A lump of hurt formed in her throat, and Storm leaned against the door, her brows drawn into a frown. “Wait…Jim…I don’t understand this,” she began helplessly.
He reached out, caressing her cheek. “What?”
“You—the kiss…I mean…”
He grinned, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “This has got to be a first…you’re at a loss for words. My Irish storm goddess is speechless. I’ll remember this, you know. The next time you get angry, I’ll just kiss you.”
Storm managed a short laugh. He was teasing her, affectionately, not maliciously. Not abusively, as Jack had done to her. She avoided his eyes, unable to bear the tenderness that flickered in his gaze as he watched her struggle for words.
“One minute you’re trying to fire me, and the next—” she shrugged painfully “—the next you’re kissing me. You keep telling me I’m unpredictable and explosive. What about you?”
Jim leaned against the door, a loose, relaxed smile on his mouth once again. “It’s your fault, you know,” he teased, then sobered, catching her stare. “I can’t explain it either, Storm.” He shrugged and then straightened. “I didn’t plan it. In fact, I didn’t even want it to happen.”
Storm’s eyes widened.
Jim sighed. “But it did, and I’m not sorry about it. And I won’t promise it won’t happen again. We’re both paradoxes, Storm. You certainly are…at least to me…to my life…” He gave a forced laugh. “Everything was fine until you came into my office ready to blow up anybody who stood in your way. Well, here we are. Things are different…”
Without another word, he turned and walked down the corridor to his room. Opening the door, he gave Storm one last, distracted glance before disappearing inside.
Storm forced herself to move, to shakily dig the key out of the pocket of her jeans, turn it in the lock, and slip into her room. A tumble of confused thoughts and feelings assailed her as she slowly undressed and slipped into her black silk nightgown. She lay wide awake on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. How complicated her life had suddenly become.
Things were different, she decided as she carefully explored the feelings and emotions Jim Talbot had stirred up in her. Every time she recalled his voice, her heart felt as if it were about to burst with joy, until she forced cold reason to reassert itself. Finally, perplexed, exhausted and sensually disturbed, Storm dozed off, dreaming of Jim Talbot’s arms around her.
The first thing Jim muttered to her as they sat in the dining room over a cup of coffee the next morning was, “You don’t look like you were up half the night.”
Storm managed a weak smile and sipped the scalding drink. “I only got an hour’s sleep. How about you?”
“Not much more than you.”
“Want to flip a coin to see who flies us back to Anchorage?”
“I want you to do it. That way I can keep tabs on Rickson.”
She nodded, watching him over the rim of her cup. Was he acting differently this morning, or was she? Maybe she was too tired and just not reading him correctly. But every time his gaze met hers, her heart turned over in response, and she felt like a breathless girl of eighteen.
Jim’s fingers, tapered and strong, caressed the ceramic mug, and Storm imagined, with longing, his hands on her body. But another part of her, the wary woman of thirty-two who had paid the price of being married for four years, rebelled. Hadn’t she learned the hard way with Jack? Her stomach knotted and churned with bitterness. Trying very hard to see Jim Talbot as a disrupter of her well-planned life, Storm sought to erect a wall of defense against him, to quell her heart’s longings. But no matter how hard she tried, her unbridled heart was reaching out to him.
Grimly pressing her lips together, Storm set the cup down and looked expectantly at Jim. “Are we ready to get this show on the road?”
He raised his head with a puzzled look. “What? Oh, sure. You don’t want breakfast?”
“No, just coffee.”
He rose and dug out some change. “Okay, Irish storm goddess, let’s pray that Rickson and his bunch are still too hung over to be anything but groaning, middle-aged men.”
Minutes later, ensconced comfortably in the cabin of the Beech Queen and listening to the raucous laughter and lewd jokes of Nate Rickson and his friends, Storm cast a wry glance at Jim. “Looks like our prayers didn’t get answered,” she commented drily.
Jim snorted, opening a thermos and pouring them both some coffee. “I can see we don’t have any pull upstairs. Listen to them. Maybe we should have prayed to the house down below.”
Storm took the coffee, nodding. Rickson was enjoying a bawdy song, swinging his bottle of whiskey in tune with his comrades, clapping. If possible, his wide, flat nose was redder this morning. Storm leaned over and whispered in Jim’s ear, “He looks like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Do you think we could use him as a beacon if our lights fail?”
Jim grinned good-naturedly. “I’d like to tack his rear to the tail of the plane, anyway.”
Storm laughed, holding out her cup for a refill. She could picture Rickson pinned to the tail of the aircraft, like dirty laundry hung out to dry.
The rest of the flight was uneventful. Storm made a skillful three-point landing at Anchorage International Airport and taxied the Queen up to the now-familiar Bradford’s building. There the plane would be refueled, and then they would begin the last leg of the journey to Camp Five.
The sky was a turquoise-blue, with the wind coming out of the west at a good fifteen knots, putting a biting edge to it and increasing the wind-chill factor. Jim disembarked with most of the passengers, and Storm began the post-flight check, ignoring the hoots and hollers of the lingering hunters.
“Hey, sweetie…”
She jerked around as a strong hand gripped her shoulder. Rickson leered down at her, his breath heavy with the smell of whiskey.
“Been watchin’ ya and we think you got class. Real class.” He grinned, massaging her arm in a circular motion.
Storm scowled, her face paling with anger. The cockpit was small, certainly no place for a wrestling match. Yanking away from him, she twisted around so that her back was against the steering yolk. “Get the hell out of here, Rickson,” she snarled.
His eyes crinkled and watered, and he smiled rakishly, reaching out to touch her again. “Ah, sweetie, I know you’re playin’ hard to get. But c’mon, give Ricky and his bunch a break. Wouldn’t you like to spend a week out at Camp Five with us instead of playin’ pilot?”
As his meaty hand came forward to touch her, Storm reacted out of blind fear and smashed the clipboard down on his wrist.
Rickson gave a yelp and jerked his hand back against his body, rubbing it gingerly.
Storm’s panic increased. As Rickson growled a curse, she lunged for the hatch between the cockpit and cabin. But the hunter’s bulky body blocked all but a small portion of it, and Storm uttered a curse as she jammed herself into him, falling through the door to the now-empty cabin. Scrambling to her feet, she nearly fell again as her wobbly knees threatened to collapse beneath her.
“You ain’t gettin’ away with this!” Rickson yelled, making a grab for her.
Storm spun around at the growl in his voice and took a step back to avoid his oncoming hand. Simultaneously, her heel slipped out the opening and she slammed her head against the bulkhead. She tried to regain her lost balance, but a croak jammed in her constricted throat as blackness began to close in on her. She felt herself falling and tried to protect herself from the rising concrete.
Strong, steadying hands caught her in midair and in that brief second, she knew they were Jim Talbot’s. A cry of relief broke from her lips as she sagged into his embrace.
“Stay right where you are,” Jim thundered up at Rickson. The hunter poked his head out the hatch door, his eyes round with fright.
“I didn’t do a thing! That slut made a pass at me, and I was just following up on it. Ask the other guys if you don’t believe me,” he added, lifting the
whiskey bottle to his lips and drinking deeply.
Jim cursed softly and set Storm gently down on the apron. “Storm? Are you all right?” he demanded, pushing her hair back from her pale face. “Answer me,” he urged.
Storm gulped hard, hot tears slipping down her cheeks. She nodded once and buried her face in her hands, trembling.
“What happened?” Oscelot demanded, coming up behind them out of the crowd of men that had gathered.
Jim handed Storm over to him. “Take care of her for a minute,” he ordered tersely, and then stood up, heading toward Rickson.
“Hey!” the hunter yelped, backing off into the cabin. “I didn’t do a thing, dammit! Get your hands off me!”
Storm sat morosely in Jim Talbot’s office, a cup of coffee generously laced with whiskey in her hand. Oscelot had escorted her there and then closed the door so that she could be alone. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling utterly miserable. It was just this sort of incident that Jim would cite as proof that she wasn’t fit for the type of flight service Bradford operated.
She drew her legs up, placing her feet on the chair seat and resting her forehead against the cup on her knees. It was finished; she knew it. How many people had witnessed the whole wretched scene? She remembered Oscelot, Ray Leeper and that grinning idiot Danziger. All she needed now was to have Dan Bradford hear of it. Storm released a shuddering sigh. Well, it really didn’t matter. Bradford would be horrified and just as embarrassed as she was about the incident. Maybe it proved Jim’s point, after all. Maybe she couldn’t control the situation when hunters were involved. Maybe she wasn’t fit for the job.
She opened her eyes. If only…oh, God, the if-onlys…If only she hadn’t overreacted so badly. She should have maintained control and calmly talked her way out of the situation. The bitter taste of bile coated her mouth and throat.
Well, how many times had she tried to talk to Jack in one of his fits of temper? And what had it ever accomplished? Nothing.
Storm choked back a sob. She’d allowed Jack to physically and mentally abuse her. His brand of brutality consisted of taking her by force every two or three months. Working twelve-to-fourteen hours a day and then trying to keep the home and their personal life together had been impossible. Jack had angrily accused her of being frigid and then set about disproving his allegations. She shuddered, hating the thought of a man’s hands on her body. All except for Jim Talbot’s warming touch. Not once had she winced when he touched her. It was magic…. It meant that there was still a chance for her to grow whole again.
The door opened and closed quietly, and Storm met Jim’s penetrating look.
“Storm?”
She fought to halt the flow of tears his voice brought very quickly to the surface. Trying to swallow them back, she realized it was something about Jim Talbot that brought all her deeply hidden emotions to the surface.
“You’re still shaking. Hey, look at me.” Jim took the coffee cup from her hands and placed it on the desk. Very gently, he lifted her chin. He knelt down, his eyes narrow with concern, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. “Rickson told me everything. It won’t happen again. Not ever, I promise you….”
She looked up at him miserably, her lips parted and trembling. “Give me another chance,” she gulped. “I want to keep this job! You don’t know why I reacted—”
Jim nodded grimly, his hands cupping her wet, tear-stained face. “I have an idea,” he answered, his anger resurfacing. “You overreacted. It has something to do with your past, right? Now, don’t look away from me, Storm. Tell me the truth.”
“Yes,” she sobbed quietly. “He reminded me of—”
“Come here,” he interrupted huskily, and lifted her to her feet, pulling her into his arms.
The gentle touch of his hand stroking her hair released the dam of pent-up tears. Storm wept without restraint within his protective arms, until finally her fear was washed away. Eventually, other sounds crept into her consciousness—a jet taking off in the distance, the wind gusting against the window behind them and the steady beat of Jim’s heart.
“Better?” Jim asked.
“Better,” she agreed, her voice strained.
“Storm, I don’t want you to think your job’s in jeopardy because of this. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault he made a move—”
“Don’t talk about it, please,” she begged hoarsely, pulling away from him. She sat back down in the chair, trying to force her confused emotions into order.
Jim rested against his desk, his expression grim as he watched her.
“Sometime,” he murmured, “you and I are going to have to talk about your past.”
Storm’s eyes widened. “I said it won’t happen again! Why won’t you believe me? Or is every damn hunting party like Rickson’s? Do I have to take karate lessons to defend myself against these—these animals?”
Jim smelled the contents of her cup and handed it back to her. “Take a drink,” he ordered, his tone coaxing.
She swallowed, inhaling sharply at the strength of the whiskey as it curled down into her knotted stomach.
“What happened today is not the norm. You were at the Monday-morning conference. Dan gave us ten pickups of various hunters’ groups, and this was the only one he warned us about. Doesn’t that tell you that most parties of fishermen, photographers and hunters aren’t like Rickson’s?”
“Great,” she muttered. “My luck is holding as usual.”
Jim grinned briefly. “Looks like the patient is going to live. Your dark sense of humor is coming back.”
“It’s the only thing that’s kept me in one piece,” she shot back, more strongly than she intended.
He seemed unaffected by her touchiness. “I don’t think you’ll have to take karate lessons. You did a pretty good job with that clipboard. You broke one of the bones in his wrist.”
Storm groaned, and stood up restlessly. “Oh, no! Will he sue?”
“No. Personally, I don’t think it could have happened to a more deserving person. You got his gun arm, so he’s out of commission for the entire season. Maybe he’ll think twice before he tries to manhandle the next woman he takes a fancy to. Don’t look so worried. The hunters all sign a release before flying with Bradford’s. He’s so worried you might press charges, that a lawsuit against you is the last thing on his mind.”
Her shoulders relaxed at that news, and her features became more animated. “Maybe he’ll be scared for life of clipboards wielded by women pilots?”
“You got it. Listen, I’m going to have Oscelot drive you home, and I want you to take tomorrow off. I’ll fly Rickson’s group to Camp Five and take Danziger along as copilot. This has been a rough start for you. Come in Wednesday morning at 8:00 a.m., and we’ll schedule you to fly supplies into some of the camps and get you used to our air space and landmarks.”
Storm sat up straight in disbelief. “Then I still have my job?” she asked.
“Yes. If you want it.”
“I do…very much. It means a new start in my life….”
“I know,” he said, his voice growing softer, “and I think I’m beginning to understand why. I’ll see you later. Just get some rest?”
Chapter Five
STELLA EYED THE tally of flights flown by the pilots while Storm leaned against the wall, reading the passenger log for her next flight. The secretary frowned and looked up.
“You know, honey, you’ve been working your tail off this last couple of weeks.”
Storm looked up absently, her mind lingering over the data in her hands. “What? Oh, the missions? Isn’t it like this every hunting season?”
“Sure,” Stella replied, putting down the tally sheet and jabbing her index finger at the figures. “But look here. You’ve flown almost one-third more than our most seasoned pilots.”
Storm shrugged and managed a half smile. “I think Jim is trying to find out whether I can stand the pressure that goes along with the territory.”
“He’s never
done that with his other pilots.”
“They weren’t women,” Storm corrected.
“Humph! If you ask me, that’s ridiculous! You’ve proven yourself many times over. And look at you. Why, you must have lost ten pounds. Young woman, you’re going to get sick if you don’t speak up. Talk to Dan. He’ll ease the load. This just isn’t fair.”
Storm only half heard Stella’s anxious words. Although she didn’t want to admit it, the squabble with Rickson might have colored Jim’s judgment of her ability. She sighed deeply, laid the report aside and stared out the window. Trees in brilliant hues of red, orange and brown stood in startling contrast to the green of spruce and pine forests covering the slopes above Anchorage. A pain squeezed her heart as she thought of Jim. Did she ever stop thinking about the man? He was a menace, a weaver of spells upon her, and she felt terribly unsure of herself with him.
Ever since the incident with Rickson, she’d seen very little of Jim. Apparently he’d changed his mind about having her fly everywhere with him. The last two weeks had included a lesson about where all the camps were located as well as the continuous task of hauling group after group of hunters into the interior of the Alaskan wilderness. She’d flown with almost everyone—but never with Jim.
She hadn’t been bothered by another hunter and was beginning to feel more at ease around the men.
Maybe Jim was right. She couldn’t handle every situation, but she could certainly handle most of them.
“Do me a favor, honey, will you?” asked Stella.
Storm turned. “Sure.”
“See that door across the way? That leads down a winding hall to a little storeroom, where I keep our office supplies. I’m running low on computer print cartridges. Will you get me a few? I can’t leave ‘cause an important call is supposed to be coming through for Mr. Bradford.”
Storm nodded. “Be happy to. I have an hour before the next bunch of hunters comes in.”
Untamed Desire Page 5