That Wintry Feeling (Debbie Macomber Classics) (2 page)

The argument when she’d confronted Steve had been loud and bitter. They’d hurled accusations at each other faster and sharper than a machine gun.

All through the preparations for the wedding Cathy had expected Steve to put a halt to things. It was unbelievable that a minor disagreement three months before had been allowed to go this far.

Throughout the time they had prepared for the wedding, MaryAnne had been radiantly happy. A hundred times Cathy had to bite her tongue to keep from saying. “Listen, Sis, I’m not completely sure Steve loves you. He loves me, I know he does.” Maybe she should have said it. The message was in her eyes; her mother read it the morning of the wedding. Steve saw it as she marched up the aisle preceding her sister. It was there when the minister pronounced Steve and MaryAnne man and wife.

The memory of those words seemed to echo, assaulting her from all sides. Urgently, Cathy stood and pushed her chair to the table. She needed to get out, away from the memories, the hurt.

“Bring me the leash, Peterkins,” she said to her dog, who promptly stepped into the bedroom and pulled the rhinestone-studded strap off the chair. Cathy paused, fingering the red leather. The leash had been another gift from Steve. Would he continue to haunt her for the rest of her life? Would it always be like this?

For two months after the wedding Cathy had walked around in a haze of pain and disillusionment. This couldn’t be happening to her. This wasn’t real. It became almost impossible to hide her emotions from her family. She had to get away, to the ends of the earth. Alaska. The opportunity to work as a basic skills instructor had come as a surprise. Her application had been submitted months before. She had never intended to accept the job, even if it was offered to her. She had done it to tease Steve, telling him if he didn’t proclaim his undying love she’d abandon him for parts unknown. Willingly, Steve had obliged. When she hadn’t heard from the school district, Cathy was relieved. It had been a fluke, a joke. Now it was her salvation, a lifeline to sanity.

No one had understood her reasons for going—except her mother, and perhaps Steve.
With a sense of urgency she had gone about building a new life for herself. Forming friendships, reaching out. It was only in the area of men that she withdrew, held back. Eventually that reserve would abate. A soft smile curved up the edges of her lips. Linda and those crazy personal ads she was always reading to her. If her friend had anything to do with it, Cathy would be married by Christmas.

* * *

She dressed carefully Thursday morning, the meeting with Grady Jones weighing her decision as she chose a dark blue gabardine business suit. The line of the suit accentuated the slender curves of her lithe form. Cathy was nearly five-eleven in her heels and secretly hoped to meet the man at eye level. She did with most men. Not once had she regretted the fact she was tall. In most cases, height was an advantage. Steve was tall. Her hands knotted at her sides as her resolve tightened. It was ridiculous the way her mind would bring him to the forefront of her consciousness. It had to stop, and it had to stop immediately. She needed to start dating again, meet other men. She’d do it. The troubled thoughts that had continually plagued her were all the convincing she needed. She’d answer one of those crazy ads Linda was always telling her about.

“Be a good dog, Peterkins.” She ruffled his ears playfully. “You do like cats, don’t you? What about six kids?” The large brown eyes looked up at her quizzically, and Cathy laughed. “Never mind.”

* * *

Dawn was breaking as she parked her Honda in the school parking lot. Gracefully, she slid across the upholstered seat and climbed out the passenger side. As soon as she was paid she was going to get that other door fixed. She paused to watch the sun’s golden orb break out across the pink horizon. There was a magical quality to an Alaskan sky that stirred something within her. The sky was bluer than blue, the air fresher, cleaner. Even the landscape that appeared dingy and barren held a fascination for Cathy. She hadn’t expected to like Alaska but found herself mesmerized with its openness, enthralled with its beauty.

“Whew-yee.” Linda whistled as she walked into the teacher’s lounge. “You look fit to kill.”

“I may have to,” Cathy replied flippantly, as she poured herself a mug of coffee. “But that man’s going to listen to me if I have to hog-tie him.”

“Hog-tie him?” Linda repeated with a laugh. “Is that a little Kansas humor?”

Pulling out a chair, Cathy sat beside her friend. “It could be, but by the time I finish with Grady Jones, he won’t be laughing.”

“With that look in your eye, I almost pity the poor man.”

Her long, tapered fingers cupped the coffee mug as she glanced at the paper Linda had placed beside her purse. “Without meaning to change the subject, are there any new ads today?”

“New ads. You actually want to look at the personals? As I live and breathe …”

The rest of what she was going to say faded away as she took the paper and opened it on top of the table so they could both read through the columns. Several of the listings were almost identical, with lengthy descriptions of their likes and wants. It was a small ad at the bottom of the page that captured Cathy’s attention. It read, “Red Baron seeks lady to soar to heights unknown.” It gave a post office box number for the response.

“This one looks interesting.” Cathy pointed it out to Linda.

Her friend twisted the newspaper around so she could read the ad. She didn’t comment on the contents. “Go ahead and write something, I’ll put it in today’s mail.”

“Linda … I don’t know what to say. Let me think about it awhile, then I’ll—”

“No,” Linda interrupted, her voice emphatic. “If you think about it you won’t do it. There’s paper here, and I’ve got an envelope and stamp in the office. Go for it.”

Cathy’s hand hovered over the paper while Linda left for her office. She chewed on the end of the pen and shifted her chin from the palm of one hand to the palm of the other. Finally she scribbled,
Interested in soaring. Heights negotiable.
She signed it
Snoopy
and gave the post office box where she collected her mail. She’d read the six-word message ten times and was ready to throw it away when Linda returned, snapped it from her hand, and placed it inside the envelope.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Cathy mumbled. “There must be something basically wrong with me.”

“There is,” Linda confirmed. “You’re lonely.”

Cathy’s responding smile was weak. It was a lot more than lonely, but she didn’t explain.

Having made arrangements with the teachers earlier in the week, Cathy was able to leave the school before twelve. She was determined to speak to Grady Jones one way or another. Following the directions Linda had given her, Cathy arrived at the airfield promptly at noon.

Her car door slammed with the force of the September wind, shutting it for her. Another gust whipped her hair about her face and stimulated her cheeks until they were a rosy hue. She stopped to examine the buildings. A large hangar took up one side of the open field to the right of the runway. Directly beside the hangar was a smaller building she assumed must be the office. A large overhead sign read
ALASKA CARGO COMPANY
.

Checking her wristwatch, Cathy noted it was thirteen minutes after noon. Right on time. Her watch naturally ran thirteen minutes fast, which suited her since she hated being late. If Grady Jones hadn’t arrived, she was prepared to wait. With her black leather purse tucked under her arm, she approached the smaller structure. As she neared the office a man dressed in grease-smeared overalls and a matching cap emerged from one of the hangars.

“Can I help you?” he questioned, his eyes surveying her with interest.

“I’m here to see Mr. Jones,” she replied in a crisp business tone.

Something indecipherable flickered across the weathered face, but Cathy couldn’t read him. She wondered if this was the man who’d answered her persistent calls. Had he recognized her voice?

“Grady’s inside,” the man replied, and wiped his hands on a rag that hung from his hip pocket. “I’ll take you to his office. Follow me.” He led the way, yanking open the office door. He was halfway through the entrance when he stopped as if suddenly remembering his manners and hurriedly stepped aside, allowing Cathy to enter ahead of him.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, and indicated two worn chairs just inside the door. He disappeared behind another door around the counter. The office appeared to be divided into two areas. The outer room contained a long counter that was littered with papers, graphs, and charts. Behind it, the walls were papered by several maps. The two chairs were covered with old newspapers and dog-eared magazines. Cathy decided to stand.

When the mechanic returned, his eyes glanced over her appreciatively. “Grady will see you now.” He held the door open as Cathy moved behind the counter.

Her heels clicked against the faded linoleum floor, and the sound seemed to echo all around her. Unconsciously, she held her breath and clenched her purse, as if to steel herself for the encounter.

Grady Jones was standing when she entered the room, and her eyes were instantly drawn to the lean, dark features of the strikingly handsome man. Curly chestnut-colored hair grew with rakish disregard across his wide forehead. His eyes were surprisingly blue, the same color as an Arctic blue fox’s. They glinted round and intelligent. His full, almost bushy eyebrows were quirked expectantly, and Cathy realized she was staring. Nervously, she cleared her throat.

“Grady Jones?” she questioned briskly, disguising her shattered composure.

“Yes.” His mouth twitched with humor.

This man was well aware of the power of his attraction, Cathy mused, disliking him all the more. If he thought he could disarm her with one devastating smile, then he was wrong. Leaning forward slightly, Cathy extended her hand over the cluttered desk.

“I’m pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Jones,” she said with a trace of contempt. “I’m Cathy Thompson, Angela’s basic skills instructor.”

Grady accepted her hand, capturing it between two massive ones and holding it longer than she liked. Their eyes dueled, hers cool and distrusting, his deepening as they narrowed.

He dropped her hand, and it fell limply at her side. “Yes, I’ve heard quite a lot about you, Miss Thompson.”

“You’ve heard quite a lot
from
me, too,” she emphasized. “However, you’ve chosen to ignore my messages and phone calls.”

“Listen, Miss Thompson, I’m a busy man. I’ve got a business to run. I can’t—”

“Let me assure you, I’m just as busy,” she interrupted curtly. “But I believe Angela is important enough for us both to spare a few minutes.”

“All right, I’ll admit Angela’s got problems.”

Cathy had to restrain herself from saying that she thought most of the girl’s difficulties stemmed from an uncaring father. “Angela’s a sweet, sensitive six-year-old child with social and academic deficiencies,” Cathy began. “But it’s my guess that most of her academic difficulties are a result of dyslexia. I’d like your permission to have her tested.”

“Dyslexia?” Concern furrowed the tanned brow.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Cathy was quick to assure him. “It’s a neurological disorder
that affects one’s ability to read, spell, and sometimes speak correctly. It’s not uncommon for a girl to be dyslexic, but almost three times as many boys are as girls.”

“Dyslexic.” He repeated the word and slumped into a large rollback chair.

“Angela’s in the first grade and has problems reading at the first-grade level, or printing her letters correctly.”

“She’s a lot like I was at her age,” Grady murmured. “Only back then they called it
word blindness.
”

“They have a name for it now,” she said softly.

Grady looked up, and for the first time seemed to notice that he was sitting, while she was standing. “Sit down, Miss Thompson, please.”

Cathy obliged. “Dyslexia affects three areas of learning. Audio, visual, and kinetic, which is the sense of touch or feel. Angela is affected in each area, but to what extent won’t be known until she’s been tested.”

He drew in a deep breath. “You say there’s a name for it now. Is there a cure?”

“No,” she explained bluntly. “But there is help. Once my suspicions have been confirmed. Angela is going to need a tutor.”

“It’s done. Send me a bill.”

Anger gripped Cathy. This man seemed to think everything could be solved with a signature at the bottom of a check.

“It’s not quite that simple, Mr. Jones,” she said, keeping a tight rein on her feelings. “It’s not my responsibility to find a tutor for your daughter. I’ll be happy to give you a list of those recommended by the school district. But finding the one who would work best with Angela is up to you.” She spoke in a stiff, professional manner. “I’m also of the opinion that your lack of interest may be the cause of the emotional problems Angela has …” She stopped, clenching her hands tightly. Stating her feelings on the way Grady Jones chose to raise his daughter wasn’t part of her job.

“That may be.” The blue eyes became chips of glacial ice. “But I’m only interested in your academic impressions. I could care less if you think I rate a Father’s Day card or not.”

“I’m sure.” Abruptly, she rose to her feet. “I won’t take up any more of your time.” She couldn’t prevent the waspish tone. “After all, time is money.”

“That’s right, and you’ve taken up fifteen minutes already.”

Fists balled at her sides with building outrage, she stalked from the office. He followed her out, opening the front door as if he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough.

“I’ll mail you the list of tutors,” she said, in a way that conveyed the message she would rather have communicated with him by means of the post office.

“You do that,” he shot back.

His eyes seemed to bore into her back as she moved across the parking lot. Hating that he was watching her, she opened the passenger side of her car and climbed inside, scooting across the narrow enclosure. She couldn’t leave the airfield fast enough, her tires spinning as she rounded the corner and merged with the street traffic.