Christmas Eve at Friday Harbor (Friday Harbor 1)

A mom.

Of course that was what she wanted. No matter how Mark and Sam tried, there were some things they couldn’t do for her. And although there were countless single dads who were raising daughters, no one could deny that there were milestones that a girl wanted a mother for.

Following the child psychologist’s advice, Mark had set out a couple of framed pictures of Victoria. He and Sam made certain to talk about Victoria to Holly, to give the child a sense of connection with her mother. But Mark could do more than that, and he knew it. There was no reason Holly had to navigate the rest of her childhood without someone to mother her. Shelby was as close to perfect as it got. And Shelby had made it clear that despite Mark’s ambivalence about marriage, she was willing to be patient. “Our marriage wouldn’t be like your parents’ marriage,” she had pointed out gently. “It would be ours.”

Mark had understood the point, even agreed. He knew he wasn’t like his father, who had thought nothing of backhanding his children. Theirs had been a tempestuous house hold, filled to the roof with caterwauling, violence, drama. The Nolan parents’ version of love, with its screaming fights and lurid reconciliations, had featured all the worst components of marriage, and none of its graces.

Understanding that even though his parents’ marriage had been a perfect disaster, it didn’t have to be that way, Mark had tried to remain neutral on the concept. He had always thought that when or if he ever found the right person, there would be some kind of inner confirmation, a sanction of the heart that would remove all doubt. So far that hadn’t happened with Shelby.

What if it never happened with anyone? He tried to think of marriage as a pragmatic arrangement with someone you cared about. Maybe that was the best way to approach it, especially when you had a child’s interests to consider. Shelby had the kind of personality—calm, pleasant, affectionate—that would make her a great mother.

Mark didn’t believe in the illusions of romance, or of soul mates. He was the first to admit that he had an earthbound mind, anchored in cold, hard reality. He liked it that way. Was it unfair to Shelby to offer marriage based on practical considerations? Maybe not, as long as he was honest about his feelings—or lack of them.

Finishing his beer, he went back into the house, tossed the bottle into the recycling bin, and went to Holly’s room. Sam had tucked her in and left the night-light on.

Holly’s eyes were heavy-lidded, her small mouth twisting in a yawn. A teddy bear had been tucked in beside her, its bright button eyes regarding Mark expectantly.

Staring down at the little girl, Mark experienced one of those moments when you had a sudden and intense awareness of who you had been not all that long ago, and discovered that you were now in a different place entirely. He leaned over to kiss her forehead, as he did every night. He felt her spindly arms go around his neck, and heard her say in a drowsy, dream-colored voice, “I love you. I love you.” And, turning to her side, she snuggled her bear and went to sleep.

Mark stood there blinking, trying to absorb the impact. For the first time in his life he knew what it felt like to have his heart broken…not broken in a sad or romantic sense, but broken open. He had never known this before, the desire to surround another human being with perfect happiness.

He would find a mother for Holly, the perfect mother. He would build a circle of people for her.

Usually a child was the result of a family. In this case, however, a family was going to be the result of a child.

Four

The four major islands in the area—San Juan, Orcas, Lopez, and Shaw—were all accessible by Washington State Ferries. You could park your car on the ferry, go to an upper-deck seating area, and prop your feet up during the hour and a half it took to get from San Juan to Anacortes on the mainland. The water was calm and the views were spectacular in summer and through the autumn.

Maggie drove to the ferry terminal at Friday Harbor, after dropping her dog off at the local pet hotel. Although she could have taken a half-hour flight that went directly to Bellingham, she preferred the ferry to flying. She liked looking at seaside homes, the island coastlines, the occasional glimpses of dolphins or lazing sea lions. Often flocks of feeding cormorants could be seen along tidal rips, black as cracked pepper scattered from a grinder.

Since one of her sisters was going to pick her up at the Anacortes terminal, and she wouldn’t need a car while staying with her family, Maggie boarded the ferry as a walk-on passenger. The vessel was a steel electric-class ferry capable of accommodating almost a thousand passengers and eighty-five vehicles, and traveling up to thirteen knots.

Carrying her canvas overnight bag, Maggie went to the enclosed part of the main passenger deck. She walked along one of the rows of broad benches flanking the large glass windows. The Friday morning ferry was full, with passengers headed to Seattle for appointments or weekend entertainment. She found a pair of benches that faced each other. One of them was occupied by a man wearing khakis and a navy polo shirt. He was engrossed in a newspaper, a few discarded sections beside him.

“Excuse me, is this…” Maggie began, her voice fading as he looked up at her.

Before she saw anything else, she saw his blue-green eyes. She felt a hot jolt, as if her heart had been attached to jumper cables.

It was Mark Nolan…clean-shaven, well dressed, sexy in his unvarnished masculinity. Focusing on her, he set aside the paper and rose to his feet, an old-fashioned gesture that disconcerted her even further. “Maggie. Are you going to Seattle?”

“Bellingham.” She damned herself for sounding breathless. “To visit my family.”

He gestured to the bench opposite his. “Have a seat.”

“Oh, I…” Maggie shook her head and cast a quick glance at their surroundings. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your privacy.”

“It’s okay.”

“Thank you, but…I don’t want to do the airplane thing with you.”

His dark brows lifted. “The airplane thing?”

“Yes, when I sit next to a stranger on an airplane, I sometimes end up telling him—or her—stuff I’d never admit even to my closest friends. But I never have to regret it, because I never see that person again.”

“This isn’t an airplane.”

“But it is transportation.”

Mark Nolan stood there staring down at her with a disarming glint of amusement in his eyes. “The ferry ride’s not all that long. How much could you spill about yourself?”

“My entire life story.”

He struggled with a smile, as if he didn’t have many to spare. “Let’s take our chances. Sit with me, Maggie.”

A command rather than an invitation. But she found herself obeying. Setting her weekend bag on the floor, she took the bench opposite his. As she straightened, she noticed his gaze moving over her in a quick, efficient sweep. She was dressed in slim jeans, a white T-shirt, and a cropped black jacket.

“You look different,” he said.

“It’s my hair.” Self-consciously, Maggie combed her fingers through a few long, straight locks. “I flat-iron it whenever I go to visit my family. Otherwise my brothers make fun of it, tug it…I’m the only one in the family with curly hair. I’m just praying it doesn’t rain. As soon as it gets wet—” She made a gesture that mimicked an explosion.

“I like it both ways.” The compliment was delivered with a grave sincerity that Maggie found a thousand times more charming than flirtatiousness.

“Thank you. How’s Holly?”

“Still talking. More all the time.” He paused. “I didn’t have the chance to thank you the other day. What you did for Holly…”

“Oh, it was nothing. I mean, I didn’t really do anything.”

“It meant a lot to us.” His gaze locked on hers. “What are you and your family doing this weekend?”

“We’re just going to hang out. Cook, eat, drink…my parents have a big old house in Edgemoor, and about a million grandchildren. I have seven brothers and sisters.”

“You’re the youngest,” he said.

“Second youngest.” She gave a disconcerted laugh. “Close enough. How did you guess?”

“You’re outgoing. You smile a lot.”

“What are you? Oldest? Middle?”

“Oldest.”

Maggie studied him frankly. “Which means you like to make the rules, you’re dependable…but sometimes you can be a know-it-all.”

“I’m right most of the time,” he admitted modestly.

A laugh rustled in her throat.

“Why did you open a toy store on the island?” he asked.

“It was sort of a natural segue. I used to paint children’s furniture. That was how I met my husband. He had an unfinished furniture factory where I bought some of my stuff—little table-and-chair sets, bed frames—but after we got married I stopped painting for a while, because of his…you know, the cancer. And when I started working again, I wanted to try something different. Something fun.”