Iditarod Nights Read Free

yard and shut
off the engine. "Here we are."
    A cacophony of yips and howls and excited
barking greeted them as forty-two huskies strained against their
stake chains. Singer's distinctive melody rose above the others,
the happy brown and black husky's masked face tipped skyward, while
his brother Riley looked on, grinning. Handsome stood on the flat
roof of his house, his white chest proud against his long black
body, symmetrical brows lifted above blue eyes, his long tail
curled in a pleased wave. The Ford swayed on its springs as
Dillon's dogs shifted in back and added their own voices to the
growing bedlam.
    The cabin door banged open and a skinny,
dark-haired boy, his parka more off than on, bounded down the steps
toward them. "Auntie Claire's back!" he shouted.
    Claire smiled. "That's Janey and Matt's
eight-year-old son, Andy. I'm not really his aunt, but since Janey
and I are like sisters..." She pointed to the petite, slender woman
in jeans and an insulated vest over an eye-popping red sweater,
short brunette hair winging from her ruddy face as she rushed after
the boy, waving a comb. "There's Janey."
    A broad-chested man in faded yellow coveralls
and a dingy purple cap emerged from the cookhouse and shouted,
"Pipe down over there!" The noise level in the kennel yard dropped
to a smattering of whines and low grumbling.
    "And that's her husband, Matt."
    The driver's-side door flew open and Andy
hopped onto the truck's running board, using the steering wheel for
a handhold. "Hi!" he said, loud enough to make Claire wince. "My
name's Andy!"
    Before Claire could ask the boy to lower his
voice, Dillon slid his arm across the back of the seat, brushing
her shoulders and sending a current jagging through her that left
her utterly tongue-tied.
    He extended his other arm in front of her.
"Nice to meet you, Andy. My name's Dillon."
    Andy thrust his hand in Dillon's much larger
one and pumped it twice, a look of self-importance on his young
face. "Nice to meet you too."
    Dillon drew back, though his arm remained
draped across the seat, maintaining gentle pressure against
Claire's shoulders. She found the gesture, and his nearness,
unsettling and would have gotten out of the truck had it not been
for Andy still swinging from the steering wheel.
    "Andrew Sommer, get down from there and comb
your hair," Janey scolded, coming up behind her son.
    "Aw, Mom."
    "No arguing, young man." Janey glanced inside
the cab. Her hazel eyes focused on Dillon and widened, her brows
disappearing beneath feathered bangs. "Oh. You're not Lucas."
    Dillon smiled. "No, ma'am." He cocked his
head and met Claire's gaze, his face inches from hers, the bold
glint in his eyes wicked. Claire's throat went dry. "I'm not
married, either."
    Heat rocketed up Claire's neck and into her
cheeks. For long seconds she stared at him, flabbergasted. When she
finally looked away, her gaze collided with Janey's. She wasn't
sure which was worse, Dillon's smug audacity or the wedding bells
she saw in her friend's eyes.
    "What's going on?" Matt asked, coming to
stand behind his wife. He stroked his beard and looked at Dillon.
"Who's Claire's friend?"
    "I'm not sure," Janey answered, her pert
mouth curving in a mischievous grin. "But I can't wait to find
out."
     
    ***
     
    Dillon wondered what in God's name got into
him as he followed Claire out of the truck and introductions were
made. Hell, teasing a lawyer was like playing Russian roulette with
a fully loaded revolver. Annoyance radiated from the woman like
static electricity.
    But he had to admit, seeing the rush of color
to her cheeks made it worth the risk.
    "We'll board your team in those empty dog
houses over there," Matt told him, pointing to a far corner of the
kennel yard.
    "If you'll excuse me," Claire said, "I have
some things to take care of inside." Without another word, she
turned and walked away.
    Even with her parka hanging below the curve
of her hips, she had a way of moving that drew Dillon's attention,
her