His eyes shone with hope as he shoved back a shock of hair with a still-wet hand.
“Yeah, Mama. I want Dean to call and tell me if Boxer’s well enough to go and act like a real bear. He said maybe we can come watch when they let him out of his cage to go live in the forest.”
Dean lowered his voice. “That won’t be for a while yet, Mrs. Stein. Dad and me hafta teach Boxer to forage for berries and roots, and how to fish in the river.”
“If it’s okay with your father, Dean, you can call me Marlee. Jo Beth’s grandmother is ‘Mrs. Stein.’” She laughed. “I used to be Lieutenant Stein, but I’m out of the navy now, so that no longer applies.”
“I think it’s cool that you and Mick both fly planes. I can’t wait to get old enough to learn. I wanna be a veterinarian who flies to ranches and takes care of animals. Oh, maybe Mick sent a book on planes. We were talking last time he was here about all the different kinds.”
“Dean,” a deep male voice said outside the bathroom door. “Quit talking their ears off. The gumbo’s getting cold. I expected you to wash and come straight back.”
Without looking guilty, the boy scooted from the room. “Dad, can I call Jo Beth one night a week so I can update her on Boxer? Marlee said it’s okay with her if it’s okay with you. Oh, and she said Jo Beth’s grandmother’s Mrs. Stein and she’s Marlee. Well, she used to be lieutenant, like Mick. Now she’s not.”
“Can you tell Dean’s glad to have someone to talk to?” Wylie said with a wry grin. “Let him know when your ears are blistered.”
Marlee just smiled. But as they ate, had it not been for Dean’s endless chatter, it would’ve been a quiet meal indeed. Marlee barely managed to extract one-word responses from her host.
“Ah, this is whitefish gumbo? I’ve only ever had it with shrimp or okra.”
Wylie passed around thick-cut slices of bread. “Uh-huh.”
Dean nattered on about the animals they currently had in their makeshift hospital. “Jo Beth, you didn’t see my gray squirrel, or the porcupine with the broken leg. I think they were asleep in their cages. Next time you come, maybe they’ll be out.”
“I really like this bread. Whole wheat with Parmesan cheese?” Marlee asked.
“Oat.” Wylie scooted the butter dish closer, again lowering his gaze to his bowl.
Marlee couldn’t fault the man’s manners. And he controlled his son’s swinging legs with a touch, accompanied by a look Marlee called, “parents’ evil eye.” Smiling, she spread a thin layer of butter on her bread. “There are so many personal touches in this cabin, it makes me think you’ve been a ranger for quite a while.”
“Sixteen years.”
“That long? I guess that answers the question as to whether you like your job.”
“Yep.”
In the background Marlee heard Jo Beth ramble on to Dean about her two favorite spots in their old hometown. SeaWorld and the San Diego Zoo. “Honey, quit talking and eat. We have to stop at Glenroe’s, and I’d like to make it home before dark.” Also, Marlee didn’t want her daughter telling strangers why they’d left a city the child chose to rhapsodize about.
Wylie pushed back his chair, went to the counter and returned with the remaining soup. “Seconds anyone?” He lifted the ladle.
Dean held out his bowl, but Marlee declined any for herself and Jo Beth. Although, if they’d found any common ground, she might have stayed. The gumbo was superb.
When Jo Beth slurped up her last spoonful, Marlee quickly snatched the girl’s bowl and stacked it with hers. Repeating the process with their bread plates, she then started to carry the lot to the sink.
“Leave the dishes,” Wylie ordered.
Startled by his tone, Marlee let the stack of dishes clatter back to the mat. “Well, then. I hate to eat and run, but…” She pointedly turned her watch around and studied it.
“Wait a minute,” Dean implored. “You said you’d give me the books Mick sent.”
“So I did. Tell you what, Dean. I have to run through a preflight check of the Arrow. If I’m ready to take off before you finish, I’ll send Jo Beth to the house with the books.” Marlee swung her daughter into her arms. “Much obliged for the lunch,” she said, tossing her casual thank-you at the back of Wylie Ames’s head of shiny black hair. Without further ado, she left the cabin as they’d entered, via the back door.
As Marlee started her check, she couldn’t recall ever enduring such an uncomfortable forty-five minutes. Not even in the most stressful days she’d spent with Rose Stein. Which said a lot.
“WOW, JO BETH AND HER MOM are really, really nice, don’t you think, Dad?” Dean gushed as he shoveled in the last of his second helping of gumbo, plainly anxious to run after the departing duo.
Wylie paused, a soup spoon halfway to his unsmiling lips. Truthfully, he didn’t know what he thought about this woman and her child.
Hell, who was he kidding? He found too much to like about Mick Callen’s twin sister. She had grit, and he admired that in a woman. She seemed to like Dean, which was more than could be said for the boy’s mother. Shirl had left him a mere babe in arms. He scowled. Marlee smelled—well, feminine. Sweet and sexy, the way a woman should smell.
“They’re okay,” he drawled reluctantly, letting as much time lapse as he dared. “Thing is, son, we don’t get deliveries often. Mrs. Stein didn’t say how long it’d take for Mick to recover. Soon as he’s well, he’ll fly our orders in again.”
“Dad! She said to call her Marlee. Mrs. Stein is Jo Beth’s grandmother.”
The mention of the girl’s grandparent suggested another question. Where was Mr. Stein? Junior, not the girl’s grandfather.
Divorced? Probably. Hadn’t Jo Beth rattled on and on about their life in San Diego? City folk. Even if Marlee Stein had once lived here, he knew how it was when women had a hankering for city living. Of course, he’d had other issues with Shirl than just her dislike of the backwoods. Like the fact that she’d lied to him.
“Dad…you aren’t paying attention. I finished my soup. Can I go and get the books Mick sent? One’s about bears, I bet.”
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you coming to say goodbye?” Dean had jumped up from the table, but he hovered half in, half out of the doorway, clearly expecting his father to follow.
Wylie’s first tendency was to tell Dean to run along. The more often he let the image of Marlee Stein burn into his brain, the more discontent would invade his jaded soul.
But he knew how excited Dean got watching planes land or take off. He couldn’t trust the kid to keep well away from the propeller. “I’m coming,” he said.
After Dean got his books and the pilot was strapped in for takeoff, Wylie hauled the boy far enough back to avoid the wind from the prop. Dean and Jo Beth began waving madly at each other. Wylie extracted his sunglasses from his shirt pocket and covered his eyes. He curbed the temptation to wave to Marlee. They hadn’t become fast friends as the kids had. Still, he stood at the end of the runway and watched her lift off much more smoothly than she’d landed.
He looked up and kept track of her slow circle. As her flight pattern brought her back over his head, Wylie noticed she dipped her wing the way Mick always did. His way of saying so long.
IN THE AIR, MARLEE COULDN’T resist making one last flyover of moody Wylie Ames. The guy didn’t even bend enough to acknowledge her leaving. He’d just covered his eyes with those damned mirrored shades and lazily hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets as he stood immobile. The arrogant wide-legged stance served to warn any newcomer off this corner