Authors: Vanessa Grant
If You Loved Me (34 page)
Slowly the magic seeped in through her nerves and she was able to move in a haze, forgetting the events of the day. She let her arms slip around Ken's neck and he drew her closer.
"I want you to myself," he murmured in her ear. He spread his fingers so that each one touched her back separately, moving his hands on her so that she felt his suggestion although no one else could notice. "Let's find somewhere we can be alone."
"We can't walk out on Bev."
When Ken asked her to marry him, she'd said yes. They'd known each other forever so their love was quieter than the fantasy novels, filled with real life and moments snatched from their busy schedules. Booking evenings together was challenging with the demands of her job. Sometimes she wished they could be over the moon crazy in love, but she knew that wasn't real life.
"We'll go up to the cabin," said Ken. "We can stay the weekend, come back Sunday night."
The McDonald cabin was isolated enough that they could be certain of privacy. Mr. McDonald had always kept the cabin fully provisioned for hunting and fishing trips. Since his death, Ken had continued using the cabin. Everything they needed would be there.
She wanted to feel close to him, but she couldn't get the images of an airplane crashing to the ground out of her mind.
When he bent his head, she turned her lips away and kissed his cheek and they swayed together with the rhythm of the music.
Luke Lucas had looked exhausted from the search, but his eyes had raked every detail of her scornfully. She had taken twenty minutes from her party to ask him questions, while he concentrated his efforts on trying to find a missing planeload of men. He had searched all through the evening and would search again in the morning. She could have pushed him, might have got a few words out of him, but she had let him walk away from her because she why he didn't want to talk to her.
To him, she must have seemed like a frivolous party girl.
"Let's go," Ken murmured in her ear.
Soon she and Ken would spend all their nights together, but not tonight. She was haunted, too frozen inside to share herself with the man she loved. And there were the practicalities. She needed to get the interview with Dave Hall to the newsroom before morning so that Anna, the weekend announcer, could play it on Saturday's news.
She said, "Bev's come home for her visit. We can't just walk out."
The music stopped and they stood, arms around each other, until the next piece started. Ken started to move, but the sudden shift to loud, wild music stopped him. Someone complained loudly at the change and was shouted down.
Laurie moved with the new rhythm, her body picking up the wild beat.
"I don't want to dance to that junk," muttered Ken.
He took her hand and led her away from the dancing. The music had made her restless and she had to suppress the urge to jerk her hand away.
In the kitchen, the party noise washed over them amidst the chaos of used plates and glasses. They were as close to being alone as they would ever be in this house.
Ken held out his arms. He was tall and she had to go on her toes when he bent to kiss her. She opened her lips to him.
There was no way she could do justice to Ken tonight. She tried to relax, to return his kiss, but the restlessness rose in her, wild and irresistible. She needed to get outside, to walk the ocean shore with the wind buffeting her body.
She broke the kiss and pushed away from him.
He reached for her, pulling her to him. "I need you."
She smelled the alcohol on his breath and felt trapped. When his hands tightened possessively on her arms, she twisted away. "Ken, we can't be alone. Not tonight."
"Dammit, Laurie! We can't wait until next summer to get married! It's too long!"
"We'll discuss it later—tomorrow." She reached up to kiss him quickly and lightly.
"We'll go out by ourselves tomorrow," he told her, with the tone in his voice that reminded her so much of her father. "We'll go up to Tlell for the day."
"Yes, please. I'm sorry I'm such a wet blanket tonight."
Her apology brought a smile from him and a moment later she was able to quietly climb up the stairs, alone.
When she slipped into the upstairs bedroom, she found Bev asleep in the bed nearest the window. Laurie slipped off her shoes and dress, careful to be quiet and not disturb her sleeping friend. The pioneer who had built the McDonald house had cut local trees to make thick, solid timbers that the downstairs party sounds couldn't penetrate.
Bev and Laurie had spent so much time together as children. Bev had always been the even-tempered one, free from the passions and restless urges that had consumed the teenage Laurie. Now their roles had switched. Laurie's life was settled with Ken and she could see her life stretching into the future.
Voices drifted up from the lawn below as someone left. Tomorrow she would tell Ken about her excursion to the seaplane docks tonight. In the morning she would find a way to mention the interview casually.
The wind blowing through the open window felt good on her bare skin. She had been hot and hectic, dashing from one story to another all day. She felt cool now, soothed by the sea air.
The cool, crisp sheets soothed her when she slipped between them. She felt wide-awake but she slowed her breathing and concentrated on the slow, monotonous process of breathing in... out... in...
She dreamed she walked the beach with Ken, far away from the city, from any road. Above them a seaplane wheeled out of control. When it crashed to the ground she began to run, knowing she must hurry to save the passengers from the wreckage. But the faster she ran, the more her feet sank into the soft sand. Then Ken tried to pull her back and she struggled with him in the sand, knowing the men in the airplane would die if she couldn't save them.
He wouldn't let go. His hands held her wrists trapped. She begged him to release her and twisted in his grip, desperate to free herself before it was too late to save—
"Laurie, wake up."
She came awake abruptly, still struggling. It took a moment to focus on the shadowy form of Bev bending over her.
"You were dreaming. Are you all right?"
"Dreaming?"
Surely it had been more than a dream?
"You begged Ken to let you go."
Laurie shuddered in the cool breeze through the window.
"It wasn't Ken." Dreams could twist feelings and emotions until they had no relationship to reality. "A seaplane went missing today. I did a story on it. Then—we've been partying here, having a good time, but those passengers may die if we don't find them soon."
"Not
you
." Bev's hand gripped Laurie's shoulder. "You mustn't torture yourself with every plane that goes down. If you could help, of course you would. But there's nothing we can do.
Laurie squeezed her eyes closed hard until her field of vision turned red. "What time is it?"
"Two-thirty."
"Did I wake you?"
"I wasn't sleeping. Night shift turns me around—I woke up a while ago."
"It'll be a while before I sleep again after that dream!" She hugged herself and heard the silence of the house. "The party's over."
"Hmm. I went down for a drink of water an hour ago. Except for you and me, the house is asleep."
But summer nights were short in the north and in about an hour the sky would begin to lighten.
"Luke Lucas is going out searching at daybreak. The rest of his planes are already down on Moresby Island."
"Lucas? Do I know him?"
"He turned up about two years ago—bought QC Air from Brady."
"I wonder if he's related to Doug Lucas? He wouldn't be from Vancouver, would he?"
"Who's Doug Lucas?"
"A Vancouver billionaire—mansion on south-west Marine Drive. He's in hotels—like your dad."
"My father's hotel is never going to make a million, much less billions, and if Lucas were related, that's the sort of thing that would be sure to get around. I heard he worked as a bush pilot in the Yukon before he came here. But you know local gossip. If he doesn't talk about himself, someone makes up a story for him. "
"Did he give you a good interview?"
"He didn't want to talk. I interviewed Chief Hall. He was a passenger on Lucas's plane. He volunteered to stay up in the air, to help spot."
Bev yawned.
"I've got the interview on my recorder," said Laurie. "I need to take it to the station for the morning news."
"In the middle of the night?"
"I may as well. I'm not tired. I'll edit the interview, then go down to the seaplane docks. Nat wanted an interview."
"The man won't talk. How can you get an interview?"
She shivered at the memory of his eyes, but pushed the blankets aside. "I need to go."
"Laurie, it's three in the morning! Mom would have a fit if she knew you were going out prowling the docks at this hour! And Ken..."
"Don't wake them up." She pulled open a drawer and removed a pair of jeans and a thick sweater.
All night the memories had been working on her. If there was anything she could do about that missing plane, she had to do it. She snapped the denim jacket closed and pulled her keys from her purse. She wouldn't need the purse, but maybe the wallet?
No, too bulky.
"Laurie? What are you up to?"
"I'm going up in that search plane."
She pulled a couple of twenties out of her purse and slipped them in her hip pocket, prepared for some nebulous, unforeseen financial need.
"What makes you think he'll let you on the plane? He wouldn't even give you an interview."
"I've got to try." She pulled on a pair of walking shoes.
"Laurie, you're not trying to rescue those men, you're trying to make up for Shane's death."
Vanessa Grant's love affair with writing fiction began during a protracted illness at the age of 12 when she decided to write a novel of her own, sitting up in bed using the typewriter she'd been given for her birthday. Not a computer, not an electric typewriter, but a then-state-of-the-art manual typewriter. The story ground to a halt on page 50 but Vanessa never forgot the excitement of bringing her own characters to life.
In 1985 Vanessa's novel
Pacific Disturbance
was published, and she went on to write over thirty more novels. She now has over 10 million books sold and has been translated into 15 languages. She also has written what one critic described as, "by far the best writing book I've ever read."
Writing Romance
, published by Self Counsel Press, won the Under the Covers Best Writing Book Award, and is currently in its third edition.
Over the years her love of storytelling and curiosity about people led Vanessa to study psychology, volunteer on a crisis line, complete individual and relationship counselor training, volunteer as a peer counselor for a family life organization, and tell stories about life, love, and secrets. Vanessa has also worked as a university professor, a publisher of educational materials and eBooks, and has given workshops to writers' groups in Australia, New Zealand, the USA and Canada.
Vanessa and her husband live on Vancouver Island in the Pacific Northwest with their two Australian Shepherd dogs.
"I love writing fiction," says Vanessa. "It's the perfect occupation for someone who can't decide what they want to be when they grow up. With each new story, I get to explore a new world."
You can find Vanessa and her books at
vanessagrant.com
Excerpt from THE COLORS OF LOVE by Vanessa Grant
