Broken Trails

Lainey uncovered her head. Was it early or late? It had to be late, else why was Scotch making coffee? And she thought she had heard an alarm clock. Or was that part of a dream? Her bladder became insistent, washing away any other considerations. Partially reluctant, partially in a hurry, Lainey tossed off her quilt and jumped to her feet. She rubbed her bare upper arms, resolving to sleep in her long johns instead of t-shirt and shorts as she jammed her feet into her boots. She barely registered Scotch’s empty bed as she passed through, intent on relieving her demanding bodily functions.

Outside, Lainey cursed. She had forgotten to grab a sweatshirt. Shivering almost set her bladder to release itself as she glanced wildly about the cabin. She stumbled a few steps further from the door, relieved to see a small wooden building nearby. Thank God! She hastened toward it, the door of the outhouse slamming loud in the pre-dawn stillness as she proceeded to do her business.

If it was warmer, Lainey might have drifted off again. Her body returned to its lethargic state, her eyelids becoming heavy despite the chill invading her body. A gentle ache in her side reminded her of where she was, and she finished her task. She trudged back to the cabin, pausing on the porch to look back. Despite the vague pain in her ribs, it was kind of nice out here. She hugged herself, her fingers finding the familiar thick scar tissue beneath the thin cotton of her t-shirt, and returned to the cabin.

It was definitely warmer in here. Lainey shivered violently at the welcome heat, standing uncertain on the landing. She heard movement, saw a shadow as Scotch moved about the kitchen. The smell of coffee was wonderful.

She followed her nose. Scotch leaned against a counter, cradling a cup, eyes closed as she inhaled the steam rising from its contents. Her tawny curls were fringed in dampness, and she smelled heavily of the soap that had roused Lainey. She wore flannel shorts and a baggy sleeveless t-shirt, her feet covered by unlaced boots. Lainey did not know which made her mouth water more, the coffee cup’s contents or the sleep tousled look of her roommate. She swallowed. “Good morning?”

Scotch smiled at the sound of her voice. “Good morning.” She opened her eyes. “Coffee cups are in that cabinet. Cream and sugar containers are over there.”

“thanks.” Lainey busied herself with attaining caffeine, trying to ignore the fact that the armholes of Scotch’s t-shirt hung down almost to her elbow. If she moved her arms, Lainey would have a wonderful view of some compelling anatomy.

“Sleep well?”

Lainey basked in the heat from the stove, using a dish towel as a pot holder. “Like a rock.” She poured coffee, and inhaled deeply of its aroma. This was one thing she never took for granted. Not every culture had coffee, and Lainey sorely missed it when she was out of country. She sipped, pleased to note Scotch brewed it strong. Turning, she blinked. Was Scotch just checking out her legs?

Scotch said, “That’s good. Sometimes newcomers have trouble sleeping with the constant sunlight.”

Deciding she must have imagined it, Lainey moved to copy Scotch’s stance, leaning against the counter beside her to worship her coffee. ‘so, what are we doing up so late?”

Scotch chuckled. “This ain’t late.”

Lainey liked the sound of her laugh, smiling. “What time is it?” she asked.

“About five thirty.”

“Ugh.” She stuck her tongue out, earning another warm laugh.

“We meet up with Rye and Irish in the dog kitchen at six. The dogs have to be fed.”

“And then we nap?” This time she got a nudge with a shoulder. Lainey could not help but grin like an idiot. God, she had it bad! Surely Scotch had some horribly bad habit Lainey could exploit to thwart this attraction - nose picking, uncontrollable urges to spit, foul tempers. Something!

“No. Then we clean the dog kitchen and barn, do pooper scooper duty, transfer the kennel dogs, let the Big Dog out, clean up, and eat breakfast.”

Lainey feigned horror. “All that before breakfast?” she demanded. Her voice became faint, her accent thickening into that of a Southern belle. “I think I have a case of the vapors.” She batted her eyes at Scotch.

She received a smirk. “That’s all right. I hear dog crap can make wonderful smelling salts.”

“Hey!” She bumped her hip against Scotch’s.

Scotch laughed, and drained her cup, distracting Lainey with the expected revelation of skin under her arms. “There’s hot water on the stove, if you want to clean up some. I put out a towel and washcloth for you.” She moved away to set the cup in the sink. “I’ll go up and change, give you some privacy. Let me know when you’re done.”

Lainey lifted her cup in thanks, watching her disappear around the fireplace. She heard the tread of boots on steps, the light creak above her head as Scotch reached her room and began changing clothes.

She stared at the wood stove, her mind’s eye upstairs. Separated by mere inches of wood, her lust object was getting naked, that beautiful body revealed as boots and sleep clothes were shucked. Sighing, Lainey was amazed at the flicker of desire tingling through her blood stream. Even at the crack of full sunlight, with little sleep, and the threat of sore ribs and hard work ahead, the mere whisper of sex could turn her on. What the hell was that about? It had not always been this way, had it?

As promised, Lainey learned more about the care and feeding of dogs than she ever thought possible. The sheer amount of time involved should not have surprised her, what with ninety-five dogs to feed, but it did. She and Howry watched as sixteen gallons of water were carefully measured out and poured into the metal drum by Rye. While he lit the propane fire below, Lainey helped Scotch collect fifteen frozen salmon from the freezer. They went into the pot, heads and all, and the Fullers had a laugh at Lainey’s wrinkled nose. The dogs watched the process with eager anticipation.

The fishy mixture was brought to a boil, someone always stirring with a snow shovel, and then it was allowed to cool. The crew went over the lists posted by the door in the barn, figuring out which animal required something out of the ordinary and what sort of supplements were needed. The dog stew was brought back to a second boil. When allowed to cool again, Scotch utilized a stepladder and chopped the now pliable salmon into chunks. A third boil came and went, this time with Irish using a large empty coffee can to measure rice into the stew.

Lainey watched in dismay as yet a fourth boil was achieved. At the rate things were going, it would be noon before they finished. This time, Rye turned the propane completely off, and covered the pot. The reporters were given various measurements of vitamin supplements, bone meal, and dry chow that were added to the cooling result. Then they were handed pails to fill.

This was Lainey’s first foray among the dogs. Fortunately, they seemed far more interested in the contents of her bucket than her, though there were one or two who gave her a suspicious eye. She noted the Fullers giving each animal a little undivided attention, and began to do the same. Before she was finished with her assigned section, she had stepped in three piles of dog crap, her sturdy work jeans were layered in dog hair, and her hands were slathered with saliva from polite dogs thanking her for their meal.

She returned to the kitchen with a stupid grin on her face, the canine enthusiasm having rubbed off on her as thick as their shedding coats.

More water was poured into the leftovers, and a second trip was made. Then followed a round of scooping up excrement. The dog kitchen was cleaned up, the proper animals put into the two runs, and one let off her chain to run free about the kennel. Lainey carefully placed a checkmark beside Heldig’s name, wondering where the Fullers came up with the names and how they could keep them straight.