by Carol Ross
He stood abruptly. “Come on,” he said, “let’s take a hike. We’ll be out of daylight soon.”
Emily blinked in surprise. “A hike? What? How? The snow is three feet deep.”
“I’ll show you.”
* * *
A SHORT TIME later, Emily decided that snowshoeing with Bering, while fun and exhilarating, was not in the same league as kissing Bering. It was really hard work. Bering obviously slowed his pace for her sake. She wanted to remind him that she wasn’t supposed to be working today, although she had the feeling that this didn’t seem like work to him. They took a trail that followed the bluff along the river. The scenery was spectacular and it almost made her forget how difficult the hike was.
After what felt like miles, but wasn’t as she could still see the cabin when she looked behind them, they stopped briefly to enjoy the view and, Emily suspected, to allow her to rest.
“Are we in any danger of being wolf-packed?” she asked.
His lips turned up into a crooked grin. “Wolf-packed?” He repeated the term.
“Yes,” she said, “you know, packed off by hungry wolves—wolf-packed. It’s a technical term specific to the wolf-watching industry. I’m surprised you’re not familiar with it.”
“So am I, and here I thought I knew a lot about wolves.”
“Clearly you don’t know as much as you thought,” she replied knowingly. “And now I’m not sure I trust you to answer my question.”
“No,” he said, grinning. “We’re not in any immediate danger of being wolf-packed.”
“Immediate danger?” she repeated skeptically.
“They are a good ways away, they’ve just eaten and they generally don’t hunt people.”
“Generally,” she repeated wryly. “I really don’t like that word, either, generally. Because the implication is that there are exceptions to whatever generalization you are making.”
An amused Bering reassured her that she was safe from the wolves, and as she could see the wide expanse the animals would have to cross in order to even get close, she began to relax. And the scenery soon distracted her again from how physically demanding the hike was.
But by the time they got back to the cabin, Emily was wiped out. She removed her boots and peeled off her outer layers. She downed an entire bottle of water and then sank down into the soft cushions of the sofa.
* * *
BERING WENT INTO the kitchen to prepare another pot of coffee, and by the time he came back, Emily was snoring softly, her body curled into the corner of the sofa.
Two hours later, he was concerned his level of adoration had reached stalker levels. He’d never watched a woman sleep before. There was a warm knot in his chest that he was entirely unfamiliar with as he studied her. He was relieved that her skin seemed to have achieved a healthier glow. He recalled the grayish pallor and the bags she’d had under her eyes for the first few days he’d known her. And the utter despair he’d seen in her eyes. He didn’t ever want her to look like that again. He wasn’t sure if she would ever talk to him about it or if he should ask her outright what had happened before she’d come to Rankins. Would that be outside the bounds of friendship he was trying to maintain? He wasn’t sure and he feared that those lines were already irreparably blurred anyway. Kissing someone will do that, he silently berated himself.
He looked out the window and then back at her sleeping form. He hated the idea of waking her, but he didn’t want her to miss the show. He dropped to one knee before the sofa. He couldn’t resist pressing his lips softly against her brow first. Then he stroked the soft skin of her cheek with his knuckles. “Em? Emily?” he whispered close to her ear. “Wake up.”
Emily sighed and opened her eyes. “Bering?” She murmured his name and blinked a couple of times. Then she sat up quickly. “What...?”
“Hey,” he said. “You fell asleep.”
She ran her hands over her hair, tucking pieces behind her ears as she did so. “Oh...now I’m embarrassed. I never do this.”
“Why would you be embarrassed? Naps are good for you.”
“If you’re three years old,” she countered. She stretched and looked around languidly. Then she gasped and stood. She walked toward the window. The night was black but stars and shafts of glowing colors were lighting the sky.
“Northern lights.” She whispered the words, clearly awestruck by the glistening, swirling colors sweeping and dancing across the sky and seemingly right in through the cabin’s window.
“I thought you should get a good look from up here on the mountain while you are in Alaska.”
A breathless “Wow” escaped her lips.
“I know we aren’t supposed to discuss this today and I know I’m the one who called for this cease-fire, but this is just one of the many, many reasons why I love it here.”
“Bering, if this is your idea of sneaking in a little campaigning, I’m okay with it,” she joked softly. “I’ve never seen anything so incredible in my entire life.”
They watched silently for a long time. Bering wanted to take her hand, to touch her, to kiss her. He wanted...her. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed himself to get ahold of his emotions. It was too late. He was owned, he realized with both resignation and despair. He was owned by Emily Hollings, a city girl who worked for his archenemy. Was there some possible way they could make this work? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he couldn’t touch her again until he had an answer to that question.
* * *
“WELL,” BERING SAID a short while later as he came in from the cold. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“Bad news first—always,” Emily said.
“The snow machine won’t start. The battery is dead.”
“What’s the good news?”
“This machine comes with a pull mechanism so if an imbecile like me lets the battery go dead, it can still be started.”
“Oh, cool.”
“Yeah, except there’s more bad news.”
“What?”
He held his hand out then and Emily could see a broken, frayed nylon cord dangling from his grasp.
“Uh-oh, what are we going to do?”
“We’ll be fine here for the night. Tag is working this evening, but I can radio him and he can bring me a new battery after his shift in the morning. I usually have a spare one here but I used it and didn’t replace it. So that’s my own fault.”
Emily swallowed and looked around, suddenly nervous at the idea of spending the entire night alone with him.
“Emily,” he said, mistaking the cause of her anxiety, “we’ll be fine, I promise. I spend days at a time out here. I know you’re not used to roughing it like this, but I promise we have everything we need. Please don’t worry—wolves rarely break into cabins,” he quipped.
“I’m not worried,” she said with a grin. “I trust you. And it doesn’t seem all that rough really.”
“It doesn’t?” Bering asked. “You’re not going to freak out without a phone, or a TV, or your computer?”
“Nah,” she said. “I always enjoy a break from the phone, Amanda will be checking my email and I rarely watch TV. We didn’t even have one when I was growing up.”
“Really?” he asked. “How is that possible? Were you really poor?”
She laughed. “Really, and no—not poor, my stepfather thinks it’s unproductive for children to watch television.
“He might be right about that on some level. He couldn’t stop me from watching it when I went away to school, but by that time I was so used to not watching it that it didn’t really interest me that much.”
“How old were you when you went away to school?”
“Twelve.”
His face took on a look of concern. “That seems so young. My nephew is going to be twelve next year, and I can’t imagine him going to the store alone, much less away to school somewhere. Weren’t you homesick?”
“Not really,” she said and added silently, Homesick would imply a family-type environment heal
thy enough to miss. Lonely at times, yes, but not homesick. Bering looked as if he wanted to ask her more questions, so she quickly changed the subject. “Do you have any games or cards?”
“I do,” he said. “What’s your pleasure? Rummy, cribbage, chess?”
“Cribbage,” she returned confidently.
Cribbage was one of the few games Franklin had taught her and encouraged her to play as a child. He’d thought the strategy involved would somehow translate to the business world. Emily hadn’t seen how, but she’d enjoyed it, so she hadn’t complained. She’d also gotten very good at it—or so she thought.
With Bering she had clearly found a rival. They wound up tied three games each, and in keeping with the spirit of the current cease-fire, and a mutual promise of a future tiebreaker, they decided to call it a night.
Bering really did have everything they needed for a comfortable stay. He had a spare toothbrush and he gave her one of his T-shirts to sleep in. She took only a few minutes in the tiny bathroom. She quickly washed her face, brushed her teeth and slipped the T-shirt on. She was swimming in it, but paired with her comfy borrowed long johns, she was set. Bering traded places after she came out.
He emerged quickly. Emily was already sprawled out on the sofa. He insisted that she take the bedroom. She refused. He sat in the chair next to her.
“You are a stubborn woman.”
“You’ve accused me of that before, and I thought I’d adequately dissuaded you of that notion.” She grinned sweetly up at him. “I am determined, yes, but not stubborn.”
His look was skeptical.
She ignored it. “You know what you are?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re spoiled.”
Laughter erupted from between his lips. “I am not spoiled.”
“Yep, you are. You are used to having your own way. And when you don’t, it really gets to you. That’s spoiled.”
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs. His eyes traveled over her face for several silent seconds and Emily wondered if he would throw his mistake speech out the window and kiss her again. He looked as if he wanted to. She definitely wanted him to. She hoped she was making that clear. Her breath caught as he reached out and tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
“That’s probably true,” he acknowledged, his voice low and soft. “In fact, it’s becoming painfully clear that that is exactly the case where you are concerned. You definitely get to me....”
He leaned back and Emily was disappointed even as her heart sang at his mischievous grin.
“Good night, then, determined Emily.”
“Good night, spoiled Bering.”
* * *
AFTER AN INORDINATE amount of time speculating about what was happening between them and if it would all go back to campaign-as-normal when they returned to town, Emily finally fell into a deep and restful sleep. The next morning she figured her peaceful slumber was due to the amount of exercise she’d gotten as she woke to discover that her limbs were stiff from the hike. She really did need to get more exercise, she supposed, and made a silent vow to do so.
Tag showed up early with a new battery for the snow machine and they had it installed in what seemed to Emily like a matter of minutes. Then Bering took Emily home. He walked her to the porch, lingered way too briefly, made her laugh and then said goodbye.
She stepped through the door, turned and placed her back against it and slowly slid to the floor. She tried to analyze her feelings. It was odd to be so happy and yet disappointed at the same time. She sat with her eyes closed for a few seconds, opened them on a sigh and then screamed.
“Amanda! You scared me to death.”
“Sooo...I guess I don’t need to ask how your date went?” Amanda was lounging comfortably on the sofa with a magazine resting in her lap and a smirk planted on her face.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was worried about you. I couldn’t get ahold of you last night, so I called Tag and he told me you were with Bering. I came over here early this morning to find out how your little excursion went, and imagine my surprise when I found you not yet at home. You guys run out of gas?”
“Funny. But for your information, it was a dead battery.”
“Good one,” Amanda said, “very original. Emily, what is going on?”
“Amanda,” Emily said helplessly, “I have absolutely no idea.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“I really don’t think—”
“Oh, come on, Em, I always tell you all the details of my love life.”
“That’s true, yes, but the difference is that I never ask.”
“Ouch.” She added a chuckle. “But now I know the answer is yes, because if it was no, you would have denied it right off.”
Emily tried to look dubious. “Really?”
Amanda countered with a knowing glance. “Emily, how long have I known you? Now, tell me everything.”
Emily couldn’t help but smile. “It was good, Amanda. Really good,” she repeated. “I had no idea just hanging out with a man could be like that. He’s smart and interesting and...attentive...but...”
“But...? Come here and have a seat and I’ll get us some coffee, and then you’re going to tell me everything, including what ‘attentive’ means to you.” She stood up and hustled into the kitchen.
She came back with two steaming mugs of coffee. She handed one to Emily and then took a seat next to her.
“So he kissed you?” Amanda asked when Emily was through telling her about their outing.
“He did. But then he took it back.”
“Emily, he didn’t want to take it back. He was trying to get your permission. He was trying to be a gentleman. Trust me—you give him the green light, he’ll kiss you again.”
“What if he doesn’t?”
“He will.”
Emily silently hoped she was right, even as she considered the wisdom of it all. Maybe Bering was right.... “I don’t know what to do now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe I shouldn’t give him the green light or whatever. What would be the point? I know this can’t work out—long-term, I mean. It’s impossible.”
“Emily, you don’t know that. Seemingly impossible situations have a way of working themselves out all the time.”
“But how could I possibly stay away from him now?”
Amanda stared at her dumbly. “Why would you want to?”
“I don’t.”
“Then don’t,” she answered quickly. “For once in your life, Emily, just go with it. Don’t overthink it—just enjoy it.”
That was funny, she thought, and seemed telling, because it was the not thinking that had got her to this point in the first place.
* * *
“HI,” EMILY SAID a couple evenings later when Bering answered the door to Janie’s house.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I?” Emily asked as she came into the house to meet Bering’s nephews.
Emily didn’t have much experience with kids but she was great with people, so she figured it couldn’t be that much different....
A short time later she decided it was much, much different and way more difficult. Bering’s nephews were nine and eleven years old and Emily was sure the younger one, Reagan, had not stopped talking for longer than a thirty-second stretch. Bering had mentioned that he was really smart, but she was pretty sure the kid was literally some kind of genius. He lost her somewhere in the middle of a story involving genomes and RNA and a deadly virus that was spreading like wildfire in some African jungle. He wrapped it up by informing her that should she ever start bleeding out of her eyeballs, she should get to a hospital immediately. She tried not to laugh as she assured him that she would not hesitate to seek medical attention under those circumstances.
“Do you like video games?” Gareth, the older one, asked her when he could fina
lly get a word in.
“Um, I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve never played any.”
“You’ve never played a video game?” he repeated incredulously. “Were you raised in a cave or something?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Not a cave, but my stepfather did not allow any video games in our house.”
“Wow, that’s rough, and we complain about our screen time.”
“I didn’t know what I was missing, so it wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t allowed to watch television, either.”
“No television?” The look on his face made Emily laugh, as if she’d just revealed that she’d been hung from her toenails and beaten with a bamboo pole.
“Is your dad like a communist or something?”
“Was it a religious cult?” Reagan asked.
Emily laughed. “No, he’s not a religious extremist, nor is he a communist—he’s about as opposite of that as you can get, actually.”
“A capitalist,” Reagan shot back confidently. “Awesome. Like the first Reagan.”
Emily looked quizzically at Bering, who explained, “His father named him after Ronald Reagan, and thus our Reagan has taken the responsibility of being the namesake of a famous and important person very seriously. He’s researched the former president extensively.”
“Ah...well, then, Reagan, you will be happy to know that you are in the presence of a fellow devotee.”
Reagan looked skeptical, but then again, so did Bering. Gareth looked mortified.
“Reagan, maybe we should—”
“What was his middle name?” Reagan interrupted his uncle.
“Wilson,” Emily answered immediately.
“That’s an easy one, though,” Reagan said. “You had probably even been born when he was still president.”
Emily gestured at him to bring it on.
“Birthday?”
“February 6, 1911,” she responded promptly. “Born in Tampico, Illinois.”
“Nickname?”
“That depends. He had quite a few. A lot of people would say his most famous nickname was the Gipper, which he earned from a character he played in the movie Knute Rockne, All American. The character’s name was George Gipp. There are a couple others worth mentioning, but the one I would go with is Dutch because he received it from his father in childhood, so it was with him the longest.”
