For His Son's Sake. Ellen Tanner Marsh

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      But here he was, easing the rental car onto the highway heading south toward the town of Buxton.

      “Hey, look!” Angus pointed to the black-and-white Cape Hatteras lighthouse on the horizon. “Is that the one we climbed yesterday?”

      “Sure is.”

      A few years ago the lighthouse had been moved several thousand feet inland, away from the eroding beach where it had stood for more than a hundred years. Ross had enjoyed studying the photos of this engineering phenomenon at the small National Park Ranger Station nearby, but Angus had been more excited about the climb itself.

      They had made it all the way to the top without stopping, Angus ducking beneath the legs of the tourists puffing along ahead of them in order to be there first. He hadn’t wanted to go back down again for the longest time, and Ross had allowed him to look his fill of the ocean, the beach, the rooftops of the houses far below, pleased to see him so animated.

      Admittedly it was the first time Ross had felt a little bit at ease with his son. Not worried that he was going to say or do something to make the boy withdraw into himself, the way he had when they’d first met in England after Penelope’s death.

      What a bleak meeting, Ross thought, recalling how awkwardly he had stood in his former in-laws’ icy drawing room while Angus, led in by a servant, had ducked his head and refused to say hello. Penelope’s parents weren’t even there. They had flown to Majorca, hoping the sunshine would help them get over their only daughter’s death, which had occurred several weeks earlier when Penelope’s commuter plane had crashed while carrying her on holiday. They had left no message for Ross, although they had known he was coming to take his son to America—nor, apparently, had they told Angus about it, either.

      Angus had been unaware of the recent upheaval in his life—that his father, having only recently learned of his existence, had tried to see him, only to be denied visitation rights by his mother. When no amount of pleading, arguing or, finally, threatening had swayed Penelope from her stubborn stance, Ross had reluctantly resorted to intervention from a court of law.

      A lot of good that had done him, he thought briefly. Not only had he unleashed a media frenzy thanks to the Archers’ well-known name, but Angus had been spirited away to some isolated Norfolk estate. And Penelope, pleading a fragile constitution, had flown off to Naples with some millionaire boyfriend, providing even more fodder for the gossip columns.

      Grimacing at the memory, he massaged the tight spot in his chest. He didn’t like thinking back on those days or dwelling on how little progress he and Angus had made since then.

      On the other hand, Angus seemed to have had fun being with him yesterday and there was no reason things should be different today. Maybe a visit to MacKenzie Daniels’s birds would recapture a little of the spontaneity they’d felt while touring the lighthouse together.

      That, in effect, was why he’d agreed to take Angus to Buxton.

      On the other hand, he had to admit that he, too, was a little bit curious. Not so much about MacKenzie Daniels’s birds, but about the woman herself.

      Of course, his curiosity was purely academic. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he felt guilty at how curtly he’d treated her on the beach yesterday. He’d not meant to do so, of course. But when she’d pointed out to him how dangerous it was to let Angus go near the water by himself he’d all but panicked at the thought of what might have happened, and at how absolutely ignorant he was of the commonsense rules of parenting. So he’d retreated behind a facade of rudeness, telling himself that he resented Kenzie Daniels for the sweetly easy way she treated his son—and the way Angus responded to her.

      Okay, so maybe he did resent her a little. Ross didn’t care to admit it, but you’d have to be blind not to see how much more relaxed and outgoing Angus seemed in Kenzie’s presence. Far more so than he’d ever been with his father.

      Ross thought back to the way Kenzie had lectured him for letting Angus go down to the beach alone, and a cold hand settled once again around his heart. Had she been right in saying Angus was too young to be trusted near the water? But how was he supposed to know these things?

      Cripes, it was proving harder to be a father than it was to practice law! Maybe Alex hadn’t been entirely wrong. There were so many rules to learn and so many things you had to figure out intuitively. How on earth was he ever going to get the 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. СКАЧАТЬ