Kisses in the Rain (8 page)

Martha laughed. "That'll be tomorrow. I haven't gone a day without chocolate-chip cookies since I arrived in San Francisco."

"Do you miss it? San Francisco, I mean?"

"I miss my friend Lindsay. You're the first person I've met socially since I've been here."

"We'll have to remedy that. I know lots of people. I'm single and I love to have fun. Maybe I should throw a party to introduce you around."

"Why, that would be nice." Martha was touched that Faye would do that for her.

"How about next weekend? After I get back from heaven-knows-where? Dr. Andy and I will be leaving Tuesday, flying back in on Friday. How about Saturday night? You could meet some of my married and single pals."

"I'd love it," Martha said warmly. She could have hugged this little woman; it was clear that the two of them were going to be friends.

Faye rose to leave. "You keep the rest of the soup and crackers," she said. "I'll bring the chocolate-chip cookie recipe over before I leave town, and maybe you could make some for the party."

"I'd be glad to bake cookies," said Martha in relief. She hadn't known what to offer. Chocolate-chip cookies sounded easy enough, and baking them would give her something to fill the time.

Faye made a quick mental checklist. "We'll cook salmon steaks on the grill. We'll set up tables outside on the porch. Paper plates and plastic forks, if you don't mind. This isn't going to be one of those grand affairs where there's so much silver on the table that you could perform an operation—preferably a lobotomy—on a too-boring dinner partner. No, I like people to mingle."

"What if it rains?"

Faye raised her eyebrows. Her eye patch tilted rakishly. "Rain never stops anything in Ketchikan. My porch has a wide overhang. Oh, it'll be fun."

Of that, Martha suddenly had no doubt.

* * *

Martha saw Nick Novak leaning against a post after the party on the porch had been in full swing for about an hour. He had a certain way of leaning against things, a relaxed spine and an alert incline of his head, that made his figure unmistakable.
 

"I'd like you to meet someone," Faye said, appearing suddenly and propelling her forward. Martha's mouth became the Sahara Desert. She wiped her hands against her slacks. She should have guessed he'd be here. Faye had said she knew every eligible male in Ketchikan.

"This is Nick Novak, Martha," Faye said. "He—"

Martha was so nervous at seeing him again that she interrupted Faye without realizing that she was doing it until it was too late.

"We've met," she said.

Nothing about his expression changed. No grin, no twitch of eyebrow or widening of eyes, so that Martha was afraid that Nick Novak wasn't going to acknowledge her at all. But then he smiled and slowly extended his hand, and his fingers curved around hers.

If she hadn't known better, Martha would have thought he was wired for electricity. She felt a definite tingle at his touch. Nothing like it had ever happened to her before; maybe it had something to do with the dampness of her hand and the fact that Alaska was close to magnetic north. Or maybe, if she was to believe in love songs, it had something to do with the way his eyes lit up along with his smile.

"Are you serving your bagels with Alaskan salmon yet?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I'm afraid not," Martha said. Usually a party brought out the wit and sparkle in her, but none of that wit and sparkle surfaced now when she really needed it. She couldn't think of anything to say.

"You liked the salmon, though, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes," she said.
And you,
she wanted to add. Among the thoughts reeling through her head was the important realization that Nick had known that this party was being given in her honor. He must have wanted to come, then. Immediately a hope that she had thought long dead, the hope that Nick Novak might find her interesting, resurrected itself. How could the flare of attraction, which was so obvious to her, go unnoticed by Nick?

Nick studied her for a moment, taking no pains to conceal his thorough inspection. Tonight Martha was dressed more casually than he'd ever seen her. She wasn't wearing a dress, for one thing, but a sweater with an angora swan on the front and a pair of gray wool pants that did a lot for her legs. Nick Novak liked to see women in slacks. In his opinion, dresses did little for most women. They exposed the veins in their legs and other imperfections, while slacks or blue jeans showed off the curves of hips and thighs. There was certainly nothing wrong with those parts of Martha Rose's anatomy.

While Nick was taking his time looking her over, conversation escaped Martha. But Faye, pleased that her guest of honor was getting along so swimmingly with the other guests, bustled off. This left Martha alone with Nick, which might have been a pleasant situation if her knees hadn't suddenly turned to spaghetti.

"I haven't seen you around the docks lately," she said, and then she wished she hadn't said it. It made her sound as though she'd been looking for him. She had, but it wasn't necessary for him to know that.

"I've had business out of town," he said, slowly and soberly. "I hadn't expected to go just now, but—" He let the sentence hang in midair.

"I guess your business takes you away from Ketchikan often?" she asked.

"It wasn't that kind of business," he said with unexpected gruffness, which left her confused.

"Oh," she said, and with that simple syllable the conversation ground creakingly into neutral. Martha was wondering how she could possibly shift gears when Faye jumped up on a chair and banged on an aluminum pie plate before calling, "All right, everybody. The food's ready. Nick, why don't you show our guest of honor the ropes? Dr. Andy, bring that platter of salmon over here. That's right, set it on the buffet table. Now, you all must try the chocolate-chip cookies. They're my mother's own recipe, but Martha has improved upon it."

"Looks like we're dinner partners," Nick said, smiling down at her. The grin surprised Martha. He had looked so serious only a moment ago.

Nick had evidently been to one of Faye's cookouts before. He showed her how there were two lines to the buffet table. The portable picnic tables were covered with plaid cloths. Faye had lit a string of colored lights that were suspended from the porch rafters. A light rain curtained the party from passing cars on the street, and smoke from Dr. Andy's charcoal grill spiraled away at the back of the house. Guests were dressed warmly in jeans and light wool coats, and everyone wore waterproof boots except Martha.

"You need to buy yourself a pair of Southeastern sandals," Nick said, holding out one of his red rubber boots for her inspection. They reached three-quarters of the way to his knee.

"Is that what you call those? I've noticed lots of people wearing them."

"Unless you happen to have webbed feet, they're a good idea. You can wear them anywhere in Ketchikan, even to weddings." Martha smiled at this and was unnerved when Nick seemed to be serious.

Back in Kokomo—but she wasn't in Kokomo anymore. She was in Ketchikan, Alaska, where people wore red rubber boots to weddings. The people she was with wore plaid lumberjack shirts; her own high-fashion hand-knit sweater seemed out of place. Her hair curled annoyingly around her face, but somehow she didn't mind. The important thing was that Nick Novak stood beside her, and that in itself seemed peculiar. Always before, the important thing had been how she looked and the impression her appearance made on others.

When they had filled their plates, Martha sat self-consciously across from Nick at a corner table. Next to them sat Nick's brother Dan and his wife, Stella. Stella was bright and pleasant company, and Dan was stolid and calm. Nick's oldest brother Fred and his wife, Andrea, stopped by to say hello, but moved on to a less crowded table.

"Nick," Stella said, "when you get a chance, stop by our house to pick up some toys that my kids have outgrown. They'd be just about right for Davey."

"Thanks, Stella. I'll come over soon."

"This Nick," Stella said playfully to Martha. "He's always saying that. But we don't see him very often. Him or Davey."

Martha, listening to this familial exchange, wanted to ask who Davey was. But there was no chance, because Faye, who clearly enjoyed being a hostess, stopped by the table.

"Anything you want to know about Ketchikan's social life," she said teasingly, "you just ask Nick Novak."

Martha could have sworn that Nick actually blushed, but here in the corner, where two strands of multicolored lights blended their colors so brilliantly, it was hard to tell.

"I don't know that much about the social life," he objected, but Faye fluttered away to laugh at a joke told by another of her friends. Martha wondered how much of Nick's protest was real and how much was due to self-consciousness.

After dinner, Stella and Dan left. "Have to get back to the kids. We left them alone tonight. I guess our daughter at thirteen is old enough to keep the six-year-old in line, but I don't like to leave them alone too long."

"Do your kids like cookies?" Martha asked on impulse.

"My Wendy is the original cookie monster," Stella told her.

Martha wrapped some of her chocolate-chip cookies in aluminum foil. "Here, take these. There are plenty for the other guests."

"Why, thanks. They're delicious cookies, Martha," Stella said.

"I've baked a lot of them for the party. I even have a couple of extra tins of cookies in my apartment," Martha said with a laugh.

When Stella and Dan were gone, Nick turned to her curiously. "Do you really have more cookies in your apartment? There are trays of cookies already here."

"I've been baking batch after batch, perfecting Faye's mother's recipe for this party. Not that the cookies weren't wonderful to begin with, but there was this place in San Francisco where I used to buy the best fresh-baked cookies every day. I brought a big supply with me, but I ran out and now I'm trying to duplicate that flavor. Anyway, I don't have anything else to do after work, so I like baking the cookies to occupy my time."

"If you don't have anything to do after work," Nick said slowly, fighting his own embarrassment, "maybe we could get together for that drink sometime."

Her startled gray eyes flashed astonishment at this unexpected invitation.

"Maybe we could," she said when she had recovered.

"Maybe," he said, even more slowly, trying to get to the bottom of the confusion in her eyes, "maybe we wouldn't have to wait until after work. We could get together sooner if you like."

"When?" she said, unaware that she was almost whispering, but overwhelmingly aware that he was standing closer to her than he had all evening and that the hair on her arms was standing on end. Certainly no man had ever had this effect on her.

"Would you like to go somewhere tonight after the party? I don't have to be home early." He held his breath. He was certain that, because he had once turned her down, she would want to get even with him by refusing his impromptu invitation.

"I'm the guest of honor. My obligations—"

He caught one of her hands between his and held it still. "I've always been sorry I couldn't take you up on your invitation to meet you after work that day. My previous engagement was important or I wouldn't have said no. Now I want to make up for it. Is it too late?" His eyes darkened. She would have died before she'd have disappointed him. She would have died before she'd have disappointed herself.

Convinced that he could hear her answer pounding in her blood and singing in her heart before she even gave it, she paused for a respectable moment and said, "Yes! I'd love to go somewhere with you!" all in a rush. Then, embarrassed, she laughed up at him.

Nick was so relieved that she'd accepted that he had the almost uncontrollable urge to call her "darling" and then to go on to tell her how happy he was. But the word
darling
was not one that had ever sprung to his lips before, and he did not say it now. In fact, he was totally astounded to find such a word rattling around in his brain in the presence of a woman whom he barely knew. He had called women "dearie" from time to time, meaning nothing in particular. He had occasionally addressed his high school sweetheart as "sweetie," but that was because that was what she called him. But—"darling"?

As she looked up at him, her cheeks rosy, her eyes sparkling, her irises the exact shade of Mooseleg Bay on a day when the sun was on the verge of peeping through the clouds, Martha Rose did bring the endearment "darling" to mind. Thank goodness he hadn't said it. Thank goodness he wasn't that open with women when he was beginning to get to know them. No telling what a woman like Martha would infer from being called "darling." She might think it meant more than it did. All it meant, his wanting to call her that, was that she looked, to his eyes, darling at this moment.

So all he said was, "Later we'll figure out where and when. Tomorrow's Sunday. Do you have to work?"

"No," she said.

"We can go out late then tonight, if the party ends late?"

"I suppose so," she said, not at all reluctantly.

"Unless you'd rather wait until tomorrow night," he amended, hoping that she wouldn't prefer that.

"No!"
Martha exclaimed.