That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) Page 4

  His hand was already on the doorknob. “Do you want to go or don’t you?”

  Was she afraid? It wasn’t that she’d avoided flying—there had never been much opportunity. She’d lived and vacationed in Kansas all her life. But there hadn’t been many vacations when she was a child. Her father wouldn’t allow the time away from his work. When she’d gotten the job in Alaska it would have been the perfect time to fly, but she’d decided she’d rather drive up, using the excuse it was too expensive to ship her things. In her heart she knew the real reason. If she drove to Fairbanks she could leave home sooner, get away as quickly as possible without raising suspicion.

  “Well?” Grady questioned her again.

  Grady Jones may have his faults, but Cathy knew he’d be a darn good pilot. When it came down to it, she trusted him. The thought caught her by surprise. She did trust Grady. “All right,” she mumbled.

  “You don’t sound any too sure.”

  “I’m not,” she snapped.

  “Here.” Grady removed a long red scarf from the coat rack and wrapped it around her neck. “This is my good-luck charm. It’ll protect you from harm.”

  “Wonderful,” she murmured sarcastically. “What’s going to protect you? You’re the pilot.” She removed the scarf and handed it back to him. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’d prefer it if you wore the good-luck piece.”

  Fifteen minutes later they were taxiing onto the runway. Belted into the seat of the Cessna 150 beside Grady, Cathy faced a panel full of gauges and equipment that looked complicated and foreign. Communicating with the air traffic controller, he gave her a reassuring smile and winked as the plane gathered speed. The roar was deafening, but Cathy realized it wasn’t the plane’s engine making the noise but her heart hammering in her ear. Her stomach lurched wildly as the wheels left the runway and the aircraft began its assent into the blue sky.

  A hand squeezed her clenched fist. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “Not at all,” she lied. The world below became smaller and smaller. Houses and buildings took on an unreal quality that enthralled Cathy. She was silently congratulating herself because she hadn’t given way to her fears. Flying wasn’t a frightening experience at all, but wonderful and exciting. “This is great,” she shouted, to be heard above the noise.

  It seemed they were in the air only a few minutes when Grady pointed to Mount McKinley.

  Its massive beauty mesmerized her, and Cathy was speechless. The mountain was unlike any other she had seen. She could understand why the native Alaskans had named it Denali, “the Great One.” If an artist had painted a picture contrasting the stark white peaks against the blue, blue sky, the painting would have taken on an unreal quality. “It’s so big,” she said after a while.

  “At 20,320 feet, it’s the largest mountain in North America. McKinley is three thousand feet higher than its nearest neighbor, extending a distance of one hundred and fifty miles from Rainy Pass to the valley of the Nenana River. Denali National Park, which we’re flying over now, has three thousand square miles of subarctic wilderness.”

  “You sound like a tour guide,” Cathy told him, laughing.

  His mouth twisted, a fleeting smile touching the sensuous corners. “I’ve done my share.”

  “Say, where are we headed? You never did say.”

  “I didn’t?” he teased.

  “Come on, fellow, this is no time to announce you’re kidnapping me.”

  “I’ll admit it’s a tempting thought.”

  “Grady!” She shifted so she could give him her chilling glare. It never failed to get results with her students. She should have known better than to try it on Grady.

  “Don’t move,” he shouted in warning. “You’ll rock the plane.”

  With a startled gasp, Cathy gripped the seat, her fingers digging into the thick cushion. The blood drained from her face before she noticed the mischievous light glimmering in Grady’s deep blue eyes. “You’re going to pay for that, you rat.”

  The humor fled as his eyes grew serious. “That’s something I’ll look forward to.”

  The way he was looking at her brought an uncomfortable sensation to the pit of her stomach. She had seen the look in Steve’s eyes, the primitive hunger. It was as if he were making love to her in his mind.

  “Don’t, Grady,” she told him, shocked at how incredibly weak she sounded, how affected she was by the look.

  His gaze narrowed on her mouth, and Cathy had to fight the temptation to moisten her lips. In an agitated movement she turned her head, pretending to look out the far edge of the window.

  The remainder of the flight to Anchorage was accomplished without incident. Grady pointed to interesting sights, but the conversation was stilted and unnatural. He explained that he was picking up a part for a gold-dredging operation that wouldn’t be in Anchorage until two-fifteen. They were only going to touch down, get the part, and take off again.

  They were back in the air within forty minutes of landing. The sexual tension between them lessened as the kidding resumed on the return flight.

  By the time they touched down in Fairbanks, Cathy felt like a seasoned traveler. After Grady had tied down the Cessna, he walked her to her car, which was parked outside his office. A note on the windshield told Cathy the keys were in Grady’s office.

  A hand resting on her shoulder seemed to burn all the way through her thick coat and sweatshirt. Grady removed it to unlock his office door, and Cathy released an unconscious sigh of relief. She didn’t want to feel these things. Not for Grady. Her appreciation for him was growing with every meeting, but she didn’t want to become involved with him. Maybe it would be better if she didn’t see him again.

  “Here are your keys.” He handed them to her.

  “Thanks, Grady,” she answered absently. “I enjoyed the trip. I’m glad I went along.”

  “I enjoyed the company. We’ll do it again sometime.”

  “Yes, sometime,” she responded vaguely. “Good night.” She was halfway out the inner office door when a hand at her shoulder turned her around.

  His gaze roamed her face, and his smile was gentle but fleeting. His long, masculine fingers curved around the back of her neck, exerting a slight pressure, bringing her toward him. The other hand cupped the side of her face; his thumb ran leisurely over the fullness of her lips before his warm mouth covered hers. As before, the kiss began without passion, a tender meeting of lips. As before, it was pleasant, not an earth-shattering experience. Would she ever feel that again with any man? she wondered. Without conscious thought, Cathy decided she had to know.

  Her hands spread over the lean ribs under his coat as she molded herself against him, arching closer as she parted her lips.

  Grady moaned, crushing her closer, his mouth slanting over hers, demanding, taking, bruising her lips. He lifted his face from hers and buried it in the side of her neck, his voice muffled as he spoke.

  “How was the comparison?”

  Chapter Three

  Cathy could feel Angela Jones’s eyes following her as she moved away from the blackboard. The other four children in the basic skills class were busy carefully lettering the sentence Cathy had written on the blackboard. Their small hands tightly clenched their pencils. Timmy Brookes’s tongue worked at the side of his mouth as furiously as his fingers worked the lead.

  Cathy read over the short paragraph and stepped to Angela’s desk. “Is there something wrong?” she whispered, squatting down to watch Angela’s expression.

  Immediately the small child lowered her eyes, hiding her gaze. Cathy noted the red color that flowered on Angela’s cheeks.

  “No, Miss Thompson.”

  “Are you sure?” Cathy asked, and placed a reassuring hand across the child’s back.

  Angela quickly denied the question with an ardent shake of her head, the long pigtails dancing with the action.

  Cathy gave her back a gentle pat before standing. Angela was so shy and withdrawn that it was se
ldom she said anything more than was required. According to the latest report given her, Cathy knew that Grady’s daughter was now being tutored three nights a week after school. The improvement in her work was slow, but nonetheless the child was getting the help she needed.

  “Miss Thompson.” Cathy heard her name softly whispered. The call cut into her thoughts.

  “Yes, Angela.” Again she lowered herself so she could bring her attention back to the child.

  “Daddy’s right. You are real pretty.”

  The compliment was so unexpected that Cathy could feel her own cheeks fill with color. “Tell your daddy that I think he’s real pretty, too.”

  Angela giggled and placed a cupped hand over her mouth.

  Cathy stood and pointed to the blank sheet of paper on the desk. “Now, I think that you should get busy and do your work.”

  Eagerly, Angela nodded.

  Cathy thought about the incident with Angela all day. It was apparent Grady was talking about her in front of the child. Cathy wished he wouldn’t. As far as she was concerned, it would be better if she never had anything to do with Grady Jones again. After the kiss at the airfield, Cathy had driven home feeling almost numb. How had he known she was comparing his kisses to another man’s? And not just any man, but Steve, the man she had loved more than life. It shocked her that she’d been so readable. Having revealed a part of herself, Cathy wasn’t eager to make a repeat performance.

  When she arrived home from school that afternoon and sorted through the mail, she discovered a letter from MaryAnne. Her hand was shaking as she examined the envelope.

  “It’s from MaryAnne,” she told Peterkins as she set the letter on the kitchen table. “But you come first.” Her tea was already poured as she sat at the table and patted her lap, indicating to her black-haired friend that she was ready for him.

  With one leap the dog reached her lap, laying his head on her knees and snuggling his small body into the position he had known since he was a puppy.

  Absently, Cathy’s fingers ran the length of Peterkins’s body, stopping occasionally to scratch his ears. A warmth began to seep into her fingers, and she realized that she was cold, but the chill had nothing to do with the room temperature. It was the same feeling she had every time a letter arrived from home, especially when it was from her sister.

  After several minutes, Cathy forced herself to open the envelope. It was a newsy letter, filled with little tidbits of information about old friends, their mother, and Kansas’s infamous weather. Casually, at the bottom of the letter, almost as if she’d forgotten to include the information, MaryAnne mentioned that Steve had quit his job.

  Cathy felt a wintry feeling wash over her. Steve quit his job? Impossible! He loved his work as a supermarket manager. He had worked at the same store for the same chain from the time he was sixteen. He had been extremely proud of the fact he had worked his way up through the ranks. His goal had been to move from managing the store to working in the corporate offices.

  Biting into her trembling bottom lip, Cathy had the desperate feeling that Steve was restless and unhappy. It’s too late! her mind screamed. Far too late.

  She stuck the letter in a drawer, delaying the time she would be faced with answering it.

  * * *

  The week passed with surprising quickness. Cathy was looking forward to sleeping in late Saturday morning. Friday she stayed up half the night reading. Unwillingly, she discovered her thoughts drifting to Grady. All week she’d been practicing what she was going to say if he contacted her again. Now it looked as if she needn’t have worried. He must have experienced the same doubts she was having. And if she was going to be honest with herself, it was probably best if they didn’t continue to see each other. It was too soon, the pain of losing Steve remained too fresh. The day would come when she was ready to meet another man, perhaps even get serious, but not yet. And probably not for a long time.

  Peterkins’s bark woke her early Saturday morning. “Come on, fella,” she groaned, and pounded her pillow. “Give a girl a break. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to wake up early.”

  Ignoring her, Peterkins continued to scratch with both paws at the bedroom door.

  “All right, all right.” She tossed back the thick blankets, grabbed her housecoat from the end of the bed, and paused to stretch, lifting both hands high above her head. She had just finished a giant yawn when the doorbell chimed.

  “Someone’s at the door? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?” Pushing her long reddish-brown hair away from her face, Cathy walked into the living room and tightened the sash to her pink velour housecoat.

  Unsuccessfully, she tried to stifle a groan when she glanced through the peephole in the front door. It was Grady. Go away! her mind shouted. Leave me alone! I don’t want to see you! Was she crazy to hope that some form of mental telepathy would transmit her thoughts and make him go?

  The doorbell rang again, this time more persistently.

  “Come on, Cathy,” he called, his tone insistent. “I know you’re in there.”

  So much for sensory communication, Cathy mused angrily.

  The security chain intact, she opened the door just enough to make the sound of her voice carry. A rush of cold air scattered gooseflesh up her forearms.

  “I’m not dressed yet. Come back later.”

  At the sensuous sound of his chuckle, Cathy’s eyes flashed a stormy gray. “This is a rotten trick to pull early Saturday morning.” The sound of her indignation was drowned out by Peterkins’s bark. One black paw flew out the crack in the door in a frantic effort to reach the intruder.

  “Daddy, look! Miss Thompson has a doggie.”

  Cathy was pulling Peterkins back from the door by his collar when she heard Angela’s excited voice. Grady had brought his daughter with him?

  “Are you going to let me in or not?” Grady insisted, his male voice bringing with it the image of the tall, muscular man she could like and distrust within a minute’s space.

  “Oh, all right,” she conceded ungraciously, and closed the door completely to unlatch the chain. Standing far out of view, Cathy pulled open the large front door.

  Traitor that he was, Peterkins’s short bobbing tail began shaking wildly in greeting.

  “She does have a doggie.” Angela squealed with delight and fell to her knees the minute she was in the door. Eagerly petting the dog, the child accepted Peterkins’s wet tongue as he licked her face and hands. “Oh, Daddy, look, she likes me.”

  “He,” Cathy corrected, crossing her arms ominously in front of her as she cast a frosty glare at Grady.

  “What’s his name?” Angela wanted to know.

  “Peterkins.” Cathy’s smile was stiff.

  “What are you doing here at this unearthly hour?” she demanded in a hissing breath. She hated to display her anger openly in front of Angela. The child was shy, and the least amount of shouting was likely to intimidate her. Grady knew that and was using it against Cathy, which angered her all the more.

  “Are you usually this surly in the morning?” His blue gaze lingered briefly on her lips, then lifted.

  “Only when I’ve been rudely awakened. What time is it, anyway?”

  “Eight.” The lone word came smooth and low.

  Charged electric currents vibrated in the air between them. Cathy was uncomfortable enough without adding sexual tension.

  “You don’t expect to sleep your whole weekend away, do you?” he asked, his eyes doing a lazy inspection of her.

  Uncomfortably aware of her housecoat and tousled hair, Cathy lowered her gaze. “Excuse me a minute while I change.” No need to add ammunition to the already powerful effect he seemed to have on her.

  Cathy leaned against the closed bedroom door, her composure shattered. Her knees were shaking, and she moved to sit on the edge of the bed. What kind of game was Grady playing? It was almost as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to continue to see her or not. A week had lapsed since the flight to Anchorage. Sh
e hadn’t heard a word from him. She’d thought she was grateful for that, but was she? Everything was so confused in her mind, she didn’t know what she wanted.

  Jeans, a pullover sweater, and ankle boots were her normal Saturday attire, and she couldn’t see any reason to dress otherwise on Grady’s account. A pink ribbon tied back the unruly mass of long hair. After brushing her teeth, she applied a light coat of lip gloss and heaved a giant breath before making her entry.

  Peterkins was reveling in Angela’s attention. The spaniel had climbed into the little girl’s lap while she sat on the living room sofa, as he so often did with Cathy. A bright smile lit up Angela’s face as she beamed happily at Cathy.

  “It looks like you’ve made yourself a friend,” she told her dog, pausing to scratch his ears.

  Peterkins lifted his face but, seeing she didn’t expect him to move, was content to stay where he was.

  She followed the smell of perking coffee into the kitchen. An open can of ground coffee sat on the countertop while Grady examined the contents of her cupboards.

  “Not much into food, are you?”

  “You’re a fine one to talk,” she bit back defensively. “When was the last time you ate a sit-down meal?”

  Grady chuckled, infuriating her further. “You are testy in the mornings, aren’t you? Here, try this.” He handed her a cup of freshly brewed coffee. “This should take the sting out of your tongue.”

  With ill grace, Cathy accepted the mug, pulled out a kitchen chair, and sat down. Grady joined her, turning the chair around and straddling it. He crossed his forearms over the back of the chair.

  “Now, tell me what was so all-fired important that you had to ruin the only day of the week that I can sleep in?” she questioned in one long breath.

  “What about tomorrow? You can sleep in Sunday.” He asked another question instead of answering hers.

  “Church,” she informed him politely.

  Grady shook his head mockingly. “You are a good girl, aren’t you?”