Broken Trails by D Jordan Redhawk Page B

with a sturdy pine railing jutting out from the chimney. Long and narrow, it was divided in half by a curtain. Here was a window, and Lainey understood the reason for the high placement. Where else would a window be in a split-level? They passed a double bed with a large dresser at its foot, and a nightstand beside it.
    “This is mine.” Scotch opened the curtain by the chimney, and gestured Lainey in. "And this one is yours.”
    It was the same, in reverse. The bed frame was made of pine, just like the railing. The smell of the wood was pungent, telling Lainey that it was new; it was probably built just for her. The bed was made with a thick, inviting quilt and several pillows, and a rag rug draped the floorboards where she would step out of it. The dresser and nightstand were a bit more worn, but well cared for. On the nightstand was an oil lamp, and Scotch lit it with a wooden match before closing the thick curtains over the window.
    "Is it okay?” Scotch asked. "If you want to swap or maybe move into the main cabin, I'd understand.”
    Lainey grinned reassurance. "No! This is great, really.” She sat on the bed, testing the box springs. "You've put a lot of work into this, I can tell. Thank you.”
    Again Scotch reddened and looked away, trying to find something to say. And again Lainey wondered if this feeling of infatuation would pass as she licked her lips. God, she could almost taste her! The swell of lust was mild, but enough to set her heart thumping.
    "Well then. I guess we should get your stuff up here so you can settle in. We get up pretty early in the morning, so it's best if we hit the sack soon.”
    Heartily agreeing with the thought of getting to bed with Scotch, Lainey scolded herself for her lewd thoughts. ‘sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to my first board meeting.”
    Scotch, back on secure territory, chuckled. "Chores come before breakfast or meetings,” she said, heading down the stairs. "I doubt you'll be looking forward to that when you understand what all has to be done.”
    Lainey, enamored of the lithe body trotting down the steps, did not answer.
     
    Scotch did not know how late it was. Twilight filtered from around the curtains in her room. Her body lay in languid stupor, unmoving. Her mind, however, refused to release her to sleep, preferring instead to play back the entire day's activities.
    Not surprisingly, neither Lainey nor Don Howry were what she had anticipated. She was not sure what she expected, but then she had never been in this type of situation before. Scotch had spoken with several mushers since March, focusing her attention on the big names in the Iditarod world. Few had had this experience. The closest was a fellow whose major sponsor was an outdoor clothing company; they had put up an extensive web site about his training methods, but he had written most of the copy himself. The only other reporters Scotch had dealt with before were those involved with racing.
    Lainey and Howry were not fans of the sport. Their ignorance was . . . refreshing. When questioned, Lainey said that she had not arrived at the last Iditarod until it was half complete, covering for a colleague who had injured himself. Whatever the reason, she must have been bitten by the dog racing bug. Why else would she return so quickly after the last one?
    Scotch had expected sports reporters, people who knew their way around a kennel and sled, someone who understood the intricacies of racing, the specialized training and language. It did not matter that she had done her homework on Lainey Hughes, and knew the woman had never been involved in sports reporting of any kind. For some naive reason, Scotch's mind simply had not made the connection.
    Their lack of knowledge would actually work to the kennel's benefit, in her opinion. With no prior experience, neither reporter could confuse things. Every kennel trained their animals in different ways. At least Scotch did not have to worry about defending her