was such a minor act, but for Matt, who’d cared for an apathetic bundle of misery for two weeks without knowing how to break through, it felt like gold. He glanced up at Meg, expecting her to be still focusing on the sea, but she wasn’t. Her smile was almost as wide as his.
Did she know how important this was? She’d seen the legal documents. He’d told her the gist of the tragedy.
Her smile met his. He mouthed a silent thank you with his smile, and her smile said, You’re welcome.
And that smile...
Back at the boatshed she’d said she was twenty-eight. He’d hardy believed her, but now, seeing the depth of understanding behind her smile...
It held maturity, compassion and understanding. And it made him feel...
That was hardly appropriate.
She turned back to the wheel and his gaze dropped to her feet. The soles were stained and the skin was cracked.
She’d said she’d been fishing since she was sixteen. She was so far out of his range of experience she might as well have come from another planet. There was no reason—and no way—he could even consider getting to know her better. That flash of...whatever it was...was weird.
He went back to watching Henry feed Boof, one doggy bit at a time. The little boy was relaxing with every wag of the dog’s tail. Finally the bits were gone. He expected Meg to call Boof back, or that the dog would resume his stance at the bow. Instead, the dog leaped onto the seat beside Henry and laid his big, boofy head on Henry’s lap.
Matt glanced up at Meg and, surprised, saw the end of a doggy command—the gesture of clicked fingers.
Part of the service?
She grinned at him and winked. Winked?
Henry was feeling Boof’s soft ears. He wiggled his fingers, and the dog rolled his head, almost in ecstasy.
Henry giggled.
Not such a big thing?
Huge.
His hold on him tightened. This kid was the child of a business connection. Nothing more, but that giggle almost did him in.
He glanced back at Meg and found her watching him. Him. Not Henry. His face. Seeing his reaction.
For some reason that made him feel...exposed?
That was nuts. He was here to deliver a child to his grandmother and move on. There was no need for emotion.
He didn’t do emotion. He hardly knew how. That Meg had somehow made Henry smile, that she’d figured how to make him feel secure... How did she know how to do it?
Matt McLellan was a man in charge of his world. He knew how to keep it ordered, but for some reason this woman was making him feel as if there was a world out there he knew nothing about.
And when Henry snuggled even closer, when Henry’s hands stilled on the big dog’s head, when Henry’s eyes fluttered closed... When he fell asleep against Matt with all the trust in the world, the feeling intensified.
Once again he glanced at Meg and found her watching. And the way she looked at him...
It was as if she saw all the way through and out the other side.
* * *
She shouldn’t be here. She should be home, slashing her grass, doing something about Grandpa’s veggie patch. If he could see the mess it was in, he’d turn in his grave. That veggie patch had been his pride and joy.
She’d let it run down. She’d had no choice. The last months of her grandfather’s life he’d been almost totally dependent. She didn’t begrudge it one bit but she’d come out the other side deep in debt. She now had to take every fishing charter she could get.
The veggie patch was almost mocking her.
She should sell the whole place and move on. It’d cover her debts. She could go north, get a job in a charter company that wasn’t as dodgy as Charlie’s, make herself a new life.
Except the house was all she had left of Grandpa. All she had left of her parents.
Stop it. There was nothing she could do to solve her problems now, so there was no use thinking about them. She was heading out to Garnett Island. The money would help. That was all that mattered.
Except, as the hours wore on, as Bertha shovelled her way inexorably through the waves, she found herself inexplicably drawn to the man and child seated in the stern.
They’d exchanged niceties when they’d first boarded: the weather, her spiel about the history of this coast, the dolphins, the birds they might see. The guy... Matt...had asked a few desultory questions. Other than that, they’d hardly talked. The child had seemed bereft and the guy seemed as if he didn’t want to be here.
And then she’d convinced Henry to feed Boof and something had happened. She’d seen them both change. She’d seen the kid light up. She’d seen him pat Boof and then snuggle into the side of the man beside him.
And she’d seen Matt look as if he was about to cry.
What was it between the pair of them? What was a Manhattan financier doing carting a kid down into the Southern Ocean to dump him on Garnett Island?
Except the guy now looked as if he’d cracked wide open. He cared. Something had shifted inside him, and when he’d smiled at her...
Um...not. Let’s not go there. This was a seriously good-looking guy being nice to an orphan, and if that wasn’t a cliché for hearts and violins nothing was.
But that smile...
Was nothing to do with her. She was doing a job, nothing else.
They were getting close to Garnett now. She could see its bulk in the distance. There were a couple of uninhabited rocky outcrops in between, the result of some long-ago volcanic disturbance. She needed to watch her charts, watch the depth sounder. Not think about the pair behind her.
And then, suddenly, she had something else to think about. Bertha coughed.
Or that was what it sounded like, and after a lifetime spent at sea Meg was nuanced to every changing engine sound. She checked the dials.
Heat?
What the...? She’d checked everything obvious. How could the engine be heating? And almost as she thought it, she caught her first faint whiff.
Smoke.
SMOKE?
Oh, dear God.
Meg had a sudden flashback to a couple of days back. She’d been bringing in a fishing
