Spitfire (Puffin Cove) (3 page)

Lord, where had that punch in the gut come from
?

He hadn't expected that quick flash of grinding pain
. He supposed that the muscle-memory of holding his Claire in his arms would never truly fade. Doing his best to mask the sorrow in his eyes from the perception in hers, he trudged into Jill's cottage.

"Alright, boyo
. Sit your arse down and prepare to be fattened up." Jill piled his plate with roast beef and full trimmings, and her sinfully delicious cornbread. As he tucked in, Shannon chattered.

He figured that again, it must be the spring of the year. It was, at turns, the best and the hardest of times for him
. The smells in the air and Shannon's spontaneous hug and kiss had suddenly made him pine for his life in Ireland, with Fiona and Claire. Most of the time he kept the feelings stuffed into a corner of his heart.

But sometimes, in the black of night, the memories scored into his soul shredded him
. His brain railed at the circumstances that had torn his life apart. He would lie in his solitary bed on those few occasions, half in and half out of sleep, asking God why? Why them and not me? Why not someone else's wife and daughter?

And then he would get angry
. At himself, at God, at Claire and Fiona. And he would throw himself into work until he was too exhausted to think anymore.

Jill
made things both easier and harder. She had an uncanny way of reading his thoughts. He loved her, but sometimes she was just too caring, too perceptive. Just like a sister. But you had to take the good with the bad, the care and concern with the nosiness and interference. Just like a family. But, Jesus. Sometimes it pissed him. Huge. It pissed him that she pried, and it pissed him that he needed her to.

"Momma, can me and
Tess and Stanley go out and play?" Shannon had her shepherd by the collar, and the dog seemed to be balefully looking at Jill for permission too. Stanley thumped his tail in encouragement.

"Alright, sweet pea, but not for long
. It's almost dark. Stay right in the front where I can see you. And Miss Tess, you watch out for our girl." Jill ruffled the dog's fur, receiving a long lick from a warm, wet tongue. She watched as Shannon pulled on her coat, flipped the buckles over and stuffed her feet in her rubber boots. She made the doorknob on the first turn, and the dogs launched to the freedom beyond. Jill smiled and pressed her fingers to her lips.

She whispered, "God
. She's growing up so fast."

Kane and
Jill sat in companionable silence at the kitchen table watching her girl and the dogs gambol and play in the waning light. The sounds of Shannon's giggles and delighted shrieks mixed in amongst the growls and barks of the dogs drifted to the pair in the cozy kitchen.

"
Jill?"

Kane turned to face her, his clouded blue gaze troubled
. Hurting.

"Hmm?
"
Uh-oh. Those eyes. Something's actually going to come out of that locked door.

"How do
ye do it? I mean, how do ye go on? Ye're so full of life and…" he leaned his arm on the table while the other hand did the tell-tale rake through his hair. "Shite…I don't know. What did you feel when Will was lost? How did you cope? How did you go on and…stay positive...live life?"

Those start
ling blue eyes tore at her heart.

Very little had been said between them about the loss of their respective spouses
. They knew the basic details, and Kane's quiet reticence kept Jill from digging. But now, he was reaching out, and about damned time, too. Jill put her hand over Kane's resting on the table.

"Oh, honey.
" For herself, she didn't think of it that much anymore. At least she tried not to. She knew how hard it was to lose a spouse. But she could not imagine the debilitating horror of losing a child. How to answer in a way that would help him best? Her brain scrambled for answers, and failed. So she allowed her heart to lead.

"It was such a hard time
. I was carrying Shannon, and Will was out working on the boats. Since the beginning of time, the wife of a fisherman knew that every time her husband went out he might not come back. Even in this day and age it's dangerous work. But then, after worrying and praying, going on day after day trying not to think about it, his boat would come in. And all would be well. And then, I couldn't wait for him to get the heck going again." She gave a weak chuckle. "I mean, once I got used to having him away at sea, I just...got used to it. Then he'd be home, and we'd be all over each other, loving each other, helping each other. Doing things for each other. Then he'd get restless, I'd get testy, and before long it'd be time for him to set out again. So, off he went, with a swat and a kiss and a tear. I knew... I
thought
he'd be back soon. Will was so excited that we were going to have a baby. We both were."

Her smile wobbled, her hands unconsciously kneading Kane's fingers
. He rubbed slow, soothing circles over her knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. Trapped now in the mire of the worst memory of her life, she continued helplessly. "There was a late summer storm. A bad one. I went to the docks, day after day when radio communication was lost, but I didn't give up hope. Couldn't."

She bowed her head and watched
a warm, fat tear plop on Kane's hand. "He didn't come home," she whispered. "They found his boat, empty of all hands, broken on the rocks. I shut down. Well, you know how that part feels. Mother kept me together. Alive. At least physically. Oh, I cried. And screamed. One minute I'd be so full of anger, and the next I'd be completely empty. As dead as Will. And I felt so
guilty.
I wished him away, and he didn't come back."

"Ah, shite, Jilly
. Tell me ye didn't really think it was yer fault." She glanced up then, and met the concern and confusion in his eyes.

She smiled sadly. "Of course I did
. Oh, I know now that it was just the way of the grieving mind. Kane, our minds and hearts are so tender, so easily damaged, but so resilient. At some point I realized that I had to get out of bed, get moving, live for my baby. And so…it sounds silly, but I baked. I just couldn't face going back to work at daddy's store. But God had a way for me, and baking was so therapeutic. Kept me sane. Crazy, it actually made me money. And now I do what I love and I have enough money for me and Shannon. And we have you to help with all the man-stuff." She gave his troubled eyes a watery wink, and his hands a squeeze of gratitude. "I still miss him so much. Especially at night. I reach for him in my sleep and I wake up because his side of the bed is empty and cold. Then I remember. And for that moment…God, the grief is so strong again…it never really goes away, does it? But it does get easier. I know I don't have to tell you how it feels. You lost Fiona, too. But, Claire…that I can't…" She swallowed thickly, twin tears tracking down her cheeks as she blearily searched through the window and found her baby in the yard.

"Ah, girl.
I'm so sorry. I didn't mean t' bring it back. It's just…sometimes…it's hard, ye know? To be alone?" He dropped his gaze to the table, embarrassed man-pride making him shift away from her loving, knowing eyes.

"Dear heart, I do know
. And don't be sorry. It will get better. I promise. We have you, and you have us. For now, it's enough."

Chapter Three

Kane stuck his head out the back kitchen door, lifted his face into the wind, and smelled
again the stirrings of change. It was in the fat plops of wet snow splatting against his cheeks, in the beginnings of a possible nor'easter whipping his hair around his head, in the damp blasting through the door and seeping into his bones.

So muc
h for spring.

The tiny snowdrops and grape hyacinths sprinkling his side yard were quickly becoming covered in a blanket of white
. Sad, that. He always enjoyed those first few promises of renewed life. The sweet, clear song of the first robin, the kittens peeping out of their straw bed in the hay loft. Ah, well. Soft weather would come when it would come. And as long as the storm blew itself out before it got too cocky and caused a downright dumping, the May snow would melt and he would see his tiny flowers again.

Well, the livestock weren't going to wait for him to wool-gather
. Dropping his hand onto Stanley's head, he trod the well-worn path from house to barn. The shepherd loped along beside him, his ever faithful right hand man.

He pushed open the barn door, and the familiar smells welcomed him
. The sweet scent of hay, the pungent warmth of the cattle rising up as they shuffled their greeting. As a general rule, manure wasn't a particularly pleasant aroma. But to a farmer, it was familiar, and it was welcoming.

As he neared the first jersey, she snorted and nudged his shoulder
. "Mornin' Bert. Brace yerself. Me hands aren't the warmest today."

Kane's fingers were long and strong, scarred by the nicks of slivers and carving knives over the years, calloused from holding the tools of his trade
. The feel of the soft, warm udders in his palms made milking soothing and therapeutic to him. Likely not so much for the cow. Not for the first time, he wondered how they could stand to have their teats pulled on day after day. Just the nature of the beast, he supposed, glad he wasn't a cow.

On to the next he went until the four cows were relieved and the milk pail was full
. He patted theirs sides in silent thanks and set about cleaning the stalls and filling the wheelbarrow. Jill would be by before long to collect the milk. It was a good deal, one that was long dead and gone for most of the world these days. He sent his milk off to Jill, kept her cottage in good repair, brought her wood in the fall and yard work in the spring. And in return she kept them both in butter and cheese all year round, and added in bread and pastries and sweets for his gastronomic pleasure. Ayup, a good deal.

He supposed the chickens sensed the change in the air too
. Not too many eggs today. Acting ornery, too, the bloody buggers. A particularly bitchy one attempted to extract a portion of his anatomy before he knew what he was at.

Alright Downey, ye
're not payin' attention. Best get the job done before ye light the place on fire.

Something was definitely in his cornflakes today, since the moment he rolled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen to process caffeine
. But not being one to try to figure out the workings of a mind, most especially his own, he put his head down and finished his chores.

Kane loved the farm
. It had given him purpose, after he thought that all purpose had been torn from him. And it gave him structure. A structure that his fractured spirit had desperately needed when he escaped a life in Ireland that he could no longer endure. The chores had to be done, day in and day out. Living creatures depended on him.

What he chose to do with his day once those chores were done depended on sometimes nothing more than the wind
. Some days there just weren't enough hours, others he wished for the dark blanket of night under which to hide. Today was a day for settling by the fire, finishing his current piece, or reading a book. But his unsettled mind craved company today, so instead of solitary pursuits, he went to town.

His old Ford was no more fond of the slap of weather than Kane was
. She took four tries and a muffled, "Come on, baby, feckin'
turn over,"
before she turned over. Too early to pull his big-boy toy out of the shed. He enjoyed that other rite of spring, too. The shiny black roadster lovingly put to bed last fall would have to wait another few weeks. Besides, he loved this old green truck. Well, in her long ago youth she had been green. Now she was a mellow moss with liberal patches of primer and bondo. He would have to get her in to Blood's Garage before too long for Landon's spring tune-up special.

Kane was pretty sure
Landon loved the old bucket almost as much as he himself did. The mechanic was itching to get under the hood of the roadster too, but there just hadn't been a need. Kane's mouth twisted into a grin as he remembered a conversation after he had uncovered the BMW and taken her out for her first spin last year.

"Roadster giving you any trouble yet, Irish?"

"Matter of fact, there's a bit of a tickin' when I accelerate." Kane leaned against the door of the garage, eyes bright, watching Landon salivate over the Z3.

Landon
's eyes had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and stood straighter, instantly engaged. "Oh, yeah? Like a metallic clink or a deeper thunk?"

"Well," Kane drawled, rubbing a hand on his chin
. "It kinda goes like this. Bu-bump, bu-bump. And then…when I give 'er a little more gas, she picks up speed, and the faster I rev 'er, the louder and faster the bumpin'...'til I think it's gonna jump
right
outta me chest!"

"You
dick. Should know better than to listen to an asshole like you." Landon rolled his eyes and stalked back into the shop, and Kane's wide smile and rumbling laughter chased him. Lord, it was fun to dangle a carrot in front of Landon. He was so easy to play when it came to his four-wheeled loves.

He continued on his way in to Blood's t
o see if he could talk his surly friend into buying him a pint. He drove the twelve kilometres to town, over the cliffside road that thankfully had taken on very little damage over the winter. When the wind whipped up and the storms blew in, the cliff road could be virtually impassable for days on end. That was what made having the farm so handy. He had fresh milk and eggs, preserves he put up himself or was given in trade, and enough firewood to keep him warm all winter long. It was the loneliness that could kill a lesser man. If it wasn't for Stanley, he would have gone out of his mind that first bleak winter. Still, he had chosen the loneliness. Had needed the solitude. And he thanked the Lord for his neighbour, who had filled a hole in his heart, and helped him to heal.

After their first meeting those
three and a half years before, Jill had popped by with her baby daughter every few days, to drop off a loaf of bread or a few pastries, chat, and make sure that he and his new dog were settling in. Kane had plucked up the first pup that had gambolled over to him in the back kitchen that day to sniff at his shit-caked leg. When he had scooped it up, it wriggled in his arms and lavished puppy-breath kisses all over his face. Then peed down the front of his barn coat. He had let out laugh, wagged his finger at the little black snout, and dodged the razor-sharp, nipping teeth. He had tucked the little dog up under his arm, and that was that. Love at first sight, and best friends forever.

Smiling at the memory of
Stan as a pup, he looked across the pick-up seat at his seventy pound buddy. His head was stuck joyfully out through the open window, ears flapping, tongue lolling to the side, tail thumping wildly on the seat. Kane's teeth flashed in a grin as toothy as his canine's.

Oh yeah, boyo
. It's springtime on the Rock
.

The service station sat on the corner of Main and Parker
. The red and white sign, lettered simply 'Blood's' headed the garage doors. When Kane had first seen it his brows had knit. Gangs generally didn't advertise their clubhouses. It didn't take him long to discover that it was actually the family and business name of the local garage. And before his first month was out, the Bloods had become his mechanics, and his friends.

As Kane pulled the truck up to the station,
Landon, third generation Blood's Garage proprietor and chief mechanic, ducked out of the bay, squinting his eyes at the setting sun. He wiped his hands on a rag he tugged from the back pocket of his coveralls. "Dude, you been hiding? Haven't seen you in like a week." He slapped Kane on the back as they clasped hands in greeting.

"Got some inspiration and finishe
d me piece, started and finished the next. Guess springtime brings out the best."

Landon
leaned down and caught Stanley in a headlock. The dog opened his powerful jaws and gently closed them over Landon's arm, growling hello in deutch dog.

"Are
ye mostly done for the day, Blood? I'm thirstin' fer a Guinness and thought ye might like t' buy me a pint or two." He flashed Landon a cocky smile and hooked his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans. Rocking back and forth on his heels, he knew he'd not charm a beer out of the crusty bastard so easily.

"Oh, screw
you, Irish. You're the flush one. Hear your latest collection's gonna be featured at The Rooms. You're buyin', Nancy." He grumbled as he tidied, and entertained the hell out of Kane. "Constant source of embarrassment, one of my best friends fiddling with wood and paints. Friggin' girl. How anyone pays those kinds of prices for little wooden birds is beyond me."

Landon
regularly rode Kane about his art being all girly and fruity, but the garage…seriously, you could eat off the floor. Kane was of a mind that the pretty-boy neat freak really shouldn't be throwing any stones.

Kane leaned back against the truck, absorbing the last rays of sun, shuddering a bit with the oncoming chill beginning to permeate the air
. Cold came on fast with the setting sun here on the Rock. He waited for Landon to primp and preen and snorted to himself. Bleeder even had clean hands. Hard and calloused, but his nails were always clean and trimmed, no tell-tale dirt and grime in the creases.

"Hey, Blood?" he hollered through the open shop door. "I was after wonderin'
how ye always keep those hands o' yers so lily white when ye work under a hood all the day."

"Again, screw
you, Irish. Got this goop that cleans 'em up real good." Landon studied his nail-beds as he hit the code, closed up and walked out into the waning daylight, flicking at a leftover speck. "Wouldn't want the ladies to be offended by my motor mitts when I got my hands all over 'em." He waggled his eyebrows and angled a salacious grin back at his friend.

Kane's faced creased into an easy smile, his chest rumbling
. "Landon, you dog. Yer bed's gonna fall apart from all the notches ye're diggin' into it." It had struck them both now and again, how their decade of age difference didn't seem to interfere with their friendship. One seemed to enhance and temper the other.

The two sauntered across the road to Sweeney'
s, and on the way Kane peered into the pick-up's windshield, seeing that Stan was happily gnawing on a meaty bone inside the cab.

Landon
tugged open the heavy black door, and the barkeep looked up from polishing the glasses.

"Boys,
" he nodded.

"Hey, Sweeney
. Whadya at? Anything exciting happening?"

Landon
threw a leg over a stool at the bar, and Kane took the one beside him. The pub was a mainstay, just as any self-respecting coastal town should have. It was a typical Irish pub, with a rich mahogany bar, gleaming brass rails, and a beautiful ceramic Guinness tap. Low strains of Celtic music could be heard if one listened, soft enough to give ambiance, loud enough to tap a foot to. Sweeney's pride was evident in the polished oak floors and deeply upholstered booths. The pub stayed busy spring to fall, and Sweeney spent the winter months refurbishing, polishing and replacing what needed replacing.

"
Doin' fine, boys. Not much happening just yet, might be some live music later on. You boys planning to eat?"

In the way of many things Newfoundland, you rolled with the flow, fulfilling responsibilities when necessary, absorbing spontaneous experiences as they were laid in your lap.
Kane and Landon looked at each other, shrugged, and together said, "Sounds good."

"Pint?"

"Oh, aye," Kane sighed.

Thank God he could get the thick, bitter stout here on the Rock
. Ireland held so many rich and happy memories for him. And some were near to break a man's heart. Best forgotten. With the majesty of the sea, the myriad shades of green in the landscape, and the Guinness, he was able to leave his homeland but not feel quite so homesick. And thanks to the internet, he could regularly keep in touch with his family back home, keep them up to date, and keep them from going crazy with worry for him.

He watched the art of Sweeney building their pints
. It was ever a pleasure, and always mesmerized him. The blonde liquid filling the glass changed before his eyes to a deep brown, the waves of dark separating and the crown of creamy foam settling to the top. Sweeney passed it over, he took his first deep drink, and groaned. Nothing in the world for Kane tasted like a freshly pulled Guinness.