“I’ve been doing a lot of that recently,” he said in a low voice. “Thinking of you,” he clarified. “I feel my brother and I misled you about Hard Luck.”
“I was the one who made the decision to come. I knew what I was getting into. It’s true the housing situation is a problem, but at the time you didn’t know about the children.”
“I wanted you to leave when you first came.”
“I know,” she said unevenly. His determination to be rid of her still rankled.
He glanced at her, his eyes intense. “I don’t feel that way anymore.”
“I’m glad,” she whispered, finding it hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. She sighed, thinking how fortunate she was to have met Sawyer. He was wonderful with her children—wonderful with her. To her.
He looked away abruptly, as if the conversation had grown more personal than he’d intended. “When will the library open?”
“Funny you should ask. I had several inquiries this afternoon. I thought I’d place an Open sign on the door first thing in the morning.”
“Terrific,” he said, but it seemed to her that his response lacked enthusiasm.
Scott trotted out of the water and stood before them.
With some relief, Abbey turned her attention to her son.
“I was just watching you,” he said, directing the comment to Sawyer, “and it looked like you wanted to kiss my mother.” He grinned, scrubbing water from his eyes with both hands. “You can if you want to,” he announced, then raced back into the lake.
Chapter 7
At nine o’clock the following morning Abbey printed a huge Open sign and posted it outside the library. It wasn’t long before her first customer arrived.
At five past nine, John Henderson ambled in, hands in his pockets. He was tall and husky, his boyish good looks set off by a thatch of honey-colored hair.
“Good morning,” she said in a friendly tone.
“Mornin’,” he returned almost shyly. “Nice day, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” Abbey agreed. The weather was unseasonably warm this year, she’d been told.
John wandered around the library scanning the rows of books. Everything was cataloged and carefully arranged—fiction in alphabetical order, nonfiction according to subject and children’s books. She hoped to order some new titles soon.
“Is there anything I can help you find?” Abbey asked, eager to be of assistance.
“Yup.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Romances,” John said.
His choice surprised her, but she didn’t let it show. Romances were generally considered women’s fiction, but that didn’t mean a man couldn’t enjoy them.
“I need something that’ll teach me how to tell a woman she looks even prettier than a shiny new Cessna.”
“I see.” She suspected it would take more than a romance novel to help him in that area.
“I want to be able to tell her how pretty I think she is, and how nice, but I need to know the right way to say it without riling her. Whenever I try to talk to a woman, all I seem to do is make her mad. Last time I tried, I didn’t do so well.”
Abbey walked over to the bookshelves and pretended to survey several titles while she thought over the situation.
“It’s important that I learn how to talk to a certain woman right,” John continued, “’cause another man’s got a head start on the rest of us.” His voice tightened. “But that’s not important now, all things being equal, if you know what I mean.”
Abbey didn’t, but feared an explanation would only confuse her further. “You might look down this row,” she finally advised, directing him to books on etiquette and social behavior.
“Thanks,” John said, grinning widely.
Abbey returned to her desk. No sooner had she sat down when Ralph Ferris, another of Sawyer’s pilots, strolled in. He paused when he saw John. The two men glared at each other.
“What are you doing here?” Ralph demanded.
“What does it look like?”
“I’ve never seen you read a book before!”
“Well, I can start, can’t I?” John glanced nervously at Abbey. “I have as much right to be here as you.”
“Is there something I can help you find?” Abbey asked the new man.
“I see you shaved,” Ralph taunted under his breath. He held his nose. “What kind of aftershave did you use? It smells worse than skunk cabbage.”
“I borrowed yours,” John muttered.
The two men engaged in a staring match, then each attempted to force the other away from the shelves. Bemused, Abbey watched Ralph ram his shoulder against John’s. She saw John retaliate, jabbing the point of his elbow into Ralph’s side. “Excuse me. If you two are going to fight, I’d prefer you didn’t do it in the library,” she admonished in her sternest librarian’s voice.
The men scowled at each other, then rushed to stand in front of her desk. John spoke first. “Abbey, would it be all right if I stopped by at your house this evening?”
“How about dinner?” Ralph said quickly before she could answer. “Ben’s cooking up one of his specials—caribou Stroganoff.”
“Dinner?” Abbey repeated, not knowing what to say.
Before she could respond, Pete Livengood marched in. His hair was dampened down as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He carried a heart-shaped box.
“Chocolates,” the two pilots said together. They sounded furious—and chagrined—as if they’d been outmaneuvered.
“Women like that sort of thing,” Abbey heard one whisper to the other.
“Where are we going to get chocolates?” John murmured.
“I’ve got an extra can of bug spray,” Ralph said. “Do you think she might like that?”
It was turning into one of the most unproductive days Sawyer had ever spent.
His men had invented one excuse after another to delay their routine flights. He didn’t need anyone to tell him they’d gone to the library, and they weren’t interested in checking out books, either.
Sawyer found himself increasingly impatient and ill-tempered. He refused to ask any of the men, but his curiosity made him incapable of concentrating. What was happening at that library? And how was Abbey reacting to all this attention? The prospect of her being with someone else drove him crazy.
Restlessly he stood in front of the office’s only mirror, wondering if he should shave off his beard. He’d never asked Abbey how she felt about it. Although he’d worn a beard for more than ten years, he’d be willing to remove it if she asked.
He ran a hand along his face, then returned to his desk, slouching in the seat.
John had come back from the library first, clutching an old edition of Emily Post and a couple of paperback romances. Sawyer found him intently reading one of the love stories during his coffee break. He watched as John scanned a page or two, then set the book aside and stared into space, apparently mulling over some important matter.
Ralph had gone to the library that morning, too. He’d returned sporting a book on the history of aircraft, which he proudly showed to Sawyer.
“I understand another woman’s coming in this week,” Ralph said, lingering inside the office. He glared at John accusingly.
“That’s right,” Sawyer answered absently, reading over a flight schedule before handing it to Ralph.
“I’d like to ride along.”
“You already have a flight on Friday.”
Ralph lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Duke’ll take it for me. He owes me one.”
Sawyer didn’t hesitate long. If two of the most woman-hungry of his men were vying for Allison Reynolds, maybe they’d leave Abbey alone. So he agreed—with one stipulation. Duke had to willingly consent to the change in plans. Sawyer refused to arbitrate in a conflict over this, he told Ralph, and he didn’t want to hear another word about it. The other man’s face fell as he walked out of the office and toward the airfield.
&nbs
p; The day dragged by, with every pilot somehow managing to visit the library. The minute Sawyer was free, he hurried there himself. He knew something was wrong the minute he stepped inside.
Abbey sat at her desk reading, and when the door opened, she raised her head. Eyes narrowed, she slapped the book shut. After observing the loving way she’d handled the books earlier, that action surprised him.
“Good afternoon,” he said warmly.
No smile. No greeting.
He missed the way her eyes lit up whenever they met. He missed her smile.
He tried again. “How’s your day going?”
Silence.
“Is, uh, something wrong?”
“Tell me,” she said in tones as cold as a glacier, “exactly why was I hired?”
“Why were you hired?” he repeated slowly, not understanding her anger, let alone her question. “Hard Luck needed a librarian to organize a lending library.”
“And that was the only reason?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, really?” she spat out, her eyes blazing.
“Abbey, what’s wrong?”
She stormed to her feet and folded her arms. The fire in her eyes was hot enough to scorch him from ten feet away. “All your talk about me breaking the spirit of the agreement! I can’t believe I fell for that. You had me thinking you were upset because I hadn’t told you about Scott and Susan. Well, everything’s clear to me now.”
“That’s settled and done with. No one blamed you—it was as much our fault for not asking.”
Abbey shook her head, but Sawyer wasn’t sure what she meant. It did seem to him, though, that she was close to tears. He stepped toward her, but stopped short of taking her in his arms.
“Stay away from me.”
“Abbey, please—”
“It wasn’t a librarian you wanted,” she said. “You and your men were looking for—” she paused as if she didn’t know how to continue “—entertainment.”
“Entertainment?”
“I don’t know how I could’ve been so stupid. The ad practically came right out and said it. Lonely men! You weren’t interested in my library skills, were you? No wonder everyone was so upset when I showed up with children.”
“That’s not true,” he flared. He did value her professional skills—and he didn’t want her dating or “entertaining” any other man. Today, with every unattached male in Hard Luck visiting the library, had made that very obvious.
“If the men in town are so lonely, why didn’t you just advertise for wives?”
“Wives? We wanted women, but we didn’t want to have to marry them.”
Abbey’s mouth fell open. “Oh. That makes it all right, then.”
“We offered you a house and land, remember.”
“In exchange for what?”
His temper was rising. “Not what you seem to think. We offered jobs, too, you’ll notice.”
“Invented jobs, you mean.”
“Okay, we could have organized the library with volunteers. But there was a reason for coming up with jobs.”
“I’d be glad to hear it.”
“Well, for one thing, no one wanted to be responsible for supporting a bunch of women.”
“Is that what you think marriage is?”
“Damn right.”
Abbey swallowed tightly. “You’ve told me everything I need to know.” Her voice broke on the last word, and Sawyer felt shaken.
He tensed, knowing he’d botched this entire conversation. He wondered how he could explain the situation to her—without making things worse.
“It’s lonely up here, Abbey. If you want to fault us for feeling like that, then go ahead. I was losing pilots left and right. Christian and I had to do something to keep them happy, and the only solution we could come up with was, uh, importing a few women.” He knew that hadn’t been the best way to put it, but he plunged on. “We wanted female companionship without the problems of marriage. We—”
“In other words, you wanted these ‘imported’ women to relieve the boredom.” She closed her eyes as if he’d confirmed her worst fears.
“Did something happen today?” he asked, clenching his fists. “If anyone offended you, I’ll personally see to it that he apologizes.”
“You’ve offended me!” she cried.
“Why? Because I didn’t offer to marry you? One woman’s already tried to lure me into that trap.”
“Trap?”
“I’m not going to marry you, Abbey, so if that’s what you want, you’d better get this straight, right here and now. I brought you here so you’d be friends with a few of my men.” Too late he realized how that must sound. “You know what I mean.”
“I know exactly what you mean.”
Sawyer could see that Abbey was in no mood to be reasonable. She’d already made up her mind, and nothing he said would change it. “We’ll settle this later,” he said gruffly.
She didn’t respond.
Sawyer had to force himself to leave the library. He started down the walk, paused and started back, then stopped again. What a mess. He hated unfinished business.
Scott rode down the street on Ronny Gold’s bicycle and pulled to a stop beside him. “Hi, Sawyer!” he said enthusiastically.
Sawyer’s gaze was still locked on the library door. “Hiya, Scott.”
“How’s it going?”
“Good,” Sawyer lied.
“Ronny let me ride his bike. I’ll sure be glad when mine gets here. How much longer do you think it’ll take the shippers to haul our stuff to Hard Luck?”
Sawyer’s eyes reluctantly drifted from the library to the boy. It seemed heartless to tell him the truck wouldn’t make it to town anytime this summer.
“You miss your bike, do you?”
“It’d be neat if I had it, ’cause then Ronny and I could ride together.”
“I’ve got an old bike from when I was a kid. I think it’s in the storage shed. Would you like me to see if I can find it for you?”
Scott’s eyes lit up. “Gee, that’d be great!”
“I’ll go look for it right away,” Sawyer promised, eager for an opportunity to prove himself a family friend, instead of the fiend Abbey thought he was. He really didn’t understand what had upset her so much. “I mean, what did she think when she answered the ad?” he muttered to himself.
It took some doing to locate the old bicycle, which was hidden in the back of the shed behind twenty years’ worth of accumulated junk. Old though it was, the bike wasn’t in bad shape.
Sawyer hosed it off in the front yard. When he finished the task, he happened to look up—and saw Abbey walking home.
He straightened, standing in the middle of his yard, the hose in his hand dripping water. He stared at her. With every bone, every muscle, every cell in his body, he ached to know what he’d done that was so wrong. More important, he needed to know how he could fix it.
Without even glancing in his direction, Abbey disappeared into the house. Not long afterward Scott approached him, frowning.
“The old bike doesn’t look like much, does it?” Sawyer said, drying off the padded seat and chrome fender with an old T-shirt. “But I think once I get her cleaned up a bit and give the chain a shot of oil, it’ll be fine.”
“No, the bike looks great,” Scott said, his sudden smile brimming with pleasure. But some of his enthusiasm faded when he looked over his shoulder. “I have to get home.”
“If you wait a few minutes I’ll have the bike ready for you.”
“I better get home.”
Sawyer nodded in the direction of his brother’s house. “Your mother seems upset about something.”
“I’ll say,” Scott said. “She’s real upset.”
Sawyer stared at the front door, and the ache inside him intensified. He wouldn’t rest until he’d sorted out this business with Abbey. “Maybe I should try to talk to her.”
“Not now, I wouldn’t,” the boy advised.
Sawyer realiz
ed—with some embarrassment—how inept he was at dealing with women. Inept enough to accept advice from a nine-year-old boy. Still, if Scott thought it best to wait, he would.
“You’d think she’d be happy,” Scott said with a long sigh. “Grandma and Grandpa kept telling her she should go out on dates, but Mom never wanted to. She went out sometimes, but not very often. Now she’s all upset because some guy asked her to dinner.”
“Who?” Sawyer demanded before he could censor the question. “Never mind, Scott, that’s none of my business.”
“Well, Grandma wants her to get married again. I heard them talking once, and Grandma was telling my mom that it’s wrong to let one bad experience sour her on marriage. She said there were lots of good men in this world and Mom would find one of ’em if she tried. Do you think my mom should get married again?”
Marriage wasn’t a subject Sawyer felt comfortable discussing. “I…I wouldn’t know.”
“Mom’s never said anything to us, but I’m pretty sure she gets lonely sometimes. Did you know Mr. Livengood asked her to marry him today?”
“What?” A fierce, possessive anger consumed Sawyer. He threw down the hose and was halfway out of his yard before he realized he couldn’t very well wring Pete’s neck. No matter what his feelings toward Abbey, Sawyer had no right to be angry. If Pete wanted to propose to her, that was his prerogative. He himself had no say in the matter.
“Scott!” Abbey had come out onto the porch to call her son. Sawyer might as well have been invisible for all the attention she paid him. “Dinnertime.”
“In a minute, Mom.”
“Now,” she insisted.
“You’d better go,” Sawyer said. “I’ll bring the bike over after dinner.”
“Okay.” He dashed across the street, stopping when he reached the other side. “Sawyer,” he called, “don’t worry. Mom still likes you best.”
Unfortunately the boy’s opinion was no comfort at all.
Abbey couldn’t eat; the food stuck in her throat. It felt as if she was swallowing gravel. The baked salmon certainly felt that way in the pit of her stomach.
Scott and Susan had never seemed more talkative, but she found it difficult to respond to their comments and questions.