Touching the Clouds (33 page)

“Yeah. In my bag on the plane.”

“I’ll get it.” He pulled on a rain slicker, stepped outside, and headed for the plane.
Most bullheaded woman I’ve ever
met.

The Bellanca pitched in the stormy waters. Hanging onto the seats as he searched, Paul found the bag stashed behind the pilot’s seat.

He hurried back to the cabin. Thankful to close the storm outside, Paul stepped into the house and handed the bag to Kate. “Here you go. You can change in my room.”

“Thanks.” Her voice quiet, she added, “I wasn’t gonna go.”

“You weren’t? Why were you so set on getting to your plane?”

Kate shrugged. “I was mad and didn’t know what else to do.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” Paul said, feeling more thankful than he understood. He headed for the door.

“Thanks for coming after me.”

He looked at her, wearing a half smile. “Couldn’t let you go. What would I do without my mail lady?”

“So, it’s the mail you care about.”

“No. You weren’t listening. I said, the mail
lady
.” Paul’s tone was tender.

“Oh.” Kate smiled.

Paul’s stomach did a little flip as he gazed into Kate’s warm eyes. He cleared his throat. “Well, I better get the meat and vegetables.” He stepped outside. The storm had intensified, howling through the trees. Inside the shed, the sound of rain and debris pummeling the tin roof was deafening. Paul selected an onion from a sack hanging from the ceiling, then headed for boxes of vegetables where he grabbed a handful of carrots. He stuck a bunch under one arm and picked out some potatoes. Next, he took a jar of moose meat off a shelf and then headed back to the house, his mind on the meal.
Biscuits would be good.
When he reached the door, he knocked on it with his foot.

Kate opened it and unloaded some of the vegetables. “I could have helped.” She set the produce on the counter next to the sink.

He closed the door. “Storm’s brutal.” He noticed her Bible on the table. He used to read his, but couldn’t see any reason for it now. He set the vegetables in the sink. Glancing at her, he said, “You look better.”

“Dry clothes and a hairbrush can do wonders.” She grinned. “So, what can I do to help?”

“Vegetables need washing. After that, you can chop them if you want.”

“I think I can do that.”

He twisted the ring off the jar of meat, popped the lid, and dumped chunks of meat into simmering water. Kate worked on the vegetables while he started on the biscuits.

Working alongside Kate reminded Paul of the day they’d gone clam digging. It had been a good day. He smiled at the memory of her digging for her first clam. She’d seemed almost childlike.

“What are you smiling about?”

Embarrassed at being caught daydreaming about her, Paul checked his emotions. “Am I smiling?”

“Yes, you are.”

He shrugged. “Just thinking about the biscuits. I can already taste them.” He wasn’t about to let himself care too much for Kate. Besides, she and Mike were a couple.

Kate held up a potato. “My mother peels potatoes. Not me.”

“No problem.” Paul’s mind went back to the argument between him and Kate, before she’d slammed out of the cabin. “Earlier . . . why did you get so mad?”

Kate cut a potato in half and then into fourths. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess . . . it felt like you didn’t care about me, as if you wanted me to leave Alaska.”

A crash accompanied by the sound of splintering glass reverberated from the back room.

“What the . . .” Paul ran into the bedroom. Kate followed.

Cotton curtains flapped like flags in the wind. Rain pelted the broken windowpane and soaked the bedroom floor. A treetop rested on the windowsill.

In three strides Paul crossed the room. He examined the damage. “I’ll have to cut it free from outside.” Heading for the front of the house he called over his shoulder, “Stay put. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Kate stepped into the doorway. “I can take care of myself, thank you.”

Paul stopped and looked at her. “I’ve no doubt you can.” He couldn’t conceal a smile and shook his head slightly from side to side. “Is it ever all right for someone to protect you?”

“Sometimes.” Her voice sounded guarded.

“You know, it’s good for people to watch out for each other.”

“True, but . . .” Her eyes held his. “I’ll bet if it were Patrick here with you instead of me, you wouldn’t have told him to stay put.”

Paul exhaled through his nose. “Okay, you can help me. But I’ll need you to do that from inside.”

Her pursed lips softened into a smile. “Sure.”

After the tree had been removed, the glass swept up, and a tarp stretched over the broken window, Kate and Paul returned to dinner preparations.

“Most of the water’s boiled away. I’ll have to add some more. It’ll take a while to heat up,” Paul said. “And I barely got started on the biscuits. Dinner could take a while.”

“I can wait. My stomach’s not growling too loudly. And I’ve never made biscuits before. I’d like to learn.”

“Okay. If you can wait, I can. The recipe is my grandmother’s— best biscuits you’ll ever eat.” He glanced at the window. “Hope Jasper found a place to weather the storm.”

“He’s still hanging around?”

“Yeah, but less these days. He comes in once in a while, looking for a free meal.” He rested his hands on either side of the mixing bowl. “Now to the biscuits.”

Paul put the biscuit dough together, explaining each step to Kate. When he finished, he smeared lard into the bottom of a Dutch oven. “Just put spoonfuls in a pot like this and cook.” He dropped dollops of dough into the pan, closed the lid, and set the pot on the stove. “Won’t take long.”

“I might actually be able to make them.” Kate rested a hip against the counter. “Now what?”

The beef and broth was boiling and Kate added sliced vegetables.

His mind flashed to a rainy day when he and Susan had prepared a meal together. It felt peculiar doing something so similar and domestic with Kate. He needed a distraction.

“Most of the coffee boiled away. I’ll make some fresh,” he said.

With dinner cooking, Paul glanced out the window. “Getting dark. Time to light the lanterns.” He lit two lamps in the living room and one hanging on the kitchen wall.

Kate moved to the window and gazed out. “I don’t think I’ve seen a summer squall this bad since I moved here.”

“It’s pretty wild out there.” Paul checked the coffee.

“Hope my plane rides out the storm all right. Can’t afford to replace it.” She paused. “You have a big family?”

Paul looked at her. She was leaning against the windowsill, studying him. “What?”

“There are a lot of people in that picture on your bureau.”

“Oh. Yeah. There are a lot of us—me, my three brothers and two sisters, six kids in all.” He lifted the lid of the pot to check the biscuits. “I pretty much had a charmed life growing up.”

“Aren’t there three women in the picture, not including your mother?”

“Oh. Right.” Paul didn’t want to talk about Susan, but figured Kate might as well know about her. “The other gal . . . she was my wife. She died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It was a long time ago.”

The room turned quiet, the pop and sizzle of burning wood the only sound.

Kate sat at the table. “It was just me and my parents. I never had any brothers or sisters.”

“Were you lonely?”

“I always wished I had a sister, but I wasn’t lonely. Mom and Dad are the best.”

“You miss them?”

“Yeah. I wish they’d move up. I think Mom’s ready, but Dad’s not about to leave his apple ranch. He loves farming.” Paul stirred the soup. He took down two bowls from the cupboard and set them on the table along with cups and silverware.

“What about your family?” Kate asked.

“My dad’s gone now. He died several years ago. My mother lives in San Francisco. She’s getting frail, but my brothers and sisters live nearby so they help out.”

“Do you ever visit them?”

“It’s been a while.” Searching for a way to turn the conversation in another direction, Paul poked a carrot to see if it was done.

“How long?”

“Actually, I haven’t been back since I settled here, four years ago. It’s a long way to California.” He replaced the lid on the soup and moved to his chair in the front room and sat down.

“Do they come to see you?”

“No.” Paul threw one leg over the other. Wind howled under the eaves. “Boy, that storm’s really kicking up. Hope our repair holds.”

Kate looked out the window. “Even the dogs have gone into hiding, they’re all inside their houses.” She glanced at Angel lying on the floor in the front room. “I’m afraid I’ve spoiled her.”

“That’s okay.” Paul reached over and scratched Angel behind the ears. She got up and moved closer, resting her head on his lap. “She’s a beauty.”

“She looks like Buck.”

Paul stood and returned to the stove to look at the biscuits. “These are done.” He carried the Dutch oven to the table, stirred the soup one more time, and then placed it next to the biscuits.

“Smells wonderful. My stomach’s roaring now.” Kate grinned.

“We’ll see how it tastes.” Paul spooned soup into the bowls. “Help yourself to a biscuit.”

Kate scooped a biscuit out of the pan. She broke it in half and steam escaped.

“They’re best with jam. I’ve got some elderberry.” He walked to the cupboard, took down a jar of preserves, and set it on the table.

Kate dipped her spoon into the jar. “Where did you get the jam?”

“Picked the berries and made it.”

Kate glanced at the sewing machine in the corner. “Oh, that’s right. You sew, cook, can—you do just about everything.”

“Out here a person’s got to.”

Kate smeared jam on her biscuit and took a bite of the flaky roll. “Delicious.”

A gust of wind rattled the house. Paul and Kate both looked at the ceiling.

“Hope I got those shingles down good and tight.”

Dusk settled over the cabin as Paul and Kate finished their meal. “Sidney’s probably worrying about me,” Kate said.

“I’ll have Patrick get a message to him on his radio.” Paul pulled on his coat and stepped to the door. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

Huddled against the storm, Paul headed for Patrick’s, but his mind remained with Kate. Having her in the house made the place feel like a home. It would be nice to have a woman around. He remembered the way Mike had held Kate and how she’d clung to him after Frank’s death. Envy squeezed his heart
,
but he knew it was better that she wasn’t available— entanglements only made life more complicated.

By the time Paul returned, Kate had the kitchen tidy. “You didn’t have to clean up. You’re a guest.”

“I wanted to. I might not be a good cook, but I’m a whiz at cleaning.” Kate grinned.

“Do you play cards?”

“Now and again.”

“You want to play? I’ve got a deck.”

“Sure.”

Paul and Kate settled across the table from each other. At first they talked little and focused on the game. Kate won the first two hands. Gradually stories about hunting and fishing trips bounced between them.

“I swear hunting and fishing is all Alaskans talk about,” Kate said.

“Suppose that’s because we do a lot of it. Would you rather talk politics?” he teased.

“No thanks.”

Silence pervaded the room. Kate stared at her cards. Paul could feel tension between them and knew Kate had something to say. He doubted he wanted to hear it.

Finally she looked up. “Paul . . . why are you here? Is it because your wife died?”

Paul put down his cards. He stared at them for a long moment, then said, “There are some things in life better left alone.” He stood and moved to the kitchen and refilled his cup with coffee. “You want more?”

“No thanks. I’m sorry for prying.”

“It’s all right. I understand. I’m just not ready to talk about it.” He returned to his seat and took a drink of coffee. “You want to play out your hand?”

“Sure.”

She picked up her cards and studied them. Paul studied her. The copper in her hair glistened in the lantern light. He longed to reach out and touch it, to make Kate feel safe and loved. The thought sent a shock through him.
You can’t love
her. You can’t love anyone.

26

K
ate rolled onto her side, rested her back against the divan, and stretched her arms over her head. The outside world sounded hushed. She sat up and looked out the window. Sunlight winked from behind clouds left from the storm.

She’d fallen asleep to the shrill cry of the wind, feeling awkward in Paul’s cabin. It hadn’t felt that way when he was sick. But last night they’d talked and laughed, said good night, and gone to their respective beds. She’d lain awake a long while thinking about him and wondering if he was thinking about her.

“I’ve got to get up and back to work,” she said, throwing off her covers and placing her feet on the chilled floor. She shuffled to the kitchen sink, took a glass from the cupboard, and filled it with water from the hand pump.
Paul must still be sleeping
, she thought, until she heard footfalls on the porch.

The door opened and he stepped inside. “Wondered if you were going to sleep the morning away.” He grinned.

“What time is it?”

“After eight.”

“I didn’t know you were up.”

“Long enough to feed the dogs—”

“Oh, Angel. Where is she?” Kate glanced around the house.

“She’s having the time of her life.” He held up four eggs, two in each hand. “Thought you might like some breakfast.”

“Sure.” Kate suddenly remembered how she must look and tried to tame her hair. “Just need to make a trip outside and clean up, and I’ll give you a hand.”

While Paul cooked eggs and slabs of bacon, Kate sliced bread and toasted it in the oven. When they were done, she spread fresh butter on them. Paul managed to have the coffee, eggs, and bacon ready by the time Kate had finished the toast.

She scooted a chair up to the table. “You seem to be good at everything.”

“Not everything. But I can cook. When I was a kid, we all had to help with the household chores, including cooking. And out here if I don’t cook I don’t eat.”