Wild About Harry

by Linda Lael Miller

  "Mom?" he shouted, tugging at her sleeve. "Hey, Mom? When we get to the island, is it okay if I go swimming?"

  Amy pulled back from Harry. Her frustration knew no bounds, and yet she spoke to her son in reasonable tones. "Puget Sound is too cold for swimming, Oliver," she said. "You know that."

  Harry reached out to rumple the boy's hair affectionately, an understanding grin curving his lips, and Amy liked the Australian all the more for being so perceptive.

  Soon they reached the island, driving ashore in Harry's van. He brought a small notebook from the catch-all space between the front seats and consulted some hastily scrawled directions with a thoughtful frown. After that, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

  Within fifteen minutes, they pulled up beside the kind of place northwest artists loved to sketch. It was a lighthouse, built of white stone, with a long house stretching out in one direction, its many windows sparkling in the sunshine. On the other side was a fenced courtyard, complete with rose bushes, stone benches and a marble fountain.

  Amy drew in her breath. "Harry, it's wonderful," she said.

  A perfect gentleman, Harry had come around to her side of the van. Perhaps it was an accident, and perhaps it wasn't, that her midsection slid the length of his when he lifted her down. "Then I'll have no choice but to sign the papers," he said, his mouth very close to hers again.

  Oliver and Ashley were sizing up the lighthouse, heads tilted back, eyes wide.

  "I'll bet you can see all the way to China from up there!" Oliver crowed.

  Ashley gave him a little shove. "Don't be a dummy. You'll only be able to see Seattle."

  An expensive white car came up the cobbled driveway and stopped behind Harry's van. A tall, artfully made-up woman with champagne-blond hair got out. She was wearing a trim suit in the palest pink, with a classic white blouse, and Amy suddenly felt downright provincial in her jeans and nautical sweater.

  "Mr. Griffith?" the woman asked, smiling and extending her hand. As she drew closer, Amy let out her breath. The real estate agent was strikingly attractive, but she was also old enough to be Harry's mother. "I'm Eva Caldwell," she added. Her bright eyes swept over Amy and the children. "And this must be your family."

  Harry only grinned, but Amy was discomfited by the suggestion. No matter what her subconscious mind had to say through very convincing images of her late husband, Harry Griffith was not the sort of man to want a ready-made family. He was the type that married a beautiful heiress and honeymooned on a private yacht somewhere among the Greek Islands.

  "We're just his friends," Ashley piped up.

  "Very good friends," Harry confirmed, giving Ashley's shoulder a little squeeze.

  Mrs. Caldwell jingled a set of keys, her smile at once warm and professional, and started toward the double mahogany doors leading into the addition. "The lighthouse, of course, was the original structure. The other rooms were built around the turn of the century..."

  The inside of the place was as intriguing as the outside. On the lower level was a living room with beamed ceilings. It stretched the width of the house, and the wall of windows gave a startling view of the water. The floors were pegged wood, and there was a massive fireplace at one end, with brass andirons on the hearth and built-in bookshelves on both sides.

  On the far side of the room was an arched doorway leading to a hallway. There were four bedrooms beyond that, the master suite with a natural rock fireplace of its own, and up a short flight of stairs was a large loft, offering the same view of Puget Sound as the living room.

  There was a door leading from the loft into the lighthouse itself. The kids rushed up the spiral staircase ahead of Mrs. Caldwell and Harry and Amy, in their excitement to see China or, failing that, Seattle.

  "A place like this ought to come with a ghost, by all rights," Harry remarked.

  If he'd tossed Amy a leaky plastic bag filled with ice, Harry couldn't have startled her more. She stopped on the stairs and stared at him, feeling the color drain from her face, wondering if he somehow knew she was seeing things and wanted to make fun of her.

  "Amy?" He stopped, letting Mrs. Caldwell go on ahead. She was still talking, unaware that her prospect was lagging behind. "What's the matter?"

  The calm reason of his tone and manner made Amy feel silly. Of course he didn't have an inkling that she'd seen Tyler, and as brief as their acquaintance had been, she knew Harry was above needling another person in such a callous way.

  "Nothing's the matter," she answered finally. Her smile felt wobbly on her lips.

  Harry frowned, but then he reached out to her, as naturally as if they'd always been together. Just as naturally Amy took his hand and they climbed the rest of the way together.

  In the top of the old but well-maintained tower was a surprisingly modern electric light.

  "The lighthouse is still used when the weather gets particularly nasty," Mrs. Caldwell explained.

  "I can see Seattle!" Oliver whooped from the other side of the little causeway that surrounded the massive, many-faceted lamp.

  "He's apparently given up on China," Harry whispered with a slight smile and a lift of one eyebrow.

  Amy felt just the way she once had as a kid at summer camp, when she'd fallen off a horse and knocked the wind out of her lungs. Remarkable that just a hint of a smile could have such an effect.

  "Spend as much time looking as you'd like," Mrs. Caldwell said, holding out a single key to Harry. She gave him brief directions to her office, which was near the ferry terminal, and asked him to stop by before he left.

  When Ashley and Oliver raced back downstairs to check out the yard, Harry and Amy remained where they were.

  Amy read the sober expression in Harry's eyes as consternation. He frowned again, as though she'd said something he was forced to disagree with, and then pulled her close and kissed her.

  The gentle, skilled prodding of his tongue made her open to him, and she gave an involuntary moan, surrendering even before the skirmish had begun.

  Harry held her hips in his hands, pressing her lightly against him. He nibbled at her lower lip and tasted the corners of her mouth, and still the gentle conquering went on.

  Finally, though, Harry thrust himself back from her. He was breathing hard as though he'd just barely managed to escape a powerful undercurrent.

  "I'm sorry," he said, and although Amy knew he had to be talking to her, it was almost as though he were addressing someone else.

  An apology was probably the last thing Amy had wanted to hear. She was still responding, body and spirit, to the kiss, still reeling from the way she'd wanted him. She cleared her throat delicately and led the way downstairs without a word, using the time with her back to Harry to regain her composure.

  "What do you think of the place?" he asked sometime later, when the four of them had built a driftwood fire on the beach and brought a cooler and a picnic basket from the van.

  "It's wonderful," Amy answered, feeling her cheeks go warm as an echo of Harry's thorough kiss tingled on her mouth.

  Harry surveyed the beautiful lighthouse pensively as he roasted a marshmallow over the fire. "It's big," he countered.

  Ashley and Oliver were running wildly up and down the beach, their cheeks bright with color, their laughter ringing in the salty air. Amy couldn't remember the last time she'd seen them enjoy an outing so much.

  She put a marshmallow on another stick and watched it turn crisp and bubbly over the flames. "I imagine you can see the ferry lights from the living room at night," she said a little dreamily.

  Harry ate the sticky marshmallow he'd just roasted, and Amy imagined that his lips would taste of it if he kissed her again. For a long moment she honestly thought he was about to, but then he started gathering the debris from their picnic on the beach.

  Amy helped, and by the time they reached the real estate office, Ashley and Oliver were already asleep in the back of the van and a light rain was falling.

  Waiting in the van, watch
ing the windshield wipers whip back and forth over the glass, Amy felt sad, as though she were leaving the one place where she really belonged.

  4

  * * *

  Marry Griffith was not a fanciful man. He dealt in stark realities and played for very high stakes, and he hadn't done an impetuous thing since he was seven years old.

  For all of that, he signed the papers to buy the lighthouse when he'd only meant to drop off the keys. He couldn't stop imagining Amy in the massive living room, reflected firelight glittering in her golden brown hair. Or in his bed, her trim yet lush body all soft and warm and welcoming.

  If that wasn't enough to haunt a man for days, the mingled sounds of the children's laughter and the tide whispering against the shore were still echoing in his mind.

  "I'm sure you'll be very happy on the island," Mrs. Caldwell said.

  "I'm sure I will," Harry agreed, but he wasn't thinking about the view or the clams and oysters he could gather. He was obsessed with Amy Ryan, had been practically from the moment he'd met her.

  Mrs. Caldwell smiled. "Do let me know if there's anything else I can do," she said. She and Harry shook hands, and then he turned and sprinted out into the rain to rejoin Amy and the children in the van.

  Amy looked every bit as nervous and unsettled as he felt.

  "I bought the house," he announced, the moment he'd closed the door and put the key into the ignition. Again Harry had taken himself by surprise; he'd definitely decided, only moments before, that he wouldn't mention the purchase to Amy until they knew each other better.

  She seemed a bit bewildered, but there might have been just a glimmer of pleasure in those wonderful hazel eyes, too. Harry, who was usually such a good judge of people, couldn't be certain.

  "You won't find a more charming place anywhere in the country," she said after a few moments of silence.

  Harry glanced back over one shoulder at the sleeping children. "Do you think they'll wake up for dinner? We could stop somewhere on the other side..."

  Amy shook her head. "Thank you for offering," she said softly, "but I think it would be best if I took them straight home. They've had a pretty full day as it is, and any more excitement would probably put them on overload."

  Harry felt another new emotion: chagrin. Maybe he'd offended Amy by kissing her earlier that day in the lighthouse, made her wonder what kind of friend he could have been to Tyler. God help him, Harry had known better than to do what he did, but he hadn't been able to stop himself.

  His vocal cords seemed to be on automatic pilot, yet another unfamiliar experience. All his adult life, except for those few whiskey-sodden days after he'd learned of Tyler's death, Harry had been in complete control of all his faculties. Now, suddenly, nothing seemed to follow its usual order.

  "Tomorrow night, then?" he asked, before he could measure the words in his mind.

  She smiled at him with a certain sweet weariness that made him want to give her comfort and pleasure. "Oliver and Ashley will be spending the day with Tyler's folks," she said, and he wondered if she expected him to withdraw the invitation because of that.

  "But you won't be?"

  Amy shrugged one strong but delicate shoulder. "I'd be welcome if I wanted to go. But I think both the kids and Mom and Dad Ryan need time to interact without me hovering around somewhere."

  Harry rode the crest of foolhardy bravado that seemed to be carrying him along. "Fine. Then you'll be free to have dinner with me."

  He sensed that she was carrying on some inner struggle, he was aware of it all the while he paid the toll and drove onto the Seattle-bound ferry, and the fear that she would refuse was as keenly painful as a nerve exposed to cold air.

  "I'd like that," she finally said, her voice soft and cautious.

  With some effort, Harry held back a shout of gleeful triumph—the sensation was rather like scoring the winning goal in a soccer match—and managed what he hoped was an easy, man-of-the-world smile.

  "So would I," he agreed. "So would I."

  Charlotte Ryan's voice echoed off the walls of Amy's closet as she plundered the contents for something suitable for that night's heavy date. Small, with sleek dark hair and inquisitive brown eyes, Charlotte was one of Amy's closest friends. Tyler had always referred to her as "my favorite sister," subsequently making light of the fact that she was his only sister.

  She came out carrying a sophisticated silver-lame sheath with a gracefully draped neckline.

  "This is perfect," Charlotte announced. "Which isn't to say you couldn't give a lot of that stuff in there to the Salvation Army and start fresh with a whole new wardrobe."

  The glittery dress was expensive, and one of the few garments in Amy's closet that wasn't a holdover from the fairy-tale time before Tyler's death. She'd bought it a few months ago for a banquet honoring her father and hadn't worn it since.

  "Maybe it's too fancy," Amy fretted. "For all I know, we're going to a waterfront stand for fish and chips."

  "With Harry Griffith?" Charlotte countered, laying the dress carefully on the bed. "Not on your life, Amy. The man is class personified. Mark my words, he'll be wearing a tux and holding flowers when he rings the doorbell."

  Amy's heart rate quickened at the romantic thought, and she was instantly ashamed of the reaction. Tyler would be so hurt if he knew the depths of the attraction she was feeling for Harry Griffith.

  Immediately her mind presented a counterpoint to its own suggestion, reminding her that it had been Tyler who'd told her she was supposed to marry Harry, even bear his children.

  It was all too confusing.

  Charlotte was waving one hand back and forth in front of Amy's face. "Yo, sister dear," she teased. "Are you in there?"

  Amy busied herself finding panty hose in her bureau drawer. "How long is it supposed to take to get over... well, to get over becoming a widow?"

  Her sister-in-law was silent for a long moment. Then she laid a gentle hand on Amy's shoulder. "I don't think there are any written rules about that. But I do know Ty wouldn't want you to spend the rest of your life grieving for him, Amy."

  Tears burned in Amy's eyes and thickened in her throat. "I loved him so much."

  Charlotte came around to face Amy and give her a quick hug. "I know," she said. "But, Amy, he's gone, and you're still young..."

  "It's Ty's fault that I'm so hesitant to get into another relationship, you know," Amy sniffled. "Marriage to him was so wonderful, nothing else could possibly be expected to equal it."

  Charlotte's eyes widened, and she chuckled. "That's the damnedest reason for staying single I've ever heard! You're scared of finding another husband because you were too happy the first time?"

  "I know it sounds crazy," Amy insisted, pushing her bureau drawer shut with a thump, "but Tyler Ryan would be a very hard act to follow."

  "Don't expect me to argue," Charlotte said, her eyes moist with emotion. "I loved my brother a lot. He was an original. But you can't just hide out in your career for the next forty years, waiting to join him in the great beyond. You've got to get out there and live."

  "Who says?" Amy asked, but she knew Charlotte was right. Life, was a precious gift; to waste it was the unpardonable sin.

  Charlotte gave Amy a little shove toward the bathroom. "Get in there and take a long, luxurious bubble bath. I'll drop the kids off at Mom and Dad's."

  Amy sniffled one last time. "Thanks," she said hoarsely, giving her sister-in-law another hug.

  Taking Charlotte's advice to heart, Amy filled the tub in her private bathroom, adding generous amounts of the expensive bubble bath her father had given her for Christmas the year before. She pinned up her thick hair and hung her long white terry-cloth robe on the hook on the inside of the door.

  Amy stripped and sank gratefully into the warm, soapy water.

  "Charlotte's right," Tyler announced suddenly, so startling Amy that she barely kept herself from screaming. "Harry is a classy guy."

  Tyler, dressed in a vaguely familiar
blue-and-white warm-up suit, stood with one foot resting on the toilet seat, elbow propped on his knee, chin resting in his palm.

  "You might have knocked or something!" Amy hissed, when she was finally able to speak.

  "Knocked?" Ty looked downright offended. "We were married once, in case you've forgotten."

  Amy sighed. "Of course I haven't forgotten. And what do you mean, we were married?"

  Tyler shrugged and pretended a sober interest in the composition of the shower curtain. "You know. I'm here, you're there. And you've got a lot of time left on your hitch, Spud, so you'd better get your act together."

  She started to rise out of the water, felt self-conscious, and decided to keep herself cloaked in the piles of iridescent bubbles. Then she narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying that you plan to go on to wherever you're going without me?" she demanded.

  "The bargain was 'till death do us part,' darlin'. And don't look now, but death done parted us."

  Amy felt a wrenching sensation deep within her, a tearing away that seemed decidedly permanent. "You've met someone!"

  Tyler grinned. "It doesn't work that way on this side, Spud. And even if there were some kind of celestial dating service, I have too much work to do to take time out for a relationship."

  He looked so real, as if she could reach out and touch him and he'd feel solid under her hand. She made no effort to do that, however, because the memory of the way he'd pulled back from her the other time was still fresh in her mind.

  Amy leaned back against the blue plastic bathtub pillow and closed her eyes. "I'm hallucinating," she said. "When I open my eyes, you will be gone."

  But when she looked again, Tyler was still standing there. "Are you through?" he asked a little impatiently. "I told you before, Amy...my energy is limited and I don't have time to play 'is he or isn't he?'"

  Amy's mouth dropped open, and she closed it again.

  "Harry's taking you to the Stardust Ballroom," Tyler went on. "He's very attracted to you, but he's also having some conflicts. It bothers him that you were my wife."