Tides of Passion

by Tracy Sumner

  Someone always stayed with the bodies.

  Zach shook his head, unable to voice his apprehension. Nathaniel Leonard had sailed away in that skiff. And Homer Jacobs. Both good men, fine men. His hands fisted. Homer's wife was expecting a child in another month or so.

  "They'll sail in any time," Noah said, resting his hand on Zach's shoulder. "I'm sure."

  A furious downpour pelted his face, running in streams down his neck and into his sodden collar. Twisting, he turned and snarled, "This storm could be the front end of a hurricane! And if it is, God save us all."

  Even in the unreliable light, Zach could see the flush settle on his brother's face. "Well, goddamn it, then that's His choice." Noah jabbed his thumb toward the sky. "Not yours. When did you get the irrational idea that you had to control your life or anyone else's? Or that you could?"

  Zach couldn't have predicted his answer, so the one that popped out had the all the earmarks of a truth he should have known but didn't. "When my father left."

  Clearly, this answer was unexpected. Noah shook his head, opened and closed his mouth twice before giving up, the stunned glimmer in his eyes visible even in the colorless gloom.

  Zach squatted on his haunches, his gaze never leaving the sea. The storm had unfurled a blanket of pitch black over everything, the occasional bursts of lightning the only traces of light. "I didn't ask why he left. Mother told me that he had, simple as that. I had my juvenile ideas about it. I had seen her with your father once in town; I wasn't young enough to miss everything that passed between them. Heck, she didn't even cry when she told me he left. She was probably happy. Maybe you don't remember, but he wasn't an agreeable man."

  "I remember." Noah angled his long body down beside Zach's, his hands going flat to the ground like he would fall without their support. "Vaguely, like a shadow in this misty dream, I remember him hitting me once when I followed him into the shed. I fell into the dirt, I think. I remember tasting blood."

  Zach swiveled his head, amazed he could still hate the bastard after all these years. "How old could you have been? Two?"

  "Maybe three or so. I used to think about it until my stomach hurt so bad I vomited up everything in it. Not so much because he wasn't there or that I didn't have a father, but because my only memory of him was so wretched. Once I read mother's diary and figured out whose son I was, a man I never met and never would, I lost all that anger. It was like he didn't matter anymore. He just"—Noah shrugged, hands smoothing the sand in the same way you'd wipe dust from a dresser—"disappeared."

  "I shut the door on him, too. Cut him out of my heart so well it felt like he'd never been there. Then—" A crack of thunder obliterated his words. He waited, continuing after a tense, dark moment. "Then I got older. I was twelve or so when Mother started feeling poorly. I had to start work, in the mercantile and for a spell in the oyster factory. Piloting came, oh, three years or so later. Caption Hennesey came to me, asking if I was interested. He'd heard about me sailing the shoals like a pirate."

  Zach wiped the rain from his eyes. "Damn, the money was good. I couldn't have turned it down if I'd wanted to. The way you were growing, you needed new britches every week, it seemed. Plus books. Piles of them. And Caleb, he nearly drove me crazy leaving me pages from that catalog, every fishing rod or knickknack circled."

  Noah's hands stilled their brisk movement. "Are you sorry you came back?"

  Zach perched his elbows on his knees and peered through the vaporous darkness. Please God, let my men come in safely. Listening to the rush of the sea and the howling wind, he was thankful for all he'd been given.

  He really was.

  Even if he couldn't come to terms with what had been taken away.

  A stretch of time passed in thundering silence. Zach faced his brother in a half turn when he could, when he had himself under control. "I'm not sorry for anything. The first time I held Caleb, this tiny bundle of energy wiggling almost out of my arms, I felt an overpowering wealth of love. It was such a pure feeling that I didn't even feel silly. I could see myself in his face. Our noses and mouths. Then you came along, another wonder, a different wonder."

  Noah sighed and shifted beside him.

  "Caleb and I would walk you into town when you were old enough to toddle along behind us, and people would stop us in the street and tell us how beautiful the Garrett grays were. So no, I never felt a moment's sorrow for taking care of my family. I wouldn't trade a memory we made together for the world. Admittedly, I may have resented the loss of freedom a time or two as a young man, but that's all I can offer up."

  Noah directed his gaze to the sea, where the Garrett men found peace. "Do you think saving everyone from themselves will change any awful thing that's happened to us? To you?"

  "I know Hannah's gone. Our baby's gone. You may think I'm living in the past but I feel their loss like an ache in my bones every day. That's unmistakably the present."

  Noah's hand starting dusting again, sand flicking their legs. "You could love the baby coming. And its mother. Maybe that would help the ache."

  "I could," he agreed, nodding. Maybe I do. Leaving Savannah with her hair tumbling around her like a dark cloud and her eyes dazed from loving had been just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. Her body, ah, that magnificent body draped in his sheets, the teasing scent of her claiming everything in the room as hers. The sudden squeeze to his heart had sure felt like love. Perhaps she'd claimed that, too.

  However, that was for him to say to her the first time. Not something to spill to his meddling younger brother. Telling anyone before his wife would be a flagrant betrayal, and he wasn't a betraying man.

  Noah's gaze cut his way; Zach felt the heat. "Have you told her you love her and life is smooth sailing while I'm out here worrying like hell about this?" He lifted a hand and rubbed his belly.

  "You and your aching stomach, Professor." Zach purposely used the childhood nickname someone in town had made-up, one they both despised. It never failed to rouse the youngest Garrett brother's temper. "I haven't told her," he added, part disgusted, part amused. All parts self-directed. He should have told her before he left her this evening, looking so luscious and tempting in his bed.

  Instead he had let fear shoot him in the foot. Again.

  "When have we made it easy for our women to love us, Noah? You sure didn't make it easy for Ellie. And Caleb, heck, he and Christa may never get married. Fools, both of them. I'm following my sibling's lead, I suppose."

  "Don't blame this bit of idiocy on us," Noah said. "The woman is over the moon for you. What harm could it do to let her know you return the favor?"

  The wad of balled-up sand in Zach's fist dropped to the ground as his fingers lolled open.

  Noah let out a low whistle, then laughed outright. "You don't know?"

  "Well, I, I—" he began, thought seeping from his brain like water from a leaky bucket. His heart thumped hard enough for him to feel it over the splatter of rain and distant peals of thunder.

  "Well, that proves how blind you are," Noah said. "She lights up when you walk into the room. Sickening, but true. I've seen it. Hell, Christa and Ellie said they knew the first week or two, but they're women and not expected to miss any indication of love. Even Caleb has seen her pining over you. Though he was surprised, we were all surprised, to see you'd taken the bull by the old horns and, um, acted on the feeling. Getting caught in the jail, whoo-wee, pretty outrageous behavior for sensible Zachariah Garrett." Noah leaned back on his elbows and laughed. "I can't believe I'm saying it, but Caleb's worse off than you are where women are concerned. If he knew Savannah loved you, you sure should have."

  If Zach had been less than certain about his feelings for his wife before this moment, hearing she loved him—might love him—firmed everything up quite nicely. To have Savannah's love. Him, tired old Zach Garrett.

  Damn, that was something.

  Scared, yeah, he was scared. Terrified. But, ah hell, to find her when he never expected to find anyon
e ever again. What a phenomenal feeling that was. And the baby; Lord, how he wanted their baby.

  "What do you plan on doing about this, Constable?" The thread of amusement in his brother's voice didn't dim Zach's happiness one bit. "You've got a wife sitting at home who is wondering if her husband loves her. Quite a mess." Noah dusted his hands on his trousers and rose to a gangly stand. "Quite a mess in-damn-deed, to quote your missus."

  Zach opened his mouth to tell Noah that he was plenty capable of taking care of the matter when he saw an arc of lightning highlight a skiff sailing into shore. And two men working the lines. His heart rose in his chest. His men were alive. Alive to go home to their families. And he would be able to go home to his.

  His and Rory's new family.

  He jumped to his feet and took a fast step forward. Before he made it two feet, with the wind shrieking in his ears, the world went dark.

  Chapter 17

  One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman.

  ~Simone de Beauvoir

  The rain slashed to the ground, soaking Savannah to the skin. Fog lay like a veil over the town and did nothing to dispel the dread that chilled her to the bone. She stood with a dwindling group of wives, mothers, and daughters at the end of the oyster factory's pier, the closest point to Devil Island. She knew Zach would be displeased when he sailed up and caught her standing like a drowned rat on the docks.

  Perhaps Zach would be merciful when he saw her because she had not gone to the island as she could have, where the ship lay stranded just off shore. A few women had sailed out there against strict orders not to budge from their homes. But these women had been sailing since they were children and had steady hands, if not steady hearts. Savannah crossed her arm over her stomach; she hadn't felt it safe enough to go quite that far. There was the baby to consider.

  Of course, she hadn't stayed put, either.

  Savannah wound a damp strand of hair around her finger. The wind ripped at her clothes and made her sway in place. How could she stay inside their bedroom and remember him loving her only hours before or pace the parlor floor and listen to the hall clock count off every single second? When Elle came to tell her the details of the shipwreck, Savannah had listened for a minute, then left the house at a dead run. Men in the life-saving crews often died on these voyages, Elle had told her in a frantic whisper.

  Horrible deaths, some lost at sea, never to be found.

  Zach hadn't mentioned that in any of their previous discussions. As Elle chased her friend to the wharf, she probably wished she hadn’t shared this information.

  "They'll sail in any minute." Elle's arm came around her, drawing her close.

  They stood there, shivering and peering through the dense fog as waves lashed the pier, sending a salty mist into their faces. Savannah concentrated on the clank and rub of boats edging the dock, ticking off the time in her head. Just when she thought she'd go mad if she stood there for much longer, a shout brought some of the men running down the dock.

  In the distance, faintly, she could see a skiff cresting a wave and sliding into a hollow, cresting again. One man worked the sails, another sat near the stern, their shapes visible only in a brief flash of lightning.

  "It's Noah," Elle breathed, her weight falling against Savannah. Obviously, she had not been as sure of the men's safety as she had led Savannah to believe.

  "Zach?" Maybe Elle's eyes are better than mine, Savannah thought, straining to distinguish the faces of the men gliding toward them.

  Elle took her hand and pulled her to the very end of the pier. It was only then that she realized she had run to town without shoes. A cool spray struck her ankles, the wind kicking at her skirt as she clung to Elle.

  A group of men gently moved them aside, apologizing all the while. Savannah murmured her gratitude and patted the wide shoulders of each man. Helping dock the skiff in such a fiery storm as this one took more muscle than she and Elle could offer.

  The skiff bumped hard, the hull scraping the pitted piling. Calling orders and directions, Noah threw a line to a waiting hand and skipped back to settle the sails.

  "Lift him gently," Noah shouted above the roaring wind.

  Savannah gasped, recognizing the navy material covering the arm flung limply over the edge of the skiff. She started forward but Elle and a member of Zach's patrol held her back.

  "Let them bring him up. Then we'll take him... home." Elle's voice cracked, upsetting Savannah more than seeing Zach being lifted from the skiff to the dock like a dead weight. Blood oozed from a gash on his temple, a thin crimson river streaking his face and neck. The collar of his shirt showed pink in the muted glow from a lamp hanging beneath a factory overhang.

  "Surely, he will be fine," Savannah whispered. Or maybe she simply thought it. A strapping man like Zachariah Garrett didn't get hurt from a bump on the head. Head wounds bled notoriously; even she knew that.

  Moving to his side, she took his hand as the men placed him on a wide plank at least seven feet long. Her head pounded; her throat felt flinty, as if she had swallowed a mouthful of sand.

  His hair lay in a dark scramble on his brow, a clump of it tangled and bloody. Drawing a breath, she told herself that she must be strong. A constable's wife, a life-saving captain's wife, must be strong.

  A jacket slipped over her shoulders. Turning, she gazed into Noah's face. "Can't have you getting sick out here," he said. "Zach would kill me."

  "He'll be fine, of course." Neither a statement nor a question, perhaps it was a plea. "Simply fine."

  Noah nodded, looking less than certain. His eyes moved to Zach, focusing on the bleeding gash, the ashen skin. He drew a long breath, a parched click of his throat. "He has to be."

  * * *

  Savannah walked to the window and gripped the sill. A brilliant sunrise had painted the horizon in shades of gold and amber, a lovely promise of a new day. Pressing her brow to the damp pane, she watched the town come to life on the street below and realized with a shock that life was marching forward.

  While in this house, in this bedroom, her life had ground to a halt.

  She glanced back, recording the rise and fall of Zach’s chest beneath the thin sheet, as she had a thousand times since they brought him home. If she placed her ear next to his mouth, she could hear him breathe. Yet that also sent warm air rushing inside the canal of her ear, reminding her of them whispering to each other as they made slow, tender love.

  Gripping the sill harder, she promised herself she wouldn't cry. Couldn't cry anymore. It had frightened Rory, whom they'd spirited away after carrying Zach inside.

  She would like to tell Zach she loved him before he slipped away. Dr. Leland had communicated what he could: either Zach would pull out of this deep sleep or he would not. Head injuries were a great unknown in medical science.

  Noah had told her about lightning striking the tree beside them. A limb had toppled from the sky, knocking them to the ground. He hadn't thought anyone was seriously injured until he got a look at Zach's lifeless form.

  He had also related the tale of the young sailor who'd died and Zach’s subsequent fit of rage.

  How terrible, the burden placed upon his shoulders. It had angered Savannah straight to the bone to record the unmitigated confusion and devastation as the men carried Zach along the street and into the house. Townspeople had trudged along behind them like a line of mourners. Sodden hats and bonnets in hand as if they had come to pay their respects. She had shoved her bedroom window as high as she could and leaned out, screaming at them to leave Zach in peace. Someone, she didn't have a clear recollection of who, had pulled her inside and slammed the window shut.

  After that, they had refused to leave her.

  Savannah crossed to the bed, leaning in close to his lips, ignoring the memory his hot breath called forth. She couldn't expect anyone, even Zach's family, to understand his circumstances. Not as fully as she did. After all, they had laughed about this very matter many times: how no one truly knew him. They th
ought he was a saint and stronger than any man could be. In her mind, he was like a bridge overloaded with weight. He had finally buckled.

  Again, fury shot through her veins, but it was his hand that clenched in the sheet, fingers drawing into a weak fist.

  Savannah gasped and dropped to her knees by the bed. "Zachariah, can you hear me?" She willed him to answer as she checked his temperature. Hot to the touch. Dipping a rag into the basin at her side, she smoothed it over his face and neck. His face looked odd, unnatural. A flush stacked atop pale, pale skin darkened by at least two days' stubble. Moving the sheet lower, she bathed him to the waist, wrung the rag, and repeated the process.

  When she hit a bruise she hadn't noticed beneath his armpit, he groaned.

  "Zach?" She brushed his hair from his face.

  His hand seized her wrist, more quickly than she suspected he could move in his condition. His eyes flew open. They were fever-filled, glassy and red. "Hannah?"

  Every trace of air left Savannah's lungs, a veritable collapse. The blood in her face seeped away, leaving her dizzy and breathless. She struggled, reminding herself that he was out of his mind. "I'm here," she answered.

  Because she was.

  "You've been away," he stated feebly, his arm falling to the bed.

  She paused a beat, debating what she should do. Soothe him, Savannah. So she did, splintering her heart into a thousand jagged pieces in the process. "I have."

  His lids fluttered, too heavy to stay open. "Happy?"

  Savannah glanced at the ceiling, wishing she could see through the clouds and into heaven so she could answer honestly. Was Hannah happy? She had sounded like an angel or closer to one than Savannah would ever be.

  Angels were always happy.

  "Yes." She bathed his face, feeling as if she had stepped into someone else's body, someone else's marriage. Surely this was not her own. "I'm happy."

  "Good." He sighed, sinking into the mattress. "Will you help me...." The words died though his lips continued to move.