LITMIR.BIZ

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volunteered—”

      “Key word. Volunteered.”

      “Still. You’re familiar with how children behave. You’re good with them, even the toughest.” That much Shane had told her when he’d noticed Christopher’s restless hands down in the lobby.

      Again a soft snort. “The toughest isn’t anything like…”

      Like Christopher, unpredictable and attuned to his own world. Weird to those who did not understand the underlying genius of the autistic or the quicksilver mood changes, the panics, the rages.

      “I’m sure,” she murmured. “But were they your own flesh and blood?”

      Compact black lashes blinked. “What exactly are we talking about here, Ms. Stowe?”

      A stain of warmth crept up her neck. “Elke mentioned the—” she peeked at Christopher “—procedure you undertook to help them eleven years ago.”

      He sat back. His foot bumped hers, and she carefully slid it beneath her chair. “Seems my life’s been a regular open book.”

      “Elke didn’t go into details. Just that Dennis was…” Sterile. “And about…your very generous…offering.”

      “I was young and stupid.”

      “You were a man who loved his brother,” she countered.

      That caught him. He glanced away. “It was a long time ago.”

      “And you’d think twice before doing it today.”

      His eyes hardened. “Yes.”

      “Why? Because of the result or because of the consequences?”

      He toyed with his mug. “Both. And because of the life I live now.” He nodded toward the windows and Main Street with its one block of quaint Old West storefronts and mud-covered trucks parked along the curbs of a narrow strip of asphalt. “It’s not easy in Alaska.”

      “And Central America is?”

      “You don’t give up, do you?”

      “I’m Christopher’s godmother. My responsibility is to him and to your brother and his wife. But most of all to you, Mr. Rubens.”

      “Me.”

      “Yes, you.” Common sense said to take Christopher and leave, but she could not refuse the last wish of her friends. It was up to her to follow through with their request—incongruous as it seemed, given this man’s goals and lifestyle. “Both Elke and Dennis wanted this. They gave me specific instructions—” in case “—to acquaint you with your nephew, and vice versa, to make sure you both have an equal chance.”

      “It won’t work.”

      She sighed. She was getting nowhere with him. “Will—”

      “Savanna.” Elbows on the table’s edge, he leaned in close. She saw individual whiskers on his upper lip and along his jaw. He hadn’t shaved after rising from bed, and the male essence of that went through her like a streak of hot sunshine. “As soon as we’re done eating,” he continued, “I’m driving you both back to Anchorage and you’re catching the first flight to the Lower 48.”

      Christopher lifted his head. “Back to Honduras?”

      “No, pal,” Savanna said, giving Will her best stern look. “We’re staying in Starlight.”

      “Forever?”

      “Hopefully for a long time.”

      Thankfully, Mindy the waitress arrived with their food. For several seconds Savanna watched Will and he watched her while the waitress doled out the plates, asking Christo pher to move his map so she could set down his plate.

      The boy disregarded her.

      Savanna slid her hands gently beneath Christopher’s, lifting him and the page free from the table’s surface.

      “Doesn’t he hear?” Mindy asked.

      “He has difficulty—”

      “He’s autistic,” Will cut in.

      “Awesome-tistic,” Christopher corrected without raising his head from the map. “I’m awesome-tistic and you’re an NT.”

      The waitress looked as if she’d swallowed a raw egg. “Sorry. Um, well… Holler if you need anything else.” She scurried off.

      Savanna picked up her cereal spoon. “Let’s eat.”

      Will studied Christopher. “What’s an NT?”

      “Neurotypical,” the boy said, checking both sides of his toast; finding them acceptable.

      Savanna explained, “People who are not aspies, who don’t have ASD, are sometimes called NTs.” She winked at Will, hoping he would clue in and let the topic drop.

      “You mean nor—”

      “Yes. Exactly. But that’s an old term.”

      “Sorry, didn’t know.”

      “Now you do.” She leveled her gaze across the plates of food. This was his child. His obligation according to Dennis’s last request. Given the choice she never would have brought Christopher to Alaska, to this man with his wily handsome eyes. She would have taken Christopher to Tennessee, to her hometown where her brother and family lived, and reared the boy as her own.

      But she had to give Will Rubens the conditional twelve weeks.

      She turned to the boy. “It’s time to eat your breakfast, buddy. You can study the map once you’ve finished your juice and toast.”

      “Triangles,” he said.

      She cut the bread into the geometric shapes; the boy chose one and bit off a corner. “Chris likes his food cut into precise pieces and I help him get it right.” Over the table she caught Will’s gaze. Give the man something positive, Savanna. “He’s also a pro at drawing maps and trains.”

      “Trains.” The boy munched his toast and latched on to his current pet topic. “They were once steam engines, y’know? People think they were invented by a Scotsman James Watt in 1769, but he only improved the mechanics and designed a separate condenser. The real inventor was Thomas Savery in 1698 in England.”

      “Yes,” she conceded. “And you sketch those old engines with a lot of detail.”

      Christopher spread a pat of peanut butter from a tiny packet the waitress had set on the side of his plate.

      Savanna glanced at Will. A little hammer tripped in her chest. It had been a long time since a man looked at her with such intensity. Softly she said, “I know this is all a shock to you, Mr. Rubens. However, Chris and I will remain at the lodge for the interim until I find a place to rent. It’s important you and your…nephew begin the changeover as soon as possible.”

      The man across from her dug into his eggs. “There’s a flight out of Anchorage this evening. I can have you there in two hours, then you can sleep on the way home, wherever that is.”

      “Tennessee.” Savanna set her fork against her plate. “You might as well understand. We are not leaving.”

      Slowly he laid down his utensils. “Fine.” From his hip pocket he drew out his wallet; tossed down a twenty. “This conversation is over.” Pushing back his chair, he offered her a nod, then walked out of the restaurant.

      Well. That certainly was interesting. At least he hadn’t said flat-out no.

      Packing the New York businessmen’s fishing gear into the storage compartment of the helicopter, Will thought long and hard about Savanna Stowe. Hell, he’d been thinking long and hard about the woman since he heard her message on his answering machine.

      Five foot whatever of

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