style="font-size:15px;"> Jordan raised an eyebrow. “No, they…well, something like that.” His shoulders tensed, and he tightened his rein on the thick string as the kite looped on the billowing wind.
Mac clapped his hands. “Me. Me.”
“This one is hard to manage, Mac. I’ll let you try a smaller kite another time. Okay?”
Disappointment registered on Mac’s face, but he nodded, his focus still glued to the mesmerizing kite.
Jordan tightened his grip and wound the thick string, bringing the lovely creation back to earth. The kite soared and plummeted as he manipulated the cord. Finally, he took backward steps to avoid the water, and Meara shot forward to grasp the kite as it dipped toward the damp, shell-speckled sand.
“A save,” she called, smiling over her shoulder at Jordan, then returning her gaze to the amazing centipede. Its body was sectioned, and the colorful green-and-red cloth was connected with some kind of plastic tubing. The dragon’s head appeared painted, rather than dyed, in blues and greens with blazing red eyes.
“It’s wonderful,” Meara said, lugging the cumbersome kite toward him. “It must have taken you forever to make this.”
In awe, Mac clung to the centipede’s red-rimmed tail. “I helped,” he said, settling his section of the kite in Jordan’s outstretched hand.
“You’re a big help, Mac. Thank you.”
The fluttering wind tugged at the taut fabric, and Meara struggled to keep it close to her side until she could place the burden in Jordan’s arms. He gathered the cloth-covered frame and headed toward the house.
Mac followed but Meara remained behind until Jordan’s voice reached her ears. “Come up to the house, Mac, and I’ll show you what I’m working on now.”
The child glanced over his shoulder, beckoning her to follow. Wisdom told her to hightail it back to the safety of the cabin. In Jordan’s company, life brightened as brilliantly as his kites. But she saw no future in it, only a deeper loneliness for having known him. Yet Mac’s eager face loomed before her, and she pushed back her fears and hurried up the path.
With Mac manning the door, Jordan wrestled the large, jointed kite onto the porch. Managing his heart was as difficult. Each time he saw the boy he ached and yearned to be the father he could never be. And when he gazed at the delicate, fiery-haired woman, he felt a longing he couldn’t explain. If he had a brain, he would discourage their entrance into his house and into his life.
Hearing the ruckus, Dooley bounded to the porch from inside the house. In a flash of fear, Mac stepped backward as Meara drifted through the doorway. In a heartbeat, Mac’s chin jutted forward, and with renewed courage, he stood his ground while Dooley’s wet tongue drenched his cheek.
“More kisses,” Mac said, his voice a mixture of fear and laughter.
“Dooley, down,” Jordan commanded. “Let the boy be.” He grasped the dog’s collar and pulled him away as the setter strained to give Mac one final slurp.
Jordan gave a decisive tug on his collar, and Dooley obeyed, coiling himself on the porch rug and panting as his eyes focused on Mac.
The boy kept himself aimed at the dog. “Good dog,” Mac said with a noticeable lack of confidence.
With amusement brightening her face, Meara covered her curving mouth, obviously hiding a chuckle, and wrapped a protective arm around Mac’s shoulder. “Dooley likes you, Mac. He thinks you’re pretty special.”
“Yeah,” Mac said. But his positive comment didn’t disguise his real attitude as he backed against Meara’s leg.
Jordan’s mind and emotions raced as he watched them. “Have a seat.” He motioned to the cushioned wicker furniture. “How about something cold to drink? I have lemonade. Anyone interested?”
“Me,” Mac said. “I like…lemonade.”
“And how about you?” His gaze drifted to Meara, who sank into the wicker seat with his question.
“Lemonade’s fine, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble,” he said, turning away and heading into the house. The lemonade was no trouble, but she was. She tugged at his emotions as powerfully as a kite on an escalating wind. The truth rose in his thoughts. He had to reel in his heartstrings before they broke or knotted in his rising panic. He’d had too much heartache. He couldn’t bear any more. And love? It had been buried with his family. He had no more to give. Jordan knotted his heart to stop his thoughts, poured glasses of the tangy liquid and carried them back to the porch.
Dooley had edged forward, but now, relaxed and smiling, Mac leaned forward and petted the dog’s back. Jordan shook his head. The dog didn’t mind him any better than he minded his cautious inner voice.
“Here you go,” Jordan said, handing a glass to Meara and one to Mac. He settled into a wicker chair and stared out through the rust-pocked screen to gain control of himself. Meara’s musical voice wrenched him back.
“I came down for a reason, by the way. I wanted to thank you for letting us rent the apartment. It’s perfect for now, until we decide what we’re going to do. But I wonder if…”
Her eyes widened, and she seemed to struggle for the right words. “If Otis didn’t make a mistake. I don’t think he quoted me the correct rent, and I wondered…what you had in mind.”
Jordan dragged his index finger through the condensation that had formed on his glass. With control, he lifted his gaze to hers. “What did Otis tell you?”
“But…I want you to tell me.”
“You can’t remember?”
She blinked. “No, I remember. He said two hundred dollars, but I don’t think—”
“Yes, two hundred. That’s what I told him. Is that too much?” He kept his voice steady to cover his falsehood.
A flush rose on her fair skin. “Too much? No, it’s not enough.”
Jordan studied the pinkish blush that colored her cheeks. The summer sun had tugged a smattering of freckles from hiding and the faint brown flecks spattered her nose and forehead. He studied the pattern, thinking of the dot-to-dot pictures he had drawn as a child.
Meara nailed him with her steady gaze. “Why are you smiling?” Her soft lilt sharpened as her shoulders tensed, and she pulled them erect. “You think I’m foolish for asking. I don’t want charity. I can pay my own way.”
Her words jolted him from his reverie.
“Charity has nothing to do with it! That apartment has been sitting empty since I bought the shop. The rent is pure profit.”
“But you have to consider the utilities—the electricity and water and gas.”
He ran his fingers through his hair. “I suppose, then, I’m only making one hundred and fifty a month profit. Really, don’t worry about it. You’re doing me a favor.” His mouth tugged toward a grin. He focused on Mac, who had shifted his petting to
