Patrick's Destiny (2 page)

“Let’s take ’em all over to Jess’s where they can warm up while you call Matt Foster and get him down here,” Patrick suggested. He headed off in that direction without waiting for a reply. A firm grip on his arm jerked him to a stop.

“I don’t think a bar is an appropriate place for a group of five-year-olds,” she told him.

He frowned down at her. “You have a better suggestion?”

“We could take them back to the school. That’s what we
should
do,” she said, though without much enthusiasm.

Patrick understood her reluctance. The school’s principal, Loretta Dowd, had to be a hundred years old by now, and she wasn’t known for her leniency. Patrick knew that from his own bitter experience. He’d been every bit as rambunctious as Ricky at his age. There would be hell to pay for this little incident.

“Miss Dowd knows about this outing, then?” he asked, guessing that it had been an impromptu and ill-advised decision. “Permission slips to leave the school grounds are all on file?”

She faltered at that, then sighed. “No,” she admitted. “I suppose the bar is a better choice, at least for a few minutes.”

“It won’t be busy at this time of day,” he consoled her. “Most of the fishermen came in hours ago. And you know how Molly likes to cluck over kids.”

Jess’s had been catering to Widow’s Cove fishermen for three generations. Jess had long since passed on, but his granddaughter ran the place with the same disdain for frills. Molly served cold beer and steaming hot chowder, which was all that mattered to her regulars.

When Patrick and Ms. Newberry trooped inside with the children, Molly came out from behind the bar, took one look at the dripping wet Ricky and began clucking over him as predicted.

“What on earth?” Molly asked, then waved off the question. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll have hot chocolate ready in no time.” She looked at the teacher and frowned. “Alice, you look terrible. Sit down before you faint on me. Patrick, get the children settled, then for heaven’s sakes go and put on some dry pants and a warm shirt under that jacket. I have some of granddad’s I can lend you. They’re hanging in the pantry on the way to the kitchen. Help yourself. I’ll be back in a minute. While I’m in the kitchen, I’ll give Matt a call and tell him to get over here to pick up Ricky.”

Patrick knew better than to balk openly at one of Molly’s orders. She might be his age, but she’d had Jess as an example. She could boss around a fleet of marines without anyone questioning her authority. Besides, one glance at Alice Newberry told him that she was in no condition to take charge. He’d never seen a grown woman look quite so defeated. He had a hunch that today’s misadventure was the last straw in a long string of defeats.

He studied her with a bit more sympathy. Every last bit of color had drained out of her delicate, heart-shaped
face, and her brown hair had been whipped into a tangle of curls by the wind. The fact that she was making no attempt at all to tame them spoke volumes. Her hands were visibly trembling, as well. If she wasn’t in shock, she was darn close to it. He tried not to feel too sorry for her, since she’d brought this mess on herself, but a vulnerable woman could cut through his defenses in a heartbeat. Usually he knew enough to avoid them like the plague. This one had reached out and grabbed him when his defenses were down.

“Sit,” he ordered her as he passed by on his way to the bar. Hot chocolate might be great for the kids, but she clearly needed something a lot stronger. He could use the heat from a glass of whiskey himself. He poured two shots and took them back to the table where she was sitting, then slid in opposite her. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when she reacted with dismay.

“I can’t drink that,” she said. “It’s the middle of the day and I’m working.”

Patrick shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He tossed back his own drink, grateful for the fire that shot through his veins. It was only a temporary flash of heat, but it was welcome and would do until he could get home and into his own dry pants.

When he glanced across the table, he found Alice Newberry’s solemn gaze locked on him. He had a feeling a man could drown in those golden eyes if he let himself.

“I never thanked you,” she said. “You saved Ricky’s life. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.”

“You would have jumped in after him,” he said, giving her the benefit of the doubt.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said in a voice
barely above a whisper. “I froze. It’s like it happened in slow motion and I couldn’t move.”

“You only froze for a second,” he said, surprised by his reluctance to add to her obvious self-derision. “It all happened very quickly.”

“That’s all it takes. In a second, everything can change. One minute someone’s there and alive and healthy…the next, they’re gone.”

Something told him she was no longer talking about Ricky Foster’s misadventure. Something also told him he didn’t want to know what demons she was wrestling with. He had more than enough of his own.

Now that he knew who she was, he had a dim recollection of hearing the gossip that the new kindergarten teacher in Widow’s Cove was returning home after some personal tragedy. Everyone spoke of it in whispers. Patrick hadn’t listened to the details. They hadn’t mattered to him. He made it a practice to keep everyone at a distance, to remain completely uninvolved in their lives. It was the one sure way to avoid being betrayed. He had no family in Widow’s Cove and few friends. And he liked it that way.

“Yeah, bad stuff happens like that,” he said neutrally, in response to Alice’s lament. “But all’s well that ends well. Ricky will be fine once he gets into some dry clothes. You’ll be fine once the shock wears off.”

She studied him with surprise. “You didn’t sound so philosophical down on the dock. I believe you asked me what the hell I was thinking.”

He shrugged. “It seemed like a valid question at the time.” Now that the crisis was over, his temper had cooled and his own share in the guilt had crept in.

“It was a perfectly reasonable question,” she agreed, surprising him.

“I don’t suppose you have a perfectly reasonable answer, do you?”

She nodded. “Actually, I do. The children were getting restless at school. Spring break starts tomorrow. I thought a walk would do them good. The next thing I knew, Ricky spied the last of the fishing boats coming in. He begged to come and see what kind of catch everyone had. He swore to me that he’d stay with the group. Everyone agreed not to run. I took them at their word.”

She shrugged and gave Patrick a wry look. “Obviously, I should have known better. Five seconds later, Ricky spied something, who knows what, and forgot all about his promise. He took off, and the next thing I knew they were all off and running. I’ve been teaching five-year-olds long enough now to have anticipated something like that.”

“Maybe so, but you couldn’t anticipate Ricky tripping,” Patrick replied, then conceded with reluctance, “Besides, the fault’s as much mine as yours. I’ve known that board was loose since I bought the dock, but I keep forgetting to pick up some nails when I’m at the hardware store. I’ve gotten so used to it, I just walk around it. Nobody else comes down that way. That dock’s supposed to be private.”

She regarded him with surprise. “In Widow’s Cove?”

Patrick chafed under the hint of disapproval he thought he heard. “I bought and paid for it. Why shouldn’t I put up No Trespassing signs?”

“It’s just unusual in a friendly town like this,” she said. “Most people don’t see the need.”

“I don’t like being bothered.” No need to explain that the signs were meant as a deterrent for certain spe
cific people, Patrick thought. If they kept everyone else away, too, so much the better.

He glanced up and caught sight of Matt Foster coming through the door. “Ricky’s dad’s here,” he told Alice, making no attempt to hide his relief. “I’ll speak to him and tell him what happened, then I’ll be getting back to my boat.”

“I’ll explain,” Alice insisted, her chin jutting up with determination as she slid from the booth. “It’s my responsibility.”

“Whatever,” he said with a shrug. “One word of advice, though. Next time you think about taking your class for a stroll, think again. Either that or keep ’em away from the docks.”

There was a surprising flash of temper in her eyes at the order he’d clumsily tried to disguise as advice. For an instant Patrick thought she was going to address him with another burst of unladylike profanity, but one glance at the children silenced her. Discretion didn’t dim the sparks in her eyes, nor did it quiet her tongue. She looked him straight in the eye and said, “If the occasion ever arises again, I’ll certainly consider your point of view, Mr. Devaney.”

The fact that her meek tone was counterpointed by sparks of barely restrained annoyance pretty much ruined the polite effect he was sure she intended. Patrick shook his head.

“Just keep ’em away from my dock, then,” he said, dropping all pretenses. “And that’s not a simple request, Ms. Newberry. That’s an order.”

She was still sputtering indignantly when he spoke to Matt and then walked out the door.

Something about that little display of temper got to him, made his blood heat in a way it hadn’t for a while.
He savored the sensation for a moment, then deliberately dismissed it. All it proved was that he needed to keep his distance from Alice Newberry. If a woman could get under his skin with a flash of temper, then he’d been seriously deprived of female companionship for far too long. He suspected the kindergarten teacher with the tragic past and the vulnerable expression was the last woman on earth he should choose to change that.

T
he minute he’d taken a hot shower and changed into dry clothes, Patrick headed for the hardware store in downtown Widow’s Cove. Today’s near tragedy had been just the wake-up call he needed to repair the dock once and for all.

He’d let too many things slip the past few years, not caring about anything more than the hours at sea, the size of his catch and a cold beer at the end of a hard day. Ricky Foster’s plunge into the ocean had shocked him back to reality. Unless he planned to move to some uninhabited island, Patrick couldn’t keep the world at bay forever. And since he couldn’t, he’d better be prepared for the intrusions, if only to make sure that no one could sue his butt off.

That cynical response aside, he had another pressing issue to consider—his disturbing reaction to Alice Newberry. He could fix the dock to keep some other kid
from tripping, but he wasn’t nearly as sure how to go about protecting himself from the likes of the teacher.

Maybe Molly would give him some pointers on that score. The two women were obviously acquainted. He figured, knowing Molly, that asking questions would stir up a hornet’s nest, but that was still better than risking another encounter when Alice Newberry could catch him off guard and get to him with those big golden eyes of hers.

At the old-fashioned hardware store, which was stacked from floor to ceiling with every size nut and bolt imaginable, along with tools for everything from fixing a leak to building a mansion, Patrick picked out the nails he needed to repair the dock, added some treated lumber to replace the boards that were warped beyond repair, then went up to the counter.

Caleb Jenkins, who’d taken over the store from his father fifty years ago and modernized very little beyond the selection of merchandise, gave him a nod and what passed for a smile. “Figured you’d be in,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Heard what happened on the dock,” Caleb explained. “Board’s been loose since Red Foley bought that dock thirty years ago. Told him a hundred times, the dang thing was a danger. Would’ve told you the same thing, if you’d come in here before now, but you’ve been making yourself scarce since you moved over here from your folks’ place.”

Patrick’s grin faltered at the mention of his parents, but that was a discussion he didn’t intend to have—not with Caleb Jenkins, not with anyone. He’d written his folks off, and the reasons were his business and his alone. The fact that they were less than thirty miles away meant he was bound to run into people who knew
them from time to time. It didn’t mean he had to discuss his personal business.

Instead he focused on the rest of Caleb’s comment. “Doubt I’d have listened any better than Red,” he told the old man.

“Probably not.” Caleb shook his head. “You get old and finally know a thing or two and nobody wants to listen. Heard the boy’s okay, though.”

“Just wet and scared,” Patrick confirmed. “I imagine Matt will have quite a bit to say to him.”

“Doubtful. Matt never had a lick of sense. Always in a hurry, Matt was. Boy’s the same way,” he said, confirming Patrick’s previous thought that like father, like son.

“You have a point,” Patrick agreed.

“Matt lived to tell a tale or two about his narrow escapes. I imagine his son will, too.”

“Hope so,” Patrick said. He peeled off the money to pay for the nails and lumber, anxious to get home, finish the needed work and put this day behind him.

Caleb gave him a sly look as he handed back the receipt. “Hear Alice Newberry took what happened real hard.”

“She was upset, but she’ll get over it. After all, there was no real harm done.”

“Doubt Loretta will see it that way,” Caleb said, shaking his head. “How that woman ended up principal of a school is beyond me. She never did understand kids. You gotta let ’em explore and discover things for themselves. They’re bound to make a few mistakes along the way, but that’s just part of living, don’t you think?”

Patrick hadn’t given the topic much thought, since he had no kids of his own and didn’t intend to. “Makes
sense to me,” he said, mostly to end the conversation. He had a hunch Caleb was leading up to something Patrick didn’t want to hear.

Unfortunately, Caleb wasn’t the least bit daunted. “Maybe you ought to go by the school and have a word with Loretta.”

Patrick gave him a hard look. “Me? Why should I get involved?”

“You are involved,” Caleb pointed out. “The boy fell off your dock. Besides, a man ought to be willing to help out a woman when she needs looking after. That’s the way of the world.”

The old-fashioned world, maybe, Patrick thought. He wasn’t sure he had any reason to get involved in Alice Newberry’s salvation. As well, he had a hunch she could stand up for herself just fine. Aside from that brief display of tears, which he attributed to shock, she hadn’t hesitated to speak her mind to him. She seemed to have some sort of fixation on personal accountability, too. He doubted she would appreciate him running to her rescue.

“I’ll think about it,” he told Caleb.

“Not much of a gentleman if you don’t,” the old man said, his tone chiding.

“If I hear Ms. Newberry needs any help, I’ll talk to Loretta,” he promised.

“That’ll do, I suppose,” Caleb said, looking disappointed.

“I imagine you’d go rushing over to the school right now,” Patrick said, feeling the weight of the subtle pressure.

Caleb’s expression brightened at once. “There you go. Best to nip this sort of thing in the bud. Be sure to give Loretta my regards.”

“I never said I was going to the school,” Patrick pointed out.

“Of course you are. It’s ten minutes away. Won’t take you but a couple of minutes to put things right with Loretta, and you can be back on that dock of yours in no time. You’ll have done a good deed.”

“I thought diving in the freezing ocean
was
my good deed,” Patrick grumbled.

“One of ’em,” Caleb agreed. “A smart man knows he needs a lot of ’em on the ledger before the day comes when he faces Saint Peter.”

Patrick sighed heavily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He noticed that Caleb was looking mighty pleased with himself as he watched Patrick gather up his purchases. Just what he needed in his life…a nosy old man who thought he had a right to be Patrick’s conscience.

Nevertheless, he drove to the school, then stalked through the halls that still smelled exactly as they had twenty years ago—of chalk, a strong pine-scented cleanser, peanut butter sandwiches and smelly sneakers. He followed the all-too-familiar path directly to the principal’s office and hammered on the door, determined for once not to let Loretta Dowd intimidate him. He was all grown-up and beyond her authority now.

“Come in,” a tart voice snapped.

Patrick entered and faced Loretta Dowd with her flashing black eyes and steel-gray bun. He promptly felt as if he were six years old again, and in trouble for the tenth time in one day.

“You!” she said. “I might have known. There’s no need to break my door down, Patrick Devaney. My hearing’s still perfectly fine.”

He winced at her censure. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I imagine you’re here to tell me that it wasn’t Alice’s fault that Ricky Foster fell off your dock.”

Patrick nodded.

“Did you take him from his classroom to the waterfront?”

Patrick barely resisted the desire to squirm as he had as a boy under that unflinching gaze. “No.”

“Did you lose control of him?”

“No.”

“Then I don’t see how this is your fault,” she said. “You may go now.”

Patrick started to leave, then realized what she hadn’t said. He turned back and peered at her. “You’re not firing Ms. Newberry, are you?”

She frowned at the question. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a fine teacher. She just happened to make a bad decision today. Spring makes a lot of people do crazy things. We’ve addressed it. It won’t happen again.”

Thank the Lord for that, Patrick thought. “Okay, then,” he said.

He turned to leave, but Mrs. Dowd spoke his name sharply.

“Yes, ma’am?” He noticed with some surprise that there was a twinkle in her eyes.

“It was very gallant of you to roar in here in an attempt to protect Ms. Newberry. You’ve turned into a fine young man.”

Warmth flooded through him at the undeserved compliment. “I imagine there are quite a few who’d argue that point,” he said, “but thanks for saying it, just the same.”

“If you’re referring to your parents, I think you know better.”

Patrick stiffened. “I don’t discuss my parents.”

“Perhaps you should. Better yet, you should be talking to them. And to your brother.”

“They’re in my past,” he told her, not the least bit surprised that she felt she had a right to meddle in his life but resentful of it just the same.

“Not as long as there’s breath in any of you,” she told him, her tone surprisingly gentle. “One phone call would put an end to their heartache.” She leveled her gaze straight at him. “And to yours.”

“My heart’s just fine, thanks all the same, and I didn’t come here to get a lecture from you,” he said. “I left grade school a long time ago.”

“But you haven’t outgrown the need for a friendly nudge from someone older and wiser, have you?” she chided.

It was the second time in less than an hour that someone in town had seen fit to pull rank on Patrick. It was Caleb’s push that had gotten him over here, and for what? He hadn’t done a thing to help Alice Newberry, and he’d gotten another lecture on his own life in the bargain.

“Forgive me for saying this, Mrs. Dowd, but in this case you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know enough to recognize a miserable man when I see one standing in front of me,” she said. “You won’t be truly happy until you settle this.”

“Maybe it can’t be settled and maybe I don’t care about being truly happy,” Patrick retorted. “Maybe all I care about is being left alone.”

That said, he whirled around and left the school, regretting that he’d ever let Caleb talk him into coming over here in the first place. Some days a man would be smart to listen to his own counsel and no one else’s.

Alice had never been so humiliated and embarrassed in her life. Of all the boneheaded things she could have done…not only had she lost control of her students and let one of them nearly drown, she had done it in front of Patrick Devaney.

Everyone in Widow’s Cove knew that Patrick had turned into a virtual recluse. He lived on that fishing boat of his, ate his meals at Jess’s and, for all Alice knew, drank himself into oblivion there every night as well. What no one knew was why, not the details, anyway. There had been some sort of rift with his parents, that much was known. He’d left his home, about thirty miles away, and moved to Widow’s Cove. That thirty miles might as well have been thirty thousand. From what she’d heard, none of them had bridged the distance.

Alice almost hadn’t recognized Patrick when he’d emerged from the ocean dripping wet and mad as the dickens. His hair was too long and stubble shadowed his cheeks. He looked just a little disreputable and more than a little dangerous, especially with his intense blue eyes shooting angry sparks.

Alice remembered a very different Patrick from high school. Although she’d been two years older, everyone at the county high school located here in town knew each other at least by sight. Even as a sophomore, Patrick had been the flirtatious, wildly popular, star football player; his twin brother, Daniel, the captain of the team. The two of them had been inseparable. Now they barely spoke and tried to avoid crossing paths. No one understood that, either.

Alice hadn’t been surprised that Patrick hadn’t remembered her. Not only had she been older, but in high school she’d kept her head buried in her books. She’d
been determined to go to college, to break the pattern of all the women in her family, going back generations, who’d married seafaring men, borne their children and lived in fear each time a violent storm approached the coast.

Too many of those men had been lost at sea. Too many of the wives had raised their children alone, living a hand-to-mouth existence because they’d had no skills of their own to fall back on. It had been such a bitter irony that her own father had been lost to that same sea—not in a boat, but in a car—and that he’d taken Alice’s mother to her death with him.

Alice could still recall the heated exchange when she’d told her parents of her plans. They’d both thought she was casting aspersions on their choices, that by wanting more she was being ungrateful for the life they’d struggled to give her.

Maybe that was why, even when Patrick had been lambasting her for what had happened this afternoon, Alice had felt a strange sort of kinship with him. She knew all about family rifts and unhealed wounds. He, at least, still had time to heal his before it was too late. Maybe they’d met so that she could pass along the message she’d learned, assuming they ever crossed paths again.

She was about to leave school for the day when the screechy public address system in her room came on with a burst of static. “Alice, my office now, please,” Mrs. Dowd said in her usual tart manner.

Alice sighed. She thought they’d already been over today’s transgression and moved on. Apparently she’d been wrong. Maybe Matt Foster had called and made an issue of what had happened to Ricky. Maybe he’d forced the principal’s hand.

Gathering her things, she headed for the office, filled with a sense of dread. Even though living in Widow’s Cove hadn’t yet brought her the peace she’d hoped for, she didn’t want to leave, and that was exactly what being fired would mean, since there was no other kindergarten class for miles and miles along this remote stretch of coast.

She tapped lightly on the principal’s door, then walked in when the woman’s sharp tone summoned her.

“There’s something I thought you should know before you go off on break for the next week,” Loretta Dowd said, a surprising hint of a smile on her usually stern lips.

“Yes?”

“Patrick Devaney was here.”

Alice stared at her. Had he come to complain that she wasn’t responsible, that she had no business being in charge of a classroom full of children?