Tides of Love (Garrett Brothers Book 1)

by Tracy Sumner

  He snatched his pencil from the grass, then drew a hissing breath.

  She rocked forward, the stance bringing her between his outspread legs. The scent of rubbing alcohol and soap filled her nose. "Noah?"

  He lifted a finger, jaw flexing, face pale.

  "Do you want me to—"

  Before she could finish the question or rise to her feet, he had her by the wrist, his grip strong and convincing, his gaze centered on her. "No. Don't go." He glanced at his hand and abruptly released her.

  She sat back, missing the book and bouncing to the ground. She tried again and said, "Depths of the Sea, I think it's called. Isn't that the one you asked for?"

  "Yes. First textbook on oceanography published in English—1873."

  "Mercy, I'm sitting on that." She tugged the tome from beneath her bottom and thumped it on the table.

  Noah dropped his head and laughed. "Oh, Elle." He dragged his fingers through his hair, his pale gaze traveling from her jersey gaiters to the feather sticking from her hat.

  A leisurely stroke that set her skin aflame.

  "What is this outfit you have on?" He propped his chin on his thumb and forefinger.

  She glanced down. A calf-length divided skirt, a double-breasted jacket edged in black braid, a white blouse with detachable collar, a man's necktie. She would admit to affecting a masculine appearance, although the style was quite fashionable. Her father had berated her once too often, and she had hidden the clothes in the bottom of her wardrobe, forgotten, until she found them yesterday while packing. "I rode a bicycle here and traditional clothing doesn't work... because of the spokes." She shrugged, her cheeks heating. "I know they're a bit outlandish."

  Noah stroked his finger across his lip, studying her. "I like them."

  "You do?"

  "Very practical, trousers. For a bicycle trip, certainly."

  "Yes, yes, they are."

  "The hat is nice, too."

  Independent of her mind, her hand rose to touch. A burst of pleasure bloomed in her chest. "It's new."

  "Ah," he said, and raised a brow.

  Suddenly bashful, she pulled a weed from the ground, trying to think of something clever to say.

  "Where have you been, Elle?"

  She peeked at him through her lashes. He studied the pencil in his hand as earnestly as she studied the weed in hers. "Been?"

  "I assumed you would stop by more often." He shrugged, then slid forward in the chair, rubbing his chest.

  "Quit squirming." She rose to her knees.

  He clamped the tattered end of his bandage between his teeth and struggled to untie the knot below his ribs.

  "Here, let me help you." She leaned in, brushing his hands aside. She tapped his lips with her finger, and he parted them enough for the tattered end to fall into her palm. "Too tight, hmmm?" She loosened the knot as carefully as she could. "I bet Caleb tied this one." Her eyes met his as her hand settling over his heart. His intense gaze captured her, clear into her being. Her fingers curled in response, sinking into the hair on his chest.

  She lowered her eyes and loosened the bandage. Hands shaking, she struggled to retie the knot. "I thought... you were sick and"—she swallowed—"I thought I'd wait for you to get stronger." For me to get stronger.

  "Your cheeks pinken when you lie."

  "I don't lie." She jerked the knot, avoiding his scrutiny.

  "You just did. And I don't know why."

  She drew a breath, the desire to touch him nearly overwhelming her meager supply of common sense. "Thank you for"—she glanced into solemn eyes difficult to delude—"for bringing in my father. I know... I know there was no way to save him. Magnus told me everything. He said you were helping them when you got hurt. He told me he apologized to you. I'm glad he did."

  "Are you all right, Elle?"

  She slid to the ground and let her hands dangle between her knees. Blades of grass pricked her through her skirt. She recorded the rush of waves to the shore and the mad dash of a squirrel along the branches above her. "My mother used to tuck me into bed and tell me how special I was. Her dear girl, ma chere fille. She told me she had prayed for me. And I believed her. Then she died and my entire world twisted inside out." With her pinkie, she recorded the plodding progress of a ladybug. "I tried to love him as much as I'd loved her. Heaven, I wanted to love him that much. But he never let me get close enough. I was a useless female, undeniably silly. Always, no matter how hard I strove to be responsible—" She halted, lacking a way to describe the person she had attempted to become.

  Sighing, he reached for her. She pulled back in time to avoid the touch.

  "Don't." She lifted her chin. "Truly, I don't need you confusing the issue by touching me and listening to my problems, making me think I can depend on you."

  His eyes flared. "You can depend on me."

  "Oh, yes, of course." She leaped to her feet and paced forward, pinching the bridge of her nose.

  A baffled expression crossed his face, so little-boy-lost her knees threatened to give way. His lips parted, and he appeared to search for words. "You can depend on me."

  "I can depend on you to leave. The lab is nearly finished. I've seen it."

  "Be fair, Elle," he said hoarsely.

  She wasn't being fair: accusing and belittling when she planned to leave as well. "You're right—" A whisper-soft tread rustled the grass behind them. Elle turned, her heart plummeting to her toes.

  "I hope I'm not intruding. I'm Caroline Bartram, an old friend of Noah's."

  Noah glanced between the two women and experienced a nip of unease. Caro could be quite mischievous if presented with a suitable opportunity.

  "And you must be Marielle-Claire. I've heard a lot about you."

  Elle jerked her watch from her pocket and spared it a nonexistent glance. "I've got to go. Teaching a reading lesson in ten minutes." She nodded to Caroline. "Mrs. Bartram, I left something of yours in Noah's book." Looking frightfully composed, she stalked across the yard, her stride, in his mind, comparable to a panther's.

  Caroline followed Elle's progress as she made an angry pivot around the corner of the house. "Well, well. A little firebrand."

  Noah knocked his head against the back of the chair. "What the hell was that about?"

  Caroline presented an impish grin and settled by his feet. "For such an intelligent man, you can be terribly dull-witted."

  "Dull-witted?"

  "Severely preoccupied, blissfully ignorant." She tugged her gloves from her hands, finger by finger. "Please, choose what fits."

  He rolled his head to look at her. She smiled in reply, a flash of white teeth and sympathy.

  "Read what's in your little book, Noah. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can guess what it is."

  Hefting the volume to his lap, he flipped through the pages. Near the middle, a folded sheet caught his eye. He shook the paper open and read, line after glaring line. In the distance, the roaring tryst of land and sea called to him. How he wished he were there instead of here. An image of turbulent emerald eyes, agony and disbelief spilling from them, stained his vision.

  Noah hurled the paper at her feet. "She thinks we were lovers."

  Caroline smoothed the letter over the cushion of grass and bent her head to read it. "No, darling, she thinks we are lovers."

  "Jesus," he said, and rubbed the spot on his chest that burned from the brush of her fingers. "Now I understand why she didn't come to see me. She's had this sordid report since the day her father died."

  "Or, it could be because she walked in while I sat by your bedside, holding your hand."

  He blinked, a stunned expression settling on his features.

  "Why, darling, if I didn't know you better, I would think you actually cared about this girl."

  "Of course, I care about her. She's been an unofficial part of my family since she was ten years old."

  "Sounds like more than childhood affection to me."

  "I'm not in love with her if that's what you're try
ing to intimate. Nothing even close."

  "Intimate?" Her brow arched. "Is that the same as hinting at?"

  He rolled his eyes heavenward. "Yes."

  "Then I will admit to intimating you are in love with Miss Beaumont."

  "I'm not." He dug his heel in the dirt. "Don't you think I'd know?"

  Caroline licked her fingertip and smoothed a wispy curl on her head. "Unfortunately, no, I don't. In any event, would it be so bad if you were? She's a lovely woman. Absolutely lovely. Wild-eyed. Somewhat ferocious in a kittenish way. And, darling, if you could only see how she looks at you." Caroline's lashes fluttered. "I would give my soul to have a man look at me the way that little hellcat looks at you. Hot enough to turn wood to cinders." She laughed. "Stumbling upon the two of you, I admit to feeling the voyeur."

  Noah's heart gave a violent twist. How had Elle looked at him?

  In answer, an image surfaced. Elle, kneeling in the grass, her skirt spread around her, one delicate, stocking-covered ankle exposed. Her jacket molded to her breasts.

  "Poor, darling, you have it bad."

  A scowl tightened his lips. "I might, depending on your precise definition, but I'm not in love with her." Through gritted teeth, he said, "And quit grinning."

  Her lips curled, her gaze straying to the front of his trousers.

  A fever-hot flush swept his face; he shifted the book to his lap. "Blessit, Caro, surely you, of all people, understand the difference."

  Caroline lifted a slim shoulder, an elegant shrug. "Fine. You don't love the little hellion. Perhaps, then, you should consider... other offers. The offer in her eyes. A woman like that could challenge a man's imagination. Tempt his mind. Rouse his soul."

  "Stop reciting poetic verse, please. I don't want my imagination challenged." To his surprise, he lied, having pictured Elle in this fashion many times. No less than a hundred torturous times. Impulsive nature. Unrestrained enthusiasm. Instinctive sensuality. What would a woman like Elle do to a man? Brand him for life?

  Noah couldn't afford to be branded for life.

  "Afraid to take her up on it, darling?"

  A gust of wind blew in from the sea, ripping at his stiff collar. "Completely terrified."

  Caroline emitted an unladylike snort of laughter. "Oh, Noah, I like this girl. She's the first woman I've ever seen twist you in a knot. Gracious, the first I've even seen you look twice. Saints be praised!"

  "I see we've moved to the Irish blarney."

  "Stubborn fool, you wouldn't know a good woman if she kicked you in the head."

  Noah slid low in the chair and crossed his hands over his stomach. "You suspected what was in the book."

  Caroline pleated the hem of her skirt between her fingers, then stilled, realizing she clicked her back teeth. "You remember the other day, when I stopped by?"

  "Vaguely. Those pain powders didn't do wonders for my memory."

  "Well," she said, "Henri Beaumont telegraphed me and asked me to come to Pilot Isle. To keep you away from his daughter. I mean, at the time, I thought you weren't interested in staying. And, because of Russell and his sticky fingers—"

  "How the hell did Henri Beaumont know about you? Where did the report come from?"

  Caroline flashed a sad smile. "Darling, you really are naive. I've seen at least five similar communications about myself over the years. People can pay for a piece of your past. Simple as can be." She shook her head. "Don't you realize Henri Beaumont paid for your past, too? The little hellcat probably suspects. She's just afraid to go looking in her papa's desk."

  "That bastard had someone investigate me?"

  "How else do you think he got my name?"

  Noah whistled through his teeth. "Chrissakes."

  "A good account." Caroline turned the sheet of paper over and back. "Not entirely factual, but I've seen worse."

  Noah inched forward, his fingers linked. "Did he offer you money, Caro?"

  "Of course he offered money."

  "Did you take it?"

  She leaned in, her nose bumping his. "I'm not a prostitute anymore, Noah Garrett. Do you recall helping me leave the profession. So, wipe the affronted frown off your face. I could sell my house on Prairie Avenue and buy this whole town if I wanted to. To heck with Henri Beaumont's paltry offer."

  "I'm sorry." He scooted back with a grimace of pain.

  "You're the only man who has ever respected me. I don't want to think I've lost that."

  "Oh, Caro." He sighed. "You haven't. I'm simply mired knee-deep right now."

  "Make a list. What you usually do."

  "I have a list. A growing pile of lists. One right there, beside you." He rubbed his fingers beneath his spectacles. "They're not helping."

  She grabbed the pad of paper and tilted it into the light. "Well, well, a list of reasons to stay clear of darling Marielle-Claire. Not exactly the list I had in mind, but—"

  He snatched the pad from her.

  "I brought just the stuff to ease your troubles, darling." She tapped a leather-covered flask against his knee. "I keep it tucked in my garter. For strictly medicinal purposes."

  He lifted the flask to his lips, the metal still warm from her skin. Before he drank, he threw a quick glance toward the house. The last thing he needed was Zach's censure.

  "I heard about you and Marielle-Claire. Her idolizing you, you protecting her. A smelly old fisherman even took me to see the tree trunks in the schoolyard. It felt as if I was on a tour."

  "Wonderful," he said around another gulp.

  "I found the story a charmingly sweet testament to a girl's undying love."

  "Elle didn't carve those in the trees, by the way." He grimaced. "But she went back later and dug the marks in deeper."

  Caroline smiled. "And you think Marielle-Claire is the same willful, devoted child."

  "Of course not. But she's still too impulsive." Too intelligent, interesting, vexing, beautiful. Ma chere fille. He shoved the cork into the flask, the taste of whiskey heavy on his tongue. Those few sips had softened the memory of Elle's torment, making it easier to catch a full breath. "She isn't the kind of woman to dally with, and when I decide to marry, if I decide to marry, I'll marry a woman who will not disrupt my well-organized life. Elle doesn't fit my plan, Caro. In fact, she'd blow my plan straight to Hades if I let her." He tossed the flask at her feet. "Regardless, I'm returning to Chicago once the laboratory is finished. I have a shellfish study to initiate and biology classes to teach. My life is not here anymore, and I'm not going to change that."

  "Do you miss Chicago so much?"

  He crossed his ankles and scowled. "Who said anything about missing Chicago?"

  "Hmmm."

  "Mind your own business, Caro. There's no future. Elle Beaumont and I are too different. We always have been."

  She didn't answer, just hummed a soft tune.

  Her silence annoyed the hell out of him.

  "Uncle Noah, why can't you keep your hands off Miss Ellie?"

  Noah dropped his fork to the plate. He glanced at Rory, who dabbed his spoon in the pool of gravy inside his mashed potatoes, and Caleb, who buttered his bread, a flush reddening his cheeks.

  Rory wiped his nose and rocked the table as he swung his legs beneath it. Flaxen hair stuck to his brow in sweat-darkened clumps. "Huh, Uncle Noah? I love Miss Ellie, but she's still a girl. Have you kissed her? Johnny-Bob says you got to open your mouth for a real kiss. Yuck."

  Noah lifted his napkin from his lap and wiped a dab of gravy from Rory's chin. "Who told you this?"

  Caleb coughed. "Um, Rory, you're just playing with your supper. How about you go upstairs and wash up. I'll take you to Scoggins for ice cream."

  "Yippee!" Rory raced from the kitchen, his chair swaying, his napkin fluttering to the floor, the subject of yucky kisses forgotten.

  "Noah—"

  "You know, you and Zach need to develop some other interests."

  "Ah, come on." Caleb cracked a smile. "He must have heard us talking today."
<
br />   Noah's chair skidded into the wall. "I think I'll spend the night at the coach house. There's a textbook I need to review before I make my next research trip to Devil Island."

  "Heck, little bro', why are you angry if you can keep your hands off of her?"

  Noah slammed the door in reply.

  12

  "They are conspicuous things, showing sufficiently bold specific characters, and thus they are less liable to confusion."

  ~ C. Wyville Thomson

  The Depths of the Sea

  Noah left the laboratory site, head bent, gaze fixed on the wet planks beneath his brogans. The waves whipping the pilings almost erased the sound of Caleb's mockery. The promise of a storm scented the air and threw a solid punch into the wind coming off the sea. A fine mist struck his face and slicked his shirt to his chest. He crossed the deserted street and stopped to observe the flame wavering behind the globe of a streetlamp. Elle had mentioned petitioning the town committee for twenty and the insufficient approval for eight. Her cheeks had gone wild with color just talking about it.

  He laughed, a sound that echoed off the warehouses looming on each side of him. No matter how much Elle troubled him, he was unable to deny her uniqueness, her inherent strength—or his fascination. Jocularity dwindling, he slipped his spectacles off, yanked his shirttail from his trousers, and swabbed the spotted lenses.

  As a child, how had he missed those things about her?

  He frowned and forced his spectacles into place. He'd squandered half his childhood running from her and the other half rescuing her from some farcical disaster. Who had time to wonder about—well, just to wonder? He had been doing ceaseless amounts of reflection since their passionate kiss behind the Nook. He touched his lips, imagining her fingers, her touch.

  His heart picked up speed as his body betrayed him.

  Cursing, he pulled the tattered scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and tipped it into the light, reviewing the list for the hundredth time. Five solid, irrefutable reasons to avoid Elle Beaumont, starting—