Читать книгу Suddenly Family - Christine Flynn, Christine Flynn, Mary J. Forbes - Страница 10

Two days, Sam thought. His kids had only been gone for two days, and he was already going stir-crazy in the too-quiet house.

Plowing his fingers through his hair, he turned his back on the fading view of the ocean and massive boulders beyond his lawn and leaned against the railing of the long redwood porch. He’d once loved this time of day, the peaceful moments between dusk and nightfall when people and creatures started settling down, settling in. Now he faced his evenings trying not to think too much about the night ahead and occupied himself with his children’s routine and whatever chore or task demanded to be done.

The problem tonight was that without the kids there had been no routine. There had been no coloring with Jenny, or roughhousing with Jason or cuddling with both of them on the couch while they watched the Disney Channel or some animated video for the hundredth time. There had been no cajoling to get them to brush their teeth. No bedtime stories. There had been nothing to claim his attention or to take the emptiness out of the rambling log home he’d had built for Tina and their family.

He needed his children back. He knew they were perfectly safe with his parents. They were undoubtedly being spoiled rotten at that very moment, too. But they belonged here. On Harbor. With him.

He just needed someone responsible to be with them while he worked.

He also had no idea who that someone could be.

He couldn’t ask his sister for help. Lauren had enough on her plate being pregnant and still putting in fifty hours a week managing a department store in Bellingham. Taking them to the day-care center in town wasn’t a viable option because his hours often extended beyond theirs. If the week before Labor Day hadn’t been one of the busiest times of the year for his business, he might have been able to cut back on his flight time and stayed with them himself until he found another housekeeper. But he and his partner were shorthanded even with the other two pilots in their hire.

It wasn’t helping matters that he hadn’t had a single useful response to any of the ads he’d placed under Domestic Help Wanted in either the local or the mainland newspapers.

The haunting hoot of an owl filtered toward him from the forest of pine trees behind the house. Crickets chirped from the bushes in response.

Preferring to drown out the melancholy sounds, he picked up the hammer he’d used to repair a loose board and tossed it with a clank into his toolbox. With the thud of his boots on now-sturdy planks, he headed for the door before he could think too much more about why he’d put off going inside.

It took him all of a minute to return the toolbox to its place under the workbench in the basement. Less than that to climb back up the stairs, head through the big country kitchen and find himself back in his living room.

The spacious area was bright with the glow from the massive brass lamps on the pine end tables. Noisy audio from the big-screen TV filled the room with canned laughter. But the vitality in the comfortable, once-inviting space was only an illusion.

No matter how bright the lights, how loud the television, radio or CD player, there was still something—someone—missing. He noticed her absence even when the children were there.

Hating the emptiness, wondering if it would ever go away, he picked up the portable telephone from the table by the butterscotch-colored leather sofa. He needed to call his kids and say good-night. But he had another call to make first.

He’d paced two laps around the braided burgundy throw rug when his sister answered on the third ring.

“Hey, sis.”

“Sam.” Lauren Edwards McKendrick sounded as if she were smiling. “We were just talking about you.”

“You and Zach?”

“Me and Mom. We just hung up a couple of minutes ago.”

Two women discussing a man was seldom good news for the latter. Especially when they were all related.

“Are the kids okay?” he asked, not about to ask for details of that conversation. Picking up a red thread from the rug, he balled it between his fingers. “I tried to call them about an hour ago, but there was no answer.”

“They went out for pizza. And she said the kids are fine. I’m sure Jason will tell you, but he has a loose tooth. He wants a dollar for it. Mom says the Tooth Fairy won’t go past a quarter.”

He frowned, wondering which tooth it was. “She needs to account for inflation. She’s still thinking of when we were kids.”

“Probably. So,” Lauren said, her tone softening, “how are you doing over there?”

The piece of lint went sailing into the dark fireplace. Lousy, he thought. “Fine,” he replied. “I just need some background on someone. Do you know T.J. Walker?”

“T.J.? Sure. Everybody does.”

“I mean really know her. I’ve seen her before myself when she’s brought packages in to ship, but I need something more than nodding acquaintance information. She offered to watch the kids for me until I can find a live-in.”

Puzzlement entered his sister’s voice. “I thought she was going to talk to you about flying lessons.”

“She did. The other just sort of came up.”

“How do you get from flying lessons to baby-sitting?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, but it does sound a little odd.”

He couldn’t tell if it was a smile or curiosity in his sister’s tone. Either way, he wasn’t interested in explaining how T.J.’s proposition had come about. He wasn’t completely sure himself, other than that the woman had simply refused to take no for an answer.

“It probably does,” he agreed, letting it go at that. “So is she someone I can trust with my kids?”

“I don’t know why you couldn’t,” came her thoughtful reply. “From what I understand, she’s lived most of her life on the island, and you know everyone around here knows, or knows of, everyone else. You even know her mother,” she reminded him. “I’ll admit Crystal is a little…different,” she said, diplomatically describing T.J.’s mom, “but I’ve never heard anything negative about either her or her daughter. If there were reasons not to trust T.J., someone would have mentioned them by now.”

Sam continued pacing as he weighed his sister’s logic. In summer, tourists and summer residents overran the island, and most of the faces were unfamiliar. The permanent population of Harbor was just over 1,200 and spread out at that. But the locals did tend to keep track of those who truly belonged there.

Thinking about it, even he knew people who knew T.J. His sister, for one. And, as his sister had just mentioned, T.J.’s mother. But, then, there wasn’t anyone on Harbor who owned a VCR who didn’t know the outgoing, middle-aged hippie who still wore love beads and tie-dye with her flowing gauze skirts. Her store was probably the only one in the San Juans where a person could get a free astrological reading along with the latest video release and an herbal cure for whatever ailed him.

“Oh, and I saw T.J. once myself with children during story hour at the bookstore,” Lauren continued helpfully. “She seemed great with them. Nurturing, I guess you’d say. Anyway, the place I usually run into her is at her mom’s shop. All we’ve ever really talked about is books, videos and herbs. But as far as I’m concerned, she’s one of the nicest people in town. Very sweet. Very generous.” She paused. “I heard she does something with animals, too.”

The wary feeling Sam had experienced when his sister’s name had first come up with T.J. slithered up his back again. His sibling’s description of the woman was beginning to sound like a sales pitch.

“Sam? Are you still there? You’re not saying anything.”

He paced to a stop in the middle of the deserted room. “You’re not trying to set me up with her, are you?”

A choke of disbelief filtered across the line. “You asked what I know about her. All I did was tell you what I’d heard and give you my impressions.”

“Yeah, but you were the one who suggested she talk to me about flying lessons. And Mom’s latest solution to my life is for me to find myself someone to marry so I’ll have help raising the kids.”

“Oh, good grief,” Lauren muttered. “I suggested you because I think you’d be a good teacher. And our mother is making you paranoid. I know as well as you do that you don’t just go out and find someone to spend the rest of your life with. Besides,” she continued, ever so reasonably, “if I were to set you up with someone, it wouldn’t be T.J. From what I’ve heard from Maddy, she’s far too independent for marriage. Maddy should know, too. She told me she’s tried to fix T.J. up for years. She even tried to get her and Zach together before I met him.” A shrug entered her voice. “T.J.’s not interested in a relationship.”

For a moment Sam said nothing. Maddy O’Toole owned the Road’s End Café, which happened to be the place for gossip on Harbor Island. Sam didn’t frequent the establishment himself. Between his work and his children, he took little time for socializing, and any meals out were usually at Hamburger Heaven, Jason’s favorite. He remembered his wife talking about Maddy, though. And he knew from Zach that anything that happened on Harbor usually filtered through the Road’s End. Word was that gossip obtained from Maddy was pretty much gospel.

“You know, brother dear,” his sister gently chided, “you would know these things if you’d get out and get a little more involved in what’s going on around you. All you do is work. You’re not doing yourself any favors turning into a recluse.”

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. He dearly loved Lauren. There had even been a time after his wife’s death when he hadn’t known how he would have survived without his sister. But the last thing he wanted was for her to get started on her favorite theme. He wasn’t being reclusive. He just didn’t have the time or the inclination to add anything—or anyone—else to his life.

“I’m involved with you and Zach and my kids,” he defended, forcing a smile into his voice. “That keeps me crazy enough.”

Taking the hint, Lauren chuckled. “We keep you sane. It’s Mom who makes you crazy. Just remember that she means well. And that she loves you. And, Sam,” she concluded, “T.J. is probably just the person you need. From what I’ve heard, she can deal with practically anything.”

T.J. wasn’t dealing well at all with what she’d just heard.

“Brad was here?” Her voice dropped to a disbelieving whisper. “On Harbor?”

Maddy O’Toole stood next to her in the cramped bookstore aisle between self-help and romance and lowered her voice another notch.

“I thought for sure he had come by to see you,” the forty-something redhead quietly declared. The he she referred to was Brad Colwood, the man who had fathered T.J.’s six-year-old son, then disappeared like smoke in a stiff breeze. “I mean, he was asking everyone around here about you. Edna at the ferry office. Linc over at the aquarium. Me and Mary and Alice,” she enumerated, adding herself and her waitresses to the list.

“I was here all day, Maddy. Libby didn’t work yesterday because Bert’s arthritis was acting up. I couldn’t even leave for lunch.”

“Your mom didn’t hear about him being here?”

“I didn’t see her yesterday. But she would have called if she had.” Crystal had about as much use for Brad as she did another bunion. “I’m sure she would have.”

“Well, I don’t have a clue what to make of his coming here, then. Actually, I wasn’t even sure what to make of him,” the puzzled woman confided. “I barely recognized him when he came into the café. His ponytail was gone, and the clothes he was wearing were straight out of GQ. I swear the watch he wore cost as much as Alice’s divorce. And his car—”

Canceling any further inventory, Maddy shook her head to get herself back on track.

“Anyway,” she murmured, “he spent a good twenty minutes working his way through his chowder and asking about everybody else he’d known here before he finally got around to asking about you. He said he’d heard you’d had a child and started asking questions about Andy.”

“He knew his name?”

Maddy hesitated. “I can’t remember if he mentioned it first. Or if someone else did.”

A sense of unease had hit T.J. in the stomach the moment Maddy said she’d seen Andy’s father. Now it balled into a knot of pure apprehension.

Grabbing Maddy by the wide pocket of her green Road’s End apron, T.J. tugged her friend farther down the aisle. Two teenage girls were giggling over a hottie on the cover of People magazine. Wanting to get out of earshot, T.J. came to a halt by a postcard carousel and cast a furtive glance toward the service counter angled against the back wall. Her son had flopped on the floor behind the counter and was coloring in his coloring book next to his pet de jour.

“What kind of questions did he ask?” she insisted.

“Mostly he wanted to know what kind of child Andy is. If he’s bright. What he’s interested in. That sort of thing. And he wanted to know if you’d ever married.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That you worked here at the bookstore and that he should ask those questions of you.” Maddy’s protective concern turned to compassion. “He really sounded interested, T.J. When I told him to come see you, he said he wouldn’t know what to say. It was almost like he was trying to get the courage to see you again. Maybe he didn’t come here because he never got that courage,” she suggested. “It could be that he heard how well you were doing without him and he decided he didn’t have the nerve to face you after all.”

At Maddy’s hypothetical conclusion, T.J. shot another quick glance toward her son. “Is he still on the island?”

The café owner quickly shook her head. “He left yesterday afternoon. I saw him drive his red Jaguar onto the ferry myself. Hard to miss that car,” she explained, impressed despite herself. It wasn’t often that a luxury car showed up on the island with its gravel roads and rugged terrain. Even the newly monied who’d built million-dollar summer homes in the more remote areas drove modest SUVs or trucks. On Harbor it was considered bad form to be too ostentatious. “The 3:10 ferry,” she added, wanting to be as accurate in her account as possible.

Brad was no longer on the island. He’d come. Asked his questions. And gone.

T.J. should have felt relief knowing he was no longer there. And she supposed she did. She just didn’t feel enough to relieve the uneasiness still knotting her stomach.

“Take it from me,” Maddy said, all friendship and sympathy. “It’s never easy when your past turns up. Especially in the form of a man. The good news is that once they’ve satisfied their curiosity about whatever brought them back, they’re usually gone.”

T.J. forced a faint smile, as much for Maddy’s benefit as her own. “Do you think that’s it? That he was just curious about us?”

“It makes perfect sense that he would be. Any man with a soul doesn’t forget that he ran out on a woman who was going to have his child. Maybe something happened to make him turn philosophical, and he’s looking at where he messed up his life. Maybe he’s just come out of a relationship and wants to go back to something familiar. Or,” she suggested, brightening, “it could be that he finally smartened up, realized what a jerk he’d been and he’s finally wanting to make things right.”

It was clear enough to T.J. that Maddy, the ever-hopeful romantic, was seeing a hint of potential in the man. T.J. could practically hear the local matchmaker’s mental wheels grinding out her argument now. She would insist that Brad needed to do his share of groveling to properly prove how sorry he was. But, like the prodigal son, if he was sorry enough, he could be welcomed back into the fold. After all, he was the child’s father. And T.J. really had cared a great deal about him.

The thought that Brad Colwood might want to make up for abandoning her and her son would never have occurred to T.J. on her own. In all her twenty-seven years, she had never once known any man who returned to repair the damage he’d left behind. If a man came back at all, it was only to collect something he had forgotten, then move on again leaving a little more pain in his wake.

Reminding herself of that hard-learned bit of reality, hating the sense of foreboding it gave her, T.J. did her best to mask her growing trepidation. There was something Maddy didn’t know. Something T.J. had mentioned to no one.

Brad’s appearance yesterday wasn’t his first attempt to get information about her and her son. He had written to her three months ago asking how she was doing and if she would please tell him about their child. He’d wanted a picture.

That letter had been the first communication she’d received from him since he’d bailed out on her after learning she was pregnant. She’d ignored it, along with the sense of unease it gave her. Just as she had ignored a second letter that had come two weeks ago.

As far as she was concerned, Andy was hers and no one else’s. Brad had no right to information about him. Not now. Not after so long. She didn’t care if he had faced some sort of epiphany about himself or if his heart had been broken and he was seeking solace in an old relationship. She especially didn’t care if he was simply curious. She wanted nothing to do with the man who had refused to acknowledge his child and left her to have her baby alone.

“He can’t make things right,” she finally replied to Maddy. “Things are right just the way they are. I’m just going to hope he’s dropped off the planet again.”

The middle-aged Irish woman opened her mouth, undoubtedly to ask T.J. what she would do if he came back, but the bell over the door gave a melodic tinkle. Two ladies in cargo shorts and tank tops strolled in, their pale skin pink from a morning in the sun.

The women gave the bestseller display a desultory once-over. Seeing nothing they were interested in, the blonde in the black baseball cap turned to the brunette in the red one and they left to join the stream of summer people clogging Harbor’s main street. The door had yet to swing closed when three more potential patrons wandered in.

The long, low moan of a ferry whistle filtered inside.

“This obviously isn’t a good time to talk. Look,” Maddy continued, her voice low as she backed up the aisle with T.J., “I didn’t mean to hit you with this out of the blue. I really thought you’d seen him. I just wondered what had happened.”

T.J.’s smile was soft, forgiving. She liked Maddy, but she wouldn’t have told the woman what had happened even if Brad had shown up. There wasn’t a malicious bone in the older woman’s body, but Maddy was notorious for trying to fix peoples lives. She also never failed to solicit everyone else’s opinion about how that could be accomplished—which meant anything she said to Maddy would be all over town in under an hour.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” she asked, truly hoping she wasn’t about to become a staple on the local grapevine. “I’m glad you let me know he was here.”

“Miss?” An elderly woman in an orange T-shirt and pea-green sun visor had stopped near the wildlife section. She waved to T.J. over the shoulder-high bookshelves. The older gentleman in baggy safari shorts, dark dress socks and sandals had to be her companion. He wore orange and pea green, too. “Can you help us?”

Eyeing the couple as she and T.J. returned to the counter, Maddy whispered, “If anyone asks, the pies today are apple and fresh blueberry.”

“What about your cobblers?”

“Peach and cherry.”

“Chowder of the day?”

“Fresh corn.”

“Got it.”

The bell over the door sounded again, the call of seagulls drifting inside along with the fresh salt air and an eclectic blend of buyers and lookers. T.J. loved the hustle of summer and the variety of people who visited the friendly little shop. Just as she loved the quiet solitude of the island when fall and winter came and the residents could reclaim their turf from those who had come to watch the whales, kayak in the coves and hike the lush forest. She liked belonging here.

At the moment, she was simply thankful she was busy. Busy was good. Busy meant she didn’t have time to obsess over what Brad’s reappearance might mean.

She soon discovered that she didn’t have to be consciously thinking about it for the development to affect her. What Maddy had told her silently preyed on her nerves as she went about her chores, helping customers, answering their inevitable questions about the history of the island, the best places to spot dolphins, where they could find rest rooms. The distractions helped. But she couldn’t shake the agitation that put her senses on alert and had her darting furtive glances toward the door every time it opened.

The sight of any tall blond male with angular features caused her stomach to drop.

She was overreacting. She knew she was. Maddy had said she’d seen Brad leave on the ferry, and as sure as rain in the northwest Maddy would let her know if he was back. Still, T.J. couldn’t help the prickling sensation at the back of her neck when, just before noon, the tinkle of the bell caught her kneeling behind the counter. Before she could rise from where she was restocking bags beneath it, her heart jumped when something heavy hit the long, gray surface above her head.

Still on her knees, she glanced up to see a large dog-eared volume in the space between the cash register and a display of novelty note cards. The book definitely wasn’t from the store’s stock. Not tattered as it was. The thought was lost, however, as her wary glance shot past the front of worn jeans to the tall, broad-shouldered male in a chambray work shirt.

Sam Edwards’ impossibly blue eyes met hers.

“Hi,” she said, unbelievably relieved to see that it was him.

A faint frown furrowed his brow as she rose and pushed back her hair.

“Hi,” he echoed, staring at her hand.

Realizing her hand was shaking, she shoved it into the pocket of the teal work apron she wore over her T-shirt and long khaki skirt. Benders’ Books arched across the bib in pale-yellow embroidery.

“I wondered if I would hear from you,” she admitted, forcing a smile. She glanced at the book. From upside down, she read Principles of Flight. “I take it you’ve reconsidered your stance on the lessons?”

Watching her curiously, Sam nudged the volume forward. The vitality that had so impressed him the other day was missing. So was the ease and brightness of her smile. Her lips were curved in greeting. But the light he’d noticed before in her eyes was nowhere in evidence.

“What can I say? I recognize a deal when I see one,” he admitted with a casual shrug. “That’s why I came by. To tell you I’ll take you up on your offer…if it still stands,” he qualified. “And to bring you this, if it does.”

Her glance fell back to the book.

“I thought it would help us both if you’re familiar with the instruments and parts of the plane we’ll be flying.” Aware of a teenage boy in black spandex shorts, a racing shirt and a crash helmet browsing the magazine racks a few yards away, he consciously lowered his voice. “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he said, looking as if he thought she would be more enthused about his acceptance of her proposal.

“No. No,” she quickly repeated. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

She really hadn’t. Not about her part of the proposition, anyway. She was just feeling so uneasy about Brad at the moment that she wasn’t sure about going through with the rest of it. She couldn’t tell Sam that, though. Not without him asking questions she’d rather not answer—especially with a customer less than ten feet away and her very bright little boy playing underfoot.

“Flying lessons for child care,” he said, sounding as if he wanted to be sure they were actually on the same track.

“Flying lessons for child care,” she echoed and watched his eyes narrow on her face. His glance was thorough and assessing as it moved over the faint strain in her features.

Had any other man studied her so openly, she would have immediately drawn back. The mechanism was purely protective, an instinct that snapped into place when any male over the age of consent paid more than passing attention to her. But she knew for a fact that this big, attractive pilot was there only because of his children. Since she’d practically badgered him into cooperating with her, she didn’t doubt that his only interest was in trying to figure out why she didn’t seem more pleased.

“I really do appreciate you bringing the book,” she insisted over a faint churring near her feet.

He still looked skeptical. “Then give me a call after you’ve read the chapters I’ve marked. We’ll set something up.”

“How about I call you at the airport tomorrow?”

Skepticism turned to curiosity when the soft sound continued. His glance shifted to the space beside her. “If you think you can get through the material that fast, that’ll be fine.”

The churring turned to a squeak. The moment it did, his brow snapped low.

It was such a relief to have his scrutiny off her that some of the strain slipped from her smile. “That’s our newest guest,” she told him, wondering at the faint flutter he’d left in her stomach. “I think he’s hungry again.”

Sam watched her disappear beneath the counter, then rise a moment later holding a small wire animal carrier. As she set it on the yard-wide surface, a chestnut-haired little boy the same age as his Jason rose from the floor.

Crossing his arms on the counter, the slightly built child plopped his chin on his narrow wrists and smiled up at Sam.

“Hi,” the boy said easily.

A dimple winked by his perfect little mouth. His eyes were the same gray green as the woman’s beside him.

“Hi, yourself,” Sam replied, recognizing him instantly as her son.

“Winona Sykes brought him to me a few days ago,” T.J. continued, smiling at the tiny ball of fur in the cage. Reaching through the wires, she gently stroked one tiny hand-like paw. “He’s only a few weeks old and needs to be fed every couple of hours. That’s why we bring him to work with us.”

Sam recognized Winona as the mayor’s wife. He recognized the critter in the cage as a baby raccoon. The thing was so small its mask had barely begun to show. “Why did she bring it to you?”

“People often bring me wounded or orphaned animals.” She spoke with a shrug in her voice, as if there was nothing at all unusual about the occurrence. “Or I rescue them myself if I hear of one that needs help. We have about a dozen animals living at our place right now.” Softness entered her voice as she glanced at her son. “Isn’t that right, Andy?”

The child’s nose wrinkled as he cranked his neck back. “I forgot. How many is a dozen?”

“Twelve.”

The wrinkles remained long enough for him to equate the number with the word. Comprehension dawning, he gave his mom a nod. “Yeah. A dozen. ’Cept this makes thirteen.”

“The animals are why I wanted to see if I can fly,” she explained to Sam as she reached beneath the counter. “Doc Jackson has to move to the mainland because his heart is getting bad and there’s no one to take his place.”

With a metallic clink against the counter, she set a can of kitten formula on it, popped the top and poured an ounce into a medicine cup. After drawing some of the liquid into an eyedropper, she touched the end of the dropper to the tiny animal’s seeking mouth.

“Can I do it, Mom?”

Smiling at her son’s request, she handed over the dropper. “Just remember to keep him on his stomach. That’s the way these guys eat best.

“I suppose I can learn to do rabies checks and that sort of thing myself,” she continued to Sam while she watched her son dispense several drops into the hungry orphan’s waiting mouth. “I won’t risk having an infected animal around Andy or the other animals,” she explained. “But without a vet, I won’t be able to take care of the sicker or more severely injured ones.

“Unless,” she added, suddenly meeting his eyes across the cage and the counter, “you would be willing to fly them to the vet over on Orcas Island or to Bellingham yourself?”

For the first time since he’d walked in, Sam saw a flicker of spirit in her delicate features. That look was nothing less than pure hope.

He immediately felt himself take a mental step back. Despite the odd strain he’d sensed in her, there was an artlessness about this woman that tended to pull a person in, to put him at ease. He freely admitted he was drawn by the gentle way she soothed the little animal, by her concern for it, by her willingness to take it in. But her innocent request for his involvement clearly threatened the boundaries he’d drawn around his life.

He hadn’t realized how protective his instincts had become until he felt them kick into place.

“Sorry,” he muttered, refusing to consider why those instincts were there. He thought only of the hours involved transporting her and heaven-only-knew what sort of critters around the San Juans. “I’m not in a position to help you. I already spend too much time away from my kids.”

“Of course.” Hope died as quickly as it had arisen. “I didn’t really think you’d be interested.”

“It’s not that,” he insisted, feeling lousy for turning her down. Feeling a little defensive, too, for being put in that position. “I really can’t take more time from them than I do. How were you planning to get them to Orcas or Bellingham yourself, anyway? Do you have access to a plane?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” she admitted with an amazing lack of concern. “I only found out that Doc Jackson was leaving an hour or so before I talked to you about lessons. I figured I’d get through those, then worry about what I’d fly.”

He didn’t know which surprised him more, her candor or the quickness of her decision to approach him. “Had you ever thought about flying before?”

“Not really.” She hesitated. “Never, actually,” she admitted and edged down the counter to intercept the man approaching the cash register with a magazine and a handful of postcards.

The two-tone melody of the door’s bell announced more shoppers. Asking her son to set the cage on the floor and finish feeding the raccoon there, she stepped over his coloring book and took the copy of Cycling World the guy in the spandex handed her.

One of the women who’d just come in had two cranky toddlers in tow. She asked for children’s books.

A woman in a huge straw hat wanted to know if the store had free maps.

Since they really had nothing else to discuss, Sam gave the manual a pat and said, “Call me.”

She promised that she would, but Sam could swear the odd strain had slipped back into her smile.

Telling himself it was none of his business why that faint tension was there, he stepped out into the crowd of visitors eating ice-cream cones, window shopping and queuing up at the expedition office across the street for whale excursions.

He’d already completed two flights that morning. He had three more that afternoon. Two were short hauls of supplies to sportsmen’s camps on a couple of the more isolated islands. One was a passenger and mail pickup in Seattle. When he returned, there would be the usual maintenance on the planes, logs to fill in, manifests to file, tomorrow’s cargo to sort.

He headed around the corner and climbed into the midnight-blue pickup truck with E & M Air Carrier Service emblazoned on its door panels. As long as he was going to be on the mainland, he should be thinking about picking up office supplies and ordering a new seat bracket to replace the one he’d found cracked yesterday on their oldest Cessna. Instead, his thoughts crowded around a woman who made no sense to him at all.

He couldn’t believe she’d never given any thought to flying until an hour before she’d shown up at the airstrip.

She already had him wondering why she’d seemed so subdued compared to the other day. Now she had him flat-out baffled by her apparent tendency to leap first, then look. Considering that she’d decided to take flying lessons in less time than it took most women to pick out a dress—and that she’d come up with the offer to watch his children in mere seconds—it seemed that T.J. Walker simply took on whatever came her way and battled the consequences and details as she went along.

He didn’t know what to make of her. As a pilot he knew what it was to go with his gut, to rely on training and instinct to make split-second decisions. But he could back up those decisions with years of experience and advance preparation.

He had no idea what she based her decisions on.

The warm sea breeze blew through the truck’s open windows as he drove past the pier and the ferry dock and skirted the fourteen square blocks of businesses and weather-grayed buildings that comprised the town of Harbor. He would have thought that a woman who tended a small zoo of high-maintenance animals in addition to working part-time and raising a child on her own would need to be organized to survive. An organized person would think twice before committing herself to something that would eat up a hefty chunk of her time. But the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to him that her idea of preplanning was simply to take a deep breath before she plunged in.

His scowl of incomprehension was threatening to become permanent by the time he swung onto the long open road that edged the ocean and led to the airport. Logic told him he didn’t need to understand her. All he had to do was trust her. And there, he supposed, he really had no problem.

Her little boy had appeared well cared for. He’d been clean and healthy and had obviously been raised to be friendly and caring. Just meeting the child spoke well of his mother. Aside from that, anyone who rescued and cared for injured animals would have to have a very soft heart.

The arrangement was only temporary, anyway. Hopefully, it wouldn’t have to last more than a few weeks. Just that morning he’d received a promising response to one of his ads. He had an interview for a week from Saturday with a woman from Bellingham who was leaving her position as nanny. She’d be available as soon as the family moved east at the end of the month.

In the meantime, it seemed he was going to teach a woman with a soft heart and no apparent sense of logic how to fly.