“Shh, it’s all right, you’re fine, it’s okay,” he soothed, burying his face in her hair and wrapping his arms more tightly around her.
He had to loosen his grip when she pulled away to look at him. “What—what happened to you, Sam? I was so worried when you didn’t come back.”
He slid an arm around her shoulders. They felt frailer than he expected, and something inside him turned over. Because he had been stupid enough to fall in the river, he’d had to spend the night away from her, and because of that she’d had a run-in with a bear, and he knew bears terrified her.
“Come inside and I’ll tell you about it,” he said, pulling her close as they walked into the cabin.
As soon as they were inside, his eyes flew to the table where the crossword magazine had been. It was gone, and so was the pouch he had left there. His heart dropped to his toes and swooped up again.
Had she read the papers? Surely not. If she had, she would have mentioned it. Or maybe she was so upset about the bear that she’d temporarily put the papers out of her mind. Whatever the reason, this was a reprieve. Relief washed over him, shocking him with its intensity. He hadn’t realized how much he’d dreaded being the focus of Kerry’s anger, dreaded having to explain.
He noticed that Kerry was looking at him, really looking at him in the light of the lantern on the table. She drew back in consternation at the sight of his stubbly beard and the dark circles under his eyes. “Something terrible happened to you, didn’t it, Sam? I knew it, I knew it!”
He realized then how tired he was, how bone weary. He released her and removed the rain slicker that he still wore for warmth. “It wasn’t as awful as being chased by a bear.” Where had she put the incriminating papers? He didn’t see them anywhere around the cabin.
While telling Kerry about falling in the river and how he’d camped out in the plane all night, Sam got the fire going in the fireplace. As he worked, he kept a sharp eye out for the papers. They weren’t on top of the wall cabinet, and he didn’t see them in the bookcase or on the floor. That left the most likely place—his pack, but before he had a chance to check, Kerry asked him about his repairs to the plane.
He related how he’d almost finished the repairs, and while he was talking she snickered at the way his knobby wrists protruded from Vic’s shirt. Sam was glad that she could find something funny in this situation because he didn’t think he could bear to see the devastation on her face when he told her they’d have to hike out.
But she surprised him again, this woman. She beat him to it. “We’re going to have to walk to Athinopa, aren’t we?” she said as he sat back on his heels and warmed his hands at the fire.
He reached up and took her hand, pulling her down beside him. “Yes, Kerry, we are.”
A muscle moved in her eyelid, and that was her only reaction. She didn’t cry, she didn’t scream, she didn’t blame him for anything. She only stared into the flames and said in a matter-of-fact tone, “When do you want to leave?”
“As soon as we can,” he said, matching calmness for calmness and taking in the determined set of her jaw, the sweet seriousness of her expression as she turned her head to look at him.
“Tomorrow morning?”
“If the weather holds.”
“How long will it take?”
“Depends on how far we can walk in a day’s time. Several days, a week. How experienced are you at walking with snowshoes?”
“Doug and I used to go cross-country skiing and snowshoeing sometimes. I should be okay.”
“A man in good condition can walk maybe an average of 15 miles a day in this terrain. Snowshoes will slow us down.”
“I’ll try not to be a drag, Sam.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll start packing up now. We should leave as soon as it’s light in the morning.”
She nodded mutely and got up.
“I don’t have to tell you not to take more than you need. We don’t want our packs to be too heavy.”
“I know.” She started up the ladder.
“I’ll heat up the chili again,” he said. He tossed more wood on the cook stove.
Soon he had the chili bubbling on the stove, filling the air with its aroma. Overhead, the wooden floor creaked as Kerry moved around packing.
“That chili sure smells good,” she called down to him. Her tone was so matter-of-fact that there might have been nothing wrong. To Sam, waiting downstairs, the whole scene suddenly seemed normal, as if he and Kerry were about to sit down at the kitchen table of a real home like a real couple, basking in familiarity and each other’s presence.
But this was anything but normal. They were situated at the edge of a glacier in a cabin with virtually no amenities and a hungry bear camped on their doorstep. Their food supply was running low. And there was the matter of those papers, which he didn’t want to ask her about, and he didn’t want to look for them while she might be watching, either.
No, there was nothing normal about any of this. Nothing at all.
IN THE LOFT, Kerry tried to gather her thoughts, knowing that she’d better remember to take everything she would need or risk being a burden to Sam. She assembled her warmest clothes—thermal underwear, utilitarian sweaters, the ubiquitous wool socks. Pants that no longer fit—and there were many of them that had grown too tight in the past weeks—she left in the trunk where she kept her clothes.
While going about this task, she tried to think of what to do about telling Sam that she was expecting a baby. No matter how she looked at the situation, she knew she couldn’t tell him now. What if he decided her condition posed too much of a problem and insisted on hiking to Athinopa without her?
Oh, she knew he’d send help later. But after what had happened with the bear, she certainly didn’t feel safe here by herself. And Sam shouldn’t attempt the long and grueling walk alone. The Alaska wilderness was too dangerous for a solitary hiker—too many predators. Bears, wolves and who knew what else? Not to mention the capricious weather. She’d heard many stories about people freezing to death when they’d undertaken lone journeys in this land where the temperature could drop more than thirty degrees in thirty minutes.
Maybe she wouldn’t have to tell Sam about her pregnancy until they reached safety in Athinopa. He’d be furious with her, she knew, but she’d explain. He’d understand. Or would he?
She already knew that the trek to Athinopa would be grueling. Experimentally she ran her hands over her stomach. The bulge in the lower part of her abdomen seemed bigger every day. And her waist was slightly thicker than its normal twenty-four inches. Fortunately, although her shape was changing, she didn’t feel ungainly or off-balance. She was athletic and in good condition.
Except for the horrible morning sickness. And the exhaustion that never quite went away.
But some days were better than others. Some days she felt fine.
She could only hope that tomorrow and the next several days would be like that.
WHEN KERRY DESCENDED from the loft, Sam brought two bowls of steaming hot chili over to the fireplace. He had arranged floor and couch cushions in front of the fire and poured two glasses of cabernet.
“Where’d you get that?” Kerry was astonished at the appearance of the wine because she hadn’t known there was any.
Sam’s eyes twinkled. “Doug and I had a secret cache. I’d almost forgotten about it. Sit down. I’ve opened a can of fruit salad.”
The wine posed a dilemma because she didn’t drink alcoholic beverages now that she was pregnant, but Sam seemed so pleased with it that she didn’t say anything. While Sam went into the kitchen, she lowered herself to the floor and arranged two of the cushions against the couch.
“And,” he announced with a flourish when he returned, “here’s a napkin. Sorry it’s only a paper towel. They’re all I could find.”
“You did well to find these,” Kerry told him.
“I almost forgot this.” He flicked on the small tape player that Kerry recog
nized as being from the lodge. The soft mellow sounds of Johnny Mathis filled the air, too loud until Sam adjusted the volume. Kerry had always wanted to play that tape, but Doug hated Johnny Mathis and wouldn’t hear of it. That was good because the songs held no prior association for her.
Sam settled himself beside her and dug into the chili. “I thought we might as well pamper ourselves as much as we could, since our meals for the next few days are not likely to be elaborate.”
“We have enough food to last several days.”
“It should be plenty. Remember, we’ll stop along the way, and there will probably be food supplies in the cabins where we’ll stay.”
“And if there isn’t?”
“I know how to survive in the wilderness,” Sam said with quiet confidence.
She didn’t doubt him. She was on the verge of telling him so when he noticed that her wineglass was still full.
“You haven’t drunk any of your wine.”
“I’m not in the mood for it,” she said, hoping this would suffice as an explanation.
He took it in stride. “Okay, that’s cool.” He paused. “Let’s talk about tomorrow.”
“Sure, I’d like to know the plan.”
“We’ll get a good night’s sleep, leave early in the morning,” he said. “Is that okay with you?”
“It’s fine.” It occurred to her in that moment that she was trusting him with her life.
“We’ll follow the river, then head overland. Doug and I hiked to the fishing camp many times, and I figure you and I should be able to make it before nightfall.” He shot her an unfathomable look. “You’re not worried, are you?”
She hesitated. “Not now.”
“That isn’t what you were going to say.” His voice was low, certain.
She plunged ahead. “I could never be more worried than I’ve already been today. I was so worried, Sam. I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.” She couldn’t help it, her bottom lip started to tremble. She set the chili aside, her eyes suddenly blinded by a sheen of tears.
She would have risen and fled to the kitchen on some pretext, but Sam lowered his wineglass to the hearth and said in a low tone, “Kerry, I was afraid, too, afraid that if something happened to me you’d be here all by yourself.”
“Not exactly,” she said wryly, blinking away the tears. “I had a bear for company.”
Sam chuckled under his breath. “You handled the situation well. I don’t know too many cheechakos who would have shown your presence of mind with a bear breathing down their necks.”
For some reason, this brought back the tears. This time when she tried to blink them away, one slid down her cheek. Oh God, one of the unaccustomed things about her pregnancy was her roller-coaster emotions. Up, down, all around, the higher they go, the harder they fall. No, that wasn’t it…what was she thinking?
She was thinking that she wanted Sam’s arms around her, his voice comforting her, his breath warm against her forehead.
And then his arms were around her.
“Kerry, it’s okay, you can cry if you want to,” he said close to her ear. And though crying had been the farthest thing from her mind only seconds before, she found that she was sobbing against his broad chest, clutching at his shirt-front and reveling at the way his lips moved against her hair.
She didn’t know how long she cried, only that it was a catharsis and that Sam was kind, patient and sweet. She cried for Doug, for Sam, for all she’d been through and for their present predicament. She cried for her baby who would never know its father, for herself because she was so distraught, and for the fact that she liked being distraught if it meant that Sam would go on holding her.
“Shh,” Sam said close beside her ear. But she didn’t shh, she only quieted down a little. She became aware that Sam was rocking her and that it was soothing, and she reached up and touched his face. It was wet with her tears.
When she stopped crying, Sam was smoothing her hair. She wouldn’t have guessed that Sam had a streak of tenderness. Nothing in his personality had ever given her a clue.
She pulled slightly apart from him. “Oh, Sam, I’m so embarrassed. You’ll think I’ve lost it. Gone slightly nuts. Have I?”
He smiled down at her. “Nope. You deserved to get it all out of your system. Whatever ‘it’ was.”
She laughed shakily. “Oh, um, you wouldn’t believe it,” she said, thinking that it would be such a relief to get back to civilization if only so that she could reveal her pregnancy to Sam.
“Try me,” he said, his face inching closer so that her heart caught, released, started skipping beats.
“I—I—” she said, stammering as she tried to think of something to say, but he wasn’t listening anyway. Slowly he lowered his head, bringing his lips to hers. He brushed them lightly, softly, a whisper of a kiss that made every muscle in her body slack with desire.
“Kerry,” he murmured, “don’t pull away.”
She didn’t resist. She couldn’t. His lips skimmed seductively over hers, caught, nipped. “You taste so good,” he breathed, and she started to protest. But then his lips, tasting like wine, found hers again, and the kiss deepened. She felt his tongue and resisted at first, knowing that she should stop this and feeling powerless to do so. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t reason, all she could do was feel. And feel she did—his lips drawing her into a warm vortex where time and place did not exist, his hands sliding up her back and tangling in her hair, his heartbeat synchronizing with hers.
And all of it was defined by the feelings of utter longing that sprang up somewhere deep within. She tried, really tried to ignore them, but it was impossible with the way he was kissing her, caressing her, pressing her against him as if he would never let her go.
“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he said against her lips, and she realized then that this was what she had wanted, too. But how could she have wanted it? She didn’t like him. She’d never liked him.
She certainly liked what he was doing at the moment, however. His hands were cupping her face, his eyes searching hers. “You’ve been thinking about it too, haven’t you?”
She didn’t speak, sure that he could read her answer in her eyes.
“Haven’t you?” His voice was rough, urgent.
Mutely she nodded, and he closed his eyes for a long moment. He thought about Doug and what good friends they’d been, and he thought about Kerry and the way they’d always been at odds. Something had happened in this cabin, and he couldn’t understand what it was. Yes, he had learned to appreciate Kerry, to like her, and even to admire her. And to desire her.
But maybe he needed to think about this more. To turn the whole situation over in his mind before he did something he would regret. He didn’t want anything to interfere with their safe journey to Athinopa. He desperately needed Kerry’s cooperation tomorrow and for the next couple of days until they were out of danger. He needed her to be strong, fit and able to hike miles and miles through snow.
“Sam,” Kerry said, and he looked down at her and melted. She was so beautiful, desirable and sweet, her eyes so dazzling, and her arms were around his neck, her breasts soft against his chest. Just one kiss more, that’s all he’d allow himself, with Johnny Mathis singing a wholly appropriate “Chances Are” on the tape.
She lifted her lips to his, and they were moist and slightly parted. He took them, savaged them, captured them. A heat rose in his blood, surged through his veins, pumped through his heart in trip-hammer rhythm. He slid his hands over her breasts, gently, softly, and she moaned low in her throat. The sound was like music to his ears, and in that moment he wanted to touch her in places she’d never been touched, take her places she’d never been.
“Sam, oh, Sam, I don’t think this is a good idea.”
He had to remind himself that a few minutes ago he hadn’t thought so, either. He swallowed, forced himself to focus his eyes on her face.
“You may be right,” he said, reluctantly admitting it.
“We’d better get a good night’s sleep,” he told her, trying as hard as he could to act as if nothing had happened between them.
She seemed to be holding her breath, but then she rose unsteadily to her feet and began to move toward the ladder.
He forced himself to sound normal. “Set the clock for an hour before sunrise. We’ll need that much time to pack up.” He turned his attention to poking the fire, releasing a drift of bright embers up the flue.
“I’ll cook the last of the powdered eggs for breakfast,” she said. Her tone was flat, and she didn’t look at him.
“Good night, Kerry.”
“Oh, by the way, I found the pouch with your flight charts and logbook in it, and I stuck it way down inside your pack if you’re looking for it.”
For a moment he didn’t understand. Charts? Logbook? Those were already in his pack, safely zippered away in an inside pocket. Then he realized that Kerry must be talking about the pouch containing the papers. She couldn’t have looked inside the pouch if she’d thought it contained charts and a logbook.
“’Night, Sam.”
He muttered a reply.
He waited until she was all the way up the ladder before checking his pack. Sure enough, tucked up against the frame next to a clean pair of jeans, was the pouch. The papers inside appeared undisturbed. Sam glanced up at the dark loft where Kerry was quietly preparing for bed.
She hadn’t looked. She didn’t know. Relief washed over him in a wave that nearly bowled him over. He had to get out of the cabin, had to have time to think what to do next. To wonder why this mattered so much.
“I’m going over to the lodge for a few minutes,” he called up to her.
“Why?”
That's Our Baby! Page 14