Broken Trails

Beyond them, Lainey saw the dog yard. She was amazed at the sheer number of animals, having never seen so many at once. No, she corrected herself. She had seen many more during the race in March. What she had not been prepared for were the neat rows of wooden houses, each with a dog chained nearby. Lainey immediately wondered how this could be healthy for the animals. Literally kept chained, she noted some sleeping in the sun. Others played enthusiastically with toys or bones, and a few stood atop their homes, tails wagging as they yipped for attention from the people in the yard. They hardly appeared to be abused.

“Scotch!”

A young man waved from the group at the kennel. Lainey recognized him as the boy who had been with Scotch last winter. “C’mere!”

Scotch waved at him. “I’ll be right back. Go ahead and poke around some. Don’t worry; all the dogs are friendly.”

Howry gave a non-committal murmur of agreement, and she trotted toward the kennels and, presumably, her fans.

“So. Is this attraction fatal, or just a minor infatuation?”

Lainey scowled at him, then glanced around to see if anyone overheard. “It’s not like that,” she said.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow. ‘she’s cute, in an athletic sort of way. I mean, if you’re attracted to that type - and I know you are.” He busied himself with taking a picture of their subject of conversation as she shook hands with the visitors.

“That’s not why we’re here.”

He turned his lens toward her, adjusting the focus. “You can’t lie to the camera, Lainey.” Click.

Her face was hot, and she placed her hand on the lens to block further photos. She did not need photographic evidence of her folly. “All right,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I saw her last March. There’s something about her that won’t leave me alone.”

Howry dropped the camera, giving her his undivided attention.

She looked away, knowing she turned several shades of red. It was one thing to plot and daydream; speaking the words aloud gave her scheme a shock of ludicrous reality it had previously been missing. “I thought if I could spend some time with her, I’d get over whatever this is.” She glared at him. “But I still think it’s a good idea. That’s why I pitched it to Ben in the first place.”

“Must have been a hell of a wrinkle when his boss added me to the equation.”

She looked at him, noting no rancor in his expression. Relaxing a little, she said, “To say the least.”

“What did they say when you told them?” he asked, tilting his head at the gathering by the kennel.

Lainey watched as Scotch knelt down to be on a level with a small boy, patient and smiling as she explained something to him. Her chest went tight with an unidentifiable emotion, and she resisted an urge to approach. “I haven’t told them, yet.”

Howry was silent for a moment before whooping in laughter.

Irritated, she turned her back on him as he bent nearly double in his mirth. Lainey plastered on an apologetic smile as the others regarded them curiously. “It’s not that funny,” she said from between clenched teeth.

It took a few more moments before he regained control, straightening and wiping his eyes. “Not from where I’m standing,” he answered.

“Are you the reporters?”

Lainey looked up to see a girl hanging over the railing of the deck. She promptly put on her best diplomatic face. “Yes, we are. I’m Lainey Hughes, and this is Don Howry.”

The girl smiled, and Lainey could see another echo of Scotch in the girl’s face. She had to admit that their parents certainly threw good-looking offspring.

“I’m Irish Fuller.” She gave them a once over, tucking a length of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. “I heard the truck drive up, so I made coffee. Where’s your stuff?”

“On the front porch. Scotch was going to give us the ten dollar tour, but got sidetracked.”

Irish screwed her face in thought, spying her older sister leading the family toward the carport structure. “They’re just getting started. I can’t leave Bon alone, or I’d take you.”

Howry said, “That’s okay. We can manage on our own.”

“Why don’t you come up here? I can bring you coffee, and you can wait for her to finish.” Irish opened a child and puppy proof gate, deftly intercepting a dog with her foot as it made a bumbling lurch toward freedom.

“Oh, no. We don’t want to put you out.” Lainey took a step backward in mild protest.

Irish’s expression cooled, a flash of displeasure that was quickly replaced with comprehension. ‘mom said you wouldn’t understand,” she said, almost as an afterthought. Taking on a slight lecturing tone, she continued. “It’s really rude to not offer guests something to drink when they arrive.”

Lainey realized that, by extension, it was considered impolite to refuse an offer, as well.

Her companion also caught the hint, and slung his camera over his shoulder. “We’d be grateful for some coffee.”

Irish smiled, and gestured for them to come up the steps.

At least on the deck, Lainey had a better view of Scotch’s activities. Sitting on a patio chair, she leaned against the railing and watched the woman explain the operations of the kennel to her audience, her voice not quite carrying. Rye went into the building by the carport, and pulled out a racing sled. The group drifted toward it, and Scotch pointed out the various parts of the vehicle.

Lainey saw movement in the dog area. A Hispanic man in jeans released a chained animal, and brought it to a four-wheel ATV with as odd contraption attached to the front. It looked like a roller coaster car made of wood and painted with the logo she had seen on the sign out front. As the man moved through the yard, the dogs barked joyfully, jumping about to gain his attention. When Irish returned from inside, she asked, “Who’s that?”

After setting a tray of refreshments on a table, the girl skillfully stopped Bon’s attempt to climb into Howry’s lap. Keeping her little brother wrapped in her arms, she looked where indicated. “That’s Miguel. He’s our handler.”

Howry stood to get a better angle, looking through his camera. “What’s he doing?”

Irish set the squirming Bon down who immediately wrapped himself about Howry’s leg. “He’s hooking the dogs up to the ATV. Those people have paid for a tour. They get a dog ride, too.” She shrugged, a slight grin on her face. “It’s not a sled, but it does the trick when there’s no snow.”

Lainey split her attention between her lust object and the handler. No dog was ignored as he filtered through, though he only picked half a dozen to lead to the vehicle. Meanwhile, Scotch whistled, and a single unchained dog trotted over to her, tail wagging. She began to demonstrate how the canines were attached to the sled with the help of the boy who proudly beamed at his father.

“Why is that dog running loose?” Lainey asked.

At the same time, Howry asked, “How does he choose which dogs to use?”

Irish looked between them, uncertain who to answer first.

Bon had no problem, however. “Rock big dog!” he yelled.

Grinning, Irish nodded. “Yeah, Rock is the Big Dog today. Every day one dog is allowed to run free. It’s usually run on a rotation except for race days or when the girls are in heat.”

Her question answered, Lainey watched as Scotch finished the lesson, barely hearing Irish’s response to Howry.

“The rides are on a rotation schedule, too, at least during the tourist season. Once race training starts, at least half of them are dropped from the list. Those that aren’t going to be racing take up the slack.” She set a steaming coffee cup in front of Lainey. “Any tourists wanting a real sled ride don’t know the differences between first or second string.”