Tides of Passion: Historical Romance (Garrett Brothers Book 2)

by Tracy Sumner

  "That's cruel," Toby whispered, turning wide eyes to Zach.

  "Isn't it?"

  They dodged hulking carts loaded with barrels of fish and oysters, and wagons with lumber piled high. Dust swirled, reminding Zach that they needed a good, hard shower. He heard the melee before he got into actual sight of it. Shouting and a whistle blowing, it sounded like a stampede.

  Boy, Savannah could stir up trouble better than anyone he had ever seen.

  "Can't you control this, Zach, being constable? You're her husband, isn't that right? Law-bound to manage her. I can see why Noah can't manage Miss Elle. Too nice, that boy, too tolerant. Always was if you ask me. But you?" Toby sighed, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and hunching his shoulders. "It's a damn shame."

  Did they think Savannah would stop because she married the town constable? The thought made Zach laugh out loud.

  Shouldering through the throng of protesters, he left Toby and his disillusionment behind. Taller than many of the men, he scanned the crowd, able to locate the gorgeous instigator quickly. As if she'd gotten a jab in her lovely behind, she jerked, her gaze finding his quickly, too. The familiar tingle raced down his spine and lodged firmly in his belly.

  He wondered about this connection they had, the way they sensed when the other stepped into a room. It happened time and time again. In the mercantile yesterday, for instance, as he dug through bolts of cloth looking for a swatch the color of her eyes for a quilt she'd been working on. The hairs on his neck had risen, and sure as the sky was blue, she stood inside the entrance with the same dazed look on her face that he figured sat on his.

  The quilting still threw him for a loop. He hadn't pictured Savannah being able to sew or do anything normal females did. The first time he walked into their parlor and watched her putting together strips of cloth like a puzzle, well, it was safe to say he'd been surprised. And warmed, deep in his heart.

  And against his better judgment.

  Kind of how he felt when he watched her with Rory. Only that was a much fiercer blow. Working on that blamed tree house or tucking the boy into bed each night with a story. Making cookies: another surprising talent.

  His son had clearly fallen in love even if his father hadn't. Zach didn't know quite what to do about that. He just didn't. The boy needed a mother, and some days he wondered if his wife didn't need a son. Confusing. And a bona fide threat to his heart if he looked too closely.

  Like most things, he hoped the answer would come to him.

  He held Savannah's gaze as he made his way to her, daring her to look away as he shoved aside bodies and ignored advice about how to control a wife and teach a little brother to do the same. All the men agreed, from the scant bit he let himself soak in, that Noah's disposition made him a sure-fire failure as a husband.

  That left it up to Zach. Prince of Pilot Isle. Saint. Protector.

  Everyone felt he could rise to the task.

  Except Caleb and Noah. They would laugh until the tears fell if asked if Zach could control his wife. And Elle, of course. She knew better. Oh, and Caroline. Christabel, too. No fooling them. Other than that, his reputation was intact.

  Reaching Savannah's side, he dragged her into an empty pocket at the edge of the crowd. "Today's dilemma, Mrs. Garrett?"

  She started, her lashes fluttering the way they did when he pleased her without knowing he was going to. Then a smile broke through, confirming it. Oh. It was the first time he had called her Mrs Garrett. Why he picked this day to do it, he couldn't say for the life of him.

  "Thelma Thompkins came to me after trying to secure a position at the lab. She has a marine science degree, you understand, from a respected university. And after reviewing a list of employees for the lab, I noticed there wasn't a woman among them. Your brother promised to give the matter his attention."

  He tapped his foot, relatively sure she wouldn't be able to see the impatient motion. "And?"

  "And that was a month ago. Without a trace of improvement. So, I went to Noah's office this morning without delay. Do you know he hasn't even scheduled an appointment with Miss Thompkins? He had the gall to admit that fact right to my face."

  "Did you need all this to prove the point?" Zach gestured to the crowd of women, a modest one in the scheme of things, and noted the placard tacked to the warehouse wall that said 'Unfair Practices' in tidy black lettering. "Couldn't you have just come to me? Let me talk to Noah?"

  Her back shot up, ramrod straight. "Man to man, you mean? The way disagreements should be settled."

  "Now don't go getting riled. I already have a nagging headache and a meeting in an hour with—"

  "Where are your spectacles? If you wore them half as often as you—"

  Taking her by the shoulders, he shook her. A light shake. Gentle. Nothing more than he would do to Rory before taking a switch to his backside. Since he couldn't do that here with his wife, at least he couldn't do it outside their bedroom.

  The first second, she only looked livid. A flaming crimson slash covering both cheeks. Then she blinked, gave a woozy little sigh, and toppled over like a child's top after it finished spinning.

  He caught her, of course. Held her against his chest for one heart-stopping moment while trying to decide what to do. Still in his arms, he lowered her to the ground, the crowd swarming in around them. Chaos erupted while he prayed for a fresh whiff of air. The accusing looks thrown his way by the members of Savannah's committee didn't escape him, either.

  Brushing aside her hair, Zach peered down at her face. Fear crawled into his throat and sent a chill down his spine. Her skin was as pale as moonlight, her long lashes resting against the dark crescents beneath. She looked worn out.

  How had he missed that? Was she overworking herself with the school and all her article writing? Or was he the cause, he wondered with a sinking heart? Half the nights, they didn't get to sleep until the wee hours of the morning.

  He whispered her name to no avail; she was out cold. Her skin felt chilled against his palm.

  Elle elbowed in next to him, dropping to her haunches. "What happened?"

  He shook his head, mouthed an answer that didn't make it past his throat.

  "It's the heat, I'm sure. Juste Ciel, these summers! It happens at lots of rallies. Don't worry." Turning, Elle doused a lace handkerchief in a barrel of putrid water sitting by their side. "This stinks to high heaven but may do the trick." She bathed Savannah's face and neck, calling her name. Sure enough, Savannah moaned, lifting a hand to bat away the rag. After a moment, her lashes fluttered.

  "What is," she whispered, "that stench?"

  Zach glanced at Elle. They shared a relieved smile. His hand shook as he pulled the cloth from Elle's grip and dabbed his wife's brow. "Irish, can you hear me?"

  Her lids flickered, held. "Of course. I'm just, what happened?"

  "You fainted," he and Elle said at the same time.

  A small smile curled Savannah's lips. "I don't... faint. Ladies faint." Her words were soft, the power to utter them louder obviously not present.

  "Inside," Zach whispered, indicating with a jerk of his shoulder that Elle fashion a path through the crowd for him to carry Savannah through.

  Savannah was light, a perfect weight in his arms. He didn't remember carrying her more than the distance from his bedroom door to the bed ever before. She tucked her head neatly beneath his chin without a whisper of complaint and didn't utter a peep as he carried her across the street and into his office. Though he could hear her ragged breathing.

  Her complaisance troubled him more than anything else.

  "Get the doctor," he ordered to someone, anyone, as he settled his wife on the infamous cot. "Now. And shut the door." Half the town had followed them over and stood crowded outside the jail's entrance.

  "No." Savannah tugged his sleeve, the mattress squeaking with the movement. For a moment, their gazes met in remembrance. It amazed him to see yearning cross her face. That she could think of such a thing in this condition.r />
  What a woman.

  "Yes." He tugged the thin sheet over her. Removing her hand, he shoved that under the cover, too.

  "Not Magnus." She closed her eyes, sighed. "I couldn't bear it."

  Elle popped her head into the cell. "Zach?"

  "Who then, Irish?" In his gut, he knew she would know someone to suggest.

  "Macy Dallas. Her father was a physician in Texas. She studied with him until her father passed away last year."

  Zach had meet Miss Dallas once. After church or at Christabel's. She and her mother had moved to town just after Savannah under rather mysterious circumstances. "Does she….” He licked his lips, knowing this was gonna come out wrong. "Does she have any proper credentials?"

  At least he hadn't said real.

  Savannah dropped her arm over her eyes and pressed her lips tight. "Zachariah Dalton Garrett, do you want me to scream loudly enough to have every person outside that door imagining I'm getting the beating of my life? Or would you prefer I lie here and be quiet?"

  Zach turned to Elle, who had bowed her head to hide a smile. "Do you know where Miss Dallas lives?"

  "Are you going to tell him or should I?" Macy asked, settling back in the chair Zach had pulled up next to the cot.

  Savannah sipped her iced tea, debating the options. She pursed her mouth; the tea was too sweet for her taste but it was how everyone made it. Okay. One choice: to tell her husband—the same man who had yet to tell her without a doubt that he wanted to be married to her—that she was expecting his child.

  A condition she knew would come as a great shock to him. She had told him his withdrawal method didn't hold water any better than a can with a big, fat hole in it.

  Or, second choice, she could hide beneath the proverbial covers and let someone else, maybe Elle, do her dirty work for her.

  "Savannah?"

  She glanced at Macy, whose expression dripped kindness. Gaze moving to Elle, Savannah decided that look could only be described as thrilled. Flopping back to the cot, suddenly despising the squeak that could have been the very one to get her in this mess, she snapped, "He's not going to be happy, so you'd better let me do it."

  "What man wouldn't be thrilled by news of a new baby?" This from Macy. It didn't pass Savannah's notice that Elle had nothing to say.

  "One who's still in love with his first wife, that's who."

  "Savannah!" Elle gripped her arm. Perhaps a squeeze to tell her to keep the family secrets in the family?

  "Oh, la, forget I said that." She waved her hand before her face, her eyes closing. "I must be delusional."

  Elle drew a sharp breath and, without saying a word, rushed the undoubtedly distressed Miss Dallas out of the cell. "What are you babbling about?" Elle asked once they were alone.

  "My dear misguided friend, are you saying you believe that Zachariah Garrett is going to throw his arms to the heavens and shout 'Halleluiah!' when I deliver the news about our upcoming delivery?"

  "Oh, darling." Elle sighed and grabbed her hand, wrapping it warmly in both of hers. "Can't you take what he can offer at present and wait for the rest to come?"

  A tear slid from the corner of Savannah's eye and down her face. She scrubbed it away, determined to hold herself together. At least her condition explained the recent bouts of sleepiness and her tendency to cry.

  "He looked for all the world like a man in love when he carried you over here. You should have seen the terrified expression on his face. No matter what you tell me, I'll tell you that I didn't imagine that, Vannie. I couldn't have." She wiped a tear from Savannah's cheek before Savannah could do it herself. "He needs time, that's all. Just time."

  "If it were you, could you pretend? Would half Noah's love be enough?"

  Elle looked away before Savannah could see the truth in her eyes.

  "What if you had none of his love at all?" Savannah struggled to a sit, resting her back against the wall. "You know, Ellie, I left the reception because he couldn't tell me he was at least content, no, no, not even content, simply satisfied with our marriage."

  "But he came after you. Noah told me he did."

  Savannah arched a brow to say without words why he had come after her.

  "That isn't all you have," Elle protested.

  "Are you so certain of that?" Savannah twirled a lock of hair around her finger, sincerely interested in what her best friend had to say. Maybe there was something she had missed. "How do you know that isn't all we have? Remember, my condition can't be used as justification."

  Elle leaned forward, peeking over her shoulder before speaking. "The way he looks at you. Zach hasn't given a woman more than a passing glance since I've known him. Except for—"

  "Hannah," she filled in.

  "Yes. Fine. Hannah. But he never stared at her, God rest her soul, with a look that could melt glass. He looked at her more like, like a brother would look at a sister. The ones he gives you are far from sisterly."

  This made her feel a bit better. Savannah bobbed her head, a decree to continue.

  Elle shrugged. "And he's happier."

  Savannah pinched the bridge of her nose, willing away an impending headache. "Happier? Is that the best you can come up with?"

  "Well, how do you feel about him?" Elle jumped to her feet and paced the length of the narrow cell. Her skirt flapped against her ankles as she gestured wildly.

  Proprietary, that's what she felt. Since coming to Pilot Isle, Savannah had come to think of Zach as her... well, not her property or anything terribly demeaning. But as hers. Perfectly natural considering her intense level of infatuation and the incredible heat they generated when they were in the same room.

  "See? You can't tell me any better than he would be able to. My advice? You have to make a leap. Both of you. Love is a grand leap off a cliff without anything to soften the fall. Do you understand? You feel horrible and scared, but you do it because the outcome is worth the risk. I can't give you certainties, and I'm scared to death that's what he's looking for, too. You're both the most hardheaded, though seemingly reasonable, people I'll ever hope to meet."

  "A certainty of what? That I won't leave him?"

  Elle shook her head, glaring at Savannah. "No, silly, certainty that you won't die. That this baby won't die. How do you think he'll feel once you tell him, envisioning losing another wife and child all over again? It may be irrational, but he can't be blamed for thinking it."

  Savannah unraveled her hair from her finger, gazing at a point above Elle's shoulder. My, that made sense. It didn't relieve the ache in her heart, but it gave her something to work toward. A timeline of sorts. Shaking her head, she glanced at her friend. "I can't give him that assurance, either. He wouldn't know until...."

  "Until everything turns out okay."

  Savannah mashed the heels of her hand to her eyes, the headache pounding now. "So you're suggesting I give him time. About eight months' worth?"

  "Can you do it?" Elle dropped to the edge of the cot, eliciting another cheery squeak.

  I'll try, she thought. But she didn't feel sure enough to even put the promise into words.

  Zach tilted his head, the sails above him filling, fat and lazy. His angles were off a bit, but he'd had good trim on each tack, enough to skip the boat across the narrow pass like a smooth pebble. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a lung-stinging breath. The weather was a welcome surprise. A burst of moonlight shone on his face, his shoulders. He squinted against the silver diamonds glinting off the water's surface and off his spectacles, studying a group of rowdy seagulls drifting alongside the stern.

  As the dense shrub thickets and sea oat-topped dunes of Devil Island came into view, he shifted to a starboard tack, bringing the skiff close to shore. Flipping off his shoes, he rolled his trousers to his knee and hopped over the side, a groan slipping out at the water's bite.

  Halting, he stared down the ivory stretch of beach, remembering. Devil had been his childhood refuge, one of the few places he and his brothers had been allowed t
o sail to alone. Once, Noah had snuck away to watch loggerhead turtles bury their eggs. Boy, Zach had been in a fine fright when he arrived to find his brother cooking fish over a pile of rocks as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Even though Zach had ripped his hair out trying to find him.

  In the end, he'd let Noah stay another night. Heck, they'd stayed together. A deal made after the whipping.

  Zach had always been an easy mark; he could be made to agree to almost anything after he gave a whipping.

  Dropping to the sand, he tucked his arms beneath his head and stared into the endless midnight. A thousand stars twinkled in a clear sky. The moon was a glowing orb, spilling light over everything.

  He should have felt content. He had a new wife, the most beautiful, passionate woman in North Carolina. Maybe in the whole world. And she seemed to care for him the way he cared for her. It wasn't love, but it felt fine just the same. For the first time in years, he wasn't so lonely that he wondered whether his soul was missing.

  Instead, he felt miserable, knowing his family was a scant mile away and that right now, he couldn't face them.

  Not yet.

  The small square of leather dug into his hip. Reaching, he shifted, pulling it out of his pocket. It was sweat-stained and smooth from frequent handling. Zach fumbled with the clasp until it lay open on his palm. The past stared back at him from the faded daguerreotype. Caleb. Slightly blurred where he had moved; he had been impatient to get out of there and meet his friends. Noah, with slicked hair and pressed collar, had only been interested in how the tall contraption, like a box on spider legs, worked. Zach had stood there directing them all from behind the man under the black cloth. Hannah had been with him, arm looped through his, leaning into his side.

  Zach laughed, recalling trying to push her into the picture. No, no, she wasn't at her best, she'd laughed with an airy wave, declining his suggestion. It didn't matter. He remembered her face as if she stood in the graying picture with his brothers instead of just outside the frame.