That's Our Baby!. Pamela Browning
me show you,” he said. He reached over to the upended varnished keg that served as an end table and picked up the pencil and paper that were there. A dog-eared magazine served as a lapboard.
As Kerry leaned close, warming her hands around the hot mug, her injured finger and the one that supported it stuck out at an odd angle. Her knee brushed his accidentally. She jumped away like a scared rabbit, which was how he knew that she’d felt something, too. He wondered if what she felt remotely resembled the sudden shock of awareness that had whipped through him fast as lightning.
Sam wasn’t accustomed to such bodily phenomena in his daily life. He knew he was attractive to women and had even become smug about it, taking what they offered and refusing to give much of himself in return. But he’d certainly never, even at his most receptive, felt anything that remotely resembled a lightning strike.
And maybe he hadn’t really felt one now.
He made himself bend over the paper, deliberately keeping his distance. “This is the plane,” he said, sketching it roughly, “and this is the float and strut that are still there. Here’s the shorn-off strut. I can cut the lumber to the right size with a saw I found in the shed and bolt it onto the shaft. After that I’ll figure out a way to affix the float, and we’ll be out of here.”
“It sounds too simple,” she said. Her eyelashes cast long shadows on her cheeks.
“It isn’t hard. Of course, I’ll have to assess damage to the float and the rest of the plane.”
“And the river had better not freeze,” Kerry said. She had bundled her hair into a ribbon on the side of her head that faced away from him, exposing the curvy line of her jaw. She had ridiculously high cheekbones, the kind any model would die for. He had the urge to reach over and cup her cheek in his palm, to caress her smooth skin. It would feel like flower petals. Hibiscus blossoms, like they grew in Key West.
Get a grip, Harbeck, Sam told himself. He couldn’t imagine why Kerry was so attractive to him. True, he’d recently broken up with Marcia, his girlfriend for the past six months, so maybe he was feeling the excitement of being free. Usually the women found him, however. He didn’t have to go looking for them.
And he hadn’t been looking for Kerry.
Well, he might as well face it: He’d sought her out because he wanted her to sign those forms. And that was supposed to be the end of any association between them. So why was he thinking he might call her when they both got back to Anchorage?
He wouldn’t. She wouldn’t want to hear from him. Not after he revealed the secret that he and Doug had kept from her.
Agitated, he stood up and went to his parka, removing a United States Geological Service map from the inside pocket. His fingers brushed the waterproof pouch containing the papers he’d brought for Kerry to sign, and he hesitated. He had the reckless thought that maybe it would be better to get the whole thing over with now. Maybe she’d sign without making any problem tonight before he managed to rub her the wrong way again. Before—anything. Suddenly he realized what might happen here in this cabin while they were together. The thought brought a buzzing to his ears and dryness to his mouth.
He hadn’t heard her getting up from the couch.
“What are you doing?” she said, close behind him. She was peering over his shoulder.
“Getting out my charts. I thought you’d like to see how we stand,” he told her, turning the coat so she couldn’t see the pouch in the pocket. He felt her close behind him, so close that her breath was warm upon his cheek. He glanced around and saw that her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide and curious. In the dim lamplight her pupils were large and luminous, and in that moment Sam thought he could have drowned in their depths.
By now his heart was pounding, and he told himself it was out of fear of discovery. He didn’t want her to catch him with those papers. But why? Hadn’t he come here for the express purpose of getting Kerry’s signature on the dotted line? Why didn’t he slap the papers down on the table and whip out his pen?
Why indeed? He knew the reason, and now it ate at him, stirred up his gut, filled him full of regrets.
Sam had serious misgivings about surprising Kerry with those papers after being around her and seeing how vulnerable she was, and how valiant. He didn’t think he could bear to witness the cold fury he knew his revelation would bring.
And her fury would only be part of it. It was sure to be followed by hurt and disappointment when she digested the fact that he, Sam Harbeck, had shamefully conspired with her late husband to betray her.
CHAPTER THREE
Shaken by the realization that he cared, truly cared, what Kerry Anderson thought of him, Sam needed a few moments to gather his thoughts and pull himself together. He brushed past Kerry and busied himself by tugging the hassock over to the couch and spreading the map open on it. Kerry followed, perching beside him on the couch and leaning forward, her shoulders hunched, her hair tumbling forward in a froth of golden curls.
“All right, Harbeck, I’m looking. You want to explain?” Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she spoke. They were like softly curved birds’ wings, those brows, lending thoughtful expression to a face that was already almost too perfect.
Sam cleared his throat. He wished he’d never come here. He wished he’d never agreed to the crazy scheme that he and Doug had cooked up in this very cabin. And at the moment he wished with all his heart that he’d never met Kerry.
But he had, and he might as well act as if nothing was wrong.
He drew a deep steadying breath. “Here’s Williwaw Glacier,” he told her, tracing its ribboning track on the chart with a blunt forefinger, “and here’s the bend in the Kilkit where I left the plane. This cabin is a couple of miles away from there. It won’t take long to walk to the plane if the weather’s good.”
“We can start early in the morning,” Kerry said, glancing over at him. Her eyes reflected the warm glow from the fireplace, and he distractedly noticed a pulse throbbing in the hollow of her neck. The collar of her shirt parted to reveal a dusky shadow—cleavage, and he was achingly aware that the shirt she was wearing molded itself to her curves.
He made himself look back at the map. “There’s no need for you to go with me,” he said. “I can handle the repairs myself.”
Kerry regarded him steadily. “I want to help. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”
At that false pronouncement, guilt settled over Sam like a cold, wet blanket. Of course he hadn’t come here to check on her; the papers he wanted her to sign had been paramount in his mind. He knew he ought to steer her in another direction.
“So,” she went on, oblivious to his jumbled thoughts as she got up and headed for the kitchen, “since you’re here, the least I can do is get us both another cup of hot chocolate.” She moved closer and poured more hot chocolate from the kettle into his cup.
She went on talking over her shoulder as she returned the kettle to the kitchen. “After we get up in the morning, we’ll hike to the plane, and you’ll get started on the repairs. I’ll be your helper and your gofer.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Repairing the Cessna isn’t going to be a picnic, you know.”
“I believe you.” She settled herself on the small backless bench across the room and regarded him over the rim of her mug. “Two people can work faster than one. You know, Sam, I’m counting on you to get us out of here.”
Sam knew she was. That was the worst of it. He finished off his hot chocolate and tried to think past the knowledge that he was a cad and a jerk. Or was he? His intentions had been good at the start of everything. It wasn’t his fault the plan had gone awry.
Kerry, who couldn’t possibly be aware of what he was thinking, offered a tentative smile. “I’d better get to bed if we’re starting out early.”