“Can I see her now?” she asked, gulping back a big, fat sob of relief.
“You can. She’s a little woozy,” he warned. “The doc gave her some Demerol for the pain.”
Woozy understated the case considerably. Beth was almost out of it but managed to greet her sister with a real smile this time.
“Some vacation, huh?”
“No kidding! How’re you feeling?”
“Like I just got run over by a snowmobile.”
“She was lucky,” the station’s doc confirmed. “Nothing worse than some nasty contusions on her stomach. We’ll keep an eye on her for a while, though, just to be sure.”
He rolled a stainless steel stool over for Mia, then retreated to the back of the clinic to write up his report. Mia plopped onto the stool and threaded her hand through her sister’s. Beth dozed off for a while and woke with a little start.
“Sis?”
“I’m here.”
Beth’s lids drifted down and she dozed off again. She was still asleep when Brent returned to the clinic some hours later.
“I’ll take the next watch,” he said with a nod that included both Mia and the doc. “You two go get some supper.”
Now that her terror for her sister had subsided, Mia had had time to think about what Brent had been doing right before the accident. His swift action to aid Beth mitigated some of Mia’s hurt and disappointment. Enough remained, however, for her to be very glad she was departing Palmer Station the next morning.
Which is exactly what she conveyed to Brent when she and the doc returned after supper. She kept it light. Breezy. No sense embarrassing herself by admitting how close she’d come to making another stupid mistake.
“Thanks for what you did for my sister this afternoon,” she told him while the doc checked Beth’s vitals. “Antarctica’s turned out to be quite an adventure, but we’ll sure be glad to get home.”
He cocked his head and studied her with those penetrating blue eyes. “I hope this accident hasn’t turned you off the idea of applying for an NSF grant.”
She’d been turned off all right, but not by the accident.
“That book thing was a crazy idea. I’m an editor, not a writer.”
“Maybe I can convince you otherwise. How about a cup of coffee later, after Beth settles in for the night?”
“I’m going to hang here with her. But thanks. Again.”
Before he could reply, she turned away.
Frowning, Brent hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets. He’d been given the brush-off before. Most notably by his fiancée just weeks before their wedding. Ironically, this one hit a helluva lot harder.
Mia Harrelson had gotten to him in their short days together. Her frankness in facing up to the mistake she’d made with that Don Juan had won Brent’s respect. So had her willingness to pitch in and help here at the station.
Mixed in with that respect was a growing attraction laced heavily with desire. In the few short days they’d been together this woman had turned him and his controlled, orderly world upside down. The idea that she would leave in the morning ate at his insides.
Then again, he had to consider the very real scare the sisters had had this afternoon. If Beth had sustained serious injuries beyond the scope of their limited medical facilities, getting her to a hospital in time could have meant the difference between life and death. No surprise that Mia’s budding wonder and appreciation of Antarctica’s awesome beauty had fizzled and died on the spot.
Along with her interest in him, apparently.
Maybe it was for the best, Brent concluded as he left the clinic. He’d tried a long-distance romance. It didn’t work. No reason to think this one would, either. Mia would depart tomorrow. Brent would remain on station until his between-tour leave in early March. And that was that.
MIA ECHOED EXACTLY THE SAME sentiments early the next morning as she and her sister gathered their few possessions and prepared to depart Palmer Station.
They were dressed in the jeans and turtlenecks they’d arrived in. Mia had topped her turtleneck with a U.S. Research Station Palmer sweatshirt purchased at the station’s small store. Beth’s sweatshirt came compliments of Allen Barclay and the National Science Foundation’s Electromagnetic Ionospheric Research Project.
Beth was moving very gingerly this morning. She sported a vicious-looking bruise on her stomach from its close encounter with the skimobile’s handlebar. The accident hadn’t dampened her enthusiasm for Antarctica, though.
“I can’t believe you’re giving up the idea of a book about this place.”
“This place, as you term it, is just a little bit too overwhelming. I’d rather put everything that happened here behind me.”
“Including Brent?”
“Including Brent.”
“Why? What’s up with that? I thought you two had struck a few sparks.”
Shrugging, Mia stuffed her toiletries into a ditty bag.
“Sparks can burn, especially when you jump into the fire too fast. I’ve learned my lesson.”
She hadn’t told her sister about almost walking in on Brent while he was marking Don Juan’s site for future reference. What was the point?
“Come on, let’s get you downstairs. The last intercom announcement said to be ready to board in twenty minutes.”
DESPITE HER EAGERNESS TO PUT Palmer behind her, Mia found it harder than she’d anticipated to say goodbye to the station manager.
Brent was on the dock, directing operations. He wore an orange float parka for visibility and safety, teamed with snug jeans and a black knit watch cap covering most of his blond hair.
Behind him loomed the gray-painted hull of the icebreaker. In true Palmer tradition, Brent had invited the ship’s captain and crew ashore for a tour of the facilities. The captain had reciprocated by inviting the Palmer folks aboard for a traditional Argentinean breakfast of sweet, sticky medialunas accompanied by black coffee and glasses of steamed milk flavored with bittersweet chocolate.
Mia got a taste of the chocolate when Brent drew her aside at the gangplank.
“I have something for you. A little souvenir of your visit to the bottom of the world.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and extracted a flat box. Inside was a multifaceted, lead glass medallion in the shape of Antarctica.
“One of our guys in the machine shop makes these. If you hang it in a window, it’ll refract the sun in a rainbow of colors.”
“Thank you. I didn’t expect a gift. You…everyone here at Palmer…have been so generous already.”
“We aim to please.”
Oh, crap! He had to do it. Smile down at her like that.
Wondering what the heck it was about those weathered laugh lines at the corners of his eyes that turned her insides to mush, Mia slid the box into her pocket.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have a goodbye gift for you.”
“I’ll settle for a kiss.”
She could hardly refuse without explaining why. And explanations aside, a traitorous part of her wanted one last touch, one final brush of his mouth on hers. If nothing else, it would serve as a reminder of how close she’d come to making another mistake.
Going up on tiptoe, she let her lips settle against his. He tasted of chocolate and warm, seductive male. When she ended the kiss, genuine regret for what might have been tinged her voice.
“Bye, Brent.”
“Bye, Mia.”
Once aboard the icebreaker, most of the rescued cruise ship passengers went below but the two sisters stayed out on deck while the ship got underway. The engine rumbled to life beneath their feet. Brent and the others on the dock loosed the mooring lines. The icebreaker’s crew winched them in. Slowly, the ship gathered speed and nosed through ice that had melted into slush with the warmer temperatures.
Suddenly Beth gave a shocked gasp. “What on earth are they doing?”
She hung on the rail, her disbelieving gaze locked on Brent and Allen while they stripped off jackets, shirts, boots and ha
ts.
“It’s a Palmer ritual.” Mia had to bite her lip to hold back a strangled laugh. “Brent said they do it when their resupply ship leaves. I guess…I guess they’re taking a special plunge in our honor.”
And plunge they did, straight off the dock. Her last sight of Brent was as he waved to her from the ice-flecked water.
CHAPTER SIX
MIA HAD DISCOVERED THE HARD way that summers in Antarctica could turn real nasty, real fast. So could winters in New England.
She and Beth felt the sting when they walked out of Boston’s Logan International Airport five days later. Both sisters squinted in the bright, brittle sunshine and gasped at the breeze off the bay that drove the windchill down to a teeth-clenching minus ten.
Although the cruise line had sprung for first-class tickets home, the long flight had left them both drained. Mia dropped a still tender but much improved Beth off at her apartment then headed for home. She had to battle the usual I-93 traffic snarl until she hit the relatively open stretch of 24 South. An hour and a half later she pulled up outside her condo in Newport’s north end.
After the spartan quarters at Palmer Station, her one-bedroom efficiency seemed as spacious and elegant as one of Newport’s fabled mansions. Mia had stretched her savings to buy the place and had thoroughly enjoyed painting and decorating it. She’d opted for pale celery walls throughout most of the condo, with darker green accent walls in the dining alcove and bedroom. The furniture was covered in chintz sporting bright, splashy pink, red and purple spring tulips. Coordinating chintz plaids draped the windows and bed.
Grateful to be home, she shed her coat, peeled off her clothing and hit the shower. She was in bed fifteen minutes later, asleep in twenty.
THE ENTIRE NEXT DAY GOT swallowed up by necessary posttrip activity. With the remainder of her cruise derailed, Mia still had several unused vacation days left. She decided to devote one to the myriad chores waiting for her at home. She had groceries to buy, mail to sort through, bills to pay. Not much laundry to do, as her suitcases were still aboard the stranded Adventurer II. The cruise line had promised the passengers’ personal belongings would be retrieved and forwarded, but she wasn’t holding out much hope.
The line had also sent the passengers home with reams of paperwork to fill out regarding compensation and liability. She got through most of the stack but decided to ask a friend in her company’s legal department to look over the documents to make sure she wasn’t signing away anything essential.
Setting the paperwork aside, she booted up her laptop to check her e-mail. The four hundred-plus messages in her in-box drew a low groan.
“I have to tell those clowns at the office to take me off their joke forwarding lists.”
As she skimmed the chronological list, she saw several from Palmer Station. Tiki had sent the first, hoping Mia had made it home safely. Attached to the e-mail were JPEGS of the photos Tiki had snapped on the glacier.
A little ache settled inside Mia’s chest as she stared at the photo of Brent and her silhouetted against a seemingly endless backdrop of ice and sky. Every detail stood out in the reflected glare—including his smile just before he kissed her.
With a pang for what might have been, Mia saved the attachment, replied to Tiki’s e-mail and scrolled down to one from Brent. He, too, hoped she’d made it home without further mishap. Asked about Beth. Gave her an update on the efforts to get the Adventurer II off the ice. He also enclosed a link to the National Science Foundation Web site…just in case she changed her mind about applying for a grant.
Mia drafted several versions of a reply before hitting what she considered just the right note. Friendly, but not too personal. Appreciative of all he’d done for her and Beth, but not too gushy. Lips pursed, she reread the reply yet again before finally hitting Send.
The e-mail on its way, she let her gaze drift upward to the cut glass medallion she’d hung in the window above her desk. The facets refracted the light and sent points of color dancing against the opposite wall. Just as Brent had promised they would.
The little ache inside Mia’s chest spread. How could she have been so wrong about him? Had she been wrong about him?
THAT QUESTION HOVERED in the back of her mind during the weeks that followed. One of her coworkers brought it front and center again when he stopped by her workstation on his way back from the coffee machine.
“Bet you’re relieved Don Juan’s site is no more.”
Surprised, Mia glanced up from her computer. “It’s gone?”
“You didn’t know?”
“I don’t make a habit of checking it for the latest updates,” she drawled.
The barb struck home. With a sheepish grin, the guy hiked his coffee mug in acknowledgment of the hit.
“It’s been down for a while,” he told her. “Since before you came home. I guess we were all so worried about that business of your ship going aground, we forgot to mention it when you returned to work.”
Yeah. Uh-huh. Or no one in the office had wanted to admit they’d become Don Juan junkies.
Mia waited until she got home that evening to verify that the site was down. Sure enough, when she keyed in its URL all that came up was gray fuzz. Not even the standard message that her browser couldn’t locate the site. She did a double check by Keying in “Don Juan, Number 112” on Google. The correct Web address popped up but when she clicked on it the screen filled with fuzz again.
“Good riddance.”
Immensely relieved, she shut down her Web browser. It looked as though Brent would only have the picture Tiki had snapped on the glacier to remember her by. If he wanted to remember her at all.
HE DID, SHE DISCOVERED when she answered the doorbell the second weekend in March.
It was a bright Saturday afternoon, with a definite hint of spring in the air. But Mia wasn’t expecting anyone so she peered cautiously through the peephole. When she saw who stood on the other side her jaw dropped. Mixed in with her astonishment was a wild burst of joy that had her yanking the door open.
“Brent! What are you doing here?”
“I’m as surprised as you are that I had the nerve to…”
Thrown completely for a loop, Mia waited for him to continue.
“It’s a little complicated,” he said after a moment. “Can I come in?”
“What? Oh. Sure.”
Still stunned, she led the way into her living room. As she took in his neat black slacks and suede jacket, she couldn’t help wishing she’d pulled on something a little more presentable than gray sweats. And done more with her hair than just stuff it back in scrunchie. And…
“Nice place,” Brent commented as his gaze roamed her celery-colored walls and splashy tulip chintz.
“Thanks.” Still flustered by both his appearance and her instinctive reaction to it, she blurted out, “How did you know where I live?”
“You can find anyone on the Internet these days.”
“Oh. Right.”
That brought her down to earth with a thud.
“So why, exactly, are you here?”
Brent was damned if he knew. He’d told himself repeatedly that Mia had been smart to give him the brush-off, that their worlds were too different to mesh. Right up until he’d boarded the plane for the States to take his leave, he’d planned on flying back to Colorado for three weeks of doing nothing. But the moment the plane had touched down in Houston, he’d changed his ticket. Now here he was, facing a woman he’d known for all of three or four days but had thought about incessantly for the past two months.
“As I said, it’s a little complicated.”
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, trying to put into words the crazy urge that had landed him on her doorstep. It didn’t help that Mia looked every bit as seductive as he’d remembered. Not every woman could carry off shapeless sweats and a fresh scrubbed face the way she could.
“The thing is…”
Might as well lay it out, he decided. Worst-case scenario, she w
ould laugh in his face and boot him out the door.
“I kept thinking about the days you were at Palmer. How rushed they were. How we didn’t really have time to get to know each other. Discover each other’s favorite movies. Favorite iTunes downloads. If you prefer pizza over, say, corn dogs. So I thought maybe we could fill in the gaps.
“You came all the way from Antarctica to Rhode Island to find out whether I prefer pizza or corn dogs?” she asked incredulously.
“For starters.” He had to grin at her astounded expression. “I’ll be honest. I’m also hoping to rekindle whatever it was that sizzled between us down at Palmer. I tried to extinguish the spark, Mia. Especially after I got your let’s-be-friends e-mail. Damned embers just wouldn’t die.”
Her mouth opened, snapped shut, opened again. “I…Uh…”
“I know,” he acknowledged ruefully. “I’m as surprised I had the nerve to show up unannounced as you are.”
He knew he was out on a limb here. Way out. But he’d let the fiancée he thought he’d loved go without a fight. He couldn’t let Mia go, too, without making some push to discover what it was about her that had gotten under his skin.
There were limits, however, even for a man on a mission.
“Here’s what I suggest. I checked into the Marriott down at the harbor. If you think there’s a chance we might share a mutual passion for pizza instead of corn dogs, join me for dinner tonight. If you don’t, I’ll pack up and fly home tomorrow. No harm, no foul.”
OH, SURE. NO HARM, NO FOUL.
Easy for him to say.
Mia wasn’t as certain. She could still feel remnants of the excitement that had ripped through her when she’d identified Brent in the peephole. If that wild, completely unexpected thrill was any indication, she might not be able to walk—or sail—away so easily this time.
She spent the rest of the afternoon debating whether to have dinner with him. She hadn’t forgotten that moment outside his office when she’d caught him cruising that damned Web site, but time, distance and some serious rationalizing had put that in perspective.
Baby, It's Cold Outside Page 13
