by Tracy Sumner
He laughed and saluted her with his glass. “Heck, I don’t even know what that means.”
“Astute, Constable. Which you are. Surprisingly so.” She closed the distance between them and took the glass from his clenched fist, ignoring the warmth of his skin when their fingers touched.
“May I?” she asked and drained the rest, liquid fire burning its way down. Looking at him from beneath her lashes, she smiled. “The Irish like the taste of whiskey on their tongues, did you know that? O’Connor was my mother’s maiden name. Her grandfather changed it to Connor when he came through Ellis Island. When my father asked me to vacate his home the first time, I claimed the name because he said if I must disgrace the family, I could disgrace her side of it. So I did.”
She handed the glass back. “Now that you know one of my secrets, I should know one of yours.”
He went very still, the arm that held the bottle dropping to his side. Before he pivoted on his heel, his face revealed such wretched grief that she felt the pain like a dart through her own heart. It wasn’t enough to offer an apology for the offense.
How could she when she wasn't sure what ground she had trespassed on?
“After she got released from jail, we had coffee she bought specially in New York City. About the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, too. And these hard, bready cookies that Savannah”—Lydia cupped her hand around her mouth—“I call her that now you know, said she has to go to a place called Little Italy in New York City to buy. Can you imagine? And I’m to be her co-leader. My goodness, I never would have thought anything this exciting would happen in Pilot Isle. Not in my lifetime.”
“Your father?” Sallie Rutherford asked in a hushed whisper, pleating her skirt with shaky fingers.
“Oh, he’ll shoot me dead when he finds out.” Lydia fanned her warm cheeks, trying hard not to envision her father’s certain fit of temper. “But I’m strong enough to handle him. Resilient, yes.”
“And you’re still planning to go tomorrow morning?”
She nodded. “With you.”
“Oh dear me, no. Dwight looks like he’s sucking a lemon most days as it is. Do you want him to move back to his mother’s for good?” Dwight Rutherford had married Sallie Smithe on the eve of his fortieth birthday and any disturbance on the calm sea of life sent him running back to his boyhood home and the welcoming arms of his mother.
“Savannah said there’s nothing wrong with helping your fellow woman, Sallie. Why should we expect the men in this town to be happy about it, can you tell me that? It’s a man’s world; laws are men’s laws; the government a man’s government. We’re merely set on changing that.”
Lydia felt sure Savannah would have been pleased to hear her parroting with such accuracy.
“Well, what about Dwight? And your father?”
“Oh, posh.” Lydia chewed the last of her iced fruitcake with renewed enthusiasm. “They can take a big old leap off Pearson’s dock for all I care.”
“But the quilting meeting is—”
“Hang Nora and her weekly quilting meeting! I need you to get past the men your uncle will undoubtedly have guarding the gate. Plus, he won’t curse too much with you in the room.” Lydia dipped her linen napkin in a finger bowl on the table and patted the cool cloth against her lips. She ignored the beads of perspiration rolling down her back. Insufferable summers. “After the historical society calamity last year, you owe me. How can you even consider refusing?”
“Why, I never,” Sallie sputtered with all the indignation of an affronted peacock.
Lydia drew a deep breath, testing the air to see if the roast she was cooking for dinner needed checking. “Savannah’s going to unpack the rest of her belongings today. Books, pamphlets, materials to make signs. Paint and paper, all the way from New York. She also has badges for us to wear. Red with the words Freedom Fighter in gold emblazed across it.”
“Gold?”
“If you help us with this, you’ll be a bona fide member of the Pilot Isle Ladies Freedom Fighters.”
“My....” Sallie sank back against the plump cushions, a wistful look entering her eyes.
Lydia released a pent-up sigh, less frightened than good sense should allow she knew. Savannah and the rally and the chance to live life for herself just this once was too rare an opportunity to let slip away. Besides, Zach Garrett wouldn't let them dilly-dally for more than a day or two.
She needed to have her amusement now.
“I'll do it,” Sallie surprised her by saying, quite clearly and without additional arm-twisting.
Lydia clapped her hands and giggled, giddy to the tips of her patent leather boots. “That is fine news. I’m thrilled and relieved. Gracious, now that that’s settled, I must tell you what else happened at the jail. I shouldn’t, but I simply must.”
Sallie vaulted to a rigid position, eager for gossip.
“I really shouldn’t say—”
“Oh no, please do! It’s been so dull around here since Noah Garrett ran off with that crazy Elle Beaumont.”
Too true, Lydia thought. The entire town had hungrily monitored the antics of Zach’s youngest brother and Elle Beaumont, who, eccentric as she seemed to be, had snared the man she’d wanted since long before anyone could remember differently. It made her think of... well, today, at the jail, the way Zach had looked at Savannah, just for a hint of a moment when he thought no one was looking.
Not with interest, no, no, no. More as though he had been wound up like one of those new-fangled toys she’d seen in the window of Dillon's Goods in Raleigh.
Agitated was a good word for it. Which was all well and fine because women often roused men to a fever pitch.
Everyone knew that. It was just the way life operated.
Except it never seemed to operate like that for Zachariah Garrett. Even when his beloved wife was alive, he’d been calm and capable and strong. Why, if Lydia felt half a heart in love with him it was because she’d never witnessed anything but calm, capable, strong Constable Garrett.
She had never seen him agitated. Never.
Lydia wouldn’t have guessed he had it in him.
Maybe there was something to this independence craze if it made a man sit up and take notice.
“Of course, this cannot go any further than this parlor,” she finally said, tucking a wisp of damp hair beneath her bonnet. “And again, I shouldn’t say, but I have to tell you that I’ve never seen such fire in Constable Garrett’s eyes as I did today.”
“Fire? Zach Garrett?” Sallie swallowed a bite of iced fruitcake too quickly and choked. “Are... are you sure? Why, he’s so collected.”
“Without a doubt. Fire,” Lydia assured her friend. “And Savannah Connor lit the match.”
Also By Tracy Sumner
Garrett Brothers Series
Tides of Love
Tides of Passion
Tides of Desire: A Christmas Romance (novella)
Southern Heat Series
To Seduce a Rogue
To Desire a Scoundrel: A Christmas Seduction (novella)
Coming February 2020
League of Lords Series
The Lady is Trouble
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About Tracy Sumner
Tracy's story telling career began when she picked up a copy of LaVyrle Spencer's Vows on a college beach trip. A journalism degree and a thousand romance novels later, she decided to try her hand at writing a southern version of the perfect love story. With a great deal of luck and more than a bit of perseverance, she sold her first novel to Kensington Publishing.
When not writing sensual stories featuring complex characters and lush settings, Tracy can be found reading romance, snowboarding, watching college football and figuring out how she can get to 100
countries before she kicks. She lives in the south, but after spending a few years in NYC, considers herself a New Yorker at heart.
Tracy has been awarded the National Reader's Choice, the Write Touch and the Beacon—with finalist nominations in the HOLT Medallion, Heart of Romance, Rising Stars and Reader's Choice. Her books have been translated into German, Dutch, Portuguese and Spanish. She loves hearing from readers about why she tends to pit her hero and heroine against each other from the very first page or that great romance she simply must order in five seconds on her Kindle.
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