Читать книгу The Bachelor's Unexpected Family - Lisa Carter - Страница 11
ОглавлениеThere it was again. Kristina Montgomery frowned at the faint whining noise above the treetops. Same as yesterday.
Leaning over the sink at the kitchen window, her gaze shifted to the sky. A small plane hovered above the tree line rimming her property. The yellow wings floated like a bright golden bird in the morning sunlight.
A robin called a cheery greeting from the winter-stark branches of a nearby oak. The droning of bees filled the air above the overgrown bushes, heirloom roses, which would burst into fragrant bloom come spring.
Provided spring ever came. Since her husband died two years ago, she’d felt trapped in her own stark winter of grief.
She’d bought the 1930s Arts and Crafts bungalow because of those rosebushes. And for the neglected garden.
Why? Maybe because of the inherent promise of new beginnings the garden held for her and her son. She and Gray had desperately needed a new beginning.
She scowled at the mechanical bird, a painful reminder of everything she’d lost. If she’d known the property adjoined a private airfield, she would’ve never purchased the run-down place.
In the twenty-six months since Pax’s death, she’d ridden a roller coaster of extreme emotion. She was caught somehow between overwhelming grief and a paralyzing fear of how she was going to raise their son alone.
At the edge of the woods separating her peaceful sanctuary from the airstrip, she spotted her son’s bike. She blew out a breath. How many times had she told him not to go over there? The airplane dipped one wing before disappearing beyond the forested horizon.
Gray had promised—she’d made him promise—to stay away from the airfield. But she should’ve recognized the stubborn glint in his brown eyes. The same glint her husband used to get every time he got into a cockpit.
Until above a windswept Afghan mountain, a rocket-propelled grenade had slammed into his plane. Hurling Pax and his fighter jet into a thousand pieces of jagged, burning metal—
She sucked in a breath and closed her eyes against the images that played in her dreams every night. Her hand tightened around the dangling chain of her husband’s dog tags. She had to stop doing this. She had to move on, for Gray’s sake. Mired in the past, she was no good to her son.
Her head throbbed. She rubbed her temples. Like father, like son? Her eyes flew open.
She refused to allow history to repeat itself. Not with her son. Not with the only person she had left.
Tucking the dog tags inside the collar of her pink shirt, she thrust open the screen door. The hinges screeched. She dashed down the concrete steps. The door slammed behind her. In dress flats for her morning meeting, she stalked across the grass toward the trees.
Sidestepping the bike, she followed a faded trail toward their very unwelcome neighbor. The overhanging tree canopy blocked most of the sunlight. She shivered and wrapped the open ends of her brown cardigan around herself.
February on the Eastern Shore of Virginia was much too cold to go outside without a coat. Knowing Gray, he was most likely in shirtsleeves.
She picked her way across the pine-needled footpath and emerged into a paved clearing to find the plane, wheels down, at the end of the runway. Engine roaring and propellers whirring, the pilot taxied the golden-yellow plane toward the terminal.
A metallic, tin-roofed hangar and a small brick building anchored the beginning of the runway. Beside the hangar, a sign—Wallace & Collier Crop Aviation Specialists.
Great. Just great. Somehow of all the houses for sale on the Delmarva Peninsula, she’d managed to buy the one next door to a barnstorming, daredevil crop duster.
Her teenage son waved at the plane as it rolled forward. But when he caught sight of her, his hand quickly dropped to his side.
“You got that right, buster. You’re in big trouble,” she muttered under her breath. And without stopping to think, she charged across the runway toward him. Gray’s eyes widened.
“Mom! Watch out. Get out of the way!”
Too late, she realized she’d stepped into the path of the oncoming plane. She froze. The sound of the propeller filled her ears.
Gray raced across the runway. Grabbing her arm, he yanked her out of the way. The pilot braked and swerved. The plane skidded as the wheels struggled for traction before finally shuddering to a stop.
Falling onto the grassy area, Gray took the brunt of the impact. But with the resilience of youth, he sprang to his feet.
She rose slowly, feeling every bit of her thirty-eight years. “Gray, honey, are you—”
“What were you thinking, Mom?” Hands on his skinny hips, he gestured to the plane. “Walking in front of a moving aircraft? Seriously?”
Shoving open the cockpit door, the pilot emerged. In jeans and work boots, his flannel shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, he clambered out and dropped to the asphalt.
A baseball cap obscured the upper portion of his face. But there was no mistaking the taut anger whipstitching his mouth, nor his jutting jaw as he advanced. “What kind of idiot walks into the path of an airplane?” he yelled.
She bristled. Pilots, the same the world over. Civilian or military, lords of the universe. Or so they believed.
Gray’s mouth went mulish. “Thanks a lot, Mom. Now Canyon’s going to kick me out of here for good.”
“You have no business being here.” She wagged her finger in his face. “Not after we talked. We agreed.”
Why was Pax not here to help her parent Gray during the rebellious teen years?
Gray crossed his arms over his seen-better-days T-shirt. “You talked, Mom. I agreed to nothing.”
He widened his stance to hip width. An airman’s stance. Her breath hitched at the uncanny resemblance to his late father.
Kristina’s heart pounded at the memory of the last time she’d seen Pax—not knowing she’d never see him again. This couldn’t happen to Gray. Not to her only child.
“You don’t belong here, Gray.”
The infuriated pilot arrived at the tail end of her words. “You want to talk about having no business here, lady?”
She stiffened. “A mother has a right to keep her child out of harm’s way.”
“Only one in harm’s way today was me.” The pilot lifted the ball cap off his head and slapped it against his thigh. “After you almost crashed my plane.”
She took her first good look at her unwanted neighbor.
Late thirties. Classic, high cheekbones. A long Roman nose. His jaw dark with beard stubble. A strong brow. Curly brown hair.
His eyes flashed. An electric blue, in a face tanned by the sun and wind. Something fluttered like a swirl of butterfly wings in the pit of her stomach. Something she hadn’t experienced since meeting another brash young airman during a long-ago church softball game.
With a sense of betraying that now dead young man, remorse blanketed her. Her hand automatically drifted to the chain underneath her shirt collar. And she stuffed the unwelcome feelings into a dark corner of her heart. For good measure, she glowered at the Eastern Shore pilot.
At the motion of her hand, he narrowed his eyes. Lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. Lines that probably feathered when he smiled. Which he wasn’t doing now.
Handsome by anyone’s definition. And from his body language, as arrogant and cocky as they came. She ought to know.
Once upon a time, she’d married one.
* * *
Canyon didn’t miss the scorn on her face. Welcome to Kiptohanock to you, too, neighbor.
Not seeing a car in the office parking space, he figured she’d walked over through the woods from next door. Gray must take after his father. The boy’s dark features didn’t resemble the woman. She could’ve been a cover model for a Scandinavian travel brochure.
Or considering her frosty demeanor, Icelandic. Although, if he remembered rightly, Greenland was the one with most of the glaciers.
“Which one are you?” She flicked her hand toward the sign. “Wallace or Collier?”
“Collier.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of her house. “And which one are you?”
Her chin came up. “I’m the woman who would’ve never bought this property if I knew we were in the flight path of your crop duster.”
One of those genteel, upper-crust Southern voices. Not the nowhere accent of Northern Virginia. Nor the twang of the Blue Ridge. Probably from central Virginia or the Carolinas.
He tightened his jaw. “I’m an aerial application specialist. And I’ve been careful to not fly over your house.”
“Mom...” Gray tugged at her sleeve. “Stop embarrassing me. Canyon is my boss.”
She planted one hand on her jeans-clad hip. “As if I’d ever allow you to work for a sky jockey like him.”
Canyon’s eyebrows rose. Interesting turn of phrase. He hadn’t heard that one since his Coast Guard days.
“Especially after what happened to your father.”
Without meaning to, Canyon’s eyes cut to the bare space on her left hand. A widow? A silver chain half-hidden in the folds of her collar glinted. Had Gray’s father been an airline fatality?
As for his first impression of Gray’s mother? Tall, a willowy five foot eight, Canyon estimated, to his six-foot height. Long, wavy blond hair spilled over her thin shoulders. Classic oval features. Fair skinned. And her eyes?
Her eyes gave Canyon pause. His grandmother would’ve called her eyes china blue. Like the blue in a field of cornflowers.
Those eyes sent an inexplicable pang through his heart. A yearning for something to which he’d believed himself immune.
According to the real estate papers he’d signed at closing, this must be K. Montgomery. Since the attorney had handled everything, he’d assumed the new owner was a man and that Gray, who’d started hanging out at the airfield a few weeks ago, the man’s son. But the disturbing, angry woman was definitely not a man.
Canyon folded his arms across his chest. He’d sold his grandmother’s house to buy the Air Tractor 802 he just landed. Landed safely, no thanks to K. Montgomery. His misfortune to sell what little remained of his family heritage to an aircraft hater.
He shrugged. “I invited Gray to help me out on the repair of an engine. The boy likes to tinker.”
K. Montgomery’s china-blue eyes became chips of sapphire. “The boy is my fifteen-year-old son. He doesn’t have my permission to work here. An airfield is dangerous. I ought to report you for child endangerment.”
“My mistake, lady.” When would he learn? In his experience, no good deed ever went unpunished. “The boy looks sixteen. Won’t happen again.”
Gray inserted himself between them. “Canyon was doing me a favor. Teaching me how to repair engines. I like being here.”
The woman squared her shoulders. “I absolutely will not allow you to put your life at risk.”
Gray went rigid. “Moving here was supposed to be about making a new start for both of us. But since Dad died, all you care about is making me miserable. As miserable as you.”
“I’m not—” She pursed her lips. “Being around airplanes will only make you feel worse, Gray.”
Gray held his ground. “Just because you’re afraid of airplanes doesn’t mean I have to hate them, too. It makes me happy to remember Dad here. You’re the one who makes me feel sad.”
Canyon angled toward Gray’s mother. “Your son’s a really good kid. Your husband would be proud. And I’d never put Gray in harm’s way. He’s good company.”
The woman blinked at him for a moment.
Canyon scrubbed his hand over his face. Bothered—strangely—that he’d forgotten to shave this morning. Bothered, too, that he was fighting so hard to keep the boy working at the airfield.
She faced Gray. “Go back to the house. I won’t risk losing you the way we lost your father.” She glared at Canyon. “And I’m not afraid of airplanes.”
Gray snorted. “You’re afraid of everything since Dad died. Afraid to laugh. Afraid to live. And I’m sick of living in the grave with you.”
Hurt flitted across her features.
An unusual—and unwelcome—sensation of protectiveness rose in Canyon’s chest. “Just a minute, Gray...”
Gray’s brown eyes darkened. “You don’t know what it’s like. She won’t let me do anything because she’s afraid I’ll get hurt.” His shoulders hunched. “Stop treating me like a baby, Mom.”
“Then stop acting like one, Gray,” Canyon growled.
Gray flushed.
Canyon sighed. How had he gotten entangled in this quicksand? Since leaving the Coast Guard, he’d spent the last three years making sure he stayed out of other people’s business and that people stayed out of his.
He took a breath. “What does the K stand for?”
“Kristina.” Gray kicked a loose stone on the concrete. “I like working with motors, Mom. And Canyon needs my help.” Gray leaned forward. “Tell her, Canyon. Tell her how much you need my help.”
Kristina Montgomery’s lovely face hardened. “Your only job is school, Gray.”
Gray clenched his hands. “Since you don’t have a job, I figure maybe I better.”
Canyon’s brow puckered. “I didn’t realize you were looking for work. What do you do?”
She opened her mouth, but once again Gray beat her to the punch.
“Mom cuts great triangle sandwiches.” Gray’s mouth twisted. “She has a green thumb. And can clean a toilet like nobody’s business.”
She quivered at his sarcasm.
Canyon had had enough of the attitude. “Let’s you and me get one thing straight right now, Grayson Montgomery. I will not tolerate disrespect to any woman, much less your mother.”
Gray’s and his mother’s gazes swung to Canyon’s.
“She cares about you or she wouldn’t have come looking for you. Good mothers don’t grow on trees. I should know.”
Canyon grimaced. What on earth had possessed him to share that little tidbit from his less-than-stellar childhood?
Her cheeks heated. “I apologize for my son’s extreme rudeness.” She swallowed. “And to answer your question, I have an accounting degree from the University of Richmond that I’ve never used.”
Canyon recalled only one other person on the Eastern Shore originally from Richmond. “Any relation to Weston Clark? The ex-Coast Guard commander who remodeled the old lighthouse on the Neck?”
“He’s my brother.”
Canyon noted the likeness then. Weston Clark had been married for not quite a year to one of the Duer girls—Caroline. Those girls had been a few years behind Canyon in high school. Closer to Beech’s age.
The thought of his brother put Canyon’s stomach in knots. He didn’t have time for this altercation with Kristina Montgomery. He still had a ton of stuff to get done before he met Jade and the social worker at the bus depot in Exmore.
He crimped the brim of his cap. “I can’t allow you to work here without your mom’s permission.”
Gray sputtered. “B-but she’s being unfair.”
Canyon shook his head. “Nevertheless, she’s your mother, and she gets to call the shots.”
“I have an appointment in Kiptohanock.” Kristina Montgomery swept a curtain of blond hair out of her face. “And I meant what I said, Gray. Go home.”
The boy’s countenance fell. “But—”
“Do what your mother says, Gray.”
Gray threw his mother and Canyon an angry look before he stomped toward the wooded path. Kristina Montgomery remained rooted in place, watching her son.
“I run a clean, safe enterprise, Mrs. Montgomery. Let me take you on a short flight and give you a bird’s eye view of the Shore.”
Canyon bit the inside of his cheek. Where had that come from?
Her forehead creased. Gray’s mother didn’t appear to smile much. Maybe she hadn’t had a reason to smile in a long while.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t trust airplanes.” She moved to follow her son.
“Nor pilots, either, from the sound of it.”
She stopped.
“One word of advice, Mrs. Montgomery?”
She crossed her arms but waited to hear him out.
“If you refuse to let Gray pursue an interest he obviously loves, you might be the one risking everything.”
Her mouth flattened. “What are you talking about, Mr. Collier?”
“My name’s Canyon. And I’m talking about risking your relationship with your son. You could lose him for good.”
She tilted her head. “And you, I assume, are an expert on parenting? Why do you care?”
“Just being neighborly, ma’am.”
Which was so not true. He must be lonelier than he’d believed. Though after Jade arrived today, loneliness was sure to be less of a factor.
“Let me give you a piece of advice, Canyon Collier.” She jabbed her index finger in the space between them. “Mind your own business.”
Exactly what he thought he’d been doing. Until a certain blonde widow walked into the path of his incoming plane.
Pivoting on her heel, she trudged toward the woods without giving him a backward glance. And, discomfited, Canyon couldn’t for the life of him figure what had gotten into him.
