Alaskan Holiday
Page 11

“I checked him out on the Internet,” Palmer casually mentioned. “He’s young.”
“Not that young. Thirty-five, I think.”
Palmer snickered. “That’s young. The article said he’s one of the most eligible bachelors in Seattle.”
I struggled to hide my amusement at Palmer’s observation.
“Obviously you’ve met him.”
“I have. A couple times.” While I was impressed with his culinary skill, I’d found him arrogant and demanding, to the extreme. There’d been rumors of him abusing drugs and alcohol, but I saw no evidence of that. He was difficult, but I could deal with that. As an intern, I’d worked under a few chefs with the same overbearing attitude, and I’d managed the strong personalities while still doing my job well. That ability had gotten me the recommendation from my instructors, and the subsequent interview with Chef Anton.
“I see,” Palmer said, with some reluctance.
“I believe I’ll learn a great deal working under him,” I offered.
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Palmer muttered under his breath.
I heard him and wondered if he would repeat that. “Did you say something?”
“Not really,” he said. “I’m happy he’s holding the job for you, Josie.”
“Thank you.”
The conversation faded and there wasn’t any reason for me to linger. I headed toward the door. “I guess I’d better get back to the lodge.”
Palmer set aside the bowl of stew I’d delivered. “Hobo and I will walk you back.”
“You don’t need to do that.” I’d made the trek on my own and wouldn’t have a problem returning the same way.
“But I want to.”
I didn’t feel I could argue, and the truth was I welcomed his company.
Palmer reached for his coat and a larger flashlight than my own. We walked side by side through the dense darkness. The night was clear. I didn’t think I’d ever grow accustomed to seeing as many stars as I had in Alaska. The sky was filled with a multitude of tiny sparkling lights. Starlights. It reminded me of when I was growing up, collecting fireflies in a mason jar with my cousins on a camping trip. I’d loved camping. It was partly because of those trips with my aunt, uncle, and cousins that I applied for the position in Alaska.
We reached the lodge, and Palmer walked up the porch steps with me. I was about to thank him and open the door when he reached for my shoulders and turned me around to face him. For a long time, all we did was stare at each other. I stopped breathing at the look I saw in his eyes, the warmth, genuine care, and love.
I wasn’t sure who moved first, Palmer or me. Before I realized what was happening, I was in his embrace, my arms around his neck. We were kissing as if I was sending him off to war. The heat, the need, and the passion were deeper than anything we’d shared to this point.
By the time we broke apart we were both panting like we’d been held underwater too long. I placed my hand over my heart and took a step back. I looked at Palmer, and he seemed to be as much in a daze as I was.
“Wow,” I whispered, unsure of what had just happened. Not that I regretted it.
Palmer started down the steps.
“Palmer,” I called out.
At the bottom of the steps he turned to face me.
“What was that kiss all about?” I asked, wanting him to clarify it, because I certainly couldn’t.
“Not sure,” he said, with a pragmatic tone. “Guess I wanted you to remember me when you met Chef Allen.”
“Anton.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, as he returned to his cabin.
CHAPTER 6
Josie
I spent a sleepless night, unable to stop thinking about Palmer. I loved the way he kissed. His kisses were addictive. I knew that once I returned home, I’d have trouble forgetting him and our time in Ponder. Tossing and turning, I was forced to answer the question: Did I want to forget him? My heart sank when I realized that I didn’t. Palmer was a part of me now, but that didn’t alter my circumstances or my obligations.
No matter how I felt about him, I needed to get back to Seattle. I’d made a commitment to Chef Anton. I had worked hard for this wonderful opportunity—darn hard. It made no sense to give it all up to live in a town where my training, my love of food, and my talent would basically be wasted. Oh sure, I could continue to cook for the lodge six months out of the year. But I knew myself well enough to realize that it would soon bore me. Earlier, I’d tried talking to my mother, who seemed distracted and wasn’t much help. All she would tell me was to follow my heart. But my heart wasn’t leading the way, unlike my brain, which continued to spin most of the night, unable to provide viable solutions.
I woke groggy and cranky, unfairly irritated at Palmer for the terrible quandary I faced. This was all his fault. I wish I could’ve talked to Jack about my feelings. But as much as I liked and trusted him, Jack was biased. He wouldn’t hesitate to tell me to marry Palmer. Before I’d messed everything up by missing the boat, I’d hoped that once I was back in Seattle where I belonged, I’d gain perspective about my time in Ponder and my feelings for Palmer. This delay had complicated everything.
Disgruntled, my mind repeatedly reviewed my limited options as I dressed and sipped my morning coffee. Out of the blue I remembered Jack’s ludicrous suggestion that I had intentionally missed the boat. Just thinking about Jack’s theory irritated me. I’d had every intention of being on board that ferry when it pulled away from the dock.
Like Palmer said, it was a comedy of errors. No one was to blame, and at the same time we all were. Palmer for the last-minute proposal. Marianne Brewster for assuming I had changed my mind. And, of course, me for setting the wrong time on my alarm and neglecting to take my luggage to the lobby.
Something else Jack said came to mind as well. He’d mentioned that Angie Wilkerson wintered in Ponder and she’d invited me to stop by that afternoon. Talking with another woman, I decided, was exactly what I needed. I waited until mid-morning, bundled up in my warmest clothes, and headed out to her cabin, following the tracks made by a snowmobile.
During the brisk ten-minute walk, I had to pass through the middle of Ponder. Past the one tavern with the Baptist church right next door. Past the all-service hardware store on the other side of the street, now closed for the winter. Inside the store was anything and everything a person could possibly need, including a pharmacy, a liquor store, a post office, and what passed for a bank. The Terry family had run it for years in-season, and they spent their winters with their oldest daughter in Texas. In the spring they would return about the same time that the Brewsters opened the lodge.
Next to the hardware store was the second tavern in town, by the Free Methodist Church. Pastor Gene was a retired minister who served during the busy season, then left early in October. I’d enjoyed his sermons and the man himself. He stopped by the lodge for dinners every Sunday, compliments of the Brewsters. It was at this church that I’d first met Angie and Steve. During the tourist season, a priest flew in for a Saturday-evening Mass once a month.
There was a lending library in town, too, for locals and visitors. Lilly Appleton willingly lent books to anyone who wanted to read them, right out of her home. Her entire living room was filled with bookshelves. It’d only been in the last couple years that she’d gone to Fairbanks for the winters, since she was getting older and was a widow now. She’d left town on that last ferry, too.
I continued walking, the cold biting my face, until I reached the Wilkersons’ place. Angie opened the door when I knocked and greeted me with a huge smile.
“Come on in,” she said, taking me by the arm and leading me inside, where it was warm.
It took me a few minutes to take off all my layers. By the time I finished, Angie had a pot of tea steeping on the table. She was a tall, thinnish woman with long, dark hair in a thick braid that reached to the middle of her back. Two little boys, about four and five years old, sat on the floor with Legos scattered around them. They appeared to be building a skyscraper. Intent on their task, they barely noticed me.
“I was surprised when I heard you’d missed the ferry,” Angie said. “You must have been frantic.”