Hale's Point

by Patricia Ryan

  For the most part their conversation seemed eerily restrained, but from time to time one or the other of them would betray his emotion with a forceful gesture or intense expression. Anger occasionally surfaced, but was quickly extinguished with calming words.

  R.H. rubbed at his eyes. Tucker put a hand on his shoulder and said something; his father nodded in response. When R.H. spoke, Tucker nodded.

  They got out of the car. Tucker offered his hand, and R.H. took it in both of his. Each gripped the other’s shoulder, and when they spoke, there was conviction and sincerity in their eyes.

  Harley’s throat closed up. When she sniffed back the tears that threatened, Liz snapped, “Don’t you dare cry. If you do, then I shall, and I refuse to allow it.

  ***

  As dinnertime approached, Harley scanned the cupboards, wondering what she could dream up to feed four people, when she had only shopped for two. Improvising with what was at hand, she picked some of the basil that had been planted among the lavender, tossed it together with hot fettuccine, olive oil, and sun-dried tomatoes, and served it on the patio. R.H. ate with gusto and several times mentioned how pleased he was that she would be staying on until September. Not wanting to put a damper on things, Harley smiled and pretended that her heart was not filled with anguish at Tucker’s imminent departure.

  The only awkward moment occurred when, halfway through the meal, she carelessly pushed her hair behind her ears, freezing when she noticed R.H. staring at her with narrowed eyes. The earrings! She was wearing his dead wife’s five-hundred-year-old earrings! What would he think? What should she say?

  To her amazement, his expression softened into something almost like a smile. With a brief glance in his son’s direction, he said, “Those earrings are most becoming on you, my dear. I wonder if I might have another serving of that fettuccine?”

  When the sun had sunk low in the sky, R.H. suggested coffee and liqueurs in the study.

  “Can we meet you there in a little while?” Tucker asked. “I was hoping I could talk Harley into a walk on the beach before night falls.”

  ***

  “You’re not so dumb, either,” Tucker said, breaking the silence in which they walked.

  The waves alternately slapped Harley’s ankles and sucked the sand from beneath her feet. Up ahead she saw the giant boulders that defined the secluded little spot where she and Tucker had spent the night in each other’s arms. The sight should conjure up happy memories, she thought, not sadness. Everything had gone wrong. Most of it was her fault, and now he was trying to tell her she wasn’t so dumb?

  Stealing his line, she said, “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

  “I’m talking about the things you said when we were sitting in the car earlier today, before you went for your run.”

  “About you and your father?”

  “About everything. You can be pretty persuasive when you put your mind to it.”

  All Harley could take credit for persuading him to do was talk to his father. “I take it you explained things to him?”

  “We each explained things. A lot of explaining went on. And a lot of promises to make things right. I must say he wins the prize for the most impressive gesture of good faith. He gave me the Anjelica.”

  “Wow!”

  “That’s my line. Don’t make me tell you again.”

  Despite everything that had happened, she was unreservedly thrilled for him. The Anjelica! “Where is it now?”

  “She. She’s dry-docked in Fort Lauderdale.”

  “How are you going to get it—her—up to Alaska?”

  He said, “I’m not. I’m going to fly down to Lauderdale and get her out of dry dock and sail her.”

  “In the Caribbean?”

  “To start with, but I’ve always been kind of curious about the South Pacific, too. I think I’ll just leave it open-ended. Start sailing and not worry too much about where I go or how long it takes. It could be two months or two years.”

  Two months or two years. She missed him already. Not that she could ever expect to see him again if he went back to Alaska, but at least then, she would know where he was. In her mind, he would have a distinct location. Sailing off to nowhere like this was like falling off the edge of the earth. But that was just like Tucker. No itinerary, no expectations. Still, even he had obligations. “What about your business?”

  “I’m going to make Molly happy and sell it to her.”

  “Then what? After your sailing trip is over, I mean.”

  “I don’t know. I figure I’ll have plenty of time to decide that during the trip. That’s one thing about long sailing trips, you’ve got plenty of time to think.”

  They approached the semicircle of boulders and Tucker led her to a low one with a flattened top. They sat side by side, facing the water, still holding hands. In the distance, silhouetted against a sky the color of apricots, a single large schooner sat motionless.

  Harley said, “The Anjelica’s a forty-footer, isn’t she? Can you handle that much boat alone?”

  “Not a chance,” he answered lightly. “I was hoping you’d come along and give me a hand.”

  She regarded him in stunned silence.

  He said, “You love to sail, and you’re damn good at it. A trip like this is just what you need to shake out all that chaff your life is so filled with.”

  Struck dumb, she just sat there.

  He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. In a quiet voice he said, “Please say yes. I won’t want to go without you.”

  He wanted her with him! But… “What about all those things you said about us being too different, and—”

  “And what about all those things you said about weathering a crisis? I compared the things you said to the things I said, and you won. You’re right, it’s fear that drives me to bolt. That and the fact that I’ve never done anything else. But I don’t want to bolt this time. This time I’m in it for the long haul.”

  “The long haul means the long haul, Tucker. Are you saying you’re not going to panic two weeks from now and—”

  “Not two weeks or two months or two years. I know what the long haul means. It means a commitment. I never wanted one before, and I can’t believe I want one now, but I do, with you. More than anything. I can appreciate your skepticism, though. I anticipated it.” He reached into the front pocket of his rolled-up chinos and handed her another little black velvet bag. “My Dad’s not the only one who knows how to make a gesture of good faith. This is mine, to you.”

  “Tucker, no. I really can’t keep taking—”

  “Open it.”

  “Tucker—”

  Impatiently he took the little bag from her, opened it, and shook it into his palm. Something rolled out: a gold ring set with a cabochon emerald held in place by two tiny hands.

  “Tucker! That’s your mother’s—”

  “Engagement ring,” he finished. “Now I’d like it to be yours.”

  She was breathless. Hers? He couldn’t mean… “This is why you went to the bank? To get this? For me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought… I thought…” What did this mean? Did this mean… “Why are you giving this to me?”

  He sighed, but he was smiling. ‘‘Honey, I’ll get down on one knee if I have to, but you know that kind of thing still hurts like a son of a—”

  “But I just don’t under—”

  “All right, here goes.” He got up and awkwardly knelt in the sand at her feet, his weight on the good leg.

  She could tell the position was painful for him. “Tucker, get up.”

  “Not until you agree to marry me.”

  “What?”

  “I want you to marry me.” Taking her left hand in his, he slid the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. “I’ve thought it all out. R.H. has invited me to stay as long as I like, but I think three days is all the state requires between the blood test and the marriage. My father’s minister can do the honors, or we can use a justice
of the peace, whichever you prefer. Then, that same day, we fly to Lauderdale and sail the Anjelica into the Caribbean.”

  “But—”

  “But who’ll take care of my father? Somehow I suspect Liz’ll be more than happy for the opportunity to prove how loving and nurturing she really is under all that frost.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what about your M.B.A.? Take a leave of absence. I’m sure Liz will be happy to arrange it for you. Then, when we come back, you can complete it.”

  Harley couldn’t think. She could barely breathe. “But, Tucker, you don’t believe in marriage. You said it was for… for people who couldn’t think straight.”

  “It is. I’m a case in point. I’m way too crazy about you to think straight. All I can think about is spending the rest of my life with you. You’re all I want anymore, You’re the only thing that’s really important to me. Please say yes.”

  Harley looked down at her hands, enveloped in both of his. She looked into his eyes, deep and translucent.

  “Come on, Harley. Say yes.”

  He was all she wanted anymore, too. More than anything. Suddenly all her careful plans and well-thought-out schedules and inviolable rules seemed petty and unimportant. The only important thing in the world was Tucker—her life with Tucker.

  “Say yes, Harley. Please. My leg’s killing me.”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes.”

  “Yes!” Seizing her around the waist, he pulled her down onto the sand, rolled on top of her, and covered her mouth with his. With no reservations she gave herself over to the pleasure of the kiss, to the feel of his body pressing her into the sand, his hands stroking her face, caressing her breasts….

  Her desire for him was sudden, overwhelming, almost painful. Senseless with need, she clutched him to her, instinctively parting her legs. He moved against her, and she could feel his need, equal to her own. When he lifted her skirt and fondled her through her thin cotton panties, she pressed her hand over his and moaned his name. He knelt over her and swiftly unbelted his chinos. Sitting up, she unzipped them and reached in to torment him as he had tormented her.

  He yanked her panties off and tossed them aside. She grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, ripped open the little packet with frantic haste, and expertly sheathed him, all in a matter of seconds.

  Too impatient to undress further, Tucker threw her on her back and rose over her, lifting her hips and driving himself into her. They coupled with unthinking urgency, moving together in a primal rhythm, like a single, struggling creature.

  On the verge of climax, she froze at a sound from beyond the boulders. Tucker heard it, too, and turned his head to listen. A jangling… panting… a man saying, “Catch, Rusty!”

  With a mumbled curse, Tucker quickly rolled them onto their sides and adjusted her skirt—to give the impression, she realized, that they were merely locked in an innocent embrace.

  “Good evening,” the man said as he passed the semicircle of boulders.

  “Good evening,” Harley and Tucker said in unison, not too breathlessly.

  The man walked on a few yards, until he was out of sight but not out of earshot, and proceeded to toss whatever it was he was tossing to his dog.

  They still lay side by side, intimately joined. “Shh,” Tucker whispered, as he closed his big hands around her hips and rocked them slowly.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed. She locked her legs with his and slid her hands beneath his shirt to grip his back. “I’m so close.”

  “Me, too.” He was trembling.

  Harley thought she was going to explode, to fly apart in a million shivering pieces. She felt Tucker’s body go rigid and flex as his fingers dug into her hips. A strangled sound escaped his throat, and the skin on his back erupted in goose bumps. The convulsive throbbing within her sent her over the edge, into a heart-stopping orgasm of excruciating intensity. The struggle not to cry out only magnified its force. He held her tight as it ran its course, and for some time afterward.

  Eventually they drew apart and set about adjusting their clothes. Rebuckling his belt, Tucker peered over the boulders. “That guy is gone. It’s about time.”

  Harley slipped her panties back on and smoothed down her dress. “I don’t know. I thought it was kind of exciting having him there, kind of dangerous.”

  “Exciting? Dangerous?” He sank down next to her and took her in his arms. “I’ve created a monster.”

  “An insatiable monster,” she said. “Come to my room tonight.”

  She could see his eyes light with anticipation, but after a moment’s thought he said, “Not here, not in R.H.’s house with him down the hall. We’d have to sneak around like teenagers. And not out here anymore, for the amusement of the neighbors. Let’s wait until we’re aboard the Anjelica.”

  “You want to wait until our wedding night?”

  He chuckled. “It does seem out of character, I know. But yes, I want to wait. The next time we make love, it’s going to be on the deck of the Anjelica, under the stars. I want to feel the ocean swell beneath me while I’m inside you. I want to make you insane with pleasure. I want us to lose ourselves in each other, in the middle of nowhere, where no one can hear us or see us.”

  “Yes.” she whispered, gripping his head to pull it down until their mouths met in a deep, lingering kiss.

  Tucker broke the kiss and pointed to the sky. “Check it out.”

  Harley sat up and looked. Against a sunset of fiery brilliance, tiny spheres floated up and drifted out over the sound. “Phil’s balloons,” she said. “Phil’s and Kitty’s.”

  “Ours, too,” he said. “They were my idea, after all. And now that they’ve been set free, I think we have as much of a claim to them as anybody.”

  Tucker put his arms around her and held her in a silent embrace as the balloons rose higher and higher, floating wherever the breezes took them. First there were dozens, then hundreds, in every hue of the rainbow, scattering across the sky, filling it with color.

  They watched, transfixed, until the last balloon rose into the darkening heavens and disappeared, a fleeting testament to lasting love.

  About the Author

  Patricia Ryan has written more than two dozen novels, which have garnered rave reviews and been published in over twenty countries. A RITA® winner and four-time nominee, she is also the recipient of two Romantic Times Awards and a Mary Higgins Clark Award nomination for the second book of her historical mystery series featuring Boston governess Nell Sweeney, which she wrote under the name P.B. Ryan. Pat’s Evil Twin, Pamela Burford, is also a published romance novelist.

  ALSO BY PATRICIA RYAN

  Contemporary Romance/Women’s Fiction

  Pure and Simple

  A Burning Touch

  Shelter from the Storm, a short story

  Medieval Romances:

  Falcon’s Fire

  Heaven’s Fire

  Secret Thunder

  Wild Wind

  The Sun and the Moon

  Historical Mysteries by P.B. Ryan:

  Still Life with Murder

  Murder in a Mill Town

  Death on Beacon Hill

  Murder on Black Friday

  Murder in the North End

  A Bucket of Ashes