she had a pioneering spirit that’s peculiar to the state, a quality you don’t find in people living in the lower forty-eight. She was so beautiful, yet so strong and proud. She could fly anything that had wings.” He managed a bitter smile. “In early November five years ago, a call came into the office to pick up a group of hunters from Camp Three. I was flying back from Seattle at the time, and I didn’t even know about it.” He took a deep breath and sat up straighter, placing his elbows on the table. “On the way to the camp, a freak blizzard developed in Bristol Bay and roared straight east, instead of in a southeasterly direction, as such storms usually do. Later, we concluded that ice must have built up on the wings, but whatever it was, the plane crashed. We—I found her two days later.”
Storm’s heart squeezed with sympathy at the anguish in his voice. She reached out instinctively, lacing her fingers with his own. “I’m sorry, Jim. So sorry…I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love,” she said.
“There’s more,” he muttered. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his face wearily. “She was six months pregnant.”
Storm gasped. “Oh, no!” Now his statement about a son he’d never had made perfect sense. Her thoughts raced as she tried to understand his previous behavior in light of this new revelation.
Jim stared down at the tablecloth for a long time. Finally, he struggled to speak. “The weather was severe and the temperature was below zero both days.” He looked away. “They didn’t have a chance,” he said bleakly.
Storm felt the trickle of tears down her face and made no effort to wipe them away. She was crying for Heather and the lost baby—but most of all for Jim and the five lonely, painful years he had lived without the woman he loved. Bobby’s death had resurrected all the grief he had buried deep in his heart.
She reached out, her hand covering his once again. “I’m glad I was able to be there for you last night when you needed someone, and if—” she swallowed hard, her eyes bright with tears “—if I could be part of that healing process—”
“Dammit, I made love to you because I needed you!” he interrupted. The anger in his voice stunned her. He fell back, shaking his head. “Do you think I only ‘used’ you because you were conveniently nearby? That just any woman would have done?” His gray eyes glittered with silver fire. “When Bobby died last night, I went into a tailspin. I just started walking, wandering around Anchorage and feeling so damn miserable and lonely. I didn’t realize it was raining. I was numb and hurting, Storm. And when I got to your apartment and you answered the door, I knew I’d come to the right place. You didn’t know what was wrong, but you gave yourself to me without asking questions.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of using a woman’s body to satiate my grief or find my happiness. Don’t think I see you only as a convenient vessel.”
She was reeling from his attack, her heart twisting with agony to think of the crash five years ago, her mind stunned by his anger toward her now. Just what did she mean to him, then? She was too shaky, too torn, to ask. The arrival of their food provided a needed interruption in their intense conversation, but Storm nibbled distractedly and tasted nothing. Occasionally, Jim looked up, watching her, an undecipherable glint in his eyes.
“Are you sorry about last night?” he asked abruptly after they’d finished eating.
Storm shook her head. “No.”
“What, then?”
Her eyes widened, and she parted her lips to say, “I’m in love with you,” but nothing came out. She felt cornered into making some sort of confession she wasn’t ready to make and resented the vulnerable position he’d placed her in. “What do you want me to say?” she asked.
“What you feel.”
“Have you said what you feel?” she challenged.
Jim
Storm’s heart squeezed with sympathy at the anguish in his voice. She reached out instinctively, lacing her fingers with his own. “I’m sorry, Jim. So sorry…I don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love,” she said.
“There’s more,” he muttered. He withdrew his hand and rubbed his face wearily. “She was six months pregnant.”
Storm gasped. “Oh, no!” Now his statement about a son he’d never had made perfect sense. Her thoughts raced as she tried to understand his previous behavior in light of this new revelation.
Jim stared down at the tablecloth for a long time. Finally, he struggled to speak. “The weather was severe and the temperature was below zero both days.” He looked away. “They didn’t have a chance,” he said bleakly.
Storm felt the trickle of tears down her face and made no effort to wipe them away. She was crying for Heather and the lost baby—but most of all for Jim and the five lonely, painful years he had lived without the woman he loved. Bobby’s death had resurrected all the grief he had buried deep in his heart.
She reached out, her hand covering his once again. “I’m glad I was able to be there for you last night when you needed someone, and if—” she swallowed hard, her eyes bright with tears “—if I could be part of that healing process—”
“Dammit, I made love to you because I needed you!” he interrupted. The anger in his voice stunned her. He fell back, shaking his head. “Do you think I only ‘used’ you because you were conveniently nearby? That just any woman would have done?” His gray eyes glittered with silver fire. “When Bobby died last night, I went into a tailspin. I just started walking, wandering around Anchorage and feeling so damn miserable and lonely. I didn’t realize it was raining. I was numb and hurting, Storm. And when I got to your apartment and you answered the door, I knew I’d come to the right place. You didn’t know what was wrong, but you gave yourself to me without asking questions.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m not in the habit of using a woman’s body to satiate my grief or find my happiness. Don’t think I see you only as a convenient vessel.”
She was reeling from his attack, her heart twisting with agony to think of the crash five years ago, her mind stunned by his anger toward her now. Just what did she mean to him, then? She was too shaky, too torn, to ask. The arrival of their food provided a needed interruption in their intense conversation, but Storm nibbled distractedly and tasted nothing. Occasionally, Jim looked up, watching her, an undecipherable glint in his eyes.
“Are you sorry about last night?” he asked abruptly after they’d finished eating.
Storm shook her head. “No.”
“What, then?”
Her eyes widened, and she parted her lips to say, “I’m in love with you,” but nothing came out. She felt cornered into making some sort of confession she wasn’t ready to make and resented the vulnerable position he’d placed her in. “What do you want me to say?” she asked.
“What you feel.”
“Have you said what you feel?” she challenged.
Jim
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