legs with a touch, accompanied by a look Marlee called, “parents’ evil eye.” Smiling, she spread a thin layer of butter on her bread. “There are so many personal touches in this cabin, it makes me think you’ve been a ranger for quite a while.”
“Sixteen years.”
“That long? I guess that answers the question as to whether you like your job.”
“Yep.”
In the background Marlee heard Jo Beth ramble on to Dean about her two favorite spots in their old hometown. SeaWorld and the San Diego Zoo. “Honey, quit talking and eat. We have to stop at Glenroe’s, and I’d like to make it home before dark.” Also, Marlee didn’t want her daughter telling strangers why they’d left a city the child chose to rhapsodize about.
Wylie pushed back his chair, went to the counter and returned with the remaining soup. “Seconds anyone?” He lifted the ladle.
Dean held out his bowl, but Marlee declined any for herself and Jo Beth. Although, if they’d found any common ground, she might have stayed. The gumbo was superb.
When Jo Beth slurped up her last spoonful, Marlee quickly snatched the girl’s bowl and stacked it with hers. Repeating the process with their bread plates, she then started to carry the lot to the sink.
“Leave the dishes,” Wylie ordered.
Startled by his tone, Marlee let the stack of dishes clatter back to the mat. “Well, then. I hate to eat and run, but…” She pointedly turned her watch around and studied it.
“Wait a minute,” Dean implored. “You said you’d give me the books Mick sent.”
“So I did. Tell you what, Dean. I have to run through a preflight check of the Arrow. If I’m ready to take off before you finish, I’ll send Jo Beth to the house with the books.” Marlee swung her daughter into her arms. “Much obliged for the lunch,” she said, tossing her casual thank-you at the back of Wylie Ames’s head of shiny black hair. Without further ado, she left the cabin as they’d entered, via the back door.
As Marlee started her check, she couldn’t recall ever enduring such an uncomfortable forty-five minutes. Not even in the most stressful days she’d spent with Rose Stein. Which said a lot.
“WOW, JO BETH AND HER MOM are really, really nice, don’t you think, Dad?” Dean gushed as he shoveled in the last of his second helping of gumbo, plainly anxious to run after the departing duo.
Wylie paused, a soup spoon halfway to his unsmiling lips. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he thought about this woman and her child.
Hell, who was he kidding? He found too much to like about Mick Callen’s twin sister. She had grit, and he admired that in a woman. She seemed to like Dean, which was more than could be said for the boy’s mother. Shirl had left him a mere babe in arms. He scowled. Marlee smelled—well, feminine. Sweet and sexy, the way a woman should smell.
“They’re okay,” he drawled reluctantly, letting as much time lapse as he dared. “Thing is, son, we don’t get deliveries often. Mrs. Stein didn’t say how long it’d take for Mick to recover. Soon as he’s well, he’ll fly our orders in again.”
“Dad! She said to call her Marlee. Mrs. Stein is Jo Beth’s grandmother.”
The mention of the girl’s grandparent suggested another question. Where was Mr. Stein? Junior, not the girl’s grandfather.
Divorced? Probably. Hadn’t Jo Beth rattled on and on about their life in San Diego? City folk. Even if Marlee Stein had once lived here, he knew how it was when women had a hankering for city living. Of course, he’d had other issues with Shirl than just her dislike of the backwoods. Like the fact that she’d lied to him.
“Dad…you aren’t paying attention. I finished my soup. Can I go and get the books Mick sent? One’s about bears, I bet.”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you coming to say goodbye?” Dean had jumped up from the table, but he hovered half in, half out of the doorway, clearly expecting his father to follow.
Wylie’s first tendency was to tell Dean to run along. The more often he let the image of Marlee Stein burn into his brain, the more discontent would invade his jaded soul.
But he knew how excited Dean got watching planes land or take off. He couldn’t trust the kid to keep well away from the propeller. “I’m coming,” he said.
After Dean got his books and the pilot was strapped in for takeoff, Wylie hauled the boy far enough back to avoid the wind from the prop. Dean and Jo Beth began waving madly at each other. Wylie extracted his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and covered his eyes. He curbed the temptation to wave to Marlee. They hadn’t become fast friends as the kids had. Still, he stood at the end of the runway and watched her lift off much more smoothly than she’d landed.
He looked up and kept track of her slow circle. As her flight pattern brought her back over his head, Wylie noticed she dipped her wing the way Mick always did. His way of saying so long.
IN THE AIR, MARLEE COULDN’T resist making one last flyover of moody Wylie Ames. The guy didn’t even bend enough to acknowledge her leaving. He’d just covered his eyes with those damned mirrored shades and lazily hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets as he stood immobile. The arrogant wide-legged stance served to warn any newcomer off this corner of the world. His corner of the world.
“Mama, I like Dean,” Jo Beth said into the mouthpiece, as Marlee had shown her to do before the trip. “Can I call him when we get home?”
Marlee’s lips twitched. She thrust the elder Ames out of her mind. “Listen, kid, you’re a little young to be running up a phone bill talking to a boyfriend.”
“Ma…ma! Dean’s my friend—friend is all.”
“I’m teasing. How about if I let you call him next week if his dad’s auxiliary motor doesn’t come in? If it does, I guess we’ll fly it up here.” She wouldn’t have expected the possibility of a return trip to the ranger’s cabin to bring a sense of excitement. But for whatever reason, it did.
“Oh, I hope the motor comes, Mama. We can stay for lunch again. And I’ll get to see Boxer Bear.” Jo Beth bounced excitedly.
Marlee dropped her sunglasses over her eyes to cloak her reaction to the memory of their recent lunch. “Don’t count on it, tiddledywink.” In spite of a definite sexual awareness the man had stoked in her, Marlee wouldn’t put it past Wylie Ames to garnish his gumbo with fish bones next time—if he knew that she and not Mick was slated to make his delivery.
CHAPTER THREE
GLENROE LODGE SAT in a pocket carved out of conifer trees. A single fire road led in and out of the site. Someone had constructed a runway that was little better than two grass tracks long enough to clear the trees on takeoff. Bush pilots loved the adventure and the challenge of taking off and landing in tricky conditions. Marlee wasn’t so far removed from hitting the deck of a carrier in a pitching sea that she enjoyed the thrill provided by Glenroe’s runway. But she was nevertheless pleased when she set the Piper Arrow down sweetly. If Ranger Wylie Ames had seen this, he wouldn’t have accused her of bouncing a plane around.
In
