And maybe not. If he let her believe that he’d been about to refer to the almost palpable sexual tension that hung in the air between them even now, that tension would only increase.
She lifted her head, and her eyes were moist.
He shifted toward her. It was impossible not to. He wanted to comfort her, to reassure her that everything was going to be okay—the plane, her emotions, the papers he wanted her to sign. It was the wrong thing to do.
Panic rose in her eyes, and he knew she was thinking about the kiss in the closet. He was thinking of it, too. Hell, it was impossible not to.
“I’m going to the shed,” she said all in a rush, and she was across the floor faster than the eye could blink, ripping her shawl off the hook, hurtling out into the snow and the sleet.
In the silence she left behind, Sam rocked back on his heels. He heaved a sigh. All right, so she was conflicted about his feelings for her. Or maybe her feelings for him. She wasn’t ready for any of this, that was clear now, and he was supremely aware that he’d rushed her. But how could he not?
He could no longer keep his affection from shimmering in his eyes, nor could he shake the notion that he could have a future with this woman. He was beginning to understand how lucky Doug had been to have a wife like Kerry. She was spunky, smart and functioned well in a crisis. It struck him that his own life would be a whole lot more interesting if he’d been able to find a life partner like her to help him out in the crunches. To come home from a challenging day at work to find Kerry waiting for him, her eyes sparkling, her face upturned toward his—it seemed like a vision of paradise. He scarcely dared to hope that it could really happen.
Maybe it couldn’t. And certainly the time to talk about it was not now, not here. He’d have to give her time. He’d have to give her space, and maybe over a period of weeks or months she’d understand that he wasn’t trying to take Doug’s place in her life or her heart, that he was trying to carve out a niche for himself.
He knew he couldn’t be heavy-handed about making her understand what he wanted and he knew he’d better back off. He especially didn’t want to be here when she came back in, when it would seem entirely natural to take her in his arms and hold her until she understood where he was coming from.
He found a small pad of paper and a pencil. “Gone to the lodge to look for that tape player,” he wrote. He left the pad on the table, where she would be sure to see it, and put on his coat. He fished the flashlight he’d seen earlier off the shelf of the closet, trying not to notice Kerry’s nightgown or to smell the fresh sweet fragrance of her that wafted from its folds.
He left then, closing the door softly after himself, squaring his shoulders and trudging through the snow and sleet toward the black shape of the lodge, the flashlight beam bobbing ahead of him as he walked.
KERRY LEANED AGAINST the door of the shed listening to the hammer of sleet on the roof. Her stomach was churning, but this time it wasn’t morning sickness.
She’d stopped Sam just in time. Once his feelings or hers were out in the open, she would no longer be able to ignore her response to him, nor his to her. And ignoring it seemed like the only way to deal with it.
This wasn’t the way it had been with any of the other men who had shown interest in her since Doug died. It had, after all, been over a year, and there’d been men that she’d halfheartedly started seeing. She’d always called off these relationships, if that was what you could call them, before the question of intimacy arose. She’d felt as if she was babysitting with two or three of these guys; their immaturity had been a big turnoff. The others had expected her to act as if she’d been anointed because they deigned to take her out. If that was what dating was like, she’d figured, why bother? And later she’d had her own agenda—to bear the child that she and Doug had planned.
But this thing with Sam was nothing like those other sort-of relationships. The knowledge that she desired him was a blow to her self-image of hardworking widow soon to become self-sacrificing mom. The truth was that her yearning for Sam made her feel selfish. She wanted Sam Harbeck, and she wanted him for herself.
For months now she’d focused all her energy on getting the lodge up and running as a paying venture so that she could keep it in the family, for Doug’s sake and the sake of their unborn child, and she’d pressed ahead with having the baby even though this might not be the best time in her life to take on more responsibility. She had worked so hard, felt so alone, and now here was Sam, something just for her. Something special, something real, something that had walked out of the wilderness and presented itself like a gift.
But she couldn’t make herself accept it.
She was pregnant with Doug’s child. She was honor-bound to do the best she could for this baby. And starting a relationship with Sam Harbeck wouldn’t be in the baby’s best interest or in hers.
But what would be wrong with a little fling? You’re stranded in this cabin and you both could use the comfort. No one would ever know.
The voice of reason prevailed. She wouldn’t listen to those insistent thoughts; they could very well lead her into trouble.
Because it wasn’t true that no one would know if she allowed something to happen between her and Sam. Someone would know.
She would. And Sam would.
“KERRY?”
When Sam returned from the lodge, Kerry wasn’t in front of the fire or in the kitchen area, either.
He heard a rustling above. “I’m up here,” she called down in a muffled voice.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m going to sleep.”
This shouldn’t have surprised him and it didn’t. “Then I’ll see you in the morning,” he said heavily.
“Good night,” she said. He heard the springs of the cot squeak as she turned over.
“Good night, Kerry.”
He shrugged out of his coat and hung it up. He was too keyed up from thinking about Kerry to go to sleep right away.
He found a deck of cards where he knew they’d be, in a drawer of the wardrobe, and he began to deal a game of solitaire. The slickness of the cards in his hands took him back to the last time he’d been here and playing poker with Doug. It had been during one of those card games that Doug had spilled his guts about his inability to father a child.
Sam, by that time, knew at the week’s outset that he’d have to listen to Doug’s continuing praise for Kerry, not to mention how happily married they were, and he’d resigned himself to it. So when Doug became serious and started talking about their fertility problems, Sam had been surprised. He hadn’t thought that the two of them had any problems they couldn’t solve. They seemed like such a golden couple. But according to Doug, the one thing they wanted most, they couldn’t have: a child.
And it was Doug’s fault.
“Oh, we’ve had all the tests known to medical science,” Doug had confided on that summer night over a year ago. “And there’s nothing, absolutely nothing, wrong with Kerry. All her equipment is in great working order. But mine…” and Doug’s voice trailed away as he stared down at the cards on the table.
Sam hadn’t been sure he wanted to hear any confidences of this nature. He’d prefer to think that all was heavenly in the Anderson paradise. He got up to get another beer and offered Doug one as well. Doug accepted and leaned back in his chair, contemplating the two empty beer cans already in front of him.
“You two would be wonderful parents,” Sam said, stalling for time while he tried to think of a way to console his friend.
“Yeah. Kerry’d be a fantastic mother. But I’m not ever going to be a father, Sam.”
“What do you mean?”
Doug shifted in his seat. “Our infertility doctor recently found anomalies in my sperm. It’s impossible for me to impregnate my wife.”
A long silence, then, “Doug, I’m sorry. I mean it, man.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry, too. Do you know what it means to love a woman so much that you’d do
anything in the world for her, but the one thing she wants, you can’t give her?” The anguish in Doug’s eyes was heart-wrenching.
Sam leaned forward on his elbows. “Well, hey, isn’t there something you can do about it?”
“The doctor tells us that artificial insemination is the way to go.” Doug looked troubled.
Sam took a long pull on his beer. “That way Kerry gets the baby she wants doesn’t she? Go for it.” Made sense to him; why not?
Doug, visibly agitated, got up and crossed to the open front door. He stared out at the glacier.
“Kerry’s all gung ho. But I don’t like it, Sam. I don’t like it at all.” Doug turned troubled eyes upon him and shook his head. “I can’t do it.”
“Aw, come on, what’s the problem?” Sam stood and went to stand beside Doug, clapping him on the shoulder as a sign of support.
“Kerry wants to schedule an appointment at the sperm bank soon, and I’ve been dragging my feet. I don’t want her to know this, Sam, but the idea of rearing another man’s child, a man I don’t know, has no appeal to me. I have serious reservations, but I’ve never told her that. If I refuse to go through with this, it will break Kerry’s heart.”
Sam understood Doug’s dilemma. Or at least he believed he did. He thought that if he were in the same situation, he might feel the same way. He couldn’t imagine watching a baby growing inside a woman he loved and knowing it was another man’s, a stranger’s.
“That’s a tough situation,” he told Doug.
Doug’s shoulders slumped as he walked back into the cabin and treated himself to another long swallow of beer. “When I get back from this vacation, Kerry and I are going to talk about it. I’m going to tell her I’m against it and I’m afraid she’ll hate me for not going through with it. She’s already picked out the paint color for the nursery. She’s looking at car safety seats and high chairs and bumper pads for a baby crib.”
The idea hit Sam all at once, and he didn’t even think it over before he blurted it out. “I’d do it. I’d be the father if it would make everything right for you.”
“What?” Doug said as if he hadn’t heard him correctly.
“I could be the sperm donor. You wouldn’t be raising the child of a stranger, and Kerry would never have to know.”
Doug stared. “You’d do it? You’d donate sperm?”
“Sure, Doug. I mean, if your resistance to raising a stranger’s child is the only stumbling block, I can fix it. Why not let me help you out?”
“Kerry doesn’t even like you much.”
“Like I said, it could be a secret.”
Sam could almost see the wheels spinning inside Doug’s head. “Kerry’s filled out a profile for the sperm bank. She wants the father to be someone tall, someone intelligent—”
“Someone as much like you as possible, right? And aren’t we as much alike as brothers? Didn’t people in the Air Force mistake us for each other all the time?”
“Well, sure, but—”
“No buts. It’s settled. I make a deposit, her doctor makes a withdrawal, and we keep it a secret from Kerry. It makes her happy, it makes you happy, and I’m probably never going to have any kids, so it makes me happy to know that some of my incomparable DNA will survive in the genetic makeup of the child that you and Kerry will so competently raise.” He was fittingly expansive. He thought this was a great idea.
“It might work,” Doug said with growing excitement. “The guy who is head of that particular sperm bank has been a friend of mine since I moved to Seattle, a golf buddy. We could let him in on the secret if we have to. He’s a great guy, very understanding, and he’ll probably go along with it.”
“So it’s done. Let’s shake on it.”
They’d shaken hands, Doug smiling widely, Sam feeling expansive because he always liked to help out a friend. And after their vacation, Sam had gone directly to the sperm bank and donated sperm, which had been designated for Kerry and Doug’s baby.
And several weeks later, Doug had plowed his plane into that mountainside.
So much for the best-laid plans, Sam thought now as he tried to concentrate on where to play a red queen in this solitaire game. Well, maybe things did turn out for the best. Kerry already had enough problems in her life without having to worry about bringing up a child without its father. It was probably just as well that she hadn’t gotten around to visiting the sperm bank before Doug died.
Black jack on red queen, red ten on black jack…
Sam made himself concentrate, hoping to banish his thoughts about Doug and the baby that would never be.
Black nine on red ten. Red eight on black nine.
Up in the loft, Kerry blew her nose. His heart went out to her, but there was nothing he could do to help. Except, perhaps, fly them out of here. And that was iffy, to say the least.
KERRY WOKE UP in fits and starts. She kept trying to go back to sleep, but the pain in her finger wouldn’t let her. Finally she pushed herself to a sitting position and squinted at the clock. It was three o’clock in the morning.
Only a bit of illumination from the coals in the fireplace below reached the loft. She held up her finger and studied it in the dim light, trying to figure out if it was more swollen than it had been when she went to sleep. She thought it might be.
She wished she could go back to sleep. If she wanted to help Sam tomorrow, she’d need to be well rested.
The pain didn’t abate, and after half an hour or so, Kerry gave up trying to doze off. She pulled on a robe and quietly descended the ladder.
Sam was asleep on the couch bed, lying on his back with one hand extended. He was breathing softly, not making any noise, and she smiled at how sweet and little-boyish he looked. She saw that he had moved his pack to the side of the bed near the place where his hand rested. She’d hoped the pack would be close to the door, where it had been before.
She tiptoed close, taking care not to let the floor creak beneath her feet. She had been living in this cabin long enough to know where every protesting plank was located, a fact for which she was grateful at the moment. She hoped she could find the packet of pills in Sam’s pack and shake one out without waking him.
She knelt at the side of the bed, reached her hand into the pack. There it was, the envelope of pills, and stealthily she withdrew it. Unfortunately, the motion caused her to lose her precarious balance and fall forward, catching herself on the edge of the bed. The shudder of the mattress startled Sam so that his hand snapped out and grabbed hers. She yelped, and he bolted upright, holding her wrist in his viselike grip.
The light of recognition flared in his eyes. “Damn! Kerry, what the hell are you doing?”
“I—I—”
He came to his senses and released her. His gaze dropped to the white envelope of pills.
“I was getting these. The pain’s pretty bad,” she said.
“I’m sorry, I was sleeping so soundly that I acted reflexively. When I’m camping in the bush, I have to be alert to danger, and I guess I forgot where I was. Did I hurt you?”
“Scared me. And I was already hurting.” She tried to smile as she rose to her feet and went to get a glass of water.
“I am sorry, Kerry.”
She poured water from the pitcher at the sink. “Want some water?”
“I could do with something a bit stronger, but since I have to be in top form tomorrow in order to deal with the plane, I’ll settle for water.”
She tried not to look at his bare chest as she traversed the short distance to the bed and handed him a glass.
“Don’t go. Sit and keep me company,” Sam said suddenly.
“I don’t know,” said Kerry, unsure of the wisdom of this.
“I won’t be able to go to sleep right away now that I’m awake,” he said.
She relented. “All right, but only until the pill starts to take effect.”
Sam slid over on the bed. “Here’s a pillow,” he offered.
Self-consciously she plum
ped the pillow into the corner of the couch as far away from Sam as possible. She shivered and Sam noticed. “It’s warmer upstairs,” she said in an attempt to explain.
“Makes sense. Heat rises,” Sam said, settling a corner of the blanket over her legs. The sheet still covered him, hiding the rest of him from view.
She turned away, resolutely refusing to think about what she was convinced was his nakedness. “It sounds as if the sleet has stopped.”
“It was still snowing when I went to bed.”
“Snow in September,” Kerry said in disbelief.
“This is Alaska. I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve learned to expect the unexpected.”
“Well, you’ve had plenty of the unexpected here at Silverthorne.”
“It makes life interesting,” he said with predictable irony.
She relaxed slightly and sipped her water. It felt comfortable to be sitting up late at night with Sam, although if someone had told her that she would have this sense of ease with him, she never would have believed it.
She stole a glance at him. “May I ask you something, Sam?”
“You’ll ask it whether I give permission or not.”
This made her smile. “Why haven’t you ever married?”
He didn’t answer right away. “I never found the right person, I guess. And then as time went on, I figured I never would. With the kind of life I’ve always led, it seemed best to be unattached.”
“You’ve settled down in the past few years. Doug said so.”
“I suppose I have.”
“But there’ve been girlfriends.”
“All of them as committed to staying uncommitted as I was. Except for a few who tried to make something out of nothing, to stake their claim when I wasn’t at all interested, which is why I ran like hell.”
She thought for a moment of these women who had scared Sam away and, to her surprise, she felt pity for them. And for him.
“It’s sad, somehow. You’d make somebody a good husband, Sam.” She was beginning to feel sleepy again.
“I’m not so sure of that,” Sam said before lapsing into silence.
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