A woman with whom he’d spend twenty minutes flying across ocean water. Not a lake and not in the mountains, he reasoned. It’s not the same geography Sophie and Darby flew over.
His heart bounced in his chest. Although the radiant heating had clicked on at 5:00 a.m. and the cabin was warming, he felt a chill. Shoving away visions of confined cockpits, he checked on Danny across the hall. Curled in a ball, blankets cocooned around his small body, his son slumbered the sleep of the innocent.
Rogan touched the boy’s shoulder, felt its fragility, and a surge of protection blew through him. I’ll always be here for you, son. I won’t let you down.
Leaving the boy to sleep for another couple of hours, he went to shower. Minutes later, he dressed, then headed for the kitchen to pour cereal into a pair of thick, ceramic bowls.
By eight o’clock, briefcase in hand, he locked up the cabin and ushered Danny out to the truck.
“You know that Mrs. Huddleston will be taking you to school this morning, right, buddy?” Rogan stood in the open door of the rear passenger seat and waited for his son to buckle up. He hated the thought of dropping Danny at the old lady’s house this one time, but she lived across from the school, and she’d been a caretaker of kids for years. Rogan had done an extensive check in case he needed her assistance when he had to leave before the school’s doors opened. As he did today.
Dan’s blond hair fell into his eyes.
“Tomorrow we’ll get you a haircut,” Rogan continued.
“Don’t wanna.”
“Ah. You want to look like a rock star,” he cajoled, hoping to draw a smile from his son as he tugged the collar of the boy’s red jacket from the back of his thin neck. Danny had been surly since he crawled from bed an hour ago.
“No-o.”
“A shaggy dog then?”
“No. Let’s just go, Dad.”
Rogan held in a sigh. “Okay, pal.” After closing the door, he went around the hood, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. Hoping for a trace of eagerness on his son’s face, he glanced in the rearview mirror.
Danny stared out the side window at the cabin, his mouth a line of mutiny.
Okay, then. Driving down the timbered lane of the B and B to Shore Road, Rogan offered, “Mrs. Huddleston said there’s a boy your age she also takes to school. His name’s Bobby and he’s in your class.”
No answer.
“You know I’d stay home if I could, Daniel, but I need to attend this meeting with Uncle Johnny.”
Still no response. Checking the mirror again, he felt his heart lurch. A tear clung to his son’s cheek. The sight nearly had him pulling to the roadside, except he couldn’t afford to miss his flight with Lee Tait, and Danny needed to be on time for school. “Talk to me, buddy,” he tried again. “Please.”
The boy’s bottom lip quivered. He continued to view the ocean through the trees. “I wanna go to my old school.”
Translation: I hate making new friends.
“And I wanna go home.”
The house in Renton. “Aw, bud. This is our home now.”
“I don’t wanna live here no more.”
“Okay, but we’ll have to sell Juniper and Pepper.”
“No!” Danny’s eyes clashed with Rogan’s in the mirror. “Can’t we take the horses with us?”
“Do you think that’s fair? The farm is their home. Besides…” Rogan played another angle, one that garnered a smidgen of guilt. “They’re animals. They’ll get confused in a new place.”
He had turned down Main Street before the boy’s reply drifted from the rear seat. “Okay, we can stay. I don’t want them to feel lost.”
A stone hit Rogan’s gut. Danny transposed his own emotions onto the mare and foal. Reaching back, he patted the boy’s knee. “Everything’s going to work out, buddy. You’ll see.”
But after he dropped Danny at Mrs. Huddleston’s house, the pledge spun like a merry-go-round through his mind as he drove toward Lee Tait’s pier.
She was shoving a box into the cargo hold of the seaplane, and the morning sun forged her thick ponytail into coils of copper.
“Good morning,” she called when he climbed from his truck.
“’Morning.” Pocketing his keys, he remembered how, twelve hours before, she’d appeared out of the night like a forest sprite. Jeez, Rogan. What the hell’s got into you? He strode down the wooden dock as she lifted a box of packages. “Let me get those.”
“Thanks, but I’ve done this a time or two, Mr. Matteo.”
“Not while I’ve been in the vicinity.” Setting down his briefcase, he stepped beside her on the pontoon, and pushed the box onto the plane.
Planting her hands on hips nicely encased in a pair of black slacks, she canted an icy green gaze up at him.
“Okay,” she said and the sexy look of those aviator sunglasses perched on her head zapped through his veins. “Let’s get one thing straight here and now. I am not a helpless female in need of rescue. I’ve logged over ten thousand flying hours in fifteen years, and in that time I’ve transported luggage, snow and ski gear, fishing and hunting gear, vehicle and engine parts, medical supplies, animals in cages—you get the picture?”
Despite his woozy belly at the thought of getting into a plane for the first time since the crash, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. You are quite capable of loading your plane. Alone.”
“Thank you. Now, why don’t you leave your briefcase here with me and climb aboard.” She gestured to the cockpit. “We’ll be taking off in five minutes.”
A lump bounced into his windpipe. The seat appeared narrow, constricted…sized for a ten-year-old. “You want me to…”
“Settle yourself into the co-pilot’s chair. Unless you’d rather sit behind me in the passenger seat.”
Somehow the thought of her not beside him made his mouth go dry. He needed to see her face, the astuteness in her eyes, the calm she would offer when he no doubt lost it a mile up in the clouds.
A small crease staged itself between her fine auburn brows. Was she assessing him, wondering if she should fly him after all? Come on. Get in the damn plane before she figures out you’re a candy-ass flier.
With epic effort, he stepped toward the door. His shoes felt bulky as cement, his legs as if they were chained to the dock’s planks.
“Rogan.” She touched the sleeve of his suit coat. Her eyes held compassion. “Have you flown in a small plane before?”
He swallowed. “Not recently.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Is this your first time up?”
“I’ve flown in commercial jets.” Where there were center seats, broad aisles and hundreds of passengers. “I’m fine,” he said when her hand dropped away. Biting his tongue, he climbed into the plane, squeezed his big body between the front seats, and landed on the co-pilot’s cushioned chair.
The front windshield exposed a propeller, and dual bands of blue: one of sky, the other of ocean. Sweat popped from his pores.
The plane swayed and rocked gently on the water as Lee finished loading her cargo; then she scrambled into the pilot’s chair and pulled the door shut.
Her brows knitted. “Need something to settle your stomach?”
“Took it with breakfast.”
“Good. Put on the headset,” she instructed, back to business. “That way we can talk to each other.”
“I’m not much of a conversationalist when I’m in a plane.”
He glanced over, tried to smile. She had a modesty he rarely saw in women. A modesty that had nothing to do with her green eyes and kinky ponytail or her freckled hands on the controls, all of which seemed at odds with the white V of blouse between the panels of her black flight jacket. A modesty that went hand-in-hand with her practical demeanor.
The entire package attracted the hell out of him.
She pushed the headset into his hands. “Put it on anyway.”
“Do you mind if I close my eyes?” Yeah. That’s what he’d do. And then he’d contemplate all Lee Ta
it’s assets, including that wild red hair and those slim hips and—The plane’s engine roared to life.
“You can do anything you want.” Her voice glided along his senses. “Long as you remain buckled, and don’t touch the controls.”
“Got it.” Touching the controls? God forbid. Pinching his eyes shut, he folded his arms, tried not to clutch the fabric of his suit coat.
Perspiration dampened his forehead. His stomach whirled.
Nothing will happen. Danny won’t be left behind. But the image of his family wavered behind his eyes.
He tried not to think of what they had gone through when their plane crashed into the mountain forest, breaking branches and small tree trunks, swathing a path of demolition and death.
He tried not to think of his little boy alone in the world, crying for him. Or of Johnny attempting to console Danny. Raising Danny….
“I’m right beside you,” Lee said into the headphones when the plane began to move.
He listened to her voice while she ran through a list of checks—rudders, flaps, fuel gage—and gave their coordinates to the Renton tower before the plane skimmed the ocean, lifted, buzzed into the sky.
He heard the tone of her words more than their meaning. That assured tone. The quiet, steady tone.
And when he bit the inside of his cheek, he felt her fingers curve around his forearm. “You’ll be okay with me,” she promised.
And, in that moment, he believed her. He really did.
Chapter Three
L ee kept her word and landed with barely a bounce on the south end of Lake Washington near Renton’s seaplane base. Still, as he climbed out of the craft, Rogan could have bowed to the floating dock, so grateful was he to be earthbound again.
Now, riding the elevator ten floors up to the law offices he and Johnny had established eight years ago, he recalled her piloting skills again. She had eased his thundering pulse in the way she handled the plane. With a little luck, he’d take that ease to his brother. After three long, heartbreaking and guilt-ridden years, Rogan had come to hate the mere mention of the charter airline responsible for taking his family, and he suspected this meeting would be more of the same frustrating roller-coaster ride.
When he entered the reception area, the woman at the desk raised her head. “Mr. Matteo. It’s good to see you again, sir.” As if he’d been gone ten years rather than ten days. “Your brother is expecting you.”
“Thanks.” Briefcase in hand, he headed down the hallway leading to the big L-shaped corner office—his old stomping grounds—with its spectacular view of Mount Rainier. When he left, Johnny had claimed the space. At the thought, Rogan expected a twinge of regret and envy. None came.
The door stood open. His brother sat behind the expansive cherrywood desk where Rogan had spent years reviewing cases and interviewing clients. He knocked softly on the doorjamb.
“R.B.” A big grin flashed across Johnny’s face. “I was wondering if you’d come.”
“I almost didn’t.” He set the briefcase beside the small comfortable sofa, and went to the credenza for some coffee. “Want some?” he asked, tossing a dollop of cream into a mug.
Johnny shook his head. “Already had enough to sink a ship.”
Rogan lowered himself to the earth-toned sofa. “What’s up?”
Chuckling, Johnny came around the desk to sit in the adjacent chair. “You never were one to waste time.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I should have,” he muttered, reprimanding himself for the years of work he’d prized, including the day his world collapsed.
Crossing his arms, his brother sat back. “And maybe you should give yourself a break.”
Rogan glanced up. “I need you to be a brother, John. Not a frickin’ shrink.”
Johnny sighed. “All right. Here’s the deal. They’ve upped the ante for an out-of-court settlement.”
They would be Abner Air. He hated the name, hated that—to him—it sounded hillbillyish. Most of all, he hated that he had to sue for slack maintenance, which he believed resulted in the crash of the single-prop plane Darby and Sophie boarded.
I don’t feel good about this trip, Rogan. Fisting his hands on his thighs, he battled back his dead wife’s parting words. Words which could still haunt him deep in the night.
“How much this time?” he asked. His jaw ached.
Johnny quoted the price.
Anger heating his blood, Rogan stood and walked to the windows. Across the city, Rainier rose like a white-crusted jewel. He’d learned to ski on her slopes. “The only reason they want to settle out of court is because they’re guilty as sin.” Turning, he faced his brother. “They don’t want media coverage. But they’re going to pay, and it’ll be in court with the media present. I want them exposed.”
A long moment passed. Finally, Johnny said, “I think you should go for the deal, R.B. If we go to trial, you may come away with a helluva lot less. You’ve worked against big companies. You know the game.”
“Cutthroat. I know. But I don’t give a rat’s ass. These people deserve every damn thing we can throw at them.”
Johnny studied him. “Is that why you bailed on Matteo and Matteo? Because you thought we were getting too ruthless?”
“I didn’t bail. I wanted something different, with a different outlook.” One that offered a slower pace of life, and saw the heart of a client’s problems, not the size of his wallet.
“And you’ll be paid in peanuts for your effort,” Johnny grumbled. “I’ve done some checking of my own. That island is inhabited by a bunch of hippie offspring.”
Rogan thought of Lee, the most structured person he’d met in years. “They’re not all loosey-goosey, John,” he said in defense of her. “However, that’s not the issue here.” Spinning on his heel, he paced the length of the windows. “These SOBs are hiding something. I want to know what it is, and I want to know yesterday.”
Johnny’s eyes were grim—and sad. “We may never know why that plane went down, Ro. Let’s take the deal and put an end to this.”
Rogan clenched his fists. “There’ll never be an end because the other half of my family will never come back.”
“Okay. Okay.” Elbows to knees, Johnny pushed both hands into his dark hair and gusted a sigh. “I may have a lead on another avenue, anyway. But let me sort through it first.”
“Fine. Keep me posted.”
“Always.” His brother’s mouth curved. “Now, tell me, how’s life down on the farm?”
Rogan returned to the sofa, stretched his legs. The mere mention of his new property calmed him. “House should be finished by the end of next week.”
“Dan’s excited?”
“Oh, yeah. We take daily treks to see the foal.”
“Still can’t believe you’re doing this. An island for God’s sake, never mind a farm.”
“It’s what Daniel needs.” Truth was, he’d checked out Firewood Island because Sophie had adored the classic story, Misty of Chincoteague. Sophie who, after reading the book, had asked at dinner one night, Can we live on an island, Daddy, and have a pony? and he’d replied, Only dreamers live on islands.
Could he have been any more obtuse to his little girl? Well, he would be that dreamer now, be what Sophie had yearned for in the purity of her heart. Most of all, he’d be a father Danny could count on.
“Whatever the case,” he went on, thinking of the homey little office he hoped to rent above the coffee shop in Burnt Bend. “We’re where we want to be. It’s quiet, laid-back, and the people are friendly.”
“And you don’t have to walk the rooms where they lived,” Johnny said quietly.
Rogan closed his eyes. A headache stitched into his temple. “Let it go, all right? Just make Abner Air pay.”
“I’ll do my best.” Abruptly, his brother stood. “Come on. Breakfast’s on me.”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
At the door, Johnny shouldered into a dark designer jacket. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, R.
B.”
Words he’d heard a hundred-fold. “Yeah. Me, too.”
At one and on her second flight to the mainland that day, Lee again skimmed the seaplane across Lake Washington. A tall, charcoal-suited figure stood on the dock, briefcase in hand, black hair tousled by the breeze.
Rogan.
The sight of him sent a pang into her belly. She wouldn’t consider herself an empathetic woman—not like her sisters Addie and Kat whose hearts rode their sleeves most of the time—yet something about Rogan Matteo dug deep.
Standing there as she taxied in he seemed almost forlorn and a little…lost.
“That your fare back?” her brother-in-law asked from the co-pilot’s seat. Skip Dalton had married Addie last Thanksgiving, following a thirteen-year separation incited by their fathers because Addie had become pregnant in high school. When Lee thought of the despair her baby sister endured through those years, it made her chest hurt. Thank goodness for Skip’s return to Firewood Island. Today, Addie’s joy spilled from every glance, word and smile.
Maneuvering the plane gently into the dock’s bay, Lee said, “That’s him.” She wasn’t looking forward to another angsty trip, and planned on advising Matteo to use Duvall’s foot ferry in the future.
Skip gathered up a battered attaché case from the rear seat. “Yep, looks like an ambulance chaser, all right,” he wisecracked.
She unbuckled her safety belt and felt a pang for the man on the pier. “Truth is, lawyer jokes aside,” she said, “he’s been a decent guy so far.”
“Huh. What I can’t figure is why he bought a farm.” Skip pursed his lips. “Wouldn’t surprise me if he plans to put up a string of beach houses.”
She glanced out the window. The man stared back at her as though he eavesdropped on their discussion. Surely, he wasn’t hoping to rezone the Riley place into a cluster of grandiose properties?
Skip shot her a wicked grin. “Let’s ask him. If he says yes, you can dump him in the Sound on the way home.”
And Baby Makes Four Page 3