Iditarod Nights Page 2

  Something in his tone drew her gaze. Her pulse surged. There was nothing innocent in those eyes. "Of course." She forced herself to look away, blinked, and realized she was about to miss their turn-off. Muttering a silent oath, she pumped the brakes and made a left onto a snow-covered gravel drive. A few moments later, Sommer Kennels came into view.

  The single-story log cabin nestled in the trees, snowshoes hanging from a wide covered porch and a pair of moose antlers mounted over the rough-cut front door, a scene Claire had come to think of as home. Half a dozen other buildings of varying sizes and materials, used for storage and protecting equipment from the weather, spread out over five acres. The cookhouse, the only other log structure, stood between the cabin and the puppy pen.

  She pulled up next to the dog yard and shut off the engine. "Here we are."

  A cacophony of yips and howls and excited barking greeted them as forty-two huskies strained against their stake chains. Singer's distinctive melody rose above the others, the happy brown and black husky's masked face tipped skyward, while his brother Riley looked on, grinning. Handsome stood on the flat roof of his house, his white chest proud against his long black body, symmetrical brows lifted above blue eyes, his long tail curled in a pleased wave. The Ford swayed on its springs as Dillon's dogs shifted in back and added their own voices to the growing bedlam.

  The cabin door banged open and a skinny, dark-haired boy, his parka more off than on, bounded down the steps toward them. "Auntie Claire's back!" he shouted.

  Claire smiled. "That's Janey and Matt's eight-year-old son, Andy. I'm not really his aunt, but since Janey and I are like sisters..." She pointed to the petite, slender woman in jeans and an insulated vest over an eye-popping red sweater, short brunette hair winging from her ruddy face as she rushed after the boy, waving a comb. "There's Janey."

  A broad-chested man in faded yellow coveralls and a dingy purple cap emerged from the cookhouse and shouted, "Pipe down over there!" The noise level in the kennel yard dropped to a smattering of whines and low grumbling.

  "And that's her husband, Matt."

  The driver's-side door flew open and Andy hopped onto the truck's running board, using the steering wheel for a handhold. "Hi!" he said, loud enough to make Claire wince. "My name's Andy!"

  Before Claire could ask the boy to lower his voice, Dillon slid his arm across the back of the seat, brushing her shoulders and sending a current jagging through her that left her utterly tongue-tied.

  He extended his other arm in front of her. "Nice to meet you, Andy. My name's Dillon."

  Andy thrust his hand in Dillon's much larger one and pumped it twice, a look of self-importance on his young face. "Nice to meet you too."

  Dillon drew back, though his arm remained draped across the seat, maintaining gentle pressure against Claire's shoulders. She found the gesture, and his nearness, unsettling and would have gotten out of the truck had it not been for Andy still swinging from the steering wheel.

  "Andrew Sommer, get down from there and comb your hair," Janey scolded, coming up behind her son.

  "Aw, Mom."

  "No arguing, young man." Janey glanced inside the cab. Her hazel eyes focused on Dillon and widened, her brows disappearing beneath feathered bangs. "Oh. You're not Lucas."

  Dillon smiled. "No, ma'am." He cocked his head and met Claire's gaze, his face inches from hers, the bold glint in his eyes wicked. Claire's throat went dry. "I'm not married, either."

  Heat rocketed up Claire's neck and into her cheeks. For long seconds she stared at him, flabbergasted. When she finally looked away, her gaze collided with Janey's. She wasn't sure which was worse, Dillon's smug audacity or the wedding bells she saw in her friend's eyes.

  "What's going on?" Matt asked, coming to stand behind his wife. He stroked his beard and looked at Dillon. "Who's Claire's friend?"

  "I'm not sure," Janey answered, her pert mouth curving in a mischievous grin. "But I can't wait to find out."

  ***

  Dillon wondered what in God's name got into him as he followed Claire out of the truck and introductions were made. Hell, teasing a lawyer was like playing Russian roulette with a fully loaded revolver. Annoyance radiated from the woman like static electricity.

  But he had to admit, seeing the rush of color to her cheeks made it worth the risk.

  "We'll board your team in those empty dog houses over there," Matt told him, pointing to a far corner of the kennel yard.

  "If you'll excuse me," Claire said, "I have some things to take care of inside." Without another word, she turned and walked away.

  Even with her parka hanging below the curve of her hips, she had a way of moving that drew Dillon's attention, her shoulders pulled back, her long stride confident. She didn't go straight to the cabin, but stopped to hug a striking Alaskan husky whose legs turned to rubber at the woman's murmurings. The dog rolled onto his back, exposing his stomach to her, and she gave a light, intimate laugh that hit Dillon in a dozen unexpected places. He looked away and found Janey Sommer watching him, her smile wide.

  "It's good to have you with us, Dillon," she said, her voice bright. "I think you'll be comfortable here."

  He wouldn't call being thrown off balance by a lady lawyer he'd succeeded in irritating comfortable. Or the way that lawyer's laugh reminded him of how long he'd been celibate. But he'd get over it. "I'm sure I will, ma'am. Thank you."

  "Janey. Please." She exchanged a secret look with her husband. "I'll go put some coffee on while you get our guest settled."

  Matt kissed her soundly on the mouth. "Thanks, honey." He chuckled as his wife made a detour on her way to the cabin, snagged Claire's arm and dragged her inside. "So, Dillon," he said, once the women were out of earshot, "you ever considered getting married?"

  The arid draft of a memory brushed through him. "Not in a long time."

  "Then watch yourself, my friend, unless you've a mind to start thinking about it."

  "I'll do that."

  Andy stood at the back of the truck, carrying on a conversation with one of the dogs through the compartment door cutout. "That guy there is Rocky," Dillon said, moving to stand beside him.

  The boy's face scrunched as he peered up and asked, "Because he's a fighter, like that guy in the movies?"

  Dillon smiled. "No, because he's got a head like a rock wall."

  He introduced the rest of the dogs as they were unloaded. Bonnie and Clyde, Deshka, a small, tireless caramel-colored Alaskan husky, mild-tempered Blackie and his agile brother Chevron, a blue-eyed gray and white Siberian named Pete, Guy, a big half-hound that wasn't real bright but dependable and steady, Dodge, Windy, Elliot, another small dog with amazing stamina, his wheel dogs, Max and Alpine Annie. Flannigan's Stew, Maverick and Gretchen rounded out the team.

  The Sommers' dogs greeted each new visitor, some growling at the intrusion, some standing on their hind legs and yanking at their stake-out chains to sniff the air and whine. A few curled into tight balls, their backs to the whole business as if annoyed by the commotion, or just plain disinterested. Every dog had its own low, square shelter lined with straw, a five-foot chain that allowed it to move around but not tangle with the others, and a food dish. All the comforts of home.

  Dillon could say the same for his own accommodations. The cookhouse was clean and organized, with a bunk suspended from the wall at each side of the door, a cupboard to stow his gear in, and a wood-burning stove in the middle of the room. The only amenity lacking was a bathroom.

  "You share the one in the house with us," Andy informed him.

  "We keep a fire going out here to heat water for the dogs," Matt went on to explain. "The chow is stored in the back room."

  "Most of mine is sitting over at the Warren place," Dillon said. "I had it flown in a couple days ago."

  "You can take the Land Cruiser in the morning and pick it up," Matt replied. "I'd go with you, but I have some folks scheduled for a sled dog ride in Talkeetna tomorrow. I'm a tour guide part time."

&
nbsp; "Just point me in the right direction."

  Matt nodded. "I'll give their son, Brian, a call, let him know you're coming. In the meantime," he gave Dillon a companionable slap on the back, "let's water your dogs and go rescue Claire from my wife."

  ***

  "So this good-looking man walks in needing a place to stay," Janey said as she poured water into the coffeemaker, "and you invited him here without thinking twice about it?"

  Claire had her head in the refrigerator, going through the vegetable bin for salad makings, precious commodities in February. Janey had spared no expense. "That's what I said."

  "And you asked him if he was married?"

  The disbelief in her friend's voice was understandable. Claire had a little trouble believing it herself. She pushed the refrigerator door shut with her hip and deposited an armload of produce on the kitchen counter. "I knew if I didn't, you would," she stated in her own defense.

  "A knockout like that, you bet I would." Janey flipped the coffeemaker on and moved to the oven. "You know what this is, don't you?"

  "A pot roast?"

  "Fate."

  Claire sighed. So much for avoiding the inevitable. "It's a coincidence. Nothing more." Although it hadn't felt that way at the time.

  Janey leaned against the counter, arms folded in silent observation. Claire's jaw tightened. She'd just about had all the scrutiny she could stomach for one day. "Please don't make a big deal out of this, Janey. You know how I feel about – "

  "Alaskan men. I know. Are you sure it's just Alaskan men you're shy of?"

  Claire stared at her. "I am not shy."

  "Bad choice of words." Janey gave a dismissing flick of her hand. "I meant to say you're disinclined to have a relationship with any man, Alaskan or otherwise."

  Claire scowled and took a peeler to the carrots. "There's nothing wrong with being cautious."

  "Call it what you want," her friend remarked. "And I'm sorry I brought it up." She pushed away from the counter. "I'd better make sure we've got enough towels in the bathroom. Our guest looks like he might need an extra one for those broad shoulders."

  Claire could only sigh as Janey waggled her eyebrows at her and headed down the hall.

  ***

  Dillon's senses detected roasting beef, garlic and potatoes as he followed the Sommer men inside and hung his parka and holster by the door. The front of the cabin was a long, open room with a family area at one end, kitchen at the other, and a cast-iron stove square in the middle. Bright reds, purples and blues colored the windows and furnishings.

  Claire stood at the kitchen counter chopping carrots, her back to him. Her braided hair brushed her nape and stopped at a point high between her shoulder blades, her blue flannel shirt tucked into slim jeans. His gaze lingered on the narrowness of her waist, the curve of her hips, traveled the length of an incredible pair of legs. She'd traded her chunky rubber boots for beat-up pink slippers. One of them looked like it might have been used as a dog's chew toy.

  "Take a seat," Janey said, jarring Dillon from his sightseeing. His hostess emerged from a hallway at the rear of the cabin and swept toward the kitchen. "We were just about to set out dinner. I hope you brought your appetite."

  Dillon's glance swung back to Claire. More than he'd expected, it would seem. He looked away. "I'll wash up."

  Chapter 3

  Claire sat across the dinner table from Dillon and wondered what went on behind those eyes that took in everything, yet gave away nothing. Except for a polite remark about the food smelling good enough to eat and "coffee would be fine, black please" when asked what he'd like to drink with his meal, he maintained a quiet presence in the midst of an unquiet family settling down to dinner.

  "Claire?"

  "Hmm?" She glanced at Matt trying to hand her the salad. "Oh," she said, and took the bowl from him.

  "It's a darn shame about Ted." Matt scooped mashed potatoes onto his plate. "You sure he's going to be all right?"

  "I called Helen at the hospital," Janey replied, crossing the room with a platter of sliced roast. She handed it to Dillon and took her seat at the other end of the table. "She said the doctor wants to keep him for another day, for observation, but there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage."

  "How's Helen holding up?" Claire asked. She passed the salad to Andy, who promptly passed it on to his mother without taking any.

  Janey scooped a large helping with the tongs and dumped it onto the boy's plate. Andy opened his mouth to protest, then closed it at the don't-argue-with-me look his mother leveled at him. "The poor woman sounded exhausted." Janey put salad on her own plate, then made room on the table for the bowl. "She's been at the hospital since last night. She's worried about Brian and the house."

  "Brian's seventeen," Claire said. "He should be able to take care of the place for a few days."

  "Just the same, I thought I'd make up a food box and run it over to him tomorrow, check on things."

  Andy upended the bottle of Ranch dressing over his salad. "Does that mean I don't have to have lessons tomorrow?"

  Claire suppressed the smile she knew would earn her a frown from Janey. The boy was home schooled, an intelligent kid with a knack for retaining information, but he still jumped at any opportunity to get out of studying.

  "No, it does not," Janey said, rescuing the dressing bottle. "It just means we'll take a longer lunch break and hit the books again when we get back."

  Andy huffed and plopped a huge mound of mashed potatoes onto his plate.

  "I'm going over in the morning to pick up my dog food," Dillon said. "I can deliver the box and make sure the place is still standing, if you'd like."

  "Oh...well," something in Janey's tone set off a warning signal in Claire's head, "Claire can go with you then. She knows where the Warren place is."

  The gravy boat slipped through Claire's fingers. She caught it as a thick, brown dollop landed on the table. Mumbling an apology, she mopped at the spot with her napkin while four pairs of eyes focused on her. But it was Dillon's that caught and held her attention. He wasn't smiling anymore. In fact, he looked uneasy, but with what or who she couldn't be sure.

  "I wouldn't want to impose," he said. "Claire must have more important things to do."

  He spoke to Janey, yet his he gaze never left Claire's. She got the unmistakable feeling he was daring her to disagree with him. And that tweaked her curiosity. Her inborn compulsion to know why got the better of her.

  "It's no problem," she said. "I'd be happy to show you around."

  ***

  Evening settled over Sommer Kennels like a velvet blanket shot through with bright points of light – clusters of them so low and thick Claire imagined she could reach up and grab a handful. She enjoyed this time of day, when the snow and trees, the air itself, took on a quiet, sharp calm, broken only by an occasional whuff from the dog yard. Bundled in thick insulated pants and heavy parka, she sat on the wide porch railing with her back to the house and gazed up at the sky, a mug of coffee cupped in her gloved hands to keep it from cooling too quick. The rest of the family was inside, watching TV. She assumed by the light from the cookhouse that Dillon had settled in as well.

  The dogs had been fed, a labor-intensive task of chopping frozen water out of their pans to refill with a concoction of chicken, beef and commercial dry dog food, brewed in a caldron of water over the woodstove in the cookhouse. It made for an unsightly soup the dogs devoured with gusto. Ranger, named for the black "Lone Ranger" mask across his tan face, slobbered across the toe of her boot to show his gratitude.

  Claire thought of her dad in his tailored suits and how appalled he'd be if he knew what his daughter's day was like. She deliberately kept the more unglamorous details of her Alaskan adventure from him: cleaning kennels, the pervasive smell of dogs, being dragged behind an over-turned sled. He didn't know about the sprained wrist and bruised tailbone she got running the Klondike 200 last year.

  She often wondered what attracted Ethan Stanfield
to her mother, Caroline, a free spirit who loved nature and getting her hands dirty, a woman who'd been more inclined to take their daughter on long hikes than pay bills. Her dad tolerated the plants in the windowsills and merely shook his head the day he came home to find the back yard turned, one shovelful at a time, for a vegetable garden.

  But he drew the line at having an animal in the house. So his reaction to Claire's desire to race sled dogs came as no surprise. "Have you lost your mind? You don't know anything about dogs."

  It was true. When she first arrived, she hadn't been able to tell one from the other. Now she couldn't imagine not being able to tell them apart. Like the Sommers, they'd become family. She wasn't a "cheechako" newcomer anymore.

  "I'll learn," she told him.

  She'd been unable to explain the feelings that rushed through her when she flew over the Alaska Range for the first time, or gazed up at the night sky as it swirled in a curtain of greens and blues. Or the thrill she experienced at taking her first dogsled ride, the swoosh of plastic runners over packed snow, the rhythmic panting of the dogs as they clipped along, air so cold it grabbed the breath from her lungs.

  "How do I know you won't decide to stay up there?" her dad asked. "You've worked hard to get where you are in the firm."

  "And I won't abandon that," Claire replied. "But this is something I need to do for myself."

  "Because of Grant?"

  "No." She let people believe Grant was her reason for accepting Janey's initial invitation to visit. The half truth made a convenient excuse to get away for awhile, put herself back together emotionally. But she asked for a leave-of-absence a month later because of the dogs. She hadn't gone to Alaska looking for love, but she found it in a kennel yard of huskies, their unconditional affection and tireless passion to run infectious, the raw adventure of taking them across a wild, immense world of snow-covered mountains and frozen rivers irresistible.