by Susan Wiggs
He sluiced water from the bucket over himself and draped a blanket over his shoulders. Then he closed the door to his horse’s stall. And did the most extraordinary thing.
He slid one arm around the beast’s neck and clung there, looking suddenly so drained and exhausted that Mary almost ran to him. There was such tenderness in the way he stroked the animal, leaned his forehead against the horse’s head, and finally let go, backing away.
Mary had a lump in her throat as she made her way to the house.
* * *
Jesse took a long nap in the barn. Never before had he stumbled to the hayrick and spread out the old buffalo blanket and slept there. It was oddly comforting, being in the company of the beasts in a place that smelled of straw and horse and molasses-sweetened oats.
But when he awakened, he felt out of sorts. She was keeping him from his own house.
Muttering under his breath, he put on his damp shirt. He swore as the clammy fabric clung to his back and chest. It was all that woman’s fault. She had disrupted his life and made him miserable.
It was time for her to go. She was well enough now. Hadn’t she spent the entire morning helping the shivering Russian sailors up to the Jonssons’ house, drying their clothes and feeding them as if she’d been at the job for years?
Hadn’t she given the youngest sailor a smile so brilliant that the lad clutched at his heart and collapsed in the sand, pantomiming a direct hit of Cupid’s arrow?
The woman was trouble, and no mistake.
He would tell her to leave. He would tell her now.
He went to the house, yanked open the door and froze where he stood.
For several seconds, neither he nor Mary moved. A moist warmth from the hot bath hung in the air, and the scent of soap filled the room. Jesse’s eyes drank in the scene as if they had been dying of thirst and the sight of Mary in the kitchen was a drink of purest water.
At first, finding her in this state was so unexpected that for a surreal, disoriented moment, he didn’t quite grasp what he was seeing. Then he grasped it far too well.
Mary Dare stood in the battered old zinc bathtub in front of the stove, caught in the act of reaching for a washing cloth. Warmed by the glow of the lamp on the table, her skin looked creamy and pure, her dark red hair forming damp squiggles down her back. His gaze followed the swirls plastered to her skin, down to the roundest, most perfect backside he had ever beheld. It was all he could do to stifle a moan of pure animal lust.
She gasped and lunged for the towel draped over a chair. Even in the midst of that swift movement he could see the curve of her breast, so sweet it made him ache. The shape was softly echoed by the swell of her belly.
It was then that he returned to his senses.
So did Mary. She covered herself with the towel and squeaked out his name. “Jesse. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon,” she said. Her cheeks were scarlet.
His thoughts were scarlet. Cloaking himself in indignation and emitting a long string of curses, Jesse whirled and stomped out the door.
He stood on the porch in the glaring slant of the sunset after the storm, threw back his head and gritted his teeth. He wanted to howl. Very slowly, he counted to ten. And then to twenty. But it didn’t help. His entire body was on fire. In every cell, he felt the heat of passion.
“Damn it,” he said through his clenched teeth. “Goddammit. Goddammit.” He had forgotten how powerful lust was. Or perhaps he had never known. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to feel it. He’d never wanted to feel it again. And here she was flaunting herself in front of him, peeling back the hard shell of his self-denial and making him remember what he had been trying for years to forget—that he was a man with a man’s desires.
Within a few moments, the screen-mesh door creaked open. “Jesse?” her soft voice called to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—that is, I thought—ah, listen to me. You’ve got me flustered now. Come inside. Supper is ready.”
He kept his back to her.
“Jesse?” She sounded shaken, yet always in her voice there was that damnable undercurrent of good humor.
“I’m...coming,” he forced out. If it were not so painful, he would have been furiously amused at his choice of words.
“All right. Don’t be long.” The door tapped gently against its frame.
Feeling like a fool for avoiding his own house, he went in. Without looking left or right, he strode to his room and yanked on a set of dry clothes, then returned to the kitchen. He couldn’t help but notice Mary had dressed hastily; a couple of the buttons down the back were left undone.
For a moment, he considered telling her, helping her. He pictured himself lifting the damp strands of hair away from the nape of her neck. She would smell of soap and lavender there, and her skin would feel warm and moist to the touch.... He banished the notion with a cold wave of self-loathing.
Oblivious to his thoughts, she lifted the lid from a great pot. Steam, redolent of cabbage and bacon, filled the air. “Colcannon,” she said. “My mother’s recipe. Sit down, Jesse.”
He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to another person moving around his house, fixing his meals. With an ungracious nod, he jerked out a chair and sat down. Mary served him a large helping of the colcannon. He had never heard of the dish and wanted to refuse it, but he was starving. The concoction of potatoes and onions, cabbage and bacon and butter was too damned tempting. He dug in, shoveling away several mouthfuls before pausing to take a long drink of beer.
Mary watched him from across the table. “Do you like it, then?”
“I was hungry. It’s been a long day.” He glanced out the window. “Day’s nearly gone. Someone should’ve gotten me up.”
Ignoring his gruffness, she ate daintily and sipped her milk. “I went down to the barn to see what was keeping you. When I saw how soundly you were sleeping, I covered you and just tiptoed back out.”
“Wasted day,” he muttered. But the food and the beer were mellowing him, and his mortification at finding her at her bath had begun to fade.
“Wasted?” She lifted an eyebrow. “Faith, and who else today has saved six lives?”
He shrugged and hunched over his meal. “It’s no more than my job. When I signed on as head keeper, I took an oath saying I’d do no less.”
“Why do you love it so, Jesse?”
He paused with his fork in midair and glared at her. “I don’t love it. I just do it.”
“No, I watched you. When the danger was greatest, that’s when you seemed most joyful. The swell that washed up over you and your horse might’ve crushed you, killed you. And you enjoyed it.”
“That’s about the most damn-fool notion I’ve ever heard. A boatload of men was about to go cracking against the rocks. I had to stop that from happening. It wasn’t a matter of enjoying anything.”
“Have it your way, then.” She took a bite and chewed slowly. Just as he was starting to savor a companionable silence, she broke it. “How do you get your horse to do that?” she asked. “To ride through the raging waves?”
“Training.” He scraped his plate clean.
Without asking if he wanted it, she got up to get him a second helping. “Did you train the horse yourself, then?”
“Yes.”
She sat back down and toyed with her food. She was clearly waiting for him to elaborate on his training techniques. Grimly, he attacked the second helping of colcannon and said nothing.
“Well.” Mary smiled brilliantly. “I feel quite grand, eating a simple meal with silver-plate forks. Where did this come from?” Her small thumb traced the shell design. “Whose initials are these?”
Jesse tried to contain his exasperation. She seemed determined to force him to talk. “I don’t know. It’s from a ship that wrecked at the bar nine years ago. There were n
o survivors, but a lot of salvage washed up on the beach. I found a box of silver tableware.”
“Strange,” she said with a dreamy sigh.
He grunted a reply.
“Aye, to think of people long dead, and here we sit using their things.” Just when he thought she was going to get maudlin, she smiled. “It’s a lovely thought, isn’t it? That you salvaged something from a great tragedy and here we are, sharing a good meal and friendship and using their silver.”
Damned if she wasn’t the oddest woman he’d ever met. He shoveled in the rest of his meal and rose to wash up before she could do it herself. While he worked, she went to the door and looked out. “We should go to the Jonssons and check on the sailors.”
“If there was a problem, they would have told us.”
“I’m not speaking of a problem,” she said fussily, taking down a mackintosh from a peg near the door. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll go by myself.”
“It’s too dark out,” Jesse called over his shoulder. “You’ll—”
The door slammed.
“Fool woman,” he muttered, yanking on his coat and jamming his cap onto his head. He grabbed a lantern and followed her out. “You’ll lose your way in the dark.”
“Not if you light my way,” she called defiantly.
Damn her, she was pushing him, pushing him out into the world, and he didn’t want to go. He didn’t like being pushed. But he knew he had to follow her. Before he did, though, he glanced up at the bluff to see that all was in order at the lighthouse. It was Erik’s turn at watch.
Holding the lantern to the side, Jesse could make out a shadow slipping along the path down the hill. He hurried toward her. “I must say,” he said dryly, “your swift recovery pleases me.”
“It pleases me, too,” Mary said.
The glow from the lantern outlined her features, and in spite of himself Jesse was struck. He supposed that somewhere in the world there was a more beautiful face, but he certainly hadn’t seen its like.
Until lately, he had not considered himself to be a man who dwelled upon a woman’s looks, but there was something about Mary, a quality that was ancient and wise, giving depth and meaning to her beauty.
It frightened him to think this way about a woman. It was even more dangerous than lusting after her. And Jesse was guilty of both.
“I’m pleased because your recovery means you can leave,” he stated. “Have you decided where you’ll go?”
She trod heavily on the path, snapping a twig. “Have you decided that you care?”
He wanted to say no and mean it. But to his eternal surprise, he couldn’t. “It’s a matter of concern to me.”
“Ah, aren’t we grand in our speech tonight?” she said teasingly. She lifted her face to the night sky. Between the slender, lofty branches of the giant evergreens, the stars were beginning to wink. In just a few hours, the moon would push into view. Without warning, she slipped her hand into Jesse’s. “There’s no shame in caring.”
He snatched his hand away. “There’s no point in it, either.”
With a huff of indignation, she marched along the path, covering the quarter mile to the Jonssons’ with admirable stamina. Before long, lighted windowpanes shone through the darkening woods. Mary stopped at the front gate.
“Is something the matter?” Jesse asked.
“Listen. Just listen.”
The sounds that came from the snug wood-frame house were as warm and inviting as the lamp glow in the windows. Jesse heard male laughter and then Palina’s voice, singing. Someone was playing the mouth organ, and feet thumped upon the plank floor.
Mary smiled up at Jesse. “How lovely it must be for them, to know they’re safe.”
He didn’t know what to say. With Mary, he rarely did. She pushed open the gate and went up on the porch. Erik’s spaniel dog, Thorvald, lifted his head and barked a greeting. Magnus came out, a mug in his good hand. “Welcome! Welcome!” he called jovially. “We have just opened a bottle of Palina’s marionberry cordial.”
Mary positively beamed as she stepped inside. It struck Jesse that here was a person who thrived in the company of others. She seemed to need it the way a plant needed the sun. It was just as well that she was leaving, then, for company was the last thing Jesse could give her.
She greeted the Russians in turn, laughing as her tongue stumbled over their names. She took the hand of each one, squeezing tenderly.
“Faith, it’s a blessing entirely that you’re here, and safe, all of you,” she said. To Jesse’s amazement, tears sparkled in her eyes, but she blinked them away.
One of the men stood and grabbed Jesse by the shoulders. He was stocky, his face weather-burned and creased into a grin to reveal tobacco-yellowed teeth. “I am Dmitri Spartak,” he stated, his accent rich and rumbling, “of the fishing schooner Natalya. Thanks be to you for saving us.”
The Russian pulled Jesse forward and kissed him, a loud smack on each cheek.
“Nostrovia!” the others toasted, lifting glasses and mugs in Jesse’s direction.
There had to be something in the irony that Jesse’s first kiss in twelve years came from a man with stained teeth and several days’ growth of beard. He tightened his lips self-consciously, almost grinning. The man with the mouth organ struck up a lively tune, pounding the floor with his foot. The others leaped up and started dancing around. Mary and the Jonssons joined in, laughing with the pure joy of being alive.
Jesse looked on, watching them all, their faces flushed and heads thrown back in abandon. He heard the odd cacophony of Russian, Icelandic, and Irish brogue, and suddenly felt a genuine smile start inside him.
It had been so long since he had smiled that at first he didn’t recognize the warmth in his throat, the feel of his mouth turning up. Mary stopped dancing and walked to his side. “You look so bonny when you smile, Jesse Morgan.”
He closed his face into its customary scowl.
The dancing and drinking went on until the marionberry cordial and the events of the day took their toll. One of the Russians—the one who kept making calf eyes at Mary—curled on the floor with a blanket over him. The others sat around the table, their ballads slowing in tempo, their speech slurring.
Jesse noticed that Mary looked tired, her cheeks pale beneath the freckles, her small hand held up to stifle a yawn. Damn. The last thing he wanted was for her to have a setback.
“We’d best be going,” he said, taking his keeper’s hat from a peg by the door.
Her feet shuffling, Mary fetched her coat and joined him. Dmitri lifted his glass a final time. “You are the most blessed of men, Jess-Morgan,” he said. “Such a wife you have! She is as beautiful as the moon.” He winked. “And baby. Certain you will have strong boy-child for family honor.”
Jesse took a step toward the door. He felt his ears catch fire. “I’m not...that is, she’s not...we—”
“Good night to you all,” Mary said, grabbing the lantern and pushing Jesse out onto the porch. “Best of luck and high blessings upon you.”
“Good night!” they called, and the sound of their voices subsided as Mary and Jesse started toward home.
“Now, don’t you go lighting into me,” Mary said as he glared at her. “It was just easier to let them think us man and wife.”
“Humph.” She was right, but he’d never admit it.
They walked in silence for a time, listening to the shush of the sea in the distance and the wind soughing through the trees. The green scent of budding leaves filled the air. Mary walked clumsily in her borrowed boots, and when she stumbled, Jesse grabbed her.
She leaned against his chest for a moment. “Thank you.”
“I didn’t want you to drop the lantern,” he said grudgingly. But he kept one arm firmly around her for longer than her stumble warranted. He t
old himself this was probably a trick of hers, acting helpless. But he didn’t care. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of her hair and feeling her closeness, the warmth of her, the giving softness pressed against him. God, it felt good. Too damned good.
Keeping hold of the lantern, he put her away from him. “Be careful,” he said. “There are a lot of rocks in the path.”
“I’ll be careful.” Her hand tucked itself inside her coat, and he imagined her touching the little round swell of her baby. Not just her baby. It took two to make a child.
A cold shaft of suspicion pierced through Jesse. Had she been a sawdust girl, selling her body to strangers? Or had someone forced himself on her, held her down and—
He closed his mind to that image. “Why don’t you ever speak of the father of your child?”
She walked on as if she hadn’t heard. She remained silent until they reached the porch of his house. He set down the lantern, and she leaned her hands on the railing, watching the sky. Every five seconds, the Cape Disappointment light swept the area like a sudden moonbeam.
“He is nothing to me,” she said at last. “Nothing but a foolish, foolish mistake.”
Jesse could hear the lie in her voice. She still held feelings for the mysterious man. An image of Mary, standing in her bath, flashed through his mind. He recalled the memory with painful starkness. Having seen her like that forced him to view her not just as a shipwreck victim but as a woman, one who could inspire passion and lust and perhaps even love.
No, there was no perhaps about it. Mary Dare was made to be loved. Of that he had no doubt. But if she was looking for love here, she had come to the wrong place.
In his imagination, he saw her with another man. A young and handsome buck with a ready smile and readier wit. The idea of a man holding Mary, stroking the glorious naked body Jesse had seen, filled him with fury. He had no right to feel proprietary toward her, but he did. Against all logic, he did.
