Isabel sent her a compassionate smile. “Don’t worry; he’ll come back. Give him a chance to cool off.” She handed Allison an apron. “In the meantime, you can help me by drying those dishes.” She pointed to a large drainer filled with coffee cups and saucers.
Allison was grateful for the work, for something to do with her hands to take her mind off things. But she couldn’t help thinking of Cabot and Martha walking outside somewhere in the warm evening. It was her own fault, she knew, for getting angry. And it wasn’t like her to lose her temper, especially not with Cabot. Maybe Isabel was right, maybe it was just as well that he had taken a walk with Martha. Allison had to admit, Martha had a way of handling Cabot that she envied.
She was standing on her tiptoes, stacking saucers in a high cupboard, when Brent came into the kitchen. She sensed his presence even before Isabel’s cheery greeting alerted her.
“Well, where have you been hiding?” Isabel said. “The men are already taking down the tables.”
“I had some business to take care of, Gran.” His voice was low.
Allison slid the last of the saucers onto its pile and closed the cupboard door. She had to make herself smile as she turned; she wiped her clammy hands on her apron. Brent was looking at her over the top of Isabel’s head, his eyes darker than usual. She flushed and went to the drainer for a load of cups.
“So you saw Tracy,” Isabel said.
Brent nodded.
“And?”
“And nothing. No sparks, no fireworks, nothing. It’s over, Gran. I told you that three months ago.” He gestured toward the door to the main room. “Where’s Martha?”
“Apparently she and Cabot went for a walk.”
He frowned. “Without Allison?”
Allison heard the disgust in his voice and winced. She finished stacking the cups and turned to look at him, forcing a bright smile. “I didn’t mind. I wanted to help Isabel in the kitchen.”
He gazed at her for a moment, then something moved across his face, a look of comprehension that sent shivers down her spine. She picked up a stack of cups, carried them quickly to the cupboard.
“Let me help.” He was across the room instantly, opening the cupboard door, taking the cups out of her hand, placing them carefully on the shelf. His arm brushed hers, and then his hand touched her back.
She glanced up at him, started to speak, but for some reason, words wouldn’t come to her lips. Instead she felt her eyes prickle with tears.
“Well,” Isabel said brightly, “that about does it for now, girls.” She beamed across the kitchen at her workers. “We’ll clean up the rest after the dance.” She untied her apron and turned to Brent. “Why don’t you take Allison out for a bit, Brent? Find a good spot to see the fireworks.”
Brent raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Didn’t you just get through lecturing me for not helping take down tables?”
“Oh, pooh! Don’t give me a hard time, young man! You know they’ve got more help than they know what to do with.” She bustled across the room to Allison and reached out for her apron. “Go on, get out of here, you two. Shoo!” She pushed them to a side door and out into the evening.
The door swung shut behind them, and Allison shivered a little in the slight breeze that came toward them over the water. The sun was setting, spilling pink and gold light across the cove.
Brent laughed. “Well, I guess we got told.” He took her hand and she felt his touch on her fingers as a burning heat. She couldn’t have removed her hand from his if she’d tried. She realized, with some surprise, that she didn’t want to.
“I have an idea,” he said softly. He was looking at the boats resting on the wind-rippled water.
She looked up at him. His eyes were dancing with excitement.
“We’ll take the Blue Lady off Lookout Point. It’ll give us an awesome view of the fireworks.”
She took a deep breath. The thought of being out on the water in the darkness with Brent made her feel almost dizzy.
“What do you say? Are you game, love?”
She shook her head. “I can’t go, Brent. Cabot might get worried.”
He grinned down at her. “That might not hurt him, if you catch my drift.”
He was right. She was suddenly aware that she’d been seething ever since Cabot had left with Martha. Any man with a shred of sensitivity wouldn’t have gone. This wasn’t about being with Brent; it was about teaching Cabot a lesson.
“All right. I’ll go.”
“Great!” He tucked her hand tighter into his own, and a moment later she was running beside him down the hill toward the wharf, out of breath and laughing like a child.
The sky was turning deep indigo as Brent helped her into the stern of the painter and sat facing her while he settled the two small oars into their locks. Over his shoulder she could see the evening star shining above the distant hills on the mainland. Her heart was beating rapidly; her face was flushed with excitement. A tendril of hair had come loose in their wild run and hung near her cheek. She started to put it back when Brent reached out and circled her wrist with his fingers.
“Take it down,” he said softly. “Let it go free.”
She didn’t know what made her obey him. Was it something in his inflection? Or was it because his words gave voice to her own desire? She pulled the combs out and let her hair spill around her shoulders.
“That’s better.” He caught a strand in his fingers. “A bit short, but it’ll grow.” He winked at her, grinning.
The painter nudged the Blue Lady before Allison could think of an adequate reply. Brent tied it quickly to the mooring and leaped aboard. He turned and leaned over the gunwale, lifting Allison easily into the boat.
He kept his arms around her, cradling her body against his. She knew that he was going to kiss her, and she had no will to resist. The truth that she had tried to avoid for so long was staring her in the face in the warm darkness of the summer night: she was deeply in love with Brent Connors.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her gently, his right hand moving to the back of her head and caressing her neck before pressing her face against his shoulder. A long sigh came out of him as he released her.
Allison blinked up at him. “What’s wrong?” She was startled to see tears in his eyes.
He turned away from her quickly. “Let’s go.” His voice was hoarse. He stepped into the pilothouse, started the Blue Lady’s engine and headed out of the cove. Allison stared at his back, the cool night air blowing against her face, her hair streaming out behind her. Her lips ached and there were tears in her own eyes. She wanted to go to him, embrace him, dissolve in his arms, but she didn’t move.
Chapter Nineteen
They rounded the island slowly, Brent carefully avoiding the scattered moorings and lobster buoys. Behind them the boat trailed a long, silver wake.
The first rocket exploded as they came out under the cliff head by Lookout Point. It lit the water around them with hundreds of blue and gold darts.
Allison gave a little cry of delight. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!”
“What’d I tell you?” Brent was leaning against the cuddy wall, smiling across the deck at her.
Another rocket exploded, showering the sky with green and silver. Then there was no sound but the idling of the Blue Lady’s engine and the soft lap of waves against her hull. Allison’s desire to feel Brent’s arms around her again was intense.
“I wonder where Martha and Cabot are,” she said quickly, to break the heady spell.
“Probably up at the schoolhouse with everybody else.” Brent crossed the deck to her. “That’s the best viewing spot on dry land.”
“I hope they’re seeing this.” She was intensely aware of the nearness of his body.
“I’m sure they’re having a wonderful time.” His voice was tight. “Besides, they went off on their own, remember?”
“We should have looked for them. It’s so gorgeous out here, with the reflection on the water and everythi
ng!”
He put his hand on her shoulder. “Have you been blind to what’s been going on between them?”
“Going on?” She frowned up at him. His face was a silhouette in the darkness. “What do you mean?”
“Martha and Cabot. They’ve been seeing an awful lot of each other while you’ve been running the play group.”
She licked her lips. “I didn’t know that. But they’re old friends. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything.”
He was silent for a moment, as if weighing his words with great care. “I think it’s more than simple friendship.”
She stared at him. He was lying to her. He had to be.
“Cabot happens to love me. He’s not the kind of man who takes relationships lightly. He’s not interested in other women, Brent.”
A breeze rippled her hair, throwing a lock of it across her face. She pushed it away, crossed her arms over her breasts.
“I know this isn’t easy for you to hear, Allison.” His voice was gentle. “I’m sorry I had to be the one to spill the beans. But it’s been going on ever since he came to the island. He’s been spending every morning with Martha.”
“And how do you know all this? I thought you went out hauling in the mornings.”
“Gran told me. She’s really upset about it.”
“If that’s true, then why didn’t she tell me?”
“Why do you think? She didn’t want to hurt you. Besides, she’s a great believer in things working out for the best. Everyone lives happily ever after. Gran’s a romantic.”
There was a hard knob at the base of Allison’s throat. It took considerable effort to speak. “I can’t believe Martha would do this to me. She’s my friend.”
He looked away from her, out over the water. Lookout Point loomed above them, a black mass against the dark blue sky.
Her tears came slowly and silently. She knew that Brent was right. She had seen it all along, and had deliberately ignored the signs: the animated way in which Cabot always spoke about Martha; the excitement with which her friend had greeted Cabot’s arrival on the island; Martha’s insistence that they double date; her ability to coax Cabot into doing what she wanted. Allison realized she had tried to make herself believe that Martha was still carrying a torch for Brent. But it hadn’t had anything to do with Brent; it had all been designed so she could be near Cabot.
A rocket flared, red and gold; Allison bent her head into her hands.
When Brent’s arms went around her, she pressed herself gratefully against his chest.
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you,” he whispered. He lifted her head and wiped her face gently with a handkerchief. “I’m sorry.”
She forced herself to pull away from him. “I want to go back,” she said huskily. “It must be almost time for the dance.”
He stared at her for a long moment before he spoke. “This doesn’t change anything for you, then?”
She stiffened slowly, her spine like a hard cord of metal in her back. “So that’s what this is all about! You’re trying to make me doubt that Cabot really loves me!” Her voice thickened. “You’re saying all this just so I’ll break the engagement!”
He shook his head. Another rocket lit the sky, briefly revealing his troubled eyes. “No, Allison, you’re wrong.”
“You’ll stoop to anything to get your way, won’t you?” Her voice rose, harsh and angry over the silent water. “What is it with you? Pride? Ego? Why is it so important to you that I live my life your way?”
His arms dangled at his sides. “I know you’re upset, and you have a right to be,” he said quietly. “But not with me. Cabot’s the one you need to have it out with.”
“It’s always Cabot, isn’t it? Why do you hate him so much?” The words shot out of her mouth like vicious, barbed hooks. She couldn’t stop them. “Is it his money? His social standing? Are you jealous? Why do you despise him when you hardly even know him?” She was shaking with anger.
“I don’t hate him, Allison.” His voice was so low she could barely make out his words. “But, yes, I suppose I am jealous. I wish I was the one who inspired that blind devotion in you.”
“Don’t say that!” she cried. She put her hands over her ears, bent her head away from him. “Please take me back to the dance!”
He made a small, helpless gesture with his hands. “All right, I’ll take you back.”
They rode back to the cove in silence. The final rockets burst above them, but Allison didn’t look up. The beauty of the night had been destroyed for her, by the cruel import of Brent’s words.
She climbed into the painter by herself, deliberately ignoring Brent’s helping hand. As soon as the boat bumped the dock, she scrambled ashore and marched back up the ramp alone. She would have nothing more to do with Brent Connors. He was a liar and an egotist, the most despicable man alive.
The barn was radiant with warm, yellow light. The band, which was set up on a small platform at the far end, was playing a tango as Allison entered. Only a few people were dancing, so it was easy to spot Cabot and Martha in the center of the dance floor. They were locked together in the tense passion of the dance, performing flawlessly. Allison felt her stomach clench. She ran her hands over her hair, trying to smooth down the wild strands. When the dance ended, she marched across the floor to Cabot and placed her hand possessively on his arm.
“Ah, Allison!” He turned to her with a little smile. “All over your pique, are you? Where have you been? Martha and I have been looking all over for you.”
“Did you miss the fireworks?” Martha beamed at her.
“No, I saw them.” She looked directly into Cabot’s eyes. “We have to talk.”
“Talk? Now?” He patted her hand. “Darling, this is a dance. We can talk later.”
The band started a waltz; Martha and Cabot exchanged quick glances.
“I’m afraid I’ve already promised this dance to Martha.” Cabot smiled his thin smile and squeezed Allison’s hand. “I had no idea where you were. But I promise you the next one.”
Allison lifted her chin. “Of course, Cabot. Don’t let me stop you.”
She retreated to the row of folding chairs lined up against the wall and sank into one.
So it was true. Every word Brent had spoken was absolutely factual. She watched Cabot swing Martha gracefully onto the floor. Their hips were pressed close, their eyes locked together, their bodies swaying easily in three-quarter time. They were both wonderful dancers, but it was more than that. It was so obvious that even a child could see it: they were in love.
She forced herself to look at the other dancers. There was Natalie and Matt Flory, Dr. Johnson and his wife, a number of young couples she didn’t recognize. She saw Emily Potter swing onto the floor in the arms of a tall, gray-haired partner.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Brent enter the barn. For a moment he stood in the doorway, his eyes sweeping the dance floor. Then his face hardened and he started toward the refreshment table, next to the entrance to the kitchen. There were several people milling around the table. Allison spotted Tracy Lawton among them and her heart contracted.
She seemed paler than when Allison first saw her; her face looked strained, almost old, but she was smiling. Allison watched Tracy place her hand on Brent’s arm, saw Brent smile down at her.
They would dance, Allison knew. No man could resist a body like Tracy’s. And Brent wasn’t just any man; he had recently been in love with her.
The waltz ended and the band swung into a samba. Allison waited for Cabot to find her as he had promised. Couples were leaving the dance floor; apparently not many knew how to do this Latin dance. For a minute her view of the far side of the room was obscured, then the crowd parted and she saw that Martha was still in Cabot’s arms, gazing up at him with a look of delight as he led her through the complicated, sensuous steps of the samba. There was only one other couple on the floor, a young man and woman Allison didn’t recognize.
Then Brent and Trac
y emerged from the crowd at the table. He put his arms around her and swept her into the rhythm of the dance. Allison was astonished at how graceful he was. As he glided around the floor with Tracy, she realized that he was an even better dancer than Cabot. His eyes met hers once, in a sad, questioning glance, then flicked rapidly across the room to Cabot and Martha. Allison flushed; if he was trying to tell her something, she had already grasped the message. She was surprised that he wasn’t looking at Tracy while he danced. She glanced back at Cabot and Martha. They were still gazing at each other. She knew it was part of the dance, but the intensity of their look was beyond form; it was pure passion.
Allison bent her head. She felt sick. When the samba ended and another waltz began, she didn’t even wait to see if Cabot would dance with her. As the couples moved back onto the floor, she got to her feet and stumbled to the door through a hot blur of tears.
Allison ran through the warm night. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to get away, to put as much distance as possible between herself and the barn. She knew she would never recover from this moment of pure pain.
She blindly followed the narrow trail up the hill to the schoolhouse. It was a path she had walked so often, she didn’t have to think about it; her feet instinctively avoided the roots and stones. By the time she reached the top of the hill, her anger was gone and she felt only a deep, heavy shame. She collapsed on the schoolhouse steps and buried her face in her hands. The tears came slowly at first, then with a profound intensity. She wept for a long time, and when she finally raised her head and looked around her, she was surprised to see that the full moon had risen, casting a silver glaze over everything.
She stood up, dazed by the light on the water. No matter how long she lived, she would never forget the incredible beauty of moonlight on the ocean. She started down the hill toward the sea. The sand beach stretched in a white crescent before her. She ran down the rest of the hill, slipped off her shoes, dropped them onto the grass.
Island Summer Love Page 21
