Gypsy Magic (The Little Matchmakers) by Judy Griffith Gill Read Free Book Online Page A

her gaze to that of her reluctant host, daring him to contradict her.
    Lance shrugged and turned away. He snatched her plate as she passed and forced himself not to watch the bikini clad figure—except from the corner of his eye—as she sauntered out through the door into the dappled sunlight and around the corner with his son.
    When she and Kevin returned, Lance was nowhere to be seen, though there was a sandwich and a cookie on a plate and a glass of orange juice beside it. Kevin hitched himself up onto a chair and ate his lunch. Gypsy sat down again on the bunk, not knowing what else to do. She wondered if Lance Saunders always left his son to his own devices, even at mealtimes. When he’d finished, Kevin came to her and looked at her.
    “Can we build the dam, now, Mother?”
    “Uh, no. Kevin, I don’t feel really great. Could I just rest here for a while?”
    “Yes, Mother. Can I sit with you?”
    She pulled the child up beside her, keeping his warm little body close, taking comfort in his presence while the realization flooded over her that she was truly, miraculously lucky to be alive. There was no good reason for her to have been spared. The accident could just as well have happened while she was in the helicopter. She could’ve died with the others, the pilot whom she had known for only a few brief hours, to whom she had spoken less than a dozen words, and the photographer, Ethan, with whom she had worked a few times. Saunders had said he’d heard helicopters two days running. Monday, when they’d come in for the photo shoot, but that copter had crashed. She remembered the blaze of the setting sun on the water, then the added flames when the plane had exploded. The next day—well, that would have been Search and Rescue. They had searched. There had been no one to rescue. Except her. And they hadn’t seen her. Why? She’d been lying on display up on that large shelf of rock, well above high-tide mark. They should have seen her.
    But then… when she woke up with Kevin touching her, talking to her, she had been nowhere near a big rock. She’d been among trees. She didn’t recall having left the rock, but she must have and, searching from the air, no one would have seen her under the trees. Vague memories returned, stars in the night, warm sun in the day, concern she might be getting an unsightly sunburn that would ruin her skin, then stars again, a glimmer of moonlight and then… Then Kevin.
    As far as those at home knew, she, along with the others, was dead. And that man, Saunders, had disappeared. He hadn’t even told her when he was going to take her off this island.
    All at once, great, tearing sobs overwhelmed her. They made her chest ache and her head spin and along with that an uncontrollable trembling began.
    “Please, Mother, don’t cry,” the little boy said. “I’ll look after you.” He covered her clumsily with the mink cape, but its slippery satin lining slid off her quaking frame. He pulled it around her again, then wrapped his arms around it and her. She clung to him as to a lifeline, feeling his frail shoulders shake as he, too, wept.
    “Hush, hush,” he comforted. “Don’t cry, Mother. Don’t cry.” He repeated the words over and over again, his stick-thin little arms tightly around her while her tears trickled into his hair, ran down his face, commingled with his own. “Don’t cry,” he sobbed, then jerked back and jumped from the bunk when the sound of heavy footsteps thumped on the porch of the cabin.
    “Well… What? Hey, what’s going on?” Hard hands clamped into Gypsy’s shoulders. She felt herself lifted, shaken and pulled to her feet.
    “Don’t you hurt her!” Kevin’s shrill voice cried. He tried to thrust himself between her and the man who held her up. “Leave her alone!”
    Lance glanced in amazement at his son. “I’m not hurting her.” He turned the woman away from Kevin. “What is it?” he asked, not shaking her again, but pulling her hands