Rainbow's End. Irene Hannon

her body a bit more in his direction, she spoke loudly enough for him to hear her, keeping her gaze fixed on the bird in her hand.

      “Looks like this baby bird was a victim of last night’s storm. Goodness, he’s a tiny thing! But his beak is huge. That’s so he can get enough food to help him grow, I suppose. I wonder what he is? A flicker, maybe. Or a Steller’s jay. If he’s a jay, he’ll have a beautiful blue chest when he grows up.”

      As Jill spoke, she sensed the boy creeping closer, cautious but curious. She extended her hand a bit to give him a glimpse of the tiny bird, hoping he would come near enough to let her get a good look at him. His ragtag state concerned her, and she wanted to know more about him—who he was, where he lived, if he had enough to eat. But before she could engage him in conversation, she had to convince him that she posed no threat.

      With cautious steps he approached her, until only a few yards separated them. Jill continued to speak in a gentle, soothing voice, directing her comments to the little bird. But the reassuring words were meant more for her young visitor, designed to put him at ease and build his comfort level.

      When he was half a dozen feet away, Jill shifted and risked a quick glance in his direction, holding out her hand at the same time. “Would you like to see him?”

      The boy stopped, and alarm flashed across his face.

      She smiled at him and extended her hand farther. “It’s okay if you take a look. He won’t hurt you.” And neither will I.

      His wary eyes regarded her, uncertainty in their depths. She held her breath, hoping her unspoken message had registered. He took a tentative step closer. Then he took another. And…

      All at once, his head jerked up and he stared over her shoulder. Panic tightened his features, and before Jill could say a word he turned and ran back toward the woods as fast as his short legs could carry him. In seconds he’d disappeared into the shadows.

      Her shoulders slumped with disappointment, and Jill turned to see what had frightened her young guest—only to discover her other guest striding across the field toward her. And he was a somewhat formidable figure, she acknowledged. Although he seemed a bit underfed, he still had a powerful, athletic build. Throw in his height advantage over the youngster, not to mention his scruffy appearance, and she couldn’t fault the little boy for being uneasy. Keith Michaels had the same effect on her. For different reasons.

      In one lithe movement she stood and turned to face him.

      “I’m sorry. It looks like I chased off your visitor.” He stopped a few feet in front of her and planted his fists on his hips, twin furrows creasing his brow as he stared into the woods.

      “It doesn’t take much. He’s as skittish as the deer I sometimes surprise nosing around my garden. I thought I might pique his curiosity with this and coax him a bit closer.”

      The wide-brimmed hat shaded her features, and when she dipped her chin to look down her face was hidden from his view. Following her line of sight, he realized she was holding a newly hatched baby bird.

      He took a step closer. “Where did you find him?”

      “Here. Lying in the field. A victim of last night’s storm, I guess.” She cocooned her hands around the bird, hoping some of their warmth would seep into the tiny creature. “I need to get him inside, out of the breeze. And feed him.”

      Doubt clouded Keith’s eyes. “He’s pretty little. I don’t think his odds are too great.”

      Once more Jill looked up, and he didn’t miss the stubborn tilt of her chin. “I don’t plan to give up without a fight. And I bet this little guy won’t, either. My record with baby birds is pretty good.”

      Without waiting for him to respond, she set off across the field. As Keith fell into step beside her, a sudden chuckle rumbled deep in his chest.

      At the unexpected sound she came to an abrupt stop and stared at him. “What’s so funny?”

      A wry grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. “The woman at the shop in Eastsound told me that you liked to take in strays, and I had this image in my mind of an eccentric spinster lady with dozens of cats roaming all over her house. Not a young woman who rescues baby birds. I guess that shows how wrong preconceptions can be.”

      For several moments she continued to look at him, her expression solemn. “You were wrong about the cats, anyway.” She struck off again toward the house.

      His grin faded. He’d meant the comment as a compliment; instead, he’d upset her. Again. In half a dozen long strides he caught up to her.

      “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” She didn’t slow her pace. Nor did she respond. “Look, the reason I came over was to say thank you for all the work you did at the cottage. It doesn’t even look like the same place. And the soup was a bonus. It brought back a lot of happy memories. My mom used to make chicken soup, and back when times were simpler, it was the solution to a lot of life’s problems. One bowl, and everything was right with the world again.”

      Her pace slowed a bit, and she looked down to stroke the baby bird’s head. “I wish it were that easy.” Her voice was so soft he had to lean close to catch her comment.

      They’d reached the back porch and he stopped at the bottom of the steps as she ascended. There was a world of meaning in her simple remark. A profound sadness that touched his soul. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. When his husky tone brought a startled look to her face, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the bird. “I could build you a little box to keep it in.”

      Dipping her head, she shielded her eyes from his view. “That’s okay. I’ve got one in the kitchen that will do. But thank you.”

      With that she retreated to the house and closed the door.

      Long after she’d disappeared inside, Keith remained at the bottom of the steps, his expression pensive. The woman in the store had been right. His landlady did take in strays. She’d adopted an abandoned baby bird, determined to nurse it back to health. She wanted to help the ragtag little boy. She’d given him shelter when he had nowhere else to go. But while she tended to those in need, who tended to her?

      Shoving his fists into his pockets, Keith turned and set out across the meadow. His distraction blinded him to the flowers all around him, which were struggling upright again after the storm, and to the spruce trees that were shaking the weight of the rain off their boughs and once more lifting them to the heavens.

      Nor did he see the woman peering from behind a curtain in the upper window, who watched him go.