“Is that so?”
“Yes. I told her she should wait and do that herself, but she says I should hug you right now because you’re super-nice.”
“Well, then, you’d better do as she says.” Scott grinned. “I’d hate to have to report that you didn’t follow instructions.”
She slid her phone in her pocket and stepped closer, putting her arms around his waist and giving a little squeeze. She looked up at him, and her face changed from amused to something softer. She tightened her hold and he ran his hands over her back. She snuggled her head against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You already said that.”
“That was from Emma. This is from me.” She gave him one more squeeze and then stepped away. “But we’d better hit the road. We still have another two hours to go, and I’m already getting hungry.”
“Me, too.”
The sun was setting when they turned off the highway. They passed a barnlike building on the right with a big sign out front. “A brewery?” Scott asked. “In a town this size?”
“You’ve been out of the country too long,” Volta told him. “Microbreweries are popping up everywhere. This is a good one.”
“I could use a beer right now. Is it open?”
“No, but the restaurant where I’m taking you carries their whole line.”
A few minutes later, Volta pulled to a stop to let a line of people cross the road. In front of them was a downtown that looked as though it had been lifted from a hundred-year-old photograph and colorized. Quaint timber buildings had wooden signs on their porches advertising the names of the businesses.
Volta pointed to a red plank building. “We’ll have to pop in there tomorrow and meet the new mayor.”
“The mayor hangs out in the souvenir store?”
“Yes. At least, the old mayor always did. I’ve heard the new mayor is a relative.”
“Why, particularly, do we need to meet the mayor? Is this someone I need to win over to the idea of adding prenatal services?”
“Oh, I doubt the mayor has any interest in medical services.” The little lines at the corners of her eyes told him she was up to something, but he wasn’t sure what. “You’ll still want to meet him. It’s tradition.”
“If you say so.” That was why she’d been so valuable on this project, because she knew her way around the people and traditions.
Volta went past the downtown and parked in a grassy field next to a wooden building. Judging from the rambling lines, it looked as though the building had grown from a small cabin in fits and starts over many decades.
They went inside, where a lively crowd chattered, but the hostess immediately found them a table and handed them menus. “Hmm. Salmon quesadilla bites,” he said.
“Sounds like heaven,” Volta agreed. She laughed. “Do you know the first time I ever had quesadillas were the ones you made for me?”
He remembered. They’d walked back to his place after an afternoon of snorkeling, and they were starved. She’d suggested grilled cheese, but he didn’t have any bread, only tortillas. “As I recall, you liked them.”
“I loved them. You started my lifelong addiction to cheese and salsa. Emma loves them, too. Quesadillas are her favorite snack.”
The waiter came. Scott ordered the quesadillas, a cheeseburger and a craft IPA. Volta asked for chicken pasta and a raspberry blonde ale. After the waiter left, Scott said, “I thought you never drank while you were on shift.”
“I’m officially off now, once Mike dropped us at the airport.”
“Then how are you getting paid for tomorrow?”
She shrugged. “I’m not. But that’s okay. I’ve already got my hours in, so I’ve earned a full paycheck this month.”
“You could have mentioned it.” The waiter returned with their drinks and the appetizer. Scott waited until he left to continue. “I would have talked to your boss to authorize your travel time as part of the fee we’re paying.”
“We’re in Talkeetna, drinking beer. I don’t need to be paid for the privilege. Let’s just enjoy it.” Volta raised her mug. “To good times and quesadillas.”
They’d certainly had plenty of both during their history. Scott clinked his mug against hers and drank. “This is an excellent IPA.”
“Told you.”
“Yes, you did. My patient this morning, the one with the stitches, says you should always listen when a smart woman gives advice.”
“He sounds like a wise man.”
“Not wise enough. His wife told him to wear a protective glove when he cleaned fish.”
“I’ll bet he will from now on.”
“Count on it.” He watched her bite into one of the quesadilla wedges. Her face morphed into an expression of bliss. She always looked that way when she ate anything involving cheese and peppers.
He’d wondered, sometimes, if the Volta he remembered was a fantasy. The woman who could make him laugh, and the very next moment make him think about something in an entirely new way. The woman who seemed to carry around her own special brand of sunshine, warming everyone around her. Did she really exist?
But here she was, eleven years later, as smart and funny as ever. Not that she hadn’t changed. She’d grown and matured. Become more confident. Scott liked that, and he liked seeing her with her daughter. Motherhood had given Volta a whole new dimension.
The waiter walked by carrying a tray with a flat bowl of some sort of cheesy pasta. Volta laughed. “Remember when I tried to make homemade ravioli?”
“Oh, yes.” He remembered all right. She’d tried to roll out the pasta by hand using a beer bottle since his apartment kitchen had no pasta machine or even a rolling pin. Then she’d carefully cut out circles with a glass, filled them with a savory mixture of cheese, spinach and sausage, and stuck another circle on top. But when it came time to boil the pasta, the circles didn’t stay stuck and the whole thing erupted into a slimy stew.
“What a fiasco.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Scott smiled at the memory. “The sauce was good.”
“The sauce was from a jar. I can’t believe you actually ate that mess.”
“Well, you’d spent all afternoon making it just because I mentioned I liked ravioli.”
“The expression on your face when I set the plate in front of you.” Volta laughed and shook her head. “You probably never looked at ravioli the same way again after that experience.”
“I took a cooking class once in Italy, and the instructor showed us how to make ravioli. I think the problem was that you didn’t have the right kind of flour, and that you tried to put too much filling inside the pockets.”
“Probably. Have you taken lots of cooking classes?”
“No. Honestly, I almost never cook. That class was during a four-day vacation I took along with a colleague and his wife about five years ago. I haven’t taken another one, other than a couple of days in Houston every year or two. In fact, last time I checked, I had almost six months of vacation banked.”
“Gosh, you are a workaholic.”
It stung a little when she said it, even though it was true. Especially because it was true. Scott remembered his stepmother throwing that word around a lot during the final months before she moved out.
Only once after they were gone did his father express regret. “I shouldn’t have married her,” he’d mused, as much to himself as to Scott. “I’m not the sort of man who can keep his work life separate from his private life.” And then he’d turned to Scott. “You’re the same. You’re focused, and that’s what makes you good at what you do. Men like us shouldn’t be married.”
He didn’t add, “And they certainly shouldn’t have children,” but it was true. As a child, Scott had hardly known his father, and the situation hadn’t improved much since then. During the three days Scott had spent in Housto
n before he came to Alaska, they’d only eaten two meals together. And his father had spent most of that time trying to sell him on the idea of coming into practice with him.
Maybe that was his way of trying to make up for the time he didn’t spend raising Scott. Or maybe he just wanted more hands on deck. Regardless, Scott had no interest in becoming a sports surgeon with his father.
“Scott?” Volta had that look of concern on her face. “Are you okay?”
He managed a smile. “I’m great.” And he was. He was in Alaska, sitting across the table from a charming and beautiful woman. Not sitting alone at a table in a grand house, picking at whatever dinner the nanny had fixed for him. That was all in the past. Their waiter brought their entrees and asked if they wanted another beer. “Sure,” Scott told him.
“I’m still working on this one. Thanks.” Volta shot him that dazzling smile and the waiter paused in the middle of gathering up the empties to smile back.
Scott couldn’t much blame the guy. She was stunning. Scott picked up his cheeseburger and closed his eyes, breathing in the smoky, meaty aroma. He liked traveling around the world, trying all different types of food, but the one thing he always missed was American cheeseburgers. No one else seemed to do them quite right.
Volta laughed. “You look like you can’t decide whether to bite it or kiss it.”
He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “Maybe both. I haven’t had a good cheeseburger in over a year.” He took his first bite, reveling in the taste. “So good.”
Volta watched him, amused, while she tasted her pasta. The waiter brought his second beer, inquired if they needed anything, and left them alone. Scott took another bite and set aside his burger so that he could wash it down with a swig of beer. “How’s yours?”
“Try it.” Volta scooped up a forkful of pasta and held it up for him.
Scott leaned forward and ate off her fork. “That is good. Not as good as my cheeseburger, though.”
“Oh, wow. Is that an owl?” Volta pointed out the window behind Scott’s left shoulder.
He turned to look but didn’t see anything except the tiny yellow leaves of a birch limb brushing against the glass. When he turned back, Volta was nibbling at one of the sweet potato cilantro fries that had come with his burger. He grinned. “You could have asked. I’ll share.”
“It’s more fun to steal them.”
He was tempted to start nibbling at the other end of the fry and work his way closer to her lips, like the famous scene with the dogs eating spaghetti, but he managed to tamp down that urge. He did stick his fork into her pasta and swipe an olive while she was busy with the fry.
She laughed, and Scott realized laughter was one of his favorite sounds in the whole world. Well, not all laughter, just Volta’s. There was nothing extraordinary about it, and yet if he heard a recording of fifty people laughing, he was sure he could pick hers out in seconds.
Once they finished their meals, the waiter stopped by. “Could I interest you in dessert? Apple tart? Hot fudge brownie sundae?”
Volta shook her head, but Scott had seen that telltale lip lick when the waiter mentioned brownies. “Fudge sundae, please, with two spoons.”
The waiter returned shortly with the decadent dessert, smothered with thick chocolate sauce and whipped cream. Volta sighed. “I shouldn’t.”
“But you will.” Scott handed her a spoon.
“I will.” She tasted the first bite and closed her eyes. “Heaven. Tomorrow I’ll eat salad.”
“Tomorrow can take care of tomorrow. Tonight, just enjoy.”
After they’d finished dinner, Volta drove a few blocks away and stopped in front of an L-shaped two-story building made of pale logs. A wooden sign with a red cross hung over the railing of a front porch tucked into the bend of the house. A green window box was full of dead marigolds. Up above, a narrow balcony jutted from a gable wall, with a flower box full of purple and yellow flowers hanging from the railing.
Volta reached under the yellow leaves and plucked out a wooden daisy attached to a key. “Looks like Nate was a little overoptimistic about the last frost. He should have used pansies in both flower boxes.” She took the flagstone path to the rear of the building. Scott followed her, carrying their bags.
A flight of stairs with metal grates for treads led up to a landing on the second floor. There was barely room on the landing for the two of them and their small suitcases. Volta unlocked the door, pushed it open and flipped on the switch.
A paper lantern lit up overhead, casting a warm glow across the room. A small kitchen took up one end of the room, with a table in the middle and a couch and two easy chairs in front of a corner fireplace. The vaulted ceiling was lined with tongue-and-groove cedar. The lack of dust on the end tables made Scott believe someone was regularly cleaning the place in the doctor’s absence, although the air was a little stuffy.
Volta crossed the room and opened a pair of narrow French doors to let in the cool evening air. She turned and smiled. “Our home for tonight. What do you think?”
Our home. He rather liked the sound of that. “I feel like if I listen closely, I might hear cowbells and yodeling.”
“Not likely. Huskies howling, maybe. You can take the bedroom.” She walked through an archway near the living area into a hallway, opened a door, and removed a set of sheets and a blanket. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I’ll take the couch,” Scott offered.
She shook her head. “Your feet would hang over the edge. I’ve slept on it before and it’s just right for me.” She spread the sheets onto the couch.
“Do you visit your friend here often?”
“No. Nate’s an old buddy, but Minnie and I just met last summer. She let me stay with her while I helped at a local health fair. They dressed me as a vampire and had me taking blood samples.”
She collected another set of sheets from the closet and carried them into a bedroom. The roof sloped sharply over a sleigh bed. Volta snapped a sheet to spread it across the mattress and tucked a corner in. Scott reached past her to move the pillows out of the way. A strand of her hair brushed his cheek, releasing the scent of plumeria and a million memories.
Volta turned her head, bringing her face just inches from his. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. “I, um...” Volta glanced at the bed as though trying to remember what she’d been about to say. “I’ll get a blanket.” She disappeared into the hall. Scott tucked the fitted sheet around the mattress and emptied his pockets onto the nightstand.
Volta returned a moment later. She laid the blanket on a chair and picked up the horseshoe charm lying on the tabletop among the spare change. “This was your mother’s, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s sweet that you carry it with you.” She returned it to the nightstand and left him to finish making the bed. When he came into the living room later, Volta was standing outside on the tiny balcony. She tilted back her head and closed her eyes. Much like the pansies cascading over the railing, her delicate appearance belied her resilient nature. When he joined her outside, a spruce-scented breeze cooled his face.
He stood behind her, not touching her, but near enough to feel the heat of her body. Down below, twilight shadows and glowing windows made the town look as quaint and cozy as those Christmas snow globes people collected. Volta let out a deep sigh and leaned back against his chest. Almost of their own accord, his arms encircled her, pulling her close.
He rested his face against the top of her head, her scented hair soft against his cheek. Then she turned and reached up to cup her hand against his face. She raised herself onto her toes and let her lips touch his. The kiss was tentative, barely making contact. Almost as though she was afraid. Of what, he wasn’t sure.
She drew back and in the twilight, he couldn’t make out the blue of her eyes, but he could clearly see the softness of her exp
ression, the curve of those luscious lips. She slid her arms around his neck.
The second kiss was anything but tentative. He brought her closer, slanted his head to bring the kiss deeper. Warm and enticing, it felt like coming home. And to a man without a home, that was the most amazing feeling in the world.
After a satisfyingly long kiss, she drew back just far enough to smile at him. “Scott?”
“Hmm?”
“Why did you come to Alaska? Really?”
“To find you,” he admitted. “I told myself it was to make sure you were okay, but really I wanted to be with you again. Even if it was only for a little while.”
She brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and then traced her finger along the edge of his jaw. “I’m glad.” She let out a long sigh. “I may be sorry later, but right now, I’m glad you came.” She snuggled her head against his shoulder, and he held her tight.
Behind them, the pale silver moon peeked from between the branches of the surrounding trees. It made its way higher, eventually rising above the level of the trees and into the sky. The air grew cooler. And still he held her.
Finally, she stirred. “It’s late, and we have an early morning tomorrow. We’d better get some sleep.”
“I suppose.”
She popped onto her tiptoes to brush a kiss across his cheek and then squeezed past him into the living room, where she shed her sweater and pulled a few things from her suitcase. “Give me five minutes in the bathroom, and then it’s all yours.” She disappeared into the hallway.
He picked up the hooded sweater she’d been wearing and held it to his nose, breathing in the plumeria scent that clung to the yarn.
She returned, now dressed in loose pajama pants and a T-shirt. The pajama fabric was printed with moose, complete with canes and top hats, dancing their way across the lines of the plaid. He couldn’t help but chuckle.
She smiled. “A gift from Emma.”
“She has good taste.”
Home Sweet Alaska Page 14