Alaskan Summer by Marilou Flinkman Page B

cup.
    “Just my job,” he muttered, taking the proffered coffee. “I need to find someplace to fill those small oxygen tanks people pull around.”
    “So what’s the problem?” Laurette sipped her coffee.
    “Where do I get twenty oxygen tanks filled?”
    “How about the hospital? Maybe they have a supply of tanks or source to fill them.”
    Ryan felt like a ton of weight had been lifted off his chest. “Of course. They deal with oxygen tanks for patients all the time. You’re my savior.”
    “No, Jesus is your Savior.”
    “Actually, I’d like to talk to you about that later. But I’ve got some calls to make.”
    “Ruth wants you to come to dinner.”
    “Only Ruth?” He stopped on his way to the phone.
    Laurette’s smile warmed him clear down to his toes. “We’ll both welcome the chance to talk with you about Jesus. Can you come to dinner tomorrow night?”
    “You’ve got a date.” Ryan made a call and settled the oxygen tank arrangements.
    “Can they do it?” Laurette asked when he hung up the phone.
    “Yes. You’ve made a lot of passengers breathe easier.”
    He laughed at her grimace. “Okay, so it was a bad pun. What time tomorrow?”
    “I’ll look at our schedule and tell you later.”
    “Leave me a note. I’m off to collect some oxygen bottles.”
    Is it her faith in God that keeps her so cheerful? I’m going to find out if He can do that for me, Ryan vowed, jumping aboard the tender.

SEVEN
    Laurette stopped by the grocery store on her way home. “I don’t have time to fix a fancy meal,” she murmured, picking up hamburger and bottled spaghetti sauce. “I can fix this quick before Ryan gets to the house tomorrow night.” Thankful for her neoprene rain gear, she pulled up the hood and carried the groceries to her truck.
    With the windshield wipers going full blast, Laurette drove home, thinking about the e-mail she’d received from her parents. Her mother kept track of the weather in Sitka and worried that Laurette would be depressed with all the rain. Your father says nothing would get you down, but I think the weather could. She was still thinking about her parents when she pulled into the driveway.
    Pleasant memories of her loving parents vanished. Ruth stood on the deck wearing her housedress—no coat—watering her flowers. Laurette pulled up her hood and hurried to Ruth’s side.
    “Welcome home. I’m just fertilizing my geraniums,” Ruth explained.
    Trying to smile, Laurette took the watering can and guided Ruth back in the house. “Please get out of your wet clothes. I have to bring some groceries in from the truck.”
    Rushing to complete her task and get the ice cream in the freezer, Laurette made it back before Ruth had taken her dress off.
    “I’m going to run you a hot bath. You’re soaked to the skin and might catch cold.” She coaxed Ruth from the kitchen, where she stood dripping water on the floor.
    “The floor’s wet.” Ruth began to shiver.
    “I’ll mop it up later. Right now we need to get you warm again.”
    Moments later, she helped Ruth step into the bathtub. “How’s that? Warm enough?”
    Ruth nodded. “I always fertilize the flowers on Monday.”
    Laurette didn’t have the heart to tell her it was Thursday. “Are you warm now?” she asked a few minutes later.
    “Yes, dear, but why do I have to put on my nightgown?” she asked as Laurette helped her dry off and dress.
    “It will keep you warm.” She handed Ruth her robe and set her slippers on the floor for her to step into. “Why don’t you go sit in your chair while I pick up your wet clothes.”
    Once the floor had been wiped dry and the wet clothes put in the washer, Laurette opened the refrigerator. “I give up,” she sighed. After packaging the pork chops, she labeled them and put them in the freezer. Next she measured water to boil for an instant noodle soup. “This will warm Ruth on the inside.” She put the teakettle on to boil and sliced some cheese to go with the