Broken Trails

“For the most part,” Miguel said. He gave the man’s camera a significant look. “The main house, the clinic, and the barn here all have power, though. If you need to recharge batteries and the like, I’m sure we can accommodate you.” He waved at the cabin where Bon played under the watchful eyes of Irish. “They even have an internet connection.”

Lainey stared out over the dog yard, seeing a bleak winter without the simple amenity of electricity. Certainly, she had been in places as rustic as this - war-torn cities in the Middle East, tramping through the bush of innumerable countries. But this was America, for crissakes! She had expected a certain level of civilization. Another thought occurred to her. No electricity meant no water heater. Good Lord, what had her libido gotten her into?

“Where’s Scotch’s cabin from here?” Howry asked.

Lainey followed where Miguel pointed, seeing another path winding through the trees. She could not see the dwelling at all. “Is it far?”

“Yeah, a bit. It’s actually tucked back behind a small hill.” He sucked at his teeth. “Scotch likes her privacy.”

The unspoken warning brought Lainey’s gaze around. Her subject was a private person who not only agreed to be constantly followed about by strangers wielding cameras, but was allowing one to move into her sacred space for nine solid months. Lainey’s job was a mainly solitary pursuit; she understood the sacrifice Scotch was making in return for the publicity.

She resolved to tread lightly around Scotch. Regardless of her idiotic reasons for initiating this fiasco, Lainey could not let the gig disrupt her subject’s equilibrium. Yeah. Scotch was merely a subject, just like so many others over the years. Lainey simply needed to keep the proper perspective.

Scotch rounded the corner of the cabin, her brother beside her, and Lainey felt her proper perspective float away like a helium balloon.

Relaxed in spite of the reporters at the table, Scotch nursed her after dinner coffee as Howry regaled her family with an anecdote from one of his assignments in the Amazon. His voice became quieter as he described being in a canoe, evading another people’s war party, trusting his native guides to keep him alive, and his audience collectively leaned forward in anticipation. Even Lainey seemed enamored of his tale about the indigenous people he had come in contact with, and Scotch used the opportunity to study her.

Lainey seemed a contradiction. She carried an air of professionalism that appeared watertight. Yet Scotch had seen her blush and stammer like a schoolgirl over the smallest thing several times over the course of the afternoon. Was that because she worked predominantly with nature instead of people? Maybe she was uncomfortable around strangers. That did not sound right, but she could think of no other reason for the behavior.

Her features were a bit more careworn than the only picture Scotch could locate of her. Scotch supposed that made sense; that photo had been taken when Lainey was about Scotch’s age now. Since then, she had seen a few military actions and been wounded. Truth be told, Scotch liked the way Lainey looked now, and that pesky déjà vu would not go away. Where had she seen Lainey before? It was somewhere other than the photo she had found. Scotch would have remembered meeting her at the banquet function; she always had a good memory for faces.

She scanned the slight body, seeing the maroon plaid flannel shirt neatly tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Worn hiking boots were at odds with the designer label on her hip pocket. Where had Lainey been wounded? There were not any obvious scars anywhere, and she did not limp. Her sleeves had been rolled up during the day, and her forearms were as tanned as her face and neck. She had told Irish that she had been working in Africa earlier in the year. Scotch thought that seeing all those exotic places must certainly be exciting. Her hands were callused, so she was not a stranger to hard work, a plus in Scotch’s book. Winter in Alaska was hard, and not for the faint. Barring any unforeseen incidents, she thought that this agreement might work out very well indeed.

Her gaze returning to Lainey’s face, she found hazel eyes regarding her, an eyebrow raised in question. Busted in her visual perusal, Scotch hid her embarrassment as best she could. She smoothly brought her attention back to Howry, and sipped her coffee, knowing her blush contradicted her outward indifference.

Howry wrapped up his story, and there was a lull in the conversation. “Well, now that I’ve told you one of mine, Thom, maybe you could answer my question.”

Scotch’s father leaned back in his chair, Bon sleepily seated in his lap. On his face was a knowing grin. “Who named my kids?” he asked.

Helen tsked good-naturedly, feigning irritation. Scotch grinned, and winked at her equally amused brother. Irish rolled her eyes.

Lainey said, “I’m betting you did. I think the question is why the names you chose.”

Smug, Thom considered carefully before answering, though everyone could see it was a ploy. Scotch had seen the same expression on his face every time she heard the explanation. Her father enjoyed the attention.

“When I got married to this pretty little woman here,” he said, ignoring Helen’s snort, “we made a bet. Whoever guessed the gender right could name the kid.”

“And Mom’s shooting blanks in maternal instinct,” Rye said, shaking his head.

“She does well enough in the motherly things,” Thom said in his wife’s defense.

Helen waved him on. “Finish it, Thom. Don’t get distracted.”

He gave his wife an air kiss, and looked back to his guests. “Anyway, when Scotch arrived, I told Helen what I would name her, and she about had a fit.”

Lainey glanced at Scotch, bemused puzzlement on her face. Scotch smiled widely, ignoring the request for information.

“tell them what it was.”

“I’ll let Scotch tell them,” he said, magnanimously.

Scotch set her coffee cup down, waiting for the right moment before speaking. “Scottish, as in Scottish Terrier.” The look in Lainey’s eyes was priceless, and she tried hard to control her laughter.

“You’re kidding!” Lainey seemed unable to believe what she was hearing, her gaze traveling around the table, seeking confirmation.

“Oh, no,” Helen said. “He was quite serious at the time.”

“You were going to name your children after dog breeds?” Howry demanded, flabbergasted.

“Oh, yeah,” Rye said. “Dad loves his dogs.”

Scotch enjoyed the confusion on Lainey’s face as she struggled with the idea of a man labeling his kids in such a manner.

“So, why the change?”

Thom shrugged, appearing disappointed. “Well, you know women,” he said, dropping his voice as if responding conspiratorially, though they could all clearly hear him. “Can’t live with ‘em. Can’t live with ‘em.” He yelped when Irish slapped his shoulder, and then laughed. ‘she told me there was no way she’d let me call my kids after dogs. But we still had an agreement.”

“Dad loves his dogs, but he also loves his whiskey,” Scotch said.

“And you let him get away with that?” Lainey asked Helen.

She smiled. “It was better than having a son called Labrador.”

Rye groaned, and covered his face with his hands, while the rest of them laughed.

When the amusement died down again, Howry said, “Okay, I can see Scotch, Rye, and Irish. But Bon? I’m a newsman, and we have livers of iron. I’ve never heard of a whiskey by that name. Did Helen finally win a bet?”

Bon, who was lounging half asleep in his father’s arms, barely roused at the mention of his name.

“Actually, that’s a nickname,” Scotch said. “His full name in Bourbon.”