Chapter 22
Duncan had never held so little a hand. Chloe's fingers were cool and soft and fragile. He was at once concerned that the callouses on the pads of his fingers would scratch the delicate surface of this little girl.
Lord, he prayed, how do I do this?
Chloe looked up at him and smiled as if she heard his prayer. She slipped in the dewy grass, and he held her up with his arm. She giggled as she dangled from his hand.
"What kind of doughnut do you want?"
The hospitality table was loaded down with the best cakes, cookies, muffins, and even strudel that Ocean View had to offer. It was all for sale, except for the doughnuts that had been provided expressly for the volunteer workers.
"Sprinkles."
Duncan let go of Chloe long enough to reach around to the back of the coffee pot to retrieve the pastry. Chloe got the last sprinkled one. The woman who wanted the plaques was gone, and now Abby was talking to an older man holding a phone. With Chloe's hand in his he walked them back toward Abby, then veered off to the right into the parking lot toward his truck. He dropped the tailgate and he and Chloe sat there, feet dangling, eating doughnuts.
Chapter 23
Abby's heart ached watching Chloe and Duncan laughing and swinging their feet over the lowered tailgate of Duncan's truck. Why couldn't that be Chloe's father she’s having fun with this morning?
She realized then that she had not seen Brad or heard from him in two weeks. Which suited her just fine. She was still furious that he had come on to her that night.
"Excuse me, are these really twenty-five cents?" A sharp blonde woman was holding up a few sleeper nighties. "I usually pay ten cents for them. I get them for my church."
"Ten cents is fine," Abby said.
The rest of the morning continued in the same way: haggling over pennies, drinking coffee, and eating doughnuts. By early afternoon, Abby decided it was time to pack up Chloe and go home. She headed toward Duncan who was pushing Chloe on the swings.
"Thank you for watching Chloe this morning. I can't tell you how much I appreciated it."
"You're welcome. She's a wonderful little girl."
"I think so." She smiled at him. "Come on, Chloe. It's time to go."
Even the child seemed to sense the need to go. She came quietly to her mother's side.
Duncan stretched his arms to the sky and yawned.
"Would you mind some company?"
Abby squashed the words of her mother in her mind. She was too tired to be wary. Besides, how could she say no? He had done her a huge favor by watching Chloe all morning.
"Sure. Come on."
They walked together toward the parking lot. The quiet of the drive revived Abby. By the time she was home, she was ready to make lunch and go for a walk. She could put Chloe in the stroller. She was growing out of her stroller, but Abby could get away with it every once in a while. And she knew Chloe would go right to sleep after the morning's activities. Besides, it would give them something to do. Maybe the exercise would help defuse the electricity sparking between her and Duncan.
She made tuna on rye and served iced tea. After lunch she fished out the stroller and off they went in the direction of the beach. Chloe was asleep before they turned the first corner.
The shops on River Road were still shut down for winter. Most would open up after Memorial Day. They walked along a sidewalk made wavy with time. Sand filled the cracks and odd joints. Chloe slept through the swells and dips of her stroller ride.
There was a cool spring breeze coming off the Bay. The trees were studded with bright green leaves. The azaleas were blooming pink and white in yards they passed.
"I forgot how much I loved it here," Duncan said.
"I'm not sure I did love it until I came back to it," Abby replied.
"I'm not sure I did either. But it's good to be home again."
The little piece of yellow plaid that he always wore in his pocket flapped in the breeze.
"What is that?" Abby pointed to the scrap.
"Oh." Duncan smiled and said with a broguish lilt, "It's me tartan, lass. No laird runs around without his tartan."
Abby laughed.
"OK, what's a laird?"
"It's like a chieftain. Ruler of the tribe."
"Is it a Scottish thing then?"
"Yeah, my family came over here in the 1740's or so, and they've kept up some of the old ways."
"And that's what you are—laird? Laird Duncan MacLeod."
"Sounds old fashioned, doesn't it?"
"Not really. Lots of families have hierarchy and stuff like that."
He smiled at her then, and her breath was gone into the breeze. She could see him standing before her a great warrior dressed in tartan. Bagpipes seemed to whisper in the wind. They turned away from the Bay and went back toward home.
"So the man who came the first day I met you and picked up Chloe... I assume he's her father?"
"Yes, he's my ex-husband."
"What happened?"
Abby explained briefly that she and Brad were living out of state when they met Suzie. Suzie and Abby had been friends; then Brad and Suzie left together.
"Does he live here then?"
"No. He's being transferred here. He works in computers. It's strange that he's back." She felt it wise not to tell him that Brad had asked her to get back together with him that first night.
"He says he wants to see Chloe, but he hasn't seen her in two weeks. I'm not even sure he's still in town."
They were passing the Gordons’ house. Pat waved from the picture window.
"Hi, Pat!" Abby spoke softly, but waved enthusiastically. She hoped the enthusiasm would communicate to her friend.
"You know them?" Duncan's face was guarded. A cloud crossed his features.
"Yes. I'm a hospice volunteer. How do you know them?"
"It's not them. I was friends with their son, Max, in high school. Is it the old man?"
Is that it? A high school prank maybe? Was that the big tragedy that has people up in arms about Duncan?
"Yes. Do you still keep up with him–the son?"
"Yes, he's a missionary in Ecuador right now."
"I knew that he was out of the country, but Pat hasn't told me what he does."
"Tell me more about Brad."
"There isn't much to say. He's a creep. I struggle with Chloe needing to see him because he's her father."
They walked the rest of the way home in silence. The sidewalk was small, and one or the other of them had to keep slightly ahead. They alternated based on the sidewalk waves. Chloe was still asleep when they reached her door.
Duncan stepped up to Abby and leaned in to hug her, his hands on her waist.
"I had a wonderful time today. Thank you."
Abby's heart was pounding. She reached up and put her arms around him but stopped on his biceps.
"Me, too" was all she could manage to say, with him so close, their bodies nearly touching. The desire she had been suppressing for days surfaced all at once and she wanted him to kiss her again. This time for real. Her body softened in response to the feel of his arms encasing her, and she leaned toward him. He held her close for a fraction of a heartbeat, long enough to feel the curve of her body fit into his. He quickly stiffened and he put distance between them.
"I'll see you in the morning." He smiled at her again.
Rebuffed, Abby resisted the urge to invite him in for dinner. Flustered, she watched him walk back to his car, get in and drive away.
She tried to console herself that she was glad that he had pushed her away. In fact, he had actually saved the day. If he had responded to her the way she had wanted him to, she knew she wouldn't have been able to stop herself. And then where would she be?
She already knew she wasn't supposed to be involved with Duncan MacLeod. She had been warned by those she trusted; and she had seen the cloud cross Duncan's face.
What had he done? How did it involve Max Gordon? Maybe she could
ask Pat when she went there next.
The cool spring breeze blew the days by quickly. Saturday fluttered into Sunday and on to Wednesday without any trouble. Abby kept herself busy at work doing odd jobs, copying, and answering the phone. On Tuesday, she kept an appointment with Jack to learn to use a propane stove.
Jack was playing a merry sea chanty on his harmonica when she saw Duncan cross the parking lot in his suit and yellow tie. Her heart picked up the pace. He walked briskly with a purpose, and she could see the warrior within him. At once she had a vision of how he would look in a tartan of yellow plaid, the strong, powerful shoulders and his thick, manly legs bared for the wearing of the kilt. Jack called her back to reality with his laughter.
"So, you've got an eye for the MacLeod."
Her face warmed with a blush, but she thought it best to say nothing. After the lesson, she went back indoors to work.
Duncan popped his head into her office.
"Abby, come with me."
He waited for her in the hallway.
"It's here." His face looked like Christmas morning. He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him. They hopped into his truck and traveled down the road to a nearby marina. As they stepped onto the gravel parking lot, they could already see her. She was still out in the channel.
"I didn't know it was coming by water—I thought it would come by truck."
His eyes were filled with excitement. The lines of his body alive with a tension she could feel. He couldn't wait to get his hands on his new toy. She could picture him climbing in the rigging and sticking his nose into every storage bin and spinning the steering wheel.
The wind mirrored Duncan’s energy: neither could keep still. It ruffled Abby's skirt, then left it alone to pick up tendrils of hair to tickle her face. She pulled it back and tied it with an elastic she had in her pocket.
The large ship seemed to grow as it glided closer and closer toward them.
It had two tall sails full of the same cool wind that blew through Abby's hair. It was painted white and blue. The sails were white with large black numbers painted on the sides. She was long and slim. Her sleek design was accented by having a long wooden bowsprit. Topside, her ornaments were lacquered wood, with railings of polished metal. One of the men on board seemed to be struggling with a large, brightly colored cloth.
Duncan and Abby walked out to the end of the dock that bounced and swayed as they went. She held onto the pilings one by one as she went down to the very end. Boats on either side of them pulled back and forth against their moorings. They stood and watched as the two men lowered the sails and strapped them down with bungee cords. They pulled up to the floating dock using a motor.
A dark-haired man tossed Duncan the rear dock lines, and a fair-haired man tossed the bow lines to Abby. Duncan tied off his by wrapping the ends around a piling and then came to Abby. Once the boat was secure, the two men came ashore.
"Duncan MacLeod." Duncan extended his hand to the dark-haired man.
"Yessir. Would you like to check her out?"
The dark-haired man appeared to be in charge. He looked like an Ivy Leaguer from the ‘30s. He was dressed in white pants and a white polo shirt with a golden anchor on the pocket; his white Ked's had navy blue trim. The only thing missing was the captain's hat.
The fair-haired man stood off to the side admiring the sloop.
"Yes, I do," said Duncan. In one swift movement, he was aboard and reaching his hand to Abby. Past the electricity, Abby felt the callouses on Duncan's fingers.
The boat was a sight more steady than the dock had been. Abby was glad to be on the deck.
They stepped across the narrow walkway down to the cockpit. The wood glowed in the sun. The cockpit was a small square of space with a steering wheel that reminded Abby of old Spanish galleons. White seats of molded fiberglass encircled the area. Abby knew that some, if not all, would open to reveal storage below.
Toward the center of the ship was the opening for below decks. Down below was dark compared to the blinding white cockpit. The air in the cabin was warm. The men must have run the heater in the cool morning, Abby thought. Once her eyes adjusted, she found herself in a narrow walkway. Duncan bumped into her from behind; Abby felt ripples of desire in response. She turned and looked up at him; he smiled. Did he know the effect he was having on her?
She made her way quickly into the main room of the cabin. Get a grip, she told herself: wrong time, wrong place. But it wasn't going to be easy; the closeness of the cabin made the large craft feel more like a dingy.
Duncan called her attention to a closet-like opening on the left side of the hallway that turned out to be a bathroom, complete with a shower. Across from there, on the right, was a small kitchen.
Inside was all golden varnished wood and white walls that reminded Abby of beamed ceilings and stucco walls. Small rectangular windows ran at Abby’s eye level throughout the cabin. The narrow hallway that housed the kitchen opened into a living space. On the wall was a small chrome heater that looked like a miniature pot-bellied stove. There were more of the molded seats covered with dark blue microfiber cushions and more storage underneath.
Beyond the room was a door that led to the V-berth. Filling just about that whole space was a bed. There were more windows in there as well. The closet turned out to be another bathroom, but the ceiling was not as high as the first one she had seen. No doubt this was where the guests would sleep.
Abby was getting excited. It would be a wonderful adventure to travel in such a vessel.
"What do you think?" The question felt intimate in the small room. Duncan's brown eyes twinkled with excitement; Abby imagined she could feel his heart beat through the three feet of air that was between them.
"It's beautiful."
"We'll need to do some fixing up and customizing. I want you to take these cushions to the upholstery shop and have them make up nicer ones. Shall we?" He motioned for her to procede topside with him.
Abby slipped by him, careful not to graze his arm. She tingled when he put his hand into the small of her back.
On deck, the two men were waiting. The dark-haired man stepped up to the railing. The fair-haired man walked off down the dock.
"Well, whatcha think?"
"I'll take it."
"Good. Now I have a few things to show ya, before we leave."
The man boarded and took Duncan through the mechanics of the freezer, which he assured them, “Ain’t the same as the refrigerator you got at home."
Abby sat in the cockpit and listened to the water lapping at the sides trying to get a grip on her feelings for Duncan MacLeod. Just then, she had the feeling that she had been here before. Just on the edge of her memory was the dream. She had the sense of it; she stood on a boat above the swirling green water headed to the east. Ahead was a large white storm.
She couldn't place Ruth there. What had she to do with Abby? Was she on the other side of the storm? Or were they not connected at all? Ruth had come to the youth yard sale. Abby had seen her briefly. She must have dropped off items for the sale. She didn't stay long enough to talk to Abby.
After nearly an hour, Duncan signed the necessary papers that said he had received his boat. Then Captain Smith and his sidekick packed their small bags and were gone.
"You ready?" Duncan was exhilarated. His excitement animated the smallest movements. Abby didn't think he could keep still if his life depended on it. All the same she felt useless while Duncan scrambled around securing lines and straightening the sails. They pulled away from the dock smoothly. Once they were in the channel, Duncan raised the sails and sat down in the cockpit. Abby stood next to him taking in all she could. The feeling that she belonged here with him was overwhelming. It's too comfortable, she thought. She was going to have to fight her heart on this one.
They had gone down the channel for a short distance, and Duncan had turned and headed toward the MacLeod's dock before Abby voiced her nagging thought.
"Do you thi
nk Mrs. Young is OK ... I mean financially? Should we bring her meals? I forgot to ask her that when we went over the other day."
"She's OK. The Social Security people will reissue the check once they figure out that it's not her signature."
"She'll probably have the next check by then. What is she supposed to do in the meantime?"
"She's OK. Can you steer this for a minute? I want to fix something."
Abby watched Duncan walk up to the bow and wriggle one of the ropes loose. Then she knew. He had given Mrs. Young the money she needed. He just didn't want to talk about it. She smiled.
"What do you make of Ruth?"
"I don't know yet." He sat down beside her again taking over the wheel. He corrected their heading slightly.
"I do know this: that when you have something out of whack like an addiction, you have to choose to make it right. You don't get there 'cause anyone did it for you." His eyes were focused ahead. He squinted at something in the distance. "The only thing God ever asked us to do is choose our salvation. You've got to choose it."
The dock came into clear view. Before they turned in, Duncan got up and dropped the sails. Abby held their course. Duncan steered the boat under motor power toward the dock. As they came closer, Andrew and Angus came out of the building to assist them.
Angus and Andrew were as excited as their brother had been and quickly became lost in the belly of the boat once she was safely docked. They called to one another as they made their assessments.
Abby excused herself and headed toward her car. Duncan caught up with her halfway across the parking lot.
"Will you give me a ride to the dock so I can pick up my truck?"
Abby felt the color drain from her face. Duncan in her car? She panicked. When was the last time she cleaned it? She couldn't remember when she last moved the car seat to make room for an adult. Who knew what was under there?
"Sure. Just give me a second to move the car seat." She smiled hoping it didn't look like a cringe.
She hoped the picture of the new boat sitting at his dock would distract him. Instead he followed her right over to her little yellow car. He turned to gaze at the boat.
She got right to work. Mercifully the interior was black. She unclipped the seatbelt that held the car seat in place. It hung limply where she placed it instead of retracting. She pulled the belt and crumbs fell onto the seat and tumbled to the floor. She reached with both hands to remove the car seat, which wouldn’t budge.