by A Rosendale
“Sure, sir.”
William raised a brow at the title. “Where are you from, Dirk?”
“Montana. This is quite the environmental shock, sir. I’ve been to Seattle before, but this…this is incredible!”
“We saw some harbor porpoises on the ferry,” Alma added.
“Alma’s first love,” William replied wistfully.
“I’ve no doubt! I can see why!”
The older man smiled at the response. He seemed a smart young man, smart enough to know when a father was prying for the sake of his daughter.
“You have to be back in Seattle Monday?”
“Sunday,” Alma corrected her father.
“That’s plenty of time to take Dirk out on the troller.”
“My thoughts exactly,” she replied.
“Tomorrow?”
Alma looked to Dirk for an answer.
“Tomorrow’s great,” he acknowledged.
“Perfect. We leave around four.”
“Sounds good.” Dirk didn’t balk at the time. When he was regularly called on at all hours of the night, 4 am sounded like a nice, reliable time.
They came to a thin two-story house tucked in the pines. Dirk followed the Drs. Decker inside. Not surprisingly, the house was covered in nautical decorations. An old ship’s wheel composed of wooden spokes adorned a section of the wall above a wood-burning fireplace. An ancient life preserver hung above the doorway to the kitchen.
A thin woman who looked nearly identical to her daughter, aside from the hazel eyes, appeared under the preserver.
“Alma, dear!” She hugged her tightly, but briefly. “Would you mind seeing to the chowder? Ezra’s dog was attacked by an eagle. I have to go!” She drew up short at the sight of the stranger in her living room and a brimming smile broke across her lips. “Dirk! It is so nice to meet you!” She threw her arms around him just as she had her daughter. “I’ll be back!” she called, darting from the house.
Dirk blinked in surprise at the hurried, yet warm welcome.
Alma laughed. “Welcome to our home! It’s always slightly crazy.”
“Slightly?” William scoffed, shaking his head. “That woman…” He stared out the door after his energetic wife. “She’s somethin’ else.” The tender gleam in his eye clarified his definition of ‘something else’.
“I better stir the chowder,” Alma muttered.
“I’ve got it,” Dirk proclaimed. He hurried through the kitchen door to allow her time with her father.
* * *
An hour later, Dirk was startled out of his idle thoughts by arms enveloping him from behind. Alma leaned against his back, her cheek resting against his shoulder blade.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, her words soaking through the material of his sweater to heat his skin.
“No problem. I happen to have a proclivity for making chowder.”
“Oh?”
“I make a mean Boston clam chowder,” he declared. “Although seafood chowder is new to me. I’ve so far identified salmon, crab, maybe cod…”
“Mussels and halibut,” Alma finished.
“Ah! Now I see! It looks and smells delicious!”
She continued to hug him from behind, a gesture he was profoundly fond of.
“Where’s your dad?”
“He went to see to the boat.”
“For tomorrow?”
“And tonight.” She could almost sense the raised brow of confusion. “That’s where we’re sleeping.”
“Oh! Drs. Decker are okay with their daughter sleeping in the same bed as a strange scoundrel?”
Alma laughed. “Your words, not mine!”
His warm chuckle vibrated through his body.
“I may not be the innocent little girl they sent off to college all those years ago.”
“You? Innocent?” he teased.
She struck him lightly on the back, but didn’t break the embrace. “My folks are more than confident in their daughter,” she explained more seriously.
“As they should be,” he replied, recalling her heroic self-defense.
“Besides, I can always push you overboard if there’s any suspicious behavior,” she added humorously.
“That you could.” He stirred the chowder and turned to face her. He was just dipping to kiss her when her mother swept into the kitchen. Embarrassed, he cleared his throat quickly.
“Oh, don’t be so coy!” she said lightly. “Kissing is healthy; helps reduce blood pressure.” She was in constant movement as she spoke, pulling containers from the refrigerator to set on the small kitchen table.
Recovering from the abrupt entry, Dirk said, “Thank you for the hospitality, Dr. Decker.”
“Please, call me Ava. All the ‘doctors’ in this house get confusing! And you’re more than welcome!”
“How’s Ezra’s dog?” Alma asked, squeezing Dirk’s hand and stepping away.
“He’ll be alright. Some deep punctures from the eagle’s talons, but we’ve got them disinfected and stitched up. How was the ferry?”
“Brilliant!” Dirk answered. “I’m fascinated by the environment here!” He went on to describe the porpoises and sea lions in excited detail. After a few minutes, he was following Ava while she buzzed around the house tending to tedious chores and telling her about the pilot whales and seals Alma had showed him in New England. Ava joined the conversation with her own opinions on interesting local animals.
Alma laughed humorously to herself. Her mother could provide energy for ten people and had never met a human she couldn’t draw into enthusiastic banter. She went upstairs to peruse her old bedroom while the two of them flitted about.
When she was finished with chores inside, Ava led Dirk out to the back yard where a big black Labrador retriever greeted them with all the excitement his mistress had.
“This is Pan,” Ava introduced while the dog planted big feet on Dirk’s chest and licked his face.
Dirk laughed at the attention, eventually turning the dog back to the ground. “Pan?” He wiped his face dry with a sleeve. “Like the Greek god? Or like the J.M. Barrie character?”
“You know your history!” Ava exclaimed with an excited clap of her hands. “This is Pan, god of the wilderness.” She gave Pan an affectionate scratch behind the ears and continued through the yard to a shed. She lifted a finger to her lips and entered on tiptoes. Dirk motioned for the dog to stay. Pan seemed to know the drill and stopped four feet from the shed to sit and wait.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Across the shed, perched on a long bar near the top of the wall, was an adolescent bald eagle. A leather hood covered the bird’s eyes in an effort to keep it calm and a dull ace bandage held its wings against its body. Ava opened a container she’d brought from the house and the reek of dead fish filled the shed. The eagle twitched his head at the scent. Ava dumped the contents of the container into a shallow dish suspended from the wall. The bird shuffled along the bar and hesitated only a moment before ripping into the brown cod. Dirk watched, captivated, until Ava waved him silently outside. When the door was latched and Pan’s head was under Dirk’s hand, she turned to face him.
“I found that little guy yesterday. His wing is broken. I think a car may have hit him. The local bird rescue is suppose to come collect him for rehab in the next day or two.”
“Wow! Alma said you often have exotic animals in residence, but I never imagined…”
Ava grinned at her daughter’s paramour and his childlike wonder. She could tell he was Alma’s age, mid-thirties or so, but when his face lit up with excitement, years fell away and a handsome exuberance made him seem much younger. She could already see what her daughter did: a sharp intelligence and spirited curiosity captured in a strong, attractive body.
When they returned to the kitchen where Alma was diligently stirring the chowder, Ava shot her a nod of approval behind Dirk’s back. Alma grinned in return.
* * *
After dinner, they played cards. Eventu
ally, William declared his own bedtime in order to be best rested for the day of fishing to come. Alma and Dirk collected the luggage and trudged through the cool, dark night to a dock. Calm water lapped gently at the pilings as they climbed aboard an old, but lovingly cared for troller.
“It’s a forty-two-foot Grand Banks with a thirteen-and-a-half-foot beam,” Alma explained when she saw Dirk’s curious gaze wander along the boat. “There are interior cruising accommodations while the deck is perfectly practical for small trolling exhibitions.” She flicked on the interior lights, which projected a warm glow over the rest of the boat.
“You said it was your grandfather’s?” He lifted her heavy suitcase from the dock onto the foredeck.
“Yeah. When he got too old and sick to take her out, my dad had it put in dry dock.”
“She’s a nice piece of craftsmanship,” he complimented as he followed her below decks to the quaint living quarters. A small kitchen, table, and head were situated in the bow section, while the captain’s quarters were aft of the wheelhouse.
“I know it’s small,” Alma said, misinterpreting Dirk’s appraisal.
“It seems perfect for two,” he replied with a smile.
Her response was muffled by a yawn. While Dirk sat on the edge of the queen-sized mattress, she wiggled out of her jeans and sweater and pulled on an over-sized long sleeved T-shirt. Captivated by her shapely legs, Dirk didn’t move until she lifted his chin to plant a gentle kiss on his lips.
“May I get into bed?” she asked.
“Hmm… No, sorry. There’s a toll,” he teased and pulled her onto his lap.
“A toll, huh? Seems pretty unfair to be tolled on my own boat.”
He shrugged as if he had no control over the matter. “A toll is a toll.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to pay it.” With that, she dipped her lips to his, teased him briefly with her tongue, then trailed kisses across his jaw and down his neck. A blissful sigh announced the success of her toll-paying techniques. She left a lingering kiss on his lips before pulling away.
“Perhaps I should raise the toll next time,” he breathed. Then he lifted Alma with him when he stood and replaced her on the bed.
“Next time,” she cooed and wiggled under the covers. Dirk shed his sweater, replaced his jeans with jogging pants, and slid in next to her.
Alma flicked a set of light switches above the pillows until only a dim cabin light remained on. She snuggled under Dirk’s arm and trailed her fingers over his chest.
“What’s this?”
He knew without looking down that she was following the healed scratch on his ribs. Congressman Johnson’s assassin had managed a grazing blow across his ribcage. The bright red scar tissue curled around the lowest ribs to his lower back. Until last night in Anacortes, he’d avoided being shirtless in front of Alma. It had allowed the skin nearly a week to heal.
“Just a scratch. I think I bumped a nail while I was moving the kayak around.”
She traced the four-inch line around the curve of his side, then let her arm drape over him. After ten minutes, she was breathing deeply and he reached above them to shut off the lights.
Chapter 14
“That’s Canada there,” William pointed out from the wheelhouse. “And this is the Straight of Juan de Fuca. We won’t start trolling until we’re in open water.”
Dirk nodded understanding. He stood just outside the wheelhouse to the starboard side of the vessel letting the breeze tousle his short hair. The cold air served to wake him more effectively than the stiff coffee he nursed. While Alma slept soundly, he couldn’t help but recall the assassin’s words. ‘This woman is proving to be deadly.’ Now that Johnson’s threat had been neutralized, Dirk wondered if he shouldn’t cut ties with Alma before other perils materialized. But when she laid with him like this, pressed close to his side, her warm breath caressing his skin and her heartbeat thumping a countermelody to his, he couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. ‘Selfish,’ he thought. Maybe the assailant was right, maybe Alma would prove to be his undoing or he would prove to be hers. In an effort to counter his own argument, he told himself she made him stronger, that when he’d faced Johnson’s man, it had been the thought of Alma’s safety that bolstered him and allowed him to prevail.
Here in the cold, dawn hours of morning with the calming sounds of water lapping against the hull and the subtle purr of the engine intermingled with the scent of cedars and motor oil, the nighttime ponderings faded. His final thought about what Dr. William Decker would say to his contemplations faded when Alma appeared between them. A black turtleneck sweater hugged her frame and she nursed a steaming mug of coffee.
“This area was formed by glaciation in the Pleistocine Age,” William explained, waving to the water channel ahead and landmasses on either side, only spiky silhouettes in the low light. “It was called the Fraser Glaciation and-”
“Dad,” Alma cut him off.
He sighed heavily. “Sorry. You know, Dirk, it is hard to be oceanographer in a family of biologists.”
Dirk laughed.
“You do a lot of fishing?”
“Sure, but not like this. In my experience, the best fishing is on the lakeshore, with a pole, live earthworms as bait, and a cooler of beer by my folding chair.”
William let out a roar of laughter. “Alma forgot to mention you’re a landlubber!”
Dirk allowed him his mirth. “You can’t argue with a fillet of rainbow trout or my cooler of beer.”
The roar dulled to a chuckle and he nodded. “True, true!”
* * *
Pan greeted them enthusiastically at the door.
“Did you have fun?” Ava called from the kitchen.
William and Alma looked to Dirk for his answer.
“Absolutely! I am sunburned, wind-burned, and bone-tired. But that was the most fun I’ve had fishing in years!”
The older man clapped him on the back and led the way to the kitchen, where he kissed his wife and opened the fridge.
“Our cooler of beer awaits, Mr. Travers.”
A can of Elysian beer twirled through the air. Dirk caught it easily as another one flew into Alma’s hands.
“Dear?” William asked.
“Yes, please,” Ava replied as she flipped tuna steaks on the stove.
He opened a fourth can and left it on the counter for her.
“You have time for showers if you’re quick,” she informed them.
“Guests first,” Alma offered. Dirk accepted appreciatively. Sweat and fish oil coated his skin. He carried his duffel upstairs with him.
At first the scalding water felt good, washing away the grime of the day. But then the heat aggravated the burned skin on his face and he turned the temperature down to finish rinsing.
“-doesn’t back away from much.” William’s deep voice reached through the empty living room to the stairwell. “He jumped right in there with the fish, huh, Alm?”
“That’s impressive for a newbie,” Ava replied.
“I’ll say.”
Dirk dropped his bag by the front door and entered the kitchen.
“We were just regaling Ava with your brilliant first day as a Pacific troller,” William said, making no efforts to cover their conversation.
“Then I expect you told her about slipping face first into the fish hold?” His humble description released a guffaw of laughter from the older couple. “Shower’s available,” he told Alma. She pecked his cheek and headed upstairs with a change of clothes.
* * *
“Plans for today?” Dirk asked as he leaned on the boat rail the next morning, hot coffee warming his hands.
“How about a tour of the island? There’s the town of course, and then the historic park and the state park on the other side of the island.”
“Sounds great!”
They chose to walk on the exhibition and headed south of the dock and Decker residence towards the San Juan Island Historical Park. They followed the pebbled co
ast in companionable silence.
“It’s a quiet little place, huh?” Dirk finally said. His hands were stuffed in the front pocket of his Navy hoodie and he gazed around at the calm water, still beach, and wispy cedars that gave way to brilliant prairies.
Alma smiled silently in response.
“I imagine there’s a lot of native history, based on the folk tales your mom has been telling me.”
“Yes. The Salish tribe of Lummi navigated the island for thousands of years before Western explorers.”
“Where was their camp?”
“They travelled throughout the year. One definite habitation was at the English Camp up north.”
“English Camp?”
“You can’t tell me the famous historian Dirk Travers doesn’t know about the Pig War?” she teased incredulously.
Dirk raised his hands innocently. “I admit: I am ignorant to Northwestern history. Please,” he begged with hands clasped in a mock plea, “please, enlighten me, Dr. Decker!”
Alma laughed. The sound filled the still air with sudden life. “I confess, my knowledge is only as deep as a high school education can provide. To my recollection, San Juan Island was a land of contention between the United States and Britain. The Treaty of Oregon left some gray area about what was to become Canadian territory or U.S. property. Both countries claimed it as their own and committed themselves to profiting from its natural resources, as well as imported resources such as sheep and pigs. I guess at some point an American killed a pig rooting around in his garden. Turns out the pig belonged to the British.” She threw her hands up. “Some ridiculous squabble ensued and when the government finally got involved, they declared it an absurd fight and suggested joint occupation of the island. Both the British and American militaries occupied the island for something like twelve years before the Treaty of Washington was signed and San Juan Island officially became a part of the United States. That’s all I remember. I’m sure there’s more detail involved.”
“Interesting. I never anticipated contentions between Great Britain and America reached all the way to this island at the far reaches of the continent.”