She opened her eyes and he was inspecting her closely. She didn’t remember closing them as she’d reveled in his scent. Reveled? She’d have to be careful. Russell Morgan was trouble and she really didn’t need the complication.
His eyes were so close. Blue-grey eyes. Ones that would be very easy to get lost in.
She scrambled around in her brain for some way to break his intent study of her face. For a way to change what was occurring in her own mind.
“Um, been to any lighthouses lately, Mr. Morgan?”
Perrin’s laugh climbed quickly up the scale toward a giggle, but a quick glance across the table revealed that the others were still discussing the modeling photoshoot.
“Yes, actually,” he studied his beer and picked at the corner of the label. “I sailed to one just a couple of weeks ago.”
“Which one?” As if she didn’t know.
“New Dungeness lighthouse up in the Straits,” his tone said that he had no hint that she’d been there.
“Did you find whoever you were looking for at Cape Flattery?”
He started and his attention shifted from his beer back to her face. His eyes widened like a deer in the headlights.
“You were obviously looking for someone at the cape.”
He turned back to his label, though he didn’t pick at it any more.
“I, uh… No, I didn’t.”
Angelo leaned over. “He’s been chasing a phantom for six months now.”
“Three. I didn’t see her in the photos at first. And she’s not a phantom.”
Angelo shrugged his doubts.
Cassidy took another sip of her espresso. This was simply delicious. He’d taken photos of every lighthouse and she’d been in every photo. Had he taken one of her at Cape Flattery? She couldn’t remember, but she hoped so. That way his collection would be complete, even if he didn’t know it…yet. She’d replaced her own shot of the lighthouse to include one with him in it. But she hadn’t yet figured out how to tell him that he was sitting next to his phantom.
“I believe in phantoms.” She’d been chasing one for the last six months as well. The phantom of who her father had really been. The man she’d known and loved but was turning into a stranger in the course of a dozen short notes.
“Oh no,” Russell held up a hand as if to fend her off. It was callused with hard work, but didn’t look heavy despite its size.
“No discussions of ghosts and visitations. I’ve been with so many woman who were into—” Angelo elbowed him in the ribs. He glared at Angelo, then his eyes widened and he clamped his mouth shut.
“And how many women have you been with, Mr. Morgan?” She hadn’t quite meant to drop her question into the lull in conversation, but suddenly she had everyone’s attention. Or rather Russell did.
He glared first at her, then at his beer.
She could feel the heat on her own cheeks. She hadn’t meant to trap him or back him into a corner.
The conversation at the rest of the table slowly drifted back to life as he stubbornly refused to look up.
She rested a hand on his forearm. She was transported back to the moment she’d taken his arm at Cape Flattery. The strength and warmth were intense against her palm. Her body was reacting in ways that made her feel flush even where the dress did cover her decently.
“I’m sorry,” she kept her voice soft so that no others would hear. She squeezed his arm and was about to remove it when he covered it with his other—cool from the beer bottle but warm from the inside.
His gaze met hers and there was a tinge of sadness in how his eyes closed part way.
“We were clearly never meant to have a conversation together. We’re like two porcupines with all of our bristles up and all defenses to the fore.”
This was a totally different man. This wasn’t the abrupt and rude Mr. Russell Morgan. This wasn’t the brash sailor she’d expected, nor the cool professional. Suddenly, the man she’d glimpsed in scattered moments at dinner and at the lighthouse kneeling in the sand was seated beside her and holding her hand. It took her breath away and made the pounding of her heart the only sound she could make.
“To answer your question: too many and never the right one.”
Question? What question? Her mind had definitely gone elsewhere. “How many women?” That was it. “Too many and never the right one.” What a fantastic answer. She could feel herself melting.
He patted her hand like an old friend and withdrew his arm from her grasp.
“Sorry, stupid thing to say. I meant nothing about you. I meant…” Russell jerked to his feet like a puppet on strings.
“Sorry to be a damper on your party.” He bowed to her, “Ms. Knowles.” And he was gone before she could react. Before she could protest.
Jo poked her sharply in the ribs which broke the spell that had bound her in place. She startled to her feet and trotted out through the kitchen as fast as her high heels would let her. The staff was all gone. She pushed open the back door and stepped out onto the street.
A few spaces down the block, a car roared to life with a throaty rumble—his car from the Cape Flattery parking lot. She raised an arm to stop him as he dropped it into gear, but he was faced away from her and roared off into the night.
The chill air sent a shiver over her bare leg and shoulder, and up her spine.
“I didn’t take it that way.”
# # #
Russell stared at the phone number Angelo had given him. He must be insane. Or really, really, really desperate.
“Yeah, that describes it pretty damn well, doesn’t it?”
Nutcase sat on the settee table and watched him pace the length of the boat and back.
He reached out to scratch the cat’s head. She shied away in time to avoid being whacked by the phone he’d forgotten he was holding.
“Well, there are two choices. I can either agonize over this for another half hour and then it will be too late to decently call in which case I’ll be truly screwed. Or I can stop being such a wimp and dial the damn phone.”
Nutcase carefully licked a paw and scraped it across the fur between her ears.
“You’re no help at all, are you?”
She licked the other paw and went after a spot beside her nose. Cats had it so easy; all they needed was a sucker like him. He could use a little easy right now.
Well, there was nothing for it.
He punched in the number. When it hit the third ring, he began to hope for voicemail, though he had no idea what he’d say to a machine. He’d think of something. Fourth ring.
“Hi, this is Cassidy.” Even as a recording her voice was warm, friendly.
“Hi, this is Russell. Russell Morgan. You may recall the rather unpleasant chap from Angelo’s. Could you give me a call at—”
“Don’t you want to speak to me in person.”
“You… Crap! I thought you were a recording.”
“Well, that’s a new line.”
He sat down on the pilot’s berth. Then lay down and put his feet up on the companionway ladder.
“Wasn’t meant to be.” Could he sound any stupider if he tried? “A line I mean.” Indeed, apparently he could. Stupider by the second. “Why did you even answer the phone?”
“You mean other than the fact that I had no idea who was calling?”
“Yes, other than that.”
“Because I like you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Great. Now his hearing was failing him.
“Well, you do have a certain knack for uncharming and also jumping to conclusions. And your ability to ask me the question I didn’t even know I was avoiding doesn’t help matters.”
She stopped. In the silence he could imagine her, sitting in some high-rise condo, all perfectly manicured. Terry cloth bathrobe and hair done up in a to
wering swirl of towel. If she had a cat, it would certainly never be a constant mess like Nutcase. Probably an elegant Siamese with a meow that could shatter glass.
Her voice was soft when she resumed, “Remember what you said about porcupines.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I apologize. I too become all bristly when I’m talking to you and I don’t know why.”
“I do.”
“You do?”
Russell slapped his hand against his forehead, “No, I mean that I know why I do around you.”
“Willing to share?”
“Not really,” which sounded awful. “What the hell. This conversation is already nothing like I’d imagined anyway. You remind me too much of my past and not enough of my future.”
“Is your past so vile and your future so clear?”
Nutcase clambered up onto his chest and he mussed her hair with his free hand. The silly thing purred madly.
“No. And…” Well, he had to be honest here, though for the life of him he didn’t know why. “Not as much as I’d like. It’s more that you are right out of my New York past.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” It was a tease—though he couldn’t easily imagine Cassidy Knowles teasing. He’d flirted with hundreds of women, every model who came through the studio and every waitress who’d ever served him for starters. But picturing a taunting tease coming from Cassidy simply didn’t fit. Maybe it was a statement of fact.
“A part of me isn’t interested in knowing more.” Great! Insult her again. “But, uh, that sounded lousy, a part of me does.” It did. “Very much.” Now that he’d said it, it was true.
Nutcase head-butted his chin hard enough that he bit his tongue.
“What would you like to know?” Her voice was cautious.
“Ever been on a sailboat?”
“No.”
“Would you like to? I mean,” and then he plunged in, “my parents are coming to town and they’d like you more than they like me and I could really use your help with them. It would pay back anything I do for Perrin a hundred times over; I’ll even find a different model if you insist though you’d be great. My parents like Angelo well enough, but they have a, um, different relationship.” Angelo might be best friends with their son and they might have helped to raise him and send him to college, but he was still the son of their cook.
Nothing but silence so he kept going.
“And the others in the marina, well, they’re just like me. And my parents are, they’re, well, you know…” He petered out. That was it. He’d hit a new low in charm. “Look, I understand. Stupid idea. I’ll just crawl back into my hole again. Thanks. Sorry to bother—”
“When?”
The word hung on the wires between them.
“Tuesday?” his voice squeaked. It had never done that before. It sounded terribly desperate.
“Day after tomorrow?”
“Ten a.m. ‘D’ dock at Shilshole Marina?”
There was a long pause during which he couldn’t hear a sound except Nutcase’s buzzing as she kneaded his chest with her prickly little claws.
“Sure.” The word was so small for something so momentous.
“You’re kidding? Really?”
“Trying to talk me back out of it?”
“No. Uh-uh. No way. You’re committed now.” Russell couldn’t believe it.
“I said I would come. Are your parents so scary?”
“Only to me.”
Then she laughed. It was the most miraculous sound he’d ever heard. He’d never heard her laugh. It rang from her like a thousand bells on a Christmas tree. He felt as if he’d just lost a hundred pounds, the weight he’d gained the moment his mother had called to announce their pending visit.
“What can I bring?”
“Just yourself. I’ll bring lunch fixings. Just dress in layers, it can be warm or cool on the water depending on the wind. You don’t mind visiting another lighthouse, do you?”
“Oh, is Tuesday the first? I didn’t realize.”
“What was that?”
She cleared her throat in one of those delicate, feminine ways that indicated a subject change that could never be turned around.
“Tuesday. Ten a.m. ‘D’ dock. Shilshole,” she repeated dutifully.
“Right.”
“See you then.”
Then he was listening to a dial tone. But what had he said to make her angry? Only she hadn’t been. He’d swear she hung up just a moment before laughing aloud.
She was the damnedest woman he’d ever met.
Mukilteo Lighthouse
Mukilteo
First lit: 1907
Automated: 1979
47.94871 -122.30453
Mukilteo, in the local Native American language, means “good place for camping.” In 1792 Captain George Vancouver came ashore there and named it Rose Point for all the wild roses that bloomed along the grassy shore.
Later renamed Point Elliot, it became the site of the signing of the Treaty of Point Elliot. This treaty of 1855 ended the Indian wars, established the Tulalip Indian Reservation, and truly opened the area up for significant white settlement.
The picturesque lighthouse has hosted hundreds and hundreds of weddings. Not a single one of the first hundred was rained on.
JULY 1
Russell was ten minutes early when he headed for the security gate at the head of the dock. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to be there for Cassidy, it was that he needed a breather from his parents. Breakfast at the Palisades had been very civilized and polite. Perfectly friendly to all appearances, and the waitress in constant attendance with a pitcher of mimosas had certainly helped keep his nerves in line. If he’d had half a brain, he’d have invited Cassidy to breakfast as well. Though that might be too high a price, helping Perrin was being more fun than he’d expected.
Cassidy was already waiting there when he reached the head of the dock. He opened the steel gate and stood back to appreciate her as she came through. Brown Docksiders on her feet that had clearly never seen the outside of a shoebox before today. Blue slacks with a crease up the front that was so perfect they must be as new as her unblemished shoes. Her blouse was a pale-blue, fitted, button-up shirt that looked immensely feminine on her shapely frame. Her smile was radiant and her hair back in a neat ponytail.
And over her arm was a red coat. A huge coat, totally inappropriate for the heat of the day…
A red parka.
“Turn around.” It was barely a croak as it escaped his throat.
She obliged, doing a slow three-sixty. The runner’s ponytail. The auburn hair the same length as… And then her smile came around again, beyond radiant. Mischievous.
If it hadn’t been for the railing behind him, he’d have fallen backward into the ocean.
“You!?” He clenched the steel, real and solid beneath his shaking fingers.
She nodded.
“When? How? It can’t be.”
She slid a hand through the crook of his arm and guided him down the ramp toward the boats.
“It can be. I figured it out at New Dungeness, saw you through my binoculars.” She was just as amiable as if they were old friends chatting on a sunny afternoon about the model sailboats racing on the Conservatory Water in Central Park. As if his brain wasn’t misfiring on a grand scale already.
“And then you sprinted off into the fog so fast I thought you were a mirage.”
“And then I sprinted off into the fog. I didn’t think; I just ran. It was a bit of a shock.”
“I’m noticing that myself.” It was hard to believe that he was able to form whole words. That they were in sentences made it one of the modern miracles. He should probably send a note to some bishop or cardinal if he ever recovered.
She looked from si
de to side inspecting the various boats they passed: fishing craft, fifty-foot power boats, and a lot of big sailboats. Most of them were deserted and quiet except for the occasional weekend visit, but ‘D’ dock had a nice share of liveaboards as well. She was being a little obvious about not looking up at him.
“Why didn’t you…? Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”
“You mean other than the week you spent camped out in front of my condo?”
“So, that was you. You live near there? Somehow I knew that runner was my Lady of the Lights.” He looked down at her, shocked to his core that both women were standing embodied in one right here beside him.
“My friends wanted me to call the cops on you. It was getting a little creepy.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spook you. I was just trying to find…”
“Someone else.”
He sighed. What could he do?
“Yes. Someone else.” She was right, there was a lot more to her than he’d first suspected.
“Right after New Dungeness, I, uh, had to go to California, and that trip lasted a bit longer than I anticipated. I was going to tell you at Angelo’s, but you left too quickly. As to the rest, let’s go meet your parents. I think they’ll enjoy the story as well.”
He considered throwing himself on the dock to rant until he felt better. Some traitorous part of him wanted to dance a happy jig. Another part was seriously considering tossing her off the dock…now there was a tempting image.
As if she’d been reading his mind, she slipped her hand from his arm and took a couple steps ahead.
Just as it had out at Cape Flattery, and the other night at Angelo’s, her touch made him feel calm, strong, and protective. The breaking of that touch left its memory. No one, not even Melanie had ever made him feel this way.
Lady of the Lights. Cassidy Knowles. A prettied-up, city girl. A runner. An outdoors woman. He couldn’t reconcile it all in his brain. How much he didn’t know about her was mind-boggling.
She stopped unerringly by the bow of his boat. Of course she did. She’d seen it five times over the last six months. Christ, he’d walked to Tatoosh Island with her hand on his arm and refused her invitation to Destruction Island light. The world was whacked.
Where Dreams Books 1-3 Page 20