“Yes, and there are more. Oh, look at this one.” It was a painting in the primitive style and was of Silverthorne Lodge, with people waving from windows, fishing in the creek, walking their children alongside the river.
Kerry straightened. “These are about to see the light of day. The one of the glacier will be perfect over the mantel.”
As she turned around, her eyes met Sam’s, and whatever he was thinking, she was sure it wasn’t about the paintings. Something in his eyes tipped her off, warned her that she’d better get out of there, and fast.
The closet’s dimensions seemed to have shifted, grown smaller. They were standing hip to hip, close enough to feel the warmth from each other’s bodies. Kerry told herself that she should slide past Sam to the door, but something stopped her, and it wasn’t only the lack of maneuvering room. She knew she couldn’t get out of the closet without some portion of her anatomy coming into contact with his.
He turned first, but not toward the door. He swiveled so that he faced her, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. Her heart started dancing around in her chest, a wild jackhammer rhythm, and in the gloom the dust motes floating between them seemed to sparkle.
“We really should take some of these paintings downstairs,” she said, but the words came out in a squeak.
Sam stared at her, his eyes half-lidded, the pupils dark. “Let’s don’t do that yet,” he said, and his fingertips came up and caressed her cheek. She swallowed, incapable of movement, thought or speech.
Then the unthinkable happened. Sam curled a hand around her waist and diminished the space between them, his face close, his breath mingling with hers. And then it was their lips that were mingling, curving to fit as though made for each other, and Kerry was helpless to stop him. She resisted as long as she could, but when he deepened the kiss, she opened to him, let him in, hating herself for her weakness but unable to fight it. She melted against him, as his mouth plundered hers, her arms finding their way around his neck, her eyes closing so that all she could see was the warm, soft darkness, and so all she could feel was Sam’s mouth on hers.
It was only one kiss, but it seemed to last an eternity, and when it was over she knew it hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
Her eyes flew open, startled, and she was afraid to think what would happen next. She was so close to Sam that she saw in bewilderment that his eyes had glazed over, that some resolve had chilled whatever it was that had made him kiss her so thoroughly and completely.
He took a firm step backward and away from her, or at least as far as he could in that cramped space.
“I’ll take the big picture of the glacier downstairs,” he said. While she scrunched herself tightly into the corner of the closet, he lifted it and started for the stairs, leaving Kerry alone with only the hammer of her heartbeat to keep her company. She touched a hand to her lips, which felt bruised, and it came away wet. She closed her eyes and tried to believe that the kiss hadn’t happened. But it had. And she hadn’t stopped him.
She thought, Now what?
CHAPTER FIVE
The rain had tapered to a drizzle, or as Captain Crocker called it, a mizzle. When Kerry got back to the cabin, Sam wasn’t there, but the sound of an ax striking wood told her where he was.
She peeked into the breezeway from the kitchen window. Sam was splitting logs, making the chips fly, and he’d already added considerably to the stack of firewood. He’d taken off his coat and was working in his shirtsleeves, the muscles in his back rippling beneath the knit of his turtleneck, and he couldn’t see her watching him; he stood with his back to her.
Well, no point in disturbing him. Things could not be the same between them after that kiss. Sam had flung down a gauntlet of sorts, a challenge, and she couldn’t accept it. She should tell him the truth, that she was going to have Doug’s baby. Not really Doug’s baby, she reminded herself, but that was the way she thought of it.
Distractedly, with frequent glances out the window at Sam as he worked, she put on soup to cook for dinner and tried to read a magazine. But the magazine was two years old, and Kerry wasn’t interested in reading about “Forty Ways To Make Your Man More Fun in Bed.” When the noise from the breezeway finally stopped, she waited nervously for Sam to come in, but he didn’t. Finally she went and looked. He’d left spruce logs neatly stacked and was nowhere in sight.
It was still raining. Where would he go? You’d think he’d have let her know if he’d decided to take a walk.
Through the trees she could barely see the lodge, but she spied a light in one of the windows. That must mean that Sam had gone over there.
Naturally the thought occurred to her that Sam, too, was edgy about what to say to her after their kiss. Well, he wouldn’t have to say anything, she thought. All he’d have to do is act as if it never happened. That was what she planned to do. That’s all there was to do. They were required by circumstances to share this small space until they were able to get out of here, and then they’d never have to see each other again.
That would be just fine with her. If anyone should be upset about that ill-timed moment in the attic closet, it was her. She was the one who should be in the lodge sulking, not Sam. Had she invited him, by any stretch of anyone’s imagination, to kiss her? Of course not. She’d been minding her own business, not asking for his help, not even wanting him around. He’d moved in on her plan for the day and made a nuisance of himself.
The more she thought about Sam the more annoyed she became. She went to check on the soup, tossed in a hunk of salt pork. Too bad there was no one around to eat the soup. Too bad she’d made it in the first place. She should have made Sam eat another can of tuna tonight. She slammed around the kitchen, deriving a certain satisfaction out of creating a lot of noise.
“What’s going on in here?” Sam came in the door, stomping his feet on the threshold to shake off the wet leaves and bark chips from his boots.
“Nothing. Nothing is going on. I’m making soup, that’s all. And my finger hurts. And I wish I were back in Anchorage at Emma’s house, not here where planes don’t fly and I have to worry about bears, thanks to your unhelpful warning. Besides, I hate this god-awful weather.”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck and appeared bemused. “I didn’t realize I’d scared you about the bears.”
“I am not scared. I’m going to be cautious, that’s all.” She ran out of words looking at Sam, whose hair was damp with the rain. She realized that she had never noticed the faint web of creases at the corners of his eyes before. She had never noticed how long his eyelashes were, either.
Sam hung his parka on its peg. “Look, Kerry, if you’re angry about what happened back at the lodge—”
“Angry? I don’t think so. I wish it hadn’t happened, that’s all.”
“Was it so awful?” His eyes twinkled for an instant.
“Yes. I mean no. Oh, I don’t know what I mean,” she said.
“I thought it was pretty spectacular.”
“You would, just to be contrary,” she retorted.
He moved closer and smiled his most infuriating grin. “If you want to know my opinion—”
“I don’t.”
“You’re not as angry at me for kissing you as you’re angry with yourself for kissing me back. And with such enthusiasm, too.”
“Why, of all the cheeky comments, that one takes the cake.”
He tossed off a shrug and moved away, picking up the crossword puzzle magazine. “Mind if I have a try at this?”
“Whatever,” she said waspishly as she dried her hands on a towel. She wished she didn’t have to talk with Sam, although it didn’t seem as if talking with him was presently one of the options. He had sat on the couch, taking up too much room. He could have left room for her. Where did he expect her to sit? On the hassock? On the backless bench? On a hard kitchen chair?
None of those choices had any appeal whatsoever. “I think I’ll take a nap. Nothing else to do,” she said.
She�
�d thought that this might wake Sam up to the fact that he needed to make room for her on the couch, but all he said was, “You’re right about that.” Then he looked up. “Too bad we don’t have music. Not that a radio would work here, but tapes or a CD player might be nice.”
She matched his cool tone. “Oh, I think there’s a portable stereo over in the lodge. It may not have batteries, though.”
“If I start getting cabin fever, I may go check it out.” He was impressively polite. Annoyingly polite. She hated him.
Kerry made her way up the ladder and she knew he watched her all the way up. Well, let him. She didn’t care. If he got a kick out of watching pregnant women climb ladders, that was perfectly all right with her.
Except that Sam didn’t know she was pregnant. The thought deflated her anger, at least the part of it that was directed at Sam. She still hated herself, though, for not knowing how to handle this situation.
She settled herself on the cot, contemplating her limited options. Maybe she’d tell Sam about the baby. Or maybe she wouldn’t. Right now her finger hurt, and she was so tired she couldn’t think straight.
She closed her eyes and fell asleep listening to the light patter of rain on the tin roof.
AS SOON AS he was sure Kerry was asleep, Sam got up and quietly let himself out of the cabin. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more restless or cooped up.
Not that he particularly enjoyed strolling around in inclement weather. Or that a nap wouldn’t be a great idea. But he didn’t think he could be around Kerry right now.
When he stepped outside, he realized that the rain was mixed with sleet that was becoming even more plentiful. The river seen through the trees was a somber gray-green, swirling and shadowed in the cool mist. Glumly, Sam wandered down to the dock, checked the status of the ice on the shore and noted in dismay that there was a good deal more ice than yesterday. He could see little chunks of it floating down the river.
Jeez, what a predicament. He hadn’t bargained for this. Or for Kerry, her eyes so soft upon him, her body so—
Stop it, he warned himself. So she has a great body. That’s nothing new.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been aware of her as long as he’d known her. He’d agreed with Doug that Kerry was drop-dead gorgeous. Doug had always said she was smart, too, and he hadn’t been wrong. It had taken Sam a long time to admit that Kerry was both beautiful and intelligent, but he was admitting it now. She was also a very good kisser.
So what was he going to do about it? She was legally free, and so was he. Under other circumstances, a sojourn with such a woman in this wilderness hideaway would be a boon, a gift, a sumptuous pleasure. However, this wasn’t just any woman. This was his best friend’s wife.
Widow. Kerry was no longer a wife.
Did she feel anything for him? If the way she’d returned his kiss was any measure, she did. He didn’t think their attraction was all physical, either. They’d made some pretty good headway at communication earlier today, and yesterday, too. He wouldn’t have admitted to Kerry before this that he’d been, well, jealous of her where Doug was concerned. It had taken a heap of gumption to tell her that.
By the time he headed back toward the cabin, Sam was chilled to the bone, but he knew what he should do. If he had the sense God gave to a goose, he’d get those papers in the waterproof pouch out of the way before proceeding. But in this instance, it wasn’t his brain that ruled, or any other organ either. It was the way he felt about her, pure and simple.
Except that there wasn’t anything pure about the thoughts he was having about Kerry Anderson, his best friend’s wife.
Widow, he reminded himself.
He should tell her about those papers. Then maybe he’d feel better about this whole thing.
KERRY WOKE UP after a long nap and ventured downstairs to find Sam still on the couch. He was reading an adventure paperback, one of the ones that Doug had kept around. He looked up when he saw her.
“How was the nap?”
“Great. I highly recommend napping.” She spoke diffidently and went immediately to the kitchen, where she ladled the steaming soup into bowls. Because she regretted having mean thoughts about him, she took one to Sam and sat down beside him on the couch.
He ate a few spoonfuls and said, “The soup is good, Kerry.”
“Thanks. I see you found something to read.” This seemed like a safe topic.
“Yeah, it’s a book I started when I was here last time.”
“Mmm.” She paused. “You know, Sam, you’re welcome to use this cabin whenever you like,” she said. She hadn’t thought about this beforehand, but said it as soon as the thought came to mind.
“Why, Kerry, that’s sweet of you,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Well, Doug would approve.”
“I’d like to come for the fishing once in a while. Maybe even spend some time here when the lodge is open in the summer. Would you mind?”
She shook her head. “Of course not. You’ll get to—” She caught herself up short. She had been about to say that he’d be able to get to know the baby.
He regarded her inquiringly, and she backtracked, thinking fast. “You’ll get to see the picture when it’s hung over the mantel,” she said lamely.
“The picture. Yes.”
Oh, why had she mentioned the picture? So soon after the fact, he would recall as well as she did those moments in the closet when she’d kissed him so enthusiastically. Of all the things she could have talked about, this was the worst.
She rose abruptly and carried her bowl back into the kitchen, where she made herself find things to do, thinking all the while of how pliant his lips were and how skillfully he’d used them to make her want to kiss him again and again and—
Sam cleared his throat. “Kerry, there’s ice floating in the river.”
Well, that interrupted her train of thought, a train that could go nowhere. She pulled herself back from a dangerous trip and said, “And?”
“I thought you’d want to know.” Sam looked preoccupied, serious.
Kerry walked slowly to the kitchen window and looked out at the thermometer. “Why, the temperature’s down to thirty degrees,” she said in alarm.
“It’s starting to snow,” Sam added.
She whirled around and went to look out the front windows. Unlike the kitchen window, which was sheltered by the breezeway, these windows were unprotected. Sure enough, large flakes of snow were intermixed with the sleet. Tree trunks were encased in ice.
“How long will it take until freeze-up?” she asked.
“Depends,” Sam said. He came up behind her and stood so close that she thought she could feel his breath on the back of her neck.
“So maybe the snow will stop tonight and we’ll be able to work on the plane tomorrow?”
“I’m not sure I’d want you to attempt it after what happened last time when we came back. You frightened me, keeling over like that.”
“I was tired. That’s all.” She bit the words off sharply.
He grasped her shoulders gently and turned her around to face him. He watched her face as he spoke. “No need to snap at me. I only want you to come out of this experience without any injury, minor or otherwise.”
She cleared her throat, willing herself to remain calm. “Well, I seem to have broken my finger already.”
“How is it feeling?”
“I think I must have hurt it somehow in the lodge today.”
“I have a few of those pills left.”
“I’m trying not to take them unless I need them.”
Sam didn’t speak, just looked down at her, the pupils of his eyes wide. His eyes were the pale green-blue of the glacier; well, maybe not that pale, but almost, and they were anything but cold in this moment. She forced her gaze downward and found herself captivated by the neatly honed edge of his chin. Oh God, she had to move, get away, but she was unable to move so much as a muscle. She wondered abstractedly what would happen if she lowered
her head and nestled it in the hollow of his shoulder. She wondered how he’d react if she brushed her lips against the pulse point throbbing in his jaw.
His eyes were clear, direct. Their pupils widened slightly when she mustered the determination to take a step sideways, but he took one too. She moved the other way, and so did he.
She tipped her head, raising her brows in question. He shook his head. “Kerry—” He found her hands, gripped them tightly.
“Don’t,” she said, regretting the word even as she spoke it. “Not again.”
His hands dropped away and disappointment leaped in his eyes. And maybe, understanding.
She brushed past him. “I should go upstairs.”
His arm flew out to stop her, whipped her around. There was something hard in the set of his jaw, grim in the tightness of his lips. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do,” he said.
Her chin shot up. “That’s—that’s noble of you.”
“I’m not trying to be noble. I feel anything but noble, if you want to know the truth.”
Mutely her gaze sought and held his. “The truth? Maybe we’d both be better off if we didn’t say too much, Sam.”
“I’m not sure of that. I have something I want to tell you, Kerry.”
“And if I don’t want to hear it?”
He seemed surprised, and she stepped away, inserting a safe distance between them.
“It’s something that needs to be said.”
Her eyes were sorrowful yet held a spark of defiance. “Nothing needs to be said. Nothing, Sam.”
Sam was nonplused at this development. He’d summoned all his courage, had decided to tell her about those papers in the pouch, and she’d misunderstood completely. Worst of all, he didn’t have any idea how to correct the situation. He didn’t want to embarrass her. If he brought up those papers now, if she found out that he’d been going to talk about the business of the sperm bank rather than make a play for her, she’d feel like a fool. Maybe it was better to let her go on thinking what she already was thinking.
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