.
the couch still in that chest?” He indicated a dresser that had been shoved against the far wall.
Kerry shook her head. She went to the old wardrobe beside the ladder to the loft and opened the drawer in the bottom of it. “I had to move the sheets to make room for some of my clothes.” She tossed him two sheets, a top and a bottom one, and a heavy wool blanket. “There are pillows behind the couch,” she told him. She caught herself up short and cast a glance at her old pillow, still stuffed into the wood box.
“I guess I’ll need one of those pillows myself,” she said sheepishly.
“I’ll get it,” he said, but she reached the couch at the same time he did. He didn’t mean to, but he bumped into her.
Kerry let out a sharp cry, and Sam realized that he must have hit her finger.
“It’s all right,” she said, but her voice quavered.
His heart went out to her. It must be hard to be Kerry Anderson right now. She’d lost her husband, faced up to financial problems and set out in a bold new direction—all in the past year. He didn’t want to add any more problems to the ones she already had. Life for her must be difficult enough. And if he waited until they got out of here to unload those papers on her, the ride wouldn’t be as bumpy, and he wasn’t only thinking of their mode of travel.
“Good night, Sam,” Kerry said softly.
He was unable to take his eyes off the sway of her body as she climbed the narrow ladder. She turned to look at him over the low loft railing. “I’ll set the alarm for sunrise. That’ll give us all the daylight hours to work on the plane,” she said. Then she disappeared into the darkness beyond.
Sam pulled out the folding bed, made it up with the sheets and settled into it. Was he doing the right thing by not confronting Kerry with those papers right now? And what if he did and the resultant resentment made it impossible for them to cooperate well enough to ensure their mutual survival? In his anguish, he wished with all his heart that this was one of those black-and-white situations in which proper conduct was clear. There was nothing clear about any of this, least of all his conscience.
As he punched his pillow into submission, he heard Kerry rustling about upstairs and wondered if she was getting undressed. With one finger out of commission, sleeping in her clothes would be easier for her than trying to take everything off and shimmying into pajamas or a nightgown.
On the other hand, maybe she slept in the nude.
AFTER SHE WAS SNUG in her solitary bed, Kerry lay close under the rafters of the loft listening to Sam sleep. It hadn’t taken him long to drop off. He made noises while he slept, although it wasn’t snoring exactly. More like “snoofling,” which was something less than a snore but more than a deep breath. There probably wasn’t any such a word in the dictionary, but there should be.
I wonder if he ever snores, she thought sleepily. Doug used to snore, and even though other wives complained about their husbands’ snoring, Kerry had always found it reassuring to know that he was right there beside her. Maybe that came from his being absent so often, on one of his frequent overnight flights somewhere.
She couldn’t help thinking about Doug. Tonight Sam had brought out feelings that Kerry hadn’t known she could have anymore. She’d felt protected by Sam, and cared for, which was silly considering the fact that they didn’t like each other much.
But still… She’d been startled to discover a confusing and totally out-of-line sexual attraction working between them, and she couldn’t imagine where that came from. She was pregnant and hadn’t known she was capable of sexual feelings. Was this normal? Was it commonplace? With no man in her life at present, she’d expected her sexuality to have settled into a dormant stage, and the possibility of feeling desirable to any member of the male sex had seemed remote.
She wished now that she could discuss this with Emma, her friend in Anchorage, or her sister Charlene, but Charlene was single and wouldn’t know anything about having babies anyway. Charlene did, however, understand male-female relationships. Charlene could have a field day with what was going on between her and Sam, and certainly Charlene would know if what Sam was exhibiting was sincere interest in her as a human being, concern over his best friend’s widow’s welfare or something else entirely.
And if it was something else entirely, then why was it happening?
That was the last thought to escape Kerry’s consciousness before she fell soundly asleep.
WHEN SHE WOKE UP before the alarm the next morning, dragging open eyelids that felt stone-heavy with sleep, she felt sore all over. Her hip hurt where she’d bruised it the day before, and her shoulder was stiff. Her finger felt okay until she tried to move it, and then she realized all over again that she’d really and truly broken it.
Bedsprings creaked in the cabin below, and she thought, “Who’s that?” And then she remembered: Sam. Memories of the night before flooded her consciousness.
Sam. Sam Harbeck was here.
Her finger ached. Sam had really bumped it hard last night while they were trying to get the pillows from behind the couch. And he’d looked so contrite after it happened. For a moment she’d thought he might offer to kiss it and make it well.
Ha! No chance of that. He still didn’t like her, and she didn’t like him. The best they could hope for was a period of cooperation after which they would each go their separate ways.
“Yo! Kerry!”
She sprang bolt upright in bed. She hadn’t realized that Sam was already awake.
“I’m up,” she called into the hollow predawn darkness. “I’ll be down in a minute.” She reached for the saltines she kept nearby as an antidote to morning sickness.
“No rush, I’ve been awake for a while, waiting for the alarm to go off. I think I’ll light a lantern. It’s mighty dark down here.”
She heard him striking a match, which was followed by the flare of the lamp wick. She squinted at the clock and saw that it still had a half hour to go before the alarm. As she punched the alarm button down, she swung her feet over the side of the bed. The floor was cold, and as she groped around in the dark with her feet for her slippers, she heard the back door slam. No surprise; Sam was heading for the shed.
Downstairs, she gingerly started assembling the ingredients for breakfast, treating her sore finger with respect all the while. Sam had removed the slop bucket from below the sink, which she appreciated because she didn’t like walking into the woods to empty it. Also, he must have stoked the cook stove earlier, because the coals were hot. A cursory check through the window at the spruce wood neatly stacked in the breezeway showed enough to last another two weeks, or at least it would have lasted that long before the weather turned unseasonably cold.
Surely the river wouldn’t freeze in September—or would it? As the wife of a pilot and as a former flight attendant, she knew enough about bizarre weather patterns to be wary. While she folded blueberries into the flapjack batter, she wondered what was taking Sam so long. If he’d only gone to the shed, he should be back by this time. She wished he’d hurry. She wanted to use the shed herself. Pressure on her bladder from the growing baby made frequent trips to the facilities absolutely necessary.
She tossed strips of bacon in a skillet and wrinkled her nose at the greasy odor, which was unfortunately making her stomach feel unsteady. Still no Sam; where was he? Her stomach was churning. She kept swallowing, willing the nausea to stop, and finally she munched on a couple more saltines.
After she’d laid the cooked bacon to drain on a bed of folded paper towels, she didn’t think she could stand the bacon odor any longer so she wrapped herself in her shawl and ventured out into the breezeway. The morning felt cold and crisp, and the sun reflected off billowing drifts of snow deposited by the storm of the night before. When she knocked at the door of the shed, Sam didn’t answer. Then she saw his footprints leading off through the new snow toward the river. So she was free to use the shed, which she did with much relief.