Iditarod Nights (5 page)

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.

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.