If You Loved Me

by Vanessa Grant

  February was almost over before she got out the words.

  "You've never even kissed me. Gray, why don't you ever kiss me?"

  The silence grew painful before he reached for her with both hands. She came to him as if she were melting. When he pulled her against him, she began shivering down deep.

  Damn!

  Emma jerked away from her image in the mirror. She had Chris, her work, and Alex. What sort of neurosis was it when a woman couldn't stop thinking of a love that belonged in her adolescence? Their first kiss, then Gray's insistence that it was over, that they had to stop seeing each other.

  Emma caught her long hair in one hand and began to twist it, to destroy the girl who'd once called Gray on the telephone night after night to beg him to see her again after he'd ended it. She was a grown woman now, a professional. None of it mattered now.

  With her hair up she looked more like herself, Dr. Emma Garrett. She pulled lipstick out of her purse and covered her lips with color. She wished she had her glasses to hide behind.

  She wasn't going to get caught staring at him. She'd keep her eyes on other things until they started flying. Then she would be thinking only of Chris.

  When she joined Gray downstairs in the kitchen, he jerked his head toward the table. "Breakfast there. Let's get a move on."

  She sat down in front of a plate of bacon and eggs, picked up the mug of steaming coffee.

  "Toast," he said.

  She picked up a piece that dripped with butter.

  "You should watch your cholesterol," she said mechanically, keeping her eyes on his hands as he spread marmalade on his toast.

  He ignored her comment. "At least you brought jeans," he said. "If we land to prowl through the bushes in some remote inlet, that outfit you had on yesterday would be useless. High heels and city pants."

  "As you said, I brought jeans."

  He leaned his forearms on the table and pinned her eyes with his gaze. "How much do those boys know about what they're doing out on the water?"

  He wanted her off balance. Why? "Enough." she said, hoping it was true. "Do you think I'd let Chris go if they didn't?"

  "He's seventeen? When was he born? What month?"

  "July. This idea you have—"

  "I'd guess sometime in May."

  She gripped the fork hard. "Would you believe me if I denied it?"

  "We'll leave in half an hour."

  Through the window, the world showed black. The man in front of her looked at her as if he hated her.

  "I hope to God your son knows more about the outdoors than his mother ever did."

  "He's been to Outward Bound camps. He took a three-week trip into the mountains when he was fifteen. Last year he went on a ten-day sailing trip at Easter and a white-water kayaking trip in the summer."

  "So they're experienced." A muscle flexed in Gray's jaw. "In that case, they're likely to be holed up under some trees keeping warm with a fire."

  "They learn a lot on those Outward Bound excursions." That's what she'd told herself when she agreed to let Chris go on this trip.

  "Why did you send him to Outward Bound?"

  "Why shouldn't I?" She heard the defensiveness in her voice and realized her emotional balance was gone again. Ten minutes of Gray and she felt as uncertain as a young girl. She had to stop herself from getting trapped in his dark blue eyes. He was a stranger now.

  She dropped her knife and fork and stood up to take her plate to the sink, asked, "Where's your garbage can?"

  "Scrape it into the dog's dish outside the back door."

  She opened the door and the dog lying on the back porch scrambled to his feet, tail down. He was bigger than he'd looked in the magazine, a strange mixture of red and golden fur in the circle of light from the fixture over Gray's back door. When Emma bent down and scraped her plate into the dish, the dog sniffed at her.

  She froze.

  The dog stared up at her. She stared back and remained very still while he sniffed her hand. Then he dropped his head to the dish and she stood erect. She was making a fool of herself with Gray, but at least she hadn't run screaming when his dog came sniffed her.

  She stared over the dog's head. The sky was lighter now with sunrise coming.

  Inside, Gray was pouring the contents of the coffeepot into a thermos.

  "Do you want me to wash our dishes?"

  He shrugged.

  She walked to the sink and felt shoulders go rigid as she came close to him. She pushed the stopper into the drain picked up the soap.

  "Why did you send Chris to Outward Bound?"

  She turned on the water.

  "It doesn't strike me as Paul's sort of thing—or yours."

  She held her hands under the running water. The suds were growing as the water pounded down. "I wanted him to be comfortable anywhere, in the city or in the wilderness."

  "Did you send him because he's my child? Because you felt you owed it to my child to teach him about the wilderness you hated?"

  She clenched her hand under the water. "No."

  "Look at me, Emma."

  She grabbed the dishcloth and immersed it in soapy water. "You've got it all wrong, Gray. Chris was fourteen when Paul died. Afterwards, he avoided his friends and let his schoolwork slip. He seemed so lifeless and it went on so long. I was worried. When one of the school counselors suggested an Outward Bound course, I sent him to the Mountain School in Keremeos."

  "Did it help?"

  "Yes. Rappelling up rock faces and crossing ravines sixty feet up hanging from a rope—he was such a skinny little kid when he went. When he came back, he had muscles, a smile, and a passion for roughing it in the wilds. He was alive again. This summer I gave him this trip as a present for doing so well in his first year at college." She wiped off the last dish and pulled the plug on the sink. "He wanted it so much, I didn't let myself listen to my doubts. I just made sure he had the best equipment."

  A closet opened and something fell onto the table behind her. Gray asked, "You said you had the plan of their route?"

  He was at the kitchen table filling a pack. He put the thermos in, then a box of Wheat Thins and a block of cheese. He looked up and met her eyes across the kitchen.

  "Yes." She gestured toward her purse. "It's a map, in my purse."

  "Let's get moving," he said. "Bring the map with you." Gray shouldered a large pack and picked up a smaller one in his right hand. "Grab the sleeping bags," he said, as he headed for the front door.

  "Sleeping bags? Will we be camping out?"

  Alone in the wilds with Gray. She pushed back the images. Nothing had happened here in his house. Nothing would happen if they slept in two sleeping bags with a campfire between. They were adults who lived their lives in two different worlds.

  "Probably not," he called back, "but it would be stupid to travel this coast without emergency supplies, and we'll want the bags if the boys are suffering from exposure."

  Four days overdue now. Oh, God, was there really any chance that Chris and Jordy were safe and warm with a fire between them?

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and carried the sleeping bags down to the dock where Gray's seaplane waited. He grabbed them and stuffed them into a luggage compartment behind the seats in his seaplane.

  "I'll just get my medical bag," she said. "It's in my luggage."

  "Medical bag?" He slammed the luggage door closed and his eyes flashed to hers. "I thought you gave medicine up when you married Paul."

  She didn't know what it was that passed between them then, but she felt danger in the air. "No," she said finally. "I didn't give it up."

  "I should have known."

  She frowned, but the sky was gray now, and she could see the color of his plane, not just its dark shadow. Time to get under way.

  "I'll just be a minute," she promised.

  She ran into the house and upstairs, grabbed her medical bag from her suitcase. When she returned, she found Chico waiting for her outside the door. Automatically,
she pushed in the lock on the inside of the doorknob before she remembered that Gray didn't lock his doors.

  Chico ran ahead as if urging her to hurry up. On the wharf, Gray opened the passenger door on the floatplane and Chico scrambled into the backseat.

  "He likes going places," explained Gray.

  "So I see." The smile they shared was unexpected and shattering. She had to stop this, she thought wildly. It was one thing to remember this man as her first lover, but she mustn't fall under a new spell.

  It was a small single-engine plane about the size of the one she'd flown in yesterday. Emma climbed into the passenger seat and watched Gray through the window as he circled the plane, walking on pontoons and hanging onto wing trusses. Then he opened the door on the far side and climbed in.

  "Preflight inspection?"

  He nodded. "We're about to spend a long time in this plane. Are you nervous about small planes?"

  "No, I'm not afraid. I don't imagine you'd fly at all if you couldn't do it well."

  He flicked a switch on the instrument panel. "Is there a barb somewhere in that comment?"

  "Only if you're looking for one. Are we going to bicker all day?"

  "Maybe." He turned his head and she saw his eyes flash. "Unless you want to stop somewhere and defuse the tension."

  Her throat dried as if he had touched her.

  "I've seen it in your eyes, Emma. You wonder what it would be like if we made love now. You're as curious as I am."

  "I'm not available. Will you get this plane in motion? I want my son back."

  The world had shifted to predawn black and white, shapes and contrasts with a growing tinge of pink above the trees in the eastern sky.

  He belted himself in and started doing something to buttons and levers. When she sat up straight and checked her seat belt, he handed her a pair of headphones with a microphone attached.

  "Wear these," he commanded. "They'll help muffle the engine sound and let us talk without shouting. We'll stop at the camp first. It'll be full light by the time we're done there. Then we can start searching."

  "The camp?"

  "I want to see if Bob can tell us anything. He's the manager there." His words came to her through the headphones. "We'll drop off Chico and have a close look at the charts."

  Within moments they were roaring along the glassy water, then tilting slightly as the inlet below dropped away.

  He didn't turn to glance at her when she stared at the hard lines of his profile. She hadn't realized when she was a girl that he used silence as a barrier, but she could see the silence gathered about him now, shutting her out.

  "Is this where you went when you left Farley Bay? Is this where your father's mining claim was located?"

  "The claim is fifty miles south of here."

  "What happened to it?"

  He shook his head. It seemed the past was not up for discussion. He wasn't going to tell her about the mining claim that had taken him away all those years ago.

  The next time he used his voice was to call Prince Rupert Coast Guard on the radio, giving his own call sign. Her hands gripped together tightly as she listened to the radio operator updating Gray on the status of the search.

  No sightings, no information except for one fisherman who reported talking to the boys at Klemtu the same day Chris had last telephoned his mother. As for the earlier report of two kayaks sighted in Grenville Channel, that had turned out to be a false alarm—a young couple honeymooning by kayak.

  "Thanks, Kurt," said Gray. "I'm just about to land at the camp. I'll be taking off in half an hour to join the search. Can you notify the rescue coordination centre?"

  "Roger, Gray. CF145, this is Prince Rupert Radio clear."

  Gray switched a knob on the radio. "That's the camp," he told Emma, pointing ahead and slightly to the right. "Tourist camp. Kayaking adventure tours."

  The collection of buildings grew larger as Gray flew closer. She hadn't dreamed there was anyone else within miles of Gray's isolated house, but this settlement was just over the hill. She could see the ribbon of water that joined Gray's inlet to the camp on the seaward side of the island. It might be only a half hour's walk from his house.

  There were six or seven buildings down there, a dock with four kayaks lying upside down on its planks, a fishing boat tied to the dock, and several people grouped near it. Emma had the fleeting impression of faces looking up as she and Gray flew over.

  Then the sun lifted over the horizon and she gasped, blinded by the rising sun. The water raced toward them and then she felt the pontoons catch water as they landed. Finally the blur of her vision cleared from the bright red glare of the new day.

  The engine fell silent as the seaplane drifted toward the wharves. Someone caught the wing and pulled it close to the dock. Emma saw a tall, thin man dressed in tattered jeans, his smile easy, three teenage boys crowded around him.

  "Bob Scarborough," said Gray. He introduced the boys—Ed, Carl, and Brian.

  Two of them grinned at Emma. Ed looked to be the youngest, a First Nations boy who inclined his head in an unsmiling gesture that could have been an echo of Gray's. They all walked up the boardwalk together. Gray was talking to Bob, explaining about Chris and Jordy.

  Emma twisted to look back at the plane and Gray touched her arm lightly. "Running off in all directions isn't the fastest way."

  "I heard the notice to mariners," said Bob. "Any results yet?"

  Gray shook his head.

  "What can we do?" asked Carl, the shortest of the three boys. "Do you need marine charts?"

  "I'm good o charts but I'll need a radio watch. Fuel the Cessna and strap a couple of kayak paddles to my starboard pontoon, would you. Lay in a fiberglass repair kit, too, and some extra rations. I'll leave Chico here."

  In seconds, Gray had them all moving to do what he wanted. Ed was taking Chico to the kennel. Carl had gone off to get paddles and Brian was instructed to fuel the plane.

  "I won't forget the filter this time," the boy promised Gray.

  "I know you won't," Gray agreed, and Brian looked relieved. He ran off toward the plane.

  With the boys dispatched, Gray turned to Bob. "What's the score with that party of archaeology students?"

  "They're due today. I could get a relief guide in."

  "No, take them out yourself as we planned, but leave Ed on radio watch. You might see someone who knows something while you're out with the students." He reached out and pushed open the door of the long building. "Emma and I will be here going over our route."

  Inside the building, Gray walked directly to a long cook stove. As Emma watched from the doorway, he pulled down two coffee mugs and filled them from a steaming pot. Behind her, Bob had gone off to supervise the tasks Gray had delegated.

  "This is your camp," she accused. "You're Bob's boss. There was nothing about this camp in the article."

  She had no idea why she should feel betrayed, as if he'd tricked her. Those three tough-looking teenagers adored him, and Bob obviously respected him. But for almost two decades she'd carried an image of Gray alone in the wilderness, surrounded by wild beasts and rough weather. The magazine article had added a house and a seaplane, but hadn't essentially changed her image.

  Gray gestured to a long table. "The boys' route. Let's see your map."

  She pulled the map out of her purse and handed it to him.

  He sat down to make notes on a piece of paper. She sat across from him, reassured somehow. This was the only thing she could contribute to the search, Chris's itinerary, with every day of the journey marked on a map, and details of estimated mileage and planned anchorages.

  Gray would find Chris for her. It was still only half light outside, but he'd organized three teenagers and a very competent-looking man into helping with radios and equipment. When the sun was higher, he would begin flying a search pattern.

  The lines on his face were deeper than they had been. His shoulders seemed broader and the muscles on his arms harder than ever. A
ge and experience had changed Gray, but she'd known him the instant she saw that magazine in her office.

  He thought Chris was his. She shivered as a wheel of sensation spun through her. Years ago, after that long delayed first kiss, Gray had backed away from her. She wondered now whether he'd been repelled by her obvious inexperience.

  She'd been so young, so eager to live, and that one kiss had left her desperate and reaching. No pride at all, no sense of self-preservation to stop her pursuing him when he dumped her... until the night when a girl answered his telephone.

  She didn't call after that. Now, looking back, she realized that she must have been clinically depressed that winter. No wonder her father had worried about her health and threatened to send her away somewhere there was sun.

  She began eating again then, studying because going to college was the only thing that mattered now, but she didn't stop dreaming. When she ran into Paul just after her eighteenth birthday, she accepted his invitation to dinner. Sitting in the restaurant with him, she remembered staring at him and wondering how long it would take Gray to find out she was dating Paul again.

  How could she have used Paul to get Gray back?

  It had worked, because three days later she found Gray waiting for her outside the school. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his car. Silence, not one word spoken as he drove out of town and onto the bypass.

  "Where are we going?" she asked finally.

  "You've been out with Paul. You knew I'd hear, didn't you?"

  She nodded mutely.

  "Trying to make me jealous?"

  "Yes, Did you care?"

  "God help us both. This isn't going to work, Emma. You're going to be a surgeon. You need big cities and big hospitals. I'm going into forestry, and if I see a city in ten years once I'm through college it'll be too soon."

  "You could do other things than forestry."

  "Would you change your plans for me? Don't pretend, Emma. Don't look at me with stars in your eyes. I'm your experiment with life, and maybe there's a bit of extra spice because your father hates my guts, but you'll be a doctor if it kills you. I know what happens when I touch you... and you want it all, don't you, Emma?"