Tides of Passion (11 page)

"Run on up there like a good little girl," he said after a moment, his tone dark. "Go on, they're expecting you."

She nodded but didn't move, everything frozen except her fingertips, which tingled, urging her to use them for something wicked. One, the index finger of her left hand, had inadvertently worked its way through the open neck of his shirt and encountered bare skin. Savannah wiggled it, brushing a patch of hair.

"Go on," he repeated, giving her a weak nudge, his guarded expression turning hot.

Her heart skipped a beat as their gazes held, the buttons of his shirt pressing into her stomach.

His eyes were fascinating, effortlessly contradicting his blasé style, brimming with intelligence and a promise that he would not be easy to fool.

Never mind his good looks; they overshadowed even the glorious beauty of the island.

"This is a good test for both of us, and we're failing." Forcing her from him, he swiveled around, reaching into the boat and coming out with a wicker basket.

She took a stumbling step back, struggling for composure she didn't possess at the moment. "Fail? I never fail at anything."

Zach leaned against the boat to steady himself. The fingers wrapped around the handle of his dead wife's basket shook. A family outing was no place to behave like a starving man suddenly presented with a king's feast.

And, the boundaries were clear-cut.

He closed his eyes, drew a broad breath of air, and blessed heck, smelled
her
scent on the wind. Turning, he grasped her elbow and hauled her to shore. "Do you want to be some sideshow for the entertainment of the folks in this town? They'll accommodate you. We're bored quite often around here, as you can probably tell. A show would be good for all, except the next day they won't speak when they pass you on the street. Not all folks, granted, but some."

"You think the censure of small-minded people worries me? I would have renounced the cause the first week if that were the case, Constable. You might not realize it, but I'm made of much sturdier fabric."

"Yeah, yeah, why did I know you'd spout some gibberish like that?" He let her go the second they hit sand, jerking his hand away so quickly he elbowed himself in the stomach. "Fine, Miss Independent. Be true to yourself. Live free and well. But what's that hardheadedness going to do for Ellie's school? You reckon riling every old bitty within five miles of Pilot Isle is going to help you get their granddaughters into typewriter class? This ain't New York, Irish, where scandal is as common as a stray dog."

She paused in the process of jerking off her boot. Clearly, this was a new thought.

"I'm sure Ellie would appreciate you driving her little school, already a pitiful business prospect, straight to hell in a basket like the one I'm holding."

She tilted her head to see him past her bonnet's brim. "Are you trying to trick me?"

"Trick you into what?" He shoved the basket into her hands and waded back into the water. Bracing the lead rope around his shoulder and elbow, and with the help of an incoming wave, he hauled the skiff to shore. "I want you and you know it. Whether I like it or not, and I'm not sure I do, there it is."

"You want honestly, Constable?" A sodden blue boot hit the sand near his feet. Another bounced off his knee. At least her aim was poor. "I don't know
how
to play the demure, genteel belle. My father made a wise investment in 1883 that took me from an impoverished childhood in Brooklyn to the wealth of city living. It was enough to learn which fork was appropriate for salad and how to address the household staff without being too familiar, much less figure out how to charm and beguile."

Wedging the hull in good in case the tide rolled in sooner than expected, Zach turned to find her standing with a closed fist propped on each slim hip, her expression defensive and defiant. Maybe it was because he was a father that he imagined he could see a crack in Savannah Connor's casing. Rory often threw fits, then cried like a baby from all the effort. Or maybe it was simply her toes wiggling in time to the angry thoughts in her head.

Whatever it was, she looked far younger than her years standing there on a dazzling sunlit beach, the wind tossing her hair into her face and pinking her lovely cheeks.

A part of his heart, a part he didn't have to give, threatened to leave him. He held onto it with both hands. "I can help you there. In Pilot Isle, it won't be so very hard to charm and beguile. Easier than it is in New York, anyway." Plucking her tiny boots from the sand, he shook them out and headed up the beach. After a moment, he heard her follow, the basket whacking her leg with each lengthy step.

"How?" she asked, puffing as she caught up to him.

He took the basket from her without breaking stride. "Simple. One, limit your battles."

"Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you? I
knew
this was a ploy to make your life easier."

Stepping in front of her, he cupped her chin in his palm, tilting her head so he could see inside that ridiculous floppy brim. "Do you want to explore this attraction between us?"

When she remained silent, he probed, "Do you?"

She nodded, bonnet ribbons slapping her jaw. Her lids lowered over her wide green eyes.

"Then consider that a battle, Irish. Chose to fight it. And because of who I am in this town, you may have to forgo another one because of that choice. Like, say, letting what we're doing be out in the open because you don't care to hide or change or be accepted. Do you understand? You asked me to take something for myself, and I'm going to do it. I should ask the same of you. It may have a price, though."

"How does"—she licked her bottom lip, sending his blood soaring—"that help me fit in?" A frown tugged at her mouth. "After all, I don't want to wreck Elle's school."

Wiping away a drop of water from her cheek, he released her before he embarrassed himself and did what he was trying to tell her not to do. "You can't fix everything that's wrong with the world. That's wrong in Pilot Isle. And if some things are more important, you have to make a decision which to go with." He nailed her with a pointed look. "For instance, my number two suggestion is to court the mamas and grandmamas in town if you want their girls in your classes. Forget the men. Upset a wife, and the husband gets burnt dinners for two nights in a row and comes crawling to the jail blubbering like a babe. The angle is to court the women. You have to make friends, be one
of
them. Not an enemy.
Not
a leader. Not all the time, you see? To do that, you'll have to attend some teas, a quilting bee or two—"

"Quilting!"

He laughed and stepped over a piece of driftwood, looking back to catch her if she stumbled. He would have offered his arm, but he couldn't risk touching her again. "Sorry but that's the agenda. Then, when you have some nagging problem you want to rectify, say, the need for more gas lamps along Main Street, you can rally the troops and they'll fall in behind you like loyal soldiers. If the cause is a useful one, you might even find help from the men in town."

She hummed a vague reply.

Zach paused as they reached a break in the dunes, dabbing at a bead of sweat trailing down his neck. The sound of laughter drifted by. He cocked his head; Rory was singing some song about apples and butterflies. Like it did at the strangest times with his boy, love pierced his heart like an arrow.

"
Does
Main Street lack sufficient lighting?"

It was with all his might that he kept a straight face. "Not nearly enough for women to travel safely after dark."

She glanced away, her bonnet flapping in the breeze. "I suppose I could work on that
and
the oyster factory improvements while teaching classes. Then move on to other issues once those are resolved. Not to forget, I also have articles to pen for a journal in New York. And of course, I need to establish a list of activities for this courting business." She grimaced. "A quilting bee and a tea should be a satisfactory start, right?"

"Yes, it would be. The church has a group who meet every Tuesday afternoon at Christabel's restaurant. That's the most orderly gathering of ladies that I know of. Christa's here today and can tell you all about it."

"Church. My, well, it's been a long time since I've been to church. Most of the ministers in New York preferred I didn't attend."

"That notorious, huh?"

Her gaze found his, the first direct address she had given him since she climbed out of the skiff and into his arms. "I'm afraid so."

"Might be better to keep that story under your fancy hat. And your arrest record."

She twisted her fingers before her lips with a wry smile.

"Yeah. And anything else... unseemly."

Untying the bonnet ribbons, she tugged the hat off with a sigh of pleasure. "I didn't have time for unseemly activities." Snatching her boots from his hand, she brushed aside a bunch of sea oats and threw a teasing glance over her shoulder. "But I plan to change that, Constable Garrett.
Soon
."

That said, she trotted off toward the group while he stood there in the sun trying to restart his heart.

* * *

Her stomach full of fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and Zach's surprisingly tasty coleslaw, Savannah rested in the shade of a large umbrella the likes of which she'd never seen, watching the Garrett clan cavort in the waves. Zach had Rory perched atop his shoulders and was dancing around in waist-deep water, trying to stay out of reach of Caleb, Noah, and Elle. It looked to be an ocean version of tag.

"Ever seen a finer bunch of men in your life?"

Savannah shifted on the blanket to make room for Caroline Bartram. Tall and attractive and dressed in a vivid blue skirt and checkered blouse, she'd been introduced to Savannah as an old friend of Noah's who had recently moved to Pilot Isle with her son. The woman Elle had told her to ask for advice.
The woman who knew men
.

"Where is Justin? Can he swim?" Savannah asked, hoping Justin was indeed Caroline's son's name.
That
introduction had occurred moments after Zach removed his shirt for his first swim of the day, and her mind had wandered.

"That boy can swim like a fish. He's under the tent back behind the dunes, fast asleep. When his belly is full, he needs a nap or he's liable to snap your head off. Grouchy, that's the truth. Rory's a more even-tempered sort, like his father."

Savannah smiled, thinking she liked Zach better when his temper rang hot. "I'm sure Justin's father was grouchy, too."

Caroline slapped at a fly buzzing in her face. "Could be true, yes. I have it down to either the congressman who shall remain nameless or Admiral Bastion, who only came into Chicago, oh, four times a year back then. He's in France for good, so no harm telling." Leaning back on her elbows, she sighed in contentment. "Both of them
were
testy after eating, now that I think of it."

Savannah swallowed the wrong way and choked, coughing until her lungs burned.

"Gracious, seeing as how you're with Zach and all, I thought you knew about me." Caroline slapped Savannah's back harder than she probably had to, sending her scooting forward on the blanket.

"I'm... okay." She held up a hand, gasping for air. "And I'm not
with
—"

"Darling, don't bother saying you're not with the Constable. Maybe you're not yet, but you will be. The air between the two of you is warmer than this godforsaken sun." She plucked her blouse from her chest and flapped it. "Why I wanted to move to the South, I'll never know."

"I'm
not
with him," Savannah forced between stiff lips. Elle had been pestering her all day, and if she'd kept quiet then, she certainly could now.

Caroline laughed, a deep, knowing sound that made Savannah feel her denial had been a waste of breath. "Don't mistake me, Miss Connor. Keeping your business with Zach private is a smart idea. Anything else would damage you for sure. Same for me. I was long gone in Chicago, so I came here to make a new start with my son. What I just told you about my boy's fathers is between me and my adopted family, the Garretts. I figured you knew, or I never would have said it so brash-like."

Just then, to hammer the nail in, Zach turned and seeing her watching him, winked.

Caroline dissolved into quiet laughter at her side.

"It isn't like that." When Caroline said nothing and continued to laugh, she continued, "Really."

"What is
it
like these days? Hiding away in this town, I'm out of touch."

Savannah copied Caroline's casual stance and settled back on her elbows. Zach flipped Rory into the water and dove in behind him. He came up gasping, his hair slick and shockingly black against his flushed cheeks. Choosing not to answer the question but rather present a reason for considering
it
, she said, "I like how soundly he's put together. The rugged way he walks, the solid way he stands, like he's impenetrable. I've never seen, I mean, he has genuine muscle, not padded bulk that comes off with his jacket."

"Oh, honey, you're talking about city men. Men in Pilot Isle use their bodies in their work. There isn't any choice. Zach, for instance. A ship goes down on the shoals, he and his men are the ones in charge of saving them. That takes courage
and
strength." Caroline sighed dreamily. "And isn't that a nice combination to look upon?"

Savannah tried to visualize Zach leading a group of men on a stormy sea, gigantic waves and bolts of lighting surrounding them. It was easy to do. He genuinely cared for people, and she couldn't imagine him being frightened at trying to help them. Across the distance, she watched his lips work into a smile as he hugged Rory to him, his eyes lighting up as the boy hugged him back. "He's a wonderful father."

"If you want children, you couldn't find a better daddy for them."

Keeping Zach in sight, she shook her head. "I'm dreadful around children. They don't like me." She shrugged. "Not every woman would make a good mother, Miss Bartram."