Kitabı oku: «Rainbow's End», sayfa 3

Chapter Three

What in the world was she going to feed the man?

Hands on her hips, Jill scanned the contents of her refrigerator. Too bad she hadn’t gone to Olga two days ago, as she’d planned, to stock up on perishables. She was down to her last two eggs, and there was no breakfast meat of any kind. Nor much of anything else. At one time, she’d enjoyed cooking. But solo meals held little appeal. These days she got by on cold cereal, sandwiches, dairy products and fruit. Homemade soup represented her sole foray into the culinary arts, and she almost always had some on hand—like the pot of chicken-rice soup now simmering on the stove, flavored with the herbs she’d plucked from the pots on her kitchen windowsill. But even though it had once earned rave reviews from family and friends, it didn’t qualify as breakfast fare.

Closing the refrigerator, she turned her attention to the cabinets. At least she had all the basics on hand—flour, sugar, salt, spices. When a bottle of maple syrup—a leftover from her sister’s last visit—caught her eye, she thought of the blackberries she’d picked last season at their peak of juicy sweetness, preserved in her freezer. Inspiration hit…blackberry pancakes!

In no time, Jill was whipping up a batch of batter. Though she seldom made pancakes anymore, the recipe was etched in her mind. Sam and Emily had loved them so much they’d become a Saturday-morning tradition.

Her hand slowed. Funny. She hadn’t thought about that once-a-week ritual for months. Hadn’t let herself think about it. Like so much of her previous life that was gone forever, it was too painful to remember. And now wasn’t the time to start, she reminded herself, resuming her measuring and stirring.

Once the batter was ready and she’d poured three generous circles on the griddle, Jill set a single place at the small table on the back porch, adding a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee. Then she returned to the house to flip the fluffy pancakes. When her unexpected guest reappeared at the far end of the meadow, she transferred the pancakes to a plate. After dusting them with powdered sugar, she tilted the maple syrup that had been warming on the stove into a small crockery pitcher and arranged everything on the table. By the time he arrived, she was back inside, working at the sink where she could catch a glimpse of him through the large window in front of her.

In the past hour, the morning had warmed quite a bit, and the northeast-facing back porch was bathed in sunlight as Keith ascended the two steps. In spite of his hunger, he stopped when he saw the carefully set table and the appetizing plate of food waiting for him. It had been a long while since anyone but a fast-food worker or a short-order cook in some diner had prepared a meal for him. Longer still since anyone had cared to provide him with any of the niceties of dining. Like a cloth napkin, with crisp, precise folds. Or a woven placemat. Or the cushion on the wooden chair, added since his earlier visit. Not to mention the small vase of wildflowers that now graced the center of the table.

All of those touches registered in a flash as Keith scanned the setting. So did the single place setting. But it was the plate of mouthwatering pancakes that caught and held his attention.

“Go ahead and eat before they get cold.”

The woman’s husky voice came through the open window in the kitchen, and Keith moved forward. He didn’t need a second invitation. “Thanks.”

Seating himself at the small wooden table, he dived in, making liberal use of the maple syrup and washing down the feather-light pancakes with long swigs of strong, black coffee. In minutes, the plate was empty.

“Would you like some more?”

Glancing up, Keith saw his hostess hovering at the back door. A smile tried to lift the corners of his mouth but his lips balked at the unaccustomed tug, as stiff and resistant as a painter’s brush that had gone too-long unused. “Do I look that hungry?”

“I expect you could manage another serving.”

“You’re right. Thanks.”

While Keith waited, he sipped his coffee, noting that the little boy had returned, still hiding behind the boulders on the other side of the field. When the woman reappeared a few minutes later with another overflowing plate and hesitated at the back door, he figured she wanted him to come and get his food. That way, she could stay in the shadows. Instead, he inclined his head toward the rocks. “Your friend is still here.”

That caught her attention. Jamming her hat farther down on her head, she pushed through the door. As she focused on the far side of the field, she gave him a shaded view of her classic profile. “I don’t see him.”

“He was there a minute ago. I have a feeling he’s been watching the house for some time.”

Frowning, she deposited Keith’s plate on the table and refilled his mug from the pot she carried in her other hand, keeping one eye on the distant boulders. “When I saw him yesterday, he didn’t look very well cared for. He might even be hungry. If I could figure out a way to coax him closer, I’m sure I could find out. I used to be pretty good with kids.”

Her concern for the little boy had overridden her self-consciousness and reticence, and Keith marveled at the change in her. For a brief moment he had an intriguing glimpse of the engaged, self-assured woman she must once have been.

But that window into her past closed the instant she realized he was watching her. Turning abruptly, she started back to the house.

“Aren’t you having any?”

His question stopped her, and she half turned. “I don’t eat much breakfast.”

He wasn’t surprised. Now that she’d ditched the bulky jacket, there was no question about her gender. Her lithe figure was rounded in all the right places. A soft chambray shirt hinted at the curves beneath, and her unpretentious jeans encased her long legs like a second skin.

It had been a long while since Keith had noticed a woman’s physical attributes, and years since he’d taken such a detailed inventory. He had no idea what had possessed him to do so now. And he wasn’t inclined to analyze it. Better to move on to another—safer—topic.

“If you won’t join me, at least let me introduce myself.” He rose and extended his hand. “My name is Keith Michaels.”

He wasn’t sure she would respond, but after a brief hesitation, she dipped her head, stepped toward him and took his fingers in a grip that displayed surprising strength. “Jill Whelan.”

As the stranger held Jill’s hand, he also held her captive with his compelling blue eyes. They seemed to delve into her heart, searching, seeing things she had never given voice to. Of course, such fanciful thoughts were no more than the product of an overactive imagination, she chided herself. But it was an odd sensation nonetheless.

The sudden ringing of the phone broke the spell, and with a slight tug, she reclaimed her hand and turned toward the house. “You’d better eat those while they’re warm. Some things taste just as good cold, but pancakes aren’t one of them.”

Hurrying toward the phone, Jill left the back door ajar instead of closing and locking it, as she had up until now. There was something in the man’s face—character and integrity, certainly, but also a distant sadness as if he, too, had suffered some terrible tragedy—that told her she had nothing to fear from him. Nothing physical, anyway. Her emotions were another story. He’d disrupted those already. But she had a feeling no wooden door would protect her from that kind of danger, anyway.

When she answered the phone, she was a bit out of breath—which didn’t escape her sister’s notice.

“Is everything okay? Did I catch you at a bad time?” Deb queried.

“No, no. I’m fine. I was outside.”

“At this hour? You’re always eating your yogurt and reading the paper now.”

Goodness, was she that predictable? But the resounding answer was: yes! Deb called like clockwork at nine-thirty every Saturday morning, and like clockwork Jill would be reading the local weekly paper, which she saved for that occasion in order to differentiate the weekend from the workweek. Except today she’d forgotten all about the paper and her yogurt and even Deb’s call—thanks to one Keith Michaels, now ensconced on her back porch eating her blackberry pancakes.

“We had a storm last night and a piece of siding got ripped off the side of the house,” Jill explained, redirecting her attention to the conversation.

“I hope you weren’t climbing on ladders.”

“There’s not much choice when the problem is on the second floor.”

“But you hate ladders. Look, I know you’re handy, but can’t you get someone to fix it for you?”

“It’s already done, Deb.”

“That figures.” Her sister gave a long-suffering sigh. “You know, I ought to send my husband out there to take a few lessons from you. Tony is a wonderful provider, but when it comes to home maintenance he’s as useless as a cell phone with a dead battery. You must have been at it at the crack of dawn.”

Before she could respond, the back screen door opened and Keith came in far enough to deposit his plate and juice glass on the counter. Then he retreated to the porch, the screen door banging behind him.

“Jill? What was that?”

Typical Deb. She didn’t miss a thing, Jill thought with a wry shake of her head. “The back door.”

“Who came in? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Look, it’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all day.”

“It’s no big deal, Deb.”

“Then why don’t you just tell me?”

Shaking her head, Jill let out a resigned sigh. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”

“Yeah. You do. All the time. But hey, that’s what sisters are for. Now spill it. If you have a visitor, I want to hear all about it. This doesn’t happen every day.”

Knowing Deb wouldn’t let up until she got the information she wanted, Jill gave her a shorthand version. “I let a guy use the cottage last night. They sent him out from town because there isn’t a room to be had over the holiday weekend, and it was raining cats and dogs. Turns out he’s a carpenter, and he offered to put the siding back up for me. I gave him breakfast on the back porch as a thank-you. He just brought in his empty plate.”

Silence greeted her narration. When it lengthened, Jill spoke again. “Deb? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. You took in a boarder? And you’re letting him wander around your house?”

“He’s not a boarder. He stayed for one night. And he’s not wandering around my house.”

“Who is this guy?”

“I have no idea.”

“What does he look like?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Just answer the question.”

“I don’t know.” She turned to look out the door. Keith was standing by the porch railing sipping his coffee, his strong profile thrown into sharp relief by the morning sun. Angling away from the door, she lowered her voice. “He’s a little shaggy around the edges and a bit road-weary. But he looks honest.”

“How old is he?”

“What is this, the third degree?”

“Look, when some guy shows up on my sister’s doorstep—my sister who avoids people like the plague, especially men—and she lets him wander around her house, I have reason to be concerned. So how old is he?”

Letting her sister’s remark about avoiding people pass, Jill answered the question. “Fortyish, maybe.”

Another few beats of silence passed. “I’m not sure I like this, Jill. I love your place, but it’s very isolated. I worry about you alone out there.”

“I’m fine, Deb. There’s no need for concern. I was just being a Good Samaritan. He’s been very polite and grateful. And he’s leaving in a few minutes. End of story.”

“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Call me after he’s gone, okay?”

“Deb.”

“Just call me, okay? Otherwise I’ll worry about you. More than I already do.”

“Fine. I’ll call. Now let’s talk about more important things. Like your visit in two weeks. I can’t wait to see you and Dominic.”

“We’re looking forward to it, too. Dominic can’t talk about anything else. It’s Aunt Jill this and Aunt Jill that, and can we collect rocks at the beach again and go watch whales and climb that mountain, yada, yada, yada.”

“Tell him the answer to all of those questions is yes. Now let’s talk logistics.” As they worked out the details, Jill realized that she was as excited about the annual visit as her sister and nephew were. Much as she loved her life on her little corner of Orcas Island, it did get lonely on occasion. More so at some times than others.

Turning toward the porch again, her gaze once more sought Keith. He was standing with his back to her now as he looked toward Mount Constitution. In a few minutes, he would be gone, as she’d told Deb. And even though she knew nothing about him, even though his visit had been brief, she had the oddest feeling that his departure would initiate one of those “more so” times.

Only snatches of conversation drifted through the open screen door to Keith. But he heard enough to realize that Jill was discussing plans with a woman named Deb for a visit. And that pleased him. It meant there was someone who cared about her and gave her an occasional reprieve from her solitary existence.

He drew in a long, cleansing breath of the fresh morning air, enjoying the warmth of the sun against his face. To his surprise, the sense of peace he’d awakened with was still with him. He’d expected it to dissipate along with the wisps of mist that had hung over the field earlier in the morning as he’d trekked across. The feeling was so welcome, so calming, that he was loath to drive away and risk leaving it behind. But he had no excuse to stay. The woman in Eastsound had told him that Jill didn’t lease her cottage. Besides, he didn’t have enough money to pay rent for very long, anyway.

Yet, he wanted to stay. For a few days, at least. Long enough, perhaps, for the peace to soothe his soul and give him a chance to figure out where he was going to go from here. His finances could handle a short extension of his visit. The trick would be convincing his reluctant landlady to prolong her hospitality.

When Jill reappeared, Keith’s mug was almost empty. “Sorry for the interruption. Would you like some more coffee?” she offered, keeping her distance.

“No, thanks. The breakfast was great. I haven’t had a meal like that in ages.”

She acknowledged the compliment with a slight tip of her head. “Thank you for fixing the siding.”

“It was the least I could do after you took pity on me in the storm. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”

“The holiday weekend is always crowded here. I doubt there’s a vacancy anywhere on the island.”

She’d given him the perfect opening. His grip on the mug tightened and the muscles in his shoulders tensed even as he tried to keep his tone casual. “I found that out the hard way. The truth is, I’d hoped to spend a few days here, but every place will be booked at least for a couple more days. The woman in Eastsound told me you don’t rent out the cottage as a rule, but is there any way I could convince you to let me stay a bit longer? Not free, of course.”

His request surprised her. And at some elemental level, it also pleased her. She wasn’t sure why. Perhaps because her less-than-welcoming manner and damaged face hadn’t scared him off. Of course, she was silly to read anything personal into his request. It was based on practicalities, after all. She had a cabin; he needed a place to stay; everywhere else was booked. It was as simple and straightforward as that.

Her spirits deflated a bit. She must be more starved for human companionship than she’d realized. If that was the case, she needed to figure out how to deal with it. Because she didn’t anticipate any changes to her solitary existence anytime soon. Even if this man extended his stay, he’d be gone in a few days. But Deb and Dominic would follow in a couple of weeks, she reminded herself. She should be counting her blessings for having such a loving, supportive family instead of griping about the life she’d chosen for herself.

In the meantime, this man needed a place to stay and she was in a position to provide it. There was no logical reason to refuse his request.

“You can use the cottage for a few days. It’s sitting there empty, anyway.” She started to gather up the condiments from the table.

“Just let me know what you think is a fair price.”

“There’s no charge. You’re not getting any great bargain out there. It’s pretty bare bones.”

“It’s far better than camping, which is what I do most of the time. I wouldn’t feel right about staying if you won’t let me pay.”

Straightening, she sent him a sideways look. “I don’t need the money, Mr. Michaels.”

“Keith. And that’s beside the point. I prefer to pay my way.”

From the stubborn set of his jaw beneath the stubble and the resolve in his eyes, Jill could see that her unexpected guest wasn’t about to budge on this issue. Shrugging, she resumed her work. “Fine. Let me think for a minute.” Silence ensued as she gathered up the tablecloth, and when she finally threw out a number, Keith frowned.

“You can’t even get a cheap motel for that rate,” he protested.

The barest hint of a smile played at the corners of her mouth. “I think there’s something wrong with this picture. Isn’t the buyer supposed to try and negotiate a lower price, not a higher one?”

An answering grin tugged at his mouth. This time his lips cooperated, twitching up a fraction. “I want to be fair.”

“I consider the price I quoted more than fair, since I offered the cabin to you free.”

Her point was hard to dispute. With a gesture of capitulation, he gave in. “Then I accept. With thanks.” He took the last swig of his coffee and handed her the mug. When his firm, strong fingers brushed hers, she tried not to notice. “I think I’ll head out and do a little exploring, stock up on some provisions. Thanks again, Jill.”

He turned and struck out across the field. As Jill watched him recede into the distance, focusing on his broad back, she tried to figure out why she’d agreed to rent her cabin to this stranger. Considering how she guarded her privacy, it was an odd thing to do. She should be sending him on his way, not inviting him to share her space. It made no sense.

And if she couldn’t explain her behavior to herself, how in the world was she going to explain it to Deb?

Chapter Four

The place was a pigsty.

Hot color crept up Jill’s neck to her cheeks as she surveyed the cluttered, dirty cabin where Keith had spent last night. The dust was deep enough to write in, bits of debris clung to the woven rugs, and the thick grime on the windows was as effective as shades in diffusing the sunlight. On top of all that, the whole place smelled musty, half of the lightbulbs were burned out and cobwebs had staked a claim on the corners of the ceiling.

Yet her unexpected visitor not only wanted to pay to stay here, he considered it a bargain!

Well, Jill knew better. The place was more suited to its current role as a storage shed than to human habitation. Of course, at one time it had been much more livable. Jill had spent the first six months of her stay here while she rehabbed the decrepit main house. But since moving out, she’d done little to maintain the interior. Now that she had a paying guest, however, she needed to make up for lost time.

Unsure how long Keith would be gone, Jill went into high gear. She dusted, vacuumed, mopped, scoured the kitchen and bathroom, stripped the bed and remade it with clean sheets and washed all the windows. Then she gathered up the baskets on the counter, carried the boxes of kitchen odds and ends outside, and collected her art supplies, wedging them into her car for a trip across the field to the house. As a final touch, she put a vase of fresh wildflowers in the center of the small oak dining table, propping a note beside it that directed Keith to the refrigerator.

Finished, she stepped back to assess the results of her two hours of intensive labor. The windows sparkled, the polished surface of the table glistened, every bit of dust and debris had been vanquished, the bathroom and kitchen were spick-and-span, and the light fixtures gleamed. With a satisfied nod, she packed up her supplies and headed home.

As she crossed the field, she couldn’t help but wonder what her temporary tenant would think about the transformation in his accommodations. She hoped he’d be pleased. After all, if he was willing to pay for the privilege of occupying her modest cabin, the least she could do was give it a thorough cleaning. Of course, if he was like a lot of men, he wouldn’t notice the care she’d taken to make him feel welcome.

But already Jill was getting the distinct feeling that Keith Michaels wasn’t like a lot of men.

Not even close.

For a fleeting second, Keith wasn’t sure he was in the right cabin.

As he stepped across the threshold, arms laden with grocery bags and laundry, he came to an abrupt stop. The cabin was immaculate. Every vestige of grime and neglect had been removed. The place was so clean is almost glowed.

Stunned, Keith did a slow inventory. Crisp curtains hung at the spotless windows. When he dropped the laundry onto the couch, no dust cloud engulfed him. A peek into the bedroom revealed a neatly made bed, with decorative pillows fluffed against the headboard. The bathroom floor looked clean enough to eat off, and the kitchen was pristine.

Completing his circuit in the dining alcove, he spotted the flowers and note. Reaching for the single sheet of paper, he scanned the simple message, which was written in a flowing, graceful script.

“Sorry for the mess you found when you arrived. Hope the homemade soup in the fridge helps make up for it!”

Somehow, the fact that Jill had scoured the place didn’t surprise him. But the soup was an added—and touching—bonus. With an eagerness he couldn’t have suppressed if he tried, he returned to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Sure enough, a large container stood in the otherwise empty interior. Lifting the lid, he inhaled. Ambrosia! Memories of better times, of home and comfort and love, washed over him in a cleansing wave, and for a second it was like a taste of heaven.

Though the impression was fleeting, it was a balm to Keith’s ravaged soul. That brief glimpse of happiness, of joy and contentment and rightness, was the first such moment he’d had since his world began to fall apart. And if he could have one such moment, perhaps others would follow, he realized, his spirits notching up another peg.

Odd. Just when his hope was running on fumes, it had been given a boost by his reluctant landlady. A woman who had suffered her own trauma, who had lost a man Keith assumed she loved, who had suffered a terrible injury, and who now lived alone with her memories, secluded in this beautiful but remote place. A woman who had chosen a solitary life, but had nevertheless reached out to him in his need. Her unselfish kindness touched him in a way nothing else had for two years.

A long time ago, Keith would have paused to thank the Lord for leading him to this place when his soul most needed replenishing. And maybe, somehow, the Lord’s hand was in this. But he wasn’t sure. About that…and about so many of the things he’d once believed with such fervor and absolute conviction. That uncertainty was, in fact, the root cause of his problem.

But what did God expect, after the crippling blow life had dealt him? He’d tried to remain upright in the torrent that raged around and within him, but in the end he’d lost his balance and fallen. And kept falling, until he was sucked so far down into the swirling vortex, so shrouded in darkness, that he wondered whether he would ever find his way out. God knew, he’d tried! But without his faith to sustain him, the quest had been futile. Where once he’d found strength and courage and fortitude in his beliefs, there was now a black void.

Part of him still yearned to turn to God, to plead for help. But God had been deaf to all his entreaties, refusing to answer even a man who had dedicated his life to spreading His good news, to gathering His flock. The bitterness already on Keith’s tongue had grown more acrid as the silence lengthened, distancing him further from the One who had once guided his every step. The chasm had deepened, widened. Until now, Keith felt as isolated spiritually as Jill was geographically.

Yet deep in the recesses of his heart, he wanted to believe. Wanted to trust once more in the Lord’s goodness. To put his life in God’s hands, as he’d often counseled others to do. To rely with confidence on the Lord’s guiding presence even when the powers of darkness loomed and threatened. Without that trust, without that belief, he was floundering, seeking answers where none were to be found. But how did he reconnect? How did he find his way back to the Source, to the spring of life that had once refreshed his parched soul?

For the past year he’d been seeking the truth, searching for answers, looking for release. But nowhere in his travels had he found these elusive quarries. Nor had he come close to finding a hint of the infinite peace bestowed only by God.

Until he’d come here.

As he’d walked across the tranquil meadow this morning, Keith had attributed his heightened sense of hope to the place itself. And there was something special about this rocky piece of land, with its soaring mountains and verdant forests and shimmering, crystalline seas. But it wasn’t just the place.

It was also the woman.

Despite their brief acquaintance, Keith had already been touched by Jill in ways he couldn’t begin to articulate. Though marred by tragedy, and sensitive about her scars, she had a serenity about her that he envied. As if she’d made her peace with the horrendous injury that had forever changed the way the world looked at her. And considering her reclusive lifestyle, the kindness and generosity she’d shown to a stranger at her door had been remarkable—as well as humbling. She’d asked nothing from him in return for her benevolence. Instead, she’d continued to give, living the golden rule he’d often preached.

Once more Keith scanned the cabin, drawing in a deep, contented breath. There was order here. And peace. The room was filled with sunshine and warmth, the aura of caring so potent that it seeped into the very marrow of his bones. It felt good in this place. And right. Like this was where he’d been heading all along, through his months of aimless wandering.

As he stood in the sunlit room, the restless urgency that had plagued him, driving him on and on, abated. He wasn’t sure why. After all, he still had no answers. He still felt adrift, far from land, at the mercy of the relentless surf. But for the first time, he caught sight of a light in the distance, as when a boat crests a storm-tossed wave, offering a glimpse of the distant shore. And that little glimmer of light gave him hope that perhaps, at long last, he was approaching solid land once more.

There was no doubt in his mind that the comforting aroma of the chicken soup he held in his hands was contributing to his more upbeat mood. But as Keith glanced out the window of the cabin and spied Jill at the far edge of the field, he knew she could claim the lion’s share of credit for the sudden lightening of his spirits. This woman’s simple goodness and kindness had renewed and uplifted him, chasing away the despair that had clung to him like a wet garment after the rain. For that unexpected blessing, he gave thanks. Whether God was in the mood to listen or not.

And then he set out to thank someone he knew would listen.

The baby bird was in trouble.

Dropping to her knees in the field, Jill stroked a gentle finger over the downy fluff that would, in time, give way to feathers as the hatchling matured. But without immediate care, this victim of last night’s storm was destined never to see adulthood.

Her expression softened in sympathy as the pitiful creature stared up at her with wide eyes, too weak to lift its head. Its heart thumped heavily in its scrawny chest, each beat a desperate plea for life. It was an entreaty that Jill had never been able to ignore. That was why her home had always been a temporary refuge for critters of all sorts. Animal Care Central, as Sam had often teased her, she recalled with a pang.

Scooping the tiny creature up with tender care, she cupped the limp bird in her hand, the thump of its heart pulsating against her palm. It couldn’t be more than a couple of days old. And it was in dire need of warmth and nourishment. With conscientious care, though, she was sure it could not only survive, but thrive. She’d rescued enough sick and injured birds and animals in her life to know that TLC often did the trick. For all of God’s creatures—including humans.

Just as she started to rise, a flicker of movement in the nearby forest caught her eye. Without even turning in that direction, she knew her young visitor had returned. She also knew better than to look his way, since scrutiny seemed to spook him. If she wanted to build his trust, it would have to be in small, nonthreatening increments.

Angling her body a bit more in his direction, she spoke loudly enough for him to hear her, keeping her gaze fixed on the bird in her hand.

“Looks like this baby bird was a victim of last night’s storm. Goodness, he’s a tiny thing! But his beak is huge. That’s so he can get enough food to help him grow, I suppose. I wonder what he is? A flicker, maybe. Or a Steller’s jay. If he’s a jay, he’ll have a beautiful blue chest when he grows up.”