18

Later that afternoon, Tubby carried her into the lodge. “It’s my fault for giving you those fancy buckle-ups. You’d be in better shape if you crawled around the mine. Next time wear your chicken coop boots.”

“Yes, Father.”

A smile lit up Tubby’s whiskered face as he placed her on the couch. “I can’t stay. Clouds are rolling this way.”

“I’ll take it from here.” Geoff accompanied Tubby to the porch. When he returned, he leaned against the edge of the couch. “Assessed the damage yet?”

“Not yet. I’m afraid to look.” She slid the leather over the tops of her feet and fought back tears. Dried blood and clumps of dead skin adorned her toes. The blisters on her heels stung for attention.

Geoff teetered toward the kitchen.

“Where are you going?”

He steadied himself with a chair. “You need to soak those feet.”

“I’ll get the water.” She tried to stand.

“You most certainly will not. Get back on that couch. That’s an order.”

“You can’t give me orders.”

“Yes, I can. Even if you don’t follow them.”

Distant thunder caught her attention.

“Did you hear that?” she asked over the rush of the faucet.

“I told you this morning there’d be storms tonight.” Geoff used the dining table to brace himself. He cradled a Dutch oven in the crook of his arm. After a few awkward steps, he handed her the container.

“I cook in that,” she said.

“Extra flavor. Now soak.”

She set the oven on the floor. Her feet hovered over the warm water before slowly sinking into the pot. Her skin sizzled until the pain became a comfortable ache.

Thunder sounded a few miles away. Looking for cover, she grabbed a decorative pillow and buried her face in the material. The cloth smelled like Geoff’s bath soap—lye with lemons.

Geoff sat beside her, towel in hand.

She gave him a side-glance. “Is the dog out back?”

“That thing is on the porch—for now.”

“Good.” She relaxed into the dark brown cushions.

When her feet resembled large prunes, Geoff dried them. He gently patted her toes. If he pressed too hard, she did a backward push up.

A lightning flash lit up the bay window.

She covered her eyes with the pillow again. It didn’t matter to her if Geoff thought she was silly, she didn’t want to see the storm.

“Lean back.” He lifted her feet from the floor and settled them on his lap.

As she rotated to rest lengthwise on his couch, she didn’t complain about his bossiness. After all, he let her lounge in his special spot.

He massaged her sore arches without being bribed with pancakes or ginger snaps.

Her less injured pinkie toe jiggled.

“You have the tiniest toes.”

She peered over the pillow. “Not every part of me is tiny, small, runtish...”

“That’s not a word,” he said.

Thunder boomed over the lodge. She gasped and reunited her face with the pillow. She concentrated on the trails Geoff was tracing on her feet. His closeness calmed her fears. Somehow, in his company, she didn’t envision the storm demolishing the lodge.

Geoff’s fingers circled her ankles. “Why do storms bother you so much? You’ve lived in Alaska your whole life, haven’t you?”

He massaged the length of her calves. The long, tingling pathways he made on her legs felt so good after a day of trudging all over the mine.

“I got caught in an electrical storm when I was a little girl.” She shifted and repositioned her neck on the fat armrest.

“Why didn’t you take cover?”

Her body stiffened. She wanted to erase that memory, not share it with Geoff. “I was waiting for someone.”

“In the rain?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“No.” Did he think she was stupid? “In an alley where there was an overhang.” Stop interrogating me. She clutched the pillow as if it could be a shield from his twenty questions.

The long strokes of his hands rose to her knees.

“Were you waiting for Ivan?”

Cool air pimpled her skin. Her heartbeat quickened. Was it because he’d brought up Ivan or because of the touch of his hands along her legs?

Her fists crushed the edging on the pillow. His ministration crested her knee caps. “I was waiting at the saloon. And there was an overhang.” The words raced out of her mouth.

“You said that.” His firm hands glided the length of her legs from her ankles to her knees, flirting with the hem of her dress.

She was positive someone was fanning themselves in her stomach, fanning themselves with chickadee feathers. She had to stop his massage, or she might fly away. Straight. Into. The. Ceiling.

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand as it circled her knee. Her job was to take care of his injuries. Nothing more. Not like those men at the mine insinuated. She met his faraway gaze.

“I won’t go any higher.” His fingers traveled down her legs retracing their path, tickling her skin. “I miss my legs.” He didn’t look at her. “I miss the mundane things; crossing my legs in a chair, curling my toes in a rug, river water splashing on my ankles.”

The storm’s fireworks brightened the inlet, but she did not cover her face.

“I used to chase my brother Bradley, catch him in my arms, lift him high in the air.” He shook his head. “No more.”

“I’m so sorry.” She watched as he envied the legs draped over his uneven thighs. “I wish it hadn’t happened. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Gently, he shifted out from under her. “Speaking of legs, it’s about time mine come off.”

“Let me help you?” She wedged her pillow into the corner of the couch.

He held out his hand to stop her. “I’ve got this. Give your feet a rest.”

When he had gone, she cautiously placed her feet on the floor. The menthol ointment had doused the fire in her toes.

“Jo, I hate to bother you, but I need your help. I shanked the strap in the buckle. I’d use the mirror to fix it but my left leg’s already off.”

Hobbling to his room, she chuckled about their leg predicaments.

She grabbed the bunched strap and wiggled the material. “You wedged it good this time.” Gritting her teeth, she pulled, hard. The cloth came loose. “There it is.”

Geoff lounged on his bed. “I’d call you a saint, but you shouted down your elders today.”

Tension tightened her chest. “Don’t even start about the mine.”

“Why not? I liked the ‘outstanding veteran’ part.” His straight face creased into a grin.

“Glad someone liked it.” She turned to leave.

“Jo,” his voice became serious, “about that man at the mine.”

Her posture stiffened. “You mean Mr. Young?”

“I checked the roster. There isn’t an Edgar Young working at Kat Wil.” His eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “The man probably works there. I can find out who he is and get his name.”

She thought for a moment. “We have no proof to accuse him of being involved in a murder.” She chewed her lip. “My family’s name would be in the paper again. Mother would fret if they mentioned the gambling.” She shook her head. “It won’t bring Ivan back. With all your ranting, I doubt he’ll come near this place.” She turned and walked delicately toward the bedroom door. “Tea before Gin Rummy?”

“What happened to your real father?” Geoff’s tone was humble, almost a whisper.

The question stopped her short. She couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken about her father. “He died in a lumbering accident when I was two years old. Joseph…Joseph Jensen was his name. I don’t recall much about him. My mother brings out a drawing of him on our birthdays.”

“I think he’d be proud of your trip today.” Geoff laid his right leg on the floor. “If you’d like, after I beat you at cards, you can sleep on the couch in my room tonight. In case you’re worried about visitors or the storm.”

She stood a hair taller. “Thank you, but I’m feeling rather safe.” Remembering his rant at Mr. Young put a smile on her face. “And rather blessed.” And not only at cards.