Alaskan Sweethearts (13 page)

No, Hunter told himself, it did not look promising.

Still, he went to the counter where he had the piece of paper with the airline telephone number. He’d call and get another ticket. Maybe his grandfather could just look at this trip as a short vacation to see the great state of Alaska. Everyone said it was good for families to travel together.

When Hunter got to the telephone, he decided to ease the situation a little. He called and tried to order a bouquet of flowers to be delivered to Margaret Murphy in Nome, Alaska. He was informed by the operator that there was no floral shop within fifty miles of the small city. He should have realized that since there wasn’t a floral shop near Dry Creek, either. The operator did mention a Nome gift shop, though, that advertised that they would deliver a purple orchid planted in a gold-rimmed china teacup. Hunter left a message for the shop to call him back tomorrow. Then he punched in the number for the airline.

Before he went to bed, Hunter added a roll of antacids to his duffel bag. He had a hunch he was going to need them in the next few days. He’d just played Cupid for his grandfather. He’d never done that before. Going to Nome could be a disaster for them all.

Chapter Six

I
t was almost thirty hours later when the combi plane, a Boeing 737-400, started to circle the Nome airport. At first Scarlett hadn’t realized how unique these planes were. She’d grown up with them. But Hunter had been fascinated and asked questions, so she’d told him what she knew.

Frequently used when flying into northern Alaska, the planes had tracks installed for movement of cargo down the center aisle. A varying number of seats were removed from the passenger part of the plane on each trip and shelves were snapped into place to accommodate what cargo could be placed in the resulting space. Since there were no roads to Nome, goods did not move by truck. There was no rail, either, and the ships could not transport things year-round because of the ice. To Scarlett’s relief, Hunter had declared the airplane setup a most sensible arrangement.

She had spent most of the four flights—Billings to Seattle, Seattle to Anchorage, Anchorage to Kotzebue, Kotzebue to Nome—wondering if she hadn’t made a mistake by saying that Hunter could come along with them. She had painted a pretty picture of Nome in her conversation with him—even telling him that the name of her hometown had come from a misunderstanding on early maps. The poorly written notation had been for “no name” and someone erroneously concluded it was the name of the place—Nome.

She had chuckled with Hunter about the way these things happened while they waited in the Seattle airport, but she knew a moment’s shared laughter didn’t mean Hunter would like Nome once he saw it. She didn’t worry so much about his grandfather, but Hunter was—she searched for the word and finally settled on “discriminating.”

Mercilessly honest was another way of saying it, she thought grimly as she glanced over at him. He sat in the window seat with Joey settled between them. She was a fool to care what Hunter thought of the place she’d called home for so long, but she did. Just looking at him sitting there made her stomach clench in nerves.

She rented a humble two-bedroom home in a rough-and-tumble town. The house was the same one she’d lived in when she was married to Victor. Now her grandmother also lived there, sharing a small makeshift bedroom with her while Joey had the one real bedroom. The linoleum on the kitchen floor was faded and the refrigerator creaked and moaned. The living room was tiny and the ceiling was stained from the leak last spring. If she owned the house, she would remodel it, but she had decided to save her money for something more permanent and then Colin Jacobson had made his offer.

The old house on the property he was offering them was bigger and better than what she was living in now.

She didn’t know what Hunter would think of it all.

He had tucked his Stetson under the seat in front of him. Morning light streamed through the small windows and she saw the red line across his forehead where his hat generally rested. His tan was darker on his throat and cheeks than on his high cheekbones. He had a shadow of whiskers along his face. His scars were barely visible. He wore a long-sleeved white cotton shirt with a black vest and was looking out the window with Joey. The two were conversing in whispers.

She could reach out and touch him. Even with Joey between them, it was too close, she told herself.

She tried to distract herself, but she always came back to the worry. It wasn’t just her house. She knew Nome didn’t have the beauty of a place like Denali National Park or Mount McKinley. Of course, that’s where most of the tourist pictures of Alaska came from. She’d even showed Hunter postcards from that lodge where Fiona’s fiancé always stayed. The place was gorgeous. Huge, golden log cabins with snowcapped peaks in the background and steaming hot tubs in the foreground. That was the kind of place people expected when they flew into the state.

She’d tried to warn Hunter several times on the flights here that where she had grown up was different than that, but he had passed her remarks off with vague comments about the beauty of all kinds of nature.

Of course, the Bering Sea was magnificent, she reminded herself, even though the area around Nome looked a bit chewed up when compared to Denali. The tundra around Nome wasn’t blanketed with rich, thick green grass for one thing. Weeds sprung up where they would and, sometimes, the area was just gray permafrost with nothing growing. What foliage existed was bunched up in short tufts of fuzz the color of bleached bones. No one had white picket fences and yards as they did in the Lower 48. The wind blew and, freed from a container, trash was left to tumble around.

“We’re coming in,” Hunter said, his eyes on the ground as the plane circled lower.

Joey was gazing out the window, as well, and was now pointing at something.

Hunter bent to listen to the boy and then straightened and looked over at Scarlett.

“He’s counting the blue spots. He’s been doing that the whole trip. I think they are tarps,” Hunter said, looking puzzled as he smiled at her. “I can’t figure out why there are so many of them.”

Scarlett had hoped he hadn’t noticed all of the blue tarps on the cabins as they’d flown into Kotzebue. And now a few of the same were dotting the landscape around Nome.

“People are only being thrifty,” she said curtly.

Hunter grunted. “I’ve never known tarps to be cheaper by color.”

Scarlett flushed. She might as well confess. “In Alaska a house does not get put on the tax rolls until it is completely done. So, sometimes, people don’t quite finish everything. The blue is just tradition. The tarps are used to cover the places that need more work.”

“Work that they could do but chose not to in order to save taxes?” Hunter asked, his eyebrow lifted in disbelief.

Scarlett nodded. “Property taxes can be quite high.”

“I would think the state would see through that soon enough,” Hunter said.

“I’m sure they know,” Scarlett said. “But, by now, it’s the way things are. There would be a big uproar if the state tried to change it. And, really, some people take years to build a fishing cabin. So who’s to separate those who are taking a long time to build from those who never intend to finish. You’ll see the fishing camps strung out all along the coast south of Nome.”

Hunter nodded. “I was wondering what those square blocks were.”

“They are sort of like beach cottages along the ocean,” Scarlett said, trying to make them all sound better. She didn’t add that they often didn’t have plumbing or electricity.

He nodded. “From what I’ve seen, Alaska’s a beautiful state.”

Scarlett relaxed then. “It is a bit rough, though, especially around here.”

She heard the wheels of the airplane release to prepare for landing. The captain announced the outside temperature was sixty-two degrees above zero. The crew thanked them for flying with the airline.

Hunter looked out the plane window and then he turned to her.

“This part of Alaska reminds me of eastern Montana,” he said with a grin. “From up here, the tundra rolls like the prairie does back home. The same kind of shallow dips and curves. Of course, the growth is more blue-green here instead of the yellow-green we tend to have on the ranch. But I see patches of color that make me think there are tiny wildflowers down there. No wonder my grandfather felt at home when he decided to build his ranch in Montana.”

Scarlett leaned forward, eager to tell him more now that she knew he approved.

“The tundra is permafrost.” She used to give these details when she was a wilderness guide and it all came back to her. “Not much soil to it, mostly frozen vegetation—grasses and shrubs. Lichen. No trees, really, because they can’t grow roots. Everything is frozen just a few feet down, even in the summer.”

“Well, it’s a pity not to have more soil.” Hunter settled back in his seat. “Now that would bother me some.”

“We get by,” Scarlett said. “We’re not a farming state like Montana. Well, we do farm, but it’s more herding of reindeer around here and vegetable farming south of here. With all the sun, Alaska can grow gigantic vegetables—squash, cabbage, pumpkins and the like. You should see the entries in the state fair.”

“I’d like that.”

The plane was touching down on the runway. It took a few minutes for everyone to gather their bags and then more time for the ground crew to prepare everything. Someone pushed a metal staircase over to the plane and the attendant opened the door.

Scarlett, swinging a large purse, was the first of the four of them to walk off the plane and down the stairs. Joey was following close behind her, a backpack over his shoulder. Hunter, carrying his duffel bag, brought up the rear with his grandfather who had given in to Hunter’s arguments and agreed to bring his cane along for this trip. They all gathered beside the plane before walking into the small terminal together.

“It’ll take them some time to unload everything,” Scarlett said once they’d entered the square building.

Hunter nodded and found a place for his grandfather to sit. Then he went off and brought them each back a bottle of water from the vending machine.

“Flying makes you dehydrated,” was all he said as he gave everyone a bottle.

Scarlett had to give the man credit. He was winning points in her book, even if she didn’t want to admit it. She took the water but only murmured a quiet thank-you.

It wasn’t until a couple of minutes passed that she realized Hunter hadn’t made any comment on her lack of embellishment on the thank-you. Victor would be all upset by now if he had been the one who had brought the water. Her ex-husband had needed to be praised excessively for every little thing he did.

Scarlett knew her grandmother would not be happy that she still measured men by the low standards Victor had set. The older woman would also urge her to pray about her growing feelings for Hunter. But no words came to Scarlett while she stood there in the baggage claim area watching luggage and cardboard boxes arrive from all around the world.

Maybe her lack of trust in general was the reason she couldn’t seem to form any prayers. It seemed hypocritical to pray if she didn’t believe God would do something.

Right now, all she knew was that she wasn’t ready to accept Hunter as more than an acquaintance. She had thought Victor was nice initially, too. She had trusted him. How would she know if Hunter was any different until it was too late?

If she would ask anything of God, it was that He would help her see who Hunter really was.

Please
... She began the prayer and stopped. It was too much.

So she drank her water and watched Hunter pace around, taking everything in.

“Are those rifle cases?” Hunter turned to ask Scarlett with a nod toward the long, black cases that were being unloaded. He seemed restless after sitting so long in airplane seats over the past thirty-some hours and it probably felt good to stand in the terminal.

“Likely fishing gear,” Scarlett answered from where she stood some feet away. “Deep sea.”

The other luggage that was coming down the belt was a row of cardboard boxes wrapped with twine. In addition to cargo for the local businesses, Scarlett had mentioned it was common practice for individuals to fly in their own supplies.

Before long Hunter had all of the Jacobson/Murphy suitcases pulled off the belt and lying at his feet.

“We’ll take a cab home,” Scarlett said as they each gathered up a piece of luggage and walked to the outside curb. “The cabs are always busy in Nome, but everything is so close that they aren’t expensive.”

Minutes later they were on the way to the address Scarlett had given the driver.

“It smells like the sea,” Hunter noted once they set out. The windows of the cab were open. The road didn’t have many other buildings close to the airport. “Salty.”

The vehicle slowly made its way to the town. Hunter’s grandfather was sitting in front with the driver. Joey was sitting between him and Scarlett in the back.

“This is Front Street,” the driver said as he turned a corner to follow the street. Wooden stores lined both sides of what was obviously the main street in town. The stores on the right were next to the Bering Sea. Big dark gray rocks separated the town from the sea, taking the space that would usually be left for sand and beach. A flutter of birds dipped and swirled around the edge of the sea. They looked like seagulls to Hunter, but he was too far away to be sure.

“And this is where the Iditarod sled-dog race ends.” The cabbie pointed as they came up to a square wooden-log archway that stood along the left side the street. “Of course, when the race is being run, this arch straddles the street, waiting for the mushers to drive their dogsleds under it.” The cabbie pulled off to the side of the road so everyone could better see the arch.

* * *

Hunter wished he’d read up on Alaskan history before he’d left Dry Creek. His grandfather had told him and his brothers stories about his life in Nome, but it seemed now like it was a different place. His grandfather had talked about the miners—their hopes and dreams. Not about things that had happened earlier in time.

“Well, I’ll be,” Hunter’s grandfather said then. The old man was looking at the arch in interest. “They didn’t have anything like that in my day.”

Hunter realized that might be why his grandfather had said nothing about it.

“No, they didn’t even have the race when you were mining here,” Scarlett said. “They didn’t start it until 1973. Of course, the original mercy run was in 1925 when the diphtheria serum was brought to Nome from Anchorage—the first two hundred and some miles by railroad to Nenana and the last six hundred and seventy-four miles by dogsled. There are some fantastic children’s books out about the lead dog, Balto, who helped finished the last leg of the journey.”

The cab went a few blocks farther when Scarlett spoke again. “Alaskans have always helped each other when they were in trouble.”

“Montana is the same,” Hunter said with a nod toward her. “Good neighbors are everything. You’ll find that the same if you move to Dry Creek.”

Hunter saw that Scarlett flushed with pleasure.

“You must be noticing all of the abandoned vehicles around town,” she said then.