Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta)

by Peggy Webb

  In the early morning stillness they clung together as if they meant never to let go. There was no sound except their hungry murmurings and the thumping of Pete’s tail against the wooden porch.

  Suddenly, in the distance, they heard the unmistakable chugging of a motor. Jim lifted his head. “Sleddog’s coming.”

  “Here?”

  “Yes. When he brought me to your cabin, I asked him to come by today to pick me up.”

  “I would have taken you into Gustavus. My van is at the bottom of the cliff.”

  He cupped her face. “I know, but I hate having to say goodbye at the airport.”

  The sound of the motor grew louder.

  “He’s almost here.” Hannah fought for control as Jim’s fingers caressed her cheeks. He leaned down, almost as if he would kiss her again, then he straightened back up and looked off into the distance.

  “Hannah . . .”

  “Yes?”

  His gaze swung back to her. “You . . . belong here. Your work is wonderful.”

  “So is yours.”

  The honking of a horn announced the arrival of Sleddog’s pickup truck at the foot of the cliff below Hannah’s cabin. Jim released her and picked up his gear. “You have a standing invitation to come see me . . . any Thursday.”

  With a final salute he walked swiftly away, down her path, and down the rocky cliffside. Then the old truck headed back into civilization, bearing away the West Coast Warrior.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The sun penetrated the mists of San Francisco and shone down on Jim Roman’s boat. He was stripped to the waist, stretched in the sunshine, watching Colter Gray Wolf repair his inboard engine.

  “What’s the problem this time, Colter?”

  Dr. Colter Gray Wolf glanced up from his work. Although he was flat on his stomach, leaning over the hull where the engine was housed, not a speck of grease marred him. He had the lean, clean, chiseled look of a museum bronze.

  “Spark plugs.” He grinned. “I expect my usual fee for doing your repair work.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “No steaks? I should leave you to flounder on your own.”

  “How does halibut sound? It’s marinating right now in a special concoction of herbs and spices.”

  Colter made a final adjustment to the engine, then pulled the cover back over the housing. His expression was inscrutable as he cleaned his hands and sat down on the mahogany deck, ankles crossed in the manner of the Apache Indian.

  “Tell me about the woman.”

  Jim had long since grown accustomed to Colter’s uncanny ability to read his mind. Although he’d never said anything to his friend beyond the fact that he’d met Hannah in Greenville and was going to Alaska to do a story on her work, it seemed that Colter had tapped into the secret places of his mind.

  “What tipped you off? The halibut?”

  “Your heart. You’ve been wearing it on your sleeve.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Yes. There’s nothing stoic about you, my friend. When I met you at the airport yesterday, I saw that you’d found more in Alaska than a story.”

  “It’s Hannah.” Colter nodded and sat waiting patiently for Jim to continue. “She’s independent and outspoken and stubborn. And she’s about as easy to live with as a box full of wildcats.”

  “You love her.”

  “What?” Jim jerked his head up as if he’d been slapped. “That’s impossible. She bears about as much resemblance to my dream girl as a panther does to a pussycat.”

  “Ahh, yes. The dream girl.”

  “A man has to have visions.”

  “True. The trick is knowing the difference between a vision and a rationalization.” It was Jim’s turn to wait. His mind was leaping ahead, anticipating Colter’s line of reasoning, but he waited for his friend to elaborate. “A vision leads us forward; a rationalization holds us back.”

  “You’re saying I’ve used the rationale of my dream girl all these years to hold me back?”

  “In essence, yes. The shock of having someone you love desert you can sometimes be felt for a lifetime.”

  Jim didn’t have to ask to know Colter was talking about Brick Roman. They’d often shared stories of their childhood; Jim’s stories inevitably had led to Brick—big and brash and full of life—the man who had sailed off on The Black Rover.

  “Your mother has been the only constant in your life, and she’s the epitome of a sweet, old-fashioned woman. It’s only natural that you’ve told yourself for years you wanted a woman exactly like her. And yet your father has been the biggest influence in shaping your life. I think you’re scared to death of finding a woman like him—someone independent and outspoken and stubborn, someone who will sail out of your life.”

  “Psychology 101, Dr. Gray Wolf?”

  “Apache wisdom, West Coast Warrior. Take it for whatever it’s worth.”

  “I think it’s worth a bottle of California’s finest.” Jim rose from the deck and lifted a bottle of wine out of the cooler. “Gallo.” He grinned. “What do you say we go on a binge and forget all about women?”

  “Hand me the firewater.”

  o0o

  When he saw her picture in the paper three days later, Jim knew he never could forget about women, or rather, one woman, Hannah Donovan.

  World- renowned marine biologist, the paper proclaimed, Dr. Hannah Donovan, will be lecturing at the Leviathan Foundation. . . . Jim’s heart did a quick rhumba against his ribs. She was coming to San Francisco. Hannah would be there, in his city, in . . . He quickly scanned the paper for the date. Eight days. Hannah would be there in eight days.

  o0o

  They were the longest eight days of Jim’s life. During that time he changed his mind a dozen times. At first, he definitely would go, then he definitely would not. He didn’t sleep, he didn’t eat, he lost weight. But most of all, he searched his soul. The conclusion he came to startled him: Hannah was his dream woman. All the while he’d thought he was searching for a sweet, old-fashioned homemaker, he’d been looking for someone exactly like Hannah, a woman with fire and spirit, a woman who would be just as exciting fifty years in the future as she had been the day he met her.

  He was so thrilled by his revelation that he got up out of bed, climbed up to his deck, and shouted his happiness to the stars.

  Colter’s quiet voice drifted from the boat beside his. “Unless my ears are deceiving me, I’m hearing an Indian love call.”

  Jim went to the boat’s railing and leaned across. “Colter? Did I wake you? What are you doing up this time of night?”

  “Communing with nature and watching over you, my friend.” As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Jim could make out Colter, leaning against the railing of his boat. “I’ve felt your agony the last few days, so I’ve kept a sleeping pallet on deck. Do you need to talk?”

  “It’s settled. I love her.”

  “I knew you did. So, what are your plans?”

  In the still of the night their quiet voices drifted across the water. Jim had an eerie sense that sometimes love demanded the reverence of hushed voices.

  “She’s coming here. I’ll go to her . . . then I’ll wait.”

  “That’s wise. A woman should give some sign.”

  “I won’t keep you any longer. Surgeons need their sleep. Good night, Colter.”

  Jim leaned farther across the rail to get a better look at his good friend, but Colter had already blended in with the darkness.

  o0o

  The air conditioner in the auditorium wasn’t working.

  Hannah sat on the small raised platform, sweating and looking out across the audience. Most of San Francisco’s intellectuals had turned out, but there was no sight of an auburn-haired giant of a man. The West Coast Warrior wasn’t coming.

  She wiped a trickle of perspiration off the side of her face and tried not to be disappointed. She never should have come, she told herself. She didn’t like to admit to herself why she had come
. Ordinarily she turned down all summer lecture invitations. But after Jim had left Glacier Bay, she had come across one lying on her desk. In a moment of madness she had called to see if the foundation still wanted her. They had.

  And so, here she was, against all scientific reason, looking for the man she’d sparred with and spurned, searching the audience for the West Coast Warrior when she should be thinking of humpback whales.

  Vaguely she heard her name being announced, heard the applause. She gathered her scattered wits and rose to talk about the thing she loved most—her work. The lights were lowered because she used slides to accompany her speech, and she proceeded to hold her audience captive—she hoped—for forty-five minutes.

  “Dr. Donovan will take questions,” the moderator announced after her lecture.

  The lights came up just as the man in the back of the room rose from his chair.

  “Let’s talk about mating, Dr. Donovan—” The speaker paused to let the ripple of laughter die down.

  From the first word he’d spoken, Hannah had felt a thrill start in her toes and spread throughout her body. It was an earth-shattering experience, somewhat like an iceberg splintering off the face of a glacier. Her gaze skimmed across the heads of her audience until it rested on Jim, who stood far in the back, looking slimmer than she remembered but every bit as delicious.

  “Of whales,” he clarified when the laughter ceased.

  “Yes?” She barely could speak around the lump in her throat.

  “Does the male always seek out the female?”

  “Always.”

  The moderator leaned across the platform. “Could you speak a little louder, Dr. Donovan? I’m afraid the audience didn’t catch the answer to that question.”

  Hannah cleared her throat and spoke directly into the microphone. “Always.”

  “You’re speaking strictly of whales, Dr. Donovan?”

  Even across the room she could feel Jim’s relentless gaze probing into her, seeing things that no other man had ever seen.

  “Yes. Although the male pursuit of the female is a fairly common practice among other mammals.”

  “Man, for instance?”

  “Yes. However, modern times have altered that pattern. Sometimes the female pursues the male.”

  Jim smiled. “That’s all I wanted to know, Dr. Donovan.”

  Jim felt ten feet tall when he sat down. He had his answer now. Hannah had come to him. He watched as she fielded questions. She was glorious, brilliant. He might have sat there for five minutes or five years. When she was near, time meant nothing to him. There was only the moment, and Hannah, bright as a flame.

  He sat through the questions, the rustling and milling of the crowd breaking up. And suddenly Hannah was there, standing beside him, those star-sapphire eyes so bright, they nearly blinded him.

  He held out his hand. “You came.”

  “Yes.” Without hesitation she put her hand in his.

  “You’re not booked into a hotel.” It was a statement more than a question.

  “No.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Where are your things?”

  She nodded in the direction of a small office.

  “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No.”

  He took her to the Fairmount Hotel on Nob Hill.

  “I come to this restaurant only on very special occasions,” he explained after they had been seated. “This is the second time I’ve come.”

  “Thank you,” she said simply. She thought that being one of Jim Roman’s special occasions was one of the best things that had ever happened to her. “What was the first occasion?”

  “In celebration of my first job as a reporter. I brought my mother.”

  Hannah leaned forward, her attention riveted by his disclosure. Jim had never talked of his family. “It’s very elegant. She must have loved it,”

  Jim’s smile was bittersweet. “She did, but she was scared to death.”

  “Why?”

  “She was afraid her dress wasn’t fancy enough and that she’d forgotten all the fine manners of her upbringing. She worried the whole evening.”

  “She sounds very dear.”

  “She is. But enough about the past.” Jim reached across the table and took her hand. “I’ve thought of you—more often than I care to mention.”

  “And I’ve thought of you.”

  “What did you think, Hannah?”

  “I thought about the fireworks that are always between us.” She waited for the waiter to serve their soup. “And I thought that I had been a fool.”

  He pushed his soup aside so that he could lean closer to her across the table. In the candlelight she was the most achingly gorgeous woman he had ever seen. Seeing her again confirmed what he had told Colter Gray wolf—that he was in love with Dr. Hannah Donovan.

  “Make that two of us, beautiful woman.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss into the middle of her palm. Her eyes widened and her pulse gently vibrated in the hollow of her throat. Neither of them spoke for a long while.

  The waiter came with their salads. “Sir?” his nod indicated the untouched soup.

  “We’ve finished,” Jim told him.

  “It’s scrumptious,” Hannah murmured.

  “Delicious,” Jim agreed.

  The waiter had been well trained in discretion and politeness. Only his twitching lips betrayed his amusement as he took their untouched soup away.

  “Incredible,” Jim said as his lips moved to the pulse spot on Hannah’s wrist. “And I’m so hungry.”

  “For halibut?”

  “For you.”

  “And I for you.” Now that she had said it, Hannah finally admitted the truth to herself. By coming to San Francisco she’d merely followed her feelings. For the second time in her life she was putting aside her career to follow the dictates of her heart. “Do you think this special occasion might be postponed for a little scientific research?”

  “On what subject, Doctor?”

  “Mating habits.”

  “Whales?” His smile told her he was teasing.

  “Of female scientists and male reporters.”

  The breathless promise in her voice almost undid him. It was a moment before he could get his passion under control enough to reply, and still longer before he could stand.

  “Wait right here,” he told her as he went in search of their waiter. It took him only five minutes to settle their bill and come back to the table for her.

  They caught a taxi outside the Fairmount.

  Jim waved a large bill into the driver’s hand. “This is for you if you can get us to the waterfront in fifteen minutes flat.”

  The cabdriver grinned. “No problem, buddy.”

  They sat side by side on the backseat, not speaking as the cab hurtled through the night. Hannah cast her eyes sideways at Jim. He was as implacable as the ice-draped St. Elias Mountain that guarded her cabin. Even the hand that held hers told her nothing. There would be no promises, she told herself, no talk of the future between them. She was seizing the moment in much the same way she had with Rai. And Lord help her make it work this time, she prayed.

  o0o

  She smelled the ocean before she saw his houseboat. It rose out of the water, small and neat and compact, an aging yacht of polished mahogany and gleaming white paint.

  The taxi pulled to a stop, and the driver bowed as he opened the door. “I hope everything works out to your satisfaction, mate.” He was grinning when he revved the engine and roared down the cobblestone street.

  Jim took both Hannah’s hands and turned her so that they were facing. “I’m glad you sought me in warm waters, Hannah.”

  “This is not commitment, Jim.”

  “I know.”

  The fire in his eyes almost consumed her.

  “Nor love.”

  “No.” He moved so close, their breath mingled in the warm summer night. Releasing one hand, he cupped the back of her neck and lifted her h
air. The moon gave it the glow of black diamonds.

  He let her satin hair fall, then he scooped her into his arms and carried her aboard his boat. The familiar gentle rocking motion under his feet reassured him. Ducking his head, he carried her below deck. The moonlight, pouring through the portholes, lit his way.

  Hannah sighed as he lowered her to the bed. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long, long time,” she whispered.

  “I’ll make it worth the wait.”

  She didn’t know what she had missed most, she thought, that beguiling arrogance or the wicked way he cocked his eyebrow upward.

  “Is that a promise?”

  He hauled her against him, fitting the entire length of her body into his. Through all their clothes she could feel his arousal. “What do you think?” he asked.

  Her hands dragged his shirt loose from his pants and skimmed over his smooth back. “Don’t tell me; show me.”

  He took his time unbuttoned her jacket and her blouse. He had waited a very long time for Hannah Donovna, and he wanted to savor her.

  To his delight, she was wearing the most feminine of all garments under her business suit—a pink silk teddy. His hands skimmed over the silky garment. With his thumb he unsnapped the waistband of her skirt, then he flattened his hand and slid it, palm down, over her stomach. He thought the combination of silk against well-toned muscles to be the most erotic in the world.

  She leaned into him, and her tongue found the pulse spot at the base of his throat as he slid aside her skirt.

  Her legs were as perfect as he’d remembered, long and slim and finely muscled. Propping himself on his elbows, he gazed down at her, drinking in his fill. She looked just the way he’d imagined—her face love-flushed, her dark hair tumbled across the pillows. He lifted a strand of her hair to his lips.

  “You’re a beautiful wildcat. Just looking at you is the most powerful aphrodisiac in the world.”

  She wrapped her arms around his chest. “How powerful?”

  Hannah felt as if she were floating against the pillows as he rose above her, magnificent as any warrior of ancient Rome. The eerie half light from the moon lent his wide chest a glow of magic as he stripped off his clothes. Then he was over her, covering her with every inch of that body she’d wanted since her sister’s wedding in Greenville. Her fingernails dug into his back as she tried to hold on to the last shreds of her control.