If You Loved Me

by Vanessa Grant

  "You'll tire of them both."

  "You think I'll throw the cat out?"

  "I think you're feeling guilty because you hit a little girl with your car."

  "Well, of course I am, anyone would. I want to help Sara, to—"

  "You want to appease your uncomfortable guilt, but after a day or two Sara and her cat will become a chore. She doesn't need you in her life, making promises you don't mean, then disappearing."

  "What gives you the right to—"

  "Give me your keys. Let's get that door open before Squiggles escapes, then I'll go back and get your purse out of your car."

  "I don't need you to get my purse. It's perfectly safe, locked in my trunk."

  "Stop arguing."

  "Stop trying to manage me," she snapped. He reached for her keys and she jerked her hand back. "I don't know where you get off with this patronizing attitude, but you're way out of line. I'll be going in to see Sara, and I don't need help with either the cat or my purse."

  As she jammed her keys into the lock, the seemingly acquiescent Squiggles suddenly jerked into motion and fought for freedom. Jamie grabbed for the cat, missed, and grabbed again as he leapt for the ground. Then, somehow, Squiggles was twisting and squirming in Dr. Kent's hands, the open umbrella rolling on its spokes on the ground. Jamie saw the doctor shift and grab the cat by the scruff of the neck.

  "Get the door open," he ordered.

  She twisted the key in her lock and opened the door. As it swung open, he pushed her inside and stepped in with her, then slammed the door behind him.

  "I don't—"

  "Shut up. He scratched you."

  "It's nothing."

  "You'd better clean it, get some antiseptic on it. Where's your bathroom?"

  She felt weird, rattled, as if something inside were urging her to scream... or to run. "Look, I'm fine. I'll wash the scratch. I'll put tea tree oil on it."

  He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.

  "I'm okay. I'm fine. You can let the cat down now. There's nothing he can hurt here, and he can't get out."

  Released, Squiggles leapt to the floor and prowled his way to the straight-backed chair beside the telephone table.

  "Get into the bathroom," ordered the doctor. "I'll clean that scratch, then you're going to have a hot bath. Is that your bathroom?"

  She grabbed for his shirt as he stepped toward the door halfway down the hall. She knew she had to stop him before he walked right in and took over her life. Insane though it was, she felt that way, as if this man could just walk in and nothing would ever be the same again.

  He jerked around when she touched him, then suddenly they were only inches apart, her fist clenched in his shirt. Jamie felt a shiver of cold sweep over her skin. When she felt his heartbeat, wild purple panic welled up in her veins.

  "I'll look after the scratch." She meant the words to sound cool, but they came out of her throat breathless. "Thank you."

  "What for?"

  "For the ride, for helping me with Squiggles. You—it's—you'd better go."

  Her heart pounded in her ears so that she could hardly hear her own voice telling him to leave. His eyes were dark, fixed on hers, and the air was all hot swirls of red. She saw his lips move, couldn't take meaning from his words.

  "Yes," he said. "Good night."

  But he didn't move, and she couldn't. She was frozen, staring up into his eyes. She could drown, she thought, with echoes of his voice in her ears, his magnetic eyes holding her. No wonder Sara had calmed with only a few words, a tender look from those deep brown eyes.

  It wasn't tenderness in his eyes now.

  "I can't go," he said. "You're holding on."

  She swallowed hard, staring at her own fist, at the trapped folds of his shirt. One of his buttons had come undone.

  What kind of madness was this? She needed to let go. She wanted...

  "Damn," he breathed, a low curse that left his midnight black eyes fixed on hers.

  Held in his gaze, she felt like a deer in the glare of headlights. She felt his hand brush her throat, her jaw... and she knew...

  His lips were cool, slightly parted as they covered hers. She breathed him in, surrendering to dizziness at the touch of his palm against her cheek, then falling slowly into his kiss.

  Cool, she thought, ice blue cool, warming even as the image formed. Under her flattened palm, his heart beat strongly. His pulse throbbed in their joined lips, in his hand as it slid to her neck, fingers angling her head back... dizzy, spinning red swirls in her eyes as she drowned in the rhythm of his heart.

  Fire licked along her veins, burning as his tongue probed. His lips scorched need into her bloodstream, his hand blazing against the naked flesh of her throat. Heat drew a silent moan from her, and the overwhelming desire to sink down, to draw him deep inside.

  "I..." Her voice caressed his lips and she fought to anchor herself. "I can't..."

  The world stilled, even the rain outside held its breath. Then, abruptly, her hand that had pressed to his chest clenched empty air and she stared up into his unreadable eyes, residual madness pounding in her bloodstream.

  "I didn't intend to do that," he said grimly. "I apologize."

  When he turned and opened the door, she didn't protest, not a whisper. The last thing she saw was his hand, his fingers on the door as he shoved it closed, trapping her inside. Alone. She stared at the door, her mind spinning with his scent, her lips tingling with the memory of his mouth.

  When he knocked on the door, only seconds later, she gasped.

  "Jamila? I've got your I—the cat's litter."

  Jamie opened the door and found no trace of the kiss they'd shared in his eyes. She held out her hand and took the plastic bag.

  "And your keys. You left them in the door." He dropped them into her hand without touching flesh. "Good night. Be sure to have a hot bath."

  His words brought the uncomfortable dampness of her clothes shivering to the surface of her skin. She wanted to say his name, but she wasn't going to call him Dr. Kent when she could still feel the imprint of his lips on hers, the memory of his tongue drawing her deep into seductive need.

  "Good night," she said with remarkable steadiness. "Please tell Sara I'll be in to see her."

  Page forward for an excerpt from

  Vanessa Grant's second novel

  Storm

  The Author's Cut Edition

  Excerpt from

  Storm

  The Author's Cut

  by

  Vanessa Grant

  Author's Note

  Storm is my second novel, the story of Luke and Laurie falling in love on the magical islands of Haida Gwaii in British Columbia. Luke and Laurie have always had a special place in my heart, and the storm that drew them together symbolized many coastal adventures I've shared with my husband.

  When I wrote Storm, I set the story on the Queen Charlotte Islands of British Columbia, islands originally named after the wife of the British King George III without regard to the fact that the indigenous First Nations had already named their islands. In 2009 the province of British Columbia signed a historic reconciliation agreement with the Haida Nation, and the islands were renamed Haida Gwaii. Because the romance in Storm is so much a part of the heritage of Haida Gwaii, I wanted to bring the story forward into the 21st Century.

  In bringing the islands forward to the present day, I've taken artistic license with regard to logging on Lyell Island. A few years after the book was originally published, a national park was established and the Gwaii Trust was given the task of managing the forests. Because logging itself is not central to the story, I've taken the artistic license of leaving the logging camp on Lyell Island.

  Chapter 1

  Luke scanned the harbor ahead for logs and other hazards as water rushed through between the floats of his Beaver seaplane.

  All clear.

  The motion of a bumpy takeoff smoothed and the plane skimmed lightly along the wave tops. Then, between
one wave and the next, the wings lifted and flight began. The sensation still thrilled him after years of flight as daily routine.

  He banked the seaplane gently, turning north, and then adjusted controls for an easy, steady climb, and spoke into his microphone.

  "QC Air, this is CF191."

  "Base here. Go ahead, Luke."

  Luke pushed a hand through his sun-bleached hair. "I'm northbound over Lawn Point, Barry. The storm is still holding off to the south. My ETA at Massett is 13:00, twenty minutes ahead of schedule."

  "Roger that, Luke. I've got a party of three for Cape St James. Who shall I send?"

  "Willie can take them in the new Cessna. The weather should hold long enough. Warn him to keep to the open water and stay out of those passages."

  Luke signed off. With the radio silent, he was alone high above the world. Below him, Graham Island stretched towards Alaska. On the west coast of the island, he knew the open Pacific Ocean would be crashing storm waves against the mountains. Here on the east coast, the Hecate Strait—sixty miles of water notorious for sudden and dangerous storms—separated the islands of Haida Gwaii from the mainland west coast of British Columbia.

  This was his peaceful time. Running a charter company, Luke spent a good deal of each day talking with people—all kinds, from mining executives to the lighthousekeepers' wives who chartered planes to escape lonely isolation for a few days in the city. Passengers liked to talk and Luke enjoyed listening.

  When his wristwatch signaled noon, he switched his radio to the broadcast.

  A half-mile above the earth Luke Lucas listened to Laurie Mather's vibrant, low-pitched voice as she read the news. He had seen her only once, microphone in hand, black curls tumbled in the wind as she interviewed a fisherman on the docks while the boats in the harbor surged and flexed against their lines.

  The gusty wind hadn't upset her balance although she was a small woman. She'd altered the microphone angle to minimize wind noise and smiled at the fisherman, asking a question Luke couldn't hear.

  He'd imagined her smile was for him.

  When the news ended, her voice became lower and more intimate. The news was serious business, but now was time for a more personal tone. He listened to her banter gently with John Wainwright, her co-announcer.

  "This morning I talked to Tony Whitshire, an Australian who spent the last six weeks crossing the Pacific Ocean in a thirty foot sailboat."

  Luke's eyes scanned the land below, but he saw her in his imagination as she interviewed the Australian. "How do you feel, having just crossed the ocean from Australia to Canada?"

  "Fantastic! In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, I was the only person in the world. The greatest moment was when I sighted these islands. I'd taken sun sights with my sextant, knew I was somewhere just west of the Queen Charlotte Islands, but when I sighted land—I know how Columbus must have felt!"

  Although Laurie didn't correct the sailor directly about his name for the Islands, she ended her interview with a friendly, "Welcome to Haida Gwaii, the islands of the people." Luke smiled at her acknowledgment of the recent Haida Gwaii Reconciliation Act, which had officially renamed the Islands to their traditional First Nations name.

  He had been listening to Laurie's voice since he first came to the islands two years ago. In his imagination, he knew the sound of her voice in the aftermath of love and how her eyes would darken with passion.

  In such a small town it would have been easy to find out about her, even to meet her; but he was careful never to mention her name, never to learn any detail of her personal life. As a voice on the radio, an image in his mind, she was in no danger of becoming an uncontrollable part of his life.

  There had been women in his life, but he instinctively kept clear of any real commitment. Laurie, whom he had never met, he kept safely in his dreams.

  She spoke to him, bidding him goodbye as the Noon Show ended. When the impersonal tones of the afternoon disc jockey echoed hollowly in Luke's ears, he switched the radio back to his company aircraft frequency, intensely aware that he was alone in the sky.

  * * *

  After the Noon Show, Laurie ran out to do a quick interview before Island Time aired at two. An international mining corporation was rapidly expanding in the area. Good for the economy, but bad for the ecology. The mine manager evaded her attempts to talk about the environment.

  Back at the station, Island Time moved with the relaxed purposefulness of most of the islanders. Funny, queer items of local interest were aired along with more serious topics like the economy and ecology. As usual, the hour whizzed by for Laurie and when John signaled her, she closed the show with "For Friday, June the tenth, this is Laurie Mather..."

  "...and John Wainright," added her colleague, his classy baritone in sharp contrast to his tall, thin body and its shaggy hair.

  "...wishing you a good weekend," finished Laurie. "Island Time will be back on Monday at two. Right now, stay tuned for Harry Devon with soft music for a windy afternoon."

  She met her audience every day, her neighbors and friends, but when she spoke to the microphone, she spoke to only one person. John had taught her that years ago, when facing a microphone made her tremble with nervousness.

  "Think of someone close," he had said. "Imagine the person closest to you, talk to him and only him."

  After the broadcast Laurie went into the library to search out music between the inevitable phone calls. The new hospital administrator returned her call and she recorded a brief interview over the phone, then Ken McDonald called to confirm his younger sister's arrival on the afternoon plane from the mainland.

  "She's looking forward to the party Mom arranged for tonight," he said. "You won't be late?"

  "No overtime tonight," she promised.

  The next call was Ellen, the station manager's administrative assistant, who also happened to be Ken's older sister. "Nat wants to see you, so don't let him talk you into overtime. Mom's got a party tonight and Ken is worried you'll be late."

  "I'm on it," said Laurie.

  She had been boarding at the McDonald house three years when Ken moved back home. Ellen, married and living in the house next door, had heartily approved Laurie's recent engagement to Ken and she frowned on any events that might keep Laurie late.

  When Laurie got to Nat Howard's office, he waved her to a chair and started talking.

  "Charter plane took off from the mainland at nine this morning, flying into a lumber camp south of here. Should have arrived about ten-thirty. Six hours overdue now."

  "Oh, no!" Better than anyone, she knew what a missing plane meant on these remote islands on the west coast of Canada. She had memories of other small planes lost. Lives lost.

  "What sort of plane? How many on board? Any radio contact?"

  "Amphibious Grumman Goose with six passengers. Last radio contact with Prince Rupert twenty minutes after takeoff. They were in Hecate Strait—where they should have been—heading west for the Islands."

  "I'll call JRCC for an update."

  "I've already done that, " said Nat. "Planes are just starting out on the search. The Goose wasn't reported overdue till half an hour ago. The logging company phoned the charter outfit on the mainland to ask where their men were. Every amphibious plane in the area is going up to search. You know Luke Lucas?"

  "QC Air's owner," said Laurie. "He bought the airline about two years ago and John's been trying to interview him, but apparently the man's got no time for the media."

  "He's sending his whole fleet on this search. Not much daylight left, but they'll search while they can. Go down there and get a comment out of him. If he tells you to go to hell, he's too busy looking for the downed plane to play publicity games, be sure you get it recorded."

  Outside, but the sky had blackened as if day were almost over. For a moment the life that had animated Laurie's movements faded and she stared blindly at the threatening sky.

  She had once loved storms, loved the independent wildness of the ocean.
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  She pushed the memories back and forced herself to focus only on the missing plane and its passengers as she drove her blue Honda to the seaplane wharf. She parked at QC Air and ran into the building. A gust of wind caught the door as she opened it and she grabbed wildly as it slammed against the building.

  Inside, a lean young man looked up owlishly through round spectacles.

  "Sorry about the door," she apologized breathlessly.

  "No problem. The door's hooped." A radio console blared and he picked up a microphone and announced, "CF191, this is base."

  The voice coming from the radio was nothing more than gibberish but evidently the owly young man understood it.

  A map on the wall showed Haida Gwaii, with a series of concentric circles drawn around Queen Charlotte City. Beside the map, a blackboard was sectioned off in columns. One column was labeled CF191. Below it, she saw written, "Masset-QC City lv. 1500."

  "Roger that. I'll be standing by." The young man left the radio transmitter and made unintelligible amendments to the words on the blackboard. "We're not flying any more charters today," he said to Laurie.

  "I'd like to talk to Mr. Lucas. I'm Laurie Mather from QC Radio."

  "Luke's flying—that was him I talked to."

  She looked at the board with more interest. "He should be here any minute, shouldn't he? "

  "Nope. A seaplane was reported missing this afternoon—not one of ours, but..."

  "Tell me about it," she urged him, holding her recorder towards him. "When did you first hear about it?"

  He was eager to talk. "I heard it on the radio—our aircraft frequency. The owners of the missing plane called the other charter companies in the area—that was about an hour ago. Luke was in the air, flying a charter. He told me to get all the planes out flying a pattern over Moresby Island, then call JRCC to advise them—"

  "JRCC?"

  "The Joint Rescue Coordination Centre. They supervise rescue work on Canada's west coast." Although Laurie knew this, she wanted the explanation captured for her listeners.