“I was a good wife to Doug,” she said.
“I know you were. He said so many times.” Sam turned to her, his eyes serious and kind. He paused. “How about you? Have you started dating yet?”
“A few dates, nothing more than that. My heart wasn’t in it, and I had more important things on my mind.”
Sam seemed to take this in, and in that instant, Kerry wanted nothing so much as to tell Sam about her pregnancy. It would have been wonderful to have someone to rejoice with her, to tell her that she’d done the right thing by going ahead with the insemination.
But she was so sleepy. And when she looked over at Sam, his eyes were closed.
She closed her eyes, too. Just before she fell asleep she told herself that she ought to climb back to the loft, but then her head lolled over and rested on Sam’s broad shoulder. And she didn’t think anymore about going upstairs.
CHAPTER SIX
Sam started awake in the gloom of the cabin. Kerry mumbled something and settled closer to him, one hand—the one without the broken finger—cupped trustingly on his bare chest. Her hair tickled his chin, and he wanted to brush it away, to smooth it off her forehead in a tender gesture. Would tenderness be out of line here? He had to ask himself that question.
But tenderness wasn’t the only feeling he was experiencing. His arousal let him know just how much he wanted her, and he would have liked to act upon it. More than that, he would have liked to know how she felt about beginning a sexual relationship with him. But this wasn’t something they had talked about, and it wasn’t something that he could bring up after yesterday, when she’d skittered out the door like a frightened little mouse when she thought he might be going to talk about what was happening between them.
He’d give her time. They had lots of that.
Outside it had stopped snowing, but the sky was a dull gray. He glanced down at Kerry. She slept with her mouth slightly open, her full dark eyelashes casting smoky shadows on her cheeks. Her color was good, something that he was glad to see. He wanted, in that moment, to kiss her awake and to see the light in her eyes leap in joyful recognition, but he knew that even if he had the nerve to kiss her, the recognition might not be joyful.
He didn’t think he could move without disturbing her, so he lay as still as he possibly could. He didn’t know how long they lay there, but after a time she stirred and blinked.
She struggled to a sitting position and pulled the blanket up under her chin. “What time is it?” she wanted to know.
Sam looked at his watch. “Almost seven o’clock.”
She swung her feet over the side of the bed. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep here,” she said briskly.
“Plenty of room,” he mumbled, unwilling to hear her protests. He’d liked waking up beside her. He wished he could wake up beside her every morning.
Kerry started toward the kitchen in those ridiculous bulky wool socks she liked to wear, all of which seemed to be wearing thin in the heel or toe and sometimes both.
“I’ll get the coffee going, run out to the shed, be back in a minute,” she called over her shoulder.
He didn’t say anything, but got out of bed and folded it back into a couch. By the time Kerry returned, Sam had already dressed and was standing over the sink shaving, scraping whiskers off his chin as if it were the most interesting pastime in the world.
He spared her a glance via the mirror. “I’m heating water on the stove. You can have it for your bath if you want,” he told her. He concentrated on shaving, trying to seem nonchalant when all his energies were vibrating at a higher frequency, and merely because Kerry had walked into the room.
“I think I’ll have a quick wash this morning, save a bath for later,” she said. “We’ll want to be on our way to the plane as soon as possible.”
He turned to look at her, his face still half covered with shaving cream. “I didn’t say we were going to the plane.”
She stared back. “It’s not snowing. We have work to do there.” She started to brush past him, but he caught her shoulder.
“Even if I go to the plane, I don’t want you coming along.”
Something changed behind her eyes, flamed briefly and was shuttered when she lowered her lashes. “You need my help.”
“I need you healthy and ready for whatever happens, whether we fly out of here or have to walk or—”
“Walk!” Her eyes flicked open, widened.
“It would be my last choice,” he assured her, turning back to his shaving mirror because for a minute he’d caught a flash of sheer terror as it flitted across her expression.
“And where would we go?” she said in a tone that was deliberately casual but resistant nonetheless.
“Athinopa,” he said. “If we have to.”
“Athinopa’s sixty miles away!” Incredulity now, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her.
“As the raven flies.”
“And how far walking?”
He shrugged.
Kerry blew out a long breath. “I don’t know, Sam. It’s pretty cold out there to go camping.”
“We wouldn’t have to sleep outside. There are cabins along the way where we could make ourselves comfortable.” He finished shaving, dipped water up from the basin and splashed it on his face.
“You seem to know the area well,” she said. He understood from her tone of voice that she was considering the idea, turning it over in her mind as a new possibility that might have merit.
“I’ve been flying over this part of the Country every year as long as Doug and I have been taking our vacations together. We used to hike to a camp on Everygood Creek for the fishing. There’s a hut there where we can stay one night, plus I know of some hunters’ cabins along the way where we’ll find hospitality whether the owners are there or not. And I’m familiar with Athinopa and the people who live there. Ollie Parker is a particularly good friend of mine.” Ollie, the village leader, was a Native American and an expert musher who had placed in the Iditarod sled-dog race three years in a row. He usually stopped by the office and talked Sam into going out for a beer whenever he found himself in Anchorage.
“Athinopa’s a small Indian village, isn’t it?”
“Right. A hundred or so people, a school that doubles as a rec center and an airstrip. That’s about it. And a powerful radio that keeps them in touch with the rest of the world.”
Kerry wrapped her robe tighter around herself. “I should have made sure there was a snow machine here at Silverthorne. I should have asked Captain Crocker to drop off more food during the summer when he was making weekly runs.”
Sam dried his face. “No point in beating yourself up about any of that. You weren’t expecting snow in September.”
“I feel guilty about it, that’s all.”
“Well, don’t.”
She traced a finger along the edge of the counter, lost in thought. When he went to put on his coat, she turned her attention back to him. “Are you going out?” she asked sharply.
“I’m going to check the ice in the river.” He zipped the coat, pulled on his gloves, not looking forward to going out there and learning bad news.
For a moment Kerry didn’t speak. Then she said in a tone of resignation, “I might as well heat up a can of hash, scramble some eggs, throw together a few biscuits.”
Sam nodded. “I’ll be back soon.”
He left her standing in the middle of the cabin and looking forlorn. He wished she wouldn’t look like that. It grated on his heart to see her so worried.
ATHINOPA!
Sam wanted her to walk to Athinopa?
Well, he hadn’t exactly said that. It was more like he was floating the idea for her reaction. Kerry was nonplused because the idea of hiking out of here in the snow had never occurred to her. She didn’t know if she could walk sixty miles or not. She was, after all, three and a half—no, almost four—months pregnant. She had trouble keeping food down. The growing baby pressed on her bladder, making it necessary to run
to the shed more often than usual. She was tired much of the time.
How could she keep her pregnancy a secret from Sam if they walked to Athinopa?
SAM KNELT on the riverbank and studied the ice formation. The shelf ice was consolidating, and slush was visible further out. It seemed to be stiffening even as he watched. Freeze-up wasn’t far off.
Also, this snow was deeper and softer than the last snowfall, almost over the tops of his boots. There would be no walking to the plane today without the aid of snowshoes. Fortunately, there were several old pair, all made years ago of birch wood and moose hide, hung on nails in the shed.
He didn’t know if it was worthwhile to think about flying the plane out. The river was freezing. He still had to reattach the prop, repair that strut and do something about the float. He wasn’t sure how long any of this would take, nor did he believe that the weather would stay clear. Not that it was clear at the moment. It was cloudy, and the clouds hung low over the mountains. Even if he managed to repair the plane, he wasn’t sure he could fly it out of there.
Discouraged, he headed back to the cabin. Under the trees, where snowfall was light, he noticed bear tracks in the snow. Shallow prints, meaning that the bear was in no big hurry. In fact, Sam found a log that had been clawed as the bear looked for grubs. So it was a hungry animal, by this time feeling an urgent need to go into hibernation for the winter. Bears could travel eight miles in one night searching for food; there wasn’t any attainable food at Silverthorne, and therefore this particular bear probably wouldn’t come around again.
Which was the only good thing he could think of this morning. It was also why he decided not to mention it to Kerry. She had enough to concern her without worrying about bears.
“I’M GOING WITH YOU.”
“You’re not.” Sam, sitting on the backless bench near the fireplace, was trying on the snowshoes so he could see if any of the laces needed replacing before he started out on his long trek to the plane.
“Why not?” Kerry crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at him.
He paused in what he was doing and gave her eyeball for eyeball. She wore a wool plaid shirt over a turtleneck sweater and a pair of sturdy jeans that hugged her hips.
He strived to be patient in the face of what he considered misplaced obstinacy. “Because all I’m going to do is take the lumber I’ve already cut and try to figure out if I have enough time to repair the strut, and if not, I’ll be back.”
Kerry pushed her hands down into her pockets and rocked back and forth on her heels.
“You don’t want me to go because I fainted last time, right?”
“No, Kerry.”
She didn’t say anything, and he found himself staring at the lush contours of her breasts, now more noticeable because she’d thrown the shirt back when she’d tucked her hands in her jeans pockets. He couldn’t make himself look away; all he could think about was that she must have beautiful breasts. The speculation was one he’d made before, of course, but never with as much interest as now.
Kerry didn’t notice his appraisal, mostly because she was too busy reeling off reasons why she didn’t want to waste this day by staying behind.
“I should go with you because first of all, I can help you with the plane. Second, I feel fine. Third—”
“Kerry, what part of no don’t you understand?”
Silence sizzled between them, and then Kerry turned on her heel and stalked to the kitchen table. There she proceeded to bang dishes around with great abandon while she cleaned up after their breakfast. Sam watched her in profile and found himself thinking again, Why, she’s gained weight. His gaze dropped lower, and he saw how the front of her jeans strained across her stomach. Kerry with a potbelly? He hadn’t noticed that before, but then he hadn’t been looking at her from quite this angle. He’d been surprised to find her so thin when he arrived, and this thickness around her middle seemed at odds with that first impression.
She eyed him balefully. “Well, what am I supposed to do all day?”
Sam tried his best to sound reasonable. “You could make an inventory of the food here and figure out how many days it will take us to use it up,” he said.
“That chore will take fifteen minutes tops. I think I’d be more useful handing you tools or knocking ice off the wings or something.”
Sam decided that he’d better be blunt. “Look, Kerry, I know you mean well, but the last thing I need is someone who can’t keep up, someone I have to worry about. I have to concentrate on getting the plane back in shape, not on whether you’re okay.”
“And won’t you have to worry about whether I’m okay if we trek out of here?”
“That’s exactly the point. You need to save your strength for later.”
Two spots of color burned her cheeks, and she whirled and went back to the sink. “I’m sorry I’m such a bother. I’m sorry I got you into this,” she said hotly.
“You didn’t—” But he couldn’t say it. She still thought that he’d come to Silverthorne out of some high-minded urge to help her. “Oh, forget it,” he said, disgusted with himself for his duplicity. He knew he should have been up-front about his reason for coming here. He should have told her as soon as he walked in the door.
He could tell her now and be done with it.
He reached into his parka and withdrew the waterproof pouch containing the papers from the sperm bank. He stared at the pouch for a moment, judiciously considering what opening he might use. Suddenly an idea careened through his consciousness—he could leave the pouch here and be on his way. She would find it while he was working on the plane.
Not a good idea. On the other hand, not a bad one. It would get the whole ordeal over with.
She’d be mad as hell.
But he already knew that.
So what should he do?
Kerry wasn’t paying attention to him. “I apologized,” she reminded him stiffly.
“Apologized for what?” he asked, drawn back to the moment.
“For getting us into this. The least you could do is acknowledge it.”
“Okay, I acknowledge it,” he said. Damn! The woman had a way of getting to him.
Suddenly he wanted to be rid of his conscience. He didn’t want to have to accept apologies from Kerry who thought he was here for one reason when he was here for another; he didn’t want to be the recipient of any kindnesses from her.
He carelessly tossed the pouch down on the table beside the couch alongside Kerry’s crossword puzzle magazine where she couldn’t help but see it. Curiosity would probably get the best of her. She’d take a look, and then when he got back she’d light into him in a fury.
And that would take care of any possibility that the two of them might get to know each other in the way that he wanted to know her. It would make her dislike him intensely. It might even make her hate him, and then he’d be free to go on his merry way after all this was over. He would never have to think about Kerry Anderson again. Which would all fit in with his well-known method of operation; that is, doing something to undercut every relationship he’d ever had with a woman.
Before he could change his mind, he slid his feet out of the snowshoes, stood up and dragged on his parka. “All right, I’m going. I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said gruffly. He slung the snowshoes over his shoulder, already thinking ahead to what he’d do when he reached the plane.
He wasn’t prepared for Kerry to rush across the room, nor for the anxiety of her expression. Anger had been displaced by concern, and he saw no trace of the obstinacy she’d displayed earlier. “Here,” she said. “Take these.” She slid a large packet of saltines and a tin of smoked oysters into his pocket. She attempted a smile, albeit feeble. “At least you won’t go hungry,” she said.
He’d left emergency rations in the plane, but he was so touched by her concern that he decided not to tell her. Besides, her thoughtfulness made him feel as guilty as hell.
He managed to say, “Well, thanks.”
“Sam,” she began, but she bit her lip.
He didn’t want to hear any soul-baring revelations, didn’t want to hear how sorry she was to have been short with him and didn’t want to be gazing deep into those marvelous eyes, now fixed upon him in anxious concern.
“I—I just wanted to tell you to take care, that’s all.”
He couldn’t make himself look away. In that moment, knowing he couldn’t allow it, he wished she could come with him today. He didn’t like leaving her here alone and, worse, he didn’t want to be without her.
This realization rocked him to the core. He’d never known a woman that he wanted around him all the time; he liked his space. He also liked his women to be like him: uncommitted. And kind of wild. Kerry was neither of these.
“I’ll be all right” was all he said, but he said it quietly and in as reassuring a tone as he could muster.
Suddenly eager to be away so he could think things over, he stepped out into the cold. First he strapped on the snowshoes and walked around in the snow for a few minutes as he grew accustomed to the feel of them. Then, deciding not to use poles, he shouldered the piece of lumber he intended to use for the strut and headed down the slope toward the river.
It was roughgoing on snowshoes, with the snow slipping out from under them like granulated sugar. Sam had to remember to put his heels down ahead of his toes in order to keep the front tips of the snowshoes from collecting snow. This took a lot of energy even though he stopped a couple of times along the way to rest. Eventually he developed a rolling motion of his body, shifting his weight from side to side as he walked, the way his friend Ollie did.
Once he spotted a lone bull moose shambling through a stand of spruce. “I know how you feel, buddy,” he muttered under his breath. As he watched, the moose faded ghostlike into the silent woods, barely making a sound. That was more than he could say for himself, he thought grimly as he flailed his way through snow and brush.
When Sam reached the plane it was covered with snow, and he spent some time cutting pine branches to use for brushing it off. He also cleared snow off the tarp they’d left on their last trip as a signal to planes overhead. He took his time repositioning the tarp, placing it so that it might be more visible from the air.
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