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It took Rachel a few seconds to switch gears. “I’m an art teacher. Most of my students are just a couple of years older than you.”
“Do you have any little girls or boys of your own?”
A jolt ripped through her at the unexpected question, twisting her stomach into an all-too-familiar knot. “No.”
“How come?”
Her lungs stalled. She didn’t talk about that subject. Ever. To anyone. “It’s a long story.”
The little girl heaved a sigh and poked at the shell she’d glued to the cardboard. “That’s what grown-ups always say when they don’t want to answer questions.” The still-soft glue gave way, and the shell popped off the board, leaving the space empty.
Rachel plucked it from the floor, struggling to come up with a response as she pressed it back into position, trying to repair the child’s artwork.
But a loud rumble from the youngster’s stomach gave her an excuse to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”
Madeleine nodded.
“Let’s see what I can find in my tote bag.” As she reached for it, Rachel took a mental inventory. The children in today’s class had been too occupied to think about food, so her snack supply was intact. Cheese crackers or a chocolate chip granola bar? She’d let Madeleine choose.
She rummaged around and pulled out the two items. Madeleine went straight for the salty snack.
By the time Rachel retrieved a bottle of water for her from the ice-filled tub on a side table, the girl had devoured half of the crackers. Twisting off the cap, Rachel retook her seat and set the bottle beside her. “What did you have for breakfast?”
“I dint hav brefus.” The words came out garbled as she wolfed down another cracker.
Rachel frowned. No breakfast? That meant Madeleine hadn’t eaten for fifteen hours, minimum.
What was wrong with this child’s mother?
She fished another pack of crackers out of her bag and handed them over, doing her best to curb her anger at the blatant neglect. “Do you skip breakfast a lot?”
“Not at home. I eat at day care.” She wrinkled her nose. “The food isn’t real good, though. In hotels, I only eat if room service comes before we have to leave.”
“It sounds like you travel around a lot.”
“Mmm-hmm. Mommy has lots of meetings in different places. She has a very important job.”
Apparently more important than feeding her child and picking her up on time.
As that thought flashed through her mind, the door to the conference room opened and a thin, thirtysomething woman in business attire, cell phone in hand, pushed through. Once she spotted them, she held up one finger and continued her phone conversation.
“I need the revised data in thirty minutes, max. Email a new PowerPoint slide to illustrate it, and send as much backup as possible.” Silence while she tapped her foot and huffed out a breath. “Look, it’s lunchtime here, too. Deal with it.” She jabbed a button and slid the phone back on her belt as she strode across the room. “Sorry I’m late. I thought this was an all-day program.”
Rachel rose. “The Club Juniors program runs a full day. Art from the Sea is a special half-day offering.”
A flicker of annoyance darkened the woman’s eyes. “Too bad someone didn’t bother to explain that when I signed Madeleine up. Now I’ll have to make other arrangements for the afternoon—and I have to be back at the convention center in half an hour to finish my presentation.”
“I can take care of Madeleine for the rest of the day if you’d like.” The words spilled out before Rachel could stop them.
The child’s mother did a double-take, clearly as surprised by the offer as Rachel was—but she wasted no time accepting. “That would be great. I’m sure you’re qualified to work with children or the hotel wouldn’t have hired you. Since I’ve arranged a sitter for my business dinner this evening, I’d only need you to take care of her until six.”
“Fine. We’ll meet you in the lobby then.”
“I’ll discuss compensation with you later and reimburse you for any expenses.” The woman swiveled around and started for the door.
“I drew a picture, Mommy.”
At her daughter’s soft comment, the woman looked over her shoulder without slowing her pace. “You can show me later. Be good for the nice lady.” She disappeared out the door.
The room went silent.
Rachel caught the slight tremble in Madeleine’s lower lip—and had a sudden urge to yank the mother back into the room by her trendy layered hair and give her a piece of her mind. Since that wasn’t possible, she’d do the next best thing. She’d put the little girl center stage for the next five and a half hours and lavish her with attention.
Adopting a bright tone, she stood. “Have you been to the Sea Turtle Center yet?”
Madeleine shook her head and rose more slowly, gathering up her watercolor and the art board with the single shell clinging tenuously to the corner.
“Then we’ll go there after lunch. It’s one of my favorite places on the island.”
The little girl didn’t respond as she walked over to the trash can in the corner and deposited her halfhearted attempts at art.
Rachel had no difficulty interpreting the child’s reasoning. Since no one was going to admire or gush over her handiwork, why bother saving it?
Taking her hand, Rachel led her from the room.
All the while wondering why God gave children to women who couldn’t care less about being a parent but snatched them away from those who yearned to be mothers.
Chapter Four
Fletch glanced in his rearview mirror, started to back out of the parking lot at the Sea Turtle Center—and jammed on his brake as an attractive blonde came into view.
She was some distance away, at the edge of the lot for the hotel, burdened down with two large tote bags and a shoulder purse as she wove among the cars. Yet he had no trouble identifying her.
Rachel Shaw.
But it was a different Rachel Shaw than the feisty woman he’d encountered on the beach and at Gram’s house.
This Rachel’s bent head and slumped shoulders communicated weariness—or discouragement...or both. What had happened to dampen her spunky spirit?
He frowned as he continued to follow her progress. He ought to just leave. The mental state of Eleanor’s niece was no concern of his.
Yet for some reason her dejected posture bothered him.
Fletch drummed a finger on the wheel as Gram’s admonition about manners echoed in his ears.
Polish them up. You were raised better than that.
He blocked out the part of her comment about attracting a nice girl. His impulse to go to Rachel’s aid had nothing to do with creating a more favorable impression on her. But Gram was right. He had been raised better than to let a woman carry heavy stuff without assistance. The influence of his Southern upbringing might have faded through the years, but enough remained to niggle at his conscience as he watched his beach companion from last week trudge along—especially after her purse slipped and she almost lost her grip on one of the tote bags.
With a quick shift of gears, Fletch pulled back into his spot, slid out of the SUV, and wove toward her through the cars.
Rachel was plodding along, head bowed, when he stopped a few feet in front of her.
“We meet again.”
As he parroted her words from Sunday back to her, her chin jerked up and she came to an abrupt halt.
Fletch gestured toward the overstuffed tote bags. “You look like you could use a hand.”
Her gaze flicked to his leg.
His temper flared.
What was with her, anyway? She’d seen him swim, watched him walk without any problem on the deep, shifting sand. If they’d met under any other circumstances she wouldn’t know he had a prosthesis. What did he have to do to prove he was fully mobile—dance the tango?
Since that wasn’t an option even if he had two good legs, Fletch settled for grabbing both bags from her before she could protest. “Where are you parked?” The question came out more clipped and curt than he intended.
Rachel looked up—and his breath jammed in his lungs.
Her jade eyes shimmered with distress, and that braid thing she did with her hair accentuated the taut planes of her face. When she swallowed and moistened her lips, a twinge of some unidentifiable emotion tugged at his heart.
He cleared his throat—and softened his tone. “Your car?”
Rachel gestured to her right. “The silver Focus.” As she spoke, she led the way, giving him an excellent view of sandaled feet with polished toenails, shapely legs outlined by white capris and a trim waist belted with a silky scarf. As for those soft wisps of hair that had escaped her braid...they whispered at the neck of her sleeveless knit top, calling out to be touched.
While she popped the trunk with the remote, he took a deep breath.
Don’t go there, Fletcher. Rachel Shaw might be attractive, but you don’t need a summertime romance—even if she could get past the leg issue. She’s the niece of your grandmother’s best friend. This would only complicate your life.
Check.
After setting the bulky bags inside the trunk, Fletch lowered the lid and faced her, searching for some innocuous comment to ease the tension that seemed to underscore their every encounter. “Must have been quite a shopping trip—though your frown would suggest it wasn’t successful.”
She positioned her purse in front of her and gripped it like a shield. “The Pier Road shops are more for tourists. Besides, I’m not a shopper.”
That was one thing in her favor, at least. How some women could roam through malls for hours with no agenda was mind-boggling. If you were going to a store, you made a list, bought what you needed and left. Anything else was a waste of time.
When the silence lengthened and Rachel didn’t pick up on his subtle offer to share what was bothering her, Fletch took the cue and stepped back. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He expected her to return the sentiment and make a beeline for the driver’s seat.
Instead, she stayed where she was and caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Look...I’m sorry.”
At her off-script comment, he frowned. “For what?”
“I stared at your leg again.” Bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks, but she didn’t break eye contact. “The truth is, I’ve never met anyone with an artificial limb. I always assumed it would be a major impediment, but you swim better than anyone I’ve ever met—and you have absolutely no limp. I’m awestruck...and totally impressed. But staring is rude, and I understand why you’d be offended. So I apologize.”
He appraised her in silence. Was her explanation on the level?
Maybe.
The sincerity and contrition in her eyes seemed legit. There wasn’t a shred of deceit—or pity—in her expression.
Meaning he’d overreacted. Big-time.
Fletch relaxed his posture and summoned up a smile. “Apology accepted. Let’s just say we got off on the wrong foot and start over—pun intended.”
Her eyes widened, as if she hadn’t expected him to find any humor in the situation, and then her own lips wobbled up. “Thanks for being a good sport about it.”
“It’s either that or go through life feeling sorry for myself. So what brought you to the historic area today?”
Rachel’s tremulous smile faded. “I teach a children’s art class at the hotel two days a week every summer. Today was my first session of the season.”
“It didn’t go well?”
“Most of the kids had a great time. But there was one little girl...” Her voice trailed off and she gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sure you have better things to do than listen to my tale of woe.”
Yeah, he did. Newark was expecting an answer to a lengthy email, and he had some schematics to review for a new military aircraft manufacturing facility in Washington state. He also had to prep for a wee-hours-of-the-morning conference call with one of his European clients.
But as the dipping sun gilded Rachel’s hair and she looked up at him with those vivid green eyes, work was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind.
“To be honest, I’m at loose ends for a couple of hours. I dropped Gram off at the Sea Turtle Center for some special event she’s helping with, and I was going to grab a quick dinner. Have you eaten yet?”
“No.”
“I’ll tell you what. If you keep me company during dinner, I’ll listen to your tale.”
As the words hung in the air between them, Fletch frowned. Where in the world had that come from?
Rachel seemed clueless, too. She gave him a wary look and played with the strap of her purse. “Aunt El had a meeting at church, but she was going to leave me a plate in the fridge.”
There’s your out, Fletch. Take it.
But once again, foolish words slipped out.
“Eat it for lunch tomorrow.”
What was going on here?
Before he had a chance to ponder that question, Rachel did that distracting lip-moistening thing again, drawing his attention to the soft curve of her mouth. The woman had great lips. Lush and full and very kissable...
“Okay.”
He jerked his gaze back to her eyes. “What?”
“I said I’d have dinner with you.”
Dinner. Right.
