All That You Are (11 page)

“Weh is dat chi-chi mon friend of yours?” Cardelle asked, eyes narrowing warily as he sipped on a drink garnished with a pineapple wedge.

“Gone home to Seattle.”

“Good. I did not like 'im.”

The song on the jukebox changed to something up-tempo, the brassy sound of horns carrying the mellow jazz notes through the Blue Note.

Cardelle drummed his slender fingers on the edge of the glossy bar, keeping time. “Don' you jus' love de magic from Oscar?”

Mark listened closer, thinking the artist had an excellent style. The music had to be from an Oscar Jackson recording. Hearing the song must have been surreal for Dana, but kudos that she kept her father alive in the bar.

Bear's wide girth occupied the stool next to Cardelle's. Mark nodded a silent hello to the mammoth guy, momentarily thinking back to their card game at Elk Cove.

“Has anyone ever really looked at a fly?” Bear asked,
staring into a mason jar real close. “They's awfully hairy little bits with bug eyes. None too smart, neither.”

Not necessarily wanting to know why Bear had brought in a jar filled with flies, Mark replied, “No, Bear, I haven't. The only time I've paid much attention to a fly is when I whacked it with a flyswatter.”

“Dem is filthy t'ings. De be right up deh with maskittas.” With that, Cardelle snagged his bug repellent can and glanced toward Leo, who was giving a few shakes to a mixed drink in the shaker. Seeing that he wasn't being watched, Cardelle shot a few chemical
psphts
on the back of his neck.

“Card,” Bear cautioned, shaking the jar with his eyes glued to the bouncing insects responding inside as he emulated the cocktail shaker in Leo's hand. “Leo catch you doin' that and you're goin' to be sittin' over at the Arctic from now on.”

“I risk it.”

Bear grunted. “Your call, Card.” Then, “Hey, Moretti. How come you're packing a hammer?”

“I'm going to be doing some renovation work around here.”

“Is that so?” Leo came down the bar and poured a beer from the tap. “Men's room john's been dicey lately. The second urinal has a problem with the flush valve.”

“I'll make a note of it,” Mark responded tightly. Plumbing was Mark's least favorite thing, and starting a job in the men's restroom was low on his priority list. “Is Dana around?”

“In her office,” Leo replied, heading down the bar to serve the beer.

Mark quit his exchange with the men and headed for the rear of the building on a hunt for Dana.

Monday night didn't pack the bar like a sardine tin, but plenty of people occupied tables enjoying an evening snack and alcohol to wash it down. Mark had come by earlier in the day, but the place had been locked tight until opening a short time ago.

He found Dana sitting behind her desk, an all but worthless swing-arm lamp illuminating her scattered paperwork. Sensing someone standing in the doorway, she looked his way.

Rather than the grateful smile, and arms thrown around his neck in the hug he'd dreamed about getting from her, he was met with a frown and not a single move to jump on him.

“Now is that any way to say howdy to the guy who patched your holes?”

Sitting straight, she licked her lips, grazing the lower with her teeth. The innocent-enough gesture heated everything inside him. “I said thanks last night when you left.”

And so she had.

He'd finished the repairs about an hour after she'd discovered him on her roof, and he'd only come into the bar for a quick few to report he was done. She'd been suspicious of his motives, her body language guarded. Accepting his generosity had been hard to do. In the end, she'd given him a relieved thank-you, but a slight hitch in her voice held on to her words as if unsure what to make of him—but she remained more than grateful.

He'd gone home for the night, taken a hot shower and slid into bed, sleeping the best he had since arriving in Ketchikan.

“What are you doing here?” Her black hair had been drawn into a clip, messy pieces falling next to her face. She'd put on very little makeup, yet her complexion was flawless. He loved her skin's toasted-sugar color. Desire flooded him as he thought she'd taste just as good as she looked.

“I came to get a copy of your fire marshal's report. I'm going to start working on the violations and bringing them up to code for you.”

A long moment passed where her gaze remained locked on his. Then finally, without fanfare, she questioned flatly, “Why?”

“Because I want to.”

“I think you want more than my violations.”

Irritation colored his reply. “Has it ever occurred to you that I might just want to help you out—no strings attached?”

“Not really.” She spread her fingers over an adding machine's keys, punching in a few numbers and talking while she got her total. “I liked you better when you were gone fishing.”

He couldn't help laughing to himself. “I didn't know you liked me at all.”

Dana's chin lifted, her brows darting into a frown. “Dammit, Moretti. You twist everything I say into a tangled ball of BS.” She tore the receipt from the calculator, stapling it to a bill. “For the record, I don't like—
like—
you. I've tolerated you. I'm not hiring you. And I know what you're up to so you might as well quit the handyman act.”

Relaxing into the door frame, Mark folded his arms over his chest, not going anywhere. “Have you ever trusted anyone?”

“Plenty.”

“Then trust me.”

“Not a chance.”

“Why not? Be honest.”

She propped her booted feet on the desk's corner. With her almond-shaped eyes angled directly on him, she owned the word
exotic.
Her Asian facial features were stunning, her mouth a beautiful rose that should be kissed. The shape of her nose, carved very delicately, flared slightly at the nostrils.

“I've met you before,” she stated, her voice silky and low. “Not personally, but I know your kind. You come to Alaska, you recreate all day, then want to flirt all night. You want to take me out and get into my panties. I've never agreed to that. Although I've been tempted—just for the pleasure of sex, that is.” She lowered her legs, her feet once more planted onto the floor. “Is that honest enough for you?”

“Any more honest, and we'd be bolting this door and you'd be showing me your undies.”

“Get over yourself, Moretti.”

Mark took a step toward the desk, standing over her with his hair falling at his brow. “Sweetart, you've been around the wrong kind of men. If I want lingerie, it's easy to find it. In fact, it finds me. I've never had to work at getting a woman. They seem to like me just fine.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, pulled out his business card from the fold and held it out for her.

It would have been easier to drop the card onto her desk, but he wanted her to take it, to accept him. “I'm bonded and insured.”

Her hands remained crossed on her lap. Confusion seemed to weld together in her as she mulled over his offer.

When she spoke, her voice had faded to a hushed stillness. “Why help me?”

“I have the money to spend. It's time I did something in my life that I want to do, not because I'm obligated or asked.”

She bit her lower lip again, that catch of her white teeth, the thoughts in her head apparently swirling in varying directions. The extended card in his hand remained. Then she slowly raised her arm to take it. Afterward, she shifted through the papers, found a folder and handed it to him.

With a nod, he accepted the folder, relief flooding him like a river. Up to this point, he hadn't realized how much he wanted this. “I just fixed that ladder on the building front and replaced the mossy rungs. A guy could've really hurt himself slipping off it.”

“Nobody ever has.”

“And now nobody ever will.” Optimism and promise fueled his purpose, and he was anxious to get started fixing up the bar. “Let's go to lunch tomorrow and talk about what needs to be done.”

“Sorry—I have to take my son to get a booster shot.”

Exhaling, Mark asked, “Can you get away for dinner?”

“No—I spend Tuesday nights with my family.”

“The next day? Dana, I will need your input on this. How about breakfast?”

She looked away, her gaze distant. There was no question she struggled with this, with him. But in the end, she uttered the reply he wanted to hear. “Okay.”

“D
ANA, DO YOU EVER THINK
it's weird you wiped my butt and now I'm serving you breakfast?” Tiffany asked, setting down a menu.

When Dana was in the sixth grade, she'd babysat Tiffany, who'd been in diapers.

At nineteen, Tiffany had turned into a very pretty girl. Tall and lanky, but precious in demeanor. Three years in braces had paid off in spades. She had a winning smile and rosy-apple cheeks.

“No, Tiffany. I don't think about your butt when I'm ordering. And I don't want to.” Vaguely looking at the menu, she added, “I'll need another menu. Someone's meeting me.”

“I'll bring one right back. Two coffees?”

Dana didn't know if Mark drank coffee or not. “Uh, sure.”

“Regular or decaf?”

“Well, damn…I don't know. I'll take regular and…make his a regular, too.”

“His?” Tiffany scrunched her face, her nose wrinkling with a grin. “Do you have a breakfast date?”

“Not even close.”

Tiffany left and Dana stared out the windows, waiting for Mark to appear.

Pedestrian traffic was quite heavy for this hour. The
Royal Caribbean, Regent Seven Seas Mariner
and
Pacific Princess
all had docked before eight o'clock this morning. Different languages could be heard through the cafe's open door as people peeked inside the small restaurant to see what it was—as if it were some interesting must-visit place like the fudge shop. Some of the old people looked absolutely dense, eyes squinting and trying to figure out if the menu was worth their time away from the Tanzanite R Us jewelry stores.

Dana could only wonder what the town looked liked through the eyes of those who didn't love it the way she did.

Ketchikan resembled an old shoe, its leather worn and in need of polish. The buildings could use a fresh coat of paint, the rooftops new shingles, and some asphalt poured into the downtown potholes. But its sole still had a lot of tread left, and these minor imperfections gave the port a soul to be proud of.

Those who called the city home embraced it for all that it was. A community for the arts, showcase for talented musicians, bagpipers, a symphony, great performances in plays and a chorus where anyone could apply. Locals endeared themselves to the ocean and its gentle swells. Most everyone had a sailboat to race in competitions.

While some traveled to warmer places during the winter, those who stayed enjoyed the town's quiet beauty with the tourists gone. Dana loved the new vibrancy that filled the quaint restaurants, the handful of year-round shops and the empty harbor berths. People used the time to catch up with dear friends, and do normal daily routines they hadn't been able to keep up with while taking ship passengers on paid trolley tours or working in kettle-corn booths.

Dana vaguely wondered what Mark Moretti had thought of her town when he'd arrived.

Coming in from the airport ferry, there was a lot of industry along the highway to the town's center—rock quarries, canneries and a sawmill. The site where the old pulp mill stood now put on lumberjack shows. But when the season ended, no longer did the chainsaws buzz and crowds cheer at the Great Alaskan Lumberjack Show—its owners had returned to Wisconsin until next year.

The former salmon capital of the world, Ketchikan's natural beauty was postcard perfect. A mountainous place with panoramic lush greenery. And love it or hate it—it was a cruise-ship port for thousands of tourists who put revenue into their economy.

On Front Street, also known as Jewelry Row, the Pioneer Café had evolved into something of a landmark where Dana had many memories to recall. For over thirty years, the Pioneer had withstood restaurant closures in a town where an eatery was lucky to be around after six months.

Its decor was pretty standard. Some basic tables and booths, a long counter where singles were encouraged to occupy a spot rather than take up an entire booth. Lighting the wall, a neon sign blinked
Route 66—America's Main Street.
A person could get a decent meal for a decent price, and that included reindeer hot dogs, reindeer sausages and reindeer steaks.

Tiffany returned with two coffees and two waters, another menu and a happy smile. “I hardly see you anymore, Dana. What've you been up to?”

“Nothing much. Just working. How about you?”

“I have a boyfriend now. We should double-date.”

Softly smiling, Dana shook her head. “I don't have anyone I'm interested in, Tiffany.”

“I could see if Ray knows of anyone your age.”

“I'm good.” Dana had to inwardly laugh over Tiffany's effort. Nothing like nineteen and thinking the world was awesome with a boyfriend and a Saturday-night date at the Coliseum Twin Theatre.

When Tiffany went to retrieve an order, Dana resumed her view of the street outside, noting the people who passed by.

Within a few minutes, Mark appeared outside the door, a cell phone next to his ear. He seemed to be deep into a conversation, a very intent expression covering his face. Not yet noticing she sat in the restaurant, he carried on with his call.

She used the time to study him.

Against her better judgment, she admitted he was beyond the best-looking man she'd ever seen. It was just her luck to think this way about a lower-forty-eight man.

Here today, gone tomorrow.

She'd seen it a million times. Guys came to Alaska, fell in love with it, fell in love with her, stuck around a handful of weeks and moved on. To her credit, she'd never fallen for any of them. It had been difficult at times to completely ignore a nice-looking guy bent on getting her attention. She'd received lavish flowers, dinner invites, fudge—ugh. Mostly they flirted; many came to the bar every night they were in town. It got to be almost embarrassing when Leo or Walt would take bets on who'd come back the following night to try and wear her resistance down.

Sometimes it was mortifying to be a woman.

And to be different in a town where Caucasian women were the predominant ethnicity. The majority of Filipinos worked mostly at Wal-Mart, and of course clerks like Cardelle came to stay, but just for the summer.

There was only one of her. Maybe that's why men found her so intriguing. God knew she didn't lead any of them on by flirting back.

But as her gaze pored over Mark, she amended that thought. She could squeeze in time for lust. Just looking at the guy made her think of a dozen ways to kiss his mouth, to lean over him, push him back on a bed while she straddled his hips.

The most bone-shivering seductions began with clothing on, at least in her mind. Denim could hug a man's butt and legs in a sexy way, and a T-shirt's soft cotton knit stretching over his chest was wildly attractive.

Lowering her eyes, she noted that Mark favored a boot-cut jean that offered a tempting view. His lightweight black jacket had been left unzipped. The shirt underneath was knit, but not a T-shirt. The fabric looked softly worn, a charcoal color that didn't stretch taut on his chest, but rather, loosely gloved his skin.

He'd shaved today; a smooth jaw and lower half of his face caught her attention. The hair at his neck brushed his jacket collar. Smoky-lensed sunglasses rode at the top of his head.

The easy smile that curved his lips captured her undivided attention. His mouth was sinful. She hated him for it. With a slight tilt of his head, a resonant laugh carried from his throat.

Who was he talking to? Why did he look like he was enjoying them so much?

Unexpected jealousy pricked and she didn't like it one bit.

With a slight nod, Mark then disconnected the call, slipped the phone into his jacket pocket and entered the café.

Seeing her, he headed for the table.

“Have you been waiting long?” he asked, sliding into the chair opposite hers.

“Long enough to watch you talking to someone on the phone. Was it your girlfriend?” The words were out before she could take them back, and she chastised herself for the slip.

One arm halfway out of his jacket, Mark paused then laughed so loudly the couple at the next table looked their direction. “If I'd've known you cared, I would have brought you a Hallmark.”

Dana closed her eyes a moment, her displeasure solely caused by her juvenile question. As she refocused on Mark, she called upon every ounce of effort she had to maintain her composure.

He measured her with his gaze, a mixture of humor and intent in his rich brown eyes. “I was talking to my sister.”

He'd mentioned having a sister before.

Spying his coffee cup, he reached for the cream and added a splash. “She's going to ship me my tools that I'll need to do the job for you.”

Dana stared into the depths of her murky coffee, a myriad of thoughts in her head, with one prevailing.

Addressing Mark, she put care and effort into her words lest he think her ungrateful. “You don't have to do this. Lots of guys I meet in the bar seem to think that they
have to impress me to get me to notice them.” With a hard swallow, she admitted, “I noticed you, okay? It's kind of hard not to.”

The warmth in his smile melted her very center. “Dana, I'm doing it for me as much as I'm doing it for you.” He drank a little coffee, then said, “Back in Boise, I inherited the job of running our family's construction company. I've worked for my dad my entire life, and probably would still be there if he hadn't died a few years ago. He had a heart attack that threw us all off center. We counted on my father to be at Moretti Construction's helm.”

She made no comment, but she wanted to confide in him that she, too, knew what it was like to lose a father unexpectedly.

“My sister and I partnered to get a big project completed, and we did. It just about burned me out to the point where I thought I might quit. But then my brother-in-law offered me a deal that would get me away from the trailer and into that cushy office you assumed I had.” Mark's expression grew reflective. “I'm here to figure out if I could be that guy. It's been so long since I built something because of a desire to do it rather than from a sense of obligation. I don't know if that makes any sense to you.” He let out a long breath. “Hell, I'm not even sure I understand it myself.”

This time, she spoke from her heart. “I understand more than you could imagine.”

Tiffany arrived at the table, bubbly and cheerful. “Hi, have you had a chance to look at the menu?” While she talked, she gave the eye to Dana, as if to say—
Wow, he's cute.

Dana ignored the wink. “I'm not sure. Do you know what you want?” she asked Mark.

The question carried far too much weight, and she regretted her word choices as soon as they spilled from her mouth.

Mark's gaze consumed her, a hidden meaning in the stillness of his eyes. “Four eggs—over medium, ham, white toast with grape jelly and extra butter.”

“Sure thing,” Tiffany said, snapping to attention. She clearly liked a customer who knew what they wanted and how.

“I'll have the pancakes,” Dana replied, sliding her closed menu to Tiffany. “And some orange juice.”

Pocketing her order pad and taking the menus, Tiffany left them to their interrupted discussion. Dana was glad it had been interrupted; she had felt herself getting too personal.

“You must order the same breakfast a lot,” Dana commented.

“I know what I like.”

The implication of his reply spoke volumes above what he'd actually said. There was no denying he could affect her with innuendo, and it galled her to distraction.

From the stereo on a shelf near the register, Brian Hyland sang “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.”

“So,” she said after several long seconds, “what do you have for me?”

He quirked his mouth into a sassy smile. “I've got plenty for you. What do you want to have first?”

On an annoyed gasp, she replied, “Why is it you turn around what I say to you and make it seem base?”

“Not my intention, sunshine. Must be you thinking naughty thoughts in your head.”

Keeping herself in check, she forced an evenness to her tone. “Right now I'm thinking meeting you for breakfast was a mistake. At this point, I would have accepted a brick of fudge.”

“You like fudge?”

He had no clue as to why she'd even suggested the candy, but in true Mark form, he ran with it anyway. The guy could rally even the worst comeback and leave her sputtering.

“No, but I like it better than you.”

“Well, you can't kiss a Milky Way and tell it to quit hogging the covers.”

Her blood heated to a frustrating degree. Dana would have stood and gotten out of the café had Tiffany not poured warm-ups for their coffees—and with goofy eyes for Mark and that sly wink again for Dana.

Mark reached over the table, laid a calming hand over hers, and she felt as if her skin burned with the contact. Not because she didn't like the masculine touch of his fingers, but because she did. Too much for her own good.