Broken Trails

“Where’s the rest?” Rye asked, stirring the mixture.

“Scotch has it,” Lainey said. She made no move to return to the barn, not wanting to face her friend quite yet. Her priority was to slow her thundering heart, and quell the rich wave of yearning rolling through her.

Irish pursed her lips in pre-adolescent aggravation. “I’ll go get it.” She took the measuring bowl from Lainey and stomped toward the door.

Rye rolled his eyes at his sister as he continued to mix the stew, but said nothing.

At loose ends, Lainey took the opportunity to flee, picking up her camera and heading into the dog yard. Standing behind the lens calmed her erratic nerves, allowing her to detach from her immediate surroundings. During her counseling sessions after being shot, the psychiatrist had said the camera was a crutch, protecting her from reality. No argument there. At least this way she was able to chill out enough to contemplate what happened.

What had happened?

First they were talking, working side by side as they had for months, comfortable in their proximity. Then… Scotch had put the moves on her.

“No. That can’t be right.” Lainey shook her head, and returned to finding the right shot through the viewfinder. Bonaparte demanded a state portrait with his elegant profile, and she snapped the picture.

As far as she had been able to ascertain, Scotch was straight . Certainly there had been times she wondered if perhaps she was wrong. She had always chalked it up to wishful thinking on her part. Every instance of ambiguousness could be calculated as a simple misunderstanding. Living with a person for three and a half months had to count for something. She would know if her roommate shared her attraction to women, right?

Hell, Howry had done his fair share of talking with Scotch, attempting to discover the true nature of her sexuality. Even he had come to the conclusion Scotch was a very sheltered and innocent straight woman.

So, what just happened in the dog barn?

Lainey growled under her breath. Nothing but the obvious could explain what had transpired. She had too much experience in the art of seduction to not see an attempted kiss. Scotch did make the first move! But, why? And, more importantly, why now?

The steam from her sharp exhalation clouded the vision from her lens for a moment. It was no wonder she was constantly confused about Scotch’s intentions. That could only mean that Scotch was probably just as confounded. Which explained, at the very least, that she was only now discovering who she was.

Great. Not only did Scotch not have the common decency to know her own sexual orientation at the tender age of twenty-four, she had to complicate Lainey’s attraction by figuring it out now. The last thing Lainey needed was a virgin.

Despite the sardonic thought, she felt a tremor of excitement at that possibility.

“Stop that!” she ordered, forcing away ribald visions of what ‘lessons’ she could teach Scotch. “Dirty old woman.”

Kaara cocked an ear at her.

“Not you, girl,” Lainey said, rubbing her head.

What to do? It was one thing to have a crush on a straight roommate. Lainey had experienced such unrequited fiascos in her youth. All she needed to do in such a case was keep a tight rein on her desires and suffer the consequences.

But if Lainey’s suspicions were correct, Scotch was waking up to something fundamental about herself. Such a revelation was difficult enough in the best of times; here in the backwoods of Alaska, however, it could cause major trauma. Lainey really liked Scotch. She did not want to lose their friendship because of a mistake. Scotch might make a pass in experimentation, but Lainey was not sure she could defend against one.

She snorted to herself, grinning when Jonah did the same as he nosed his empty bowl. “You’ll be fed soon,” she promised, scratching his back.

Irish’s timely interruption was the only thing that saved the morning. Now that Lainey was aware of Scotch’s mutual attraction, for whatever reasons, she was positive it would be three times as hard to deny her.

Perhaps she should move into the main cabin. She could cite the cold as a reason. Scotch knew of her ribs; it would be nothing to expand a bit on that to feign a need for a steady form of heating through the winter.

Unless Scotch offered a more entertaining manner of keeping warm in the evenings …

“Ugh!” Lainey wished there was something to pound her head against.

“Lainey! Breakfast time!”

She sighed and turned toward the dog kitchen. Waving to Rye, she trudged back to her chores.

The snow still came down after breakfast. Weather reports said the system had dumped fourteen inches over night, and estimated another foot before it was over. This news was met with lively praise from the Fuller clan as they ate breakfast.

Howry noted that his primary subject was less than enthusiastic, her brow creased in thought. She kept glancing at Lainey from across the table, and he watched the two of them carefully.

Lainey had her professional face on; he had seen it often enough over the years to spot it on sight. Something had happened, and she had tossed up the facade to keep anyone from noticing. In their business, it was required to be in horrible places or interview people with the moral integrity of a sewer. Such professionalism was required to get the job done, regardless of any negative opinions one had with the subject. Not to mention such a demeanor could mean life or death depending on who was involved.

He spooned a healthy dose of brown sugar onto his oatmeal, and stirred.

Things had been different this morning because of the snow. The Fullers had radiated a ton of energy, just as their dogs did, filling the air with a high level of breathless expectation. Howry supposed that the first snow of the season always evinced the same emotions for them. It had been pretty contagious; he fell sway to it, too. Lainey and Scotch acted as they had every morning. He had noticed that Lainey was a bit stiffer, probably from the cold, but just as excited as the rest of them. The time had finally come to do some serious dog training, and they all looked forward to the prospect.

Something had happened though. Scotch disappeared, and Lainey wandered off to photograph dogs. Howry about had his head ripped off when he finally found Scotch in the storage barn. She had not been irritated before she and Lainey had gone to collect the additives for the dog stew. Granted, some people reacted to fervor with crankiness, but Scotch was rarely bitchy. Why start now? There was no pressure, yet. He expected her to become more stressed the closer they got to the Iditarod, not now.

He focused on his friend, not buying the pleasant exterior as she joked with Helen over something. She, too, had transformed from simply enjoying the morning to become this ultra professional journalist putting her subjects at ease. He ate slowly, recognizing the subtle signs telling him she was flustered. And she would not look at Scotch except the occasional pan across the room.

Scotch also portrayed a cheer that was not quite real in its appearance. She kept giving Lainey furtive looks, searching for something and not finding it. At those moments her expression was closer to resignation than anything else, as if she were trying to buck up under the weight of her unpleasant thoughts.

Howry scraped the last of his breakfast from his bowl. Time to corner one of them and find out what was happening here.

Lainey refused to believe that Howry’s insistence on riding with her was just to get better shots of Scotch on her snow machine. She had seen his examination of her at breakfast. He knew something was up and, like any good journalist, would not let it go until he got the scoop.