Rainbow's End. Irene Hannon
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to coax him closer, I’m sure I could find out. I used to be pretty good with kids.”
Her concern for the little boy had overridden her self-consciousness and reticence, and Keith marveled at the change in her. For a brief moment he had an intriguing glimpse of the engaged, self-assured woman she must once have been.
But that window into her past closed the instant she realized he was watching her. Turning abruptly, she started back to the house.
“Aren’t you having any?”
His question stopped her, and she half turned. “I don’t eat much breakfast.”
He wasn’t surprised. Now that she’d ditched the bulky jacket, there was no question about her gender. Her lithe figure was rounded in all the right places. A soft chambray shirt hinted at the curves beneath, and her unpretentious jeans encased her long legs like a second skin.
It had been a long while since Keith had noticed a woman’s physical attributes, and years since he’d taken such a detailed inventory. He had no idea what had possessed him to do so now. And he wasn’t inclined to analyze it. Better to move on to another—safer—topic.
“If you won’t join me, at least let me introduce myself.” He rose and extended his hand. “My name is Keith Michaels.”
He wasn’t sure she would respond, but after a brief hesitation, she dipped her head, stepped toward him and took his fingers in a grip that displayed surprising strength. “Jill Whelan.”
As the stranger held Jill’s hand, he also held her captive with his compelling blue eyes. They seemed to delve into her heart, searching, seeing things she had never given voice to. Of course, such fanciful thoughts were no more than the product of an overactive imagination, she chided herself. But it was an odd sensation nonetheless.
The sudden ringing of the phone broke the spell, and with a slight tug, she reclaimed her hand and turned toward the house. “You’d better eat those while they’re warm. Some things taste just as good cold, but pancakes aren’t one of them.”
Hurrying toward the phone, Jill left the back door ajar instead of closing and locking it, as she had up until now. There was something in the man’s face—character and integrity, certainly, but also a distant sadness as if he, too, had suffered some terrible tragedy—that told her she had nothing to fear from him. Nothing physical, anyway. Her emotions were another story. He’d disrupted those already. But she had a feeling no wooden door would protect her from that kind of danger, anyway.
When she answered the phone, she was a bit out of breath—which didn’t escape her sister’s notice.
“Is everything okay? Did I catch you at a bad time?” Deb queried.
“No, no. I’m fine. I was outside.”
“At this hour? You’re always eating your yogurt and reading the paper now.”
Goodness, was she that predictable? But the resounding answer was: yes! Deb called like clockwork at nine-thirty every Saturday morning, and like clockwork Jill would be reading the local weekly paper, which she saved for that occasion in order to differentiate the weekend from the workweek. Except today she’d forgotten all about the paper and her yogurt and even Deb’s call—thanks to one Keith Michaels, now ensconced on her back porch eating her blackberry pancakes.
“We had a storm last night and a piece of siding got ripped off the side of the house,” Jill explained, redirecting her attention to the conversation.
“I hope you weren’t climbing on ladders.”
“There’s not much choice when the problem is on the second floor.”
“But you hate ladders. Look, I know you’re handy, but can’t you get someone to fix it for you?”
“It’s already done, Deb.”
“That figures.” Her sister gave a long-suffering sigh. “You know, I ought to send my husband out there to take a few lessons from you. Tony is a wonderful provider, but when it comes to home maintenance he’s as useless as a cell phone with a dead battery. You must have been at it at the crack of dawn.”
Before she could respond, the back screen door opened and Keith came in far enough to deposit his plate and juice glass on the counter. Then he retreated to the porch, the screen door banging behind him.
“Jill? What was that?”
Typical Deb. She didn’t miss a thing, Jill thought with a wry shake of her head. “The back door.”
“Who came in? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. Look, it’s kind of a long story.”
“I’ve got all day.”
“It’s no big deal, Deb.”
“Then why don’t you just tell me?”
Shaking her head, Jill let out a resigned sigh. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re pushy?”
“Yeah. You do. All the time. But hey, that’s what sisters are for. Now spill it. If you have a visitor, I want to hear all about it. This doesn’t happen every day.”
Knowing Deb wouldn’t let up until she got the information she wanted, Jill gave her a shorthand version. “I let a guy use the cottage last night. They sent him out from town because there isn’t a room to be had over the holiday weekend, and it was raining cats and dogs. Turns out he’s a carpenter, and he offered to put the siding back up for me. I gave him breakfast on the back porch as a thank-you. He just brought in his empty plate.”
Silence greeted her narration. When it lengthened, Jill spoke again. “Deb? Are you still there?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m here. You took in a boarder? And you’re letting him wander around your house?”
“He’s not a boarder. He stayed for one night. And he’s not wandering around my house.”
“Who is this guy?”
“I have no idea.”
“What does he look like?”
“What difference does that make?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I don’t know.” She turned to look out the door. Keith was standing by the porch railing sipping his coffee, his strong profile thrown into sharp relief by the morning sun. Angling away from the door, she lowered her voice. “He’s a little shaggy around the edges and a bit road-weary. But he looks honest.”
“How old is he?”
“What is this, the third degree?”
“Look, when some guy shows up on my sister’s doorstep—my sister who avoids people like the plague, especially men—and she lets him wander around her house, I have reason to be concerned. So how old is he?”
Letting her sister’s remark about avoiding people pass, Jill answered the question. “Fortyish, maybe.”
Another few beats of silence passed. “I’m not sure I like this, Jill. I love your place, but it’s very isolated. I worry about you alone out there.”
“I’m fine, Deb. There’s no need for concern. I was just being a Good Samaritan. He’s been very polite and grateful. And he’s leaving in a few minutes. End of story.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Call me after he’s gone, okay?”
“Deb.”
“Just call me, okay? Otherwise I’ll worry about you. More than I already do.”
“Fine. I’ll call. Now let’s talk about more important things. Like your visit in two weeks. I can’t wait to see you and Dominic.”
“We’re looking forward to it, too. Dominic can’t talk about anything else. It’s