surface above her head.
Still on her knees, she glanced up to see a large dog-eared volume in the space between the cash register and a display of novelty note cards. The book definitely wasn’t from the store’s stock. Not tattered as it was. The thought was lost, however, as her wary glance shot past the front of worn jeans to the tall, broad-shouldered male in a chambray work shirt.
Sam Edwards’ impossibly blue eyes met hers.
“Hi,” she said, unbelievably relieved to see that it was him.
A faint frown furrowed his brow as she rose and pushed back her hair.
“Hi,” he echoed, staring at her hand.
Realizing her hand was shaking, she shoved it into the pocket of the teal work apron she wore over her T-shirt and long khaki skirt. Benders’ Books arched across the bib in pale-yellow embroidery.
“I wondered if I would hear from you,” she admitted, forcing a smile. She glanced at the book. From upside down, she read Principles of Flight. “I take it you’ve reconsidered your stance on the lessons?”
Watching her curiously, Sam nudged the volume forward. The vitality that had so impressed him the other day was missing. So was the ease and brightness of her smile. Her lips were curved in greeting. But the light he’d noticed before in her eyes was nowhere in evidence.
“What can I say? I recognize a deal when I see one,” he admitted with a casual shrug. “That’s why I came by. To tell you I’ll take you up on your offer…if it still stands,” he qualified. “And to bring you this, if it does.”
Her glance fell back to the book.
“I thought it would help us both if you’re familiar with the instruments and parts of the plane we’ll be flying.” Aware of a teenage boy in black spandex shorts, a racing shirt and a crash helmet browsing the magazine racks a few yards away, he consciously lowered his voice. “Unless you’ve changed your mind,” he said, looking as if he thought she would be more enthused about his acceptance of her proposal.
“No. No,” she quickly repeated. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
She really hadn’t. Not about her part of the proposition, anyway. She was just feeling so uneasy about Brad at the moment that she wasn’t sure about going through with the rest of it. She couldn’t tell Sam that, though. Not without him asking questions she’d rather not answer—especially with a customer less than ten feet away and her very bright little boy playing underfoot.
“Flying lessons for child care,” he said, sounding as if he wanted to be sure they were actually on the same track.
“Flying lessons for child care,” she echoed and watched his eyes narrow on her face. His glance was thorough and assessing as it moved over the faint strain in her features.
Had any other man studied her so openly, she would have immediately drawn back. The mechanism was purely protective, an instinct that snapped into place when any male over the age of consent paid more than passing attention to her. But she knew for a fact that this big, attractive pilot was there only because of his children. Since she’d practically badgered him into cooperating with her, she didn’t doubt that his only interest was in trying to figure out why she didn’t seem more pleased.
“I really do appreciate you bringing the book,” she insisted over a faint churring near her feet.
He still looked skeptical. “Then give me a call after you’ve read the chapters I’ve marked. We’ll set something up.”
“How about I call you at the airport tomorrow?”
Skepticism turned to curiosity when the soft sound continued. His glance shifted to the space beside her. “If you think you can get through the material that fast, that’ll be fine.”
The churring turned to a squeak. The moment it did, his brow snapped low.
It was such a relief to have his scrutiny off her that some of the strain slipped from her smile. “That’s our newest guest,” she told him, wondering at the faint flutter he’d left in her stomach. “I think he’s hungry again.”
Sam watched her disappear beneath the counter, then rise a moment later holding a small wire animal carrier. As she set it on the yard-wide surface, a chestnut-haired little boy the same age as his Jason rose from the floor.
Crossing his arms on the counter, the slightly built child plopped his chin on his narrow wrists and smiled up at Sam.
“Hi,” the boy said easily.
A dimple winked by his perfect little mouth. His eyes were the same gray green as the woman’s beside him.
“Hi, yourself,” Sam replied, recognizing him instantly as her son.
“Winona Sykes brought him to me a few days ago,” T.J. continued, smiling at the tiny ball of fur in the cage. Reaching through the wires, she gently stroked one tiny hand-like paw. “He’s only a few weeks old and needs to be fed every couple of hours. That’s why we bring him to work with us.”
Sam recognized Winona as the mayor’s wife. He recognized the critter in the cage as a baby raccoon. The thing was so small its mask had barely begun to show. “Why did she bring it to you?”
“People often bring me wounded or orphaned animals.” She spoke with a shrug in her voice, as if there was nothing at all unusual about the occurrence. “Or I rescue them myself if I hear of one that needs help. We have about a dozen animals living at our place right now.” Softness entered her voice as she glanced at her son. “Isn’t that right, Andy?”
The child’s nose wrinkled as he cranked his neck back. “I forgot. How many is a dozen?”
“Twelve.”
The wrinkles remained long enough for him to equate the number with the word. Comprehension dawning, he gave his mom a nod. “Yeah. A dozen. ’Cept this makes thirteen.”
“The animals are why I wanted to see if I can fly,” she explained to Sam as she reached beneath the counter. “Doc Jackson has to move to the mainland because his heart is getting bad and there’s no one to take his place.”
With a metallic clink against the counter, she set a can of kitten formula on it, popped the top and poured an ounce into a medicine cup. After drawing some of the liquid into an eyedropper, she touched the end of the dropper to the tiny animal’s seeking mouth.
“Can I do it, Mom?”
Smiling at her son’s request, she handed over the dropper. “Just remember to keep him on his stomach. That’s the way these guys eat best.
“I suppose I can learn to do rabies checks and that sort of thing myself,” she continued to Sam while she watched her son dispense several drops into the hungry orphan’s waiting mouth. “I won’t risk having an infected animal around Andy or the other animals,” she explained. “But without a vet, I won’t be able to take care of the sicker or more severely injured ones.
“Unless,” she added, suddenly meeting his eyes across the cage and the counter, “you would be willing to fly them to the vet over on Orcas Island or to Bellingham yourself?”
For
