Читать книгу Safe In His Arms - Anna J. Stewart - Страница 15

“HOW BIG ARE your milkshakes?” Hunter asked the attentive, sandy-blond-headed waitress once they were seated at a booth. Phoebe had barely glanced at the menu before she’d scrambled onto her knees and looked over the back of the booth to where a group of kids had gathered at the end of the counter.

“Quite big. Big enough to split.” Their server, who wore a pink T-shirt, inclined her head toward Phoebe. The woman’s long ponytail fell over her shoulder as she flipped her pen in her hand, making the small diamond solitaire wedding set twinkle on her finger. “Or I can whip up a mini one just for her.”

Phoebe turned a big-eyed grin back at him, then up at their server.

“Would you like your own shake, sweetie?”

Phoebe nodded.

“Got it. So that’s two burgers, one mini. And two milkshakes. One mini.” She pointed to Phoebe. “Side order of onion rings and...a green salad.” She ticked off the items on her pad. “That do it?”

“And coffee, thanks.” Hunter handed the menus back. “Busy place.” Not overly crowded, but full enough he could tell it was a favorite go-to spot for locals and tourists alike. Not that this time of year was tourist season, but it should be given the beautiful weather. Gil had told him the town was slowly becoming a year-round go-to destination. He liked the throwback feel of the diner, from the black-and-white tile floor to the orange-and-black vinyl stools and booths, no doubt a decorating homage to the town’s namesake monarch butterfly.

Speaking of butterflies. They were everywhere, in every form, dangling from the ceiling of the diner, attached to the walls. Even perched perfectly on the edge of the windowsills. Children’s renderings, artist offerings and even a few scribbles on napkins.

“Saturdays have become nonstop. I’m Paige, by the way. Paige Bradley.”

“Hunter MacBride.” Hunter offered his hand and cast a quick glance at Phoebe. “This is my niece, Phoebe.”

“Nice to meet you both.” Paige looked over her shoulder to the group of surprisingly quiet kids. “My daughter Charlie’s somewhere in that pack. And that’s Simon with the glasses.” Paige shifted toward Phoebe and crouched down, pointing to each child as she referenced them. “There with the brown curls? That’s Marley O’Neill. And Stella Jones. She wears bells in her hair sometimes. She jingles when she walks. Would you like to meet them, Phoebe?”

Phoebe looked at Paige for a long moment before she shook her head and scooted back in the booth.

“Maybe another time.” If Paige was put off by Phoebe’s reluctance, she didn’t let on. She pushed to her feet. “You staying long or just passing through?”

“We’ll be here for a while,” Hunter said. “I’m writing a book on the lighthouse.”

“Oh, you’re the photojournalist we’ve heard about.” Paige seemed to bite the inside of her cheek. “Have you, um, been up there already?”

Sensing where this was headed, Hunter nodded. “We have. Just finished unloading the motor home.”

“Ah.” Paige nodded. “So that must mean you’ve met Kendall.”

“We have had the pleasure.” Questions flooded his mind about the odd, quiet, apparently easy to offend woman. Hazards of the job. He always had questions. But experience had taught him barreling in demanding answers was rarely the way to glean accurate and helpful information. “She seems nice.”

“She is,” Paige said with an apologetic shrug. “She’s just...”

“No need to explain,” Hunter assured her. “We all have our stories. Speaking of which, I’d love to start talking to residents, get a feel for the place. Really get to know what makes Butterfly Harbor tick.”

“Oh, well, I’d be happy to participate, but Charlie and I haven’t been here that long.”

“Long enough?” He pointed to her ring and smiled at the pink rising to her cheeks.

“How do you know this is recent?”

“Intuition. Plus you keep turning it with your thumb, as if you’re still getting used to it. I tend to notice things like that. I bet there’s a great story behind it.”

It occurred to him the book could take a more personal spin rather than having a focus on purely historical information. The lighthouse would be the perfect starting point, but it was obvious there were a lot more stories to be found in this town. More than the buildings and the restructuring—it was about the people, as well.

“Hmm, you could say that. If you’re looking for a newcomer’s perspective, I’m your girl. But Holly, Simon’s mom—she’s the owner—she’s lived here her entire life. As has her father. Holly’s home today, but she should be in for a few hours tomorrow morning. She and her husband are expecting twins in a couple of months.”

“Oh, wow. Well, I wouldn’t want to bother her right away.”

“Doesn’t mean you wouldn’t like to talk to her, though, right? Don’t worry. I’ll hook you up. You have a cell number?”

“Absolutely.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over a business card. “My schedule’s open.”

“Well, I might just be using you in the coming weeks then. Talking to you would be a good excuse to get Holly off her feet if I can’t at least get her out the door. I’ll put your order in with Ursula. She’s our mainstay at the grill. And your shake is coming right up.” She winked at Phoebe.

“Everyone seems so nice here.” Hunter folded his hands on the table and looked across at his niece. “You like it so far?”

Phoebe nodded and rearranged herself on the seat. The top of her chin almost brushed the table, but as was her routine, she placed her napkin to her right and arranged her fork and knife and spoon, making sure they were aligned properly. Above the din of conversation and childish laughter, the milkshake machine rumbled to life. A grumbling voice added to the noise as it echoed from beyond the pass-through window.

“Maybe after lunch we can walk down to the beach,” Hunter suggested. “Get our feet wet in the ocean?”

Phoebe knocked her head to the side. Maybe.

“Or we can take a walk around town. See what stores they have here? Maybe there’s a bookstore.” Hunter grinned when Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I thought that might get your attention. I have to admit, I did a bit of checking, and I know for a fact there is a bookstore. But you know what else it has?” He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. “Cats.”

The skepticism on Phoebe’s face shouldn’t have been possible, not in a child so young. But there it was. She thought he was joking.

“I swear.” Hunter made a crisscross gesture over his heart. “Cats and books. Might be a nice way to spend the afternoon, right?”

“Are you talking about Cat’s Eye Books?” Paige asked. She set a small pink-filled glass topped with a cavity-inducing swirl of whipped cream and a solitary cherry on top on the table and followed it with Hunter’s coffee. “One of Charlie’s favorite places to go. You’ll love it. Both of you. Just be sure you always look up.” Paige laughed at Phoebe’s expression. “You really don’t have to say a word, do you? Your face says it all. Trust me. Look up.”

Phoebe watched Paige walk away before she picked up her straw, unwrapped it and slid it carefully into her glass. Hunter’s heart had become immune to the little daggers of despair that struck whenever he noticed how precise and careful Phoebe was. It was as if she considered everything around her to be temporary. To end at any moment. But pushing her out of her comfort zone, one that seemed to give her some solace and security, didn’t seem right.

“How is it?” he asked after she took a dainty sip.

Phoebe nodded, her lips twitching before she drank again. Then pointed to Hunter’s messenger bag. “Do you want your book?”

Phoebe nodded.

Hunter retrieved the tattered copy of Charlotte’s Web. The same book she’d read over and over for the past six months. The same book her mother had been reading to her just days before Juliana and Brent had been killed. Phoebe settled in, book on the table, fingers pressing the worn pages open, and pursed her lips as she dropped into the story.

Hunter took the time to catch up on his emails before pulling out his own notebook. He’d already taken a few pictures of the town with his phone during their ride into town, initial images that, when assembled, would give him a bit of a roadmap of what to concentrate on when he brought out the big guns. While camera phones were fabulous, they didn’t capture everything for him. Not the way a big, need-two-hands device with a long lens tended to. There was something about hefting that camera in his hands, feeling the weight of it, knowing the power it possessed to capture a moment, a fragment of time that never got old.

He loved the smell of this place. The hot, steamy grill. The promise of fried onions with a hint of bacon. The aroma of coffee wafting its way around the sugary sweetness of a cavalcade of pies lining the case by the register. Made him grateful they had their bikes. Too much time in Butterfly Harbor and he was going to gain fifty pounds.

And that was just the diner. Hearing former celebrity chef Jason Corwin had opened a restaurant at the historic Flutterby Inn, a building he was certain would take days to investigate and photograph to its fullest potential, had gotten his salivary glands going. The restaurant, Flutterby Dreams, wasn’t exactly Phoebe friendly, so he’d have to play that one by ear.

Scrolling through the city’s website, Hunter made note of the different businesses, the mentions of historic buildings that could be contemporaries of the lighthouse. He had a full day planned tomorrow at the library, searching through the archives for any events that might have included Liberty Lighthouse. Phoebe could get started on that new math unit he’d showed her.

He felt she should be back in school by now, but every time he even broached the subject, Phoebe resisted. No doubt the idea of being in a classroom again took her back to that day—the day when the police had come to collect her from school after the accident. Just that morning Phoebe had had parents who adored her, doted on her. Hours later, thanks to a drunk driver, her entire world had vanished.

No wonder she didn’t want to go back. But Hunter knew the time was coming when he wouldn’t have a choice. She couldn’t stay out of school forever. Something Phoebe’s paternal grandparents had begun to convey through their recently obtained lawyer. It was one more strike against him, the first being his job and the fact that he didn’t have a permanent address that wasn’t a PO Box. An uneasy nausea churned low in his stomach. He knew Eleanor and Stephen meant well and that they were concerned about Phoebe—not that they’d shown much interest in her before their son’s and daughter-in-law’s deaths. It hadn’t taken them longer than the reception after the funeral for them to suggest to Hunter that his rootless lifestyle wasn’t conducive to the raising of a seven-year-old. Their claims seemed bolstered by the fact that Phoebe had become withdrawn, but the therapist he’d consulted with shortly after the accident had given him the reassurance that it would just take time and encouragement from him to help her move beyond the loss.

Bringing up her parents in regular conversation didn’t illicit the hostile reaction it once had; Phoebe was getting used to hearing the stories or comments, and while she didn’t necessarily contribute to the conversation, he could see she was listening, processing. All positive steps toward healing.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he blinked and found Phoebe watching him. Those brown eyes of hers seemed to see so much—far more than his jaded ones ever could.

Hunter gave her one of his trademark “everything’s great” smiles, and she returned to her book. The little tyke picked up on everything. Every mood he had. Every thought that passed through his mind. It was almost... spooky.

“Okay, here you go. One cheeseburger, one mini burger, a side order of onion rings and one green salad.”

Hunter scrambled to clear his stuff off the table as Paige set their food down. Phoebe shifted onto her knees and tucked her napkin into the collar of her shirt.

“Such a little adult,” Paige murmured, then turned surprised eyes on Hunter as Phoebe claimed the bright green tomato-and-cucumber-topped salad for herself. “I’m guessing the two of you have been through a lot.”

“A bit.” Hunter kept his tone upbeat. “But we’re doing okay, right, kiddo?”

Phoebe stuffed a grape tomato into her mouth and gave them both a thumbs-up.

“Yeah, well, you’ve definitely come to the right place. Just keep your eyes open for butterflies, Phoebe. They’re everywhere in this town.”

“Even now?” Hunter slopped ketchup onto his burger. “I thought monarch season wasn’t until—”

“Monarch season is all year round here in Butterfly Harbor. Trust me. It’s the magic of the place. And you know what they say about butterflies and luck, don’t you?”

She’d clearly caught Phoebe’s attention. Paige bent down. “It’s said if you whisper a wish to a butterfly, it’ll carry it on the wind and deliver it. But you have to be very careful and catch a butterfly right here.” She tapped the tip of one finger. “The butterflies will come when the time is right.”

Phoebe’s brows veed. Hunter had no doubt, if she’d been a teenager, she’d have rolled her eyes and muttered a bitter “whatever.” Instead, she smirked and returned to her salad.

“Well, it was worth a shot.” Paige pushed back to her feet. “Butterflies aren’t my specialty. Although my daughter Charlie’s becoming an expert. If you want the real skinny, head up to Duskywing Farm one morning and talk to Calliope Jones. Now she’s magic with those creatures.”

Phoebe stabbed her fork hard into her salad and looked out the window.

“I think we’re a little leery of magic right now,” Hunter explained. “But I appreciate the advice. I’m up for anything since we’re here.”

And if that happened to include a bit of magic, all the better.

KENDALL HAD SPENT the better part of the afternoon searching out Gil Hamilton. Granted, it wasn’t how she’d expected to spend the day, not when she had plastering and sanding to do on the exterior of the lighthouse. But at least, in the meantime, she was able to submit her new order for supplies to Harvey Mills at the hardware store and check the community bulletin board for any side jobs she could knock out quickly.

Abby Corwin’s grandmother Alice, who ran the Flutterby Inn before Abby took over, was looking to do an upgrade on the backyard patio she shared with her roommates before summer arrived full-on. Meanwhile, Mrs. Hastings, the former school principal, wanted shelves built for her dining room. A handful of other tasks ended up in Kendall’s phone, enough that she abandoned her original goal of hunting down the mayor and headed off to make contact with her new clients.

At some point the lighthouse was going to be finished and Kendall would be out of a job—and a place to live. The more money she could bank, the easier it would be when the time came. Not that she charged much beyond supplies, but every penny helped.

In the years since she’d been discharged, she’d lived in her car, in shelters and, for a few months that Matt didn’t know about, on the street. She’d been lost without Sam, without the life they’d planned. It was as if she’d been left utterly rudderless in an unending storm on the ocean. Those days, when the darkness got so bad, when everything above, around and beneath her felt too big to escape, there was little more she could do than just sit and breathe. And even then, breathing was an effort. So where she lived hadn’t meant a lot to her. She could have been in the most palatial of homes, surrounded by the best of friends, and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

But the medication had. Eventually. The therapy had. Somewhat. And she’d vowed to never have another day like those when the darkness had almost won.

Now, she knew as long as she remained in Butterfly Harbor, she would always have a place to rest her head. Or stash her duffel bag. Thanks to Matt, and everyone, in fact. Heck, Matt was even talking about constructing a tiny house for the back portion of his land. Not that he’d said specifically that he was thinking about Kendall. But she knew him well enough to guess the thought had crossed his mind. Matt Knight never did anything randomly. There was always a method to his...madness.

Madness. Kendall almost laughed as she bade goodbye to Greta Bundy, a former council member who was looking to have her bedroom repainted. Her little cottage-style house looked like it had been plucked from the pages of Mother Goose, with the white picket fence, lattice trim around the windows and roof, a lush green lawn and an arched front door that had forest animals carved in the stained redwood.

Kendall wouldn’t wish her familiarity with the opposite of the picture-postcard scene on anyone; it wasn’t as if she wore her issues like a badge of honor or even a shield. If anything, dragging her past with her was part of what kept her quiet most of the time. Not having the ability to see the bright side of anything for so long, she’d learned it was better to simply stay quiet and observe. And gradually, eventually, that silence had, in a way, set her free.

She wasn’t meant for a life other than the one she had now. Simple, careful. Alone. That’s where she had to keep her focus. And leave the past in the past. The panic attacks had subsided, and she knew to plan well ahead of time should any fireworks or other large noises happen around town. And she’d been doing okay. Better than okay. She’d been doing...good.

Until Hunter MacBride and his niece, Phoebe, had arrived.

Kendall stopped walking, that familiar lack of air pressing in on her. The more she tried not to think about the little girl, the more she was all Kendall could think about. Images of another little girl, laughing and tumbling in the air, her face alight with promise and hope despite her family’s difficult circumstances. Until those circumstances were ended. For good.

She needed to get back to the lighthouse. Back to where she felt safe. She could track Gil down later today or even tomorrow. But for now...

No!

Kendall snapped herself free. One hard shake of her head, one forced push of relaxation through her body had her looking at the peaceful sight of the blue ocean mere blocks away. From where she stood at the top of the hill, it felt so close. The water, the crashing waves. The feel of the damp sand between her toes. That was all she needed.

“My kind of therapy, here I come.” Kendall slipped her phone into her back pocket and zipped up her sweatshirt. Keeping the ocean in focus, in sight, in mind, she walked forward.

And longed for peace.