And Baby Makes Four

Damn it, she was not pregnant. This was a bug she’d caught from one of her weekend passengers or Kat’s son, Blake. Hadn’t he missed a day or two of school last week due to a virus?

Of course, it was the flu. She and Oliver had been careful.

“Hey.” Kat’s brown eyes were serious. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just thinking about Oliver.” And the possibility I could be pregnant. The thought churned through her stomach. God help her, but what would she do if she was…? No. She would not even consider it. How many years had she tried with Stuart and failed? This was simply her out-of-whack periods acting up.

Kat put down her fork. “His death hurt you more than your divorce from Stuart.”

“Yeah,” Lee admitted.

“That’s because Oliver Duvall was your best friend since grade school, Lee. You two had a lot of history.”

She did not want to discuss Oliver, or the fact she missed him more than she’d ever missed her ex-husband after their divorce.

No, what she wanted was to discuss Rogan Matteo.

“He makes my fingers tingle.” There—it was out in the open. Matteo’s effect on her.

“Oliver made your fingers tingle?” Kat curled into the sofa’s corner with a cup of tea.

“No…. Argh.” Lee rested her head on the back of the couch. “Rogan Matteo. Your guest. Tonight, he introduced himself while I was checking my plane. Apparently, he wants transportation back and forth to the mainland for a couple of weeks.”

Kat laughed. “Ah…I see.”

“It’s not funny,” Lee retorted.

“Attractions usually aren’t.”

“I am not attracted to him,” Lee said, vexed that her sister had jumped to conclusions.

“Oh, I can see that,” Kat said. “Mr. Hunk walks up the pier, pins you with his sorrowful eyes while the wind plays in all that sexy black hair and then he opens his mouth and out comes an accent that would make Matthew McConaughey weep, and your fingers get an irritable little tingle. Yep, you’re definitely not attracted.”

Lee closed her eyes. “This is the silliest discussion I’ve had since sixth grade.”

“Back at you, sis. But it’s good you’re attracted, don’t you think? After your divorce from the rat B, and then hooking up with poor Oliver, it means—”

“It means Rogan Matteo is a potential fare, Kat. That’s all.” Lee did not want to think about poor Oliver or she’d be crying into her pillow half the night. Nor did she want to think she was dishonoring him eight weeks after his death by eyeing up another man. Jeez, that alone made her nauseous. She was not her mother. Not.

“Okay,” Kat conceded, “he’s a fare. So are you flying him?”

“I haven’t decided. It’s a big responsibility getting someone to work every day.”

“Oh, heck,” Kat scoffed. “Take the guy. If after a week he’s too much of a hassle, tell him to go with Lucien.”

Lee sighed. Her sister had a point. She was making far too much of all this. And just because Matteo had kind eyes.

Like Oliver’s.

Oliver. Best friend turned lover weeks ago, while on a six-week furlough from Iraq. Before he returned to war. Before he was killed by sniper fire.

For three years after her divorce, Lee had avoided relationships; tamped down the remotest inclination toward desire. Then Oliver Duvall had returned to Firewood Island, and she’d never been so glad to see her childhood friend. When she thought of his death…

How could she look at Rogan Matteo with Oliver not barely gone two months? Rogan Matteo with his quiet eyes.

Was it any wonder he appealed to her? The Southern accent molding his words, or the way he looked at his little boy had nothing to do with her…lust. It was those slate-gray eyes, reminders of a friend who was no more.

“All right,” she said. “I’ll tell him my plans if he shows up on my dock again.”

“Why not tell him now? Didn’t we just see him through the kitchen window, sitting on the cabin porch, looking at the stars? Go knock on his door.”

Lee stared at her sister. “Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night.”

Kat raised a brow. “It’s ten after nine.”

“You are crazy.”

“Honey, I’m not blind. The guy is handsome…in a rough-edged sort of way. If he makes your fingers itch, go talk to him. You know you want to.” She grinned. “Look, what’s he going to do? Say hi?”

“It’ll seem like I’m chasing him.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you want the damn fare or not?”

“Fine.” Before she could change her mind, Lee set down her cup, got up and walked out the back door. The way her stomach roiled, a breath of cold air would do her good.

Stepping onto the back deck, she realized she should’ve grabbed her coat; the night chill crept under her lightweight sweater, goose-bumping her skin. Above, stars cluttered the sky, magnifying its vastness and if she had a moment she’d seek out the Big and Little Dippers, as always. But Rogan had spotted her and was likely wondering about her intentions.

Now or never, Lee.

Starting across Kat’s backyard toward the cabin’s path in the woods, she watched him rise from the wicker chair and come to the edge of the steps in anticipation of her arrival.

He hadn’t turned on his outside light and so stood in the dark, looming above her. Around them, night breezes whispered through the trees, bearing the tang of sea salt.

“It’s Lee Tait,” she said, hugging her arms around her stomach against the night’s chill. Against him.

“Hello, Lee.”

God, how could her name sound that husky?

“I was visiting my sister and figured I should let you know that flying you to Renton won’t be a problem. But before you go jumping up and down with glee, I’ll be frank. This is a three-day tryout, Mr. Matteo. After that we’ll see where we’re at.”

A punch of silence, then a low chuckle. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you, Captain Tait? I like that.”

“Good. We understand each other.”

“We do.”

“Fine. I’ll see you later.”

Before she could turn back down the path, he asked, “Ms. O’Brien is your sister?”

“For thirty-four years. Argh—” Lee massaged the spot between her eyes. “She’ll kill me if you reveal that detail.”

“I’ll be sure to tape my mouth shut.” Again, she heard a note of humor as he glanced toward the Victorian. And abruptly, a thought hit. Maybe she’d read him wrong. Maybe it wasn’t her he was interested in, but Kat.

And why not? a voice whispered. Of the three sisters, Kat was the nurturer, the earth mother. The intermediary Lee and Addie always came to for advice when life’s inroads got rough.

“Just for the record,” Lee pointed out. “Kat doesn’t gossip. Nor would she have convinced me to bother you tonight—” Now, why tell him that, Lee? “—except I bugged her with some questions.” Oh, great word choice.

“About me?” His voice lowered to Vin Diesel deepness.

“For insurance purposes.”

“That standard for all your passengers?”

He had her there. “Look,” she said, trembling from the cool breeze. “I’ll be honest. Your—”

“You’re cold,” he interrupted, coming down the steps, shrugging from his vest. “Why don’t you come inside for a minute?”

Go inside that little cabin? Where his big frame would swallow every molecule of air? Where she’d wander close enough to smell the soap on his skin? No thanks.

Before Lee could think it through, he’d wrapped the vest, infused with his warmth and scent, around her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she said, back-stepping so they weren’t so close, so she couldn’t feel his breath on her forehead. “Besides, I need to get back to my sister.”

He dropped his hands from the panels of the vest where he’d pulled them closed over her breasts. “I don’t bite, Lee,” he said softly.

“Maybe not,” she replied, hoping to inject some clout into her tone because she wanted nothing more than to grab his face between her hands. “But you have to admit, your nightly vigil down at the docks was downright spooky. What was I to think? No, let me rephrase that. What were you thinking? A man with your obvious intelligence and a lawyer to boot should know better than to stand there staring at a woman three nights in a row, especially when she’s by herself.”

Huffing a breath, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “My apologies. You’re right. I wasn’t thinking. All that mattered, still matters, is my son, Ms. Tait. He’s my first priority. Everything else falls by the wayside.”

“Well.” Her irritation faded upon his reference to the child. “At least we have that cleared up.” She hesitated. “I understand you bought Eve Riley’s old farm and that you’re renovating the house.” Kat had let that tidbit drop at dinner.

“I did and am.” He smiled, a flash of white in the dark. “This for insurance purposes, too?”

“Absolutely,” she quipped. “Especially when you don’t look like any farmer I know.”

She thought he might chuckle, but instead his gaze took in the dark woods behind her. “I’m a defense attorney.”

Which meant he litigated for the underdog or the criminal. Yet it didn’t explain why he’d relocated his child in the middle of the school term—and on an island—while he continued to work on the mainland, a seemingly unfair decision. More so, where was the boy’s mother? Was she the second Matteo in the business card’s “Matteo and Matteo”?

“Is your wife a lawyer, too?”

His eyes dulled. “No.”

“Will she be joining—”

“No.”

Lee shivered. The way he said that one word…. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s none of my business.”

He stood frozen, quiet—which told her more than she had a right to know. Rogan Matteo was the sole guardian of his son. The reasons weren’t important, but they were enough to stay on her guard. Daddy role models were not a favored part of her life. Her father had left Charmaine when Lee was a toddler. Two decades later, her own marriage had dissolved in a raw divorce after her inability to conceive—and her ex’s infidelity.

“See you in a week.” She spun around.

“Lee, wait. I need you to fly me tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I thought you were on vacation.” Again, according to Kat.

“I am, but I just found out I’ll need to be in Renton for a 9:00 a.m. meeting. I can take the afternoon ferry back if you’re not available.”

She mulled over her options. “Fine. I’m flying my brother-in-law to Renton at one, I can fly you back then. That time frame work for you?”

“Yes, and thank you. See you at eight-fifteen?”

“Till then.” She shrugged out of his vest, reluctant to let go of his scent. Get a grip, Lee. “Goodbye, Mr. Matteo.”

“Rogan,” he corrected, taking the garment she shoved into his hand. “And goodnight, Lee.”

She hurried down the path, the timbre of his voice lingering in her ear. The prickle in her fingers sharpened.

Tomorrow, she’d fly him over, and afterward find an excuse to boot him off her plane and out of her life.

Determined, she said goodbye to Kat and Blake, and drove home. Two hours later, Rogan Matteo’s mellow Southern accent continued to whisper across her skin.

He slept in spurts, getting out of bed when dawn edged a line of pink onto the horizon. Today he would be climbing into a plane with a woman pilot. A woman whose moves attracted him, whose hair framed her face in a way that was sexy as hell.

A woman with whom he’d spend twenty minutes flying across ocean water. Not a lake and not in the mountains, he reasoned. It’s not the same geography Sophie and Darby flew over.

His heart bounced in his chest. Although the radiant heating had clicked on at 5:00 a.m. and the cabin was warming, he felt a chill. Shoving away visions of confined cockpits, he checked on Danny across the hall. Curled in a ball, blankets cocooned around his small body, his son slumbered the sleep of the innocent.

Rogan touched the boy’s shoulder, felt its fragility, and a surge of protection blew through him. I’ll always be here for you, son. I won’t let you down.

Leaving the boy to sleep for another couple of hours, he went to shower. Minutes later, he dressed, then headed for the kitchen to pour cereal into a pair of thick, ceramic bowls.

By eight o’clock, briefcase in hand, he locked up the cabin and ushered Danny out to the truck.

“You know that Mrs. Huddleston will be taking you to school this morning, right, buddy?” Rogan stood in the open door of the rear passenger seat and waited for his son to buckle up. He hated the thought of dropping Danny at the old lady’s house this one time, but she lived across from the school, and she’d been a caretaker of kids for years. Rogan had done an extensive check in case he needed her assistance when he had to leave before the school’s doors opened. As he did today.

Dan’s blond hair fell into his eyes.

“Tomorrow we’ll get you a haircut,” Rogan continued.

“Don’t wanna.”

“Ah. You want to look like a rock star,” he cajoled, hoping to draw a smile from his son as he tugged the collar of the boy’s red jacket from the back of his thin neck. Danny had been surly since he crawled from bed an hour ago.

“No-o.”

“A shaggy dog then?”

“No. Let’s just go, Dad.”

Rogan held in a sigh. “Okay, pal.” After closing the door, he went around the hood, got behind the wheel, and started the engine. Hoping for a trace of eagerness on his son’s face, he glanced in the rearview mirror.

Danny stared out the side window at the cabin, his mouth a line of mutiny.

Okay, then. Driving down the timbered lane of the B and B to Shore Road, Rogan offered, “Mrs. Huddleston said there’s a boy your age she also takes to school. His name’s Bobby and he’s in your class.”

No answer.

“You know I’d stay home if I could, Daniel, but I need to attend this meeting with Uncle Johnny.”

Still no response. Checking the mirror again, he felt his heart lurch. A tear clung to his son’s cheek. The sight nearly had him pulling to the roadside, except he couldn’t afford to miss his flight with Lee Tait, and Danny needed to be on time for school. “Talk to me, buddy,” he tried again. “Please.”

The boy’s bottom lip quivered. He continued to view the ocean through the trees. “I wanna go to my old school.”

Translation: I hate making new friends.

“And I wanna go home.”

The house in Renton. “Aw, bud. This is our home now.”

“I don’t wanna live here no more.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to sell Juniper and Pepper.”

“No!” Danny’s eyes clashed with Rogan’s in the mirror. “Can’t we take the horses with us?”

“Do you think that’s fair? The farm is their home. Besides…” Rogan played another angle, one that garnered a smidgen of guilt. “They’re animals. They’ll get confused in a new place.”

He had turned down Main Street before the boy’s reply drifted from the rear seat. “Okay, we can stay. I don’t want them to feel lost.”

A stone hit Rogan’s gut. Danny transposed his own emotions onto the mare and foal. Reaching back, he patted the boy’s knee. “Everything’s going to work out, buddy. You’ll see.”

But after he dropped Danny at Mrs. Huddleston’s house, the pledge spun like a merry-go-round through his mind as he drove toward Lee Tait’s pier.

She was shoving a box into the cargo hold of the seaplane, and the morning sun forged her thick ponytail into coils of copper.

“Good morning,” she called when he climbed from his truck.

“’Morning.” Pocketing his keys, he remembered how, twelve hours before, she’d appeared out of the night like a forest sprite. Jeez, Rogan. What the hell’s got into you? He strode down the wooden dock as she lifted a box of packages. “Let me get those.”

“Thanks, but I’ve done this a time or two, Mr. Matteo.”

“Not while I’ve been in the vicinity.” Setting down his briefcase, he stepped beside her on the pontoon, and pushed the box onto the plane.

Planting her hands on hips nicely encased in a pair of black slacks, she canted an icy green gaze up at him.

“Okay,” she said and the sexy look of those aviator sunglasses perched on her head zapped through his veins. “Let’s get one thing straight here and now. I am not a helpless female in need of rescue. I’ve logged over ten thousand flying hours in fifteen years, and in that time I’ve transported luggage, snow and ski gear, fishing and hunting gear, vehicle and engine parts, medical supplies, animals in cages—you get the picture?”

Despite his woozy belly at the thought of getting into a plane for the first time since the crash, he chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. You are quite capable of loading your plane. Alone.”

“Thank you. Now, why don’t you leave your briefcase here with me and climb aboard.” She gestured to the cockpit. “We’ll be taking off in five minutes.”

A lump bounced into his windpipe. The seat appeared narrow, constricted…sized for a ten-year-old. “You want me to…”

“Settle yourself into the co-pilot’s chair. Unless you’d rather sit behind me in the passenger seat.”

Somehow the thought of her not beside him made his mouth go dry. He needed to see her face, the astuteness in her eyes, the calm she would offer when he no doubt lost it a mile up in the clouds.

A small crease staged itself between her fine auburn brows. Was she assessing him, wondering if she should fly him after all? Come on. Get in the damn plane before she figures out you’re a candy-ass flier.

With epic effort, he stepped toward the door. His shoes felt bulky as cement, his legs as if they were chained to the dock’s planks.

“Rogan.” She touched the sleeve of his suit coat. Her eyes held compassion. “Have you flown in a small plane before?”

He swallowed. “Not recently.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Is this your first time up?”

“I’ve flown in commercial jets.” Where there were center seats, broad aisles and hundreds of passengers. “I’m fine,” he said when her hand dropped away. Biting his tongue, he climbed into the plane, squeezed his big body between the front seats, and landed on the co-pilot’s cushioned chair.

The front windshield exposed a propeller, and dual bands of blue: one of sky, the other of ocean. Sweat popped from his pores.

The plane swayed and rocked gently on the water as Lee finished loading her cargo; then she scrambled into the pilot’s chair and pulled the door shut.

Her brows knitted. “Need something to settle your stomach?”

“Took it with breakfast.”

“Good. Put on the headset,” she instructed, back to business. “That way we can talk to each other.”

“I’m not much of a conversationalist when I’m in a plane.”

He glanced over, tried to smile. She had a modesty he rarely saw in women. A modesty that had nothing to do with her green eyes and kinky ponytail or her freckled hands on the controls, all of which seemed at odds with the white V of blouse between the panels of her black flight jacket. A modesty that went hand-in-hand with her practical demeanor.

The entire package attracted the hell out of him.

She pushed the headset into his hands. “Put it on anyway.”

“Do you mind if I close my eyes?” Yeah. That’s what he’d do. And then he’d contemplate all Lee Tait’s assets, including that wild red hair and those slim hips and—The plane’s engine roared to life.

“You can do anything you want.” Her voice glided along his senses. “Long as you remain buckled, and don’t touch the controls.”

“Got it.” Touching the controls? God forbid. Pinching his eyes shut, he folded his arms, tried not to clutch the fabric of his suit coat.

Perspiration dampened his forehead. His stomach whirled.

Nothing will happen. Danny won’t be left behind. But the image of his family wavered behind his eyes.

He tried not to think of what they had gone through when their plane crashed into the mountain forest, breaking branches and small tree trunks, swathing a path of demolition and death.

He tried not to think of his little boy alone in the world, crying for him. Or of Johnny attempting to console Danny. Raising Danny….

“I’m right beside you,” Lee said into the headphones when the plane began to move.

He listened to her voice while she ran through a list of checks—rudders, flaps, fuel gage—and gave their coordinates to the Renton tower before the plane skimmed the ocean, lifted, buzzed into the sky.

He heard the tone of her words more than their meaning. That assured tone. The quiet, steady tone.

And when he bit the inside of his cheek, he felt her fingers curve around his forearm. “You’ll be okay with me,” she promised.

And, in that moment, he believed her. He really did.

Chapter Three

Lee kept her word and landed with barely a bounce on the south end of Lake Washington near Renton’s seaplane base. Still, as he climbed out of the craft, Rogan could have bowed to the floating dock, so grateful was he to be earthbound again.

Now, riding the elevator ten floors up to the law offices he and Johnny had established eight years ago, he recalled her piloting skills again. She had eased his thundering pulse in the way she handled the plane. With a little luck, he’d take that ease to his brother. After three long, heartbreaking and guilt-ridden years, Rogan had come to hate the mere mention of the charter airline responsible for taking his family, and he suspected this meeting would be more of the same frustrating roller-coaster ride.

When he entered the reception area, the woman at the desk raised her head. “Mr. Matteo. It’s good to see you again, sir.” As if he’d been gone ten years rather than ten days. “Your brother is expecting you.”

“Thanks.” Briefcase in hand, he headed down the hallway leading to the big L-shaped corner office—his old stomping grounds—with its spectacular view of Mount Rainier. When he left, Johnny had claimed the space. At the thought, Rogan expected a twinge of regret and envy. None came.

The door stood open. His brother sat behind the expansive cherrywood desk where Rogan had spent years reviewing cases and interviewing clients. He knocked softly on the doorjamb.

“R.B.” A big grin flashed across Johnny’s face. “I was wondering if you’d come.”

“I almost didn’t.” He set the briefcase beside the small comfortable sofa, and went to the credenza for some coffee. “Want some?” he asked, tossing a dollop of cream into a mug.

Johnny shook his head. “Already had enough to sink a ship.”

Rogan lowered himself to the earth-toned sofa. “What’s up?”

Chuckling, Johnny came around the desk to sit in the adjacent chair. “You never were one to waste time.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should have,” he muttered, reprimanding himself for the years of work he’d prized, including the day his world collapsed.

Crossing his arms, his brother sat back. “And maybe you should give yourself a break.”

Rogan glanced up. “I need you to be a brother, John. Not a frickin’ shrink.”

Johnny sighed. “All right. Here’s the deal. They’ve upped the ante for an out-of-court settlement.”

They would be Abner Air. He hated the name, hated that—to him—it sounded hillbillyish. Most of all, he hated that he had to sue for slack maintenance, which he believed resulted in the crash of the single-prop plane Darby and Sophie boarded.

I don’t feel good about this trip, Rogan. Fisting his hands on his thighs, he battled back his dead wife’s parting words. Words which could still haunt him deep in the night.

“How much this time?” he asked. His jaw ached.

Johnny quoted the price.

Anger heating his blood, Rogan stood and walked to the windows. Across the city, Rainier rose like a white-crusted jewel. He’d learned to ski on her slopes. “The only reason they want to settle out of court is because they’re guilty as sin.” Turning, he faced his brother. “They don’t want media coverage. But they’re going to pay, and it’ll be in court with the media present. I want them exposed.”

A long moment passed. Finally, Johnny said, “I think you should go for the deal, R.B. If we go to trial, you may come away with a helluva lot less. You’ve worked against big companies. You know the game.”