The Heart's Haven

by Jill Barnett

  “Please,” she begged, struggling to get at his buttons.

  He pushed aside her hand and freed himself. Grabbing her ribs, he lifted her and slowly slid her onto him. She cried out from the depth, and he stilled.

  His hands cupped her head, tilting it only inches from his warm mouth. “Am I hurting you?” he asked.

  “No,” she whispered. “Oh God, no—”

  His mouth stole the words from her lips. His hand pulled the pins from her hair, and he wrapped the pale silk hair around them, groaning as the hair brushed over him. His hips remained still, but he was embedded so thoroughly, so deeply rooted, that she could feel his pulse beat through his member. He pushed up once, and she throbbed with release.

  She sagged against his shoulder, and he pulled her forward, rubbing her against the base of him and sending her higher and higher. Again she peaked, crying out with each contraction.

  Sweat dripped from him onto her breasts. He moved his chest sideways so the coarse hair tickled her nipples. He kissed her ears over and over, whispering how it felt inside her, what her cries did to him. Finally he lifted her, up and down, sliding her along his hard length, and when she tightened into her third release, he burst into his own.

  Long moments later, she heard him mumble against her naked breasts.

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at a chair in the same light again.”

  Hallie burst into laughter. She had been thinking the same thing.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “We came through that snowy pass, Dagny, and I knew I was on my way home. I could taste it in the air. It took another week to get down to Sacramento City, and then I had to wait for a steamer, but eventually I got here.”

  Hallie had eavesdropped on Duncan and her sister long enough. It would be embarrassing if she were caught, like some old biddy, listening to Duncan as he lovingly related to her sister the perils of his journey west.

  She quietly closed the back door and went off to start cleaning the attic as she had planned. It would keep her busy. Since four whalers had docked earlier in the week, Kit was busy consigning the loads. He had been penned up in his study since early this morning.

  Hallie climbed the stairs and opened the narrow door that led to the attic. The small staircase was dark, so she grabbed a lamp from the hallway, lit it, and took it up with her. She stood near the top stair, eyeing the dusty strings of cobwebs that hung from the open rafters.

  Her lamp was the only light in the room, and Hallie set it on the attic floor. She was getting light-headed, peering below, so she knew she had better get up on the solid floor before her vertigo overtook her completely. She moved to the top step and crawled up onto the floor.

  The room was only half full, which was a great relief. She didn’t want to be up here a week, cleaning out other people’s old junk—people she didn’t know. Kit had told Maddie when she first moved in that most of the stuff up here belonged to the previous owners of the house.

  “Well, the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be done,” she muttered, and stood up, only to crack her head on a low beam. She winced and rubbed her head as she surveyed the boxes. There were five or six over in one corner, so she picked up the lamp and settled herself on the floor.

  She opened box after box, weeding through musty old clothes and a variety of china pieces, none of which matched. This could all be thrown out, she thought, wondering if maybe she should just tell Duncan to trash everything up here.

  The picture of Duncan with Dagny replayed in her mind. That sweet, giant man spent all his spare time with Dagny, talking to her, walking with her, just as if she had recovered. But she hadn’t. She still walked in a daze, her eyes never showing any comprehension or recognition and her lips never speaking. She just stared. But that didn’t stop Duncan. Wearing his love on his sleeve for all to see, he opened his heart to her sister. He told her everything about his past and all his dreams for the future. He loved Dagny, and it showed in his eyes, in his actions, and in his words.

  If only Kit could love her that way, she thought.

  The marriage was more than she ever imagined it could be, but still Kit said nothing of love. He was attentive, and heaven knew he was passionate, but he never said a word to her about his family, or his dreams, or of Jo.

  Her love for him was so immense that she felt it in every inch, every pore of her being. She wondered what her life would have been without him, and the emptiness that thought created was frightening. She dreamed of their future and lamented their past, but did not see these feelings in Kit. How could he be free to love her if he wasn’t free of his painful past? Until he opened up to her and purged his yesterday, they would have no tomorrow.

  Hallie sighed and pushed aside the last box. A small chest sat in the dark corner, and she moved her lamp closer. It was a sea chest, and when she dusted off the film on top, the brass nameplate became readable. It was marked with the initials C.H. She pulled on the lock hinge but it wouldn’t move. She pulled a pin from her hair and bent it so she could squeeze it into the keyhole. She wiggled it and twisted it and the lock popped open.

  Lifting the lid, she looked inside. A pile of letters, tied with an old blue ribbon, sat on top. She scanned them, seeing they were love letters from Jo to Kit. Hallie read through the first few, amazed that she didn’t feel upset or even jealous. The love words were odd and almost unreal to her. The love expressed in the letters was old and dead, cold as ashes from last winter’s fire. The love between Kit and his first wife didn’t have anything to do with now, only the hurt did. She felt strangely removed.

  She set the letters aside while she removed the things Kit had kept from his first marriage. The wedding certificate was there. It showed they had married in late summer, whereas Kit and Hallie had married in the late spring—not that it mattered, except she now knew the date. An envelope held the torn remains of two passages to France. To this Hallie did react, crushing the envelope in her hand, for she remembered the agony in Kit’s voice when he spoke of taking Jo to Paris. It had been his final attempt at salvaging his dying marriage. She threw the envelope aside. It contained the torn pieces of the hope of a hurt and confused man—the man she loved.

  There were other things, items that meant nothing to her but must have held some significance to Kit: an old theater program, some jewelry, and a beaded bag. Hallie put them back inside, but as she held the bag, she realized there was something inside. She snapped it open and it was empty, but she could still feel something in the lining. She slipped two fingers into a small hole and pulled out a small, leather-covered book. She leaned closer to the lamp and opened the book. Each page was dated and was filled with writing—Jo’s writing. Reading on, Hallie realized it was a diary, detailing a whaling voyage.

  November 12, 1846

  We left the Western Islands today, and I’m in trouble again. Kit is up on deck, brooding. He’s very angry with me for traipsing off alone again. Personally, I think he’s being too protective. After all, now what harm can come to me in a church, for heaven’s sake?

  Kit says this island is filled with sailors who have been thrown off their ships for anything from murder to greenhorn seasickness. He says it’s dangerous. Well, I didn’t see any danger, just the most wonderful old Portuguese church, with color-stained windows that were brought from Lisbon. Oh, they were so beautiful.

  Hallie read each page, learning from Jo’s words the story of Kit’s first marriage. It was strange, because Hallie could read the devotion Jo had for Kit, despite their disagreements. And there were many of those, most of them over Jo’s ability to get into some hair-raising predicaments. Reading some of them even gave Hallie the willies, and she could imagine how Jo’s sense of adventure had frightened Kit. Even Hallie thought some of Jo’s antics were foolhardy.

  One entry in particular made Hallie p
ale.

  December 15, 1846

  We’re two days out of the Cape Verde Islands, and yesterday we hit a furious storm. It was terribly exciting! The wind howled with such force that I was blown overboard. Kit said the only thing that saved me was the safety line he made me wear. He was probably right.

  I’ve never seen him so pale or scared as he was when he pulled me from the water. He held me so tight, and when we went below he said I would never know what went through his mind when he thought I was dead. He loves me. He really loves me, and that is the one thing I’m frightened of—the responsibility of his love and, now it seems, of his life. He said he didn’t think he could live without me, that he wasn’t strong enough to go on if anything ever happened to me.

  What he said made me think about what I’ve done. I have to choose between his love for me and the excitement I crave so passionately. I love him. The choice is easy. I’ll have to change for him. No more of the reckless spirit. I’ll find my excitement in his arms.

  To Hallie, these were not the thoughts or promises of an unfaithful wife. Jo loved Kit. It was here in her own words. No woman alive would doubt that love. What could have happened between them? Now, Hallie was driven to find out why Jo had changed, so she read on.

  She read about the remainder of their voyage, of how pleased Jo was because Kit was so happy. Jo had done a good job of staying out of trouble, and apparently her marriage was the better for it.

  They returned home, and from Jo’s story, Hallie got some insight to Kit’s family. Then Jo was ill and she begged to go on the next voyage, but everyone was against it. It was just as Maddie had told her, except she saw everything through Jo’s eyes. Every moment Kit was gone, Jo longed for him.

  Then Hallie found it.

  April 11, 1847

  I just returned from Boston, and oh God, this is hard. I don’t know what to do. Kit is gone and I’m alone . . . and heaven help me, I’m going to die.

  I laughed at first, thinking the doctor was jesting. But he wasn’t. Then I cried all over Dr. Hicks. The poor man, he tried so hard to make it easier for me. He held me while I cried. He thought I cried for myself, and I guess in a way I did. But mostly I cried for Kit—my love, my life.

  What would he be when I was gone? His love of me was his weakness. How many times had he said so? He would hurt so badly. I wonder if it is possible that he would really choose not to go on living without me. He said as much . . .

  The entry ended, and Hallie, with her heart bleeding for Jo, turned to the next page.

  April 12, 1847

  I laid awake last night, thinking. What do I do about Kit? Oh, I love him so much and I want him with me, but that’s selfish. I really wonder if there is a Heaven. Last night I thought about dying together, Kit and I. Would we go on together through eternity? No answers came.

  Am I being foolish and romantic again? All my life I’ve been told so, but this time I can’t take that chance. My life is gone, but Kit’s isn’t, and I must make sure he’s safe, even from himself. So I’ll do it. I’ll give him his life by destroying his heart. If I can turn his love to hate, he’ll go on without me. His love for me is the only thing I can control, and I love him enough to kill it.

  Hallie dropped the journal. Her breath rushed from her lungs and over her dry lips and she cried. She cried for Kit; she cried for Jo; she cried for herself.

  What a waste! What a horrible, horrible waste. Jo was wrong. The Kit Hallie knew was not weak. To hurt Kit as Jo had, to destroy what they had, was stupid, so so stupid. Jo viewed her actions as a gift; she was giving him his life. That was ridiculous. All Jo did was kill his heart. In the name of love, Jo had stripped Kit of his ability to ever love again.

  Hallie wiped away her tears and stood, clutching the journal in her hand. She moved the lamp so she could see the stairs, and she left the attic, descending the stairs and walking into Kit’s study without warning.

  Startled, Kit looked up. She held out the diary.

  “I think you should see this.”

  He opened it and all the color drained from his face. “Where did you find this?”

  “In your sea chest, in the attic. Read it.”

  Kit slammed it shut. “It has nothing to do with us. I don’t care what’s in it.”

  Hallie leaned across the desk, grabbed the book and found the page with Jo’s plans. “Read this, Kit. You have to read this.”

  He read it, and Hallie heard his breath catch. She saw his expression change from anger to incredible pain, and she saw the tears he tried to hide with his hand.

  “Jo,” he whispered.

  Hallie read the longing in his voice, and her stomach turned.

  His wide shoulders shook and he covered his face with both hands. “I need to be alone . . . please . . . leave me alone.”

  Numb with his rejection and with the knowledge that he still loved his first wife, Hallie walked from the room. She ran through the empty kitchen and outside, heading for the only person to whom she could pour out her soul.

  Kit sagged back against his chair and stared at the ceiling.

  God, what a mess!

  He looked back at the diary. Oh, Jo, he thought, you were so wrong. Her words brought forth the vivid memory of the night he’d told her he couldn’t live without her.

  He had said the words because he needed to make her understand how foolish she could be. Sure he had loved her, incredibly so, but when she jeopardized their future over and over again for the sake of some adventure, he had tried to find the one thing that would make her understand his fear. He wanted her to have a taste of what he suffered when repeatedly faced with losing the woman he loved. Kit knew Jo’s adventurous nature, and he’d figured that if she thought his life rested in her hands, then maybe she would curb her recklessness.

  At the time, he thought his ploy had worked, because Jo did calm down. But apparently her idealistic nature hadn’t changed, because when their love was tested by fate, his wife had wasted their last precious few months destroying his faith in love, in women, and in marriage, all in some twisted, noble effort to make him stronger.

  To give him his life, she had written. The pain she’d put him through had killed the life in him—until Hallie brought it back.

  God, how he loved her.

  He had loved Jo, too, but that love was gone now, gone over a lie. He sighed. Jo, Jo . . . He could see her face, her smile, and he shook his head. She was his first love. Hallie was his last love.

  He rubbed his hand over his pounding forehead. He had treated her like hell, and still she loved him. He knew it. He felt it in every look and every touch. It radiated from her like heat from a bonfire, and he, who had been singed, never appreciated the fire’s heat because he was so damn afraid of getting burned.

  Kit stood, needing to find Hallie, to tell her, to hold her. He left the room and looked through the house. She’d brought him the journal not more than fifteen minutes ago. He rechecked the downstairs and finally thought to look outside. Kit opened the back door and stopped. Dagny sat on a small bench in the back, and Hallie knelt beside her, crying. He moved closer, but stopped again when Hallie’s words became clear.

  “He doesn’t need me, or my love. Oh, Duggie, Maddie was wrong. I was wrong. I tried so hard, but he doesn’t love me. He can’t when he loves Jo. Oh God . . . he still loves Jo.” Her voice was loud and mournful with hurt, and the pain and agony of her words paralyzed him.

  She was nearly hysterical, and her cries grew as she grabbed Dagny’s shoulders and shook her. “Listen to me, Duggie! Hear me . . . please hear me. I don’t have anyone . . . please, Duggie, I don’t have anyone to hear me.” Hallie’s head fell into the crook of her arms and her shoulders jerked with her sobs.

  Suddenly, she looked up at Dagny with a tormented, tear-ravaged face and grabbed her sister’s shoulders
and began to shake her, over and over while she cried. “Dammit, Duggie, hear me! I need you to hear me . . . Oh God, Duggie, please, please hear me . . . help me . . . I need you . . . I need you, please . . .”

  “Don’t cry, Hallie. I hear you,” Dagny whispered.

  Hallie stopped shaking her. “Duggie? Oh God, you heard me . . .” Hallie clung to her. “You heard . . . you’re back, oh thank God, you’re back.”

  Hallie called out, “Maddie! Duncan! Come, please come. It’s Duggie!”

  Kit moved toward them, but the children came barreling out the back door and ran straight toward their sisters. Hallie still held Dagny, and before he could reach them, Maddie and Duncan had arrived. Kit stood back, unsure and feeling as if Hallie’s heart were lying crushed and shriveled in his cruel hands. She stood, and her eyes met his for an instant.

  Her look was empty. There was no emotion, no life, no tenderness, and most of all, her expressive face no longer held any sign of love. So as they went inside, Kit stayed behind, feeling helpless and vulnerable. He had finally accepted what his heart knew—that he loved Hallie. But something told him he had realized that love too late, that he had waited too long. And for the second time in one day, he cried.

  “I love you.”

  At the sound of Kit’s voice, Hallie stopped splashing water on her teary face.

  “I love you,” he repeated, closing the bedroom door behind him.

  With face dripping, Hallie spun around. “What?”

  Kit shifted his stance slightly. “I love you.”

  “Why?”

  “What in the hell do you mean, ‘why’?”

  Hallie grabbed a towel and dried her face. She couldn’t look at him. She was too scared—scared that he might give the wrong answer or the wrong reason. She tossed the towel on the dresser and walked over to the bed. “Why do you love me?”