By Susan Wiggs
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Additional resources for The Drifter
Underhill," she said, unable to stop her incautious questions in spite of herself. " "Then at least fix the lettering on the stern," she advised. " He thought for a moment, no doubt weighing what it was safe to tell her. "Some English guy I met in Seattle. I won her in a card game. Her owner was down on his luck, but I'm told in her day, she sailed the Far East, plying the waters around the island groves, looking for rare teas. I mean to go there someday," he said, almost to himself. " "I'm not sure.
Every time I make a repair, something else goes wrong. I'm going to have to make a trip to Seattle or Port Townsend for the money. " He winked at her. " "The 'you're pond scum' look. " "No. " "Mr. " She spoke quietly and brought her fingers to rest lightly on his arm. She had graceful, competent hands that bore the calluses of hard work. " He felt a cold lick of warning somewhere deep in his chest. "Yeah. " He nodded in Carrie's direction to excuse himself, but she took no notice as she laughed at some remark Armstrong made, then launched into a new tale of adventure, claiming with certainty that she had danced with the Vice President.
His voice had gone flat, uninviting. Then he brightened, reaching up to lean the heel of his hand on a cross beam. Light from the deck prisms fell across him, striking glints of gold in his hair. " "It sounds rather…capricious. " He got back to work, swirling his brush in a bucket of glue. " Letting the wood glue set around a loose bolt, Leah fell silent for a time, thinking. She wanted to ask him so many things: what he had left behind in his past, why he never spoke of the baby Carrie had lost, what he expected of the future.
The Drifter by Susan Wiggs