Tides of Love (Garrett Brothers Book 1)

by Tracy Sumner

  "Do you want me to take him?"

  "I'm quite capable of getting a child home, Professor." She grabbed Rory's hand and tugged him behind her. Halting at the food-scattered tablecloth, she began to repack the basket.

  She heard him step behind her. "I only meant—"

  "I know what you meant. I always know what you mean." She shoved to her feet. Rory stood to the side, jabbing a broken conch shell in the sand.

  Noah sighed and blinked eyes so pale the edges dissolved into white. His left eyelid drooped, resisting a return to its previous position. "You'd better go. Before it gets dark."

  A sick shot of remorse replaced her fury. Caleb's fist had done permanent damage. "Yes, I've—I've got to get back," she said, stepping forward. "Come on, Rory."

  Rory waved, oblivious to the tension crowding the air. "The micrascrap, Uncle Noah. I'll see you tomorrow."

  Noah's shoulders slumped as he recorded their brisk departure. He felt tangled in knots, an absolute snarl. He had a nephew, he thought, and experienced the first wave of love in ten years.

  But, dear God, what had happened to Rory's mother?

  He glanced down the endless stretch of ivory shore, bewildered and forlorn. Kneading the ache in his neck, he retraced his path. Footprints somewhere along here. He stopped. The larger held another impression. Noah traced the toes, dabs in the sand the size of a dime, and circled the firm imprint of a heel.

  He had looked back while squatting near the water's edge and watched Elle place her foot in something. At first, he thought she had pricked her sole on a pin shell. Then, the look on her face as she stared at the ground, frightened or confused, maybe even excited, cranked an idea through his mind. A fantastical idea. Impractical and silly.

  Perfectly, typically Elle Beaumont.

  He outlined the mark of a feminine arch, drew his hand back when his fingers started to tingle.

  Elle's fascination with him had never made sense. Summer heat and winter frost, they were disparate beings. He'd loathed her heedless nature, her inattentive squirming, her frivolous chatter. Laughing during church service, talking during school lessons. Tardy for everything. Most of the time, looking like a tomcat had spit her from its mouth.

  How had she found anything to admire in someone as dissimilar?

  Their differences, and his often blatant disregard, did not mean he had ignored her. Elle made it impossible not to notice. Sneaking into his bedroom, stolen apples crammed under her skirt; telling dirty jokes while perched atop a shell slab in the burying ground; gawking at him so often that Christabel Connery carved Elle loves Noah into every tree in the schoolyard.

  At twelve, her antics had embarrassed him. By sixteen, however, he had come full circle. Disconcerted in an adolescent way, yet speculating, for the first time. Why her eyes flashed in that impassioned way whenever she looked at him, what he had done to warrant the attention, and, if he remembered correctly, what he could do with it. After all, how many times had he seen her crawling out or dropping off? Landing at his feet or in his arms. Skirt billowed around her knees, a bare ankle, or bony shoulder flashing.

  A healthy young man could only take so much.

  He tipped his head toward the sky, calculating. The sun sat low, a flaming ball coloring the water cherry. Still enough light to cross the pass, but he would check on Elle and Rory after he sailed in, just to make sure.

  Old habits died hard.

  He glanced at the footprint again and nudged his spectacles up. He would have expected this nonsense from the girl with apples stuffed under her skirt, the girl who had made sure Christabel's gibe lasted by spending an entire summer scratching the marks in deeper. What did this mean coming from the woman who flaunted surprisingly generous curves, ruby curls, and a plump bottom lip he could barely tear his gaze from? Noah dashed sand across the troublesome footprint and sank to his heels.

  If Elle thought to tangle him in knots, he would show her he wasn't willing. He wasn't willing to let her read his mind either, even if he suspected her talent had faded long ago.

  He entertained women out of necessity. Institute dinners, charity events, and alleviation of his sporadic pangs of desire. He didn't have the former to contend with and could live without the latter for a while yet. In fact, maybe he should tell Elle she didn't interest him. In the slightest.

  Noah watched the sun slip low in the sky, his mood lifting. Life always progressed better with a plan in mind.

  Elle rounded the corner of Widow Wynne's house, mumbling beneath her breath. A brisk breeze, close to cold, sliced through her coat but failed to cool her ire. What cheek! Questioning her ability to care for a six-year-old boy. Presumptuous, conceited... man. Noah Garrett could take his raised brows and his neat-as-a-pin clothing, his fish talk and his stiff backside, and—

  "Marielle."

  Elle pinched the bridge of her nose and halted. Mercy above, would this day ever end? "Magnus."

  He sat on the porch's brick steps, long legs encased in striped trousers, ones tailored during his bimonthly excursions to Raleigh. An imported cigar dangled from his lips, the stink recalling their brief courtship. Favorable memories, most of them. Favorably dull. "You seemed to be in another world for a moment, Marielle. A little flushed around the cheeks. Is that ire on your lovely face?"

  She raked him with a caustic glance she hoped would send him on his way. "What do you want, Magnus?"

  He lifted a newspaper from his lap, offered it to her. "Just thought you might enjoy reading this. Tomorrow's edition of the Weekly Messenger. I stopped by the office to see if my advertisement had been placed. I'm announcing my new location, you may recall?"

  She snatched the newspaper from his hand. Of course, she remembered. She had helped him select the plot of land.

  "I think you'll find this of interest," he said, his voice wavering as it did when he tried to contain laughter.

  Her lips moved as she read, a habit she had never been able to break. Noah Garrett, brother of Zachariah and Caleb, sailed from Morehead City on the Adele—

  Elle crumpled the newspaper in her fist and raised her head. "Why are you bringing this to me? What can you possibly hope to gain? You humiliated me in front of the entire town, letting everyone know you decided to end our engagement. What more do you want? You have your pride and your medical practice."

  Magnus's gaze began to smolder, no longer shining civilly for the sake of propriety. "You really are as unbalanced as some think if you believe the situation to be so simple. You made a fool of me, a circumstance I have trouble overlooking, my dear. Everyone knew you felt only relief when I failed to attend our engagement soiree."

  She slapped the newspaper against her thigh. "A dinner party, Magnus. It was a simple dinner party."

  Standing, he flung his cigar to the ground and descended the steps with a deliberate gait she realized contained a fair measure of anger. "A particularly fierce look was on your face when you rounded the corner of the house, Marielle. Who were you thinking of? I never witnessed any emotion except the unfocused, albeit attractive, expression of boredom. Pity even. What could paint such a rosy bloom on your cheeks? Or, should I say, who?" He moved forward, his elbow nudging hers, much too close for comfort.

  In her haste, she stumbled over the bricks lining the walkway.

  Taking advantage of her misstep, he grasped her chin, forcing her eyes to his. "You must be happier than you've ever been in your life. Noah Garrett back in town, and this time, you're old enough to cause real trouble. I applaud your efforts to keep yourself ready and available. I hear he's living in the widow's coach house. How convenient."

  Her palm cracked his cheek with enough force to send him staggering. "Get out."

  "Now, dear—"

  "You heard her, Leland. Get out. Before I allow myself to get angry."

  Magnus's hand paused halfway to his face. He swiveled around, his bark of laugher splitting the air. "My word, Garrett, how has our little Marielle survived without you?"

  No
ah had Magnus by the collar of his studded shirt before Elle drew her next breath. "I'm accosted often on the streets of Chicago, Leland. Trust me, you don't want to know what I've had to learn to protect myself."

  Magnus craned his head, struggling to look his opponent in the eye.

  "Have a care, Leland." Noah clenched his hand, his muscles flexing beneath his orderly cuff.

  "You'd better take that advice as well, my friend." Magnus shoved Noah's arm aside, storming from the yard without another word.

  Noah watched him go, then muttered an oath beneath his breath and stalked in the other direction.

  She snatched his rucksack from the edge of the walkway and ran after him. She had never seen Noah use his hands for anything violent, unless you counted the lists he had made for Caleb detailing ways to solve problems without using violence. "I have no idea what bramble is stuck in Magus's paw," she said, struggling to hoist the rucksack over her shoulder.

  He shot her a furious side glance, his gaze doing a slow burn. "No idea? Jesus, Elle, you're the bramble." He grabbed the rucksack and began to climb the coach house staircase. "You're everyone's bramble."

  "Magnus and I broke off our"—she lifted her skirt above her ankles and scrambled after him—"our engagement months ago. Besides, why should he be mad? He made it very clear that the decision was his and his alone. Embarrassingly clear."

  Noah stopped abruptly. Her head thumped him right between the shoulder blades, and the newspaper she had forgotten she held fluttered to the step.

  He stooped and smoothed the newsprint over his knee, his head moving as he read. "Were you sorry?" he finally asked, his gaze lifting.

  "Sorry about what?"

  He adjusted his silver-rimmed spectacles. Behind glass, she saw that his eyes had cooled. "Sorry Leland ended the engagement."

  Tell him yes. What better way to show Noah Garrett you haven't been pining after him for ten years? "I was terribly distraught. The entire situation nearly broke my heart. I looked so forward to being Mrs. Magnus Leland." Her voice cracked hard on the last word.

  The muscles in his shoulders tensed; he shoved to his feet. "You're a terrible liar, Elle. Truly dreadful. Scares me to think you would waste a chance at marriage because of a silly"—he nudged the coach house door open with his elbow and ducked through the entrance—"infatuation when we were children."

  She slapped the door wide when he would have shut it in her face. "Why you arrogant, boorish—" Her words caught in her throat.

  Stacks of books covered every surface. The desk, the leather chair and ottoman, the faded settee that had once been dark magenta.

  Cautiously, she strolled to the desk. She hadn't seen this many books since the long nights spent in the university library. She recalled rows and rows of chestnut shelves, covert laughter, and the smell of dust. The thrill of learning, of taking control of her life for the first time; sadly, the only time. Burying the burst of longing, she hefted a leather-bound volume as thick as her wrist. "Depths of the Sea," she read and fingered the gold tassel marking the page. "This is magnificent, Noah." She turned the vellum slowly. "You know, I had an interest in biology once, but that, well, that was a long time ago." She shook her head, denying the impulse to tell him.

  Why would Noah care about her dream of finishing university?

  "They're books for the laboratory, mostly. The others are for research." Elle felt the heat of his body before she smelled him. A rush of warmth, then the tantalizing scent of sea and man. His arm circled her waist as he lifted the book from her hand. He brushed his finger across the mark Magnus's cheek had left on her palm.

  Her fingers curled; her body swayed into the desk.

  "This will bruise, more than likely," he said, his breath dusting her cheek.

  She stared at his slim, supple fingers, the nails finely trimmed, the pads slightly callused. She had once pictured them exploring her body. Troubled, she tossed a careless smile over her shoulder, one she hoped would conceal her confusion.

  Noah blinked, his gaze lowering. To her lips, she guessed, from the way they started tingling. She licked them nervously, deciding the insincere smile had been a bad idea.

  Cursing softly, he stepped away.

  When Elle recovered enough to face him, he had his back to her, hands braced on the frame of the only window in the room. The reddish glow of early evening spilled in, kicking glints of gold in the hair curling over his collar. "What Leland said, about you, about me. He was wrong, wasn't he?"

  "Oh, that." Elle rolled her fingers into a fist to stop their trembling. "Of course he was. Magnus was always a tad jealous of... it's just, he remembered lots of things that happened... before. Nothing worth mentioning, things I'm sure you've forgotten by now. You're not the only one to light a fire beneath him. He hated Caleb, too. The proposal business rankled."

  Noah slanted his head, a startled part to his lips. "Caleb?"

  "He proposed at the Spring Tide Festival, five years after you left. He'd been drinking, and when I refused his offer, he bent down on one knee, stumbled into the tent pole, and knocked the fiddler from his perch. Then, he fell into another tent pole. A crucial one, evidently. The entire length of canvas collapsed on top of us. Christabel took him home that night, something she's been doing ever since, I think."

  "Why in the hell did he ask you, then?"

  Her teeth clicked together. "Get the dazed look off your face, Professor. I've had a number of eligible suitors."

  "Yes, I got a firsthand look at one of them today. In hindsight, maybe you should have accepted Caleb."

  "Caleb felt an obligation. He struggled to be everything to everybody after you left. Instead of being my friend, he wanted to act as my protector. And a woman's protector, at least in his mind, is her husband. You may not want to hear this but your leaving and us hearing no word from you just about killed him. He was lost. Completely and utterly lost. When he found himself, he had changed. He grew into a man, a good man, but not the same man."

  His hands dived into his pockets. "Caleb wasn't the only one who was lost."

  She closed the distance between them. "I always wondered what leaving here, frightened and alone, would do to you. If the experience would change you into someone I wouldn't recognize."

  "Didn't we establish in the damned attic that none of you knew me? Hell, I didn't even know myself." He laughed, but it sounded raw and reluctant. "So, am I still recognizable?"

  Elle suspected he did not want to be. He believed change would shield him. But she could not lie. He had to face them, his fears and his family, sooner than he liked. "Yes, I recognize you, because I knew him. Deep down, I feel him. I see him. In gestures you make, he comes back to me. Bits and pieces I had forgotten. The curve of your hand when you adjust your spectacles, even the absurdly neat way you roll your sleeves." Against her better judgment, she added, "What you did today, sending Magnus away. My friend would have done the same."

  He jerked his head, the light profiling his shuttered gaze. "I lived on the streets for months after leaving here. While struggling to survive, I learned to smell a person's fear and recognize their anger before they turned it on me. I learned the hard way, each bruise a tough lesson I could not afford to ignore. When I rounded the corner of the house"—his shoulders stiffened beneath crisp cotton—"I reacted purely on instinct. Nothing solicitous or benevolent in the gesture, I can assure you. Don't take this for something it's not."

  Her hand lifted, but he flinched before she'd even decided if she would touch him. "Would it be so terrible to find he's still in there? The boy who loved his brothers? The boy who trusted me?"

  "He's dead and gone, Elle. These days, I'm the only one I trust."

  She tilted her head, her neck aching from the unnatural angle. Behind glass, Noah blinked, eyes narrowing as he watched her watch him.

  "Marielle-Claire!"

  They leaned at the same moment, banging heads.

  A hiss of breath slipped past Elle's lips, and she rubbed her bro
w. She looked out the window and saw her father standing in the yard below, his hand shading his face as he stared at the upper porch of Widow Wynne's house.

  "Juste Ciel!" Elle dug in the pocket of her skirt. "Six-thirty," she said and glanced from her watch to her clothing. Dirt-streaked shirtwaist. Cuffs and collar missing. No belt. Hem dangling in two places. "He'll kill me. Alone in a man's apartment, late for our weekly dinner appointment, and dressed inappropriately. He will simply kill me."

  Noah rolled his eyes as she smoothed the strawberry mess on her head. "It's no good. You still look like you sprinted down the street without passing a mirror."

  She paused, expression frosting. "Thanks. Thanks a lot." Halting at the door, she squeezed the beveled knob until her knuckles paled and made another pathetic attempt to straighten her clothing.

  And the damned urge to protect her hit him hard.

  "Wait." Ah, Garrett.

  Well, dammit, he had never liked her father.

  She glanced over her shoulder with a weak smile.

  "I'll help you this time. But this is it. I promise you, this is it."

  Her eyes flashed. "Let's get this out in the open. I was infatuated, once, a long time ago. Time to move on, Professor. I've refused marriage. According to my father, the grand opportunity to improve my life. And I don't see any good prospects looming on the horizon. Not to break your heart or anything"—she angled her chin, training her stunningly green gaze right on him—"but that hasn't changed since you arrived."

  He felt an odd tightness in his chest, although her pledge was exactly what he wanted to hear. "Good. We understand each other." He lifted his hand, staying her impatient jiggling of the door handle. "I'll do this, on one condition."

  "Condition?" Her brow scrunched as her canvas boot tapped a tune on the planked floor.

  "No more 'Professor' nonsense. Never again from those lovely lips of yours."

  Elle raised her hand to her mouth, smoothed her finger over her top lip. "Of course."

  Puzzled by what he'd just uttered, Noah dropped to his haunches and flipped through a pile of books. He motioned her behind the door as he approached, a burgundy volume in his hand. "Wait until I have your father's full attention, where you can see our backs are turned. Then run. Don't think, run." He stepped outside, then leaned back in. "Let me amend that. Think. Please. Don't trip crossing the yard or tumble down the staircase and break your leg. Only one doctor in town, I'll wager, and he's someone we want to avoid just now."