and up, circling to the northeast, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see Carson City fade from sight below her. To distract herself from the disturbing realization that she was leaving everything familiar behind, she picked up a magazine from among several in a rack, but didn’t open it. The cinder girl was heading for the castle without the benefit of a fairy godmother or a waiting prince.
Without Mari willing it, Russ Simon’s face flashed into her mind’s eye. Her prince? The thought made her smile. Far-fetched as it seemed right now, maybe they’d meet again someday, as he’d said he hoped they would. She opened the magazine, Joseph Haskell’s name popped out at her and she began to read the article about him. By the time the jet landed on Mackinac Island, Mari knew a lot more about her possible grandfather than she had before.
Since the article had stressed how wealthy he was, when she arrived by horse and buggy at the “summer cottage” he’d mentioned to Uncle Stan, Mari shouldn’t have been surprised to find herself looking at what must be at least a fourteen-room Victorian mansion. But she was. Her jitters returned full force.
A trim, fortyish woman opened the door. “I’m Pauline Goodwin, the housekeeper, Ms. Crowley,” she said.
Mari nodded as she was ushered in. “Please call me Mari. Is Mr. Haskell—?”
“An hour before you arrived, he was airlifted to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital in New York City. My orders are to make sure you settle in comfortably while he’s gone.”
“Oh, my, is he seriously ill?”
“We don’t know when he’ll be returning,” Pauline said stiffly. “This way, please.”
What kind of an answer was that? Mari wondered as she followed the housekeeper up a winding staircase. It must be his heart. He’d told Uncle Stan he had a “bum ticker.” Whether he was her grandfather or not, she truly hoped he’d be all right.
The room she’d been given was decorated with white-painted wicker furniture, and paintings and photos of horses hung on the walls. Mari was looking at the paintings when Pauline said, “Frank will bring up your suitcases. Will there be anything else you need?”
As Mari thanked her and shook her head, she wished for something Pauline wouldn’t have been able to provide. What she needed was a friend. Someone to talk to who she knew and trusted, someone who’d assure her she’d been right to come here. She worried how it might affect Mr. Haskell’s health if it turned out they weren’t related. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him.
On TV he’d claimed he was a lonely and ill old man who regretted alienating his only child, Isabel. Mari had felt sorry for him, even though, at the time, she hadn’t the slightest idea Stan was even then speculating that Isabel might have been her mother. Had she been?
I’d like to have a grandfather, Mari thought as she got ready for bed. I have no family at all except for Stan.
That was really why she’d come here—to find out if Mr. Haskell was family, a blood relation. It’d been a terrible shock when her uncle had confessed that Aunt Blanche had never told her the truth about her birth.
Though Mari had wondered if sleep would elude her, Mr. Sandman, as Willa would say, found her immediately, and she didn’t wake until midmorning. The first thing she saw when her eyes opened was a photo on the wall of a dapple-gray pony with a small child on its back. She rose hurriedly to examine the photo at closer range, and saw the child was a boy. Not Isabel then.
By the time she’d dressed and was descending the stairs, Mari had begun wondering if dapple-gray ponies were ever called Blues. She shook her head. Probably not, since Russ had said his were descended from the huge chargers ridden by knights of old. If only she’d had more time to spend with Russ. How was it possible to miss a man you scarcely knew?
After a breakfast that made her feel she was imposing on Mr. Haskell’s staff, even though Pauline and Diana, the cook, were courteous enough, Mari escaped outside. Her uneasiness undoubtedly came from her own uncertainty—did she belong here or not?—rather than from the staff. But she began to relax a little once she set off to walk down toward the village.
May was definitely cool here on this island near the Straits of Mackinac, where the waters of Lake Huron and Lake Michigan met, and she was glad she’d worn a jacket. With only the clop of horses’ hooves instead of the rush of motor traffic, Mackinac Island seemed not only peaceful, but somehow set back in time. In the gardens she passed, tulips were still in flower, though their season was long over in northern Nevada. Lilac blooms were tightly budded rather than scattering their sweetness into the air.
A passing bicyclist waved as he passed, and she waved back. What a marvelous vacation spot. She wished she could think of it as a vacation. It worried her that Mr. Haskell had decided to send for her instead of first making sure they were related by having blood and DNA tests done right there in Nevada. Why he hadn’t was a question she couldn’t answer.
She passed the Grand Hotel, staring in awe at its unbelievably long and magnificent porch, and came into the downtown area of the village. Water gleamed ahead from what appeared to be a lakeside park. As she started across the street, someone took her arm, holding her back. She turned, startled, and gazed into Russ Simon’s green eyes. Her pulse leaped.
“Mari, is it really you?” he asked.
“Russ!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
He released her arm. “Checking my Blues. I lease twenty of them to carriage companies on the island. Didn’t I tell you?”
Mari shook her head. “I mean, I knew you leased draft horses, but I didn’t know where.”
One of the numerous passersby jostled Mari, muttering an apology when Russ scowled at him. “Come on, let’s find someplace less crowded. Place is already full of tourists and it’s only May.”
After they were seated at a harborside café, with mugs of coffee in front of them, he raised a questioning eyebrow. “Now you know why I’m here. Your turn.”
Mari told herself to stop staring at him and start thinking. “I’m visiting the island,” she equivocated, not wanting to lie and yet definitely not wanting to tell the whole truth.
Russ offered her his heart-melting smile. “My good luck.”
No, mine, she thought. I wished for a friend and maybe, just maybe, here he is. On this strange island that seemed like another world, Russ was the known, the familiar. She might not decide to confide in him, but at least she now had someone she felt she could talk to if needed.
Russ took another swallow of coffee, trying not to watch Mari. Which was difficult because he enjoyed looking at her so much. Why the devil did her hair have to be molten gold and her eyes like fine sherry? Spying was bad enough, and it was ten times worse because he liked the way she smiled, the way she talked with her hands, the way she moved. Hell, even the way she sipped her coffee. No man in his right mind could avoid being attracted to her.
He couldn’t afford to be, yet at the same time he needed to learn more about her in order to protect Joe Haskell. Since the old man was tough, he’d probably pull through this latest cardiac setback, but he didn’t need any extra stress—such as an impostor on his doorstep.
“Like to go riding around the island?” Russ asked. “I’ll return the favor and find you a mount this time.”
“Oh,
