If You Loved Me (19 page)

They left too quickly, Emma waving to Chris from the plane and promising Jordy she would call his mother as soon as she got to a telephone. Once again, she fought the urge to demand they get in the plane with her and Gray.

She'd rebelled against her father's overprotectiveness when she was young, but now she felt understanding. He'd been a conscientious doctor. He'd probably blamed himself for her illness. No one knew the cause of the childhood disease she'd suffered from, but an overly conscientious doctor could easily imagine any number of ways the parents could be to blame. Perhaps that had made him even more protective, more determined to shelter his daughter from life.

Protection was such an easy trap for a parent. It was difficult to fly away from Chris and Jordy, but she knew it was the right thing.

As the plane slowly gained height, she glanced at Gray and found him studying something on the water under them.

"Thank you," she said into the intercom. When he didn't answer, Emma turned away and stared out the window. "Silence is a weapon you use against me, isn't it? I didn't lie to you about Chris. You know that now, don't you?"

No answer.

She hugged herself and stared through the windshield of the plane. The sky ahead was gray, but so brilliant it hurt her eyes. The clouds must be very thin, last night's storm nothing but a memory. There'd been more than one storm last night—the wind and then the madness when Gray pulled her into his arms. All these years she'd been fooling herself that Gray was a memory that meant nothing.

Last night had been far more shattering than her memories. Lust, she thought. He was more than the man who'd been her first lover; he was hard and muscled and everything about him radiated danger and competence. When he touched her, she went up in flames.

She hadn't known she had that kind of passion in her. When she was a girl the passion had been breathless, softer and sweeter. Last night...

Well, it wasn't the sort of emotion she'd want to cope with on a daily basis. It was too overwhelming, left her too vulnerable. It would seem unreal when she got back home, and surely at least half of what she'd felt last night had to be because of Chris. She'd been out of her own world, mad with worry. She'd done a fair job of holding all those feelings in check until they surged up and tripped her, the way emotions did when you tried to keep them down too long.

Within a few hours, she'd be back home and life would return to normal. She wouldn't fully relax until Chris called on his arrival in Prince Rupert in two days, but she'd pick up Marmalade from the vet and get back to her patients. Then, when Chris arrived home, she'd help him pack for college.

Life would become normal again. Next Sunday morning her mother would phone from wherever she and her new husband were, and Emma would tell her about Chris, but it would be a memory then. Gray would be the nameless man who'd helped her find Chris.

She and Alex would set the date for their wedding.

She clenched her hands in her lap, felt the steady vibration of the seaplane throbbing in her leg, and stared through the windshield.

"I'll keep an eye on the boys," said Gray. "I'll drop in on them tomorrow and the next night."

She swallowed. "Thank you."

"What's Chris studying at college?"

"Forestry and computer science. Over the summer he's been working on a silvaculture project using computer modeling."

"He reminds me of you."

She pressed her fists hard into her right thigh. "Does he?" He was like Paul, too. Surely Gray realized that.

When Gray reached for the radio switch overhead, she stared at his hand. It was darkly tanned, broad and muscular. So easy to imagine that hand caressing her skin. The image made her tremble deep inside.

"I have to pick up my suitcase before I go to Prince Rupert. It's at your house."

He nodded, but his voice was for the radio as he called the Coast Guard. He'd made a brief call from the inlet, but now he gave them the additional details so they could finish the paperwork and close off the incident. Then he called Ed, who was still maintaining a radio watch at the camp.

Emma had forgotten to keep track of their position on the chart after she and Gray left Chris and Jordy, but she'd become so accustomed to identifying hills and inlets from the numbers and lines on the chart that it took only a glance to identify Lawyer Island Lighthouse on her right.

Then they were flying over the wind-torn blue of Chatham Sound. She picked up the chart and studied it, concentrating hard. She had learned how to focus on the details of surgery to straighten a child's limb. She tried to use that skill now. How long until the end? She measured the distance to Stephens Island.

Perhaps ten minutes' flight to Gray's house, another five minutes to walk into the house, pick up her bag, and get back to the seaplane.

Actually, she didn't need to get off the plane. If she asked Gray, she was sure he would collect her suitcase. Better if she didn't go inside. She might find herself trying to imprint the house more clearly in her memory—the log walls, the fireplace in the living room. She'd think of him there this winter when the rains came, a fire burning and the wind howling outside as Gray sat in the rocking chair studying a book.

She'd made a fool of herself last night, coming apart in his arms. It wasn't the first time she'd been a fool over Gray MacKenzie, but it
would
be the last. Until she met him again, she hadn't realized how much he'd been on her mind all these years. Somehow she would change that now. She would put her first love where he belonged, in the past.

Years ago, she'd asked him if he loved her. If she hadn't asked, if she'd assumed his love when he asked her to run away with him, she might have gone with him despite her fears.

If so, they might be living here. She would have borne his children. Could she have been content without her own career, without the injured kids she worked so hard to bring back to a normal life?

Perhaps, if he'd really loved her, although she couldn't imagine her life without her patients. Standing in surgery, working to repair a child's leg, she knew exactly who she was.

Fantasy might paint a picture of a warm log cabin and a handful of children, but the truth was it never could have worked, and she'd done the right thing when she refused to run off with Gray. Any woman would be crazy to throw away her identity to chase after a man.

She probably would have ended up living alone with a divorce decree stuffed in her safety deposit box and a failed marriage scarring her heart—and she wouldn't have Chris.

"Take a look," Gray said, bringing her sharply back from her uncomfortable thoughts. "Whales, just ahead."

"Where?"

He pointed and she narrowed her eyes, but she could see only rippled water below them.

"I'll drop down," Gray said.

The engine fell silent and they swooped down toward the water. They seemed to be floating, powerless, but Emma's nervous glance showed Gray's hands relaxed on the controls. Then she saw a fin slide out of the water ahead and a flash of white on a smooth dark body.

"There!" she shouted, pointing. "I saw it, and—there's another one, isn't there?"

The roar of the engine answered her as the little plane began to climb away from the water. Emma twisted her head, but she couldn't see the whales now. The body of the seaplane blocked Emma's vision.

"I didn't know whales had white on them. I thought they'd be gray, all gray."

"Those were killer whales, a mother and two cubs."

"Killer whales?" An image of Chris flashed into her mind, paddling north along the channel. "The whales were heading south. Chris and Jordy—"

His hand moved to cover hers briefly. "Killer whales don't attack people, Emma. There are no predators dangerous to people in these waters, unless you count the jellyfish, and the worst they'll do is give you a good sting. Chris and Jordy will be fine."

"Yes, of course." She knew, though, there were no guarantees. She was a doctor who worked with children's broken bodies, and she knew bad things sometimes happened to good people. She also knew she had to let her fears go, accept that she couldn't protect Chris from everything.

She cleared her throat. "Is that Stephens Island ahead of us?"

"That's it."

Too soon. She wasn't ready to leave the cockpit of Gray's seaplane yet, wasn't ready to return home or leave Gray.

They were almost there now, flying over the narrow passage to Refuge Cove. When the channel twisted, Gray circled, and she knew he was watching for hazards to landing. Emma saw his house against the trees, then a scattering of logs floating on the water as Gray's hands moved with the routine of landing. In control, always in control.

They glided down with the illusion of slowness, then water rushed toward them, its glassy surface inviting the touch of the pontoons. The water was so flat and the pilot so skillful she missed the instant of touchdown.

He brought the plane to the float, cut the engine to silence, and was out the door in one smooth motion. He caught hold of a cleat on the wharf with a strong grip. Through his leather jacket she saw the hint of muscles playing across his shoulders as he bent to tie the lines fast.

"Coming?" he called, his voice loud in the silence. He stared at her through the open door.

She couldn't move. Better if she didn't go inside his house again. Safer.

"I need my suitcase, Gray. That's all I need."

His mouth curved as if in amusement, and heat flooded her face, warming her throat and burning her cheeks.

"You want me to fly you into town like that?"

"Like what?"

When he reached through the door, she pressed her body back against the seat.

His thumb and forefinger grasped the fleece of her sweatshirt. "Like this."

She looked down, her body responding with a primitive shudder to the sight of his brown fingers on her arm, only inches from her breast. She could feel her breasts swelling, nipples hardening, as if waiting for his hand. On the front of her sweatshirt, just beside her left breast, was a big dark spot that looked like oil, or maybe sap from the wood she'd carried last night.

"You're grubby," he announced softly as his hand slid down her arm. "At the very least, you need a shower and a change of clothes before I take you to town."

She jerked away.

"I'm fine. I need my suitcase, that's all."

She couldn't get her gaze free of his. His gaze slid down to her throat; his eyes widened when she swallowed. If she had any brains, she'd get out of here before something really stupid happened. There must be hotels in Prince Rupert. She could take a taxi from the seaplane dock, get to a hotel and shower there, away from this place, this man.

"There's soap in the upstairs bathroom. Shampoo, towels, everything you need. Hot water, too. Enough to run a deep tub and soak."

Deep warm water caressing her skin, bubbles popping on the surface of her arm, Gray opening the door, stepping into the bathroom, his hard chest naked and muscular.

She gulped the image away. "I'll get a shower in town. In a hotel."

"Lock the bathroom door if you're worried." He didn't smile, didn't wait for a reply, but turned and opened the luggage compartment. He pulled a small pack out, then walked away along the floating dock and around the corner of the house, leaving her alone on the wharf, staring after him.

Leaving her short of breath, with a head full of fantasies.

She was a thirty-seven-year-old woman, too mature to be imagining herself naked with a man who was nothing but trouble. She needed to get her priorities back in order, to return to the real world where she could tell the difference between what was important and what was just plain crazy.

Gray MacKenzie wasn't the real world. He lived in the wilderness,
chose to live in the wilderness.
He was a wild man, and being obsessed with Gray could only lead to pain. Any woman who thought he'd end up needing her and loving her might as well jump off the nearest cliff. She'd be better off.

But Gray had changed in a dozen ways since she knew him as a teenager. He'd become more talkative, more gentle in his masculine, wilderness way. He'd even taken on a herd of young offenders to teach them another set of values.

He'd had always been a loner, though, and that hadn't changed.

Why was she even thinking this way, as if she intended to start something with him, as if she didn't already have everything she wanted from life? She had her medical practice, the kids she helped. She had her son, her home.

... and Alex, whom she'd agreed to marry.

She needed to get back to her life as soon as possible. Having a shower in Gray MacKenzie's house wouldn't help her regain her real life, her real world. She needed civilization and a telephone to call Jordy's parents. Rescue Coordination Center would have called them by now, of course, to announce that Jordy was safe and well, but Emma wanted to call, too, as soon as she could. Then she would call her office so she could talk to her secretary and to Alex.

She climbed out of the seaplane, shoved her hands into her pockets and strode toward the house. Whether she had a shower or not, she needed her suitcase. She'd walk in, go upstairs, wash her hands, and comb her hair. Then she'd pick up her suitcase, carry it down here to the plane, and climb into the passenger seat where she'd sit, waiting for him, ready to fly home.

She walked straight to his front steps, climbed them, walking right up the middle, not holding on to either rail. Her leg was stiff enough to make climbing awkward, but she felt stubborn and knew he was watching.

One way or another, she'd stay strong until she got away from here.

His front door opened to her touch. She stepped in, closed it behind her. Then she stood very still, listening to the silence until she heard a creak, the sort of sound an empty house could make. Not footsteps.

Where was he? Outside somewhere?

He'd offered a hot bath, but how could there be hot water when they'd been away two days? She grabbed the rail and climbed the stairs to the bedroom she'd slept in two nights ago. Had it only been two nights? It seemed much longer, as if she and Gray had flown together forever, searching for Chris.