Broken Trails

Over the last three months, her father had remained in close contact with the reporter, Lainey Hughes. Or was it the other way around? She seemed to call the house fairly regularly to discuss the best time to arrive, what sort of clothes to pack, and other particulars with the senior Fuller. In May, Lainey had also added another photographer to her entourage, increasing the Fuller population by an additional body. Rye was still not allowed to move into his unfinished cabin, as much as he tried to change his mother’s mind. Instead, another bunk had been added to the handler’s cabin where Miguel Sanchez, the kennel’s sole employee, resided.

Scotch wondered why the woman needed a cameraman when she was an accomplished photographer in her own right. A quick search on the Internet had provided a wealth of information on the mysterious reporter. Scotch found her body of work fascinating. Early in her career, Lainey had spent time in Africa, covering a civil war in Rwanda. Her photos of the atrocities between the Hutu and Tutsi people eventually helped convict the prime minister for war crimes, and made her career. From there, she wandered the globe, following wars and military coups. The scenes she revealed to the world showed the true brutality of war, fresh corpses and celebrating radicals. They also highlighted the humanity. Scotch’s favorite was one of a Middle Eastern boy, maybe five or six years old, playing in the dusty street before a bombed out building. She liked it so much, she had the image printed up and framed. It sat in her cabin on an end table.

Lainey had been wounded in Kosovo, though all Scotch could find was that she had been shot. After a year of nothing, the photojournalist returned to work. Instead of war, this time, she focused her lens on nature. She still traveled extensively, but seemed to avoid the hot spots of the world. Scotch could not blame her; being shot must have been a terrifying experience.

The extensive research did not calm Scotch’s nerves, though. She continued to be leery of having a stranger live with her. Scotch enjoyed her solitude. When she had moved out of the main house and into her cabin five years ago, it had been wondrous not having to share the space with her little sister. Attending the college based in nearby Anchorage, she had taken online and correspondence courses, never having to resort to a dorm or roommates. This would be an alien experience for her, and she did not know how she would handle it.

Scotch’s ears picked up the sound of an engine. She turned off the radio, and leaned forward to peer out the windshield, trying to locate the airplane. It cut into sight, emerging from the tree line on her left. The tiny plane swung around, lining up with the rudimentary runway as it approached. There was just enough clearance for it to land, leaving little room to taxi, and it halted no more than fifteen feet away from her. As the motor shut down, she got out of the truck, to lean against the side panel with one hip.

The door popped open, and a stool plunked beneath it to accommodate a gruff man in coveralls. He clambered out of the plane, spying her. With an exuberant wave, he marched toward her. “Scotch! How the hell are you?”

Grinning, she met the pilot halfway, giving him a hug. “I’m doing great, Cliff. You?”

“Been better,” he confided. “These old bones are acting up. And Delores in threatening to quit on me.”

She looked properly horrified, though he said the same thing every time she saw him. “No way! Delores loves you. It’ll be a long time before her wings are clipped.”

He eyeballed the small charter plane. The only section of its hull that did not appear banged or scraped was a carefully painted pin up girl by the pilot’s seat. She wore a skimpy red dress, and smiled coyly at her admirers. “You think so?”

“Guaranteed.”

Cheered, Cliff’s gaze shifted to the two people unloading luggage and gear. “That little girl there says she’s doing a big magazine article on you this year. That true?”

Scotch blushed. “It’s true. We’re hoping to get a national sponsor out of the publicity.”

He nodded in agreeable contemplation. ‘sounds like a plan. Hope it works out for you.”

His tone rang with uncertainty, catching Scotch’s attention. “You think it won’t?” she asked, lowering her voice.

Sucking his teeth, Cliff said, “I think it can go either way. She seems a bit high maintenance to me.” He chuckled, and nudged a now worried Scotch with his shoulder. “But don’t mind me; I could be wrong. If I could judge women as well as airplanes, I’d be married by now.”

She laughed with him, stowing his reservations for later perusal. The reporters finished unloading the plane, and she stepped forward to introduce herself. “Hi, I’m Scotch Fuller. Welcome to Alaska.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” the woman said, offering her hand. She stood a few inches shorter, her curly dark hair cut short, and shot through with threads of silver. Scotch knew from her research that she was only six years younger than the reporter, and found the premature coloring of interest. “Obviously, I’m Lainey Hughes, and this is my associate, Don Howry.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fuller.”

Hands were shaken, and Scotch offered to take one of the bags. She had the weirdest sensation that she had met Lainey before. Her father had said that she had covered the last race, so maybe that was the connection. “Call me Scotch,” she instructed, leading the way to the truck. ‘since you’ll be with us a while, no reason to not to be an a first name basis.”

With Cliff’s help, they loaded the bags into the back of the truck. He declined an invitation to the kennel for coffee, but gratefully swapped his thermos with Scotch’s. Soon he was back in his plane, cranking it up for the trip back to Anchorage. They watched as he turned Delores around, and took off, the landing gears just barely missing the tops of the trees at the other end of the airstrip.

Left alone with the strangers, Scotch sighed and forced a smile. “Let’s get you back to the kennel, and settled in,” she said, opening the truck and folding the seat back. “I’ve only got jump seats here. It’s kind of small, so maybe Lainey should take the back.”

“That sounds fine.” Lainey smiled, and stepped forward as Howry went around to the passenger door.

Still holding the seat out of the way, Scotch leaned back against the door hinge to give Lainey room to climb inside. She could not help but notice the snug fitting designer jeans, and a light scent of perfume. Shaking her head, she waited until Lainey folded down the seat behind Howry, and settled in the cramped space before clambering into the truck.

Soon they were on a paved rural road, heading into the village she called home. The silence was unnerving to Scotch. While she could see Howry with her peripheral vision avidly soaking up the sights of small town Alaska, she swore she felt the eyes of Lainey staring at her. A quick glance proved her instincts correct as the photojournalist looked away. Scotch, somewhat out of her element, reddened at the intensity of Lainey’s expression, and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Lainey cleared her throat. ‘so, how long have you been driving dogs?” she asked.

Scotch grinned, welcoming the distraction of dog talk. “Almost twenty years.” At the abrupt quiet, she regarded her passengers, noting Howry’s puzzled look and Lainey’s expression of denial. ‘my parents started the kennel when I was two. As soon as I could stand and hang on alone, I was on a sled.”

“Wow,” Howry said. ‘sledding as long as you’ve been walking. That’s cool.”

She negotiated through the small town, driving automatically. “I only had one dog for a team, of course, but it was a beginning. My brother and sister started the same way.”