Far Harbor

by JoAnn Ross

  “Maybe you just love the sex.”

  “There’s no maybe about it. I’m wild about the sex. It’s world class, triple-A blow-your-brains-out sex, and if we could figure out a way to bottle it, we’d make a fortune.

  “However, whatever crazy ideas you might have picked up from the weasel, great sex and marriage are not necessarily an oxymoron.”

  Dan knew things were going downhill when she pushed away his hand and pulled the rumpled sheet that carried the scent of their lovemaking up over her bare breasts, nearly to her chin.

  “Know that from personal experience with Amanda, do you?”

  “No.” He heard the edge to her tone and assured himself that a jealous woman was not an indifferent one. “I know that from personal experience with you. With us together. If you weren’t so focused on the past, you’d realize that you know it, too.”

  An anger born of frustration began to claw at him; Dan ruthlessly banked it. “What we’ve got going here isn’t any short-term, no-strings, convenient affair that satisfies a temporary physical itch. I’m still going to want to rip your clothes off when I’m ninety. I’m still going to get hard as a boulder when I think about doing this.”

  He caught her chin between his fingers and kissed her, hard and deep and long until he’d drawn a ragged moan from her throat.

  “And this.” She was already going lax, her bones turning to water as he reached beneath the sheet with his other hand and stabbed his fingers into her. Her hips moved with him, the hot, slick moisture making a sucking sound as he unrelentingly drove her to yet another shuddering climax.

  “Tell me you won’t still want me sixty years from now, Savannah. Try telling me that you won’t want me to want you.”

  “You know I can’t tell you that.” Her swollen, ravished lips trembled. “Of course I want you. I need you. But I don’t want to need you, damn it.”

  It was the despair in her voice that slashed at him. Made him back away when he knew that if he pressed his case, he could win. But at what cost?

  “I know you don’t.” He ran a hand down her tousled hair, feeling as if she’d taken a dagger to his heart when she visibly flinched. “But we can deal with it. Together.”

  “I have to deal with it on my own.” Her eyes glistened, but her mouth had firmed. Along with, he sensed, her resolve. “I have to be clear, in my own mind, that I’m not just using you.”

  “Darlin’, you’re welcome to use me any time your sweet little heart desires.”

  His attempt at humor fell as flat as a heavy stone thrown into the cove. “This isn’t funny.”

  “On that we agree.” He reluctantly pushed himself out of her bed. “Not that I want to put any pressure on you, but how much longer do you think this journey of self-discovery might take?”

  “I don’t know.” She was looking down at the sheet she was smoothing with nervous hands. “If we could just keep things the way they are, perhaps—”

  “Nope. That’s not an option.”

  “Why not? We’re doing so well. Why risk ruining what we have?”

  He’d watched the color drain from her face, turning her complexion as white as the cold sickle of moon hanging in the sky outside the windows. Then he admired the way she gathered up the composure that had momentarily scattered.

  Her back stiffened; he resisted, just barely, the urge to stroke it. Part of him wanted to shake her, to make her see what was so clear to him; another, stronger part wanted to kiss her silly.

  “I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m not all that interested in an affair. There’s just no challenge in it. It’s too easy to find someone to sleep with you, someone who doesn’t want to hang around and try to make morning conversation afterwards when all you really have in common is lust.

  “I want the whole ball of wax. And I want it with you. Marriage, kids, even some furry mutt that’ll chew up our shoes and dig up all John’s carefully planted tulip bulbs. How about a golden retriever? They seem sort of like a family-type dog, don’t you think?”

  She blew out a breath. “I think you’ve gone crazy.”

  “Crazy about you,” he said agreeably. Since the warm, fuzzy mental family image was pleasing him when their discussion was not, he decided to concentrate on it as he yanked on the briefs that had been dropped on the floor halfway between the door and the bed.

  “I can’t be a mother right now. I have a career.”

  “So does Terri Stevenson,” he reminded her. “And Raine. But I understand that a new enterprise takes more time. So, I’m willing to wait a while for the kids.”

  “Crazy,” she muttered because she couldn’t argue against the two examples of working mothers he’d presented.

  He tried again. “I can understand how, after all the storms you survived growing up, you’d be tempted to find a nice, pretty little harbor, drop anchor, and stay safe and sound. But sometimes those harbors aren’t as safe or pretty as you might originally believe.

  “Change is always a little scary, Savannah. But it’s also good. Dumping the weasel and escaping your bad marriage was good. Moving home was very good. What you’ve done with this place is spectacularly good.

  “And, at the risk of sounding immodest, falling in love with me was one of the best and smartest changes you’ve ever made.”

  “I don’t…” She slammed her mouth shut before the lie could come out.

  The fact that she couldn’t tell him that she didn’t love him was enough, Dan decided. For now. He’d let her stew for a while, then he’d marry her.

  “Tell you what, why don’t you spend some time thinking the situation over and give me a call when you’ve made up your mind.”

  “Give you a call?” A temper she didn’t show often snapped in her eyes.

  “You said you wanted to sort things out on your own. So, I’ll just leave and give you the space you need.” He could tell this was not what she’d expected.

  “Jack gave Raine all the time she needed to make up her mind,” she reminded him on a flare of frustrated heat he enjoyed a helluva lot more than her earlier chill.

  “I’m not Jack,” he reminded her back. “Besides, their situation was different. She had to choose between Coldwater Cove and New York and the clock was ticking. Right now, where we’re concerned, you’re anchored in that safe little harbor bobbing contentedly on calm waters. There’s nothing to prevent you from toying with my affections until doomsday.”

  “Toying with your affections?” She dragged her hands through her hair. The frustrated gesture caused her breasts to bounce in a way that had him almost reconsidering this strategy. The trouble with ultimatums was that they didn’t leave you a lot of wiggle room.

  “Hey, contrary to popular belief, we guys have feelings, too.”

  He scooped his shirt from the lacy iron pillar of the bed. “Let me know when you’ve made up your mind.”

  Dan dropped a kiss on her tightly set lips, flashed her the boyish grin that had, over the years, worked on females of all ages. Then, though it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life, nearly as hard as coming home to bury his sister and claim her son, Dan walked out of the lantern room, leaving Savannah alone in bed.

  With his resolve hanging by a thread, he did not allow himself to look back.

  Savannah hadn’t really believed Dan. Oh, she knew he loved her. But she didn’t really believe that he intended to break things off entirely. Until he disappeared.

  “I can’t believe he didn’t tell you where he was going,” she complained to Raine. They were in their grandmother’s kitchen drinking tea. Martha had taken the ferry to Seattle to do some Christmas shopping, so they’d spent the morning taking turns reading to Ida.

  She’d always loved murder mysteries, the bloodier the better. She might not be able to tackle them herself quite yet, but Kathi, who Savannah had decided was an angel masquerading as a speech therapist, had predicted it would be only a few more weeks.

  “I’m truly sorry,” Raine s
aid. “But he refused to tell me.”

  “He must have told Jack where he was going, since John’s staying with you. What if something happened to him?”

  “Jack probably does know. But he’s not talking. You know how those O’Hallorans stick together.”

  “It’s emotional blackmail,” Savannah muttered darkly.

  “Is it working?”

  “Of course it is. Which is ironic, since he told me that he was leaving to let me make up my own mind.” Savannah glared into her teacup as if she could read the answer to her dilemma in the swirl of black leaves at the bottom. “As if he isn’t trying to manipulate things with this Houdini act. I’m surprised he hasn’t rented one of those planes that make smoke messages to fly over town and write ‘Surrender Savannah’ in the sky.”

  “I used to think of marriage as a form of surrender, too,” Raine revealed. “I spent so many years working hard for my independence, if I hadn’t been so madly in love, I might have ended up resenting any man who’d ask me to give it up. But Jack never asked.”

  “Neither has Dan,” Savannah admitted.

  “I wouldn’t think he would. He’s confident enough that a strong woman isn’t going to intimidate him, or prick his male ego.”

  “Do you think I’m too complacent?” she asked.

  Raine didn’t immediately respond. “I believe,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “that we both developed our own defense mechanisms. Our coping skills. My instinct is to fight like a tiger when I feel threatened.”

  “While I dive for the foxhole,” Savannah said with self-disgust.

  “You’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve just always preferred to find a compromise.”

  “I compromised in my marriage, and look how that turned out.” She threw up her hands. “Don’t say it. I know. There’s no comparison between Dan and Kevin.”

  “From what I can tell, sitting on the sidelines, Dan has never asked you to compromise yourself or your dreams or goals. All he wants is for you to love him, the way he loves you.”

  “I do.”

  “Then surely you, of all people, can find a compromise between your desire for autonomy and his desire to spend the rest of his life with you.”

  Raine leaned forward and covered Savannah’s hand with hers. Her woven gold wedding band gleamed like a promise in the light from the copper lamp that hung over the table.

  “While you’re making your decision, you might want to keep in mind that since my marriage, my life is fuller than I ever could have imagined possible.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “Blessed,” Raine corrected with a slow smile. “I suspect you could have that with Dan.”

  Savannah absorbed Raine’s statement. “It’s not that easy.”

  Raine sighed. Her eyes filled with sympathy. “I wonder if it ever is.”

  He’d made his point.

  By the time he’d been gone a week, Savannah couldn’t think. How was she supposed to think about booking reservations and what flowers to put in what room when all she could do was wonder where the hell he was? And if he was thinking about her.

  She couldn’t eat. The rest of the family had jumped at the chance to try out possible menu items and assured her that her praline butter Belgian waffles were a gastronomical delight and her braided blueberry loaf topped with vanilla icing was a taste of paradise. But she could have been eating dried ashes. Her own taste of frustration spiced with regret was too strong.

  Worst of all, she couldn’t sleep. The lacy white iron Victorian wonder of a bed, which she’d fallen in love with at first sight, the bed that she’d actually seen in her dreams since childhood, now seemed to be as wide and desolate as the Sahara Desert.

  She didn’t need him. Not really, she told herself over and over again. She was a strong woman with her own budding career and a loving, supportive family. She didn’t need a man to make her feel complete. She didn’t need him to make her world complete. The little corner of the universe she’d created for herself was still safe. Still secure. And lonely.

  23

  “S avannah?”

  Savannah glanced up from the computer, which she’d been using to pay bills, and saw John standing in the doorway.

  “Hi.” She was tempted, as she had been each day this past week, to ask him if he knew where his uncle was. But knowing how it felt to have your openness taken advantage of, she’d managed to restrain herself. “I’m glad you’re here. I couldn’t believe it when I came home last night and saw all the greenery you’d hung. I wanted to thank you for all the trouble you obviously went to.”

  “I’m glad you like it. The boughs in the lantern room were Uncle Dan’s idea.”

  “Well. Isn’t that nice.” She wondered if he’d mentioned it to John before leaving, or if the two of them had been in contact.

  She had to stop this, Savannah instructed herself. She was not going to let him make her crazy.

  “I was just putting the poinsettias from the greenhouse in all the rooms, like you asked, and I thought you might want me to take a couple over to your grandmother.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea.” She shut down the computer. “Give me two minutes to button things up here and I’ll drive you.”

  “You don’t have to do that. It’s a nice day and I’ve got the baskets on the back of my bike.”

  Savannah looked out the windows at the clouds stippled with the last light of the day. “It’ll be getting dark soon.”

  “I’ve got a bike light. Uncle Dan lets me ride at night,” he reminded her. “As long as it isn’t raining and the streets aren’t slick.”

  Just because his heart was as open as a child’s was no reason to treat him like one. He was, she reminded herself, on the Special Olympics bicycle team. Still, she worried.

  “Ida loves poinsettias. Why don’t I drive by in a while and pick you up so you don’t have to ride all the way to the farm?”

  “I’m not going to the farm tonight.”

  Okay. She had to ask. “You’re not?”

  “No. Uncle Dan called Jack. He’s coming back home tonight because he has to be in court in the morning.”

  “I see.” So how long would he have stayed away if he hadn’t had a court case scheduled, she wondered.

  “Oh. I forgot something.” He reached into an inside pocket of his parka and pulled out a small book she recognized right away. It was another of Lucy’s journals.

  “Where did you find it?”

  “I was putting the wheelbarrow away in the crawlspace and I had to move some stuff to fit it in.”

  While she didn’t spend any more time than necessary down there, she’d inspected the crawlspace when she’d bought the property. It ran nearly the entire length of the keeper’s house, had a packed dirt floor and a ceiling about six feet high, which made it large enough to use for outdoor storage.

  “There was this old, rusted box beneath a broken wagon wheel,” he revealed. “The book was inside it.”

  When he handed it to her, a spark of electricity arced from his fingers to hers. Savannah told herself that it was only static electricity. And that was strange, because they were both wearing sneakers planted firmly on the wood floor. Seeming not to notice, John wished her a nice evening, then left.

  Savannah stood at the window and watched him pedal away with a cardboard box in each of the wire baskets on either side of his rear wheel. She looked out toward Dan’s house and wondered if he was home yet.

  Then she shook her head with self-disgust, sat down on the Victorian lady’s fainting couch she’d had recovered, and studied the embossed leather cover of the journal. There’d been a time when she would have tried to convince herself that she was only imagining the warmth emanating from the slender volume. But there had been enough odd moments that defined explanation to convince Savannah that the stories were true. Lucy’s spirit did live on in this lighthouse.

  She opened to the first page and began to read.

  The letter cam
e by mail packet this morning. I was, at the same time, both shocked and saddened to learn that Hannah, of all people, could have been hiding such a secret for so long. To think that her husband would have taken to beating her these past years that I’ve been away is unimaginable. I do remember his temper, on those occasions when he’d overindulge in liquor, as being exceedingly hot. But it always flared out quickly, and afterwards, while a palpable tension might linger for a time, outwardly things returned to normal and such lapses were never spoken of. At least within my hearing.

  I’d always believed such strains and occasional storms were part of being married. Now, of course, after nearly seven years with Harlan, I know differently. My husband is as incredibly passionate as I’d always dreamed. Indeed, I believe my darling Henry was conceived that first time we made love, on our wedding night here at the Far Harbor lighthouse.

  Yet he’s also a gentle man. A caring man. Having watched the way he shows his love for our son, I can as easily picture him holding this new child I’m carrying beneath my heart as I can imagine him rowing his dory out into storm-tossed seas to rescue some poor sailor who’s fallen overboard.

  One thing Harlan did not exaggerate was this piece of water’s reputation as a “ship killer.” I could not count the number of ships that have nearly wrecked on the rocks below the cliff and shudder to think what might have happened if this light, and Harlan, had not been here.

  I do find myself on the horns of a dilemma. Hannah writes that she ran out of her escape funds upon reaching San Francisco. My first thought was to send her the necessary money immediately, but she then writes, in a hand so shaky that she could not be exaggerating, that she’s taken ill. If I don’t come to rescue her, she and the children could well be thrown out in the street.

  I know I should discuss this with my husband, but Harlan is in Portland, receiving training on new shipwreck rescue techniques, and I don’t expect him back for another five days. The schedule he keeps in his desk reveals that the Annabelle Lee is sailing out of Seattle tomorrow morning.

  After much thought, I’ve decided to leave Henry in the care of the assistant lighthouse keeper’s wife, take the ferry to Seattle, and book passage to San Francisco. Clouds are gathering in the western sky, which disturbs me since I’ve never been a good sailor. But Harlan, who points out the new ships as they pass our lighthouse, has told me the Annabelle Lee is one of the most stable ships in the passenger fleet. I only hope that turns out to be true, since I won’t be much help to my sister if I arrive in San Francisco as ill as she.