Kisses in the Rain Read Online Free PDF

cabin on Mooseleg Bay outside the town of Ketchikan.
    The cabin was called Williwaw Lodge because his father's fishing boat had been driven ashore at this point on the ragged coastline of the bay during a furious williwaw, the name Alaskans gave to the often violent winds that roared over steep mountains, striking the water close by the shore. When the storm cleared to reveal a far-flung landscape of exaggerated grandeur, Nick's father knew that this horseshoe-shaped cove was the place where he wanted to raise his family. The Novaks became homesteaders. Nick had lived here all of his thirty-two years.
    "Nick! Nick!" called a small voice, and a dark-haired boy catapulted around the woodpile stacked at the side of the house and latched on to one of Nick's legs.
    "Hold it, hold it," he said, but then he swung the boy up and around, hoping that he would laugh. The boy never laughed.
    "How are you, Davey?" he said, smoothing the boy's hair tenderly.
    "Okay," said Davey.
    "What does Hallie plan to feed us for dinner?"
    Davey buried his face in Nick's neck.
    Nick patted Davey on the back and strode, still carrying him, through the door into the house. The screen door slammed behind them.
    "Hallie?"
    "I'm back here," called his housekeeper. Nick saw her chunky figure through the kitchen window. She was bending over to pick strawberries.
    Nick shifted Davey to his free arm and lifted the lid of the iron pot on the stove. Inside was fish stew, Hallie's own special concoction of fish and tomatoes, onions and peppers, and it smelled good.
    Hallie huffed and puffed her heavy frame up the back steps. She carried a basket she had woven herself from marsh grass and seal gut, and it was filled with plump, juicy strawberries.
    "I'm going to whip up a cobbler for dessert," she said breathlessly. "Davey helped me pick some of these, didn't you, Davey?"
    Davey's eyes lit up with pride, but still he didn't speak.
    "That's wonderful, Davey," Nick said. He was crazy about the kid, always had been. He just wished that Davey responded to him more.
    "It'll be an hour or so before dinner's ready," Hallie said. "There's plenty of time for you and Davey to do something together if you like." She had recovered from her exertion on the stairs and began to hull strawberries over the sink. Poor Hallie, thought Nick. It was a lot to ask of her to keep up with a lively little boy every day.
    Nick knew it was hard for Hallie, sociable soul that she was, to live here with Davey day in and day out when Davey hardly ever spoke a word. Hallie would prefer to live closer to her fellow Tlingits in the town of Ketchikan, which is what she had been planning to do three years ago when he'd suddenly, with no prior warning whatsoever, brought Davey home to stay.
    "I see I can't leave you with an infant on your hands,"   Hallie had said on that long-ago day.
    "If you could just stay until I get someone else," Nick suggested, not knowing at the time how hard it would be to find another housekeeper who was willing to live in the wilderness on the edge of the bay. Now, three years later, Hallie still lived here, and she was tired of the rigors of the Alaskan bush.
    These days it seemed less likely than ever that Hallie would feel free to leave anytime soon. Of course, there was nothing holding her here—Nick had made it clear that if she absolutely wanted to, he would not make it difficult for her to go. No, there was nothing holding Hallie—nothing except a sweet little boy who hardly ever talked.
    Nick carried Davey out to the wide, grassy front slope that led down to the dock where both his boat and his floatplane were moored. Davey ran to get a rubber ball, and they tossed it back and forth; Nick's quick eye discerned that Davey's motor development was equal to that of any of the children his age whom Nick had observed playing in the park at Ketchikan. Davey would be four years old tomorrow, and there seemed to be nothing wrong with him physically. He was slow in