Forever Safe (Beacons of Hope) (25 page)

She sighed and stared up through the darkness at the ceiling. There was no way she’d be able to get any more sleep now. Should she just get up?

Before she could make up her mind, the door opened, and her breath caught with relief at the sight of Tom. He soundlessly closed the door behind him. Through the dark, she could see him began to unbutton his shirt. He shrugged out of first one suspender then the other so that they hung down his trousers. From the effort he made tugging out of his shirt sleeves, she guessed that his garments were wet from the rain. He tossed the shirt to the floor and reached for the clasp of his trousers.

“Tom,” she said quickly, guessing he didn’t realize she was awake, or else he wouldn’t have undressed quite so openly.

His hands stilled.

“Is everything okay?” she said, shifting the covers away and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“You should be asleep,” he whispered.

“The fog signal woke me.”

“I’m sorry. Like most wickie kids, I learned to sleep through the noise. So I forgot it would bother you.”

“I’m all right. Besides, I feel guilty sleeping when you’re out working so hard.” She stood and started to cross to him.

He didn’t move.

“Was there any more damage to the tower?” She stopped close enough so that she caught the damp, sea-tossed scent that lingered on him.

“One of the windows leaked. But we have it temporarily patched until we can caulk it.”

Back in New York she never would have guessed that Tom was so capable with tools and repair work. But here in his home environment, he’d been full of surprises. “I’m sure your dad really values all of your help.”

“That’s why this lighthouse needs an assistant keeper. It requires more maintenance, especially with the fog signal.”

“So you’re not off duty yet?”

“I came back for dry clothes. I’ll be on working in the fog house until the fog lifts. The boiler needs a hefty amount of water and coal to keep going.”

“Oh.” Disappointment weighted that tiny word. She couldn’t help it. She’d been looking forward to his return.

He was silent, and the air between them seemed hotter. A flash of lightning lit the room for a few seconds giving her a glimpse of the way that his damp undershirt clung to his chest, outlining every solid bulge of muscle.

“I had a lovely evening with your mom,” she said trying to think of something else beside the fact that he was so near.

“Thanks for helping her.”

“I love being able to do it.” She’d never thought she’d ever say such words, not when she’d always had someone at her beckoning to respond to any need or whim. She’d never had to help herself, much less anyone else.

The foghorn intruded into the peace of room again. She wished she dared to reach out and squeeze his hand, to know he still cared, to know he’d been thinking about her the same way she had him.

“I missed you tonight,” she said. “But I suppose I should let you finish changing out of your damp garments so you can return to your duties.”

“Yes.”

“Then good night,” she said, forcing herself to do what was best for him. She took a step back.

His hand closed around her wrist, preventing her from leaving. “I missed you too.” His voice was strained and filled with something she couldn’t name.

Her pulse thrummed to life. For a long moment, he kept her at arm’s length, as though waging an inner battle. Finally, he tugged her toward him so that she had no choice but to fall against his solid but damp torso.

Her breath caught as his arms slid behind her, pulling her flush and letting her feel every ridge and valley of his chest. His heartbeat was rapid and strong. Her thoughts returned to the passionate kiss he’d given her in the tower, and her blood flamed to life with the need for another.

His hand tightened at the small of her back, and the other rose into her long loose hair. “Victoria,” he murmured, nuzzling the hair near her ear.

“Hmmm,” she mumbled back, unable to think coherently.

“I lose all control when I’m with you.” His hand dug deeply into her hair. “Before walking in, I told myself not to look at you in bed. I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to resist my desire for you.”

She smiled at his confession.

His fingers wound through her long strands, and his lips found her ear. The pressure was hot, his breath ragged, and when he whispered her name again she almost swooned. His lips lingered against her ear, his kiss growing more ardent.

“Help me, Victoria,” he managed with a gasp.

For a second, she was tempted to ignore his plea and to instead kiss him back. All she had to do was guide his mouth to hers, and she would seal her relationship with him. If he kissed her here, now, in the dark of the bedroom, it would only lead to more. She sensed it in every one of his taut muscles.

But again, as before, she realized that he would only hate himself for going against his honor and principles. He wanted to do things the right way and had been trying so hard to respect her.

She could do the same for him, couldn’t she? Besides, as much as she cared about him, perhaps they did need more time before they sealed their relationship with finality.

His chest heaved against hers, and his mouth lowered to her jaw line, his irresistibly delicious kisses moving closer to her lips.

She had to move away. Now. Before it was too late for her too.

Help me, Victoria
. His plea echoed in her mind. If she truly loved him, she would help him as he’d pleaded with her to do.

With a deep breath, she pulled back and broke free of his arms. “Let’s talk for a few minutes before you have to go back out.” She was embarrassed by the breathy desire that laced each of her words.

He started to sway toward her, but she spun and forced herself to walk away from him to the sofa. Before lowering herself, she picked up the afghan he often used at night and draped it about her shoulders.

He didn’t follow her but stood where she’d left him.

For a second, she wondered if she’d done the right thing by putting distance between them. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he wouldn’t want her anymore. “I’m sorry,” she started. “I was just trying to do what you asked…”

“Thank you.” He wiped a hand across his eyes and took a backward step toward the door.

“No. Don’t go yet.” She didn’t care that her words came out rather desperate. “Can’t we talk for a few more minutes?”

“I’m not safe around you. Not here. With you in your nightgown.”

She glanced down in the darkness at her simple summer gown, sleeveless and satiny, falling all the way to the floor. It was one among many that Madame Bisseau had made for her trousseau, a more modest one that she’d grabbed in her hasty packing the night she’d left Newport. She hadn’t stopped to consider how such a gown might affect Tom.

She wrapped the afghan around her more securely. “There. Is that better?”

“No, the only thing that will make our situation better is if we end our stay.”

“Our stay?”

“Here at Race Point.” Resignation gave strength to his voice.

She shook her head. She wasn’t ready to leave. She loved being here with him, having him all to herself. If they left, he’d return to his role as her silent protector. And she’d have to return to her life in Newport and try to make sense of everything, including what to do about Nathaniel. She wasn’t ready to face any of that.

“Tomorrow I’m going to Provincetown and sending the first telegram.”

She didn’t understand what he meant by sending a telegram. But it didn’t matter. She wanted to have their fairy tale just a little longer. “Please don’t. I want to be with you here. Besides, you said we needed a month.”

“I can hardly make it through one night.” His tone was laced with frustration. “Much less finish the month.”

She’d known he would be hard on himself for crossing his self-imposed boundaries. Even so, she was sorely disappointed to think of this special time with him coming to an end. “I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted.

He didn’t reassure her, which only added to her anxiety.

“I thought we agreed that we would see where our relationship took us, that maybe we wouldn’t need to put an end to it when our time here is over.”

“Victoria.” His tone turned soft and placating. And she didn’t want that.

“There’s still so much we don’t know about each other, so much left to explore…” She sat forward on the sofa, wishing she could drag him over and force him to sit down with her. “Like the fact that I never knew you were a painter. And not just any painter, but a very talented one with such depth and realism in each picture.” She waited for him to say something, anything. But he was silent. “Why didn’t you tell me about that part of you?”

“It’s not part of me anymore.”

“Sure it is. That’s who God made you to be.”

“It was a childhood whim.”

“Those aren’t the works of a child.”

“I don’t paint anymore.” His voice was flat.

“But—”

“Never again.”

The tightness in his statement gave her pause, reminded her of his stubbornness. He wouldn’t be swayed by her arguments. At least not right now.

“Very well, we won’t talk about your paintings, but will you at least tell me more about your brother, Ike?”

“No!” The word was as frosty as the ocean in the winter.

“You didn’t mention that you had a brother,” she pressed. “How are we supposed to really get to know each other if we aren’t honest and open about our pasts?”

“Maybe my present is all I have to offer.”

“Your mom told me about how she lost her feet and how—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said sharply in a tone he’d never used with her before.

“Please, Tom. Talk to me. How can we build a relationship if we keep our feelings hidden from each other?”

“Maybe we can’t build a relationship.” Again his tone was cold.

A warning in the back of her mind told her that she should stop the conversation, but she could feel him pushing her away, and she was suddenly desperate to cling to him. “Your mom told me you didn’t want to leave Ike behind, but she wouldn’t tell me anymore than that.”

“She shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“She’s accepted what happened and found joy in living.”

“Joy in losing her son? Joy in losing her feet?” The anguish in his voice ripped at her. “You don’t know anything about loss or hardship, Victoria. So don’t preach to me.”

She didn’t realize her hands had begun to shake until she folded them in her lap. Her mind scrambled to find a response that wouldn’t anger Tom even further. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I don’t know about hardship. But I’d like to help bear your burdens. If you’ll let me.”

He stalked to dresser and opened the drawer that contained his clothes. “I’m bearing my burdens just fine by myself.”

“By running away from them?”

Through the darkness she could tell he was jerking out several items. “You would know, since you’re the queen of running away.”

The hard cutting edge in his words took her breath away. He spun away from the drawer without closing it, strode across the room, and exited without another word. She could only stare at the door and try to make sense of what had just happened between them.

She’d only wanted to talk to him, to make him change his mind about leaving Race Point. But she’d had to ruin it all by digging into his past pains too deeply, by pushing him to talk about things before he was ready. Her chest ached and her throat burned with the need to cry. But she swallowed hard, willing herself to remain calm.

She wouldn’t let a little thing like an argument get in the way of something beautiful that was growing between them. Maybe she’d run from relationships in the past. But she wasn’t running this time. Not now. Not ever again.

“F
ive telegrams and one letter.” From the center of his cutter, Jimmy held out the bundle to Tom. Even though the boat swayed with the force of the high waves, Jimmy didn’t falter, as comfortable and stable in his cutter as on land.

From the dock, Tom took the stack of correspondence and sifted through them. One telegram each from Nathaniel, Henry Cole, Mrs. Cole, Victoria’s friend Theresa, and even one from Mrs. Winthrop, Nathaniel’s mother. The letter was from Arch.

“The big bald guy who wrote the letter said not to tell anyone except you that he’s in Provincetown.”

Tom nodded. Four days had passed since he’d sailed to Provincetown and posted the telegram. The slew of responses wasn’t unexpected. Now that he’d made Victoria’s hiding spot public, he figured he had one, maybe two days left before her perpetrator arrived. At least, he hoped the news of her location would bait the attacker to come and get her. And this time, he’d be ready, especially because Arch was helping him.

With Arch positioned in Provincetown, Tom hoped he’d have some advance warning if the man who’d attacked Arch and tried to kidnap Victoria made an appearance. Although communication between Race Point and Provincetown was slow, Arch had a horse ready to ride out to the lighthouse when needed. If Arch rode fast enough, he’d be able to arrive before an attacker could sail over.