Baby, It's Cold Outside (9 page)

“Three years ago.”

“So you’ve only got seven more years to go before you get back in the game?”

“About that.”

So he’d been inoculated, too. Good to know he was as immune to her as she was to him.

“Well, I guess I’d better go upstairs and find a place to bed down for the night. Or week.”

T
HE FOLKS AT THE RESEARCH
station went all out to accommodate their unexpected guests. After opening the small store on-site to provide them with necessary sundries like toothbrushes and combs, Palmer’s residents rearranged their living quarters. Married couples squeezed in with other couples while singles doubled and tripled up.

As station manager, Brent Walker rated a private room. So did Jill Anderson and her husband, Doug, also a marine biologist and the senior scientist at Palmer. They vacated their sanctuaries, though, and made them available to older couples off the cruise ship.

Amid all this relocating, the on-site personnel took time to explain essential matters like mealtimes and protecting Antarctica’s eco-environment by carefully managing waste, human and otherwise. Mia and Beth got a quick briefing from the two women they were to bunk with.

Mary O’Neil had received a National Science Foundation grant to measure glacier flow rates. Tiki Fujiyoshi, a PhD candidate in seismology from the University of Hawaii, was almost as new to Antarctica as the passengers off the
Adventurer
.

“I flew into McMurdo two weeks ago and choppered up here,” she confided as she wedged her bed against a wall to make room for the sleeping bags they’d procured from supply.

“McMurdo’s the main U.S. research station in Antarctica,” Mary explained. “Their summer population can get up as high as twelve hundred. Two to three hundred winter-over.”

Mia was more interested in a possible alternate route of escape than the station’s census.

“You say it has an airstrip?”

“It does,” Mary confirmed. “They have regular flights during the summer, but about the only planes that can get in during the winter are ski-equipped military transports.”

Thoughtfully, Mia helped Tiki stash the bedroll. There had to be some way she and Beth could hitch a ride back to civilization on a nice, fast transport. If it was up to her, she would never set foot on another ship. Any ship. Large, small or in-between.

M
IA’S SECOND DAY ON
P
ALMER
Station was pretty much a repeat of the first.

Vicious winds continued to lash the peninsula. Sleet pinged down, gusted up and whipped around. Both the windchill temperature and the visibility deteriorated to the point that Brent announced via an intercom system that he’d declared a Condition Two.

“That means everyone has to travel in pairs to do any work or research away from the station,” Jill explained at breakfast. “If it worsens to Condition One, you stay in whatever building you’re in and don’t go out at all until visibility improves and the windchill temperature rises above minus a hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”

“
Minus
a hundred degrees,” Mia squeaked, almost choking on her eggs Florentine. “It was in the high forties yesterday, before the storm hit.”

“That’s Antarctica for you,” the marine biologist said cheerfully.

Mia shared an incredulous glance with her sister and went back to her eggs. The breakfast buffet put out by the station’s two cooks lacked the visual artistry of the cruise ship’s lavish spread but more than matched it in flavor.

When Mia and Beth complimented the cooks and once again volunteered for cleanup duty, they were treated to a tour of the spotless, fabulously equipped kitchen. Afterward, Jill offered a visit to the science labs and a look at ongoing research projects for anyone who was interested.

“Can I take pictures?”

That came from Beth, who’d stuffed her digital camera in her jacket pocket before abandoning ship. Mia had been more concerned with saving their asses than the hundreds of photos they’d snapped in South America.

“I substitute teach at an elementary school,” Beth explained. “I’d love to show the kids pictures of an Antarctic research station when I get home.”

“We can do you better than that,” Jill said. “If you like, you can use one of our computers to set up a blog and send real-time pix back to the kids.”

“Omigosh! That would be fantastic.”

“Let me hook you up with Allen Barclay. He’s really into blogging and online videos and such.”

As Mia knew all too well!

When Jill called the stocky scientist over to their table, Mia braced herself. She hadn’t received a single snigger or knowing look so far this morning, but…

To her relief, the bearded scientist merely gave the group a friendly nod. Obviously, Walker had put the word out as promised.

Mia got a chance to thank him for that after Beth peeled off with Allen and Jill shepherded her laboratory tour group toward the stairs. When they passed the corridor leading to the administrative wing, Mia caught a glimpse of the station manager entering his office.

“I’ll catch up with you,” she told Jill and detoured in the other direction.

Interesting place, she thought as she passed the open doors. One office was decorated in early aviary. Ostrich and peacock plumage vied for wall space with seagull feathers crossed like swords and what looked like streamers of fuzzy penguin chick down. The office next to it contained a remarkable collection of Elvis memorabilia. Posters, DVD covers, bobble figures—even a guitar-strumming teddy bear in a spangled, flare-legged outfit.

Mia guessed the decorations were probably one of the few ways folks at Palmer had to express their personal tastes. With communal living, working and recreational areas, these small offices represented islands of individuality.

If so, Brent’s individuality ran along more retro lines. His office was maybe eight by ten and boasted a doublepaned, frost-rimmed window with a view of the boathouse and dock. The furnishings were strictly functional—file cabinets, a row of reports in neat binders, a large whiteboard stickered with notes and schedules, a workstation topped by a sleek computer.

Hung on the wall next to the whiteboard was a photo of the Palmer Station crew gathered together and waving at the camera. Right below it was another picture of the crew, looking wet and cold as they huddled under gray blankets. Wondering what that was all about, Mia rapped lightly on the door.

Brent was at the computer, his back to her, the ever-present radio clipped to his waist. At the sound of her knock, he swiveled around.

“’Morning, Mia.”

Damn! There it was again! That crinkly-eyed smile. Good thing she was completely immune to all things masculine right now.

“’Morning, Brent. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“No problem. I was just checking the weather.”

“How does it look?”

“Not good. Please, come in.”

He got up to sweep a stack of papers off the chair next to his desk. When he turned to deposit them on the file cabinet, Mia got a view of muscular thighs and a tight, trim rear encased in well-worn jeans. With the jeans he wore a blue plaid flannel shirt and black turtleneck.

Sternly, she repressed the traitorous thought that the blue in the plaid seriously deepened the blue in his eyes.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked as she took the chair he’d cleaned off.

“Fine. Better than fine, actually. It’s been a while since I bedded down in a sleeping bag. I think Beth and I were at Camp Winihaha last time. But this bedroll was really comfortable.”

“It should be. The National Science Foundation designed those bags specifically for folks at the South Pole. You don’t want to know how much they cost you as a taxpayer.”

“Probably not. Listen, I just…Uh…” The photo beside the whiteboard drew her fascinated gaze again. “Okay, I have to ask. What’s with the wet hair and gray blankets?”

“It’s a tradition. Those of us who are up for it take a ritual plunge into the sea when our last supply ship of the year leaves the dock.”

“Weird. Very weird.”

Grinning, he laced his hands across his belly. His very flat belly, Mia couldn’t help but note.

“That’s only one of many rituals we practice down here at the bottom of the world.”

“Like gash?”

“Like gash,” Brent confirmed. “And mouse house, our Saturday morning station cleanup. If you come to the lounge after dinner tonight, you’ll get to participate in another ritual.”

“It doesn’t involve ice baths, does it?” she asked with another glance at the photo of the stripped-down plungers. “Or taking off my clothes in front of a camera? Been there, done that, don’t plan to do it again.”

He had a nice laugh. Deep and rich and resonant. Mia found herself smiling in response.

“None of the above,” he assured her, chuckling.

“Actually, that’s why I stopped by your office,” she explained. “To thank you for putting out the word about the pictures on Don Juan’s Web site. I haven’t been on the receiving end of a double take or elevated eyebrow all morning.”

“Good to hear. If it helps any, no one meant to embarrass you. Living in such close quarters, we’re all usually pretty careful about respecting each other’s boundaries. It’s just that it caught folks by surprise to have, ah, a celebrity in our midst.”

“Right,” Mia drawled. “That kind of celebrity status I can do without.”

He cocked his head. “You couldn’t get Don Juan to take your picture off his site?”

“I tried. Believe me, I tried. Unfortunately, the bastard’s an attorney. He covered every legal angle. Even threatened me with a lawsuit if I exposed
him
to the world.”

“Bastard is right.”

“Ugh. Just talking about him leaves a bad taste in my mouth.” Grimacing, she pushed to her feet. “Guess I’d better let you get back to the weather.”

He flicked a glance at the screen. “I’ve seen what I need to. How about I show you around the station instead?”

The invitation surprised Brent as much as it did the woman facing him. He’d been so busy making sure the stranded passengers were fed, provided whatever clothing they needed and bedded down that he’d caught only sporadic glimpses of Mia last night. Once he’d hit the rack himself, though, he’d thought about her. Hard not to with Don Juan’s vivid imagery floating around inside his head. Although…

He’d had to work to reconcile that sultry sex kitten with the shivering wreck he’d hauled out of the lifeboat. And both of those women bore only a superficial resemblance to the one here in his office.

The eyes were the same vibrant green. And the lips every bit as kissable. But this Mia was fresh-faced and well-rested and minus the chip she’d carried on her shoulder last night. With her hair caught back in a loose ponytail and her slender figure enveloped in baggy red sweats, she could have passed for one of the eager young grad students who came down to Palmer as research assistants.

And left again. Just as Mia and her sister would leave once the weather cleared.

Suppressing the insidious wish that the sleet and wind would hang around for a few more days, Brent dragged a down-filled vest off the back of his chair.

“Let’s find you a parka and I’ll give you the three-dollar tour.”

S
EVERAL HOURS LATER
a rosy-cheeked and windblown Mia reported for lunchtime kitchen duty. Patrick, the senior station cook, had put Beth and one of the other stranded passengers to work preparing ingredients for a shredded carrot salad.

“Where did you disappear to?” Beth asked when Mia had grabbed a paring knife and joined them at the stainless steel counter.

“Brent showed me around the station.”

“He did, huh?” Her sister paused in the act of scraping her blade along a fat carrot. “And how is it you rate a private tour?”

Mia didn’t have an answer for that. Or for the niggling little question about the
real
motive for her detour to his office this morning.

Yes, she’d wanted to thank Brent. And yes, she’d intended to make her visit casual and quick. That didn’t explain why she’d jumped at the chance to spend several hours in his company.

She and Beth would be out of here soon. Tomorrow, hopefully. Hadn’t she learned her lesson, for God’s sake? Spending a few hours or days with a man didn’t mean she could trust her judgment concerning him.

So Walker had an easy air of competence and authority? So everyone here at this small, isolated community seemed to hold him in high regard? That didn’t mean squat when it came to the man-woman thing…as she knew all too well.

“How did the blogging go?” she asked her sister in a deliberate change of subject. “Did Allen get you all set up and online?”

“Yes, he did.” Enthusiasm and excitement leaped into Beth’s face. “I’ve already posted my first blog about the marine aquarium, complete with pictures. This afternoon he’s going to take me through the Terra Lab.”

“What’s that?”

“Beats me. Guess I’ll find out this afternoon. You know—” Beth gave her sister a speculative glance “—you ought to be taking notes and pictures, too. You’ve always talked about writing a children’s book. Palmer Station would make a great setting for one.”

“I’m sure there are plenty of children’s books out there about Antarctica.”

“So? Do another one.”

Lips pursed, Mia considered the suggestion. She enjoyed her work as an editor but did harbor a not-so-secret urge to try her hand at writing.

“This is the chance of a lifetime,” Beth insisted, wagging a half-scraped carrot. “I bet Jill and Brent and the others would be glad to let you interview them about their work.”

Brent had given Mia a pretty good fix on the scope of his responsibilities this morning. But…

She
would
need considerably more detail for a book.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I might just take a few notes.”

W
ORD THAT
M
IA WAS CONSIDERING
writing a book about Palmer Station spread through the permanent residents with the same speed her alter ego had the day before. Both scientists and support personnel were more than willing to show her how they passed their time.

As a result, Mia spent a mind-blowing hour with Doug Anderson, Jill’s husband and the senior scientist presently at Palmer. She left his lab with pages full of notes on equipment and experiments ranging from sampling the DNA of algae that lived in the frigid waters hundreds of feet under the ice to implanting microscopic transmitters in Adelaide penguin chicks to track their migration.

When she exited the lab, Beth caught her and suggested she join the excursion to the Terra Lab. The bushy-bearded Allen Barclay seconded the invitation after offering a sincere apology.

“I’m really sorry, Mia. I shouldn’t have blurted out that business about Don…Er…You know.”

“Apology accepted.” More than ready to put that whole sorry business behind her, she gave the meteorologist a breezy smile. “Now where is this Terra Lab of yours?”

“About fifty yards behind the BioLab.”

“Behind, like in outside?”

“Like in outside,” he confirmed.

Despite being wrapped in a borrowed parka, Mia seriously questioned her need for this level of detail in her
book as she and Beth and Allen trudged up to the building set atop a short rise behind the BioLab. They had to lean into the wind at almost a ninety-degree angle and slit their eyes against the wind-whipped sleet.

And this was just January! The middle of their supposed summer! She couldn’t imagine what conditions must be like in winter.

They made it to the lab with considerable slipping and sliding but no real mishaps. Tiki was already there and eager to give them a layman’s explanation of the research she was doing for the Global Seismographic Network’s long-term seismic survey.

Allen took center stage next. He did his best to go easy on the technical jargon as he explained the various experiments in progress, but he lost Mia long before he did Beth. For a substitute teacher who worked primarily with grade-schoolers, she had sure developed a sudden interest in PhD-level meteorology. Or was her interest due to a certain PhD meteorologist? Mia hung back, observing the give-and-take between her sister and the pudgy scientist.

Actually, now that she had time for a closer look, she realized most of his bulk came from his layers of clothing. His thick beard added to the illusion, as well. Beneath that hairy mask he wasn’t bad.

“N
OT BAD AT ALL
,” B
ETH
confirmed when the sisters returned to the BioLab.