Love Unexpected (25 page)

P
atrick stood on the dock next to the sheriff, who had begun to fidget with his badge. Evening was upon them now. While the sun was still visible in the western sky, the woodland shadows were lengthening along the shore. They needed to put out if they hoped to reach Fremont before nightfall.

He was thankful the sheriff had been decent enough to allow him to search for his missing son. Now the little boy hopped up and down between him and Emma, holding each of their hands.

“One, two, three, Mamma,” Josiah said with a grin.

Emma smiled down at the boy, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. “One, two, three,” she said, and then she lifted him and swung him back and forth in a game she'd played with him since they'd walked back to the harbor.

The shore was crowded with the fishermen who'd returned in their rigs from their day's catch. They were busy unloading wooden crates of fish and laying out their nets and sails. The usual good-natured teasing and laughter that accompanied their
return was absent. Instead, the shore was eerily quiet, except for Josiah's happy chatter.

Farther up the beach, Fred Burnham stood near his sons and wife. Even Ryan had managed to drag himself out of bed and was propped against a barrel, his face pinched with pain. Emma's brother had protested loudly to the sheriff, vouching for Patrick's innocence and demanding his release. But it hadn't made any difference.

Patrick nodded at Ryan, grateful for his support. Across the distance they shared a long look. He could read the assurance in Ryan's eyes, the message that he would do all he could to take care of Emma and Josiah.

That was all Patrick needed to know.

The sheriff cleared his throat. They'd just finished reloading Mitch and his men into the boats, having allowed them to rest on shore during the search for Josiah.

He could feel Mitch's eyes on him, glaring at him. Patrick figured the only thing keeping the man from killing him had been the rope binding his hands behind his back. He wasn't sure what bothered Mitch more, that Patrick allowed the fishermen to catch him or that he'd turned down the offer of fame and fortune. Either way, Mitch wasn't likely to ever forgive him.

Patrick crouched down next to Josiah. He dreaded having to say good-bye to his son and Emma. Even if she'd hurt him, he still hated the idea that this might be the last time he'd see her. He had no idea what awaited him once he reached Fremont. Of course, he'd have to sit in a jail cell for a while. Beyond that, he didn't know what the judge would rule once his case was heard. If the judge set him free, he couldn't return to the Presque Isle Lighthouse. He'd have to disappear someplace where no one knew about his previous life. He'd have to start over. Again.

“This is it, lad.” Patrick placed a quick kiss on the boy's forehead. “Time for me to go.”

Patrick was unprepared for the speed and force with which Josiah threw himself against him. The boy's tiny arms wound tightly around his daddy's neck.

Patrick wrapped the boy into a hug. “Good-bye, Josiah. I love you. Don't ever forget that.”

Emma laid a loving hand on Josiah's head.

Patrick kissed the boy one last time, knowing he had to break away and leave now, even though it was tearing his heart in two. He started to rise, but Josiah's grip around his neck tightened.

“Don't leave me, Daddy!”

“I told you, I've got to go now,” Patrick said gently. He began prying the boy loose.

Josiah's fingers dug into his shoulder, and he pressed his trembling body against Patrick. “Don't go!” he cried.

Patrick glanced at Emma, hoping she'd see his plea for help, that she'd take the boy and comfort him before Patrick lost all self-control and started sobbing.

Emma's cheeks were already wet. She nodded at Patrick with understanding mixing with sadness in her beautiful brown eyes. He'd seen an apology there earlier, but it wasn't enough to ease the ache inside.

“Come to Mamma, little love.” She reached for the boy, grasping him and attempting to pry him loose. But his cries turned into screams.

Patrick was helpless to do anything but peel Josiah from his body and go with the sheriff. He got one arm loose and then the other and handed him to Emma.

“Don't leave me, Daddy! Don't leave me!”

He jumped into the boat, needing to put as much distance between himself and Josiah as he could.

“Daddy!” Josiah struggled against Emma, craning his neck, squirming in her arms to get down.

Emma couldn't hold the boy. His desperation was too great. He scrambled down from her hold and stood at the edge of the dock, teetering too near the water. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held out his arms toward Patrick. Emma hurried forward and gripped the back of Josiah's shirt to keep him from falling into the lake.

“I love you, Daddy!”

“Stop!” shouted Mitch, who was sitting behind Patrick in the boat. “I can't stand any more of this. Just stop.”

The shout startled Josiah enough that Emma was able to kneel down next to him and draw him into her embrace, away from the edge of the dock.

Patrick hung his head. He couldn't bear to look at his wife and child a moment longer. He wanted the sheriff to get in so they could be on their way, so he could put an end to this ongoing torment.

The boat swayed as Mitch rose to his feet. Before Mitch could steady himself, the sheriff pulled out his pistol.

“Take it easy now, Sheriff,” Mitch said. “I ain't gonna try anything funny. I've got my hands and feet chained together. If I try to jump, I'll get a one-way ticket to the bottom of the lake.”

“Then sit back down, son. Nice and easy.”

“First I gotta come clean.” Mitch stared at Josiah, who had his face buried into Emma's shoulder and was sobbing inconsolably. “I might be a terrible man, but I can't sit here and let that little boy be ripped away from the only dad he's ever known.”

“You don't have a say in the matter,” the sheriff said. “So sit down and be quiet.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Mitch said. “I may have been partners with Patrick Garraty at one time, but I ain't seen him or talked to him in all these years.”

The sheriff straightened. Mr. Yates, who'd been standing near the Burnhams, pushed his hat up.

“You can ask every single one of my mates,” Mitch continued, raising his voice. “We didn't even know Garraty was in these parts until a few weeks ago.”

“Then why did he give you shelter?” the sheriff asked.

“'Cause he's a good man. He could have left me on the beach to die. Probably what he should have done. But Garraty saved my life and tried to get me to change my ways.”

“That's the honest truth, Sheriff,” Emma said over Josiah's muffled sobs.

“Don't listen to her,” Bertie cut in. “She's unreliable. Lost her own child today. She's not fit to raise the boy.”

Emma's expression was stricken, as though Bertie had run up and stabbed her in the back.

Anger pummeled Patrick's gut. He wouldn't let Bertie talk about Emma that way. He needed to put an end to Bertie's hurtful words once and for all. But before he could say anything, Mitch spoke again.

“Patrick Garraty didn't have anything to do with the thieving here last night. He was trying to stop us, even if it meant he got himself killed in the fight.”

Patrick sat up in surprise. Why was Mitch telling the truth about what had happened?

“He didn't want nothin' to do with his old ways,” Mitch said, “even though I tried my hardest to get him to come along with us.”

“Why you sharing all this now?” the sheriff asked, lowering his pistol. “Why didn't you tell us the truth earlier when we were questioning you?”

Mitch shrugged. “Guess I wanted to make Garraty suffer for letting me get caught, thought he deserved it for turning his back on me.” He looked back at Josiah. “But when I saw his boy crying out like that, it broke me down. I realized there's no reason the boy should lose his father, not when too many other boys already have.”

Patrick knew that Mitch was referring to his own childhood, to the day he'd awoken alone, not knowing where his dad had gone. The man hadn't even said good-bye, probably figuring that Mitch was old enough to fend for himself. But if not for Patrick's family and their friendship, Mitch might have died.

“Let him go, Sheriff,” Mitch said. “Let him stay with his boy and wife.”

The sheriff stared hard at Mitch, as though attempting to decide on the truth. And for the first time since Patrick had been arrested, he allowed himself a sliver of hope.

“What about the murder charge and my dead cousin,” Bertie said. “You can't just set a murderer free.”

“I may have roughened up a woman once,” Patrick said, sick to his stomach at the admission. Yet he couldn't stay silent any longer. If Mitch had spoken up, so could he. “But I never, ever hurt Delia. Never.”

“You done it once,” said Bertie. “Who's to say you can't do it again.”

“Might as well come clean with something else,” Mitch said. “Hook—I mean, Garraty—never beat up that woman. He was too good for that kind of thing. Wouldn't even lay a finger on a girl to hurt her. Guess he already had the makings of Saint Patty even back then.”

Patrick's head snapped to Mitch. “What?”

“I hit her, took advantage of her,” Mitch said, refusing to look at Patrick directly. “I was so ashamed, I thought if I put her in your bed, I'd feel better about myself and what I did.”

Relief swept over Patrick, and he sank to his knees. He'd lived with the guilt of that crime for so long and he'd hated himself for it. But he hadn't done it after all. He bowed his head and fought back a wave of emotion. All these years he'd believed himself capable of violating and hurting a woman. Even though he'd been too drunk to remember much of what happened that night, he'd accepted responsibility for his actions. Later, he'd tried to locate the woman so he could apologize and make amends, but her friends told him she'd passed away.

“I'm sorry, Patrick.”

He lifted his head in time to see Mitch say the words. For an instant he caught sight of the boy he'd once known, who'd never known a father's love. And he could only pray that maybe one day, Mitch would come to know the Heavenly Father, the one who would never leave or abandon him.

The sheriff looked at Mr. Yates, who nodded. Then the lawman surveyed the fishermen lining the docks and shore, taking in their looks of encouragement and relief. He turned and gave Patrick the briefest of nods.

That was all the permission Patrick needed. He leaped out of the boat and onto the dock. He fell to his knees in front of Emma and Josiah and gathered them into his embrace. They pressed against him. Emma cried silently, her body shuddering.

Josiah's sobs tapered into hiccups, and after a moment the boy pulled back his splotchy face and glanced between Patrick and Emma.

“Daddy, Mamma.”

“Aye, little love,” Emma whispered, kissing his head.

“Daddy stay?”

Patrick nodded and prayed the sheriff and Mr. Yates were serious about releasing him.

“Mamma stay?” Josiah asked, reaching his chubby hand into Emma's hair. He stuck the thumb of his other hand into his mouth and began sucking noisily.

Emma cupped Josiah's cheek. “I'm here.”
For now
. She hadn't spoken the words, but they hung in the air anyway. She probably didn't have the heart to tell Josiah she would be leaving soon, most likely after Ryan regained his strength. But Patrick knew that was what she meant.

Her answer seemed to satisfy Josiah, though it left Patrick feeling hollow inside.

E
mma hugged Josiah against her on the bench of the rowboat. His babble was like a sweet but sad melody. Patrick had rowed silently, occasionally answering one of Josiah's questions. But he had, like her, seemed content to let Josiah do all the talking.

After Patrick's release, Josiah hadn't wanted to let go of either one of them. Even when Patrick had needed to talk with Mr. Yates, Josiah insisted on holding both her and Patrick's hands. Mr. Yates had finally told Patrick to head back to the lighthouse, that he would row out tomorrow so they could talk privately about the future and Mr. Yates could carry out his inspection.

From the nature of the conversation, Emma was fairly certain Mr. Yates was inclined to let Patrick remain head keeper of the Presque Isle Light. But they wouldn't know for sure until Patrick had the chance to talk with him further.

“Me see tower!” Josiah clapped his hands. His eyes were round with excitement, his freckled face smudged with dried tears and dirt. Above the tree line, the tower's windows reflected the oranges and pinks of the setting sun.

“Aye, little love.” Emma forced a smile and tried not to think about the first time she'd seen the tower, which was on her wedding day. She'd been filled with such hope then—for the future and the prospect of having a home to call her own, including a husband and a child.

She'd lost everything all too quickly. And the loss was almost unbearable.

As Patrick steered the cutter alongside the dock, her chest ached with the knowledge that this wasn't her home anymore, that this time she was only a guest.

Patrick secured the boat and hopped out. He reached for Josiah, lifting him high in the air and earning a squeal of delight before setting the boy on the dock. Then he turned back to Emma and extended a hand to her.

His expression was unreadable. She was already half out, her grain sack with all her possessions slung over her shoulder. She placed her hand into his, and when his fingers closed around hers, the strength and warmth of his grip made her realize she would miss his touch.

He helped her onto the dock but didn't immediately release her hand.

“Thank you for coming back,” he said softly.

Josiah was already skipping toward the shore. She swallowed the lump clogging her throat. “I couldn't leave him. Not tonight.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I'll stay until Ryan's able to travel,” she offered.

He nodded, but didn't say anything more.

As she started after the little boy, she wondered if Patrick would insist on her taking Josiah again, or if he'd realized that Josiah needed him, was in fact hopelessly lost without him.

“Boat, Daddy!” Josiah pointed toward the northeast.

Emma turned and stared into the distance.

Sure enough, a rowboat bobbed up and down to the rhythm of the waves. With each passing second it drew closer. Emma shielded her eyes and squinted and was able to make out a bushy white beard of a skinny man dressed in a dark suit. Next to him sat a woman. Two other men were manning the oars, one in the bow and one in the stern.

“Is it Holy Bill?” Emma asked, moving next to Josiah and grasping his hand.

Patrick nodded. He watched the boat, the muscles in his jaw working up and down.

Holy Bill caught sight of them and raised his hand in a wave.

Patrick waved back, yet he didn't look at all happy to see the reverend.

Or maybe it was the woman?

Emma studied the woman, and when the boat was finally close enough for Emma to make out the woman's features, she gave a soft gasp and took a step back.

It was the same woman she'd seen with Patrick on the dock, the woman he'd been embracing. She wore the same low-cut gown, except by the light of day Emma could see it was even more revealing. Her head was covered with a wide-brimmed cap adorned with ribbons that flapped in the wind.

The woman was beautiful and alluring. The same jealousy Emma felt the previous night came rushing back, and she had to get away. She couldn't watch Patrick with her again.

“Come with Mamma, Josiah,” she said, spinning away from the approaching boat.

“Please don't leave, Emma.” Patrick's fingers closed about her arm. His voice had a note of desperation to it that halted her.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself.

“It's time you knew everything about me.”

She hesitated.

“Please stay,” he pleaded.

She nodded. The right thing to do was talk to Patrick. And she'd promised Ryan she would. Slowly she turned back until she was facing the boat.

“Hello,” Holy Bill called across the span of water.

“Hello!” Josiah yelled back.

Emma couldn't move. Patrick was frozen to his spot too, his fingers burning into her arm, as if he were afraid she'd bolt at any second.

When the boat finally pulled alongside the dock, Patrick stepped toward it, reluctantly letting go of her.

“I came as soon as I got the news,” said Holy Bill as Patrick assisted him onto the dock. “But it looks as if God got here plenty ahead of me and already worked things out.”

“That He did,” Patrick replied.

Holy Bill's bushy brows rose, the concern in his eyes touching Patrick's face before moving on to Emma and then Josiah.

Patrick had already turned to the woman, who'd stood and was waiting for him with a smile. “And here I thought this time I'd get to race in and rescue you, just like you've rescued me so many times.”

With a strained smile, Patrick lifted the woman out of the boat and placed her gently on the dock. He started to let go of her and back away, but she launched herself toward him so that he had no choice but to catch her in a hug.

“I was so worried!” she cried, wrapping her arms around him. “As much as I like Mitch, I couldn't stand to think that you'd have to be locked up just like him.”

Once again, envy gnawed at Emma. If only it had been that easy for her to fling herself into Patrick's arms. Would he have loved her then?

“Sophie was the one to alert me,” Holy Bill said, stepping over to Josiah and patting the boy on the head.

“I had Mitch's crew take me over to Rogers City,” Sophie said. “I didn't rest until I found Holy Bill. I figured if anyone could vouch for your innocence, Holy Bill could.”

Patrick disentangled himself from Sophie and took a step back. He nodded at the two men still in the rowboat. They returned Patrick's nod while glancing around nervously.

“You rowed down from Rogers City?” Patrick asked.

“No, silly!” Sophie punched his arm with a grin that was oddly familiar. “The
Mad
Maiden
is out north of the light. Not too far away.”

Emma guessed the
Mad Maiden
to be Mitch's steamboat. She had no doubt they were staying well out of the way of Presque Isle Harbor and the sheriff.

“Even if you didn't need me to set things straight around here,” Holy Bill said, taking hold of Josiah's hand, “I told Sophie I wanted her to come ashore with me. I think it's time Emma and Sophie meet, don't you?”

Josiah had finally noticed the strange woman. He popped his thumb into his mouth and stared at Sophie, at her shimmering gown that was the color of a sunset.

For the first time, Sophie looked at Josiah, and pain flashed in her eyes. She quickly shifted her attention back to Patrick and smiled—too brightly. “Yes. I want to meet this new wife you've been raving about.”

Patrick gave the reverend a pointed look. “Will you take Josiah up to the house, please?”

Emma wanted to shout out that
she
would take Josiah to the house. But while part of her dreaded hearing what Patrick had to say about this woman, another part wanted to know the truth once and for all, no matter how much it hurt.

Holy Bill and Josiah started toward the path that led to the house. “Josiah and I are hungry. We'll go see if we can find something to eat, won't we, sonny?”

Josiah nodded reluctantly, his thumb still in his mouth. It took a moment of convincing before Josiah finally left with Holy Bill down the rocky path. Even then, he kept glancing over his shoulder as if he were afraid his daddy would disappear again.

Once they were gone, Sophie's shoulders relaxed and she let out a sigh. “I hate seeing him.”

Patrick didn't say anything. It looked as though he didn't quite know how to respond.

Sophie shrugged, reached over and took Patrick's arm. “Come on, Patrick. I know I embarrass you half to death, but you can't hide me from your wife forever.”

Emma's mouth went dry. She tried to smile, but her lips refused to cooperate.

“Emma,” Patrick said, “this is Sophie, the woman you saw me with the other night.”

Sophie tipped up the brim of her hat, and for the first time Emma saw her eyes—green with a tint of brown. She had a pretty face, thin and delicate, with a smattering of freckles across her nose.

Emma could see why Patrick loved her. She was indeed beautiful.

Sophie studied her face too, her eyes bright and filled with mischief. “No wonder you picked her,” she said, punching Patrick in the arm again. “She's absolutely stunning.”

Emma glanced around to see who they were talking about. Surely not her. She was far from
stunning
.

Sophie smiled at Emma, a genuine smile, devoid of any jealousy or malice. “Yes, she's perfect for you.”

“I agree.” Patrick regarded her with such keen longing, it took Emma's breath away.

Sophie giggled. “And you're in love. I can tell.”

Patrick's face turned red, which made Emma's heart race. He didn't acknowledge Sophie's statement, but neither did he deny it.

Was it possible that he might care for her? Even after all that had happened? Even after the way she'd hurt him? A thin beam of light broke through the grayness hovering about her soul.

Sophie reached for the enormous bow tied under her chin. She tugged the ribbon loose and lifted the hat from her head.

Emma stared in fascination at the mound of curls the hat had mostly hidden. Bright red curls that flamed the same shade as her gown. Without the cap, the fading sunlight spotlighted the woman. She was exquisitely striking, and Emma couldn't help feeling again that there was something familiar about her.

The red hair, the light-green eyes . . . they were the same as Josiah's. If she didn't know better, she'd almost believe Josiah was related to this woman, that perhaps she was even his mother.

Emma pressed a hand to her chest.

Patrick had been watching her as if gauging her reaction. “Emma,” he said in a low voice, “Sophie is Josiah's real mother.”

Sophie's smile faded, and she fidgeted with the brim of her hat. “Not anymore.”

“I see,” Emma managed to say between dry lips.

“I won't ever be his mother. I can't.” Sophie's eyes glistened. “I refuse to drag him around in the kind of life I have.”

Emma couldn't resist looking again at the flesh peeking out of her tight bodice. So she
was
a loose woman.

“I asked Patrick to raise the boy,” Sophie said. “I figured if anyone could give Josiah a good life, it would be him.”

“You were right,” Emma said with a budding admiration for Sophie and the hard choice she'd made. “He's the best daddy in the world.”

Sophie smiled sadly and reached for Patrick's hand. “He was a good daddy to me too.”

Patrick squeezed Sophie's hand. “I could have done so much better.”

“You did the best you could for a little boy.” Sophie stretched on her tiptoes and planted a kiss against Patrick's cheek. “A girl couldn't ask for a better brother than you.”

“Brother?” Emma glanced at Sophie, then Patrick.

“Yes, Patrick's my brother,” Sophie said. “Didn't he tell you?”

Emma shook her head. “I thought Patrick was Josiah's real daddy.”

Sophie socked Patrick in the arm hard enough to make him flinch. “You didn't tell her that you're Josiah's uncle?”

Patrick's expression was tight. “And how was I supposed to tell her that?”

“I know it's embarrassing to admit you have a whore for a sister,” Sophie said.

Patrick flinched, and Emma ducked her head in mortification.

“And I know you don't want anyone to know about me. But you can't hide me away forever.”

“You know I don't want you living like you do,” Patrick said. “I beg you every time I see you to give it up and come live with me. If God can give me a new start in life, I know He can do the same for you too.”

Emma scrambled to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Was this the woman Patrick went to visit on occasion? Had it been Sophie's perfume she'd smelled on Patrick's coat? She wasn't sure whether to feel relief for this explanation of the other woman in Patrick's life or whether to feel stupid for thinking the worst of him.

“After Sophie brought me Josiah,” he continued to explain, “we both agreed it would be better for the boy to think I'm his real dad.”

“I don't want Josiah to know who I am,” Sophie said, her voice strained. “It's much too hard to see him.”

Emma could hear what Sophie
wasn't
saying. She loved the boy too much to drag him into her life. And it was too painful to see the boy and know she couldn't have him.

Sophie grabbed Emma's hands. Her fingers were cold and her grip desperate. “Please be a good mother to him.” Tears brimmed in her pretty eyes, fell over and splashed down her cheeks.

Emma's throat squeezed. What could she say when she would soon be leaving? She certainly couldn't lie to Sophie. She looked at Patrick, silently begging for his help.

He nodded his understanding and said, “Emma is a wonderful mamma.” He reached for Sophie, extricating her from Emma and pulling her into an embrace. “Josiah loves her very much.”