“And if I still say no?”
He kissed her eyes, tarried at her lips. “I hope you won’t. But if you do, then it’ll be a lesson in patience.”
“Until I say yes?”
“Until your heart says yes.”
“You could be a very old man by then.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t sound worried.”
“On the contrary, I’m crazy with worry. You’re an intelligent, independent woman, and it scares the hell out of me.”
She had no comeback. So she lay clasped in his arms, trying to sort through what his statement conjured: that he saw her as entirely different from his wife.
Except I’m not, Lee thought. I have secrets, too.
Chapter Eleven
D anny complained about a stomachache the next morning, prompting Rogan to leave a message with the school that his son would not be in class today. Yet when Lee observed the child dig into a bowl of Cheerios minutes later, she wondered if Danny wasn’t averse to playing a little hooky.
The moment Rogan hung up the phone, the child sent her a shy, juice-painted smile across the table and she knew her intuition was right. The boy wasn’t sick; he wanted to stay with her.
The notion enveloped her warm as a blanket. It appeared Danny liked her a lot.
But it wasn’t reason enough for him to stay home from school. She was about to pull Rogan aside and explain her suspicions when her cell phone beeped on the counter, indicating a voicemail. Checking the number, she frowned. Stuart? What did he want? They hadn’t spoken in years, not since they stood in a courtroom and a judge decreed Stuart concur to Lee’s decisions.
“Something wrong?” Rogan asked, pouring another cup of coffee.
“I don’t know, but I have to take this.”
“Need my office for some privacy?”
“That’s fine. I’ll go out on the porch.” She tossed him a smile to conceal her worry. “I love early mornings. Be back in a minute.”
Grabbing his wool-lined jacket from the mudroom, she took her cup of peppermint tea outside. To the west, a storm system approached. She would need to call Peyton Sawyer as soon as she called her ex-husband. She clicked Reply.
“Stuart Hershel.”
“It’s Lee Tait,” she said, wanting to drive home the point she no longer carried his name. “How did you get my number?”
“What difference does it make?”
“The difference is, Stuart, you are not to contact me. Ever. That’s what lawyers are for.”
“Point taken. As we speak my lawyer is calling yours. We’re going back to court. I want the divorce settlement reassessed.”
“Why?”
“Because I want my seaplane back.”
She snorted. “Excuse me, but that plane was my reason for not taking you to the cleaners. You got the house and the business. I got one damned plane and a scant twenty thousand dollars.”
“My best plane, my only sea plane. I want it back.”
“What’s this about? Your wife needing a new mansion?”
Through the gossip mill Lee heard he’d moved from the suburbs, from the Tudor-style house she had once made home, to a three-acre property with an ocean view.
“Don’t be snide. It doesn’t suit you.”
“Yeah, well. I learn fast. Especially after seeing my husband boffing a barmaid under my quilt.” Actually the quilt had been on the floor, which left far more to the eye than Lee ever wanted to experience again.
“My wife,” he ground out, “was not a barmaid.”
“Pardon my mistake. Waitress, I meant waitress.”
He was silent. The wind cut into her jacket and brought drops of rain to dot the porch railing. He said, “She still has more class than you.”
“What she has is more ass than me.”
Across the miles, Lee heard his breathing accelerate. “I’m getting my plane back, Lee, and that’s a promise.”
“Right, and here’s my promise. If you bring this back to court I’ll come after your house, and don’t think I won’t get it. You knew about Bill Norton’s drinking problem.”
“What drinking problem?”
She barked a laugh. “The one that had him smelling like a vat of sour beer the day you hired him.” Upon finding Stuart in bed with the waitress, Lee had quit him and his company on the spot. However, when he signed on Bill Norton to take her place, she had voiced her reservations, and the rumors rotating the flight circuit.
He should be reported to the FAA, she’d told Stuart.
You’re the one leaving on short notice, he’d snapped, and I need a pilot.
Short notice. When she added the months to the child’s birth, he’d bedded the waitress two months before Lee caught him. Short notice, indeed.
“Norton was an experienced pilot.” Stuart snuffed her memories. “Sure he tied one on every now and again, but he never flew drunk. He was always sober when he got behind the controls. You can talk about this until the cows come home, Lee, but he was not drunk on that flight.”
She heard his voice tremble. “Believe what you want.”
“You bet I will. He was my wife’s cousin. I knew him.”
“Your wife’s…cousin?” Dear God, could it get any worse?
“I’m getting that plane back whether you like it or not. Besides,” he said, his tone hard again. “You got an excellent rep. Any company would hire you. I’ll put in a voucher.”
She didn’t want to work for any company. Nor did she need his commendation. Sky Dash was hers and until she figured out how to run it plus raise a child or, heaven help her, sell the business, no one—least of all Stuart Hershel—had the right to map her future.
“I’ll cut you a deal,” he ranted, reeling Lee back to the conversation at hand. “A trade straight across the board.”
“Trade?”
“The seaplane for the ten acres at Moses Lake. You sell those, you buy any seaplane your little heart desires,” Stuart said, and Lee pictured him puffing out his chest over the offer. “Either way, we’re both in the money.”
At that she laughed. “You haven’t been able to sell that swamp in six years.”
“The right buyer hasn’t come along, is all. Look.” His voice took an edge. “You got the time to wait. I don’t.”
Ah, she thought. Of course. He needed her plane for no other reason than to sell it so he could pay the compensation Rogan no doubt demanded in his lawsuit.
Hugging his coat around her, she stared through the misty rain at the foal huddled against its mother’s side. Last night Rogan had held her to his body, kissed and touched her and talked about marriage. And now Stuart wanted her seaplane because Norton’s inebriation had been a death warrant.
Why, why hadn’t she reported the man to the FAA?
Because after the bed scene your mind went AWOL.
“I’ll fight you tooth and nail,” she said, more angry than she’d been in three years. Ass. Shutting off the phone so he couldn’t call back, she wheeled around—and jerked to a stop.
Danny stood ten feet away. “What’s a vat of sour beer?”
“Should you be outside, honey?” And where was Rogan that he hadn’t caught his son heading out the door in his pj’s with no coat or footwear?
“I’m not cold,” Danny replied, breath foggy as he spoke.
Trying not to focus on how long he might have listened to her one-sided conversation—or what he understood—Lee ushered him into the warmth of the mudroom. “You’re sick,” she chided gently. “Sick boys stay in bed and don’t go outside.”
“Well…” came the sheepish reply, “I kinda feel okay now.”
“Do you now? Have you told Dad?”
“No, but I wanna stay an’ keep you company. Dad said you were sick and I don’t want you to be sick.”
Ho-boy. “Danny.” Lee pushed the hair from his somber eyes. “I’m honored you want to stay with me, but it’s not right to make up stories, especially to your dad. Besides, I’m
not really sick.” Oh, heck. He’d know soon enough anyway. “I’m going to have a baby so the doctor wants me to take it easy for a couple of days.”
His brown eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yep. But let’s keep it our secret for now, all right?”
“Doesn’t Dad know?”
“Yes, and now you do, too. So, it’s just the three of us. Okay?”
Nodding eagerly, he zippered a finger across closed lips, then tossed the invisible key over his shoulder.
“That’s my boy,” she said and hugged him. “Now go tell Dad you’re going to school.”
Danny dashed for the stairwell that led to his bedroom. “Dad,” he shouted. “Hurry! I gotta go to school.”
Rogan poked his head out of the office across from the guest room where she’d lain with him last night. “What’s going on?”
“Danny has something to tell you.” Lee sank onto the living room couch, suddenly tired. A conversation with Stuart felt like a two-day marathon.
Rogan walked over to kiss her hair, a touch she was beginning to crave far too much. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” She caught his hand. “Go easy on him, Rogan. He was just worried about me.”
“I know.” And for a split second she saw something in his expression that made her think of the missing piece haunting his life for three years. Family.
Her heart hurt as she thought of the conversation they would have later, the secret she still needed to share.
“See you in a bit,” he whispered. Less than ten minutes later, she heard the mudroom door close, then his truck start.
On the sofa and under the knitted blanket, she listened to the rain pummel the house—and she waited. Waited for him to return so she could eradicate that hunger, that wish, from his heart with six words….
The plane crashed because of me.
Driving through the storm, Rogan knew something was amiss.
For twenty minutes he’d sat behind the wheel, en route to Burnt Bend Elementary, listening to Danny’s chatter, then reversing the direction, and he hadn’t been able to shake off the presage of doom.
Last night had been terrific. He’d held Lee in his arms until dawn spilled through the windows. Throughout the night, between bouts of sleep, they had kissed and talked, and kissed some more. He should feel exhausted; instead he felt exhilarated.
He loved her.
He never believed it could happen, his loving another woman. With Darby he’d been a protector, her defender against life’s inconsistencies, its drama.
Lee, on the other hand, exuded an inner strength that attracted him as nothing had before. Yet, at the heart of all her independence lay a vulnerability he wanted to safeguard.
She sat on the padded rocker on the front porch. The wind danced with her thick ponytail, and blew strands across her cheeks. Through the windshield, hazy with raindrops the moment he shut off the engine and wipers, he took in her woolen green jacket, brown slacks and tall black boots. The overnight bag next to her feet.
Feigning calmness, he climbed the porch stairs. “Going somewhere?” he asked.
“I’ve called my mother to drive me home. But before she gets here, I need to explain something.”
He parked his butt against the railing, crossed his arms to ward off a rising chill from within. “Sounds ominous.”
She glanced away. The ponytail accented the hollowness of her cheeks. In her lap, she held her house keys in a death grip. Slowly, her gaze wove back, and the despair he saw constricted his windpipe.
“The call I got before you left was from my ex-husband.”
Rogan remained stone still. Raindrops tapped his shoulders, crept under his collar.
“Stuart wants to revisit the divorce settlement.”
“What settlement? All you got was a plane.”
“His best plane.”
“And now he wants to reclaim it?”
“Yes.” Again she looked toward the pasture, and the horses with their tails to the rain. “He’s willing to trade.”
“Trade. Let me guess, the trade is in his favor. You get junk in return.” Rogan deduced the reason behind the whole distasteful scenario and it sent a feral craving through him. He yearned to lash out. Preferably at Stuart Hershel.
“Not junk. Ten acres of wilderness.”
“Where?”
“About forty minutes from Moses Lake.”
Rogan stared at her. “That’s in the middle of nowhere. You didn’t agree. Please, say you didn’t, Lee.”
“I said I’d fight him.”
“Good girl.”
“But I probably won’t because there’s something else.”
And then she told him about her husband’s infidelity.
“I found them in our bed, braided together like ropes. I couldn’t believe how calm I was, standing in the doorway. All I said was, ‘I’m outta here,’ and went to the flight service office. About ten minutes later Stuart came in. I’d emptied my desk already and had started on the file cabinets. Do you know what he said? ‘Please stay, Lee. Stay until I find another pilot.’” Her laugh was brittle. “Not stay in the marriage, but until he got another pilot to take my place.”
“Bastard,” Rogan murmured. If the man ever showed his face…
“So I stayed one week. Because I couldn’t let my passengers down. Bill Norton showed up on my last morning smelling worse than a brewery. I told Stuart I suspected the man was an alcoholic. He said he had checked his references, that he was clean.”
Her face crumpled momentarily; she lifted her chin. “Stuart was extremely finicky about his pilots. He wanted the best. So I believed he’d done his homework. His betrayal in our marriage should’ve been a signal.” Her eyes pierced Rogan. “Forty minutes ago I found out Norton was a cousin to Stuart’s mistress.”
Against his body, Rogan’s fingers fisted. He wanted to strangle Stuart Hershel slowly. The man had ruined the lives and memories of two families.
Lee went on, “It wasn’t until I heard about the crash four months later that I realized Stuart hadn’t followed my advice. That’s why I’m to blame,” she whispered, swiping a tear off her cheek. “It’s my fault. I should’ve reported Norton.”
Rogan scarcely breathed. Finally he knew. Finally the puzzle behind his family’s demise fell into place. He recalled Sophie’s happy smile, her parting words as he walked them to the taxi waiting at the curb of their house to take them to the airport, Love you, Daddy.
He wanted to crush rocks with his bare hands, release the festering rage he’d harbored for thirty-eight months.
To kill the man responsible.
“Why,” he asked, forcing an enormous calm into his voice, “didn’t you explain this before?”
“I wanted to. I really did. But I didn’t know how or where to begin. And there was this…attraction between us and I…I thought you might see me as a bad person. Which is wrong and selfish of me, I know.” She drew in a long breath.
Rogan uncrossed his arms, gripped the railing behind. Rain beat the earth behind him, gushed from the eaves troughs. “If that’s what you think, Lee, then you don’t know me very well.”
Taking up her overnight bag, she rose. “I agree. I don’t. Nor do I know what your intentions are for the future. Or whether you’ll still feel—”
“The same way about you?” He stepped into her space. “That it? You’re worried whether I’ll still want to marry you?”
“Yes,” she said and he saw her top lip quiver.
“Why?”
“Because…”
“Why, Lee?”
Distress in her eyes, she glanced away.
Finger under her chin, he tugged her back gently. “Why?”
“Because,” she cried. “I love you. There. Are you satisfied? But there won’t be an end to this tragedy between us, Rogan. Bill Norton should’ve had his wings clipped. But the worst of it is I expected my husband to do the right thing and report him.” She let out a caustic laugh.
“A man who cheated.” Eyes swimming, she pushed past him as the sound of a vehicle approached. “My mother’s here. I have to go.”
Before he could say another word or call her back, she was down the steps. A second later, she hauled open the pickup’s door. He glimpsed an older version of Lee at the wheel. Then the truck U-turned to vanish down the lane among the trees, and he was left standing under a wet, gothic canopy of sky.
“Why are you crying?” Charmaine Wilson asked, turning onto the main route back to town.
Lee faced the side window. “I’m not crying.”
“I can see that. Your eyes are red and puffy, you’re sniffing and you sprinted down those steps as if your life depended on it. What’d he do to you?”
“He didn’t do anything, Mom, and I don’t want to talk about it. It’s…” Over. “Never mind.”
“Fine. Be that way.”
“Look,” Lee said wearily. “Can we not do this right now?”
Across the cab, Charmaine sighed. “Oh, Lee.”
“Mom. Leave it, okay?”
They rode in silence for two minutes before Charmaine said, “I’m worried about you. You don’t call for weeks, you barely visit anymore. And then out of the blue you tell me you’re pregnant with Oliver Duvall’s child, and now I’m picking you up from some strange man’s house—”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s a friend.” Was a friend. In truth he’d been so much more. He was the man she loved. Loved. The fervent, turn-your-insides-to-mush, forever-and-ever kind she’d never experienced.
Ten years older than Lee, Stuart had taught her how to fly before hiring her into his company. Shortly thereafter, they’d married. Admittedly, love had been part of it—until it was determined her body wasn’t a fan of his sperm and he went elsewhere for a baby she’d wanted more than he had.
And there was Oliver…dear Oliver, her childhood best friend, a man with whom she created a baby, and whom she might have married simply because.
But Rogan…Rogan had held her heart in his palm the moment they met beside her aircraft, and he’d wrapped that soft Southern accent around her name.
“He’s a friend,” she repeated.
Charmaine kept her gaze on the road. “Sure he is.”
And Baby Makes Four Page 14