Chapter Thirteen

 

 

“DO YOU THINK the boat will ever come back?” Rose asked from the comfy rocker that Colby had placed in front of the kitchen stove. Blessed heat radiated from the ugly beast, leading her to suspect that if it continued playing nice, they might one day be friends.

“Eventually,” he said, stirring the fragrant sauce that had her hungry stomach growling. Shooting her a wink, he said, “Don’t sweat it. It’s not that big a lake. I’ll hike around in the morning to get it once it washes ashore.”

Outside, thunder rolled as rain pummeled the cabin’s tin roof.

“The lake sure felt big, hiking around it in this storm.”

He shrugged. “I’ve been caught in worse jams—like, say, that time I crashed my plane into a mountain. Ring any bells?”

Twirling a lock of her still-damp hair, she made a face.

“You look awfully comfortable over there. Thought you were making the pasta?”

“I was, but then you starting poking fun at me, so now I figure I’ll just sit here and watch you make the pasta.”

Already at the sink filling a large pan with water from the well, he said, “I can see it now. If we do end up hitched, I’ll spend the rest of my days at your beck and call.”

“Only if you want more babies.”

He dashed to her side to tuck her red blanket around her still-nippy toes.

“Do you? Want more kids?” Back in the kitchen, he put the pot of water on to boil, then pulled out a chair at the small kitchen table.

“Don’t know. I’ve been so busy with work, I guess I’ve never much thought about it. I mean, I always wanted at least one child, but I guess, yeah, it might be fun for Baby Talbot to have a little brother or sister to play with.”

He winced. “Could you please stop doing that?”

“What?”

“Calling my son Baby Talbot. His name is Nick.”

“Hate to rain on your parade there, fella, but—” Judging by the stern set of his lips and jaw that he was no longer teasing, Rose said, “I’m sorry. I can see how helping pick our baby’s name might be important to you.”

“You think?” He sprang to his feet, then crossed the kitchen and began furiously stirring the sauce.

Rose pushed herself up from her chair, letting the blanket fall to the floor.

At the stove, she stepped behind Colby, sliding her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades. With their baby nestled between them, if it weren’t for the rigid set of Colby’s back, all would have been right with the world.

“I said I’m sorry.” She gave him a squeeze. “Nick it is. It is cute, in light of the night he was conceived. And anyway…it’s the least I can do.” After all, Colby probably wouldn’t be seeing his son for a long time. The very thought stole her always-healthy appetite.

How was she going to do it? Just walk away?

What she’d felt for her dog Samson was nothing compared to what she feared she was beginning to feel for this man.

Still, no matter how much she’d come to enjoy Colby’s company over the past few days, she had to remember that their bond was temporary.

Shielding their son from future pain was the right thing to do.

The responsible thing.

The only thing.

Turning to face her, Colby kissed her hard, making her mind and heart spin. “Marry me,” he said. “Not because of the baby, but because of what the two of us share.”

“I-I can’t,” she said, heart racing to an uncomfortable degree.

“Of course, you can. All it takes is a short ceremony and voilà—we’re husband, wife and baby.”

It really would be just that simple.

The only problem was that, in her heart, she’d be forever bound to him. How did she know he’d feel the same? She couldn’t risk it. There was too much at stake. Not just her own emotional well-being, but that of her son. What if she said yes, and then Colby turned out to be less than wonderful after all? What if, like his own father, he got tired of the whole family thing and moved on to greener pastures? Yes, there was no doubt in her mind she could take care of herself and son all on her own, but how would she mend the hole that Colby’s leaving would make in their boy’s spirit? On her soul?

“I see that mind of yours working a mile a minute,” he said. “Remember our talk about faith?”

She squeezed him for all she was worth.

“That’s it. Lean on me. I promise, together, we can make this thing work.”

 

 

I PROMISE WE can make this thing work.

Friday afternoon, Rose was back in her Kodiak Lodge room, gazing across the lake. Cold rain pelted the windows.

The gloom suited her mood.

Rubbing her belly, she crossed the room to ease onto the bed and turn on the TV, flipping through satellite channels with the remote.

When Dot and the man she’d been introduced to as Colby’s friend Brody had arrived back at the cabin to pick them up bright and early that morning, she’d actually been sad to pack and let the place go. She’d expected to be angry with her kidnappers, but on the contrary, she was grateful to them for allowing her that wondrous, all-too-brief time with the father of her son.

Still full from a late hearty breakfast of ham and eggs and what had felt like gallons of milk pushed on her by Nugget, Rose flipped off the TV. Maybe all she needed to right her sour mood was a nap?

But that didn’t work, either, as she missed the wind whispering through towering spruce and Colby’s gentle snores.

Their last night at the cabin, he’d shared the big bed with her. He’d spooned her like he had that long-ago night on the snowy mountain, only this time, instead of cupping his big hand to her flat stomach, he’d curved his fingers over their baby. Being in his arms again had been a dream she hadn’t even known she’d wanted to come true.

Snatching Colby’s Santa hat from the nightstand, she grunted as she rolled onto her side, toying with the idea of throwing caution to the wind and marrying Colby.

He was warm and funny and handsome and smart.

He was everything she’d ever wanted in a father for her child. Everything she’d never dared hope for in a husband. Back when she’d sat around with her girlfriends giggling late into the night about guys, a man with all his qualities was what she’d claimed to be holding out for. So now that she had him, why couldn’t she keep him?

Because there was no such thing as keeping a husband, as her mother had all-too-painfully learned. For that matter, even keeping a boyfriend was tough, as Rick had shown.

True, but what if what she and Colby shared was different? Better? After all, they had the common bond of a child.

Oh—as if her parents hadn’t had a child when her dad had nearly killed Rose and her mom?

Like Colby’s parents hadn’t when his dad abandoned him and his mom?

Scooting up in bed, Rose tucked Colby’s hat under her pillow and switched the TV back on.

She found a repeat of Beachfront Bargain Hunters, and reached for her trusty can of squirt cheese on the bedside table. It was empty, as was her bag of licorice.

Pouting, she’d resigned herself to spending the afternoon watching other people make their dreams come true when a knock sounded at her door.

Startled, she put her hand to her belly, then smoothed her hair into a neat ponytail. “Who is it?”

“Me.” Colby.

Scrambling from the bed as fast as possible with a belly the size of hers, she then crossed the room, opening the door to pull him into a hug. “I thought you had to fly to Global this afternoon.”

“I did. I went fast, so I could get back to you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed her while cradling his hands on either side of the baby. “Ready?”

“For what?”

“Your grand tour?”

“Of what?”

He kissed her again. “What do you think? Kodiak Gorge.”

 

 

“COLBY!” ROSE COMPLAINED on the tenth dusty step of Schlump’s Hardware. The creaky old staircase was dark and musty—downright spooky. She found it odd that the hardware store was on the town tour, but Colby insisted she had to see the supposedly haunted building.

She sneezed.

“Bless you.”

To use him as both protection against ghosts and a tow line, she tucked her fingers into his back pockets. “I’m exhausted. Are we almost there?”

“Just a couple more steps.” At the top, he stood aside to make room for her, then said with a flourish of his hands, “Ta-da!”

All she saw was an equally dusty, dank and gloomy hallway, at the end of which, creepy pale red light spilled through a stained-glass window. She flinched when something scurried into the room two doors down from where they stood.

“This isn’t funny,” she said. “People catch diseases from places like this.”

“Oh, quit complaining.” He grinned. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Back at the lodge. I think I smelled home-baked peanut butter cookies—and you know how much Nugget wants me to drink milk. Doesn’t that sound like an awesome pairing? Way better than ghosts and rats.”

As he took her by the hand, Rose caught his frown. “That man has poured enough milk down you to open a dairy.”

“Colby!” Reddening, she swatted his behind.

“Is it just me, or have you been doing an awful lot of butt touching on this trip?”

“No!”

“Not that I’m complaining…” Leaning against a wall that had been shellacked in old newspapers, he slipped his hands around her waist, lowering his mouth to hers for a delicious kiss.

“Mmm…” she teased. “This tour is definitely looking up.”

“Any idea where you are?” he asked.

“The perfectly dreadful second story of Schlump’s Hardware?”

“Nope.” He kissed her nose. “You happen to be standing in a piece of Kodiak Gorge history.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, trying not to breathe for fear of contracting some rare form of lung disease from all the dust.

“This very spot happens to be the infamous Dot’s Bordello.”

Rose choked on her saliva. “Dot? Our Dot ran a bordello?”

“Nah, her great-grandmother.”

“Interesting…”

“And in this room right here,” he dragged her into the same space the scurrying suspected rat had vanished into, “Schafer Kingsley shot Barnabas Riley in cold blood for sleeping with Felicity Holmes.”

Rose grimaced, taking a backward step, but Colby pulled her alongside him. Driving rain hit the room’s only window.

Rose shivered.

“The event was in all the papers from Anchorage to San Francisco. Schafer shot the poor bastard straight through his family jewels. That night, Felicity hanged herself off the second-floor balcony.”

“What happened to Schafer?”

“He was publicly hung a week after.”

“And you brought me here why?” Rose walked deeper into the gloom, the soles of her sneakers cracking broken glass.

“Well, first off, because the place is famous. It’s been on two Travel Channel ghost show specials and starred in its very own History Channel documentary on Alaska.”

“Oh.”

“Still not impressed?”

“Well… It’s more than sad, Colby, it’s—”

“Tragic.” He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. “If you come here at, say, two a.m., folks say you can still see Barnabas and Felicity dancing.”

Baby Nick kicked.

Rose jumped from the unexpected motion.

Laughing, Colby said, “Somebody’s enjoying the tour.”

“That’s because he doesn’t know better. What kind of tourist town is this? Don’t you have any fudge or ice cream shops?”

“Rough customer, are you?”

“Yes. I paid a lot for this tour.”

“What? One measly kiss?”

“I think we’re up to two or three now, thank you very much.”

A cold breeze blew through the room, skittering three yellowed newspapers across the wood plank floor.

“Harvey?” Colby called, assuming the store’s owner must have opened a window. When the chubby proprietor didn’t answer, he winked, then said, “Let’s get out of here before Schafer starts shooting again.”

 

 

“THIS MORE TO your liking?” Colby asked fifteen minutes later as he led Rose into the ethereal glow of the town’s chapel. The building had been constructed of native stone mined from the gorge. The pews had been carved from Sitka spruce. Red carpet, which he’d heard had been a scandalous gift to the church from Dot’s great-grandmother, lined the center aisle. Several candles flickered on the altar. Outside, rain still fell, hammering the tin roof.

“It’s beautiful,” Rose whispered.

“The steeple was carted all the way from San Francisco on mules.”

“The whole way?”

“Well, not the whole way. I imagine part of the journey was by ferry, but still.”

“Do you ever attend services here?”

“Occasionally. I used to come more, when Mom was still in town. She dragged me every Sunday when I was a kid.”

“I think it’d be nice being part of a church like this.”

Colby caught a wistful edge to Rose’s simple statement. “Your family never went to church?”

“My dad…” She bowed her head, almost as if in shame. “He was violent. Angry about life never going his way. He took out that anger on me and my mom. One night, he drank too much, got mad at me for playing my Spice Girls CD too loud during Monday Night Football. He got even madder when Mom tried to stop him from bashing me repeatedly on the side of my head with the metal CD player.” Parting her hair over her left ear, he held back a gasp to see a long, pale pink scar. “It took over a hundred stitches to put my scalp back together. Mom fared even worse. And… M-my sweet, little Samson…” She paused to fish a handful of tissues from her purse that she used to blot her eyes. “Dad went directly to prison and never passed go. Since he died behind bars, we thankfully never saw him again. For a while, we skipped back and forth between friends and family, but once Mom met Jim—husband number two—we moved in with him. Their honeymoon didn’t last long. From there, things get blurry. So many stepdads. So many houses that were never quite homes…”

“Babe…” Suddenly, it all made sense. Her reluctance to commit. To trust. After what she’d been through, could he blame her? Squeezing his hands into fists, if her bastard father hadn’t already been dead, Colby was angry enough that he could have done the job himself. “Sorry doesn’t seem adequate.”

She shrugged. “You have nothing to apologize for. And anyway, it’s all in the past.”

How could she believe in letting a higher power work things out for the best if she didn’t believe in said power at all? “Where do you stand on religion?”

“I spent a summer helping out a Peace Corps friend in Senegal. Pretty standard stuff. We helped build a village clinic. When it was done, people from miles around came to see the doctor. Little kids with strange growths coming out of their backs and heads. Old people blind from cataracts that here in America would be fixed in a routine outpatient procedure.” Staring straight ahead, she ran her fingers back and forth along the smooth back of a pew. “I saw a man in his prime die from an infected wound on his ankle. I saw a woman die of old age, surrounded by those she loved. I saw three babies born, and those births, more than anything, made me see what a miracle life is. A crazy, happy miracle none of us have any idea how to control.”

“Yeah, but you can do your dead level best to guide it.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

“So what happened to us on that mountain—who could’ve predicted that? You yourself checked the weather before we left and said it was safe for flying. We both thought we were going to die, yet here we are. I never would’ve dreamed I’d become pregnant my first time with a man, yet all of it happened.”

“Your point being?”

Shaking her head, she sharply exhaled, sliding onto the pew beside him. “I guess that is my point—that there’s no rhyme or reason to any of what we go through.”

“If that’s the case, why fight it? Why not just go along for the ride?”

“Because I can’t. I have to be in control.”

He took her hand, rubbing the tender spot between her thumb and forefinger.

“Growing up, I never felt secure. Not until I’d entered college and could follow my own set of rules. After what happened with my father, I was never again in physical danger, but I also can’t say I ever felt truly settled.”

“All of which explains a lot. You don’t trust men because they have a habit of hurting you.”

“Yes.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Not all men, Rose. Not me.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s what makes this decision over whether or not to marry you all the harder. Yes, after the time we’ve spent together, leaving you would be one of the toughest things I’ve ever done. But if I marry you, and if we have ten happy years together before our relationship falls apart, that just might hurt more than I can bear.”

Leaning forward, he tried to say forever with a gentle kiss. An eternity later, he pulled back, and he whispered, “Marry me, Rose Foster. Not just for the son I love, but because I love you.”