mouth or those crazy elongated lashes? Whether she was tall or short, dark or blond? If she had his runners’ legs?
Most of all, she wondered if the child knew how badly Addie had wanted her. And failed her.
She threw the gear into the bed of the truck harder than necessary, then reached down to the stack of frames on the ground. Forgive me, little one.
A shadow fell across her face. From the corner of her eye she caught sight of a pair of ratty men’s sneakers.
“Hello, Addie.”
Her heart slammed her ribs. His voice. So familiar and at one time so beloved. She couldn’t move, couldn’t move an inch. He’s here was her only thought. Right here.
Slowly she rose; turned.
He stood two strides away, hands shoved into the pockets of a pair of tan cargo shorts. He’d always been tall, but today, this moment, thirteen years after, he loomed over her five-foot-four stature.
On occasion she had glimpsed his face on TV, noted the transformation of boy to man. Where once he held girls in thrall, today he undoubtedly did the same to women. Not because he was handsome, but because he exuded an elemental roughness manifested by those hewed cheeks and jaw, those dark brows, that hawkish nose.
A breeze riffled the flip of brown hair on his wide forehead and a memory speared up. There was a time she had trailed her fingers through that lock. A time she’d loved its texture.
“It’s been a long while,” he said when she continued to stare.
She gathered her scrambled thoughts. “What do you want, Skip?”
Imperceptibly, his shoulder lifted. “Just to say hi.”
“And now you have.”
“I’m…um…” He looked around her front yard. His eyes were still that rich honey color, she noticed. Full of deep, dark mystery.
On a gesture to the big house she watched rise from the earth over the past three months, he said, “My daughter and I moved in across the road today.”
Disregarding her pattering heart, she picked up two supers—square boxes housing the honeycomb frames—and carefully set them inside the truck.
“Yes,” she said. “I noticed the moving trucks earlier, and…Becky met my daughter.” She couldn’t help emphasizing my. His daughter looked like him, the way Michaela looked like Dempsey. But, dammit, no matter how the cards fell, Michaela was her daughter.
My daughter. Mine.
Leaning down, he grabbed the second stack of honey frames. “I know. That’s why I came over. I wanted to make sure she didn’t cause trouble.”
So. This visit wasn’t to reacquaint them or introduce his family to hers. He was here to make sure he wouldn’t be considered a lousy parent for having an intrusive daughter.
How like Skip. His name suited him after all. Skipping town thirteen years ago and now skipping back without a qualm, without a single concern that he’d nearly killed her with his brush-off.
Did he even care that she’d suffered twenty-three hours of labor, that she’d died a million deaths when they whisked her baby away in the time it took her to inhale a single breath?
Do you know I still wonder where she is?
“I have work to do,” she said, seizing the frames from his hands. “And you have your family to go back to.”
His wife, no doubt, would be wondering what he was doing across the road at the neighbor’s house. The neighbor dressed in thready jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and old leather boots. On a blistering hot day.
“It’s just Becky and me,” he said. “And she’s fixing her room. You know how girls are. They…They fuss over…” He stepped back when he saw her eyes narrow. “Stuff.” His hands found his hip pockets. “Addie, I…”
She shook her head. “No. This is not old home week. I do not want you coming around here, Skip.” Telling me about your child, your life. His mouth opened and she held up a hand. “It’s not up for discussion. You made your choice long ago. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I’m sorry.”
She released a sharp laugh. “For what? For coming back to the island? For walking up my drive? For your daughter showing up on my doorstep?”
He blinked. “For everything.” His throat worked a swallow. “From the beginning.”
If he didn’t leave soon, she’d throw a loaded box of honey frames at his head. “Please, go home. Go back to your…mansion, to your…whatever it is you do.” On a mission, she marched to the honey shed for another load before she realized she’d finished and had locked the door.
Never mind, she’d find something else inside.
Shortening his stride, he kept an easy pace beside her. She had read about his shattered shoulder, the one ending his star-hung career despite five operations.
She damn well wouldn’t feel sorry for him.
“Addie, we’re going to be neighbors. For a long time. I’m not moving. Can’t we put the past behind us?”
Whirling around, she looked up into those mellow eyes with their silly stretchy lashes. “Now, there’s an idea. Can you tell me how it’s done? How do you forget the past, Skip? You’re a whiz at it, aren’t you? Is it one of those twelve baby-step procedures?” She hated being catty, but the last thing on her radar was this man’s feelings.
Again, the long-lashed blink. “You’ve changed.”
“Damn right I have. It’s called growing up.” She rammed the key into the shed’s lock, flung open the door. “You should try it.”
“You think my life’s been a barrel of laughs?”
She heard the pinch of anger. “I don’t give a flying rat’s rump about your life. As long as it doesn’t interfere with mine, we’re good to go.”
He stopped in the doorway, succinctly blocking a portion of natural light. Reluctantly, she noticed his nut-brown hair needed a good trimming.
He said, “I understand you teach at Fire High.” The anger was gone, replaced with a softness she did not want to examine.
From a shelf, Addie selected four more supers with honey frames. Red clover meant a high volume of blooms and extra work for her miniature buzzing charges. Maybe she would need additional frames after all. About to march back out the door, she paused. “Why did you build across the road?”
“The land was for sale.”
“There were at least three properties along the shoreline you could’ve bought. People with your money buy water views. They don’t do Little House in the Big Woods.”
“I like the woods.”
“Not good enough.” She pushed past him,
