Iditarod Nights (14 page)

A young lady who looked barely out of high
school worked one end of the dining area, her blonde ponytail
swinging behind her, while the woman who introduced herself as
Helen worked the side where Claire, her dad, Janey and Andy were
shown to their reserved table. Helen was the one who invited Claire
to go back to the kitchen when asked about Dillon, then whistled
when she caught them kissing. Helen was the one who now flirted
with Claire's dad.

Claire had never seen her dad flustered
before. He didn't seem to quite know how to handle Helen's
advances. Women had come on to him in the past, of course. After
all, he was handsome in a distinguished, business-suit way. Fit,
though you couldn't tell it at the moment, not under all the
ridiculous layers he wore to keep warm. He didn't raise his voice,
except on rare occasion to argue a point in court. Generous.
Honest.

And utterly out of his element. Claire found
it charming. She liked Helen. Short auburn curls cut in a
no-nonsense, easy-care style, eyes that welcomed friends and
strangers with equal warmth but missed nothing, a pink flannel
shirt and denim blue jeans that complimented her mature curves. She
moved with the confidence of a woman comfortable in herself and her
surroundings. And she wasn't wasting any time making her intensions
clear – a light touch here, a wink there, extra care pouring and
serving – as she laid out enormous plates of pancakes, scrambled
eggs, bacon and sausage, milk for Andy, and all the coffee the
adults could drink.

Janey's eyebrows appeared to be locked in the
upright position for the duration of the meal as she watched the
flirtation play out. Claire loved it. A match even her matchmaking
friend hadn't predicted.

"More coffee, honey?"

Claire looked up and realized Helen was
addressing her. "Yes, please."

Helen gave her a knowing smile and Claire
felt her cheeks heat. The woman filled her cup and topped off
Janey's before sauntering over to Claire's dad. "Anything for
dessert?" she asked him.

Claire couldn't have said what about the
question implied more than a slice of pie being offered – maybe the
uncharacteristic softness in Helen's voice when she said dessert –
but her dad's face turned as bright as his classic-red flannel
shirt.

He cleared his throat. Swallowed hard enough
for Claire to hear his Adam's apple bounce. "Just coffee...for now,
thank you."

"A rain check then?" Helen refilled his cup,
not missing a beat. "My treat."

"I, uh..." He cleared his throat again and
cut his eyes in Claire's direction.

Don't look at me!
I've got my own
love life to figure out
. Remembering the promise in Dillon's
kiss sent another rush of heat to her face. She glanced away for
fear her dad might see.

"Yes. I'd like that," she heard him tell
Helen.

Janey sputtered in her coffee. Claire felt
her mouth drop open and closed it.

"I'd like some dessert!" Andy announced,
clearly annoyed at being left out.

Helen gave a merry laugh. "Of course, sugar.
How 'bout a big chocolate chip cookie with a scoop of vanilla ice
cream, and another glass of milk to wash it down?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

Helen looked to Janey, who nodded her
consent. "I'll be right back."

Chapter 24

He worked through the lunch shift before Vic
kicked him out. "You're dead on your feet and in my way," his cook
grumbled. "I can handle the kitchen 'til Martha's shift. Been doin'
it that way the entire time you were out playing with your dogs.
Guess I can do it that way awhile longer. Besides," he waved a pair
of tongs at him, "you need to rest up for that lady you're meeting
later. You look like hell."

The man was right. Dillon could just about
keep his eyes open, and he royally screwed up that last order. "All
right then. Don't disturb me unless the place is on fire." He
didn't hear Vic's response as he headed for the back stairway. No
need to. He already knew it would be brief and colorful. Yeah, it
was good to be home.

Once he reached his apartment on the second
floor, he made for bed, stumbling out of his shoes on the way. His
eyes closed before he felt the pillow beneath his head. He slept
deep and hard...until the nightmare woke him three hours later.

***

After breakfast, Claire went to the room
Janey had reserved for her and slept. She'd almost forgotten how
wonderful a real mattress felt. Softness cushioning her body.
Quiet. Warmth. Two and a half hours later, she woke with a jolt,
certain her dogs needed tending. When she realized her mistake,
that her adventure was over, sadness had her wrestling to get
comfortable.

Then it was time to get up and help Janey and
Andy prep the dogs and take them, and her dad, to the airport for
their flight home. She hugged and thanked each dog again for
getting her to Nome safely. She'd see them all in a couple days,
when she flew back to Sommer Kennels after the mushers' banquet,
but that didn't stop the tears. Every passing minute brought her
time in Alaska closer to an end. It hurt.

"Don't cry, Auntie Claire," Andy said,
throwing his arms around her waist. "It'll be okay."

"I know it will, hon. I'm just going to miss
you," she knelt and kissed his cheek, "a whole bunch."

"You can stay and have my room forever," he
offered.

Claire gave a laugh that sounded like a sob.
"I appreciate that." Straightening, she hugged her dad. "I'm so
glad you were here to see me finish the race."

"I am too, peanut. I'm proud of you."

And once again tears sprang to her eyes. "
Thank you, Daddy. Have a safe – "

"Tell me I haven't missed him!" Helen's voice
interrupted from across the concourse. She rushed to Claire's dad,
grabbed his face in her hands and pressed her lips to his. The kiss
left them both clinging to each other.

Claire heard Helen whisper, "Don't be a
stranger." Her dad's response was too low to make out. But judging
by the saucy swing to Helen's sufficient hips as she walked away,
it must have been what the woman wanted to hear.

"Daddy?"

He gave her a quick sidelong glance before
returning his gaze to Helen's retreating backside. Claire hadn't
seen such a dopey, contented look in his eyes since...well, since
Mama.

"What happened between you two while I was
asleep?" she asked.

He quirked a smile. "A gentleman doesn't kiss
and tell."

Claire looked at Janey in stunned amusement.
"Did you know about this?"

Janey opened her mouth, but it was Andy who
answered, "Mom set it up! She said – "

Janey slapped her hand over her son's mouth.
"Little boys should mind their own business," she warned, her face
as bright as an over-ripe peach.

They were laughing when the Anchorage flight
was announced for boarding. But by the time Claire had dispensed
another round of hugs and kisses, her tears returned.

***

Dillon couldn't get back to sleep, had no
desire to even try, so he showered and went in search of
Claire.

He didn't have far to go. She and Vic sat at
the small table in a corner of the kitchen used by the staff for
breaks.

"We were just talking about you," Vic
said.

"Explains why my ears are burning. Isn't your
shift over?"

"Yep."

And that, apparently, was all the explanation
he'd get. Vic stood, planted a kiss on Claire's forehead, murmured
something for her ears only which drew a small smile, and walked
away.

Dillon took the man's place, reached for
Claire's hand on the table. Her fingers twined with his. "How're
you doing?" he asked.

She shrugged, gripped his hand tighter, as
though clinging to a lifeline. "I knew this day would come. It's
just..." Tears pooled in her eyes.

Dillon tugged and she came to him, let him
bundle her in his lap, bury her face in his collar and hold her as
she quietly cried.

"I'm sorry, I can't seem to stop
blubbering."

"Have you had any sleep?"

"A little this morning, until I woke thinking
I had a team to feed."

"It'll take awhile to get over that."

"How about you? Have you slept?"

"Some. Until the nightmare."

She looked at him. "You ready to talk about
it yet?"

He could see how difficult it was for her to
ask. Considering his bullheaded silence up until now, he didn't
blame her. But she deserved to know. Maybe knowing would make it
easier for her to say goodbye. "Yes. But not here."

***

He took her to his loft apartment on the
second floor, an open space of tongue and groove flooring and
varnished wood. An area rug in greens and reds provided a central
focal point of color, flanked on one side by a double bed with a
forest green quilt, the other by an island and kitchen. The
entertainment center tucked in one corner faced two deep armchairs.
Claire took it all in at a glance, thinking
comfortable, basic,
masculine
, but her attention was drawn to the broad windows
that made up the west wall and looked out over Front Street and the
Bering Sea.

"God, what a view," she said on a breath. She
crossed the room and stepped out to the balcony. Dillon followed.
Below was the burled arch and a mass of people in festive activity,
laughter and dozens of conversations going at once. Farther out,
the frozen ice of Alaska's west coast. She moved to the railing and
inhaled the cold, sharp air redolent with grilled reindeer and wood
smoke, humans and canines packed together at the edge of a horizon
that stretched forever.
I could be happy here
crossed her
mind. It brought a twinge of envy. "The sunsets must be
stunning."

He leaned with his elbows against the
railing, close but not quite touching, looking out to sea, the
scruff of beard on his weather-scoured jaw and the compelling line
of his mouth familiar. Intimate. "This place keeps me anchored," he
said. Those glacier-blue eyes aimed at her then, startling, and
still so full of secrets.

Sane
.
This place keeps him
sane
. She acknowledged the feeling, identified with it.

The fire department siren announced another
musher and team coming in. The crowd below cheered and applauded
the arrival and Claire joined in, remembering her own thrill at
reaching the finish of the race; Dillon gave a long, sharp
whistle.

"Do you know how many are still on the
trail?" Claire asked.

"Maybe a dozen. I stopped counting once you
made it in."

"You heard about the blizzard?"

"I was taking my eight at White Mountain when
the news came through."

She slid her hands into her jacket pockets
and gave an involuntary shiver. "It hit so fast. If Ranger hadn't
found that cabin, I don't know what – "

"You did everything right, Claire. You
survived and you got your dogs home safe."

A sweet ache of accomplishment laced with
sadness tumbled across her heart. "I'm going to miss them." Dillon
nodded his understanding and her eyes pooled. She would miss more,
much more, than just the dogs. If only she could stop crying, she
thought, and palmed tears from her face. "Shit."

"You need food."

His declaration startled a laugh from her.
"You're right. I am hungry."

They went inside. Claire perched on a
cushioned stool at the island, facing the functional, nothing-fancy
work space, white counters, natural wood, white appliances. Tidy.
Not a single dirty dish in the porcelain sink. Dillon rounded the
island and opened a cabinet.

"Need any help?" she asked, though she
suspected he knew more about cooking than Vic gave him credit
for.

"Got it handled," he said, and pulled out the
biggest bag of barbequed potato chips she'd ever seen.

"Oh my God."

He dangled it over the island. "Potato, not
corn."

She snagged the bag from him, ripped it open
and stuffed an orange chip in her mouth. "Oh my God," she repeated,
her words muffled around the salt and tang of artificially
flavored, deep fried potato. She eyed Dillon's slanted smile.
"Don't expect me to share."

"I thought I'd open a can of soup."

"Mmm." She crunched another chip. "That
sounds good too."

"Vegetable beef okay?"

Her stomach growled. "Uh huh."

They ate seated side by side at the island.
Dillon brewed a pot of coffee. "If you'd like anything stronger, I
can run downstairs to the bar."

"Coffee's fine. Alcohol right now would just
knock me out. But go for it if you want something."

"I don't drink."

His abrupt statement caught her off guard.
"Oh. Okay."

"It's one of the things I left behind when I
came to Alaska."

She blew on a spoonful of soup, tasted. It
was good. Really good. She took another spoonful while she waited
for him to continue. When he did, she wished he hadn't.

"I lied to you, Claire."

Chapter 25

Dillon regretted the hurt he saw in her eyes,
felt her draw away and put her guard up. He released the lock on
the door to his past and pulled it open. "The first day we met, I
told you I'd never been to Portland. That was a lie. When I said I
was a cop, it was for the Portland Police Bureau."

"Why did you feel the need to lie about
it?"

"I made up my mind to forget that part of my
life...forget the things I did."

She set her spoon down. "I'm listening."

He narrated the events by rote, the memory
already too close to the surface. "It was a late afternoon, raining
like hell. Officer Lewis and I responded to a domestic dispute at
an apartment complex. We heard the screaming when we drove up."
Shrill, plaintive, nerve wrenching. "We exited the patrol car and
approached on foot. We were almost to the door when it opened and a
woman stepped out, her face swollen, her blouse ripped. She saw us
and shouted at us to hurry."
He's killing him!
"Lewis asked
her if she needed an ambulance but she kept screaming at us to
hurry. I asked her if there were any weapons in the house. She
indicated no."
Nothing except his big ape fists!
"We
announced ourselves and entered."