On Wings Of Love. Ashley Summers

troubles.”

      What kind of troubles? Biting back the question that sprang to her lips, she stepped over a sleeping calico cat and preceded Thomas Logan to the door.

      Once inside, he took the lead. The wide staircase rose to a windowed landing, turned sharply and continued to the second floor. He stopped before an open door and allowed her to enter the airy room that would be her private haven for a while.

      A bed with carved pineapple posts centered the room. A goose-down comforter in pale blue with tiny white polka dots suggested cozy nights. There was a fluffy rug for her bare feet, and on the dresser, a pewter vase of blue delphiniums.

      Lovely, Katy thought. Who was the decorator? Not that there were any signs of professional decor; everything was comfortably worn. Just enough to invite a person to kick off her shoes and relax, she thought, eyeing the maple rocking chair heaped with plump pillows. A stack of snowy towels and washcloths lay on the trunk at the end of the bed. No private bath?

      “No,” he said when she voiced her thought. “But it’s just down the hall, and you’re the only one here.” He put down her bags and leaned against the doorsill. “You like it?”

      “Yes, I do. Very much.” Katy gave a silent gasp as she turned to speak to him. Either the room had shrunk or he’d stepped closer. Of course, neither had happened. As far as she could tell, the room was the same size and he still leaned against the doorsill. She placed her camera on the dresser.

      “Do you live here alone, Mr. Logan?”

      “Thomas, please. And yes, we’re alone. But you needn’t worry, I’m quite well known on Orcas Island, and there’s a lock on your door.” His mouth quirked, and there was a hint of devilry in those heavenly blue eyes. “And I’ve yet to ravish a female left at my mercy.”

      Katy found herself blushing again, as much from the melting effect of his azure gaze as from his words. “I was simply trying to get some idea of my surroundings,” she replied haughtily. “You mentioned a maid?”

      “Uh-huh, Maddie. She comes in at eight and stays until five or so. Your credit card is on record?” he asked without much concern. Katy nodded. “Well, then,” he concluded briskly, “I’ll leave you to get settled in. Any questions?”

      “No, no questions.”

      His teeth flashed. “I have one. How did you come to choose my place? I don’t advertise at all.”

      “I didn’t choose it, my girlfriend did. She lives on the island, so naturally I asked her to find me a decent place to stay,” Katy said. He was smiling at her again, his smile especially for her, it suggested. She felt another rush of warmth, this time in the vicinity of her heart.

      Disconcerted by her lightning-quick responses to this stranger, she placed a hand on the bedpost to steady her nerves. What’s with you today, Katy? she demanded. First his house and now the man!

      Realizing he’d asked the name of her friends, Katy hurriedly replied, “Patsy Palmer. Do you know her? She’s a potter, has what she calls a ‘wee place’ at that artists’ colony down by the ferry landing.”

      “Of course I know Patsy. I’ll have to remember to thank her,” Thomas murmured. Maybe even send her flowers, he thought, listening to Katy’s spontaneous little laugh.

      He put one of her suitcases on the luggage rack, using the act to cover another quick but thorough study of his guest. Which he’d been doing since that first dazzling glimpse of her, he admitted. Her image was already fairly well set in his mind, the golden curls intent upon escaping from beneath her baseball cap, her apple cheeks and slanting eyebrows, the soft, sweet, generous mouth he had a compelling urge to taste.

      His own mouth insisted on curving as he watched her place her pillow on the bed just so. Her eyes were an incredible color, somewhere between purple and blue. Violet, he decided. She was small, even fragile in appearance, but he sensed the steel in that slim spine. Expertly he appraised the white silk blouse tucked into tan slacks, the diamond solitaire that glittered at her throat, the tiny gold watch on her wrist.

      Her nails were tapered ovals of soft, glossy pink. Nails that had never dug in a garden, he’d warrant. She wore sandals, and even her toenails were the same shining color as her fingertips. Pedicured feet, he decided. Pretty feet. Not that he had a foot fetish, but... Thomas raked a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. Not that women made him nervous... Oh, hell. Enough already, he admonished himself.

      His guest was beautiful, all right, but he couldn’t help wondering at the shadows that haunted those enchanting eyes. What had caused the sadness that lay deep within their depths? Had someone hurt her? A man? Clamping down on his unsettling need to know, Thomas gave himself a brisk mental shake. “As I said, if you need anything... Oh, I’ll leave a key on the table by the front door. You can pick it up at your convenience. You can also sign the register later.”

      “Yes, I will. Thank you.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      He certainly seemed eager to leave, Katy thought with an unseemly touch of resentment. Biting her bottom lip, she watched him stride out the door. His hair curled at his nape like a little boy’s. But this was no little boy, she was quick to warn herself. This was a man, a sinewy length of vibrant masculinity that warmed a woman all over.

      He must drive the females on this island crazy, she thought. Patsy, too? Chagrined, Katy turned away to unpack. Even so, she was very much aware of him leaving the room.

      It felt a little strange to think she’d be here alone with him. “Oh, Katy, he’s the host, for heaven’s sake!” she disparaged her nervousness. “Don’t go getting any crazy ideas about him.”

      A late-afternoon breeze wafted through her window, and with it, the sound of Thomas Logan’s voice. He was speaking to the cat, chiding it, his laugh gentle.

      The same gentleness she had sensed when he’d asked if she was all right. “When you went into orbit just because an airplane flew by a little lower than usual, Kathleen. Idiot!” she muttered.

      Realizing she’d called herself an idiot for the third time in less than an hour, Katy smiled at herself. The usually derisive term was actually an affectionate catchword between two sisters. Katy even remembered the first time they’d used it. Karin, nine years old, red-faced and furious, lobbing Easter eggs at Katy and screeching, “You’re an idiot, you know that, Katy? An idiot! I do not like that creepy Bryant Hurst!”

      Punishment was swift, of course; Nell, their beloved nanny, did not tolerate rudeness, not from anyone, and especially not from her young misses...

      Oh, Karin, I miss you, I miss you! The lump in Katy’s throat, for all its familiarity, was painfully hard to dislodge. Suddenly aching with loneliness and grief, she hugged herself with a little swaying motion until the pain dulled to a manageable level.

      With a physical effort, she closed the door on her memories and indulged in an elaborate stretch. Lord, she was tired! Every muscle ached with the strain of her long trip. She glanced at her watch. Six o’clock, too late for a nap and too early for bed. A walk, then, she decided. From her window overlooking the meadow she could see woods and inviting glades. The fragrance of clover and wild grasses beckoned to her.

      Katy changed clothes, choosing sneakers, walking shorts and a cotton blouse, then tied the sleeves of a pink cardigan around her shoulders. Her hair, trapped under a baseball hat for so many hours, was a tangled mess and required a thorough brushing. The heavy, loosely curling, perennially tousled mane contained a dozen shades of gold, from dark honey to the palest blond. Leaving it loose around her shoulders, she hurried downstairs.

      Thomas Logan was not in sight. She walked through the dining room to the French doors leading out to the back terrace. Borders of pink shrub roses separated the yard from the meadow. A fieldstone path led down the slight incline and impulsively she took it, following the sound of running water.

      Just as the name of the B&B suggested, there was indeed a brook and it did tumble