From Out Of The Blue. Nadia Nichols
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Wally, cut me some slack,” Mitch said. “I need your advice.”
“Campy, you’re missing out. Mitchell McCray is asking for my input on a romantic matter.”
The warming hut door opened and Campy reemerged, dressed in tight hip-hugger jeans and a stretch Lycra top that barely concealed Wally’s two best friends. She slouched against the doorway with a frown. “Mitchell,” she drawled, “if you’re desperate enough to take advice from Wally about matters of the heart, I feel real sorry for whoever your latest girlfriend is.”
“It’s that hot Navy pilot who was written up in that air force magazine last fall,” Wally said. “Mitch showed it to us. Remember? She’s out at his place even as we speak.”
“No kidding?” Campy tossed her long blond hair back and took a drag of her cigarette, regarding Mitch through narrowed eyes. “If she looks as good in real life as she did on the cover of that magazine, you don’t want to be making any mistakes with her.”
“I just want to know why the hell she’s here,” he said. “Not a word of warning, she just lands on my doorstep. She must want something. I just don’t know what.”
“She wants you, Mitch,” Wally guffawed. “A career bachelor like you should know all the signals by now.”
“One thing’s for sure. It’s not your money she’s after.” Campy flicked the cigarette down and ground it out beneath one of her fancy, hand-tooled, black Tony Llama cowboy boots. “Tell you what. The two of you get that plane fixed and back in the air so we can all keep eating, and I’ll take Thor back to your cabin. That woman shouldn’t be there without a dog, not when the salmon are getting ready to run and the bears are walking that creek.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Mitch said.
“Campy’s got a point,” Wally said. “Might be good if she took the dog back to your place. They can meet each other and have some girl talk.”
“Girl talk?”
“Trust me, they thrive on that stuff, and Campy’ll find out more about where that woman’s coming from than you could in a whole year of beating around the bush.”
“Yeah, but…”
“Look, you wanna know why this chick showed up on your doorstep or not? Send Campy over. You’ll get the lowdown without all the dancing around.”
Campy gave Mitch’s arm a squeeze. “Hon, I hate more than you’ll ever know to say this, but this one time, Wally’s right. I’ll go scope things out.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Campy, but…”
“Hey, what are friends for? Keys in the truck?”
“Yeah, but…”
“You like this gal, or don’t you?”
Mitch ran his fingers through his hair. “I like lots of girls. I just don’t know why this one’s here, and I don’t want you playing matchmaker on my behalf.”
Campy gave him an innocent look. “What do you mean?”
“You’re always trying to pair me off, but I like bachelorhood just fine.”
“That’s only because you haven’t gotten to know the right woman yet.” Campy turned and walked away. When she reached the driver’s side door, she glanced back over her shoulder before hoisting herself into the cab. “Don’t look so worried, Mitch. I promise I’ll behave.”
KATE SPENT a half an hour just browsing through Mitch’s books after touring the comfortable, homey interior of the main cabin, which wasn’t nearly as messy as he’d warned her it would be. Aside from some clothing tossed over various pieces of rustic furniture, it was quite neat. His kitchen sink was empty of dishes, the counters were wiped down and the floor swept. His bedroom was in the loft and consisted of a double mattress laid on the bare wood floor with a down comforter over the top and a window that was opened wide to the outside air. The downstairs was one large room, the kitchen and living area divided by a big brick chimney that hosted a woodstove on one side and a fireplace on the other. The cavernous fireplace was on the living-room side, where the bookcase was located. Most of the books were paperbacks, some were hardcovers, and there was one magazine lying flat on the shelf: the Air Force magazine that featured her as the cover girl. She wondered at the man who had tucked that magazine among all those books by authors as diverse as Albert Einstein, Jack London and Thor Heyerdahl.
She ran her fingers over the gilt letters embossed into an old leather bound volume of poetry printed in 1876 and carried it with her onto the porch, where the sound of rushing water lulled her senses. She lowered herself into one of the comfortable Adirondack-style chairs and sat for a few moments, wondering if this was wise. She might very well fall asleep with that beautiful creek calming her and the sun’s warmth soaking into her. But what harm would a short nap do? Mitch wouldn’t be back for at least an hour, and it was so peaceful here.
She could easily imagine Hayden clattering down the porch steps with his fishing rod and his dog. This place was made for little boys to grow up in, and for dogs to keep them company while they did. She sighed and opened the book to a random page, trying but not quite able to imagine Mitch reading poetry. She scanned the first line of the chosen poem and before she could finish the second, a curious lethargy soaked through her bones. On impulse she removed her wig, relishing the feel of cool air and warm sun against her scalp.
She’d worn the wig in public since she was first discharged from the hospital after losing her hair. Her mother had handed her the box and said, “I thought you might want the option of wearing this until your own grows back. The hair’s real.”
Kate had opened the box, sure she’d be repulsed, but to please her mother she’d taken it out and put it on. Studying herself in the bathroom mirror she’d thought, Yes, this is much better. I like me much better this way. With the addition of the false eyelashes and a little eyebrow pencil, she looked almost normal. Healthy.
But she was all alone here, so she dropped the wig in her lap, tipped her head back, closed her eyes and let herself drift off to the sound of the water, wondering what her little boy would look like in ten years’ time….
Seconds later, it seemed, she was awakened by the sound of a truck door slamming. Kate sat bolt upright, blinking sleep from her eyes, and was still smoothing the wig into place when the stranger topped the porch steps. She’d expected Mitch and was shocked to see a very buxom bleached blonde dressed in clothes that left little to the imagination.
“Well, hey, hon,” the woman said in a smoky southern drawl. “I’m real sorry to startle you. Were you sleepin’?”
“Who…?”
“I’m Campy, a friend of Mitch’s, and I sure didn’t mean to wake you. I brought Thor back because he chases planes down the runway and Mitch was busy helping Wally fix the plane, that’s all. You just sit right where you are, all nice and relaxed, and I’ll be right back.” She retreated into the cabin and reappeared holding two bottles of Guinness Stout. She handed one to Kate and then dropped into the second chair. “Hope you like a bitter brew. That’s all Mitch ever drinks,” she said. “And I hope I didn’t startle you too bad. Sorry about that.”
“That’s okay,” Kate said, holding the cold bottle. “I must have dozed off. It’s so peaceful here.”
“Boring, I’d call it, but I guess it all depends on what you like. So, you’re the one Mitch calls K. C. Jones.”
Good God. Kate closed her eyes on the world for a few moments, wishing she could just disappear. Mitch had talked about her to this woman? “Is that what he calls me?”
She heard Campy settle herself more deeply in her chair, followed by the sharp snick of a lighter, and then smelled the acrid smoke of a cigarette. “Honey, you may not know this and I doubt he’ll ever tell you, but Mitch has a real soft spot for you.”
Kate