Another Man's Children. Christine Flynn

built here. But I’d rather do that than have him jeopardize himself. I’ve already lost one friend. I damn well don’t want to lose another.”

      He hated what she was doing, resented the way she was forcing him to acknowledge the fear he felt for his friend.

      He hated the very word. There had been a time when he’d nearly believed that fear didn’t even exist for him. He’d learned how to deny it, to bury it under exhilaration and the adrenaline rush of the close call, the near miss. But that had been back when his training had made him believe that admitting to fear robbed a man of his edge, and once he lost his edge he was no longer invincible. Back when utter confidence had often been all that had kept him alive.

      He knew fear now, though.

      He knew that loss could happen in the blink of an eye.

      And he knew that something about the woman so warily watching him now taunted the ruthless control he’d always maintained over himself.

      Annoyed with that, too, he lowered his voice as he forced himself to back off, but the tightness remained. “Does that answer your question?”

      Lauren had gone utterly still. In the space of seconds, the imposing, quietly irritated man looming in front of her had ripped away the protective anger that had braced her—and seriously shaken her entire perception of him. There was no denying that he was overbearing, arrogant and bolder than any man she knew, but he wasn’t heartless.

      He wasn’t even close.

      He was just as worried about Sam as she was. Only he’d had more reason to be concerned because he’d known of circumstances she hadn’t even been aware of.

      He’d also lost a friend in Tina himself. And she hadn’t even considered that.

      Trying to regroup, all she managed was a faint, “Yes.”

      “Good.”

      “Look. I’m—”

      “Do you want to help your brother?”

      “Of course I do. But I’m sor—”

      “How long are you staying?”

      She was trying to apologize, to let him know she regretted her assumptions. Those assumptions might not have been there had he been a little less impossible, but she wouldn’t shirk her part of the blame.

      With his glance narrowed on her face, it was clear he wasn’t interested in making amends. He was, however, confusing her.

      “How long am I staying?”

      “Here. On Harbor.”

      There was a measuring look in his eyes, something she didn’t trust at all. The muscle in his jaw was jumping.

      “I can only take about a week off.”

      He considered her for another nerve-wracking moment. “That’s better than nothing.”

      “For what?”

      “Your brother needs to get away,” he told her, expressing no interest at all in what she could only take a week off from. “He said he’d give anything to get away from all the memories of Tina for a while. But there’s no one to stay with the kids. If you really want to help, tell him you’ll watch them for him so he can go over to my cabin. It’s over on Gainey,” he said, speaking of one of the other seven hundred islands in the area. “I’ll fly him there myself.”

      The discomfort she felt suddenly shifted course. “Why would he need to go to another island?”

      “Because it’s isolated there.”

      “This place isn’t?” Incredulous, even more confused, she swept her hand toward the door. “His house is the only one on that inlet. The only house for miles,” she felt compelled to point out, since the location was now taking on an entirely new significance. “I’d think that would be about as remote as it gets.”

      “Trust me.” His tone went as flat as the map on the wall. “There’s a difference between being a few miles from town and being in a place you can’t leave.”

      “But being isolated couldn’t possibly be good for him right now. He needs his friends. He needs family.”

      “Why?”

      Why? she echoed, but only to herself. As tempting as it was, she wouldn’t fall for the challenge carved in his face. He’d just proved he wasn’t anywhere near as insensitive as he’d first seemed. She did, however, have major philosophical problems with his perceptions of her brother’s needs.

      “Because he needs people around him,” she replied, not sure why he couldn’t see it himself. “To help keep him occupied. To help him deal with his grief. Being alone would be so much worse.”

      “Or maybe,” Zach suggested, doing a commendable imitation of her patently patient tone, “it would be easier. Maybe what your brother needs is the opportunity not to be stoic for all those other people and to deal with whatever he’s feeling head-on.”

      “He doesn’t need to be stoic around me.”

      “Of course he does. You’re his little sister.”

      “What’s that got to do with anything?”

      The look he gave her held amazing tolerance. “A man doesn’t want to show weakness around a female member of his family. And he sure as hell doesn’t want to show it in front of another male. The life Sam had is gone and he needs to come to grips with that before he can move past it. The only way that can happen for some people is to leave them alone so they can deal with whatever they’re feeling without worrying about how it’s affecting everyone else. That includes you. Your parents. Me. Everyone.”

      There was something about the way he included himself in that list that caught her attention. It was almost as if he were making a conscious effort to keep from adding to her brother’s concerns. But that thought was lost in the face of his absolute certainty. It was heavy in his voice, mirrored in his eyes.

      Conviction like that wasn’t born of assumption. The only place something that deeply felt could come from was personal experience.

      “Everyone has to deal with what they’re handed in their own way,” he muttered, suddenly looking uncomfortable with the way she was watching him. “The choice isn’t yours or mine, anyway. It’s Sam’s. And whether he chooses to stay or go, he’s not flying for a while.”

      He sounded as if he expected her to disagree. Given that they hadn’t agreed on anything either had said so far, the expectation was reasonable. But she wouldn’t debate his decision about Sam flying. Zach had made his point. She just wasn’t at all convinced that what her brother needed right now was solitude.

      “Does he know he isn’t a competent pilot?”

      “I doubt it.”

      “Is he going to argue with you about it?”

      “I imagine he will. He’s been taking extra flights so he can be away from here. He’s not going to like the idea of being stuck where he doesn’t want to be.”

      The faint buzz of fluorescent lights underscored the soft whir of a space heater in the far corner. Over those quiet sounds came the sharp, electronic ring of the telephone and the thud of Zach’s boots on the scarred linoleum floor when, without a word, he moved to the counter to answer it.

      The deep, authoritative tones of his voice carried toward her as her glance skimmed his profile and the wide scar covering the side of his strong neck.

      She’d told him she didn’t know him. And she didn’t. The things she knew about him were that he was divorced and that he was no longer in the military. If she had to guess, she would put him near her brother’s age. Thirty-seven or so. Only eight years older than she was herself. But those things were superficial. It was what he’d said about how some people needed solitude to deal with whatever it was they