Touching the Clouds: A Novel (Alaskan Skies Book #1)

Paul rolled over, fluffed his pillow, then peered at the hotel window through half-closed lids. Light slanted into the room. He turned onto his back and laid an arm over his eyes to block out the light, hoping for more sleep. It didn’t help. His mind was already occupied with Kate.

He thought back to the previous evening and the way she’d squared off against the maitre d’. She’s got guts. He liked that about her. He also liked that she’d made no apologies for the cheese sandwiches and Orange Crush she’d served for dinner.

They’d decided to spend the day together. It was up to him to come up with an adventure. Paul kicked off the blankets and sat up, his mind still occupied by the tall, striking adventurer. He was drawn to Kate, even though he knew a woman was the last thing he needed in his life.

He moved to the window and gazed at the road below. It was early and the street was empty except for a man walking at a fast clip along the sidewalk. He stopped in front of a shop, unlocked the door, and disappeared inside. Paul turned his gaze to the Chugach Mountains that stood east of town. Powerful and rugged, they compelled admiration. They were Alaska, which demanded respect like no place he’d ever known.

His mind wandered back to Kate and the plans for the day. What should they do? It ought to be something special, something Kate had never done before. Combing his fingers through his hair, an idea materialized. Yakima, her hometown, lay far inland from the ocean. He doubted she’d ever been clamming.

Down around Ninilchik there was an abundance of razor clams and the tide table in the store had said there was supposed to be a minus tide today. He could envision Kate chasing after clams—soaking wet and muddy. She’d love it.

Paul and Kate set off for the bay. When Paul suggested clam digging, Kate hadn’t been taken with the idea, but Paul stubbornly stuck to his plan, certain she’d change her mind.

On the Cook Inlet side of the Kenai Peninsula, Kate followed the coastline. When she neared Ninilchik, she dropped to a lower elevation. “I know a good landing site along this stretch of beach.”

She kept her eyes on the rocky shore. “I’ve never dug clams before. I’ve never even eaten one.” She looked at Paul, her brows knit. “And I’m not sure I want to.” She wrinkled up her nose.

Cute nose, Paul thought, then forced his mind back to clamming. “It’s fun, you’ll see.”

“Okay. I’m trusting you,” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic.

Maybe he should have come up with a better idea. “We can do something else if you want.” The scent of Evening in Paris wafted through the cockpit. He wished she hadn’t worn it.

“No. You’ve got my curiosity up. Now I’ve got to find out what it’s all about.”

“I think you’ll love it.”

She offered him a crooked smile.

“Razor clams aren’t like other clams. They know when someone’s after them and they don’t want to be caught. There’s no easy shoveling and then dropping them into a bucket. You’ve got to chase them.”

“You’re pulling my leg. Chase a clam?”

Paul grinned. “It’s the truth.”

Kate’s hazel eyes widened slightly. “Okay.”

She turned her attention to the ground. “This is the spot.” She flew low over a stretch of pebbled beach, made one pass to check for debris and mud, then a second sweep, and finally turned for her approach. They touched down smoothly.

“Good, the tide’s out,” Paul said. He waited for Kate to remove her hat and fought the impulse to tousle her short auburn hair. “You brought extra clothes, right?”

“They’re in my pack.”

He moved to the back of the plane where the gear was stashed. Angel already waited at the door. The moment Kate opened it, the dog leaped out and tore down the beach, chasing after gulls.

Kate clambered out, and Paul handed her a couple of buckets and two shovels.

He stepped down and a sharp wind caught hold of his jacket. “Breezy.” He pulled his coat closed and zipped it.

“And cold,” Kate said.

“Once we start digging, you’ll warm up.”

They headed toward the water, each carrying a shovel and a bucket.

“The clams are beneath the surface,” Paul explained. “But they have to stick their necks up to breathe, which makes a little dimple in the sand. That’s how you find them.”

He stopped. “Here’s one.” Kneeling, he pointed at a small hollow spot. “Once you put the shovel in the ground they start burrowing to get away, so you have to dig fast.” He looked at Kate. “Ready?”

“Just dig,” she said with feigned irritation.

Gently putting the tip of the shovel against the surface, Paul rested his foot on it, and in a blast of energy, he pushed the shovel into the earth, rapidly scooping out sand and tossing it to the side. When he’d dug a foot or more, he dropped to his knees and using his hands like miniature shovels, he scooped away more sand. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped into his eyes. Ignoring gouging rocks and the bite of broken shells, he kept working.

Angel trotted back and intently watched Paul’s activity.

When he was nearly up to his shoulders in the hole he’d dug, Paul’s fingertips touched the edge of the clam shell, but it managed to dig out of reach. Paul kept after it and finally grabbed hold of the creature and held on.

“He’s fast,” he called, exhilarated by the chase. Holding the shell with one hand, he scooped sand from around it and pulled it free. “Got him!”

He lifted the long slender clam from the hole, now filling with water, and held it up. “It’s a good-sized one.” He wiped away sand to reveal a shell that glistened with swirls of brown and gold. Angel tried to grab it. “Oh no you don’t.” Paul held it out of her reach.

Kate leaned close to get a good look. She touched the long, oval shell. “It’s pretty, all except for this.” She pointed at its fleshy neck.

Paul dropped it into his bucket, then presented a bleeding finger. “The shells are sharp.”

“I suppose that’s why they call them razor clams?” Kate grinned.

“Guess so.”

She looked at the sizable hole, now half full of sea water. “It seems like a lot of work for one little clam.”

“By the time we’re done, both buckets will be full.” Paul smiled. It had been a long while since he’d felt this lighthearted.

He moved down the beach. “Let’s find one for you.” Moments later, he stopped. “Here’s one.”

Kate studied the dimpled sand doubtfully.

“You have to try sooner or later,” Paul said.

Just as he had done, Kate rested the tip of her shovel against the sand and then pushed it in and started digging. When she didn’t unearth the clam, she chased after it with her hands. “I can feel it!” she shouted. “I’ve got it! I’ve got it!”

Angel jumped in and started digging. Kate shouldered her away. “Angel. No!”

She kept after the clam. Her head was down in the hole when a wave washed in and splashed her.

Paul laughed. “Keep going!”

Finally she sat back on her heels. “He got away.” The wind caught her burnished hair and tossed it into her eyes. She wiped her hands on her trousers. “I thought I had it.”

“You’ll get the next one.” The sight of Kate looking disheveled and unpretentious caught Paul off guard. She was beautiful. “Try again,” he barely managed to say, his voice feeling as if it were caught in his throat.

Kate pushed to her feet and wiped sand off her pants. “I don’t think I’m cut out for this.” She looked at him, eyes wide and innocent.

Needing distance, Paul moved away. “You’ll get the hang of it.” As Angel took off after another seagull, Paul headed down the beach. The dog splashed into the surf and the bird rose above the waves, lifted by the wind.

When Paul spotted another likely spot, he was glad for the distraction and immediately took up the chase. He caught the clam and held it up. “Got another one,” he shouted, holding up the ill-fated mollusk.

“I’m not giving up,” Kate said, catching sight of another likely spot. She started digging. Water washed in, but undaunted she kept after the clam. This time she captured the creature and dragged it out of its gritty home. “Got it!”

“Good for you.” Paul laughed. Unexpectedly, a longing welled up inside, a wish that the day would never end.

By early afternoon, Paul and Kate had nearly filled both buckets. Hard work had produced ravenous appetites, so they stepped into the surf to wash filthy hands and arms, then toweled off and returned to the plane to get the lunch basket.

They sat beside a large chunk of pallid driftwood. It would shield them from the wind. Shivering, Kate pulled on her coat and sat down, leaning against the log. Panting, Angel dropped down beside her.

“That was fun,” Kate said, opening the basket. “What do we do with them now?”

“We’ve still got more to dig, but we’ll have to work fast. Tide’s turning.” Paul sat across from her. “When we get back to Anchorage, we clean them and then cook ’em.”

She handed him a sandwich. “Hope you like salmon.”

“Love it.” Paul took off the waxed paper, wadded it up, and tossed it into the basket. Taking a bite, he gazed out over the inlet. In the distance mountains stood misty blue and white. “It’s pretty here.”

“I love it. Maybe we can come back.”

“Sure.” Paul heard the hesitancy in his voice. He wanted to spend more time with Kate, but he was afraid. He liked her . . . too much.

She glanced at the sun. “It almost feels warm.”

A gull dove over their heads. Angel sat up and stared at it, but she’d done enough chasing for one morning and lay back down, resting her head on her paws. Kate threw a piece of her sandwich into the air and the bird caught it. “That’s amazing. How do they learn that? There can’t be many people out on these beaches.”

“Must be an old seagull, one with lots of life experience.” Paul’s mouth tipped into a sideways grin.

Kate took a bite of her sandwich, then tore off a piece for Angel. Talking around a mouthful, she asked, “Most of your mail comes from San Francisco—is that your home?”

Without looking at her, he said, “Uh-huh.”

“Never been there. But I’d like to go some day.”

“It’s nice.”

“You have family there?”

“Yeah.” Paul knew where the questions would lead, so he diverted the conversation. “How about you? Did you say you’re from Washington?

“Yakima. My parents own a farm there. They grow apples mostly.”

“You miss it?”

“Sometimes.”

“And flying, where does that come from?”

“My dad. He was flying way back when all the planes had open cockpits.”

“That’d be a thrill.”

“There’s nothing like it.”

Paul took another bite of his sandwich, enjoying the heady flavor of the fish. He finished it off. “You don’t happen to have another one of those sandwiches, do you?”

Looking smug, Kate reached into the basket and held one up. “I came prepared.”

“They’re good. Who said you can’t cook?”

“It’s pretty simple, just some mayonnaise, salt and pepper, and canned salmon.” She took out a container of brownies. “These are thanks to Helen.”

After finishing off their lunch, Kate and Paul went back to work. When the second bucket was full, they loaded the clams and gear into the plane, then took turns changing into dry clothes. Paul cranked the plane, then climbed in and closed the door. He dragged Angel off the front seat while Kate turned the plane into the wind for takeoff.

Paul dropped down beside Kate. “So, still think you’re not cut out for clam digging?”

“Guess I’m not too bad at it, after all.” She flashed him a smile and headed the plane down the beach. “That was fun. Can we go again?”

“Sure. Next time I’m in Anchorage.”

“My parents are going to be here in a few weeks. I’d love to take them.”

“Let me know if you need my help.”

“I think they’d like it.” She glanced at the buckets. “We’ve still got to clean them. Don’t figure that’s going to be much fun.”

“It’s not bad. I’ll show you.”

As they lifted into the air, Paul sat back contentedly, folded his arms over his chest, and allowed his mind to replay the day. It had been one of the best he’d had in years.

When Paul and Kate carried their trophies into the store, Helen was working at the front counter, tallying the day’s receipts. Kate proudly held out one of the buckets.

“Look what we got.” She smiled broadly.

Helen peered into the bucket. “Oh my. You did well.” She looked from Paul to Kate. “Where do you plan to clean them?”

“We were hoping you’d let us use your place. Paul said he’d make some chowder.”

“Albert loves clam chowder. And I’ve got fresh-baked bread.”

“There are plenty of clams,” Paul said. “Probably enough for canning too, if you want them.”

“I certainly would.” Helen closed the till. “Go on over to the house. Albert’s there. I’ve got about another hour’s worth of work to do.”

“Okay,” Kate said. “But I’d like to shower and change first. I feel like I’ve got grit everywhere.”

“I can wait,” Paul said, although acutely aware of the salt and sand in his hair, on his skin, and beneath his fingernails. Helen seemed to read his mind. “Feel free to clean up at the house.”

“Thanks.”

When Kate and Paul arrived at the Towns’s place Albert was on his knees weeding a flower garden. He pushed his slender frame up from the ground.

“Hi, you two. Helen called and told me you were coming.” Brushing dirt from his hands, he moved toward the front porch. “I can already taste the chowder. Come on in.”

After a shower, Paul felt more like himself. He and Kate stood side by side at the sink. He showed her how to pry open the clam shells, scoop out the insides, then cut away the guts and rinse off the sand. It wasn’t unpleasant. The clams had a fresh, tangy smell.

“They feel slimy.” Kate cut the guts away from the meat. “I’m not sure I’m going to like chowder.”

Albert chuckled. “It’s delicious, you’ll see.”

Helen arrived just as Paul and Kate were finishing the last couple of clams. “What do you need me to do?” she asked, tying on an apron.

“We need you to sit and watch while we cook,” Paul said. “I’ve got my grandmother’s recipe imprinted in my mind. It’s the best I’ve ever tasted.” He looked around the kitchen. “You have onions?”

“I do.” Helen took one out of a basket hanging inside her pantry door and handed it to him. “The least I can do is make coffee.” She moved to the percolator and dumped out the morning’s leftovers.

While the chowder simmered, everyone moved to the living room. Coffee in hand, Paul settled into a chair. He felt at ease. Glancing at Kate, he wondered how much of his good mood was because of her. The idea of spending more time with the spirited woman was appealing. He wished he hadn’t already arranged a flight home with Mike for the following morning. A few more days in Anchorage would be nice.

He caught Helen’s eye and lifted his cup as if offering a toast. “Good coffee. Just the way I like it.”

“Thank you. Hope you’ll come back and visit.”

“I’d like that, but it’s quite a trip from the creek to Anchorage.” He glanced at Kate and caught her studying him.

Her cheeks pinked slightly. “It’s not so far by plane,” she said innocently.

“No, I guess not.” He smiled. “Next time I come, you cook the chowder?”

“You have a deal.”