“Are there mountains between here and Renton?”
Mount Rainier. “Not one we’ll be flying over.”
A quiet fell. “Okay,” came the soft reply.
“You about ready to sleep now, pal?”
“Hmm. ’Night, Dad.”
“’Night, tiger.”
Rogan eased from the mattress. He pulled the door to a five-inch gap and headed for the cabin’s living room. Shrugging into a wool-lined vest, he stepped quietly out the door and onto the tiny front porch. Beyond the trees, the ocean swooshed against the shore with the rhythm of a metronome.
He liked the cabin, liked the secluded woods, away from the old Victorian that was the main house. Here he could think without the interruption of other guests or the owner/hostess, Kat O’Brien, and her son. Not that he didn’t like the single mother. He did; she had given him a respectable two-week deal while he waited for his recently purchased farmhouse to undergo repairs and reconstruction.
Thinking of the ninety-year-old structure a mile from town, Rogan smiled. Farmhouse, indeed. Once, long ago, it had overlooked a sixty-acre sheep farm. Today, the acres totaled fifteen and contained a house and barn in dire need of paint and repairs and a mare with a three-week-old foal.
Taking Danny to see the horses had cinched the deal. One look at that fuzzy-chinned baby gamboling beside its great-bellied mother, and the boy had been a goner.
I wanna live here, Daddy, and pet the baby horse every day.
After a thousand tears and months of heartbreak following the deaths of his wife and daughter, Rogan hadn’t been able to refuse the boy anything. Not even a farm. So he’d bought the place, hired the island handyman Zeb Jantz to do enough repairs to make it livable, and moved from Renton to this B and B cabin in order to settle Dan into the elementary school as well as oversee the renovation.
But on nights like this…nights when his little guy questioned Darby’s crash, Rogan wanted nothing more than to turn back the clock three years to the exact moment he had booked that charter flight to Forks. And the moment he heard Darby’s premonition. He’d cancel the flight and tell her to stay home.
He’d say he loved her one more time.
Scratching his stubbled cheeks, he sat on one of the porch’s two wicker chairs. The spice of sea clung to the night’s breeze and stars glittered like crushed glass in the sky.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, listening and waiting for what he didn’t know, before the ping-ping of the cell phone on his belt shot through his musings. Caller ID indicated a text message from his younger brother in Renton, where Rogan had once lived with Darby and set up a law office with Johnny.
Hey guy, the message began. Hope ur not in the sack. Rogan’s mouth lifted into a smile as he checked the watch at his wrist and realized that already an hour had passed. “Time flies when you’re having fun,” he muttered. He continued to read: Got some news re case. Need 2 discuss. Tomoro at 9 work 4 u? jkm
Tomorrow? That meant contacting Lee Tait tonight and flying in her floatplane well before he’d planned. Before he had a week to psych himself up for the ordeal. Because as much as he pretended otherwise, for him flying would be an ordeal.
Cant u call now? he wrote. Within sixty seconds he had an answer: In L8 meet. See u tomoro. Rogan grunted. He could imagine Johnny’s late meeting. No doubt it involved a long-legged blonde.
Contemplating, he replied, Ill call u at 9. He did not want to get on that plane this soon.
No, came the return. B HERE at 9!
Rogan stared at the message. What the hell could be so important that they had to meet in person?
With a sigh he shut the phone. One way or another, he’d find out tomorrow. He only hoped it was something positive in the suit he was building against the charter airline company that killed his family.
Don’t think of that now, he thought, staring at the night sky with its canopy of stars. Or you won’t get to sleep tonight.
He forced himself to relax. Three hundred yards away, the ocean lapped against the shore and he turned his memories to his encounters with Lee Tait a few hours before.
Her womanly charms surprised him. All that red hair in a thick wavy tail trailing down her back, and those eyes, green as the budding leaves on the farm….
The freckles across her skin had surprised him further. At a distance she appeared pale and thin, but within arm’s length her complexion glowed like the setting sun, and her shape had the litheness of a willow.
But what caught him most was the heat in his groin when his name tumbled from her lips in a voice made for the night.
Shame slashed through him. How could he think of another woman? Darby had been the love of his life for seventeen years. No one could replace her.
Shoulders lifting on an extensive breath, he returned to the wicker chair. Slouching forward, he shoved his hands into his hair.
He was so goddamned tired. Tired of the loneliness, of hurting and grieving, and wishing time was reversible. He needed to move on, really move on. For Danny and for himself. Living like a monk wasn’t the answer.
And Johnny was right. Hiding on an island wasn’t the answer, either. Because no matter how hard Rogan tried, the memories dragged along like tattered old blankets. Well, right or wrong he’d made the choice, and next week he’d hang out his shingle. But first, he needed to cajole the lovely Lee into taking him tomorrow in that confined little seaplane.
He looked toward the bed-and-breakfast. He had her business number from her Sky Dash Web site. He could call her, except two hours ago he’d seen her drive up in a red Jeep and go into the Victorian. Another surprise. Did she live here, rent a room?
He could call the main desk and ask for her extension.
Or he could wait until morning, talk to her face-to-face on the wharf, hand her a wad of bills she couldn’t refuse.
For the first time in years, his heart pounded with anticipation.
Chapter Two
L ee’s sister, Kat, cut a wedge of dessert and lifted it onto her plate.
“I can’t believe you’re refusing my apple crumble,” she groused. Dinner done, the dishes washed, they sat in the living room of Kat’s B and B, while her son finished a school assignment in his bedroom. “Are you sick or something?”
Lee shrugged. “Lately I haven’t been very hungry.” In reality, she’d been a tad woozy now and again during the past month, which could be a symptom for a dozen ailments. A stomach bug, eating the wrong food….
Except, she couldn’t remember the last time she had the flu. But she knew exactly when she’d last had a bout of evening wooziness.
Five years ago, when she’d been pregnant with Stuart’s baby.
Damn it, she was not pregnant. This was a bug she’d caught from one of her weekend passengers or Kat’s son, Blake. Hadn’t he missed a day or two of school last week due to a virus?
Of course, it was the flu. She and Oliver had been careful.
“Hey.” Kat’s brown eyes were serious. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. Just thinking about Oliver.” And the possibility I could be pregnant. The thought churned through her stomach. God help her, but what would she do if she was…? No. She would not even consider it. How many years had she tried with Stuart and failed? This was simply her out-of-whack periods acting up.
Kat put down her fork. “His death hurt you more than your divorce from Stuart.”
“Yeah,” Lee admitted.
“That’s because Oliver Duvall was your best friend since grade school, Lee. You two had a lot of history.”
She did not want to discuss Oliver, or the fact she missed him more than she’d ever missed her ex-husband after their divorce.
No, what she wanted was to discuss Rogan Matteo.
“He makes my fingers tingle.” There—it was out in the open. Matteo’s effect on her.
“Oliver made your fingers tingle?” Kat curled into the sofa’s corner with a cup of tea.
“No…. Argh.” Lee rested her head o
n the back of the couch. “Rogan Matteo. Your guest. Tonight, he introduced himself while I was checking my plane. Apparently, he wants transportation back and forth to the mainland for a couple of weeks.”
Kat laughed. “Ah…I see.”
“It’s not funny,” Lee retorted.
“Attractions usually aren’t.”
“I am not attracted to him,” Lee said, vexed that her sister had jumped to conclusions.
“Oh, I can see that,” Kat said. “Mr. Hunk walks up the pier, pins you with his sorrowful eyes while the wind plays in all that sexy black hair and then he opens his mouth and out comes an accent that would make Matthew McConaughey weep, and your fingers get an irritable little tingle. Yep, you’re definitely not attracted.”
Lee closed her eyes. “This is the silliest discussion I’ve had since sixth grade.”
“Back at you, sis. But it’s good you’re attracted, don’t you think? After your divorce from the rat B, and then hooking up with poor Oliver, it means—”
“It means Rogan Matteo is a potential fare, Kat. That’s all.” Lee did not want to think about poor Oliver or she’d be crying into her pillow half the night. Nor did she want to think she was dishonoring him eight weeks after his death by eyeing up another man. Jeez, that alone made her nauseous. She was not her mother. Not.
“Okay,” Kat conceded, “he’s a fare. So are you flying him?”
“I haven’t decided. It’s a big responsibility getting someone to work every day.”
“Oh, heck,” Kat scoffed. “Take the guy. If after a week he’s too much of a hassle, tell him to go with Lucien.”
Lee sighed. Her sister had a point. She was making far too much of all this. And just because Matteo had kind eyes.
Like Oliver’s.
Oliver. Best friend turned lover weeks ago, while on a six-week furlough from Iraq. Before he returned to war. Before he was killed by sniper fire.
For three years after her divorce, Lee had avoided relationships; tamped down the remotest inclination toward desire. Then Oliver Duvall had returned to Firewood Island, and she’d never been so glad to see her childhood friend. When she thought of his death…
How could she look at Rogan Matteo with Oliver not barely gone two months? Rogan Matteo with his quiet eyes.
Was it any wonder he appealed to her? The Southern accent molding his words, or the way he looked at his little boy had nothing to do with her…lust. It was those slate-gray eyes, reminders of a friend who was no more.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell him my plans if he shows up on my dock again.”
“Why not tell him now? Didn’t we just see him through the kitchen window, sitting on the cabin porch, looking at the stars? Go knock on his door.”
Lee stared at her sister. “Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night.”
Kat raised a brow. “It’s ten after nine.”
“You are crazy.”
“Honey, I’m not blind. The guy is handsome…in a rough-edged sort of way. If he makes your fingers itch, go talk to him. You know you want to.” She grinned. “Look, what’s he going to do? Say hi?”
“It’ll seem like I’m chasing him.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you want the damn fare or not?”
“Fine.” Before she could change her mind, Lee set down her cup, got up and walked out the back door. The way her stomach roiled, a breath of cold air would do her good.
Stepping onto the back deck, she realized she should’ve grabbed her coat; the night chill crept under her lightweight sweater, goose-bumping her skin. Above, stars cluttered the sky, magnifying its vastness and if she had a moment she’d seek out the Big and Little Dippers, as always. But Rogan had spotted her and was likely wondering about her intentions.
Now or never, Lee.
Starting across Kat’s backyard toward the cabin’s path in the woods, she watched him rise from the wicker chair and come to the edge of the steps in anticipation of her arrival.
He hadn’t turned on his outside light and so stood in the dark, looming above her. Around them, night breezes whispered through the trees, bearing the tang of sea salt.
“It’s Lee Tait,” she said, hugging her arms around her stomach against the night’s chill. Against him.
“Hello, Lee.”
God, how could her name sound that husky?
“I was visiting my sister and figured I should let you know that flying you to Renton won’t be a problem. But before you go jumping up and down with glee, I’ll be frank. This is a three-day tryout, Mr. Matteo. After that we’ll see where we’re at.”
A punch of silence, then a low chuckle. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Captain Tait? I like that.”
“Good. We understand each other.”
“We do.”
“Fine. I’ll see you later.”
Before she could turn back down the path, he asked, “Ms. O’Brien is your sister?”
“For thirty-four years. Argh—” Lee massaged the spot between her eyes. “She’ll kill me if you reveal that detail.”
“I’ll be sure to tape my mouth shut.” Again, she heard a note of humor as he glanced toward the Victorian. And abruptly, a thought hit. Maybe she’d read him wrong. Maybe it wasn’t her he was interested in, but Kat.
And why not? a voice whispered. Of the three sisters, Kat was the nurturer, the earth mother. The intermediary Lee and Addie always came to for advice when life’s inroads got rough.
“Just for the record,” Lee pointed out. “Kat doesn’t gossip. Nor would she have convinced me to bother you tonight—” Now, why tell him that, Lee? “—except I bugged her with some questions.” Oh, great word choice.
“About me?” His voice lowered to Vin Diesel deepness.
“For insurance purposes.”
“That standard for all your passengers?”
He had her there. “Look,” she said, trembling from the cool breeze. “I’ll be honest. Your—”
“You’re cold,” he interrupted, coming down the steps, shrugging from his vest. “Why don’t you come inside for a minute?”
Go inside that little cabin? Where his big frame would swallow every molecule of air? Where she’d wander close enough to smell the soap on his skin? No thanks.
Before Lee could think it through, he’d wrapped the vest, infused with his warmth and scent, around her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she said, back-stepping so they weren’t so close, so she couldn’t feel his breath on her forehead. “Besides, I need to get back to my sister.”
He dropped his hands from the panels of the vest where he’d pulled them closed over her breasts. “I don’t bite, Lee,” he said softly.
“Maybe not,” she replied, hoping to inject some clout into her tone because she wanted nothing more than to grab his face between her hands. “But you have to admit, your nightly vigil down at the docks was downright spooky. What was I to think? No, let me rephrase that. What were you thinking? A man with your obvious intelligence and a lawyer to boot should know better than to stand there staring at a woman three nights in a row, especially when she’s by herself.”
Huffing a breath, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My apologies. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. All that mattered, still matters, is my son, Ms. Tait. He’s my first priority. Everything else falls by the wayside.”
“Well.” Her irritation faded upon his reference to the child. “At least we have that cleared up.” She hesitated. “I understand you bought Eve Riley’s old farm and that you’re renovating the house.” Kat had let that tidbit drop at dinner.
“I did and am.” He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. “This for insurance purposes, too?”
“Absolutely,” she quipped. “Especially when you don’t look like any farmer I know.”
She thought he might chuckle, but instead his gaze took in the dark woods behind her. “I’m a defense attorney.”
Which meant he litigated for the underdog o
r the criminal. Yet it didn’t explain why he’d relocated his child in the middle of the school term—and on an island—while he continued to work on the mainland, a seemingly unfair decision. More so, where was the boy’s mother? Was she the second Matteo in the business card’s “Matteo and Matteo”?
“Is your wife a lawyer, too?”
His eyes dulled. “No.”
“Will she be joining—”
“No.”
Lee shivered. The way he said that one word…. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”
He stood frozen, quiet—which told her more than she had a right to know. Rogan Matteo was the sole guardian of his son. The reasons weren’t important, but they were enough to stay on her guard. Daddy role models were not a favored part of her life. Her father had left Charmaine when Lee was a toddler. Two decades later, her own marriage had dissolved in a raw divorce after her inability to conceive—and her ex’s infidelity.
“See you in a week.” She spun around.
“Lee, wait. I need you to fly me tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I thought you were on vacation.” Again, according to Kat.
“I am, but I just found out I’ll need to be in Renton for a 9:00 a.m. meeting. I can take the afternoon ferry back if you’re not available.”
She mulled over her options. “Fine. I’m flying my brother-in-law to Renton at one, I can fly you back then. That time frame work for you?”
“Yes, and thank you. See you at eight-fifteen?”
“Till then.” She shrugged out of his vest, reluctant to let go of his scent. Get a grip, Lee. “Goodbye, Mr. Matteo.”
“Rogan,” he corrected, taking the garment she shoved into his hand. “And goodnight, Lee.”
She hurried down the path, the timbre of his voice lingering in her ear. The prickle in her fingers sharpened.
Tomorrow, she’d fly him over, and afterward find an excuse to boot him off her plane and out of her life.
Determined, she said goodbye to Kat and Blake, and drove home. Two hours later, Rogan Matteo’s mellow Southern accent continued to whisper across her skin.
He slept in spurts, getting out of bed when dawn edged a line of pink onto the horizon. Today he would be climbing into a plane with a woman pilot. A woman whose moves attracted him, whose hair framed her face in a way that was sexy as hell.
And Baby Makes Four Page 2