Safe In His Arms. Anna J. Stewart
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Название: Safe In His Arms
Автор: Anna J. Stewart
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Исторические любовные романы
Серия: Butterfly Harbor Stories
isbn: 9781474097482
isbn:
“Kendall,” the woman choked out. “Kendall Davidson.” And with that, she walked toward the keeper’s house, opened the weather-beaten green door and closed it firmly behind her.
KENDALL PRESSED HER back against the closed door and slowly slid to the floor. The scarred wood welcomed her as it always did, with firm support and splinters to spare, absorbing the trembling she had no control over. She drew her knees into her chest so tight and so hard she could barely breathe. She didn’t want to breathe. She didn’t want to feel. She didn’t want to... She squeezed her eyes shut until she saw stars. She didn’t want to see.
A tiny sob escaped her lips. She slapped her hand over her mouth and rocked until she banged her head against the door.
In the past six years, Kendall had faced down terrorists in Afghanistan, watched most of her squad get blown into the afterlife and survived thirty percent of her body being lit on fire. She’d walked among others who’d been harmed or killed with bullets and hate, heard the screams of terror and grief of families suffering. Every day she got out of bed was a gift.
But put one little girl in front of her, a little girl with big brown eyes and even bigger dark curls, and Kendall wished Matt Knight had never rescued her from that burning SUV in Afghanistan.
She knew what it was like to be bone-shivering cold. But that wasn’t why her arms and legs were shaking. She couldn’t feel anything—hot or cold—as the image of a little girl in her uncle’s comforting arms burned through her mind.
Even as the thought of another little girl—one she couldn’t save—singed her heart.
Hunter MacBride and his niece, Phoebe. They were going to be staying here. In her sanctuary, where for the last seven months she’d finally found the peace and solitude that had eluded her since she’d come home. Where she’d finally begun to put the past behind her as she fixed the lighthouse and surrounding buildings stone by stone, shingle by shingle.
This Hunter man would have been intrusion enough. Him she could have managed. But the idea of Phoebe popping up around every corner, her laughter coating the air, little girl squeals of excitement and happiness—that was going to take some getting used to. If she ever could.
She rubbed a hand against her chest, hard, shoved herself to her feet and went to the small shuttered window above the mattress in the corner. She lifted up on her toes and popped open the shutter, just an inch or so, and watched Hunter start unloading bags and a backpack. She could hear him humming as he handed a bright yellow bag to Phoebe, who hauled it up the little hill to the carriage house.
The house she’d finished restoring just last month. The only thing left was to fill the window boxes with something bright and cheery like red geraniums, but she figured she’d ask Matt’s wife, Lori, to do that in the spring. Lori Knight could just look at a window box and fill it with color and life, whereas Kendall...well, Kendall killed everything she touched.
“Just leave things by the front door, okay, kiddo?” Hunter called before stretching his arms over his head. He turned suddenly, his brown-eyed gaze landing firmly on the house. Kendall ducked out of sight, both mortified and irritated at her reaction.
She scrubbed at the paint splotches on her fingers to give herself something to do as she waited for them to go inside. Bracing herself, her heart hammering as she listened for Phoebe’s voice, her laugh, an excited squeal at the majestic image of the ocean mere feet away.
Their front door closed. Kendall finally let out a breath that didn’t feel tinged with fear. In the next second, she grabbed her wallet and her sweatshirt and headed out, ready to take the two-mile hike into town at a far brisker pace than usual.
It didn’t dawn on her until she was halfway there that she’d never heard a sound from Phoebe.
Not one little sound.
FOR ONCE IN his life, Gil Hamilton had not exaggerated. Hunter unloaded the last of his and Phoebe’s bags into the cottage, and only then did he take the time to stop and look around. It was small, cozy, but the perfect size for him and Phoebe. Especially with the two small bedrooms separated by an updated bathroom complete with a claw-foot tub. He’d bet Phoebe could deep dive in that thing.
He thought the white walls would be blinding, but the starkness was broken up with splashes of blues and greens reminiscent of the sea. As promised, Hunter found a desk situated beneath a window that overlooked the ocean and updated outlets in the walls. The perfect writing location once he got his laptop set up.
The kitchen lined the wall closest to the door, a galley style that more than suited their needs for meals at the square table steps away. He found dishes, pots and pans, and plenty of glasses and flatware. What the kitchen didn’t have he probably did in the motor home. A small sofa and two chairs bookended the stone fireplace. The bedrooms each had a small flat-screen television and DVD player, no doubt in preparation for renting this place out to vacationers, Hunter imagined. He’d have to use the motor home for his photography work. He didn’t want to clutter the place with all his equipment. He wanted this place to feel as much of a home as possible. For Phoebe.
Phoebe.
Hunter sighed and dragged his hands through his too-long hair. What was he going to do about Phoebe? She should be in school, something he’d argued extensively about with her paternal grandparents, who had taken serious exception to his being granted custody after their only son’s death. A bachelor father, they’d called Hunter, and a nomadic one at that. As if he was some throwback character from the ’50s incapable of taking care of a child. He’d been as big a part of Phoebe’s life as he could from the day she was born, arranging jobs so he could stay with Juliana while her husband traveled for work. Besides, Hunter was the only family Juliana had. Now Phoebe was the only family he had, and he was going to do whatever it took to give her the best life possible.
He knew he had some serious decisions to make, but his niece was doing okay with her homeschooling. She could read better than he could, and she was pretty good at math. He’d done enough research online to know what she should be studying. Socialization was where she was lacking, and that was top of his list now that they’d be staying put for even a short while. Hopefully there were some kids her age in town who would help bring her out of her shell and have her uttering more than one or two words at a time. And maybe remind her that the world wasn’t a completely bad place.
Maybe he should have consulted more doctors other than the two who had assured him she’d come out of it when she was ready. They’d told him not to push. To let Phoebe move through her grief in her own time. Or maybe he was second guessing himself constantly because he was terrified of the one thing he couldn’t control: a custody battle.
Movement outside the kitchen window, brought his attention to where he could see the lighthouse standing tall and proud against the wind. Kendall Davidson. She reminded him of Phoebe in a way. She wasn’t particularly loquacious. A woman of few and bullet-pointed words. But the way she’d looked at his niece... That expression of hers might very well haunt him for a while. He’d bet she liked her space and the peace and quiet, which was why, when he heard her front door slam, he didn’t venture outside. Instead, he stood at the window and watched as she headed—on foot—down the road he and СКАЧАТЬ