Storm the Author's Cut (16 page)

"I'm okay, Brad."

The engine overhead cut back as the pilot came into his final descent. The twin-engined Goose was a much faster plane than the Beaver. It came in quickly over the water, skimming, and then touching the glassy surface gently. She watched the landing, heart pounding in her chest, suddenly certain that it was Luke. When the Goose started to taxi up the ramp, she could see him waving to her from the cockpit. She waved back, her heart pounding hard.

The door of the Goose swung down to form steps for the crowd of people who streamed out. They were speaking quick, voluble French, flooding the quiet parking lot with conversation. One of the men made his way towards a van parked near the building.

"Looks like they've got transportation," said Brad. "Guess I'll go back home for breakfast. Have a good day, Laurie."

"Thanks, Brad."

Luke was on the steps of the airplane. She moved towards him, forcing herself to walk slowly. The spell that had her enthralled on Saturday night had not diminished at all. Walking towards him, she felt that she would fly with him to the ends of the earth.

She was in more danger than she had ever been from Ken. Saturday night had been the irrational product of her repressed emotions. Today, those emotions were still running wild.

"Morning, Laurie. Sleep well?" He was asking more, smiling the half-smile that was mostly in his eyes.

"Yes." She had slept soundly and woken happy and alert. This morning, she felt as if she had come out of a long, long tunnel, into the sun again. "And you? You must be short of sleep." He had driven back to Queen Charlotte last night. He must have been up early, getting the plane ready.

"I'm all right. Come on in and we'll get her off the ground before someone comes along and wants a ride." He grinned at her and she felt some of her tension fall away as she scurried in, watching the road through the window, wondering if anyone would come along wanting to share her ride. Whatever had happened between them on Saturday night, this morning he felt like a lifelong friend. Looking at him, she couldn't forget the feel of his arms around her, the flame that had burned between them on Hot Spring Island. Incredible that she did not feel uncomfortable with him.

She must suppress those wild feelings that still wanted to surge up in her. Luke as a friend would be invaluable. The new Laurie hadn't many friends—Nat and John, and perhaps Bev—but she had better watch herself with men until she had her explosive emotions under control. Saturday night couldn't be allowed to happen again.

She smoothed the wild feelings down and willed her voice smooth and calm. "Does that happen? People running up at the last minute as if you were a city bus?"

"All the time. In this country, when people want to travel, they want to do it right away."

"Who are they? These people today?"

"An archaeological team excavating on the west coast." He grinned at her. "It's too late for you to catch them for an interview."

She laughed. "I know about them. John had a radiotelephone interview with them yesterday afternoon. You'll hear it tomorrow on the Noon Show."

He swung the door up into place and locked it securely. She looked around at the rows of empty seats.

" I don't think I've ever had this much plane to myself before." Of course, it wasn't really for her. He'd had a charter, the archeologists, and he was going her way, giving her a lift.

He led her up to the front, through the doors to the flight deck.

"I've never been up here in a Goose before. It's big, isn't it?" They had been squeezed into the Beaver. In comparison, this seemed luxuriously large with an aisle between the passenger seats and the flight deck ahead, out of sight of the passengers.

"That depends what you're comparing it to. Compared to a 747, this is a peanut. Do you want to be co-pilot?"

She took the seat he offered. The engine was idling. When they were strapped in, he handed her the headphones so they could communicate easily, then turned the plane and eased it back down the ramp into the water.

When Luke opened up the throttle, the Goose raced along the water until it was airborne.

"It'll be fast, won't it?" she asked him as they leveled off with Massett already out of sight.

"About half an hour—we're flying about twice as fast as the Beaver." Thirty minutes and she would be saying goodbye to him again. She didn't want to do that yet.

"Who on earth named all those seaplanes? Beavers and Mallards and Gooses—is that right? I've never heard them called Geese."

"A gaggle of Geese? No, we call them Gooses when they're planes."

He adjusted a control. The sky was clear and brilliant blue. There was very little turbulence. They had flown over the broad northern end of the island and were following the beach now. The plane seemed to be flying itself.

"When I was eighteen," she said, "I wanted more than anything to learn to fly." She watched him touch a control, look at an instrument. Why had she not learned the names of these things, at least learned some of the theory of how to fly? "My father didn't his daughter flying."

She loved her father. Pleasing him was hard, but she had always tried. "In my home, we all tried to please him. My mother would do anything to please my father—Shane pleased him by being athletic, being interested in the hotel." She laughed. "I was always the odd one out. I did try, but I couldn't seem to be what he wanted."

Last night, she'd certainly not pleased her father. It hurt, as if he cared more about her marrying Ken than about her own needs.

"What did he want you to be?"

"Different." How many times had he looked at her with bewildered eyes, as if he wondered how he had fathered her?

"If he wasn't proud of you—if he wanted you different than you were, he had to be a blind man." Luke was angry, angry for her as if he felt her hurt.

"My news last night wasn't the hit story of the month. Mom was good about it, but Dad's upset." She shuddered, realizing, "I could have married Ken. That would have been the disaster."

"You didn't."

"No, thank God."

The coast curved away to the west. Soon, they would be circling to land again.

"Where do you live, Luke?"

"I room with the McQuades. Up on the hill."

"Hilda McQuade? With the cats?" Hilda and her husband had a big old house that was made for dogs and children. With no children, Hilda had turned the house into a home for at least a dozen cats.

"Some of those cats are big enough to be baby tigers. I don't think I've ever seen so many cats together in one place in my life."

"Mrs. McDonald says they wanted children, but they couldn't have any. I guess the cats satisfy her maternal urge. Do you like cats? You must, to live there."

"I don't mind, but one or two would be enough. She has nine. But it is nice to wake up and find something warm on my bed."

On Hot Spring Island they had slept together, making a bed of the hearth, curled up in the heat of each other and the fire. The memory was in his eyes.

Without her consent, her eyes responded.

She knew he was going to kiss her long before his lips touched hers. She saw the blue sky behind him, all around him. His face had deep laughter lines around the mouth. Fair hair sprung unruly over his forehead. She reached up to touch it and her eyes closed as their lips touched. They blended together, their mouths melding as if they were one. His hands reached her arms, her back, and then the underside of one round breast through the thin fabric of her blouse. She shuddered and clenched her fingers in his hair.

He moved his hands along her back. She arched to him, wanting to thrust her full breasts against him, but restrained by the seat belt. His hand moved on her back, sliding around to that round protrusion once more. He touched the quivering skin in the deep vee of her blouse. In a moment his hand would slip in, cupping the roundness. She needed the feel of him so badly! She slid her hands to his shoulders, trying to draw him closer.

"This is impossible," he groaned, drawing his hand back, moving away from her. She felt cold, shuddered. "I have to fly this thing."

She stared at him.

He had touched her and she had been plastic in his hands—flaming plastic. Was that really only a kiss? Her body flushed with heady heat, aching. Could she lose control that easily?

Luke adjusted the throttle, beginning their descent to Queen Charlotte. He had kept his head. If he had drawn back a moment later; if he had touched the bare skin of her breast, caressed her—if he had, she would have been begging him not to stop. She would have begged him to land the plane somewhere, anywhere they could be alone.

Right now she could see nothing in Luke's face. He wore a mask that protected his thoughts from her. She gripped her left hand with her right, restraining her hands. She turned away, overwhelmed by her own emotion, by the cool mask on his face.

They circled slowly. A moment ago they had been a hair's breadth away from making love, but now Luke Lucas had his plane in perfect control, was probably going to make a perfect landing. In a moment she would be down there, leaving him. She felt an irrational panic that he would let her walk away; would turn away himself and never see her again.

"Will you teach me to fly?" she asked abruptly.

"Airplanes?" he asked.

She felt her cheeks heat when she realized his meaning.

"Yes, airplanes. Barry said you're a qualified instructor." In a minute they would be landing. She felt a sudden, desperate need to be sure he wouldn't turn into a stranger again when she walked away from the plane. "Do you take students?"

"Not usually. Is your seat belt fastened? We're going in."

"It's fastened."

He turned to the controls, watching the horizon below, circling, looking for any sign of floating logs or other dangers in the water. His face was closed and inscrutable, as if a door had closed between them.

"I'd pay for the lessons," she told him through the intercom.

He didn't answer her until they touched the water. When he spoke, it was the voice of the stranger. "You'd better wait a while. You've been through quite an emotional turmoil. Better take stock, don't go jumping off in all directions without looking."

His words hit her like a slap of cold water on her face.

She had gone too far, presumed too much. His voice had been gentle enough, but cold, as if he had grown tired of listening to her. She fell silent, drawing into herself.

They didn't run up on to the land here, but docked at the same float the Beaver had taken off from. Barry was there, fastening ropes to the tiedowns on the plane, working his way around the wing that extended far out over the wharf. Luke climbed out of his seat and moving back to the door. When he had it open, he turned back, waiting to help her down.

She moved stiffly, avoiding his eyes. "Thank you for the ride."

"Any time." Why did he smile like that, as if he were mocking himself? His hand burned as it touched her arm to help her from the plane. She moved quickly through the door, needing now to get away from him.

"Laurie."

She stepped on to the float, away from his hand.

"Take care," he said softly.

She had to get away before tears spilled onto her cheeks. She managed a smile and a greeting for Barry, then she hurried up the ramp and on to the street. Her eyes blurred and she blinked until the road ahead of her was clear again.

Of course he was right. Flying was an impulse. She wasn't rational right now.

She had to shake herself into some semblance of order. She had a busy day ahead.

She walked the three blocks to the radio station, arriving hours before her usual time. It was too early to do anything constructive about a new place to live, but not too early to make a start on putting together the shows for the day. The early morning disc jockey was in Studio 1 and she waved to him, but didn't take the time to be sociable.

Yesterday John and Laurie had collected more interesting material on the weekend crash than they could use. Laurie sorted through the material that hadn't been imperative enough to make it on yesterday's show. She turned off the sound to the telephone system and put concentrated effort into working. Through the window, she saw Harry pick up the telephone periodically. Once he waved to her, indicating that the telephone was for her.

She shook her head at Harry. It would be Ken, and there was little point talking to him. Surreal that she had been engaged to him yesterday, yet felt totally indifferent today.

When John came in, she had most of her morning's work done. "Early," he commented. "Are you all right?"

She looked at him blankly. "Why shouldn't I be?"

"Last night? A slight scene at the hotel?"

"Oh. I'm fine. I hope I didn't ruin your evening."

"It was interesting. Are you going to make up with him?"

"No."

"Good." He listened to the track she had just finished editing. "I like this. I have a follow-up interview to do on that mine incident you reported last week. With that, and the archaeologists, we should have the shows in the bag."

"I hope so. If Nat doesn't mind, I need some time off today. John, what did you mean—good?"

"If you had married him, in five years I could see you trapped, desperate to escape, and staying because you couldn't tear your children's home apart."

It could have happened. She could have married him, could have had his children—not children of love.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Would you have listened?"

She would have laughed off any suggestion that Ken was not the man for her. He was what she thought she wanted. A man she liked, who could not stir her too deeply for comfort.

When Nat arrived at nine, Laurie went into his office before he had time to sort through his mail. "I've got my priorities straight," she told him. "I'm taking the job."

"And Ken?"

"I'm not marrying Ken. That's definite. I'm moving out of the McDonald's today. I was in early today and the shows are wrapped up. I'd appreciate it if I could have a few hours off. I'll be on the air, of course, but in between I could get my move organized. Just today..."