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
"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
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