Higher Than Eagles (Donovans of the Delta) by Peggy Webb

“Especially from my favorite handsome, charming Irishman.”
    “Thanks, sweetheart.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re prejudiced.”
    “What I am is a sentimental old fool.” Her skirts flared and floated around her big body as she walked toward the door. “I’ll wait outside with Benjy.”
     o0o
    An hour later, Jacob and Benjy were gliding across the smooth surface of Lake George, searching out the hiding places of all the lake’s creatures, while Vashti sat in a folding metal chair on the shore, watching with a maternal and indulgent eye.
    “Vashti. Vashti!”
    Vashti swiveled her head slowly at the sound of her name being called. Rachel was standing behind her, hair hastily slung into a topknot, sandals still in her hand, and the top button of her blouse unfastened. It was obvious she’d been in a hurry.
    “Where’s Benjy?”
    Vashti nodded toward the distant boat. “Out yonder. With Jacob.”
    “Jacob!”
    “You should have seen their faces—like two peas in a pod. Both of ‘em smiling that big wide smile, their eyes kind of crinkled up at the corners. My, my. It did a body good to see them together.”
    It was suddenly very clear to Rachel how Jacob Donovan had managed to turn up in Florida as her next-door neighbor.
    “Well, I suppose Benjy will be safe with him.”
    “Safe as he would in the front pew of a church. Jacob promised.” She nodded toward the other folding chair. “Sit down and relax. This is our vacation. Remember?”
    Rachel sank into the chair and leaned down to put on her sandals. “I don’t suppose you would know how Jacob Donovan happened to be vacationing here at the same time?”
    Vashti chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’d be fishing around in that cagey way if you didn’t already have your suspicions.”
    Rachel sat back in her chair, folded her arms over her chest, and waited.
    “Now you can get that look off your face,” Vashti said.
    “What look?”
    “You know the one . . . like you’re the queen of England and somebody is fixing to be sent to the Tower of London to lose his head. ‘Bout time somebody was acting with some sense around here.” Vashti reached down for her straw purse and pulled out her fan, buying time. Leaning back in her chair, she looked out over the water, stirring the hot air around with her folding fan. “Of course I called him. From that gas station in Pascagoula. ‘Course I did. No use denying the facts.”
    Rachel squelched the flare of alarm that burst through her. “What facts?”
    Vashti studied her face, judging how far she could go and get by with it.
    “The simple fact is, the two of you never did get over each other, so why keep on running away? Let nature take its course, is what I say.”
    Rachel’s face burned. Nature had already taken its course—last night in Jacob’s cabin. And she’d be darned if it would happen again. She couldn’t afford to let the needs of her body blind her to the realities of her situation.
    “You did the right thing, Vashti.”
    “What?”
    Rachel chuckled. “I surprised you, didn’t I? You thought I’d raise Cain about your calling Jacob.”
    “Ha. It never crossed my mind. You know a good thing when you’ve got it, and I’m a good thing.”
    Rachel leaned over and patted her plump arm. “You’re a sweet old softy, Vashti, even if you do try to pretend to be such a bossy, hard-headed woman. And I love you as much as I could any mother.”
    Vashti blinked and swiped at her face. “Bug in my eye,” she explained.
    “Mine too.” Rachel didn’t bother to wipe at her tears. Sometimes a woman needed to cry merely to cleanse the soul. “About Jacob. There’s no use pretending with you anymore, Vashti. Once I loved him very much, and he’d be so easy to love again. But I can’t let myself. There are reasons” —she looked out over the lake at her son and his father.
    The airboat was coming her way now, cutting through the waters at thirty miles an hour, the airplane motor on