скачать книгу бесплатно
Addie watched her daughter’s gaze dart to the side, before she felt Skip crouch beside her. His knee brushed her calf muscle and shot heat into her blood. Keeping her smile in place, she prayed her eyes were calm. She did not want Michaela recalling any unpleasant Dempsey memories.
“Hi, Michaela,” Skip said softly. “I’m Becky’s daddy. Remember Becky who came over today from the house across the road?”
The child’s eyes were anxious as she looked at Addie.
“Slowly, baby,” she whispered. “It’s okay. Skip’s our new neighbor. He’s…He’s not here to hurt me. He came to meet us.”
Beside her, Skip shifted so his position left a small gap between them. “That’s right, Michaela. And when Becky gets her room all fixed up, she’ll show it to you. With your mommy’s permission, of course.”
“I l-l-like B-B-B-Becky,” came her tiny voice.
Addie swallowed hard. “I know you do, button.”
“C-c-c-can s-s-s-she come over t-t-to play?”
“Maybe one day.” She brushed aside her daughter’s wispy bangs. “Ready to go to our bees?”
A quick head bob.
“Come on, then.” Taking Michaela’s hand and ensuring she stood as a buffer to Skip, Addie walked to the truck’s passenger door.
When she’d buckled her daughter in place, she went around back to retrieve the remaining supers, but Skip had completed the job and was slamming up the tailgate.
“How long has she been stuttering?” he asked, and instead of curiosity or repugnance, she heard a parent’s gentle concern.
Her heart battled. She did not want him concerned. She did not want him to be gentle or genuine or kind. She wanted him to be the Skip Dalton she remembered. The one who chose footballs and adulation over diapers and 2:00 a.m. feedings.
Still, she considered. She could make up a story, or tell him to mind his own affairs. After all, she owed Skip Dalton zip.
On a long sigh, she decided to go with the truth. Best from her than the grapevine. “It started when she was learning to speak, but it worsened when her father walked out on us last year.”
She held his gaze. The way you did.
One large hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry.”
Sure. She shook out her keys. “Goodbye, Skip.”
He simply looked at her. Then, nodding, he said, “See you around,” and headed back the way he’d come, down her narrow dirt lane to his big house winking its white walls through a lace of green wilderness.
Chapter Three
The village of Burnt Bend hadn’t changed much since Skip was a kid. It was still half the size of a football field with one main drag offering island residents Dalton Foods—his family’s store—a barber shop, a post office, a gas pump, a coffee shop, three restaurants, Saturday flea markets, a movie theater and Burnt Realty. If he walked a hundred feet, he’d be at the water’s end of Main, and the marina where the ferry docked.
Parking his pickup in a slot near the dinky little hardware store where he’d worked when he was sixteen, Skip cut the engine. He wondered what his mother was up to in her store down on the corner. What she’d do if he walked Becky into that office above the food aisles.
He looked across the cab at his daughter in her tattered jean shorts and pink hoodie, and smiled. Not today, he thought. But soon. First, she needed to get acquainted with Addie. His mother would have to wait. The last thing he wanted was family overload.
“Ready to check out the mailboxes?” he asked. For Becky’s sake, he wanted the Island Weekly delivered to his rural route address. It still surprised him that a child her age enjoyed reading the paper.
“And a birdhouse?” Her blue eyes glinted.
“And a birdhouse,” he agreed as they climbed out of the truck. Truth was, there wasn’t much he could refuse when it came to those Addie-eyes.
“Hey,” she said. “There’s Ms. Malloy and Michaela.”
Skip looked across the street. Sure enough, Addie and her daughter stood on the sidewalk in front of the library, watching them.
He lifted a hand.
Towing Michaela behind her, Addie turned toward the building.
Skip pocketed his keys. Did she remember their rides around the island in his old Chevy pickup? The way she’d snuggled against his side, laughed in his ear?
“Michaela,” Becky called.
The little girl waved before going inside.
“I’m going over to say hi.”
Before Skip could stop her, Becky dashed across the pavement. “Be right back,” she hollered, jogging to the library door.
Heaving a sigh, Skip jaywalked after her and told himself those four years in foster homes had initiated a fierce independence in his little girl, an independence to which he had yet to adapt.
The library had once been a military store. Low ceilings, wooden walls and floors, small windows that allowed a minimal allotment of natural light. The familiar scent of Murphy’s soap, wax and books hit his nose the instant he stepped inside. The rooms hadn’t changed. It was as if he’d checked out a novel yesterday, when he was eighteen and was still favored in the circle of football, Friday-night games and girls.
Except, he wasn’t eighteen, he was thirty-three. And a father to an almost thirteen-year-old. A man with a shoulder that one day would likely attract arthritis.
In the children’s corner he spotted Addie kneeling on the floor with Becky and Michaela. Heads bent together, both girls had several books scattered between them.
Addie’s eyes lifted at his approach. “Skip.”
Naturally she wouldn’t make a scene with her child and Becky this close, but just the same he caught the edge she spun on his name.
“Addie.” For the first time, he noticed she wore running gear: black shorts, yellow breathable shirt, yellow visor cap and a pair of gel-cushioned ASICS jogging shoes. His eyes went to the curve of her tawny ponytail; she looked Becky’s age.
“Hey, Dad.” Grinning, his daughter held up two small novels.
“Michaela can read chapter books already. Isn’t that great?”
“That’s terrific, honey.”
Murmuring to Michaela, Addie rose to her feet.
“We’ll be fine, Ms. Malloy,” Skip heard Becky respond.
Addie touched the smaller child’s hair before stepping around the pair and walking to where he stood.
Her eyes—storm-blue eyes—beckoned him across the room to the fiction section. There, well out of earshot of the kids, she faced him. “Are you here to check out some books?” Why did you follow me into the library? her eyes asked.
“My daughter wanted to say hello to your girl,” he said.
“Oh.” She blinked.
“Look, Addie—”
“No, you look, Skip. I know we’ll be seeing each other in town. Except for the very rich living on the water, the island hasn’t changed much over the years. You probably read the stats on Burnt Bend’s welcome sign.”
“Population one-thousand and eight-nine?” he asked, and felt a corner of his mouth lift. “By my calculations, it’s shot up a count of eighty-four since I left.”
“Laugh all you want. The point is it’s a small place, a small island. People know each other. They talk. Get my meaning?”
He sobered. “And you don’t want them talking about us.”
“As I said—”
“Yeah. I know. There is no us.”
“No.”
Her eyes captivated him. Once, long, long ago, he’d whispered that he could have drowned in her eyes. Clichéd, he knew. Truth was he had drowned in her soul. Until his father had yanked him out and kicked him to shore.
Skip took a deep breath. “Addie, can we call a truce? What happened thirteen years ago…We can’t bring that time back, can’t revert to the past.” Her eyes hardened. Dammit, he was saying it all wrong. “Look, what I mean is, if I could, I’d go back. I’d change it all. You were every—”
“Excuse me. My daughter’s made her choice.” She stepped around him and joined Michaela and Becky at the front counter. Several minutes later, the girls said goodbye and the Malloys left.
“Dad?” Becky whispered. “What’s going on?”
He pretended to study titles on the shelves. “Nothing.”
“Yes, there is. Something’s up between you and Ms. Malloy. I can tell.” His daughter’s eyes narrowed. “You know her, don’t you? From when you lived here. Did you go to school together or something?”
Or something. He wouldn’t lie. “I’ve known her since we were kids. But, I’d rather not talk about it right now, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
He exhaled a lungful of air. “It’s…um, complicated, Bean.”
“No worries,” she said, and shrugged. “No sense crying over spilled milk. That’s what Jesse always said.”
Skip didn’t want to discuss her adopted father. However, he admitted, “He was right. Did you choose a novel?”
She held up a copy of Forever In Blue and he chuckled. She loved the “traveling pants” series. Last month she’d devoured Girls in Pants. “Which one is that?”
“The fourth. And I’m getting this one, too.” She held up a copy of Birdhouses You Can Build In A Day. “Then we can have baby birds every year.” Her smile dazzled him.
“Fine.” He selected a novel without reading the title or the author before heading for the checkout counter. “We need a couple of library cards,” he told the librarian, the same woman who had ruled the books in the building during his high school days. She’d been ancient back then, too.
“Well, now,” she said, her eyes sharp and keen. “Skip Dalton. Heard you were back in town.”
“Yes, ma’am, Ms. Brookley.” And before she could allude to something unsavory, he added, “This is my daughter, Becky.”
The old woman’s eyes widened. “You don’t say. What grade will you start in September, Becky?”
“Seventh.”
“You good in math?” The old lady typed their names onto the cards.
“Yeah. I mean, yes.”
“Then you’ll have no trouble with Ms. Malloy. She’ll be your teacher.” The librarian cast Skip a censured glance, one he read clearly: You’ve got nerve coming back here with your kid after leaving Addie to give up hers.
Three minutes later he filled his lungs with tangy ocean air as they walked from the musty room and the old lady’s scorn into sunshine.
“Let’s see what kind of mailboxes they have at the hardware store,” he said, and started for the store across the street.
“Dad,” Becky began, “I want to know what’s up with you and Ms. Malloy. And don’t say nothing. I saw the way she was looking at you.”
“And how was that?”
“Like she wanted to bite your head off.”
And then some. “It’s a long story, Bean. One day I’ll tell you, I promise.”
“Why not today?”
“There are some things she and I need to work out first, okay?”
They crossed the street and walked down the sidewalk.
“Was she like your girlfriend in high school?”
Grinning, he tugged gently on her ponytail. “Persistent, aren’t you? I’ll tell you all in good time.”
“She’s a runner, you know.”
“I saw that.”
“She runs three times a week with her sisters. Did you know she has two sisters living here? Michaela’s so lucky to have aunts.”
“Michaela tell you all this?”
“Yep. And other stuff.”
“Such as?”
His daughter laughed. “No way. I’ll tell when you tell.”
“Like I said—”
