Irene Hannon - Rainbow's End

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.”