Wife in the Mail

by Marie Ferrarella

  She would have paid more. They were as much a part of her as her limbs. “I do.”

  “What’d they bring, Sydney?” Sara asked, hopping with excitement from one foot to the other beside her.

  Sydney stepped out of the way, giving the men room. “Just some things that are very precious to me.”

  Boxed up within the van were her most necessary as well as her most prized possessions. Her books, her clothes, a computer, and a trunkful of photo albums that held irreplaceable photographs. Nothing that couldn’t have been shipped by freight—except for one very large item that had been the deciding factor in how she would send the rest of her things.

  “Let’s get this over with, Tom,” the driver grunted, beckoning his partner inside. “I want to get back to civilization before we run into any more bad weather.”

  Sara stood on her tiptoes, trying to see, but it was useless. “What’ve you got in there, Sydney? Tell me,” she begged.

  But Sydney merely grinned, knowing the value of drawing something like this out. “You’ll see. Let’s go inside and let these men do their job. Asia, can you get them some coffee?”

  Stopping what they were doing, the men looked at Sydney as if she were an answer to a prayer.

  The boxes came first. To facilitate things, Sydney had the movers pile them in the hallway, out of the way. And then came the item she’d been waiting for. The singular item whose transport here meant that she was serious about permanently sinking her roots in Alaska.

  Mac’s eyes grew larger than demitasse saucers. “A piano?” he cried, circling the upright’s perimeter as the larger of the two men angled the dolly underneath it. Mac’s mouth was all but hanging open. “You’ve got a real piano?”

  “I’ve got a real piano.” Sydney tried not to laugh at Mac’s reaction. He’d been trying so hard to remain aloof until the movers had struggled out of the van with the piano.

  Sydney greeted the sight of the honey-colored upright the way she would a long-lost friend who had finally arrived to offer her full comfort and support. It was all she could do to keep from running alongside it as the movers dollied it in. She winced as one of the corners came in contact with the wall.

  “Careful with it, please,” she begged.

  The men didn’t want to be careful as much as they wanted to be finished.

  “Where do you want it?” the man called Tom huffed, struggling with his end.

  Sara knew just the perfect place for it. “The living room.” As an afterthought, she pointed in the right direction.

  It would look good there, Sydney thought. It was only temporary, of course, but even that would probably annoy Shayne. She looked toward the room uncertainly. “Do you think your father’ll mind?”

  “Lady, please, I’m getting a hernia here,” the driver begged impatiently.

  “My father’s a doctor,” Sara announced with a tinge of pride.

  They were coming along just fine, Sydney thought, glancing at Sara.

  “Too bad he ain’t a magician, then he could levitate this thing into position,” the driver cracked.

  “The living room’ll be just fine,” Sydney assured them. It was only going to stay here until she could move into her cabin.

  Once in place, Mac continued to circle the piano as if he’d never seen one up close. He raised his eyes to Sydney. “Can you play it?”

  “Yes. I’ve been playing since I was five years old.” Memories crowded through her head, memories of playing the piano, under duress at the time, on cold, snowy nights. Who knew she’d been preparing for her life out here all along?

  He looked torn between admiration and suspicion. People said a lot of things that weren’t true. Mac ran his hand across the wooden cover over the keys.

  “Play something, Sydney.”

  She didn’t even bother pretending that she wanted to be coaxed. In a heartbeat, Sydney was standing beside him, playing. She only paused when the driver came in with the bench.

  The run had taken longer than he’d anticipated. At one point, he thought he had ice forming on his wings, but it had just been the glare of the sun hitting a water spot. For five agonizing minutes, it had given him a hell of a scare, though. Left him wondering what these people, handfuls of men, women and children scattered like grain upon the wind, would do if something happened to his plane. And him.

  Someone was going to have to learn to fly this thing if Ben never came back. Kellogg’s son was too unreliable. He had that look about him. The look that said as soon as he was able, he’d be gone. That left only him.

  The thought linked itself up to Sydney and her never-ending pleas for flying lessons. He’d made the ran without her. When she’d offered to go, as she did each time he delivered medicine and supplies to someone, he’d given her some excuse. They both knew it didn’t hold up, but for once she’d surprised him and backed off. Maybe she was finally losing interest.

  In any event, it had been the first run he’d made without her since she’d turned up to burrow her way into his life.

  He figured he should have enjoyed the solitude a whole lot more since it had become a rare event for him. It mystified him that he hadn’t. Instead of relishing the quiet, allowing it to surround him the way it had before Sydney’s initial intrusion, it had somehow seemed oddly out of place for him. The solitude wasn’t as comforting, it had felt…almost lonely.

  He wondered if the land was finally getting to him the way it had so many others out here. A man could only take so much before he was too full of emptiness to stand it.

  That his restless dissatisfaction might have had its source in something else was a possibility he didn’t want to entertain.

  Getting out of the plane’s cockpit, he jumped down, frowning as the sight in the distance registered. There was a moving van in front of his house. He remembered a fragment of the conversation at the airport, something about Sydney’s things being packed and on their way. He hadn’t given it much thought then because he’d assumed she’d be turning around to go home. But now that she wasn’t—

  Damn it, the house was crammed enough as it was. If she thought she could jam her furniture into his life on top of jamming herself into it, then she was in for a big surprise. She was just going to have to make other arrangements.

  Exhaustion vanished as he strode toward his house as quickly as he was able. Halfway there, Shayne could’ve sworn he heard the sound of a piano being played. And raised voices, singing along. It linked up to a memory, but he let the chain break.

  He hurried his pace. The singing grew louder. Now what?

  Sydney looked up when he opened the door, their eyes meeting instantly. The sight of her smile thawed the chill that had been forming in his bones. His reaction made him twice as irritable.

  “Hi,” Sydney said hesitantly. She couldn’t help thinking he looked loaded for bear.

  She sounded awfully innocent for a woman who kept insisting on turning his world upside down, Shayne thought, gesturing at the strangers and the piano they were all gathered around. “What’s this?”

  “Oh, they’re the movers.” Sydney rose. “Dr. Shayne Kerrigan, this is Boyd Hanes and Tom Kelly.”

  “They brought Sydney’s things,” Sara chimed in needlessly.

  He barely nodded in Sara’s direction. His attention was riveted to the honey-colored object in the center of the living room. His living room. And she was leading a songfest. With movers, yet. “You didn’t tell me you had a piano.”

  She lifted a delicate shoulder, letting it drop again. “It never worked its way into the conversation.”

  It was in the way of everything, couldn’t she see that? No, of course not. She was in the way of everything and she couldn’t seem to see that, either. Well, a man had to draw the line somewhere.

  “It can’t stay here.”

  To his surprise, she agreed. “It won’t. Once Aunt Faye’s cabin’s finished, I’ll take it there.”

  “How, strapped to your back?”

  Sydn
ey didn’t like the edge in his voice, as if he was mocking her. When the time came, it would fall into place for her. She turned to look at him. Maybe Ike would help. “I’ll find a way.”

  She would, too, even though he couldn’t think of how offhand, Shayne knew. But somehow, he mused grudgingly, this damn stubborn woman would find a way—even if she wound up strapping Ike and Jean Luc, or any one of the dozen or so other men who came sniffing at her heels, to a sled and had them mush all the way there.

  The driver looked uncomfortable at the confrontation. He picked up his jacket from the floor and shrugged into it. The other man followed suit in silence.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Boyd told her. “And good luck to you.” Nodding at the children, the men took their leave.

  Sara and Mac ran outside to see them on their way. Shayne was surprised that Mac could be so animated.

  He didn’t realize that Sydney was behind him until he felt her hand on his arm. “Don’t you like music?”

  He turned to look at her, then felt something twist inside him. He almost came out and told her that he’d missed her today, but then thought better of it. If ever anyone could make a mile out of an inch, it was Sydney. “It has its place.”

  Sydney studied him for a moment, wishing she could understand him better. “But not in your life?” she guessed.

  He was going to say no, that he didn’t have time for such things, but then that same memory returned, stirring within him. The one that had whispered through him when he’d first heard the piano.

  He merely shook his head as he walked away. “Not anymore.”

  Sydney crept down the stairs quietly. Mac and Sara were both asleep. She assumed Shayne was, too. It was almost eleven and his door was shut when she’d slipped out of her room just now. There was no noise, no line of light sneaking out from beneath his door. Everyone was asleep but her.

  She couldn’t seem to sleep tonight, though she was tired enough.

  It probably had to do with having the piano arrive. She could remember playing it as a little girl, although then it had been a huge chore. She’d hated practice. The only thing that had made it bearable was the history behind the piano. It had once been her great-grandmother’s, and she’d given performances on it. She and the man who was to become her husband traveled around from city to city, playing anywhere that would have them. It always made Sydney feel as if she were touching a piece of history.

  She had an urge to touch it now, to reassure herself that it had really arrived safely and that she hadn’t just been daydreaming.

  When she came to the foot of the stairs, she was surprised to see a light coming from the living room. As far as she knew, Shayne had been the last one down here. It wasn’t like him to forget to turn the lights off.

  There was a reason why he hadn’t turned it off, she discovered. He was still there. Shayne was sitting at her piano, his hands on the keyboard, his fingers poised. He was touching the keys, although not enough to make a sound.

  She debated leaving him to his privacy. The debate was short-lived. Curiosity got the better of her. “Did you ever play?”

  Startled, he jerked his head up. Preoccupied, he hadn’t heard her. Damn the woman, did she have to come skulking around into his every moment?

  “No, not really.” Embarrassed at being discovered, Shayne started to pull the cover down over the keys.

  Sydney leaned over the bench and gently pushed the cover up again. “Fakely, then?” she teased.

  He knew her by now, or at least this much about her: she was going to keep after him until he told her what she wanted to know. Shayne figured he’d spare himself a lot of grief by just telling her. It was no big deal, anyway.

  “Miss Faye tried to teach me.”

  Her mouth curved, remembering the parts of a piano they’d found in the debris at the cabin. Her father had told her that Aunt Faye loved to play. Sydney could just picture her aunt working with a very young Shayne, trying to make him feel the music in his soul. She must have thought he possessed some.

  “Did she succeed?”

  He shrugged. He’d never been really comfortable about talking about himself, even in a cursory manner. “I could pick out a tune or two, but that was a long time ago.” He began to get up.

  “Play something.”

  The softly voiced request lingered in the air between them, as if to draw something out of him that he felt wasn’t there. She did that a lot, he realized. But this time, he was just going to walk away.

  “I said it was a long time ago—”

  Acting as if he hadn’t said a word, Sydney stood behind him and placed her hands over his, coaxing them onto the keys.

  “It’s in there somewhere. Why don’t you try?” Her eyes met his, her face far closer than he was happy about. “Everyone needs music in their lives.”

  That was what Miss Faye had said to him when she had talked him into taking lessons. She would have given them to him free, but he’d paid her back by doing chores. He had his pride. And he’d been proud, he remembered, playing for her.

  The light touch of Sydney’s hands over his generated a warmth through him he knew was unsafe. “I don’t know about that,” he muttered. Then, with a surrendering sigh, he nodded. “Remember, you asked for it.”

  “I’ll remember,” she promised, sitting beside him.

  With stiff fingers, he picked out the song that inexplicably still existed in the recesses of his mind. He didn’t remember the title, or even the words. It had something to do with a drunken soldier, or maybe it was a sailor. Searching for the notes, he struck the keys so slowly, it was almost impossible to string what emerged into a tune.

  Or so he thought.

  But as he stumbled through the song that hummed through his mind, Sydney began to mimic his movements, one complete scale higher. Grinning, she played with more assurance. A melody emerged.

  “That’s it.” He wasn’t aware that he sounded excited at the reunion.

  His own fingers picked up the tempo, until they were playing a duet. Finished, pleased with himself, he sat back. Sydney’s soft laughter mingled with the fading strains of the chords. It was obvious that she was delighted with his success.

  “See, I told you you’d remember how to play. It’s something that never leaves you, you just have to want it to come back.”

  A little like the ability to love, a soft voice whispered in her mind.

  The grin settled into a gentle smile as she looked into his eyes. There was a deep well of emotion there. Emotion she had a feeling he refused to take so much as a sip of. She placed her hand lightly on his arm, wishing she could coax that out of him, too.

  He didn’t like not being able to help himself. Because if he could help himself, Shayne knew he wouldn’t be doing this, wouldn’t be taking her into his arms, wouldn’t be tilting her head back until their lips were touching. Wouldn’t even be sitting at this damn piano, playing with memories when he had more important things to be doing.

  Things that didn’t include kissing her and losing his way in the current of the sensation that raced over him, sweeping him away.

  The instant his mouth touched hers with an urgency that took her breath away, Sydney felt alive again. Her pulse raced as she felt the kiss deepen, widen, dragging her in. She went willingly even though she knew it was a mistake to do so. Why did she think this time would be any different?

  Yet she wanted this. Had wanted it from the moment she’d walked in to find him at the piano.

  Wanted it longer than that.

  He finally pulled back, afraid that if he didn’t, he would give in to the demands pounding through him. Demands that urged him to sweep her into his arms and take her upstairs to his room.

  To lose himself, just for the night, in the sweet softness of her body….

  Shaken, Sydney strove for something to say that would lighten the moment. He couldn’t be allowed to think that she meant anything by this. Men with the upper hand tended to press you into the g
round.

  “Wow,” she finally said, trying to buy some time to pull herself together. She cleared her throat as she ran her hand through her hair. “It’s a good thing we didn’t play ‘Flight of the Bumblebee.’ I’m not sure where we would have wound up.”

  “Nowhere,” he told her sternly. “We’re not going to wind up anywhere.”

  Sydney straightened her shoulders against the sting of his words. Well, that put her in her place, she thought, rallying. Somehow, it felt like small comfort that he wasn’t leading her on.

  “Right.” She rose. “Well, I’d better go upstairs and get some sleep.” Not that she thought she could after he’d just lowered the boiling point of her blood. She bit her lip. There seemed to be only one way to save face here, to let him see that if the kiss meant nothing to him, it meant even less to her. “I thought maybe I’d move into the cabin before it’s finished. Get out of your hair…”

  It was a great proposition. He had no idea why he wasn’t throwing his support behind it. All he knew was that the thought of her actually leaving annoyed him as much as the thought of her moving in had. Maybe more.

  “It’s not a good idea to go until they can run the lines for a telephone and get the electricity going.” He didn’t like the idea of her being cut off like that. What if she needed someone?

  She shrugged. She’d obviously worn out the little welcome that there’d been. She wasn’t about to remain where she wasn’t wanted. “I can make do.”

  There she went again, thinking of herself as some sort of superwoman, about to charm small furry creatures with a single smile. “There’re all sorts of things that could go wrong, Sydney. Don’t be stupid.”

  Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t about to be browbeaten, which was exactly what he was doing. “I’ll be stupid if I want to—” With that, she turned on her heel and marched toward the stairs.

  He watched her go, knowing he was looking at the back of the most stubborn woman on the face of the earth. If he had any sense, he’d just agree and be done with it. But he didn’t seem to have any sense, at least, none that he was using.