by Irene Hannon
But he didn’t.
For several long moments she studied him. Then she spoke into the phone. “Tell Chester he can stay dry, Edith. I have a ride.”
Leaving Craig to wonder if he’d just made a big mistake.
Chapter Six
Five minutes later, as Craig pulled up in front of the school and Kate dashed for his car, the word mistake kept repeating in her mind like a stuck needle on one of the old vinyl records her father used to play.
Spending time with the handsome lieutenant was not a good idea.
With each encounter, his appeal grew. And that was scary. It could undermine her resolve to steer clear of romance. When Mac had died, a big chunk of her heart had died, too. A person could only take so much loss, and she’d reached her limit.
At least the ride home was short, she reassured herself as Craig slowed to a stop and pushed open the passenger door.
Kate slid in. “Wow! What a day to forget my umbrella.”
“Considering Nantucket’s reputation as a resort destination, I have to admit I’m surprised by the weather.”
“It’s a summer resort. And around here, summer doesn’t get a good grip until June or July. The rest of the year can be pretty much like this. Or worse.” She clicked her seat belt into place as he accelerated. “Take a right. It’s not very far.” His medal-bedecked jacket was gone, she noted, replaced by a rugged, off-white fisherman sweater.
Catching her inspection, he grinned and answered her unspoken question. “I ditch the jacket as soon as possible after official functions. It’s a high-maintenance garment. So, may I assume your need for a ride indicates car problems?”
“You may. My timing belt’s shot.”
He grimaced. “Ouch. That’s an expensive repair.”
“Tell me about it.” Although she tried to keep her tone conversational, a note of discouragement crept into her voice. She hoped Craig wouldn’t pick up on it.
But she wasn’t surprised when he did. The man had razor-sharp instincts.
“I suppose managing a budget with two seasonal careers has its challenges.”
“That’s a polite way to put it. Take a left at the next corner.”
“Have you ever considered teaching full-time?”
“Yes. I was offered a full-time position two years ago. But I’d lose two of my most lucrative fishing months. And it would pretty much even out income-wise. The group insurance would be nice because my premiums would be lower, but I like the flexibility of being available for Maddie.” She sighed and shook her head. “There’s just no easy answer.”
He took a quick look at her, noting the determined set of her chin. He doubted there were many obstacles capable of stopping Kate from achieving any goal she set. Yet worry—and hard work—took a toll, as evidenced by her too-thin frame, the shadows beneath her lower lashes, the faint lines at the corners of her eyes. Spunk and resolve, much as he admired them, could exact a hefty price.
“Make a right. Then in two blocks make a left. I know the layout is a maze to newcomers, but it makes perfect sense to us natives.”
“How long has your family lived here?”
“Almost two hundred years. We go back to the whaling days. My forefathers did very well on Nantucket, until kerosene and the Great Fire ended the glory days. Every generation since has had its struggles. Most of the family ended up moving to the mainland. It’s tough for ordinary people to make a living on the island, especially in recent years.”
He took a quick look at her, noting the shadow that crossed her face.
“Even my parents had to move,” she continued, a touch of melancholy softening the words. “A few years ago they sold the house where I grew up and relocated to a small bungalow in North Carolina. But they didn’t transplant well. Two years later, my mother suffered a fatal stroke. Eight months after that, my dad died of a heart attack.”
Shocked, Craig digested this new information. In a handful of years, Kate had lost not only her husband, but both parents.
“It’s the next street on the right. Lighthouse Lane.”
Slowing, Craig turned into the tiny dead-end street containing a handful of houses. Most were a nice size, but in light of her comments about finances, he wasn’t surprised when she directed him to a small clapboard cottage tucked between two of the grander homes.
She secured her purse on her shoulder. “Thanks for the lift. I know Chester appreciates it as much as I do.”
“It was my pleasure.” He shifted toward her as the rain continued to beat against the car, the rivulets of water acting like an opaque curtain, insulating them from the world. Only Kate’s hair added color to the neutral palette around them. Even in the weak light, it sparked with life and vibrancy.
All at once, Craig was rocked by a powerful urge to touch those curls. To smooth away the shadows under her eyes. To twine his fingers with hers and assure her she didn’t have to face her problems alone.
Where that urge came from, he had no idea. All he knew was that the force of it threatened to shatter the emotional control he’d mastered as a rescue swimmer—a control that had saved his life on numerous occasions. And that unnerved him. He relied on that control. Needed that control. It was what helped him survive—in the water and out. Nothing—and no one—had ever managed to shake it as quickly and thoroughly as Kate MacDonald. Worse, she’d done it without even trying.
As if sensing his inclination, Kate groped for the door handle.
“Th-thanks again for the ride.”
“Wait.” His hand shot out, restraining her, and she turned to him with an almost panicked expression. Gentling his voice, he summoned up a stiff grin, trying to dispel the charged atmosphere. “I have an umbrella in the back. No sense getting drenched. Let me walk you to the door.”
Without giving her a chance to refuse, he reached into the backseat for the umbrella, opened his door and stepped out into the driving rain.
He took as long as he dared circling the car, pretty certain that huddling with Kate under the umbrella wasn’t going to help matters. Based on the trepidation in her face when he pulled her door open, she’d had the same thought. And her discreet but obvious effort to keep some distance between them while they walked down the flagstone path that led across the tiny front lawn was also telling.
As they approached the entrance, Craig tried to distract himself by focusing on the weathered clapboard cottage she called home, noting the sage-colored door and matching trim framing the windows that gave the house a rustic charm in keeping with the historic nature of the town. No porch or awning protected the front door from the weather, and he canted the umbrella over them as she dug in her satchel for her keys.
“I appreciate the ride.” Her words came out in a breathless rush. “I’m already late picking up Maddie, and you saved me some time.”
“Is she at Edith’s house?”
“Yes.” Kate motioned toward the two-story Federal-style clapboard home to the left. Painted yellow and adorned with black shutters, it boasted a small set of friendship stairs at right angles to the front door that allowed visitors to approach the landing from either side.
Although Edith’s house was far grander than Kate’s, it paled in comparison to the one on her right. Also two-story and constructed of clapboard, it was painted white. The black shutters, Greek Revival roofline with its deep frieze, and a small, white-pillared front porch gave it a stately air.
“That’s The Devon Rose,” Kate told him, noting the direction of his glance as she fitted the key into the lock. “The owner lives on the second floor and serves high tea every afternoon downstairs. Well…” She edged the door open.
“Would you like me to get Maddie for you? With this giant umbrella I might be able to keep her drier than you could. No sense having her catch a cold.” A gust of wind spewed rain in their direction, and he adjusted the angle of the umbrella to compensate. “And if you have an extra blanket I could throw it over her as added protection.”
After another brief hesitat
ion, Kate nodded. “Okay. Come in while I get an afghan.”
She pushed the door open, and Craig stepped inside behind her.
While the exterior of the cottage was in keeping with the Historic District Commission guidelines, great liberties had been taken with the interior, Craig realized. Instead of the warren of tiny chambers he’d expected, he found himself in a spacious, open room that brought the house into the twentieth century without compromising the character of the original dwelling.
Wide pine floorboards, complemented by exposed beams in the ceiling, ran the length of the large room to the right of the small entry space. In the front of the room, a comfortable-looking upholstered sofa and chairs were clustered around a fireplace. The wooden mantel had been painted a soft ochre, and an old-fashioned clock flanked by brass candlesticks stood in the center.
Further back, a dining space was defined by an area rug in a bold, contemporary pattern. A sturdy wooden table, bare except for a fruit-filled lightship basket in the center, was surrounded by four ladder-back chairs with woven rush seats. The walls were painted a soft white, adding to the feeling of airiness, and double French doors at the back of the room led outside.
“Very nice,” Craig commented. “And not at all what I expected.”
“Thanks. My husband and I inherited the cottage from his parents, but the original layout was pretty claustrophobic. We felt bad about tearing out century-old walls, but I like the result.” Grabbing an afghan off the couch, Kate passed it to him. “I’ll call Edith before you go so she can have Maddie ready.”
While Kate retreated to the kitchen to place the call, Craig ambled around the living room, stopping to examine a striking painting of Nantucket moors that hung over the mantel. He turned as he heard her approach.
“This is extraordinary.”
“I think so, too.” She moved behind a wing chair and gripped the top. “My husband painted it.”
Surprise arched one of Craig’s eyebrows. “I didn’t know he was an artist.”
“That’s what he did in the off season, while I taught. He was good enough to do it year-round, but he liked the variety of two occupations. And he said being out on the water doing the charters gave him ideas for paintings.” A spasm of pain tightened her features. “I wish we’d kept more of his pieces.”
“Did he sell at one of the local galleries?”
“Yes. As fast he could paint them. I only have two.” Her fingers tightened on the chair, rippling the smooth surface of the fabric. “We both thought he had plenty of years left to paint more.”
Knowing he was stepping onto shaky ground, Craig asked the question anyway, his tone gentle. “What happened to him, Kate?”
She swallowed. Moistened her lips. “He had an undiagnosed congenital heart defect. Hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, if you want the official name. It’s caused by an asymmetrical thickening of the walls of the heart, and it can trigger sudden cardiac arrest. You mostly hear about it in athletes. But Mac liked to go scalloping with friends in the off season, and that can be a pretty strenuous activity, too. He was…gone before they could get him back to shore.”
At Kate’s strained retelling of the tragedy that had changed her life, Craig’s gut twisted. He knew what it felt like to be the recipient of that kind of devastating news. But Kate’s story was even more heartbreaking than his, in some ways. As he’d learned from Maddie, she’d not only lost her husband, she’d lost the father of her unborn baby.
“I’m sorry.” From experience, he knew the trite phrase did little to ease an aching heart. But he also knew there were no words that could provide solace.
“Thanks.” She blinked and cleared her throat. “They say the good die young. That was the case with Mac. He was only forty-one. But you know, as much as I grieved over my own loss, I think I was sadder that Maddie would never know her father. She was born two weeks after he died.”
The coil in Craig’s gut tightened another notch. What must it have been like for Kate, so recently bereft of the man she’d loved, to give birth to the daughter they’d conceived? On what should have been an occasion of shared joy, she’d been alone, caught in a no-man’s-land between grief and happiness as she mourned her husband and rejoiced in the birth of her daughter. At least he’d been with Nicole for the birth of both of their children. And he had good memories of their years as a family. Kate had neither.
“Anyway, I talked to Chester. Edith will meet you at the front door.” She moved toward the fireplace and knelt. “I think I’ll turn on the gas logs. It’s an extravagance, but it always chases away the chill.”
In her room, if not her heart, Craig speculated, watching as her fiery hair spilled over her shoulders and sparked to life in the light from the flickering flames.
It was clear she didn’t expect Craig to respond to her revelation or to offer further condolence. And he was glad. There was nothing he could say to ease her pain. Only a warm embrace from a good friend, or someone she loved, would help. And he was neither.
But as he stepped through the door and popped open the umbrella to protect him from the storm, he couldn’t help wishing he was.
By the time Craig returned—after an absence long enough to convince Kate that Edith had cornered him about the reason for the unexpected visit—she’d made some hot chocolate for Maddie.
From the small kitchen next to the eating area in the great room, she followed the sound of her daughter’s giggles. Pausing in the doorway, she took in the scene.
Craig held Maddie in one arm, cuddling her against his sweater. The juxtaposition of his rugged attire and broad, powerful shoulders with her daughter’s delicate frame tugged at a place deep in her heart. The scene made her think of the kind of homecomings she’d always envisioned with Mac.
The sudden pressure of tears behind her eyes took her off guard, and she retreated a step, listening to their conversation as she struggled to regain control of her emotions.
“I don’t know,” Craig told her daughter with mock seriousness. “I always heard little girls were made of sugar and spice. You better let your mommy check to see if you’re melting from all that rain.”
More giggles. “Little girls don’t melt.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ve gotten wet before.”
“Whew! That’s a relief. I’d hate for you to dissolve into a gooey little puddle. What would I tell your mommy?”
Another eruption of giggles.
A smile tugged at Kate’s lips, and blinking away the moisture that had obscured her vision, she stepped into the dining area. Craig was still holding Maddie. Her daughter’s arms were around his neck, her cheek pressed against his sweater, and she didn’t seem in any hurry to let go. Neither did Craig.
He caught sight of her and grinned. “Here we are.”
“So I see. Maddie, honey, I made you some hot chocolate. It’s in the kitchen.”
“I like it here better.” She snuggled closer to Craig’s shoulder.
Kate folded her arms over her chest and smiled at Craig. “I think you’ve got a new friend.”
“No complaints on my end. How about I carry you into the kitchen for that hot chocolate?” Craig directed the question to Maddie.
“Okay, I guess.” She sniffled and wiped her nose on her sleeve. “Can you stay while I drink it?”
“Honey, I’m sure the lieutenant has to get back to work,” Kate told her.
“To be honest, I’d planned to cut out after my talk today.” He gave her an unrepentant grin. “One of the perks of being the boss.”
Considering Edith was probably glued to the front window waiting to see how long Craig stayed, Kate wasn’t thrilled by that news. The longer he hung around, the more difficult it would be to convince her matchmaking neighbor that his visit was nothing more than a simple ride home.
A sudden cough from Maddie, however, drove thoughts of Edith from Kate’s mind. A minute ago she’d sniffled. Now she’d coughed. It could be nothing. But Kate had lived th
rough too many asthma attacks to overlook even the most innocent-appearing symptoms. Nevertheless, she tried not to overreact. Being overprotective wasn’t in Maddie’s best interest, either.
Summoning up a smile, she led the way toward the table. “Okay. I’ll bring it in here for you instead. Craig, would you like a soft drink?”
“I’m a hot chocolate man, myself.” He winked at Maddie again, eliciting another giggle.
As she prepared Craig’s drink, she heard her daughter cough again. Please, Lord, no! she prayed, her stomach tightening into an all-too-familiar knot. Not tonight.
Maddie was chattering away when Kate set the two mugs on the table. Craig was giving the youngster his full attention, and she was eating it up. But when another cough interrupted Maddie’s effusive narration and her daughter wiped her nose again, Kate’s concern escalated.
Pulling her chair closer to Maddie’s, Kate took her seat and tried to think of anything that might have triggered an asthma attack. Nothing came to mind. She’d kept her out of the past week’s cold air as much as possible, and when they had ventured out she’d been diligent about having Maddie wear her special ski mask. Edith wouldn’t have exposed her to any of the known triggers, either. Yet the sudden coughing and runny nose were suspicious.
As Maddie told Craig all about the pictures she’d drawn at Edith’s while her mother was teaching, Kate leaned closer, trying to determine if Maddie was having any trouble breathing. She thought she detected a slight wheezing. But perhaps it—
“Mommy, aren’t you going to answer the lootenin’s question?”
Her daughter’s query registered on a peripheral level as Kate faced the hard truth. Maddie was definitely wheezing. And it was getting worse.
An asthma attack was on the way.
“I’m sorry…what did you ask?” Kate stood, trying to figure out how to get the nebulizer ready without alarming Maddie. Her daughter hated the machine—and what it represented. Even after three years of regular attacks, the episodes terrified her. Kate could relate. They terrified her, too. But she tried to hide her own apprehension and keep her daughter calm, knowing that panic, with its accompanying hyperventilation, would exacerbate an attack.
