Look, sweetie, you can deny it all you want, but you know you love it. Thats all you used to talk about when you first came to the agency.
Was I that bad?
Worse. Her smile softened her words. I learned more than I ever wanted to know about dogs, sleds and mushing. If you dont do this race, Ill kick your butt from here all the way back to D.C. Besides, its your duty to be there in case tall, blond and gorgeous gets into trouble.
If I do this raceand Im not saying I willitll be because of the sabotage, not because I want to race.
You say potato, I say potahto. As long as you get the job done. Ill let the boss know youre on the clock.
Great, one more person to twist my arm on this.
You dont need to race. That deep voice that made her knees act funny spoke from the doorway behind her. You havent been training. It wouldnt be advisable.
Kat spun to face Sam, her heart hammering faster than was warranted. You dont think I can make it? Wobbly knees stiffened and her jaw firmed.
Paul should know better than to throw you into a race youre not ready for.
Her hackles rose but she kept her face pokerstraight. Dont you think Im capable of making my own decisions? She planted a sweet smile on her face, ignoring the scent of his aftershave, a tantalizing aroma she tried to tell herself she didnt even like. But shed be lying.
He stood with his feet slightly spread and his arms crossed over his chest. Its your funeral.
Who did this Norse god think he was, telling her she couldnt hack a little eleven-hundred-mile race? Forcing confidence she really didnt feel, she smiled up at him. Thanks. Then she turned to her brother, her blood slamming through her veins. If its all the same to you, bro, Ill be taking your dogs on the Iditarod.
Chapter Three
If Sam thought it would have done any good, hed have argued until he was blue. But from what hed learned from Paul, Kat was a stubborn woman. When she settled on an idea, she held on to it like a pit bull in a dogfight. If he hadnt been worried about her, he might have appreciated her confidence and strong will.
Luck of the draw had Sam leaving as number twenty-seven at the Wasilla start point behind Pauls twenty-three. Or should he say Kats twenty-three? The officials had approved the replacement at the last minute, knowing her past racing history.
Sam had barely spoken to Paul and Kat the past two days. He felt as if Paul had coerced her into following Sam to keep him safe. He didnt like the idea of being assigned a babysitter to dog his every step on the trail. He didnt need anybody to watch his back.
He packed his rifle and handgun in the three hundred pounds of gear and equipment on the sled. Many mushers brought weapons in the event a cranky moose decided to attack. If animal or human tried something funny during the race, Sam was prepared.
Paul insisted Kat was only taking over his position in the competition because his dogs deserved a chance to win. Sam knew better. Paul was more worried about the sabotage than his dogs making a good show.
As the dogs dipped down into a ravine and back up to climb the slight rise before Knik, Sam braced himself for the onslaught. Well-wishers lined the path to see family and friends off at the last stop before they headed into the wilderness.
A slew of people milled about at the checkpoint with a collection of trucks scattered across the snow.
Whoa! Sam called out to his team. He eased down on the brake, digging the snow hook into the hard-packed snow as he pulled to a stop next to Vics old pickup.
Paul sat inside, with the door open, his injured foot wrapped in a blanket and secured with duct tape.
With her coat collar pulled up around her cheeks, Tazer stood beside the truck, a soft gray headband protecting her ears from the bitter wind, her nose bright pink.
Working with the veterinarian, Vic walked the line of dogs, scanning microchips, checking paws, booties and necklines until they reached the sled.
Youre good to go. The vet checked off the paperwork and nodded before heading off to the next arrival.
Sam flexed his gloved hands, tugged his wool scarf down below his chin and strode over to the truck.
Kat pulled through ten minutes ago. Paul reached out a hand and shook Sams. She said shed meet you at Yentna, if you can catch her. All I can say is good luck, buddy. Shes a tough competitor. And my team knows her and vice versa.
Sam nodded, relieved Kat planned to compete rather than play nursemaid to him. Although hed kept his eyes open for signs of her powder-blue jacket and pants.
A large white van armed with satellite dishes, antennas and the bright red logo of the local Anchorage television station stood to one side. A cameraman and female reporter watched for the next contestant.
A sled pulled in behind Sam and, as if on cue, the reporter pushed the hair out of her face and the scarf away from her mouth before turning to the cameraman.
Whats all that about? Sam asked.
Looks like Al Fendleys team. Vic shook his head. Never fails, he manages to get the best press for the race.
Paul studied the man in the showy yellow parka, smiling broadly and stepping from the runners of his sled like a movie actor on set. Course, it doesnt hurt to get free publicity for your business.
The name sounded familiar, but Sam couldnt place it. What does he do?
He and his brother, Warren, run a summer lodge and dogsled training camp outside of Denali Park. They also have a hunting-outfitter business in the interior. Vic brushed the snow off his gloves. Al got a name for himself when he won the race two years ago.
Paul glanced across at Al. I hear one of the other mushers fell out of the race when his dogs got sick that year.
Tough break, Sam said. Its a long race. I can imagine the dogs take a beating over the eleven hundred miles.
Not when youre neck in neck, only a day out from the finish line and your brother is one of the folks helping with the food drops. Vics gaze collided with Pauls. Rumor had it the dogs were slipped a mild poison at one of the checkpoints. The Fendley boys take winning seriously.
After a narrow-eyed glance at Al, Paul turned his attention to Sam. Take care out there. Youre a long way from civilization if anything happens.
Sam knew the dangers of the Iditarod. Id better get going.
Oh, before you go. Tazer stepped up to Sam. Kat wanted me to give you something.
His hand went out automatically and jerked back when she tried to place a radio and headset into his gloved palm. What the hell is it?
A two-way radio and voice-activated mic. You two can keep in touch in case you have trouble on the trail.
No way. He recognized the standard-issue radio from his days working for the S.O.S. Hed given up that life long ago and he didnt intend to go back. Still, he shouldnt have reacted so strongly. Sams lips pressed into a tight line. Im not interested.
In the radio or Kat?
He glared at the woman. Either.
Please, Sam, Paul said from his position on the seat of the truck. I usually go along on the race when Kats out there. Id feel better knowing she had you looking out for her.