shaggy bangs. “He—Shaun drowned four years ago.”
Across the room, the man dwarfing the kitchenette stayed silent. Suddenly she was grateful for that silence, appreciated the way he allowed her to tell what she wanted, when she wanted.
She shoved into her clogs. “In case you’re wondering, the boat inside the shed didn’t cause his death.” Turning for the door, she added, “If you need anything…”
“I’ll call.”
Of course, he wouldn’t, but she lifted a quick hand anyway. “Bye.” Pushing open the door, she nearly stumbled into her mother on the other side.
“Goodness, Kat, get hold of yourself.” Charmaine Wilson tugged the hem of her mocha-hued jacket straight.
“Mom. What are you doing here?”
The older woman’s gaze landed on the man behind Kat. “I might ask you the same thing,” she countered.
“Can I help?” Dane stepped onto the porch.
“No,” Kat blurted, then flushed with embarrassment. “Everything’s fine. Mom, do you remember Dane Rainhart? He was Lee’s…One of her school friends.”
Charmaine’s pupils pinpointed. “’Course, I remember. You’ve grown up some, Dane.”
Before he could respond, Kat snatched her mother’s arm and ushered her from the porch. “Why are you here?” she whispered.
Charmaine had a knack of showing up at the most awkward times. Yes, she’d retired from the hair salon, but that did not mean Kat was free whenever her mother had nothing to do. And this morning…Well. “I thought you were babysitting for Addie today.” Kat’s youngest sister had an eight-month-old son whom Charmaine cared for while Addie taught math part-time at Fire High.
“Alexander has a little cold,” the older woman explained, “so your sister called in a sub. Which brings us to why I’m here. I brought Blake home.”
Kat’s adrenaline spiked. “Why? Is he sick?”
“Seems he has the same bug as Alex.”
“Why didn’t the school call?”
“They did, but you weren’t answering.”
No, she was busy with her guest. Kat walked to the house.
In the comfort of her kitchen she called, “Blake?”
“Here,” came the hoarse reply from upstairs.
She hurried up the stairwell, down the hallway, to the first bedroom on the left. Her son lay on his side on top of the quilt.
“Hey, honey.” She walked over, sat on the bed, brushed a dark curly lock—so like his father’s—from his forehead. “Grams said you weren’t feeling well.”
“Throat hurts. The school said you weren’t home.” Accusation pinched the words.
“I was housekeeping at the cabin.” Warmth struck her skin. Liar. You were trying to get Dane Rainhart’s attention.
From the pillow, Blake gave her a one-eyed stare. “Thought the guy didn’t want housekeeping.”
As always, she had informed him about their guest. “The sign was down today.”
“Oh.”
Kat hated seeing her child in discomfort. “Want some chicken soup?”
“’Kay.”
Rising, she removed his sneakers, then tugged his pajamas from under the pillow. “Get into these and I’ll be back with the soup.”
She was almost at the door when he asked, “Is that guy staying here forever?” Blake rose into a sitting position, feet on the floor. Over the course of the last year he’d grown to equal her height.
“No,” she said, “just until June first.”
“I saw him sneaking around in the forest last Friday.”
“Sneaking around?”
“Yeah, like he was creeping up on something. He had on one of those army coats like you see on the news? And these big boots like Dad used to wear—you know, with the laces? Anyway, it looked like he was playing G.I. Joe or something.”
Kat frowned. Not thirty minutes ago, Dane had stood in the doorway of the cabin dressed exactly as Blake described. With a hunting knife strapped to his waist.
And he’d arrived without a sound.
She forced a smile. “Grown men don’t play G.I. Joe, Blake.”
“This one does,” he said hoarsely.
Pushing aside this morning’s imposing image, Kat advised, “Get under the covers and stay warm. I’ll be right back.”
Downstairs, Charmaine stirred a pot of chicken broth at the stove. She said, “I stopped at my place for some homemade.”
“Thanks.” Already the comforting scent of soup suffused the room. Kat prepared a tray. Beyond the corner window above the sink, bits of the cabin peeked through the leafless trees. The porch was once again empty, the door firmly shut, the sign in place.
Charmaine glanced over. “He stayed outside for a long time, you know.”
She didn’t have to ask who.
“Looked like one of those plantation overseers you read about in history books, standing on the porch, arms crossed, feet planted. Gave me the willies the way he stared straight at the house.”
“He’s probably interested in people from his past,” Kat said, recalling her own endless curiosity concerning the man who was her father, the man whose name Charmaine refused to disclose—no matter how much Kat begged, cajoled and argued. She tamped back her bitterness with a sigh. The disagreement would go on forever. “Anyway, it’s been years since he’s been on the island.”
“Well,” Charmaine continued, “why isn’t he staying with his family? His parents must be wondering, and his sister, too.”
The senior Rainharts worked at the Burnt Bend Medical Clinic, their daughter was the local social worker.
“Why is he hiding out here?” Charmaine asked.
Hiding out. Was that it? Kat wondered as the office telephone rang. Grateful for an excuse to escape her mother, she hurried to pick up the receiver. “Country Cabin, Kat O’Brien speaking.”
“Is the boy all right, Kaitlin?”
Dane. Her breath caught. “He’s fine,” she said, wariness surfacing. “How did you…?”
“I saw your mother pick him up from the elementary school when I was on the trail across the road.”
The
