“Better than Skip’s,” Lee remarked, lips tweaking.
“Okay, hold it right there. No one has a better butt than Skip.”
“Depends on who’s looking.”
“I knew it,” Addie said smugly. “You more than like the man. So are you going to ask him out?”
Lee laughed. “Argh. You were setting me up just now.”
“Yup.” A grin drifted through the line. “By the way, Skip wants to take Rogan and his son to a Mariners game once the season starts. Sort of a thank you for what he did for me today.”
“An offer I’m sure he won’t turn down.”
“So, will you ask him out?”
Lee shook her head. “He’s a nice guy, but that’s where it ends. I have no interest in him—now or later.” Liar, then why were you thinking about him all day?
“Lee,” Addie said. “If there’s a connection, why not go for it?”
“Have you forgotten I’m pregnant?” Never mind her history with Abner Air, a company, she realized now, that had neglected to do a background check on a certain pilot. A company that had put Rogan through hell.
“What does having a pleasant dinner or going to a movie have to do with being pregnant?” her sister asked.
“Nothing. But I’m not you, Addie. I can’t pretend everything’s hunky-dory.” Lee sighed. “Damn it. I’m sorry. Your situation fourteen years ago was entirely different.”
“Yes,” her sister conceded. “It was. Skip and I were teenagers manipulated by our parents. You, on the other hand, are an independent, successful woman.” Her voice softened. “Don’t be so scared, Lee. Until you start showing, go have some fun. Heck, by then he’ll be so crazy about you, he won’t be able to walk away.”
“I’m not going to trick him, Addie.”
“Of course, you aren’t. Tell him up front and if it makes a difference to him, then he wasn’t the one. But if it doesn’t…”
“I could do worse, that it?”
“Possibly. Though I think it’s unlikely. However, you’ll never know unless you take the step.”
When she crawled under the covers that night, Lee mulled over Addie’s advice. Take the step. Hadn’t she done that with Stuart? With Oliver? And where had it got her?
Pregnant and beside herself with worry she would lose this baby—along with her business.
Her sisters were wrong. Adding a man to the mix was just plain dumb. Especially a man linked to her in a horrible twist of fate.
Still, when the clock on her nightstand indicated the midnight hour, the anticipation of giving her gifts to Rogan and his son had yet to subside.
Shortly after lunch the following day, she parked in front of his farmhouse. Strange, but already she thought of the property as “Rogan’s place,” and no longer “the old Riley farm.”
The sun blazed warm and bright over the pasture’s southerly woods as Lee stepped from her Jeep.
Country quiet settled into her bones. Somewhere a bird warbled a melody while a light breeze shifted the hair she’d left loose on her shoulders. A spice of nature—damp earth, ripe buds, new grass—pulled her senses. I could live here, she thought.
The notion startled her. She’d never been the “country” type. Not in music or entertainment and certainly not in choosing a place to reside. Her idea of home was a house or apartment amidst civilization, with a blend of trendy and old décor, and easy access to whatever shops and restaurants she required.
So why was she feeling this…this sense of homecoming on a piece of land she had known about since age six when she and Eve Riley entered first grade?
Lee sighed. The pregnancy was playing silly games with her hormones and common sense.
Except hadn’t she told Rogan his house was lovely? That she admired his traditional furnishings, the old-fashioned herb window?
Standing beside the Jeep, she glanced at the toy digger, the tray of herb plants waiting on the passenger seat. Her way of saying I understand your home.
“Lee!”
She turned at the sound of his call.
He stood with Danny in the doorway of the weathered little barn. Lifting a hand in greeting, she started across the yard, noting the splatters and smears of paint on their ratty jeans and sweatshirts as she approached. Mariner ballcaps protected their hair and sheltered their eyes, although a couple of white fingerprints dotted Danny’s visor.
Suddenly, she felt overdressed in her pencil-style black skirt, calf-high black stiletto boots and belted woolen jacket the color of curry. What was she thinking, wearing going-to-dinner clothes to a farm? Before she could stop herself, a nervous laugh pocked the air. “I was in the neighborhood…”
Striding forward, Rogan broke into a pleased grin. “I was going to call you. I need to catch another flight with you tomorrow.”
“To Renton?”
“Yep.” His eyes swallowed her whole.
Flustered, she said, “I brought you something. For Danny, too.”
“Did you now?” His gaze held hers.
“A sort of welcome token for your new home, and for helping Addie.”
“Can’t wait to see it.” He stopped within arm’s reach. The grin remained. “We were just talking about you. Weren’t we, Dan?”
“You were?” Oh, but his eyes were beautiful. The deep gray of evening, moments before the moon rose.
“Uh-huh.” Danny nodded. “Dad thinks your hair smells nice. He says it reminds him of strawberry jam.”
Rogan pulled playfully at the visor of his son’s cap. “I said no such thing.”
“Did so, Dad. And you said it looks like a bunch of copper wire, too.”
Lee bit the inside of her cheek to thwart a bubble of laughter. “Copper wire, huh? Sounds like a great style for a lady.”
“Danny means the color is like copper wire. I mean, I said its color is…” He shook his head, laughed. “Okay, can I dig this hole any deeper?”
“What hole, Dad?”
“Never mind, son.”
Lee gazed at the man who swam through her dreams. He liked her hair. Well, in her case he liked wire—and jam. No one had bothered to compare her to anything before. She didn’t know whether to hug him or walk away.
“Know what?” he said. “Let’s start over. Hello, Lee.”
Her lips hitched. “Hey, guys.” She nodded to the paint-weary barn. “Sprucing things up?”
“We are,” Rogan said. “Come see.”
They walked into the quaint, hip-roofed building with its lingering scent of old hay and manure. The interior contained a couple of horse stalls and—from the appearance of the wooden waist-high cubbies attached to a wall—a pen where chickens once laid eggs. From the narrow side windows, sunshine laced the center aisle and illuminated a spattering of lazy dust motes.
Rogan went through the barn to the open rear doors. “We’re testing our skills on the exterior wall. That way,” he winked down at his son, “nobody will see our first errors.”
“Good plan.” Outside, Lee noted the scaffolding, the pails of white and barn-red paint; the two brushes—one large, one small.
“Danny’s job is the sign.” Rogan pointed to a long, thin plank jacked between two sawhorses. One side had already been painted white. Or as white as a seven-year-old could make.
Lee touched the boy’s shoulder. “A very hard job, too.”
Something flickered in Rogan’s eyes. Had she offended him? Did he think she wanted the boy playing instead of working?
He said, “We’re hanging the sign above the front doors of the barn so anyone coming into the yard can see it. The lettering will be red to match the exterior.”
So. He was putting his stamp on the place by giving it a name. “And what’s it going to be called?”
“We’re not sure yet. Dan wants to make a list.” Rogan watched the boy wander to the fence. In the middle of the pasture, the mare stood dozing in the sun while her foal nursed. “He thought of calling it Juniper and Pepper’s Farm, but that was too l
ong for the plank, so we abbreviated it to…Ah, hell.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have no idea why I’m rambling on about a bunch of boring junk.”
Lee smiled. “It’s all interesting.”
Rogan slanted her a look. “You’re a classy lady, know that? Any other woman would’ve been yawning by now.”
His wife, perhaps? Not a topic to pursue. She said, “I never grew up on a farm, but a childhood friend used to live here, so seeing her old place go through a resurrection of sorts has special meaning.”
For a long moment he said nothing, just looked at her.
“What?”
“I’m adding one-of-a-kind to classy.”
“Don’t make me into something I’m not, Rogan.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Yes. There’s more underneath this jacket than a few words.” She recognized her mistake the instant she closed her mouth.
“I couldn’t agree more.” His gaze moved over her body before returning to her face. “I’ve been a widower for three years. I have a kid, so I don’t get out much—which, I’m sure, shows through my sparkling wit. But even if I did go out with women, I’d still think you were one-of-a-kind.”
She scoffed softly. “Yes, most men see female pilots that way. A woman in a man’s world, that sort of thing.”
“It has nothing to do with you flying planes, Lee.”
“Well,” she said, unconvinced. “Shall we quit this discussion and see what I brought you both?”
He kept his eyes on hers for a handful of beats. Then, he turned his head. “Danny. Get down from the fence. You’re bothering the horses.”
During their conversation, Lee saw that the mare had wandered in from the pasture. Tail switching flies, she stood a few feet from the fence. Hiding under its mother’s chin, the foal gazed curiously at Danny.
“I’m not doing anything,” the boy said, clinging to the top of the fence. “Please, Daddy. I want to pet them.”
Rogan strode to his son. “They’re not familiar with us yet. I want you down off that fence.”
Lee frowned. “Have you ever ridden a horse, Danny?”
The boy’s eyes lit. “Uh-uh. Daddy, can I ride Juniper?”
“No. Now come down off the fence.”
“Aw…” Reluctantly, Danny descended. “How come I can’t ride Juniper?”
“I took lessons when I was a kid,” Lee pointed out, her heart wavering at the dejection in the child’s eyes.
Rogan shot her a look that said please don’t encourage him.
She wanted to tell him not to impose his fears onto his son. She wanted to tell him to let the child breathe, not to smother him with his worries.
None of your business, Lee.
“Can you show me how to ride, Ms. Tait?” the boy asked.
“Not right now, son,” Rogan interjected. Then his eyes softened. “She has something to show us.”
“You do?” Danny asked eagerly, all thought of horses and riding gone. “What is it?”
“Why don’t you come and see. It’s in the Jeep.”
Danny ran through the barn and out the front doors.
“I’m sorry,” Rogan murmured beside her as they walked through the barn. “About the riding stuff.”
“You know your son best.”
“But you don’t agree.”
The squared toes of his work boots were tough and inflexible. “Whether I agree isn’t important,” she said. “If people concurred every time, we’d still be in the Paleozoic period.”
“Interesting analogy. You think I’m that obstinate?”
Instead of answering, she opened the truck’s passenger door, and took out the digger for the boy. “I didn’t see one of these when you were building by the oak tree the other day.”
Danny’s eyes lit. “A digger! Dad, she got me a digger!”
Rogan’s features relaxed. “What do you say?”
“Thank you, Miss Tait! Can I go play, Dad?”
“You bet.”
The child’s delight pleased Lee. Reaching back into the Jeep, she drew out the container of herbs. “For your greenhouse window,” she said, handing him the specialized three-tiered pot.
He blinked. “My greenhouse window? Oh, you mean that window extension over the sink? I asked Zeb to remodel the kitchen into a room with light.” An edge of his mouth turned up. “Seems I have a lot to learn about farming, including growing a garden.”
“I could help,” Lee said. What was she doing? She didn’t know the first inkling about farming, never mind planting garden seeds. Her skills in that department sat in pots similar to the one he held, nurtured by a horticulturalist.
“Help I can always use,” Rogan replied. “Sure you want to work with a hard-headed, obstinate guy?” he teased.
He was referring to her prior comment about his behavior around Danny.
“Not hard-headed,” she said around a little laugh. “Just a little over-anxious. Normal, after what you’ve gone through.”
Around her, the temperature dropped ten degrees. “What I’ve gone through,” he said softly, “is pure unadulterated hell.” His eyes pierced. “Do you know what hell is, Lee?”
“Maybe not the kind you mean. But I have lost my footing through other ways.” Hoping for a family that never evolved and a husband who chose affairs as a solution. Burying a best friend turned lover.
“It’s not an easy road,” she went on, “but you travel it because it’s the only route you have.”
“What I want is for my boy not to miss his mother and sister. I want something good for him.”
Lee observed the child digging in the dirt. “It’ll happen. You’ve made an excellent choice settling him here, Rogan. This place will heal him.” And you, she thought. Most of all you.
“My brother thinks I made a mistake.”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“Well then. As they say in your world…case closed.” She opened the driver’s door of the SUV, nodded to the container in his hands. “Have fun spicing.”
“Why not stay for lunch, share the taste testing?”
“Maybe another time.” She climbed behind the wheel. “You know how it goes. Things to do, people to see, places to go.”
He stepped into the door she had yet to pull shut. “I’ve scared you off with my reaction about my past.”
She laughed lightly. “That’s where you’re wrong, Rogan.” Because I’m a sucker for wounded men I’ve scared myself off. “The only thing that scares me is the thought of planting your garden. See you tomorrow.” When she’d fly him across the Sound for his work.
With a nod, he moved out of the way and she shut the door.
Yes, she thought, watching him grow smaller in the rearview mirror. For her, the case of the Matteos was definitely closed. She glanced down at her stomach. “You,” she said to the baby, “are all that matters.”
Chapter Seven
T he following week, Rogan made two more business trips to the mainland in Lee’s plane. While there wasn’t much discussion on board—not while a lump continued to plug his throat—he admitted he was getting better about climbing into the cockpit. She made the flights easier with her relaxed demeanor, her knowledge of planes, with the way her freckled hands worked the controls, and the fact her bright curly hair drove him crazy.
After cutting the engine at Burnt Bend’s wharf on Thursday afternoon, she climbed from the seaplane and handed him his briefcase. “See you around.”
A stone hit his gut. He didn’t look forward to the four-day gap between now and next Monday. He wanted to see her every day. He wanted to hear her voice and watch her eyes change with the topic of conversation.
He wanted to hold her hand.
To kiss her.
There were a hundred things he wanted with Lee Tait. And none, he knew, would come to fruition because he was a single father whose first priority was his son—and last Sunday Rogan had acted like an ass.
So he s
tood on the dock, debating, while she opened the cargo hatch. Fitz from the coffee shop pulled his truck into the tiny gravel parking lot a rock’s toss away. In another minute, the man would approach with a flatbed trolley to haul away Lee’s load of expedited mail and freight boxes.
“Forget something?” she asked, reaching in to tug the first package forward.
Definitely not. “No, but I wish you’d let me help.”
“Not necessary.” She climbed into the hold.
“I know. Fitz’s job.” Still, Rogan wanted to do something for her. Twice this week, while he sat beside her in the cockpit, that something had been on his mind. He hadn’t liked the way he’d snapped at her last Sunday. Do you know what hell is? he’d asked as if she were stupid. As if she didn’t understand the weight on his shoulders.
Lee Tait was not stupid. She saw right through him, and maybe that was why he sat on a teeter-totter of emotion today.
Much as he’d loved Darby, Lee saw him in ways his late wife had not. She sensed his moods, his intentions, his hurt. He had no idea how; they were just getting to know each other, but there it was. She understood what made him tick. And that scared the hell out of him—even though he couldn’t stop thinking about her halfway into every night.
“Have a nice weekend,” he said at last.
“You, too.” She offered a quick smile he tucked into his heart. Turning, he walked down the boardwalk, nodded as he passed Fitz dragging the trolley to the anchored plane.
He had taken maybe thirty steps when he heard Lee call his name. Swinging around, Rogan watched her advance, a woman of adventure and success, who knew what she wanted in life. A woman in a dark flight jacket with its wing insignia above her left breast, moving with the grace of a ballerina.
She stopped close enough for him to catch the scent of strawberries in her hair. Her eyes were the greenest he’d seen; the ring around the irises black as night.
“Would you and Danny like a home-cooked meal Friday evening?” she asked.
Looking into her upturned face, he felt the boardwalk tilt ever so slightly. God, he had it bad for her.
Unbinding his tongue, he said, “Danny would like that. He’s been complaining about my cooking.”
And Baby Makes Four Page 8