Silent Fall

hung outside. A man entered, dressed in khaki pants and a navy blue polo shirt. He had the look of a man on business. There was an energy in his movements, a gleam in his deep blue eyes, and an impression of power and purpose in his stance. As he ran an impatient hand through his dark brown hair, Kate felt her pulse quicken. Strangers came into her store all the time   -- asking for books, directions, information about the island   -- but none of those strangers had given her heart such a jump start. Maybe Theresa was right. She definitely needed to get out more.
    "Hello." His voice had a bit of a drawl to it. The South? Texas? She wasn't sure where he'd come from, but she had a feeling it had been a long journey.
    "Hello," she said. "Can I help you?"
    "I certainly hope so."
    "I'm betting you need directions, not a book."
    He gave her a curious smile. "Now, why would you bet that?"
    "You don't look like an armchair adventurer."
    "You can tell that just by looking?"
    She shrugged. "What can I say? I'm good."
    "Not that good. I don't need directions."
    "Oh. A book about sailing, then?"
    "Wrong again."
    Kate studied him thoughtfully. He hadn't stood still since he walked into the store, shifting his feet, tapping his fingers on the counter. He looked like a man who couldn't stop running even when he was tired. Hardly one to settle into a recliner with a good book.
    However, she couldn't refute the fact that he had come into the bookstore of his own free will so he must have had a reason.
    "I know." She snapped her fingers. "Gift book. You need a book for Aunt Sally or Cousin Mary, or maybe the girlfriend whose birthday you forgot."
    He laughed. "No Aunt Sally. No Cousin Mary. And, regretfully, no girlfriend."
    Kate had to bite back the incredulous really that threatened to push past her lips. She settled for "Interesting. So what do you want?"
    "I'm looking for someone."
    "Aren't we all?"
    "You're very quick."
    He was quick, too, and it had been awhile since she'd flirted with a man. Not that she was flirting -- she was just being friendly. "So, who are you looking for?'
    He hesitated, and it was the small pause that made Kate tense. That and the way his gaze settled on her face. It had been eight years since someone had come looking for her. It wasn't likely this man was here for that reason, though. What were the odds? A million to one.
    "A woman," he said slowly.
    Kate licked her lips, trying not to turn away from the long, deep look he was giving her.
    "I think I've found her," he added.
    So much for odds.
    "It's you, isn't it? Kate McKenna?" He smiled with satisfaction. "The oldest sister in the fearsome foursome that raced around the world in a sailboat. I recognize you from the photographs."
    "Who wants to know?"
    "Tyler Jamison." He stuck out his hand.
    Kate gave his hand a brief shake. "What do you want?"
    "A story."
    "You're a reporter?" She had to admit she was surprised. She'd once been able to spot a reporter from a block away. She'd gotten complacent. That would have to change right now. "I can't imagine why you'd be looking for me. That race was a long time ago."
    "Eight years. That would make you twenty-eight, right?"
    Kate walked over to the door and turned the sign to closed. If only she'd done it five minutes earlier, she would have missed this man. Not that he wouldn't have come back in the morning. He had a look of stubborn persistence about him. She suspected that he was a man who usually got what he wanted.
    "I'd like to do a follow-up story on what's become of one of the most interesting sailing crews in ocean-racing history," Tyler continued. "It would tie in nicely with the upcoming sailboat races."
    "I don't race anymore, but I'm sure I can find you some interesting racers to talk to. Take Morgan Hunt, for instance. He raced in the Sydney to Hobart last year and could tell you tales that would curl your toes."
    "I'll keep that in mind. But I'd like to start with you and your sisters. Your father, too."
    Duncan McKenna would love the publicity, adore being in the spotlight, but Lord only knew what he'd say once his tongue got going, especially if his tongue had been loosened by a few pints of beer, which would no doubt be the case.
    â€œMy father loves to talk about the past," Kate said, "but just like those fishermen whose stories of catches grow bigger by the year, so do my father's stories about that race. You can't believe a thing he says."
    "What about you? You'd tell me the real