Chasing the Wind Read Online Free Page B

her, to tell her how he felt. But better judgment had prevailed. Not while she was on the mend and still vulnerable. Remembering Phillip. Remembering that night.
    So he'd kept silent. So far. Waiting for just the right time.
    Tonight she'd be focused on her return to work. He glanced around at the room, at the other customers, the bright lights overhead, the linoleum floors. No. Not yet, but soon. A pit lodged in his stomach at the thought. How do you tell your oldest friend that you're in love with her?
    He steepled his hands and tipped his fingers against his lips. Years of piloting ships over the sandbars in the passes south of the river had taught him how to navigate dangerous currents and ghost-like shoals. He studied the soundings, the weather, reports from other pilots. The ships were equipped with radar to guide the way. But even with that wealth of information at hand, still he knew that the surest decisions were those based on experience—the touch of the wheel, the feel of the keel, and the chop of the Gulf.
    The waitress arrived and he shook his head. "I'm waiting for someone," he said, and she disappeared. His fingers rap-tapped the tabletop in a rhythm only he could hear. Seconds passed, then he sat back in the chair, arms stretched out before him. Cacophonous sounds of madness came from the kitchen nearby, a clashing of pots and pans and ribald laughter. The jukebox blared. Behind the bar a glass shattered.
    He looked up and over his shoulder saw Amalise enter the restaurant. Her face lit when she saw him. She waved and smiled, and her confident stride told him everything he needed to know. She'd weathered her first day back. He lifted his hand and pushed back his chair.
    She slipped off her coat, and he took it from her, laying it across an empty chair. "You look great," he said as she raised up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. Without thinking he stepped back and away. Things were different now.
    She gave him a fleeting curious look as he pulled out a chair for her, and she sat. "It's windy out there," she said. She turned her face up to his as she brushed back her hair. Strands of fine, dark silk hair drifted barely to her shoulders, so different from Rebecca's long red curls. Men turned to watch Rebecca. But Amalise . . . if they only knew. Amalise was the one to watch.
    He smiled and sat down beside her. "Weather's coming in. But we're in the middle of October, chère, and hurricane season's almost over. And best of all," he leaned over and patted her arm, "you've escaped the doctors at last."
    She gave him a wide smile. "First day back on the job, Jude. Done."
    Checking off her list. "Was it difficult?"
    "No. It's as if I'd never been gone." She fluffed her hair with both hands and looked around the room.
    Jude caught the waitress's eye and signaled her.
    Forearms squared on the table, Amalise leaned forward. Her eyes sparkled. Her tone was triumphant. "I've been put on one of Doug's deals. They want to close before Thanksgiving, so it will move fast."
    "That sounds restful. It's what any doctor would prescribe for a patient who's been laid up for months with a concussion and partial amnesia."
    She threw up her hands. "I know."
    He smiled. She was healthy at last and happy. Thank you.
    Reaching for the basket at the center of the table, she pulled out a saltine cracker wrapped in plastic. "I couldn't have handled one more day as an invalid, Jude, wanting to get back to the city. To hear the sound of streetcars, to be part of the crowds downtown. To work, to eat in busy restaurants."
    Absently he watched her fighting with the plastic paper around the cracker, twisting the corners.
    "Not that I don't like Marianus," she added quickly. "But I've got to catch up now."
    "Catch up to what?" Jude took the cracker from her, tore the wrapper off, and handed it back. He eyed her as she bit into the cracker. Amalise's calendar wasn't like others'. For her, days were mile markers. Life was a race, though