Inside the hotel lobby, they were met by a young woman who identified herself as Jenny.
The moment the children were led off, Caleb said to Harriet, “I ought to walk you to your home as well. Unless you’ll wait out the storm in the hotel?”
“No,” Harriet said. “Vivian will worry about me if I do that.” Her gaze slid past him to the hotel windows. “It doesn’t look too bad yet.”
Caleb followed her gaze. Bits of trash tumbled down the street, and the handful of trees he could see were getting a good shaking. But it hadn’t started raining yet. “Let’s go, then.”
The storm was faster moving than Harriet could have predicted. After leaving the hotel, Caleb took her arm, and she slipped her hand around the crook of his. She was still wearing his jacket, which helped against the increasing cold wind. But not half a block from the hotel, the rain started.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think it would rain so soon.”
“The clouds don’t look friendly. I’m afraid it’s going to get much worse.” Caleb pulled her closer, and she leaned into him as they quickened their pace.
They hadn’t spoken much since leaving the hotel. She might have been too open with him when they’d met at the harbor—telling him she’d been searching for him.
She’d genuinely been worried they wouldn’t find him before night approached. It had been hard enough to get Mrs. Pinker to agree to taking the children on a short visit to the harbor. Of course, now, Harriet was grateful the children were safely inside the hotel in Jenny’s care.
The small raindrops soon increased in intensity, and the rain pinged her hat, her face, her neck. Everything covered by the jacket stayed protected, but she was sure her skirt would take some drying.
The wind tugged at her hair, and there was no use trying to fix anything. A strong gust stole her breath, and she found herself practically clinging to Caleb. He didn’t seem to mind. No one else was about the streets, so it appeared they’d had the sense to take cover. More trash tumbled along the streets, and the taller trees swayed dangerously.
“How far are you?” Caleb asked above the howling wind.
She named the street, and he said, “I’m much closer. We’ll go to my place.”
Any protest she might have made was stolen on the wind, and just then, her hat made its final tug and flew off her head.
Caleb turned to grab it, but it had already tumbled out of reach. He let go of her and sprinted after the thing.
“Let it go,” Harriet called. The wind felt like it was about to knock her over, and the last thing she cared about was her old hat.
But Caleb either didn’t hear her, or he was too focused on his rescue. A moment later, he returned, the crumpled hat gripped in his hand.
Without his protection for a few moments, Harriet was soaked and windblown. She smoothed the hair from her face, but it was useless. The wind was relentless.
If possible, the rain drove harder, and Caleb grabbed her hand and tugged her along. She ran with him while holding up her skirt with her other hand. Her shoes would be ruined, since she’d opted not to wear her boots to the harbor. Vain of her.
They turned a corner, and he led her through an alley that cut the wind in half. The rain didn’t lighten, though, and when Caleb turned another corner, Harriet was relieved when he drew her to a stop.
They were in front of a two-story building, and Caleb opened the door. The interior lobby was cold and deserted. But it was dry. Breathless, Harriet walked with him on the hardwood floor, leaving water in their wake. He stopped in front of a door and pulled out a key from his pocket.
Harriet couldn’t help but notice his hands trembling from the cold. Harriet herself was trembling all over. Her teeth chattered, and even her legs were shaking.
“Come in.” Caleb unlocked the door and pushed it open.
Under any other circumstance, Harriet wouldn’t enter a bachelor’s apartment alone with him. Yet, Caleb was right. His place was closer, and the storm had turned dangerous. Although Harriet was shivering from the cold, his set of rooms was decidedly warmer. It appeared he had a small sitting room that doubled as a kitchen, with a bedroom beyond.
“Here,” Caleb said. “I’ll take the wet jacket and get you something warmer.”
She got a good look at him then. He was absolutely soaking. His shirt had plastered to his shoulders and chest. His dark copper hair looked almost black now that it was wet, and his trousers . . . She glanced away as she attempted to slip off the jacket, but the combination of her wet clothing and her trembling fingers made it nearly impossible.
“I’ll help,” Caleb said.
She nodded, because her teeth were still chattering. Despite the deep chill in her body, she felt the warmth of Caleb’s breath as he moved close to her and helped her out of the jacket.
“Thank you,” she managed.
Caleb stepped away and set the jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. She stood in the entryway, shivering, too cold to do anything else. The room was tidy, masculine, with only the basics of a small table, two chairs, a sofa with an afghan throw over it. She wondered who’d crocheted it.
Beyond, in the bedroom, she could see the edge of a narrow bed, and a nightstand with an oil lamp and a tattered book upon it. She quickly averted her gaze, feeling she had no business looking into the bedroom of a man.
“I’ll be right back.” Caleb walked into the bedroom, shutting the door partway behind him.
Moments later, he came out, wearing a different shirt, this one dry. His hair was still damp and had begun to curl at the ends, making him look younger. And he carried a heavy coat. One she’d seen him wear on the vessel that took them from Teekalet to Seattle. “This will get you warm.”
“I’ll look like a drowned rat in that thing,” she said.
“Maybe you should check a mirror.” Caleb’s mouth lifted in amusement. “You already look like a drowned rat.”
Harriet smiled, despite her shivering. He was right. The heavy coat was warm, and standing so near Caleb made her warmer still. When he stepped back, a satisfied look on his face, she had the urge to ask him to stay close to her. Keep her warm. But that was entirely inappropriate. She moved another step toward the door. “I shouldn’t stay long.”
“No gentleman would let a woman go out into such a fierce storm,” he said. “You might blow away.”
She wouldn’t blow away, but she also didn’t want to go back out into that rain either.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I don’t have any refreshment, since I usually eat at one of the cafés.”
“I don’t need refreshment.” Harriet edged toward the sofa. She sat down, and the fishing coat nearly swallowed her up.
“Sorry if it smells.” Caleb pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa.
Until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the odor. But now, she realized it did smell of ocean, salt, and fish. Apparently the cold rain had dulled her senses. Although other senses were perfectly fine. She was quite aware of Caleb’s concerned gaze as he draped the afghan over her legs, and the scent of rain upon him, not to mention the image of his strong, capable hands treating her like she was a porcelain doll.
“Aren’t you cold?” she said. “I can’t take everything from you.”
“I’m fine,” he said, his smile slight.
And for a moment, they gazed at each other in the small apartment, with the wind howling and rain driving outside.
Harriet looked away first.
“Would you like, uh, a cup of water?” he asked.
“No, thank you.” She adjusted the afghan. Her fingers had stopped their visible trembling, but she still felt a bit shaky. Or was it nervous? It wasn’t that she feared being alone with Caleb. She knew he wouldn’t harm her or take advantage. It was that she wasn’t entirely sure she trusted herself.
Being in his simple living space, with no one else around them, made it seem like Caleb took up the whole of the space with his presence alone. She was aw
are of everything about him. How his shirt cut across his shoulders, his rolled-up sleeves that displayed the definition of his tanned forearms, the taper of his waist, and the length of his legs. Goodness, she was warming up.
“You can have your coat back,” she said, rising to take it off.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Will you be warm enough?”
Oh, yes. “I’m much warmer, and you’re right, the fish smell is quite strong.”
He chuckled. “That’s an understatement.” Taking the coat from her, he returned to the back bedroom.
With the small reprieve, Harriet touched her palm to her forehead. Her skin was rather cool. She could have sworn she was coming down with a fever. Her hair was a mess, that she knew, and her attempts to smooth it out were quite pointless.
When Caleb returned, Harriet had retaken her seat.
He carried a book and handed it to her.
Curious, she took the book and looked at the cover. “You read poetry?”
“Not exactly.” He settled on one of the kitchen chairs. “That’s about the only thing I have left from my mother. She loved to read.”
Harriet opened the cover. The well-worn pages felt fragile. She flipped them slowly, then stopped at one that was earmarked. Without any prompting, she began to read the poem.
When she finished, she looked up and saw Caleb wiping his eyes.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He gave her a half smile, but it was sad too. “I haven’t heard that poem in a long time, since my mother read it to me.”
“She read to you as a child?” She looked down at the creased page. It looked like the poem had been read hundreds of times. She gazed at him again. Something in his tone had made her curious. “Can you not read, Caleb?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He didn’t answer for a moment. “I learned letters, but I could never figure out how combinations of letters created words.”
Harriet tried not to look stunned, and she schooled her features. “Did you learn the sounds of the letters?”
“The sounds?”
She understood now why he couldn’t read. “Each letter has a sound, some of them more than one. Once you learn to sound out the letters, it’s only a matter of putting the sounds together.”
Caleb shifted forward on his chair and rested his elbows on his knees. The action made his shoulders bunch up, made him appear more vulnerable.
“I can teach you,” she said into the silence of the room.
His brown eyes snapped to hers. “I’ve gone this long without reading.” He shrugged those large shoulders of his. “Haven’t needed to.”
Harriet disagreed, but she sensed he’d told her something extremely personal, and she didn’t want to embarrass him. “Do you want me to read you another poem?”
The edges of his mouth softened. “Please.”
So she read another poem, then a third, which was about the sea and the waves. “Is this what being a fisherman is like?” she asked. “Being at one with Mother Nature, and the patterns of the waves echo the patterns of your heart?”
“Maybe on a very good day,” Caleb said. “And that would be dependent on whether the fishing is productive.”
“Of course it would.” Harriet smiled. She turned another page, read another poem.
He didn’t stop her, so she continued to read poem after poem. They were enchanting, and Harriet could see why Caleb kept this tattered book with him, even though he couldn’t read a word. They connected him not only to his mother, but they filled the heart and mind with beauty.
“Thank you,” he whispered when she finally closed the book. “You don’t know how much it means to hear those words again.”
Harriet nodded. Somewhere along the way, her heart had crept into her throat. The man sitting on the sturdy kitchen chair across from her had been nothing but a gentleman. Offering her warmth and protection. And for this short time in his apartment, he’d even shown a bit of his heart.
“If you change your mind about learning the sounds to the letters, I can help you,” she said.
Caleb shook his head, but his eyes were shining. “You don’t want to take on a stubborn man such as me. Besides, you have plenty of students.”
“I think I can handle one more.”
He smiled, but his eyes still turned down her offer.
That was all right. Harriet could wait. She’d convince him yet. “The rain must have stopped by now. Vivian might be scouring the streets.”
Caleb rose to his feet and extended his hand. It was only to give her a boost to her feet, but his hand remained clasped around hers for a few extra moments. Harriet didn’t mind, though she knew she needed to release him. Head back to her living quarters. Breathe in a space that wasn’t filled with everything Caleb Munns.
So Harriet slipped her hand from his and turned toward the door.
They headed out of the apartment, and the rain had indeed lessened to a light drizzle. Caleb had brought along an umbrella, and Harriet was reminded of the day she’d tried to stop the fight with her parasol. The thought made her smile, and Caleb noticed. Of course he had.
“Glad to be out of my place?” he asked as they walked along the sidewalk. A few people were out, but the streets were mostly empty.
“No, I was thinking about how handy an umbrella could be, or a parasol.”
Caleb chuckled. “Do you want to hold the umbrella? You know, in case I stop being a gentleman?”
She smiled. “I think you’ve proved yourself well enough by now.”
His brows lifted. “Have you reached your conclusion about me yet?”
“Nearly,” she teased.
The smile on his face made her heart melt. Thankfully the wind had died down as well, so by the time they reached her lodgings, she wasn’t a trembling mess. But she would be happy to find her way into her nightgown and her warm bed, even if nightfall was still a good hour away.
Although she was reluctant to say goodbye to Caleb, it was definitely time.
“Now I know where to find you, Miss Silverton,” he said in a low voice as they stopped at her doorstep.
“You do.” She rested her hand on his arm, briefly. “Thank you for the tour, and for letting me take shelter.”
“Anytime.”
Caleb stood outside the schoolhouse. It had been about ten minutes since he’d watched all of the students leave. Harriet and Miss Little still hadn’t come out, though. Did they typically remain for a while? Perhaps to clean up? He wasn’t entirely sure what the two women might be doing, because he had scant memories of going to school himself. When he realized he was expected to stand and read aloud, Caleb had started to ditch school.
His teacher never reported him.
The schoolhouse door opened, and out stepped Miss Little. She paused when she saw him, which meant that Harriet nearly ran into her.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Munns,” Miss Little said.
“Hello,” Harriet said as well, her brow wrinkled with her unasked question.
He nodded to Miss Little, then trained his gaze on Harriet. “Might I speak to you for a moment?”
“I’ll meet you later,” Miss Little said.
Caleb wasn’t going to protest, because he didn’t exactly want an audience for what he was about to ask Harriet.
She turned her expectant blue eyes upon him the moment Miss Little left.
His heart did a funny flip. “I wondered if I might inquire after some tutoring services.”
Harriet lifted her brows, then she spoke in a coy tone. “Oh, is this for one of your neighbors? A friend, perhaps?”
He held back a smile, pleased that she seemed to be pleased. “Not a friend, exactly. He’s about my height and goes by the surname of Munns. What would be the price?”
“Well . . .” She pretended to ponder. “How about we have a trial tutoring session, then discuss the price afterward if both parties are in agreement?”
Caleb nodded gravely. “I think he would agree to that. W
hen can you schedule it?”
Harriet looked up at the sky, then toward the schoolhouse. “Right now will work. There’s a convenient schoolhouse behind me that’s currently empty. Plenty of chalk and slates to write upon.”
“Oh, I don’t think he wants to learn to write,” Caleb said. “Reading will be enough work.”
Harriet smirked and grabbed his hand. Then she tugged him toward the schoolhouse door. Her bold move stunned him, but he wasn’t about to protest Harriet’s actions. Holding her hand was nice.
She pushed open the door, still grasping his hand, then led him inside.
The interior smelled of warmth, and fresh wood, and Caleb was taken back to what little time he’d spent in the schoolhouse as a boy. The desks were lined up in perfect order, chairs tucked in, and upon each desk sat a cleaned slate.
She released his hand to point out the row of letters written across the top of the chalkboard at the front of the room. “Do you remember these letters?”
“Most of them,” he said. “Maybe.”
She smiled at him, then turned to pick up a long stick. She pointed to one of the letters in the middle.
“H.”
“Yes.” She pointed to another toward the end.
“P?”
“Very good.” She pointed to a few more. He got them all right except for two. But once she reminded him of the names, he remembered.
“Very good,” she said in a voice that she must use on her students. She set the stick down. “Let’s practice writing them.”
He watched her move to a desk and pick up a slate, something he supposed all children in school used across the territories. “Bring a chair over, and you can sit at my desk. I think you’re a little tall for the children’s.”
He did so, and soon he was seated across from Harriet. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to learn to write.”
“Oh, this is so you can teach your friend,” she said. “This is the letter C, as you know. Try it.”
“Aren’t we going to start with the letter A?” he asked, taking the piece of chalk from her. Their fingers brushed, and he wanted to forget the chalk, forget the letters, and hold her hand again.
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