Deep River Promise

by Jackie Ashenden

  “Why do you know about Connor?” she asked eventually, still looking out the window. “I mean, why did Cal tell you about him?”

  A fair question. But he wasn’t going to get into details, so all he said was, “He told me while we were on deployment, just before a big operation, and I think it was just in case he didn’t come back.”

  She didn’t reply, staying very still, her attention remaining on the river outside.

  Then suddenly, as if a switch had been flicked, the prickly aura around her vanished, the tension bleeding out of her posture. She looked at him, her pretty face composed, gray eyes cool mist once more. “Well, it’s nice that he thought of me and Connor, but help isn’t necessary. We’re doing just fine on our own. My son’s future is well taken care of, thank you very much.”

  It was exactly what Damon had hoped she’d say and yet…something tugged at him. The smallest thread. The tiniest of doubts. He wasn’t sure where it came from; whether it had been her moment of prickliness or something more, he didn’t know. And he really should have gotten up, thanked her, and left.

  But he didn’t.

  “Your son’s been following me around,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  Astrid let out a breath and turned from the window, leaning her elbows on the back of her chair. “Yes, I’m aware. He thinks you’re up to no good.”

  The posture pulled the fabric of her T-shirt tight across the soft curves of her breasts, making Damon suddenly more aware of them than he wanted to be.

  Damn. And here was an even better reason for him to get out of Deep River: he did not want to be attracted to the mayor.

  “Why would he think that?” Damon asked instead, concentrating very hard on her face.

  “I have absolutely no idea. He told me this morning that he thought you might be an oilman.”

  A thread of reluctant amusement wound through Damon. “An oilman? Seriously?” He grinned, almost enjoying the thought of some kid thinking he was a hard-bitten oil executive. “Do I look like an oilman?”

  “To be honest, no.” She gave him a leisurely survey. “You look like…” Her gaze caught his and she trailed off, and for a second, something electric hovered in the space between them.

  Her cheeks went pink.

  Uh-oh.

  He knew that look, just as he knew that electricity. It was familiar. Intimate. And most of the time, very welcome.

  Except not right now. Out of all the women in the entire world to have physical chemistry with, the last woman he wanted to feel that way about was the woman whose child he was supposed to be looking out for. That had complicated written all over it, and Damon didn’t do complicated anymore.

  Then again, because he was a man who liked women, and she was a very fine-looking woman, he couldn’t resist holding her gaze a little longer than he should have. “I look like what?”

  A soft and pretty deep-rose color swept over her pale skin, but she didn’t look away. Her gray eyes were almost crystalline, charcoal and silver and quartz. Beautiful eyes…

  “You look like a city boy out of his depth.” Her voice was still cool, the slight hint of challenge edging it.

  And he could feel something inside him respond, the part of him that loved a challenge, that liked risk, the competitor looking for the next opponent.

  Yeah, time for him to leave.

  He grinned and pushed himself out of the chair, breaking the tension. “In that case, it’s time for this city boy to get back to his city.”

  Surprise rippled across her face. “So, what? That’s it? You’re not even going to insist?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Why would you think I’d insist?”

  “You seem like the type of man who would.” She’d straightened up, folding her arms, the remains of her blush still staining her cheeks.

  “Sometimes,” he agreed. “But not today.”

  “But…” She stopped, clearly nonplussed.

  And he had to admit to liking that just a little bit. She seemed so very cool and in control, and he did enjoy ruffling a woman.

  Damon shoved his hands in his pockets. “What? Or did you want my help after all?”

  “No,” she said far too quickly. “No, we definitely don’t.”

  “Good.” He gave her one last smile, slightly regretful since if things had been different, he might have asked for her number. “I’ll see myself out.”

  He was almost to the door when she said suddenly, “One more thing.”

  He paused but didn’t turn back. “Yes?”

  “Please don’t tell anyone who Connor’s father is.”

  Interesting. Cal hadn’t wanted anyone to know either.

  For a second, Damon wondered why that was, and then realized that since he was leaving, it wouldn’t be his problem.

  “Sure,” he said easily. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  * * *

  Astrid watched from the window as Damon Fitzgerald stepped out of the building and onto the boardwalk below, moving with that fluid, athletic grace to the door of the Moose, then disappearing back inside.

  Almost as soon as the door banged closed behind him, a shadow detached itself from the Nowhere pole and moved over to one of the Moose’s windows. Connor put a hand over his eyes as he peered through the glass.

  Astrid muttered a curse. She could have sworn Connor had gotten on the damn ferry. What on earth was he doing? After he’d promised her that he’d go to school! The idiot. Didn’t he know she could see him from here? Clearly he either didn’t, or he didn’t care. She was thinking the latter.

  Annoyance rippled through her, not helped by the interaction she’d just had with Damon.

  Thank God, he’d taken himself off. Almost as soon as he’d gone, all the air in the room that had escaped when he’d entered it had rushed back in and she’d been able to breathe again.

  Shock, of course. Nothing to do with the moment when his gaze had held hers and something hot had sparked to life in those sky-blue depths. And she’d felt herself blush in a way she hadn’t blushed in a very long time.

  No, absolutely not.

  It was shock that after so many years of secrecy, someone else knew who Connor’s father was.

  You’re not entirely alone with it, then.

  Astrid ignored the thought. It didn’t matter that she was alone with it. That’s what she’d wanted because she couldn’t tell everyone when she hadn’t even told her son, after all. And as to that, well…

  She’d thought she’d have more time. She hadn’t thought Caleb would be killed in a plane crash. No one had seen that coming, least of all her, so she couldn’t blame herself for that.

  But the fact that her boy hadn’t even had the opportunity to get to know the father he’d now lost, the father he hadn’t even known he’d had, yes, that was absolutely her fault.

  Turning from the window, she moved over to the desk and picked up her pen, glancing down at her to-do list. But then she put the pen down again.

  No. Busy was good and it was a nice distraction, but what she should be doing was going down and taking her recalcitrant son by the scruff and giving him a good lesson in the consequences of lying to her, since it was too late to send him to school. The high school was an hour and a half away by bus, and now that he’d missed that bus, there wasn’t another. She didn’t have a car either, so she couldn’t take him. And he knew it, the little ass.

  The problem with Connor was that there wasn’t much she could use in the way of consequences. Forbid him to help people? That wouldn’t work, and it would only end up rebounding on the people who liked him helping. There was forbidding him internet time, but since—unlike seemingly every teenager on the planet—he didn’t spend much time online, that wasn’t likely to work either. Not helped by the fact that Deep River’s internet connection was patchy at best, nonexi
stent at worst.

  She reached down and straightened the pen, then adjusted the paper stack of people’s various ideas for tourism ventures for Deep River.

  Well, whatever. She needed to go down and give him a piece of her mind.

  Astrid strode out of the mayor’s office and went downstairs, going through the little hall that led out onto the boardwalk. The door through to the tourist information center stood open as she went past, and Sandy Maclean, who ran it, lifted a hand in greeting from behind the counter, peering from over the tops of her very round glasses.

  Astrid waved a hand in return but didn’t pause. Sandy was almost as bad as April in the diner when it came to gossip, and she wasn’t about to give her any ammunition. Instead she stepped outside and headed to the Moose a couple of doors down.

  Connor hadn’t noticed her approach, still pressed up against one of the windows, trying to see inside through the dim glass.

  “Hey,” Astrid said coolly as she stopped right behind him. “Weren’t you supposed to get on the ferry? At least that’s what I thought you were doing. Or did you somehow fail to find Kevin’s boat that you’ve successfully managed to find every day for the past three years?”

  Her son started guiltily, then turned around to face her. The knuckles of his hand clutching the strap of the backpack he had slung over one shoulder whitened, but his bright-blue gaze was very direct. He didn’t look one whit ashamed of being caught.

  “Mom, look,” he said very seriously. “I’m sorry. Yeah, I know I lied to you about going to school. But you weren’t going to let me stay, and someone needs to keep an eye on that guy.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the Moose. “Everyone else has jobs to go do, but I don’t. And I don’t mind sticking around to make sure everything’s okay.”

  Seriously? He’d stayed home because of Damon? This had gone too far.

  “You do have a job, Con,” she said flatly. “School is your job, and I have a legal obligation to make sure you go. Do you really want me to get Morgan to make you go?”

  Morgan West, Caleb’s sister, was Deep River’s state trooper rural equivalent, a village public safety officer. Which meant she was the law in these parts.

  “Morgan isn’t here,” Connor pointed out, not without some smugness. “She’s still on that training course.”

  That was, sadly, true.

  Sandy was fussing around ostentatiously with the postcard stand just outside the information center, but Astrid knew she was only out here to see what the kerfuffle was about.

  Connor noticed too. “Oh, I think Ms. Maclean needs some help with—”

  “No,” Astrid interrupted, feeling like she needed to lay down the law in some way. “No more help today. You’re officially grounded. Which means you need to go home and stay there.”

  Connor’s chin came up at a belligerent angle. “Mom, really? Come on. I’m just trying to look out for the town.”

  “Yeah, and I get that. But I don’t want you skipping school. That’s a hard no, Con.”

  “School isn’t that important. It’s nearly done for the year anyway. All the things I need to learn, I can learn from Mal. Or Mr. Anderson. Or Joe at the—”

  “You are not learning from Joe!” Astrid interrupted, horrified.

  Joe was an old trapper who spent most of his time with his friend Lloyd getting drunk in the Moose and fighting, and she most definitely did not want Connor learning anything from him.

  “Mom, I know you’re worried.” Connor hitched his backpack higher at the same time as he made a calming motion with his free hand. “But you don’t need to be. I’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on that guy so that—”

  “What guy?” a deep male voice said from the doorway of the Moose.

  Astrid’s stomach dropped as both she and Connor turned toward the doorway.

  Sure enough, Damon Fitzgerald, tall and ridiculously gorgeous, the strap of a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, was standing there staring at them.

  Connor flushed scarlet. Then he straightened up, squared his shoulders, and much to Astrid’s annoyance, he stepped in front of her, putting himself between her and Damon.

  “You,” Connor said, scowling. “I’m keeping an eye on you.”

  Chapter 4

  Damon had to hand it to the kid; he looked ferocious standing there protectively in front of his mother. He had Cal’s height and was starting to get his breadth too, not to mention Cal’s mile-wide streak of pure mule.

  But the cool challenge in his bright-blue eyes was all Astrid.

  Damon had just been saying his goodbyes to Silas and taking his friend’s disappointment that he wasn’t staying as best he could when they’d been interrupted by raised voices from outside the Moose. Damon, who didn’t get mad easily, had found himself on edge and irritated, so he’d slammed open the Moose’s door to find out just who the hell was interrupting his goodbye to his friend.

  A family argument between the kid and his mother, apparently.

  And now they’d turned on him. Or at least Connor had.

  He was staring hard at Damon, all squared up and ready to fight.

  Unfortunately for the kid, Damon didn’t fight teenage boys.

  “Oh?” He kept his tone very casual. “And why is that?”

  “Connor,” Astrid said warningly from behind her son.

  “It’s okay, Mom.” Connor didn’t take his eyes off Damon. “I got this.”

  Damon nearly smiled, reminded of himself at that age. He’d been a little bit like Connor: protective of his mother, wanting to be taken seriously—desperate to be a man, take on a man’s responsibilities.

  But smiling would have been the wrong thing to do; the kid would think he was being laughed at and that would only make the situation worse.

  Damon held the boy’s gaze. “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “Is that right?” Connor’s chin rose. “How do we know that?”

  “Connor,” Astrid repeated, sounding exasperated. She tried to step sideways, but Connor angled his body so he was in front of her again.

  Yeah, he really was protective. A young wolf defending his turf.

  Damon could only respect that.

  “You’ve got my word,” he said neutrally. “And if you won’t take mine, you can take Silas’s.”

  Connor’s jaw worked as if he were chewing something over. He had his backpack strap in a white-knuckled grip, while his other hand was in his pocket. Mirroring Damon’s stance—probably unconsciously.

  There was something a little bit hungry about the way he stared at Damon. A little bit desperate. As if Damon had something he really wanted but didn’t know how to ask for.

  “Are you an oilman?” Connor demanded all of a sudden. “You better not lie to me.”

  Luckily, Astrid had mentioned earlier her son’s suspicions, or else Damon might have lost the battle against a smile. Not that he was laughing at the boy, definitely not. It was just that the poor kid must not know what the hell an oilman looked like if he thought Damon was one.

  Fighting amusement, Damon didn’t move and he didn’t smile. Only held the boy’s belligerent blue gaze, not challenging him but not backing down either. It was a fine line, but he’d learned how to walk it while on deployment with trigger-happy, nervous villagers.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not an oilman. I’m a bush pilot. Or at least I was one. I’m not now. I’m heading back to LA. Right now, in fact.”

  Instantly, the belligerent look disappeared off Connor’s face to be replaced by shock. “What?”

  Just for a second, he looked very young and a little lost, and the ache behind Damon’s breastbone, the one that never went away, shifted.

  Weird. He hadn’t felt that in response to anyone, let alone a kid, not for years. Not since Ella had died. It was almost as if he cared, which was strange since he di
dn’t care much about anything except his mom these days. His life was all about drifting along on the surface of things, never delving too deeply, and that’s how he preferred it.

  Clearly the sensation was an aberration.

  Then Astrid, who hadn’t seen the change of expression on her son’s face, muttered, “Connor, for God’s sake. Don’t be so rude.”

  The lost look slid away abruptly, as if it had never been.

  “I’m not being rude, Mom,” Connor said, continuing to glare darkly at Damon. “Just looking out for Deep River and making sure strangers are on the level.”

  Interesting. It was clear that Connor wanted something from him—why else would he be following Damon around?—but he didn’t know how to get it, and it was also clear that he didn’t want his mother to know that he wanted it.

  So what was it? Damon was a stranger, yet for some reason, Connor had fixated on him.

  There could be a reason for that.

  Well, yeah. Damon was the only stranger in Deep River, so it wasn’t any wonder. Or…perhaps it was because Damon had a connection to Cal. Sure, Silas also had that connection, but then Silas was a known quantity. And talking to Silas about Cal would reveal Cal’s secret…

  No one here knew who Connor’s father was, and Astrid had told him she wanted to keep it that way. But…did the kid know?

  Astrid, losing patience and clearly annoyed, stepped out of the way of her son. “Get up to the house, Connor James,” she said flatly. “You and I need to have a little chat about manners.”

  Connor hid his feelings well, but Damon could see the flickers of desperation in the boy’s eyes. “But, Mom…” he began.

  “It’s not a problem,” Damon said before he could stop himself, instinctively responding to the look on Connor’s face. “He’s just making sure his people are okay.”

  Astrid stared at him in surprise, though why she should be surprised he had no idea. Did she really think he’d turn this into an issue? Connor was fifteen and still figuring out what it meant to be a man, while Damon was thirty-two and already knew what being a man meant.

  Being a man did not mean picking a fight with a kid.