Touching the Clouds (25 page)

Kate pulled on a sweater and fastened the top button. Tossing a compact and lipstick into a handbag, she headed toward the front of the store.

Helen worked at the cash register. “You look nice. Where you going?”

“Just out to dinner.” Kate didn’t want to tell her with whom.

“With Mike?”

“No.”

“Oh. I thought you two were—”

“We’re dating. That doesn’t mean I can’t go out with a friend.”

“Of course. Who are you going with?”

“Paul. The man from out at Bear Creek.” To her surprise, her heart did a little flip at the thought of him.

“Oh yes. He’s a nice young fellow.”

“I flew him into town today, so in return he’s taking me to dinner.” That wasn’t exactly what happened, but Kate figured that’s probably the reason he’d asked her.

“That’s wonderful.” Helen wore her “I’m delighted” face.

“Don’t make too much of it. We barely know each other.”

“I’m just happy to see you having some fun. You work too hard.” She reached out and caressed Kate’s cheek. “You look very pretty. Have a good time.”

Kate hurried out of the store. The May air was cold and she wondered if she ought to go back for a coat. Deciding against it, she got into her car and pulled onto the street.

When she stopped at Paul’s hotel, he already stood out front. She’d never seen him in anything other than work-clothes. Wearing slacks and a white shirt made him look even more handsome. Kate’s heart did that little flip again.

Paul stepped away from the hotel, opened the car door, and slid onto the front seat. “Nice car. Used to own a Plymouth— it was a good ride.”

“Mike found it for me.” She tried to ignore his dark good looks and the tantalizing smell of his cologne.

He glanced at her. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“You smell good too.” He smiled gently, almost regretfully. “My guess is you’re wearing Evening in Paris?”

“That’s right. How’d you know?”

He looked out the car window. “I knew someone once who used to wear it.”

Kate wondered who, but decided against asking.

The café was closed, so they headed downtown. The first restaurant they came to, Paul said, “I’ve been here before. It’s nice and they have good food.”

Kate pulled to the side of the street and got out before Paul could come around and open the door. She didn’t want him thinking this was a “real” date. They stepped into the restaurant and Kate realized immediately it was a place for upper-crust types.

“This is probably very expensive,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get the tab.”

Who is this man? He dresses and lives like a sourdough,
but talks like a gentleman and money is no problem?

Paul walked up to the maitre d’ and gave him his name. A few moments later, a waiter escorted them to a table set with white linen, crystal goblets, and silver flatware. Kate felt out of place and underdressed.

Paul ordered a bottle of wine. He was very unlike the man she knew who lived in a cabin in the bush. The question about why he was out there burned inside her. Placing her hands in her lap, she tried to come up with a way to ask.

He leaned back in his chair. “How do you feel about Alaska now that you’ve been through a winter?”

“I love it, mostly. During the winter, the long nights are hard to tolerate. It’s tough to find enough flying hours.” She picked up her spoon and then set it back down. “It’s beautiful, though. I feel like I belong here.”

A native couple stepped in and approached the maitre d’. The man said something, but was ignored. He tried again. Finally, the maitre d’ turned a condescending look on the man and said, “No Indians allowed. You’ll have to leave.”

Kate straightened her spine. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Paul looked over his shoulder toward the lobby.

“That man told those people they aren’t allowed because they’re native.”

“My money is as good as anyone else’s,” the small man told the maitre d’.

“We don’t want your money.”

By this time, everyone in the restaurant watched the exchange.

Kate felt her ire boil. “Can you believe that?”

She stood, and before she realized what she was doing, she’d crossed the room and stepped between the native couple and the maitre d’. “Did I hear correctly? You’re refusing to serve these people because they’re natives?”

“That’s right. No Indians. It’s posted.”

Kate hadn’t seen a sign. She felt Paul’s presence beside her and felt stronger. “That’s un-American.”

“Alaska’s not a state, miss. And this is none of your concern.”

“It certainly is. These people have every right to eat in this restaurant. In fact, they have more right than you or me. The Indians lived here long before the rest of us.”

The maitre d’ looked down at her and sniffed. “No Indians is our policy.” His voice was tight and controlled. “They’re unruly, especially when they’re drinking.”

She glanced at the couple. “They look sober to me.”

He compressed his lips, then sputtered, “I must ask you to leave the premises.”

Defiance blazing, Kate folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving.”

“I’ll call the sheriff. You’re being a public nuisance.”

Kate wondered if he’d really call the sheriff. And was she up for that kind of trouble? “Fine. I didn’t want to eat here anyway. In fact, I wouldn’t eat here if you paid me to.” She spun on her heels, grabbed her handbag from their table, turned, and walked out. Paul had to hurry to keep up.

The native couple followed Kate and Paul out the door. When the man approached Kate, his expression was not one of gratitude. “I do not need you to fight for me.”

Flabbergasted, Kate didn’t know how to respond. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

The woman smiled an apology, then hurried to catch her husband who was already headed up the street. The couple walked away, shoulders back, spines straight.

Paul wore a smirk.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.” He leaned against the building. “Remind me to never get you mad at me.”

“Sorry if I embarrassed you. I was so angry.” She turned and looked at the restaurant. “I didn’t even know I felt that way. It just came out. When I think about the Turchiks and Patrick and Sassa . . .”

“I know.” Paul took her arm and steered her toward the car. “Where do you want to go now? All this excitement has made me hungry.”

Kate elbowed him. “It’s not funny,” she said, but she couldn’t keep from smiling.

“No, but it is exciting to watch a redheaded female with blazing hazel eyes go after the establishment.” He grinned.

Kate felt a flush of pleasure. Unable to conceal her smile, she asked, “How about the store? There’s a table and chairs and I’m pretty good at making sandwiches.”

“Sounds perfect.”

19

P
aul rolled over, fluffed his pillow, then peered at the hotel window through half-closed lids. Light slanted into the room. He turned onto his back and laid an arm over his eyes to block out the light, hoping for more sleep. It didn’t help. His mind was already occupied with Kate.

He thought back to the previous evening and the way she’d squared off against the maitre d’.
She’s got guts.
He liked that about her. He also liked that she’d made no apologies for the cheese sandwiches and Orange Crush she’d served for dinner.

They’d decided to spend the day together. It was up to him to come up with an adventure. Paul kicked off the blankets and sat up, his mind still occupied by the tall, striking adventurer. He was drawn to Kate, even though he knew a woman was the last thing he needed in his life.

He moved to the window and gazed at the road below. It was early and the street was empty except for a man walking at a fast clip along the sidewalk. He stopped in front of a shop, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. Paul turned his gaze to the Chugach Mountains that stood east of town. Powerful and rugged, they compelled admiration. They were Alaska, which demanded respect like no place he’d ever known.

His mind wandered back to Kate and the plans for the day. What should they do? It ought to be something special, something Kate had never done before. Combing his fingers through his hair, an idea materialized. Yakima, her hometown, lay far inland from the ocean. He doubted she’d ever been clamming.

Down around Ninilchik there was an abundance of razor clams and the tide table in the store had said there was supposed to be a minus tide today. He could envision Kate chasing after clams—soaking wet and muddy. She’d love it.

Paul and Kate set off for the bay. When Paul suggested clam digging, Kate hadn’t been taken with the idea, but Paul stubbornly stuck to his plan, certain she’d change her mind.

On the Cook Inlet side of the Kenai Peninsula, Kate followed the coastline. When she neared Ninilchik, she dropped to a lower elevation. “I know a good landing site along this stretch of beach.”

She kept her eyes on the rocky shore. “I’ve never dug clams before. I’ve never even eaten one.” She looked at Paul, her brows knit. “And I’m not sure I want to.” She wrinkled up her nose.

Cute nose
, Paul thought, then forced his mind back to clamming. “It’s fun, you’ll see.”

“Okay. I’m trusting you,” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

Maybe he should have come up with a better idea. “We can do something else if you want.” The scent of Evening in Paris wafted through the cockpit. He wished she hadn’t worn it.

“No. You’ve got my curiosity up. Now I’ve got to find out what it’s all about.”

“I think you’ll love it.”

She offered him a crooked smile.

“Razor clams aren’t like other clams. They know when someone’s after them and they don’t want to be caught. There’s no easy shoveling and then dropping them into a bucket. You’ve got to chase them.”

“You’re pulling my leg. Chase a clam?”

Paul grinned. “It’s the truth.”

Kate’s hazel eyes widened slightly. “Okay.”

She turned her attention to the ground. “This is the spot.” She flew low over a stretch of pebbled beach, made one pass to check for debris and mud, then a second sweep, and finally turned for her approach. They touched down smoothly.

“Good, the tide’s out,” Paul said. He waited for Kate to remove her hat and fought the impulse to tousle her short auburn hair. “You brought extra clothes, right?”

“They’re in my pack.”

He moved to the back of the plane where the gear was stashed. Angel already waited at the door. The moment Kate opened it, the dog leaped out and tore down the beach, chasing after gulls.

Kate clambered out, and Paul handed her a couple of buckets and two shovels.

He stepped down and a sharp wind caught hold of his jacket. “Breezy.” He pulled his coat closed and zipped it.

“And cold,” Kate said.

“Once we start digging, you’ll warm up.”

They headed toward the water, each carrying a shovel and a bucket.

“The clams are beneath the surface,” Paul explained. “But they have to stick their necks up to breathe, which makes a little dimple in the sand. That’s how you find them.”

He stopped. “Here’s one.” Kneeling, he pointed at a small hollow spot. “Once you put the shovel in the ground they start burrowing to get away, so you have to dig fast.” He looked at Kate. “Ready?”

“Just dig,” she said with feigned irritation.

Gently putting the tip of the shovel against the surface, Paul rested his foot on it, and in a blast of energy, he pushed the shovel into the earth, rapidly scooping out sand and tossing it to the side. When he’d dug a foot or more, he dropped to his knees and using his hands like miniature shovels, he scooped away more sand. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Ignoring gouging rocks and the bite of broken shells, he kept working.

Angel trotted back and intently watched Paul’s activity.

When he was nearly up to his shoulders in the hole he’d dug, Paul’s fingertips touched the edge of the clam shell, but it managed to dig out of reach. Paul kept after it and finally grabbed hold of the creature and held on.

“He’s fast,” he called, exhilarated by the chase. Holding the shell with one hand, he scooped sand from around it and pulled it free. “Got him!”

He lifted the long slender clam from the hole, now filling with water, and held it up. “It’s a good-sized one.” He wiped away sand to reveal a shell that glistened with swirls of brown and gold. Angel tried to grab it. “Oh no you don’t.” Paul held it out of her reach.

Kate leaned close to get a good look. She touched the long, oval shell. “It’s pretty, all except for this.” She pointed at its fleshy neck.

Paul dropped it into his bucket, then presented a bleeding finger. “The shells are sharp.”

“I suppose that’s why they call them
razor
clams?” Kate grinned.

“Guess so.”

She looked at the sizable hole, now half full of sea water. “It seems like a lot of work for one little clam.”

“By the time we’re done, both buckets will be full.” Paul smiled. It had been a long while since he’d felt this lighthearted.

He moved down the beach. “Let’s find one for you.” Moments later, he stopped. “Here’s one.”

Kate studied the dimpled sand doubtfully.

“You have to try sooner or later,” Paul said.

Just as he had done, Kate rested the tip of her shovel against the sand and then pushed it in and started digging. When she didn’t unearth the clam, she chased after it with her hands. “I can feel it!” she shouted. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

Angel jumped in and started digging. Kate shouldered her away. “Angel. No!”

She kept after the clam. Her head was down in the hole when a wave washed in and splashed her.

Paul laughed. “Keep going!”

Finally she sat back on her heels. “He got away.” The wind caught her burnished hair and tossed it into her eyes. She wiped her hands on her trousers. “I thought I had it.”

“You’ll get the next one.” The sight of Kate looking disheveled and unpretentious caught Paul off guard. She was beautiful. “Try again,” he barely managed to say, his voice feeling as if it were caught in his throat.