On Wings Of Love. Ashley Summers

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      The same gentleness she had sensed when he’d asked if she was all right. “When you went into orbit just because an airplane flew by a little lower than usual, Kathleen. Idiot!” she muttered.

      Realizing she’d called herself an idiot for the third time in less than an hour, Katy smiled at herself. The usually derisive term was actually an affectionate catchword between two sisters. Katy even remembered the first time they’d used it. Karin, nine years old, red-faced and furious, lobbing Easter eggs at Katy and screeching, “You’re an idiot, you know that, Katy? An idiot! I do not like that creepy Bryant Hurst!”

      Punishment was swift, of course; Nell, their beloved nanny, did not tolerate rudeness, not from anyone, and especially not from her young misses...

      Oh, Karin, I miss you, I miss you! The lump in Katy’s throat, for all its familiarity, was painfully hard to dislodge. Suddenly aching with loneliness and grief, she hugged herself with a little swaying motion until the pain dulled to a manageable level.

      With a physical effort, she closed the door on her memories and indulged in an elaborate stretch. Lord, she was tired! Every muscle ached with the strain of her long trip. She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock, too late for a nap and too early for bed. A walk, then, she decided. From her window overlooking the meadow she could see woods and inviting glades. The fragrance of clover and wild grasses beckoned to her.

      Katy changed clothes, choosing sneakers, walking shorts and a cotton blouse, then tied the sleeves of a pink cardigan around her shoulders. Her hair, trapped under a baseball hat for so many hours, was a tangled mess and required a thorough brushing. The heavy, loosely curling, perennially tousled mane contained a dozen shades of gold, from dark honey to the palest blond. Leaving it loose around her shoulders, she hurried downstairs.

      Thomas Logan was not in sight. She walked through the dining room to the French doors leading out to the back terrace. Borders of pink shrub roses separated the yard from the meadow. A fieldstone path led down the slight incline and impulsively she took it, following the sound of running water.

      Just as the name of the B&B suggested, there was indeed a brook and it did tumble over black rocks, through banks of wild yellow iris and tall pink and white foxgloves in full, regal bloom. Beyond, the path ran uphill for a way before forking sharply. She followed the right fork to a gazebo perched near the edge of a bluff that descended almost straight down to the water.

      Her absent Mr. Logan was painting the small structure; his lithe torso lengthening as he brought the paintbrush upward in a long, powerful sweep. A sharp little thrill rippled under her skin. Katy stopped, trying to decide whether to go on, or go back.

      But, too late; he’d already seen her. “Hello, again,” she called, making her way along the stony path. Coming round the side of the gazebo, she gave a little gasp of pleasure.

      “Nice view, huh?” he murmured.

      “Nice,” Katy answered, thinking wryly that nice didn’t do it justice. Below her, spread out like dark green jewels on a velvet cloth of water, the San Juan Islands lay drowsing in the sunlight. The Washington coast was a dark blur in the distance, and clouds drifted down the highest hills to become tangled in the tops of soaring firs. Her camera was in her room, worse luck. But there would be plenty of time to take pictures.

      She looked up and found his gaze on her face. “It’s s lovely,” she said.

      “Yeah, lovely.” Putting down his brush, he walked over to stand beside her. “I love it. Always have.”

      “Always? You’ve lived here all your life, then?”

      “No, this was my grandparents’ home. I grew up in Baltimore, but I loved to spend the summers here when was a boy.”

      She had turned her attention back to the view. While he spoke, Thomas let his gaze play over her again. Honey-toned skin everywhere he looked, face, arms, long shapely legs. Masses of honey-colored hair blowing in the wind.

      “I guess you think Tumbling Brook’s a pretty fancy name for this place,” he said idly.

      “I did wonder, yes.” She swept out her small hands in a movement that reminded him of butterflies. “It doesn’t suit you,” she said simply.

      “It doesn’t, huh?” He chuckled. “Actually, Grandmother named it, and since Grandfather thought she hung the moon, Tumbling Brook it was.”

      Katy smiled at the colloquial expression. Obviously, his grandfather had adored his grandmother. It must be nice to be adored, she thought with disarming wistfulness.

      “Well, the brook does tumble,” she said, and they both laughed. “Do you grow the roses? They’re lovely.”

      “Yes, the roses, the flowers, a few choice vegetables. I supply the local merchants with fresh produce.” He grinned. “A hobby more than a money-making endeavor.”

      He was so easy to be with, she reflected. Some small part of her insisted she knew him, from some other time, some other place. A little shaken, Katy reminded herself that he was also a stranger. “Mr. Logan, I need to make a telephone call. Long distance, but I have a calling card. I need to check in with my... family.”

      “Of course,” Thomas said. “Telephone’s in the kitchen.”

      “Thank you.” Excusing herself, Katy turned back and followed the left fork for a while. At length, she retraced her steps to the house and called Nell for a brief, reassuring chat.

      Hanging up, Katy yawned with catlike languor. Perhaps she’d have that nap, after all.

      

      Katy woke disoriented. Blearily, she noticed the sunset and wondered why Nell had let her sleep through dinner when she was so hungry. Then awareness returned fully and she sat up. This wasn’t home and that wasn’t her beloved nanny-turned-housekeeper she heard stirring downstairs. She sighed. Where was she going to eat tonight? She hated the thought of getting dressed and going out.

      She lay there for a few more minutes, luxuriating in the perfect warmth of the goose-down comforter. She was still tired, still drowsy. But if she didn’t get up now, she wouldn’t sleep tonight. Well, this was the purpose of her trip, to rest, relax, unwind. Get away from it all, she reflected, without permitting her mind to explore the all.

      Her gaze fell upon her camera and the rolls of film she’d stacked beside it. A freelance writer and photographer, she had combined her vacation with an assignment from a travel magazine she had worked with before Karin’s death. At the time Katy had felt ambivalent about accepting it. Although she had always loved her work, right now it seemed more of a burden than a pleasure. But both her therapist and her editor thought it would be good for her.

      Well, maybe they were right, she reflected. Maybe working in this lovely place would revive her zest for life.

      Her mind abruptly shifted to the hunger pangs knotting her stomach. They surprised her, for she hadn’t really been hungry for so long she’d almost forgotten how it felt. It felt pretty good, Katy decided.

      Clad only in a tiny gold ankle bracelet, she padded to the closet in search of a robe. She needed a shower and the bathroom was down the hall. An inconvenience, but one often encountered at such establishments.

      Catching sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the СКАЧАТЬ