Hotel. Then you’re supposed to fly them back here tomorrow afternoon at 3:00 p.m. Lucky girl, Storm. This is a posh assignment.”
Storm managed an appropriate comment and hung up. Then she drew a bath and dawdled in a tub of hot water spiced with fragrant mineral salts. The steam curled short tendrils of hair along her temples. She closed her eyes, her heart aching with pain.
How could Jim think she had made love with him out of pity? How could she tell him how wonderful she had felt in his arms? How could she tell him his lovemaking had finally put to rest all Jack’s cold accusations about her inability to respond sexually?
Jack’s spiteful words drifted back through her thoughts, as they had thousands of times before. “Why can’t you be warm and loving like other women, Storm?” he’d repeated time and time again. She knew her coldness toward him had started when she learned he was having affairs with several other women. Nevertheless, although part of her realized her body was instinctively rejecting Jack because he wasn’t being faithful to her, eventually she had begun to believe she was only half a woman. She had accepted Jack’s unfaithfulness as a trade-off for her own inadequacies. But now…now Jim Talbot had proven she was a responsive woman, warm and passionate and able to love fully.
Storm mulled over these thoughts, comparing Jack with Jim as she toweled herself dry. Thoughtfully, she hung up the towel, padded back into the bedroom and slipped into a clean uniform. As she tried to make sense out of her life with Jack, a wild, impulsive urge to talk with Jim came over her. Her body still tingled from his lovemaking. She didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, but she yearned to be with him. She loved him.
On the flight to Fairbanks, Storm briefly noted that last night’s storm had passed, leaving only remnants of fleecy white clouds strewn across the blue sky. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her marriage to Jack and barely noticed the splashes of orange, red and yellow trees that passed beneath the aircraft.
All too soon, she had landed in Fairbanks and was settled in her hotel room, staring out into the dusk. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, but she decided to take a nap before going downstairs to eat. She woke up at nine o’clock and glumly dressed in a pair of burnt-sienna wool slacks and a cream-colored blouse, then ran a brush through her long, loose hair and added a touch of lipstick to her mouth.
The dining room was almost empty by the time she entered the rustic foyer. A flash of loneliness stabbed at her and she chose an isolated booth in the corner to suit her melancholy mood. Antique gas lanterns cast a soothing glow over the early-twentieth-century furnishings. Rough-hewn wood paneling covered the walls, on which were displayed a variety of mining implements.
Storm ordered a glass of pino noir and stared at the menu, suddenly no longer hungry, but aware that her body needed nourishment. She ordered salmon filet and, closing her fingers around the base of her wineglass, became immersed in her thoughts.
“Is there room for another weary pilot?”
Storm’s head snapped up, and she gazed wide-eyed at Jim Talbot. “Jim!” she breathed. “Y-yes, of course. Sit down. How—”
He offered her a tired smile and slid into the seat across from her. “You looked so forlorn in the corner by yourself, that I thought I’d come over to keep you company. And yes, to answer your unasked question, I flew straight here from Seattle.” He massaged the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension left after a hard day.
Storm’s heart fluttered wildly in her breast, and she suddenly felt shy and unsure of herself. A blush swept across her cheeks. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she began lamely.
“I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too beautiful to disturb. Besides,” he added, his voice softening, “I wanted to take the Callings
Storm managed an appropriate comment and hung up. Then she drew a bath and dawdled in a tub of hot water spiced with fragrant mineral salts. The steam curled short tendrils of hair along her temples. She closed her eyes, her heart aching with pain.
How could Jim think she had made love with him out of pity? How could she tell him how wonderful she had felt in his arms? How could she tell him his lovemaking had finally put to rest all Jack’s cold accusations about her inability to respond sexually?
Jack’s spiteful words drifted back through her thoughts, as they had thousands of times before. “Why can’t you be warm and loving like other women, Storm?” he’d repeated time and time again. She knew her coldness toward him had started when she learned he was having affairs with several other women. Nevertheless, although part of her realized her body was instinctively rejecting Jack because he wasn’t being faithful to her, eventually she had begun to believe she was only half a woman. She had accepted Jack’s unfaithfulness as a trade-off for her own inadequacies. But now…now Jim Talbot had proven she was a responsive woman, warm and passionate and able to love fully.
Storm mulled over these thoughts, comparing Jack with Jim as she toweled herself dry. Thoughtfully, she hung up the towel, padded back into the bedroom and slipped into a clean uniform. As she tried to make sense out of her life with Jack, a wild, impulsive urge to talk with Jim came over her. Her body still tingled from his lovemaking. She didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, but she yearned to be with him. She loved him.
On the flight to Fairbanks, Storm briefly noted that last night’s storm had passed, leaving only remnants of fleecy white clouds strewn across the blue sky. She was preoccupied with thoughts of her marriage to Jack and barely noticed the splashes of orange, red and yellow trees that passed beneath the aircraft.
All too soon, she had landed in Fairbanks and was settled in her hotel room, staring out into the dusk. Her stomach grumbled with hunger, but she decided to take a nap before going downstairs to eat. She woke up at nine o’clock and glumly dressed in a pair of burnt-sienna wool slacks and a cream-colored blouse, then ran a brush through her long, loose hair and added a touch of lipstick to her mouth.
The dining room was almost empty by the time she entered the rustic foyer. A flash of loneliness stabbed at her and she chose an isolated booth in the corner to suit her melancholy mood. Antique gas lanterns cast a soothing glow over the early-twentieth-century furnishings. Rough-hewn wood paneling covered the walls, on which were displayed a variety of mining implements.
Storm ordered a glass of pino noir and stared at the menu, suddenly no longer hungry, but aware that her body needed nourishment. She ordered salmon filet and, closing her fingers around the base of her wineglass, became immersed in her thoughts.
“Is there room for another weary pilot?”
Storm’s head snapped up, and she gazed wide-eyed at Jim Talbot. “Jim!” she breathed. “Y-yes, of course. Sit down. How—”
He offered her a tired smile and slid into the seat across from her. “You looked so forlorn in the corner by yourself, that I thought I’d come over to keep you company. And yes, to answer your unasked question, I flew straight here from Seattle.” He massaged the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension left after a hard day.
Storm’s heart fluttered wildly in her breast, and she suddenly felt shy and unsure of herself. A blush swept across her cheeks. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she began lamely.
“I didn’t want to wake you this morning. You looked too beautiful to disturb. Besides,” he added, his voice softening, “I wanted to take the Callings
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