Promise Me Forever (Debbie Macomber Classics) Read Online Free Page B

she checked Long John, the seagull she’d found and was nursing. He didn’t like the confines of the fenced portion of the yard, but, like Sloan, he was trapped and unable to flee. The bird squawked and hobbled to the side of the yard when she opened the gate. Several times he had lashed out at her hand, once drawing blood. He didn’t trust her—again, like Sloan.
    For six days she had worked with them both and had failed to earn more than a grudging respect. At least the bird wanted his freedom. But Sloan had no will to walk or reenter the mainstream of life. What would make a man content to sit in a chair? Perhaps this was another battle of their wills, in which he was determined to prove he didn’t need her.
    Long John squawked, and Joy focused her attention on the bird. “Good morning, fellow,” she whispered. “Are you glad to see me?”
    The gull stared at her blankly.
    “Don’t worry, I’m not any more popular with the master, either.” She yearned to reach out and comfort her winged friend. She wanted his trust, as she wanted Sloan’s, at least enoughso that the bird would allow her close enough to touch him. But he wasn’t confident enough yet. Moving slowly, she placed a bowl of cut-up fish and high-protein gruel on the ground and filled his bowl with fresh water. On her knees, she held herself motionless for several moments, hoping he would be hungry enough to overcome his natural reserve. It didn’t take her long to realize that the bird wouldn’t eat as long as she remained in the yard.
    Releasing the latch, Joy let herself out through the gate and locked it. For a time she stayed and watched, but Long John defiantly remained where he was. The pungent scent of the ocean greeted her as she walked along the shore. A gentle mist wet her face and hair, and she ran a hand along the sides of both her cheeks. Tonight she would go out, do something special. She needed a few hours of escape. An evening away would help her perspective.
    As she turned and headed back for the house, a solitary figure on the balcony caught her attention. She hesitated, hands thrust deep into jeans pockets. It seemed Sloan Whittaker was watching her. Maybe he was hoping she’d leave and never return.

    The morning followed its usual routine. Joy brought Sloan his breakfast.
    “Good morning.” She greeted him with a smile. “You were up bright and early this morning.”
    His response was muffled and gruff.
    “Long John seemed to be in an identical mood when I brought him his meal.”
    “Long John what?”
    “The seagull,” she explained, as she set the tray on the desk.
    “Good grief, don’t tell me you’ve still got that poor creature.”
    “He’s improving, which is more than I can say …” She let the rest of what she was going to say fade when Clara appeared in the doorway.
    “Mr. Whittaker’s here to see you.”
    “Bring him in, Clara,” Sloan instructed briskly.
    The older woman shifted from one foot to the other. “Mr. Whittaker said he wanted to talk to Miss Nielsen.”
    Sloan’s gaze swiveled to Joy for a long, considering look. “What could my fatherpossibly have to say to Miss Nielsen?” he demanded.
    “I’ll take notes, if you’d like,” Joy volunteered.
    “Don’t bother.”
    Joy felt his gaze burning into her shoulder blades as she stepped out of the room.
    Even Clara seemed puzzled that the senior Whittaker sought out Joy. The question was in the older woman’s eyes as Joy took a left turn into the living room.
    “Miss Nielsen.” Myron Whittaker stood and extended his hand. He was tall and as large as Margaret Whittaker was petite. His shoulders were as broad as a wrestler’s, his hair white and receding from a wide forehead. Joy’s hand met his and was clasped firmly.
    “My wife mentioned that you would like to speak to me.”
    “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m glad you’ve come.” She sat in the large modern chair across from the distinguished-looking man. It wasn’t hard to