Night Music

by BJ James

  He didn’t take his hand away until she clasped her own hands tightly in her lap and nodded once.

  “That’s my darlin’. A worrywart, but a kindhearted lady.”

  Neither spoke again until he drew the truck to a halt before the lumberyard. The rain had slowed, falling sporadically and in patches. When she started to leave the cab, he stopped her with another touch. “Wait here, this won’t take a minute.” Fishing a folded paper from a pocket, he flipped it with a finger. “I’ve itemized the materials I need to finish the dock. To save the road, I’m going to ask that they be delivered by boat.”

  He was out of the truck McGregor kept for emergencies, and striding through a light shower before Kate could agree or disagree. She watched the familiar figure disappear through massive doors. Then she was alone with the morass of her thoughts, wondering what she would do if today brought no word of Tessa. Why should she care? What about the little girl and her gift of flowers touched her so deeply, leaving an indelible memory?

  “Just as I promised, not long.” Devlin swung into the truck, filling the small space with his presence again. Turning the key in the ignition, he let the motor idle. “Listen,” he began hesitantly, “why don’t you let me check with the grocer?”

  “You mean, I should wait in the truck again.”

  “Yeah.” His head dipped once in a nod. “I do.”

  “But what if she’s there?” Correcting herself, Kate amended, “What if they’re both there?”

  Devlin said nothing. Nor did he turn from the misty view.

  “You don’t think either will be. Today, or ever.” Kate laid a hand on his wrist, drawing his gaze to her. “Do you, Devlin?”

  He was slow in answering, his reluctance apparent. “No, Kate, I don’t.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  Covering her hand with his, he moved his fingers restively over hers. “I can’t explain. Call it instinct, gut feeling. One of those things that twists inside like a dull knife.”

  “Then you think there’s trouble.”

  “Kate.” He crushed her hand in his, forgetting for a moment that her fragile bones were no match for his strength. “Sweetheart, I don’t know. Except this doesn’t feel good.”

  “Do you want to go back home? Back to the island?”

  “No. That wouldn’t solve anything.” Releasing her, he watched as she drew her hand away, then reached for the gear. “Maybe it’s just the weather, and the gloom is contagious.”

  And maybe it was that he was afraid she would be hurt in this first venture into feeling again, and caring. The first step back into the real world. If this went wrong, would there ever be a second step, or any world for her at all beyond the life of a recluse and the crashing echoes of tortured night music?

  He’d hoped to spare her, but he couldn’t. “We don’t need to check by the grocer’s. The old lady isn’t there. Neither is Tessa.”

  “Not there?” Large golden eyes stared at him beneath the fan of darkened lashes. “How do you know?”

  “I called the store.”

  “From the island? If you already knew, why did we come to the mainland?”

  His fingers curled around the steering wheel. He’d looked away, staring though the windshield at rivulets trickling down the glass, but now he turned to her. “I couldn’t call from the island, the telephone lines were already out. Remember? It’s likely they’ll be out in town soon, but not yet.”

  Kate knew then part of the time he’d spent in Building Supply had been for the call. “So, what next? Jericho?”

  “Seemed like a good idea before.” The gears of McGregor’s ancient truck scraped and complained as Devlin shifted into reverse. “Seems like it now.”

  A matronly clerk with steel-framed glasses perched on her long nose glared over a sheaf of papers as Devlin escorted Kate into the anteroom of the sheriff’s office. One look at the unwelcoming disposition and Kate expected to be told to wipe her feet, don’t drip on the carpet, or just go away.

  “May I help you?” If words could frost, these would have.

  “Uh-oh,” Devlin muttered in Kate’s ear as he walked with her to a seat. “Looks like someone’s a tad disturbed.”

  “More than a tad,” Kate agreed in a tone as low. “If our welcome is any indication, I don’t think we’ll be seeing Jericho.”

  “Maybe not.” He glanced over his shoulder and back at Kate. “But we didn’t come through this storm just to leave at the first obstacle. Sit tight, let me talk to the watchdog for a minute.”

  “Talk to her? About what, Devlin?”

  “At the moment, darlin’, I haven’t a clue.” With a lift of a brow and a half smile, he sauntered to the desk cheerfully, as if their greeting had been pleasant.

  Kate heard the low, slow, drawling, “Mornin’, ma’am.”

  She saw the haughty look, with penciled eyebrows reaching toward a graying hairline. She heard a second greeting even frostier than the first. Then Devlin’s voice dipped, grew softer. After a time, the cold responses grew softer, as well. And finally warmer.

  Once, Devlin leaned on the desk, his hands braced on the edge, and he smiled down at the lady, whose name tag read Molly O’Brian. Then, wonder of wonders, Devlin chuckled, and a blush crept over Officer O’Brian’s face, the color leavening the harsh cast of her features, making her almost pretty.

  “He left strict orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed, barring an emergency, but, for you, I’ll check.” Officer O’Brian slid back her chair and stood, a smile shaping lips that once were frozen in a grim line.

  As she turned to go, Devlin caught her hand. “Thank you, I appreciate the trouble.” Releasing her, he touched her cheek. “You know, Officer O, you should smile more often. A smile from a pretty lady makes the world a better place for the rest of us.”

  “Ha!” The eyebrows lifted again, this time over dancing eyes. “O’Hara, you’ve kissed the blarney stone one time too many.”

  Devlin shrugged and smiled. “Maybe so.” His voice dropped again, intimately. “But it didn’t make me a liar.”

  Molly O’Brian was actually laughing as she walked down the hall to Jericho Rivers’s office, and disappeared inside.

  Kate waited until he faced her to comment. “Neatly done. You got what you wanted, and made her day in the process.”

  “A better day, I hope.”

  Kate didn’t doubt that he meant it. He truly wanted Officer O’Brian to be happier. Not just to get the concessions he sought, but for herself. “Considering the lovely blush, I’d bet on it.”

  “It was, wasn’t it? Lovely, I mean.”

  Kate grew thoughtful, a nebulous impression left by the encounter clicked into place. Devlin O’Hara was a man who loved women, honestly, in every shape, every form, and of every age. And we love him right back.

  “O’Hara, Miss Gallagher.” Molly O’Brian stood by her desk, the blush faded but the pleasant expression still intact. “Sheriff Rivers will see you now.”

  Kate stood quickly, grateful for a change in the direction of her thoughts. Still preoccupied by this insight into Devlin, she expressed the necessary gratitude and pleasantries to Officer O’Brian by rote, then found herself immediately in Sheriff Jericho Rivers’s private office.

  “Kate.” Tossing a letter aside, Jericho left his seat and circled his desk to take both her hands in his. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. But from the look of you, I must say island life certainly agrees with you.”

  Kate spoke her thanks graciously as the sheriff released her to greet Devlin with a strong, silent handshake. As with the best of friends and men of a breed, the dark and striking men seemed to communicate more with a look and a commanding grasp than with a thousand words. Or any words.

  Yet in this encounter, witnessing the exchange, Kate was startled by the realization that in their few brief conversations she’d learned more about Belle Terre’s respected sheriff than she’d learned in days from her fellow islander.

  J
ericho was the larger of the two, a Goliath of a man with the mark of his mixed ancestry evident in the ruggedness of his features. Part Scot, part French, with a trace of American Indian, he’d told her in their first brief meeting. The latter especially not surprising, given the dark skin, darker straight hair, the steady and somber air of utter calm.

  From the occasional but rare gossip she couldn’t escape while attending errands in town, she’d gleaned that Jericho was the scion of the town’s most prominent family. That he’d been a star high school and college athlete, and a merit scholar. After a few years as quarterback in professional football a severe injury had ended his career. Turning away numerous offers from prestigious law firms, he’d put his law degree in mothballs in favor of returning home to Belle Terre to wear the sheriff’s badge.

  Speculations about the gold band he wore on his right hand ran rife. But not even the most knowledgeable gossip had an answer.

  There it was, virtually Jericho’s life story. But what did she know of Devlin beyond that the features he shared with Jericho were, she assumed from his name, Irish. She’d deduced from the half smile and the look in his solemn eyes that there had been problems in his life. She’d guessed that he’d been an adventurer.

  Deducing, guessing, and assuming aside, beyond the face-value observance that he was kind, compassionate, and a man who cared for and respected women deeply, what did she really know?

  Devlin did not seem a reticent man by nature. Was the difficulty that had driven him to seek refuge on the island so great? Or was his silence deliberate?

  The startling notion brought her attention sharply to the men finishing their friendly exchange. Bells were going off. Little scraps of gossip even an organization as clandestine as The Watch couldn’t squelch were remembered. Rivers and O’Hara, the names had been linked before. But not Devlin O’Hara. Kieran!

  Kieran O’Hara, known as the Nomad within The Black Watch. Brother of the legendary Valentina O’Hara Courtenay, retired from the same organization.

  Kate and Paul had worked with Kieran. Kieran, with dark skin, dark hair, eyes like the sky reflected in a mountain lake.

  Were the looks and the name a coincidence? Or stretching coincidence too far? Much too far?

  “Kate.” With an outstretched hand, Devlin drew her into the circle of conversation.

  Avoiding his touch, not daring to meet his gaze, she stepped to a chair opposite the one he was offering.

  Once they were seated, Jericho had returned to his seat, and was first to speak into an awkward silence. “Now, how can I help you? What’s so important it coaxed two recluses to the mainland in the midst of the season’s worst storm?”

  “I think the lady can tell it best.” A puzzled expression on his face, Devlin deferred to her. “Kate.”

  Drawing a breath, she began. “The older lady who sells flowers at Ravenel’s…” Jericho didn’t speak, and Kate continued, “The manager says she’s normally there most every day. But now she’s been missing for some time. By missing, I mean not at the store. She didn’t look well last time and there was a little girl.”

  “You’re concerned, but you don’t know her name?”

  “To my everlasting shame, no, Jericho.”

  Hearing the tremble in her voice, the sheriff sighed, knowing he must tell this troubled young woman the worst. “Her name was Mary Sanchez. She came to Belle Terre a few years ago. In those years, she lived very quietly down by the east end of the river on a little flower farm she called Mary’s Garden.”

  “Her name was? She lived?” Kate repeated. “Past tense.”

  “Mary died two days ago.”

  As Jericho’s words fell like a stone between them, Devlin wanted to reach out to Kate. He ached to comfort her. But the coldness that emanated from her shut him out.

  “Two days ago?” she repeated. “So suddenly?”

  “Not so suddenly.” Jericho might not know all his charges, but he would know someone as visible as Mary Sanchez. “She’d been ill for a long time, a failing heart finally failed completely.”

  Kate made no sound beyond a broken sob, for a woman she didn’t know. A woman who had given her flowers. Flowers from Tessa, who hoped she wouldn’t look so sad.

  A ceiling fan Devlin hadn’t noticed stirred the cloying air and teased an errant curl against Kate’s pale cheek. Resisting a need to touch her, knowing instinctively yet not understanding why his touch had suddenly become unwelcome, he turned to Jericho. “And the little girl?” he asked softly. “Mary called her Tessa.”

  “She’s with family. Mary had time to see to that, at least.”

  “Where? How do you know?”

  The question was Devlin’s, but Jericho addressed his reply to Kate. “At first, Mary told her neighbors Tessa was visiting while her parents worked through a bad patch in their marriage. When her health took a drastic turn, she admitted there was no marriage and only one parent. Tessa’s mother, who was terminally ill.”

  “Why two stories?” Kate asked. “Why not tell the truth?”

  “Because Mary knew she didn’t have long herself. She confided in the same neighbor that she was fearful that if Tessa’s situation and her poor health were discovered, social services would take the child.” Jericho raked a hand over strained features. “Mary didn’t want Tessa caught up in the system. Instead, she hinted at other arrangements, and a secret, distant relative.”

  “Then you don’t know who this relative is?” Devlin asked.

  Jericho nodded. “Mary would never say.”

  “Why?” Kate wondered aloud. “Why would a name matter?”

  “We won’t know that until we find the relative and Tessa.” Jericho’s fist clenched. “We will find them, Kate.”

  “How can you be sure any of this is true? Is Tessa’s mother really dying? Has she died? Does this secret relative exist?” Devlin had barely taken his eyes from Kate, until now, as he addressed Jericho. “What proof do you have of any of this?”

  “Mary, and the woman she was, is my proof. Mary, and an unusual event.” Jericho paused, but didn’t keep them waiting long. “The day before she died, Mary left her house with Tessa. When she returned, she was alone. I believe that in her last hours, she left the child in trusted hands.”

  “She managed all that, before she went into the hospital?” Kate believed as Jericho, and marveled at Mary’s determination.

  “Mary died in her greenhouse. A neighbor found her.”

  “Then, surely this person has come forward.”

  Concerned, Jericho looked from Kate to Devlin, weighing his answer, he turned back to Kate. “I’m afraid not. And there’s no family on record. No one who would’ve been Tessa’s mother. No mystery relative.”

  “No one came to the services?” Kate grieved for a lonely woman who died as she lived. Alone.

  “Only neighbors and friends. She was cremated,” Jericho said. “As late as last night no one had claimed her ashes.”

  “Have you looked for Tessa?” Kate asked in an undertone.

  “We’ve looked. We’ll look until we exhaust every avenue.” Jericho didn’t explain that there were no avenues, no pictures, no records. The little girl called Tessa had vanished.

  “We have to keep in mind that Mary would see the little one had the best of care. Trust in that, Kate. It will help you sleep at night.” Pausing, Jericho Rivers, sheriff of Belle Terre, added, “Until the day we find her.”

  “Until that day,” Devlin said as softly as he stood, bringing the interview to an end. The storm had passed, the rain stopped, but he knew the drive to the island would be troubled.

  Five

  Standing a pace behind Kate, Devlin was in a quandary, wondering what he could say to her in this mercurial mood.

  He expected her disappointment over Tessa. He shared her grief for Mary. But this consuming distraction that had grown deeper and more puzzling with every mile home was more than disappointment. Even more than grief. Something neither Jericho’s belief and a
ssurance the little girl was in good hands nor finding Hobie in his customary place could placate.

  After the elderly Hobie, with his crippled back and always immaculate uniform, waved them through the gate and across the bridge to the island, Devlin hoped Kate’s mood would brighten. For each person there was a haven, a refuge from troubles and troubled times. Before Joy, before he’d lost the privilege, his haven had been his family, his refuge the Chesapeake. Perhaps because her nomadic life had been more rootless than his, Kate had no real place to call home. And, in a little-known conflict, in a tiny, little-known Middle Eastern country, disaster had taken the anchor of family from her.

  Cast adrift, she’d lived her life alone, without the security even the strongest must seek now and again. No, Devlin amended vehemently, Kate lived and survived without the security especially the strong must have. The place and people with whom the mavericks could simply be, without judgment, or condemnation.

  That singular place where the wounded warrior could heal in mind, and spirit, and heart. He’d come to believe that Summer Island could be that place for Kate. A healing place instead of a hiding place. He believed it now, hoping the return to Summer Island would be a return to peace and sanctuary.

  He’d sensed the subtle change in her while speaking with Jericho. Once away from the sheriff’s office, though silent, the journey from the mainland had begun easily enough. In tandem with her darkening mood, the passage deteriorated into a series of stalls and starts before the truck crossed the city boundary. Beneath a sky washed clean of all vestiges of clouds or storm, the sodden road was a morass of washed-out pavement, slippery puddles, and broken tree limbs lying like barriers across the winding way.

  The road crews were already working, with chain saws and warning signs in hand. Next would come linemen for power and telephone companies. Help going first to the greater population. With few in residence on the barrier islands, it would be some time before either electric or telephone service was restored to them.