Refuge Cove by Janet Dailey (7)

CHAPTER 7

With the employment form on a clipboard, Emma found a chair in the corner of the lobby and began filling in the blanks. She was grateful for Vera’s kindness in making the call, and for the judge’s discretion. The full story of her fake marriage to Boone and her flight from the burning trailer would have made for some juicy gossip.

John had wandered off after telling her he’d be back to take her to lunch. Emma was handing the completed form back to Megan when he walked in the door carrying a paper take-out bag. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“Almost.” Emma turned back to the girl. “Thanks so much. This experience has taught me a lot about the kindness of strangers.”

“No problem,” the girl said. “Come back after five. We should have your room and a couple of uniforms ready by then. I’m afraid they’ll be big on you. You’re such a little thing.”

“For two weeks, I can make them do. See you then.”

She walked out the door with John, who steered her back toward the Jeep. “Is that lunch?” she asked, glancing at the bag.

“It is. I should’ve asked you if you like fish.”

“I love fish.”

“Then we’re good. The bag’s insulated so the food should stay warm until we get to where we’re going.”

“Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise—to celebrate your new job. You’ll see.”

In the Jeep, he drove back north along the highway and turned off at Refuge Cove. Emma waited while he prechecked the Beaver for flight. Tonight she’d be leaving his cabin to stay at the hotel. Tomorrow he’d be flying the mail run while she started her new job.

Was this outing a farewell gesture? Did it mean he’d be stepping out of her life for good?

By now she was getting accustomed to the routine: buckling into the passenger seat, slipping on her headpiece. She’d learned to anticipate the cough and throb of the starting engine, the subtle quickening of her pulse as John turned the plane and taxied out of the cove, passed the forested islets, and headed into the north wind. Emma felt the sudden rush as the plane roared forward and the floats lifted off the waves. Just north of Refuge Cove, they passed over a small piece of land jutting out into the water. She could see beautiful totem poles and a large, traditionally painted building. That had to be the Totem Bight that John had mentioned to her.

Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she would miss this—the sound of the engine, the wind lifting the wings, and John in his element, calm and happy.

“Where are we going? Can you tell me now?” she asked.

His laugh crackled through her headphones. “I told you, it’s a surprise. It’ll take a while. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.”

He banked the plane in a steep turn and headed south. The plane was climbing now, gaining altitude until it leveled off at 11,000 feet. Here, in the vastness of the sky, the Beaver seemed lost against the limitless blue. The land below was a mosaic of islands, inlets, and steep mountains rising on the left. Emma said little, not wanting to distract John from piloting the plane. The silence between them was comfortable, an easy sharing, like reading together in front of the fire.

The plane made a landward descent. Now they were flying low, through a glistening labyrinth of sheer marbled cliffs rising like towers out of the dark water. Waterfalls cascaded down the cliff faces, falling into clouds of mist. It was beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful place Emma had ever seen.

“Where are we?” Emma asked, half-breathless.

“Officially, it’s called Misty Fjords National Monument,” John said. “During the cruise season I fly tourists up here almost every day. I wanted to show it to you while we had the chance.”

While we had the chance. Emma knew what that meant. This was John’s way of saying good-bye. Her time with this compelling, troubled man was almost at an end.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll never forget this.” Or you, she added silently. What was happening to her? Was she falling in love with this man?

But what a crazy idea. The last time she thought she’d fallen in love had ended in the most miserable experience of her life. Did she even know what love was?

The plane was flying low now, swooping down winding canyons and dipping between high cliffs. At last it glided down to rest like a dragonfly on the surface of a crystalline lake. Barely moving now, it taxied across the water and stopped alongside the narrow strip of shoreline. John cut the engine and lifted off his headset. “Stay here until I come around,” he said.

After securing the plane, he opened Emma’s door, took the bagged lunch, and steadied her as she climbed onto the float. The pressure of his hand sent a pleasant tingle up her arm. She was aware of the sun on his hair, the warmth of his skin, and the subtle aroma of freshly cut wood on his clothes.

“Careful now. It’s a jump to shore.” He took her hand, propelling her leap from the float to the water’s edge. His touch lingered on her palm after he let her go.

They sat on the rocks and opened the bag, which held two restaurant take-out boxes and a couple of sodas. John held out the boxes. “One salmon and one halibut, both fresh caught. Take your pick,” he said.

Emma chose the salmon, so fresh that its taste was worlds away from anything she’d ever eaten in a restaurant. They ate their fish with fried potatoes and miniature tubs of coleslaw.

“This is so perfect,” she said, gazing up at the patch of blue sky above the cliffs. “Perfect day, perfect food, perfect setting . . . ” And an imperfect man who was just as he should be, she thought.

At a time like this, her troubles seemed far away. But she knew that those troubles would all be waiting, like cats at a mouse hole, when she returned to Ketchikan.

By the time they’d finished their lunch, black clouds were moving in from the west. Hurrying now, they bagged everything and climbed back into the Beaver. Moments later, after a heart-stopping takeoff, they were soaring over the cliff tops. The plane’s shadow passed over a cluster of mountain goats. Then, in the next moment, they were in the open sky, with the clouds rolling in behind them.

“Have you ever flown in a storm?” Emma asked.

“More times than I’d care to remember.” John’s voice came through her headphones. “But it’s not a good idea in a plane this size. The best way to deal with bad weather is to land somewhere safe and wait it out.”

A strong wind was blowing in ahead of the storm. It buffeted the wings of the sturdy vintage plane and battered against the fuselage.

Emma did her best to appear calm, but her heart was pounding in her ears. Every plane crash movie scene she’d ever watched replayed on a loop in her mind.

“What if we have to land?” she asked, trying not to sound nervous.

His laugh was edgy. “That isn’t going to happen, but we’d be fine. It’s not like we’d have to find a runway. We could land on the water and taxi to shore.”

The plane lurched as a wind gust rocked the wings. Emma suppressed the urge to grab John’s arm. He chuckled. “Relax, we’ll be fine,” he said. And they were.

By the time they sighted Refuge Cove, the rain had caught up with them. John brought the Beaver in low, its floats skimming the waves as they came to rest. Rain spattered the windows as they taxied past the wooded islands into the little harbor. Emma breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Refuge Cove was well named.

With the plane secured, they raced through the rain to the Jeep. Damp and breathless, they climbed inside. Raindrops glistened on John’s black hair. Emma’s shirt clung to her skin. She shivered, her teeth chattering.

“Here.” John reached behind the seat and pulled out a folded vinyl rain poncho. “It won’t be warm, but at least it should keep the chill off.”

Emma murmured her thanks and slipped the poncho over her head. The thin plastic was cold, but as she huddled inside, she felt her body begin to warm the small spaces around her.

John glanced at his watch. “It’s almost four. We’ve got a little time before you’re due back at the Gateway. Is there anything you want to do?”

“You’ve already given me enough of your time,” Emma said. “I left a few odds and ends in the cabin. After you take me back to get them, you can drive me into town.”

“Fine.” He started the engine and drove out of the parking lot, toward the main highway. “I have a couple of things to offer you. I hope you’ll take them.”

“If one of them is your toothbrush, you can count on it.”

“Funny girl.” He gave her a rare smile.

They said little on the way back to the cabin, both of them tired and lost in thought. Emma’s thoughts returned to Boone. She tried to imagine how he must look after the fire had burned him, and how full of rage he must be. Had he been back to the cabin since last night? Would John be safe there, even with her gone?

A few minutes later they came out of the trees and into the small clearing where John’s cabin stood. When John saw the dark shape on the front porch, he touched the brake, muttered a curse, then stepped on the gas and drove forward, honking the horn. The young black bear, about the size of a large dog, ambled off the porch and trotted off through the trees.

“He didn’t seem very scared,” Emma said. “And he’s kind of cute. Maybe you ought to keep him.”

“Not a good idea.” John climbed out of the Jeep and helped Emma to the ground. They raced through the rain to the porch. “By next year that youngster will be an adult. A full-grown bear can do a lot of damage. And if he loses his fear of people, he’s liable to hurt somebody or get himself shot.”

“So you’re doing him a favor, chasing him away like that?” Emma stood under the overhang on the porch, looking out at the rain.

“That’s the idea. If he hasn’t learned his lesson this time, I’ll have to think of some new way to scare him off.” John was scanning the ground, probably looking for any sign that Boone had been here. But if there’d been any new tracks, the rain would have washed them away.

He unlocked the door and they went inside. The cabin was chilly but it wasn’t worth making a fire. They wouldn’t be here that long. In her room Emma bundled up her old clothes and put them in a paper bag from the grocery store.

“Here’s your toothbrush.” John stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “And you can have my thermals to sleep in. At least they’ll keep you warm at night.”

“Thanks.” She stuffed them into the bag, leaving his bathrobe on the bed. “I’ll return them after I find something that fits me.”

“I said I had something for you. I want you to take it.” He handed her a zipped canvas pouch. Emma opened it to find a small handgun and a magazine loaded with ammunition, along with a lightweight shoulder holster. “This is a Kel-Tec PF-9,” he said. “Easy to carry, easy to shoot. Keep it with you in your room and whenever you leave the hotel. If Boone shows up and threatens you, don’t hesitate to use it.”

Emma stared down at the deadly little weapon. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” she said.

“I guessed as much. That’s why I’m going to give you a quick lesson. Let’s go out on the porch.”

She followed him outside. The rain was still falling, and water streamed off the edges of the roof. There was no more sign of the bear.

First he showed her how to insert and remove the magazine in the grip. “I’ll give it to you with the magazine loaded,” he said. “I can’t imagine you’ll need to load it again.”

“With luck I won’t need to use it at all. Guns have always made me nervous.”

“With Boone around, you’ll be a lot safer with protection. Let’s take a couple of practice shots.”

After showing her how to release the small safety catch, he took his place behind her, reaching around with both arms to show her the proper two-handed grip for aiming and firing the gun. Emma tried to pay full attention, but the awareness of his body pressing against her back, his arms surrounding her, his voice a breath in her ear, kindled a low-burning flame inside her. A shimmering heat rose from the depths of her body to spread into her limbs and her cheeks. Emma struggled to ignore the pounding of her pulse. The gun was cold in her hands. She willed herself to listen to him and follow his instructions.

“Aim and hold it steady . . . that’s why you want to use both hands. For a little gun it has a snappy recoil. If you don’t have a good grip, it’ll give you a kick. You’ll see.

“Shoot in the general direction of that dead stump by the road. You don’t need to hit it. Just aim and squeeze the trigger—that’s it.” His hands supported hers as her finger tightened.

She hesitated. “There’s no chance I’ll hit that bear, is there?”

“Don’t worry. The bear went the other way. Just squeeze. Like . . . that.”

The gunshot shattered the peaceful murmur of the rain. Startled, Emma flinched, the report ringing in her ears.

“See, nothing to it.” He stepped back, letting her go. “If Boone, or anyone else, comes at you, just point the gun at the biggest part of their body and squeeze the trigger.”

“I can’t imagine shooting anybody, not even Boone,” Emma said.

“Let’s hope you don’t have to. But in case you do, you need to be able to protect yourself. Try it again, on your own this time.”

Emma took a deep breath and raised the pistol, gripping two-handed the way John had taught her. Steeling herself against the sound, she aimed at the dead stump and squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out, less of a surprise this time. She’d missed the stump again, but at least she knew how to fire the gun.

“Do you want more practice?” John asked her. “It can be fun once you get used to it.”

“No thanks.” Emma handed him the pistol. “I can shoot if I have to. That’s enough.”

“If you’re sure, I’ll reload the magazine for you.” He took two spare bullets out of his shirt pocket, slipped them into the magazine, and zipped everything back into the canvas pouch. “One more thing,” he said. “Follow me.”

Leaving the gun pouch on the porch, he led her under the eaves of the house and around the corner of the cabin to what appeared to be a garage attached to the side. After removing the padlock, he opened one of the double doors far enough to let in some light. “Come on in,” he said.

Emma stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw a snowmobile with a double seat. Next to the house wall was a good-sized freezer which, she guessed, would be stocked with moose and salmon. Tools of every imaginable kind hung neatly on racks. Spare belts, hoses, and other machine parts, along with cans of motor oil and antifreeze, sat on sturdy shelves.

“Come here, Emma.” John was standing next to something in the far corner of the garage. Walking closer, Emma saw that it was a bicycle. Slightly smaller than a full-sized adult bike, it looked expensive and brand-new. Even before John told her, Emma guessed the heartbreaking story behind it.

“I got this for my son when he was twelve,” John said. “His mother never let me give it to him. By now, he’d be too big to ride it. But since you’re small, it might do for you. Just promise to stay where there are people to keep you safe, and never go off to where you’ll be alone.”

“Oh, John—” Tears sprang to her eyes. She thought of the love that had gone into buying this gift for the son who would never ride it, or even see it. Now this tender, broken man was entrusting it to her.

He was looking down at her, his eyes in deep shadow. Suddenly this wasn’t about the bike anymore. It wasn’t about her new job or even about Boone. It was as if the world around them had blurred into mist, leaving nothing but the two of them alone.

He kissed her—his lips brushing hers, then taking possession of her mouth with a sureness that triggered whorls of hungry heat in the depths of her body. Stretching on tiptoe, she wrapped his neck with her arms, letting him lift her off her feet as the kiss deepened.

Need cried out in her. She wanted to feel safe with this man, to stay in his arms, trusting him enough to let her give without holding back.

But even as he held her close, she knew it couldn’t happen. She wasn’t classy enough, or pretty enough, or seductive enough for a good man to love her. She was only fit to be used. Boone had taught her that lesson. She had learned it well.

He kissed her again, his hands growing bolder on her body. Emma froze. Sensing the change, he let her go and stepped back. “Are you all right?”

“Yes—no—” She shook her head. “It’s just too soon, that’s all. I’m hurting, I’m angry, I’m a mess. I can’t do this now.”

“Understood. Sorry if I crossed the line.”

“It’s not you, John. You’re one of the best men I’ve ever known. You saved my life!”

“Saving your life had nothing to do with why I kissed you.”

“So why did you?” Right then, all Emma wanted was to shrink inside herself and crawl away.

“Because you looked like you needed kissing. I guess I was wrong about that.” He turned away and changed the subject. “Still want the bike? I’ll throw in a backpack to go with it.”

“Of course I do. And thank you. I promise to return it in good condition.”

“I’ve got no use for it. Find it a new owner when you leave town—some poor kid who’d be glad to have it.”

* * *

The tension lay leaden between them as they prepared to go back to town. The backpack was a new brown schoolbag, perfect for Emma’s needs. She filled it with the extra clothes she’d stuffed in the paper bag earlier.

“Don’t forget this.” John handed her the pistol, zipped into the pouch. “If I’m not around when you go, you can leave it at the desk in the Gateway.” He paused in the doorway. “I loaded the bike into the back of the Jeep. If the hotel doesn’t have a storage place for it, you should be able to keep it in your room. I can carry it up the stairs for you.”

She slipped the pouch into the backpack. “Thank you for everything, John. I mean it.”

John didn’t reply. When Emma glanced around, she saw that he’d already gone outside.

* * *

By the time John let Emma off at the Gateway, the rain had slowed to a gloomy drizzle. He’d carried the bike inside, where the receptionist had found space for it in a storage closet. After that, with no chance to say good-bye to Emma alone, he’d left her in the lobby and gone back outside.

Now he sat in the driver’s seat with the side window rolled down, listening to the rain and feeling like three-day-old roadkill.

Kissing Emma had been a crazy mistake. He should have known better. But the way she’d stood there in the shadows, looking up at him with tears in her eyes would have tempted a saint—and he was no saint.

He’d wanted her, pure and simple. He’d been wanting to feel that neat little body next to his and taste that luscious mouth from the first night she’d spent in his cabin. But if he’d used his damn fool head, he’d have realized that, after what she’d been through, the last thing Emma would want was some horny male making moves on her. He wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d slapped his face.

Would he see her again? Maybe not. And maybe that was for the best. She was on her own now, and taking steps to get her life back. He could only hope that staying in town, with plenty of people around her, would keep her safe from Boone.

It wouldn’t hurt to let the police know where Emma was now, so they could be aware of her and keep an eye out for Boone in town. At least stopping by the station would give him something to do.

Sam Traverton was still on duty. John had known the man a long time. They shared a coffee while John brought him up to date.

“You say Boone got burned in that fire she set, and the trailer went up in smoke, too?” Traverton swore. “Boone must be madder than a branded polecat.”

“He’s out to get Emma and do God knows what to her. When he showed up at my cabin, I knew she wouldn’t be safe there. So now she’s at the Gateway. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep an eye on her—and nab Boone if he gets within a hundred yards of her.”

“I’ll pass the word to the officers,” Traverton said. “We’ll do our best to get Boone off the street. But it won’t be easy. The man can move in and out of town like a shadow. He’s as sneaky as a damned Injun—no offense, John.”

“None taken.” John had long since learned to let such comments roll off his back. “If the odds had been in my favor, I’d have brought him in the other night.”

“No, you had a woman to protect. You did the right thing.” The detective finished his coffee and rose. “Thanks for the update. You’d be smart to watch your own back. The way Boone would see it, you’ve stolen his woman. He could have it in for you, as well as for her.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” John left, feeling that he’d done little more than kill time. Traverton had been sympathetic but nothing had changed. The detective had more urgent things on his mind than Boone’s threat to Emma’s safety. So far, all he’d done was make excuses.

Climbing back into the Jeep, John sat watching the rain stream down the windshield. He remembered Emma’s happy excitement today on the flight to Misty Fjords. He remembered their easy companionship, and her blazing response to his kiss—before she’d turned cold and pulled away.

Now she was gone. When he drove home to his dark, chilly cabin, she wouldn’t be there to share supper with him, to read with him in front of the fire, or to fall asleep in his arms. She’d been part of his life for just three days, but her absence had already left a void.

Across the street, the neon sign above the door of a tavern glowed through the dark rain, tempting him to come inside and forget his discontent. Just one drink. He’d take it in slow sips, feeling the welcome burn of the alcohol sliding down his throat. Just one drink. When it was gone, he would leave and go home.

But he’d been down that road before, and he knew where it led. Even after seven years of sobriety, the old urge was a devil whispering in his ear. When things were going well, it was easy to say no. But times like tonight, when he felt down and dark, the voice was there, and it never went away. Just one drink. Just one . . .

He glanced at his watch. His AA group met in the basement of a local church. A meeting was scheduled for tonight. It was early yet, but there’d be coffee and doughnuts and people he could talk to who were fighting demons of their own.

John started the Jeep, pulled into the street, and drove up the hill to the church. Tomorrow he’d be making the mail run in the Beaver. He’d be fine then, in the open sky. But tonight he could use some help.

* * *

The bar section of The Silver Salmon, the restaurant on the ground floor of the Gateway, could have served as a backdrop for an early 1900s gangster movie. There were wooden tables by the window with a view of the docks and more tables around the floor. But the most outstanding feature was the massive, ornately carved wooden bar that took up much of one wall and lent a touch of vintage elegance to the room. Doors on the far side opened into a tastefully remodeled dining room, but now that the cruise season was over, the locals seemed to prefer the rustic coziness of the bar.

Customers came for the local beers, the steaming chowders served in bread bowls, the salmon and crab, and the home-style comfort food. Even in the off season, the place was always busy.

Emma’s first shift was to begin at eleven o’clock, from lunch until closing time. Today she’d agreed to come down an hour early to learn the ropes. She felt a nervous flutter in the pit of her stomach as she slipped on the pink polyester waitress dress, which was at least two sizes too big, and cinched it in at the waist with a white apron. With her blue and white sneakers and bulky wool socks, it wasn’t exactly a fashion statement, but she could wear anything for two weeks.

After locking her small, plain room and dodging workmen in the hall, she made her way downstairs. She’d put herself through college working as a waitress, but she hadn’t waited tables for almost nine years. She could only hope she’d remember what to do.

“Hi, honey. You must be Emma.” A friendly voice greeted her as she walked into the restaurant. Standing next to the bar was a plump, silver-haired woman in a waitress uniform. “I’m Pearl.” She pointed to her name badge. “Welcome to The Silver Salmon.”

As Pearl showed her around the restaurant and reviewed the menus, chatting the whole time, Emma felt her old confidence returning. Yes, she could do this.

“Remember, The Silver Salmon is a friendly place,” Pearl said. “We get lots of locals, especially now that the cruise ship crowds are gone. Smile, introduce yourself, and chat them up. They’ll like that, and they’ll remember you. If there’s anything you need to know, just ask me. I’ll be here the whole time.”

By the time lunch was winding down, Emma was hitting her stride. The forgotten skills had resurfaced, as sharp as ever. She was greeting customers, taking orders, balancing platters of food and dishes, and running credit cards like a pro.

By three o’clock, the flow of lunch customers had dwindled to a trickle. Pearl pulled her aside as she carried a stack of dishes to the kitchen.

“You’re doing great, honey,” she said. “How are you holding up?”

Emma laughed. “My brain remembers what to do. But my feet and body are feeling the strain. I’ll be sore, but don’t worry, I’ll get used to it.”

“You’re entitled to a break,” Pearl said. “Go on, grab a bite to eat, and get the weight off your feet somewhere. I’ve asked one of the cooks to bag you a sandwich and a Coke. There’s a nice bench on the dock, where you can eat and unwind.”

“Thanks so much,” Emma said. “Believe me, I won’t expect this kind of royal treatment every day.”

“Get going, honey. I’ll be fine here until you get back.”

Emma took the lunch, thanked the cook, and wandered across the street to the dock. John had told her to make sure there were people around when she went out. This afternoon that was no problem. There were plenty of folks outside, shopping, walking their dogs, or just enjoying the weather, which, according to the forecast, was due to turn cold soon.

She finished her sandwich and soda, tossed the can and wrapper into a recycle bin, and crossed the street to the restaurant. Inside, she found Pearl talking to a tall, dark-haired boy, who appeared to be about seventeen.

“Hi, Emma,” Pearl greeted her. “You’re just in time to meet our new busboy and assistant dishwasher. He’ll be working here after school, to save up for a car, at least that’s what he tells me. David, this is Emma Hunter, our new temporary waitress.”

“Hello, David.” Emma managed to get the words out of her tight throat. Looking up at the tall youth, with his black hair and dark eyes and the sharp, emerging planes of his face, one thing was certain.

She was meeting John’s son.