Heart of the Storm (Harlequin Historical)

by Burton, Mary

  “Maybe, but I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here on my afternoon off and watch you break your back.” He took the pot from her and carried it inside.

  She followed behind him. “I need to learn these things, if I am to be a strong, independent woman.”

  “A bucket of water and a wrenched back won’t prove anything.” He set the pot on the stove. “It’ll be an hour before the water’s warm enough.”

  “An hour?” For years she’d ordered baths without a second thought.

  “I’ll get you soap and towels from my room.” He strode out before she commented.

  “I can at least do that.”

  “Please sit. Next time,” he said.

  Rachel sat at the kitchen table and began to unwind the long braid that hung down her back. She combed her fingers through her thick mane of hair. It would take at least an hour to work the knots from it.

  “I brought a comb,” he said, returning. He set the towels and soap on the table. “Figured you could use it.”

  “Thank you. You must be a mind reader.”

  Rachel ran her hand through her hair. It felt greasy and smelled of seaweed. The long tresses were a thick mass. It needed washing but she dreaded the task. It would take hours for her hair to fully dry. Untangling the knots would take time.

  “Can’t say when I’ve ever seen so much hair on a woman’s head.” He went to the stove and poured himself a mug of coffee.

  Rachel started to work the comb through her hair. The comb snagged in her tangles, painfully tugging her scalp. “I’ve never cut it.”

  He stared at her over the rim of his cup. “Never?”

  Rachel cursed the tangles. “I’ve wanted to a hundred times, believe me.” Until now she didn’t mind that her hair was long. “There’s always been a maid to brush and braid it.”

  “I’ve scissors if you want to shear some of that off.”

  The comb caught in another knot. “I couldn’t cut it.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are a thousand reasons.”

  “Name one.”

  Peter wouldn’t like it. She stopped, furious with herself. Peter didn’t matter anymore. He was the past.

  So why couldn’t she cut it? “I suppose there’s no reason not to take a little off.” Still, the idea of cutting her hair had her heart pounding.

  “I’ll get the scissors.” He took a sip of coffee, set the mug down and ambled into the other room. Less than a minute later he returned with the scissors. He handed them to her. “Cut away.”

  He looked so casual, as if this weren’t a big deal.

  She stared down at the blades. They felt heavy in her hands. Of course, this wasn’t a big deal, especially after what they’d witnessed on the beach today. Hair, after all, would grow back.

  Grabbing a clump of hair just below her shoulder, she raised the scissors to the tangles.

  She hesitated. Suddenly she was afraid. There were so many changes in her life. She was literally cutting away the person she’d been. She lowered the scissors from her hair.

  “What’s keeping you?” Ben said.

  Tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t know. I’m being silly. In truth I’ve wanted to cut my hair for years.”

  “You want me to do it?”

  “You cut a woman’s hair?”

  “We’re only talking about cutting a straight line, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  “I don’t know.” Good Lord, what would she look like after Ben finished with her?

  He held out his hand. “You want it done or not?”

  “Yes. Yes, I want my hair cut.” She laid the scissors in his hand.

  When he took them, his fingers brushed hers and fire shot through her limbs.

  He moved behind her chair. She could feel the heat of his body. Nervous energy shot through her body. “Now, don’t take too much off.”

  “You’ve got enough here to make a rug. You could stand to lose a foot or two,” he teased.

  Suddenly she had a vision of him cutting it at her ears. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

  “Afraid, Rachel?”

  She hesitated. “No.” She squeezed her eyes closed. “Go ahead.”

  He grabbed a handful of hair and in one swift move, cut the golden strands. He handed her the hair. “No so bad was it?”

  For a moment she sat in shocked horror staring at the large clump of hair in her hand. “You cut it!”

  “That’s what you wanted.”

  She took the hair and looked at it. It had been with her for so long. “Yes, but I didn’t think you’d do it so fast. I thought you’d give me a little more time to think about it.”

  He lifted a brow. “It’s best to get the harder things over and done with quickly.”

  Her hair now dangled just below her shoulders. Her head felt light. “How does it look?”

  “Crooked.”

  “How crooked?”

  “Nothing I can’t trim up.” He spread a towel over her shoulders and spent the next fifteen minutes snipping away at the ends of her hair. The extra time gave her the chance to calm her nerves and get accustomed to her shorter hairstyle.

  As Ben trimmed, he cupped her chin and turned her head to inspect a cut. His touch wasn’t gentle, but rough and slightly awkward. Yet each time his fingers brushed her skin, her nerves sizzled. The heat of his body burned into her skin. She was aware of his breath; the frown that creased his brown when he inspected his work. Soon she forgot the hair and became aware only of him.

  “Done,” he said.

  He had a satisfied smile on his face.

  “Looks good,” he said

  She ran her hand through her hair, amazed how light it felt. “It feels short.”

  “Too damn much hair, if you ask me. Must have felt like you had a sheep dog on your head at times.”

  She laughed. In truth the weight sometimes gave her headaches. “Yes.”

  With her hair gone, she felt like a different woman. Freer.

  “The water should be hot,” he said. “I’ll pour it in the tub for you.” He started to fill the tub. “It’s amazing to me you could wash your hair.”

  “There was always a maid to help me.”

  “Come over here and kneel by the tub and I’ll pour water over your head. It’ll be easier to clean it that way.”

  “I’m sure I can manage now that it’s shorter.”

  “It’ll be easier, if I help.”

  He looked so masculine standing there with his sleeves rolled up over this elbows. The thought of him touching her again was exciting. Dangerous.

  Still, she knelt over the tub. She flipped her hair over as he came to stand beside her. In her peripheral vision she saw his powerful legs braced beside her.

  He brushed his hands through her hair, away from her collar. Slowly he poured the water over her head, working the water through the thick tresses with his hand. “Hold still while I get the soap.”

  He rubbed the soap between his hands and began to work it into her scalp. His hands possessed such strength, yet they were gentle.

  The sensation was so pleasurable. He poured a fresh pitcher of water over her head, working all the soap out of her hair. He wrapped a towel over her head. “All set.”

  Boneless, she rose. Water dripped down the sides of her face. “Wonderful.”

  He backed away as if he needed distance. He filled the tub with the remaining hot water. “I’ll leave you to your bath.”

  After Ben left, Rachel stripped off her clothes and eased into the hot water. She couldn’t stretch out in the tub, but the hot water soothed her aching muscles.

  She stayed in the tub until the water had nearly cooled. When she got out, she felt refreshed—a new woman.

  She looked at her black dress. It conjured memories of Peter and the fear she’d felt when she’d run away. Her gaze shifted to the parcel. Accepting a parcel from a near stranger wasn’t proper.
>
  “Proper,” she muttered. “What have you done these last three days that is proper?”

  Rachel pulled out the blue dress. It felt soft against her skin. The color caught the light.

  She put on the chemise, stockings, new dress and shoes. To her delight, it all fit perfectly. The clothes were plain but comfortable. They felt good against her skin. She felt like a different person.

  She moved into the parlor. The room was filled with a half dozen unpacked crates. Not one picture hung on the wall. But Ben had laid a fire in the hearth and pulled the one settee close to it.

  Touched by his kindness, she sat and started to comb her wet hair. The comb slid easily through her mane, which had already started to dry and curl at the ends. This place was magical.

  A place to start over.

  Peter slammed his hand on the mahogany table. “What do you mean, she’s disappeared? She’s a well-known woman for God’s sake. Someone must have seen her.”

  The three detectives stood stone-faced. “We’ve checked all the passenger boats and the coaches. No one has seen her.”

  White-hot rage thrummed through Peter’s veins.

  Damn her! If it took him the rest of his life, he’d find Rachel and teach her a lesson.

  “Well, check them again,” Peter shouted. “If you hope to work in this town ever again, you will find my wife!”

  The tallest of the detectives stepped forward. “We’ve not checked the freighters, but it’s unlikely a lady alone would dare a crossing with rough sailors.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed. Rachel wouldn’t be so foolish. Would she? But then until now he’d assumed she’d acted alone. What if she had run with someone? A lover perhaps? “Check them.”

  The detective shrugged. “That will be easy enough. A woman on a freighter will be remembered.”

  “Good do it!”

  The men left him alone in his office. He started to pace. But the anger and restlessness inside him boiled in his veins. He’d given Rachel everything. He’d cared for her and loved her when she had no one. And this was how he repaid her.

  In his heart he knew she’d taken a lover. She’d never have had the courage to run on her own. She was too weak. Chances were they were in bed together now laughing at him.

  Peter picked up a crystal paperweight and hurled it across the room. It smashed against the hearth.

  “Damn you, Rachel!”

  If it took him the rest of his life, he’d find Rachel and teach her a lesson.

  Chapter Nine

  Ben wasn’t prepared for the kick in his gut when he saw Rachel as she stepped outside onto the dunes.

  She wore the blue wool dress and white shawl that Ida had given her. The garment hugged her narrow waist and full breasts. Her hair hung loosely at her shoulders, curling up at the edges and catching the sunshine like wheat on a winter day. The wind brushed the hem of her skirt, revealing slim ankles. Simple but stunning.

  Rachel saw him, waved and smiled. The lifeless woman he’d pulled from the Anna St. Claire had vanished.

  Ben waved back. The gesture was casual; he felt anything but. If he had his way, he’d take Rachel back to the cottage, lock out the world and spend the next five days making love to her.

  Frustrated, he turned away from her. “Timothy, let’s get the boat to the surf,” he said, his voice gruff.

  They were hauling the dory to the beach. The Anna St. Claire remained half submerged in the water just beyond the surf.

  Timothy gripped the edge of the boat. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You look angry.”

  Ben’s muscles bunched as he started to drag the boat. “I’m fine.”

  “So, why are we going to the wreck again?”

  “To inspect the salvage operation.”

  “Do you do that a lot?”

  “No.”

  “Then why now?”

  “Damn boy, you could talk the balls off a brass monkey.”

  Timothy laughed. “She looks good cleaned up, if you ask me,” he said as he helped drag the boat.

  Ben glared at the younger man. He didn’t question the possessiveness thrumming in his veins. He wanted Rachel for himself. “Keep those thoughts to yourself.”

  “What thoughts?” he said, grinning. “Hey, I’ll be a married man in just a few days. It’s the rest of the men in the village you should be worrying about.”

  “She’s off-limits to everyone.”

  Timothy’s eyes gleamed. “Why do you care?”

  “Because I do.”

  Timothy lifted an eyebrow. “Since when?”

  “Since now.”

  They reached the surf and Timothy wound the rope into a neat circle. “I saw Callie a few minutes ago. She had more details about the wedding.” The boy rolled his eyes, as if exasperated by all the details a woman could attach to a simple ceremony. “Anyway, she’s invited Rachel.”

  “She might not be here tomorrow.”

  Timothy shook his head. “We’re going out to the wreck because of Rachel.”

  There were better reasons to go to the wreck. Too many villagers, eager for the bounty, drowned on unstable wrecks. But the truth was he was going today for Rachel. He didn’t expect to find luggage—likely Rachel didn’t have any. Runaways usually didn’t. “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  Ben shoved out a sigh. “She left her purse behind. It has all her money in it. I thought I’d check to see if I could find it.” He didn’t want anyone else finding this last link to her past. Once he’d returned the purse, he told himself he would let go of her past if she stayed.

  “You’re bitten.”

  They pushed the boat into the surf and jumped in. Ben dug the oars into the water. “What the devil are you talking about?”

  “You got it bad for Rachel. Just like I do for Callie.”

  “I don’t know what I have,” he said. And maybe that was what was eating at him so much.

  “The ladies in the village won’t like this. They’ve got their minds set that you’ll marry one of their daughters. You’ve been linked to Molly enough.”

  He hadn’t missed the not-so-subtle attempts of the women, the parade of cakes and the endless questions when he walked into the village last fall. Molly had always offered a good laugh, but he’d never pictured her rocking his babies to sleep. But he could see Rachel with his children. “She’s still set on leaving.”

  Timothy shook his head. “Maybe that’s for the best. She’s a looker but a bit cold for my tastes.”

  Ben had felt her heat and energy when he’d washed her hair. She’d moaned with pleasure as he’d worked the soap into her scalp. The sound had made him grow hard.

  “She isn’t cold. It’s fear that has kept her reserved.”

  “Fear of what?”

  “I don’t know.” He glanced over his shoulder at the wreck. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “When you go to the mainland and send that telegram about the Anna St. Claire, don’t mention Rachel.”

  “There could be people looking for her.”

  “I know there are people looking for her. That’s what’s scaring her.”

  Timothy squinted against the sun. “You sure you want to get involved in whatever trouble she’s running from?”

  That very question had kept him up last night. “If she’s willing to stay, I’m willing.”

  Timothy chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Irritation snapped in his voice.

  “It’s what Ida told me when I proposed to my Callie after only three days of courting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re thinking with the wrong head.”

  Ben smiled. “I’m a bit older than you, lad. I’m thinking with my big head.” Though the smaller one was doing its fair share of driving.

  Angry voices of the scavengers carried over the water. “We better get out there,” Ben said. “Sounds like we’ve got a fight
brewing.”

  “The rumors about the Anna St. Claire are flying. It’s said that Captain LaFortune was carrying gold.”

  Ben muttered an oath. “That rumor flies every time we have a wreck. But speaking of Captain LaFortune, has there been any sign of him?”

  “Not a one,” Timothy said. “Do you think he survived?”

  “Who’s to say? Stranger things have happened. If he didn’t, we might not ever know.”

  Together they started to drag the boat across the sand. The wind from the ocean whipped around them.

  Ben glanced toward the wreck. The boat listed badly to the right but the hull still held. A wrecked ship could vanish from sight in a matter of hours whereas some lingered for weeks.

  A collection of small boats circled. The boats were loaded and headed to shore. A few men still remained on deck. They’d set about stripping everything that wasn’t nailed down. He recognized Clayton and Oscar. They had gotten to work on a small cannon fastened to the deck.

  Wrecked ships served as an industry of sorts in this area. Many families made their living harvesting and then selling what they found.

  Timothy helped Ben drag the dory to the edge of the water. He hopped in. “She’ll be lost to the sea in a day or two.”

  “Aye.” Ben pushed the boat onto the surface. The waves splashed against his worn boots.

  Time was running out. If Rachel left any clues to her past, now was the time find them.

  With clear skies and calm weather, he and Timothy glided across the waters toward the Anna St. Claire. They reached the ship five minutes later.

  “Hard to believe we rowed out to the same boat just three nights ago,” Timothy said. “I don’t mind telling you I was scared out of my wits.”

  Ben nodded to a fisherman lowering one of the Anna St. Claire’s canvas sails into his boat. “A bit of fear is good. It keeps you on your toes.”

  They moored alongside the wreck just as they had done days ago. Ben grabbed onto a stretch of rope one of the scavengers was using. He tugged on it to make sure it held secure.

  “Want to come up?”

  Timothy glanced up at the ship. “Doesn’t look so frightening as she did before.”

  Ben grinned. “No ghosts, I’ll wager.”