For His Son's Sake. Ellen Tanner Marsh
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hang of it?
“Kenzie’s lucky to live here,” Angus said suddenly.
Ross realized the sand dunes on either side of the highway had given way to the small shops and filling stations of Buxton. “Think so?” Ross hadn’t been too impressed with the town yesterday although, to be fair, they’d turned off at the lighthouse without seeing much of it. But looking around now he wasn’t inclined to change his mind, except for liking the fact that Buxton was less developed than Avon, crowded as it was with rental houses, restaurants and souvenir shops.
“What kind of birds do you think she has?” It was a question Angus had been asking pretty regularly since last night. Even the comedy he and his father had seen at the theater hadn’t held his interest as long as the thought of Kenzie’s birds.
“She said something about herons and egrets,” Ross reminded him. Although why anyone would want to keep one of those as a pet was beyond him. He didn’t like animals in general, and certainly couldn’t see anyone owning anything more exotic than a goldfish.
“Look, isn’t this where she said to turn? Right after the fire station?”
The road sign read Soundside Lane. “Good eye, son.”
Angus grinned shyly. “Thanks.”
The car bumped down a narrow paved road past thinning trees and marshland. In the distance the waters of Pamlico Sound shimmered in the sunshine. The road ended at a curving shell driveway. Ross recognized the old black pickup truck he’d seen outside the bait-and-tackle shop last night.
“Looks like this is it.”
A sandy path led to the house, which was built at ground level, not elevated like newer ones designed to meet federal flood regulations. Its age showed in the weathered white siding and tin roof. A gnarled oak tree shaded the front deck. Ross had noticed yesterday that, unlike Avon, Buxton had a number of older cottages like this one, which must have been built by the original families who had populated the island. They had probably planted the trees, too, because the oak in this front yard had obviously been around for half a century or more.
Was MacKenzie Daniels a local of long standing? She didn’t talk like a rural North Carolinian.
“I’m going inside.” Angus was already unbuckling his seat belt.
Ross watched him race up the path toward the house, showing none of the painful uncertainty he usually exhibited in new situations.
“What is it about that woman?” he muttered in despair.
From her kitchen window, Kenzie saw the car turn into the driveway. A sudden wave of panic overwhelmed her. “Oh, my gosh, they’re really here!”
After drying her hands at the sink, she hurried into the front room. “Thanks for the warning, guys,” she scolded the dogs lolling on the rug.
Both of them thumped their tails on the floor but made no move to rise. If they were aware of her panic they didn’t show it.
Kenzie froze as she reached for the doorknob. Was there time to brush her hair, check her makeup for smudges? She hadn’t really expected them to come, although she had taken the precaution of getting up early to run a vacuum over the floors and cart the newspapers out to the recycling bin. And just in case they did show up and were hungry, she’d driven down to the Gingerbread House in Frisco for doughnuts and almond bear claws.
But there wasn’t time to take a final look in the mirror. Through the front windows, she saw them coming up the walk, Angus in the lead. Kenzie switched her gaze to Ross, noticing the way the sun painted chestnut highlights in his dark hair. The way he had thrust his hands casually into the pockets of his jeans. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt, which was stretched tight over his wide shoulders and chest.
A totally unfamiliar feeling of shyness crept over her. What had she done, inviting this man into her house? Her home was her private domain and she’d never asked a stranger to come in before. Not a darkly virile man like this one, at any rate.
She looked around as though seeing the place for the first time. What would he think of the cluttered rooms, the shabby furnishings? The peeling paint on the windows and walls? She had the feeling that Ross Calder lived in a decidedly more…genteel environment than this one.
Instantly sanity returned. She had no reason to be embarrassed by the bare wooden floors of her living room, the slouchy slipcovers on her sagging sofa, the shells and driftwood lining the windowsills.
Besides, Ross Calder and his son were here to see her birds, not to judge her for the kind of housekeeper she was.
Her skittering heartbeat slowed as she opened the front door and saw Angus clattering up the steps. She returned his bright smile, resisting the urge to sweep him into a hug. “Hi! I wasn’t sure you were coming.”
“I told you I wanted to see your birds, didn’t I?”
Kenzie looked past him. Ross was still standing on the path below her, she on the deck. Their eyes were level as she looked a challenge at him. “How about you? Are you here under protest or as a willing participant?”
Her directness startled him. But then the corners of his mouth turned up. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.”
Kenzie had never seen him smile before. Good grief! Did the man know he was armed and dangerous when he smiled like that? Her heart started tripping again and she could feel herself blushing. This was ridiculous! Good-looking men had smiled at her before—her former fiancé wasn’t exactly homely, either, but even Brent hadn’t caused this fluttering awareness of his masculinity deep inside her.
“To which charge are you referring?” she asked tartly, glad for something to say.
“To the latter. Rest assured, Ms. Daniels, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than bringing my son here to visit.”
She’d never wonder again where Angus had come by his charm. When Ross Calder chose to turn it on, it hit you like a ton of bricks. And he seemed to mean what he said—unless he was a superb liar, like her father.
“Please. Just Kenzie.” Again she was glad for something to say and for the fact that her voice sounded calm.
“Hey, Kenzie! Who are they?”
The dogs were sniffing at Angus through the screen door, tails wagging.
“That’s Zoom and Jazz. And you should be honored. They don’t get up for just anybody.”
“Can I let them out here on the porch with us?”
Kenzie motioned Ross through the gate at the top of the stairs, then closed it behind him. “Go ahead.”
“They look like tigers! What kind are they? Are they nice?”
“They’re greyhounds. And yes, they like everybody. That orange-and-black color is called brindle.”
Angus stroked the dainty heads while the dogs’ tails wagged harder. “Which is which?”
“Jazz has more black in his coat.”
“Retired racers?” Ross asked.
Kenzie nodded, surprised he knew.
“They’re racing dogs?” Angus breathed.
“They were. In some parts of the country greyhounds are raced for sport, like horses. Zoom and Jazz ran on a track in Florida. When their careers were over they needed a place to live. I got them from a friend who runs a greyhound rescue near Disney World.”
“Do they still like to run?” Angus was clearly fascinated.
“You bet. That’s why I never let them outside without a leash. They’ll take off like a shot. But most of the time they sleep. They’re couch potatoes, really.”
His freckled nose wrinkled. “Couch potatoes?”
Ross grinned. “An American