The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(91)

“I understand, but—”

“So when I saw her fall through the ice, I just went after her. Without thinking, because I couldn’t bear the thought of her dying in there alone.”

Spike chose that moment to sneeze, waking herself up, and Honor gave the dog a kiss. Spike licked her nose in return.

“Next time, you have to think,” Tom said softly. “Please, Honor. You’re someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s aunt. And you’ll be someone’s mother someday. You can’t just risk your life for a dog, no matter how much you love her.”

He looked at her steadily, until she finally nodded. She couldn’t imagine hearing that Faith had died trying to save Blue, or Jack saving that hideous, one-eared cat of his. Tom was right, no matter how wrong it felt.

She noticed he hadn’t said someone’s wife.

He stood up and bent over her. “Come on. Bedtime for you both.”

“I can walk, you know.”

“But isn’t this more fun?” He gave her the smile she’d seen so much...the one that didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Not that he was faking it; just that his happiness—and heart—seemed locked tightly away.

“Sure. Do your manly thing.”

For the third time that day, he lifted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs, ignoring Spike as she wriggled and snarled, trying to bite his arm.

For a second, Honor thought Tom might put her in his own bed, and she wanted that so much her chest ached and her throat tightened, but no, he carried her into her own room. Set her down on the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. “You need anything?” he asked.

You, she thought. “No,” she whispered.

“Sleep well, then.”

“You, too.”

With that, he clicked off her light and went to the door. “Honor?”

Her heart rate sped up. “Yes?”

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I’m very glad you and Ratty are all right.”

Not what she was hoping for. The disappointment made her sink a little deeper into the mattress. “Thank you. For everything, Tom.”

“See you in the morning.”

And then he closed her door and went across the hall, leaving her alone in the dark with her dog.





CHAPTER TWENTY

TOM SPENT THE next morning at the airfield, first extracting a promise from his fiancée that she wouldn’t overdo it getting ready for the fund-raising ball.

He hadn’t slept the night before. Each time he started to drift off, the image of Honor going underwater would jerk him awake. Four times during the night, he’d checked on her, but she was dead to the world—poor choice of words, that. Ratty had growled at him, though. Ungrateful little rodent. Ridiculously adorable, though, he’d give it that, curled up on Honor’s pillow as if watching over her. “You almost got her killed, Ratty,” he whispered. “Do that again, and I’ll put an end to you.”

But sleep-deprived or not, he had work to do. His professor’s salary was adequate, but only that. At university, he’d interned with a small airplane manufacturer. The company had a branch in New York, and a few times a year, Tom was hired to modify a plane for an owner. Those fees about tripled his annual income, and while he did love teaching (when his students were motivated, that was), it was nice to do some actual hands-on work.

Jacob Kearns had been as happy as a puppy when Tom had called him. This job was for an owner who wanted a bit more power for some stunt flying on his Piper Cub. They needed to reconfigure the airfoil, as the bigger engine weighed more and threw off the lift. The rudders would need adjusting, as well.

Jacob was outgoing and cheerful and utterly enthusiastic about the work, doing calculations, listening astutely as Tom described how the airfoil created a vacuum that helped lift the plane. Funny to think the kid was a recovering drug addict.

For a panicky second, Tom wondered if that was what Charlie’s problem was—drugs. That would account for his sullenness and withdrawal, wouldn’t it? But first of all, Charlie had acted like that since his mother died. And secondly, Janice Kellogg had had him tested for that last year at his annual physical, and Charlie had been furious at the assumption that because he wore black eyeliner and listened to screeching noise that called itself music, he was an addict.

“So we can do all this work ourselves?” Jacob asked.

“Yes. It has to pass inspection before we fly it, but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Are you a pilot?”

“I have a license, yeah. You should try getting one.”

“Maybe I will. Couldn’t hurt with the cool factor.”

Tom smiled. “Indeed.”

They spent the next few hours working. Jacob ran out for sandwiches and brought Tom back the change and a receipt and asked questions about Tom’s education and work experience, finding it quite hilarious that Tom had been an amateur boxing champion in Manchester.

“Dude, can you imagine if I told all those hot chicks in class?” the kid asked. “They’d go crazy.”

“Don’t you dare,” Tom said. “They’re terrifying enough as it is.”

Around four, he packed up his tools. “All right, mate, let’s finish up for the day,” he said. “I’ve got an event tonight.”