Stand-In Mum

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But the man Marta now found herself sitting across from at Sydney’s dining room table was the antithesis of Shayne Kerrigan.

Well, maybe not quite. Both men were exceedingly good-looking, although in Ike’s case the face was more rugged, the physique more muscular. Ike, according to the information Sydney had insisted on providing, had worked with his hands, and his mind, in one capacity or another from a very early age.

Right now, all she was aware of was that each time she looked in his direction—not at him, mind you, just in his direction—he was looking at her. Looking at her as if she were something rare and special he’d had the good fortune to stumble across.

Perhaps once, her head would have been turned and she might even have been smitten with him. Certainly she would have been flattered by the dark, sexy appraisal and the seductive smile that curved his generous mouth. But that was then.

And this was now.

If pressed, she would have admitted that his eyes, deep and brown, reminded her of a hot cup of coffee with just a hint of cream in it. A hot cup of coffee on a very cold winter’s night.

Even if Sydney had never said a word about him to her, Marta would have surmised Ike LeBlanc had a string of conquests from here to the tip of the lower forty-nine. He just had that way about him.

On the surface, there was nothing not to like. If Shayne Kerrigan was the strong, silent type, his best friend was the strong, vocal type. And granted, it was not annoyingly vocal. Ike didn’t talk on and on, overwhelming the listener. But it was how he said things, more than how often or how much. He could make “Please pass the salt” sound like the opening line to an invitation for a torrid night of lovemaking.

Marta knew all about men who were quick to smile, quick to murmur terms of endearment and undermine a woman’s defenses. Knew all about men whose eyes led to the bedroom and whose words led to heartbreak.

She’d been, lamentably, a slow study, but she’d finally learned her lesson. Once was enough, thank you very much. She didn’t believe in making the same mistake twice. Only fools did that.

Even so, it was hard not to find the man charming. Marta wished that Sydney hadn’t placed Ike directly in her line of vision.

Luckily, the conversation all through dinner was almost nonstop, not a little of it thanks to Sara and Mac. Any momentary lull, however natural, was quickly filled with the sound of childish voices, asking Marta more questions, telling Ike what they’d done since his last visit to their table, sharing all their thoughts openly. Marta sat back and absorbed the atmosphere that vibrated around her, while trying to block out Ike’s section of the table.

“You really struck gold up here,” Marta enthused a little later as she helped Sydney get the dessert plates from the kitchen cupboard.

“We’re the ones who struck gold,” Shayne corrected Marta, walking into the room bearing a couple of plates. “Before Sydney came into our lives, Mac and Sara had set up hostile camps in the house. They wouldn’t even talk to me. And, in their defense, I wasn’t much of a father. I didn’t know how to be one.” There was love in his eyes when he looked at his wife. “It took Sydney to bring out the best in all of us.”

Looking back, it was hard for Shayne to believe that all that was a little more than one short year in the past. After a six-year separation following a particularly bitter divorce, he’d suddenly found himself being called on to be a father again. His ex-wife had been killed in a car crash. With her gone, there was no longer anyone to stand in the way of his seeing his children, something she had done just to spite him. He’d brought them back from New York City, uprooting their lives and garnering only resentment as a harvest. When he’d brought Sydney into his home, giving her what he’d thought at the time was only temporary shelter, she’d walked straight into an armed camp.

Standing at her side, Shayne enveloped Sydney in his arms.

“She worked her magic on us and suddenly made us all realize how precious life was and how sinful it was to waste even a minute of it alone.” Standing beside her, he kissed her temple. And even from that position, he felt the baby kick. Surprised, he laughed. “Looks like we’re not going to be alone for a good, long time.”

Marta could have sworn there was a twinkle in Sydney’s eyes as she looked up at her husband.

“Oh, I think we can manage to find an island of time here and there.” She glanced behind Shayne. “Ike’ll baby-sit, won’t you, Ike?”

Caught off guard, Marta turned around to see that Ike was standing behind her. For a tall man, he moved extremely quietly.

Bringing in more empty dinner plates, Ike placed them beside the sink. Clearly amused, he shook his head. “Now, you know I’ll do anything for you, but watchin’ a newborn’s a little out of my league. Best you get one of the women from the village to tend to him or her until they’re old enough to go ice fishing with me like those two in there.” He nodded toward the dining room.

Well, at least there was something he didn’t pretend he knew how to do, Marta thought, surprised at the disclaimer. She’d expected him to boast about his child-rearing abilities.

She supposed that wasn’t being fair. She hadn’t heard him actually boast about his abilities and accomplishments, real or imagined, the way Alex used to.

Still, she’d only been in Ike’s company for a couple of hours, she reminded herself. Maybe he was just on his best behavior right now, such as it was.

As if on cue, Ike turned toward her, his eyes passing over her face like a gentle caress. “I’m actually at my best when the person I’m minding is far older than an infant.”

“That, I’m sure—” Marta purposely made her tone sugary “—is a matter of opinion.” Picking up the pile of plates from the counter where Sydney had placed them, Marta turned her back to Ike and crossed back into the other room.

Shayne couldn’t resist nudging Ike, his friend since elementary school. “Looks like you’ve got your work cut out with that one.”

“I’ve always loved a challenge, haven’t you?” Ike winked, taking the apple pie that he’d brought to dinner out of Sydney’s hands. Using his back, he eased the door open and walked into the dining area.

Shayne looked down at Sydney. “He means it, you know.”

Sydney smiled warmly. “I know.”

“Maybe you better warn your friend.”

Sydney wasn’t sure if warn was exactly the word to use here. She knew Ike to be a warm, caring human being. Not one woman who had ever shared his company had a single bad word to say about him. He left women better than he’d found them, with a renewed sense of confidence and a radiance about them. If nothing else, she wanted that for Marta. After what she’d gone through with Alex, she more than deserved it.

“Marta can take care of herself. Besides—” Sydney smiled, looking at the closed door leading into the next room “—Ike might be the very best thing to happen to her in a long time.”

Chapter Four

The sound of the flames licking their way through the thick logs nestled in the dark brick hearth worked its way into the stillness of the room.

Holding the black mug of even blacker coffee between his hands, Ike sat back on the brandy-colored leather sofa, quietly regarding the woman who sat on the opposite end. She looked like an arrow poised to be released at any moment.

He wondered if he made her nervous. He was going to work on that. The prospect made him smile.

“You know who you remind me of?”

His deep voice, wedging into what had been a long silence, startled her. Marta took a breath, bracing herself. Oh, boy, here it came, the line he undoubtedly prized above all others. He was probably going to compare her to some bright, nubile young super-model currently reigning on the covers of fashion magazines, thinking that would make her pliant and receptive to his every suggestion.

Prepare to be disappointed, LeBlanc.

She turned haughty green eyes in his direction, confident she had his number. More confident that she wouldn’t be dialing it. “Who?”

He smiled over the rim of his mug before taking a sip. “My sister, Juneau.”

Marta stared at him. That wouldn’t even have come close to making her list of flattering observations. Men who wanted to get a woman into their beds didn’t make those kinds of comparisons. Just where did this backwater Lothario think he was going with this?

Her hands tightened around the mug of coffee she wasn’t drinking. They were lingering over deep, robust coffee whose very aroma was guaranteed to keep a person awake throughout the six month night. Sitting before a roaring fire, for the moment they were alone. Shayne was in the tiny room that served as his study, talking to a distraught mother on the phone. Sydney had gone upstairs to tuck the children in, hopefully for the last time. They’d already come down twice, far more eager to share adult conversation than to put their heads down for the night on a pillow.

She didn’t want to be alone with him.

Marta’d felt Ike’s eyes skimming along her profile these last few minutes and had been bracing herself for the mother of all come-ons.

Comparing her to his sister wasn’t exactly what she would have labeled as a come-on. Her eyes narrowed. “Do I look like her?”

Ike laughed softly under his breath. His sister had long, straight black hair the color of midnight, not short, riotous locks that rivaled the flames in the fireplace. Taking after their mother’s side of the family, Junie’s skin was a hint darker than his, and her eyes were almost black.

“God, no. Junie’s almost as tall as I am and as thin as a whaler’s harpoon. At least she was,” he amended more soberly, “the last time I saw her.”

It’d been three years since June had taken off. Three years since he’d found the note on the bar saying that she was finally getting out of this deep-freeze. It had come on the heels of an argument, and ended with a warning: Please don’t come looking for me, just be happy for me.

As if he could be happy, not knowing where she was. Unbeknownst to her, he’d tracked her down. But she’d seemed happy, so he had done the only thing he could. He had honored her wishes and blamed himself for not having made it easier for her to leave. But she’d been so young when she’d voiced her displeasure, and he’d thought it was just a phase. Hindsight showed him that he’d been selfish, but when he’d attempted to tell her so in a letter a year ago, it had been returned Addressee Unknown. She’d moved on.

He prayed she was happy.

His eyes washed over Marta before he continued. “While you’re a little bit of a thing with a nice share of curves.”

Marta pressed her lips together, ready to fend off what more was coming in the wake of those words. He’d just made a slow start with the comparison, that’s all. But he was coming to the snow job now.

With her back against the arm of the sofa, she regarded him coolly. “If we’re so different, why do I remind you of your sister?”

“It’s that look in your eyes when we talk about Hades.” He paused, taking another sip. Taking his time. There was no reason to hurry. Life had a completely different pace here than in the other states. Here the steps were unhurried, well-placed. “Junie had the same look in her eyes. She was restless here, dying to get out.”

Marta could understand why. She still couldn’t quite come to terms with the fact that Sydney appeared to be happy living out here. “And I take it she got out.”

“Yes.” Ike looked into his mug, watching the firelight shimmer along the inky surface. “She did.”

Was he going to tell her now that he missed his sister? Missed female companionship? Marta grew tense, waiting for the shoe to drop. “Where did she go?”

He shrugged, draining his cup and setting it down on the coffee table. He didn’t feel like going into details, into defending actions he now felt were indefensible. When the letter had been returned, he’d tried to find her and had discovered she’d purposely hidden her trail. That had hurt.

“Beats me.”

Her eyes narrowed to emerald pinpoints. “You don’t know?”

Ike heard the accusation in her voice, the emotion, and wondered what was behind it. Sitting back, he crossed one booted foot over his thigh. He gave her the short, public version. “She didn’t want me to know. Junie ran off with her boyfriend. A guy who thought he was going to take the music world by storm, strumming his guitar and singing songs nobody understood.”

The laugh was short, without his customary humor behind it. Roy Watkins, son of an oil man who had just been passing through, was one of the few human beings he’d ever encountered that he hadn’t liked, even a little. How much of that was justified and how much was because he was Junie’s big brother? He couldn’t honestly say.

“But Junie thought the world began and ended in his shadow, so that’s where she wanted to be.” He looked into the fire, remembering. Blocking the anger the memory stirred. “Roy’s shadow was going out of here, and that was just fine with her. Ever since she’d been a little girl, all she ever talked about was getting on the other side of the northern lights.” Ike turned his eyes toward Marta. “One day, they both just took off together.”

“There are ways to find people.”

Ike inclined his head, acknowledging her point but adding one of his own. “If they want to be found.”

That shouldn’t have anything to do with it, Marta thought in disgust. Juneau was his sister, he was supposed to maintain ties—not write her off as if she hadn’t existed. Or be glad she was gone because she’d been too much trouble.

Like Marta had been for the mother who had so cavalierly given her up because the child got in the way of having a good time. Marta banked down the thought and the faded memory it aroused.

Don’t leave me, Mama. Don’t leave me here.

But the door had slammed anyway, and the social worker had led her away. She’d been five at the time. Five years old when she’d become part of The System.

Marta’s eyes looked pointedly into his. “Even if they don’t.”

There was something going on there behind her eyes, Ike thought. Something that bore exploring. But not quite yet. First, he had to gain her confidence. “People are entitled to privacy if they want it. I figured Junie wanted it. If she hadn’t, she would have gotten in contact with me.” Not tried to remain hidden, he added silently.

“That’s kind of a lazy approach, isn’t it?”

Well, she didn’t pull her punches, he’d give her that. There was something to be admired about a woman who was so honest. Holding his hand out, palm up, he suddenly closed his fingers as if he was grasping something. “You hold onto a bird too tight, you kill it.” And above all, he wanted June to feel free and happy.

Marta frowned at the analogy. “There’s such a thing as a happy medium.”

“Junie didn’t want a happy medium. She wanted something new, exciting. She knows where to find me if she ever needs anything.”

And it was his fond hope that someday, his sister would choose to contact him one way or another. Even after all this time, he sorely missed her. Missed the bond they’d once shared.

Spoken like a man who really doesn’t care, Marta thought. If she’d had a sister, she would have done whatever she could to keep her in her life. “Maybe she’s too proud to ask, did you ever think of that?”

He had, but he couldn’t quite get himself to believe that of Junie. “Pride’s for other people, not for family.” His sister knew he wasn’t the type to rub her nose in a mistake, no matter how great. All he wanted was her happiness.

Ike wondered if she’d found it with Roy.

Marta shrugged, looking away. Family. The single word still shimmered like a mystery, the solution just out of reach. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

Ike knew a little about her. About the foster homes. Sydney had told him. “There’s family and then there’s family.”

She slanted a look at him. “Meaning?”

There was something in her eyes, something he doubted she was even aware of, that made him want to gather her into his arms and tell her things were going to be all right—even though he had no idea what those things might be.

“There’s the family you’re born into, and the one you make for yourself.”

She wasn’t sure she was following him. “You mean marriage?”

If that’s what he meant, she thought it a rather strange reference, given what Sydney had told her about Ike. She would have thought the institution of marriage to be so far from his thoughts that he couldn’t reach it by plane.

Ike acknowledged her response, but he’d been thinking along different lines. “Or just friends. Like you are with Sydney. She said you two were closer than most sisters.”

The observation made Marta smile. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

Was it her imagination, or was he sitting closer to her now than he had been a moment before? She glanced down at her own seat and realized that, somehow, she had been the one to move, not him. How had that happened? She pressed her back into the cushions of the sofa, determined to remain exactly where she was and not move an inch closer.

“And yet you tried to talk her out of coming here.” Watching her, Ike tried to hide his amusement. Did she think he was going to pounce on her?

“I did.”

He heard the defensiveness in her voice. Obviously she thought he was going to tell her she was wrong. Though he loved the town he’d been born in, Ike was more than capable of looking at the situation from her point of view. “I would have done the same thing in your place.” He saw the surprise that came into her eyes. He rather liked the fact that he wasn’t living up—or down—to her expectations. “Not an easy thing—pulling up stakes and moving to somewhere you’ve only read about. Takes a lot of guts.”

Leaning forward, he picked up the framed photograph on the coffee table, studying it for a moment. It was taken the day Sydney and Shayne were married. He remembered that it was a quick, impromptu ceremony. There’d hardly been enough time to find an appropriate dress for Sydney. She made a beautiful bride. And she made Shayne happier than Ike had ever remembered seeing his friend.

“Hell of a woman, Sydney.”

He’d get no argument from her on that. Marta dearly loved Sydney. That was why she was surprised that part of her was almost envious of the admiration she heard in Ike’s voice. It was an old feeling, rising up from the past. A feeling that had once made her want to say, “Me, too. Notice me, too.” A feeling she’d carried with her through all the different foster homes she’d lived in over the years. A feeling that she’d harbored as she’d secretly watched the foster mother or father she’d been assigned to talk to their son or daughter.