Tides of Love

by Tracy Sumner

  Now this. Merde.

  He had prayed the boy would never show his face on Pilot Isle again. Though he would have gladly kissed young Garrett’s feet if he had shown an inkling of interest in marrying Marielle-Claire. Unquestionably the most handsome member of his family. Intelligent. Successful. Upon hearing of the boy’s return, Henri had made it his business to discover which of the circulating rumors were true. Discreet inquiries.

  Henri watched young Garrett shrug free of a clutching female hand. A marine biologist. True. He taught biology at a well-respected institution in Chicago. Furthermore, he had completed research aboard a government fishing vessel and written essays for a scientific manual.

  Tapping his fingers on his belly, Henri struggled to recall the description the investigator used. Ah, yes: a rising star in his field. A rising star would have suited Marielle-Claire very well indeed. Exceptionally bright his daughter. And she had never lacked beauty.

  Henri followed Noah’s progress through a sea of simpering pouts, fluttering eyelashes, and teasing smiles. Yes, young Garrett would have forced the hand. Henri’s grandsons would have been assured of possessing intelligence and good looks.

  In this instance, his daughter had been an excellent judge of character. She’d recognized the boy’s value long before the others. Yearned for him when he was no more than an ashen, bespectacled lad.

  Henri exited the tent and headed for poor Leland, who stood with his back to the festivities. Henri wished he were home drinking a glass of Bordeaux instead of standing outside a homespun tent, sand lodged beneath his fingernails, sweat adhering his tailored shirt to his skin. Mon Dieu, how he hated the ocean. If not for his business interests, he would move inland as far as he could get.

  Tonight’s performance showed that young Garrett didn’t want Marielle-Claire, would never want her. Oh, Henri didn’t doubt the boy lusted after her; she probably threw herself at him. If Henri had devised a way to force the issue of marriage, involving the woman his investigator had located would have been unnecessary. Regrettably, the situation grew dire and required him to utilize the information he possessed.

  Strange, but Henri found it hard to believe the boy had a married lover. He did not object; celibacy was reserved for feeble men and unmarried women.

  His daughter, for example.

  His fingers clenched over his paisley waistcoat. He would be damned before he let her make a mistake that would ruin her future.

  * * *

  As Daniel laughed and spun her through a wide turn, she returned his laughter. He liked her, she supposed. She also recognized....

  Elle chewed on her lip, trying to remember the word Christa had mentioned to her. Horny. Daniel was horny.

  But what did that matter? He was safe. He made her feel attractive without consequence. If he held her a little closer than she liked, it wasn’t close enough to cause the church committee members to titter behind their hands. Moreover, he didn’t make her heart miss even a beat. Hence, carelessly confident, she flirted.

  Until she caught sight of Noah leading Meredith into the circle of dancers. The girl giggled and simpered, seeming to shimmy in her satin slippers.

  Truly, she found it hard to record one man’s movements while locked in another’s arms, but she managed. Noah bestowed a slow, sweeping smile upon his dance partner, his fingers splayed across her back. Elle observed and pondered and felt sick inside.

  “Daniel, can we stop for a moment? I need a breath of air.”

  “Sure, Ellie.” Cupping her elbow, he escorted her outside the tent.

  The night was pitch-black, the crescent moon’s glow dulled by a layer of fog. The wind kicked at her skirt as she searched for a source of light. Saffron flames from one of the campfires, a ray of moonlight, anything. Worrying her lip between her teeth, she began to think she might have made a mistake asking a horny man to walk alone with her.

  “Um, Daniel—”

  “Excuse me, I’m afraid there’s a problem with the flowers.”

  Elle turned, stumbling over a burrow in the sand. “Flowers?”

  “Come along, flower girl.” Noah grasped her wrist and yanked her behind him, contradicting his absurd pretext by dragging her away from the tent and any flowers to be found. When they neared the dunes, he halted and flung her hand away. “Elle, do you have any idea how long that man has been confined to a ship? With no women in sight.”

  “Six months, I believe he told me. I know, I know”—she dipped her toes into the sand—”he’s very horny.”

  Noah’s head whipped around. “What?”

  Elle shook sand from her foot. “He’s horny. Christabel told me it’s the same as being lonely, except a special way a man is lonely. She said this feeling makes men confused.”

  “Dear God,” Noah said beneath his breath.

  “Well, does it?”

  He dropped to the dune with a resigned sigh. “Yes.”

  Elle plopped beside him, crossed her arms behind her head, and rolled flat. Noah sighed again, but after a moment he followed.

  For some time, they lay gazing into a sky absent of stars, listening to the warble of locusts and the wash of the ocean, the sand cool and solid beneath them. The moment seemed perfect, frozen in time. She feared a movement, a sound, a breath, would shatter it. The completeness flooding her heart was a delusion. Surely, it was a delusion.

  “Shut your eyes,” he whispered, close to her ear. “Listen. There’s so much.”

  She did as he asked, opened her mind to the enchantment of a peaceful night, the allure of the sea. She wanted to witness the world through him. “I hear a bird.”

  “An oystercatcher. She’s sounding an alarm because someone is nearing her nest.”

  Elle waited, more sounds coming together. “Scraping. The hull of a skiff against the sand as it shoves off. A crackle. Driftwood burning on one of the campfires.”

  “Good.” She recognized the smile in his voice.

  “I can hear... breaths slipping from your lips.”

  Sand shifted as he turned toward her, shifted again as he lay back. Finally, he said, “I can hear yours, too.”

  A wisp of wind carried his scent. She drew the fragrance in and held it close, tucked it in the secret place where she tucked all her memories of Noah. Her love for him.

  “Tell me about university, Elle.”

  Her arms stiffened beneath her head. “What’s there to tell?”

  “Did you ever consider going back?”

  A hundred times. A thousand. “Once or twice.”

  He paused, seemed to deliberate. “Lack of funds stopped you?”

  She laughed. “Oh, Noah, only a person with a surplus of funds would ask such a question.”

  “If the problem is purely financial, I could help.”

  “You offer from a sense of duty. The same sense of duty you curse for getting you into every pickle involving me.” She blinked, startled by the haze of fog enclosing them and the clear notion she had of his thoughts. “I know leaving Pilot Isle would be easier if you believe my future is wrapped in a nice, tidy package. Check an obligation off your list and move to the next.”

  “Dammit, you twist everything until I’m not sure what I mean. Someone once offered me what I offer you. I didn’t want to, but I took it.”

  She turned to her side, propping her chin on her hand. “Who?”

  “It was a long time ago. Doesn’t matter now. I paid the loan back. By any means possible.” He rolled his head toward her, a fierce light in his eyes. “Elle, I wouldn’t expect—”

  She pressed her finger to his lips, ignoring the way their skin melded. “You’re the first person to understand an education meant something to me besides the chance to leave Pilot Isle, and for that, I thank you. Sometimes, I think, people have to fight their own battles. Need to. I let you fight mine before, and it shot a gaping hole in my judgment.” She considered a moment, then nodded. “I’d like to take the next step, whatever that may be.”

  His ex
pression grew pensive; his gaze darkened. Beneath her finger, she felt his lips parting, his tongue—

  Leaping to her feet, she followed the edge of the dune, her gait awkward in the ankle-deep sand. She lifted her fingers to her lips, her hand shaking so badly she couldn’t hold it steady before her face.

  “If you follow this path”—settling in beside her, Noah gestured to a break in the dune—”it runs through a forest of loblolly pine, to the southern edge of the island. I noticed some artificial light coming from the lumber wharf when I was collecting plankton samples last week. Loggerhead turtles will be attracted to the light come late July. Take Rory to see them deposit their eggs. You can’t miss the flipper bites in the sand. Just look for a broad V-shaped impression.”

  She watched him jerk his shirttail from his trousers and swab his spectacle lenses. “You can show him, Noah.”

  “I’ll be gone by then,” he said without looking up.

  “I don’t understand. If you love this”—she gestured to their surroundings—”why chose to live in Chicago? If you love your family, how can you stand to be apart from them?”

  He jammed his spectacles in place and climbed the dune, his attention centered on the sea. A layer of gray mist enclosed him, giving him a ghostly appearance. “I have responsibilities. A calling I’m dedicated to, one I treasure. My profession demands most of my time and my strength. I’ve gotten used to making sacrifices.”

  Lifting her skirt, she climbed after him. “Will leaving be a sacrifice?”

  He waited so long, she thought he wasn’t going to reply. “Maybe,” he finally said.

  “Stay, then,” she whispered, shocked to hear the plea come from her mouth. Stay, and I’ll rip up Savannah’s application, I’ll run my school and....

  She shook her head, confusion robbing her of breath. For the first time, she did what Noah had been begging her to do her entire life. She listened to her mind, not her heart. One desire shone bright and clear. I want to finish university. She did not want to destroy the scholarship application. Not even for the sensitive, passionate, intelligent man standing next to her.

  Not even for him.

  Intent on telling him, she turned. Before she could, he had her chin between his fingers. Regret and torment darkened his eyes. “I can’t stay, Elle. Please don’t—promise me you won’t ask again.”

  With a nod of finality, she promised.

  “Thank you, flower girl.” He trailed the back of his hand along her cheek. His smoldering gaze followed.

  “Flower girl?” The words came out in a hoarse whisper.

  His knuckle skimmed her jaw. “The other night. The scent of honeysuckle on your skin.” His lips parted. “I haven’t been able to erase the scent, or you, from my mind.” He leaned in, his lids drooping low.

  A jolt of awareness shook her. Heart and soul, every inch of her readied for his touch. I love you. I won’t ever kiss you again and not tell myself, tell you if you’ll listen. You can fool yourself, Noah Garrett, into believing it’s simply passion we share, but I know better.

  Just before his lips captured hers, a raw-throated scream broke them apart.

  * * *

  The situation at the edge of the surf came as close to complete and utter chaos as any Noah had ever seen. People shoved past him, stumbling toward, or over, the beached skiffs. Men grappled with lines and dug oars from the bilge, swaying from drink. Hoarse shouts of alarm and hands raised to the heavens became the pattern in a matter of a minute. He didn’t have to ask what had happened. The distant, savage groan of a ship’s hull being fractured against the shoals rang through the night.

  A sound you only had to hear once to remember forever.

  “Shipwreck,” Elle breathed by his side.

  Half-turning, he gripped her shoulders. “Don’t even think of getting near the water. I mean it, Elle. Don’t even think of it.” He let her go—before he did something stupid like kiss the woman he had wanted to kiss all night—and plunged into the throng.

  He scanned the beach for a sign of Zach. The fog made it impossible to see more than twenty yards. Blessit, what a night to put the test to the lifesaving crew’s preparedness. Noah had not encountered one sober man yet.

  He snagged Daniel Connery’s arm. “Zach? Have you seen Zach?”

  Daniel jerked the length of rope in his hands, tightening the square knot. “Hundred yards down. By the edge. Where the wreckage is washing up. Look for the flares.”

  Noah kicked off his shoes and sprinted, lungs near to bursting, eyes tearing behind his lenses. He caught sight of Zach, then Caleb, standing in a small group of men he recognized as members of Zach’s patrol. When he reached them, his brothers were involved in a heated exchange.

  “The ship’s too far out to fire the breeches buoy, Cale.”

  “You can’t go.” Caleb shoved Zach in the chest. “I found you sleeping on the damned beach, and now, you want to be some hero? Nobody here is fit to sail. You aiming to lose one of your men, Constable?”

  Wavering flares splayed a blazing ring of light across the sand, casting the men in brushstrokes of gold. With a shift in wind, Noah noted the potent stench of whiskey drifting from them. “I’ll go.” He shoved inside the circle. “Do we know the location? What kind of ship? How many men?”

  “Noah, no.” Caleb flinched, equal measures of fear and fury etching his face.

  Noah met Zach’s startled gaze. “Instead of standing here arguing about what man in this group of six is fit to sail, you’d better worry about the group of fifty down the beach who aren’t and are preparing to capture their moment of glory.”

  Zach yanked an unsteady hand through his hair. He looked from Noah to Caleb to the ocean and back.

  “Go on, Zach. Take your men with you. Someone needs to control what’s going on.” Noah tipped his head in the direction of the tent.

  Zach nodded and said to the man next to him, “Get Seaman Bennett.” He gripped Noah’s shoulder, squeezed once, then shouldered through the group.

  “Dammit.” Caleb slammed his fist into the open palm of his other hand.

  A boy no older than sixteen appeared at the edge of the circle, a ragged blanket fisted at his neck, a mop of red hair standing at stiff angles about his head. Shivers shook his gaunt shoulders and rocked him where he stood. “Si-Sir?”

  Noah stepped forward. “Tell me what you can, son. Anything you can. Quickly.”

  “I’m a seaman on the Queen’s Jewel, sir. A wooden clipper, eleven on board. No passengers, praise be. Headed to Charleston with a cargo of woolpacks, printing paper, and ironmongery. We sailed past Hatteras without incident and the cap’n, he said making it past the watery graveyard should be cause for celebration. So he opened a crate of fine brandy, of which two hundred cases was stored below. The cap’n, he was the worse for drink lots of times.” The boy glanced around and wiped his nose on the blanket. “But this time he was staggering before the breakers was even sighted. We weren’t concerned, sir, reading the calm weather. Then the fog, she rolled in heavy as a mama’s teat, and the cap’n, he mistook the Cape lighthouse for something it weren’t.” The boy shivered, his throat working.

  “Go on,” Noah said.

  “At half past, the fog was swelling and the night getting darker and darker. Then, sudden like, the Jewel, she bounced hard on the shoal, sir. The man on lookout, he began signaling. We tried to wear around, almost got it when she swung, broadside on, with her head to the southward. The after port and starboard boats were cleared and lowered, both hitting water about the same time.” The boy’s lids fluttered and he quaked. “I was in the... lee boat, sir. Me and Deck O’Malley. The boat on the weather side, sh-she got caught by a swell. Dashed under the ship’s counter like a finger... shoved her there. They screamed. And the sea? She just roared.”

  Noah swallowed past the rise of sickness. “Get him out of here. Someone get him out of here. Keep him warm and put some food in his belly.”

  Jeb Crow seized Seaman Bennett’s ar
m and led him away. The boy turned and yelled, “O’Malley, he washed over the side. I tried to help him. Clinging to debris the... last time I saw him, sir. To a scrap of skiff, sir.”

  “A skiff.” Noah closed his mind to the distant sounds of destruction. “Someone’s skiff got tangled with the clipper.”

  Caleb wrenched him around by the shoulder. “I’m going with you.”

  “I’ve done this before, Cale. Remember?” He slipped his spectacles in his pocket and strode down the beach, the wind whipping his hair into his face. “I’d simply forgotten how ghastly looking for survivors is.”

  “Can you see without those things?” He nodded toward Noah’s pocket.

  “Well enough.”

  “Goddammit, I’m going. You can’t stop me.”

  “Cale—”

  “You need me on this one, little bro’.”

  Noah halted by the boat and cocked his head, looking into stubborn gray eyes exactly like his own. “Maybe I do.”

  Chapter 9

  “They might have been caught on the way.”

  C. Wyville Thomson

  The Depths of the Sea

  “You let them go?” Elle hurried alongside Zach, trying to contain the quiver in her voice.

  He stopped and waited for her to backtrack before he answered. “Do you think I wanted to send them out in this mess? Fog so thick I could carve a design in it.” Swishing his foot through the bubbly froth at the water’s edge, he said, “I can’t allow anyone standing on this beach to go. I was lucky to find six capable volunteers. Lucky we’re only searching for ten seamen. Plenty of space to bring them back if they’re found. Maybe they’ll even locate some of the cargo.”

  Elle seized a scrap of wood as it washed against her boot. A perfectly planed, smoothly varnished splinter. “Part of the hull.” She let it fall to the beach.

  Zach dropped to his haunches and covered his face with his hands. The wind tossed strands of black hair against his fingers. “I’m resigning this post. Am I so responsible for these shipwrecks that I put my family at risk? How can I control what happens on those blasted shoals?”