Night Music

by BJ James

  “Ahh, I see,” she drawled, matching his projected mood. “I left the store empty-handed, so to speak. Which led you to assume my coffee coffer is bare?”

  He didn’t take his gaze from her. “Would you have been in Belle Terre otherwise?”

  “Touché, Mr. O’Hara. You’re very astute.”

  “I have my days.”

  “Yes, you do, don’t you? This time you were right.” As she took the package, her fingers brushing his, she said in genuine sincerity, “Thank you.”

  In answer, he touched his brow in a small salute. “Enjoy, Miss Gallagher. And have a good day.”

  Kate watched his retreat. For all his rugged handsomeness and wicked teasing, she sensed a devastating sorrow hidden deeply within him. An unshakable conviction she couldn’t explain. Intuition? Compassion? The wisdom of one wounded soul recognizing another, when once she would have been blinded to it? The incredible certainty that no matter that they were strangers, they were no different? In the end, was it knowing in some strange way that, as she, he had not yet found the peace that must come with healing?

  Surprised by that bit of wisdom, touched by his kindness in the throes of trouble, Kate called out, “A question, Mr. O’Hara.”

  He stopped at the end of the deck, his hand on the railing, one foot on the first step. A stance that rippled the shirt clinging to his shoulders, emphasizing the flat plane of his midriff. His arms and face were tanned, the brand of a life spent out of doors.

  In wind and water? Sun or snow? If she were to guess his age, she would say thirty-six. Maybe thirty-eight. Would that mean he was a veteran sailor? Aging surfer? Jaded ski bum? As her mind formed the thoughts, she was discarding them. No doubt any of the three would be too tame for him, even though he waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for her. “You don’t really have any extras, do you?”

  “Extras?” He lifted an innocent brow. Too innocent.

  “Coffee, Mr. O’Hara.” Kate waggled the package. “You don’t have even one extra, do you?”

  He took a deep breath, his chest lifting and straining harder against the seams of his shirt. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

  Once Kate would have thought the repetitious title was sly mockery. But given the way he used it, the easy flow of it in his speech, she was almost certain it was an intended courtesy. Ma’am, the contraction of madam, a title of honor for a lady. Something learned long ago, no doubt, and deeply ingrained.

  “I make a good cup. Will you join me, Mr. O’Hara?”

  “Thanks.” He hesitated. “But I’ve intruded enough.”

  Minutes ago, Kate would have agreed. Now, in an about-face, she didn’t want him to go. “You haven’t intruded. In fact, I’d like some company. For one morning, at least.”

  Devlin smiled then, the same half smile. The lady was smooth. In one breath she’d been gracious and hospitable, and in the next closed the door firmly against repeat performances.

  His decision to stay on the island was unexpected, and he was without a clue how to begin with her. He’d come today out of conscience, but hoping to find a chink in her armor. The invitation had taken him unaware. Yet it was a beginning, and he’d learned a man never won points with a lady by refusing an invitation. “Then it would be my pleasure for one morning. But there is a condition.”

  “What would that be, Mr. O’Hara?”

  “That you call me Devlin.”

  “Only if you call me Kate.”

  “Done.” He laughed then. A warm, wonderful sound.

  “In that case, Devlin O’Hara, will you join me for coffee?”

  Not quite as he asked, but close. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

  “Then it’s settled.” Stepping away from the door, Kate led him to the great room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll start the coffee—while it’s brewing I’ll catch a shower and change.”

  “A pity.”

  He hadn’t gone into the sitting area, but had followed her closely. So closely that when she faced him, she was exquisitely aware that he smelled pleasantly of soap and sea mists. A thoroughly masculine scent that fit him perfectly. Trying not to stare or breathe, she backed away and found herself hemmed in by cabinets and his lean, virile body. Blinking, she looked up at him. “A pity?”

  “You look fetching in your nightclothes.” Catching the neck of her T-shirt between thumb and forefinger, he let the banded fabric roll beneath his touch. “A Clemson University Tiger T-shirt and an orange overshirt.” Moving his hand to the overshirt, he drew the collar closer about her throat. “Silk, unless I miss my guess. A combination I don’t think I’ve seen before.”

  Laying the package aside, Kate leaned back, bracing against the counter, creating an inch more space between them. “Should I take that to mean you’re accustomed to spending your mornings with ladies in nightclothes? Elegant, garish, or otherwise.”

  “No,” Devlin replied solemnly. “You should assume I have sisters, who would envy you this.”

  Kate laughed, suddenly at ease, as he intended. “What you mean is, they would envy my nerve, or faint dead away at the sight.”

  “Maybe.” Devlin wondered if she had any idea what the vivid colors did for her eyes. In his mind she was a tigress. Once she had been, in looks and spirit. She would be again. “Tell you what, I’ll make the coffee, you go do whatever…”

  “That sounds like a plan.” Relieved without knowing why, she slipped past him. Yet, in her dash for the security of the bath, she paused. “You can find what you need?”

  “I’ll muddle my way through.”

  “I imagine you’re good at that. Muddling, I mean. Making the best of a situation.”

  “I have been. I was.” A shadow crossed his face. “Once.”

  Troubled by the quick change, Kate waited for more. When there was none, she hurried away.

  “Sorry I took so long,” Kate said as she stepped onto the deck. What she saw there was astonishing. In less than twenty minutes, Devlin had not merely made coffee. He’d plundered the refrigerator, the pantry and the property owner’s linen closet.

  In the time she’d been in residence, she’d spared the closets only a cursory glance. She knew there were fine linens of all colors and an assortment of table settings to boggle the mind, but she was reluctant to use them. Obviously, her astonishing and accomplished guest felt no such reluctance.

  “Hello.” Looking up from the table he’d set, he let his gaze sweep over her. If orange became her, a turquoise shirt tucked into white slacks was spectacular. If it weren’t for remnants of fatigue marking her features, she could return to the runway of any fashion house in the world.

  “You were going to make coffee.” Kate moved to his side.

  “I did.”

  “But this.” A gesture encompassed the table, crystal and silver glittering in the sun. Napkins—of linen, no less. A salad of fruit she’d stashed in the fridge and forgotten. With what appeared to be a pitcher of mimosas. Best of all, Tessa’s flowers sat in the center of the table. “This looks like a celebration.”

  “Maybe.” Drawing out a chair, he waited, silently, until she had no choice but to take the offered seat.

  Wondering what the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but with the saddest eyes, would find to celebrate, Kate’s gaze followed as he returned to stand across from her. Sipping from a glass he’d filled for her, discovering it was truly a mimosa, she watched him over the glittering rim before setting the glass aside.

  Forgetting that as recently as yesterday she wouldn’t have noticed any man, attractive or not, she settled back. And with a long, slow look, Kate Gallagher committed to memory all that made Devlin O’Hara an intriguing man.

  Ranging over the little not masked by table and flowers, her gaze touched first on his hair. Darker than she believed possible, longer than she liked as a rule. But on Devlin, the shaggy look of disregard was seductive, especially when it capped craggy features that spoke of a life of adventure. Eyes like blue topaz with
barely masked anguish lurking in their depths, and a mouth that could be grim and beautiful at once, completed an aura of compelling magnetism and extraordinary sensuality.

  Compelling, extraordinary, and unstudied. It hadn’t taken long to understand that nothing about Devlin was calculated. How he looked, how he talked, the frisson of sexual tension he exuded, were natural. Part and parcel of a man who would be irresistible…if she’d met him in another time, another place. If both hadn’t brought the inescapable baggage of terminal grief along with them.

  Watching as he spooned a colorful array of fruits into brandy snifters, then topped each with a bit of cream, she wondered when and where he’d learned to be so creative in the kitchen.

  Had he been married? Was he still?

  Of course not. Kate was certain there was no woman in Devlin O’Hara’s life. But had there been? Had he lost someone beloved? Did that explain the grief she saw in him? And, perchance, his palms?

  He made no effort to hide the scars, but something in his demeanor warned discussion was off limits. As someone with her own secret hurts, Kate would never pry. When, or if, he wanted her to know, he would tell her. She would not question, until then.

  Or never. He’d said he would stay for a while. For all she knew, “for a while” meant only this day.

  “Something wrong?” he asked. “You don’t like mimosas?

  “I beg your pardon?” Kate was so engrossed in her thoughts, she only half heard him.

  “You were frowning. I asked if there’s something wrong.”

  Kate sat a little straighter, improvising. “Only that I’m sitting like a dolt, when I should help.”

  “No help needed.” His piercing gaze traced the lines of her face. “You’re too lovely to be a dolt. So, sit in the sun. Rest while I finish, then we’ll share our first meal.”

  “I am rested.” With the flush of his compliment on her cheeks, she knew it was true. “More rested than in a long time.”

  “No dreams last night? Or only good ones?”

  The question surprised her, making her wonder how he could know she dreamed, and in those dreams faced her demons night after night. But as quickly, she knew he asked because it was the same for him. Devlin had his own battle in the dark. But the lasting surprise was her recollection that it was Devlin who strolled through her dreams, smiling his half smile and teasing, then disappearing into a glittering moonlit sea.

  “I dreamed,” she admitted. “But only good ones.”

  Circling the table he set her salad in place. As he leaned near her, his fingers curled briefly over hers. “Any night without the troubles that stalk us is a good night, isn’t it, Kate?”

  Looking at him, golden gaze meeting blue, with his clean scent a part of every breath, the beat of her heart thundered in her veins. He was so close, she saw the creases radiating from his eyes. Laugh lines. The mark of a man who once had enjoyed life. A man who understood her, for the life he lived now was the same.

  Though he was a stranger who had appeared on her doorstep, she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. But she hadn’t the right. “A night without troubles is a gift I don’t deserve.”

  “I doubt that,” Devlin countered gently, then said no more, for it wasn’t time. They were moving too fast. One wrong step and doors that opened a sliver would close to him forever. “Enough serious stuff. Agreed, Lady Golden Eyes?”

  The silly name drew a reluctant smile. “Agreed.”

  “Then, one last touch and breakfast is served.” Drawing a flower from Tessa’s bouquet, he snapped the stem and tucked the creamy blossom in her hair. “A pretty flower for a pretty lady.”

  His hand lingered at her cheek in a caressing touch. So much in his life was harsh and unforgiving, he only wanted to feel a bit of softness. Just a bit.

  “Kate.”

  “Devlin?”

  She’d never said his name like that. Never called him simply Devlin. He wanted to hear it again and again in that low, calm voice while the sun and the sea spun their magic around her.

  “When I came, I didn’t intend to stay. I promised myself one night…” He faltered over the half-truth. Devlin who never lied, who never feared anything, was afraid he would hurt her. Afraid his presence would ruin the island for her and destroy the little contentment she’d found.

  “The island is a pretty, peaceful place. I’ve seen a lot of the world, yet I didn’t expect what I found here. Even so, I won’t intrude, I won’t stay, Kate. If you don’t want me here.”

  She waited through his little speech, hearing words of praise she’d said when she first came. She heard him voice the fears she’d felt when Jericho warned of a stranger in her paradise.

  She knew Devlin would go, if she asked. Yesterday, it would have been what she wanted. Now she heard herself saying, “Summer Island is big enough for two. Our paths needn’t cross.”

  Devlin pretended nonchalance. “I suppose not.”

  “But today they have, thanks to neighborly kindness.”

  “This was presumptuous. Rummaging through your supplies and food. Dragging out table linens. Robbing a superb wine cellar.”

  “Letting good food go to waste,” Kate added to his list. “With generously shared coffee growing cold. Sit down, Devlin. What you’ve done is not an intrusion. Yes, I’ve had the island to myself, but it isn’t mine, you know.”

  “Two isn’t a crowd?”

  “Let’s take it one day at a time, and see how it goes.”

  “Then I’ll stay, Kate. One day at a time.”

  Devlin sat across from her. Listening as she told him of the island creatures and their habits, he discovered she hadn’t spent her reclusive life moldering. She was observant, well read. Well versed, even expert, in the history of the area.

  “Once Summer Island was called after Stede Bonnet?” he prompted, to hear her speak, to listen to softly elegant tones.

  “This was Bonnet’s hunting ground. Anchoring on the backside of the island, the gentleman pirate waited for his prey. Hopefully, he was a better gentleman than a pirate. After he was hanged in Charleston, the name was forgotten. Now some call it Summer Island. To others, though there are dozens of islands scattered along this coastline, it’s simply the island.” Grimacing, she said, “That’s enough instruction for one day.”

  “You make it interesting.”

  “And you’re a gentleman and a liar.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I treasure the compliment.”

  They drifted into a companionable silence, broken only by the clatter of palmettos catching a breeze. Kate was first to speak. “There were whales off the point day before yesterday. They don’t come often. When they do, they stay for some time. I’ll show you the best dune for observing, if you like.”

  She offered it like a gift. Rising to go to her, drawing her from her own chair and keeping her hand in his, Devlin murmured, “I’d like that. I’d like it very much.”

  The reclusive Kate had reached out. But he wasn’t fooled. With the sea at their feet and an autumn sun to warm them, a man and a woman who were more than strangers, but not yet friends, might spend a pleasant morning walking the beach. But there would be dark times ahead for both of them. Times when Denali came for him in his dreams. Times when Kate fought her demons and herself with night music.

  But someday, for Kate, there would be times of peace.

  Three

  A sharp report splintered the air, followed by a rapid barrage impacting like gunshots against Kate’s ears. Recoiling instinctively, she tumbled from her seat, a paperback novel flying from her lap. Crouching on the weathered dock, she braced for more.

  But there was no more. Quiet settled over a peaceful day as if it had never been broken. A flock of ibis, erupted from the limbs of a bald cypress by the first battering sound, began to return. Croaking raucously in a show of indignation, each perched precariously again in a great flap of wings and flying feathers. Once settled, wings tucked, feathers soothed, only their low grousing
and the lazy lap of the river marked the passage of the day.

  Birds ceased their muttering, the river sped to the sea undisturbed. As the midmorning sun burned hotly over the dock of Sea Watch, the well of quiet deepened, only to be broken by a humorless, restless laugh.

  Rising, dusting sand and splinters away, Kate shrugged in disgust. After joining The Black Watch, she’d endured months of training. Grueling, precise drills teaching and preparing her to deal with any situation. The skills Simon McKinzie required were drummed into her. Drummed and tested, until each merged with natural abilities. Becoming first nature, as Simon promised, not second.

  And still she sprawled on the dock at the clap of a hammer.

  Thankfully, only the birds witnessed the clumsy and comical display. “Okay, guys, you don’t tell, I won’t.”

  Abashed by the added foolishness of bargaining with ibis, Kate collected her book and settled again into her effort to read. But the pages were only a collection of words. Words of little sense, requiring no flock of startled ibis to be lost to her.

  When the hammer sounded again, she was ready for it. She knew then why the book was just words, and the words never a story.

  Devlin. Lately of Summer Island.

  He’d kept his promise. A week had passed since their paths crossed. If he’d returned to the point seeking the whales again, it was never when she’d gone. If he walked the beach, he kept from sight. If he listened when she played through the night and into morning, it was from a distant point, beyond the muted light.

  The island was as it had always been. She was alone. Yet how many times had she looked up, hoping he would be there? How many times had she turned, thinking to share some seashore treasure?

  How many times in her dreams had Paul Bryce segued into Devlin O’Hara. Why had they become tangled in her mind?

  Devlin. He’d come first as an interloper, a teasing stranger. Next, as the thoughtful neighbor. A day on the beach made him a friend. Like the best kind of friend, he’d honored his word.