Iditarod Nights Page 3

  "What if something happens up there, peanut?"

  His softly voiced concern brought tears to her eyes. She was eleven when her mama died of cancer. Twenty years ago, yet her dad remained a widower. Locked in her own grief, Claire never questioned his choice. If she, his only child, didn't make it back, it would break his heart...along with the vow made by a scared little girl.

  "I'll come home, Daddy. I promise."

  ***

  Dillon stepped from the house and saw Claire silhouetted in the porch light, her gaze unguarded against a backdrop of stars. He closed the door gently and watched for a moment, the curve of her mouth, the way her lips shaped to the rim of the mug in her gloved hands. The craving returned. It annoyed him. The time and place were wrong. The woman was wrong. He figured it best to keep his distance, yet he found himself looking forward to spending time with her tomorrow. Another annoyance.

  He couldn't get to the cookhouse without being seen, so he stepped closer and said, "Beautiful night."

  She flinched, sloshing the contents of her mug onto her parka. "Jeez, how long have you been standing there?"

  "Not long." Dillon handed her the towel he'd intended to use to shave, and leaned against the rail next to her. "Where were you just now?"

  She wiped at the damp spot on her parka. "Thinking about my dad."

  You're not welcome in this house.

  Dillon shoved the memory back into its dark space. "Is he the Stanfield, Wood or..." The last name escaped him.

  "Keller," Claire said. "Dad's the Stanfield."

  "What does that make you?"

  She gave a soft laugh. "A long way from being a partner."

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

  Her whiskey eyes fixed on him.

  Dillon felt like he'd downed a double shot. Heat flushed through him.

  "You say law partner like it's something you picked up on the bottom of your boot in the dog yard."

  He opened his mouth to deny the accusation, though it was closer to the truth than not, but she didn't wait.

  "Don't bother. I've heard the jokes comparing lawyers to dentists. Nobody likes them until they need one. When was the last time you saw a dentist?"

  "It's been awhile."

  She thrust the towel back at him. "Is your opinion of lawyers based on popular stereotyping, or do you have a criminal history I should have known about before inviting you into my friends' home?"

  Dillon's thoughts were thrown sideways by her unexpected cross examination. He took a second to catch up before answering. "Wrong on both counts."

  "But you don't deny having a thing against lawyers."

  A thing? He swallowed his coarse response, knowing it would bring more questions he had no intention of answering. "You told me not to bother."

  "I did," she admitted.

  "Am I on trial?"

  His question deflated her, beginning with her shoulders. "No, of course not." She puffed a long breath that sent a vapor cloud skyward. "Like I said, I'm not good at soft and vulnerable."

  "You warned me."

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

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

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

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

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

  "I'll watch my step."

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

  Dillon stilled. "What makes you ask?"

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

  "I fit the profile."

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

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

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

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

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

  ***

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

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

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

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

  "It's all you do."

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

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

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

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

  Am I on trial?

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

  "Once the jury delivers – "

  "I'm not hanging around that long."

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

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

  And why did he sound like the musher from Nome?

  Chapter 4

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

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

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

  "Good morning, Brian!" Claire called.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "Any news about your dad?" Claire asked.

  "He'll be coming home tomorrow."

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

  The kid's face reddened. "Thanks."

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

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

  "I can handle it."

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

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

  ***

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

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

  "Maybe Matt can get somebody from town to – "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "You aren't that naive."

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

  "And if he was twenty years older?"

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

  "What if one finds you?"

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

  "No. I'm – "

  "Going to miss the turnoff," she interrupted.

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  "What about after the race?"

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

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


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

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

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

  The trail straightened and the head of her team reappeared. An instant later, she saw Daisy, running right wheel position in front of the sled's brushbow, raise her tail. Sugar, running left wheel, followed suit. The solid white husky sisters were usually too modest for such a display, unless they sensed something out of the ordinary. Claire looked the length of her team and realized that almost every one of the dogs was on alert, strides sharp, eight pairs of ears tilted forward.

  Claire's heart accelerated as she scanned the trail ahead. There had been very few run-ins with moose this winter, but the danger was always present. Dumb and aggressive, a moose would do its best to kill an entire team rather than give up the trail. She felt for Matt's .357 magnum revolver in the small bag beneath the handlebar. He'd insisted she learn to use the handgun and carry it whenever she took the dogs out. The idea of shooting at a living creature made her stomach churn, but if it came to defending her dogs, she liked to think she would do it without hesitation. And she was an accurate shot.

  Her dogs followed a bend in the trail and Claire rode the drag between the runners, hoping to not crash into whatever waited for them around the corner.

  It was Dillon's dog team, coming from the opposite direction, tangled in the brush at the side of the trail. As Claire came alongside, she saw him attempting to reach the middle of the team where one of the dogs had a tugline around its neck.