The Complete Christmas Collection. Rebecca Winters
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no-nonsense presence that managed to keep that awful feeling at bay.
“We can start with things you can probably identify even if you’ve never used them. Camp stoves, lanterns, backpacking gear,” he said. “Or go with something that might be more of a challenge. Your choice.”
He was there to teach her what she needed to know to reopen the store, not about how to live with questions that could now never be answered. From his deliberate allusion to her lack of knowledge about certain outdoor activities, she had the feeling, too, that he intended his baiting to pull her out of her thoughts. If not for her sake, definitely for his own.
Since he had far more experience with both the store and self-survival, the least she could do was follow his lead.
“More of a challenge.”
He said he wasn’t surprised.
First, though, she brought them each a cup of coffee, his black, hers with milk, which they took with a section of the printouts and a notepad to the back of the store. It was there that he told her he needed to leave by two o’clock, which, thankfully, was a few minutes before she needed to leave to catch the ferry to pick up Tyler. So for the next hour, she learned to identify lures, hooks, rods, reels, creels, the difference between a bobber and a sinker and the different weights of leader—which would be important to know, he told her, if a customer came in asking for twenty-pound test. At least now she’d know they were asking for fishing line.
“If someone wants fish, wouldn’t it be a whole lot more convenient to buy it from a grocery store?”
Towering beside her, he remained focused on a column of item numbers. “Might be convenient, but it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”
“I take it you’ve never been to Pike Place Fish Market.” She focused on a page of her own. “You pick out the fish you want and the guys behind the cases toss it down the line to the scale. You get it wrapped, packed, you don’t have to gut it and the show is free. That’s fun enough for me.”
With that even-eyed way he had of looking at her, he slanted her a tolerant glance. “You’re missing the point.”
“The point being?”
“Being in the great outdoors. The thrill of landing a thirty-pound salmon, or pulling an eight-pound rainbow trout from a freshwater stream.”
“The guilt of taking Nemo from his mother,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind. I doubt that you know him.”
“Please tell me that’s not the approach you’re going to take with your customers,” he muttered back, just before his glance dropped to her mouth—which had the odd effect of shutting her up and getting her back to verifying counts.
They didn’t have time to move on to the modest sections of hiking, camping or boating equipment before she noticed the time. Since she had to drive right past the marina at the end of the street, and he’d tied his floatplane there, she asked if she could give him a ride and save him the two-block walk in the misty rain.
Conscious of the time himself, he told her that would be great. She could go over the rest of the inventory on her own and call him with any questions. They’d meet again next week after she’d gone over the business plan. He also asked if he could take the drawing of her new floor plan with him.
Thinking he intended to give the layout she wanted some thought, she handed it over, along with a travel mug of coffee since he seemed to like hers. Minutes later, he’d just tossed his briefcase into the back of her fuel-efficient little car and folded his big frame into the passenger seat when her cell phone chimed.
One glance at the caller ID had her bracing herself an instant before she dropped the phone back into her bag, started the engine and backed up. The phone continued to chime as she pulled onto the wet two-lane road and headed down the rise.
Erik’s glance cut from her purse to her profile.
“I’ll call her back,” she said. “It’s Audrey. My mother-in-law. She’s calling about plans for Christmas.” The woman was actually returning Rory’s call, something it had taken her three days to do. The conversation would be short, but it wasn’t one she wanted to have with Erik in the car.
“She was my mother-in-law,” she corrected. Technically, Rory was no longer related to the Linfields. Audrey had apparently pointed that out to Lillian Brinkley, the wife of the country club president, who had ever so thoughtfully shared it in the ladies’ room with two other members of the socially connected among the mourners at Curt’s funeral. Rory had been seeking a few minutes of quiet while closed in a stall at the time.
According to Audrey, via Lillian, Rory’s vows with her son had been “until death do them part.” They’d parted, however sadly. End of legal relationship.
As strained as her relationship with Curt’s parents had always been beneath the polite manners and civility, Rory hadn’t doubted the remarks at all.
“She’s really only Tyler’s grandmother now.” That was the only part that mattered, anyway.
The wipers swiped at the heavy mist on the windshield. Through the veil of gray, the little marina came into clearer view. Erik barely noticed. For a couple of hours he’d caught glimpses of a woman whose guard with him had begun to ease, a smart, savvy woman who possessed no small amount of determination, ingenuity and a remarkable willingness to step beyond her comfort zone.
What he saw now was a woman doing her level best to mask disquiet. He’d seen her do it before, for her son’s sake. Her attempts seemed to work fine on her five-year-old, but Erik recognized strain when he saw it. With her eyes on the road, he watched her take a deep breath, slowly ease it out.
Whatever was going on with Tyler’s grandmother had her hands going tight on the wheel.
The heater whirred in its struggle to produce warmth, gravel crunching beneath the tires as she pulled to a stop by the wooden stairs that led to the long floating dock. In the choppy, chill water of the sound, his white Cessna Amphibian floated and yawed where he’d secured it at the end of the pier, well away from the few sport boats moored there this time of year.
He almost always felt better flying from this place than toward it.
“Thank you for your help today,” she murmured, her hands now tucked at her waist, her shoulders hunched against the still-cold air. “I’ll come up to speed on everything as fast as I can. I promise.”
The bravado behind her smile pulled at protective instincts he’d rather ignore. He knew she wanted to belong there, in a place she’d known absolutely nothing about until last week. He knew she wanted to make a good home for her son. He suspected, too, that she could use a little reassurance on both counts.
After all, she was pretty much on her own here.
“I’ll pass that on to our benefactor,” he promised back, wanting to keep his purpose there in perspective. “And for what it’s worth, Rory, you and your son really should do well here.” He hesitated, perspective faltering. “I’d always thought it was a good place to raise a child.”
He reached for the door, cold salt air blasting in as he opened it. “I’ll call you next week. In the meantime, call me if you have questions.” He climbed out, then ducked his head back in to retrieve his case from the backseat. “Thanks for the ride.”
Rory had barely opened her mouth to tell him he was welcome before the door closed. In the space of a heartbeat she’d swallowed the words and was staring at his broad, leather-covered shoulders as he headed for the weathered stairs.
He’d made it halfway down the dock, his long stride sure and certain despite the drift and roll beneath his feet, when she finally put the car into gear. Even with the surface beneath him shifting with the unpredictable current, the man seemed as steady as a rock.
I’d always thought it was a good place to raise