Tides of Passion (32 page)

Her head disappeared. "I think I'll hide as you chose to last night," she said calmly, clearly.

"Fine, Miss Connor. Sit up there and stew all day for all I care."

"Mrs. Garrett, you bloody oaf," she yelled. One of her boots flew out, whacking him in the shoulder.

He snatched it from the ground and stalked inside the house, his frown daring anyone to ask why he held his wife's boot with no wife in sight.

* * *

Watching the Garrett men race around the back yard in a raucous game of tag eased Savannah's anger in slow but sure degrees. The hesitant glances tossed her way by all of them with the exception of Rory, who remained blissfully unaware of the strife between his father and his new stepmother, helped, too. They had no idea if she would remain calm or explode like a firecracker.

She hadn't decided that for herself yet, so she couldn't possibly tell
them
.

They spun and laughed, knocking each other down; tripping and other underhanded tricks were apparently allowed. Savannah sighed. Zach had a grass stain on his shirt and a piece of pine straw in his hair; Rory a rip in his britches and smudges of dirt on his face. Caleb was even worse for wear.

In contrast, Noah looked squeaky clean, hardly a Garrett—a state Elle claimed he upheld to an irritating degree.

Never having been a part of a demonstrative family, Savannah felt like an interloper, once again an outsider with her nose pressed to the glass. Sitting on the edge of the porch—she had decided to come down from the tree house after the scent of bacon and eggs drifted in—she swung her legs in time to a scratchy tune blaring from the phonograph in the parlor, a wedding gift from Caroline.

She wished she fit in better than she did.

Shooing a bee away from her face, she recalled picturing married life as restrictive and encumbering, like a tight corset squeezing your innards until you couldn't breath. Yet she didn't feel the least constricted sitting there, in a broad band of sunlight, a strong sea breeze lifting her hair from her brow, the sounds of a friendly family scuffle ringing in her ears.

She wasn't certain she felt confident enough about her future with Zach to define this warm feeling as contentment.

Lifting a writing pad to her lap and using the lovely fountain pen Zach had given her, she outlined a resolution she planned to present next week to the town council. They needed additional streetlamps, and to usher Pilot Isle into the modern age, she had contacted the closest electric company about the town's options. Having no idea what funds might be available, she had drawn up a modest plan to erect eight poles and wire lamps atop them, then utilize them from sunset to midnight on moonless nights only.

Rather reasonable, at that.

Watching Zach tumble to the ground with Rory clinging to his neck like an impish monkey, Savannah wondered if the town constable would support her resolution. She drew a circle on the paper and a box around it. How could she sway him if he did not seem amenable?

As if he felt her deliberation, he glanced up, his eyes falling to his gift clutched in her hand. Smiling shyly, he lifted Rory from the grass, turning before she could snag his gaze.

She wondered again about this extraordinary lifelong contract she had entered into. And the curious way it had altered Zach's behavior. Overbearing as a mother hen, he had conspiciously placed her under his wing with his other chicks, using every protective instinct he possessed to gather her close. It was by turns insulting
and
enormously heartwarming. Without doubt, she betrayed her gender, and the causes she had fought so valiantly for, by allowing herself to even acknowledge that she could be pleased by such male authority.

Or, perhaps her new husband's stance had more to do with the baby growing inside her than his feelings for
her
.

Unconsciously bringing her hand to her still-flat tummy, she marveled at the changes in her life. Why, she had not seen an automobile in two months, smelled the chemical stink of gasoline, or heard the chugging clink and clap of a streetcar rumbling down a busy avenue. Fizzy cola drinks were scarce in Pilot Isle, as were milk chocolate bars. Heavens, most of her shopping would now be done using a Sears, Roebuck and Company catalog.

Her social calendar, however, was as full as it had ever been. She had accepted an invitation to a candy pull next week, an event she had no idea how to prepare for or exactly what it
was
. A church bake sale followed during the next week, then another sewing circle a day later. Throw in weekly meetings with her committee and an average of two classes a day at the school, writing articles, and communicating with her delegation in New York, and that made for an active autumn. Elle and Caroline had also undertaken to teach her how to manage a household without a staff at her beck and call.

Her days promised to be filled with cooking, washing, ironing and sewing, and soon, with nursing a child.

Her fingers tightened on her stomach. Children didn't even
like
her.

Rory chose that moment to voice his opinion, sliding into her lap as gracefully as a bull charging a china shop. Her writing pad went flying, her pen dribbling ink on both of them before dropping to the porch floor. "Goodness, young man, what is this?"

He turned eyes the color of ash to her, his lashes quivering sleepily. "I'm hungry. Those biscuits and gravy worn off. See?" His belly rumbled beneath her hand to prove it.

"Now what can I do about that?" She couldn't stop herself from brushing a lock of hair from his brow, something he wouldn't have dared to let her do if he weren't so drowsy.

He blinked. Yawned. "Fix somethin' good."

Leaving the men and their games, she carried Rory inside, remembering the thick slices of ham and fresh bread she had seen this morning. She would make him drink a full glass of milk, then put them both down for a nap.

A salty gust blew in around her, slapping her skirt against her ankles. It almost felt as if she had lifted her nose from the glass pane and come inside.

For the first time ever.

* * *

Zach watched the screen door slap behind them, his heart filling his throat near to bursting. Seeing his son crawl into Savannah's lap and snuggle against her—something the boy didn't do that often anymore even with Zach—made him feel wonderful, and scared as hell. Caleb and Noah hadn't blinked. They accepted Savannah as part of the family as though nothing had changed when his entire
life
had been tossed into a bowl and whipped like an egg. He wasn't at all clear what to do about the scramble left behind.

Searching for a sight of them through the kitchen window, he forgot the rules of the game. Forgot the game altogether. It came as a surprise when Caleb slammed into him, knocking him to the ground.

His chest heaving against Zach's arm, Caleb panted, "You gonna stand there all day gawking at your wife or play?"

Turning his head, Zach shoved his brother without moving him an inch. Caleb had thirty pounds on him at least. "Get off me. You're a load."

"Ohh, listen to that. Constance is getting riled."

"Get up, Cale; you look foolish." Noah pushed Caleb to the side and helped Zach to his feet.

"Worst thing you can imagine, huh? How about mooning over a woman like a lovesick pup and doing nothing about it but sighing and frowning all day long?" Cale smacked his lips against his palm and released the kisses in the general direction of the kitchen.

Zach stopped dusting his trouser leg, his face heating. "I'm
not
lovesick."

Cale blew another kiss instead of answering.

Stepping forward, fists bunched, Zach only halted when Noah moved in front of him, arms raised to keep his brothers apart. "Will you two quit jawing at each other? This is ridiculous behavior for grown men. One might think you're Rory's age, for God's sake."

"He started it," Zach said, realizing how stupid that sounded, yet unable to stop the accusation from tumbling out.

"Yes, Miss Pris, one
might
," Cale replied in a sing-song voice.

"Do you think she looked a little pale? Is that normal this early?" Noah asked, his concerned gaze meeting Zach's. Noah wanted children right away: thus, Savannah's condition interested him to no end. He must have asked her a hundred embarrassing questions today with Elle looking on, aghast and amused.

"She may feel queasy in the afternoons. Hannah did." It surprised Zach as much as his brothers, judging from their shocked expressions, to hear him speak her name freely. His first wife had been a forbidden topic since her death.

"You think you should check on her?" Noah gestured to the kitchen and the figure moving back and forth in front of the window facing the yard.

"Aw, he's scared to do that. If Rory leaves the room, they'll be
alone
."

Zach reached around Noah and shoved Caleb as hard as he could, sending his brother stumbling back two steps.

"Cut it out!" Noah roared, a startling edict from a man who rarely lost his temper. "Cale, let him work this out himself. It's his marriage, not yours. Keep your mouth shut."

"We'd better give him some tips, Professor. What would Constance know about pleasing a woman?" Caleb danced around them, out of reach, grinning like a kid. "The first time he romanced his wife was in the jail. A romantic story, isn't it?"

The screen door squeaked; a step sounded on the porch. "Actually, we'd been meeting at the coach house for weeks. The jail"—Savannah shrugged—"a rash decision. I guess I couldn't wait."

"I've made ham sandwiches if you're hungry," she continued in the same smooth tone, as though she hadn't just shocked the breath out of all of them. The door whapped behind her.

Zach stared, his face burning. Caleb stopped in mid taunt, his arms flopping to his sides.

And Noah...

Noah smiled. "I knew I liked that woman," he said, leaving his gaping brothers behind as he strolled inside for a sandwich.

* * *

Savannah stretched, rubbing her feet together beneath the sheet. Rain plinked off the roof; a slice of moonlight washed over the bed, directly across her hands and stomach. Patting her tummy, she wondered when she would grow larger with her—with
their
—child. She had never been as tired, or able to sleep as easily, in her life.

The creak of the floorboard near the window had her starting, rising up on her elbows in the bed.

"Just me, Irish," Zach whispered, drawing the window higher. A flood of fresh air rushed inside, drying the dampness on her cheeks and brow. The evenings were finally getting cooler, thank goodness. "Hot as Hades in here."

Yes
, she agreed silently,
when are we ever in the same room that it isn't
?

Even now, the few feet between them fairly bubbled, the air crackling. She felt too restless, too warm for true comfort. What would Zach do if she yanked her thin nightdress from her body and let it drift to the floor at his feet? Her nipples puckered, scratching against the soft cotton, urging her like a tiny devil on her shoulder to
do it
.

"Can we talk?" Drawing a chair beside the bed, he folded his long, lean body into it. His hand went to loosen his collar, unbuttoning it and tugging it off. He had just returned from patrol and still wore his salt-crusted work trousers. She squinted in the muted light. And her favorite shirt. Dark blue, it brought out delicious sapphire flecks in his eyes.

Tangling her hands in the covers to keep them from wandering where they shouldn't, she nodded. She could smell the sea on him. And his peppery shaving balm. Not sure how strong her voice would be, she didn't try speaking, but simply nodded again in case he had missed the first try.

"Do you feel all right?" He reached for her hand but didn't grasp it when he realized it lay under the covers. "Anything I can get you?"

She shivered in anticipation. Longing. Fear. The hungry plea sat on the tip of her tongue.

"I'm fine." Sitting up, she reclined against the headboard. "There's water on the nightstand. I brought up a fresh pitcher. I'm just tired." Her hands fluttered, drawing his gaze to her stomach. It traveled to her toes before returning, searing a path a mile wide, or so it felt. "I can't seem to get enough sleep."
Enough anything right now
.

"That'll pass soon enough."

She drew her arms out and fiddled with the edge of the sheet. "I guess it did with Hannah."

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking less alarmed than she had expected. She didn't want him to run away again, yet they had to get past this or their marriage would fail. "No, she didn't really get over it. Either time. But you're leagues stronger than Hannah ever was. Leagues."

A crack of thunder kept Savannah from replying immediately. It gave her time to watch Zach settle back, steepling his hands over his trim stomach. For a moment, in the burst of light, she thought she saw relief cross his face.

Then it hit her why.

Leaning over the bed, she touched his knee. He jerked, rocking the chair back on its rear legs. "I'm going to be okay, Zachariah. This baby and I are going to fine."

The darkness hid his eyes, but she saw his throat draw as he swallowed. "I know that." A tortured whisper at best. "I know that."

She squeezed his knee, resisting the urge to move her hand up the inside of his thigh. "I don't think you do." She weighed how honest she should be. "And if you don't cast off your reservations, this is going to be the longest seven or eight months in history."

His head dropped. "It was terrible," he finally uttered in a choked voice, his hand covering hers and gripping tight. "I was helpless, a failure."

Thunder rattled the windowpanes, wind whipping the curtains into a frenzy. Savannah pressed her lips together, wanting to offer guidance and comfort. But she knew she had to tread carefully or risk spoiling the opportunity. It appeared that her husband stood on that cliff, ready to take Elle's leap into the unknown and trust her. Tear down that wall he'd hidden behind.