by Sherry Lewis
Abby blinked her eyes against the fatigue. “Do you know how to make the beds yourselves?”
Kurt looked back at her and Abby realized her mistake.
Michael shrugged but Erin nudged his shoulder. “Yes, we do.”
Kurt looked away as if he’d lost interest in their conversation, but Abby knew she’d have to watch herself more carefully. Especially when she was so tired.
Erin’s suitcase went into the second room, then Kurt led Abby down the hall. Situated at the front of the house, her room overlooked the Columbia Gorge. Large French doors opened off one wall, and against the opposite wall, a wide bed with an elegantly carved headboard beckoned to her, promising rest.
“This was my grandmother’s room,” Kurt told her. “You’ll enjoy it, I think.” He lowered her bags to the floor and flicked on a light switch by the outside doors, illuminating a large deck. “It’s not much to look at now, but in good weather it’s a beautiful view.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“Well—” he turned to face her again “—I’d better go see about the heat. Anything else you need?”
“Really, Mr. Morgan—” Abby started.
“Kurt. Nobody uses last names in Pine Cove.”
“Kurt, then. I appreciate all your help, and I’ll have to thank your wife for being so patient.”
Something flashed in his eyes before he turned away. “I’m not married. My son’s with the sitter and I’d like to get back to him, but it’ll only take a few minutes to get the fire going.”
Abby watched him cross to the stairway and felt herself smile. His obvious concern for his son and his willingness to help her in spite of it drew her to him. There was definitely something about Kurt Morgan she found appealing, and knowing he was divorced only reinforced it.
When he’d disappeared down the stairs, she closed her door and changed quickly from her wet clothes into a pair of gray sweats. She pulled her hair into a ponytail high on her head, then made the bed. Ignoring its invitation, she crossed the hall to Erin’s room.
Abby pushed the door open, knocking softly. Erin had fallen asleep sprawled on the now made bed, her wet clothes still on. She seemed so grown up when she was awake, but watching her sleep, Abby realized she was really little more than a child. A child who showed the signs of everything she’d been through the past few years.
Abby roused Erin enough to get her into clean, dry pajamas and tucked her into bed before going to Michael’s room. He’d been more successful, managing to strip out of his clothes and pull the covers over himself. Touching a kiss to her fingertips, Abby pressed them softly to his cheek before she tiptoed out of his room.
From far below, the sounds of tools clanging on metal floated up to the second floor. Mr. Morgan— Kurt. Obviously still working on the furnace.
Padding down the stairs in her stocking feet, Abby took in more of the house as she went. A large living room opened off to the left under her bedroom. On the right, a wide doorway led into another large room; probably a parlor a hundred years ago, it looked like a family room now.
Kurt had brought in the rest of their bags and stacked them inside the front door. Her camera equipment, another suitcase each, miscellaneous duffel bags. Enough stuff to last them through the summer. She hoped.
Behind the stairs she found the kitchen, a large white room with old-fashioned fixtures and a prehistoric range. Abby had certainly never seen anything like it before. No matter, she reassured herself, they wouldn’t use it much. With the schedule she’d been keeping till now, she rarely cooked anymore, and she didn’t plan to hone her skills this summer.
Walking toward the back door, Abby pulled aside a ruffled curtain and looked outside. Light from the windows spilled across a narrow yard and illuminated the trees at its edge.
Somewhere close by, another clang sounded, followed by a muffled complaint. Despite herself, Abby’s lips curved into a smile.
She looked through an open door and found him stretched out on the floor, his head nearly concealed beneath a monstrous black contraption. Thank goodness he’d stayed—she’d never have known what to do with that.
“Everything all right?” she asked.
Startled, Kurt brought his head up, ramming his forehead into the old heater. He fell back to the floor with a groan.
She’d knocked him out! Racing across the room, Abby knelt over him. What had she done? She touched his forehead and his eyes fluttered open. Green eyes. Incredible eyes. Words froze in her throat. Something inside her melted, and her hand trembled as Kurt gazed at her for one long moment.
“Ouch,” he whispered at last.
Jerking her hand away, Abby broke eye contact. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” He pulled himself to a sitting position.
Uncomfortably aware of him, Abby pulled away. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. You just surprised me. You shouldn’t sneak up on a man like that.”
As usual, when she became too tired, she grew emotional. Tears threatened to fill her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She turned away, but she knew he’d seen the tears.
“Don’t worry about it.” He got to his feet and reached a hand toward her. Reluctantly she took it and allowed him to help her up. He touched his forehead and winced, then grinned, exposing disarmingly appealing dimples. “I got the furnace going, but you’ll probably have to wait until morning for a bath or shower. Did Zelda send over enough bedding?”
Abby didn’t trust herself to look at him, but managed a nod.
“Well, then…” As he bent down for his jacket, Abby felt her eyes drawn to him again. What was she doing? He was attractive, but that didn’t excuse her acting like a schoolgirl. She didn’t even like the plaid-shirt-and-jeans, outdoorsy kind of man. Dragging her eyes away, she resolved to ignore her reaction to him. By morning this fatigue would be gone and she would be more rational. Tomorrow she had to be rational. She’d need to think about the house and the kids; she’d have to worry about food. And she’d find a phone booth and make the first of the calls that would eventually let the folks in Tempe know they’d made it safely.
“Is there anything else you need?” Kurt asked her.
Like a healthy dose of common sense? “No. We’ll be fine. Thank you for everything.” Now, more than ever, she wanted Kurt Morgan to leave. Fatigued and overwhelmed by everything she had to deal with, she’d lost control of her emotions.
“Maybe I should leave my number for you.” Kurt crossed the kitchen and rummaged through a drawer until he came up with a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. “I’ll leave you my cell and the number at home. And here’s the number for my office,” he said. “I’m usually at one or the other, but if you can’t reach me, my secretary will know where to find me. You can call Zelda if you want, but it might be quicker to let me know if something needs to be fixed. She’ll just call me, anyway.”
Abby waited in silence as the pencil scratched against the paper. Kurt held it out and when she took it, she made certain their fingers didn’t brush.
The silence stretched uncomfortably until, without warning, it was shattered by a scream. “Abby!” Michael’s terrified voice carried through the house.
Dropping the paper on the counter, Abby turned. But before she could get through the kitchen door, Michael called out again. And by the time she reached the stairs, his terrified cries had roused Erin, who stumbled through her door onto the landing.
Abby felt Kurt behind her, matching her stride as she bounded up the stairs and burst into the boy’s room. In the dim light from the hall, Abby could see Michael’s tear-streaked face and quivering shoulders.
She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him to her. Whispering soothing words, she tried to still his fears, all the while cursing herself silently for not expecting this. The nightmare had come every night of the last four.
“Is he all right?” Kurt stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light behind him.
“He’ll be fine,” Abby answe
red.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No!” Realizing how sharp she sounded, Abby struggled to soften it, to force a smile to her lips. “It’s nothing—really.”
After a slight hesitation, Kurt nodded. “Well, you have my number if you need anything.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
She held her breath until he turned away, and released the tension in her shoulders only after she heard the front door closing behind him.
For a long time after Kurt left, Abby held Michael against her, stroking his hair away from his forehead. Erin stood in the doorway.
“My dad was here, Abby,” said Michael. “I saw him.”
“No, Michael. It was just the dream again.”
Erin tiptoed into the room and sat on the foot of the bed, her face heavy with worry. “Isn’t Michael ever going to get better?”
“He’ll be fine. Sometimes these things take time. We have to be patient—all of us, including Michael. It won’t go away overnight.” Holding Michael’s shoulders, Abby moved him away from her slightly. “We have another problem, though. You know what you did?”
Michael shook his head solemnly.
“You called me Abby.”
The little boy’s face paled.
“You must both remember what we talked about. Even when the nightmare comes, even when you’re afraid, you mustn’t ever call me Abby, remember? Call me Mom.”
CHAPTER TWO
KURT AWOKE EARLY to the pressure of Pride’s cold wet nose on his arm. With a groan he rolled over and squinted through one eye. At least the sun had come out this morning.
Pride pushed at him again and whimpered, wanting to go outside.
“Hold on, boy. I’m coming.” Kurt slid out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom still half-asleep. Throwing cold water on his face helped to wake him up a little. At least he wouldn’t kill himself tripping over a rock or a branch on the shore. He reached for the towel and patted his face, wincing slightly when he touched his forehead, grimacing when he remembered why it hurt.
But the memory of Abby Harris’s face as she’d leaned over him made him smile. With her long blond hair and clear blue eyes, she was a beautiful woman. She even looked good in those sweats she’d been wearing. Abby Harris was as unlike Laura, with her dark dramatic elegance, as any woman he’d ever met.
But she was married. Mrs. Harris. With a husband somewhere in Europe. The smile slid from his face. Never in his life had he allowed himself to find another man’s wife attractive. And after experiencing the pain of losing his own wife to another man, he wouldn’t even think about doing the same thing to Abby Harris’s husband.
He dragged a Seattle Supersonics sweatshirt over his head, found his sweatpants at the bottom of the clean clothes in the laundry basket and shoved his feet into running shoes.
Brody’s room showed no signs of life yet. Kurt had come home at the end of the third quarter of the game to find his son asleep on the floor. When he hadn’t been able to rouse him, he’d carried him to bed, and Kurt’s hopes for a chance to strengthen his bond with Brody had suffered a setback. He knew Brody resented his leaving last night, though he pretended not to care. And Kurt would have to find some way to mend this latest fissure in their relationship.
He left a hurried note on Brody’s dresser. Unnecessary, really, but Brody still had some anxiety about being deserted after Laura had left them. Two of Brody’s birthdays had passed, two Christmases, and Laura hadn’t given any indication that she even remembered his existence. If she’d made any contact at all, Brody might have come through the divorce more easily. But Laura had never looked back, and Brody was the one who suffered.
Whistling softly for Pride, Kurt headed out the front door. Might as well get the ritual over with before the dog decided to prove just how badly he needed to go outside.
Out of respect for his aching head, he walked along the shore of the wide Columbia River, refusing to let the dog bait him into a game of tag. The black Labrador bounded away, wagging his behind furiously before lunging back at Kurt, nipping his legs and tugging on his sweatpants. But after several tries, Pride seemed to tire of the game and tried his luck chasing gulls, instead.
Kurt wasn’t looking forward to facing Brody. But maybe this time there wouldn’t be a problem, he thought hopefully. Maybe the game had held Brody’s attention until he finally couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, and maybe he’d never really noticed how long Kurt was gone.
And maybe somebody would sight flying pigs over the river this morning.
The second he returned from the walk, Kurt knew he had trouble. Again. Brody sat at the kitchen table, his eyes glued to the back of a cereal box.
“Hey, sport.” Kurt tried for a cheerful tone to set the mood.
“Hi.” Brody’s sullen response was as full of anger and resentment as Kurt had come to expect.
Crossing to the table, Kurt took a chair. He had no idea what to say or how to make this better. “Listen, I’m sorry about last night.”
“It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t okay, and Kurt knew it. “Zelda’s summer renters got here a day early—a woman and two kids on their own. The heat wasn’t even on in the house—”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Brody interrupted impatiently. “It was stupid, anyway.”
“Brody—”
“Stupid!” The boy pushed himself away from the table. “I only said I’d watch the stupid game because I knew you wanted to. I didn’t care about it.”
“Brody, please.”
“I said I don’t care!” Pain stretched across the boy’s face and Kurt’s insides twisted. Tears filled Brody’s eyes. He dashed them away angrily with the back of his hand, stomping from the house and slamming the door behind him.
Kurt tried to shore up his flagging spirits, but Brody’s hostility hurt more than he ever would have imagined. In a way, it reminded him of his own mother’s aloofness after Kurt’s father had died; she’d become fiercely independent, refusing to allow anyone too close. Within a year, she’d left Pine Cove and settled in Florida by herself. Brody had obviously inherited his grandmother’s emotional makeup because he’d reacted to Kurt’s divorce in a similar manner. And he’d been protecting himself ever since.
Kurt got up from the table and began stacking dishes. He wished he knew what to do. Brody had been wounded and he needed time to heal, and Kurt would do whatever it took to help him.
Frowning into the sink, he settled the stopper and ran hot soapy water over the dishes left from last night’s dinner. Brody needed security. He needed to feel safe. And he needed to feel loved.
Kurt’s sister-in-law, Theresa, insisted the boy needed a mother, but Kurt wasn’t ready to plunge into those waters again. He wanted no romantic entanglements. Brody’s needs would be better met if Kurt didn’t even consider getting involved with anyone for a long time. At least not until the boy had a chance to get over his mother’s desertion.
Kurt looked out the window and watched a truck rumble past on the two-lane highway. He’d built this house only a couple of miles from town, but for a boy Brody’s age, it might as well be the moon. Pine Cove didn’t have a big population of nine-year-olds, and Brody’s only close friend lived at least ten miles away. Too far for the boys to travel on their own.
But Michael Harris was here now. He was within walking distance and the boys were just about the same age. Maybe they’d become friends. Brody could have someone nearby, at least for the summer. An unexpected twinge of excitement crept up Kurt’s spine at the thought of seeing Abby again, but he pushed it away.
Brody needed someone his own age to hang around with. Kurt didn’t worry about him while Cindy was there, but three months without a close companion would make the summer drag by for the boy. And Kurt wanted to avoid that.
Feeling pleased with himself, Kurt began to whistle as he washed the dishes. He’d find a reason to visit the Harrises soon and take Brody with him. Finding Brody a friend might not
solve everything, but it would be a start.
ABBY BROUGHT the car to a stop in the parking lot of the FoodWay. They’d already driven through the entire town looking for a restaurant and had eventually ended up at the grocery store. She’d counted on finding a place where they could have breakfast this morning, but she’d only found Jay’s Drive-In and it didn’t open until eleven o’clock. She couldn’t make the kids wait that long to eat.
She’d chosen Pine Cove specifically for its off-the-beaten-track location, but she hadn’t realized until now exactly what that meant. Obviously she’d have to spend time in the kitchen after all. Maybe she ought to buy a cookbook.
As soon as the car came to a stop, Michael jumped out, but Erin hesitated. “I don’t think the store’s open,” she said cautiously.
“It has to be open,” Abby replied. “It’s the only place in town with any food, and if we don’t find something to eat soon, Michael could get dangerous.”
“But there aren’t any cars in the parking lot and it looks dark in there.”
Abby examined the parking lot and store again with a sinking heart. The place did look deserted.
Michael darted to the front of the store and jumped on the pad leading to the automatic door. Nothing. He pushed on the door. Locked.
Abby leaned out the window. “Is there a sign that says what time it opens?”
“Ten o’clock.”
Two hours. She groaned, resting her head against the steering wheel. They hadn’t eaten anything since an early dinner the night before. Except cookies.
Remembering that, Abby found new hope. They couldn’t have eaten them all last night. “Where did you put those cookies, Michael?”
Scuffing his tennis shoes against the pavement on the way back to the car, Michael shrugged his shoulders. “We ate ’em.”
“All of them?” Abby turned to Erin.
