Any Thursday (Donovans of the Delta) (13 page)

“Not this one.” She leaned her head against the cave wall and studied him. “I believe you’re a romantic, Jim.”

“The last of the great ones.” He turned his piercing gaze toward her. “But you’re no cynic, Hannah. You’re a woman waiting for the right man.”

“No, I’m not waiting.

“Yes. And when you find him, you won’t let anything stand in your way—not differences and not stubbornness.”

She closed her eyes and inhaled the fragrant smoke of his pipe. The smell was soothing to her. There in the dark shelter of the cave with the rain quietly nourishing the land, she felt a great need to confess.

“It’s more than that, Jim,” she said softly. “It’s more than our differences and our stubbornness. I’m afraid.”

He removed his pipe and studied her. The naked vulnerability of her face shocked him.
For once in your life, Jim Roman
, he cautioned himself,
squelch your smart tongue.

“I’m listening, Hannah.”

“I know this is going to sound crazy—it has to do with my being a twin. There’s a strange bond between Hallie and me. When she hurts, I hurt. When she cries, I cry.”

From his background research before the wedding, Jim knew something of Hallie’s history. Premonition made the back of his neck tingle.

“And when she fails, you fail?” Hannah looked at him in astonishment. “You’re talking about her first marriage, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Would it surprise you to know that I’m afraid too?”

“The intrepid warrior?”

“Not so intrepid. Not in matters of the heart. You see, my father left my mother when I was very young, too young to understand. Mother is a wonderful woman. I can only blame him. And yet he’s my father. What kind of man leaves his wife in poverty? What flaws did Brick Roman have? And am I like him?”

Hannah reached for his hand. “I’m so sorry, Jim.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I think you can never be like him.”

“That’s reassuring, Doctor.” He tried to sound nonchalant, but nevertheless he held on to her hand. Touch was a powerful comfort. He’d sensed this compassion in Hannah, but he’d never known it firsthand. In spite of her stubbornness and independence, Hannah was a fine woman.

Hannah smiled at him. “We’re not half bad together when we try, are we?”

“Not half bad,” he agreed.

Jim began to hope that when he fell in love, the woman would turn out to be somebody almost exactly like Hannah.

And Hannah began to hope.

 o0o

They held hands all the way back to the cabin.

Almost self-consciously, Hannah let go.

“I—” Suddenly she fell silent and looked around the small cabin. Being there with him was too intimate, especially after the shared passion and the shared confidences of the cave. “I haven’t run my dogs since you came. I think I’ll take them out.”

Jim knew what she was doing. “It’s probably best. I have to wrap up this story, and you would prove a powerful distraction.”

“If you’re working when I get back, I’ll just tiptoe up the stairs and try not to bother you.”

“Great.”

He stared at the door for three minutes after she’d gone. He’d come back to the fire and been burned again, he thought. But this time it was different. He was leaving with a heart burdened not only with unfulfilled passion but with knowledge. Hannah was afraid and vulnerable. He never would take advantage of that. If she hadn’t confessed . . . if
he
hadn’t confessed . . .

Angrily he cast those thoughts aside. His best course of action was to finish his story and get out, put the whole episode behind him, chalk it up as experience.

He set up his typewriter and rolled in a sheet of paper. For a while the blankness was his enemy. Then slowly his brain switched into overdrive, and he settled back for the ride. His last conscious thought was that someday things might change for them.

 He was hardly aware of her coming in and slipping up the stairs.

 o0o

Jim woke up before Hannah.

There was an eerie quiet in the cabin, a stillness that was peculiar to the predawn hours. He lay perfectly still in his sleeping bag. Above him, in the loft, Hannah turned on her bed and moaned softly in her sleep. The sound drove a small wedge into Jim’s heart.

His story was finished. There was no longer any reason for him to stay in Glacier Bay. He rose quietly from his sleeping bag and stood gazing upward. Every inch of his flesh yearned for Hannah.

Quietly he escaped out the door. Pete rose from his lookout on the front porch and trotted over to him. He was even going to miss her dog, he thought as he leaned down to scratch behind Pete’s ears.

Go
, the voice of reason said to him.
Go now before it’s too late
. Too late for what he could only imagine. Too late before they hurt each other the way his father had hurt his mother? Too late before they discovered that they’d compromised their careers for the sake of passion? Too late before he felt smothered in a wilderness that barely had running water?

He didn’t know. All he knew was that the time had come for him to leave. And he’d do it without fanfare. It would be less painful that way—for both of them.

The dog followed him down the front steps and stood alertly by as Jim did something he hadn’t done since he was seven years old: He picked a bouquet of flowers.

 o0o

Hannah was still asleep when he climbed the stairs to her loft. She was curled on her side with her cheek cuddled into her right palm. In the blush of dawn she looked as dewy and fresh as the maiden flowers in his hand.

He leaned down and carefully placed the white flowers on her pillow. A drop of dew fell from the petals onto her cheek. It glistened there like a single bright tear. He held his breath as her eyelashes fluttered. He didn’t want her to see him there. When Hannah awakened, he wanted her to see nothing except the tiny white flowers, their petals shining with dew.

She gave a soft sigh and settled back into her dreams. Her lips curved into a tender smile. Jim tiptoed back down the stairs and quietly began to pack.

 o0o

When Hannah awakened, the first thing she realized was that she’d slept later than usual. She started to fling back the covers when she felt the damp softness near her hand. The bouquet of white maiden flowers lay beside her.

Smiling, she lifted them to her face, feeling the dew and inhaling the perfume. She swung her feet off the side of her bed and called softly, “Jim?”

There was no answer. It wasn’t like him to be up and about so early, she thought. For the past four days she’d always been the first up, always been the one to awaken him. She sat very quietly, listening for the sounds of the shower. There were none.

“Jim?” She called louder this time, but her only answer was silence.

A small fear turned into a full-fledged case of panic. The flowers fluttered to her pillow as she grabbed her robe and plunged down the stairs. His bedroll was gone, his typewriter was gone, his bag was gone.

When she burst through her front door, she didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. Jim was leaning against a post, looking out over the bay, smoking his pipe. He turned at the sound of her footsteps.

“Did you get my flowers?”

She put her hand over her heart to still its panicked beating. “I thought you had gone.”

“I thought about it. When I placed the flowers on your pillow, I meant to let that be my farewell.” He tamped out his pipe and stuck it into his pocket. “I don’t like goodbyes.”

“No. I remember. You don’t.”

She clutched her bathrobe around her neck to give her hands something to do. Jim was leaving, she thought. He had meant to leave as casually as he had in Greenville. She’d survived another invasion of the West Coast Warrior. Or had she? Her mind swung back to the cave, then to the tiny bouquet of maiden flowers on her pillow.

“But when I saw you there” —he took one step toward her, then stopped— “so beautiful and innocent-looking.” He advanced another step, then another, and finally he was approaching her with a purpose. “I knew I could never leave you.”

He swept her against his chest and tipped her face upward.

“Never?” she whispered.

“Not without saying goodbye.”

His lips took hers savagely, as if he could deny the goodbye with the fierceness of his kiss. She matched his passion with a fire of her own. For three days she’d worked beside this man, denying herself the pleasures of loving him, concentrating all her energies on helping him get a superb story. And now he was leaving, and there was no longer any need for pretense.

In the early morning stillness they clung together as if they meant never to let go. There was no sound except their hungry murmurings and the thumping of Pete’s tail against the wooden porch.

Suddenly, in the distance, they heard the unmistakable chugging of a motor. Jim lifted his head. “Sleddog’s coming.”

“Here?”

“Yes. When he brought me to your cabin, I asked him to come by today to pick me up.”

“I would have taken you into Gustavus. My van is at the bottom of the cliff.”

He cupped her face. “I know, but I hate having to say goodbye at the airport.”

The sound of the motor grew louder.

“He’s almost here.” Hannah fought for control as Jim’s fingers caressed her cheeks. He leaned down, almost as if he would kiss her again, then he straightened back up and looked off into the distance.

“Hannah . . .”

“Yes?”

His gaze swung back to her. “You . . . belong here. Your work is wonderful.”

“So is yours.”

The honking of a horn announced the arrival of Sleddog’s pickup truck at the foot of the cliff below Hannah’s cabin. Jim released her and picked up his gear. “You have a standing invitation to come see me . . . any Thursday.”

With a final salute he walked swiftly away, down her path, and down the rocky cliffside. Then the old truck headed back into civilization, bearing away the West Coast Warrior.

CHAPTER NINE

The sun penetrated the mists of San Francisco and shone down on Jim Roman’s boat. He was stripped to the waist, stretched in the sunshine, watching Colter Gray Wolf repair his inboard engine.

“What’s the problem this time, Colter?”

Dr. Colter Gray Wolf glanced up from his work. Although he was flat on his stomach, leaning over the hull where the engine was housed, not a speck of grease marred him. He had the lean, clean, chiseled look of a museum bronze.

“Spark plugs.” He grinned. “I expect my usual fee for doing your repair work.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No steaks? I should leave you to flounder on your own.”

“How does halibut sound? It’s marinating right now in a special concoction of herbs and spices.”

Colter made a final adjustment to the engine, then pulled the cover back over the housing. His expression was inscrutable as he cleaned his hands and sat down on the mahogany deck, ankles crossed in the manner of the Apache Indian.

“Tell me about the woman.”

Jim had long since grown accustomed to Colter’s uncanny ability to read his mind. Although he’d never said anything to his friend beyond the fact that he’d met Hannah in Greenville and was going to Alaska to do a story on her work, it seemed that Colter had tapped into the secret places of his mind.

“What tipped you off? The halibut?”

“Your heart. You’ve been wearing it on your sleeve.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes. There’s nothing stoic about you, my friend. When I met you at the airport yesterday, I saw that you’d found more in Alaska than a story.”

“It’s Hannah.” Colter nodded and sat waiting patiently for Jim to continue. “She’s independent and outspoken and stubborn. And she’s about as easy to live with as a box full of wildcats.”

“You love her.”

“What?” Jim jerked his head up as if he’d been slapped. “That’s impossible. She bears about as much resemblance to my dream girl as a panther does to a pussycat.”

“Ahh, yes. The dream girl.”

“A man has to have visions.”

“True. The trick is knowing the difference between a vision and a rationalization.” It was Jim’s turn to wait. His mind was leaping ahead, anticipating Colter’s line of reasoning, but he waited for his friend to elaborate. “A vision leads us forward; a rationalization holds us back.”

“You’re saying I’ve used the rationale of my dream girl all these years to hold me back?”

“In essence, yes. The shock of having someone you love desert you can sometimes be felt for a lifetime.”

Jim didn’t have to ask to know Colter was talking about Brick Roman. They’d often shared stories of their childhood; Jim’s stories inevitably had led to Brick—big and brash and full of life—the man who had sailed off on
The Black Rover
.

“Your mother has been the only constant in your life, and she’s the epitome of a sweet, old-fashioned woman. It’s only natural that you’ve told yourself for years you wanted a woman exactly like her. And yet your father has been the biggest influence in shaping your life. I think you’re scared to death of finding a woman like him—someone independent and outspoken and stubborn, someone who will sail out of your life.”

“Psychology 101, Dr. Gray Wolf?”

“Apache wisdom, West Coast Warrior. Take it for whatever it’s worth.”

“I think it’s worth a bottle of California’s finest.” Jim rose from the deck and lifted a bottle of wine out of the cooler. “Gallo.” He grinned. “What do you say we go on a binge and forget all about women?”

“Hand me the firewater.”

 o0o

When he saw her picture in the paper three days later, Jim knew he never could forget about women, or rather, one woman, Hannah Donovan.

World- renowned marine biologist,
the paper proclaimed,
Dr. Hannah Donovan, will be lecturing at the Leviathan Foundation. . . .
Jim’s heart did a quick rhumba against his ribs. She was coming to San Francisco. Hannah would be
there
, in his city, in . . . He quickly scanned the paper for the date. Eight days. Hannah would be there in eight days.