the opportunity to thank sponsors and family. Some had a long list and the time dragged on, time in which Lainey became more and more panicked.

"Scotch Fuller."

Lainey smothered her anxiety by loudly applauding as Scotch stood. She envied the quiet confidence the woman had as she wove her way through the tables toward the stage, pausing to shake hands with friends and fans on the way.

At the podium, Scotch grinned and waved, receiving another round. She reached into the hat and pulled out a number, giving it to the race official.

"Number forty-eight, Scotch Fuller!"

A collection of groans joined with the clapping and whistling. There were seventy-six mushers this year. Scotch would start right in the middle of the pack.

Scotch stood at the podium, waiting for the applause to die down. When it had, she said, "Looks like I'll have to work extra hard to catch up this year."

Lainey laughed with everyone else, enjoying the friendly tone, forgetting her concerns as Scotch continued speaking.

"I'd like to take the opportunity to thank my parents, Thom and Helen Fuller. Without them I wouldn't be here, let alone be racing dogs. They put together our kennel and taught me everything I know about dogs and sledding. I want to also thank Rye and Irish, my brother and sister, for all the work they've done to keep the kennel running.

"My thanks to Cognizance magazine for being my main sponsor this year. By extension, that thanks also goes to Don Howry, Lainey Hughes and Ben Strauss, all sitting at that table over there." She pointed, smiling at them. "Don's the reporter writing articles about me for the magazine. Lainey's our rookie entry and trainee, and Mr. Strauss is the one who helped it all happen."

Lainey smiled back at her as she continued her list of sponsors. All the individuals who had purchased booties or 'adopted' dogs over the internet, the school kids who put on bake sales and fund raisers to help with costs, and the various local businesses who had funneled money into the kennel in support of Scotch were mentioned.

"And finally, thanks to all of you. You're a great bunch of people and I'm glad you're here."

The crowd broke into applause and cheers again as Scotch left the stage. The racing committee executive returned to the microphone.

"Lainey Hughes."

She felt the blood drain from her face, having forgotten that she was next in line. Around the table everyone was clapping and laughing, urging her forward. Lainey could not hear their words through the roaring in her ears. Howry stood and took her hand, pulling her to her feet and pushing her in the general direction of the stage.

Lainey stumbled only once before gaining a modicum of control over her rebellious limbs. Halfway to her destination, Scotch intercepted her. Their hands met, and Lainey felt a measure of strength flow through the touch. Pale blue eyes twinkled in amusement and understanding. She leaned close, her voice loud to be heard over the applause. "You've faced down a rampaging moose."

Jerking her head back, Lainey unconsciously straightened. She most certainly had. A slow grin crossed her face and she squeezed Scotch's hand. "Thanks."

Scotch gave a little bow and released her.

Shoulders squared, Lainey continued to the stage. She was no less scared of her predicament, but it did not hold the same level of power over her. The mad desire for a shot of whiskey had abated. Climbing the steps, she reminded herself that in two days, she would be far away from this madness, heading into the quiet Alaskan wilderness with her team.

The boot of numbers was offered to her and she reached inside, swirling the contents around before taking a slip of paper.

"Number four, Lainey Hughes!"

Four? Four? She stared out over the celebrating audience, unable to clearly see her table through the glare of the lights. She was going to be leading the rookies out of the gate.

The audience thought she was preparing to speak as she stood at the podium, hands on each side. They quieted, and her heart thumped in her throat again. Moose. Rampaging moose. When she spoke, she was pleased her voice did not tremble as much as the rest of her was.

"I think that everyone at Fuller Kennels deserves the biggest thanks - Thom and Helen Fuller; Rye, Irish and Bon; and Miguel Sanchez, their handler. But mostly Scotch Fuller for taking on someone from Outside with absolutely no knowledge of racing to train for the Iditarod. All of them showed a lot of professionalism and patience in dealing with not only a rookie racer, but a greenhorn to boot."

She blushed at the laughter and fumbled for the index card in her pocket she had prepared the night before. "Um, I'd also like to thank Cognizance magazine, my primary sponsor and employer. By extension, thanks go to Don Howry, my partner in crime, and Benjamin Strauss, editor and close friend. The first one traveled to the wilds of Alaska for a story. The second bought my pitch and sent me out here even though he thought I was crazy." Lainey went down her list of supporters on the card. Through the kennel website, she had her own fan club of school children and Iditarod aficionados that had brought in money.

When she finished, she gave a brisk nod and stepped away from the podium. The relief flooding through her almost made her stumble at the bottom of the steps. She heard the next racer's name called and breathed a sigh as the clapping and whistling was directed at someone other than her. Several attendees reached out to pat her back or shake her hand as she passed. Finally at the table, she gratefully sank into her chair, surrounded by smiling faces. The musher on the stage began his speech, but no one here paid him any attention.

Scotch took Lainey's hand. "You did great."

"Yeah, you didn't faint," Howry said, raising his glass to toast her fortitude.

Lainey stuck her tongue out at him, receiving a laugh.

"And I still think you're crazy," Strauss said.

She shrugged one shoulder. "You knew that a long time ago." Looking at him, she saw his curious expression and realized Scotch still held her hand in plain view on the table. She raised an apologetic eyebrow, knowing the truth was out. He now had a good idea why she had chosen Scotch for this article.

Lainey supposed she should feel guilty for lying to Strauss all those months ago, but she did not. Shoulds and shouldn'ts were what got her into alcoholism in the first place. He of all people knew that. Instead, she smiled at him, and squeezed Scotch's hand.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

LAINEY PACED UP and down the side of the dog truck. She had checked her sled for the sixth time, satisfied that everything was in place, yet clearly feeling she had forgotten something. Her nerves jangled with the yipping of excited dogs, to include the eight on her team that she had tapped to run the ceremonial start. They were tethered to the sides of the truck, parked on a side street with hundreds of people roaming about.

The atmosphere was one of a circus, with vendors wandering through the crowds, hocking everything from reindeer sausages to t-shirts to fuzzy moose antler head pieces. The people were just as colorful as the well sponsored mushers along the route. Lainey had seen working class joes in conservative winter jackets, people wearing the latest styles of the Alpine ski circuit crowd, and even a few official mountain men and natives with complete leather and fur outfits.

She had to admit it was easy to forget her growing trepidation as her starting time inched closer. Her distractions were not limited to people watching; she had suddenly become an icon and was approached by a number of folks wanting pictures, autographs and to talk dogs. Lainey welcomed the conversations eagerly, glad to get her mind off her nervousness.

Of her original twenty dogs, three more did not make the cut. Helen had doubted Apollo's shoulder strain would be healed well enough for the race, and at the mandatory vet check it became official. Lainey's slacker, Dablo, was also set aside. She could not spare the energy to deal with his negligent pulling. The toughest loss was Bast. He had done well through training, but seemed to have developed a cough. As kennel cough was a major concern, highly contagious and able to decimate entire teams, Bast was removed at the vet check and sent home with Miguel to a warm dog barn and antibiotics. Lainey was glad to see none of the other dogs exhibiting symptoms two days later, and hoped to have caught the illness in time.

Several volunteer handlers idled around the immediate area, those in front already helping the second musher in line keep his dogs from launching onto Fourth Avenue which crossed a half block away.. The animals were jumping, all four feet off the ground, in their enthusiastic desire to get on the trail. Lainey's team was not as boisterous, but she expected that to change once she began hooking them to the gang line.

In response to that thought, she went down the line again, making certain it was laid out neatly and all connections were tight. Only eight of her dogs would be running this morning. The rest would be joining her tomorrow at the real start of the race.

"You did that already," Strauss said, watching her fuss with amusement.

"Shut up," she said , ignoring his laughter. Her insides twisted with disquietude. It almost felt as bad as her short walk up to the stage at the banquet the other night.

"Miss Hughes?"

Lainey looked up to see a youth on the verge of adolescence holding a camera. Two other kids were with him, all starry eyed as they smiled at her.

"Can we get a picture? Of you and your lead dogs?"

She forced her edginess aside and smiled. "Sure. Come on." Leading the way to Sholo and Trace, she knelt between them, pulling them into a hug. "How's this?"

"Great!" The boy snapped a couple of pictures. "You're Lainey Hughes, the photographer, right?"

"That's me." She stood and brushed the snow from her knees.

He looked at his companions. "I told you!" Unzipping his jacket, he pulled a folded magazine from inside. "Can I get you to autograph one of your pictures?"

"You bet," Lainey said, not as pleased as her tone indicated. Her previous career as a war photographer still brought the occasional nightmares. She really did not wish to be reminded of those years by a grisly photo, not today.

The boy eagerly whipped open the magazine. One of his friends fumbled a pen from a pocket and he handed both to Lainey.

Bracing herself, she looked down at a panoramic shot of the Serengeti covering the full two pages. In the foreground on the right page was a pack of spotted hyena worrying their latest meal, the carcass of an antelope. A pleased smile crossed her face and she asked, "Do you want me to make this out to you?"

"Yes!" He gave his name and she signed the magazine and returned it to him. "Thanks!

Feeling much better, she watched them leave, hovering over the autograph in excitement.

"Guess your reputation precedes you more than you thought," Strauss said.

"I guess so." She grinned at him. "It's kind of nice to be remembered for something other than death and destruction."

"Amen to that."

"Lainey! Let's get ready!" Thom trotted up with Rye and Irish. "You're up in fifteen minutes."

She hastily glanced up the line, seeing the second musher finish hooking up his dogs. Her heart promptly leapt into her throat and she felt nauseous and jubilant at the same time.

Lainey got her elated dogs in place with some difficulty. Several Iditarod volunteers came forward to keep them from running off without her, and she eventually had everyone ready to go with four minutes to spare. Strauss climbed into the bed of her sled. As her Idita-rider, he would be with her throughout the ceremonial start of the Iditarod until she reached Eagle River. She almost did not recognize her sled as it sported a bright yellow bag with a prominently placed Cognizance logo. She wore a similar colored parka with a badger fur ruff, gifts to her from her official sponsor.

Behind her, another sled had been added and Rye climbed aboard the runners. Thom was going to ride behind Scotch to add more weight since her Idita-rider was a petite elementary school teacher. With all the noise and people, the dogs were more than eager to get going and the extra pounds would keep them from overdoing things or going too fast. Jonas, her wheel dog, was nearly delirious as he bounced like a seventy-five pound puppy. The rest of her team was doing the same.

The dog team in front of her was already being guided to Fourth Avenue and the starting line. A volunteer with a clipboard neared, waving her forward, and she swallowed hard. "Ready! Let's go!" she yelled over the din. With a jerk, her team tried to take off at a full run. The ten or so volunteers pulled and held them back, forcing them to trot toward the beginning of the race.

At the starting line, two other teams awaited the go ahead. the sound of the dogs was drowned out by the cheers of the audience who stood five deep on either side of the street. She waved as the team was stopped, and vaguely noted she was shaking. The volunteers continued holding her team, as the dogs were in no mood to stand around.

Officially, she was the fourth one to head out, but in reality she was third. Number One was an honorary position, the racing bib given to someone who had made an impact on dog racing. As she tried to keep her breakfast down, she watched as the honored musher this year was presented with the gear.

The second musher was introduced and she heard a woman counting down the seconds over large speakers. It was amazing she could hear at all with the cacophony all around her. Then the team took off, the crowd cheering as they went. The volunteers urged her team closer. Glancing behind, she saw another team get into place. Somewhere back there was Scotch, and Lainey had a bone deep yearning to see her.

"Number Four, Lainey Hughes!"

The crowd applauded again and Lainey spun around. Number three was already away. She took a few breaths, trying not to hyperventilate as her team was maneuvered into the starting position.

"You ready for this?" a volunteer asked.

Lainey nodded and surprised herself with a smile. What was it Scotch had said? "Loaded for bear!"

He patted her on the shoulder and stepped back as the final seconds were called out.

"Ready!" Lainey hollered to her team. She heard the signal. "Let's go!"

The ten burly handlers released the dogs and her team shot off down the trail, snapping her head back. As they raced down Fourth Avenue, her only regret was not being able to say good bye to Scotch who had as busy a morning as she.

Strauss whooped in excitement as they barreled down the street, the wind scouring their cheeks. Lainey estimated they were going about twenty miles an hour despite the added sled and men weighing the team down. She was glad for the company - there would be no way she could have maintained control on her own. They whisked past the crowds, and she barely noted the colorful clothing blurring by or the sounds of their cheering.

Up ahead a truck drove across the street. Several workers wearing Iditarod patches dashed into the intersection, shoveling snow into the tire tracks before she arrived. Police officers stopped traffic to give her right of way and Lainey laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Where else but in Alaska would cops stop traffic for a dog sled ? The team ripped by, Rye calling a thanks to the workers.

The trail took a turn, the people lining the street a better marker than any trail ribbon. She called the command and her team went into the turn. A bubble of pride swelled in her heart at their professionalism, and she began to enjoy the ride, her nervousness taking a back seat.

Eventually the crowds thinned. Lainey saw a trail marker, knowing from the stories she had heard that this was a tough turn. "Gee!" Like a well oiled machine, the team began turn. Before she realized it, Sholo and Trace found a trail off the road and took it instead of completing the turn. Off the trail they went, down the side and onto the new path.

"Crap!" she cursed. "Whoa! Sholo, Trace, whoa!"

Still eager, the dogs were reluctant to stop. The trail dipped into a patch of alder trees as both she and Rye applied the brakes to halt the team. Using a nearby tree to attach a snub line, she set her snow hook and jumped off the sled.

Despite knowing a delay now meant absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of the race, Lainey could not help but feel the tingle of irritation along the back of her neck. She could almost sense the teams passing by her position as she stopped to deal with this snag. The dogs were oblivious, wagging their tails and grinning at her as she went to the front of the line, and it took some effort to not take her annoyance out on them.

She gave each a pat and a good word, feeling the pressure mounting on her shoulders as she imagined being out her so long that Scotch, in forty-eighth place, would soon go by. When she reached her lead dogs, she gave them heaps of praise and grabbed their collars. She physically pulled the dogs around, Rye and Strauss standing nearby. Now that the race was on, they were forbidden to help lest they disqualify her. Rye kept a close watch, though, ready to jump on his sled brake if necessary.

When they were turned around and her passengers in their proper places, she pulled the snub line and gave the command to go. As they pulled back onto the street, she watched a musher go by and grumbled to herself. "Haw!" The dogs smoothly followed instruction. A few fans peppering the area had seen her snafu and applauded as she got back on the right path. She blushed furiously, but forced herself to wave anyway.

Lainey breathed a sigh of relief now that they were back on the trail. Her team poured on the speed, still frisky, and she caught up to the musher wearing bib number eleven. Damn. Seven teams had passed while she was taking a powder.

This part of the race was ceremonial. The real race began the next day in Wasilla. No matter how fast she arrived at Eagle River, she would still be third out of the chute tomorrow. Still, her dogs wanted to burn off energy, and doing so now would be beneficial. They would settle down for the official restart and be easier to handle.

"Passing!" she called, warning the man she was coming up on his side. As her team began to overtake his, three of her dogs began barking at the competition. She grinned, having heard from other mushers that this was called trash talking. Her dogs yelled happily as they passed, probably making comments about the parentage and skills of their rivals. Montana and Chibee were the worst, watching the opposing team as they easily passed, smiling and shining as they went. The surprising one was Himitsu, a three year old male with yellow brown fur. He was always so polite and quiet, that his sudden voice was unexpected.

Lainey waved to number eleven as they passed, her trash talkers jostling each other and sneaking looks backwards. They acted exactly like teenaged boys having just pulled off a prank against the high school principal. She laughed with them, fully relaxing for the first time in days. Her team eased into a steady pace, ears pricking back to hear her chuckles.

All along the path people gathered, standing in front of their homes to cheer the mushers on. She followed a power line, seeing the next musher ahead. With little provocation, her dogs picked up speed. As they neared, she saw a group clustered on the side of the trail handing something to the musher.

"What are they doing?" Strauss yelled, looking up at her from the sled bed.

"No idea," she said.

The crowd held a few signs - 'Go Iditarod Mushers!' - and began calling encouragement as she closed with them. One woman reached out with something in her hand. Lainey automatically stretched out, and took what was given. She grinned at the large homemade muffin she now held and turned to wave her thanks before putting it into her snack bag.

Her three recalcitrants began bellowing insults again, and Lainey returned to warn musher number ten that she was passing. If her team could maintain this enthusiasm for the next two weeks, she would be well set for the race. Granted, the chances of that were slight, even with the high level of care the dogs would receive, but it would make for a great article if the rookie came in second or third.

The path passed a park and followed bicycle trails for a bit. They skirted the Campbell Airstrip, and Lainey saw a group of race officials ahead.

"This is where you get off," she said to Strauss.

"All right," he responded. "I'll see you at Eagle River. I may fly with Don along the race, but if I don't I'll definitely be in Nome when you get there."

When, not if. Lainey laughed. "I'd love the company." She called the dogs to a halt. They obeyed the command, their initial gusto mellowed with the miles they had run.

Strauss climbed out of the sled and took her hands. "Thanks for the ride. It was exhilarating."

"Anytime," she said. Then she left off the brake and ordered the dogs onward, only Rye on his sled trailing behind her.

The rest of the trip was calm and easy. Her team did not overtake any others, but she no longer minded the delay of their early detour. Eventually she came to a long hill, the trail thronged with cheering people. The VFW was ahead, and it looked like another circus in the making. It was only past noon, and she looked forward to an afternoon of celebrating with the Fullers. The true start of the Iditarod was the following day, and from then on, she would be alone with her dogs on the last great race.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

IF LAINEY THOUGHT she would be leaving civilization after the restart of the race, she was immediately disabused of the notion. The crowds were still in evidence in Wasilla and Scotch had told her that they would be on the trail all the way to Knik and beyond. According to Howry, who was keeping his ear to the ground as a good newsman should, there were anywhere from fifteen to seventeen thousand Iditarod fans crowding the narrow chute out of town alone. This time Lainey was through the worst of her attack of nerves. She ignored what she could, concentrating on her dogs and focusing on the fans who showed up looking for photos and autographs. When things got too claustrophobic, she distracted herself further with the memory of Scotch's good bye kiss this morning. The veteran musher had pulled all the stops out, a harbinger of the passion to come when they both arrived in Nome, and Lainey licked her lips at the recollection. As it had been the day before, several handlers were needed to keep her dogs in line. They yelped and shouted in excitement, all sixteen of them ready to run. It seemed that the twenty mile run the day before had done little to dampen their enthusiasm.

A checker came to her sled and she opened the bright yellow bag to show her mandatory gear. Not only were the usual items in place, but there was a packet of mail and promotional material she was required to deliver to Nome. If she lost any of it, she would be disqualified from the race. Other than the necessary items, she had little else. She and Scotch had sent their primary racing sleds to Knik with the dog trucks. There they would transfer their belongings before heading out into the wilderness. Those were more rugged and packed to the ribs with everything they would need.

"Everything's there," the checker said. She made a mark on her clipboard. "Have a good race."

"Thanks!" Lainey said, and the checker went down the line to the next musher.

"Lainey."

She turned to see Howry approaching, a wide grin on his face.

"Ready to go?" he asked, giving her a hug.

"You know it," she said, waving at the antics of her team.

He held out an envelope. "Scotch wanted me to give this to you. She said not to read it until you reach the end of your rope."

The urge to rip it open right there was powerful, but Lainey restrained herself. She saw Scotch's neat handwriting on the front and smiled softly. "Thanks," she said as she tucked it securely in her personal bag.

Howry shuffled his feet and she gave him a quizzical look.

"Ben's been hinting around, asking me questions about you two. What do you want me to tell him?"

Lainey sighed, knowing the topic would be inevitable after the musher banquet. "Go ahead and tell him the truth. It's not like he hasn't figured it out by now. He just wants verification."

"You sure?" he asked, brow furrowed. He knew Strauss only on a professional level, and appeared worried he might make things more difficult for Lainey.

"I'm sure. He's my AA sponsor and my friend. He might not like that I led him on in the beginning, but he'll get used to the idea."

Howry blew out a breath. "If you say so."

She grinned and gave him another hug. "I say so."

A loudspeaker announced the upcoming official start of the race, and Lainey pulled away from the embrace.

"I think that's me."

He laughed. "I'd say so. We're going to take your sled to Knik and then fly to Finger Lake, so we'll see you there."

"Ben, too?" Lainey saw a volunteer trotting toward her.

"Yeah, Ben, too."

"I'll see you then," she said, as she stepped onto the runners of her sled. Her last sight of him was his wave as the handlers guided the dogs to their position.

The start was very similar to the day before. A large, prismatic crowd gathered along the barriers on either side of the trail, many calling her name and holding signs of encouragement. Her dogs, sixteen strong now, were just as lively. Her wild man, Jonas, hardly touched the ground as he reared up off all four paws. Even Bonaparte, regal snout in the air, wagged his tail and trotted with a swagger at all the attention.

Lainey watched the two teams in front of her take off, each time feeling an impatience to get out on the trail as she was forced to wait. Her team echoed her sentiment, voicing their disapproval with yips and howls. Then she heard her name and number and was ushered into position. When the announcer called "Go!" she did not even command the dogs. Trace and Sholo shot down the chute, glad to be free as they raced away.

Once past the designated chute, Lainey pulled onto a snow covered highway. The way was smooth and easy, her dogs speeding along. She knew they would not keep this pace, but at least it would hold her competition at bay for the moment. Lainey fully expected Scotch to catch and pass her before the day was through.

Along the way, fans idled along the path. Several had fires or grills going and Lainey smelled burgers and steaks cooking as she went past. She had never thought to see hard core enthusiasts sitting on the side of a road with plastic lawn chairs, not with ten foot snow drifts only a little further beyond them. The whole scene was surreal as she waved to those calling to her. It reminded her of parades she had seen in the bigger cities, where the locals camped out on the sidewalks the night before to ensure a decent view of passing floats.

Up ahead, the road lifted, and she saw a yellow railroad crossing sign. A few volunteers loitered about the tracks with shovels, ready to pack snow between the rails should a train cut through the race. She grinned at the weirdness and kept on going.

The crowd never thinned as the miles went by. Lainey's team slowed to a more normal pace, and she relaxed into the now familiar sensation of mushing. She watched the dogs run, checking them for odd gaits indicating potential injury. Doing so was second nature for her, but this trail was an easy one and none of the dogs appeared to be nursing a shoulder or paw.

As it came closer to noon, it warmed up. With some care, she pulled her parka off, leaning over the handles to tuck it into the sled bag. Now she wore bib overalls and several layers of shirts and sweaters.

"Passing!"

Lainey craned her neck to see a team coming up behind her. As much as it galled her, she didn't attempt to speed up. While her heart, and that of her dogs, was set on the term 'race' the reality was the Iditarod was an endurance test. If she pushed her team to their limits now, they would scratch halfway through the course.

"Whoa," she said, as the musher began to overtake her. "Trace, Sholo, gee. Whoa."

The dogs pulled to the side of the road, and she set her snow hook. Now was as good a time as any to snack them. Her three trash talkers cussed out the passing team, but they were trained well enough to remain where they were rather than take chase.

Lainey grabbed a bag of frozen fish from her bag and went up the line, encouraging and praising each dog as she fed them. They reciprocated with licks and wags, letting her know they were ready for anything.

"Looking good!" a man said from the sidelines where he sat in an old rocking chair, nursing a cup of coffee. His family sat around him in beach chairs, echoing his sentiment, though none came forward to interfere.

"Thanks." Lainey smiled. Another team passed her as she double checked the gang line on her way back to the sled, and Chibee barked at them, shaking himself indignantly as they went on. She gave him a good scratching and finished her quick inspection.

The man raised his travel cup in salute. "To Nome or bust!"

Lainey laughed, stepping onto the runners and retrieving her snow hook. "To Nome," she repeated. To the dogs she called, "Ready? Let's go!"

It was not much longer before she reached Knik. The checkpoint was near the lake, and surrounded by a couple thousand fans. Barbecues and icy picnics seemed the order of the day, and voices rose in welcome as Lainey's team neared. The exuberant nature of the crowd reminded her of tailgate parties at the Superbowl.

She directed the team to the official checkpoint where she stopped. Her time in was noted, and she opened her sled bag to show her mandatory items. "How long you staying?" the checker asked.

Lainey saw Howry and Strauss waving at her near the checkers' station. "Just long enough to swap sleds," she said.

"Remember to check out when you go."

"I will." Lainey trotted to the front of the line and led her leaders toward her friends, not trusting them to voice commands when they were still so excited to be on the road.

Howry waved her ahead and she saw her sled waiting to one side. Strauss had a camera about his neck, and waggled it at her. "Since Don's covering Scotch, I figured I'd help you with your article."

She grinned, stopping the dogs in front of her replacement sled. "Good! I expect I'll get some photos once things settle down, but right now it's just too hectic." Lainey sped up the line. At the sled, she disconnected the gang line and shock cord, transferring her team to the new sled. With swift motions, she moved her gear over and double checked that everything she needed for the next fifty plus miles was in place. She removed her racing bib, packing it with the promotional package she carried; she would not need to wear it again until she left Safety for Nome.

The trail would leave civilization from here on out. In preparation, she stuffed dog booties in her pockets and went back up the line. She thoroughly examined each dog, checking paws for damage and replacing lost booties on each, and gave them a bite of moose liver.

"Time to go," she said.

"Good luck," Howry said, and Ben nodded agreement.

Lainey waved and hopped onto the sled runners. Pulling the snow hook, she paused only long enough to officially check out of Knik, having only been there for twelve minutes.

The trail climbed into a forested area, and trees soon hid the festive atmosphere at the lake. Her tension eased at the solitude, only now aware of how edgy the crowds had made her. She laughed aloud, the dogs' ears flicking back to listen to her. Of course she had been worried. Nothing like the rookie eating snow on the national news, huh? She had already left the trail so readily the day before. Lainey hoped her team would vindicate themselves from that little wrong turn by keeping the trail for the next thousand miles.

Winding through trees, dropping onto frozen marshland and ponds, it was smooth sailing for her. Several other teams passed, but she consoled herself with the possibility that they would burn themselves out and she would see them again as they ate her powder. Her dogs bad mouthed the passing teams, receiving like sentiments from their competition.

Lainey dropped down onto the Susitna River. Here she saw the occasional marks of dog teams that had pulled aside. Taking their cue, she did the same. As soon as they stopped, her dogs enjoyed a brisk roll in the snow, snapping up mouthfuls to cool themselves down.

"Snack time, guys," she said, shaking the bag of fish. "We'll have supper in a couple of hours." She made a cursory inspection as she went, small talking the dogs who were eager to show their appreciation for the break and her kind words. Many had lost their booties on the trail, and she replaced those that needed them.

The sun was beginning to set, and Lainey took the opportunity to get out her head lamp. She checked the batteries and bulb before fitting it over her musher cap, then made certain extra batteries were handy. It was starting to cool down, as well, so she put her parka back on. When all was ready, she called, "Okay, kids. Let's go."

As they continued on, she took the opportunity to have a snack break of her own. She pulled a small thermos of Gatorade from her personal bag, eagerly downing the lukewarm contents. Trail mix and Scotch's special recipe for pemmican filled her stomach. The food disappeared quickly and she was amazed at how hungry she had been, despite the knowledge that she had been on the sled through lunch.

They wove along the trail, first on the river, then climbing into forest, dropping along a swamp, and back to the river. Three more mushers passed before the trail got too narrow to allow for it. When they broke through the trees, she saw the upcoming checkpoint and grinned. Her dogs increased their pace as they neared, and she slid into Yentna, laughing.

"Four fifty-eight PM," the checker said as he handed her the clipboard.

Lainey signed in, noting she had fallen to eleventh place. "Any news on Scotch Fuller?" she asked.

"Not on me. You'll have to check up at the tent. How long you staying?"

"About six hours." She leaned over her handlebars to open the sled bag for the gear check.

"Everything's good." He initialed next to her signature. "Head on over there. The vet's need to do their check."

Lainey urged her dogs toward the tent. A woman waved her toward a pair of veterinarians waiting for her.

"How're they doing?" one asked, looking over the team as they came to a halt.

"Very good. I haven't noticed any limps or problems. They've mostly been wearing booties through the new snow." She handed him her vet book, a small notebook with all the paperwork on each of her dogs.

"Great." The two proceeded to give each of her dogs an exam, prodding wrists and shoulders, removing booties to check paws.

"Everything checks out," the other said. He wrote something in her notebook and handed it back. "If you're staying, park over there. We've got straw, but you'll have to get water from a hole in the river."

"Thanks."

Lainey spent the next half hour doing a full inspection of her dogs herself, bedding them down in straw, and covering a couple of with blankets. As soon as they were resting, she retrieved a rolled up child's sled from her bag and went to the river to get water.

The hole was jagged with chucks of ice floating in the water. Lainey carefully used the bucket dangling from a tripod over the hole to fill her pots. There was no concern for falling through as the sides indicated a good two feet of ice beneath the foot of snow on the river. She did not want to splash herself, however, and took extra care to keep dry.

Lainey lugged her water back to her dogs, her sled receiving an envious look from a fellow rookie from Minnesota who carried his pots by hand. She gave a silent thanks to Scotch and her detailed notebook, a carbon copy of it nestled in Lainey's bib overall pocket. Lainey had the benefit of experienced coaching to rely upon.

Back at the sled, she set up her two cookers and began boiling water. Some mushers only carried one, not wanting the extra weight. But Scotch was of the opinion that weight ultimately counted for nothing if you were not able to take care of your dogs. By using two cookers, Lainey cut her cooking time in half, would be able to eat with her dogs, and get through her checkpoint chores faster, thereby allowing her more time to rest. The dogs were the athletes, the ones who were well cared for through the race. The mushers, on the other hand, rarely slept more than a couple of hours in a day as they worked to keep their teams happy and healthy.

She dumped a measure of meat and fat into one pot, and tossed a boil bag of meatloaf and fried potatoes in the other. While she waited for the food, she dug out her notebook and skimmed through the information.

According to Scotch's notes, Lainey was a bit slower than Scotch's previous runs to Yentna. That was to be expected, really, since Lainey's team was officially second string. A lot of her dogs had been on the Iditarod trail with her, but as Scotch was attempting to maintain a professional racing team, she had gotten the better dogs in the kennel.

Lainey noted the travel times between Yentna and Finger Lake, her next scheduled downtime, committing it to memory before turning pages. A shiver crawled up her spine as she saw the words 'Heavy moose population' in capital letters. She did not want a repeat of what had happened in November. Her eyes flicked past the warning and she read up on what to expect on the trail.

When dinner was finished, she added dry chow to the mixture and went up the line, dropping plastic food dishes and filling them. Her team roused from their nap to eagerly lap up the offering. Lainey returned to the cookers, plucked her dinner from the second pot, and added the boiling water to the leftovers in the dog pot. Again she went up the line, giving the dogs a meaty watering, talking to them, and treating them to rough affection as she went.

With a sigh, she found clean snow nearby, not wanting to trek all the way back to the hole in the river. She piled it onto her small sled and started another pot of water for the dogs. Only then did she sit in the bed of her sled and eat her meatloaf, washing it down with the last of her Gatorade. Lainey checked her watch, seeing it had been an hour since her arrival. Scotch would no doubt be there soon. As much as she wanted to enjoy a nap like her team, she still had a couple of things to do. She forced herself to her feet, pleasantly full and warm from her meal, and retrieved the now empty dog bowls. Another bag of meat and quarter pound of fat went into dog cooker, and she started another pot of water on hers. When both were ready, she took the finished products and poured them into two coolers on the sled. To one she added the dry chow and vitamin supplements, a meal ready for a pit stop on the road. In the other, she deposited five of her juice packets, now frozen from the cold. When she got out on the trail, they'd be thawed enough for her to hydrate herself.

Chores finally finished, she debated where to sleep. Her dogs were curled up together, still on their tug lines, though she had released the neck lines from their harnesses to make them comfortable. Taking a cue from them, she settled into her sled bag once more. Scotch would arrive soon. Lainey would just wait here for her to arrive.

She never knew exactly when she fell asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

"HEY, ROOKIE."

Lainey grumbled as someone nudged her sled. She dragged herself to consciousness, peering into the dark.

Scotch grinned down at her.

Still groggy, Lainey returned the smile and forced herself to sit up. After a wide yawn, she looked around the cordoned off musher area. "What time is it? When did you get in?"

"I got here about six fifteen. It's almost ten o'clock now." Scotch squatted in the snow beside her. "I saw your time in when I got here. You're due to leave in an hour or so, aren't you?"

Lainey rubbed the sleep from her eyes, amazed she had been out of it for so long considering the cold weather. "Yes, coach," she said, throwing her legs over the edge of the sled. "I've got to get more water."

"So do I." Scotch stood and took Lainey's hand, helping her rise. "I'll go with you."

Upending the child's sled to knock the snow from it, Lainey grabbed her pots and walked with Scotch. They stopped further on at Scotch's team so she could grab the same gear. They trudged through the snow toward the river.

Now fully awake, Lainey looked around the checkpoint. A lot of the mushers had decided to take a rest break here. Not everyone, however. She speculated on who had left early. Were they driving their dogs harder than she? Or was it just the forerunners, those who had arrived before her, that had left?

"So how'd it go?" Scotch asked as they approached the watering hole.

"Not bad. I still can't keep Heldig in booties. I don't know what she does, but they fly off as soon as we're on the trail." She grinned at Scotch's laughter.

"That's nothing new. Just make certain to keep ointment on her paws."

"I will." Lainey took Scotch's hand and pulled her close until they bumped up against one another as they walked. "I've missed you."

Scotch squeezed her hand. "I've missed you, too." She craned her neck around, searching for witnesses before giving Lainey a quick kiss.

They continued on and Scotch drew water, waiting for Lainey as she did the same. As they made the return journey, Lainey asked, "How did your trip go?"

"Not bad. Ran into a mama moose about ten miles from here, but she was more concerned for her safety than into challenging the dogs."

Lainey grimaced. "I'm glad you didn't have trouble with her."

"Me, too. I don't want to suffer an incident like Susan Butcher," Scotch said, referring to the 1985 Iditarod where a musher had to scratch early in the race because an enraged moose had attacked her team. At the time, she had been considered a potential winner for that year's race and, as it was, another woman won instead - Libby Riddles, the first woman to win the Iditarod.

"No one does."

Back at the musher area, Scotch stopped at her team. "This is where I get off."

Grinning, Lainey said, "Oh, I think you'll be getting off somewhere else. In Nome if things go as planned." She chuckled at Scotch's blush. "I'll see you on the other side of Finger Lake?"

"Yup. Three miles past. I'll be there."

Unable to help herself, Lainey gave Scotch a long hug, not caring if anyone else saw them. Scotch returned the embrace and then they broke apart. Reluctant, Lainey took her pots of water down the line to her dogs.

Once more she set water to boiling. Another meal for her and another for her team soon bubbled away. Her dogs slept on, trained to take rest when they could get it, and she watched them fondly.

When the dog stew was ready, she distributed their plates, gently waking each animal with words and caresses. She used the chow in the cooler and transferred the freshly cooked meal into it afterwards. Again she made two trips, using the lukewarm water from her cooler to water the dogs. She ate her midnight snack, chicken and rice with broccoli and carrots mixed in, and used some of the freshly boiled water to brew instant coffee in her thermos. The rest she put into her cooler with the juice packs.

Her team was fed and frisky, ears up and eyes bright, a good sign. Lainey donned a pair of surgical gloves with hand warmers nestled in her palms to brave the frigid weather. She applied ointment to dog paws, all sixty-four of them, massaging the pads and wrists, checking for cuts and abrasions, looking for soreness in shoulders and hips. No indication of injury was forthcoming by the time she finished with her leaders, and she nodded to herself, satisfied.

Sleeping in the cold had stiffened her, and she winced when she stood upright again. Lainey removed her surgical gloves and collected the dog dishes, packing everything into her sled, or into a trash bag. Fortunately Strauss had given her the parka at the mushers' banquet - Irish had had time to adapt it for a hand warmer before the race began, and Lainey stuffed one into the pocket next to her sore ribs.

She scooped the ever present doggie doo into her trash bag, packed up the remainder of her belongings, and found someplace to dump the garbage. Then she sorted through her snacks and refilled her personal bag on the handlebars. Once everything was completed, she dug a watch out of her pocket and noted the time. Her six hours were nearly up. It was time to get back on the trail.

Lainey made another pass down her team, putting booties on all the dogs, even Heldig the Notoriously Barefooted.

The traditional husky licked her face, grinning at her as if to say 'Why bother?'

"Try, Heldig. Keep them on for a half hour, that's all I ask." Lainey gave the dog a hug.

She climbed aboard the runners and gave the team their commands in a quiet voice so as not to disturb the other mushers drowsing nearby. As they passed Scotch's position, she waved and Scotch blew a kiss in her direction. Wearing a silly grin, Lainey arrived at the checkpoint.

"You're out of here then?"

"Yep. Lainey Hughes. I came in eleventh."

The checker, a bleary eyed older woman located her name and time in. "Okay. You're out at... exactly eleven PM."

"When was the last departure?" Lainey asked.

She scanned the times listed. "Looks like Dave Creavey blew through the checkpoint three hours ago."

"Thanks." To her dogs, Lainey called softly, "Ready? Let's go."

As they headed away from the checkpoint, darkness descended. Lainey switched on her head lamp. Her team ran easily, the rest having done them good. It was eerily silent as they traveled, the only sounds were the swish of snow and her dogs panting as they ran. Overhead the sky was dark, scattered clouds blotting out the vivid starlight she had grown accustomed to out here in the bush.

A trail marker came into view ahead, and she ordered the dogs to the left to follow it. They climbed into a spruce forest, the path wide and smooth. Despite the apparent ease, Lainey kept her attention on the trees they passed, not wanting a branch to sweep her off the sled. The dogs were refreshed and lively. If she fell off, they could very well make it to the next checkpoint without her. She did not relish a thirty mile hike to Skwentna.

The hills were low, but Lainey took the time to run up them. She needed the exercise to remain awake, and it eased the load for her team if they did not have to drag her weight as well as the gear packed sled. Then they slid back down to the river, an easy run.

It seemed no time before she saw lights ahead. The Skwentna checkpoint loomed in the dark, and she directed her team to the welcoming lights. She pulled in, ran through the inevitable sled and vet checks, and guided her team to where the food drops were stored. There were no drops at Finger Lake. They would have to carry everything they needed for the next seventy-five miles until Rainy Pass. Between Finger Lake and Rainy Pass was the treacherous Happy River valley to traverse and they would need to be prepared for damage to the sled and extra food and gear for the team.

Lainey found her three bags, color coded with her name on them. She lugged them out of the storage area and onto the sled before urging her team a little further away. As soon as she stopped them, she went down the line with a bag of white fish, snacking them.

Once they were occupied with their treats, she returned to the bags and cut them open with her Leatherman. She opened her sled bag, and began a quick inventory, carefully looking over her notes. Everything had been shipped and seemed in good shape. Comparing what Scotch suggested and what she already had, Lainey transferred gear and food into her sled.

She was pleased to note that she had some extra dog food. Flagging down a passing volunteer, Lainey asked for the location of the donation area. She would drop the extra there for other mushers who might have need due to accidents, ill planning or undelivered drops. If no one claimed the leftovers, they would be donated to locals.

When she was satisfied, she returned to the checkpoint and signed out. Twenty-two minutes. Not as good as Scotch's times, but Lainey felt pleased at the time in and out. Not bad for a rookie. Her notes warned for vigilance as she left Skwentna. It did not take Lainey long to see why. The area had a heavy population of dog mushers, and dozens of trails crossed hers. Fortunately, once she got onto the river the maze of befuddling paths lessened and the team traveled easily, eating up the miles.

Lainey yawned. "Not good," she said aloud. The river run was long and boring, and it seemed to go on forever. About forty miles from the checkpoint the trail was supposed to head into the hills through spruce and alder trees. She would need to keep awake or risk passing the trail. Retrieving her thermos, she drank straight from the ingenious pop top rather than attempt to pour a cup. The instant coffee was strong and relatively hot, its bitter taste causing her eyes to widen.

"Whoo! That ought to do it!" she exclaimed. Her dogs continued gamely on, ears twitching backward when she spoke. She capped the thermos and put it away, imagining the sensation of caffeine coursing through her blood stream.

Overhead the clouds thickened. As the team glided effortlessly over the river, a gentle snow began to fall. Snowflakes hit the brilliant light of her head lamp, the flurry seeming stronger than it truly was due to the speed of the dogs. The sight was distracting, and Lainey finally turned the lamp off to keep from flinching from the stuff darting toward her face. As soon as her eyes adjusted, she realized how truly light it was with all the whiteness surrounding her. The snowfall returned to its non threatening appearance, her only indication of its existence the chill spots of flakes as they hit her nose and cheeks.

As the snow did not get any worse, Lainey's fears of a blizzard became baseless. Besides, someone would have warned her at the last checkpoint if the weather was going to turn horrendously bad.

She stopped and snacked the dogs once on the river, quickly going over their feet and replacing booties before setting off again. Too many interruptions for too long a time could disrupt their run / rest schedule. While some delays were to be expected, the closer Lainey could keep them on their planned itinerary, the better. As they ran, she finished her coffee and snacked on a slice of banana bread she had put into an interior pocket to thaw with her body heat.

Thinking she saw a trail marker ahead, Lainey turned her head lamp on again. There it was, the trail leading into low hills. The snow continued its slow if relentless fall. She wondered how long it had been falling in this area.

"Sholo, Trace, haw."

Her leaders took the trail up off the river and into trees. They slowed quite a bit as they began the incline. Lainey had been hours standing on the runners. She began to see why some mushers had attached folding stools to their sleds. They, at least, would be more comfortable through the race. She decided to get off the runners for a little exercise.

The snow here was powder, and Lainey sank to her ankles. Up ahead, the trail was well marked, giving the appearance of being solid. As she trotted behind the sled, she realized her error. It had to have been snowing in this area for some time, leaving close to a foot of snow on the well-marked trail. It was no wonder her team was slowing.

They continued on, running over low hills yet still moving steadily upward. As they did, the unpacked snow grew deeper until Sholo and Trace were walking more often than running. Lainey cursed and called a halt, making sure to anchor the sled so it would not slide back the way they had come.

There was nowhere to get off the trail here, so she knew she could not take a long break. She had no idea when the musher behind her had left the last checkpoint. For all she knew, he or she was right on her tail. It was not time to snack the dogs, but she decided to do so anyway. They needed the extra energy and encouragement to make it the few miles to Finger Lake.

At her sled, she got out her snow shoes and donned them before going up the gang line with treats. Each dog received lavish attention and thanks before she finally made it to her leaders. Sholo appeared a bit cowed. It was no wonder. He had never been on the Iditarod before and did not know what to expect. His experiences were with the mid range races. Lainey gave him lots of cuddles, wondering if she should swap him out. Montana, whose experience was the same as Sholo's, appeared eager and willing.

"I think you need a break, boy," she told Sholo. "You've done a great job. Good dog, good boy." She gave him an extra piece of fish, and detached him from the gang line. "What do you say, huh? Give you a break?" Lainey pulled Sholo back one spot. In a few moments, she led Montana to the front. When the switch was completed, she gave Sholo another affectionate rub, so that he knew his displacement had not been because of something he had done. She was not sure if the dogs understood that sort of thing, but if they did . . .

Lainey trooped back to her sled, but did not climb onto the runners. She popped the snow hook and ordered the dogs forward. The new blood at the front of the line sped things up a bit, but they were still moving at a walk. Lainey moved past the dogs, calling encouragement until she reached the front of the line. There she grabbed the line and began breaking the trail herself.

It was arduous work, and she had to stop and remove her parka or risk sweating too much. Sweat soaked clothing rapidly froze in these temperatures, and was a constant threat of hypothermia. Shedding extra clothes had been drilled into her by the Fullers, the entire concept at odds with her tropical oriented experience.

On they went, inching along it seemed. Eventually, they broke through the trees and Lainey looked out onto a frozen lake. The snow had stopped falling, as well, but it still remained deep and loose.

"Passing," someone called.

Startled, Lainey looked around to see a head lamp shining about a hundred feet away. Her team, tired from their exertions, hardly made a fuss as she directed them to one side now that the trail had widened. When there was room, the musher moved past, his dogs a bit more alert than her own. She wondered how long he had been back there benefiting from her struggles, and could not help but feel slightly resentful.

The musher passed and pulled to a stop just in front of her team. He stepped off his sled and walked back toward her. She recognized him. He was Drew Owens, a veteran of the race having finished the Iditarod four times.

"How you doing?" he asked.

"Not bad. Tired."

"Yeah. The trail here can be pretty bad some days. Since you broke the trail coming through there, I thought I'd do the same for you across the lake to the checkpoint. It's only fair."

Surprise tinged her exhaustion. "That sounds great. Thanks."

He grinned, his frosted beard crackling. "You're welcome."

While he made his preparations to break trail, she took the opportunity to treat her dogs. Heldig's bare paws had developed little balls of snow and ice under the toes, and Lainey carefully broke them apart before applying ointment and yet another set of booties.

"Yo! Why are you blocking the trail?"

Lainey stood to see the irritated newcomer pulling up beside her. "We have to break trail to Finger Lake. Drew's going to take the lead."

The disgruntled musher appeared momentarily nonplused before shrugging her shoulders. "Oh. I guess coming up behind you I didn't realize how bad it was."

"It was bad." Lainey packed up her things but returned to the head of her team. Regardless of the two mushers leading the way, the snow would still be somewhat loose, and she planned on walking the rest of the way to the next checkpoint. Ahead of her, Owens began the trek toward the lights visible in the distance, followed by the recent arrival. Lainey pulled her dogs back onto the trail.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

THE GOING WAS much better with two mushers breaking the trail before her. It seemed the snow had not fallen so thick here, a mixed blessing considering what she had gone through in the hills. When the teams started out distancing Lainey, she removed her snow shoes and got back onto the sled to ride the rest of the way to the checkpoint.

Up ahead, the lights grew brighter. Lainey grinned as she realized she was seeing a massive bonfire party near Shell Lake lodge. She had been told to expect it, but the reality was more than she had believed possible out here in the middle of nowhere. The noise carrying across the frozen Finger Lake sounded like the shindig was still in full swing. Despite enjoying the silence and solitude of the wilderness, her heart lifted at the sight and sound of the celebrants. It was hard to believe that it was five or six in the morning. They must have been going at it since the first musher arrived.

Someone noted the approaching head lamps on the lake and a cheer rang through the wee hours of the morning. Checkers and volunteers spilled out of a tent, and several of the well wishers moved closer as Owens mounted the embankment leading to the checkpoint, followed by his fellow mushers.

"Five forty-three AM," the checker said, marking it on his board. "Number thirty-five. Staying?"

"No. Blowing through."

"Got it." He stood back and waved the vet volunteers forward while Lainey produced her dogs' medical notes. After a thorough check she was released.

"Lainey!"

She looked up in time to have a photo taken of her. Blinking against the flash, she barely made out her editor grinning apologetically.

Strauss trotted forward. "How's it going?"

"Great. Had to break trail through the hills outside Skwentna, but otherwise, we're doing well." She glanced over her team, all the dogs looking over their shoulders at her to see what they were doing next. "I've got to get going. I'm supposed to meet Scotch three miles out. If I stay much longer, these guys are going to expect to be fed here and may mutiny."

Strauss nodded understanding. "She's about an hour behind you now. Maybe less - she's got a good team according to Don."

"Where is Don?" Lainey asked, looking over his shoulder at the revelers.

"Snoozing. I told him I'd wake him when Scotch came through."

"Tell him hi. I've got to get going."

Strauss stepped back. "We're flying to Nikolai."

"I'm taking a sixer in Nikolai," she said, referring to a six hour rest break. "I'll see you there."

Lainey officially checked out and left Finger Lake. The side of the airstrip was peppered with small bush planes outfitted with skis instead of landing gear. The party like atmosphere combined with the comings and goings of reporters and race fans would be a detriment to the rest she and her team needed.

The trail out of Finger Lake was a winding one as it followed the Skwentna River. Since the next leg would make or break her team, Lainey waited until they were well out of sight and sound from the parties before she pulled off the trail. Scotch would be by soon, and they would spend this break together.

She gave her dogs a quick snack as she removed booties, rubbed ointment into paws, and did the rest of her chores. Again she fired up the cookers, using melted snow to prepare the next meal out. For now, she fed the team from their cooler and used her cooler for their second watering.

Since there was no straw here, Lainey dug into her sled bag and produced blankets for her dogs. By the time she collected their plates, they were snuggled into their blankets and drifting off to sleep. Lainey yawned, a wave of drowsiness flowing over her, but she forced herself back to her chores. By the time she finished eating her breakfast - two slices of pizza, wrapped in tin foil and heated on the lid of her cook pot - another dog meal was in their cooler. She drained two of her juice packs to rehydrate, dropping half full frozen bottles of Gatorade into her cooler.

As she worked, she speculated on how the race was progressing. She had arrived thirty-five out of seventy-six, and Owens had left immediately after his veterinarian check. The other musher had remained at Finger Lake. That meant that at her last rest break, at least twenty mushers had gone through Yentna Station while she took a break. Scotch had started the race an hour and thirty-six minutes behind her and now was an hour back, maybe less. Lainey checked her watch and noted the time. It would not be long before Scotch arrived, at that rate.

She tried not to feel disheartened by her fall in the standings. The reality was that it really did not matter who was where unless you were at the front of the pack, and even that membership would change as the days crawled past. It was a rare thing for the first musher reaching the halfway point at Cripple checkpoint to actually come in first in Nome. By the time Lainey reached Cripple, the mushers would be settled into the front, middle or rear of the pack for the remainder of the race. Between now and then, accidents could happen - gear could irreplaceably break down, kennel cough could sicken the dogs, and Mother Nature could intervene to cause even the hardiest of souls to scratch. She reminded herself that though she was falling back, her goal was not to win but to complete the race.

As Lainey ate, three more mushers went by, nodding or calling a greeting as they went. Veterans all, she wondered if they had rested at Finger Lake or avoided the crowds like herself. She packed up the tin foil from her breakfast, drank another fruit drink, and devoured a piece of carrot cake. Then she pulled her arctic sleeping bag from the sled. She had about four hours to nap before getting the dogs ready to go.

Another musher came up before Lainey got into her sleeping bag. She smiled in welcome as Scotch drove past and pulled in front of her. Foregoing her nap, Lainey walked up the line to greet her friend.

"Hey, you're early."

Scotch set her snow hook and wrapped Lainey in an embrace. "Had to catch up to you. I needed a hug."

Lainey laughed and returned the squeeze. "Always glad to oblige." She sighed, eyes closed. Sometime over the next couple of days, Scotch would go beyond Lainey if her luck held. For now, she welcomed what intimacy she could get.

"I'd better snack these guys," Scotch murmured, obviously not wanting to release her.

Looking at the expectant team, Lainey chuckled. "Yeah, you'd better." She forced herself away to allow her friend to begin her tasks.

They spent the next half hour discussing what was behind them. Scotch had not had the misfortune of breaking trail toward Finger Lake. She had traveled in a pack of four who had apparently followed another front runner. The snow had stopped falling, as well, so no new accumulation had piled up to impede their way. Don had been awake for her arrival, and sent greetings to Lainey along with a message that several reporters wanted to interview her in Nikolai.

"I'm supposed to do the interviews, not be their subject," she grumbled.

"That's the price you pay for fame," Scotch said airily. She ducked a snowball thrown in her direction. "Ah, ah, ah. None of that. We need to conserve our energy for Rainy Pass."

Lainey saluted. "Yes, ma'am."

"Best get some sleep while you can. You'll need it."

"I know." Lainey stood and gave Scotch another hug. "I'm glad you're out here with me."

Scotch grinned. "Ditto that."

The beep on her watch was more than irritating in the silence, and Lainey forced herself awake to shut the damned thing off. At some point, daylight had arrived, and she dragged herself out into it with a lurch. Muscles and joints creaked in protest, and she quickly donned her gloves and boots to retain sleep warmth. The most annoying thing was her bladder demanding release. She grabbed a roll of toilet paper and trudged away from the trail and sleds for a bit of privacy. Baring her hind end to the cold woke her up further, and she grumped in complaint, wondering if any woman had tried to use a catheter in the race before. She was not sure if the discomfort would outweigh the sharp bite of frost on her ass.

Her private call answered, she returned to the sled, pausing a moment to see Scotch's knit cap poking out the top of her sleeping bag. A fond smile curved her lips, her mind's eye supplying the vision of Scotch in her sleep shorts last summer, thighs and belly bare to her wandering gaze. The thought of arriving in Nome to finally succumb to Scotch's touch caused her chest to ache and her blood to rush to points south.

Lainey shook herself as a team appeared from around a bend in the path. She waved as the musher passed, hearing only the gentle tinkle of gear and panting as they slid along. It was time to get things together.

Since she and Scotch planned on going through the pass jointly, she had another hour before waking her dogs. Lainey would delay her time out to put them together for the worst of the next thirty miles. She returned to her sled, and began the process of packing up the gear she would not need for the rest of the break.

Eventually another watch beeped in demand, and Lainey smiled when she heard the muttered curses from the sled in front of her. It was good to know she was not the only one beginning to tire on the second day of the race. She started the cookers in considerably better humor as Scotch stumbled away to heed her bladder. By the time her friend had returned, coffee was brewed in Lainey's thermos and she began the process of waking her dogs.

They worked independently, their silence punctuated by praise voiced to their teams and the occasional bark or snort from a dog. When another team passed by, half of Lainey's dogs gave voice, not just her usual trash talkers, eager to get back on the trail. Scotch's team echoed the sentiment.

Once they were both ready, Scotch approached Lainey. Her eyes were a bit bloodshot, but she looked as enthusiastic as the dogs. "You about ready?"

"Yep," Lainey said, closing her sled bag. "You?"

"As ever."

Lainey wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I've heard that about you."

She feigned indignation. "Who's been talking?"

"Your dogs."

Scotch laughed. "Well, at least I'm not the only one."

Lainey grimaced and looked down the gang line. "Traitors."

Returning to business, Scotch said, "All right. You remember what was said at the mushers' meeting about Rainy Pass?"

"Steep descent, two switchbacks."

"Yeah. There'll be no stopping until you get to the bottom, so hang on tight. Pay attention to trail markers so you don't miss the switchbacks."

Lainey felt a shiver of dread. If she could get through the next day or so, the rest of the race would be a cake walk. She nodded understanding, wondering if her dogs were rested enough. If they did not run as fast as the sled, they may be injured. Scotch had kept on speaking, and she forced herself back to the lecture.

"It's just like the switchbacks back home, only a steeper incline. Half of your team has already been through here; the others are at least used to the sudden turns. Remember to stand on one runner or the other to distribute the weight on the turns." Scotch broke off with a smile. "And don't worry. You've got a great team, and you're a great musher. I'll wait at the bottom for you."

Spirits somewhat buoyed, Lainey squared her shoulders. "Just get out of the trail when you do, okay?"

Scotch chuckled and stepped forward for another hug. "For luck."

Lainey held her tight, suddenly thinking she had made a mistake in going into this sled dog race.

"Nome or bust."

The confidence Scotch felt for her seeped through her trepidation. They had a date in Nome, and Lainey intended to get there on her own steam rather than in a plane. "Nome or bust."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

THE TRAIL TWISTED back and forth upon itself as it climbed. Despite the heavy snows reported in the area and the many mushers having gone before them, the path was a rough one with tree roots and beaver jams threatening to upset the sleds. Crowded with timber and brush, Lainey ducked a number of times to keep away from sweepers. Yellow caution tape fluttered everywhere as various dangers were flagged by the Iditarod trail committee. Regardless of their attempt to carve a decent trail from the mess, Lainey's sled bucked and rattled as it went, the vibrations in her palms tingling unpleasantly.

Her team well rested, they held good speed as they followed Scotch's sled up and up and up. They broke through the trees for a bit, cresting and following a five thousand foot ridge. The scene was spectacular, and Lainey stared in awe at the wilderness before her until forest blocked her view. She forced her attention back to the trail. There was no time to gawk, not if she wanted to get through this leg of the journey in one piece.

Up ahead, Scotch stopped her dogs, raising her hand to signal Lainey to do the same. Swallowing hard, Lainey called her team to a halt. Her eyes widened when a stranger appeared out of the trees to talk to Scotch. Who the hell was that? They were ten miles from Finger Lake, and the man's jacket looked too new and pristine to be a musher.

Scotch spoke a few words with him and shook his hand. He bowed a couple of times as they talked. She tied off her snub line and walked back down the trail, the man returning into the trees.

"Who was that?" Lainey asked.

"A Japanese reporter. Said his name was Tatsuya something," Scotch said. "He has a few of his colleagues on the other side of the canyon taping mushers as they go down this side."

"Great," Lainey said, her tone sarcastic. "So when I roll down the canyon, everyone in Japan will have a laugh like 'America's Funniest Videos'."

Scotch smiled. "You won't roll. He said there have been a couple of close calls, but the cliff edges are well marked. You ready?"

Not liking the thought of cliff edges, Lainey nevertheless nodded. "Yeah. Let's get this over with before I faint from terror."

"You'll be fine." Scotch squeezed her shoulder, her eyes intently staring into Lainey's. "We're going to fly down that canyon and hit the bottom in less than three minutes. You won't have time to be scared before it'll be over with."

Lainey blew out a breath. "Let's do it."

Scotch stared a moment longer, gauging Lainey's emotions. Lainey raised her chin and leveled a calm gaze back at her. Scotch smiled and released her shoulder, returning to her team.

When Scotch's back was turned, Lainey tried not to hyperventilate. She gnawed her lower lip, nervously eying the dogs. They appeared oblivious of their mistress' anguish, tails wagging as they awaited their commands. Lainey reached down and prepared to pull her snow hook, knowing she had to stow it securely. If the trail down was as rough as the trail up, she did not need a sharp pointed instrument bouncing around.

Up ahead, Scotch released her snub line and hook. Lainey clearly heard her voice as she ordered the dogs forward. They traveled no more than thirty feet before disappearing over the ridge.

Hands shaking, Lainey pulled out her watch, wanting to give Scotch a full minute head start. When the second hand clicked past the point of no return, she forced herself to release the snow hook. "Ready. Let's go!" she called with more bravado than she thought possible. Sholo and Trace, who was back in the lead after their rest break, surged forward.

When they reached the place where Scotch had vanished, the dogs dropped down onto the trail. Lainey's stomach swooped with the sudden altitude change and she held her handlebars with a death grip. Her team ran full tilt, Jonah and Samson looking more like woolly bears attempting to evade the sled than pulling wheel dogs. Lainey's feet left the runners, at first standing on the drag mat between them. When that did not slow the sled enough, she stomped on the brake bar, the metal digging ruts into the trail. The sled no longer threatened to overrun her team, but still rushed down the trail.

Yellow caution tape here looked more like a spider web than anything else, though she hardly registered it as she flew along. Ahead of her it looked like the trail simply stopped, a makeshift fence of logs and tape pretending to be a dead end. Lainey's mind was numb, her eyes wide as they careened toward the barrier.

"Haw!" she bellowed, and her leaders took the first switchback.

Standing on the brakes seemed to help. At least her first wheel dogs did not appear to be in danger of imminent crushing. It did not slow her enough, however, and she screwed her eyes nearly closed as she approached the jury-rigged barrier at breakneck speed. At the proper moment, she leapt to her left runner, pulling with all her might to compensate for the whiplash effect. Then she was on the next section of trail. She felt a fleeting moment of relief before jumping back onto the brake bar. Fifty yards ahead, another dead end appeared. This one seemed a little less dangerous if the sparser amount of caution tape was any indication, but Lainey knew from her notes that the cliff on the other side was still a fifty foot drop. Her leaders arrived at the turn.

"Gee!"

They took the turn with smooth precision, and she felt a burble of pleasure at their elegance before preparing for her part of the journey. She hopped onto the right runner and pulled. The sled tipped left, despite her counter balance, and she felt a moment of sheer terror as the runner she stood on lifted off the trail.

She was through the turn and the sled thumped back to the ground. Heart in her throat, she swore a blue streak for the next fifty yards. The next bend came and she ordered the turn, easily negotiating it until she came onto a somewhat level surface.

"Whoa!" she called, seeing Scotch ahead waiting for her. As soon as her dogs came to a halt, Lainey gratefully set the snow hook. She took two steps away from her sled, her knees trembling from a combination of exertion and adrenaline, and flopped into a snow bank.

Scotch laughed and whooped. She trotted up to Lainey and grabbed her hands, forcing her back to her feet. "You did it! I told you!"

Lainey's fear faded, replaced with a flush of pride and exhilaration as Scotch hugged her. "I almost lost it on the second turn," she admitted. She looked back up the side of the canyon, awed by the height she had just traversed at breakneck speeds. "My runner left the trail completely. I thought for sure I was going to tip over."

Cuffing Lainey's shoulder, Scotch released her. "You didn't balance the load when you packed it, did you?"

No matter how hard she tried, Lainey could not feel chagrin at her mistake. She had taken on the Happy River descent and survived! Her grin was cheeky as she said, "Nope. But it's a lesson learned!"

"Yeah, I'll bet." Scotch stepped back. "Let's snack the dogs and get out of here. Someone could be right behind us, and there's no room to get off the trail until Puntilla Lake."

"Yes, coach."

The dogs were still well rested from their break. As Lainey fed them moose liver, they frisked in the snow, picking up her excitement as she showered them with praise. She paused only long enough to get her camera out and take a few pictures of the canyon wall. Then they were ready to go.

They mushed along, following the Yentna River. The river had not frozen solid here, and Lainey could see standing water on the ice as well as running water through occasional gaps. She wondered if anyone had fallen in, but saw no sled tracks near the holes. She supposed it happened sometimes, though not so far today. Lainey shivered in sympathy with anyone suffering such a fate.

The trail began to climb again, the hill to her right steepening until they traversed a narrow ridge. Ahead she saw Scotch apparently leaning on her right runner as they went around a corner, and she followed suit. The path tilted down to Lainey's left, rising above open water on the river, and she compensated for the angle. Regardless, she felt a faint tremor of movement sideways and she called frantically to her team, "Let's go! Let's go!"

Her team put on a burst of speed, loping across what Lainey now realized was a twenty foot ridge of ice. Before her sled could slide off the path, the dogs had her past the danger. For second time in an hour, she gripped her handlebars in an effort to remain standing. Good God, what would the Farewell Burn be like?

Lainey drew herself back to the task at hand, seeing the trail incline sharply. In reaction to the extreme climb, her team slowed, and she forced her shaking legs from the runners. The exercise helped burn off the excess adrenaline, and soon her legs were steady as she pushed the sled up Happy Hill. It was with great relief that they reached the peak and came onto a level path.

She breathed a sigh as the trail broke into a meadow for a short bit. It seemed she had been running forever, but the trail between checkpoints was only thirty miles distant. Before Lainey could become too complacent, however, she watched Scotch disappear into another steep descent.

More caution signs met her gaze as she dipped down. The trail twisted back and forth, but no switchbacks were forthcoming. She easily held the sled back on the sharp slope, her dogs running easy and heeding her commands as they went. At the bottom of the descent, she came out along Puntilla Lake.

The wide expanse of level ground elated Lainey. The worst of this leg was over. It was smooth sailing to Rainy Pass Lodge from here. To celebrate, Scotch had pulled off the well-marked trail to snack her dogs.

When Lainey stopped, Scotch walked back to her, a wide grin on her face. "Take off your cap," she said.

"What?" Lainey removed her musher's cap. "Why?"

"This is from Mom." Scotch held up a knit stocking hat of bright green. On it was a huge yellow smiley face wearing its own musher's cap, the flaps dangling on either side. The words written beside the face proudly proclaimed 'I Survived Happy River.' Scotch pulled it onto Lainey's head until it covered her ears.

Lainey laughed, dragging it off her head to get a better look. "That's priceless! Where did she get it?"

Scotch shrugged. "Don't know. But she wanted me to put it in my food drop so I could give it to you after you made it through."

She put the hat back on, and stuck her musher cap into her personal bag. "Thanks."

This time they snacked themselves as well as the dogs, filling up on trail mix, crackers, and buttered pumpkin bread. Lainey finished the last of her now lukewarm coffee and drank a thawed Gatorade. She grimaced as she watched Scotch eat a half stick of butter right from the package.

"Yuck."

Scotch wrapped the second half in its paper. "Says you. At least I won't be freezing my butt off like you."

Lainey grimaced in answer. She heard noises and looked back at the trail behind them. "Sounds like somebody else is coming."

Standing, Scotch squinted up the hillside looking for the trail. "They're coming mighty fast. Wonder if it's a rookie."

In answer a team of dogs burst through onto the level trail. It took a few moments for Lainey to realize that there was no musher on the sled. She stood up, mouth open, not certain what she should do as the team headed toward their position.

"Whoa!" Scotch called, stepping out into the trail. "Whoa! Lainey! See if you can get onto the sled as it passes."

Lainey dropped the detritus of her snacks onto her sled bag, adrenaline once again pumping through her system.

The new team heeded Scotch's command and slowed down as they neared, but did not stop. Frisky and excited, they trotted toward Scotch, making the sled an easy enough target for Lainey to board. She ordered them to halt, firmly stepping onto the brake to further impede their progress. By the time Scotch got hold of the leaders' collars, they had come to a full stop and were rolling in the snow to cool off.

"Now what?"

Scotch looked around their immediate area. "Let's get them over there," she said, indicating a stand of sturdy trees. "We can tie them there until their musher shows up."

Lainey glanced back up the perilous trail. "What if he's injured?" She saw the same concern in Scotch's eyes.

"We don't know where he lost the team. If it was as far back as the first descent, it could take us hours to get there by sled. Chances are good someone has already found him coming from the other direction." She led the dogs toward the trees. "If he's closer, it'd still be better for us to get to the checkpoint and notify someone. They can get to him faster with a snow machine."

Nodding, Lainey helped get the sled into position and tied the snub line to a tree. She set the snow hook as firmly as possible. "Isn't this considered outside assistance? Won't we get in trouble or be disqualified?"

Scotch opened the sled bag and located the Iditarod promotional package. "No, this is a legal action. If he's near enough to walk, great. Or he can hitch a ride with another team; it's one thing to assist someone to keep going when they should scratch. It's another to leave somebody out here in the bush to die." She found the bib number so she could notify the committee who it was and put things away.

She and Lainey returned to their sleds, their dogs eager to get going again.

"This ever happen to you?"

Scotch's face reddened, but she smiled. "Yeah. Once. My first Yukon Quest. A sweeper got me while I was dozing on the sled. Knocked me flat." She chuckled. "I walked for an hour or more before I found the team tied off the trail waiting for me."

Lainey grinned. "Just returning the favor, huh?"

"Yup."

At their parking spots, they split up and went to their respective sleds. As they urged their teams forward, Lainey spared one glance back at the dogs curling up to take a nap as they awaited their lost owner.

CHAPTER THIRTY

THE IDITAROD UTILIZED one of the small cabins skirting Rainy Pass Lodge as a checkpoint and Lainey accompanied Scotch until they reached the small crowd of volunteers gathering there. It was rather fortuitous that Scotch's team led the way; when young Chibee noticed a herd of horses near the lodge, he voiced a howl and attempted to break ranks and give chase. The rest of Lainey's team chose to follow the familiar scent of Scotch's dogs, and Chibee was forced to abandon his pursuit.

"Five fifty-six PM. Welcome to Rainy Pass," the checker said. He marked her time and grinned as he looked at her head. "Nice hat," he said, gesturing at her with a pencil.

"Thanks!" Lainey chuckled. She tugged on it. "I think I deserve about a dozen more of them."

"I hear you," the checker agreed. "Maybe you'll get a hundred for the Farewell Burn."

"Man, don't remind me!" Lainey glanced at his clipboard, pleased to note she had not dropped behind the mid thirties placing. "Scotch and I found a team with no musher just on the edge of Puntilla Lake. We tied them down there."

"All right." He wrote something on his paperwork. "We'll get somebody out there to check on the situation." He waved her on to the veterinarians waiting nearby.

She quickly fell into the checkpoint routine, assisting the vets with her dogs, picking up her food drop, and going over her team with a critical eye. All the animals seemed in good spirits, though Heldig's paws appeared a little worse for wear. Lainey used a different salve for the pads of Heldig's feet, telling her in no uncertain terms that she was going to staple her booties on if things continued this way. The dog was less than impressed, kissing Lainey's nose with impudence.

As Lainey continued her camp chores, a handful of reporters surrounded her, joined by Ben Strauss. Her friend stood back, allowing the others to ask questions about the trail through Happy River Valley. Several took pictures of her new headgear. When she mentioned her trainer, Scotch, had a lot to do with her successful arrival, they drifted away to get an interview with her as well.

Relieved at the loss of attention, Lainey finished cooking the dog food and loaded it into the cooler.

"That sounded pretty exciting."

She grinned at Strauss. "I'll say. I think you'd get a kick out of doing this. You should consider a leave of absence sometime and give it a go. You're always into the dangerous survival stuff."

"Maybe I will." He gestured toward the lodge. "Come on. I'll buy you dinner. The moose stew is good."

Not wanting to get on the wrong side of the 'no assistance' rule, Lainey said, "Better yet, I'll buy."

Strauss shrugged agreement.

It felt a little odd to be leaving her team. She glanced over the sleeping dogs, oblivious to her departure. "They'll be fine," Strauss said, reading her mind. "A lot of the mushers grab a bite here rather than eat what they're carrying. It'll do you good to see people."

She laughed. "All right! I'm convinced."

They left the sled parking area and walked to the lodge. Even with the potential for a fresh cooked meal before her, Lainey stifled a yawn. It was the end of the second day and she had had about six hours sleep, total. She was probably doing better than most rookies were, having the experience of Scotch to draw upon. Lainey could not fathom doing this without the extensive training she had put herself through since June.

The lodge looked like what a lodge should look like. Walls of thick logs, rough hewn banisters on the large covered porch, and the requisite old dog drowsing by the door met Lainey's gaze. She was surprised to see the musher Drew Owens sitting on a bench, hands in his parka pockets, feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles. He appeared to be sleeping, and she wondered why he would be napping out here rather than inside.

Strauss opened the door for her and Lainey stepped into a fairly busy establishment. A large dining room was off to the side and seemed to have quite a number of reporters, volunteers, and mushers enjoying each others' company. Her arrival sparked a round of welcome and toasts, and Lainey waved at the diners as Strauss led her to a table.

The warmth here beat down upon Lainey, acclimated as she was to the frigid temperatures outside. She almost felt the sweat popping up on her forehead and she hastily began removing her outer clothes. The skin on her face stung and her sinuses began clogging as the tissue swelled up. By the time she reached Strauss' table, she felt like her head was full of cotton. No wonder Owens was sleeping outside. If she had not offered to buy dinner, she would have turned around and gone back out to her dogs.

"Ugh," she said, sitting down. Other mushers who braved the indoors were half clad, and she followed their lead, removing mukluks and liners, until only socks covered her feet. Next time she would bring her spare liners and fresh socks inside.

"What can I get you?" a man asked. "The moose stew is hot and ready or we can grill you up a sandwich, but that'll take more than a few minutes."

Lainey smiled despite her discomfort. "Served a lot of Iditarod mushers, have you?"

"Oh, yeah. We're glad to keep our doors open every year for the race."

"The stew will be fine. And about three gallons of coffee."

The waiter took Strauss' order and left the table.

"You okay?" Strauss asked.

Lainey rubbed her face. "Kind of fuzzy from the heat. It feels like I've got a sinus infection."

"Interesting. I suppose it makes sense. You've literally been out in the weather for over forty-eight hours."

"Yeah." Lainey tried to breathe through her nose and failed. "Ugh."

The food was delivered and she dug into the hot meal. Despite her physical discomfort from the heat, the stew triggered a massive hunger and she ate as if starved.

"So. You and Scotch?"

Lainey sighed. Howry had warned her it was coming, and here it was. "Yeah, looks that way."

His brow furrowed. "You're not sure?"

"Well, it's not like we've followed through on things. We've been concentrating on getting through this race before we explore any... options."

"I thought you told me she was straight."

Lainey stopped eating and closed her eyes. "Yeah. I did." She looked at Strauss. "At the time, it was only wishful thinking on my part. I really doubted she was gay. I had no idea she would be amenable to a -" She paused, searching for the right word. Liaison? Dalliance? Affair? "A relationship," she finished.

His eyebrows shot up at the term. "A relationship?" he repeated.

She was sure she blushed, though how he could see it through her weather reddened skin she did not know. "Yeah. I don't think this is going to be just a fling."

"Wow." He sat back in his chair and stared at her.

"What?" she demanded, slightly irritated.

Strauss smiled. "I just never thought I'd see the day you'd be off the market."

Lainey grunted in mock aggravation, though her insides shivered with trepidation. "I don't know about that. We'll see how it goes after the race." She had admitted to herself that she loved Scotch, but she had no idea if Scotch felt the same. There was still a chance that her hope for more than a one night stand would be crushed, that Scotch had no desire for more. It was something on which Lainey did not want to dwell.

He seemed to understand the dangerous emotional trail she was on, and wisely refrained from making further comment. "Don seemed to be worried I'd fire you over the issue."

"Well, I did lead you on about my real reasons for pitching the story," Lainey said, pointing her spoon at him.

"True, but the pitch was solid or I wouldn't have bought it. The fact that you dived into the challenge after my bosses made their changes only sweetened the pot. You could have said no to the gig."

Lainey did not disabuse him of the notion that she could have put a halt to the entire deal. He had no idea how driven she had been to bask in everything that was Scotch Fuller. "I guess," she said with a shrug.

Another round of greetings warned her of new arrivals. Howry slid into the chair next to Strauss, and Scotch draped her parka over the one beside Lainey before sitting down.

"Moose stew at Rainy Pass Lodge," she said, happily tucking a napkin at her throat. "Best thing since sliced bread."

"I agree," Lainey said, returning to her food.

"Here you go, Scotch." The waiter set a bowl of stew and a plate of bread and butter before Scotch. "You want hot chocolate?"

"You bet!"

"Come here often?" Howry asked after the man delivered Scotch's beverage.

"Once or twice," she said in an off-handed way, smiling when he laughed.

Strauss eyed Scotch. "You've gained a few places since the start of the race. Think you'll win?"

She chuckled through a mouthful of stew, swallowing before answering him. "We've got a long way to go before we think about that. The key is to gradually pull forward, not make a run for it in the first couple of days. Exhaust the dogs now and they'll have nothing to offer down the trail."

"Still, you're considered a contender this year," Howry said.

"Doesn't mean I'll make it."

"Is that modesty talking?" Strauss asked.

Scotch shook her head. "No, reality. I can have the best team, the best times, and the best weather, but anything can happen out there. Hell, if I bust my sled in the Farewell Burn and can't find a fix or alternative on the other side, I scratch. If the weather takes a turn for the worse and blizzard conditions make visibility zero, I could easily get lost off the trail. Lots of things can happen that I have no control over."

"Why do you do it, if not to win?"

Lainey, curious to know the answer to that question, gave Strauss an intent look. Was he putting Scotch through her paces for Lainey's sake? Trying to draw Scotch out to measure her character and integrity, to make sure she was good enough for Lainey? For his part, Strauss ignored her, though no doubt knew what she was thinking. Lainey puzzled over a combined sense of pleasure at his paternal attempt and annoyance with his behavior. Who did he think he was, her father? He had no right to judge her choice of partner.

The conversation continued without her, and Lainey hastened to catch up.

"Why climb Mt. Everest? Why go on safari to hunt lions or rhinos? Why get up every morning?" Scotch said, her food forgotten. "It's a challenge. Out here my survival depends on me and my actions. It's difficult sometimes, yes, but satisfying on levels you can't even imagine."

Strauss watched her for a long moment. "So winning doesn't matter?"

Scotch's serious demeanor faded. "Didn't say that," she said, winking at him.

Lainey joined the others in laughter. That easy confidence Scotch held radiated around the table, and Lainey drew it in like air. This was the key, this was the foundation of the self-assurance that had first drawn her to Scotch. Knowing the basis for it did not lessen her desire one whit, either.

Howry held up his beer. "To survival."

"And winning," Strauss added, lifting an iced tea.

Scotch and Lainey both chimed in. "To winning."

The indoor heat lulled her, and Lainey yawned hugely. "Sorry."

"No. You've got every reason to be tired," Strauss said, putting his glass down. "And still a long way to go."

"If I'm going to get any sleep, now is the time to do it." Lainey forced her feet back into damp liners and mukluks. She would definitely need to change them before catching a nap.

"Want company?" Strauss asked.

Lainey smiled at him, letting him know she understood his earlier ploy and felt no ill will. "Naw. You'll just have to turn around and come right back here."

He nodded. "We're staying here another night and flying into McGrath next."

"See you there." Lainey gathered up her outer clothing and headed out of the lodge. Her exit was met with a chorus from the people lounging around inside, wishing her luck. She waved and closed the door against the chill, feeling immensely better now that she was not overheated.

Drew Owens still drowsed on the bench. Lainey chuckled at him and stepped into the snow.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

LAINEY DRAGGED HERSELF from her sleeping bag, reluctance in every bone. While the heat and food from the lodge had made her drowsy, once back at her sled she had difficulty falling asleep. A couple of teams remained frisky after their foray through Happy Valley, and their constant barking whenever a musher arrived or left roused her between fits of slumber. Sleeping out in the wilderness definitely had its benefits and she now regretted not blowing through the checkpoint.

She put on fresh socks and boot liners, shivering in the night chill as she stomped into her mukluks. On her way to the privy, she entertained herself with thoughts of feather beds, thick quilts, and roaring fires. By the time she returned, the exercise had warmed and woke her enough to get immediately to work.

The moose stew was still with her, so she did not cook herself a meal. Instead, as the dog food heated, she doubled up on her snack items. The extra banana breads, trail mix, jerky and pemmican would keep her going until the other side of the Dalzell Gorge. The next fifty miles would not be easy. Some said that the trail to Rohn was as bad as Happy Valley - the rough path simply took longer to travel.

Lainey quietly went through her team with their late night supper, waking each of them in turn with soft words and pettings. She was pleased to see them all eating well, a sign of continued good health. The dreaded kennel cough had not been spoken of among the other mushers; perhaps this would be a sickness free race. After another watering, she began the heating process all over at the cooker, drinking freshly brewed instant coffee from her thermos.

Another voice spoke nearby, and she looked over to see Scotch mirroring her tasks. She watched as the woman worked through her team, seeing the love and devotion the dogs gave her, seeing Scotch reflect the same back to the animals. Scotch had been wrong in the lodge. It was not just her abilities that she relied upon to survive. The dogs had everything to do with it, too. Scotch might be the alpha dog in the pack, but it was still a team effort.

Lainey quickly grabbed her camera and snapped off a couple of photos, catching Scotch in the act of bestowing attention on one of her dogs. The flashes attracted Scotch who looked up at her. Lainey waggled her camera with a not-so-apologetic grin for the intrusion. Scotch merely smiled and returned to her chores.

The second round of dog stew was finished, and Lainey dumped it into the cooler. She shucked her heavy mittens for two layers of rubber gloves over silk liners, stuffing hand warmers into the palms, and started down the line with ointment and booties.

"You ready to go?" Scotch asked.

"Yeah, just about. You?"

"Yup." Scotch looked over Lainey's lively team. "You're doing a great job with them."

Lainey's skin reddened, and she felt a foolish grin plaster itself across her face. "Thanks."

Scotch looked out over the dog parking area, scanning the surrounding darkness. Lights from the lodge and around the checkpoint were visible, and stars sparkled overhead. "Remember, we're going to be crossing a few ice bridges this leg. Don't stop on one. It might not be able to hold the weight. The temperatures have stayed pretty low, but that doesn't mean a whole lot."

She nodded, not liking the idea of taking a midnight swim in the dead of an Alaskan winter. "What if someone else has already broken through one? How will we follow the trail?"

"We'll figure that out if we get there. It's only a creek, not a river, so that'll make things a bit easier."

Lainey's concern was not allayed, but she did not argue. Surely they would not be penalized for going off the trail in search of a different crossing. "Okay," she said, placing her confidence in Scotch's experience. "Let's do it."

They finished breaking camp and urged their dogs toward the checkpoint. A couple of mushers, seeing Scotch make her move, decided to get going as well. They began rousing their dogs, glancing over their shoulders at Scotch or at their watches. Were these the ones who would give Scotch a run for her money? Would they be able to keep up with her? Lainey scanned her memory, putting grizzled faces to press release names and realized that this pair were long time veterans. She felt a swell of pride that Scotch, with her admittedly limited experience was causing such a stir with men who had been racing almost as long as she had been alive.

"Midnight, straight up," the checker told her as she initialed his paperwork. "Good luck. There's some mean winds blowing, so visibility may be shoddy."

"Thanks. That's good to know."

Again Scotch led the way. The trail immediately climbed toward the top of Rainy Pass. Once they passed this ridge, they would be mushing through the interior of Alaska, bracketed by mountain ranges through frozen tundra. Lainey shivered in anticipation. Overhead, eerie wisps of greens and blues sheeted across the sky, a colorful backdrop behind grand Denali which rose above them. She had a fleeting wish to see the view in daylight, but her thoughts turned back to the trail as Scotch began the descent.

The path twisted and contorted as it went, solid and well packed. Lainey barely kept up with the commands, the trail switching back and forth with hairpin turns, then abruptly plunging into narrow ravines. Her head lamp picked up sheer walls of snow and ice, boulders rushing toward her from murky darkness, and the wagging tails of her dogs as they surged forward in pleasure. She barely had time to force her heart out of her throat before the next danger whizzed forward and past, her belated responses to duck useless when the peril was quickly put behind her.

They hit the bottom of the gorge, the trail leveling out though it did not become less convoluted. Lainey used the more mellow ride to unclench her fingers from her handlebars. That had definitely lasted longer than the Happy Valley run. Despite earlier trepidations, she was glad they had taken the run at night. The trail had been scary enough with just a head lamp; taking the descent in daylight would have caused her heart failure.

Before she could relax completely, the trail began a steep climb, slowing her team. She hopped off the sled and helped push the cumbersome thing up the hill, and they broke out of the gorge onto tundra.

Lainey stepped back onto the runners, feeling wind whipping about her lower legs and brushing her face. Powdered snow apparently covered the ground, though she could not see it for the windswept blizzard. Lainey saw only the tails of her wheel dogs in the gloom, yet she easily located a six foot tripod trail marker coming up in the distance. Her visibility was obscured below her waist and she took in the sight of Scotch ahead, gliding through a cloud, pulled by unseen forces. She marveled at the eeriness, the sky illuminated by the Aurora Borealis, starlight flickering bright in the crisp cold sky, and shadowy lumps of hills bordering the shallow valley.

They continued to climb, moving from one valley into a more narrow one, the wind dying down to give Lainey better visibility. The trail crossed a river with standing water. As the team splashed through it, Lainey frowned. Heldig was bare pawed again, as well as a couple of other dogs. She would have to stop soon to take care of their feet before ice formed between their toes.

The climb steepened, the trail weaving between foliage and a frozen creek as it went. It opened up onto a frozen lake, and Lainey whistled to get Scotch's attention.

Calling the dogs to a halt, Lainey had a difficult moment stomping the snow hook into the icy surface. She grabbed a bag of frozen fish and snacked her team as she moved forward.

"We need to go over their paws," Scotch said, meeting Lainey halfway between their teams.

"That's what I was thinking. Heldig kicked off her booties miles ago."

"Let's get to it then. We don't have much farther to go in mileage, but we've got a potential rough road ahead."

Lainey returned to her team. The bitter cold nipped at her fingers when she removed her arctic mittens. She fumbled with the rubber gloves and stuffed her pockets with dog booties. Even those who still had them would need them replaced. She spent the next several minutes changing out booties, digging ice balls out from between canine toes, slathering ointment on pads, and recovering her dogs' feet with corduva booties. It took longer than she thought it would, because even those with booties had ice developing on their paws from the water they had run through.

"Passing!"

Startled, she looked up to see a musher's head lamp coming toward her. She gave the musher a wave, noting he was one of the pair hastily attempting to follow Scotch when they had left Rainy Pass checkpoint. She grinned and returned to her task, wondering if the man felt smug at catching Scotch so soon in the race. Was the other musher on his way, as well?

Finishing with the dogs, she gathered the wet booties and put them in a bag with all the other used ones that had not been lost on the trail. There was a laundromat in McGrath, and she planned on running a couple of loads of things through a dryer.

"You ready?" she called to Scotch.

"Yeah." The musher zipped up her sled bag and climbed onto the runners. "Let's go!" she called to the dogs.

Lainey's team hastened forward, not wanting to be left behind.

The trail fell into a steep decline that leveled out after a couple hundred feet. From there it traversed a timberline, following a creek as it zigzagged along. The winding path was a hectic one, worse than the one leaving Rainy Pass checkpoint. Lainey fought to remain upright as she hit patches of bare rock, uneven ruts, and sharp turns, the path tipping left then right. She kept a lot of weight on her drag mat, not wanting to run over Scotch ahead of her, fighting as hard as she to not spill her sled. It was a cross between a roller coaster and a bucking bronco, and Lainey white knuckled her way along, praying not to lose control.

Eventually the trail evened out, became narrower, and climbed further. Huge trees flanked her, and though she could not see in the darkness, she had a sense that the ground opened up to her right. Lainey balanced on the left runner to compensate, not certain if the trail would remain level or tilt downhill. Her head lamp picked up an approaching sign and she narrowed her eyes to catch a glimpse.

'Watch Your Ass.'

Lainey blinked. She saw Scotch literally disappear in front of her, her only warning of the coming drop. Then she was on the descent, her stomach swooping in response.

After a moment, she frowned. The down slope was steep, yes, but why the sign? The trail was well-packed and smoother than what she had already passed over. Her sled seemed to be dragging on the left, but she could not see a cause, leading her to believe there was damage from the rough patches she had gone through rather than a problem here. Were things supposed to be more difficult here? Was there something at the end of this descent she was supposed to be preparing for? She racked her brains for anything she had heard at the mushers' meeting, but came up empty.

At the bottom of the drop the trail wound back and forth over a creek bed. By the time Lainey reached the first ice bridge, her adrenaline levels were at an all time high, perversely dulling her senses with the constant starts to her nervous systems. She caught sight of Scotch on the trail ahead, watching her sweep down and across the trail, water rushing beneath. Lainey held her breath and followed, crossing with ease despite her concerns.

On either side of her, the ground slanted upward again, huge trees creating vortexes as the trail twisted around them, onto the creek, across more ice bridges, and onto narrow spits of land. She began to tire of feeling scared all the time, and a bubble of laughter welled up in her chest. This was a far better ride than anything at Six Flags.

The gorge opened up onto river ice. Her joy increased as they broke away from the claustrophobic area. She heeded trail markers and ignored rough ice as she and her team bumped along. Water stood in some places, but she knew the next checkpoint was nearby. Her team skied through the wetness and kept on, the lure of food and rest drawing them on.

Markers guided them off the river and into spruce trees. Soon, lights flickered among the branches and they pulled into the checkpoint.

"Lainey Hughes," she said as she halted her dogs.

"Four thirty-eight AM, number thirty-one," the checker said, marking her time. "Welcome to Rohn Roadhouse."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

GOING THROUGH THE routine had become second nature for both Lainey and the dogs. The team had settled into the six hour run / rest schedule and, as soon as they pulled the sled into the parking area, they dropped to the ground and curled up to get some rest. They were interrupted only by Lainey delivering straw and blankets. She disconnected the tug lines from their harnesses along the way to make them more comfortable.

The area she and Scotch parked in was sheltered from the returning wind by spruce trees. There appeared to be a landing strip adjacent to them, but no planes currently occupied the runway. Another team came in not long after them, the second of the veterans clinging to Scotch's tail. Lainey, still high on adrenaline and a touch of hysteria, chuckled to herself as she ladled out dog food to her hungry team, the dogs rousing themselves for a warm meal. She hoped Scotch would win this race, justifying the fears of the old timers who worried at her heels.

Once the entire team, both human and canine, had eaten, Lainey grabbed her child's sled and trudged off to the food drop area. She collected her bags and dragged them back, meeting Scotch in the process of doing the same. They grinned at one another, walking close enough to jostle each others' shoulders as they passed, and Lainey wondered if she looked as goofy as she felt. If she had been a cartoon, there would be little stars and hearts floating around her head. She blushed at the thought. Thank God she was flesh and blood instead.

Back at her sled, she tilted it onto its right side to have a good look at the left runner. As she had surmised, the trip from Rainy Pass had done some damage. The plastic was chewed and mangled, almost completely separated in some places. Lainey used her tool kit to remove the bolts holding the runner in place. She slid off the mutilated plastic and took a fresh runner from her bag to replace it. After the bolts were back in place, she pushed and pulled the rest of the fittings on that side of the sled, checking for loose joints, but all seemed well. To be thorough, she turned her sled onto its other side and replaced the right runner, as well. The damage was less, but better to have fresh runners than have it totally shred midway through the Farewell Burn.

By the time she finished, the dogs were deep asleep. Lainey checked her watch and winced. She had been working for almost two hours, which gave her maybe three hours of sleep before getting ready to go again. The reason for the mandatory eight and twenty-four hour breaks became clear to her. Dogs were not the ones to exhaust themselves on this race; it was the human contingent that needed the layovers in order to survive.

She glanced over at Scotch, who had also taken the time to go over her sled after the beating of the trail. She, too, was finished with her tasks. "Get your sleeping bag and some of the stuff you really need to dry," Scotch said. "There's usually room in the cabin to spread out a bit. Lots of lines near the stove to hang stuff on." Lainey looked over her gear. There was nothing she really needed dry except maybe her boot liners. With her food drop, she had plenty of booties to get her to Nikolai which boasted a municipal building with a boiler room for drying things. She grabbed up two spare boot liners and felt glove liners to take with her. On a lark, she stuffed her pockets with a handful of wet booties, as well.

Scotch joined her, carrying a similar pile of wet items, and they walked to the small cabin in silence. Lainey's eyes felt baggy from lack of sleep even in the bracing chill of early morning. They passed others who had elected to remain with their dogs or volunteers out and about for whatever reasons. Lainey experienced a moment's dread at the cabin door. Would her sinuses clog up again like they had at Rainy Pass Lodge? Staying with the dogs would be preferable. At least she would be able to breathe.

Regardless, she followed Scotch indoors. The cabin was a small one and crammed with mushers, volunteers and even a few intrepid reporters. A wood stove stood in the center of the room, giving off enough heat to make things comfortable, but not overly warm for the majority of mushers. Lainey felt her sinuses begin to throb, but they did not get as swollen as before, making the interior at least tolerable.

Scotch murmured greetings to those who were awake, seated around a table as they nursed hot coffee and breakfast. A dry erase board hung from one wall, listing the mushers and their times in and out of the checkpoint. Lainey snorted as she saw her name by her bib number, then scanned through to see how others were doing. It seemed that all the previous champions were either here now, or only just left. Which meant Scotch still had a good shot at winning. Lainey knew better than to put herself in that category; Scotch was holding her team back to get Lainey through the worst of the first part of the race. After that, Lainey would be on her own with some decent experience under her belt to help her get the rest of the way to Nome.

"Lainey." She turned away from the board, seeing Scotch waving her toward the stove. They found spare space on several cords draped across the room for their wet things. Lainey used the velcro straps on the dog booties as clothespins. Several bunks lined the room, but none were available. Even the floor was littered with mushers napping. Lainey discovered a bare corner and dropped her sleeping bag there. Scotch joined her. They used Lainey's bag to make a nest, and Scotch's to cover them. Soon they were snuggled together. Lainey's sleep-fogged mind wandered about as she drifted off. The floor was cooler, and her sinuses did not bother her as much. Would anybody notice she and Scotch sleeping together under the noses of the Iditarod committee and fellow mushers? Would anybody care?

She turned on her side, cuddling closer. Just her luck. She finally got to sleep with Scotch, but was too damned exhausted to do anything about it.

Lainey pulled out of the Rohn checkpoint at precisely twelve thirty-eight PM. She was third in a convoy of six mushers, a rather odd experience considering the solitary nature of running dogs. The next twenty miles of trail was considered reason enough to set aside competitive differences. As Scotch said, out here they could use all the help they could get to slog through the next stretch.

Drew Owens had delayed his departure to lead the procession with Scotch tailing him. Lainey came next, followed by one of the veterans that had been playing catch up with Scotch. Behind Georgio Spencer came his youngest son, Roman; Lainey had met the younger man at the mandatory rookie meeting in December. Bringing up the rear was the second veteran chasing after Scotch, Jon Waters, a three time champion of the race.

They left the checkpoint, mushing into a brisk wind. It had not seemed so rough in the protection of spruce trees where the dogs had slept. Despite the warmer temperatures of the afternoon, the gusts now chilled her face and caused her eyes to tear. Lainey fumbled for the goggles in her personal bag, relieved as the biting sting dissipated. She pulled her scarf up to cover the lower half of her face.

The wind had scrubbed the trail of snow, leaving patches of gravel and sand as they traveled along the bank of the Kuskokwim River. Driftwood piles haphazardly dotted the landscape, some coming perilously close to the trail. In other places the heat of the day, below thirty degrees but still rather warm for the animals, had resulted in over flow from the river. When they were not on dry land, they slipped over ice covered in a sheen of water. More than once the dogs lost their footing as they trotted, stumbling as their feet slipped out from under them. None of them fell, though, for which Lainey was greatly relieved.

Trail markers were few and far between. According to Lainey's notes, they were supposed to cross the river at some point, but for the life of her she could not see anything on the other side to indicate where the trail was. Owens, who was a good hundred yards ahead of her suddenly veered southwest across the wet ice. Lainey followed him and Scotch, squinting into the distance. It was not until she was halfway across the river before she saw the reflective markers. She wondered how Owens had seen them. Or did he simply know its location from previous races? If that were so, there would be some bewildered rookies getting lost out here. She certainly would have missed the signs.

Lainey was glad when they headed into a stand of trees. Her team picked up a little speed now that they had better purchase on the trail. She felt the belated tingle of blood warming her cheeks now that they were not being blasted by wind, though a breeze still teased the ruffles of her badger fur hood.

The trail remained smooth and relatively straight, clear of debris and far enough away from potential sweepers. It was sort of nice to just let the dogs run, not a care in the world. Lainey frowned. This placid little excursion would end soon. The Farewell Burn was somewhere out there, and she did not travel in a pack of mushers to enjoy the day. Still, the area was a pleasant one, sunlight sparkling off snow, crisp and clean. She fell to temptation and pulled out her camera for a few shots, even turning around to take photos of the mushers behind her. She smiled when Georgio waved and grinned at her.

She put the camera away just in time to follow an abrupt right turn. Her heart skittered in anticipation, but rather than the roller coaster of the Burn, the trail began a gradual curve to the left. Still mellow, still calm, she began to fidget. How far away was the Farewell Burn from Rohn? She dug out her notebook and flipped through the papers, keeping one eye on the trail, one elbow hooked over her sled to keep from losing her balance. Eventually she pieced together that they had a little while to go before all hell would break loose.

They broke from the trail onto another river. Here, too, the ice hid beneath a layer of water, making things slick for the dogs. The trail did not linger long here, taking a left and climbing up a steep bank. Before Lainey became complacent, they were back onto another creek. This section of trail was horrible, with irregular driftwood piles, slippery surfaces, and bared gravel. Surely when this creek was thawed, it boasted white water from the amount of rock sticking up to mar the ice. Her sled bucked and writhed under her as she fought just to stay on. Getting off the creek did little to ease the journey.

She saw Scotch crest the hill ahead and dip over the other side. That was Lainey's only warning before she arrived at the apex of a small hill. Beneath her, she saw a ravine, the path to it a short one. At least it was not as bad as switchbacks at Happy Valley. Her trip down was fast and smooth compared to the trail leading up. At the bottom, she called the command to the dogs for a sharp right turn. Lainey gaped at the upcoming hill. The climb was a nearly vertical one and she watched Owens urging his dogs up, pushing his sled behind. She swallowed, hoping the trail was good enough for the dogs to get some purchase. There was no way she was strong enough to push a five hundred pound sled up that incline. Then she had no time to worry about being crushed by a backsliding sled. Scotch was already halfway up the hill and Lainey at the bottom.

"Let's go! Let's go!" she called to her team, getting off the runners to help muscle the sled to the top.

The dogs put their backs into it, and though they slowed considerably, they slogged to the top of the hill with effort.

There was a short jog left through some trees and she came out onto an upper section of the ravine she had just climbed. Tracks on the trail here indicated that others had not been so lucky. Rather than remain on the marked trail, their dogs had continued the left turn, rushing them to the bottom of the ravine to climb that vertical hill all over again. Lainey was glad for the experienced leaders, both on her team and the mushers in front of her. Her dogs followed the scent of the dogs before them rather than that of those who had erred in the recent past.

Another ascent leveled out at a rock out cropping that she easily avoided. Rocks studded the trail ahead, bare of snow and easy to see. She gritted her teeth as she went, hoping not to hit anything that would damage her sled irreplaceably. This sled had to last her to McGrath, where she had another waiting for her. Until she arrived, this one had to remain in one piece.

The convoy sailed out of the ravine, bumping across frozen and bare tundra. As they reached another tree line, Owens came to a stop, the rest following his lead. He called up the line of mushers, each taking the message and passing it on like the Telephone game played in elementary school.

"We're taking a break here," Scotch yelled to Lainey.

Lainey gave a thumbs up and called to Georgio Spencer behind her. She blew out a breath, unkinking her shoulders as she reached for the bag of frozen white fish. So far, so good. They were about halfway through the worst of it. She went down the line, giving her team a much needed snack and extra attention.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

THE CONVOY LEFT the break area behind, leaving bare tundra for thin forest and a gentle rise in altitude. Through the trees, Lainey spotted marshes and frozen ponds with large shaggy bushes dotting the area. She thought nothing of it as they went, until one of the bushes moved. Gasping, she narrowed her eyes and stared through passing branches and trunks. Those were buffalo! Her hands itched to grab her camera, but she knew the shot would be worthless with the woods getting in the way. Had she been alone, she might have stopped to get a decent shot.

Grunting, she frowned back at the trail.

They reached the peak of the saddle they climbed and dropped onto the other side with little trouble. For the next several miles, the trail narrowed, more rocks and dirt showing through sparse snow cover. Lainey was glad she had the foresight to not only change her sled runners, but have another set ready to replace these. Well marked in most places, the trail disappeared upon occasion as creek overflows had frozen into icy ponds. Egypt Mountain passed slowly to the right of her and the sky began to darken. The light was in that in-between stage where nothing stood out, so she donned and turned on her head lamp.

The ground leveled out and widened, and Lainey realized they were in a frozen swamp. Posted markers were few and far between, the trail pretty much useless in light of the wide expanse of ice to cover. Another issue was more overflow. She tsked under her breath as her dogs swept through a puddle of standing water. Heldig had no booties again. They would have to stop soon to take care of the animals.

Twilight faded to evening as the convoy made their way from swamp to lake. Lainey saw a red beacon flashing in the distance, and wondered where it was located. It seemed close, but out here, that meant little. She lost the beacon as she moved off the lake and into more forest.

The trail continued on this way for several miles. Lake followed forest, forest followed lake. The night was far from silent, however. Lainey grinned as she heard singing behind her. It sounded like Georgio or Roman was belting out 'Witchy Woman' at top volume. Her dogs' ears kept pricking back in curiosity and she giggled. Would her team think her insane if she joined in on the chorus?

Lainey barely noted the 'Dangerous Trail Conditions' sign before taking a sharp drop onto another lake. Other than that slight hiccup, there seemed no other risk. Had they already passed the Burn? From all she had read on the place, it was supposed to be worse than Dalzell Gorge and Happy Valley put together. Surely they had not gone through it yet. The woods and forests they traveled through showed no indication of fire damage. She was under the impression that even after two decades the area had not grown back much.

Ahead of her, she saw a head lamp coming closer. Odd. Why would someone be going back the way they came? She squinted until she realized it was Scotch standing beside her stopped sled.

"Whoa!" Lainey called abruptly. She eased onto the brake, and her leaders automatically pulled off the trail to one side. Once they were stopped, she put in her snow hook. "Snack time?" she asked.

"Yeah. The Burn is just ahead, and then we'll take a full rest break."

Lainey nodded, smiling in anticipation, and passed the message on. As she snacked her dogs on chunks of frozen moose liver, she was amazed at her lack of dread for the upcoming ordeal. Up until the gorge, Lainey had felt incredible trepidation at the physical challenges of the trail. Now she was almost eager to get to the confrontation, to accept the dangerous test of her abilities and win through regardless. It was somewhat reminiscent of stalking wild carnivores to get that one elusive photograph, not caring about the peril she suffered to achieve the shot.

She did a careful examination of her dogs, finding ice balls forming under a number of toes. Heldig's paws were getting worse, though she acted as if nothing was wrong with them. If she kept this up, Lainey would be forced to drop her in the next checkpoint or two. She was not looking forward to that. Realistically speaking, Lainey's chances of going the entire thousand miles without dropping a single dog were minimal, but it was a goal to aim for. She admonished Heldig yet again, and rubbed liniment into her pads before rebooting her.

Then it was time to go.

They slid into more woods on a slow rise. Lainey gasped in surprise as her team broke out onto a stark and barren landscape. Finally, the Farewell Burn.

The trail was a decent one. It weaved this way and that through clumps of brush, snow covered stumps and a few spindly tree husks spiking into the sky. Lainey thought of a movie, The Nightmare Before Christmas, and decided the Burn would be an apt place to film a live action version. All that was needed was an eerie old castle in the background and bats flitting about the night sky.

For all the hype, however, the Burn was mild in comparison to the obstacles Lainey had already faced. She felt a sense of disappointment as her team easily avoided a snag, wondering if this was all there was to the trail. As the miles went by, she began to think so. Disgruntled, she spent the time convincing herself that this was a good thing, that twenty plus years had gone a long way to making the trail easily accessible.

She resolved to throw out all the Iditarod books she had accumulated during her research, at least all of them older than the last five years.

The trail moved from one ridge to another. With no trees to block her view, Lainey suspected she could see ten or twenty miles in any direction. A dark shadow against the starry night sky indicated a far away mountain, a single light shining from its top. Looking behind her, she could see the three head lamps of the rest of her party. Miles back, she saw two other lights bobbing along - other mushers on the trail. She wondered who was behind them.

Eventually they dropped into a gulch, sheltered from the ever present wind. Lainey saw structures to her left, her head lamp illuminating what looked like a camp of some sort. There did not appear to be anyone occupying it, but snow machine tracks were fairly fresh. Depending on when it snowed last, someone could have been out here in the last couple of days or so.

Again the convoy came to a stop, those in the back pulling forward to fill the narrow gulch. The number of dogs and people gathered here felt slightly claustrophobic compared to the wide open spaces of the Burn. After Lainey got her dogs braked, she joined the mushers forming a group nearby. Owens was speaking as she approached.

"I'm thinking on heading over to the BLM cabin before calling it a night."

"That's what? Ten more miles?" Roman Spencer asked as he arrived at the palaver.

"Yup," Scotch stifled a yawn and looked at Lainey. "I believe I'll bed down here."

"Sounds like a plan," Lainey agreed.

Roman looked from one woman to the other, then to his father, uncertain which way to jump. Georgio gave Scotch a calculated glance as he fiddled with his icy beard. Lainey could see the gears turning as he gauged whether or not to stay with Scotch, keeping the competition close, or moving ahead with the hopes of beating her to the finish.

Waters, the last one in line trotted up to the group. "What's up? Why are we stopping?"

Georgio said, "Looks like we're splitting up." He slapped his son on the shoulder. "I'm heading to the cabin. These ladies are electing to remain here for a spell."

"Let's snack the dogs and get going then," Waters said.

They men broke away to tend their teams. Scotch grinned at Lainey. "Let's get the dogs closer to the tent camp before bedding them down; give them a bit more shelter."

"Okay."

By the time Lainey had her team situated and the cookers heating, she and Scotch were alone in the tiny gorge.

She worked through her chores on automatic. Her dogs were soon bedded down on their blankets, sated with food and water, and on their way to sleep.

Scotch had had them park so their sleds were together. It would mean struggling with Lainey's team to get them turned back down the trail, but it was ultimately worth the effort. They were within easy speaking distance and chatted to one another as they worked. When Lainey had her meal cooked, she went to Scotch's sled and sat beside her to eat.

"What do you have?"

"Meatloaf and potatoes," Lainey said, showing her bag. "What about you?"

"Moose stew."

"Hey! I didn't get any moose stew!" she complained.

Scotch chuckled at her, and received a forceful nudge that only made her laugh harder. "I have friends in low places," she said.

Lainey eyed her suspiciously. "And what does that mean?"

"It means that the cook at Rainy Pass Lodge passed me a couple of packages before I left."

She cursed, more for show than from any real heat. "Doesn't that violate the no help rule?"

"It wasn't help, it was a gift. Besides, I won't tell if you won't. And I know he won't." Scotch's smile faded into suspicion. "What are you thinking?"

Lainey wiggled her eyebrows. "I'm thinking you said he gave you a couple of packages. My silence has a price."

It took a moment for her words to sink in. When they did, Scotch groaned and rolled her eyes. "You've got to be kidding me! I only have one left."

Her smile was angelic.

Now Scotch cursed, though a smile teased the corners of her mouth. With a great show of frustration and petulance, she located the still frozen meal and handed it over.

Lainey squealed in mock joy and gave her a hug.

They returned to their meal, Lainey feeling warm and tingly inside. A flash of her cartoon self surrounded by little throbbing hearts crossed her mind, and she smirked into her meatloaf. Where the hell was that vision coming from? Would she be hallucinating animated creatures and people for the rest of the trip?

"How much further to Nikolai?" she asked.

"About forty miles. We'll get there in the morning, take another break."

Lainey's good humor drifted away. "You'll be moving on now, right?"

Scotch glanced sideways at her. "Yeah. I've been holding the dogs back from the speed they want to run. If the wind stays down, we'll make good time to the next checkpoint. Most of the trail is straight and easy to see. It's got some bad spots, but we're through the worst."

Forcing herself to business, Lainey said, "Well, don't wait for me, okay? Get out there and kick Spencer's butt." She grinned at Scotch's laugh.

"Only if you kick Spencer Junior's butt."

Lainey held out her hand, hooking it with Scotch's. "Deal."

"I expect we'll have company soon," Scotch said, balling up the remains of her meal. "Did you notice the lights behind us?"

"Yup. They're other mushers, right?"

"Uh huh. About ten miles back. I want to be sacked out before they get here. Give them less reason to stop and talk. Don't want to interrupt my beauty sleep."

Lainey took her cue and stood. "Honey, you could go without sleep for months and not need to worry about your beauty." She froze, eyes wide and a mittened hand covering her mouth, when she realized what she had said. Good God, why did she just blurt that out?

Scotch rose, laughing. "Thank you. And welcome to sleeplessness." She pulled Lainey's hand down, holding it in hers. "Better watch what you think, Lainey Hughes. You might say a whole lot of things you don't mean to in the coming days."

Her skin was hot from pleased embarrassment, and she was glad both that it was dark and Scotch's head lamp was turned off. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"I'm not." Scotch closed the distance between them and held her close for a long time.

When they separated, Lainey was less self-conscious. It was with some effort that she said good night and forced herself to her sled for a nap. As she settled into her sleeping bag, she grumbled under her breath, "Damn, why can't this race be over already?"

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

IT WAS ONE in the morning when they prepared to leave the tent camp for the trail. The air was crisp with cold, and Lainey dug her face mask out of the sled before getting started. Despite the brisk chill penetrating even that protective barrier, her eyes were gummy and she could not stop yawning. The lack of sleep was beginning to get to her. She had to get to McGrath, the checkpoint after this one, to reach her scheduled twenty-four hour layover. Wearily stepping aboard the runners of her sled, she wondered if she would make it that far.

"Remember," she called ahead to Scotch. "Don't hold back for me, okay?"

Scotch waved acknowledgement. "See you in Nikolai."

Lainey returned the wave, and they were off.

The trail was a smooth and easy one, though still spooky with the ever-present fire damage. Lainey heard only her dogs panting, the swish of snow beneath the runners, the jingle of metal bits on the tow line, and her own heartbeat.

Scotch drew further and further away. For a while, Lainey's team tenaciously attempted to keep up, but soon slowed their pace to a more comfortable one. This disparity between the teams was expected. Scotch had the champions of the kennel and Lainey the second string. Any one of her dogs could have mustered for Scotch's team, but not all of them. She felt no resentment at having second best, either. Winning was never an option for her as it was for Scotch. Lainey looked fondly over her dogs. She would not part with any of them, not even Bonaparte who trotted along as if he were the only one on the line.

By the time she saw the sign for the BLM cabin, Scotch was completely gone from view. Lainey passed the turn off without stopping, wondering if the mushers they had traveled with were still there or had already gone on.

Her dogs ran, and her thoughts drifted. Daydreams of reaching Nome to the sound of cheers filled her mind, interspersed with visions of warming Scotch in her bed at the cabin. Or a private session at the hot springs. Lainey could almost taste her and licked her lips. She abruptly came back to reality when bits of fiber from her face mask met her tongue.

"Blech!"

She pulled the mask down to dislodge the lint from her lips. That finished, she bent over the sled bag and retrieved a warm juice pack from her cooler, draining it in minutes. Feeling slightly more awake, she stuffed the empty package into her sled and covered her face again.

The trail began to turn. Here and there, trees that had not met their demise in the Farewell Burn began to appear. Soon they were flickering around her as the trail led through them. Her thoughts began to float once more. As she enjoyed a particularly heated interlude with Scotch in front of the fireplace, the sled jerked, jolting her to the present as she grabbed the handlebars.

A blind turn had come up out of nowhere, Trace and Sholo easily bringing the team through it. Lainey's lack of preparation for the abrupt twist almost caused the sled to roll. Jonah, her wheel dog, spared her a single glance as if to ask what the hell she was doing before focusing back on his part of the job.

Adrenaline kicking in, Lainey's heart pounded at the unexpected obstacle. Her reflexes were slower from lack of sleep, and she watched her dogs take another sharp turn without understanding where they were going. By the time she arrived at the bend, she comprehended the problem and tried to compensate by leaning into the turn.

Too late.

The sled fell over, and she hung on for dear life as her dogs kept going. "Whoa!" she called before plowing into a snow drift. She shook snow from her face, glad she had the mask on to save her from getting a mouthful of the stuff. "Whoa!" The sled began to slow as the dogs did, but then there was a sudden mighty tug. It stopped so fast, that Lainey slid into the back of it with some force.

She lay there a moment, catching her breath. With slow, careful movements she peeled her hand from the handlebar and sat up. The sled was half on the trail, teetering on the snow bank she had just cut through. Snow covered her entire left side, and she began brushing it off, checking for damage to herself and her parka. Some had gotten into her sleeve and when she pulled off her hood, she felt the chill of it on her ear and neck. Grumbling, she cleaned herself up and attempted to stand.

Her knees were shaky and her ribs ached but other than that, she was in one piece. Now she looked at her team and saw why they had stopped so unexpectedly. When the sled had cut its furrow in the side of the trail, it continued in a straight line. The brush bow was lodged in a stand of young trees. It looked like the dogs tried to remain on the trail, but those on the left of the tug line were now in the timber instead of on the trail.

Lainey hastily moved forward to check the team, wincing as her muscles complained at the abuse. She first gave them all a cursory examination to make sure there were no life threatening issues like tangled neck lines or tree branches stabbing into them. Breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of such trauma, she took a closer look, treating each to an in-depth scrutiny as she massaged muscles and searched for bruising or bone damage. Tecumseh, one of her team dogs, whimpered as she checked him, and she hissed in concern. It looked like his harness had caused some bruising and one of his wrists was sore. His was the only injury, however, and she counted herself lucky.

The sled was not going anywhere soon, the brush bow thoroughly entangled with the trees and branches it had run into. First she had to get her dogs out of the mess. She snacked them first and then took each animal off the line, finding a tree to which to attach them. The first half of her string were in the clear, but partially blocking the trail. Lainey pulled Sholo and Trace to one side, the rest of the line following so that Montana, Meshindi, Bonaparte and Kaara were at least off the path. She tied Himitsu and Tecumseh to a tree on the other side, Chibee wriggled so much in excitement, Lainey was worried he would pick a fight with one of the others to rid himself of the excess energy. He got a tree all to himself and his running mate, Heldig, ended up with the previous two. Six more dogs later, the sled was divested of most its dog power.

Her trash talkers began bellowing, Lainey's early warning that someone was coming up on the trail. She grumbled to herself as she retrieved her axe. Perfect time for a gawker. Did people at car wrecks feel this way as traffic slowed to pass?

Other dogs answered hers, and soon a team pulled around the corner. The musher halted the dogs who playfully rolled in the snow to show off their superiority to her team. Drew Owens took off his goggles and looked at Lainey. She thought she detected a bit of concern at seeing her here in front of him.

"You all right?"

"Yeah, though one of the dogs might have gotten bruised."

He grimaced in commiseration. "Where's Scotch?"

"Up ahead. I lost sight of her before the BLM cabin." She felt a burble of amusement as his expression soured. "Where are the others?"

His lips twitched in a grin. "Probably just waking up."

"You skipped out on them," she said, smiling. "Impressive."

Owens gave a slight shrug. "They'll probably be along soon. You need any help?"

"No, I'm good." She gestured at the branches around the front of her sled. "I'll probably be back on the trail in twenty minutes."

"All right. See you at the next checkpoint." He put his goggles back on and ordered his dogs onward.

Lainey watched him go and turned back to the mess. Damned if she would still be out here when the rest of the convoy came through. She began cutting her sled free with a purpose.

Once she muscled the sled back onto the trail and hooked up her dogs again, she felt a little better. Tecumseh seemed to know his time was limited. When she released him from the tree, he immediately pulled her to his spot on the tug line, as if to say 'This is where I belong.' Lainey chewed her lip in debate, giving him another thorough massage. His shoulder was still an issue, but he was putting his full weight on his paws. Perhaps the damage was not as bad as she had initially surmised.

She decided to leave him there for the time being and keep a close eye on him.

Within minutes of getting started again, she arrived at Sullivan Creek. Open water rushed beneath a bridge and she urged the dogs across. From there the trail was easily marked by Scotch and Owens going before her. As she went, her head lamp picked up few markers, and she felt a guilty relief that she was not leading this traveling party. She would have gotten lost a number of times on this stretch of trail alone. What would happen when she truly was alone?

Tecumseh seemed to be doing well enough. He was not pulling with his usual alacrity, but at least he showed no limp. Considering how Lainey felt after the crash, she supposed he had worked his injuries out. After the exercise of chopping wood, Lainey's stiffness from the accident had eased, though her ribs still ached. She twisted a bit, wincing at the pain. It must have been a full ten minutes later that her lethargic brain remembered hand warmers for her side and ibuprofen for pain. Cursing at her stupidity, she got another juice pack and downed some pills.

She came upon the first manmade structures she had seen since the tent camp. The trail led up through the small cluster of buildings, leaving the river. To keep herself awake, she fumbled for her notes, squinting at the writing with her head lamp. By the time she located the name of the place, she was past. Salmon River fish camp. Twelve miles of smooth sailing to go.

From here the trail was easily seen. Despite her attempt to remain vigilant and not have a recurrence of her crack up, she drifted again. Feather beds, steak dinners, romantic candlelight and roaring fires teased the edges of her mind as she went.

A passing branch snagged at her parka, startling her back to reality.

"Ugh!" she yelled, frustrated with her inability to sleep warring with her desperate need to remain awake. "What the hell am I doing out here?"

The dogs barely gave her a glance, loping along with ease. Tecumseh's line was slack, but he continued to run with his mates. Her head lamp illuminated the beauty of the wilderness around her. The sky held a brilliant cacophony of silent stars occasionally interspersed with sheets of greens and blues and reds of the aurora.

She soaked in her surroundings, drawing the solitude and beauty into her soul. At first she had come here to understand Scotch, to discover the root of that confidence, to unearth the reason for her inexplicable draw to the woman. She had remained because of friendship and family - both human and canine - and a growing love for her surroundings and activities. She had come to the Iditarod as a rookie, a reporter doing a story, nothing more. But her time at the kennel, in the presence of Scotch and the dogs, had taught her more than how to mush.

Lainey was here for herself and no one else. The magazine would never get as much out of the articles as she would for simply experiencing and defeating the challenges before her. She not only knew what caused Scotch's confident bearing, she wanted that self-assurance for herself. Loving Scotch was easy for her, and she did not know if her feelings were returned. Should their relationship escalate beyond a bit of slap and tickle Lainey wanted to be on equal footing, not because she expected Scotch to look down on her, but because Lainey would look down upon herself.

The trail slid off the straight and narrow onto the Kuskokwim River. Markers were a bit more difficult to locate, but Lainey pleased herself with keeping on track. In a few short miles, she pulled into the village of Nikolai.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

SCOTCH HAD ARRIVED in Nikolai a full hour and a half ahead of Lainey. The vet checking her dogs agreed with her about Tecumseh. As much as Lainey wanted to let him stay with his teammates, she decided to drop him for his health. The bruising of his shoulders bothered him more than his wrist, and the constant pulling would eventually do some serious damage. It was with a heavy heart that she removed her wounded dog from the tug line and escorted him to the dog drop area. He would wait there until a volunteer bush pilot came through to pick him up, delivering him to Anchorage.

By the time Lainey had returned to her dogs and finished the remaining chores, Scotch was already catching a nap. Lainey did not want to disturb her, so she bedded down with her dogs outside the school that served as a checkpoint. A quick search for Drew Owens turned up nothing.

Oddly enough, sleep would not come though she was mentally exhausted. Her mind kept turning over the day's events, the crash, and how she could have avoided it. She wondered if Owens had blown through. Or was he somewhere near and Lainey just had not seen him? If he checked in and out again, was he asleep a couple of miles away, psyching out his competition? Whatever it was seemed to have worked, because she had seen Waters come through while she was completing her tasks. He stopped long enough to get his food drops, see who was here, and promptly left.

Was Scotch being overly confident by remaining in Nikolai?

Mixed in with all those concerns were the sensual daydreams that had almost lost her the sled earlier. Warmth, good food, a scotch on the rocks, and Scotch on a bear rug. She did not bother banishing the alcohol from her mind. It always seemed like a glass of water just out of reach, and she was dying of thirst. She had been clean and sober for years, but some days that did not lessen the yearning. The other Scotch, however - that she was looking forward to. Of course there was no bearskin rug in the cabin. They would have to make do with the braided rug in front of the fireplace. Or on the comfortably over stuffed couch. Or maybe the rickety kitchen table.

Lainey's consciousness faded away as she toyed with Scotch in her thoughts.

Scotch was gone when she woke. Unhappy that she had missed telling her goodbye, Lainey went about waking and feeding the dogs. She signed autographs for a group of village children and talked to them about her dogs and how long she had been mushing. At least three of them had far more experience than she, and they laughed at the disparity. Then a pair of reporters approached her for an interview. She groaned when they asked about her wreck but answered honestly. Word obviously traveled fast along the trail.

When she checked out it was twelve twenty-seven in the afternoon. The sun had risen but cloud cover kept the worst of the heat at bay. She chuckled to herself as her team headed across the Kuskokwim River. A year ago she was in Nome freezing her ass off in twenty degree weather. Now she was worried about overheating at the same temperature. What had the world come to? Now that she was alone, she dug out her iPod. No reason why Georgio Spencer should have all the fun. As the dogs took her along the easy trail and wide open spaces, she sang with Peter Gabriel as he was shaking the tree. This part of the trail had heavy snow machine traffic between the two checkpoints, both of which were populated villages. McGrath was the bigger of the two and boasted laundromats and grocery stores, not to mention a continual supply of hot water. Lainey looked forward to not having to boil water for the dogs and receiving an opportunity to get properly clean. She planned on taking her twenty-four hour layover here to catch up on some much needed sleep. Scotch would be doing the same, so they would have a little time to see each other before they separated again. Even with the diversion of music, the trail seemed to go on and on. It was boring as hell. Lainey kept switching between playlists, looking for music to keep her mood up and her eyes open. There was no danger of sweepers to knock her off the runners, or sudden twists to overturn the sled. Instead she worried about falling asleep at the handlebars and waking in the snow with her team disappearing into the distance. Lainey pulled out her camera for the occasional photo, but one section of trail looked like another. One shot of her running dogs, with the bare spot where Tecumseh should have been, was enough to befoul her mood. She put the camera away. Finally the landscape changed. It looked like the ground fell away in the distance. That meant they were going to drop back onto the Kuskokwim River. It was also an indication she was at the halfway point. Lainey felt an irrational urge to cry though she was pleased at her progress. She still had twenty plus miles to go to McGrath. Twenty more miles to stay awake. Before they arrived at the river, Lainey halted her dogs for a snack break. They joyfully rolled in the snow, cooling off after their run. A few had lost booties and, as always, Heldig's were gone. Lainey used her fingers to break up ice balls and clean off paws, then rubbed salve into their pads. More booties followed. She did not even bother begging Heldig to keep them on this time, though she considered picking up a roll of duct tape in McGrath. Maybe that would keep her paws covered.

Chibee, Himitsu and Montana began barking, looking behind them. Lainey stood to see an approaching sled. She recognized Roman Spencer's team and smiled at him as neared.

"Looks like it's just us," he said when he was within hearing distance.

"Your dad already ahead?"

"Yeah. He left a couple of hours ago." His team pulled past. "See you in McGrath."

Lainey waved and watched his team flow into the descent ahead of her.

So, Georgio, Waters and Owens were all ahead now, hoping to pass Scotch. Lainey sent encouraging thoughts to her friend. Roman disappeared from view, and her trash talkers became silent. She realized her dogs were staring at her, tails wagging.

"You want to catch him?" she asked.

Chibee yipped in excitement, and Jonah jerked the sled as he tried to dislodge the snow hook on his own.

Lainey laughed and gathered her things. Minutes later, she called, "Let's go!" and her team rushed forward to show Roman's team who was better.

She arrived in McGrath two minutes before Roman, a smug grin on her face. They leapfrogged the last twenty miles, breaking the boredom, though Lainey had kept her dogs from going full tilt. Even though she was headed for a twenty-four hour break, she did not want to give her team the idea that they were here to race other dogs. They would exhaust themselves long before they ever reached Nome. Instead, she ran them hard enough to overtake Roman, and then kept at a steady pace until he returned the favor.

"Six oh four PM," the checker said. "You staying?"

"Yeah, I'm taking my twenty-four here."

"Okay." The checker called a volunteer over. "She's taking a twenty-four. Put her in the back forty."

Lainey grinned. "The back forty?"

The checker winked. "It's the rear of the parking area. Less excitement there, give the dogs a chance to rest without all the interruption of comings and goings."

She nodded. "Oh, good. Thanks." Lainey let the volunteer guide her team to her final resting spot for the night. It was further away from the checkpoint building, which held the diesel powered boiler for hot water, but Lainey was willing to make the trek if it meant getting decent sleep. She thanked her guide and barely got down to the business of getting her dogs comfortable when a pair of veterinarians arrived for the mandatory exams.

"Helen!"

The Fuller matriarch gave Lainey a hug. "Welcome to McGrath."

Lainey produced her dog notes, and Helen passed them to her companion. "I'll stay out of this one, since the dogs belong to our kennel." She turned her full attention on Lainey. "Well? Have you officially caught the Iditarod bug or still slogging through for the magazine?"

"At this point, I would love to do this every year."

"Completely smitten, I see." Helen laughed, her arm over Lainey's shoulders. "You're missing a dog. I know you dropped one, but not why."

Lainey sobered and explained Tecumseh's injury.

"You did the right thing. He would rather have stayed with the team, but something like that can have all sorts of complications."

The other vet finished his inspection and handed Lainey's note back to her. "All is good. You're going a great job with dog care, though one has abrasions on her paws."

Lainey rolled her eyes. "Heldig. I've been meaning to super glue her booties on."

He grinned. "You know about it, then. Good. If it gets much worse, she'll have to be dropped, but I think she's got some miles to go before that point."

"Thanks."

Helen gave her another hug. "You take care of these guys. When you're done, head over to the checkpoint. Don will take you to a place you can get some decent rest and a shower."

Lainey raised her eyebrows, but agreed. As they left, she glanced around the teams parked near her, presumably all on their mandatory twenty-four hour layover. Only one musher was with his dogs; all the others were resting on their own. Where were they all?

Roman pulled up nearby, disrupting her thoughts. She grinned impudently at him. He shook his head in amusement before turning to the vets waiting for his paperwork.

In high spirits, Lainey went through the line, distributing straw and releasing harnesses. She fed her dogs with the chow from their cooler, gave them a second watering from hers, and made certain they were comfortably ensconced in their nests. Once that was finished, she got her child's sled out and trekked to the checkpoint.

It took two trips to gather her food drops and more hot water. The water was a blessing; all she needed to do was toss the ingredients into the cooler and close it. By the time she returned for another feeding, the chow would be ready to go. When getting her drops, she also located her new sled. It was the same as the one she had now, though without the wear and tear of the trail. She left it in place, not needing it until she was ready to leave.

Finally the chores were complete. With nothing further to drive her on, her energy faltered. She stared at her sled for a full minute before finally gathering some fresh socks and underwear. Helen mentioned a shower, so she also retrieved another t-shirt and sweater. It occurred to her that she had not been properly clean in days, and a whole set of itches and discomfort settled on her. Lips curled in distaste at her grunginess, Lainey also gathered her sleeping bag. She had no idea where Howry was going to take her, so she had best be prepared.

Back at the checkpoint, she found Howry waiting beside a snow machine.

"Hey, stranger, how goes it?"

"Great." Lainey yawned, her jaw creaking with the effort.

Howry laughed. "Come on, let's get you into a shower and bed."

Lainey climbed onto the back of the vehicle, clutching her belongings. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"A friend of the Fullers. The villagers open their doors to mushers every year, giving them someplace other than their sleds to catch some shut eye." He started the machine and pulled away from the checkpoint.

She looked over her shoulder at her dogs, a pang of dread arcing through her chest. Maybe she should stay with them? Before she could make the decision, Howry drove away and her team was lost from view.

A few moments later, they pulled into the yard of a modest home. Dogs barked a welcome, a small kennel of six animals. There were a couple of trucks and two more snow machines parked there, too.

Howry shut off the engine. "Come on." He escorted Lainey up the steps to the front door.

The warmth of the interior did exactly what she expected, her nose suddenly clogging as if she had a head cold. Her cheeks and forehead burned with the heat, and her eyes felt hot and dry. A crowd in the living room came forward to welcome her. It was a colorful mess of people, and Lainey's dazed mind plodded along at a lethargic rate as she was invited further inside. She barely caught the names of the three who lived here, hardly noted Thom and Rye grinning, or Strauss pushing a plate of food at her.

Lainey's automatic pilot was fully on. She was divested of her outer clothes, and sat on the couch with a TV tray of caribou venison and pasta for dinner. Her responses to their comments and questions were somnambulate and somewhere deep inside she was embarrassed over her inability to concentrate and at least be polite. When it appeared she was going to topple into her plate, she was packed up and marched off to a dark bedroom, deposited inside, and the door closed behind her.

She wavered in the center of the room, squinting as her eyes adjusted. A clock near the bed indicated it was not even eight at night. She blinked. Someone else was in the room. She could hear them breathing. Lainey shuffled forward, peering at the bed. Her expression relaxed as she saw a familiar mop of tawny hair. Scotch.

Shucking her clothes, Lainey retained her underwear and bra. She felt immensely better without the extra apparel, and climbed gently into the bed. Scotch sensed her presence but did not wake, rolling over to drape her arm over Lainey's waist.

She sighed, and fully relaxed for the first time in days. As much as she wanted to enjoy this intimate experience, her mind shut down and sleep overtook her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

IN LAINEY'S DREAMS, Scotch massaged her breasts with firm strokes, her lips and teeth creating a fiery path from Lainey's collar bone to her jaw line. Their legs entwined, Lainey's belly twisting in arousal as they moved against one another, a constant shifting as they enjoyed the sheer beauty of skin upon skin. She groaned at a particularly vicious bite at the juncture of her throat, and clutched the woman in her arms. Her hands roamed along a muscular back to a tight ass, and she squeezed.

The gasp in her ear drifted into a moan as she squirmed, her thigh coming into contact with Scotch's panty clad clit. Despite her enjoyment, she frowned to herself. For a dream, this certainly felt realistic, especially when her dream Scotch rolled onto her to grind their hips together. The weight was delicious, and Lainey's hands went to those nicely rounded hips and butt, caressing what she had only seen from a distance.

Scotch continued a languid rocking, her warm breath coming in pants as she returned to tasting Lainey's ear. Groggily, Lainey thought it amazing that she could feel hot dampness against her thigh where Scotch rubbed. God, when was the last time she had had a dream this detailed? She arched when Scotch pinched her nipple through her bra.

Bra?

As Scotch's lips left her ear, unerringly moving across Lainey's sweaty brow and toward her lips, Lainey came fully awake. This was no dream. Her eyes popped open in surprise.

Scotch's body undulated over hers, and the rush of lust that assailed Lainey nearly made her swoon. Had she been standing she surely would have fallen down. A long neck was just within reach, and looking further along, she had an excellent view of breasts begging for attention. Her nose twitched with the smell of their combined excitement and another, more earthy odor. It was vaguely familiar and her dazed mind sputtered along in an attempt to name what it was. Scotch's lips edged closer, kissing the bridge of her nose, angling down. Lainey licked her lips in anticipation, tasting what could only be described as a cat box in her mouth.

Reality slammed into her, fully waking her. That odd aroma was hers - unwashed for days on end. And her mouth was a literal sewer. She had not done more than pop breath mints since Sunday's restart in Wasilla.

"Ugh!" Lainey turned her face away, pushing Scotch aside so she could sit up.

"What?"

Lainey swung her legs from the bed and shook her head, her body demanding to return to its previous activity, hygiene be damned. She glanced over her shoulder to see Scotch's concern. "I need a shower. I need to brush my teeth for a week." A confused and slightly hurt expression crossed the woman's face, and Lainey turned abruptly toward her. "No! I meant I'm a mess! Not that you're a turn off." Her eyes ran across more skin than she had ever been allowed to see before, and her body once more demanded satisfaction. "You're definitely not a turn off."

Scotch's smile was slow and sexy, doing nothing for Lainey's restraint. "You're no slouch in that department either, Miss Hughes." She ran her fingers from Lainey's shoulder to her hand.

The feather light touch caused Lainey to shiver, though she was over warm, both from desire and being indoors after days on the trail. "You're a cruel woman."

"I hear it's one of my redeeming qualities."

Lainey laughed and took her hand. "Not at this moment."

Scotch shrugged. "You win some, you lose some." She squeezed Lainey's hand. "There's a bathroom right across the hall, with a shower kit for you to use. Why don't you catch a shower, we'll have some breakfast, and go check on the dogs."

She sighed at the return to business as usual. "I can't wait to get you in Nome," she said.

"We'll see who gets who," Scotch answered, her grin turning mischievous. She released Lainey's hand. "Go on, get cleaned up. Molly said she has the fixings for French toast in the kitchen. I'll get breakfast started."

Lainey realized it was still quite dark and the house held an elusive stillness that was associated the wee hours. The digital clock said it was three AM, which meant she had slept seven hours straight. "Okay," she said, standing. She stretched and groaned at the pleasurable pain of her muscles.

"And you call me cruel," Scotch said.

Smirking, Lainey located the clothes she came in with and her clean things. "Paybacks, you know."

Scotch murmured wry agreement as they got dressed. Before they left the room, she stood before Lainey and kissed her on the forehead. "When your teeth are brushed, I'm going to get that kiss. That's a promise."

Lainey hugged her. "I'm glad you have a reputation for keeping your promises."

They broke apart, and Scotch led her to the bathroom, leaving her at the door with a slightly regretful air. Lainey sighed, resigned, and stepped inside. She switched on the light and stared wide eyed at her reflection. Her dark hair, always a bit unruly, stuck up in clumps of greasy tangles. The skin of her face and hands were wind burned and reddened, in stark contrast to her forearms, which held little of her summer tan.

She blushed. Scotch had seen her like this! How totally . . . disgusting! It was worse than the fetidness of her breath. This was a physical manifestation of her grubby feeling. "Ugh," she muttered, setting her clothes on the counter. A bath towel and washcloth were folded there with a toothbrush still in its plastic wrap. Sticking out of a glass jar were a variety of combs, brushes, and odds and ends, and another of cotton swabs. Lainey gave herself one more distasteful once over, and went to the shower. It took some adjusting as she tested the water. Turning the knob to what she thought was a normal temperature resulted in blistering heat. She fiddled for some time before her cold acclimated skin allowed her to step in.

The shower was magnificent. Lainey felt days of strain and grime sluicing down the drain. Her hair particularly nasty, she washed it three times before she was satisfied. Her body still throbbed with want and she wished Scotch would forget breakfast and join her. Regretfully, she did not. Not one to deny herself, Lainey leaned against the wall under the spray of warm water, and brought herself to quick climax. She gasped at the strength of her orgasm, almost losing her balance, as the sensation rolled over her. God, what would it be like with the real thing?

With the edge taken off her arousal, she finished washing and climbed out of the shower. Her mirror image was clear and crisp, no steam fog clouding her view, and she nodded to her reflection. The water had been cooler than she normally enjoyed.

She stepped forward for a closer examination. There were bruises on her left side from the sled crash, though not too dark and dangerous looking. Her hands and face were red and a bit chapped from the constant exposure. Her feet looked well enough; she changed socks and liners regularly to combat trench foot or some other disease. All in all, she was pleased to note she was in decent shape to continue on. She combed out her hair, and then brushed her teeth in blissful relief before dressing in clean clothes.

Gathering her belongings, Lainey eased the bathroom door open to a dark hallway. Across the way was the bedroom she and Scotch had shared. To her left, the hall glowed with distant light, and she could make out the end of a couch. The kitchen was that way. She turned off the bathroom light, dropped her things in the bedroom and eased down the hall. Her nose twitched at the smell of coffee and the promised French toast, and her stomach rumbled.

The living room was small and tidy but had a cozy feel to it. A quilt wrapped body lay on the sagging couch. She remembered sitting there a few hours ago with a dinner that looked delicious though she barely recalled eating it. Lainey heard a muttering snore emit from its depths, identifying the individual as her colleague, Howry. She almost tripped over another bundle curled up on the floor by the fireplace - Strauss. Lainey wondered where the others were. She did see Thom and Rye, right; not hallucinations brought on by seeing Helen at the checkpoint?

Soft voices beckoned her, and she continued past Strauss, through a tiny dining room and into the brightly lit kitchen.

Scotch sat at a small wooden table, nursing a cup of coffee. A woman stood at the stove, spatula in hand, poking at a slice of bread in the fry pan she held. Lainey recognized her as their host, but a sudden sharp stab of hunger overcame her. She struggled with her body's baser instincts, leaning against the door as she forced her mind to work. "You must be Molly," she finally said, attaching a name to the woman's face.

The woman smiled. "Yes, I am," she said. "I'm surprised you remember."

Lainey blushed and shrugged. "So am I."

Molly laughed. "Have a seat. Breakfast is almost ready. Scotch, get her a cup of coffee."

"Yes, ma'am." Scotch grinned and winked at Lainey, waving her to a seat at the table before following orders.

She sat down, and her stomach growled.

"Sounds like you're hungry," Molly observed. "Good thing. I've made enough to feed an army but half the troops are still asleep." She gestured toward the living room with her spatula.

Lainey was glad her face was already reddened from the weather. It took an effort, but she slipped into professional mode, giving Scotch a smile of thanks when she delivered a steaming cup of coffee. "I'm not sure I said this last night, but thank you for putting me up and feeding me."

Molly waved her gratitude away. "I volunteer every year. Having you folks through McGrath is a celebration. Thom and Helen have bunked here every time for the last ten years." She flipped the toast in the pan. "And I've been watching this scamp since she first entered the Junior Iditarod."

Scotch sat down beside Lainey, still smiling.

"Scamp, huh?" Lainey asked.

Scotch shrugged, eyes twinkling.

"Scamp," Molly intoned. She removed the pan from the burner, and put the toast onto a plate already piled high. Transferring the plate to the table, she set it before Lainey. A motherly hand reached out to rub Lainey's shoulder. "Eat up. There's plenty more where that came from."

"Thank you!" Lainey tucked into her breakfast, almost moaning as the French toast and maple syrup hit her tongue. It was a far cry from her lustful daydreams, but just as satisfying.

As they ate, Molly kept up a running chatter about other mushers who had come through her home. She never let their coffee run low, constantly topping off their cups as she puttered around the kitchen. Lainey heard all about the mushers who had spent time in the spare bedroom on their way through to winning the race. Some tales were humorous and some rather acerbic, but Molly seemed proud to be involved with the Iditarod in this way.

Lainey ate until she was ready to burst. Finally, she stared mournfully at her plate, a half eaten slice of toast soaking in syrup.

"Finished?"

Her taste buds screamed no, but Lainey nodded. "Unfortunately."

Molly grinned and took their plates.

"That was wonderful, as usual," Scotch said, leaning back to stretch luxuriously.

"Yes, it was." Lainey startled herself with a yawn.

Molly chuckled, wiping the table before them. "Needing a nap already?"

"Appears so."

Lainey stuck her tongue out at Scotch, receiving a slight wiggled eyebrow in response. She ignored the sudden flush of desire through her body. "I've got too much to do. I really need to get to my dogs."

"Me, too."

As they both stood, Molly retrieved keys from a peg board by the kitchen phone. "Here. Take the snow machine." She bustled to the sink. "Since you're checking out around five, Scotch, I'll have a decent dinner ready by three, okay?"

Scotch came up behind the shorter woman and hugged her, kissing her temple. "That'd be great. You're fantastic, Molly."

Molly clucked and shooed them away, though Lainey could tell she was pleased with the attention. She gave their hostess her thanks before trailing after Scotch to the bedroom.

Her eyes needed to adjust to the darkness, so she crept along until she located the correct door. Stepping in, she carefully closed it behind her. Before she stepped further into the room, Scotch grabbed her and pressed her against the door.

"I said I was going to get that kiss from you after you brushed your teeth," she whispered.

Their lips met, and Lainey moaned. Scotch tasted of coffee and syrup, and she opened her mouth in invitation. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, their tongues pursuing one another back and forth. Any relief Lainey had achieved from her shower activities was demolished under the weight of a fresh wave of arousal. Their intimacy lasted forever, it lasted years, yet it ended far too soon. Scotch was breathing hard as she rested her forehead on Lainey's. She licked her lips, and Lainey so wanted to reach forward with her own to help.

"That was nice."

Lainey chuckled breathlessly. "You have a magnificent ability for understatement," she said, squirming a little to feel Scotch's body against hers.

"Thank you," Scotch laughed. "I've cultivated it for years." She gasped as Lainey slid beneath her sweater. "Unfortunately, we have chores to do and a race to run."

Pouting, Lainey caressed Scotch's belly, no longer reaching upward to take rounded breasts into her palms. "Nome."

"Nome," Scotch promised.

Lainey pushed away from the door, forcing herself to disengage from the luscious body that had pinned her. "You're driving me insane."

"At least you have company for the trip," Scotch said, stepping back.

"Well, let's go get the dogs fed before I change my mind."

"Yes, ma'am."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

LAINEY SMILED WHEN she saw her team. Most of them still slept, but Kaara jumped up at her approach. Her sleeping mate, Bonaparte, barely acknowledged the loss of her warmth, rolling over and giving Lainey his back.

"Hey, sweet girl," Lainey murmured, squatting down to give the dog some undivided attention. "Did you have a nice nap?"

A couple of others shook themselves from their slumber at the sound of her voice, and she proceeded to scratch and rub anyone awake enough to want the petting. Bonaparte got to his feet but continued to ignore her. She resisted the urge to force herself upon him, not wanting him to become too mutinous. After the race was over, she planned on really pissing the mutt off for all those months of suffering his regal attitude. Grinning in anticipation, she pulled a bag of moose liver from the sled and snacked them. Even her morning sourpuss, Meshindi, gave up his grumbling when she offered him his favorite treat and Bonaparte finally deigned to acknowledge her presence.

Once everyone was awake, she doled out the dog chow from the cooler. In no time, her team enjoyed a substantial meal, wolfing their breakfast down in much the same way she had at Molly's. While they dined, she grabbed water from the checkpoint boiler to start their next meal. She sorted through her clothing, separating dirty socks, wet booties, and damp work gloves from the much smaller pile of clean and dry items. Her hostess had insisted she use her washer and dryer rather than drag everything down to the local laundromat.

When the dogs finished eating, Lainey went down the line and collected their plates. She scooped up excrement, freshened their straw beds, and swapped out wet blankets and dog coats for fresh. Regardless of Molly's insistence, Lainey intended to wash the dog stuff at the public laundromat. No reason to clog up the woman's filters with tons of dog hair.

She spent the next hour tending each dog starting with her leaders, Trace and Sholo. She petted and massaged each one, even Bonaparte, giving them bonding time with her at the same time she examined them for latent injuries. Paws were carefully examined and salve applied. Heldig received a different concoction than the others, one prepared for the express use of extra healing. It was thicker in texture and Lainey slathered it onto the abraded pads of Heldig's paws, hoping the rest and herbs would keep her on the trail longer.

When she got to Himitsu, she gave the yellow brown dog a little more loving than the rest. His usual partner on the line had been Tecumseh. With his buddy dropped, he now ran alone for the most part, and Lainey wanted him to know how much she depended on his quiet, well-mannered ways. Besides, he was one of her major trash talkers, and she rather enjoyed hearing him cuss out the other teams.

Chibee wriggled in pleasure at her approach. Being the youngest, he still held a lot of puppy like appeal and energy. Lainey appeased his adolescent urges by wrestling with him until he was on his back, and then gave him a thorough tummy scratching. He grinned at her, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth and eyes twinkling.

Further down the line, shaggy Jonah tugged on one of the disconnected tow lines with his teeth in a broad hint, his desire to get going obvious. Lainey laughed. "Not yet, big fellah. We've still got," and she looked at her watch, "about twelve hours to go before we can blow this joint." She shook her head. Twelve hours. What a wealth of time. She could get so much done in twelve hours, even a lengthy nap.

"You ready to go?"

Lainey looked at Scotch, smiling. "Yeah." She gave Jonah a final scratch before gathering up the laundry she had piled in a dog blanket. "I want to stop at the laundromat, too."

Scotch walked beside her, a bundle thrown over her shoulder. "Why? There's plenty of time for both of us to get our stuff done at Molly's." She waved distractedly at a volunteer who called her name in greeting, but continued to speak to Lainey. "You can grab another nap while I do mine."

"I don't want to mess up her machines with the dog blankets," Lainey said. "She seemed pretty proud of them." In fact, Molly was very pleased with her facilities, having just bought the washer and dryer new last summer. They were the first new appliances she had ever had, and she bragged for ten solid minutes as she offered their use to the mushers.

"Well, we can do that." Scotch shrugged. "But you'll insult her for sure. She wouldn't have extended the invitation if she didn't mean for you to use it. And she sure as hell knows what all's involved with the offer."

Lainey frowned, peering at her friend. "You sure? I really don't want to break something."

"I'm sure."

Still uncertain, Lainey agreed to give it a shot. Since Scotch was scheduled to leave a couple of hours earlier than her, she would have the first crack at the equipment. If things went well enough, Lainey figured her usage would not screw things up too much.

"Besides, it'll take more time if you do loads in two different places. Trust me, it seems like you've got forever, but the minutes and hours will race by." Scotch climbed aboard the snow machine, balancing her load in her lap.

Lainey hugged her belongings to her chest. Despite the awkwardness, the ride back to Molly's was quick and smooth. In no time she was back inside at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and watching Scotch sort through her things. Howry and Strauss were still sacked out in the living room, and Molly was nowhere to be seen, having gone back to bed.

She yawned again, hearing her jaw creak with exertion. Before she could recover, another one burst out of her. "God, I'm sorry," she finally managed.

"Go to bed. You can use the rest," Scotch said. She placed a glass of water in front of Lainey. "But drink this first. Part of the reason you're so tired is you're not getting enough fluids."

"Yeah?" Lainey asked, picking up the glass.

"Yeah. You need to drink at least six of your juice packs or Gatorades a day. Have you?"

Lainey, swallowing water, merely rolled her eyes.

"Thought so. If you don't take care of yourself --"

"You can't take care of your dogs," Lainey finished. She lifted her glass again and emptied it. "Yes, ma'am. Point taken."

When she stood, Scotch intercepted her, and held her close. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you when I'm done. Three or four hours, not much more."

Lainey's eyes slipped shut as she savored Scotch's proximity. "Okay," she whispered. She lifted her head, searching blindly for a kiss, and received the sweetest one imaginable. Lainey wanted to draw it out, make it last, not knowing when the next one would come. Someone coughed politely at the door, however, and they broke apart.

Howry leaned against the door jamb, arms crossed and an unrepentant grin on his face. His hair stuck up at an odd angle and it ruined his attempt at a knowing and devilish appearance. Lainey almost laughed aloud, but bit the inside of her cheek to control herself.

"So this is what happens on the trail," he said, his voice still rough from sleep.

"No, this is what happens in kitchens," Lainey said. "You can't imagine what happens on the trail."

Howry's grin widened and he wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, I think I can." He pushed away from the jamb and walked over to the coffee maker which was near them. "All that snow and ice. A girl's got to keep warm, right?"

Scotch hugged Lainey closer, but leaned slightly toward Howry. Her voice lowered so no one else could possibly overhear. "And I do a remarkable job."

Lainey snickered. "I can attest to that."

He barked a laugh, taking a cup from the dish drainer. "I'll just bet!" He poured his coffee, and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply of its aroma. "So, what are your plans today, ladies? Other than the obvious." He nodded his chin at their embrace.

"She is going to bed."

Howry's eyes sparkled, and he plastered a mock innocent expression on his face. "Do tell?"

Lainey laughed. "And she is going to do laundry."

He shook his head and tsked at them. "That's certainly not how to keep Lainey warm," he said to Scotch conversationally. "If you'd like, I have some pointers you can use. Not that I've had the fortunate experience with her myself, but I've heard some stories." He winked lewdly. "I know exactly what trips her trigger."

"Really?" Scotch said, intrigue in her tone.

Lainey's mouth hung open in horror. "You wouldn't."

Howry smiled.

"Don," she growled, moving away from Scotch to glare at him.

"Si, mi amiga?"

"Someday, you'll find the woman of your dreams. And when you do, I'm going to be there to tell her all about that Egyptian villager you 'liberated' from her husband."

He blinked at her, his expression unreadable. "You wouldn't."

It was Lainey's turn to smile. "Or maybe that little chica in Rio. What was her name? Consuelo?"

"Well, Scotch," he said without missing a beat. "You might not know this, but I have extensive experience with a variety of laundry soaps. Perhaps we can talk about liquid softeners versus those ugly dryer sheets instead."

Scotch laughed. "That'll be fine."

Smug, Lainey tweaked Howry's bearded chin and turned away. She got another kiss from Scotch before sauntering out of the kitchen.

The nap did her good. Or maybe it was the water. In either case, when Scotch gently woke her, Lainey felt refreshed for the first time in days.

She tucked Scotch in for her nap and left the bedroom with great reluctance. She might not be wiped any more, but that did not lessen the desire to simply spend time cuddling with her friend. Regretful, Lainey forced herself to focus on her errands. Only seven hours to go before she was back on the trail.

By now everyone was awake. Strauss and Howry chatted on the couch with a small native man. Lainey's sluggish memory provided a name - Hank, Molly's husband. Rye and Irish were eating brunch in the kitchen, their mother frying them eggs, and Molly carefully folded Scotch's laundry.

Despite having had a huge breakfast, Lainey's stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard. Helen peered at her, and added another pan to the stove. "Get your laundry started and grab a plate."

"Thanks, Helen," Lainey said, grinning.

Four hours later, the last of her items tumbling in the dryer, her stomach obscenely full of her second breakfast, Lainey eased back into the bedroom with a cup of fresh coffee. She set it on the nightstand and slipped under the blankets. With gentle strokes, she woke Scotch, enjoying the sleepy warmth under her palms. It took great restraint to not escalate things as the woman beside her moaned and stretched in appreciation. Scotch had no more time to dally. She needed to get some lunch into her and back out to her dogs.

"Come on, sexy. Time to get up."

"Mmmm. I'm up," Scotch mumbled, her eyes still closed.

"Liar." Lainey eased her hand along Scotch's torso, fingers lightly pressing along her ribs.

Scotch jerked her eyes open. "No tickling!"

"Are you going to get up?"

"Yes!"

Lainey grinned. She dug into Scotch's ribs once, and was nearly bucked off by the exuberant response before she released her.

"That was mean." Scotch pouted, half sitting up in the bed.

"You'll thank me, later. It's after two and you need to eat before going."

Scotch rubbed her face and stared at the alarm clock. "Yeah, you're right." She yawned and scratched her head. "Is that coffee?"

"Yup." Lainey leaned across her to retrieve the cup. She froze as Scotch caressed her back and rear. "This isn't getting out of bed." Her heart thumped in her chest as the hand eased down her thigh.

"Maybe not, but it's certainly waking me up."

Lainey chuckled and forced herself away from Scotch's touch, handing her the coffee. "Me, too. And I didn't need waking up, thank you."

Scotch sipped from her cup. "That's a matter of opinion."

Amused, Lainey shook her head and got out of bed. "Come on, Fuller. You have a race to win. A little slap and tickle will interrupt your rest / run schedule too much."

"Yes, ma'am," Scotch said, mournfully.

"Molly said to tell you she has a bowl of ham and beans waiting for you in the kitchen."

Scotch's countenance cleared up, and she licked her lips. "Well, why didn't you say so? Let's get going."

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

AS MUCH AS Lainey wanted to see Scotch off, she had her own chores to complete. Howry drove Scotch to the checkpoint, leaving Lainey to wave after them as they departed. Her last sight of Scotch had been the woman's profile as they turned off the street and went around a corner. Chances were good that they would only see each other for an hour or two over the next few checkpoints. Scotch would then be running too far ahead of Lainey to catch.

Lainey spent the next hour at Molly's getting the last of her things together and the laundry finished. Over her misgivings, Molly insisted on stuffing her washer to the brim with dog coats, and Lainey had to admit that the new appliance was up to the sturdy task for which it had been drafted. Strauss sat at the kitchen table, officially interviewing her for the Cognizance article as she worked, accompanied by Molly's husband who added his own mushing wisdom to the discussion. Then Molly insisted on grilling up cheese and tuna sandwiches for a quick lunch, wrapping several in tin foil and pushing them into Lainey's already laden arms as she headed out the door.

"Thank you so much for putting me up," Lainey said as she climbed onto the snow machine, clutching her bundle of gear and food.

Molly smiled. "You just get to Nome, honey. That'll be thanks enough. I'll be listening to the reports." She remained on her porch, a shawl wrapped around her house dress and mukluks on her feet, hardly noticing the two degree temperature. She waved as Strauss drove the snow machine out of the yard.

At the checkpoint, Lainey climbed off the snow machine. "Will I see you again?" she asked.

"Yeah. Don and I have been talking about flying into Ruby and then Unalakleet, weather permitting."

"Great! I'll see you then." She turned away.

"Lainey?"

She looked over her shoulder at him.

"Take it easy, okay? I don't want to lose my star photo journalist to an avalanche or something."

Lainey grinned at him. "The worst is over, Ben. It might not all be smooth sailing to Nome, but it's way better than what I've already been through."

"I'm just saying."

She grinned and returned to him, bussing his scruffy cheek. "Thanks. I will." They said their good byes and she watched him go before trudging toward her sled.

The dogs were eager to see her, all of them awake and bright eyed. She walked through them, talking to and petting them for a few moments. Then she grabbed a dog harness and headed over to the drop point to pick up her new sled. It looked the same as the one she currently had, though with less wear and tear on it. She hooked the harness to the sled and put her arm through one of the loops, dragging the new vehicle back to her parking area.

As the team ate their lunch, she transferred everything, sled bag and all, from one sled to the other, carefully making certain to center the weight of the load this time. She did not want a repeat of her last crash. Soon the sled was packed to the ribs with the gear she carried in and the food drop she had distributed among her belongings. She placed the mandatory items and promotional packet in an easily accessible spot, grabbed the child's sled, and left again for another water run.

With dog chow steeping in one cooler and too many Gatorade packets thawing in the other, she checked her watch. Damn, she only had twenty-five minutes. Where did the time go? It seemed like an hour ago she was marveling at having twelve solid hours of time to work with. Lainey ruefully shook her head.

She connected her old sled to the back of her new one rather than manually drag it back to the drop point. Then she went down the line of frisky and eager dogs, cleaning up their mess and booting their feet. Their excitement ratcheted up another level as she worked; they recognized the signs that they were getting back on the trail, and frolicked accordingly.

As impatient as her team was, Lainey knew better than to simply mush them toward the checkpoint. Just her luck, they would take off out of town and force her to turn them around so she could properly check out. Instead, she hooked a harness to the tug line in front of Sholo and Trace and led the team herself.

Leaving the parking area, she waved at Roman Spencer who was in the final stages of leaving himself. Despite coming into McGrath behind her, he was leaving before she was. A musher's twenty-four hour break was where the Iditarod committee evened out the playing field. Lainey's break had in actuality lasted twenty-five plus hours because she had left Anchorage well over an hour and a half before the last musher. The only people staying longer on their twenty-four were the second and third mushers out of the gate. When all the mushers had taken their twenty-four, her standings would reflect her true position in the race.

Lainey guided her team to the drop point where she unhooked the old sled, labeled for shipment back to the kennel, and dumped her trash and extra dog food. By the time she arrived at the checkpoint, she had three minutes to wait. Roman had already gone, and her dogs picked up his team's scent, barking and surging forward in an attempt to catch them. A couple of volunteers stepped forward to hold them back, laughing at their anticipation.

"Looks like you've got a hell of a team," the checker said, handing her his clipboard to sign out.

"I certainly do," Lainey said with a contented smile.

"You're due to depart at seven fifty-eight," he said. He counted the time on his watch. "Which would be... five... four... three... two... one... now."

"Ready!" Lainey called, warning the volunteers and getting her dogs' attention. "Let's go!"

The team took off at a full lope, rushing forward in an attempt to catch up with Roman's team.

The trip to Takotna was as easy one, less that twenty miles. Lainey's dogs took the trail down to the river smoothly. Less than a mile later, they climbed up the left bank and headed across frozen swamps and scattered tree lines. The trail was solid and well-marked, with just enough fresh snow to make it interesting. Roman's tracks were easily visible and her dogs enthusiastic from their long break.

Lainey was glad for the weather. The sun had set, and the air was crisp with cold. She snugged her hood closer to compensate, her head lamp illuminating wagging dog tails. With the team burning off their excess energy, anything warmer would have been disastrous for them. As it was, they availed themselves of the fresh snow, biting at it as they ran to quench their thirst.

The ground rose at a gentle angle as they mushed along. Soon the ascent became a bit more extreme, though nowhere near as drastic as previous climbs had been. Still, Lainey jumped off the runners to give the dogs less weight to pull. Besides, running helped keep her warm, as well. At the top, they ran along a forested ridge for a few miles before the trail veered to the right and down the side.

As they came off the ridge and onto the river, she saw Roman perhaps a quarter mile ahead of her. Her team did, as well, and Chibee yipped in glee. The dogs surged forward, and she gave them their heads. By the end of this run / rest leg, they would burn off the extra get up and go. Until then, it would not hurt to allow them a little more exercise.

She heard barking ahead as her team neared his, Roman's trash talkers beginning to swear at the approaching competition. Montana answered back, echoed by Chibee and the normally quiet Himitsu. Lainey snorted as Montana somehow made his run more of a swagger, an arrogant gait apparently designed to show off his lowly opinion of the dogs they neared.

Roman's team put on a burst of speed, and Lainey grinned. So that was the way he wanted to play it, huh? "Let's go!" she called to her dogs.

She chased him down the river and up an embankment. Suddenly they were on a street, and she saw markers indicating the next checkpoint. "Whoa!" she ordered, standing on the drag mat between her runners. As much as she wanted to pass Roman, a five second lead meant nothing at this stage of the game. Her team was adamant, however, and would not stop until they bypassed Roman stopped at the checkpoint.

Lainey laughed as volunteers jumped forward to stop the dogs. She shed her gloves and officially signed in.

"Staying?"

"Nope. Just came off our twenty-four in McGrath," she said, reaching into her sled bag to snack her dogs. Roman had opted to blow through, and he waved at her with a grin as he pulled out of Takotna.

The checker nodded. "There's a steak dinner in it if you stay."

"Really?" Lainey returned the bag to her sled and grabbed booties and ointment. "I ate a pretty hefty dinner when I left McGrath."

He shrugged. "Oh, well. The villagers like to roll out the red carpet. A few of the mushers take their big break here for the steak dinner."

Finished with her chore, she repacked her gear and climbed aboard the runners. "If I do this again, you can bet I'll stay here on my twenty-four," she said. She put on her head lamp for the impending darkness and signed out at nine thirty PM.

"If I do this again," she muttered to herself, amused. "What the hell am I thinking?"

This stretch of trail was literally on a road, another easy section since the road appeared to be maintained during the summer months. For the next eight or nine miles, she played tag with Roman as they both climbed gradual inclines. Eventually their dogs settled into a rhythm with less yelling at one another. It appeared she and Roman were evenly matched, and Lainey started considering serious strategies to beat him to Nome.

They left the road, sweeping up to the right and overland for a bit. Then they dropped back onto it, now heading downhill. In some areas, it seemed the trail was more ice. Lainey concentrated her head lamp to see sheets of ice that had frozen across the road from creeks alongside. Once or twice, the trail avoided the ice altogether by slipping into a ditch on the other side. Where bridges were built to span the water, the path sometimes led off the road and past them rather than going across.

Roman Spencer pulled off the trail, and Lainey slowed to pass him. "You okay?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm just going to snack the dogs," he called back. "I'll catch up."

Lainey nodded and urged her team forward. Despite being in the lead, she wondered if there was something ahead that she did not know about, but he did. She frowned as her sled whipped along the road at an easy pace, trying to remember anything from the trail reports she had received. Nothing came to mind, and she finally decided he truly only wanted to give his dogs a break rather than trick her into an unenviable position.

She crossed several different creeks now, some with signs and some without, and followed the Innoko River for a spell. Her light picked up dark structures to the side of the road, evidence of old mining camps and cabins. Then a sign loomed closer. 'State Maintenance Ends.' That meant the checkpoint was coming up fast.

In the distance she saw lantern light, a warm glow shining from a cabin window. She smiled as she neared. The place looked like a Christmas card, with snow on the roof and the yellow light emanating from within, promising a grand welcome home to the weary traveler.

Barking dogs behind her broke her concentration and she glanced back to see Roman's head lamp closing in. Lainey laughed aloud and told her team to hurry along.

They pulled into the Ophir checkpoint a little after midnight, a full minute and a half before Roman Spencer. It was time for another rest.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

THE COUPLE THAT owned the Ophir checkpoint cabin filled Lainey full of hot stew. Volunteers, mushers and drying gear filled most the available space. There was no room for mushers to sleep inside, but Lainey did not mind, wanting to be with her dogs after her extensive rest break in McGrath. She easily slipped back into the rhythm of the race, making sure her dogs were fed and watered and healthy before caring for herself. It took a little doing, but she forced herself to drink two of her fruit juices instead of one as Scotch had directed.

After a three hour nap, her alarm woke her with soft beeping in her ear. She quickly looked around to see if Roman had ditched her, but he snoozed on his sled a few yards away. There were four other mushers taking their breaks here, but she was not worried about them. With careful movements, Lainey got up and began her parting chores. She did not want to wake him if she could help it, though she figured he would be up on his own soon. No reason to give him more of an edge, was there?

She did not talk to her dogs this time, not wanting her voice to carry to Roman's sled, though she still gave them all the affection they were accustomed to as she fed them. She stepped lightly and tried to make as little noise as possible. By the time she was halfway through her tasks, Roman jerked awake, probably from his own alarm clock. Seeing her in the middle of her preparations, he shook his finger at her and dragged himself from his sleeping bag.

Lainey grinned, moving faster since she had no more need to be stealthy. Before he had time to finish feeding his team, she was booting dog paws and cleaning up their parking area.

She waved cheerily at him as her team mushed past, heading for the checkpoint. She thought she heard him grumbling at her, and she chuckled.

It was about six thirty in the morning as her team left the Christmas cabin. The sky was still dark though the sun would begin to rise in about an hour. Lainey waited until they got away before drinking more juice, mindful of Scotch's warning. She could not allow herself to be as messed up as before. There were no more twenty-four hour breaks ahead and still two thirds of the race to go.

The trail was still fast and easy, both a gift and a curse to her. Cold weather and easy trails let her get farther in less time, but also gave the same advantage to Roman and anyone else in the vicinity. Within the first few miles, the team crossed the Innoko River twice. Then they went into trees and onto tundra for awhile, paralleling the rivers as they went. The dogs trotted along, still energetic after their long layover, and Lainey could not help but feel proud of them. She had trained them all season and they seamlessly worked together as if they had been doing this for years. Granted, most of them had, but not together in this particular working arrangement.

As the miles passed, she kept an eye out for Roman. She estimated he was close to a half hour behind her as far as checking out. Whether or not he would catch up before she reached Cripple was the question. The sun rose, and she turned off her head lamp, putting on sunglasses to combat the glare of light on snow. Her heart ached at the sheer beauty of the area. According to her research, if the Iditarod did not go through here, no one would pass along these hills and river at all. This section of trail was too remote for anything more than back packers and the like during summer.

She snacked her dogs, keeping an eye behind her for evidence of Roman's approach. Still nothing. Had he decided to take his time?

The trees thinned and disappeared. Blackened stumps thrust from the snow and even in the dead of winter she could smell a hint of ash. A fire had come through here at some point in the past, and the trail led right through the damage. Lainey prepared herself for a rougher ride, but it never materialized. This burn was far less dangerous than the Farewell Burn.

Her team ate up the miles, rolling in snow to cool off when she stopped to snack them, and biting at it to quench their thirst. The trail crossed the river again. Burnt trees faded, replaced by uninjured ones.

Lainey's bladder began to argue with her about all the liquids she was drinking, and she fought with it for a while. Sooner or later they had to come to the next checkpoint. She dug out her copy of Scotch's notes, flipping through the pages. Scotch said it was normally a four to six hour run at the most. Lainey checked her watch. She had been on the trail for close to four hours. Should she stop and find a shrub or keep on a little while longer?

Deciding to tough it out, she continued on. She fantasized about being in the middle of the desert, trying to convince her body that she had not had anything to drink for days, that she was parched with thirst. It worked for a few more miles, but as the sled hit various ruts and bumps her bladder twinged more and more.

She debated how long it would take her to drop her drawers long enough to pee and move on. Her worries grew by leaps and bounds as she went, becoming so water logged that she almost missed the checkpoint as it came up.

"Whoa!" she called, stomping on the brake, and then cursing as the liquid in her bladder wobbled dangerously. Just what she needed was to pee her pants out here in the middle of an Alaskan winter.

She checked in, breathlessly demanding the location of the latrine.

The checker, a thin woman with a bright orange parka, chuckled. "It's over there. Go ahead, I'll have the vet wait until you're done."

"Thank you!"

When she finished, she ambled out of the outhouse with a relieved smile. Her dogs watched her, grinning and laughing as if to say they had it far easier than she. Of course, they did, having been trained to relieve themselves as they ran. A couple of men were with them, already checking each animal's health.

"Feel better?" one asked.

Lainey chuckled. "You can't imagine." She found her vet notes and handed them over.

"Looking good," the other said after completing his examination. He made some notes on one of the pages. "That one has some cumulative abrasions to her paws, though."

She gave Heldig a concerned look. "I don't want to run her into the ground. Do you think I should drop her now?"

The veterinarian considered a moment, even going back to Heldig to go over her feet again. "Not yet. I think she's good for a few more miles. She's definitely healthy enough to get you to Ruby, maybe even Galena."

Lainey nodded. Ruby was the next checkpoint and seventy miles away. Galena was the one after, about sixty miles further. "Okay. Thanks."

As she turned away from the vets, she saw Roman arrive. She debated snacking the dogs and getting out of the checkpoint to camp in the wild. No. Just her luck, he would decide to do the same and pass her up somewhere on the trail. Then he would know it for the ruse it was. There was still plenty of time for friendly competition as they neared the end of the race.

She directed her dogs to the holding area and began the process of feeding them and putting them to bed. Melted snow for water, two Gatorades drained, dog chow distributed and straw laid out for them. She was pleased to see Roman remained at the checkpoint, as well. She heated a couple of Molly's sandwiches on the lid of her boiling pot. She downed them, followed by warmed pumpkin bread slathered with butter for dessert. The butter tasted better than the bread, and she remembered Scotch eating a stick of butter at an earlier break. While the thought of doing the same still made her lip curl, her mouth watered a little.

Maybe one of the upcoming villages would have a store or something. She certainly did not have any extra butter in her food drops like Scotch did, not having planned for the craving.

Lainey yawned, and she put aside her considerations. She heard Scotch's voice in her head. "If you don't take care of yourself, you can't take care of your dogs." Smiling, Lainey prepared her sled and sleeping bag for a nap.

When she woke, it was still daylight, though the sun hung low enough to play hide and seek among the tree tops. It was cold, but not terribly so. She had a small thermometer attached to her sled, and it indicated the temperature hanging somewhere above zero. Lainey felt a mental burble of laughter. That was not what she was thinking last year about the weather! A few other mushers utilized this checkpoint for a break. As before, she kept her activities concealed, making as little noise as possible. Roman had learned his lesson, though. He had parked as close to her as he could, and woke when she started up her cookers. Lainey sighed in resignation as he rolled out of his sleeping bag with a knowing grin.

"Fool me once," he said, and began his own preparations.

Lainey smiled. "Didn't anybody teach you that the female is the more devious of the species?"

He barked a laugh. "Is that my warning?"

She did not answer, giving him a placid look. He laughed again, and she turned her attention to her team.

Heldig's paws were worn but not too much so, just as the veterinarian had said. Lainey donned her latex gloves and hand warmers, and slathered Heldig's pads with ointment. "Duct tape is still an option," she told her. Her response was a snuffling kiss on the cheek.

Chibee whined in excitement as dinner was dished out. "You act like I never feed you," she said. He ignored her words, falling to his chow with single minded purpose.

Nearby, Roman chuckled. "It's never enough." He glanced up from his cookers. "You might want to up their fat intake a little. How much are you running?"

"About a half pound." Lainey went back down the line with the extra water.

"Maybe make it three quarters, at least through the interior. They'll burn it up."

She murmured a response and continued her tasks. Would Roman endanger her dogs by giving her poor advice, all to beat her? From what she had read and heard of the Spencers, they seemed to be decent kennel owners. At the very least, Georgio Spencer had won three Iditarods and two Yukon Quests over the years. Roman had the experience of being raised in a kennel, just like Scotch had. There was also her own craving for butter. Were the dogs feeling the same?

Lainey decided that he would not give advice designed to affect her dogs and, hence, her standing in the race. Besides, what would be the point? So he could arrive in Nome a few places before her? He would be in upper middle of the pack, anyway. The major champion contenders were already jockeying for position.

Regardless, she resolved to not take his advice. Not until she could talk to Scotch, at least. Chances were good they would see each other in Ruby. She could ask her then. The only reason Scotch had not been at the Cripple checkpoint was because she normally blew through to camp in the woods nearby. Lainey, however, still held a little trepidation at being so far from civilization. Even the meager population of a checkpoint in the wild felt safer. There would be no choice between here and Ruby, though. The next checkpoint was too far away for the dogs to run all in one round. Lainey would have to camp in the wilderness next time.

She gathered doggie dishes and blankets, cleaned her area, and booted her team. It was becoming second nature. She finished the task in less than fifteen minutes this time. By the end of the race, she would be doing the same thing in five. This time she grabbed a bail of straw and lashed it to her sled. The dogs would need some warm bedding out on the trail.

"See you out there," she told Roman, who was in the final stages of preparation himself.

"I'm right behind you."

Lainey grinned at the inherent threat of his words. Rather than take the bait, she ordered her dogs toward the check out point. It was time to put some distance between them, at least for a little while.

CHAPTER FORTY

THE STRAW LASHED to her sled made the ride a bit ungainly, but the good weather compensated for the extra weight. Cool temperatures and the setting sun made for decent trail. Anything that had softened up during the day would freeze over in the night. Lainey's team trotted along in the footsteps of thirty mushers with little difficulty. She joined the dogs, stripping off her parka to combat overheating as she ran alongside the sled.

They passed through an abandoned mining town, with old and deteriorating cabins on either side of the trail. This was Poorman, once a booming metropolis in the early 1900's when the siren's song of gold had plucked the string of many a man's heart. Even after they left Poorman behind them, occasional mining camps sat desolate and forgotten off to either side. Lainey almost wished she could stop and explore. If it were not for the threat of Roman overtaking her she might have. Instead, she sighed and continued to run with her dogs.

The team climbed to high ground for a bit. When the team dropped to Sulatna River, Lainey hopped back onto the runners. Iditarod markers were easy to see, which was fortunate. Along this stretch there were many trails, evidence of wildlife, trappers and trail breakers. Even with the well marked paths, it was easy to be distracted onto a different one and Lainey was forced to keep her attention on the trail instead of sight see. It was just as well since the sun would be setting soon.

Lainey went over her notes while on the easy sections, though she kept her eye open for sweepers. She expected some difficulties once they hit the road. Chuckling, she said, "What the hell is a road doing out here?"

No answer was forthcoming, but her timing was good. The road in question loomed up before her, and the team ran along it. Up ahead was the Sulatna Crossing, a steel bridge spanning a creek. According to trail markers, Lainey was supposed to go right over it, but she halted the dogs. The bridge looked pitted and worn in her head lamp, just like Poorman had. Was it truly safe to cross?

Lainey snacked her dogs and checked Heldig's paws. She still had one bootie on, and Lainey put on three more. Then she walked back to the bridge and peered down. The drop was about fifteen feet, no worse than falling off the roof of the cabin. But at least there she would not have a heavy sled and fifteen dogs to tangle in if she slid off. She reached out and thumped the steel. It seemed solid enough, and there were no tracks showing mushers taking a different route. She had not gotten lost because the way had an official Iditarod marker.

She heard barking behind her and ran to her sled. Damn. Roman was coming. She would be damned if she let him catch her ogling. "Let's go!"

Her dogs, eager to keep ahead of the approaching team, bustled across with ease. Lainey glanced back to see Roman coming up to the bridge. She envied his assurance as he never wavered, letting his team pull him across without a second thought. Was she more cautious than he was? Or did he simply have the benefit of hearing Iditarod tales as he grew up?

In any case, he was here now, and she could either urge her dogs forward or let them run at their own pace. Lainey had to remind herself that the race was already won and she still had days to go before reaching the end. Risking her dogs now would do nothing but force her to scratch before Nome when they became too exhausted.

Keeping that firmly in mind, Lainey refused to become too disgruntled as Roman passed her with a grin. Much. Her trash talkers had other ideas, though, as they bitched and kvetched at Roman's dogs, who returned the favor with lots of swagger and tail wagging. She laughed at her team, proud of their attitude. "That's right, you tell them," she said.

The trail continued on the road for several miles. They followed it between two lakes and across a creek. There was some overflow here but nothing too dangerous. A decent breeze pushed through the area, causing small drifts that smoothed into the trail, but even that difficulty hardly slowed them.

Lainey passed Roman while he was snacking his dogs, and tried not to grin too impudently. They were evenly enough matched that he would pass her when she stopped to do the same.

Apparently the road followed switchbacks that the trail did not. Her team went off the road for a time only to return to it for a while longer, then repeated the procedure. In the dark it was a rude surprise to find herself suddenly in a ditch due to glacier like run off crossing the trail. A couple of times Lainey balanced on one runner to keep upright. A spiteful little voice hoped that Roman would have the same difficulties.

They passed a highway maintenance shed, though there was no way this road could be termed a highway, even without snow and ice covering the pavement. Providing there was pavement under the snow. The breeze was stronger here, but the treeline kept it to a minimum. It was not long before the trail climbed out of that meager protection.

Here the wind was stronger and had scrubbed parts of the trail clean. Lainey learned firsthand that the road was not paved as her teeth rattled from going over bare gravel. Rather than worry about Roman overtaking her, she now ran along with her team to lighten the weight of the sled, hoping the runners would survive the rough ride. She had spare plastic runners to replace the coverings that were shredding, but if the metal parts of the runners themselves were damaged . . . Lainey only had one other sled waiting at a checkpoint, her sprint sled at Unalakleet, and that was two hundred miles or more away.

The sled trundled along for some time, the occasional patch of remaining snow giving sharp contrast to the grating of the road and the wind pulling at Lainey's parka. Finally, the trail dipped back into the protected tree line, and snow once more carpeted the ground. Lainey breathed a sigh of relief.

She passed a sign, Mile Point 30. It would be time to stop soon. Lainey turned off her head lamp and looked behind her, not wanting to give Roman a chance to see her if she could help it. His lamp was nowhere in sight. Either he had dropped back or he had turned his lamp off for the same reason. Lainey grinned.

More signs, these indicating the trail where it ran through a summer village called Long. Everything was boarded up for the winter, but the buildings were well cared for, not like the aging Poorman she had passed outside of the last checkpoint. According to her notes, she was at the halfway point between Cripple and Ruby. If she went much further, she would be back into exposed wind and weather. Again she glanced back. Had Roman stopped for a rest break? Should she?

Outside of Long, Lainey pulled her team to the side of the trail. She turned on her head lamp to read her watch and was surprised to see she had only been out for four hours. She still had two more to go before reaching her recommended run / rest schedule. Two more hours would put her almost to Ruby. It would be ridiculous to rest then, knowing she only had twenty miles to the checkpoint.

Lainey snacked the dogs, giving them moose liver chunks which they snapped up as if starved. Then she returned to her sled to grab a bite for herself and think.

Scotch was at Ruby already. Lainey really needed to talk to her about increasing the fat intake of her dogs. Besides, she missed her. They had not been separated for this long since Lainey's arrival in June. It had been over twenty-four hours since Lainey had seen her. If she were to follow her original plan and camp out, she might miss Scotch in Ruby.

On the other hand, running the dogs on through might be a hardship for them. She had confidence they could handle the extra mileage, but worried that it would upset her carefully planned schedule. Why had she put a rest break here?

Lainey flipped through her notes. They were a combination of Scotch's trail notes blended with Thom's Iditarod days and Lainey's personal research. She sipped at a juice pack, absently nibbling at a frozen Twinkie in between pages. It took her a few minutes, but she finally located the reason she originally planned a full rest break.

When Thom had been running the race, the trail between Cripple and Ruby had been over a hundred miles long. For various reasons Lainey was not privy to, the trail had been altered a few years earlier, cutting that mileage to just over seventy. Scotch's notes showed a good place to camp out near Long, but Scotch also tended to blow through checkpoints and park away from people. Lainey had combined the older trail information with Scotch's camping spot, and assumed she would need to park before reaching Ruby.

She frowned at the bale of straw lashed to her sled. Damned if she could drop it out here for no reason; it would be the same as littering. She would look like ten kinds of fool bringing it into Ruby. Lainey blew out a breath. Oh, well, nothing to be done for it now. At least she could take the time to go over her sled runners and change them out if needed.

It was too early to feed the dogs, so Lainey gave them a second snacking instead. Then she began the process of unloading her sled in order to turn it on its side. A few minutes later, she was pleased to note that the sharp gravel had not done as much damage as she had thought. She chewed her lip, wondering if she should give the runners a good waxing before packing up again. Her team sprawled on the snow, some catching a quick nap and others watching her as if to ask, Are we staying or going?

If she stayed much longer, all her dogs would be sleeping. She would play hell waking them up. An interruption like that might cause them to give her trouble for disturbing their slumber. She set her sled upright and quickly packed it again, talking loudly to her team to keep them awake.

By the time she tied the straw back on, most of them were at least sitting up. Lainey went down the line, scratching, petting, and wrestling with them until even Bonaparte was ready to go. She returned to her sled, popped the snow hook, and called, "Let's go!"

They were back on the trail before she thought of Roman again. Where was he? Surely he would have passed her by now. Lainey turned to look behind her but saw nothing. Maybe he had had far more difficulties than she did on that stretch of gravel. Either that or he had the same outdated information she had and was holed up for a nap.

The dogs took her through a quiet little valley. With no sign of pursuit, Lainey's eyelids began to grow heavy. She yawned and forced herself to stand up straight. Now was not the time to snooze. Rummaging in her personal bag, she pulled out a fresh battery pack for her iPod. Soon she was dreaming on with Aerosmith.

After hitting mile post 18, she climbed a high ridge, maybe thirteen hundred feet in altitude. On the other side was a gradual downgrade. She was still on the road so overflow and ice was still a problem, making an easy run hazardous. The trail bottomed out and crossed a bridge before rising again. She went up and down hills with some regularity, always on the road. In some cases, her head lamp illuminated nothing to her right, indicating steep a drop off. She kept a wary eye on the trail at those points. An overflow heading down hill could force her toward the edge before she knew what was happening.

At the top of the last hill, she realized she was at an intersection. Grinning, she could see lights in the distance. Ruby was just ahead. As the sled battled the icy road, she made out large square shapes on the side. At first she thought they were small buildings or tree trunks, but one was near enough that her head lamp lit it well. It was a sign, a crudely drawn picture of a dog team with a childish scrawl over the top - 'Welcome to Ruby Checkpoint, Iditarod Musher!'

Lainey laughed. Six hundred fifteen miles done, and only four hundred ninety-seven to go!

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

IT WAS THE wee hours of the morning when Lainey pulled to a stop beside the log community center. The check in procedure was quick and painless, though one of the volunteers wondered aloud why she had a straw bale with her.

"Weight training," she said. She was glad the skin of her face was chapped from the weather. At least her blush would not be readily apparent. "Is Scotch Fuller here?"

The checker, an amused expression on his face, looked over his clipboard. "Yeah, she is. She'll probably be getting ready to leave soon, though." "Thanks."

Lainey directed her dogs to the parking area and got them fed and bedded down on the straw from Cripple. After the longer run on this stretch, she planned on taking a full eight hour break here. There were two mandatory eight hour breaks; the next one would be on the other side of the Yukon at White Mountain. She had not planned on taking her mandatory here, though, so she had not notified the checker of her intent to stay a little longer than usual.

Her team comfortable, she grabbed up wet dog booties and gear and headed to the community center. Hopefully there would be someplace to dry at least some of this stuff before she had to head out.

Inside, her sinuses promptly clogged from the change of temperature, but not before she caught a whiff of delicious moose stew.

"Hey, hey! The prodigal rookie arrives!"

Lainey grinned and waved at Howry, but it was the sight of Scotch sitting beside him that caused her heart to beat a little faster.

Strauss was returning to the table with a cup of coffee and stopped to give her a one armed hug. "You can put your stuff in the back there," he said, nodding toward a mass of makeshift laundry lines dangling over a large stove, "and grab a bowl of stew and join us."

"Yes, boss," she said.

He chuckled. "Wow! You must be exhausted to be calling me 'boss'."

Lainey stuck her tongue out at him and slipped from under his arm.

After arranging her stuff to dry and getting food, she finally sank into the chair beside Scotch. She took the time to kick off her boots and liners, giving her feet a chance to air out, before applying herself to the stew.

"So, how's it going?" Strauss asked. "Any problems out there?"

"Not really. Bare ground is a bitch, but my runners are in better condition than I thought they'd be. I'm not so sure about Roman Spencer, though."

Scotch frowned at her. "Why?"

"Well, he was right behind me, but after we got out of the timber and onto the bald patches, I lost him." She looked at the door as it opened, but it was one of the veterinarians. "I took a pretty extensive stop to go over the sled. By all rights, he should have passed me and been here by now."

"Maybe he cracked his sled?" Howry suggested.

"Or his dogs balked," another musher said from further down the table. "I've had a team quit on me when the wind got too bad."

"It's possible." Scotch nursed her coffee. "How are the dogs?"

"Good." Lainey was surprised to realize her bowl was empty. She had not expected to be that hungry. "I might leave Heldig here, though. She's been tiptoeing through the snow too much and it's messing with her paws."

Scotch nodded. "Yeah, that sounds like Heldig. Has Bonaparte been giving you any trouble?"

"Nope. Not a lick."

A slight grin crossed Scotch's face. "Well, there's still time."

Lainey pursed her lips and raised her chin. "You know, just because he's given you trouble on the trail doesn't mean he'll do the same for me."

"Ah, yes. I remember how well he performed for you last month."

She frowned at the reminder. Bonaparte had decided it was time for a snack break during a training run. At the time, he had simply sat down between one step and the next, allowing the team to drag him a few feet before Lainey could halt them. She had been horrified at the sight of his limp body plowing through the snow, positive he had been killed in some freak accident. Closer examination showed him to be hale, healthy and alive, but he refused to run another step. Nothing Lainey did could force him to budge and she finally resorted to loading him into the sled to be towed home. Only upon her arrival, fearfully handing him over to Helen for an exam, did she discover that it was a regular trick of his when His Majesty decided he had run enough for one day.

Scotch grinned at her and Lainey smacked her on the leg with a scowl. If anything, Scotch's grin widened and she checked her watch. "It's about time for me to get ready."

As Scotch rose, Lainey did as well. "I'll walk with you. It's too warm in here." She pulled her boots back on and donned her parka while Scotch did the same. Soon they were back outdoors, and she sighed in relief. Who would have imagined she would be more comfortable in five degrees than a warm community center?

"This'll probably be the last time I see you before Nome," Scotch said as they crunched over snow.

"I know. I guess I'll just have to run a little faster to shorten the distance."

Scotch chuckled. "Yeah. You do that."

"There was something I wanted to ask you about the dogs." At Scotch's nod, Lainey said, "Roman said he was feeding his team three quarters of a pound of fat now and suggested I do the same. Is that something I should do?"

"Yeah, you can do that without harming them. As cold as it is this year, it might be beneficial over all. They'll burn it off keeping warm."

"Okay. I just wanted to double check before changing their diet."

"You didn't pack any extra in your food drops, did you?"

Lainey shook her head. "Nope. I hadn't planned on it. I took your list and cut down the amount you take for yourself, so I don't even have that."

"Well, the next checkpoint is Galena. They have a cafe there. If it's open when you arrive, you might be able to buy something from them. A few checkpoints after that is Unalakleet with a couple of stores."

"Yeah, I'll check into them when I get there." Lainey looked over the parking area as they got to Scotch's team. A few mushers were curled on their sleds or with their dogs. It looked like two more had arrived while she was inside, and they were in the final stages of settling their dogs. Neither of them were Roman. What had happened to him?

Scotch brought her back to the here and now by pulling her into an embrace. "Remember, it'll be easy running for the next few legs until you reach the coast. After that, be careful."

"Only if you'll be careful, too," Lainey said, snuggling close. "I have big plans for you in Nome."

"And I have plans for you," Scotch agreed. Her voice was rough from the weather, but the huskiness in her tone struck a chord in Lainey's heart.

With reluctance, Lainey released Scotch and stepped back. "Happy trails."

"Same to you."

Lainey dawdled for a bit, watching Scotch wake her dogs and prepare them for the trail. A yawn big enough to drop the Grand Canyon into reminded her she needed to sleep, and she regretfully shuffled away to her team. On her way there, she saw that Roman had finally arrived. He looked none the worse for wear, but he had his sled on its side and closely examined the runners. It looked like the bare gravel had done quite a number on them.

She yawned again as she reached her team. The dogs were all nestled in straw, bright green and yellow blankets draped over their motionless forms. Lainey walked down the line to check them and returned to her sled, satisfied. As she pulled out her sleeping bag, she looked up to wave at Scotch leaving the parking area.

Lainey doubted she would see Scotch again until she arrived in Nome, and she sighed. Best to not think about it. With any luck, she could get a good five hours sleep this morning. She climbed into her sleeping bag and got comfortable. In no time, she was fast asleep.

Regardless of the extra hour of rest, Lainey's eye still felt grainy when she left the checkpoint. Daylight was dawning but she kept her head lamp on for the time being. This was supposed to be another easy stretch. She regretted having to take it during the heat of the day, but it was either leave now or give Roman a chance to jump too far ahead. He was already getting his team ready to leave, only staying six hours despite the extra time he had taken to get here.

The trail followed the road out of town, but at the bottom of a hill took a right turn. From there, it dropped onto the Yukon river, a mile wide expanse of snow and ice. With all that room to maneuver, the trail breakers had made the way a straight shot as far as she could see.

She yawned. Her dogs trotted happily along, tails wagging. She was down to fourteen now, a decent showing for as many miles as they had traveled. Heldig remained at Ruby as a dropped dog, her paws too abraded to continue without causing further damage. She had barked and pulled on her chain as they left the checkpoint, wanting to stay with them. Because she had no other injuries, Lainey felt bad about leaving her.

Lainey drank a juice pack, her mood worsening in direct contrast to the rising sun.

She was tired, cranky, still stiff and sore from her tumble a couple of days earlier. Her rib ached from cold, exertion, and sleeping in contorted positions on her sled. She felt grimy and knew she stank something fierce, regardless of the shower she had been able to catch in McGrath. Ugh.

Who was she fooling, anyway? Sure, she was already past the halfway mark, but she still had over four hundred miles to go before reaching the finish line. What was the point? All this for a stupid magazine article? Strauss had not paid her nearly enough for this abuse.

Maybe she should scratch at Galena. Just pull in and end her race there. There had already been other mushers who had scratched; she would not be the one in the ignominious position of the first to bail out of the race. Lots of rookies never made it to the finish line. Hell, lots of mushers tried every year and never made it to Nome. What made her so special? She had plenty of material for her article, and hundreds of photographs. Would it really be so bad to pull the plug now?

The miles cranked slowly by, and Lainey removed her head lamp in favor of her sunglasses. Overhead cloud cover obscured the direct light of the sun, but it was still bright out. Her team trundled along with little direction, but she took care to keep an eye for trail markers. It was best not to get too complacent and end up in Fairbanks by mistake.

God, the trail just kept going and going. She still had a good four hundred miles of it, too. She imagined flying into Nome and being at the finish line to see Scotch's arrival. Lainey smiled to herself, knowing that after a decent nap and shower, she would have Scotch all to herself. Finally! While the resulting lascivious daydreams were fun, her mind insisted on following its depressing line.

What would happen when it was over? The Iditarod finished for another year, the Cognizance article filed and published . . . What then? Another job, another article, more travel, that was what. Lainey had to go where the money was. That was the joy and the curse of free lance work. Strauss would possibly have an idea for an article, or Lainey could check in on a number of other magazines to find something interesting to pick up or pitch. Off she would go to grab photos of exotic wildlife far from here.

Lainey had no illusions that Scotch would join her. The dogs were Scotch's life. Alaska was Scotch's life.

Where did that leave their relationship then?

Grumbling to herself, Lainey stopped the dogs to snack them. They all had healthy positive attitudes, and she did not know if she should snarl at them or let them jolly her out of her rapidly plummeting mood. Chibee wriggled and licked her face as she checked him, his breath foul with the frozen white fish he just finished gulping down. Unable to help herself, Lainey laughed, and her grinned at her, pleased.

"Thanks, boy. Nothing like a doggie kiss to wake me up to reality."

Whatever she decided between here and Nome, she would survive. Scotch would survive. They were both tough and confident, able to handle anything the world sent against them. If they were destined to be together, fine. If not, at least it had been a wonderful and entertaining year.

She finished checking the dogs and climbed onto her sled. "Let's go!"

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

LAINEY ARRIVED AT the Galena checkpoint at nine fifty-seven on Saturday morning. She had been on the trail for a full eight days. Running on automatic, she parked the team, fed and watered them, and settled them for their nap. She completed the entire process in less than an hour. Earlier in the race she would have been impressed with her increased efficiency. Her mind was numb from lack of sleep and boredom, however, alternating between morose thoughts about Scotch and the waking dreams of the sleep deprived. Fortunately, the team had not been too affected by her temperament. They frisked a bit before settling into their straw beds for some much needed sleep.

Once they were cared for, Lainey got her child sled out and found her food drops. She lugged them back to the sled, but did not bother to open and sort through them. There was something a bit more important she had to take care of, and the sooner she did, the sooner she could join the dogs in slumber.

As in Ruby, the Galena checkpoint was the village community center. Lainey stepped inside with an armload of gear. She was in luck and located room to hang the things to dry. Once that was done she cornered one of the volunteers, a thin native woman.

"Hey, is the cafe open yet?"

The volunteer smiled. "It should be. But there's lots of food here to choose from. And our moose stew is the best in the Yukon."

Lainey tried to inhale through stuffed sinuses, but could not smell a thing. A buffet sat along one wall, laden with food - even a full roast turkey that had been picked nearly clean by now. "I don't doubt that," she said, grinning. "But I'm looking to buy cooking oil or butter for my dogs. At least enough to get me to Unalakleet." She chuckled to herself. Man, that sounded odd. Never in her wildest imaginations had she thought she would ever ask for lard for dogs.

Despite the strange request the woman, who introduced herself as Suzy, did not bat an eye. Instead, she scooped up her parka and put it on. "I'll take you. I've got a snow machine right outside."

Lainey blinked. "Oh, You don't have to do..."

"Don't be silly! You've been on the trail for days and need your rest as much as your dogs do. The sooner we get this done, the sooner you get food and sleep."

Lainey was hustled out the door and onto a snow machine. Moments later, tired amusement on her face, she was ushered into a tiny cafe. Four booths lined the wall to the left, and a breakfast counter stood to the right. A double swinging door led back to the kitchen, and she saw a cook through the serving window behind the counter, leaning on one hip and reading a book. The air smelled of bacon and eggs and coffee.

"Wait here." Suzy waved her to a stool at the counter, and disappeared, presumably into the kitchen.

Bemused, Lainey sat and glanced around at the other occupants. A young couple sat at one of the booths, both nodding greeting to her which she returned. Lounging at the counter a few seats down, a grizzled old man returned her stare.

"Musher?" he asked before she became embarrassed at her rudeness.

"Yeah."

He sucked his teeth and looked her over. "Rookie, huh?"

Lainey grinned. "Is it obvious?" she asked, looking down at herself for a sign. Maybe it was hanging above her head, blinking in garish neon.

The man chuckled. "Sometimes. I seen them all come every year, ever since the first one through here. Haven't seen you before. I'd remember."

She laughed. "Yeah, this is my first Iditarod."

"Suzy said you needed cooking oil or something?"

Lainey turned to the waitress, another native woman, that had appeared from the back with Suzy at her side. "Yes. It's been colder than I expected, and I wondered if you had any oil or butter to spare that I could buy. I need to increase the dogs' fat intake." She felt a wave of absurdity as the words came out of her mouth. The thought of walking into a restaurant in Queens and asking the same thing almost caused a snort, but she fought it down.

The waitress took it in stride, which made the entire situation even more absurd in Lainey's eyes. "I think we could help. I could give you two pounds of butter and a gallon of cooking oil."

"Really? That would be great. How much do you want for it?" She reached under her parka in search of an inner pocket where she kept her money.

The waitress dithered a bit, looking at the other patrons with a frown as she figured out monetary values. She finally quoted a price that was well below what Lainey had expected. The village was literally in the middle of the wilderness, and everything had to be trucked in through fair weather and foul. That made costs she took for granted in the lower states double or even triple in some places up here.

She was certain arguing the point would only insult the woman, so Lainey paid what was asked and the waitress went back into the kitchen area to get the goods. As soon as she was out of sight, Lainey folded a twenty dollar bill in half and slipped it under a sugar container with the corner peeking out. She blushed as she realized both the old man's and Suzy's sharp eyes had seen her furtive movement. He nodded, a smile on his face, and sipped his coffee. Suzy acted like nothing had happened.

"Here you go," the waitress said. "Would you like any coffee or anything? I've a fresh pot. We could whip you up a great breakfast, too."

Lainey took the brown paper bag and stood. "I'd love to, but I've only got a few hours of sleep before I head out. Thank you so much for this. You're a life saver."

The waitress reddened and smiled. She brushed at her apron, but appeared pleased. "You're welcome. Maybe some time you can come back for a good meal."

"I'd like that."

"What's your name?" the old man asked as Lainey edged toward the door with Suzy.

"Lainey Hughes."

"Good luck, Lainey Hughes," he said, lifting his cup in salute.

The others in the cafe murmured the same, and Lainey thanked them before stepping outside.

Soon she was back at her sled, stomach full from a meal of moose stew and fresh buttered rolls. Her team slept on, and she joined them. She was unconscious before her head hit the rolled up clothing she used as a pillow.

Upon awakening, she grabbed her thermos and returned to the community center. Those rolls had been wonderful, and she hoped there were more. At the very least, a thermos of coffee or even warm Tang would taste better than the juice packs and Gatorade she carried. She had tried to get an assortment of flavors in her food drops, but their taste was getting old. Maybe next time she could substitute a couple of other items to drink.

Next time? Where did that come from? Lainey snorted and shook her head, stepping inside the community center.

The faces of the mushers had changed, new ones having come in the afternoon while she slept, others having left. Roman Spencer was there, looking groggy as he spooned stew into his mouth. Lainey was pleased to see him, wandering if he had just arrived and planned to stay long. It looked like she might have evaded him for the rest of the race. She could only hope.

Lainey went to the drying racks and scooped up her things. Most everything was dry, though the boot liners were still slightly damp. Ruefully, she wondered if there would be a place in Kaltag to dry things. That was her next layover. She could really use those liners before reaching Unalakleet. She fumbled for her notebook and checked her food drop inventory for Kaltag. At least she had two pairs of liners in that drop, just in case.

"Lainey?"

She turned to see the woman who had taken her to the cafe, Suzy. "Hey, how are you holding up?" she asked with a grin, putting away her notebook and juggling her belongings.

"Better than you guys are," Suzy said, indicating the unshaven and exhausted looking mushers peppering the center. "While you were asleep there were a few deliveries for you. I've got them right over here."

Puzzled, Lainey followed her to where the volunteers had set up their office, a row of tables covered in paperwork, radios, and all manner of odds and ends. "Deliveries? I didn't ask for anything to be delivered here. Other than my food drops, anyway." She looked at the large chalkboard on the wall, Searching for Scotch's name. It looked like she would be leaving the Kaltag checkpoint in the next couple of hours. Roman had only just arrived, giving Lainey the potential for another five or six hour lead.

"Well, old Harris spread the word after we left the cafe this morning." Suzy pulled a large cardboard box out from under a table and hefted it on top.

"Harris?" Lainey lifted the flap of the box and blinked at the contents. A lump swelled in her throat, making swallowing difficult.

"Yeah, the man at the counter. He let some folks know about your need. We've had five or six people show up to give you these."

Lainey pulled a plastic gallon jug of cooking oil from inside the box. There was another one just like it as well as several sticks of butter and margarine of different brands, obviously from someone's home refrigerator. A large plastic bag held chunks of meaty bones, still mostly frozen - enough for sixteen dogs. In a smaller paper sack, there was a canning jar filled with a thick yellow fluid. "What's this?"

Suzy whistled. "That's seal oil. It has a very high fat content. That was probably meant for you rather than the dogs. You can either drink it straight or dip bread or something into it. Ever have it before?"

"No." Lainey did not know whether to laugh or cry. Unable to make the emotional decision, she smiled as tears stung her eyes.

"Well, if you like fish, you should like this. It's got a fishy aftertaste, anyway."

Sniffling, Lainey found cards from a couple of children and seven notes from well-wishers. "Harris, you said?"

"Yep, Harris," Suzy agreed. She poked through the cards and messages. "Everybody who brought something left a note for you."

Lainey read each one. The children had drawn crude pictures of a sled and dogs. One even showed her bright yellow sled bag, so the kid had to have seen her while she was napping. The others were scribbled messages of good trails and encouragement to reach the finish line.

She made certain she had the names of the people involved, asking Suzy to translate those signatures she could not read. Though it took time, Lainey would not leave until she had written thank you notes to everyone involved, including Harris and the waitress at the cafe. When she finished, she gave them to Suzy who promised to deliver them.

Before Lainey could leave, Suzy pulled her over to the buffet table, and insisted she grab a snack to take with her. She chuckled as the volunteer buttered four rolls and wrapped them in tin foil for the trail.

Still a bit weepy, Lainey took the box - now piled with donations, rolls, and her dry gear - out to her sled. It was a little after three in the afternoon and the sky was darkening. Her six hour break would be finished soon. Still, she stopped and gazed at the village around her, memorizing its appearance. She even dug out her camera and took a few photos, more for her than any magazine article. What an amazing group of people here in Galena, Alaska.

She put away her camera and forced herself back to the business of dog sledding. Firing up the cookers, she moved down the line to rouse her dogs. The lump was still in her throat, but she forced it down.

Whatever could she do to repay the village of Galena?

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

LAINEY SPENT THE night on the trail, stopping at the Nulato checkpoint only long enough to snack her dogs. She pulled into Kaltag a little after three in the morning and took a much needed break. The dogs enjoyed their bones, gnawing and cracking them before they fell asleep.

Her notes indicated that the next stretch of trail to Unalakleet had the potential for problems. A straight shot through was not unheard of, though, despite the fact that it was ninety miles away. As she woke her dogs from their mandatory eight hour break, she gauged their strengths and weaknesses for a possible twelve hour run. All of them were eating well; they had been fortunate enough not to pick up some of the illnesses floating through the race. It was inevitable for dogs to get ill, what with hundreds of them on the trail. It only took one with a cold or canine version of the flu to infect a dozen others who parked in the same areas on the route. Her team still ate heartily, especially now that she had the extra fat to include in their diet, and they appeared no worse for wear.

Physically, they still pulled with abandon, though even her monster wheel dog, Jonah, had curbed his overbearing enthusiasm. He remained eager to get on the trail after every stop, but his boundless energy had mellowed with the many miles under his paws. None of them appeared to be straining anything. The veterinarians gave them good marks at every checkpoint. In fact, Lainey was one of the few mushers with fourteen dogs. Most had dropped to thirteen, some as few as nine by this point. Even Scotch was down to thirteen dogs according to the ratings, and she was renowned for taking excellent care of her team.

If anyone on the team was fading, it was Lainey. She was the weak link. Her emotions were all over the place, and the easy trails left her plenty of room to moan and grumble over everything from the idea of scratching to avoiding the complications of her feelings for Scotch by taking the first plane out of Nome. The desire for a drink had gotten stronger, her perpetual thermos of coffee and many juice packs not filling the need. She had not quite started hallucinating, but she knew from other mushers that sleep deprivation and not taking care of her health could cause her to see things that were not there. Snorting, she packed her sled bag. Maybe she would see pink elephants; she never had when she was a drunk so at least the possibilities were entertaining.

The only thing keeping her on the trail was an acronym she had learned in her AA sessions - H.A.L.T. It stood for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, and whenever she felt one or more of these things she knew to not make a hasty decision. Her entire being throbbed with those emotions but her experience taught her not to jump to wrong conclusion. That was the only thing keeping her in the race now.

She chuckled grimly as she prepared the team to leave Kaltag. The choice to quit the race was out of her hands so long as she refused to make a decision. If she made it to Nome it would be because of that. What a way to finish the race., too morose and exhausted to quit. She doubted anyone else could claim the same.

Returning to the assessment of her dogs, she questioned one of the vets. He graciously went over her team again and returned with a verdict that they could make it to Unalakleet in one hump providing she watched them closely for any signs of injury. None appeared on the verge of strain, but things could happen on the trail as she well knew.

Lainey thanked him and continued readying the team. One of her reasons for pushing through was her distaste for camping in the middle of nowhere. According to the standings, unless someone behind her blew through Kaltag and tailed her, she would be in the wilderness, hours away from anyone the entire time. If she forced the team to keep going, at least they could take another eight hour break in Unalakleet, a town of several hundred people. Civilization was preferable to the bush and after a ten or twelve hour run, the extra rest would be beneficial before they started their run on the Alaskan coast.

The sky was cloudy, the rising sun obscured by murky gray. Weather reports said a bit of storm was expected, but nothing too outrageous. Still, this stretch of trail was notorious for sudden and extreme storms.

H.A.L.T. She laughed to herself again. No hasty decisions. If the situation came up, she would stop and camp out. If not, look out Unalakleet, here she came.

Lainey finished her chores and brought the dogs to the checkpoint. She signed out, mentioning that she was going to attempt a straight shot. Better to warn the officials; if she took too long to get to the next layover, at least someone would have an idea when to start the search for her.

She did not need to yell to be heard anymore. The dogs had calmed down considerably with their time on the trail and easily picked out her voice. "Ready," she said. Her team, ears pricked in eagerness, awaited her order. Trace and Sholo pulled them straight, their eyes only for the trail leading out of the checkpoint. "Let's go."

Over the next hour and a half, the team climbed a gradual ascent through woods and tundra along the Kaltag River valley. There were a couple of places where the sled tilted with the grade. It remained on track though, following the well delineated path of previous mushers and trail breakers. By the time she reached the summit, about eight hundred feet above sea level, the sun had fully risen behind its veil of cloud cover. The sky was gray and heavy and the ground white with a dry, powdery snow. Trees in varying achromatic shades broke the landscape but not the dreariness. The view was not as stark as the Farewell Burn had been, but Lainey's already dismal mood seemed to descend with the trail into another valley.

The drop was as gradual as the rise, and the path was an easy one. No snow had fallen recently, and the trail was packed solid and smooth. It was bitterly cold, as well. When Lainey forced herself to eat something, she finished by putting on her face mask and tightening the ruff of her parka hood.

What the hell was she going to do about Scotch, other than the obvious, when she got to Nome? Was she really entertaining the notion of retiring from free lance work to settle down? Introducing Lainey Hughes, Alaskan housewife! Ludicrous! The reason she became a photo journalist in the first place was because she loved cameras and had itchy feet. Sooner or later, the urge would hit her, and she would be on the next plane out of Anchorage, guaranteed. It was a rare gig that kept her attention for longer than six months.

She ignored the little voice reminding her she had yet to feel that itch in the nine months she had been cooling her heels at the kennel.

Besides, that domestic daydream rested largely on Scotch's shoulders. Who said she wanted more than a brief liaison? They had never discussed a relationship, only the need to hold off from jumping into the sack until after the race was finished. Lainey had played the field for years. Women as attractive and confident as Scotch were usually players. Granted, she did not have the opportunity to sow wild oats out here in the bush, pun not intended, but the potential was there. Had Scotch grown up in New York, she would be the toast of the town, sleeping her way through a multitude of warm and willing partners.

Despite her thoughts, Lainey grinned. Taking Scotch to New York would be fun. It would be a blast to visit her old neighborhood, take Scotch to Broadway, go dancing and show her off. Her pleasant thoughts disintegrated at a vision of some hussy cutting into their dance, smiling with sharp teeth and a seductive eye.

"Ugh!" she yelled.

The dogs heard her, but did nothing more than flick their ears in response, not hearing a useful command.

Lainey took stock of her surroundings, surprised they were no longer moving downhill. Instead, they had wandered around many small lakes - she had a vague memory of passing several - and now traversed a wide flat land. She checked her watch and realized another two hours had passed while she wallowed in her pit of gloom. A quick look at her notebook told her she was firmly in the Tripod Flats area.

It was long past time to snack and check the dogs, and she called them to a halt. In less than fifteen minutes, they were moving again.

Okay, so maybe taking Scotch to New York would not be such a hot idea. Lainey could not imagine asking her to give up dog sledding. It would be fun to bring her on photo shoots during the summer, though, when she was not in training. Egypt, Africa, Australia - Scotch would love to see these places. She always grilled Lainey on where she had been, what the people were like, and what she had seen. Scotch had a deep curiosity about different cultures and foods. Maybe Lainey could take her on as an assistant for a couple of months out of the year. But eventually, Scotch would want to return home to drum up sponsors and begin the next season's training.

Running a kennel was expensive what with entering the Iditarod and any number of other races each year. With Rye turning eighteen soon, the family's cost of racing would double. Lainey had listened in on a few of their 'board meetings.' It was a pretty sure bet that Rye and Scotch would have to switch off each year. Fuller Kennels could only afford to send one of them at a time. As it was, this was only Scotch's fourth Iditarod, and she had been eligible to run it for seven years. The reason she did not have to skip this year was because of the magazine's involvement and sponsorship.

Lainey frowned in thought. If it was a foregone conclusion that Rye would be entering next year's Iditarod, that would free up Scotch for an extensive 'vacation.' Lainey could hire her as an assistant for the next few months, maybe even a year. The money Scotch would make could be funneled to the kennel and cover Rye's entry fees. Living in the bush of any number of third world countries meant saving a lot of money as Lainey well knew. And since Scotch had a home in Alaska, rent free, she would not have the money drain that Lainey had with her sublet in New York.

It was something to consider.

Hell, if Scotch was amenable to a long term relationship, Lainey could give up her apartment and officially move into the cabin. Would that make her eligible for the Fuller Kennels board? If that were the case, she would gladly invest in the kennel, especially if she was able to enjoy the occasional racing season herself.

For the first time in days, Lainey felt her mood improving. Was it so easy, receiving the best of both worlds? She and Scotch could be together for a lion's share of the time, she could continue traveling and following her career, and still spend every other winter in Alaska following the races. Scotch would get a steady income, a break from the constant need to search for donations and sponsors, an opportunity to travel and experience all the things she dreamed of . . .

This could work.

An official Bureau of Land Management sign brought her back to reality. The Tripod Flats cabin was just ahead, the sign indicating where to pull off the trail. The team was officially thirty-five miles from Kaltag. Old Woman cabin was another fifteen miles further on. Lainey looked at her watch, pleased to note that they had been on the trail for about five hours. At this rate, they would pull in to Unalakleet in eleven hours.

Rather than take the turnoff, she guided the dogs past it and pulled off for a rest break. Even if they were not going to take a full rest break, the dogs needed a little more food than the occasional snack. She did not break out the cookers or release the dogs' neck lines, not wanting them to get the idea it was time to nap. Instead, she set out their plates and used the prepared food in the cooler. When they got to Unalakleet, they would take another eight hour break and could afford to use the time to cook a fresh meal for them upon arrival.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

AS LAINEY'S MOOD lightened, so did her appetite. While the dogs ate, she scavenged through her snacks to find edibles that did not require heating. The pickings were slim, of course, and she was relegated to pemmican, trail mix and various breakfast breads lathered in butter. She debated firing up a cooker to boil one of her meatloaf meals anyway, but decided against the option. This was not an extended break and the dogs needed to be kept ready to go. If there was going to be a mutiny for whatever reason, it would happen somewhere between here and White Mountain.

Instead, she took a slice of pizza in tin foil, wrapped a couple of activated hand warmers around it, and shoved into her bib pocket under her parka. It formed a hot and icy lump against her chest. Maybe that would thaw it enough to eat. In the meantime, she still had a number of banana and pumpkin breads to choose from.

As she packed away the dogs' plates, she unearthed the brown paper sack from Galena. The rolls were frozen, but the jar of seal oil was not. Lainey eyed the sluggish liquid speculatively as she tilted the jar. Suzy had told her it had a fishy aftertaste but was good. It was part of the cultural diet of the natives here. Quite possibly, Lainey would find the whole thing revolting. Still, she was never one to back down from a challenge. With a shrug, she unscrewed the jar and took a sip.

Her initial response was to cringe away from it, the texture of a straight shot of oil insulting to her bland American palate, but she forced herself to swallow. It did not taste bad, per se, but she was unfamiliar with the flavor, and that caused a natural level of aversion. Her face screwed up in automatic distaste, but her body responded to its desire for more fat by demanding another sample. Once she was past the split second shock, she found herself drinking deep of the thick fluid and barely managed to stop before draining a good portion of the jar.

Lainey smacked her lips. "That wasn't half bad," she said aloud. She glanced at her immediate wheel dogs, Jonah and Aziz, who were content to wag their tails at her. Pleased with herself, she sealed the jar and put it back in her sled. There was definitely a fishy aftertaste, not surprising considering the natural diet of seals. She could almost feel a rush of heat as her body stoked itself on the extra fuel. Had Scotch ever had this stuff? She would have to ask when she saw her next. In any event, she decided she liked the stuff and wondered where if she could get more in Unalakleet.

Darkness was setting in, and she changed batteries in her head lamp and put it on. She sealed her sled bag, and climbed aboard the runners. Pulling the snow hook and putting it away, Lainey said, "All right."

Most of the dogs stood up in response to her warning. Trace and Sholo shook themselves and pulled the line tight, forcing the few recalcitrants to rise and get to their places. Bonaparte gave her a long, calculating look before taking his position.

Lainey did not push them. There was no hurry now and she did not want any of them to be stubborn about things, especially His Majesty. "Let's go."

The team moved forward and she gave a relieved sigh. Scotch had intimated that Bonaparte would eventually bollix things. Lainey was actually surprised he had gone on as long as he had. Barring any unforeseen accidents, she had long ago accepted the fact that he would be one of her dropped dogs. Bonaparte had never run the Iditarod before, though he had lots of mid range race experience. He had been nine days on the trail and was surely beginning to feel the need for more regal treatment to suit his station. Kaara would be heartbroken to continue without him, but she had run without him before and would do so again.

They approached a bridge with no side rails almost immediately after passing the Bureau of Land Management sign. Before Lainey had time to worry about its stability, they were across the deep ditch with little fanfare.

As they continued on through rolling hills, she wondered if she really would have been scared of the bridge had she been well fed and rested. After over a week on the trail, dealing with all sorts of physical challenges, she was a lot more confident in her abilities in both survival and endurance. Either that or her hormones were all out of whack and the proper flight or fight response was buried beneath exhaustion and dehydration. She supposed the proof would be in the pudding after she had a week of pampering. Maybe she would join Strauss' next bungee jumping excursion to test the theory.

Lainey smirked to herself at the thought. His interest in death defying vacations baffled her. She would never be caught jumping out of a perfectly good airplane.

It was getting too dark to see and Lainey turned on her head lamp. Despite her best intentions, she weaved in and out of consciousness, drowsing as she slumped over the sled. She knew she should be alert and ready for any trouble, but she had no energy to draw upon. The dogs kept plodding along while her mind drifted from the trail to split second day dreams of Scotch and back again, with little to show where reality ended and fantasy began.

The team became a road in Australia, heat beating down on them as they drove through the interior hunting for a rare bird. Then she saw the dogs take a turn, and she roused far enough to see the trail marker. Heat on her chest became Scotch's head, resting after an extensive love making session in a hammock. She remembered the hand warmers and the frozen pizza with sluggish interest, but she was more tired than hungry. Scotch smiled at her in wonder as they followed their guides in the Amazon, sweat slicking her skin and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Lainey reached in for a kiss and jolted back to reality as she nearly toppled.

Before she could gather herself, a dark shape loomed out of the night and she recoiled with a yell. For an instant she transposed a memory of the jeep in Kosovo as her fire team rode up to an abandoned house - the house where an ambush occurred and she had been shot. Lainey's ribs twinged in sympathy, and she felt a flash of hot and cold until she realized it was the BLM sign for Old Woman cabin.

"Christ, I need a drink," she gasped, heart thumping. Lainey removed her face mask in the hopes the icy wind would keep her lucid. "I guess this is what they mean by hallucinations," she told her dogs.

Their response was lukewarm at best. Only Chibee and Meshindi glanced over their shoulders. Everyone else continued to pull, flicking ears behind them to listen for further commands.

They moved at a fairly decent clip, but Lainey forced herself from the runners to trot with them. Every time they looked to get too far ahead, she jumped back aboard to catch her breath. The on again / off again weight probably did not help the dogs, but it kept her going a few more miles without falling apart.

The trail moved into open tundra broken by the occasional stretch of ragged trees. Here the wind began to blow harder, and Lainey was forced to put her face mask back on or risk frostbite. At least the exercise succeeded at waking her. Eventually, she remained on the sled long enough to dig out her warm pizza and eat. The added fuel forced drowsiness further away which was just as well. The trail meandered along crossing over flows and glaciers from the creek beds and river she paralleled.

Though the way appeared easier, her team began to slow. Lainey checked her watch. They were coming up on the nine hour mark, a good time to stop and take a breather. She called the dogs to a halt and went up the line with snacks, booties, and ointment.

Now stopped, she realized exactly how hard the wind was blowing. It was something they would all have to get used to, unfortunately. Coming out of the interior and onto the coast meant a lot more of the same. As she reached the front of her team, she noticed the trail had blown over in some places, drifts of snow impeding her leaders. No wonder they were slowing down. If thing continued this way, she would have to lead them herself to break the trail.

Her dogs were tired, evidenced by several of them promptly settling down for a nap. Even with hand warmers in her latex gloves, her fingers immediately numbed with the cold. She worked fast and efficient, rubbing ointment into their paws, checking for snow balls under their toes, and replacing wet booties with dry ones. Speaking to each animal, she teased and loved them, urging them to stay awake until they reached Unalakleet, which was only a couple of hours away.

"Ready."

Trace stood and shook himself off, looking back at her in weariness.

"Ready, boy," Lainey repeated. "We're almost there."

He yawned and took his place, tugging the other dogs into line. All but one followed his lead.

Grimacing, Lainey strode up the line. Taking Sholo's collar, she pulled him to his feet and forced him into position next to Trace. He sat down, ears back and an expression of sorrow on his canine face. A gust of wind pushed past them, and he winced away from it, closing his liquid brown eyes.

"Come on, Sholo. Ready'" she urged. "Only a little longer and you can take a nap."

Her leader was having none of it, ducking his head in shame. Whatever reserves of strength he had used to get this far were gone. She could tell he wanted to obey her, wanted to continue on, but the wind and cold and exhaustion had taken a toll on his confidence.

Lainey sighed in frustration and looked back down the line at the rest of the team. They sat or stood in place, watching to see what she would do. Bonaparte seemed to be smiling at her, his mocking grin indicating his thoughts of joining the mutiny. She petted Sholo, reminding herself that this was his first Iditarod. Regardless of how well he had done up to this point, he had never been on the trail for such an extended time. Being in the lead put special pressures on an animal, making it much more stressful than the other dogs on her team in a similar situation. If she didn't do this right, she could break Sholo's spirit, and that was unthinkable.

He looked so forlorn. "It's okay, Sholo. Good boy," she murmured, scratching his head. She quickly released him from the tug line, pausing only long enough to bring Montana up beside Trace. Then she walked Sholo back to the sled.

Soon he was wrapped in blankets, his neck line attached to one of the ribs of the sled, and Lainey tried again.

"Ready."

Montana took his place with Trace, the other dogs rising from their resting places. Bonaparte stared speculatively at Lainey before standing as well, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't know if there would be room for two dogs in the sled.

"Let's go."

The team started forward.

They made slower time than she had hoped. Wind blew snow drifts into the trail at various intervals, forcing her dogs to slog through the mess. In a couple of places, Lainey strapped on her snow shoes and broke the trail anew for them. She had hoped for a ten hour run with the good weather, but it took more than twelve to arrive at the Covenant School gymnasium where the checkpoint was located. The last couple of miles were spent skating over glare ice and she could see her dogs' collective relief as they arrived at civilization.

Lainey was covered in frost from the weather, and she peeled her face mask off to speak to the checker. "I'm taking an eight hour break here."

He frowned, looking at her race statistics. "You've already taken your mandatory?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we didn't stop between here and Kaltag. We'll need the extra rest."

Marking her time in on his sheet, he glanced at her listless team. "Looks like it. But, don't worry. They'll bounce back pretty quick." He grinned at her. "Quicker than you most likely."

Her chuckle was more hysteria than humor. "You're probably right."

The checker was replaced by the vets. While two examined the dogs on her tug line, one cornered her at her sled to check Sholo for injuries. The team was tired and Aegis, one of Lainey's wheel dogs, appeared to have a slight strain in her left shoulder. She was told to double check Aegis before leaving.

"Nothing a nap won't fix," the vet said of Sholo. "And a good meal."

"Are you sure? I've never had a dog balk on me like that." At least not from exhaustion. Bonaparte's foibles were a known hurdle.

"Yeah. He's not hurt, just tired. Maybe the wind messed with him, too." The vet glanced over Sholo's paperwork. "Some dogs can't make the transition from mountains and trees to the coast. Has he ever been over here before?"

"Not that I'm aware of, and he's only run mid level races."

The vet nodded and handed the paperwork back to Lainey. "It'll be your call then. If he's the type to freak at his surroundings, you might want to drop him here."

"Thanks."

Lainey followed her guides toward the parking area behind the school. She had been told that the checkpoint supplied hot water. Rather than break out the cookers, she gave her dogs a double dose of white fish, knowing they probably would not remain awake long enough for her to cook a proper meal. After their snack, she distributed straw and blankets, and removed booties, massaging tired paws. Once they were asleep, she grabbed her pots and her child's sled.

Time to locate hot water and her food drops.

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

IT WAS PAST midnight when Lainey entered the checkpoint. Despite the hour, several people loitered at the tables in the room, nursing coffee and eyeing the statistics board by the volunteer tables. Signs indicated where the boiler room, showers and sleeping room were located. The thought of a shower intrigued Lainey almost as much as the thought of Scotch laying naked in her bed. Snorting at how far she had fallen, she retrieved hot water for her dogs.

Back outside, her face no longer burning from the heat of the gym, she trudged back to her team. The wind was brisk and she realized upon her arrival that she would still need to break out the cookers. Her hot water had already cooled considerably, making it too cold to thaw the meat for her team.

Grumbling, she forced herself through the process. Her dogs did not even move an ear at the familiar sounds and smells of dinner. She grinned ruefully at them, wishing she could simply drop into their straw and sleep as well.

The first batch went into their cooler, and she started another. Opening her cooler, she saw her last two thawed juice packs. As much as she wanted to chuck them into a snow bank, she forced herself to drink them. Why had she ever thought these juices tasted good? After days and days of nothing else, she vowed to never drink the stuff again.

When the second batch of food finished cooking, she fed her team. She was reluctant to disturb their sleep, but they needed the nourishment to keep warm. At each one, she prodded and petted until they were awake enough to eat. Only Samson and Aegis refused, giving her bleary looks. As much as she wanted to, Lainey did not push the issue. Both of them were wheel dogs and had an extra amount of work to do during a run. Hopefully they would eat when they woke later.

She collected their bowls and ate a delicious meal of meatloaf and fried potatoes. It was the first decent meal she had had since the last checkpoint, and it was heavenly. She polished off another slice of pizza and three banana breads, as well.

Sated and becoming more groggy as time passed, she trudged back to the checkpoint with her wet gear and sleeping bag. Soon her things hung in the overly warm boiler room and she bedded down in the sleeping area.

Lainey's alarm beeped in her ear and she groaned in frustration. She had just gotten to sleep! It could not be time to get up yet!

She shut the damned thing off and peered closely at the numerals. Crap. It was time to get up. It took a monstrous effort of will to drag herself out of the sleeping bag, but she succeeded. Gathering her things and collecting two more pots of water, she staggered out into the cold morning and toward her dogs.

The break had done them a world of good, just as the veterinarian had said. Only Aegis remained sluggish and distant. Samson eagerly demolished his breakfast, as did the rest of them, and inhaled his second watering. Sholo was somewhat subdued, but he seemed to have gotten over whatever moodiness had transpired against him on the trail. Their lifted spirits eased Lainey's trepidations and she gave them all extra lovings.

According to the ratings inside the checkpoint, she was doing fairly well. She currently led the rookies at nineteenth place, an almost unheard of lead for someone with so little training and experience. She was sure the only reason Roman Spencer was not in the lead was because of whatever befell him on the trail to Ruby. Of course, she still had two hundred seventy-five miles to go before Nome. Anything could happen between here and there.

Scotch sat at sixth place and en route to White Mountain. It looked like she was riding in a pack of eight mushers, veterans all, with barely five or ten minutes difference between their times out of Golovin. Once at White Mountain, she would take her second mandatory eight hour break and then make the push for Nome.

She sent a silent cheer to her favorite musher.

Food and caffeine had revived her, too, and she unloaded her food drop into her sled. Discarded items went into shipping envelopes for return to the kennel, perishables to the donations pile near the checkpoint, and trash to its designated section of the parking area. Lainey frisked with the dogs, getting them excited for the next leg of the journey. If they could keep up this pace, she could be in Nome as early as two days from now.

Aegis refused to be cheered from her inactivity. While even Sholo wagged his tail, she sprawled on her share of straw. Lainey fussed over the dog, her mood rapidly sinking. With much coaxing, she finally got Aegis to stand, but the dog grunted with the effort and sat as soon as Lainey stepped away. A careful massage of her shoulder caused a slight whimper and Lainey understood the problem. Whatever damage was done to the muscle, the cold wind had made it worse.

With a sigh, she disconnected Aegis from the tug line and attached a drop cable to her collar. They would all miss her sweet demeanor, but running her into the ground would not them closer to Nome. It was with heavy heart that Lainey gave the dog and the necessary paperwork over to the checkpoint volunteers.

Lainey mushed her team to the trail to check out.

"Watch out. The wind's are pretty bad," the checker said, offering her his clipboard to sign.

"Yeah?" she asked, glancing at Sholo who was back in the lead. His ears were back, but he remained on his feet, pulling the team into line with Trace.

"Yup. Wind chill's pretty low, too. It was minus twelve at midnight."

Lainey had gotten in just before midnight and she shivered in memory. "Thanks for the heads up."

"You bet! Hang in there, you're almost done."

"Ready? Let's go."

The team started at a walk but made it less than twenty feet before Sholo sat down.

Lainey sighed. "Sholo, ready." He stood. "Let's go."

Another twenty feet, and he stopped again.

She slumped. Obviously he had not gotten over his aversion to the wind blowing up his snout.

Lainey set her snow hook and walked up the trail to her leader. She could tell he knew of her disappointment by the way he lowered to his belly by the time she reached him. "It's okay, boy, it's not your fault. You've done a great job until now." She scratched behind his ears and released him from the tug line. On her way back to the checkpoint, she stopped at the sled for a dropped dog cable.

As the sun began to brighten the gray skies, she and her team followed the trail to Shaktoolik minus two dogs instead of one.

The next few miles of trail paralleled the coastal road but did not ride upon it. Snow plows kept the gravel surface clear of snow and ice. It looked to Lainey that the ride across those rocks would slice up her runners far worse than the bald spots that had messed up Roman Spencer.

With a fresh leader in front, the team picked up speed again. They traveled at an easy gait - not too fast and not tediously slow. Montana swaggered next to Trace, occasionally looking over his shoulder at his team mates as if to say, "Look at me! I'm running this show now!" Lainey thought Trace showed remarkable restraint regarding his new partner's expanding ego. She hoped Montana could make it the rest of the way in that position. These two were her last leaders and Montana had never been in front for longer than a few hours. None of the other dogs had the aptitude, that special talent needed to keep the team on the proper trail.

Markers guided the team further inland on an ascent. She dug out her notes for this section, swearing as she realized she had not done so before leaving Unalakleet. Not mentally preparing for what they lay ahead of them was as stupid as falling asleep on the trail. Muttering under her breath she found the proper passage and read along. Three hills to climb before they passed over the Blueberry Hills, and the third was one of the most difficult in the second half of this race. She wondered what the first one was. Had she already passed it without knowing? Would this be as anti climatic as the Farewell Burn?

They only rose to about three hundred feet before following an easy descent back to sea level. Knowing Scotch's idea of serious trail issues, Lainey doubted that had been one of the three hills mentioned. The trail took them closer to the coast and through a fishing camp huddled against the brisk wind. There they crossed a creek with some overflow and turned back inland.

A steep incline loomed before the team, and Lainey reckoned this was the true first of the three hills. Despite the sheer slope, it was only another three hundred foot in height. Her dogs took it at a run and easily reached the top with her pushing from behind.

The wind buffeted them as they remained on the ridge for a mile or more. Then they dropped back onto the coastal side and past another creek. A little further on, the trail turned into a sheltered valley where stunted trees grew. Protected from the wind, Lainey sighed in relief, having not realized how tense she had been until its absence. Her face tingled with false warmth, but she did not remove her mask. Being out of the wind chill was nice, but the temperature was still at or just below zero.

Lainey was almost to the halfway point of this leg. It was only about forty miles long, a vacation compared to the trip to Unalakleet. She called her team to a halt and snacked them. Better to do it now while they were leeward.

The next climb was almost as steep as the last, and twice the distance. Her dogs did her proud, clambering to the top with little trouble. Again they dropped down the other side, losing all the altitude they had gained to skate past another frozen creek. Lainey was beginning to get irritated. It would be far easier to deal with the wind on the coast than this constant up and down. If that was the second hill, she still had the mother of all hills in front of her.

The third loomed before her and she began the ascent. The climb was steady but uneven. In various areas of the lower half it seemed near vertical; in others the gradual slant gave her and the team a breather. Trees scattered here and there where the wind was less, but the higher they went, the fewer pockets of calm were available.

In a spot bare of vegetation, the incline dramatically steepened. When Lainey's feet hit the trail to help get the sled up, she sank ankle deep in drifted snow.

"Crap!" She urged the dogs on until they slogged through the mess, and she realized that Montana and Trace were chest deep in some places.

Once they were through the worst of it and they found a somewhat level place to halt, Lainey put on her snow shoes and worked her way up the line. She gave each dog attention, encouragement, and a chunk of moose liver before finally taking the lead. Since drifts only threatened the trail in the bald spots, it meant going slower over the protected snow pack, but she would rather be in the lead than have to run up and down the line the next couple of hours. It was time to break trail to the summit of this damned hill.

There were two more steep climbs, both badly drifted. Lainey was glad she had made the decision to be in front. In some cases, the snow might have buried her smaller team dogs. For every step they took, she took three, stomping back and forth across the trail to make it firm. Despite the wind chill, she felt sweat beading on her forehead from the exertion. Not wanting to court hypothermia on top of her fatigue, she shed her parka and tied the arms of it around her waist.

When they crested what appeared to be the summit, Lainey's elation was dashed. The trail dropped into a steep ravine and rose again beyond. "God damn it!" she yelled. "Does this thing never end?"

She turned to look at her dogs, Trace and Montana flinching away from her anger, and she slumped.

"Sorry, guys," she apologized, easing forward to calm them. "It's not you I'm mad at." She petted and scratched, studying the rest of the team. They all sat where they stopped, conserving energy. At least they did not appear demoralized like Sholo had been before she dropped him.

"All right. Ready?"

Pleased with her attention, her leaders stood and chivvied their mates into position. The others stood up and shook themselves off.

"Let's go."

Lainey led them down into the short ravine. She had to run to keep ahead of the dogs, an awkward shuffle since she wore snow shoes. Her wheel dogs had a sled riding their asses, and the team needed to stay far enough ahead to keep them from being run over.

On the other side, the last bit of trail shot skyward and she tried to retain their speed as they climbed. That was impossible, of course, but they got several feet along before being forced to slow again.

At the summit, Lainey laughed aloud. They made it! The ever present wind plucked at her clothes, forcing her parka to billow from her waist. As much as she wanted to stop to congratulate her team and maybe get a photograph of the spectacular view, she knew they needed to get down.

"The worst is over, guys," she said, walking back toward the sled. "A little further along and you'll be chowing down on lunch."

She put her parka back on and stashed her snow shoes. There would still be bits of trail that were over blown, but it was all downhill from here. "Let's go!"

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

THE DESCENT WAS fast and icy, a dangerous combination. Trees lined the trail in several places, and Lainey had to stand on the brake and pad to keep from over running her dogs or losing control of the sled. The trail curved back and forth on top of it, creating a constant threat of tipping over or running into what trees were there. They hit the bottom hard and climbed a hundred foot ridge almost before they lost any speed.

On the other side of the ridge was the coast, the trail paralleling snow covered dunes. Somewhat level and with a fresh leader, her team picked up some speed. In a few places Lainey saw where other mushers had climbed out of the slough to ride on top of the dunes. The marked trail was visibly blown over in some places, and she decided to follow her predecessors' more experienced lead, directing Trace and Montana to climb onto the crest of the dune.

Here the ride was smoother, but the wind was a constant irritant. According to her notes, it actually had less force than what it would be in a few hours. Apparently, the wind had a tendency to die down just after dawn and pick up in the late afternoons. Lainey dug out her watch. It was coming up on noon now. Without even trying she had chosen the perfect time to travel this way. She certainly hoped it would not pick up too much. Sometimes the gusts were so bad, mushers could not leave out of the next checkpoint.

In the distance, she saw buildings and grinned. Almost there! As her team neared the abandoned town of Shaktoolik, she sluggishly estimated her time on the trail. It had been four, maybe four and a half hours since they left Unalakleet. The next section of trail was to Koyuk, about sixty miles away. After the exhausting twelve hour stretch she had run the day before, she did not think it would be a good idea to forge past this checkpoint regardless of the threat of being forced to remain longer than planned. At the very least, the dogs needed a full meal in their bellies and a short nap. Lainey could only hope the winds would not gust too strongly in the afternoon.

She studied her team, searching for failing moods and energy levels. They all ran steady and strong. Montana still swaggered and Chibee loped along, snatching mouthfuls of snow to quench his thirst. All in all, they looked damned good, and Lainey felt tears stinging her eyes as her fatigue released control of her emotions. She laughed aloud at her maudlin feelings. Who needed to get drunk with liquor? Exhaustion created the same sensations, it appeared, hallucinations included.

They passed the old town and more buildings became visible ahead. New Shaktoolik beckoned.

Lainey checked in at the National Guard Armory. Her team was guided around to the south side of the building, where the wind was less of a bother. She immediately fed the dogs and prepared them for sleep. The winds would be picking up when she planned to leave, but they really needed to rest a bit before the next section. She only planned on remaining for about four hours, hardly time for her to get any sleep at all.

Cold water was available, and she set about cooking up the next batch of food for her team and herself. She thawed the buttered rolls from Galena, fondly remembering Harris and the others who had donated butter and oil to her. It had lasted a lot longer than she had expected and was a welcome additive with this frigid wind. As much as she had wanted to get more, she had left Unalakleet before the stores opened. With some regret, she cut the last stick of donated butter into the dog chow along with the additives she had in her food drop. She still had a half gallon of cooking oil, but that would only last her another couple of stops.

As much as she wanted to sleep, Lainey forced herself to stand and move around. Sleeping now might mean the difference of three or four places and the Rookie of the Year award. She was afraid she might not hear her alarm when it was time to move on, sleeping in was not an option. With nothing constructive to do while the dogs rested, she stepped into the armory checkpoint to look over the standings.

Scotch was still out on the trail with most of the top veterans. Georgio Spencer was already in White Mountain and it was anybody's guess who else would arrive next. Jon Waters, Drew Owens and Dave Creavey were all in the same pack. Scotch was not the only woman in the sweet spot, either. Alice Westin, a ten year veteran, was right up there with the rest. Lainey wondered if any of them were getting nervous at Scotch's proximity to first place. As it was, even if she came in behind all of them, she would still place higher than she ever had.

"Lainey Hughes?"

She turned with a smile. "Yeah?"

A volunteer smiled at her. "Thought that was you. I saw you had checked in," she said, nodding at the board. "I've got something for you."

Lainey's expression was amused curiosity. Certainly Harris and his cronies could not send butter and oil all the way over here, would they?

The volunteer pulled a crinkled envelope out of her pocket. "Scotch told me to give this to you when you came in. I'm glad you decided to lay over or I would have missed you!"

"Thanks." Lainey took the envelope with a grin. She paused long enough to grab a cup of coffee from an urn and sat at a rickety table to open her treasure.

Lainey,

You've made it this far! You can finish, I know it!

The trip to Koyuk is going to be the worst - flat, straight, and boring as hell. Don't let it get you down. Don't stop. It's less than fifty miles but I guarantee it'll feel like a hundred fifty. Put on your iPod and keep yourself entertained, but don't get complacent. Keep alert and watch for the trail signs.

I dare you to make it to Nome. Double dog dare you.

I'll be waiting,

Scotch

"Double dog dare, huh?" she murmured aloud. She doubted either of their teams would be pleased with her slander, providing they understood the words. Her eyes watered and she held the note to her chest. That was one thing she would not miss when this was over - these over emotional responses.

Sniffling, Lainey glanced around self consciously, but no one else appeared to notice her minor outburst. She reread the note three times before putting it back into its envelope and tucking it into her bib pocket. Had Scotch written it after arriving here or before she even started the race? There was that note that Howry had given her at the starting line -- Lainey blinked.

She was supposed to have read that one at her first eight hour break and had completely forgotten it! Word from Scotch, even old and outdated word, was better than none. Lainey grabbed her parka and hastened outside to her sled.

The dogs slept on, hardly rousing at her arrival. She opened her personal bag and rooted through the munchies and camera gear to find a crumpled and slightly smudged envelope. Grinning, Lainey sank down to the sled and opened her letter.

Lainey,

If you waited to read this like Don told you, you've reached the Yukon. Congratulations! You've made it past the worst obstacles the first part of the race has thrown at you.

The next bit gets tricky. The trail isn't the danger now, you are. It's so easy to fall into the traps here. You can exhaust your dogs as you try to beat other mushers, getting caught up in the 'race.' Or you can allow the lack of sleep and the poor diet to bring you down until you wallow in emotional trauma or even make yourself sick.

Be aware of the reality of the situation. As much fun as it is to kick some musher's ass on a sprint, it isn't worth exhausting the dogs. The Iditarod started as a medical emergency run, but it's all about the dogs now.

As for the depression, I want you to know that no matter what you think or feel about yourself, I love you.

Lainey gasped aloud and reread that sentence. Scotch had never spoken those words. Swallowing against a lump in her throat, her heart thumping fast, she returned to reading.

As for the depression, I want you to know that no matter what you think or feel about yourself, I love you. I know I could have chosen a better way to tell you, but we've been busy getting everything prepared for the race and there's been no time to really talk about our situation. I had planned on telling you when you got to Nome, but watching you sleep has inspired me to get out of bed and write this.

I have no idea what our future holds, Lainey, but I do know I want one with you. Maybe I'm putting too much pressure on you; I mean, you've traveled the world. Surely that's more fun than hanging out in Alaska with a bunch of smelly dogs. But no matter what you decide, I'll support you, okay?

Well, now I'm getting emotional. I think it's time to close.

Keep going, Lainey. I know you can make it to Nome. You've survived so much... what's a thousand mile dog sled race, huh?

Love,

Scotch

Lainey sniffled and sobbed, not entirely certain which emotion was the strongest. Surprise, of course. The last thing she expected was a love letter from Scotch. Not that the blonde was unromantic, but she focused mainly on the kennel and its operations. She and Lainey had spent many nights at the cabin, curled in front of the fireplace, talking about all sorts of things and this subject had never come up.

Relief rolled over her like a warm fuzzy blanket, relaxing Lainey from a tension she had not known she carried. Since Howry's discovery of her true feelings for Scotch, Lainey had spent a lot of time attempting to fight off the reality. She had never loved anyone before, but she had seen friends and acquaintances fall and fall hard. Not many made it out the other side intact, especially when the object of their affections did not share them. Lainey's biggest worry was that Scotch would want a fling and nothing more, urging her to leave for the next gig with nary a thought beyond a fun lay. Yet now Lainey discovered that Scotch felt the same way as she.

The plans Lainey had dreamed up on the trail suddenly loomed in her mind. Even as she had schemed there was always the concern that Scotch would laugh in her face. But now? Now it seemed that her idea of having Scotch along with her for future freelance gigs seemed plausible. Maybe she could have the best of both worlds.

Her tears were ice upon her cheeks, and she wiped them away, forcing herself to stand. The note went back into its envelope and joined the one already in her bib coverall pocket. Snuffling, she dug out her toilet paper and blew her nose, depositing the wadded mess into a small trash bag in her sled.

"You okay?"

Lainey turned to see a musher hovering over his sled. She could not remember his name, but knew he was a rookie like herself. He had started far back in the pack; he must be good or he would not have made it so far, so fast.

"Bad news?" he asked, obviously referring to the letter she had tucked away.

"Good news," she said, her smile somewhat tremulous.

"Good for you." He nodded. "How long you staying?"

Her competitive edge raced to the fore and she tried to recall if he had been there when she checked in earlier. Glancing casually at her watch, she realized he had just come in. It had been two and a half hours and she had less than two to go before she wanted to leave. "I'm thinking of staying for a full seven hours," she lied. "We took the Kaltag to Unalakleet in one lump and the dogs still really need the rest."

He nodded again, eyeing her in speculation. "Sounds like a plan. I hear the next stretch is boring as hell."

"Me, too." Lainey said her good byes and headed back toward the checkpoint. She needed to stay awake long enough for him to fall asleep. From here on out, every musher would begin to think of the Iditarod as a race, not an endurance run. No more working or running together. Getting to Nome before everyone else was the goal.

Smiling, she stepped into the armory, pressing the letters against her chest.

Getting to Nome was definitely the goal.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

THE UNNAMED ROOKIE decided to weather his break inside the armory rather than in the elements. While he slumped at a table, head on his arms, Lainey yawned and made a production of going out to her sled for some shut eye. Her ruse did not work completely, however. Once she began the process of waking her dogs and cooking a quick meal for all of them, another musher appeared from the checkpoint building. The woman grinned and winked at her before beginning her own chores. Lainey sighed. At least the rookie had not gotten suspicious.

By the time everything was ready to go, the veteran musher had already left. Regardless, Lainey kept a close eye on the front door of the armory, half expecting the rookie to come bursting out as she signed the check out sheet. He did not, and she urged her dogs to get a move on. They obliged, hardly showing the effects of their twelve hour run not so long ago. Still, it was not until Shaktoolik was out of sight that Lainey breathed a sigh of relief at avoiding her competition.

As Scotch had said, the trail was easy. It was too easy. It shot straight as an arrow with little variation of scenery. Flat, bland, and boring, the only excitement was the occasional swell of ice that roughened the ride. Even the blowing wind did little to make things interesting. Lainey saw the veteran about a mile ahead, but knew better than to try to catch up. She still had two hundred miles to go. Instead, she followed Scotch's suggestion and put her ear plugs in, listening to music as her team ate up the miles.

Distances were deceiving, as was the wind on her face. The two combined made her feel as if they sped along at a good clip of fifteen or twenty miles an hour, an impossibility for her team which had been clocked at fourteen on a short sprint and an excellent day back at the kennels. They could not maintain that pace for as long as this. The view rarely changed, giving lie to the sensation of speed. It seemed that they ran, ran, ran on a huge hamster wheel - no matter how long or hard the dogs trotted, nothing changed.

Lainey pulled out her letters frequently, especially the first one, to keep her spirits up.

The sun went down, and she stopped to snack the dogs and check them over. Everyone appeared strong and vigorous and she gave them each an extra chunk of moose liver for their efforts. Then she put on her head lamp and changed the battery pack on her iPod.

She rode on sea ice, fairly far from shore. Before she turned the music back on, she heard a deep loud crack somewhere to her left and yanked the plugs from her ears. Lainey jumped and stared, suddenly wondering if she was too far out. She had been vigilant so far, always finding the next trail marker. The dogs glanced at the sound, but did not seem anxious. The trail breakers would not send them too far out onto the sea, would they? Had it been warm enough for the threat of melting to be serious? She seemed to recall a book she read on the first woman winner of the Iditarod, something about the sea ice breaking and sending the trail marker several hundred feet out to sea. The ice had then reformed, and her team had lead her straight out to sea to get to that marker.

"You know what you're doing?" she asked Trace.

He glanced back at her as if to say, "Well, duh. I am the one with the experience here."

Lainey decided to leave the iPod off for the time being.

Several times through the course of the evening, she heard the ice cracking, but nothing indicated any danger to her team. Eventually, she turned the music back on and ignored the sounds, though it was difficult. Her ears strained to listen beyond the tunes and she whispered along with the lyrics in a further effort to distract herself.

After what seemed like a full night of mushing, she saw lights ahead and felt a thrill of relief. Finally. Her initial pleasure dampened as the lights sat off in the distance forever, a shining beacon that they were almost to their destination but never seemed to come closer. It was another hour or more before she actually arrived at the checkpoint.

"That sucked," she told the volunteer.

He chuckled. "Yeah, we hear that a lot. Almost makes you wish you were back at the Burn?"

"Almost!"

The race officials had rented a building nearby for mushers and volunteers to rest in, but it was a couple of blocks from where the dogs were parked. As she fed and watered her team, she considered her options. While it would be nice to dry some of her gear, providing there was room, she could lose whatever edge she had cultivated. Anyone staying in the building would know when she left to prepare for departure. At least if she slept with the dogs she had a shot at sneaking out when no one was looking.

Decided, she devoured her dinner.

Six hours later, Lainey was at the checkpoint with her team, ready to go. She had seen the rookie she had ditched in Shaktoolik snoozing a couple of sleds over, and grinned to herself. He had yet to wake when she pulled out of the parking area. This guy was good, but Roman Spencer had been harder to trick. She wondered how he was doing and vowed to check his statistics at the next checkpoint.

"This is for you," the volunteer, a young woman this time, said.

Lainey smiled, taking the envelope. Scotch's handwriting was on it and Lainey tucked it into her pocket. "Thanks."

She signed the clipboard and headed out of Koyuk at three in the morning. Keeping tabs on the trail ahead, she quickly opened the envelope.

Lainey,

Forty-eight more miles down, forty-eight to go to the next checkpoint. You've mushed for over nine hundred miles! You have less than two hundred to go!

When you get to Nome, I'll introduce you to a friend of mine. Her name's Beth. She and her girlfriend have offered us their spare room while we're in town. They live on the outskirts of Nome. Lots of hot water for showering and clean clothes, privacy, a large fluffy bed to catch up on your rest. And Beth is a fantastic cook.

You'd better not take too long or I'll use up all the hot water.

Love you,

Scotch

She knew the grin on her face was wide and foolish, but could not help its presence. Those cartoon hearts and fireworks twirled about her head again and she laughed aloud. Thank God those hallucinations were her own.

Soon the boredom set in as they continued along sea ice. It was ten miles or more before the trail cut inland and across low ground. She felt a modicum of relief with the knowledge that those forlorn sounding cracks from the ice would no longer indicate a perceived danger to her.

The trail began climbing a series of small hills and ridges, working its way back into a stand of trees. The added protection from the wind cut the chill. Lainey had been in the frozen breeze for hours and it felt almost balmy. This was hardly the tropical gig she had planned on getting from Strauss all those months ago.

At the final height of the last summit, she saw a red light in the distance. Switching on her head lamp, she dug out her trail notes to see if anything was mentioned there. It was a radio beacon at Moses Point, about twenty miles away from her. She wondered if she would get closer to it before Elim or if the trail would turn away.

Putting her notes away, she checked her watch as they headed back into a valley. Two hours had passed. Conceivably, she was nearing the halfway point of this stretch. Her dogs looked healthy and strong as they loped down the trail. Originally she had planned to take another six hour break at Elim, but she began to wonder if she could push through to Golovin instead, only another twenty-six miles beyond. She took her notes back out to study.

The wind picked up some more as they descended, becoming more fierce than when she had started. Weather reports had not indicated gusts of this strength. She realized they ran into a small river valley and that it was a natural wind tunnel. The trail ahead was blown out in some places, and her dogs began to slow as they forged their way through.

Her visibility was still good, regardless of the wind plucking at her parka and gear. It was strong enough in some places that she felt the sled shudder, the wind coming from her right rather than from behind. Stopping was not suggested in her notes. Besides she had no idea if the wind would die down or not. She could be waiting quite some time before it mellowed enough to make her run easy. There was a cabin indicated on the other side of the river she crossed and she considered stopping.

No. They were nearly at the halfway point and any delay would take a bite out of her standings. That rookie was still back there and she knew that a couple of other mushers had gotten the jump on her at the last checkpoint. Another scan of her dogs showed them strong and solid. They would push on through.

The Kwik River lay before them, and the team crossed with ease. Within a mile or two, the trail turned so that the wind blew more up their back than crossways, and Lainey breathed a sigh. Even her dogs seemed happier, their tails wagging a bit more as they no longer fought every step of the way. They dropped back onto sea ice. The Moses Point beacon blinked ahead of her and her team pressed forward on the smooth and straight trail. Even the false menace of cracking sea ice did not faze Lainey now, pleased to be out of the wind tunnel. Soon even that threat to her equilibrium was gone as they climbed back onto shore.

Old Elim was ahead, abandoned for whatever reasons and converted into a fishing camp. They passed old buildings boarded up for winter, but in the darkness of dawn, Lainey thought she saw a light shining in one of the cabins. Did people come out here for the race? The wind nipped at her heels and her team continued on, leaving the near ghost village to whatever brave soul preferred the solitude.

More buildings ahead, the Moses Point station, also abandoned. As the sky lightened toward dawn, Lainey could make out towers in the distance. The one beacon blinked on and on. Once she passed the last of them, the trail turned onto a road.

The wind had blown the road bare in spots. Lainey was glad the gravel here was not as devastating to her runners as the one outside the Unalakleet checkpoint. Still, the ride was a rough one, and she directed the dogs to the shoulder where at least some snow remained.

Flat lands gave way to a steady climb. The snow here was packed and she jumped off the runners to run along with the dogs until they reached the summit. It was not as difficult as the three step series of the Blueberry Hills to Shaktoolik, but this was a tough climb nonetheless. As they struggled, Lainey realized that coming through before dawn was the perfect time. She shed her parka to keep from sweating. She did not envy the others coming behind her who arrived in the heat of the afternoon; their dogs would suffer the consequences by overheating.

At the summit, she hopped back aboard the sled and they began a leisurely descent. She saw the lights of Elim and checked her watch. It was after eight in the morning; they had been on this stretch of trail for just over five hours. The leg to Golovin was only twenty-eight miles. Should she snack the dogs and blow through, or take the six hour break she was scheduled? Had she come through in the afternoon, waiting for nightfall would have been the plan to give the dogs a chance to cool down. Such was not the case and her team looked ready for bear.

The checkpoint was a state run maintenance garage. Lainey pulled up and signed in.

"Staying?"

"Nope. Blowing through."

The checker nodded and made a notation. "Had a good run then?"

"Better than some," Lainey said.

Once the vet checked her dogs, she picked up her food drop. That would see her through to White Mountain. It seemed silly to have a food drop at Golovin which was such a short distance away. Between Elim and White Mountain was the one small checkpoint and only fifty miles so she had not sent anything to the Golovin checkpoint.

After the drop was packed, she went up the line with treats, booties and ointment, moving on automatic as she greeted each animal with affection and food. She ascertained the health of each dog, heaping praise upon their furry heads. Even Bonaparte, who did the totally unexpected and licked her face. Lainey blinked at him in shock but didn't press the issue, not wanting to get his back up. He must be as tired as she was to have allowed his regal manner to slip.

She brought the team back to the checkpoint.

"Lainey Hughes!"

A volunteer skidded forward, holding a white envelope, and Lainey smiled.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

Lainey,
Remember our twenty-four in McGrath? When I woke up, I was wrapped around you and couldn't help myself. I've dreamed of holding you like that for months. I can't wait for you to meet me in Nome.
Our room is tucked into the back of Beth's house. I'm looking forward to sharing the bed with you. No parents, no little brothers or sisters, no dogs, no race to prepare for. Just you and me in our private hideaway.
I don't plan on stopping next time.
Hurry!
Scotch
SWALLOWING HARD, LAINEY gripped the handlebars of her sled. Her knees felt weak from the rush of arousal pulsing through her system. No matter how tired she was when she arrived, she vowed to get a shower and brush her teeth before going to bed. There was no way she would have the will power to interrupt Scotch waking her again.

She carefully put Scotch's latest note with the others and stomped upon her rampaging libido. Now was not the time to be sidetracked. With some effort, she forced herself to pay attention to the trail.

They promptly headed back out onto sea ice. Even with the deep booming crack she heard, Lainey did not falter. She had more important things to consider, like getting to Nome and jumping Scotch Fuller's bones at her first opportunity.

"Stop that!" she said aloud, smirking. Samson grinned at her from his position, used to her occasional outbursts after so long on the trail. She smiled back at him.

After only a couple of miles, the trail pushed inland and upward. The climb was a gradual one at first and the added forest helped cut the wind. In fact, as they mushed along, Lainey could almost imagine they were back at home on one of the trails she was familiar with. Protected from wind, the trail was not drifted over and they made good time. Two miles further on they pulled out of the treeline and reached the top of a ridge.

Lainey's notes specified 'Great View,' sharply underlined. Since they were on level ground, she called the dogs to a halt. Granted, they had not really gone far, but she gave them a small snack anyway. She was already considering blowing through Golovin, too, and pushing through to White Mountain. Better to give the team frequent rest breaks now than exhaust them before the end of this run.

As they snapped up the white fish, she looked out over the scenery, glad it was daylight with good visibility. The sky held a hefty dose of cloud cover, but there were occasional bald spots of blue. Scotch was right; it was a good view. In fact, Lainey thought she could see a musher on the ice in the distance. She got out her camera and took a photograph, then caught one of her dogs resting and watching her. Putting it away, she pulled the snow hook.

"Let's go."

They remained on the ridge for about a mile and dropped down into a valley. There were no trees here, and Lainey missed them. Another incline towered before her, and she urged the dogs onward and upward. This climb was shorter in length than the last, but a little steeper. The trail had been used recently, the only indication that someone had left Elim before her. At least she would not have to pack it down for her dogs.

It topped out on a saddle called Little McKinley. From here she saw the next checkpoint on a rocky peninsula. Lainey had to get another picture and stopped her team long enough to accommodate her obsession.

The down slope was more difficult than the climb. As they began the run, she only braked enough to keep the sled from running up her wheel dogs' butts. At the first turn, however, she realized how fast she was going when the sled nearly tipped over. Shades of the Dalzell Gorge came to mind, and she stomped on the brakes and brake pad to force the dogs to a crawl. It was well she did. The next three or four miles turned out to be precarious ones as she fought twisting trails, glare ice, side hills and even bare ground. Eventually the trail leveled out and they continued on a gentle decline into a creek valley and toward the sea. Again they dropped onto the ice, this time in full view of Golovin. The trail here was good and solid and they made excellent time along the bay and up onto the peninsula.

There appeared to be no official checkpoint, at least none that Lainey could see. She mushed the team right into the center of town, stopping at an Iditarod sign. An old fellow came out of a building, zipping up his parka, a clipboard under his arm.

"Welcome to Golovin," he said. "I've got your time in at ten fifty-three AM and thirty-two seconds."

Just under two hours. And White Mountain was only eighteen miles further on. Lainey signed in.

"If you want to stay, I can guide you to Semko's back yard," the man said. "He's down the street a bit to the left."

Smiling, Lainey looked at her team. None had laid down, letting her know that she could probably push them on a little further with no repercussions. "What do you think, guys? Take a nap or go home?"

All the dogs had heard 'go home' in the course of their training. It indicated they were almost finished and heading for the kennel for food and rest. Scotch had told her to use the command sparingly on the race trail. Ultimately, it was a fake out to keep the dogs moving that extra little bit toward their destination. If used too often, the team would know it for a lie and not give her the added energy to reach her goal.

Chibee and Montana yipped and the others shook themselves, tails wagging.

"I think that answers that question," Lainey said to the checker. "Let me snack them and check out."

She gave them each a chunk of moose liver and a quick examination of their paws and wrists. It was somewhat underhanded to trick them like this, but it would be foolish to take a break here and then be required to take a mandatory eight hour break a couple of hours down the trail. Lainey knew anyone coming behind her would do the same.

In ten minutes, she was mushing out of Golovin.

This section of the trail was smooth sailing. Even with it nearing noon and heating up, the dogs had an easy run along a straight and well-established path. The trail was so even, it took some time for her to realize they had left the sea ice behind and were working up a river valley. They soon began a gentle series of climbs and drops, edging further along the river as they went. Eventually the trail swung to the right and Lainey saw the town of White Mountain on the river bank.

Trail markers guided her to the checkpoint right on the bank of the Fish River beneath town. She checked in a little after one in the afternoon. Her team had run for a full eight hour stretch and seemed in good spirits. At least they were not as tired as they had been on the last monster crossing. Still, they promptly snuggled into their straw beds after a good lunch.

Lainey was as tired as they were, though the added promise of seeing the end of her journey kept her energized. She gathered wet gear and her sleeping bag. The checkpoint building was a couple of blocks away, just like in Koyuk. There she had slept outdoors to evade pursuit by other mushers. Here it made no difference as everyone checking in at White Mountain was required to cool their heels for eight hours. Times in and out were publicly posted, and no one could cut their time short to get a jump on the competition.

The building was a combination city hall and library that boasted a kitchen. Several people lounged about, some sleeping in corners as they awaited their departure. As much as Lainey wanted to join them, she trudged toward an area draped with clothesline and hung dog booties and a pair of boot liners to dry.

"I'm whipping up fried egg sandwiches," a familiar voice said. "You want one?"

Lainey spun around. "Ben?"

Strauss grinned at her, a spatula in one hand. "Does that mean yes?"

"Yes!" She gave him a hug, not surprised to find tears in her eyes. God, she needed sleep. Hastily wiping her nose some tissue she pulled from her pocket, she released him. "I'm glad to see you."

"Ditto that," he said, waving her toward the kitchen.

Lainey tossed her sleeping bag under a table and sat down. "How long have you been here?"

"Came in yesterday afternoon once we figured out you were going to be here soon."

He cracked an egg into a frying pan, his back to her. Another volunteer worked at a counter, slathering mayonnaise on slices of bread. Besides Lainey there were two other mushers waiting to eat. One drowsed in his chair and the other nursed a cup of coffee in silence. Neither looked any more alert than she felt.

"Has Scotch made it in, yet? I haven't had time to check the statistics."

Strauss turned and smiled at her. "She sure did. Came in yesterday. Third place! And it was a damned close call, too."

Lainey wanted to get up and dance but could not dredge up the energy. Instead she kicked off her boots and sighed. "That's fantastic! How close a call are we talking about?"

The sound of sizzling egg filled the kitchen and Strauss turned back to his pan. "Well, Dave Creavey took first, of course. He had a two hour lead when he got here. Jon Waters and Drew Owens both pulled in before Scotch. She had to make up some good time to pass either of them."

He flipped an egg and Lainey's good mood rapidly shifted to impatience. "Well?" she urged.

Strauss shrugged. "Well," he repeated, "Waters came in second, but it was neck and neck with Owens and Scotch. You should have seen the excitement at the finish line! Man, they were screaming and yelling so loud, I couldn't even hear the dogs barking."

Lainey did not have to imagine it; she had been witness to a similar occurrence the previous year. Considering this was for the third place position, it was easy for her to conceive how much of a hullabaloo it must have been. She remembered Drew Owens eye balling Scotch back in the first days of the race.

"Anyway, at the last minute, Scotch's dogs put on an extra burst of speed and gave her a near photo finish. She couldn't have been more than two feet ahead of Owens." Strauss slapped a fried egg onto one of the prepared sandwiches. "It took the judges about fifteen minutes to finalize their decision, but they called it for Scotch."

"She's going to win that someday," one of the mushers said. "Mark my words."

"I know," Lainey agreed, pleased for her friend's success. "I hope I'm there to see it, too."

Strauss delivered a plate to her, an alert expression on his face. "Think you will be?"

She gazed levelly at him. "Yeah, I think I will."

He nodded in acceptance. "Eat up," he said, returning to the stove and starting another egg.

Lainey knew they would have to have a long talk in the near future, but not until the race was over and she and Scotch had time to figure out what they were going to do with their lives. Not wanting to dwell on it, she ate her lunch and followed the conversation over her head as the musher and Strauss continued to chat.

When she was finished, she stood and stretched. "I'm going to catch some sleep."

"Well, you might want to wait a little longer for that," Strauss said, finally sitting down to eat himself. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her. "There's a phone in the other room. You're supposed to call that number."

She gave him a suspicious look. "Is this who I think it's from?"

He considered a moment, chewing. "Tall, blonde and tired?"

"Yeeeeess."

"Yup, that's who it's from."

Lainey smacked him on the shoulder. "You should have given this to me the minute I walked in the door!" She spun around and headed for the phone.

"Uh uh," he said to her back. "I was ordered to make sure you ate first."

She found the phone. A sign next to it indicated all mushers were allowed only fifteen minutes. Here was the nerve center of the checkpoint. The statistics board hung on one wall and a white board beside it had the list of finishers. Scotch's name was the third on the list, her time less than three seconds different from Owens.

A ham radio set up hulked on one of the tables, manned by a . . . woman. Lainey smiled at the word play and gave the operator a nod. She received one in return, the woman hardly pausing in her discussion over the air waves.

Lainey's hand shook as she dialed the number on the paper. She felt ten kinds of fool for being so nervous. This was Scotch, for crissakes! They had been living together for months! There was no reason to be so skittish.

As she listened the line ringing on the other end, she swallowed hard.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

"HELLO?" AN UNFAMILIAR voice said.

Lainey frowned in confusion. Strauss did say this was the number for Scotch, right? "I'm looking for Scotch Fuller?" she asked, chewing her lower lip. Did she dial the number wrong?

"Is this Lainey?" the woman asked. She sounded as if she was smiling. Before Lainey could answer, she said, "Hold on, I'll go get her."

It had to be Beth or the unnamed roommate. At least she knew the number was right. Lainey sat on a folding chair and leaned her elbows on her knees. Even with the promise of hearing Scotch's voice her body had other ideas; she alternated between shaky with nerves and lethargic from fatigue. She yawned widely and scowled at the floor. A full eight hours here gave her plenty of time for a nap. Waiting a little longer to sleep would not kill her.

"Hello?"

Lainey's petulant expression washed away at the sound of Scotch. "Hi there. Congratulations on third place."

"Thanks. How are you going?"

"Right now? I'm doing fantastic." Lainey wiped tears from her eyes before they could fall. "I miss you so much."

Scotch's tone was warm and understanding. "I miss you, too. What time did you check in to White Mountain?"

Lainey took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on the race rather than her seesawing emotions. "A quarter after one, give or take. Ben just fed me and gave me your number. When we're done, I'll take a nap."

"How are the dogs doing? I saw you've dropped a few. Anything serious?"

She spent the next few minutes discussing her experience of the race, how her team had managed, and which dogs were dropped for what reasons. Talking shop served to ground her flighty emotions, and she soon lost the urge to cry.

"You've still got His Highness?" Scotch asked in surprise.

Lainey's tone was smug. "Yup. Not only that, but he kissed me."

"Liar."

Her smile widened, knowing Scotch was not calling the occurrence into question. "Yeah, he did, and I've got thirteen furry witnesses to the fact."

"I'll bet Kaara was jealous."

"Oddly enough, she didn't seem to be."

"Well, I am. That mutt better steer clear once I get you here."

Lainey's grin became a shy one and she lowered her voice so the radio operator would not overhear. "I think that can be arranged. Don't tell him, but I prefer your kisses to his any day." Scotch's laugh warmed her to her toes.

"That's not saying much, Lainey," Scotch said, still chuckling. "Bon's kisses are better than a dog's."

"Yours are way better than a three year old's," Lainey assured her.

"Well, that's a load off my mind."

It was her turn to laugh. "I can't wait to see you again."

"I know. I feel the same." Pause. "If you're going to get any sleep, we need to hang up."

Lainey frowned again, toeing the floor with her sock. "I know--"

Her voice trailed off into a shared silence that Scotch finally broke. "I love you, Lainey Hughes."

Feeling as if she were going to burst, Lainey said, "I love you, Scotch Fuller."

"Now hang up the phone and go get some sleep, baby. You'll be here by tomorrow morning."

"Yes, ma'am." Lainey wiped at her quickly returning tears. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

She stood and reluctantly hung the receiver on the cradle. Her hand remained on the phone for the longest time, not wanting to lose even that tenuous connection with Scotch.

"You all right?"

Lainey looked up to see Strauss standing in the doorway, his gentle smile contrasting with the concerned lines on his brow. The desire to weep overwhelmed her and she stepped into his embrace and cried.

She had no idea how much time passed as she vented her exhaustion, worry and relief. There had been a vague sensation of movement, and when she became aware of her surroundings once more, she found herself on a couch with Strauss holding her. Embarrassed, her chest feeling hollow and her outrageous mood swings alleviated, she pulled away from him. He offered her tissue which she accepted, wiping her face and blowing her nose.

"Thanks. I really needed to do that."

"Any time," he said. His hand found her back and rubbed gentle circles there. "It's been years since you've had to call, but things are still the same. Any time, anywhere, Lainey."

She grinned at him. He had received many a call once he had become her sponsor. That first couple of years had been rough. Strauss had taken her calls in stride, whether it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. He had been her connection while she put her life back together after the shooting, neither condemning nor condescending toward her as she fought with the nearly overpowering urge to return to the bottle.

Lainey patted him on the knee. "Thanks, Ben. That's good to know."

"Are you going to be all right now?" he asked.

His words indicated the here and now, but she knew him well enough to understand the real question. "She finally said it," she told him. "She said she loves me, and I said I love her back. I think I just needed to let go of all the crap I've been riding with this week."

Strauss nodded in commiseration. "I know it's been exhausting for me just following the trail. I can't imagine doing the real thing like you are. You've got a set of balls the size of Texas, Lainey."

She laughed out loud and blew her nose once more. "Thanks. I'll take that in the spirit it was given."

He stopped rubbing her back, placing his hand on hers. "It was inevitable, you know."

"What was?"

"You and her. You've always loved Scotch best."

Lainey burst into giggles. "Yeah, you've got that right."

"On the rocks."

"I suppose I had to come to Alaska to get the right ice for her."

Strauss joined her laughter.

After a nap, Lainey felt more refreshed than she had in days. She was certain it had everything to do with her phone conversation and crying jag. Refusing to be embarrassed by her outburst, she used the kitchen microwave to warm up a meal of chicken dumplings. As a special treat, she had brought in two pieces of apple strudel that had thawed while she slept.

Six more mushers had arrived while she was out of it, but all of them were an hour or more behind her check in time. The predominant discussion around the table was the weather on Topkok. As she ate, she learned that this was the most treacherous section of the race, surpassing even the Dalzell Gorge in its dangers. Lainey did not know if it was an indication of her exhaustion or her newfound confidence, but she felt no fear at the scare stories being passed around the room. Nothing was going to stand between her and Scotch for long. She had a woman to kiss senseless at the other end of this race and meant to get there to do so.

"You're out of here soon, right?" a woman asked, her plain face rugged with windburn.

"Yeah," Lainey said. "In less than two hours." She pried open the tin foil encasing her strudel.

"Bad time to be out there. Night time's never good on the mountain. You can't see what you're heading into," an older man said, fingering his gray beard.

Lainey grinned and stood up. She poured herself a cup of coffee from a pot on the stove. "Think I should wait until a couple of hours before dawn?" she asked. That was the preferred time to depart White Mountain. If the wind were going to die down, it would be after dawn, making a musher's arrival at Topkok a lot easier.

The man's expression became sly, and a couple of others smiled at her. "Would you do it if I said yes?"

"Nope." She sipped the strong brew and nibbled her dessert.

They laughed as Lainey finished eating and dumped her trash. She found her mukluks and slipped them on.

Before she left the kitchen, one of the rookies tailing her said, "Good luck."

"Good luck to you, too."

"I'll see you in a couple of hours."

The others guffawed at his boast, Lainey included. "No offense, but I hope not." She waved farewell to the others and left to collect her belongings.

Strauss met her at the door, his hair rumpled from a nap. "Wind isn't picking up any, but it's still going to be a bitch," he informed her. "Remember what Scotch said about visibility."

"I remember, Dad," Lainey said. She stood on tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll probably be in Nome before you are."

"No doubt," he said, smiling. "And you'll be very busy until the awards banquet."

"Very busy," she assured him with a wink.

"Kick butt, Hughes," he said.

"You know I will, Strauss."

When she arrived at her sled, she was pleased to see her dogs rouse themselves. "Hi, guys! You ready to hit the finish line?"

Lainey worked her way up the line, talking to her team as she removed dog blankets and checked them over. Then she dished up dinner for them. While they ate, she cooked another batch. Granted, chances were good that she would be in Nome for their breakfast, but if Topkok was as bad as what everyone said, it would behoove her to have an extra meal or two stocked away for emergencies.

Some mushers went through their sleds and dropped as much as possible at this point. Scotch's notes did not mention doing this until the Safety checkpoint. If something did happen on the next stretch of trail, Lainey would rather go slow and have the gear necessary for survival. This was the point where even hardened veterans had come close to losing dogs, life and limb. As a rookie, Lainey knew to be extra cautious.

What little gear she could afford to lose was set aside for shipment to the kennel. This included extra socks, work gloves, boot liners, her mid weight long underwear, left over lithium batteries for the head lamp, extra dog booties and wrist wraps. She almost put the .44 revolver into the pouch but was uncertain whether it could be legally mailed. With a sigh, she eyed the ugly thing and put it back into her bag.

Lainey checked her watch. She still had half an hour to go. Again she walked down the line, picking up dog plates. Then she donned hand warmers and latex gloves. Each dog received a thorough paw massage and ointment application, and had their booties put on. Bonaparte licked her face again, and she laughed at him. He did not quite act like a puppy, but his regal manner hovered on the edge of a desire to frisk.

"Who are you and what have you done with Bonaparte?" she asked him.

He yipped and wagged his tail, causing her mouth to drop open.

"This is a day for miracles, that's for sure," she said, hugging him. "You've been hanging out too much with Chibee."

Her youngster, Chibee, whined in pleasure at hearing his name.

Lainey finished her task in amusement, finally packing everything into the sled.

"Ready?"

Trace and Montana hopped into position, the others following their lead.

"Let's go."

CHAPTER FIFTY

IT WAS NOT too windy in the parking area. Once around the bend of the Fish River, however, it blew harder and Lainey hunkered over her sled in determination. Her recent experience dealt with worse than this, but she also knew she was nowhere near the ultimate trouble spots on this leg.

They followed the river for a short bit before turning onto land and heading southwest. Here the ground was barren, the landscape dotted with scrub brush, and trail markers few and far between. As her leaders followed the obvious path ahead of them, the sled jerked and shuddered from the wind. It felt similar to driving a small car while speeding eighteen wheelers passed on the highway. Lainey knew Sholo would have never left White Mountain had he remained with the team this long. As much as she regretted dropping him, she was glad she had Montana in the lead now. He seemed to take the weather into stride, slightly turned away from the oncoming wind but never faltering.

Their forward motion no longer a concern, Lainey worried about the sparse trail markers. She located maybe one reflective indicator every mile or so. Was the wind so strong it knocked down the sturdy tripods the trail breakers used? As the dogs plodded on, she saw a flash from the ground downwind of her. There lay a marker, barely visible through a minor ground blizzard, collapsed in the snow beside the trail. A gust shook her sled and she saw the depressed area where someone had fallen against the tripod and into the snow, knocking it down. No wonder markers were missing. She had half a mind to put them back up, but doubted their stability. Besides, stopping for each marker would invariably slow her down to worse than a crawl and give her competition plenty of time to catch up.

The barren landscape faded into a tree line as they approached a creek valley. Open water gurgled in several places up and down stream with an ice bridge spanning one section. Her dogs took her across the ice, standing water spraying to either side of the sled runners. Lainey winced, knowing her next stop would be to change wet booties.

They cut into a river valley that was less windy, and her team made decent time as they trotted along. The Klokerblok River was completely iced over with some overflow. There were two trails here, one on the river with the official markers and another, private trail along the right bank. Lainey figured that was the one the locals used when the river was unfrozen. In any case, both trails eventually converged, the overland trail dropping down to cross the river, and turned left onto the river bank.

The river continued on its path while her team followed the trail southwest and into another river valley. Her head lamp illuminated a dilapidated building that may have been a cabin at some point. It hardly looked sturdy enough to shelter a mouse now. Overflow from the river surrounded its base, and she could well imagine the frigid interior. Starting a fire in whatever that thing used as a stove would cause the entire place to become a humid, dripping mess. Regardless, it was time to give the dogs a break. They had been running for several miles without a stop and the worse was yet to come.

After the dogs were snacked and Lainey changed their wet booties for dry ones, the team followed the Topkok River valley to the coast. Several miles later, they passed another cabin, this one in better repair. Scotch's notes indicated this was the last shelter between here and the other side of Topkok. Lainey stopped the dogs to test the wind. It still blew if not with much force. From what the veterans sad at White Mountain, that did not mean anything. The Topkok trail was literally a series of wind tunnels and there was no telling what she would be mushing into.

"Ready, guys?" she asked her team.

Bonaparte's tail wagged, his eyes carrying the unfamiliar light of devotion. Trace yawned and grinned as if this was old hat to him. Montana wriggled in his halter, still pleased at being in front despite the battering the wind was giving all of them. The others stood at their places, awaiting her order.

"Let's go."

Past the cabin, the trail took a sharp turn upward as it left the river. As level ground and the nominal protection of the valley dropped behind them, the wind picked up its pace, blowing across them from their right. It was not strong enough to knock Lainey over, but she had no doubt such was still a possibility. The trail climbed the four hundred foot height, following the side of a hill. To compensate for the angle, she was forced to balance the sled on one runner . She did not want to roll back down to the river. The wind plucked at her and the sled, maliciously teasing her with that possibility.

They reached the ridge and dropped down the other side to cross a creek. The wind literally disappeared in the hollow. Lainey remembered reading a story by a well-known horror author about a living storm that lashed out at an unwary township, and she shivered. It almost felt as if she were being watched in the sudden calm. She shook off the sensation, glad her dogs frisked in their harnesses. At least they were not as spooked as she was.

Again the trail ascended a similar rise, the wind increasing the further along they went. She helped her team along by pushing the sled, using sheer willpower to keep it balanced on the hillside as they went. The going was slower this time, and she peered over the handlebars to see her leaders struggling through chest high snow. The trail had drifted badly here and the last musher through had been hours ago. Lainey was unable to move forward to help them, though, since she needed to keep the sled on the trail.

Still, they made the ridge and flew down the other side, the wind not quite dissipating this time. Lainey called a halt which her team obligingly agreed with. This tiny valley screened the worst of it, but that did not mean it would never blow through here. These blow holes were notorious for sudden hurricane force winds rising and falling with little warning.

Lainey snacked her dogs again and gave them extra scratches and hugs as she checked harnesses and massaged muscles. Her team was not so eager now, but none appeared on the verge of breaking. She cheered them, doting on the more morose ones until they all grinned and yipped at her.

She looked up the next incline, gauging distance. It was not much bigger than the two she had already completed. With no vegetation, however, she could not gauge how hard the wind blew up there. The trail looked a little more level and she wondered if her dogs could keep the sled on it while she packed down the drifts with snow shoes.

Her dogs sat in their harnesses, watching her. Regardless of her indecision, she had to get started now or lose whatever ground she gained. She could not afford to allow them to think it was a full on rest break here.

Lainey climbed aboard the runners. "Let's go."

As soon as they climbed out of the protected valley, Lainey knew there was trouble. The wind howled around the team, shaking her sled and even shoving her unprepared dogs into the snow at the side of the trail. The drifts here were worse than before, if that were possible, though the side hill slant was not as pronounced. Lainey could not see the next trail marker from the snow flurries rising to her chest, but she knew her team cowered under the weight of that wind. She had to do something or they would balk where they stood, and that could kill them all.

She stopped the dogs, amazed they could hear her over the wind. With quick movements, she donned her snow shoes and slogged forward with dog coats. The slower pace and higher wind was a very real frostbite danger for her and the dogs, and she spent the next few minutes securing the jackets onto her team to help combat the heat loss.

When she reached the front of the team, she found her leaders chest deep in a snow drift. Ahead of them she located one of the markers, and she breathed a sigh. Her notes indicated there was some concern about losing the trail here; the easier path led toward cliffs and that was the wrong way to go.

Lainey hooked a dog harness to the front of the tug line and put her arm through it. "Ready?" she called to Trace and Montana. "Let's go!"

She guided them to the trail marker and searched ahead for the next one. Unable to see it, and unwilling to take the dogs further until she did, she called, "Whoa!" Then she trudged further up the ridge, pulling the ruff of her hood close as she peered forward. Several steps later, she saw the next marker and returned to her team to move them closer.

They made their way to the summit of Topkok in this manner, one blustery, freezing foot at a time. There were a couple of places that Lainey lost sight of her dogs before she found the next marker. Clouds covered the sky and ground squalls obscured her view. Only a cool head and careful thought allowed her to find her way back to urge the team forward.

She had gone a good twenty feet before she realized she was on the down grade. The wind here had lessened, though it was still strong, but it appeared the trail was clearer. She whooped aloud, her voice lost as soon as it left her mouth, and removed the harness she was using. On her way back to the sled, she played with the dogs, rousing them from their hard work to frolic.

"Trace! Let's go!"

The trail was not too steep, but it also was not a laid back ride. Several sections were nothing but ice, and even her brakes did not slow them appreciably. It was a relief to Lainey and her dogs when they leveled out, though the wind picked up again. At least here she was not forging a new trail or fighting to keep her sled upright on a slanted surface. They passed the Kennel Club cabin, but Lainey wanted to get out of the next stretch of wind before snacking the dogs again. This was considered the worst blow hole of the entire race, and she could ill afford to rest here.

They went out onto a frozen lagoon, the wind having scrubbed the area bare of nothing but ice. Her dogs slipped and slid along, their booties giving them no traction on the ice, and the wind pushed them along when they managed to remain upright. Lainey cursed when she stepped off the runners and almost fell flat on her butt. This was not going to work for any of them. She called the dogs to a halt and dug out her notes and map, using her body to shield them.

Scotch's handwriting suggested the dune line, though remarked that the going was dangerous with driftwood and scrub brush sticking out here and there. It would take Lainey a little longer to skirt the lagoon rather than cross it, but that was a hardly a loss considering how long it would take to get her team across the bare ice in the first place. The notes also said that the trail on the other side of the lagoon would end up on those same dunes, and to stick close to the trail markers when she got there.

Decided, Lainey carefully put away the paperwork, mindful not to lose it to a gust, and ordered her team toward shore. She still had a two hour lead on the next musher out of White Mountain. If the winds kept up on Topkok, she doubted anyone would be catching her anytime soon.

It seemed to take forever to return to the dunes, but they finally made it. Going was slow as Lainey let Trace and Montana pick their way along. The ever present wind mellowed but she kept close tabs on its location. Experienced mushers had been known to get lost in this area, the wind and snow blinding their dogs until they found themselves on sea ice and heading toward open water.

Soon they picked up the Iditarod trail as the markers reappeared along their path. It was heavily marked here to keep the racers aware of the dangers and pitfalls of the uneven trail. It seemed there was a reflector or wildly fluttering caution tape every three feet, and Lainey wished there had been that much care to point out the trail on the other side of Topkok. Regardless, visibility was much better down here than up on the summit, and she was able to navigate the tangled mass of driftwood and brush with minimal difficulty.

They passed another cabin, this one called Tommy Johnson's in her notes, and the trail filed between the ocean beach on one side and another frozen lagoon on the other. Several miles later they crossed the Solomon River. Lainey was careful to keep to the marked trail here. Visibility was decent enough but the driftwood barrier between the beach and sea was breached because of the river mouth here. If she were to get lost and head out onto sea ice, this would be the place to do it.

Safely past, they continued onward. The wind lightened more and Lainey took the opportunity to grab a snack while she could. She watched as they neared the Bonanza Ferry Bridge where the Nome-to-Council road met the mainland from the spit she traversed. Somewhere north of the bridge was the Last Train to Nowhere, a series of steam locomotives rusting away after their heyday in the early 1900's. In the dark, her head lamp did not shine far enough to illuminate them.

Then they jumped onto the road which was bare gravel in places due to the winds. She grinned, knowing they were close to Safety, in more ways than one, and urged her team to stay on the shoulder and follow the tracks of other mushers. What wind there was now flew up her back, relieving them from the constant cross breeze that had threatened to knock them down.

The next ten miles were a cinch compared to the previous forty. Up ahead was a bridge that lead into Safety, but the trail dropped down to the left. From there it rose and deposited Lainey and her team at what looked like a warehouse on the other side.

They had made it to the Safety checkpoint.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

"ONE OH FOUR and forty-eight seconds," the checker said, marking the time on her clipboard. "You look like you've been sitting in a freezer for the last six hours. How's the trail?"

"Not too bad for the most part," Lainey said, signing in. She had to pull her face mask off to talk, and it crackled with frost. "But the wind's blowing fierce on the third ridge and on the trail between the cabins." She opened her sled bag for the mandatory inventory and grabbed a bag of moose liver treats for her team.

"Visibility bad?"

"Surprisingly, no," she said. She waited for the veterinarians to finish checking her team. "On Topkok it was bad, but not on the coast."

The checker nodded. "Good. I'll radio that back to White Mountain then. Maybe you won't be the only lucky one tonight. We had a couple of mushers pinned at the Kennel Club cabin for a few hours yesterday."

Lainey followed her normal procedures - feeding, massaging, salving, and putting on fresh booties. When she returned to her sled, she donned the racing bib she had started with. The rest of her gear went into three piles; one to keep, one to discard, and one to ship back to the kennel. She was only twenty-two miles from Nome and the less weight she carried, the better.

Once everything was divvied up, put into shipping bags or piled in the donations pile by the checkpoint entrance, Lainey carefully inventoried what remained. The packet of promotional materials and her mandatory gear stayed with her. She kept only one of the coolers, the one with the team's next meal soaking, and left both of the cookers and their pots to be returned home.

Again she checked the demanded gear. She had heard of mushers forgetting their axe or the promotional items having to turn around and mush back to pick it up. No way was she going to give someone else the opportunity to pass her. She sat on the edge of taking the Rookie of the Year award and any backtracking she did would handicap her.

Finally satisfied, she checked out of Safety and headed for Nome and Scotch.

The trail stayed with the road for half the stretch and the wind remained at her back. A lot of snow machine traffic during the winter kept the snow packed here and the going was one of the easiest sections Lainey had seen in a while. It was not as featureless as the path to Shaktoolik had been, for which she was grateful. An easy trail that did not involve mind numbing boredom was always a good thing. Occasional areas of construction spiced things up and her team veered past berms and dipped into the infrequent ditch, but otherwise it was smooth mushing.

Ten miles passed quickly before the trail slipped off the road and onto the beach. For the first time in days, Lainey began to see signs of living human beings on the trail. Headlights from a car moved slowly on the road she had just left, pacing her run as she crossed snow covered sand. She wondered if it was a press car or an avid fan. At this early hour it could be no one else.

The car followed the road for the next five miles of her trek. Then it went over a bridge while she and her team dropped down to cross the Nome River. Three more miles to go. She could almost taste Scotch, a combination of the woman's natural scent, coffee, French toast, and syrup. Lainey swallowed. Nearly there.

Radio towers loomed to her right, their warning lights blinking, and the car on the road continued to pace her. She heard snow machines buzzing in the distance, coming closer as volunteers came out to check on her. A stupid grin crossed her face and her dogs echoed her sentiment, tails wagging and a frisky edge entering their steps. Her three trash talkers - Chibee, Montana and Himitsu - began yipping at their approaching company and the team picked up some speed.

"Almost there, guys!" Lainey called as she saw the lights of the first snow machine.

Two of the vehicles approached, each carrying two people who waved at Lainey. She waved back and they swung around to tail her. She was glad they stayed well enough back to not over excite her dogs. Chibee looked like he was ready to make an escape attempt and run with the newcomers rather than his team.

The car on the road slowed to a stop and the trail took a sudden turn off the river and up a steep embankment. On the other side, she saw the familiar view of Front Street, the famous burled arch of the Iditarod finish line crossing the road ahead. Flashing police lights caused her to blink, used to the darkness on the trail. She verified that the car that had been following her was press by the radio logo on the door.

It felt so odd to travel down this stretch of road. A year ago, she stood on the sidelines with the racing fans and news crews, taking photos of the half crazed men and women as they pushed their dogs and themselves to the limit for . . . what? A chance to torture themselves for ten to sixteen days and a thousand miles of deprivation? Ill equipped for the cold, freezing her ass off, Lainey had spent the entire time thinking the people here were loony while she daydreamed of a Mexican Caribbean gig.

The thought of an assignment on a tropical beach caused her to break out in a sweat.

She laughed to herself as she directed the team to the shoulder of the road. Here the snow did not cover the pavement but there was some on the sides to save her plastic runners. Not that it really mattered with only a couple of blocks to go. Shredded runners were the least of her concerns; it was an automatic gesture from months of running dogs.

The lights of the police escort faded behind her as she entered the barricaded chute. Even with it being the wee hours of the morning, people crowded the sidelines, yelling and cheering her on. Flash bulbs went off from all along the route, concentrated around the area reserved for press and she wondered if Howry was there. Would Scotch be here? Did anyone tell her she was coming in?

"Trace! Montana!" she yelled, hoping they could hear her over the mass of humanity waving their arms and calling to them. "Let's go home!"

Twelve hours after hanging up the phone, Scotch nursed a cup of coffee at the small Iditarod convention center. The place was open twenty-four hours a day while the race was on and the only place open at this hour. In fact, it looked like an overgrown checkpoint more than anything else. The double statistic board hung against one wall showing current times in and out of the checkpoints and the list of mushers who had completed their runs. Two large coffee urns squatted on a table joined by a more svelte pot of hot water and surrounded by packets of creamer, sugar, tea, and hot chocolate. Two tables had been crammed together in one corner, containing the nerve center of the Iditarod - ham radios and three telephone lines. Several smaller tables and chairs scattered across the rest of the room with volunteers, veterinarians, and fans awaiting the next musher into Nome.

She shared her table with Howry and Miguel, who had left the running of the kennel to the neighboring Schrams while he awaited the Fuller mushers at the finish line. After a week and a half on the trail, Howry looked bedraggled and grizzled. In comparison, Miguel was more animated, his beard well trimmed and minus the extra baggage under his eyes. Even Scotch was more alert than Howry, who had just come in that afternoon. High winds and threat of a blizzard had canceled his bush flight back to Nome and he had been forced to sit out the last few days as a volunteer at one of the checkpoints.

Scotch thought he was more angry at missing her finish than anything else, since the Cognizance story was assigned to him. He had spent the afternoon tracking down amateur photographers in an attempt to buy a picture of the finish instead of sleeping. She had consoled him with being able to catch Lainey's arrival on film. Strauss had called from White Mountain to say there would not be a flight in until morning due to high winds. Somewhat mollified, Howry had dragged his butt out of his hotel and now drowsed at the table, a mug of hot chocolate at his elbow.

A battery operated radio sat on the table between them, tuned to the Iditarod update frequency. Lainey had been spotted on the trail outside of Nome, moving at a good clip according to reports. In between mentions of her location and appearance, the reporters in the car chattered about her non-existent history of mushing and what they knew of her training. Scotch's name was mentioned fairly often, which brought the conversation to her third place win scant seconds before Drew Owens the day before. Then Lainey would navigate a pile of brush or move far enough ahead for another remark about her, and the entire thing would start over again.

It had been days since they had seen each other, and Scotch was feeling the withdrawals. She had come in almost a full day and a half earlier. After cleaning up and sleeping ten hours, Scotch had a huge steak dinner. With those needs met, she had spent the last day feeling empty. Now that she was not on the trail, there was nothing to distract her from the yearning.

How did Lainey get so strong a hold on her? What could become of them? Lainey would recuperate from the race, pack up her things and Scotch would be back to living alone.

Funny how that seemed so vacant now. It was less than a year ago that she had held reservations about sharing her cabin with a stranger. Now she did not want Lainey to leave her with the solitude, something Scotch had always treasured. Despite the heaviness trying to weigh her heart down, she hoped Lainey would stick around for at least a couple of weeks. And maybe she could come visit some time.

Scotch was not looking forward to summer.

The siren had already sounded once when Lainey was five miles minutes away. The radio announced she was almost to Front Street, interrupting Scotch's brooding on a future that would never take place.

She shoved Howry in the arm to wake him. "Come on. She's almost here." She did not wait to see if the men followed, pulling her parka over her head as she dashed for the door.

It was nearly three in the morning and very cold. Scotch pulled up her hood and snugged it tight, muscling her way toward the finish line. Even with the early hour, the sidewalk began filling with others who had been listening on the radio. This far along in the race, many of them would have been asleep, but this was the first rookie arrival and merited more attention than most.

By virtue of who she was - the trainer of the incoming musher and owner of the dogs arriving - Scotch was able to get right up to the finish line and out onto the street to help stop the team. Her appearance was fortuitous. Just as she stepped out onto the trail, Lainey's team came up from the river and hit the street.

Scotch's heart beat triple time at the sight of her even though she could barely make out who was on the sled at this distance. The parka and sled bag were familiar, though, and she felt a smile light up her face. Those dogs were familiar, too, and she shook her head in amazement. Montana in the lead and Bonaparte still with the team. Scotch would never have gotten that mutt to accept the harness for this long.

It seemed like seconds flashed by and then Lainey's dogs passed the finish line. Several volunteers reached out to stop the team before they kept going down the road. Scotch was supposed to do the same, but she completely forgot the animals as she made her way toward the musher.

"I made it!" Lainey yelled at her, trying to be heard over the applause and cheers. "I made it!"

"You made it!" Scotch agreed, picking her up in a hug. They were joined by Miguel and an exuberant Howry, the four of them dancing next to the sled with everybody watching.

Over the sound system, a race official announced, "Arriving in twenty-fourth place, Number Four, rookie Lainey Hughes for Fuller Kennels, two fifty-five am and twenty-three seconds."

More cheers and applause drowned out the speaker and he had to yell through the microphone to be heard. "Congratulations, Miss Hughes! You're no longer a rookie, you're a veteran, and you've won the Rookie of the Year award!"

Scotch ignored the words, ignored the slaps on Lainey's back from her well-wishers. She kept a tight hold on Lainey, basking in the contact, enjoying what could only be a brief and intense connection.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

SCOTCH EASED THE bedroom door closed, glad she had the foresight to oil the creaking hinges before Lainey arrived. The room was dark as she stood there waiting for her eyes to adjust. Not too dark, though, as a dull light glowed around the edges of the curtains. The clock on the night stand said it was mid afternoon. Lainey made an enticing lump in the center of the mattress, and Scotch heard a gentle burr coming from the general direction of the pillows. Lainey never admitted to snoring, which did not upset Scotch. She thought it was cute; at least it was never loud enough to be obnoxious.

It had been taken a superhuman will to stay away this long. Once Lainey had finished checking in, she had mushed the team to the dog lot with Scotch and Miguel in the sled. Miguel took over handling the dogs, effectively chasing Lainey away when she tried to intercede. Scotch walked her back to the truck she had borrowed from her friends and whisked Lainey away. Lainey was introduced to her hostesses, stuffed to the gills with a good country breakfast, and sent to the showers. By the time she emerged from the bathroom, smelling of lavender, she could barely keep her eyes open.

Still tired from her time on the trail, Scotch happily joined Lainey in their bedroom. Cuddling with the smaller woman was a balm to her doubts and insecurities, and her worries about their future faded away. In no time, the exhausted Lainey fell asleep, Scotch soon following her.

Hunger drove Scotch out of the warm blankets a few hours later. When she had eaten, she forced herself out of the house, borrowing Beth's truck to get to the dog lot and check both teams. She had to admit, Lainey had done her proud. Not only had she won the Rookie of the Year award, but she had done a spectacular job with her dogs. All of them appeared happy and healthy and glad to see her. Except Bonaparte, of course. He gave Scotch the cold shoulder and kept scanning the handlers in the dog lot. She had the distinct impression he was looking for Lainey, as absurd as that sounded.

With her obligations met, she returned to the house to torture herself while Lainey slept. As much as she wanted to wake her and show her exactly how much she had been missed, Scotch sat in the living room with Beth and her partner, Wanda, discussing the race with a few of their friends who had come over. After the hundredth time of staring wistfully down the hall, Wanda plucked the coffee cup from her hand and shooed her off.

Now Scotch stripped down to her t-shirt and panties before crawling under the covers. Lainey was sleep-warm and cozy, and Scotch sighed as she fitted her body to the smaller woman's. Lainey mumbled in her sleep and stirred, turning to snuggle closer. Smiling, Scotch adjusted herself to accommodate until they lay wrapped about each other.

She was not tired, but closed her eyes anyway to better enjoy the feel of Lainey's arms and legs entwined with hers. This was the place to be, the rightness of their proximity overriding the reality of the situation. Lainey only wore a camisole and panties, and Scotch ran her palm along the bare arm. A smile curled her lips when Lainey hummed in sleepy response and sighed.

The temptation was too great. Several months spent necking on the couch in the cabin but sleeping in separate beds took their toll. Scotch slipped past Lainey's arm, caressing her shoulders and neck with a firm hand. Lainey's mumble encouraged her further, and she slid down to touch the bare skin of her lower back where the camisole had ridden up. It was a simple maneuver to slide beneath the waistband of her panties and explore previously untouched territory.

Well, not necessarily untouched. McGrath had given them both the opportunity to roam where they had not been before. The memory fired her already smoldering desires.

"That feels good," Lainey murmured.

"You're awake," Scotch said needlessly. Her touch became a little more forceful as she cupped the rounded flesh and gave it a gentle tweak.

Lainey chuckled, her lips finding Scotch's pulse point. "Mm hmm," she said, bringing her leg up to cross Scotch's torso. "In more ways than one."

Pleased, Scotch rolled onto her back, taking Lainey with her. Both her hands were free and while one remained where it was beneath Lainey's panties, the other crept up beneath the camisole. Her fingers brushed scar tissue and she examined the feel of the thick skin there, not shying away from the damage. She loved everything about Lainey, even this, and she wanted to get that point across.

Lainey shifted until she straddled Scotch's hips and pushed herself into a sitting position. The blankets fell away and she drew her camisole over her head, pausing to grind herself once against Scotch's belly before tossing the material to the floor.

Mouth dry at the vision before her, Scotch brought both hands up to caress Lainey's belly, slipping along the firm muscles there to reach the breasts above. The skin was soft and warm, nipples taut with anticipation, and Scotch wanted to taste them so badly. She squeezed their heaviness, her fingers rolling Lainey's nipples as she enjoyed the soft weight.

Lainey moaned and her hips moved again. She braced herself against the head of the bed as she rocked slowly on Scotch, her eyes half closed in concentration. "You feel so good, Scotch," she moaned.

"So do you," she said, her voice husky. Scotch pushed partway up, leaning on one elbow as her mouth found what it desired. She sighed in pleasure, echoing another moan from Lainey as her lips enveloped one of those inviting nipples. Surging upward, dislodging Lainey's grip on the bedstead, Scotch sat up, her hands now cradling her lover as she suckled.

Lainey caressed her back and shoulders, fingers digging into muscle at a particular sharp nibble. She gasped aloud, her hips bucking against Scotch. Then Scotch felt her hair being pulled, dragging her from her conquest until Lainey's lips met hers in a hard, wet kiss that made her forget all about what she was doing. The next several minutes were nothing but tongues and teeth, sighs and soft grunts of exertion, heated flesh and insistent touches.

It was the sound of rending cloth that brought Scotch back from her ecstasy enough to register what was happening. Lainey now lay on her back, one hand buried in Scotch's hair, the other gripping the headboard again. Scotch was paying homage to her firm abdomen with one of Lainey's legs hiked over her shoulder as she moved steadily down that luscious body. The torn cloth turned out to be Lainey's panties, two tattered ends gripped in Scotch's fists. The smell of Lainey's arousal was stronger with no underwear to impede it and Scotch hastened to get her fill, ruined panties forgotten.

Her first taste was intoxicating as she tongued the woman's clit. Lainey's cry was the sweetest music, matched only by the taste of her arousal. Scotch bent to her task with a purpose, exploring past the protective hood and outer lips to savor all of Lainey. In response, Lainey moaned and pressed against Scotch's mouth, her hips in constant motion. Scotch settled into place, Lainey's thighs cradling her head, one hand bracing against the bed and the other in Scotch's hair.

While she concentrated her attentions on the sensitive bundle of nerves, Scotch wanted more. Her fingers slick with Lainey's essence, she thrust deep within her lover, relishing how Lainey tasted, how she sounded, how her muscles contracted rhythmically around her fingers as she stroked the velvet skin.

The bed rocked with their exertions, the thump of the headboard against the wall interspersed with Lainey's harsh pants and demands. God! She could never get enough of this! She thrust deeper, filling Lainey as she teased the tender clitoris beneath her mouth.

Lainey's orgasm swept over Scotch, and she drew it out as long as possible, not wanting it to end. Her efforts were rewarded by another hitch in Lainey's breathing as she came again, calling Scotch's name. Only when Scotch was certain Lainey could not stand another round did she slow her attentions, pulling her fingers from the warmth of her lover.

She looked up Lainey's sweat slicked body to see very satisfied brown eyes looking back.

"Come here," Lainey rasped, weakly waving.

Scotch scooted up the bed, pulling Lainey into her arms. They lay together for several minutes in silence as her lover caught her breath. Despite a fiery need for Lainey's touch, Scotch's soul sprawled in the aftermath, a part of her hoping that perhaps her lover would decide to remain with her it Alaska.

"That was magnificent," Lainey murmured. She drew her hand along Scotch's t-shirt.

"I'll say," she agreed.

Lainey chuckled. "In a few minutes, I'm going to find out for myself."

"Take all the time you need," Scotch said. "We've got three days before the awards banquet." She caressed Lainey's cheek and closed her eyes. When would Lainey be leaving? Would she stop at the cabin only long enough to pack?

Her thoughts dumped ice into her blood, cooling her ardor. She must have stiffened because Lainey pushed up on one elbow to peer at her. Not wanting to see her lover's expression, Scotch kept her eyes closed.

It took a few moments before Lainey registered Scotch's body language. What was once warm and pliable suddenly became stone. Was it mention of the awards banquet that caused this retreat? That did not make sense; Scotch had been to many an Iditarod banquet. This one would be no different than any other for her.

She sat up, studying the blonde. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Scotch shrugged, not looking at her. "Nothing."

The expression an her face was an alien one, and it took Lainey several minutes to realize what she was seeing. When she did, her eyebrows rose to their zenith.

It was Scotch's inborn confidence that had first drawn Lainey down this trail. After a few months, she had finally figured out where it came from. By that time, Lainey wanted that self-assurance in her own right, which was why she continued to train for the race even in the face of falling in love with her coach.

But Scotch's inner sense of security did not reach into this realm. What Lainey was witnessing was uncertainty and diffidence in the normally strong young woman and it set her back on her proverbial heels.

Scotch was afraid.

Lainey's mind raced with this new information, trying to understand just what could put fear into the expression of a woman who regularly spit defiance into the teeth of the Alaskan wilderness. She pulled a little further away, though not far enough to lose physical contact. "Something's wrong," she insisted, lightly caressing Scotch's sternum through her shirt. "What is it?"

"It's stupid," Scotch mumbled.

"If it makes you feel like this, it isn't. Tell me."

Scotch reached up and took her hand, holding it tightly. With an obvious effort she forced herself to look at Lainey. "What's going to happen to us?"

Lainey blinked. In her mind, her plans for she and Scotch was already a foregone conclusion. The solution she had thought of on the trail seemed so right for both of them that she forgot she had not discussed it with Scotch. A relieved smile crossed her face and she dropped her head to rest it on Scotch's shoulder.

"I've got some ideas," she began.

EPILOGUE

LAINEY TOOK OFF her straw hat and used a kerchief to wipe the sweat from her face. Damn, spending nearly a year in Alaska certainly screwed up her inner thermostat. The mercury had not even reached eighty-five and she felt as if she were melting into a puddle. What would it be like in the full heat of summer?

Around her, villagers with yellow skin and round faces gathered, chattering in their native language with her guides. One of them, Ngawang, stood near her interpreting. They were surprised to see visitors here. That the strangers searched for a rare plant was even more bizarre. Most who came here were distant relations for the annual festival or the military searching out bandits. The women, dressed in layered skirts and scarves, smiled in their nervousness as they studied her. Men, being men, snorted at the new arrivals as if to say nothing good could be said about such craziness.

All of them, however, were far more interested in her companion than her, having rarely seen her coloring.

Scotch towered over the small people, listening to one of their guides with an intent frown. Someone made a crude joke about her golden skin and blue eyes, not realizing until the last minute that his words were being translated to the foreigner. The gathering collectively held their breath. Would the woman be offended at the rash speech of one of their people? Instead, she looked across the villagers to Lainey and smiled.

Deciding these strange women were honored visitors, the head man urged his wife forward to invite them to a feast. Since the invitation was given to Scotch, she accepted for the both of them.

Lainey grinned, seeing that ever present confidence in her partner shining forth. Next year they would return to Alaska to train for the Iditarod. Meanwhile, there was an entire world to show Scotch and Lainey looked forward to escorting her anywhere her heart desired.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ELEVEN