Rainbow's End (10 page)

“Kyle, who did that to your arm?” she tried again, her voice soft.

Once more tears welled in his eyes, but he remained silent.

A shadow fell across the doorway, and they both looked up to find Keith standing there. “Can I help?”

Though his tone was caring and kind, Kyle tensed in her arms as he stared up at the man, his whole body quivering.

“Come down to our level,” Jill suggested quietly.

A flash of understanding dawned in Keith's eyes, and he dropped down to balance on the balls of his feet. “What's going on?”

“We lost Homer.” Jill gestured toward the box, her gaze meeting Keith's.

After taking a quick glance at the dead bird, Keith gave her a quizzical look, as if to say, “Is that it?” But before he could speak, a familiar voice floated across the meadow, muffled by the walls of the shed but still distinct.

“You here, boy?”

Kyle stiffened, and before Jill could stop him he jumped up and ran for the door, almost knocking Keith over as he shot past.

“Should I go after him?” Keith steadied himself, his fingertips brushing the ground.

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, Jill shook her head. When she spoke, her voice was raspier than usual. “No. But I think it's time to call the authorities.”

“You found some grounds to suspect abuse?”

“Yes. Of recent enough vintage that it should be sufficient to compel someone to investigate his situation.” She drew a steadying breath and rose, trying to control her anger. “Kyle has cigarette burns on his arm.”

A beat of silence ticked by as Keith slowly stood. “I take it you mean deliberate burns.” His tone was grim, and his eyes grew flat and hard.

“Yes.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “You're sure?”

“I saw this once before, when I was teaching. And I know what burns look like.”

“Then we need to call the state division of Children and
Family Services…or Social Services, whatever they call it here. That's the agency that's designed to protect abused and neglected children.”

His quick and knowledgeable response surprised her. It was almost as if he'd been down this road.

“I dealt with a couple of abuse situations in a past life,” he said in response to the unasked question in her eyes.

So he hadn't always been a carpenter, after all. Deb had surmised as much. Then what
had
he been? Jill wondered. But now wasn't the time to speculate about her tenant. Her first priority was to ensure Kyle's safety. Considering that the studio was only about thirty percent done, Jill figured she had a few more weeks to satisfy her curiosity about Keith. Except she wasn't very good at ferreting out information.

Too bad Deb wouldn't be back for another year.

 

“Jill Whelan? Cindy Howard, Division of Family Services. We spoke on the phone. Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd stop by. May I come in?”

Although Jill recognized the voice of the woman who stood on the other side of her front door, the social worker didn't fit the image she'd constructed in her mind of a motherly, middle-aged type. With her flaming red hair, slight build and fashionable attire, Cindy looked to be in her early thirties at the most. But more important, why was she here? Jill hadn't expected to have to talk with anyone in person. Still, if she had new information…

“Have you had a chance to check on Kyle?”

“Yes. That's what I wanted to talk with you about.”

So much for her self-imposed isolation, Jill reflected, steeling herself for the woman's reaction as she stepped back
and motioned her in. Cindy did seem a bit taken aback for a brief second, but Jill's disfigurement didn't distract her from the purpose of her visit. After seating herself on the couch Jill waved her to, she got down to business.

“Thank you for bringing this situation to our attention,” she told Jill.

“Can you tell me what you found out?”

The woman consulted a notepad. “Some. The little boy's name is Kyle Corbett, and the older man is his grandfather. Who was not too happy to see me, by the way.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Goes with the job.” Cindy shrugged. “Anyway, even though Mr. Corbett was reluctant to share information, I managed to find out that the boy has been living with him for the past six weeks. Kyle's mother died a few months ago, and it seems that Kyle was cramping his father's style. I also suspect from a few of the grandfather's comments that Kyle's father was abusive to both his ‘partner'—he wasn't married to Kyle's mother—and to his son.”

“What about the vision problem? And the fact that he doesn't speak?”

“Mr. Corbett confirmed that the boy hasn't spoken since he's been living with him, but indicated that he can speak. And I concur with your assessment that Kyle needs glasses. I recommended that he have a vision test, and provided some information to his grandfather about a free clinic in town. But to be honest, I don't have a lot of hope that he'll follow through.”

A frown creased Jill's brow. “So what happens next?”

“I'll continue to monitor the situation. For one thing, I suspect Kyle should be starting school this fall. His grandfather wouldn't confirm his age, but I can check birth records.
Beyond that, however, there's little we can do. There was food in the house, and I saw no evidence of present abuse.” Cindy closed her notebook.

“But—but he's still suffering from the effects of past abuse! He doesn't even speak. That has to be a result of trauma. And he's in desperate need of love and care.”

A soft look stole into Cindy's eyes. “I can see how much you care about him, Jill—if I may call you that?” At Jill's nod, she continued. “I wish we could do more. But I can't find any immediate grounds to take him out of his present environment. For now, the best I can do is continue to make periodic visits.”

Clasping her hands in front of her, Jill leaned forward, her posture taut and tense. “Is there anything else
I
can do?”

“Just continue what you've been doing. Based on our phone conversation a couple of days ago, it sounds like Kyle has been a regular visitor. And after meeting you, I can see why. I suspect he finds the kind of nurturing here that has long been absent from his life—if he ever had any.”

“It's not enough.” Jill's voice was a mere whisper.

“For now, it will have to be.” Cindy tucked her notebook into her purse. “If you see anything else that looks suspicious, please call me. At any time.” She dug in her purse and handed Jill a card. “My office, home and cell phone numbers are on there. Don't hesitate to use them if you need to. And keep caring about Kyle. He needs someone like you.”

Long after Cindy left, Jill remained in the living room, her shoulders slumped. How could people be indifferent to children? Or, in Kyle's case, not only indifferent, but abusive? She thought of the circle of love she and Sam and Emily had shared. Emily had thrived in that nurturing environment, laughter coming as easily to her as breathing. On the other
hand, Jill had never heard Kyle laugh. Or even seen him smile. No matter what Cindy said, it wasn't right. Maybe his grandfather gave him food and shelter and clothing, but he needed more. Much more. He needed nourishment and shelter for his heart and his soul, as well as for his body.

She was still sitting there when a knock sounded at her back door. Turning, she saw Keith framed in the doorway. With a weary sigh, she rose and joined him on the porch.

One look at her face, and Keith knew something bad had happened while he'd run into town to order additional supplies. His stomach tightened into a knot. “What's wrong?”

Shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she moved to the railing and stared into the dark woods at the edge of the meadow. “I had a visit from the social worker who looked into Kyle's situation.”

“And?”

“There's nothing they can do.” She gave him a quick recap of Cindy's report. “It seems our hands are tied.”

The dejected slump of Jill's shoulders tugged at Keith's heart, and it took all of his willpower to squelch a powerful—and unexpected—urge to walk up behind her and wrap his arms around her in a comforting, caring hug. Instead, he jammed his hands in his pockets and moved beside her, angling his body to give him a view of her profile.

“You tried, Jill.”

“It didn't do any good.” She choked back a sob.

“You never know. Sometimes the smallest action can have repercussions we could never imagine. You did your best, and God knows that. Now you just have to put this situation in His hands and trust that all things will work to His good.” He wasn't sure where those words had come from.

His comments touched her, and she blinked back tears. “Thanks for reminding me of that.” Then she gave him a tremulous smile. “You know, maybe you missed your calling, Keith. I have a feeling you would have made a good minister.”

The unexpected comment jolted him, and he reared back almost as if someone had delivered a hard right to his jaw. “Yeah, well, I need to get back to work. We'll talk later.”

With that, he turned and strode away.

Shocked by his reaction, Jill could only stare at his stiff back as he made a hasty retreat. She'd intended her comment to be a compliment, had hoped it would bring an answering smile to his lips. Instead, the color had drained from his face, and in the instant before he shuttered his eyes a flash of pain had ricocheted through them. What in the world had that been all about? Why was he upset? Questions zipped through her mind, all of them unanswered.

Where was Deb when she needed her?

A
short time after Keith's abrupt departure, he took off for town, saying he had to talk to the electrical contractor. Jill had a nagging feeling that she owed him an apology, but for the life of her she couldn't figure out why.

Although she tried to paint, her thoughts were too distracting. She finally gave up and went out to tend her garden, hoping physical labor would dispel her troubled musings. When that didn't work, either, she put her tools away and decided she needed a Deb fix. Her sister always had a way of putting things in perspective.

“So how's the studio coming along?” Deb greeted her.

“Great. Keith is making a lot of progress.”

“And how is Keith?”

“Fine. I guess.”

“What does that mean?”

“I think I offended him earlier today. But I have no idea why.”

“Ask him.”

“Easier said than done.”

“That's what I'd do if I was there.”

Jill didn't doubt it. “Since you aren't, that doesn't solve my problem.”

“Okay…try reconstructing the conversation. That might help you figure out why he's upset. What were you talking about?”

“Kyle.” She filled Deb in on her discovery of Kyle's burns and her subsequent call to the authorities. “A social worker paid his grandfather a visit, but couldn't find any current grounds to take action.”

“What happens next?”

“She said she'd keep the situation on her radar screen, and she's going to do some digging to figure out if Kyle should be in school this year.”

“Sounds like she's doing all she can.”

“I suppose so. She was very nice. And she hardly glanced at my face. I guess in her job, she's seen it all.”

“Or it could be that you're less sensitive about it. I told you all along, Jill. You need to give people a chance. Once they get past the initial shock a lot of them would be able to put your scars aside and treat you like the normal person you are. You don't give them enough credit. Keith doesn't even seem to notice them.”

“He's different.”

A couple of beats of silence ticked by. “Yeah. I think he is, too. Look, about this misunderstanding. Give it a little time. He might end up telling you what's bothering him without any prompting.”

Three hours later, when Jill saw a light bobbing across the field toward the house, her earlier conversation with Deb came to mind. Perhaps Keith was coming to explain his odd behavior and to offer some answers to the questions that had been swirling around in her mind. And if that wasn't the purpose of
his visit, perhaps she could find the courage to follow Deb's advice and flat out ask him what she'd said to upset him.

Wiping her hands on a dish towel, she stepped out onto the back porch and moved to the railing. But when the figure grew close, she realized it wasn't Keith after all, but Kyle's grandfather. In the flickering lantern light, the grim set of his features was thrown into stark—and menacing—relief.

Before she could retreat to the safety of the house, he stepped up onto the porch, moving with an agility that surprised her, to plant himself between her and the back door.

“All right, missy. You and me have some talking to do.”

Summoning up her courage, Jill straightened her shoulders and stared him down, keeping a nervous eye on the flickering lantern in his hand. “No, I don't think we do.”

He took a step closer, and continued as if she hadn't spoken. “I don't like do-gooders sticking their nose into my life. How I raise the boy is nobody's business but mine, you hear? Sending the state to check up on me wasn't smart. It's hard enough taking on a snot-nosed kid without having the authorities butting in and asking a lot of nosy questions. You want what's best for the boy? Then you back off. Got it?”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Corbett?” Jill tried to sound assertive, but she couldn't control the quiver that ran through her voice.

“Call it what you like.” He lifted the lantern a bit higher and peered at her in the flickering light. “Say, what's wrong with your face?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Not exactly Miss America, are you?” he sneered. “I've heard stories about you, the widow-lady recluse. Now I see why you hide out here. Can't be much of a life, though. Maybe that's why you figure you got to mess in other people's.”

His vile words sent a shiver down her spine. “Get off my property, Mr. Corbett.”

He took another step in her direction and waved the lantern in front of her. It was so close that Jill could feel the heat, and she gasped and shrank back against the railing, lifting her hands to shield herself as the thick bile of fear rose in her throat. “I don't take orders from women.”

“Then you can take them from me.”

At the sound of Keith's voice, the older man's head whipped around. But he didn't budge.

“Like the lady said, get off this property,” Keith told him in a curt, authoritative tone that Jill had never heard before. “Now. Or
I'll
call the authorities.”

For a few seconds, the man seemed to be weighing his options. At last, without another word, he brushed past Keith, descended the steps and retraced his route across the meadow until his lantern was a mere speck of light in the distance.

Only when it was clear that the man was gone did Keith turn his attention back to Jill. She was slumped against the railing, and though her features were masked in the dim light, he could feel the tension emanating from her body. “Are you all right?”

The husky, concerned timbre of his voice chased away the last of her composure. She dropped her head into her hands, and despite her attempts to stifle it, a ragged sob escaped from her throat.

Earlier in the day, Keith had found the strength to resist the strong impulse to touch her, to console her. This time, he didn't. Without stopping to consider her reaction—or the consequences—he followed his heart. In two long strides he was beside her. Pulling her close, he wrapped his arms around her in a protective, comforting hug.

His cheek resting against her soft hair, Keith held her until the shudders rippling through her body at last abated and she relaxed in his arms. It had been a long time since he'd touched a woman. Longer still since doing so had evoked feelings other than simple caring support. That was all Ellen had needed from him in the end. For the final few months of her life, he'd become more caretaker than husband. And after she died, after his world disintegrated, he'd been so filled with hate that he'd never again expected to experience the gentler emotions.

Well, he was experiencing them now. Big-time. His intent had been merely to comfort and protect Jill, but all at once he felt more. Much more. Her soft, slender body made him yearn for things he'd almost given up hope of ever experiencing again. And reminded him that despite all that had happened, he was still a man. A man capable of responding to a special woman. This woman.

That revelation rocked Keith's world. When he'd arrived on Orcas Island, he'd been hoping to find many things. Answers. A way back to God. Hope. A new life. He hadn't been looking for romance. In fact, that hadn't even been on his radar screen. But now he realized that during the past few weeks, thanks to the woman he held in his arms, he'd begun to take the first steps toward the resolutions he'd been seeking. That here, at the literal end of the road on his journey, he was finding a new beginning. And along the way, Jill had become far more than a landlady.

Although he was stunned by that insight, this wasn't the time to reflect on it. Right now, Jill needed the comfort and strength of his arms. Later, he could try and figure out when his feelings toward her had begun to deepen. And, more importantly, how he was going to deal with that.

As they stood on the dark porch, the stillness of the night surrounding them, Jill wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up in Keith's arms, her cheek pressed against the soft flannel of his shirt, his heart beating a steady, strong, reassuring tempo beneath her ear. All she knew was that it felt right. And good.

A few weeks before, the very notion that she'd ever again find herself in a man's arms would have seemed ludicrous, Jill reflected. As would the suggestion that her private hideaway would be visited by a whole new cast of characters—Keith, Kyle, Mr. Corbett, Cindy. That was more callers than she'd had in the entire previous twelve months. After years of seclusion she was rejoining the world instead of watching it from the sidelines. And it was exhilarating. But it was also a bit unsettling. Yet Jill wouldn't change a thing about the past month. Or this moment. Or this man.

For as long as she dared, she stayed in the circle of Keith's strong arms, relishing the soothing way his hand was stroking her back, enjoying the feel of his chin nuzzling her hair. But when suddenly she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss him, she gave a startled gasp and backed off.

Instead of letting her go, Keith gripped her upper arms and scanned her face in alarm. “Jill? Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. I'm f-fine.” She could barely choke out the words.

“You don't sound fine.” His eyes narrowed, and his lips settled into a thin, hard line as he scrutinized her. “He didn't touch you before I got here, did he?” His question was quiet. Too quiet.

“No. My white knight appeared just in time.” She tried to laugh but couldn't quite pull it off. “How did you know that I…that there was a problem?”

“I saw the light from the cabin. Since you aren't exactly
overrun with visitors here, and considering the direction the light was coming from, I put two and two together.” His back was to the dim light in the kitchen, his expression shadowed and unreadable. “Will you be okay here by yourself tonight? I don't think he's coming back, but I could camp out on the porch if it would make you feel safer. I have a sleeping bag.”

The temptation to accept his offer was so strong that it took every ounce of Jill's self-discipline to subdue it. Knowing he was close by would give her a feeling of safety sure to be absent once he trekked back across the field. But she couldn't do that to him. Not when he had a nice, comfortable bed at the cabin.

“No, I'll be fine. But…would you like to come in for some coffee before you leave?” She owed him that, at least. Not to mention the fact that it would delay his departure a bit.

Did he hesitate, or was it her imagination? “Sure. I could use a cup.”

Leading the way in, she bolted the door behind them and gestured to the kitchen table. “Make yourself comfortable. It will just take a minute.”

As she busied herself at the sink, it occurred to Jill that this was the first time Keith had been in the house for any reason other than to deliver dirty dishes or give her a progress report on the studio. Their noon meal was always taken outside. Somehow, having him sit at her kitchen table introduced a new feeling of closeness to their relationship. Not good, considering the inappropriate direction of her thoughts on the porch.

“Can I help?”

His voice at her ear, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck, startled her. Her hand jerked, sending water sloshing out of the coffeepot.

“Let me do this. Why don't you sit down?”

Since she couldn't seem to speak, she relinquished the coffeepot and did as he suggested.

When he joined her a couple of minutes later, she'd managed to get her breathing under control. Sort of.

“I'm sorry about tonight,” he said.

Now what did that mean? she wondered, staring at him in silence. Sorry that he'd held her? Or sorry that she'd been frightened?

“He's a pretty scary character. When I saw that light in the meadow I didn't want to take any chances.”

He was still talking about Kyle's grandfather. Okay. Good. She could handle that. She laced her fingers together and set them on the table. “I'm glad you came over. I don't know if he's dangerous or not, but on an intimidation scale he's close to a ten. I was holding my own, though, until he started waving that lantern in my f-face.”

Her voice broke and a shudder rippled through her. Keith's first instinct was to reach for her hand, but he stifled it and rose abruptly instead. “I'll get our coffee.”

When he returned a couple of minutes later, he set her mug on the table. Then he wrapped his hands around his own and took his seat. Her pinched features and the tremor in her fingers as she reached for her mug told him that her close encounter with the lantern tonight had been far more traumatic than he'd first realized. “I'm sorry he upset you, Jill. I remember the night I arrived you told me you don't even keep candles in the house.”

“I don't use the fireplace, either.”

“I can understand that.”

She played with her cup, staring into the dark depths as she traced a fingertip around the rim. “You've never asked me what happened.”

“I figured you'd tell me if you wanted to.”

Did she want to? Jill wasn't sure. She hadn't talked about that terrible night with anyone in three and a half years. She'd answered the questions of the authorities as best she could, when her condition had allowed. And she'd done one hysterical, almost incoherent retelling of the story for Deb during a hospital stay when drugs for the excruciating pain had loosened her tongue. But that had been it. She'd buried the horror of that night deep inside, just as she'd buried the family she loved. Her life, like the home she'd created with such joy, had been reduced to ashes. Talking about it wouldn't bring anything back.

Refusing to put the horror into words hadn't stopped the nightmares, however. But even they had been beaten into submission, rearing their ugly head on rare occasions these days. She'd dealt with the trauma in the only way she could and moved on, building a new, solitary life for herself. And over the years, the rawness of her grief had diminished. Why let this man trespass into that off-limits territory by sharing her painful past with him?