LITMIR.BIZ

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shook her head. No point wasting time on pointless thinking. “Our first port of call is Juneau,” she said. “You can always catch up with the ship there.”

      “Forget Juneau. The cab driver tells me we’re twenty minutes away. I’ll be there.”

      “In that case, you’ll find me on the lido deck.”

      “Good. Order a bottle of Clicquot. We’ll drink to the future.”

      To the future, Carter’s favorite toast. Not surprising for a man who’d made the bulk of his fortune from futures trading.

      Larkin ended the call and walked through the doors that led outside onto the fantail, not sure whether she was amused or annoyed. Then again, Carter had that effect on people. He could be, by turns, infuriating, surprising, generous, charming, brilliant and astonishingly pigheaded. As a husband, he’d been a miserable failure in marriages two, three, four and, she assumed, five. As a father, he’d been like a football team—good seasons and bad seasons.

      And, for the previous five years, off seasons.

      She pulled her duster-style coat more tightly around her to ward off the chill and shook her head. A trip to celebrate his sixtieth birthday, he’d said, but she’d recognized it for what it was—an olive branch. A fine idea, in theory. What she and Carter were going to do with one another for a week solid, though, heaven only knew.

      Staring at the islands across the bay, Larkin watched a floatplane as it dropped down from the sky and scudded along the waves. How did it feel to land on water the first time, on shifting waves instead of the solid concrete of a runway?

      Like finding out she was going to be living with a new stepmother. And another. And another.

      “Stop right now!”

      The man’s shout had Larkin whirling to see a small girl pelting out of the doors, glancing back over her shoulder and laughing. And then it seemed to happen in slow motion, the girl tripping, falling, pitching toward the deck with a yelp.

      “Hey!” Reflexively, Larkin reached out to catch the wiry little body before it hit. She didn’t reckon on the momentum, though, and instead wound up tumbling to the deck with her, her BlackBerry spinning away.

      “Whoops.” The girl grinned at her from under a mop of curly dark hair.

      There was a rush of steps. “What the hell?” A man skidded to a stop and stared down at them a little out of breath. “Sophia, you know you’re not supposed to run.”

      “Maman says hell is a bad word.”

      “Then I guess you shouldn’t say it.” He hoisted her to her feet.

      His cropped hair was as dark as his daughter’s, Larkin saw. Matching stubble darkened his jaw, a frankly delectable jaw with a chin that had just a hint of a cleft, the kind that made Larkin want to nibble it.

      Lucky Maman.

      He held out a hand as Larkin sat up. “Need a lift?”

      He might have had the cheekbones of a model but he had the beat-up hands of a man who worked for a living, scarred, sinewy. She was prepared for his palm to feel hard and callused. She wasn’t prepared for the jolt of heat that surged through her, as though he were connected to some hidden power source. She swayed as she stood.

      “Easy, there. Take a minute to get your sea legs.”

      “We’re not at sea yet.”

      “Which is why you should start now.”

      He retrieved her BlackBerry and handed it to her. An irresistible humor hovered around the corners of his mouth, glimmered in his brown eyes. “Christopher Trask,” he said. “And this little heathen, who will be apologizing any minute, is my niece, Sophia.”

      Niece.

      “I already apologized,” Sophia complained, squirming.

      He gave her a stern look. “What did I hear your mother tell you about running?”

      “That you were supposed to stop me,” she returned with an impudent look. “Anyway, you said a bad word.”

      They stared at each other a moment, at an impasse. “How old are you again?” Christopher asked finally.

      “You know I’m six.”

      “Do you want to live to blackmail again at seven? Apologize.”

      Sophia eyed him. “You won’t tell Maman I was running?”

      “Not if you say you’re sorry.” And not if she didn’t out him, Larkin realized with silent laughter. “Now please apologize properly to Ms.…”

      “Hayes,” she replied obediently. “Larkin Hayes.”

      Christopher folded his arms and cleared his throat.

      Sophia shuffled her feet. “I’m sorry I knocked you down. I shouldn’ta been running.” She looked up at Christopher beguilingly. “Can I go tell Keegan about the stuffed penguins now?”

      “Sure, but don’t…run,” he finished as Sophia dashed back inside. He watched her for a moment, then nodded to himself as she apparently reached her destination. He turned back to Larkin, dusting off his hands. “You can see how she respects me.”

      Larkin gave him an amused look. “Your mastery of the situation is obvious.”

      “I was afraid of that.” He scrubbed at his hair ruefully. “It’s harder than it looks, you know. Especially when they run in packs.”

      “Family vacation?”

      He nodded. “It sounded like a good idea at the time.”

      “It always does.” She walked over to the rail. “I take it you don’t have experience with kids?”

      “Nope. Bachelor uncle. Or, I don’t know, first cousin twice removed? They’re my cousins’ kids, whatever that makes me.”

      “Uncle Soft Touch?” she suggested.

      “Not if I can help it.” He came to a stop beside her.

      “Of course not. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said sweetly as she leaned on the varnished wood.

      “The trick is to break their spirits while they’re young.”

      The corner of her mouth twitched. “And I can see how good you are at it. Shouldn’t you be getting back inside? Their parents must be desperate without you.”

      His glance at the doors was a little hunted. “I’m sure they won’t miss me. I’ll just soak up a little more sun.”

      “You’re aware it’s fifty-eight degrees and cloudy, right?”

      “I’m an eternal optimist.”

      This time she grinned outright. “So how many of them are you up against?”

      “Five. All under the age of seven. If you see me in a bar later mainlining Shirley Temples, you’ll know I cracked.”

      “I’ll be sure to send over some peanuts.”

      Gulls circled over the whitecap-dotted water. Christo pher wore only khakis and a deep blue flannel shirt against the fresh breeze that sent the pennants over their heads snapping, but he seemed not to mind it.

      “Do you work outside?”

      He blinked. “Why do you ask?”

      “You don’t seem to mind the cold.”

      His teeth gleamed. “I run a farm in Vermont. This is balmy.”

      “Vermont,” she said. “Maple syrup.”

      “You’ll warm my cousin Jacob’s heart. He and my aunt have a sugar bush. They make maple syrup,” Christopher elaborated

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