“I didn’t say it was Brady,” Harry stumbles as he backpedals over his allegation.
“He was the first one through. Who else do you think it could be?”
“Yeah, well … How is that possible, anyway? He’s a rookie. How’s he in the lead?”
“Maybe he’s just that good, Harry.”
He sneers as if tasting something sour. “Whose side are you on here?”
I’ve run out of patience. “The dogs’ side. Always the dogs. Now go and take care of yours. I’m sure they’re as hungry as I am.” I move to leave.
“Wait, Marie—”
“And don’t lecture Lynn again, unless you want to get strangled in your sleep.” The list of potential assailants is growing by the minute. I’m ready to add my name to the page.
I march for the hut, not waiting for his response.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laughter spills out with the warmth as I slip into the hut, shutting the door quickly behind me.
“… thought there might be a critter hidin’ up in there, but there was nothing! And he spent half an hour barking at the damn tree before he’d run again!” Gary slaps his thigh as he chortles. “I sat there on my sled, freezin’ my nuts off. I swear, he’s the sweetest boy, but he’s got bricks for brains.”
A few volunteers are awake at this hour, and three of them are cramped around the table, holding paper plates for Karen to fill and sharing stories while they mentally prepare for the day. Most of these people just love the sport and the dogs, but some, like Gary, are recreational mushers themselves, and a few have tackled the two-and three-hundred-mile races—snack-sized qualifiers for anyone running in the Iditarod.
“Look who decided to join us!” Karen flips a pancake on her propane griddle. “I heard Terry burned the midnight oil and let you log in a few extra. Hope it helped?”
“It did. I’ll have to thank him for that.” And for sending Tyler to my tent. I hang my coat on a bent nail—a makeshift hook—by the door. The woodstove is kept blazing in the hut, and most people need to escape to the outdoors for relief. Sometimes I think that’s by design, so no one lingers too long inside.
“Annie’s about five miles out.” Karen checks the watch strapped to her sturdy wrist. She’s down to her base layer and an apron while she cooks. “After that, we likely won’t see any new teams rolling in until the afternoon. So, you might be able to get a little more rest.”
That depends on where Tyler is. He’ll grab a few more hours once his dogs are settled, and I can’t see myself getting a second of sleep, no matter how tired I am, if he’s lying beside me.
Hopper reaches for another helping of pancakes.
“That’ll be your fifth and final one,” Karen announces with a warning stare.
The race judge drops his jaw in mock shock. “Who decides on these portions?”
“My wrists do! And my balance!” She looks pointedly down at the wooden crate she’s standing on. More than one person has offered to saw inches off the legs to lower the counter-height table, but she insists this height is best for the masses. “I’ve got twenty volunteers to feed, plus all the press coming through, plus hungry mushers who could use a warm meal.”
The sixty-one-year-old grandmother of three runs a kitchen in a greasy diner in Fairbanks. I’m sure she’s used to having four skillets and countless spatulas going at once. Maybe not while standing on a box.
“Fair enough, but look at me!” Hopper gestures at his tall, beefy frame. He stands at well over six feet and looks like he hasn’t missed a meal in his entire life plus a few extras on the regular. “Five pancakes won’t get me through the morning!”
“And that’s why you also get a sausage.” She taps the pan that holds the lean red reindeer meat links before slipping her spatula under another pancake. “Marie, dear, grab yourself some food while it’s hot. You barely ate last night.”
I help myself and shift into a free spot, balancing my plate on one palm while I press my fork through the fried batter to try to cut it. “Does anyone have an update on Sam’s flight here?” With the steady stream of mushers and their teams coming through beginning this afternoon, some staying to give their dogs a rest, other’s plowing through in minutes, the more veterinarians for the task, the better.
“Not yet, but they’ll get her here in time, don’t you worry. It’s supposed to be a sunny day.”