On Wings Of Love

“Mr. Logan, I called and made reservations. For five weeks?” she prompted. “A woman answered the phone.”

“That would be Maddie. She handles most reservations.”

Who was Maddie? Katy reclaimed her hand, conscious of a tingling in her fingers. “Maddie? Is she the owner?”

“Maddie’s the maid. I’m the owner.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You run this B&B?”

“Yes. Shouldn’t I?”

That quizzical smile shaped his mouth again.

Katy blushed, a maddening trait. “Yes, of course, I was just...Mr. Logan, do I have a room or not?”

“Yes, Miss Lawrence, you have a room.” His voice deepened. “It is miss, isn’t it?”

Rattled, she gave a brusque nod.

He relaxed into a grin that weakened her knees.

“Welcome to Tumbling Brook Farm, Miss Lawrence.”

“Thank you. Is it a real farm?”

“No, not really, not anymore. But I liked the name, so I kept it.” Pulling a red bandanna from his rear pocket, he wiped his damp forehead. “Warm out there! Where are you from?”

“Southern California. San Diego, to be exact.”

“And you drove here?”

“Yes. I like to drive.” Hearing the hint of defensiveness in her reply, Katy lifted her chin, her gaze a tad defiant.

Thomas turned away. “Well, you’ll find this a very restful place, ideal for restorative purposes,” he said lightly. “Your bags still in the car? Five weeks, you say?”

“Yes.” Katy followed him out the door. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

“Not at all.”

He glanced back at her and she noted the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth. Mid-thirties, she decided. An experienced charmer, no doubt. Why hadn’t she been told about him? Her friend, Patsy Palmer, lived on the island and had recommended Tumbling Brook Farm. But she hadn’t mentioned its handsome owner.

All those telephone chats, Katy thought dryly, and not once had Thomas Logan’s name come up. “That little minx!” she muttered wryly.

Thomas’s long legs had already carried him to her car. She hurried past him and unlocked the trunk. Easily he lifted out the two large leather bags, leaving only a camera case and favorite pillow for her to carry.

Just as she reached inside the trunk for her things, Katy heard a sound that stiffened her slim body to a taut line. A small airplane flew overhead, its engine loud enough to hurt her ears. She stilled, mentally following its flight. She felt a scream welling up—the plane was too low, surely it was too low! She shuddered, struggling for control. But the sound swelled into a snarling roar that filled her entire being. Suddenly, reality vanished, and she was caught in a steely web of memory.

For a desolate moment, Katy felt powerless to free herself; the memory that froze her in place was crystal-clear. The combination of grief, horror and impotent rage was so strong she could taste its bitter tang...

“Miss Lawrence? Are you all right?”

The husky male voice had the effect of a soft touch on bare skin. There was incredible tenderness in it. Like splintering ice, the spell broke, and Katy let out the breath she’d been holding. A swift glance over her shoulder located Thomas standing at the edge of the driveway, waiting for her. Had he noticed her reaction to the plane? Idiot! Of course he’d noticed. Color scalded her cheeks as she met his concerned gaze.

Katy forced a laugh. “Yes, my goodness, of course I’m all right! It was just...” She inhaled, laughed again, shook her head at her foolishness. “I don’t usually freak out when an airplane flies over, but this one was so loud. And so low!”

“Just a friend buzzing me. On his way to pick up a couple of tourists, I imagine,” Thomas said. “I’m sorry it disturbed you.”

“It just startled me. Let me get my camera and pillow, and I’ll be right with you.” She’d covered pretty well, Katy thought. She picked up her camera case. The sound of the plane had faded into the distance. The memory had faded, too, but it had left its calling card.

With practiced discipline, Katy drew a long, deep breath and stilled her inner trembling. Then she grabbed her pillow, closed the trunk and turned to face him with a bright smile. “Can’t sleep without my special pillow! I’ve had it since college.”

His deep chuckle sent a rush of warmth through her body. Katy stepped around him and led the way back up the mossy, brick walkway. Her gaze, circling the yard, was curious and eager. On one side, young pear trees held a bounty of miniature fruit. On the other, a well-tended bed of huge pink peonies backed by white daisies flowed along an old stone fence. Pots of pansies and sweet alyssum flanked the steps. An inviting white wicker swing graced the porch.

“Who’s the gardener?” she asked.

“I am. It’s a great way to forget your troubles.”

What kind of troubles? Biting back the question that sprang to her lips, she stepped over a sleeping calico cat and preceded Thomas Logan to the door.

Once inside, he took the lead. The wide staircase rose to a windowed landing, turned sharply and continued to the second floor. He stopped before an open door and allowed her to enter the airy room that would be her private haven for a while.

A bed with carved pineapple posts centered the room. A goose-down comforter in pale blue with tiny white polka dots suggested cozy nights. There was a fluffy rug for her bare feet, and on the dresser, a pewter vase of blue delphiniums.

Lovely, Katy thought. Who was the decorator? Not that there were any signs of professional decor; everything was comfortably worn. Just enough to invite a person to kick off her shoes and relax, she thought, eyeing the maple rocking chair heaped with plump pillows. A stack of snowy towels and washcloths lay on the trunk at the end of the bed. No private bath?

“No,” he said when she voiced her thought. “But it’s just down the hall, and you’re the only one here.” He put down her bags and leaned against the doorsill. “You like it?”

“Yes, I do. Very much.” Katy gave a silent gasp as she turned to speak to him. Either the room had shrunk or he’d stepped closer. Of course, neither had happened. As far as she could tell, the room was the same size and he still leaned against the doorsill. She placed her camera on the dresser.

“Do you live here alone, Mr. Logan?”

“Thomas, please. And yes, we’re alone. But you needn’t worry, I’m quite well known on Orcas Island, and there’s a lock on your door.” His mouth quirked, and there was a hint of devilry in those heavenly blue eyes. “And I’ve yet to ravish a female left at my mercy.”

Katy found herself blushing again, as much from the melting effect of his azure gaze as from his words. “I was simply trying to get some idea of my surroundings,” she replied haughtily. “You mentioned a maid?”

“Uh-huh, Maddie. She comes in at eight and stays until five or so. Your credit card is on record?” he asked without much concern. Katy nodded. “Well, then,” he concluded briskly, “I’ll leave you to get settled in. Any questions?”

“No, no questions.”

His teeth flashed. “I have one. How did you come to choose my place? I don’t advertise at all.”

“I didn’t choose it, my girlfriend did. She lives on the island, so naturally I asked her to find me a decent place to stay,” Katy said. He was smiling at her again, his smile especially for her, it suggested. She felt another rush of warmth, this time in the vicinity of her heart.

Disconcerted by her lightning-quick responses to this stranger, she placed a hand on the bedpost to steady her nerves. What’s with you today, Katy? she demanded. First his house and now the man!

Realizing he’d asked the name of her friends, Katy hurriedly replied, “Patsy Palmer. Do you know her? She’s a potter, has what she calls a ‘wee place’ at that artists’ colony down by the ferry landing.”

“Of course I know Patsy. I’ll have to remember to thank her,” Thomas murmured. Maybe even send her flowers, he thought, listening to Katy’s spontaneous little laugh.