Mary Burton

by The Lightkeepers Woman

  “Your jaw’s so tense it’s liable to snap.” Sloan grinned. “And a man don’t fondle another man’s package.”

  Caleb grunted. “We’ve supplies to unload.”

  Sloan didn’t move. “So who is she?”

  Caleb wondered if fire still spit from Alanna’s jade-green eyes when she was angry; if her hair still spilled down her back like spun gold. “Nobody.”

  Sloan rubbed his bearded chin with the back of his hand. “Right.”

  Caleb held out the box. “Take it.”

  Sloan looked at the package as if it were hot coals. “What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Throw it in the sea for all I care.”

  “No note?”

  Caleb had been cheated out of his last confrontation with Alanna and his mind swam with a thousand unsaid words. He pulled a pencil from his coat pocket and on the box’s brown paper wrapping scrawled: I want nothing from you or your father. We are finished.

  Sloan accepted the box from Caleb and studied the message. “You loved her, eh?”

  Caleb’s head started to throb. “I was cursed by her.”

  Since Alanna’s parcel had arrived, the island which had been his sanctuary had become brutally small. He’d paced the shores like a caged animal. He worked as hard as three men, but no matter how much he’d sweat, he couldn’t exorcise Alanna from his mind.

  Twice, he’d nearly abandoned his post and rowed to the mainland.

  But he’d stayed on guard.

  Lightning flashed.

  Caleb shifted his focus to the gray horizon. Aye, he’d take a storm over Alanna any day.

  He grabbed his coat, shrugged it on and headed toward the lighthouse. With the storm brewing, he’d have to light the beacon.

  Crossing the small sandy beach, he entered the base of the lighthouse and climbed the spiral staircase up to the top. Ever ready, he kept the giant Fresnel lenses polished, the lamps filled with oil and the wicks trimmed. And now as the blue sky had vanished behind the thickening clouds, all that was left was to light the lanterns.

  Caleb rechecked the lenses that magnified the light for dozens of miles, and then climbed down a small interior staircase that led outside to the crow’s nest, the wrought-iron balcony that ringed the top of the lighthouse.

  Wind howled around him as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his spyglass. Opening the telescope, he scanned the ocean horizon. There were no ships and if luck held none would venture this close to the shoals, sandbars that stretched the length of the outer banks, until the storm passed.

  The danger of the storm was far from over but as he stared at the endless waters he felt a measure of calm. Unlike his days in Richmond, he was in his element here. He understood storms and he understood the seas. Here actions, not words, solved problems and saved lives.

  He moved around to the sound side. He didn’t expect to see a boat. His assistant, Charlie Meeker, had gone into Easton yesterday on a four-day pass. Charlie had sense enough not to brave the waters today as did Sloan, who had only come to the island three days ago to restock supplies.

  Only a fool dared these waters today.

  And the world was full of fools, he thought grimly as he raised the spyglass on the remote chance that someone would attempt a crossing.

  Caleb peered through the telescope lens. For an instant, a slash of white appeared in his scope but it disappeared behind a wave as quickly as it had appeared. A man with lesser experience would have attributed the sighting to a whitecap.

  But he waited, holding his glass steady. He understood just how deceitful the sea could be, so he waited.

  When waves rolled down, the splash of white peeked above the wave again. There was no mistaking what it was this time—it was a ship’s sail. “Who the hell would be out there today?”

  He looked closer. Instantly, he recognized the Sea Witch. Crowley, of course. Like a vulture the man came out from under his rock each time a ship went aground. The old bastard had also done his share of gunrunning and smuggling during the war. But there were no shipwrecks to scavenge. And Crowley never made a crossing unless the money was good.

  “What is that old bastard up to?” he muttered.

  The waves pitched higher, and the boat bobbed in the water like a buoy. Caleb knew that soon the rains would grow heavy, swamp the boat and capsize it.

  “I should leave you to the waters, you old bastard.” Caleb touched the small scar on his temple, remembering his last encounter with Crowley. The bastard had tried to kill him.

  Crowley shifted his position to lower his sail, now straining against the wind. That’s when Caleb saw the trim figure of a woman.

  An oath exploded from Caleb as he squinted harder. Though wind and fog blurred her face, he saw the crop of golden hair, like a beacon in the storm.

  His gut clenched.

  There was only one woman he knew who was foolish enough to travel in this kind of weather with Crowley.

  Alanna Patterson.

  The daughter of the man who’d ruined him.

  The woman who’d betrayed him.

  Chapter Three

  Howling winds filled the sails and tipped the boat dangerously out of balance as waves crashed over the bow. Alanna watched the icy water slosh back and forth in the bottom of the Sea Witch and clutched the boat’s rim as it dipped closer to the briny water. “Mr. Crowley, are we sinking?” she shouted over the wind.

  He muttered an oath and hauled himself to his feet using the mast as support. Bracing his feet, he glared at the taut white sail as he unleashed the rope and let out the canvas. The boat righted herself instantly, but the thick sails snapped and fluttered wildly.

  “Mr. Crowley,” Alanna repeated. “Are we sinking?”

  “Just a bit of water. Don’t get all hysterical on me.”

  She lifted a drenched boot. “The water is up to my ankles.”

  He shot her a sideways glance. “Then stop your complaining and start bailing.”

  “With what?” Alanna searched around the boat but found nothing to use.

  “You got two hands,” he shouted.

  Fear crept up Alanna’s spine as she cupped her hands and started scooping handfuls of water out of the boat. She glanced up at the blackening sky. “Is the weather getting worse?” She heard the squeak of panic in her voice, but was beyond caring if Crowley thought she was a coward. She was afraid.

  “What do you think?” he bit back. “Of course it’s getting worse.” Crowley wrestled the thick, flapping sail as if it were a wild bronco down to the wet boat bottom.

  Alanna discovered that despite her frantic bailing efforts the water was getting deeper. “You said this boat was seaworthy!”

  “She is. Mostly.” The oars scraped against the oarlocks as Crowley buried them into the choppy water. His muscles bunched and strained as he fought to assert his control over nature.

  “Mostly?” Panic burned through her veins. She started bailing again. Oh God, Oh God. What had she gotten herself into? “Tell me we aren’t going to sink.”

  “We’re not going to sink.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “No.”

  Alanna closed her eyes. If only she’d stopped to think this trip through. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive, she’d be safe at the inn or, better, in Richmond.

  She remembered how quickly she’d left Richmond. She’d left a note of course, but she’d lied to Henry’s aunt and told her she’d gone to Washington. “No one knows we’re out here.”

  A wave crashed into the side of Crowley’s face and he spit out a mouthful of water. “If we sink, it won’t matter who knows what. We’ll die any way.”

  She glanced toward the lighthouse beacon. Clouds shrouded the island’s shoreline, but its light flashed bright. “How far is the shore?”

  Worry had deepened the lines on the old man’s face. “Too far.”

  Her clothes were soaked, and the cold was seeping into her bones. “Do you think he knows we’re out her
e?”

  “If he does, he’ll not raise a finger to save my hide.”

  Her teeth started to chatter. “Why not? That’s his job, isn’t it?”

  “We had a run-in a few months back.”

  Could this get any worse? “What kind of run-in?”

  “I tried to kill him.”

  Alanna didn’t ask for details. They didn’t matter now.

  If she’d worked all day to select the most dangerous of circumstances, she’d not have done as well as she’d done in choosing to cross the channel now with Crowley.

  The inky waters filled the boat. The rim sank closer to the water’s edge. A crack of lightning streaked across the even blacker sky.

  Alanna’s soaked cape hung on her shoulders like lead and she couldn’t feel her toes. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Crowley.”

  Droplets of rain dripped from his wrinkled face. His eyes no longer glowed with anger or frustration, but fear. “Who does?”

  Frigid water drenched Caleb’s pants as he shoved the dory into the churning sound. The rowboat bucked in the wind, pushing back toward shallow water as if it, too, understood that only fools went out in weather like this.

  “Goddamn you, boat, move!” Frustration ignited his rage. Caleb hated losing. Even more, he hated losing to the sea.

  Cursing, he blew out a breath and focused on the set of notches he’d carved into the boat’s bow. The seventy-six portside marks denoted rescues. The twenty-three on the starboard side commemorated each man he’d lost when the Intrepid had gone down not far from these very shores.

  He drove the boat deeper into the water and jumped aboard. Taking the oars in his callused hands, he rowed toward the spot where he’d last seen Crowley’s tattered white sails.

  “Damn her. Damn her. Damn her,” he chanted as he rowed. “The Devil take them both.” Crowley was a thief and a liar, and Alanna wasn’t much better. Impulsive as ever, Alanna did what was best for Alanna without a thought to whom she endangered.

  Anger sidetracked him and, for a moment, he couldn’t find the rhythm of rowing. He drew in several deep breaths. This rescue was like any other, he reminded himself. It was about beating the sea at its own game. It didn’t matter whom he saved, only that he won the game.

  Drawing on sheer will, he set his gaze starboard and moved his arms in a steady tempo. One, two. One, two. As the wind howled in his ears, his muscles took over.

  Caleb concentrated on the roar of his heart and the burn in his well-conditioned biceps as they pumped the oars. Currituck Sound was determined to make him earn every inch of forward progress today, but he’d never walked away from a fight. Hot sweat trickled from his stocking cap, warming skin chilled by the wind.

  A woman’s scream pierced the rain and mist. He turned and caught sight of Crowley’s boat just as a wave crashed over it. The swell caught Crowley broadside and knocked him over the side.

  Alanna clutched the side of the Sea Witch but by some miracle she wasn’t swept into the water.

  Caleb dug the oars deeper into the water, coaxing more speed from his boat.

  No one had been lost since he’d been on watch at the Barrier Island Lighthouse. No one! And he’d be damned if Alanna Patterson would be the first.

  “Mr. Crowley!” Alanna’s wet skirts twisted around her legs as she scooted toward his side of the boat and wedged her feet under the seat in front of her. She pushed her rain-soaked cloak off her shoulders and held out an oar. “Grab on!”

  Alanna watched the old seaman flail in the water. His hat gone, he smacked his palms against the water, trying to keep his body afloat. But each time he reached out for the boat, the water pushed him back. He dipped under the surface once, then came back up gasping for air.

  He reached for the paddle. His bony fingertips brushed the smooth wood as a wave smashed into him and sent him under the surface. Tense seconds ticked as Alanna searched the water.

  “Don’t die on me!”

  The old man was drowning, and it was her fault they’d come out here. She should have waited until tomorrow. Why hadn’t she just waited?

  Mr. Crowley’s head popped to the surface a good five feet from the boat. He gasped for air and spit up a lungful of water. Desperation tightened his face as he reached again for the oar she held out. His fingers dug into the smooth wood like fishhooks and he pulled himself closer to the boat.

  Alanna struggled to keep the paddle steady. She strained against his weight and fought not to tumble into the water herself. Her limbs burned from exertion. The cold had sunk to the marrow of her bones. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

  He spit out a mouthful of water. “Pull, woman, pull,” he yelled. “I ain’t ready to die yet.”

  Her breath was labored, and she fought against the weariness slipping into her bones.

  Crowley pulled himself closer to the boat and then swung one hand over the rim. He drew in a deep breath and struggled to pull himself in the boat. “Grab my belt, woman!”

  Alanna dropped the oar and reached for Crowley’s thick belt. Angry wind blew rain sideways, but she tightened her numb fingers around the leather and pulled him up. He lifted one foot up on the side of the boat and yanked himself out of the water.

  She felt a tremor of elation. He was going to make it back into the boat. He would get them to shore. Everything was going to be fine.

  A swell of water from the north blindsided Alanna. The unexpected shove to her overextended body threw her off balance. She tried to right herself but she tumbled over the edge of the boat into the water.

  Her open mouth and eyes filled with seawater and for dark, tense seconds, she flailed around, not sure what was up and what was down. Her skirts weighed her down and her lungs ached for air. Forced to tap into energy she’d never known she possessed, she kicked and battled the sea.

  Alanna burst through the surface. Her arms smacked against the choppy waters and she struggled to keep her face above water long enough to breathe. Air filled her lungs. She was a strong swimmer, but her clothes made staying afloat in the choppy water next to impossible.

  Salt water stung her eyes, blurred her vision. She focused on the Sea Witch. It bounced on the water just out of her reach. “Help!”

  Crowley glanced in her direction and scanned the waves.

  “Help!” she shouted. “Over here.”

  For the briefest instant his gaze locked on her. And then he turned away.

  “I’m here!”

  Crowley sank the oars back into the water and started to row away from her toward the mainland.

  Barely able to stay above water, she raised her arm to signal him. “Help! Mr. Crowley, don’t leave me.”

  The old seaman rowed away from her as if he hadn’t heard her plea.

  Had the wind drowned out her voice? “Help!”

  Please save me.

  Her legs and arms neared exhaustion. She started to sink. She gulped in a mouthful of water.

  The idea that she might die stoked her anger and made her fight harder. But her fury was no match for the numbing cold. She slipped under the water.

  Her lungs begged for air, but she knew the next breath would fill her lungs with water, not air. How long could she hold on? Thirty seconds? Forty?

  There was so much she’d done wrong in her life. She should have found it in her heart to forgive Caleb. She should have tried to understand him better. She should have listened more closely to her father during the days before his suicide.

  Let me live. I swear I’ll make amends. I’ll never miss church again. I’ll give more time to the poor.

  Please, I don’t want to die.

  A viselike grip wrapped around the collar of her dress.

  Death had come to claim her.

  She clawed at the hand and kicked her legs wildly. She would not go into the underworld without a fight.

  But her body was beyond exhaustion and Death was too strong. It pulled her through the water.

  Then suddenly, she broke through the surfac
e of the water. Air! She sucked in oxygen as rain pelted her face. The hard edge of a boat scraped against her belly before she unceremoniously landed in the bottom of a boat.

  Alanna collapsed on her side, coughing. Chilled to the bone, she lay still for a moment as she filled and refilled her body with oxygen. Slowly, her mind cleared enough for her to realize she was safe.

  “Mr. Crowley?” she said, her eyes still closed.

  “Crowley’s gone.” Anger tinged a raspy voice.

  “Where?”

  He draped a worn blanket over her shivering body. “Back toward the mainland.”

  Her teeth chattering, she clutched the rough blanket with trembling hands. So cold. “He left me.”

  “Yes.”

  She huddled under the blanket. “Am I dead?”

  “No, you’re very much alive.”

  She nearly wept with gratitude. “Thank you.”

  Black-booted feet braced on either side of her. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re far from safe.”

  She opened her eyes. Rain dropped on her face, making it difficult to focus.

  Her rescuer’s face was turned toward the lighthouse’s steady beacon, but she could see that he was dressed in a heavy black coat and wore a stocking cap. His shoulders were broad, his legs powerfully built. Large callused hands gripped the oars.

  Tears tightened her chest. What little strength remained, the cold now sapped. Struggling to think, she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.

  Caleb glanced down at Alanna. Curled on the bottom of his boat, she was breathing, but she looked painfully small and her blond curls were matted against her pale skin.

  She’d need warm, dry clothes soon or the cold would suck the life from her. But for now, all he could do for her was get her to shore.

  Caleb set his sights on the lighthouse shore. His body was well conditioned to the hard work but soon the winds would be too much for him.

  The dory bumped against the sandy shore thirty minutes later. He jumped from the boat and yanked it onto land. Rain pelted his face as he tied the boat line to the moorings of a small dock.

  He quickly stowed the oars in the boat bottom and lifted Alanna into his arms. Even with the weight of her damp clothes and cape, he could tell she’d lost weight. Alanna had always been vibrant and alive, never frail.