Except now he had a daughter.
Did that mean he also had a wife? He hadn’t been wearing a ring, but what lobsterman did? Around heavy equipment, a ring was a physical liability.
Why did Kit care about a ring or a wife?
Getting angry at herself for having given Sean McCabe’s marital status two thoughts had been Kit’s first mistake, she realized, thumping her heels against the examination table, waiting.
Hopping the neighbor’s chain-link fence to use their backyard hose as an impromptu shower-and-clothes-wash-in-one had been her second. As she’d scoured reluctant grass stains out of her jeans with her fingernails, she had remembered the feel of his body against hers. Remembered the sound of his laugh. The look of intensity in his eyes as he’d explained why he’d stayed to help.
Because it seems pretty damned important to you.
Sean shouldn’t have been her concern. Climbing back over the neighbor’s chain-link fence should have been.
And that was her third mistake. Her thoughts unfocused, she’d slipped and ripped her forearm.
Where was that nurse?
Her skin crawled under her damp clothes, still dirty, while her stomach growled. It was seven o’clock. Breakfast and her morning shower at the turnpike truck stop were a distant memory.
A plump nurse with pastel scrubs and a tiny, fuzzy koala attached to her stethoscope entered the examination cubicle. Kit didn’t know whether to resent Nurse Sunbeam’s well-fed perkiness or envy her cleanliness.
“We’ve filed your insurance. Here’s your release.” She handed Kit a yellow sheet of paper, then a second white one. “And here are instructions for taking care of that wound. If you have any problems, don’t hesitate to come back in.”
“I won’t have any problems,” Kit declared, sliding off the examination table. She’d been in worse situations without benefit of hospitals and antibiotics. Her stomach growled again. She needed to find the cafeteria. Clutching her papers, Kit headed for the elevator.
The elevator doors opened onto a bright and cheery food court. Just as Kit stepped out, a doll’s head rolled to a stop at her feet.
“Uncle Sean,” a child complained, “Alexandra’s not playing nice.”
How many Seans and Alexandras could there be in Pritchard’s Neck?
“But playing house is soooo boring,” a now familiar voice shot back. Alex McCabe’s. “I wanna play headhunters and cannibals.”
“Eeuuww!” girlish voices chorused in disgust.
Kit picked up the doll’s head.
Two little girls huddled on a plastic chair and tried to protect their family of dolls from a sword-wielding assailant. Make that a rolled-up newspaper-wielding assailant. Alex. Still dressed in mud-spattered overalls.
So where was her father this time?
A groan near a bank of soft-drink machines drew Kit’s attention to two jean-clad backsides—one adult, one child—which presented themselves to the world from an ignominious position on the floor. It seemed the two were trying to retrieve something from under one of the machines.
“Aha!” Rolling to a sitting position, Sean held aloft a plastic action figure. “Look, Noah,” he said, ruffling the young boy’s hair and handing him the toy, “just because Alex dares you to do something, doesn’t mean you have to—”
Sean stopped as if stung. Stopped and stared at Kit. The flinty look in his eye said she was the last person he expected—or wanted—to see.
Well, he was the last person she wanted to see.
“Kit!” Alex’s face, on the other hand, transformed with joy. Throwing down the newspaper sword, she rushed at Kit as if to hug her, then pulled up short when she spied the bandage on her forearm. “What happened? Lions? Tigers? Bears?”
“No wildlife.” Kit smiled. “A chain-link fence.”
Sean rose stiffly to his feet. He hadn’t managed a clean change of clothes either since they’d shared a mud bath. “You should get that arm looked at.”
“Well, duh, Dad!” Alex rolled her eyes. “She’s in a hospital. I think she already has.”
Sean’s ears turned pink as the three other children, now seated around a table littered with the remains of a meal, stared wide-eyed from Alex to Kit to Sean.
“We’re waiting for Aunt Emily to have her baby.” Alex seized Kit’s uninjured arm. “Come meet my cousins.”
Kit had never met anyone who accepted her so unconditionally, who championed her so exuberantly as Alex did.
“Maybe Kit was on her way somewhere, scout,” Sean cautioned, as if he wished Kit would take off. The hungry look in his eyes, however, belied his gruff tone. “Let her be.”
The corners of Alex’s mouth turned down.
“I’d like to meet your cousins,” Kit replied, slipping her hand into Alex’s. She tried to ignore Sean’s inhospitable words and her empty stomach. A round of introductions was the least she could do for the little girl who so openly accepted her.
Sean watched his daughter lead Kit toward Nina, Noah and Olivia.
“Hey, guys! Meet Seafaring Cecil.” Sean winced at the hero worship in her voice.
His daughter loved new words, but he didn’t know if she understood the meaning of transience. As in Kit’s life. The McCabes were a rooted lot. They might venture out on the tide, but they came back in on it as well. How would his daughter feel when Kit eventually took off—as she would, oh, yes, she would—without a backward glance?
“So tell them about your favorite trip,” Alex insisted, clearly intent on showing off her prize.
It surprised Sean that his daughter had to draw Kit out. He would have expected more swagger from Seafaring Cecil. From a woman who’d hit the road at fifteen. But she stood, holding Alex’s hand, and looked almost shy.
“My favorite trip is one I’ve never taken.” She smiled and her smile was sweet and far away. “Kathmandu.”
Could it be? Kathmandu was the trip she and he had mapped back in senior year when they were supposed to be researching the effects of geography on the Russian revolution instead. Their mutual passion for the freedom travel promised was what had led him to ask her out.
She glanced at him, then quickly looked away, blushing. “So maybe you’d rather see some tricks I picked up from a street performer in Montreal.”
“I like tricks!” six-year-old Olivia chimed in. “But not mean ones.”
“Can you saw a person in half?” Alex asked, her uninjured eye saucer-large.
“No tricks that complicated.” Kit winked. “But I can juggle and do card tricks and read palms and pick pockets—”
“Pick our pockets!” Alex exclaimed as the children leaned forward as one.
Slapping her hands over her miniature backpack, eight-year-old Nina appeared shocked. “Do you keep what you take?”
“No, no!” With a predatory feline grace Kit moved around the small group. “This is just for fun.”
Her twin brother, Noah, danced from foot to foot, but Nina wore a pruney expression. “Picking pockets—”
Alex reached out and clamped her hand over her cousin’s mouth.
“You’ve got to pick a pocket or two,” Kit crooned,