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Let me live. I swear I’ll make amends. I’ll never miss church again. I’ll give more time to the poor.
Please, I don’t want to die.
A viselike grip wrapped around the collar of her dress.
Death had come to claim her.
She clawed at the hand and kicked her legs wildly. She would not go into the underworld without a fight.
But her body was beyond exhaustion and Death was too strong. It pulled her through the water.
Then suddenly, she broke through the surface of the water. Air! She sucked in oxygen as rain pelted her face. The hard edge of a boat scraped against her belly before she unceremoniously landed in the bottom of a boat.
Alanna collapsed on her side, coughing. Chilled to the bone, she lay still for a moment as she filled and refilled her body with oxygen. Slowly, her mind cleared enough for her to realize she was safe.
“Mr. Crowley?” she said, her eyes still closed.
“Crowley’s gone.” Anger tinged a raspy voice.
“Where?”
He draped a worn blanket over her shivering body. “Back toward the mainland.”
Her teeth chattering, she clutched the rough blanket with trembling hands. So cold. “He left me.”
“Yes.”
She huddled under the blanket. “Am I dead?”
“No, you’re very much alive.”
She nearly wept with gratitude. “Thank you.”
Black-booted feet braced on either side of her. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re far from safe.”
She opened her eyes. Rain dropped on her face, making it difficult to focus.
Her rescuer’s face was turned toward the lighthouse’s steady beacon, but she could see that he was dressed in a heavy black coat and wore a stocking cap. His shoulders were broad, his legs powerfully built. Large callused hands gripped the oars.
Tears tightened her chest. What little strength remained, the cold now sapped. Struggling to think, she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.
Caleb glanced down at Alanna. Curled on the bottom of his boat, she was breathing, but she looked painfully small and her blond curls were matted against her pale skin.
She’d need warm, dry clothes soon or the cold would suck the life from her. But for now, all he could do for her was get her to shore.
Caleb set his sights on the lighthouse shore. His body was well conditioned to the hard work but soon the winds would be too much for him.
The dory bumped against the sandy shore thirty minutes later. He jumped from the boat and yanked it onto land. Rain pelted his face as he tied the boat line to the moorings of a small dock.
He quickly stowed the oars in the boat bottom and lifted Alanna into his arms. Even with the weight of her damp clothes and cape, he could tell she’d lost weight. Alanna had always been vibrant and alive, never frail.
The years had taken a toll on them both.
The thought offered Caleb no satisfaction as he hoisted her against his chest and started toward the small white-framed cottage just a hundred yards from the base of the lighthouse. A black shutter had come loose from its lock and banged in the wind against the side of the house. A rooster-shaped weather vane atop the roof spun wildly in circles.
He glanced up toward the lighthouse to make sure the light still burned bright. Satisfied when he saw its steady flash, he strode up the five steps to the porch and pushed through the front door.
Water dripped from his clothes and Alanna’s skirts as he strode down the darkened hallway toward a back room he reserved for the rescued. He laid her on a bed outfitted with fresh sheets.
Caleb pulled off his wet gloves and lit a lamp and then the preset fire in the hearth. He waited until flames flickered, sparked and spit out the first bit of warmth.
He drew back, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a wooden chair before turning his attention to Alanna.
He raised the lantern. Her damp blond ringlets blanketed her face and her gloved fingers were curled into small fists as if she still fought for her life.
He touched her cheek, needing to reassure himself that she was real. Her skin felt cold, but her breathing sounded stronger.
The wet clothes were seeping the warmth from her body and if he didn’t undress her soon, what the storm hadn’t accomplished, hypothermia would.
He set down the lamp on a small bedside table and flexed his fingers. His outrage remained as raw as the day of the inquest—the day she’d refused to see him.
Annoyed, he reminded himself that he’d stripped many a near-drowned sailor. And buttons and bows aside, the job remained the same.
The sooner he set about the task, the sooner it would be over.
Lifting her foot, he yanked at the laces of her boots, then tugged each off and tossed them on the floor. “Why couldn’t you stay away?”
She moaned softly at the sound of his voice but remained unconscious.
Caleb unfastened the clasp at the base of her throat and pulled off her cape, made five times heavier by the water. He was amazed she’d stayed afloat as long as she had wearing the contraption.
Most men or women couldn’t swim, but Alanna’s father had had a healthy respect for the sea and had insisted his daughter learn as soon as she could walk.
And she’d always been a fighter.
There’d been a time when he’d known her body intimately. Touching her had been as natural as breathing. Now he felt like an interloper.
Irritated, Caleb stripped off her clothes as quickly as he could manage. He then grabbed a blanket from the edge of the bed and laid it over her. He tucked the folds around the edge of her slim body and moved her to the other, drier, side of the bed.
An involuntary shiver escaped her lips as if she were finally wrestling the chill from her bone. She looked so small, so helpless.
Caleb stood back and dug a hand through his wet hair. His fingers brushed the rough skin of the scar on the right side of his face. “You shouldn’t have come.”
As he turned to leave, she rolled on her side and curled her knees up to her chest. “Caleb.”
Chapter Four
T he instant Alanna stepped out onto Patterson Shipping’s docks Caleb Pitt had noticed her. He’d also not been happy to see her. Still, Alanna kept walking, drawn like a moth to a flame.
His ink-black pants and cable-knit turtleneck sweater had been as dark as his thick, closely cropped hair. His long, muscular legs had eaten up the space between them in seconds.
“Lady, do you have any idea how dangerous these docks are? Most sailors would eat a pretty thing like you up,” he shouted over the winds.
Undaunted, Alanna had stood her ground. “I’m looking for my father, Obadiah Patterson.” If she thought dropping the company president’s name would intimidate him, she was wrong.
His powerful body blocked the sun as he towered over her. His gaze trailed over her small frame, taking in every detail. “Then you should know how unsafe these docks are for women.”
His masculine scrutiny left her body tingling. “I stand corrected.” Unrepentant, she held out her hand. “Alanna Patterson.”
He pulled off a worn leather glove and took her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently, but she could feel the leashed power in his hand. “Caleb Pitt.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Father’s told me a lot about you.”
“That so?”
She smiled, confident. “Father says you’re rough around the edges, trouble.”
Caleb’s vivid blue eyes sharpened. He leaned close to her. His own scent mingled with the sandalwood of his soap. “He’s right.”
She held her ground. “He also tells me a sea witch blessed you with the gift for reading the seas.”
Laughter sparked in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. ’Twas not a sea witch that gave me the talent, but the Devil.”
She feigned shock. “The Devil?”
“Aye. The talent to read the seas and predict storms in exchange for my soul.”
Alanna laughed at his outrageously dark humor. “I’ve never met a man who sold his soul. Tell me, would you like to attend a dinner party Father’s having on Friday? I’d be very interested to know how one goes about bargaining with the Dark Prince,” she’d teased.
“I’d be delighted.” His extra emphasis on the last word made her more aware that with this man she was out of her depth. He possessed an earthy masculinity that, despite her best efforts, left her breathless and blushing.
Alanna’s mind drifted in and out of consciousness and sleep. One moment she was on fire, pushing off her blankets, in the next, she froze, unable to get warm no matter how deeply she burrowed under the rough blankets.
But at all times, she was aware of Caleb’s rough hands touching her damp forehead, brushing the curls from her head or applying a moist cloth. His deep voice was soft and soothing at times and at other times there were hints of anger. If she’d had the strength, she would have reminded him she was the one that should be angry.
When Alanna finally could open her eyes, she forgot the recriminations. All she wanted was to see Caleb, to know that he wasn’t a dream. But through her fever, he remained a dark silhouette, his face shrouded by darkness. The only detail that struck her was that his hair was no longer cropped short. His thick hair, as black as ink, hung past his broad shoulders.
So many things could have been said and all she could think to say was, “You’ve changed your hair.”
He must have thought she’d still been asleep because the sound of her voice seemed to shock him. He drew back slightly. “It’s easier.”
She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue and closed her eyes. She was simply too tired to connect words into sentences. “That’s nice.”
She heard the clink of porcelain against glass and the rush of water. The bed’s mattress sagged when he sat beside her.
“Drink this.” His steady hand lifted her head. He tipped a cup to her dry lips.
She touched his wrist, her hand unsteady. The bitter-tasting drink washed over her dry tongue. It trickled down the sides of her mouth and her neck. “It’s awful.”
“It’s Yaupon tea. It’ll soothe your fever.”
“If it doesn’t kill me first.”
“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let the ocean take you.”
“Of course.”
He pressed the cup to her lips. “Sip slowly,” he cautioned. “There’s plenty.”
“Great.” Alanna drank until the cup was empty, then relaxed back against the pillow.
She was vaguely aware when he dipped a cloth into a basin. She heard the water trickle as he wrung the excess water from it.
He pressed the cool rag against her hot cheeks and forehead. The cold felt good. When her skin warmed the rag, he dunked it again in the water. As he ran the cloth over her naked flesh, she realized that she wasn’t wearing anything. There was no shame, just gratitude that he was there. Methodically, he repeated the actions until her body had cooled. She slept.
Alanna wasn’t sure what time it was when she awoke again, but the room was dark except for the firelight glowing in the hearth.
She was aware of two things. Caleb was still in the room and her thick hair felt greasy and her teeth gritty. “I must look dreadful.”
His laugh was bitter, sharp. Her eyes started to focus on him. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you’ll survive.”
Panic exploded inside her at the thought of being alone. “Caleb, don’t leave me.”
She sensed his gaze on her. “You need to rest.”
“Promise me you won’t leave just yet. I don’t want to be alone.” She sounded weak and afraid and hated it, but there was no hiding it.
A long silence stretched between them. “All right, I’ll stay.”
Sighing, she relaxed into her pillow. Feeling more at ease than she had in months, she gave herself to sleep. “Thank you.”
When Alanna awoke again, awareness of him cloaked the room. She wasn’t sure if she’d been sleeping for hours or days. She was only aware that the rain still pelted the windowpanes. A breeze drifted through the open doorway leading to a long dark hallway.
Her head pounded, however, her skin no longer burned and her brain didn’t feel fuzzy. She was more like herself.
On the bedside table was the box that had brought her here. Its lacquer coating glistened in the pale light.
Alanna tried to sit up, but regretted the move instantly. Her chest, back and arm muscles ached, the pain a reminder of her struggles in the sound. With some effort, she rolled on her side to ease the discomfort in her back. Her body was stiff, as if she’d aged a hundred years in the last few days.
Caleb. Where was he?
He’d saved her life and cared for her. If not for Caleb, she’d have died.
Few men would have gone into the storm to save her. Crowley had left her behind. Henry wouldn’t have had the strength to save her.
When she’d started this journey she’d been filled with righteous anger. In her mind, Caleb had owed her an explanation. He’d owed her an apology. Now, nothing was as clear-cut as it had been. Suddenly, the speech she’d rehearsed and planned to recite seemed juvenile and self-righteous.
Very aware that Caleb was close, Alanna grew restless. She tried to sit up again. Her movements were slower, more deliberate, yet she still winced as she worked her strained muscles and her head spun with another bout of dizziness. Her stomach churned, forcing her to cup her head in her hands.
