Refuge Cove

by Janet Dailey

  “Look at me, Emma.” He turned in the seat to face her. “You were lied to, robbed, and chased through the forest with dogs. You were wronged. You deserve justice. And I want you to know that, whatever happens, I’ve got your back.”

  Whatever happens.

  Emma blinked back a tear. She owed everything to this taciturn, solitary man who’d dropped out of the sky to rescue her. But could she believe him? Could she trust him not to walk away if her needs demanded too much of him?

  She faked a smile. “I’ll try not to make you sorry you said that.”

  “Don’t worry about it. See that building across the street, with the upstairs windows? That’s the Gateway. You’re going to see them about a room and a job. Should I wait here?”

  “Would you mind coming with me? I could use the support.”

  * * *

  They walked across Front Street and into the vintage hotel. The reception area was small, with most of the ground floor space taken up by the restaurant through the door to the right. A narrow, walled stairway opposite the desk led to the upper floors.

  John stayed back while the perky receptionist greeted Emma. “Oh, yes! Judge Falconi called and said you might be coming by. She said you’d lost everything in a robbery, and that you needed a room and a job.”

  “Can you help me with either one?” Emma asked. “I’ve had plenty of waitress experience, or I’d be happy to clean, or paint, or anything else you might need.”

  The pretty brunette smiled. “It so happens you’re in luck. One of our waitresses is getting married, and she wants a couple weeks off for her wedding and honeymoon. Plus another part-time girl just quit to go back to school. If you’ll promise to stay and work both shifts for the full two weeks, the job’s yours.”

  “And the room?”

  “In the off-season, we’ve been updating our rooms with new paint, carpet, and furniture. The small rooms on the third floor have yet to be done. If you don’t mind some noise and inconvenience, and maybe having to change rooms, you can stay up there for half the fall rate. We could take it out of your salary if you like. My name’s Megan, by the way.” She reached into a file drawer and took out a form. “If you’re good to go, you can fill in your information here, move in tonight, and start work in the morning.”

  John couldn’t see Emma’s face, but he could picture her expression. Neither of them had imagined her problem would be resolved so easily. All it had taken was the right timing and a word from Judge Falconi.

  Whenever the judge’s name came up, his thoughts flew back to the day when Vera Falconi had looked down at him from the bench and pronounced the words that had broken his heart. Had she made the right decision? Maybe so. He’d been an alcoholic mess back then, and David had grown up fine without him—John had seen that today. But losing his son had left a hole in his heart that had never healed—and never would.

  CHAPTER 7

  With the employment form on a clipboard, Emma found a chair in the corner of the lobby and began filling in the blanks. She was grateful for Vera’s kindness in making the call, and for the judge’s discretion. The full story of her fake marriage to Boone and her flight from the burning trailer would have made for some juicy gossip.

  John had wandered off after telling her he’d be back to take her to lunch. Emma was handing the completed form back to Megan when he walked in the door carrying a paper take-out bag. “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Almost.” Emma turned back to the girl. “Thanks so much. This experience has taught me a lot about the kindness of strangers.”

  “No problem,” the girl said. “Come back after five. We should have your room and a couple of uniforms ready by then. I’m afraid they’ll be big on you. You’re such a little thing.”

  “For two weeks, I can make them do. See you then.”

  She walked out the door with John, who steered her back toward the Jeep. “Is that lunch?” she asked, glancing at the bag.

  “It is. I should’ve asked you if you like fish.”

  “I love fish.”

  “Then we’re good. The bag’s insulated so the food should stay warm until we get to where we’re going.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise—to celebrate your new job. You’ll see.”

  In the Jeep, he drove back north along the highway and turned off at Refuge Cove. Emma waited while he prechecked the Beaver for flight. Tonight she’d be leaving his cabin to stay at the hotel. Tomorrow he’d be flying the mail run while she started her new job.

  Was this outing a farewell gesture? Did it mean he’d be stepping out of her life for good?

  By now she was getting accustomed to the routine: buckling into the passenger seat, slipping on her headpiece. She’d learned to anticipate the cough and throb of the starting engine, the subtle quickening of her pulse as John turned the plane and taxied out of the cove, passed the forested islets, and headed into the north wind. Emma felt the sudden rush as the plane roared forward and the floats lifted off the waves. Just north of Refuge Cove, they passed over a small piece of land jutting out into the water. She could see beautiful totem poles and a large, traditionally painted building. That had to be the Totem Bight that John had mentioned to her.

  Until now, she hadn’t realized how much she would miss this—the sound of the engine, the wind lifting the wings, and John in his element, calm and happy.

  “Where are we going? Can you tell me now?” she asked.

  His laugh crackled through her headphones. “I told you, it’s a surprise. It’ll take a while. Just hang on and enjoy the ride.”

  He banked the plane in a steep turn and headed south. The plane was climbing now, gaining altitude until it leveled off at 11,000 feet. Here, in the vastness of the sky, the Beaver seemed lost against the limitless blue. The land below was a mosaic of islands, inlets, and steep mountains rising on the left. Emma said little, not wanting to distract John from piloting the plane. The silence between them was comfortable, an easy sharing, like reading together in front of the fire.

  The plane made a landward descent. Now they were flying low, through a glistening labyrinth of sheer marbled cliffs rising like towers out of the dark water. Waterfalls cascaded down the cliff faces, falling into clouds of mist. It was beautiful—perhaps the most beautiful place Emma had ever seen.

  “Where are we?” Emma asked, half-breathless.

  “Officially, it’s called Misty Fjords National Monument,” John said. “During the cruise season I fly tourists up here almost every day. I wanted to show it to you while we had the chance.”

  While we had the chance. Emma knew what that meant. This was John’s way of saying good-bye. Her time with this compelling, troubled man was almost at an end.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll never forget this.” Or you, she added silently. What was happening to her? Was she falling in love with this man?

  But what a crazy idea. The last time she thought she’d fallen in love had ended in the most miserable experience of her life. Did she even know what love was?

  The plane was flying low now, swooping down winding canyons and dipping between high cliffs. At last it glided down to rest like a dragonfly on the surface of a crystalline lake. Barely moving now, it taxied across the water and stopped alongside the narrow strip of shoreline. John cut the engine and lifted off his headset. “Stay here until I come around,” he said.

  After securing the plane, he opened Emma’s door, took the bagged lunch, and steadied her as she climbed onto the float. The pressure of his hand sent a pleasant tingle up her arm. She was aware of the sun on his hair, the warmth of his skin, and the subtle aroma of freshly cut wood on his clothes.

  “Careful now. It’s a jump to shore.” He took her hand, propelling her leap from the float to the water’s edge. His touch lingered on her palm after he let her go.

  They sat on the rocks and opened the bag, which held two restaurant take-out boxes and a couple of sodas. John held out the boxes. “
One salmon and one halibut, both fresh caught. Take your pick,” he said.

  Emma chose the salmon, so fresh that its taste was worlds away from anything she’d ever eaten in a restaurant. They ate their fish with fried potatoes and miniature tubs of coleslaw.

  “This is so perfect,” she said, gazing up at the patch of blue sky above the cliffs. “Perfect day, perfect food, perfect setting . . . ” And an imperfect man who was just as he should be, she thought.

  At a time like this, her troubles seemed far away. But she knew that those troubles would all be waiting, like cats at a mouse hole, when she returned to Ketchikan.

  By the time they’d finished their lunch, black clouds were moving in from the west. Hurrying now, they bagged everything and climbed back into the Beaver. Moments later, after a heart-stopping takeoff, they were soaring over the cliff tops. The plane’s shadow passed over a cluster of mountain goats. Then, in the next moment, they were in the open sky, with the clouds rolling in behind them.

  “Have you ever flown in a storm?” Emma asked.

  “More times than I’d care to remember.” John’s voice came through her headphones. “But it’s not a good idea in a plane this size. The best way to deal with bad weather is to land somewhere safe and wait it out.”

  A strong wind was blowing in ahead of the storm. It buffeted the wings of the sturdy vintage plane and battered against the fuselage.

  Emma did her best to appear calm, but her heart was pounding in her ears. Every plane crash movie scene she’d ever watched replayed on a loop in her mind.

  “What if we have to land?” she asked, trying not to sound nervous.

  His laugh was edgy. “That isn’t going to happen, but we’d be fine. It’s not like we’d have to find a runway. We could land on the water and taxi to shore.”

  The plane lurched as a wind gust rocked the wings. Emma suppressed the urge to grab John’s arm. He chuckled. “Relax, we’ll be fine,” he said. And they were.

  By the time they sighted Refuge Cove, the rain had caught up with them. John brought the Beaver in low, its floats skimming the waves as they came to rest. Rain spattered the windows as they taxied past the wooded islands into the little harbor. Emma breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Refuge Cove was well named.

  With the plane secured, they raced through the rain to the Jeep. Damp and breathless, they climbed inside. Raindrops glistened on John’s black hair. Emma’s shirt clung to her skin. She shivered, her teeth chattering.

  “Here.” John reached behind the seat and pulled out a folded vinyl rain poncho. “It won’t be warm, but at least it should keep the chill off.”

  Emma murmured her thanks and slipped the poncho over her head. The thin plastic was cold, but as she huddled inside, she felt her body begin to warm the small spaces around her.

  John glanced at his watch. “It’s almost four. We’ve got a little time before you’re due back at the Gateway. Is there anything you want to do?”

  “You’ve already given me enough of your time,” Emma said. “I left a few odds and ends in the cabin. After you take me back to get them, you can drive me into town.”

  “Fine.” He started the engine and drove out of the parking lot, toward the main highway. “I have a couple of things to offer you. I hope you’ll take them.”

  “If one of them is your toothbrush, you can count on it.”

  “Funny girl.” He gave her a rare smile.

  They said little on the way back to the cabin, both of them tired and lost in thought. Emma’s thoughts returned to Boone. She tried to imagine how he must look after the fire had burned him, and how full of rage he must be. Had he been back to the cabin since last night? Would John be safe there, even with her gone?

  A few minutes later they came out of the trees and into the small clearing where John’s cabin stood. When John saw the dark shape on the front porch, he touched the brake, muttered a curse, then stepped on the gas and drove forward, honking the horn. The young black bear, about the size of a large dog, ambled off the porch and trotted off through the trees.

  “He didn’t seem very scared,” Emma said. “And he’s kind of cute. Maybe you ought to keep him.”

  “Not a good idea.” John climbed out of the Jeep and helped Emma to the ground. They raced through the rain to the porch. “By next year that youngster will be an adult. A full-grown bear can do a lot of damage. And if he loses his fear of people, he’s liable to hurt somebody or get himself shot.”

  “So you’re doing him a favor, chasing him away like that?” Emma stood under the overhang on the porch, looking out at the rain.

  “That’s the idea. If he hasn’t learned his lesson this time, I’ll have to think of some new way to scare him off.” John was scanning the ground, probably looking for any sign that Boone had been here. But if there’d been any new tracks, the rain would have washed them away.

  He unlocked the door and they went inside. The cabin was chilly but it wasn’t worth making a fire. They wouldn’t be here that long. In her room Emma bundled up her old clothes and put them in a paper bag from the grocery store.

  “Here’s your toothbrush.” John stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “And you can have my thermals to sleep in. At least they’ll keep you warm at night.”

  “Thanks.” She stuffed them into the bag, leaving his bathrobe on the bed. “I’ll return them after I find something that fits me.”

  Would she get the chance? Would she even see him again after today?

  “I said I had something for you. I want you to take it.” He handed her a zipped canvas pouch. Emma opened it to find a small handgun and a magazine loaded with ammunition, along with a lightweight shoulder holster. “This is a Kel-Tec PF-9,” he said. “Easy to carry, easy to shoot. Keep it with you in your room and whenever you leave the hotel. If Boone shows up and threatens you, don’t hesitate to use it.”

  Emma stared down at the deadly little weapon. “I’ve never fired a gun in my life,” she said.

  “I guessed as much. That’s why I’m going to give you a quick lesson. Let’s go out on the porch.”

  She followed him outside. The rain was still falling, and water streamed off the edges of the roof. There was no more sign of the bear.

  First he showed her how to insert and remove the magazine in the grip. “I’ll give it to you with the magazine loaded,” he said. “I can’t imagine you’ll need to load it again.”

  “With luck I won’t need to use it at all. Guns have always made me nervous.”

  “With Boone around, you’ll be a lot safer with protection. Let’s take a couple of practice shots.”

  After showing her how to release the small safety catch, he took his place behind her, reaching around with both arms to show her the proper two-handed grip for aiming and firing the gun. Emma tried to pay full attention, but the awareness of his body pressing against her back, his arms surrounding her, his voice a breath in her ear, kindled a low-burning flame inside her. A shimmering heat rose from the depths of her body to spread into her limbs and her cheeks. Emma struggled to ignore the pounding of her pulse. The gun was cold in her hands. She willed herself to listen to him and follow his instructions.

  “Aim and hold it steady . . . that’s why you want to use both hands. For a little gun it has a snappy recoil. If you don’t have a good grip, it’ll give you a kick. You’ll see.

  “Shoot in the general direction of that dead stump by the road. You don’t need to hit it. Just aim and squeeze the trigger—that’s it.” His hands supported hers as her finger tightened.

  She hesitated. “There’s no chance I’ll hit that bear, is there?”

  “Don’t worry. The bear went the other way. Just squeeze. Like . . . that.”

  The gunshot shattered the peaceful murmur of the rain. Startled, Emma flinched, the report ringing in her ears.

  “See, nothing to it.” He stepped back, letting her go. “If Boone, or anyone else, comes at you, just point the gun at the biggest part of their body and sque
eze the trigger.”

  “I can’t imagine shooting anybody, not even Boone,” Emma said.

  “Let’s hope you don’t have to. But in case you do, you need to be able to protect yourself. Try it again, on your own this time.”

  Emma took a deep breath and raised the pistol, gripping two-handed the way John had taught her. Steeling herself against the sound, she aimed at the dead stump and squeezed the trigger.

  The shot rang out, less of a surprise this time. She’d missed the stump again, but at least she knew how to fire the gun.

  “Do you want more practice?” John asked her. “It can be fun once you get used to it.”

  “No thanks.” Emma handed him the pistol. “I can shoot if I have to. That’s enough.”

  “If you’re sure, I’ll reload the magazine for you.” He took two spare bullets out of his shirt pocket, slipped them into the magazine, and zipped everything back into the canvas pouch. “One more thing,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Leaving the gun pouch on the porch, he led her under the eaves of the house and around the corner of the cabin to what appeared to be a garage attached to the side. After removing the padlock, he opened one of the double doors far enough to let in some light. “Come on in,” he said.

  Emma stepped inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw a snowmobile with a double seat. Next to the house wall was a good-sized freezer which, she guessed, would be stocked with moose and salmon. Tools of every imaginable kind hung neatly on racks. Spare belts, hoses, and other machine parts, along with cans of motor oil and antifreeze, sat on sturdy shelves.

  “Come here, Emma.” John was standing next to something in the far corner of the garage. Walking closer, Emma saw that it was a bicycle. Slightly smaller than a full-sized adult bike, it looked expensive and brand-new. Even before John told her, Emma guessed the heartbreaking story behind it.

  “I got this for my son when he was twelve,” John said. “His mother never let me give it to him. By now, he’d be too big to ride it. But since you’re small, it might do for you. Just promise to stay where there are people to keep you safe, and never go off to where you’ll be alone.”