Iditarod Nights Page 4

  Claire stood on the brake bar. "Whoa!" Yanking the snowhook from its carrier, she stomped it into the trail's crust.

  "I need slack on the gangline!" The tempered urgency in Dillon's voice belied the severity of the situation. If he didn't free his dog soon, it could be injured, even choke to death.

  Claire grabbed the gangline ahead of the trapped dog and pulled. The rest of the team seemed to think it some sort of game and pulled harder. The more Claire pulled, the more the dogs pulled back.

  "Come on, you bozos!" she shouted in frustration, no match for their combined strength. "Give me a break!"

  Whether out of curiosity at being called an unfamiliar name, or boredom with the sport, the gangline abruptly slackened, sending Claire backwards onto her butt in the snow.

  Dillon freed his tangled dog, then made his way down the line. "Come on, Blacky," he lifted a scrappy-looking jet black husky off its feet, "up and over." He set the dog down on the other side of the gangline. Then, "I know we don't have any trees in Nome, Chevron," he said to the next dog – it had somehow wrapped its neckline several times around a small spruce, "but you can't take this one home with you." He unsnapped the line, worked the twist out, and reattached it to the dog's harness.

  Again, the compassion and patience he showed his team moved Claire. Whatever secrets shadowed him, when he was with his dogs he gave himself away. She helped him lead them back onto the trail behind her team. "Are you all right?" she asked.

  She saw the unsteadiness in his hands as he retrieved his gloves from the snow and pulled them on over his reddened fingers. He gave a half smile. "Bozos?"

  She chuckled. "It was the only thing I could think of at the time. What happened?"

  "My dogs heard yours and took a shortcut to say hi."

  Her smile faded. "So much for staying out of each other's way."

  "I'm not blaming you, Claire."

  She thought of what started their stupid deal in the first place. "Are you sure? Because it feels like you've been blaming me for something ever since I told you I'm an attorney." She drew a cold, sharp breath through her teeth and plunged on without giving him a chance to respond. "So what was it? You get one too many traffic tickets?"

  His gaze narrowed, became brittle. "You remind me of things I left behind. Things I'm not going to talk about."

  Anger. An honest emotion at last. "As long as you agree I'm not responsible."

  "You're not responsible."

  "Good." Though she would have preferred he talk about it. No point pressing her luck. "Good," she repeated. "So, no more smartass remarks about lawyers, right? And no more calling me counselor like it’s a dirty word."

  The tension in his expression eased. If she didn't know better, she'd say he almost wanted to smile. "No more smartass remarks."

  Claire heard a scuffle behind her and turned to see Trouble snap at Pepper. "Knock it off!" Looking back at Dillon, she said, "They're getting restless. I should go before they decide to finish the run without me." She fixed him with a level gaze and asked, "Are we okay, you and me?"

  "We're okay. Thanks again for your help."

  He gave in to his smile then and Claire had to suck air back into her lungs before replying, "You're welcome."

  Her dogs yipped and danced, eager to go. She was too. Okay didn't begin to cover the feelings jangling through her. Putting distance between herself and the cause of those feelings seemed the smart thing to do. She grabbed her sled's handlebar and pulled up the hook. "Let's go!" she called and her team lunged into action.

  ***

  Dillon watched Claire and her dogs cruise around the bend and disappear from sight. His dogs whined and bit at the snow to follow. "Settle down." He identified with their desire, felt it pulse through him. The woman had him thinking about her with annoying frequency. He couldn't ignore it, anymore than he seemed able to stay out of her way.

  There'd been a time when talking to a defense attorney meant consorting with the enemy. But Claire wasn't the enemy. She'd come to his rescue in Talkeetna and today her quick action may well have saved Denver's life. His dogs weren't conditioned for these kinds of trails. He and Claire should have mapped out their routes beforehand, instead of avoiding each other. Smartass remarks? Hell, he'd baited her out of spite, like some snot-nosed kid trying to get even.

  No, she wasn't the problem. He was. A long-suppressed claustrophobia that had nothing to do with sled-busting trees breathed down his neck and it worried the shit out of him.

  Chapter 6

  Claire framed Andy and the squirming four-month-old puppy in the digital camera's display while five other tricolored bundles tumbled over the toes of her boots. The litter of Alaskan huskies, sired by Handsome, bounced and rolled over each other for attention.

  "Say cheese!" Claire called over the pups' yips and adolescent barks.

  "Chee— Yuck!" Andy sputtered as the pup he'd named Noel licked him in the mouth.

  Containing a laugh, Claire took the picture. "One more before you have to go in for lessons."

  "Okay." Andy struggled to maintain his hold on the squirming puppy. "Hey, Dillon!"

  "Hey, sport!"

  Claire nearly dropped the camera at the sound of Dillon's voice from close behind her. She turned and saw him standing an arm's length away, dark green bibs hanging loose over a black turtleneck. He looked tired, his brown hair tousled, like he'd run his fingers through it in place of a comb. Claire heard him take a team out after everyone had gone to bed the night before, then heard him return four hours later, yet he'd been up and helping with the dogs by eight this morning. Tired looked good on him, she decided.

  His easy smile made her pulse hum. "Nice camera," he said.

  "Her old boyfriend gave it to her," Andy informed him.

  Claire cringed. "I don't think Dillon wants to hear about that, hon."

  But Andy didn't take the hint. "Auntie Claire came to visit us after he dumped her. She called him a big mistake and cried and threw things."

  "No kidding."

  Claire closed her eyes and groaned.

  "His name was Hammertown and – "

  "Hamilton," Claire corrected. "Grant Hamilton."

  "Yeah, and he – "

  "Andrew Sommer!" Janey called from the cabin porch. "Lunch break's over! Time for math!"

  Andy sighed and put Noel down to rejoin her brothers and sisters. "Don't forget you're gonna teach me how to play poker tonight," he said to Dillon on his way out of the pen.

  "I won't forget."

  "Poker?" Claire asked.

  "He wants me to play a game with him and it's the only one I know. Will his folks object?"

  "They'll probably ask to be dealt in." Maybe she'd invite herself to a place at the table too. "Andy's really taken a liking to you."

  "The feeling's mutual."

  A blue-eyed puppy named Joy wobbled over and nosed at Dillon's boot. Claire knelt and took the pup's picture. Straightening, she looked at the camera and shrugged. "One of the few things Grant forgot to take with him when he moved to New York."

  "New York?"

  She found the derision in his voice surprisingly satisfying. "He said he had a job offer, but..." She let her voice trail off.

  "He didn't ask you to go with him?"

  "He knew I wouldn't. I used to think that's why he chose the east coast. It was as far from Portland as he could get without leaving the country." It felt good to be able to say it without the bitterness that used to stick in her throat.

  "And now?"

  "Now it doesn't matter. He doesn't matter. I got a nice camera and one hell of a vacation out of the deal."

  Dillon didn't ask, but Claire felt the question hanging in the air. She wanted to talk about it, she realized, wanted him to understand. "I had this case, a client facing the death penalty. The media had him convicted before the trial even began. Grant couldn't accept that I'd represent such an obviously guilty animal, that I'd stay late at the office, that I'd miss dinner dates. He accused
me of being more in love with my work than with him."

  She expected Dillon to ask her if it was true, something she'd asked herself countless times in the past two years. And if she answered honestly, she'd have to say yes. She wondered now how much she ever really loved the man she'd been living with. She knew she didn't miss him.

  Instead of the expected, Dillon said, "My wife used to accuse me of the same thing," and at her stunned silence, explained, "Ex-wife. We divorced seven years ago."

  Claire longed to ask what line of work he'd been in. Certainly not the bar and grill business, she'd bet money on it. But she had promised herself not to push the man for answers, to shelve the probing attorney for awhile. Who knows, I might even give soft and vulnerable a shot, she mused, then resisted an impulse to laugh at the thought.

  As they moved to leave the puppy pen, she said, "Looks like we have more in common than just the Iditarod."

  He allowed that slanted smile she found too attractive. "Looks that way."

  From the corner of her eye, Claire saw Noel make a dash for the open gate. She jumped back to cut off the pup's escape, and bumped square into Dillon. The unexpected contact sent a tingle through her.

  Okay, so maybe soft and vulnerable wasn't all that impossible. Uncomfortable with the realization, she took a retreating step toward the cabin. "Well, I still have a bazillion dog booties to sew." Not entirely true – most of the booties shipped to checkpoints last week – but it was the best she could do in the moment. She took another step. "I'll see you at dinner."

  "What happened to the client facing death?"

  She stopped, drew in a shallow breath. A familiar knot tightened her stomach. "He got life without parole."

  "A small victory then."

  "He deserved to die."

  Dillon's brow lifted a fraction. "You were his defense attorney."

  "It doesn't mean I had to like him." She couldn't bring herself to say the man's name, wouldn't allow it to stain her lips. "That was one of the tough ones."

  "Could you have gotten him acquitted?"

  "No. He beat a couple and their two young children to death, all for a few prescription drugs." The photos of the bludgeoned three-year-old girl would haunt her for the rest of her life. She wished to God she could have exacted revenge for the murdered family. She wished to God she hadn't been so good at her job that time.

  "The family is dead but their killer lives."

  Claire stared at Dillon for long seconds, surprised he'd picked up on her deep-rooted regret so easy. "Yes," she said, and walked away.

  Chapter 7

  Dillon could only be thankful he hadn't acted on his impulse to dare the woman to a round of strip poker after everyone else went to bed. He'd be freezing his naked butt off by now, while she sat across from him, comfortable in her pink sweats, giving him that damn Cheshire grin.

  "Another hand?" Claire asked, raking the cards into a pile in front of her.

  "Yes." They kept their voices low to avoid waking Andy, asleep on the couch at the other end of the room. Janey and Matt had tossed in their cards a short while later.

  "You haven't got any match sticks left."

  "Extend my credit."

  "You're already in the hole for two-hundred."

  Dillon feigned irritation, enjoying the camaraderie they'd slid into. He knew how much it cost her to talk about the murder case earlier, saw in her eyes how deep the scar went. She'd been closer to the truth than she realized when she said they had more in common than the upcoming race. "Afraid my luck's going to change?"

  Her grin widened. "Fifty okay?"

  "Fifty's fine."

  She counted matches from her stock, made a notation on the pad next to her, and slid the pile across the table. "You don't like losing, do you," she said as she shuffled the cards.

  "You cheated."

  "Did not." She finished shuffling – her long fingers with their blunt nails never missing a beat – and placed the stack in the center of the table.

  "You pretended not to understand the game when Andy and his folks were playing with us." Dillon cut the cards.

  Claire began dealing. "I asked questions I thought would help Andy pick up on the game quicker. That's not cheating."

  "You played dirty then."

  She gave a low laugh and tossed in her ante. "There's no law against that."

  "There ought to be."

  And there ought to be a law against the way she made him feel when she laughed. Much of her honey-blond hair had come loose from the braid at the back of her head. It framed her face, giving her a disheveled look. As if she'd been thoroughly made love to. Dillon felt an ache so intense his lack of concentration on the game didn't surprise him.

  He tossed a match stick in with hers and picked up the cards she'd dealt him. He tossed ten more matches on the pile. "Give me two."

  Claire met his bet and took three cards for herself. "You give yourself away when you do that."

  "Do what?"

  "Tap your heel."

  Dillon's foot froze in mid tap. "Anything else?"

  "The left corner of your mouth twitches."

  "I'll keep that in mind. Play cards."

  He won that hand and the next, then lost four straight. Claire laid down a full house, beating his three aces and he uttered a disgusted curse, genuine and colorful.

  She added her winnings to the pile of matches on her side. "You didn't think I'd give away all my secrets, did you?"

  It had crossed his mind. "You can't tell me you aren't dealing off the bottom."

  "A lawyer's greatest asset is her ability to read people."

  "What was I doing this time?"

  "Nothing."

  "You just said – "

  "You started to tap your heel, then caught yourself and stopped. You reached up to scratch your jaw, then stopped. Frankly, you were making me nervous with all your fidgeting."

  "Deal the cards." Within minutes, he lost two more hands and the last of his matches. He tossed in his cards. "I give."

  "How about some hot chocolate?"

  "Trying to soothe my wounded ego?"

  "Not really. I'm going to fix myself some and thought it only polite to offer."

  "Hot chocolate sounds good."

  Claire heated two mugs of milk in the microwave while Dillon found the chocolate mix and spoons. The edginess returned. He felt it like a live electrical wire stretched across the room between them. Standing next to her at the counter, he watched her pour a packet of chocolate into each mug.

  "You're trembling," he softly observed.

  Her spoon clattered against the rim of her mug. He couldn't read her face because she held her head tipped away from him. "I haven't been sleeping well," she said, a tightness in her voice that hadn't been there a minute ago. "I guess the race being so close has made me jumpy."

  Dillon figured her comment was a diversion and played along. "Did you get your booties done?"

  She gave a wan smile. "Only half a bazillion more to go."

  He raised his mug in a toast. "Here's to dog booties."

  "To dog booties." She touched the rim of her mug to his and took a cautious sip.

  Dillon did the same. Once she lowered her mug, he took it from her and set it on the counter next to his own. Her eyes met his, wide and too damn vulnerable. He slid an arm around her waist and coaxed her to him. She was slender beneath her chunky sweatshirt, but not fragile. He imagined the feel of her long legs wrapped around him. He risked brushing his lips over her cheek and heard her breath catch. Her lack of resistance compelled him to kiss her.

  ***

  Claire thought she'd be ready for the impact. She was wrong. Heat rushed through her and made her knees feel like she'd stepped backward off the runners of a speeding sled. The taste of chocolate enticed as his tongue persuaded her to let him in. She did. His hand at her back pressed her closer. The difference in size, the way their contrasting shapes fit together, the smell of him. She sank her fingers in his hair as
his mouth drove her breathless.

  He cupped her bottom and pulled her deeper into him. What little breath Claire possessed escaped on a rush. I'm lost, she thought, even as her body craved more.

  "Gross!"

  Claire tore her mouth from Dillon's. Andy stood at the edge of the light from the kitchen, his Transformer pajamas rumpled and a look on his face like he had a mouthful of cooked cauliflower. She met the latent desire in Dillon's gaze, his arousal still strong between them, his heart beating a wild rhythm that Claire felt through his entire body. He gave a half-smile of regret and looked past her to Andy. "Did we wake you, sport?"

  "I smelled hot chocolate."

  Claire leaned into Dillon a moment longer, her equilibrium not quite stable. She felt his lips against her hair. "Did we just run to Nome?"

  She smiled into the side of his neck. "I think so." And then she was able to pull out of his arms, smooth the front of her sweatshirt where it had ridden up, and turn to face Andy. "Sit at the table, hon. I'll fix you a mug."

  "Are you guys finished kissing?" he asked, unconvinced.

  Claire shot Dillon a quick, self-conscious glance.

  He winked and she felt her cheeks grow hot. "For now," he told the boy, all the while looking at Claire. The heat in her cheeks intensified. He pushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear, his calloused fingers gentle.

  And not quite steady. Claire felt a tug of panic. In spite of her resistance to the idea, she was falling for the guy. "I'll get that hot chocolate."

  Chapter 8

  From the back of the crowded Millennium Hotel's banquet room, Claire tried to focus on the veteran musher on stage recounting an experience he had during last year's Iditarod. But she couldn't hear anything over the dull roar in her ears. She couldn't seem to draw enough air into her lungs to shake off the blackness moving in on her peripheral vision.