Iditarod Nights

  Iditarod Nights

  Title Page

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Epilogue

  Iditarod Nights

  By Cindy Hiday

  Copyright 2013 Cindy Hiday

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art Jack Hiday

  This is a work of fiction. While the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race is an actual event and every effort was made to keep details of the race and setting as accurate as possible, the characters and situations in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Smashwords License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Dedicated to the men and women of the Iditarod.

  And the dogs.

  Always the dogs.

  Foreword

  On the first Saturday of every March, a diverse group of courageous men and women from around the world converge with their teams of four-legged athletes in Anchorage, Alaska, for the start of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. They'll attempt to make their way across 1,049 miles of the state's most striking, challenging terrain, encounter harsh weather conditions and battle sleep deprivation to reach the burled arch in Nome, on the coast of the Bering Sea. Some compete to be first; for many, the goal is simply to finish, go the distance, no matter how long it takes – and not lose a dog. The training is intense, the exhaustion extreme, the rewards life-altering.

  Chapter 1

  "What do you mean he's not coming?" Claire asked. She unzipped her parka at the heat in the cramped air-taxi office. The bitter smell of stale coffee insulted her sinuses. It was bad enough she'd been coerced by her matchmaking friend into driving to Talkeetna to pick up a man she'd never met. She didn't need complications. "I saw animal carriers being unloaded when I pulled in."

  "Weren't his," George, the whip-thin, sixty-year-old flight service owner replied. His office chair gave a rusty squawk as he leaned across his desk and handed Claire a slip of yellow note paper. "Got the call about ten minutes ago. Some of his dogs came down with kennel cough."

  "Oh." Claire's irritation gave way to concern as she glanced at the note. The canine malady was a highly contagious respiratory infection that could develop into pneumonia if not properly treated. Antibiotics and rest. Tell Matt and Janey I'll see them next year.

  "He apologized for not getting word to you sooner," George said. "Guess he was hoping the dogs would pull out of it in time to make the trip."

  "He must be terribly disappointed." Claire put her career on hold for two years to train and qualify for the Iditarod. To have to withdraw ten days before the race would be heartbreaking, but the Alaskan bush was no place for a sick dog. She shoved the note into the pocket of her parka. "Well then, I suppose that's – "

  The office door blew open, cutting her off mid sentence. A surge of frigid Alaskan air entered on the heels of a tall, solitary figure in a forest-green parka and moose-hide mukluks laced to the knees of faded denim. His dark brown hair swept back untamed. Clear blue eyes, like glacier ice, tracked the small room and settled on Claire. Unlike ice, she felt heat prickle the skin beneath her thick flannel shirt.

  George asked, "Can I help you?"

  Those intense eyes held Claire's a second longer, then shifted to the man behind the desk. "I'm looking for Ted Warren," he said, a raw huskiness in his voice.

  He moved away from the door and stood with his back to the room's only wall without a window. Whether a conscious move or not, Claire couldn't be sure. But her experience as an attorney taught her to notice the learned habits of a cautious man. A cop, perhaps.

  "You just get off the plane from Nome?" George asked.

  "That's right."

  The older man referred to another slip of paper. "You must be Dillon Cord."

  "Yes."

  George shoved his knit cap higher on his forehead, exposing a thick shock of white hair. "I'm afraid Ted won't be showing. He's in intensive care at Providence Hospital, down in Anchorage."

  Claire drew a sharp breath. Ted and Helen were neighbors. "What happened?"

  "Heart attack, late last night," George replied. "His wife called just a bit ago from the hospital."

  "What's his condition?"

  "He's stabilized is all Helen could tell me." George returned his attention to the man named Dillon Cord. "You a friend of Ted's?"

  "No. Somebody I know put me in touch with him. I had arrangements to board my team at his place until the race."

  "Those were your dogs I saw being unloaded," Claire said.

  "Yes, ma'am." Fatigue pulled at the lines around his mouth. "Would either of you know where I can put up sixteen dogs?"

  Claire didn't waste time analyzing the feeling that some force beyond her control had taken charge of the moment. "I was supposed to pick up a musher and his team from Teller," she said, "but I just got word he won't be coming. The vacancy is yours if you want it."

  She could have called Janey and Matt first, but she knew her friends well enough to already have a good idea what they'd say. The fact that Ted and Helen Warren had been willing to take the man in helped. But Claire relied on her intuition more than anything else. After seven years in criminal defense, she considered herself an accurate judge of character.

  With one notable exception, the memory bringing a familiar, bitter knot to her stomach.

  George leaned back, causing his chair to shriek. "Well, Mr. Cord, looks like this is your lucky day. Matt and Janey Sommer run a topnotch operation and they're only a couple miles down the road. Claire here's been training at their kennel. She'll be a rookie in this year's race."

  "Are you sure I won't be imposing?"

  The corner of Claire's mouth tipped. The musher she'd been sent to meet, according to Janey, was thirty-seven, good looking and single. Dillon Cord appeared to be in the same age group, maybe a couple years younger. And from what she'd seen so far, he met the second criterion. She wasn't going to ask about the third. "My friends are expecting me to bring back a musher and his dogs," she told him. "You'll be asked to help with chores and contribute a little for groceries, but the bunk in the cookhouse is free. Of course you're responsible for your own dogs' chow."

  "In that case, I accept." Dillon Cord smiled.

  Claire's breath stopped somewhere short of her lungs. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, she thought. But the sensation didn't last. She was more than capable of guarding her heart against a man's attractive smile. She'd had two years to practice. A strand of hair had worked free of the braid at the bac
k of her head and she tucked it behind her ear. "As George said, I think you'll be happy with the arrangement."

  "I'll help you load your dogs." George made to stand just as his telephone rang. "Darn thing. Hang on a minute."

  "That's all right," Claire said. "You take care of business. I'm sure the two of us can manage."

  The older man gave Dillon a quick sizing up, then nodded. "S'pose you're right. Give my best to Matt and Janey." He shot Claire a wink and reached for the phone.

  "I'll do that." She turned toward the door. Dillon got to it first and held it open for her. "Thank you," she said, feeling inexplicably feminine over the simple gesture, then silly for having such a reaction. Men had opened doors for her before.

  Just not lately.

  Stepping from the over-heated office, she zipped her jacket and pulled on her insulated gloves. The cold, dry air purged the smell of old coffee. A thermometer mounted to the outside of the building read fifteen degrees Fahrenheit. The low afternoon sun shown bright against a new layer of powdery snow dusting the paved airstrip. Dillon's dogs, still in their airline carriers in front of the hanger, yipped and barked when they saw him.

  "It's all right, kids," he called. "Not much longer now." The noise level quieted to random whines.

  The Sommers' truck was an old one-ton Ford pickup, the bed an enclosed wooden box divided into twenty compartments – two levels of five on each side – with space down the middle for equipment.

  "Have you run the Iditarod before?" Claire asked as she helped him stow harnesses, lines and personal gear. The sleds – a toboggan and a lighter sprinter – went on top of the dog box.

  "Twice."

  "Mind if I ask how you did?"

  "I made it to Nome both times."

  Claire gave a light laugh. "I can only hope for as much." She found a space for his snowshoes and secured the rear compartment. "Let's get those kids of yours loaded."

  "Sounds good."

  He led a blue-eyed white Siberian from the first airline carrier and hefted her into one of the truck's top compartments, murmuring unintelligible endearments to the dog while he worked.

  You can tell a lot about a man by how he treats his dogs, Claire thought, and felt that unexpected rush of heat again. She shifted and cleared her throat. "Beautiful dog."

  "Bonnie's my best leader. Not the fastest, but I can depend on her." He nodded toward a carrier containing another Siberian, this one with a tan blaze on its muzzle. "That character over there is her brother Clyde."

  "Bonnie and Clyde?"

  "When they were pups, they'd steal anything they could get in their mouth." He shot her a half smile that made her pulse miss a step.

  "Thanks for the warning. If something comes up missing, I'll know where to look." Though judging by her reaction to the man and what she suspected Janey was going to say when she got a look at him, Bonnie and Clyde might be the least of her worries.

  ***

  Dillon gazed out the passenger window of the Ford at the frozen banks of the Susitna River and the snow-covered Alaskan Range in the distance. Talkeetna was located at the end of a fifteen-mile paved spur that branched off Parks Highway, the main route to Denali National Park. A brief break in the clouds shrouding Mt. McKinley, Denali by its native name, gave him a glimpse of the mountain's sharp, arresting peak before it slipped under cover again.

  But the trees interested him more. Cottonwood, birch, spruce and alder, their branches struggling beneath thick layers of snow. Another world from the flat, black-sand beaches of Nome. He had his work cut out for him, getting his team accustomed to running in dense vegetation. He should have started sooner, but money and time were tight.

  He glanced over at the woman sitting beside him, her gloved hands wrapped firmly around the steering wheel as she squinted against the glare of the lowering sun. With sixteen huskies and all his gear, the truck was heavy, but Dillon had the feeling she could handle it. He'd noticed the way she moved.

  What man wouldn't? She had an athletic strength that defied her slenderness. Smooth, high cheeks, a determined set to her chin. Light blonde hair pulled into a braid that disappeared beneath the collar of her parka. She pulled off a glove and pushed a strand of it behind her ear, her fingers work-roughened. Then apparently deciding the cab had warmed enough, she removed her other glove and dropped them both on the bench seat. Her gaze caught his for an instant before returning to the road. Her dark amber eyes made him think of aged whiskey.

  Yeah, a man would notice.

  "What do you do in Nome, Dillon?"

  "I own a bar and grill, the Bering West."

  "Oh."

  Her reaction didn't surprise him. He hadn't entirely shaken old habits carried over from another life.

  "I'm sorry," she said with a self-conscious flick of her hand on the steering wheel. "I thought maybe..." She paused, then shook her head. "It's not important." She worried her lower lip between her teeth, as if calculating her next question. Finally she gave a sigh that bordered on exasperation and asked, "Are you married?"

  "No."

  The abruptness of his answer earned him a quick look. "I didn't mean to be nosy." She muttered something Dillon couldn't make out, then went on to explain, "It's just that there's something you should know about my friend."

  Dillon waited. The strand of hair she'd tucked behind her ear came loose again and she brushed it away from her face. A nervous habit, he realized, like some people chewed their fingernails.

  "Janey and I have known each other since grade school. When she married Matt and moved to Alaska, we didn't see each other for years." She shot him a resigned smile. "Now that I'm here, she doesn't want me to leave."

  The truck side-slipped around a shadowed, icy curve. Dillon tensed, his thoughts going to the safety of his dogs. But in the time it took to think it, Claire eased back on the throttle and corrected the slide with a slight turn of the wheel.

  She continued without missing a beat. "My friend has decided that if she can find me a husband while I'm here, I'll stay in Alaska after the race." Her voice reflected her irony. "I'm afraid Janey's going to take one look at you and have me off to Anchorage to try on wedding dresses."

  Her statement was so outrageous and unexpected Dillon couldn't contain his abrupt laugh. "Should I consider that a compliment?"

  He caught her gaze again. The flash of acknowledgment in her eyes, tucked away beneath lowered lashes, sent a bolt of something hot and alive through him. When was the last time a woman had that effect on him?

  He released a slow, thoughtful breath.

  "Consider it a warning," Claire replied with a dismissing shrug. "Janey's a born matchmaker. And her determination can be indomitable. Why do you think I was sent to pick up the musher from Teller?"

  "Because he's single."

  "Bingo."

  "But you're not interested."

  "I didn't come to Alaska to get married," she stated. "I just wish I could convince Janey of that."

  Dillon knew it was none of his business but couldn't resist asking, "Why did you come to Alaska?"

  A slew of emotions skimmed her features before settling on one. Defiance. "To run the Iditarod." She slanted him a direct look. "You're not going to make that a problem, are you?"

  Dillon's mind detoured. He could think of a lot of things that might become a problem between them, his gaze drifting to her lips. Whether or not she chose to risk her pretty neck in the world's toughest sled dog race wasn't one of them. "No, ma'am."

  Her grin was immediate, his body's reaction to it almost as quick. "Good. I'd hate to have to stop the truck and make you walk. Janey would never forgive me. And please, call me Claire."

  "Are you always this tough, Claire?"

  "It has its advantages over soft and vulnerable."

  He discovered himself looking at her again. He was pretty sure she'd intended the remark to sound off-handed, but he wondered if there wasn't more to it. "At the risk of being kicked out of the truck, most women would
use soft and vulnerable to their advantage."

  She gave a throaty laugh. "Not if the woman is an attorney."

  A dark memory stirred. "You're a lawyer?"

  "Criminal defense. I'm on leave of absence from Stanfield, Wood and Keller in Portland, Oregon." She glanced over at him. "Have you ever been to Portland?"

  Shit, what were the odds? He hesitated half a heartbeat. "No."

  He didn't consider it much of a lie. He'd buried that Dillon Cord when he boarded a plane to Alaska six years ago. The man he'd been, the one from Portland, no longer existed.

  Chapter 2

  Claire caught Dillon watching her, his blue eyes cool. Analytical. She frowned and looked away. Maybe he'd learned to study people who came into his bar, sized them up for potential troublemakers. But something told her his brain stored information as efficiently as Maggie, her legal assistant at the firm, filed court papers. He may run a bar and grill now, but he hadn't always.

  She began to second-guess her actions. Had she made a mistake trusting him? After all, what did she really know about the guy?

  "I appreciate what you're doing for me," he said.

  The weariness had crept back into his voice. She slanted him another quick look. His features were no less taut, his gaze just as direct. But the premonition that she might have misjudged him was gone. He had to be exhausted. Returning her attention to the road, she said, "Actually, we're doing each other a favor."

  "How is that?"

  "With you around, Janey won't have a reason to send me on anymore errands involving eligible men." Though Claire couldn't dismiss the fact that the man sitting next to her seemed just as eligible and far too good looking. She could only be thankful they both had a common goal. "While you and I are concentrating on the race, my friend can have her little fantasies."

  "All completely innocent, of course."