by Jillian Hart
He wasn’t okay, and she hurt for him. With him.
As if he were dead inside, he took the coat she offered and shrugged into it. He didn’t bother to zip up as the wind lashed him. She pressed a coffee cup into his hand.
“Are you too good to be true?”
“Hardly. I had selfish motivations.”
“You, selfish?”
“Sure. I figure if I have another double latte, that will be enough caffeine to keep me awake until we get back home.”
“And you wanted the pilot to have a double shot, too.”
“Triple, just in case you were sleepy. You look tired.”
“I’m always tired—don’t worry about it. And I’ve flown birds more tired than this and lived to tell the tale. Between the demanding special ops I flew and the worry over them before and after, I lived on adrenaline.”
“Well, live on caffeine and keep us safe.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He saluted her.
“Special ops, huh? I can’t believe they trusted you with an expensive helicopter. Don’t those cost like millions of dollars? And they let you on board one?”
“On board? I got to fly those babies. Oh, yeah. I flew a Pave Low. Any target, any place and back.”
“So piloting our medical flight has to be pretty boring for you, when you’re used to flying in danger.”
“I’ve had enough danger to last me a lifetime. I’m content enough with a quiet life, and the chance to do some good. Which reminds me, has that little phone of yours rung?”
She dug it out of the inside pocket in her bag and squinted at the screen. “Nope. No message. I’ll give Jeremiah a call once we’re in the terminal.”
“Yeah. I sure hope that little girl will be all right.”
“Me, too.” She had to walk fast to keep up with his long-legged stride. “The chance to do some good, huh? You can’t be as bad as you make yourself out to be.”
“I’m bad to the bone.” He winked, far too cocky, but she didn’t miss the shadow in his eyes, the sadness in his voice, the way he pulled away from her, keeping his distance.
From her? Or from anyone?
Who was this man? At first she’d thought he was a plumber, then a volunteer pilot. Now he was a lost soul, shrouded with rain.
Why had the Lord brought him into her life? She couldn’t help asking the question as he led the way down the sidewalk and to the covered walkway into the terminal. The commuter traffic had dwindled, so there were just the two of them on the quiet section of the ferry where Sam chose a seat.
He stared out the rain-smeared window and felt a dozen light years away.
Chapter Six
“My dear boy, you are coming to Sunday dinner,” Aunt Ruth said, and it was not a question. That was a command if he’d ever heard one.
“Let me think about it. I may have to be out at the office tomorrow. Someone has to keep things running smoothly.”
“I know you’ve got your hands full between running that airport and repairing the house, but Sunday is the Lord’s day.”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be there. What’s in it for me?”
Ruth’s chuckle filled the cordless phone’s receiver. “Food, nutritious food, that’s what. I know you bachelors don’t take time to cook a decent meal.”
“Why cook when there’s takeout?”
“On Sunday! We’ll have home cooked, and I’m taking no prisoners—isn’t that the saying? You’d better be here and I mean it.” Enjoying her new role as the commander, Ruth wished him a good night and broke the connection.
His fondness for her remained, warm and certain. It was good to have family ties. Someone to fuss over him. To care for him.
And cook for him. He sure liked the sound of that.
His gaze drifted to the window, where Kirby’s house was visible in the warm rain. A nap had cleared his sleep-deprived mind, but it hadn’t driven away the confusion.
He’d sure had fun talking with her this morning. She made him laugh. And for a little while he hadn’t felt alone. How wrong was that? He had to be alone. There was no other choice.
When he’d buried Carla, he’d given up on relationships. He didn’t have the strength to go through that again. People hid their deep flaws and showed the good stuff. And that could cause a whole lot of heartache.
What about Kirby? Well, she was the shining exception. He’d expected her to be less than she appeared, but she was more. She’d opened up to him and shown him a part of her she kept private.
Okay, she was still too good to be true, right? She had to be, because he wasn’t about to start questioning everything again.
It was easier just to keep his heart closed, and all the loss and pain and vulnerability that went with it. Closed off tight, and locked out of sight. To accept the lessons he’d learned from Carla. The goodness in a person was not stronger than the bad. His hard-won philosophy of life.
A philosophy he’d tried to put aside this morning on the rainy beach, and couldn’t.
He swore the rain had followed them all the way from Seattle. He’d kept ahead of the weather by the skin of his teeth, flying low and fast. Once they’d touched down on Montana soil, Kirby had gone her way, and he his.
He’d been exhausted, and so had she. Maybe that’s why they hadn’t spoken on the return flight or as she walked away from him in the parking lot in search of her car.
He’d thought about her all day.
There she was, zipping along the street in her car. Pulling into the driveway with the same careful grace she did everything. Her hair was yanked back into a ponytail, the way he liked it, and shone like burnished gold. Amazing.
Why had she gotten beneath his skin?
Oh, that was an easy answer. Because she was beautiful, smart, capable and compassionate. Not your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill kind of woman.
Well, he couldn’t stand around thinking about her all day. It was late enough that there was no sense driving down to the office. Maybe he’d start work on patching the numerous and varied holes in the walls from the previous tenant.
He had a lot of work to do before he’d have this house the way he wanted it. New paint, new fixtures, new windows, a new furnace. He even planned on rewiring.
He was halfway down the stairs to the basement, where his tools and supplies were, when Leo’s happy bark resounded through the house. The floorboards overhead groaned with the force of his weight as the dog ran from bedroom to front door. He sounded like a herd of charging dragons, breathing fire and in serious need of claw trimmings.
Whoever was on his step and about to ring the bell had better not be Ruth. He didn’t want her seeing what had happened to her house. Not until he had it patched, painted and polished, anyway. He dashed back up the steps, already plotting ways to keep her from crossing the threshold, when the dulcet music of the old doorbell echoed through the house.
Leo went nuts, bouncing off the windowsill and howling with delight. He was more gentlemanly around Ruth, so that meant only one woman could be standing on their front step.
“Calm down, boy.” Not surprised at all, he saw her through the glass.
Kirby McKaslin, protected by a cheerful red raincoat, smiled up at him from beneath the oversize hood. Fatigue darkened the skin beneath her eyes, but she sure looked good. The freckles on her nose stood out, probably because she wasn’t wearing any makeup. He liked those freckles. They made her look beyond cute. Endearing.
He grabbed Leo by the collar and opened the door.
The rottweiler lunged, thrilled beyond his doggy self-control apparently. It took a second order for him to sit still, the way a gentleman, even a young and eager one, should.
“Look what blew onto my front porch,” Sam said. “A pretty lady carrying what looks like food.”
“Looks like.” She gestured to the bulging white sack she cradled in one arm and to a cardboard drink tray. “I’ve come bearing good news and doughnuts.”
“You’ve said the magic password�
��doughnut. You may enter.” He held wide the door for her, hearing the old furnace wheeze on in a pathetic attempt to warm them. A failed attempt.
And it was a good thing he had a fire going in the fireplace, because it looked as if Kirby was shivering. Cold and tired. He knew how that felt, so he moved close.
She smelled like apples and cinnamon and rain. The curled ends of her ponytail brushed his knuckles as he helped her out of her raincoat. The fabric rustled, a couple of rain droplets tapped to the bare hardwood floor and he felt terrified and excited and alive all at once.
Exactly the same way he’d felt when he’d taken his first night flight. Adrenaline-pumping, mind-racing speed through the darkness.
Wow. He hung her coat off the back of the wooden chair—the only furniture in the room—near the hearth. His hands shook so hard he nearly dropped the garment twice. What was that? What was she doing to him?
“Sit. Get warm.” Did that sound like an order? He cleared his throat. Only then did he notice she held something else. A bright pink leash, and it was attached to her dog’s collar.
How could he have not noticed she’d brought her cocker spaniel? It just went to show how much she affected him.
“Hello there, little one.” He knelt to welcome Jessie.
The little dog came up to him politely and nudged his hand, eager to be petted. A sweet girl, like her owner.
“I almost hated to ring the bell. I was afraid you were sleeping. But with the way Leo was barking even before I reached the porch, I figured I might as well. Who could sleep through that racket?” Kirby leaned to unsnap her dog’s leash and laughed when Leo swiped his tongue across her face in an ambush kiss.
“You’re an awful popular lady in these parts,” he told her as he grabbed Leo’s collar. He sent the rottweiler to the kitchen, and watched as the gentle cocker spaniel waddled after him. A few seconds later he heard the unmistakable sound of dogs crunching on dog food.
“Does this mean they’re best friends?” Kirby asked.
“It must be. Friends share food. I think it’s a rule. And speaking of food.” He couldn’t hold off another second, so he grabbed the bakery bag. Just what he thought. The sweet fragrance of doughnut, chocolate and custard made his knees weak. “Darlin’, you have made my day.”
“I thought you might like ’em.”
“I was bummed because I didn’t go back in that bakery and get myself some chocolate doughnuts to go. You remembered.”
“I couldn’t resist. Besides, anyone who gets up in the middle of the night to fly a sick child across two states deserves to have a custard-filled doughnut.”
He couldn’t believe her thoughtfulness. How could he doubt it? The proof was in his hands. “You are my favorite person ever.”
“I’m glad. Hey, give me one of those. I’ve been dying to try them, but I didn’t sneak even a tiny bite. I waited to share them with you.”
“I guess this means we’re like our dogs.”
“We are?” A quick flash of confusion, and then she beamed, all soft golden beauty. “We’re friends. Yes, I think we are. Whether we like it or not.”
“We’ll just have to suffer through the doughnuts and a friendship. Sad.” He held out the bag and offered her first choice.
“Terrible. I think I can put up with you for a friend,” she said as she chose the top doughnut and wrapped it in a napkin because it was pretty sticky. “If you pay me enough.”
“Sorry, I’ve already got my budget for this month set. I’ll put you down for next month?”
“Perfect. I’ll wait to be friendly to you then. My offer of pastries is null and void.” Why did she love teasing him so much? “Give me back that doughnut.”
“Too late. Sorry.” He bit down, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He moaned deep in his throat. “Oh, that’s good.”
“It’s only a doughnut,” she said, and bit into hers. Chocolate delighted her tongue. The crisp cake was sweet as sugar, and the rich creamy custard filling made her eyes water. It was so good.
“Did I tell you? When I die, I’m saying to St. Peter, ‘I tried really hard to be good. Now, where are the doughnuts’?”
“What about your harp and halo?”
“How would I look with a harp and halo?” He shook his head. “No, my head would look big, and I have no musical talent at all. But there’s one thing I excel at. Doughnut eating.”
“Heaven will be the better for it.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee, a warm latte that chased the last of the chill from her bones. “Oh, I heard from Jeremiah.”
“How’s little Sarah?”
“She’s improving, but still serious. It’s been hard, because she needs a bone-marrow transplant to get well, but no one in her family is a match.”
“She has to wait for a donor match?”
“Yes, and who knows how long that will take?” Sometimes there was so little she could do, Kirby felt useless.
Sam stared into the dying fire. “Little kids shouldn’t have to be sick.”
“I agree. It’s sad. All things have their seasons and their reasons—isn’t that the saying? Maybe it will soon be Sarah’s season to get well.” She prayed it with all her heart.
Sam grabbed a chunk of split wood from the pile off to the side of the hearth. He was a big and strong man, a little rough looking and unpolished, but what a good heart he must have. What trials, she wondered, had he endured?
She remembered Ruth’s words. He’s had a hard life, the poor man. What had happened to him?
He knelt before the fire, pushed back the screen and placed the logs into the flames. Maybe it was the way the dancing light, golden and glowing, haloed him. Burnished the fall of his short hair and gilded his impressive strength.
What a man. Kirby felt as if she’d been lifted out of her chair and onto a cloud. She’d never felt like this before. Weightless and tingling and happy.
Unaware, he grabbed the iron poker and nudged the newly burning pieces of wood into place “What about you? What’s the story on Kirby McKaslin? My inquiring mind wants to know.”
“Inquiring? What about you? I’m much more interested in you.”
“We’ve talked about me. I told you lots of stuff this morning. Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m boring. There’s nothing to tell.”
“Sure there is. Why aren’t you married, or at least engaged?”
“I’m not going to tell you about my interpersonal disasters.”
“Hit a nerve, did I?” He hung the utensil on the hook in the brick wall and stole the last chocolate frosted doughnut from the bag. “Was he your high school sweetheart?”
“No, was yours?”
“We’re talking about you, remember?” He sat on the floor and got comfortable. “Are you too chicken to answer my question?”
“No. Embarrassed.” She ran her fingertip around the edge of her coffee cup. Did she tell him? If he were interested in her, then how could she withhold the truth? “I’m not married because no one’s ever asked me.”
“No one? Nope, I don’t believe it. How could someone like you never have a relationship get that serious?”
“What do you mean, someone like me?” Her eyes widened, and in those deep blue irises Sam saw the real Kirby. So vulnerable and alone.
Just like him.
Did she fear he’d hurt her about this? “You are good and kind. You have your own house and a good job. Why wouldn’t a good man want you?”
Her gaze clouded and she looked away. Her mouth curled down and she frowned.
He’d said the wrong thing. Well, he could fix that. He’d keep talking until he said something right. “You have a lot to offer a man.”
“Equity and a good paycheck?” She tried to make it a joke, but couldn’t quite do it.
“No, I meant you are a woman with a lot going for her. You’ve proven you work hard and honestly. You have a caring heart. And you’re beautiful. Do you know that?”
She stared hard int
o the bottom of her coffee cup. “You’re my friend. You have to say nice things.”
“I’m not your friend yet, remember? You’re not on the budget until next month.”
She blinked hard. Took another sip of coffee.
“Tell me the real reason you aren’t married,” he asked again.
The honest one, she knew he meant. Her vision was still a little blurry, so she blinked again, trying to focus. In case Sam was interested in her, he might as well know how she felt. “Because I don’t want to settle. I want to marry the right man for me. He has to be out there somewhere, don’t you think? My soul mate. My one true love.”
“You believe in true love?”
It sounded corny. She knew. But that didn’t mean it was impossible. True love did happen. Her older sister Karen had found it. Plenty of friends she knew had found their someone special.
“I was like you once.” Sam sounded thoughtful as he got up and paced the room. The old floorboards creaked and groaned beneath his weight as he moved.
“You believed in true love?”
“I found mine. Married her. Our wedding day was the happiest of my life. I thought she was a good-hearted person who loved me, but I was wrong. She married for financial security and not for love. She wanted to be an officer’s wife. A pilot’s wife.”
“You’re divorced?”
He stopped at the window. “No. I’m a widower.”
A widower? She felt so sad for him. No wonder he kept her at arm’s length. It all made sense now. His distance had nothing to do with her. “Is there anything I can do?”
He shook his head, staring out the window, his throat working, muscles bunching in his jaw.
Outside the rain pummeled down, and the house resounded with the noise of it battering the roof and punching against the siding.
A thousand drumming sounds echoing in the big, empty rooms, and all that noise was unable to diminish the silence of one man’s sorrow.
Through the evening and into the next day Kirby thought of Sam’s confession and his sorrow. She caught a glimpse of him in church seated with his aunt. He looked more somber and severe in the black shirt, tie and trousers he wore. Several of the single women in the congregation noticed him, but he didn’t seem to notice them back.
