Aliss—
He didn’t finish reading the list because Kerry, her cheeks turning a becoming shade of pink, snatched it from his hands. She stuffed it between the magazine’s pages and said curtly, “Thanks. I’m awfully clumsy since I broke my finger.” And before he could say anything, she was heading toward the ladder, clasping her long robe carefully around her as best she could while climbing the rungs.
Sam, pondering her obvious embarrassment, retreated to the kitchen, figuring that comment was unnecessary. He sensed that she hadn’t wanted him to see the papers; he had not mistaken the two spots of color on her cheeks.
After undressing and lowering himself naked into the tub, he took his time bathing while he thought about the list of names he’d seen. They were baby names. He had no doubt of it.
The reason Sam knew this was that Marcia, his former girlfriend, had been on what he’d thought of as a baby campaign before she decamped for the Lower Forty-eight.
“I want a baby,” Marcia used to tell him plaintively as they lay in bed together on Sunday mornings. She’d sing at him from the shower, “Let’s have a boy for you, a girl for me, oh how happy we could be.” And she’d bought him cutesy greeting cards and inked in her own messages, informing him yet again how much she wanted to bear his child.
But he hadn’t wanted to marry Marcia, which to him seemed a prerequisite to having a baby. And Marcia wouldn’t take no for an answer. She’d taken to strewing slips of paper around the house with “Samuel Clay Harbeck, Junior” written on them. And then he’d started to notice other names—Mary Marcia Harbeck, Jennifer Anne Harbeck—jotted on the back of dry-cleaning receipts, shopping lists, in the margins of the newspaper. There was no Mary Marcia Harbeck or Jennifer Anne Harbeck. It wouldn’t have taken a rocket scientist to figure out that these were the names of the babies that Marcia hoped to have with him.
So they’d broken up in the usual way. Sam had it down to a science, breaking up with women. He was ingeniously adept at sabotaging his own relationships, which in this case meant that he’d met an old girlfriend for a drink at a place where Marcia would be sure to run into them. End of relationship, end of Marcia.
Marcia would have had another whole fit in addition to the one she’d had if she’d realized Sam had foolishly contrived to father a child, though not in the usual way. Marcia had never learned, thank goodness, of those vials at the sperm bank in Seattle.
And neither had Kerry. Yet.
“Sam? Are you through bathing?”
Kerry’s voice cut into his thoughts, and Sam hollered back, “Almost.” He supposed it wasn’t so unusual that Kerry would be harboring lists of baby names. She had, as he knew better than anyone, intended to have a baby with Doug.
“I didn’t hear anything, so I thought you must have finished.”
Sam stood up, letting most of the water drain off into the tub before toweling himself dry. He stepped out of the tub before realizing that he’d have to go out into the open area of the cabin to get clean clothes, and then he would be visible to Kerry if she was standing at the loft railing.
“Cover your eyes if you’re looking,” he called out.
“I’m not looking,” she said. “I’m waiting patiently on my cot trying to think of the word that Lewis Carroll invented in Alice in Wonderland. The clue says it’s a combination of snort and chuckle, and all I can think of is snorkle.”
“Try chortle,” he told her as he grabbed a clean pair of jeans out of his pack.
“Great!” A pause while she filled in the word. Then a cautious, “Are you dressed yet?”
“No, but feel free to have a look if you like.” He pulled on his jeans.
“Thanks, I’ll pass. I’d probably only chortle anyway,” Kerry shot back, and this seemed so much more like the old Kerry that Sam almost chortled himself.
“All right,” he said as he shrugged into a turtleneck, “I’m decent.”
Kerry came down the ladder, crossword puzzle in hand. “I finished it,” she said. “And now I have to figure out what to do the rest of the day.” She moved to the window and stared out at the rain gushing down past the window from the slanted roof; there were no gutters.
“You know,” she said suddenly, “I have work to do at the lodge. I think I’ll go over there, clean up the mess I made when I fell after dusting the chandelier, see what else I can do.”
“With a broken finger?” Sam knew he sounded skeptical.
She turned to glare at him. “If I can help with plane repair, I can certainly sweep and dust and maybe even paint.”
Sam knew from the fiery look in her eyes that he was beaten. “I’ll go with you,” he said.
“You don’t have to.” She went and pulled a flannel-lined rain slicker from the wardrobe. He saw that lacy nightgown again and wondered when she wore it. He hadn’t looked, but then again he hadn’t noticed any pajamas or other nightwear in the loft. Which only reinforced his belief—hope?—that Kerry Anderson slept in the nude, which was how Sam thought everyone should sleep.
He helped her with her raincoat, sliding it across her shoulders as she inserted her arms in the sleeves. She flipped her hair out from under the collar so that it fell across her shoulders in a glorious tangle of gleaming gold. His hands moved slowly down to her upper arms and stayed there while he inhaled the scent of her. He didn’t even realize that they held her until she broke away.
Shaken at the shamelessness of his longing to touch her, Sam fumbled with his parka. He jammed his hands deep into the pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted.
“Well, now where’s my umbrella?” Kerry was saying briskly. Too briskly, it seemed to him. She assiduously avoided Sam’s eyes.
Kerry knew that she had to chatter in order to regain control. The way he had held onto her for that all-too-short moment had sent her senses reeling. There had been something very sensual about it, something confusing, and she had wanted to lean into him, to feel those arms encircling her, those hands—
Those hands. They’d better stay in his pockets, right where they were.
I’m making things up, she thought distractedly. I’ve been living alone for too long.
But she hadn’t been alone all this time, at least not in her mind. She had the baby, a little human being who had been abstract, but was now becoming more real to her every day. She would be glad when the baby had grown enough that it showed; it seemed strange to be harboring new life in her body and stranger yet that no one knew about it. She shot a look in Sam’s direction. He wasn’t looking at her. So was he avoiding her eyes the same way she was avoiding his?
“Ready?” Sam didn’t want to open the door until they were ready to go out.
“Ready,” she said, and, still not looking at each other, they hurried out into the gray, wet day.
The path to the lodge was sodden and mushy from all the rain. Little patches of snow remained on the ground, but most had washed away.
“I think it’s warming up,” Kerry said hopefully.
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” Sam hooked a hand under Kerry’s elbow to guide her over a slippery spot as they reached the overhang in front of the lodge’s big double door, but he let go as soon as they reached the doorstep.
“I can’t wait to show you what I’ve done,” Kerry said as she swung the door open. “You’ll hardly recognize the place.”
She was right. Inside the great hall Sam let out a long low whistle. The lodge had always been cavernous and dark, its chinked walls studded with many game trophies, including a huge mounted ram’s head, several salmon and an enormous stuffed bear that looked as if it were still alive. But now the big room was bright and light and, as much as it could be on this dark and rainy day, cheerful.
“You’ve done a fantastic job in here,” he told Kerry.
“I tried. I love this place, all of it, every board, nail, shingle and shutter.” She felt justifiably proud of herself.
“What happened to all the dead animals?”
“Captai
n Crocker was only too happy to haul the moose heads away, and I told him to sell old Abijah to anyone who would pay. I’ll donate the proceeds to an animal shelter.”
“Abijah?”
“That’s the name I gave to the bear. Doug’s grandfather shot him and had him mounted. The first time I ever saw the thing lurking in a dark corner, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Trophy hunting is a travesty in my opinion. We should appreciate animals when they’re alive, not when they’re dead. Although I doubt if there’s much to appreciate about a live grizzly. You know, the thought of meeting up with one terrifies me.”
“I didn’t know you were afraid of anything,” he said, teasing her.
“I’m afraid of bears. Even teddy bears.”
“A little fear is a good thing, because bears are around here for sure. If you come upon a grizzly, you need to remember that the best thing to do is remain motionless.”
“Oh, like I really could. I’d be scared spitless and running for cover so fast that I’d be a blur on the landscape.”
“You should carry pepper spray. That’ll stop a bear.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Remind me and I’ll buy you a case of it before next summer.”
“Will do.” Kerry picked up a broom and started sweeping the floor.
“Well,” Sam said, rubbing his hands together. “I might as well start a fire in here.” He busied himself with kindling, tinder and matches.
When the fire was roaring and its welcome warmth radiating into the room, Kerry went into the adjoining storeroom and returned with a basket full of brass fixtures. She sat on a settee that had been draped with a quilt made of velvet scraps. “You don’t have to stay, Sam. I’m going to polish these and then I thought I’d try to scrub the fireplace stones.” She gestured toward the smoke-blackened fireplace surround.
“I can do that if you’d like,” Sam offered.
“Sam, you don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. But it’s work that needs to be done, and I have nothing else to do. Where’s the bucket?”
Soon they were working in amicable harmony. Outside, rain still beat against the panes of the windows; inside, the temperature was approaching toasty, at least near the fireplace. Kerry had exchanged her raincoat for a wrap that she always kept in the lodge for days when the chill didn’t leave the air. It was a fleecy, multicolored garment that was more than a sweater but less than a jacket. Sam kept looking down at her from his position on the ladder so often that she finally made a face at him.
“If you don’t pay attention to what you’re doing, you might go bust like I did. We don’t need any more broken fingers around here. And what are you looking at, anyway?” she asked.
He stopped to dip the scrub brush into the water. “Oh, I was merely admiring the way your hair looks in the firelight,” he said offhandedly.
She blinked. “That’s not what I expected you to say,” she told him.
“And what did you expect?” He resumed working so he wouldn’t have to look at her.
“I thought you were going to tell me that I wasn’t using the proper technique in polishing this doorknob. Or that I had spinach between my teeth. Or that—”
“Is that how you think I am? Always finding fault?”
She went on polishing. “Kind of.”
“And what if I told you that I’m not usually that way at all? That it was the way I’ve always dealt with you, but that most people find me nonabrasive?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Then I would ask you why you choose to be so, well, pugnacious with me?”
“Pugnacious, huh? I can see you’ve been doing lots of crossword puzzles.” He grinned that handsome jaunty grin at her.
“You know what I mean.”
He took his time answering. “I think it has something to do with the relationship Doug and I shared.”
“Really?” She stopped polishing and stared at him.
“I always kind of resented your coming between us, Kerry.”
There was no hint of a joke in those words; he was dead serious.
Kerry suddenly tossed aside the polishing rag. She drew her knees up and circled her arms around them.
“I didn’t even come on the scene until six years ago, when you and Doug hardly saw each other anymore,” she said.
“Didn’t matter.”
The silence grew between them.
“Would you care to explain that?”
Sam eased himself down on the top platform of the ladder.
“I guess it was petty and stupid,” he said slowly. “But Doug and I were buddies. When we got together for our annual vacation, we always talked about guy things. And then one year when we came to the cabin, Doug only wanted to talk about you.”
Kerry stared up at him. “He did?”
Sam nodded. “Suddenly it was Kerry this, Kerry that. Kerry likes cats. Kerry wears really high heels. Kerry hates surfing, Kerry’s going to Europe, Kerry, Kerry, Kerry. Nothing I could say or do was more important than what Kerry said and did. And I was—well, lost. I felt as if I was hanging out there in the wind somewhere while you and Doug were safe and warm inside.”
“Safe and warm inside what, Harbeck?”
“Your relationship.”
“Oh.”
Sam descended the rungs of the ladder and moved it over another two feet. Then he climbed back up on it and resumed washing.
“I didn’t know you two emoted when you got together,” Kerry said slowly, feeling her way around this whole new aspect.
“‘Emoted?’”
“Exhibited emotions. It’s not a guy thing.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and kept on scrubbing. “Emotion is a human thing. Guys are humans. Believe it or not.”
Kerry laughed. “Well, yeah, but you know what I thought happened during those vacations? I thought you and Doug went around unshaven for a week and told each other crude jokes and made rude noises. I thought you drank way too much beer. And I know for a fact you played poker.”
Sam chuckled. “Well, we did. But Doug talked about you a lot in between the crude jokes and rude noises. I was sure that no human being could be as perfect as he thought you were.”
A wistful smile tugged at the corners of Kerry’s mouth. “If it’s any consolation, I’m not that perfect. Probably.”
“You’re—” Sam started to say something, then stopped.
“I’m what?”
“I was going to agree with that part about your not being perfect,” he said slowly. “But I don’t think I can.”
Kerry picked up her polishing rag and got back to business while she tried to assimilate this and figure out what Sam meant.
“Would you mind clarifying that?” she said cautiously.
“You—well, Kerry, you’re more than I thought.”
“You’ve known me for years, Sam. Have you reached some new mind-boggling revelation?” She slanted him a cagey look out of the corners of her eyes.
“Maybe I have. You’ve proven to be more pleasant, more thoughtful and more energetic than I ever guessed.”
“Not that you spent a lot of time thinking about this,” she said. “Not that it ever crossed your mind that you should be thinking about it.”
“You’re probably right. But I told you, I admire what you’ve done with the lodge. I’d like to see the rest of it.”
“You’re on, but not until we’ve eaten something. I brought a can of tuna and some crackers, so what do you say we break for food and then take the grand tour?”
Sam spared a few more swipes for the fireplace before descending the ladder. “How does that look?” he asked, surveying the work he’d done.
“Better. Now if I only had something wonderful to hang over the mantel, I’d be happy.” Kerry spread a blanket on the floor in front of the fireplace and tugged the ring-top off the tuna.
“How about some of that old artwork stored in the attic?”
Kerry was surprised. “There’s artwor
k up there?”
“Sure, a bunch of paintings in a closet. I saw them when Doug and I were searching all over for his old tackle box one summer.”
“They must have been left here by Doug’s grandmother. She was an artist and a teacher, and she dreamed of converting the lodge an artists’ colony.”
“Is she the one who died young?” Sam asked.
“Yes, Elise Anderson was on her way to becoming famous when she married Doug’s grandfather and he sequestered her here six months out of the year. Elise died bearing Doug’s father, and the second wife burned most of the paintings she left. I didn’t know any had escaped. I don’t think Doug did, either.”
“Doug didn’t see the paintings. I was the one who checked out the closets.” Sam lowered himself to sit beside her on the blanket.
Kerry passed him tuna on a cracker and said, “You know, Sam, I didn’t think we could coexist here for the few days it would take to make the plane flyable, but now I think there’s hope. You’re more than I expected, too.”
In that moment there was a flash of something between them, though Kerry was hard put to know what exactly it was. Camaraderie? Understanding? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she was completely comfortable sitting on a blanket with Sam Harbeck and that maybe, just maybe, it was time to give him credit for being all that Doug had claimed he was. A fine person, Doug had said. A good friend. A helluva nice guy.
When they had finished eating, Kerry preceded Sam up the stairs to the attic. They wended their way toward the closet at one end through a welter of old mirrors, a discarded dressmaker’s dummy and several baskets full of bric-a-brac. After a futile attempt to budge the door, Sam had to coax it open with a karate chop slightly to the south of center.
“Looks as if the pictures are still here,” Sam said.
“Wow,” Kerry said, peering around him. “Paintings. Lots of them.” He stepped inside the closet to tug one out of the stack, passing it over to her. “This one’s marvelous. Look, Sam, it’s the glacier.”
The painting was signed with Elise Anderson’s name and was a landscape that captured the grandeur of the glacier and the mountains beyond.
“She’s got the color of the ice just right,” Sam said.
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