Spitfire (Puffin Cove) (2 page)

"Gor
! Are ya new? Lord tunderin' Jesus. This is St. John's, girl, not bloody Come By Chance."

"As a matter of fact,
kind sir
, I am new," she shot back, not a little miffed. He looked over at her and winked. She returned a wry smile.

"Mainlanders,
" he groused with a grin. "And whadya got in the fancy case?"

Laura
turned the carrier to show the cabbie the screened door. Lola's little black nose pressed against the mesh, and liquid brown eyes peered up at him.

"Gor
! It's a rodent!" he chortled.

"Hey
! She's a purebred, I'll have you know." She reached her hand in to smooth over the dog's silky ears.

"Okay, so her mum and dad were both rodents.
" He feinted to the left to avoid her mock punch to the arm.

Awesome,
she smiled. Even perfect strangers were easy to be with here. It really did feel right. Then she realized that everyone was a perfect stranger here. Yeesh.

When her mother
had taken her and the boys for a vacation to Newfoundland several summers before, she had fallen instantly in love with the province. The weather wasn't always pleasant, but she loved the unpredictability, the storms, the winds, the breathtaking scenery. It had made the moments and days of sunshine so much more special and appreciated. She loved the food, the wildlife and the sea. But most of all she loved the people. She hadn't met one person who wasn't at the very least pleasant to her and her family, and most were downright hospitable. They were as interested in the people 'from away' as she was in them.

"
Brian O'Byrne." The cabbie pointed to the visor and his ID.

"Pleased to meet you,
Brian O'Byrne. I'm Laura Spencer." She smiled and mocked a salute.

"What brings you to the Rock, girl?
"

Her eyes
had widened repeatedly and she'd had to bite her tongue more than once as his massive arms cranked at the steering wheel to negotiate the hills and sharp corners leading down into St. John's.

"Well, I can't be entirely sure, but I think it's that plane just taking off back there.
" She pointed out the rear window.

He arched an eyebrow at her
. "Ha ha. Fine, don't tell me. It was a Chev dealership, eh? Just up here on the left, won't be a minute."

"No, no, I said...oh
. Ha ha, yourself. Alright. Uncle. I've come to Newfoundland to start a new life." She lifted her chin, expecting derision.

"
Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Yer some stunned, girl. Folks
leave
here to start a new life. You runnin' from the law or somethin'? We got that here too, you know." He chuckled. Then let out a guffaw. "They'll get you my pretty, and your little dog too."

Laura
rolled her eyes at his wide grin. "Oh, Brian, Brian. My sides." They shared a laugh, then he arched a brow. "Well, I got bored at home, wasn't living life, thought I'd come here where
most
of the people are really nice, and see what's shakin' on the Rock."

He pulled
the car into the VW dealership's lot. "Well, here we are Laura Spencer. Glad to have met ya, and long may yer big jib draw." He flipped her a card as she paid him. While he chucked her cases from the trunk and stacked them at the dealership door, he said, "Ya needs a ride er a friend, you gives me a call. Me and the wife'd be happy to corrupt a mainlander with a little Newfie Screech." He heaved his bulk back into the car, and slammed the door.

"Thanks,
Brian!" she chirped, and blew him a grinning kiss.

He drove off with a smile on his face
and a blush ruddying his neck, calling "Crazy mainlander."

Two hours later,
Laura was on the TransCanada Highway in her new cream Touareg. Lola and herself were fed and watered…and she had no clue where she was going. She had a GPS, a cell phone and a laptop with Wifi.

And she had never felt so free
.

If she needed to stop, she would stop
. If she found a pretty spot, she would pass some time, maybe take some pictures. She gave herself kudos for finding her way out of the winding, hilly city. Other than the airport, she hadn't spent any time in St. John's that summer, but definitely had that in her plans at some point this time around. She looked forward to experiencing the party atmosphere of George Street, watching the ocean liners and trawlers negotiate the harbour, checking out the art gallery. But today, this first day of her new life, she was going to follow her nose.

She was glad she'
d dressed in layers. The May morning went from wet snow to rain and now was somewhat sunny and almost warm. Lola basked in the heat penetrating the window. The strongest sun was coming from the driver's side, and Laura had the visor down and her sun glasses perched low on her nose. The east coast rock group she loved was wailing on the radio, the bass notes vibrating, the top notes soaring. She sang along at the top of her lungs with a big, fat smile on her face as she drove north according to the LED readout on the spiffy new rear-view mirror. As she crested a hill she caught her breath. It was just like a post card. Just like she thought it would look.

The road broke away to the shoulder in rough grey gravel
. She pulled over and scooped up her camera, drew the strap over her shoulder and locked the car. Old habits died hard. As she crunched across the sharp rocks to the guardrail the wind made it abundantly clear that it was not shorts and sandals weather.

She turned, lifted her face and breathed deep
.

Ah, the smell
. Nothing like this at home. It was fresh and salty and exhilarating. She caught a whiff of fishy odours from the boats pulled up on the jetty, their riggings probably holding chunks of bait and fish guts that would likely smell a whole lot less pleasant if she were to get closer, which she definitely had no intention of doing. Today.

The house clinging to the rocks on the cliff below the road was painted bright yellow
. In the yard a clothes line was filled with flapping white sheets, blue jeans and plaid shirts, all snapping and wafting, a ballet of fabrics conducted by the loving hand of God. Locals knew that the rains of the morning often gave way to the sun and wind of the afternoon, so the incongruity of wash on the line in the unpredictable weather wasn't so strange as it seemed. Laura's grin got wider.

The grassy slope of the side yard was already rich in spring growth, and dotted with rocks large and small
. Mosses of every imaginable shade of green clung to boulders' surfaces. Lupins not yet showing their colours waited in erect expectancy for the sun to ripen their blooms. Closer to the house, daffodils were just beginning to open their sunny faces in shades of gold to yellow to butter cream. The promise of spring. The signs of renewal.

She
was fiercely glad in that moment that she had done this monumental thing.

Her glance kept returning to the charming house
. It was beautifully and simply kept. The white painted porch already looked to have received its annual wash, the navy blue shutters straight and true. This was another of the lures that had drawn her to this land. The house was probably a hundred years old and would have looked the same on the day it was built. The simple remnants of days gone by, still alive and thriving.

She laughed at her romanticizing as the garage door beside the house opened automatically, and a late model mini-van pulled out, backed up the driveway and drove past her on the road
. The driver waved to her, like she wasn't a stranger. She waved back and thought, thank you. Thanks for the welcome.

God, I'm such a dork
. But, to hell with it. I like it.

The sun was going down, so she climbed back into the car
. Lola popped up and wagged the whole back end of her body. Laura figured now was as good a time as any, and put her out to pee. The dog looked up at her, adoring.

"Come on, go pee-pees.
"

It was getting cold fast
. She'd have to dig that doggie sweater out for the little turd. Lola did have lots of long brown hair, but not much meat on them bones. The dog turned around…and around…and around. Laura stamped her feet and hugged her arms.

"Pee-pees. Now.
" Finally Lola squatted, did her thing, and looked up at Laura for all the world like she had just laid the golden egg.

"Yeah, yeah
. A glowing accomplishment. You rock girlfriend." She picked her up and slid back into the car, popped her into her carrier, and got back on the road.

Lord, she loved that new car smell
. She knew that it was an extravagance, but over the years, driving rust buckets and money pits, trying to keep it together and keep it on the road to drive the boys to school, hockey, swimming lessons and play dates, she finally decided that she deserved a nicer ride. Joel had bought each of the boys new cars for their eighteenth birthdays. Little shits had nicer cars than she did at twice their age.

Smilin
g, she realized that she was actually grateful that at least Joel lavished the love and attention on her boys that she never got. She refused to let the bitter seed of resentment take root that he had become so financially successful, and could give them expensive things, have them live with him in a sprawling mountain house, while all she could give them for their first eighteen years was her own love, attention, and the security of knowing that they always had her. Always. No matter what.

Ah, well
. What goes around comes around. The boys knew that they were loved, and that was the most important thing.

As she negotiated a sharp
S-turn, the setting sun momentarily blinded her. She put her hand up to shield the glare, and

"GEEZ
LOUISE!!"

Jamming both feet on the brake pedal, she squeezed her eyes shut, her hands digging into the
leather steering wheel. The SUV swerved then righted itself, coming to a stop perpendicular to the road. The careening of her body stilled, and her eyes remained squeezed tight.

Was she dead
? She couldn't be. She couldn't hear the engine, but the radio was still playing. She sent up a silent prayer, thanking God for not ending her new life just as it was beginning.

She opened her eyes a slit, afraid of what she might see stuck to, or not stuck to her four-hour-old car
. So far so good. She relaxed her shoulders, and unglued her fingers from the wheel. Good thing she'd strapped Lola's carrier onto the seat with the belt. She looked in the crate and the dog wagged her happy ass. Stupid dog. Didn't she know that they were almost killed? Brain the size of a lentil.

Laura
's thoughts were scattered. What was it that had made her stop harder than she had ever done in her life? In a flash, she remembered, and slowly turned her head to the right.

Spots sparkled in front of her eyes and bile rose up in her throat
.

Two feet from her passenger door a brown, hairy wall could be seen through the window
. She could count the frigging hairs. At least the flank was still attached to the rest of the moose. She lowered her head to peer up. And there it was, slowly chewing on a cedar tree that it had apparently ripped out of the ground with its bare teeth. It turned its bowling ball sized eyes toward her and continued to chew.

Jesus
. Do moose attack humans?

The car had apparently stalled in the rapid deceleration, so she put it back in neutral, and put the key in the ignition
with stark trepidation. She really hoped the engine would start, and that its firing up wouldn't fire up the moose as well. The engine purred to life, and she looked back cautiously. The moose snorted its disgust, and made its casual way back into the woods at the side of the highway.

Well, it had certainly been an eventful start
. She thought she would just keep driving until she found a good place to stop. But once she had turned the car back to rights on the road the tremors set in. Her teeth started chattering and her arms and legs shook like the last, trembling leaves of autumn.

She cranked up the heat but it didn't help
. Probably a good idea to stop at the next town for the night. Over the hill she could see lights. Not very many. She hoped that there would be a place to stay, or at least a restaurant.

And
, she had to pee.

Chapter Two

Three
and a half years before...

Uh-oh. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Looks like a nut job. Might be a crazed lunatic. And here's me, with nothing but a mild-mannered dog, hiking boots and a mean right hook for protection. Oh, well. Here goes nothing.

Jill
Bainbridge's Tess had had a litter of pups. Adorable, fluffy balls of black and tan, she brought four of them down the road to her new neighbours in a basket. The day the new owners had taken possession of the farm her mood had perked up, she hauled her arse out of her cottage and she tripped along the path to the old Crawford place with her german shepherd, looking to introduce herself and get the lay of the land, and find out what kind of family was moving in. She spotted the man sitting on a rock by the yawning barn door, his head in his hands, fingers jammed into a wild mane of curly black hair, and his foot in a bucket of shit.

"What the bloody hell do ye want?" the man growled, a hairy eyeball slanted to her and her dog.

Yup, lunatic. And crusty.

She shored herself up, dug a foot into the ground, and made ready to run if run things went rapidly south
.

"Well
. Hello, and welcome to you, too, you mean spirited brute. If you'd a civil thought in your head, you'd see I'm a neighbour looking to stop by, introduce herself, and maybe give you a housewarming gift."

He tilted his head, gave her both his eyes, and in a rolling Irish baritone, that rose and dipped like the hills of his homeland, he agreed. "Aye, ye're right
. A brute I am. Please, let me have another go at it. I'd be Kane Downey and sorry I am that ye're meetin' me fer the first time with me foot in it." He stood, swiped a big hand on the leg of his jeans and offered it to her.

She took it, tentatively at first, then held it more firmly in her small grip, and giggled through her nose
. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the laugh from bubbling out.

"Pleased to meet you, Kane Downey
. I'm Jill Bainbridge. And how is it that you managed to have your foot in a bucket of shit? Oh, and your head's bleeding a little."

He lifted his hand to his brow, tapped at the tackiness
. "Ah, shite. Well, I was after muckin' out the stalls, as the previous owner left them in a bit of a mess. Near as I can figure, a blur of orange jumped down from the rafters, I stepped on the business end of a rake, tripped, hit the manger with the hard side of me head, spun about and landed one-footed in the mire."

His mouth quirked up in a grin
. The man she had thought was crazy and surly transformed with that grin into not so surly, probably still crazy, and seriously older-guy hot.

"
Jesus in yer head, b'y. You're lucky you didn't put out an eye." Now she did laugh, clear and musical. "I'd be your nearest neighbour. My cottage is the next lane north, or there's the path through the woods there." Making the snap decision that rarely failed her, she said, "You're always welcome for tea."

The girl's
cheeky smile and twinkling eyes had Kane looking closer. She was a pretty thing. Probably a good decade younger than himself. Small pert nose, creamy skin, ready smile showing pearly white teeth, and an open friendliness. She was a bright ray of sunshine on that gloomy fall day. And there had been a great many gloomy days and precious few rays of sunshine for Kane in the past year.

And so, he basked in the warmth
of his first Canadian friend.

Kane was, as most men are wont to be, fond of
women, of all types. Life from his earliest moments was full of them. His mum, robustly Irish, always with a firm hand and a soft hug. Aunts galore. His sisters, brats, each with clusters of equally bratty friends, that grew to be a never ending smorgasbord of teenaged delight for a randy red-blooded Irish boy. Art classes teeming with fellow students and luscious nude models. And then, Fiona, and his sweet Claire.

"Are ye me guardian angel, then, young
Jill? Will ye cleanse me brow and clean the shite from me foot?" His Celtic blue eyes sparkled, but he had caught the widening of her eyes, and hoped that she hadn't seen the quick flash of pain that he had tried to hide at the unbidden thought of his wife and daughter.

Jill
tilted her head, gave him a quizzical look, then said brightly, "Yup, that's me. The fixer of all ills."

"And what's that
ye got wrigglin' in yer basket, girl?"

"
Oh! Our Tess here had a litter of pups, and I thought my new neighbour might just need a good sentry and loyal friend. No pressure. Just a thought. Can I bring them up to the house and help you fix your head and sort your sh...er, get you set to rights?"

Kane chuckled
. "Aye, ye could do that." He shook the worst of the mess off of his foot and hosed down the rest. They walked up to the house and Jill let loose a tongue that had his jaw hanging slack. In the years that would follow, Kane would come to know that both she and her progeny had a terminal case of verbal diarrhea.

"So, how are you liking the farm
? Do you have a family? Mr. Crawford, God rest his soul, kept it up pretty well in his day, but after his wife passed he kind of let things go, so I'm hoping you got a good deal."

He raised an eyebrow, and hoped he had kept track
. "Well, let's see." He held up his index finger. "The farm'll do passably." Finger two went up. "I've no family here, just me self." Then finger three. "There's a few things I'll be wantin' t' spruce up, but she's got good bones." His lips quirked and Jill giggled.

He wasn't letting much out, the surly Irishman
. But there was something about this man, a kindred spirit in his eyes. She didn't dig deep, yet, but did release the last of her guard, and unknowingly let one of the dearest friends of her life into her heart.

Kane nudged open the summer kitchen door with a hip, and she breezed past him to set down the basket of puppies, who proceeded to scramble over each other and make short work of getting underfoot
. She handily dodged them, and commenced to pour a bucket of sudsy water from the laundry sink.

"And what brought you to Newfoundland
? Sounds to me your Irish."

She was completely self-aware of her forthrightness, and unapologetic
. If he didn't like it, tough titties. Her mother was always after her to button her lip and mind her business. But that was just dull. And impossible.

The lovely Irish brogue, so much the root of the accent here on the Rock, rolled to her as Kane peeled off the sodden mess of his sock, and volunteered the information without any necessary torture techniques.

"Aye, that I am. Me life...took a change last year and 'twas time I started fresh. Me cousin came over a few years back, said it was the land of milk and honey, so I thought I'd give it a shake and see what fell out."

"I thought Ireland was known as the land of milk and honey."

"Aye, well. Now it's Canada, eh?"

Jill
angled him a cheeky grin, handed him the rag she had snatched from the shelf and watched him slather his foot with suds.

"Well, we're all glad that someone bought the farm
. Well, I don't mean as in
bought the farm
. We were sad when old Mr. Crawford did that. But after he passed, we were afraid that it might get developed or be left to wrack and ruin."

"We?"

"Oh, you know, the town. You'll find we're a pretty tight knit community. We look out for each other. Some find it a bit much, but I hope you'll come to think of us all as family."

Grand
.
Kane hoped that there was going to be enough breathing room to live with. The last thing he wanted was a bunch of mother hens and nosy neighbours. That was part of the reason he left Ireland. He believed that folks generally meant well, but he wasn't a man to care for a lot of interference. He just wanted some damned peace and quiet.

He dried his foot, rolled up the damp cuff of his jeans, and leaned back in the old wooden chair as he watched the girl fuss about, tidying up
. He was self-sufficient, not stupid. Far be it from him to dampen the cleaning spirit of a woman.

He learned over the next three and a half
years that yes, many of those in the small town of Puffin Cove, Newfoundland were nosy, and yes, they wanted to cluck over him, give him advice on everything from cows to his art, to his love life, or the lack thereof. But their hearts were in the right place. For the most part, he had achieved the peace and quiet he had sought.

And he knew he had made the right move.

***

He finished the last of the shingles on her shed and hopped off the ladder, tossing the hammer back in his tool box
.

"Kane, you're working too hard.
"

Jill
looked at him from the porch, her hand shielding her eyes. "Between the chores, your work and helping us, you're not resting enough, and by the looks of your baggy jeans, not eating enough either."

"Yes, ma
. And get yer eyes off me ass." His eyes twinkled.

Jill
huffed out a breath and fisted her hands on her hips. "I'm serious. You look like you've been dragged through a knot hole."

"Well, gee
. What a feckin' ego boost you are. Just had a few restless nights is all, woman." But she was right. Lately, he'd had an unsettled feeling that something was coming. There was change in the air. He put it down to the trappings of springtime. He tidied his tools, put the ones he left here to do handyman chores for Jill in the shed, and brought the rest to drop into the back of his truck.

"Have you heard from home lately?
"

Jill
continued to bore holes into him with those troubled blue eyes. Since he had immigrated to Canada he had been home only once, and only for a short visit at that. He had told Jill that he enjoyed it, relished the time with his family, but he had come home feeling….emptier. And she had sensed it.

"Matter of fact, I just got an email from mum and dad last night
. All's well and good. No calamities. What's got yer knickers in a twist today, Jilly-girl?"

It was a wonder
. Even though they had only known each other a few short years, she had become as close, or closer to him than his own sisters. And she had an annoying habit of being able to read him like a book. Especially when he gave her his eyes.

"Kane, don't you think it's time you made room in your life for someone special
? It's been five years since you lost Fiona and Claire."

He couldn't break the connection of their eyes, couldn't stop as the
pain flashed, wished he hadn't seen her wince.

"Dear heart, I love you
. I hurt for you. I want you to be happy." She laid her hand on the side of his face, and he covered it with his.

"I know ye do, girl,
" he sighed, dropping his hand. He turned around, avoiding her penetrating gaze, and pretended to inspect his shingling. Lifting his face to the meagre warmth of the sun, he dragged a hand through his hair.

Lord, he really was tired
. He wished Jill wouldn't worry about him. He was a grown man, for God's sake. He didn't need some surrogate little sister trying to fix things.

Keeping his eyes to the struggling spring sky, he murmured, "It's not that I'm livin' in the past
. I lost them, I grieved them. I'll never forget them. But I…I'm just not ready t'…I've no desire fer someone else in me life just yet."

He closed his eyes, drew a cleansing breath, then turned back around and lunged for her, growling
. "Now if ye'd only run away with me! I'll trap ye in me tower and ye can sing songs of love t' me fer all me days!"

He grabbed her around the waist and lifted her up against his chest, spinning them both while she squealed and beat at him with her little fists
.

"Put me down, eedjit!" she gasped out between laughter and screams.

"Now me, now me!" the flaxen haired girl danced around him.

"You
! Where'd you come from?"

The four-year-old danced around and clapped her hands like it was her job
. Kane set Jill down and plucked up the urchin, threw her over his shoulder, and howled like a banshee as he ran around the yard, tossing her up into the air every few steps. She screamed and laughed, and when he let her slide down she wrapped her arms around his neck and smacked a wet kiss on his cheek.

"I love you,
Uncle Kane. You the most fun!" Shannon smiled adoringly into his eyes.

He hugged her to him, choking back a crazy, sudden thickness in his throat
. His voice gone husky, he said "I love you too, poppet." He set her down gingerly, and ruffled her silky hair. "Now go tell your ma to put some food in me belly. She says I'm after bein' too skinny."

She scampered back into the house, the
wee replica of his dear Jilly, and he raked his hand through his hair.