Broken Trails by D Jordan Redhawk

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.”
    Howry threw his hands up in the air. “Of course!”
    As everyone had another good laugh, Scotch’s eyes met Lainey’s. She felt an odd connection forged between them, a simple joy of sharing something good. While a part of her relaxed into the sensation, Scotch wondered if perhaps her initial curiosity about the photojournalist had gotten too big, too obvious.
    Since this morning she had become less worried about having an outsider living with her, and more concerned that she would appear to be an unsophisticated rube to the worldly woman. Miguel had mentioned Lainey seemed a little surprised that there was no electricity at her cabin. And the bush pilot, Cliff, had said she seemed high maintenance. Scotch had never set foot outside Alaska except to run the Yukon Quest in Canada. She had no earthly idea what her humble cabin would look like to the well-traveled Lainey Hughes.
    Would they survive nine months together?
    Her family began their nightly ritual of cleaning up, distracting Scotch from her meanderings. She helped clear the table. It was her turn to do dishes, so she started to fill the sink with hot soapy water. When Lainey offered to help, she wondered why she felt so happy.
     
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    LAINEY WALKED EASILY, her laden backpack seated comfortably on her shoulders and hips, and her camera bag in one hand, while Scotch