Iditarod Nights (3 page)

"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."

"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.

"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."