“So William built the family homestead to accommodate them.” He scrubbed hard at yet another encrusted pan. “His buildings were intended to last. The workmanship on this lodge is amazing.”
“It’s been upgraded and added on to, but basically it’s still Jenny’s house.” She studied his face from the side. Good jaw, great mouth. “The white clapboard bunkhouse where the guides are staying was originally lodging for the single cannery workers.”
“And the cabins we have?”
So he’d noticed she’d moved in not far from him. “For the married help. And the supervisors.”
“Supervisors must have had much lower expectations in those days. So the Galloway kids stayed here and carried on the family business?”
“Their son, Bruce did. Theo’s father. And one of William’s daughters, Martha, lived here as well. Theo’s aunt, I remember her, she was an old lady when I was little. Apparently Emma died when she was young. I think she’s buried in the old graveyard up on the hill. I know Martha is.”
He tackled the last frying pan. “So when did it stop being a cannery?”
“After Alaska became a state in 1959. There were severe regulations imposed at that time that made the salmon harvest too unpredictable.”
He rinsed the pan and set it on the range to finish drying. “Trust government to screw up a good thing.”
“Aah, a cynic. You’ll fit right in up here.” For however long you stick around. “Well, Theo didn’t want to leave, so he gradually converted the cannery to a fishing lodge. Business was slow at first, but it’s gradually gotten more and more popular. Aunt Caitlin’s cooking helped a lot. They’re now getting bookings a year ahead.”
“And I think we’re finally finished the dishes.” He emptied the sink a second time and wrung out the cloth, folding it neatly on the drain board. “I now have the cleanest hands in all of Valdez.” He held them up for her to inspect.
“That’ll earn you a gold star.” Ivy tossed the towel away. “I’m totally sick of drying pots. I’m going to have a cup of tea and then go to bed.”
“Mind if I join you?”
Ivy quickly looked over at him, one hand on the tea canister. Did he have any idea what he’d just said? From the innocent expression on his face, she guessed he didn’t. She cleared her throat and pulled out two tea bags. “Not at all. Herbal okay?”
“I’m easy.”
This time she had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. He just shoved his glasses up farther on his nose.
She liked watching him do that. She liked him. More than liked. She was powerfully attracted to him. Ivy found the teapot and dropped the chamomile in while he plugged in the kettle. To heck with warming the pot. Why couldn’t she have felt this way about Dylan? But no, for her libido to kick in big time she had to choose a tourist who’d be here today, gone tomorrow.
She watched him hanging the pots on the rack above the table. He had this long, strong body. He was decorative all right, definitely easy on the eyes.
He poured them each a mug of tea and slid into a chair beside hers.
“So what brings you to Alaska, Alex?” She stirred honey into her mug and offered the sticky jar to him, but he shook his head.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sipped at his tea. His evasiveness suddenly reminded her of Frances.
“Forget I asked,” she snapped. “It’s none of my business anyway.”
“I was wondering where to start, is all.” His surprise showed in his voice. “See, I divorced three years ago, changed jobs, went through a sort of assessment process to figure out which direction I wanted to go. What I wanted to be when I grew up,” he said in a wry tone. “I guess this trip is still part of that process.”
Ivy sorted that information and then decided to run with what seemed the least invasive question. “What did you do before you became a carpenter?”
“Forensic consultant for the San Diego police department. I have a degree in anthropology.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I keep waiting to see the Northern Lights. Everybody talks about them, but they’ve yet to make an appearance. Probably not far enough north just yet, this old tub doesn’t exactly break any speed limits.
From letters written by Roy Nolan,
April, 1972
IVY KEPT HER JAW from dropping, but only barely.
“You have a degree in anthropology, and you decided to become a carpenter?” She was trying to get her mind around it, busy reshuffling the cards she’d dealt him. Served her right for having preconceived notions.
“Lateral move,” he said with a wink.
“Well, you sure fit right in up here. We all seem to be taking the road less traveled.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You think you’ll stick with a hammer?”
He took a long time to answer that, as well. This time she was more patient. She was getting used to his deliberate manner.
“No,” he finally said. “I suspect I’ll be heading home when the summer’s over. I wasn’t actually planning to be a carpenter for the rest of my life. It started out as an interim thing.”
“How so?”
“A friend of mine from high school had a construction company and he was short a carpenter. I’ve always worked with wood in my spare time. My hobby was restoring furniture, remodeling houses. It was a good fit. Then his contract ended, and I was sort of at loose ends, so I came up here.”
“Just on the spur of the moment?” There seemed to be huge gaps in this story.
“Yeah, pretty much.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Everybody wants to visit Alaska these days. It’s the new Aruba.”
Ivy laughed. “We can only hope. Maybe this tourism boom will be more stable than furs, or gold or oil.” She yawned so hard her eyes watered and her jaw cracked. “Excuse me. Long day. Must get to bed.” She drained her mug and got to her feet.
“C’mon, I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
“It’s a pretty long walk. You sure you’re up for it?” They both knew that he had to pass her cabin to reach his own anyway.
“For you, fair lady, anything.”
Outside it was still twilight, even though it was past ten.
The temperature had dropped. Ivy tipped her head back and then caught her breath. “Look.” She pointed up at the sky where a soft, mysterious glow stretched in a wide band. It began to flicker, fading in and out, taking on color in shimmering green, pink, white.
“Aurora borealis,” she whispered. There were no words to capture the magnificence that filled the sky like paint on a giant canvas. No, not a static painting. Bright yellow-green melded with purple, blue, red and deeper green, into a celestial kaleidoscope.
Ivy knew she ought to go and alert the guests. This sort of extravagant display wasn’t usual, even for Alaska. But she couldn’t force herself to move.
She had no idea how long they stood there, transfixed, silent. Alex fumbled for her hand, lacing her fingers with his, linking palm to palm. When at last the glow faded, disappearing a little at a time until the night sky took on its usual star-studded appearance, Ivy shivered and remembered to breathe again.
She heard Alex also draw a shuddering breath. Still holding her hand, he walked beside her along the path to the cabins, not saying a word, and gratitude filled her.
She hated having someone explain the scientific facts surrounding the northern lights, the sunspots and solar flares that ionize particles in the upper atmosphere. In her mind, the only suitable acknowledgment was silence. Reverence.
At the door to her cabin his hand tightened on hers momentarily and then he released his grip and took a step back.
“Night, Ivy. Sleep well,” he said quietly.
“You, too.” She went inside and closed the door, and a few moments later heard the door to his cabin close as well.
You’re a rare one, Alex, she decided as she showered and collapsed onto the hard mattress on the lower bunk.
Usually, men were dra
wn to her more than she was to them. With Alex, the pattern may have reversed itself, and it was unsettling. It was also fun. With a weary grin, she curled on her side and began to slide into sleep.
She’d never believed that there was one special someone out there, waiting for her to find him. Or vice versa. She’d decided long ago that, with a few rare exceptions, people usually settled for whoever was available when the nesting instinct kicked in.
Now, however, she wasn’t quite so certain.
TWO DAYS LATER, Alex wiped away the sweat rolling down his forehead and leaned on his shovel, surveying the sizeable hole he’d already excavated that morning. He still had one hell of a way to go, but he wanted to show the guys who were arriving this afternoon to help that he wasn’t some slackass from the lower forty-eight.
Theo had told him that the foundation for the cabins had to be fifty-four inches deep to protect against frost heaves. That was some righteous pile of dirt to move by hand, even for three men. His sweaty black T-shirt was stuck to his back, so he pulled it off, using it to clean the perspiration off his glasses before he tossed it toward the flannel shirt he’d discarded an hour ago. Then he dug the shovel into the gravel again and heaved it up and out, finding the rhythm and enjoying it.
Nothing like a challenge to keep your mind occupied. Nothing like shoveling to keep your muscles hard and tire you out so maybe you’d sleep more than three hours at night.
“Hey, earth mover. Ready for a coffee break?” Ivy stood on the pile of dirt, smiling down at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and for a moment he had the feeling she might have been ogling his bare back, but that was probably his ego talking. She had a red thermos in one hand, cups and a covered plastic container in the other.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said fervently, stepping out of the hole.
“Let’s take it over to the picnic bench,” she said, motioning to a rustic wooden bench under a birch tree. He caught her shooting a furtive fast glance at his bare chest.
She covered herself by saying, “You might want your shirt, Professor. It’s chilly in the shade.”
He grabbed it, tugging it over his head as she walked ahead of him. He couldn’t help but admire the view. Her worn jeans fit like a second skin, outlining her round bottom, narrowing to a handspan waist. He imagined cupping that lovely ass in his palms, and then forced himself to drag his eyes away and center his attention higher up, on her slender neck, the way her bright hair curled madly all over her skull.
It was a relief to swing his legs over the bench and sit down.
“I have cookies as well as coffee,” she said, filling two cups and adding sugar and powdered cream to both. “Sorry—couldn’t carry real cream. Hope you don’t mind.” That she even remembered he took it pleased him.
She held out the container. “These are Auntie’s famous peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip bombs. So called because they give you what Mavis calls The Wind. But they’re worth it.”
He laughed as he reached for one. “I’ll take my chances.” He finished off the cookie in two bites, giving an appreciative grunt as he washed it all down with a gulp of coffee. “This is kind of you. Thanks, Ivy.”
“Not so kind as all that. I really needed to get out of that kitchen.” She rolled her eyes. “Mavis is on a tear about the way Sage and I did the breakfasts this morning. Apparently there’s a system and we botched it by letting guests pour their own juice and make their own toast. Mavis was scandalized. As penance I’ve been peeling vegetables—we’re making shepherd’s pie for supper. Man, are we making shepherd’s pie! There’s enough to feed the military. My fingers are permanently crippled.”
“What happened to Mavis?”
“A pressure cooker blew up. I never knew her any other way, so I don’t even notice her scars.”
“She could probably have plastic surgery.”
Ivy shook her head. “A couple years ago one of the guests—a doctor—suggested it to her. She told him to go to hell.”
“She’s one tough lady.” He washed down another mouthful of cookie with coffee. “Has she got you chained to the paring knife the rest of the day?”
“Thank God I have a job that gets me away from Mavis, otherwise there’d be bloodshed. I have to take the copter into Valdez in half an hour. There’s a group of tourists who want to go up at the same time and they won’t all fit in the floatplane.”
He couldn’t say it sounded like fun, because it was his worst nightmare. “When did you learn to fly, Ivy?”
“Oh, Captain used to take me up when I could barely walk.”
Her face lit up whenever she mentioned Tom. Alex also remembered the smile on Tom’s face when Ivy was around. Father and daughter shared a powerful bond, no doubt about it. He felt a stab of pain, realizing what he’d lost with Annie. And also, what he’d never had as a boy. His relationship with Steve Ladrovik had been powerful, but it sure as hell hadn’t been positive.
“When I was about seven,” Ivy was saying, “Dad started letting me sit on his lap and steer. By the time I was ten, I was landing the floatplane by myself.”
“Ten, huh?” Just talking about landing a floatplane made him queasy. “And let me guess, by twelve you were piloting the helicopter?”
She laughed. “Not quite. But that was Dad, again. He knew how to fly copters—flew them in Vietnam. He showed me the basics, and then I went to flight school in Anchorage, got my accreditation. Right now we lease that baby—” she gestured at the helicopter on its cement pad “—but we’re saving up to buy one of our own.” She drank some of her coffee. “I’ll take you up sometime, if you want. Do you like to fly?”
“Not much, but I’ve only ever flown on commercial flights.” And gotten airsick every time. “I can’t say I really liked it. More necessity than pleasure.”
“Commercial flights.” She blew out a derogatory breath. “That’s not really flying, that’s just transportation. You’ve got to go up in a small craft on a bluesky day in Alaska to really appreciate flying.” She glanced at her watch. “I’d take you today, except I’m booked.”
He thanked God for small blessings.
“I should get going.”
And he should get back to work. Except… “Have you ever been married, Ivy?” Now where the hell had that come from? “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get so personal.”
“That’s okay, how else do we get to know one another? And the answer’s no, no wedding album in my bookcase.”
He waited, and she laughed. “Okay, I came close once,” she confessed. “But I realized in time that I wasn’t ready to settle down. We’re still friends. He married a woman from town and moved to Portland. They’ve got two kids already.” She gave him a long, considering look. “My turn at personal—this is ademocracy, Professor. So, where did you grow up, what did your father do, how many kids are in your family?”
“Not fair, that’s three in one.”
“Economy. Answer fast, I have to go.” Her grin was cocky. He had the urge to lean across the table and kiss the mischief off her mouth.
“Threats, huh? Okay, San Diego, aeronautical engineer and there are three of us. I’m oldest, then Zelda, then Dmitri.” He added without planning to, “Steve Ladrovik was my stepfather, so Zelda and Dmitri are my half siblings.” He was still getting used to that himself.
He saw her mulling it over and to fend off questions that could turn awkward he said the first thing that came into his head. “My turn, you owe me two. How old are you, Ivy?”
“Twenty-seven. I’ll be twenty-eight July 19th. How about you?”
“Thirty-four, almost thirty-five.” Seven years and untold chasms of living between them.
“When’s your birthday?”
“May 6th.”
“Wow, just a few weeks away. Tell you what, I’ll take you up for a birthday ride.”
When he didn’t respond she added quickly, “If you’re still around, that is.” She looked at her watch again. “Gotta fly. Literally.” She slid her long legs out
from under the picnic table. “Don’t strain yourself with that shovel.”
“Be careful up there.” Alex watched her stride toward the helicopter. She walked as if she owned the earth. When the rotors began to whir, he felt nervous for her. It wasn’t until the grotesque bird had lifted, circled and then disappeared over the mountain that he got up and headed back to the hole, digging the shovel in and heaving it up and out, finding his rhythm again. Trying not to think about Ivy.
He’d had two casual sexual encounters since his divorce, and both had left him so empty inside he’d decided not to go that route again.
This might explain this ache in his groin whenever he was around Ivy. He was a man, she was a sensual woman. Different physical type from Rebecca, which was probably a good thing.
His ex-wife was tiny and softly rounded, with long, silky dark hair. Sage Galloway actually reminded him of her.
His former wife, Rebecca had suggested he call her, last time they’d talked. It sounded more civilized than ex, she’d said with that captivating gamine grin.
Rebecca’s smile had stolen his heart the first time they’d met. It had been outside a courtroom where he was presenting forensic evidence for the defense and she was the cop appearing as a witness for the prosecution.
Rebecca hadn’t fit his idea of what a cop looked like.
She wasn’t on the force anymore. After Annie died, she’d taken a leave of absence and never went back. Now she was a grief counselor with parents who’d lost children.
They’d met for coffee at a Starbucks just before he left San Diego for Alaska. He’d wanted to tell her about Steve’s death and show her the letters and the photo his mother had given him. Rebecca was fond of Linda; they still talked on the phone every couple weeks.
His mother’s revelation had been a tremendous shock, and he’d needed to talk to someone who knew him, knew his history. Rebecca had known him better than anyone else. Telling her was easier than he’d expected, because she listened the way she always had, attentive and quiet, sipping her soy latte, nodding now and then.
Past Lies Page 6