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about that awful
skeleton, and the flowers you stole from the delivery boy
and sent to
his girl with your name on the card, and the time you--"
"Alas, I was
easily led astray in my youth. Kathy, darling, I was an
innocent pawn
for Rogan's wicked schemes, didn't they tell you that?
They don't call
him the Rogue for nothing, you know." ' By that time they
were
strolling toward the Rawson house. When they came to the
plank across
the shallow creek that twisted through the marsh between
the two
houses, Callum went first and extended his hand, leading
her across and
then tucking her hand against his side as if they'd known
each other
for years.
"You don't have to see me home, you know," Kathleen said,
her voice
husky with brimming laughter.
"Hetty would never forgive me if I didn't pay my respects,
and I'd
never forgive myself if something happened to you between
Paw's house
and Rogan's."
She laughed outright at that.
"My mercy, what could happen?"
Sending her a teasing sidelong glance, he said, "Don't
rash me, I'm
trying to think of something."
"You know, you do remind me of someone," Kathleen murmured
as they
approached the house from the back way.
She tucked the basin under the bench outside the kitchen
door,
alongside the clothes pegs.
"Your first love, perhaps?"
Callum suggested outrageously.
"They say a woman never forgets the first man to touch her
heart."
They had come to a halt outside the kitchen door, and it
occurred to
Kathleen that, banker or not, Callum McNair looked about
as much at
home in the weathered little village as a South American
parrot would
in a nest of sparrows.
Holding her hair with one hand and her blowing skirt with
the other,
she smiled at him, cheeks glowing from the wind and eyes
sparkling like
sunlight on stormy waters.
"Not my first nor my last, I'm afraid. To tell the truth,
you remind
me of my nephew, Caleb."
"Your nephew? I'm crushed, absolutely crushed!"
Kathleen laughed aloud at his crestfallen look.
"He's going on six, and he's a wicked little imp."
But her laughter faded quickly as she turned to go inside.
"And sometimes I miss him so much I hurt," she said
softly.
"Thank you for seeing me safely home, Callum. I'll send
Hetty over
after awhile with your supper."
Chapter Eight
Kathleen laughed more during the week that followed than
she had in
years.
Hetty and Amos were a pair when they got to warning, and
Callum liked
nothing better than to lead them into one tale after
another about
Rogan's early misdeeds, which as often as not had included
his own
participation.
My new family.
My new friends, Kathleen thought, one of the circle, yet
apart.
Hetty was the age her grandmother would have been, but the
two women
were not at all alike.
Her grandmother had seldom smiled.
Life was too serious for smiling.
It occurred to Kathleen that she'd never heard her
laugh--not the
head-thrown-back, full-bodied cackling laugh she heard
from Hetty at
least a dozen times a day.
As for Amos, he was simply Amos.
An irreverent old man who was lonely without his Maudie,
his babies and
his only remaining son.
Kathleen's gaze fell on Callum, and she caught herself
studying him
with no more personal involvement than if he were a lovely
sunset or a
particularly fine painting.
How handsome he was, with his dark gold hair and his deep
blue eyes.
If now and then those eyes took on a look of.
was it regret?
Sadness?
Whatever it was, the moment always passed quickly enough
for Kathleen
to wonder if she'd only imagined it.
Callum had been home for a week and a day when word came
that the Witch
had been third in line to unload and take on new cargo at
Beaufort
three days before, and would probably have cleared Cape
Lookout and
taken a northeast heading by now.
Whether or not Rogan would stop off at Hatteras was
anyone's guess.
"I reckon I'll be heading out with the Eagle tomorrow
morning," Callum
remarked as he finished his morning coffee.
He and Amos had been discussing some of the newer ships
being built on
the islands at Hatteras and Kinnakeet, farther up the
banks.
The American Eagle, a small Hatteras built schooner of
some six tons
net burden, was presently running material for the new
lifesaving
station being built up the beach, and taking the
occasional passenger,
as well.
"Y°u'H not stay over to see Rogan?"
Amos pressed.
"I'd lay odds he'll be stopping off to see his bride."
Callum rose and crossed to the stove, pouring himself
another cup of
coffee.
In spite of the fact that he'd have liked to stay and see
Rogan, he had
pressing business of his own to attend to.
He had decided to make a long overdue visit home in the
first place
because it had seemed important to make himself scarce
until a certain
redhead's husband cooled down and called off the dogs.
It had been a stupid miscalculation on his part.
Who would have dreamed the man had a brother with the
Pinkertons?
If the redhead hadn't been so damned beautiful, and so
obviously
interested, Callum would never have considered dallying
with her in the
first place.
But she was, and so he had.
Taking great care first to see that her husband was
involved in a high
stakes card game.
How the devil was he to know the gentleman would throTM in
a losing
hand and go rushing up to his stateroom to check up on his
wife's
headache?
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