Three Weeks Last Spring (2 page)

Skye read a little and slept as the plane
sped
across the Atlantic.
She was startled awake when the landing gear hit the ground.
She shook her head to regain her focus, and looked out of the window.
The terminal buildings looked as grey and uninspiring as they had
a year ago.

Having completed the Immigration formalities, the delay at Customs was only mildly annoying.
The usual questions and then ‘have a nice day.’
Sh
e made her way to the rental car desk and collected the keys to the car she had
organized
.
Within minutes, she was
man
o
euvering
the vehicle out of the parking lot and do
wn the ramp on to Interstate 5.

S
he did
n’t
have far to travel to her hotel and soon found herself being shown to
a
room on the third floor.
Among its facilities, the hotel boasted a large swimming pool
,
an atrium garden filled with wildly
colored
tropical plant
s, and an excellent restaurant.

After breakfast,
Sky
e
consulted
her road map
,
trac
ing
her route north.
The hotel receptionist told her that it would take
roughly
two hours, depending on traffic, to drive the seventy or so miles to Anacortes.

As she had time to spare,
sh
e decided to do a little sight-seeing.
She found a place to park close to the ferry terminal
on Alaskan Way
.
Many of the shops were empty, and Skye found she could browse at will.
She climbed the Harbor steps, and stopped to admire the fountain, before continuing her walk along Fir
st Avenue to Pike Place Market.

She wasn’t due to check into the hotel in Anacortes until early evening, so
strolled
as far as the Westlake Centre and then
caught
the monorail to the Space Needle.
For once the weather was kind to her, unlike
her previous visit, when the sky had clouded over.
Today there was hardly a cloud visible, although it was a little on
the cool side.

The panoramas from the observation deck were stunning—well worth the white-knuckle ride in the express elevator.
Far below she could see a State ferry leaving for one of the islands in Puget Sound.
A few small sailing boats w
h
ere out o
n Elliot Bay, taking advantage of the fine weather.
Skye leaned
against the safety rail and looked out across the bay, and remembered the postcard she
ha
d received from Michael.

Skye glanced at her watch and was amazed to see that she had been standing daydreaming about what might have been for nearly an hour.
Annoyed for having allowed Michael into her thoughts yet again, she rode the elevator down to ground level.
She quickened her pace as she walked down Broad Street and on to Alaskan Way, past the Aquarium and Omnidome until she reached
Ivar’s
restaurant.
There she found a table overlooking the bay, and ordered a bowl of clam chowder and a pot of coffee.

After her meal she
returned to the car and
drove out of the city on Interstate 5
,
towards Anacortes.
According to her guidebook, the bustling port of Anacortes was founded in 1877.
Shipyards, seafood processing facilities, and tourism all contributed to the local economy.
Spectacular panoramas, combined with exclusive real estate, yacht charters and marina facilities brought residents and visitors alike to the area.
Judging by the number of expensive cars in the town, Skye had no doubt
the
book was correct.

The ferry to Friday Harbor left at eight the following morning, and the travel agent had recommended that Skye stay
at
the inn close to the terminal.
Tired from her drive, she ate a solitary dinner in the hotel's dining r
oom before calling it a night.

A short time later, she slipped between the cool white sheets of the
Queen-sized
bed and settled against the comforters.
Sighing deeply, she wiped a surreptitious tear from her eye.

"
Where did we go wrong, Michael?
Why couldn't you talk to me?
Why did you have to hurt me the way you did?
"

The following morning dawned cold and grey, the cloud level so low, that the majestic mountains
of the Pacific northwest
were completely hidden from view.
O
nly a few cars wait
ed
for the ferry, and those appeared to be
long to
locals and business people.
The tourists would come later, making it essential to book passage and spoiling t
he tranquillity of the journey.

Skye locked the car and climbed the stairs up to the main deck.
The aroma of coffee drew her towards the small cafe.
She purchased a beaker of Seattle's Finest, and wander
ed out to the observation deck.

As the ferry slowly steamed towards the islands, the cloud base gradually lifted, allowing the sun to filter through here and there.
Amazed by t
he panorama unfolding before her eyes, she wondered why anyone would want to lie on a sun-drenched beach all
day, when they could have this.

Friday Harbor soon came into view.
It was much smaller than Skye had imagined, and she wasn't prepared for the numerous sailboats with their impossibly tall masts, which filled every berth in the marina.
The San Juan Islands were a Mecca for tourists, whether they arrived off the ferries from Anacortes or Canada, or sailed their own yachts into the tiny and picturesque
harbo
u
rs
that dotted the islands
.

Skye found the realtor's office in a side street, just up the road from the ferry terminal.
The formalities completed, and with the key in her pocket and a detailed map in her hand, she once more set o
ut.

The roads were deserted
,
and the only
vehicles
she passed were trucks carrying fish from the north of the island to the ferry terminal.
Skye found driving in this backwater much easier than in Seattle or on the Interstate.
Her exit came into view; she moved across the highway, and
signaled
her turn into the private track.

The cabin was all she had hoped for and more.
Constructed purely of timber, it stood some five hundred yards from the shoreline and a mile or so off the highway.
A path led down from the cabin to a small
wooden
dock.
Eager to explore, Skye unloaded her shopping, and made herself a quick cup of coffee.
The rest of
her
luggage could wait.
She wanted nothing more than to breathe the clean fresh air and
savo
u
r
the view, before unpacking and settling into what would
be her home for the next month.

She left her jacket over a kitchen chair, and carried her steaming cup
down
to the
dock and sat down.
She
slipped
off her shoes, and was just about to dip her toes into the deep blue water, when a very masculine voice called out.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you.
The water is pretty darned cold at this time of year."

Startled, Skye’s heart thumped in her chest.
She turned and scanned the trees in an attempt to locate the voice,
which
emanated from the very depths of the pinewood.
She squinted into the early afternoon sunlight.
A figure emerged from the trees.
He was tall, well over six feet, with raven black hair and the slight shadow of a beard.
She couldn't really see his eyes, but had a feeling they would be icy blue and would have that
‘damn you to hell’ expression.

A chill ran down her spine.
The cabin was isolated, and even if there
were
another house within screaming distance, no one would be at home at this time of day.
Skye considered her options as the tall figure
approached
her.
If he were to prove difficult she could always push him
into
the sea, and
run
b
ack to the safety of the cabin.

The stranger halted a mere foot from her, forcing her to look up.

He grinned.
"Sorry to startle you, ma’am, but I wasn't sure if you were planning on taking anythin
g else off besides your shoes."

Skye's mouth opened but she couldn't utter a word.

"Because if you were, you'd only last about thirty minutes before hypothermia set in, and being the gentleman that I am, I would feel duty bound to come right in after you.
That would be a shame, because I'd planned on going home and cooking this fish for lunch."

Coughing and spluttering, Skye choked on her coffee.
So a fish was more important than saving someone from freezing to death.
She inclined her head to examine him more closely
and
saw that she’d been right about his eyes.
Here was a man who didn't suffer fools gladly.
Well,
‘
Mr.
Damn Your Eyes
’
could just go back
to
where he came from and take his fishy friend with him!

"You’ll be relieved to know, that I had no intention of taking anything other than my shoes off.
The thought of going for a swim hadn't entered my head.
But now you've mentioned it, it's not a bad idea.
As for you coming in after me, I'll take
a rain check, if you don't mind.
Not, I might add, that what I do is any business of yours.
I was assured that this was private
property
.
May I ask just what you think you are doing prowling around s
caring the hell out of people?"

"My, my, we're mighty touchy.
What happened, someone wake you up too early?"
The icy blue eyes flashed.
There was a trace of laughter in his voice
.

Skye
felt intimidated by the stranger's height.
She stood up in one fluid movement.
Not one inch of her five foot five frame gave her
anymore
confidence.
She barely came up to the man's chest—a chest that any woman would feel co
mfortable snuggled up against.
S
till feeling at a disadvantage,
she
took a long look.
Close up he didn't appear quite so intimidating—‘impressive’ was a better adjective.
In fact, she could think of a number of suitable adjectives to describe
him
, including handsome, rugged, not to mention offensive and arrogant.
This guy would stop traffic in London, but there he would be completely out of place.
Here in the rugged mountains of the Pacific Northwest
he was totally at ease.

Skye revised her estimate of his height.
He was at least six feet four, possibly more.
His eyes were deep set and she’d been right about the
colo
u
r
.
He had a scar over one eyebrow and
a
smaller one on his chin.
She wondered how he'd acquired them, but had no intention of asking.
He was dressed in black jeans, which fit him like a
glove
,
and a navy blue check work shirt
worn
open at the neck, revealing a tangle of dark hair.
He held a fishing rod in one hand, and a fish in the other, and looked for the entire world, as if he had stepped right out of the pages of her guidebook.

Skye stiffened.
"Look,
Mr
?
Sorry, but I didn't quite catch your name, and at this particular moment, I don't even care to know what it is.
I've had a long journey and I'm tired.
As far as I'm concerned you're trespassing.
I woul
d very much appreciate it, if you would leave by whatever means you arrived and allow me to finish
my coffee before it goes cold."

"The lady obviously has a temper to match the
colo
u
r
of her hair.
Now why don't you take a deep breath, calm down and enjoy the day?
You're obviously not from around here otherwise you wouldn't jump down a perfectly innocent person's throat, especially one who's trying to give you some friendly advice.
I won't disturb you any longer.
I'll be on my way, and for future reference, the name is Walker.
Jedediah Walker, but everyone just calls me
Walker."
Abruptly
,
he turned and strode along the dock.
He continued along the pebble beach, in the opposite direction from which he'd come.

Skye smothered a giggle.
"I can see why!"
And what did he mean,
‘
Future reference
?
’
Hell could freeze over before she would
choose to cross his path again.

Her first thought was to call the realtor and complain.
They had, after all, promised her complete privacy.
She
ha
d been most insistent on that when booking the cabin.
She
didn
't want noisy
neighbo
u
rs
destroy
ing
the peace and
tranquility
of this wonderful place.
No campers,
no
boaters and especially no screaming children, just her own space in which to do as she pleased for the next month.

But logic kicked in.

The San Juan Islands were well known for attracting fishermen and women.
The guy had probably moored his boat somewhere along the coast, and
followed the shoreline until he found
a suitable place from which to fish.
No big deal.
However, now that the cabin was occupied, Skye sincerely hoped that he
woul
d respect her privacy.
Other than the mailman, with the occasional letter from Debbie or John, she didn't wish to see anyone during her stay.

Skye picked up her cup, and shuddered in disgust as the cold liquid hit the back of her throat.
She made her way
back
to her car, retrieved her suitcase from the trunk,
and carried it into the cabin.

The cabin was very well equipped with cable TV, VCR, and an impressive stereo system.
Skye could live without a television, but music was a different matter and she was glad she had brought a selection of her
favorite
CDs with her.

In the centre
of the main room was a
huge
stone fireplace
,
which stretched across one wall.
The floors were polished and scattered with native Indian rugs.
A large leather sofa sat invitingly in front of the fireplace.
Full-length windows opened onto the deck, where the owner had left wicker chairs in which visitors could sit an
d admire the wonderful scenery.

Skye
carried
her suitcase into the bedroom and started to unpack.
Not only was there a king
-
size bed, and an open fireplace, but the room also had full-length windows
that
opened out on to the deck.
A hand stitched quilt with matching comforters covered the bed.
Sh
e ran her fingertips over it and
marveled
at the hours o
f work involved to complete it.

Once settled she would
call Debbie
t
o let her know she had survived the journey.
By that time, it would be getting close to midnight in London
,
a perfect time to call John
,
at least he wouldn't be able to trace her call.
That was the disadvantage of working at the cutting edge of technology and having a business partner who was her self-appointed ‘big brother.’
Without wasting
anymore
time, she set off to explore the cove and surrounding woods.