Chapter Three

      “Wait a minute!” A stunned Noah yanked his jacket from the rosebush and heard the fabric rip.

      Terrific.

      He had all the tact of a rhinoceros. What else could he do to screw things up?

      “Starr, please wait.” He caught up in front of her parents’ health food store and grabbed her arm. She spun around in time for him to see pain temporarily replace the anger in her face.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m fine.” Nevertheless, she put her hand on her left shoulder and rubbed. “It’s just the scratches.”

      Noah sighed. He didn’t believe her, yet he couldn’t force her to explain. “Look, I’m sorry I got carried away...I don’t like reporters.”

      “Gee, that’s a surprise. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

      He sighed. Ever since Sam had died, he’d been fighting with the McKittricks. Unfortunately, since Starr was both a friend of the McKittricks and Becky’s godmother, that put her directly in the middle of the battle. “You weren’t in the country when Sam and Amelia were killed, so you don’t know what it was like.”

      She nodded warily. “I was out of touch. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to Rafe. He called this morning, but I was taking a walk.”

      “Well...there was a lot of publicity after the accident. The McKittricks are influential because of that chain of newspapers they own—not to mention being friends with everyone who is anyone in Oregon, including the present governor.”

      “What does that have to do with it?”

      “Everything.” Noah massaged the back of his neck. “They never liked Sam. They thought he was presumptuous to marry their daughter. Amelia must have told you how much they disliked him.”

      “They didn’t dislike him,” she murmured. “Not exactly.”

      “Really?”

      “Okay, I guess they would have preferred her marrying someone else,” Starr admitted, wrinkling her nose. “Deep down they’re nice people.”

      Noah decided the “deep down” part must be way deep down—like in the Marianas Trench. He took a breath, knowing it might be foolish to confide in Starr, yet also knowing his sister-in-law and brother had trusted her. “The McKittricks blame Sam for the accident. The way they see things, if he hadn’t married their daughter, she wouldn’t have been in that plane with him,” he said, bitterness tinging his voice.

      Starr’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry. That isn’t fair,” she whispered.

      Turning, Noah stared down at the town. Below them the Columbia River flowed to meet the ocean, a glistening silver ribbon across the western horizon. The ocean was constant, unchanging. He needed something that couldn’t change, something that couldn’t be ripped away with a single phone call. Like Sam.

      He sensed compassion in Starr’s gaze, yet he couldn’t handle any more sympathy. Everybody was sorry about his brother. His friends, his co-workers, even the checker at the supermarket. Everybody “understood.” How could they understand? He’d lost the person he loved most in the world, the only family he had left except for Becky. He couldn’t endure losing anyone else.

      “They aren’t too happy with me, either,” he added harshly. “Maybe it would be different if I was a wealthy, big-city specialist. But I’m not. I’m just a general practitioner who doesn’t play golf, and doesn’t plan on getting filthy rich.”

      “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

      “Thanks. But you’ll never convince the McKittricks I’m a proper guardian.”

      Starr winced. Amelia had been raised mostly by nannies and servants—she’d wanted a different childhood for Becky. The elder McKittricks were decent in a stuffy kind of way, but they’d been lousy parents.

      “All right.” She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him squarely. “They never liked Sam, they don’t approve of you and they own a bunch of newspapers. What has that got to do with hating the news media?”

      He snorted. “You have no idea what it was like——news—paper articles implying Sam was at fault, suggesting pilot error.” Noah threw out his hand angrily. “There wasn’t any error, Sam was a great pilot. Then after Becky was put in my custody, the reporters started hounding me again, questioning my fitness and harassing me about my relationship with the McKittricks.”

      “Oh.”

      That was all she said. A single word.

      “You see, don’t you?” he appealed. “It was like being surrounded by sharks.”

      “I’m a photojournalist,” Starr said quietly. “Not that kind of reporter. And I’ve spent most of my career taking nature photos, which is completely different.”

      Noah hesitated, remembering his thoughts earlier that morning. Starr was a respected photographer. She wouldn’t agree with the McKittricks’ muckraking tactics, no matter how close their friendship might be.

      Oh, hell. He’d been a jerk. He’d let his temper override his common sense. “L..uh...I’m sorry.”

      “Never mind.” She shrugged and hooked her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans. Noah groaned silently, because the motion reminded him how great she looked in those skin-fitting denims.

      So much for a guilty conscience.

      It would have been nice to talk to his brother about Starr, to get his opinion. God, he missed that...missed talking and laughing with someone who knew him better than anyone else in the world. He would have told Sam about Starr’s tight jeans and her tight bottom. Then he’d have complained about his lack of self-control and latent immaturity. The big goon would have sniggered and called him a Neanderthal—marriage had turned Sam into a real nineties kind of guy.

      Noah