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

by Tracy Sumner

  The memories hit him, hard and furious. For the first time in years he let them.

  It was acceptable to grieve here. He'd come to believe that during the first months after losing Hannah and his child. The taste of tears on his tongue was hauntingly familiar.

  What was he to do? Where would he find the strength?

  Savannah was pregnant.

  Sitting up, he ripped his hand through his hair, heart pounding hard enough to make him queasy. Gulping the salty air, he flattened his palms to the sand, digging his fingers in past the knuckle.

  She had been asleep when he made it back to the jail after securing another patrol for the evening shift. The look on Elle's face, and the hints, were too many to overlook. Savannah's sleepiness of late, the bout or two of crying. And today, the fainting spell. Zach might not like to think he knew what those things meant, but he did. Of course he did.

  He had lived through them twice before.

  This afternoon, he had carried her home, hushing her when she tried to rouse herself from sleep. Tucking her into bed, he left a note telling her he'd had to go on patrol after all.

  Coward.

  Digging deep, he threw a ball of moist sand as far as he could, cursing himself, cursing her. He was insane to feel this way, possessive and hungry, wild-eyed and impulsive, about a woman who had tripped into his life only two short months ago. Now she was going to have his child.

  Jesus. Arms spread, he collapsed on the sand. How could he rationalize the unbelievable rush of emotion that thought channeled through his mind and body? Anger and fear and such unadulterated happiness that he thought he might pass out from the force of it. At this moment, he didn't really care about rationalizing motives and discussing intent. He wanted to go home and make love to his wife.

  Therein lay the triple thrust of guilt. He hadn't felt this strongly about Hannah... or maybe that wasn't a good way to put it. He hadn't felt that strongly about her in a carnal way. He had loved her deeply, much as he loved Elle, whom he'd grown up thinking of as a sister.

  How goddamned depressing.

  Thirty-four years old, and he was just now finding he didn't have anything worked out. Did he love Savannah? Had he loved Hannah the way he should have, the way she'd deserved to be loved? Could he silence the nagging voice telling him he was going to lose it all again, and confront the woman right this very minute sleeping in his bed?

  Who the hell knew? He didn't.

  He guessed that left him hiding on an island in the middle of the night rather than facing the fact that his wife, a woman he couldn't take his eyes off for more than a minute when they were in the same room, let alone keep from touching, was pregnant with his child.

  A woman who had promised not to love him, after, or possibly before, he had promised to do the same.

  16

  After great pain, a formal feeling comes.

  ~Emily Dickinson

  Zach met Caleb in the kitchen the next morning. After enduring the frown of displeasure on his brother's face, he asked where he could find Savannah.

  Oh, easy answer there. She was with Rory. In the tree house.

  Were they all crazy?

  "Get down from there," he yelled as soon as he reached the thick oak. She could fall and hurt herself or the baby. Thinking fast, he cursed softly, wishing he could call it back. He was supposed to let her tell him the news and accept it calmly. And happily. Happiness. He must remember to include happiness and exclude fear. Though the knot in his belly hadn't gotten any smaller after spending the night on Devil Island.

  Savannah's and Rory's heads popped over the edge. One blond and tussled, the other dark and glossy. Squinting, Zach lifted his hand for shade, his heart expanding, then tripping into a thunderous cadence.

  Did he love her? Was that the problem?

  Why her when there had been so many uncomplicated women to choose from in town, women who had been forever bringing him cakes and pastries and cookies with colorful sprinkles to show their interest? Batting their eyelashes and simpering prettily when he walked into the mercantile or Christabel's restaurant. Making a show of smoothing his cuff or collar when they got the chance.

  Didn't God just have a fun time up there, throwing huge boulders in a man's path?

  "Pa! Come on up. We're paintin'. You and me can finish hammering 'cause I got new nails with Uncle Cale last night. And some strawberry lollies, but I ate 'em all. He let me carry the bag and keep it under my bed. I even showed Vannie when she read me a story." Taking an excited breath, his tiny chest heaved. "Hey! I almost forgot. I smashed my finger with the hammer and cried a little, but Vannie said that was okay cause everybody cries. Not like I'm a baby or nothing."

  "Anything," he heard her correct.

  Vannie. How long would it be before Rory starting calling her Momma?

  The question circling, Zach's gaze strayed to hers. And held. The space between them sizzled. He stopped himself from taking a step back, hoping no one was going to take a good look at the front of his britches. His body sure did recognize her quickly. "Son, your uncle has biscuits and gravy ready. You need to wash up. We'll get to that hammering after."

  Rory pursed his lips. "Oh, Pa."

  "Oh, Pa, nothing." Taking his eyes off Savannah, he nodded at his boy, telling him in no uncertain terms that he meant business.

  "Gotta go, Vannie. Big boys have to eat breakfast every day," Rory grumbled and scrambled down the rickety ladder without looking down to see if his feet were going to catch the rungs.

  "Inside," Zach said and tapped Rory on the behind. "I'll wait for Savannah." He glanced up as the screen door slammed, and his son's excited chatter drifted from the kitchen.

  Her head hung over the edge of the tree house, her cheeks pink. From his look, her thoughts, or her upside-down position, he couldn't guess where the color came from. "Come on down from there. What if you bounce out right on your lovely head? You have to quit climbing up there with the boy all the time. It isn't safe."

  Savannah swallowed slowly. He watched her throat pull, remembering touching her there, kissing her there. "You know," she finally said, her face losing a bit of its blazing color. "You know."

  He didn't dispute it; he'd never been much of a liar.

  "Who told you?" she demanded, never one to flinch in the face of adversity.

  Zach shrugged, arms lifting then dropping to his side. "No one. Took me a while to figure it out though."

  "Because you've experienced all this before." Her eyes glittered when she said it, as if he had done something wrong by figuring out that his wife was pregnant.

  Feeling a spark of anger, he moved until he stood directly underneath her. "You coming down so we can talk about this, or are you going to sit up there pouting?"

  Her head disappeared. "I think I'll hide as you chose to last night," she said calmly, clearly.

  "Fine, Miss Connor. Sit up there and stew all day for all I care."

  "Mrs. Garrett, you bloody oaf," she yelled. One of her boots flew out, whacking him in the shoulder.

  He snatched it from the ground and stalked inside the house, his frown daring anyone to ask why he held his wife's boot with no wife in sight.

  Watching the Garrett men race around the back yard in a raucous game of tag eased Savannah's anger in slow but sure degrees. The hesitant glances tossed her way by all of them with the exception of Rory, who remained blissfully unaware of the strife between his father and his new stepmother, helped, too. They had no idea if she would remain calm or explode like a firecracker.

  She hadn't decided that for herself yet, so she couldn't possibly tell them.

  They spun and laughed, knocking each other down; tripping and other underhanded tricks were apparently allowed. Savannah sighed. Zach had a grass stain on his shirt and a piece of pine straw in his hair; Rory a rip in his britches and smudges of dirt on his face. Caleb was even worse for wear.

  In contrast, Noah looked squeaky clean, hardly a Garrett—a state Elle claimed he upheld
to an irritating degree.

  Never having been a part of a demonstrative family, Savannah felt like an interloper, once again an outsider with her nose pressed to the glass. Sitting on the edge of the porch—she had decided to come down from the tree house after the scent of bacon and eggs drifted in—she swung her legs in time to a scratchy tune blaring from the phonograph in the parlor, a wedding gift from Caroline.

  She wished she fit in better than she did.

  Shooing a bee away from her face, she recalled picturing married life as restrictive and encumbering, like a tight corset squeezing your innards until you couldn't breath. Yet she didn't feel the least constricted sitting there, in a broad band of sunlight, a strong sea breeze lifting her hair from her brow, the sounds of a friendly family scuffle ringing in her ears.

  She wasn't certain she felt confident enough about her future with Zach to define this warm feeling as contentment.

  Lifting a writing pad to her lap and using the lovely fountain pen Zach had given her, she outlined a resolution she planned to present next week to the town council. They needed additional streetlamps, and to usher Pilot Isle into the modern age, she had contacted the closest electric company about the town's options. Having no idea what funds might be available, she had drawn up a modest plan to erect eight poles and wire lamps atop them, then utilize them from sunset to midnight on moonless nights only.

  Rather reasonable, at that.

  Watching Zach tumble to the ground with Rory clinging to his neck like an impish monkey, Savannah wondered if the town constable would support her resolution. She drew a circle on the paper and a box around it. How could she sway him if he did not seem amenable?

  As if he felt her deliberation, he glanced up, his eyes falling to his gift clutched in her hand. Smiling shyly, he lifted Rory from the grass, turning before she could snag his gaze.

  She wondered again about this extraordinary lifelong contract she had entered into. And the curious way it had altered Zach's behavior. Overbearing as a mother hen, he had conspicuously placed her under his wing with his other chicks, using every protective instinct he possessed to gather her close. It was by turns insulting and enormously heartwarming. Without doubt, she betrayed her gender, and the causes she had fought so valiantly for, by allowing herself to even acknowledge that she could be pleased by such male authority.

  Or, perhaps her new husband's stance had more to do with the baby growing inside her than his feelings for her.

  Unconsciously bringing her hand to her still-flat tummy, she marveled at the changes in her life. Why, she had not seen an automobile in two months, smelled the chemical stink of gasoline, or heard the chugging clink and clap of a streetcar rumbling down a busy avenue. Fizzy cola drinks were scarce in Pilot Isle, as were milk chocolate bars. Heavens, most of her shopping would now be done using a Sears, Roebuck and Company catalog.

  Her social calendar, however, was as full as it had ever been. She had accepted an invitation to a candy pull next week, an event she had no idea how to prepare for or exactly what it was. A church bake sale followed during the next week, then another sewing circle a day later. Throw in weekly meetings with her committee and an average of two classes a day at the school, writing articles, and communicating with her delegation in New York, and that made for an active autumn. Elle and Caroline had also undertaken to teach her how to manage a household without a staff at her beck and call.

  Her days promised to be filled with cooking, washing, ironing and sewing, and soon, with nursing a child.

  Her fingers tightened on her stomach. Children didn't even like her.

  Rory chose that moment to voice his opinion, sliding into her lap as gracefully as a bull charging a china shop. Her writing pad went flying, her pen dribbling ink on both of them before dropping to the porch floor. "Goodness, young man, what is this?"

  He turned eyes the color of ash to her, his lashes quivering sleepily. "I'm hungry. Those biscuits and gravy worn off. See?" His belly rumbled beneath her hand to prove it.

  "Now what can I do about that?" She couldn't stop herself from brushing a lock of hair from his brow, something he wouldn't have dared to let her do if he weren't so drowsy.

  He blinked. Yawned. "Fix somethin' good."

  Leaving the men and their games, she carried Rory inside, remembering the thick slices of ham and fresh bread she had seen this morning. She would make him drink a full glass of milk, then put them both down for a nap.

  A salty gust blew in around her, slapping her skirt against her ankles. It almost felt as if she had lifted her nose from the glass pane and come inside.

  For the first time ever.

  Zach watched the screen door slap behind them, his heart filling his throat near to bursting. Seeing his son crawl into Savannah's lap and snuggle against her—something the boy didn't do that often anymore even with Zach—made him feel wonderful, and scared as hell. Caleb and Noah hadn't blinked. They accepted Savannah as part of the family as though nothing had changed when his entire life had been tossed into a bowl and whipped like an egg. He wasn't at all clear what to do about the scramble left behind.

  Searching for a sight of them through the kitchen window, he forgot the rules of the game. Forgot the game altogether. It came as a surprise when Caleb slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.

  His chest heaving against Zach's arm, Caleb panted, "You gonna stand there all day gawking at your wife or play?"

  Turning his head, Zach shoved his brother without moving him an inch. Caleb had thirty pounds on him at least. "Get off me. You're a load."

  "Ohh, listen to that. Constance is getting riled."

  "Get up, Cale; you look foolish." Noah pushed Caleb to the side and helped Zach to his feet.

  "Worst thing you can imagine, huh? How about mooning over a woman like a lovesick pup and doing nothing about it but sighing and frowning all day long?" Cale smacked his lips against his palm and released the kisses in the general direction of the kitchen.

  Zach stopped dusting his trouser leg, his face heating. "I'm not lovesick."

  Cale blew another kiss instead of answering.

  Stepping forward, fists bunched, Zach only halted when Noah moved in front of him, arms raised to keep his brothers apart. "Will you two quit jawing at each other? This is ridiculous behavior for grown men. One might think you're Rory's age, for God's sake."

  "He started it," Zach said, realizing how stupid that sounded, yet unable to stop the accusation from tumbling out.

  "Yes, Miss Pris, one might," Cale replied in a sing-song voice.

  "Do you think she looked a little pale? Is that normal this early?" Noah asked, his concerned gaze meeting Zach's. Noah wanted children right away: thus, Savannah's condition interested him to no end. He must have asked her a hundred embarrassing questions today with Elle looking on, aghast and amused.

  "She may feel queasy in the afternoons. Hannah did." It surprised Zach as much as his brothers, judging from their shocked expressions, to hear him speak her name freely. His first wife had been a forbidden topic since her death.

  "You think you should check on her?" Noah gestured to the kitchen and the figure moving back and forth in front of the window facing the yard.

  "Aw, he's scared to do that. If Rory leaves the room, they'll be alone."

  Zach reached around Noah and shoved Caleb as hard as he could, sending his brother stumbling back two steps.

  "Cut it out!" Noah roared, a startling edict from a man who rarely lost his temper. "Cale, let him work this out himself. It's his marriage, not yours. Keep your mouth shut."

  "We'd better give him some tips, Professor. What would Constance know about pleasing a woman?" Caleb danced around them, out of reach, grinning like a kid. "The first time he romanced his wife was in the jail. A romantic story, isn't it?"

  The screen door squeaked; a step sounded on the porch. "Actually, we'd been meeting at the coach house for weeks. The jail"—Savannah shrugged—"a rash decision. I guess I couldn't wait."<
br />
  "I've made ham sandwiches if you're hungry," she continued in the same smooth tone, as though she hadn't just shocked the breath out of all of them. The door whapped behind her.

  Zach stared, his face burning. Caleb stopped in mid taunt, his arms flopping to his sides.

  And Noah….

  Noah smiled. "I knew I liked that woman," he said, leaving his gaping brothers behind as he strolled inside for a sandwich.

  Savannah stretched, rubbing her feet together beneath the sheet. Rain plinked off the roof; a slice of moonlight washed over the bed, directly across her hands and stomach. Patting her tummy, she wondered when she would grow larger with her—with their—child. She had never been as tired, or able to sleep as easily, in her life.

  The creak of the floorboard near the window had her starting, rising up on her elbows in the bed.

  "Just me, Irish," Zach whispered, drawing the window higher. A flood of fresh air rushed inside, drying the dampness on her cheeks and brow. The evenings were finally getting cooler, thank goodness. "Hot as Hades in here."

  Yes, she agreed silently, when are we ever in the same room that it isn't?

  Even now, the few feet between them fairly bubbled, the air crackling. She felt too restless, too warm for true comfort. What would Zach do if she yanked her thin nightdress from her body and let it drift to the floor at his feet? Her nipples puckered, scratching against the soft cotton, urging her like a tiny devil on her shoulder to do it.

  "Can we talk?" Drawing a chair beside the bed, he folded his long, lean body into it. His hand went to loosen his collar, unbuttoning it and tugging it off. He had just returned from patrol and still wore his salt-crusted work trousers. She squinted in the muted light. And her favorite shirt. Dark blue, it brought out delicious sapphire flecks in his eyes.

  Tangling her hands in the covers to keep them from wandering where they shouldn't, she nodded. She could smell the sea on him. And his peppery shaving balm. Not sure how strong her voice would be, she didn't try speaking, but simply nodded again in case he had missed the first try.