Книга - Night Music

Night Music
Bj James


The seductive melody on the night air had caught Devlin O'Hara's attention, and the hauntingly beautiful woman who created the music captured his heart. Devlin didn't know if Kate Gallagher was sinner or saint–what he did know was that he wanted to claim her for himself….Kate, struggling with her own loss, was wary of the handsome O'Hara, who had trespassed into her sanctuary. Now the explosive emotions he stirred inside her warred with her instinct to protect her heart. But nothing had prepared Kate for the searing passion that awaited in Devlin's powerful embrace….







Music Washed Over Him, Ebbing

And Flowing Like The Tide.

As the piano fell silent, one note lingering in the night, Devlin knew he’d been given a rare insight into the heart of Kathleen Moira Gallagher, agent of the Black Watch, now simply a grieving woman whose soul stumbled.

When he had followed her to Summer Island, it was to quiet a need he thought had died forever. To subdue a faltering, resurrected impulse to ease the hurts of others, to make himself believe that he could lead her back to the life she should have.

And without intending it, he’d found himself on this part of the shore, sitting at the base of zigzagging steps leading where he’d never meant to go.

To Kate…


Dear Reader,

This April of our 20th anniversary year, Silhouette will continue to shower you with powerful, passionate, provocative love stories!

Cait London offers an irresistible MAN OF THE MONTH, Last Dance, which also launches her brand-new miniseries FREEDOM VALLEY. Sparks fly when a strong woman tries to fight her feelings for the rugged man who’s returned from her past. Night Music is another winner from BJ James’s popular BLACK WATCH series. Read this touching story about two wounded souls who find redeeming love in each other’s arms.

Anne Marie Winston returns to Desire with her emotionally provocative Seduction, Cowboy Style, about an alpha male cowboy who seeks revenge by seducing his enemy’s sister. In The Barons of Texas: Jill by Fayrene Preston, THE BARONS OF TEXAS miniseries offers another feisty sister, and the sexy Texan who claims her.

Desire’s theme promotion THE BABY BANK, in which interesting events occur on the way to the sperm bank, continues with Katherine Garbera’s Her Baby’s Father. And Barbara McCauley’s scandalously sexy miniseries SECRETS! offers another tantalizing tale with Callan’s Proposition, featuring a boss who masquerades as his secretary’s fiancé.

Please join in the celebration of Silhouette’s 20th anniversary by indulging in all six Desire titles—which will fulfill your every desire!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




Night Music

BJ James







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


BJ JAMES

married her high school sweetheart straight out of college and soon found that books were delightful companions during her lonely nights as a doctor’s wife. But she never dreamed she’d be more than a reader, never expected to be one of the blessed, letting her imagination soar, weaving magic of her own.

BJ has twice been honored by the Georgia Romance Writers with their prestigious Maggie Award for Best Short Contemporary Romance. She has also received the following awards from Romantic Times Magazine: Critic’s Choice Award of 1994-1995, Career Achievement Award for Series Storyteller of the Year and Best Desire of 1994-1995 for The Saint of Bourbon Street.




Contents


Foreword (#u6a4271d0-2b76-5a3e-bfc5-719ff0ba7dcd)

Prologue (#u0fa36ff2-22c8-55be-b323-2b8b7b7bc44a)

Chapter One (#ua1cbca77-72d3-5267-808a-00637d04aa2a)

Chapter Two (#uee538826-eac8-5328-8db1-41729379f321)

Chapter Three (#u525dae5d-d846-55d2-952a-e4b77ecc4682)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Foreword


In desperate answer to a need prompted by changing times and mores, Simon McKinzie, dedicated and uncompromising leader of The Black Watch, has been called upon by the president of the United States to form a more covert and more dangerous division of his most clandestine clan. Ranging the world in ongoing assembly of this unique unit, he has gathered and will gather in the elite among the elite—those born with the gift or the curse of skills transcending the norm. Men and women who bring extraordinary and uncommon talents in answer to extraordinary and uncommon demands. They are, in most cases, men and women who have plummeted to the brink of hell because of their talents. Tortured souls who have stared down into the maw of destruction, been burned by its fires, yet have come back, better, surer, stronger. Driven and colder.

As officially nameless as The Black Watch, to those few who have had misfortune and need of calling on their dark service, they are known as Simon’s chosen… Simon’s Marauders.




Prologue


Out of the dawn a screaming wind snaked over frigid mountain slopes. A faceless, formless leviathan hurling snow and ice with the force to flay skin and flesh to the bone.

A killing madness.

Death, dressed in white.

Within a bulwark of twisted metal and scorched canvas, sheltered by ramparts of boulders, a man and a woman lay prone, bodies entwined. She was fragile. Her hair, a mass of auburn falling from a knitted cap, trailed over his arm to mingle like fire into ice. He was lean and rugged, his skin darkened by wind and weather. His hair, thick and close-cut, was as black as snow was white.

Holding her, offering what warmth he could, he whispered to her. His lips moving against bright curls, his breath skimming a waxen cheek. While he soothed her with nonsense and promises, a wall of snow built slowly at their backs. The malicious gift of a monster, bringing a modicum of protection, even as it concealed evidence of the charred, shattered plane, its pilot, and his sole passenger.

Yet, the wall would be one more buffer of hope against the storm. Hope, buying time. Time to survive, perhaps time to die.

She was a stranger to the mountain. Content to stay behind each time a plane lifted off filled with climbers her husband hoped to guide to the summit, she couldn’t know the gravity of their situation. For as long as he could keep it that way, she wouldn’t. This he’d promised from the first. Not as her pilot, but as a friend.

For three days, he’d kept his promise. He would keep it to the end. As long as there was a shred of hope, she, above all, would cling to the will to live.

“Maybe long enough for a miracle.” He didn’t realize he’d fallen silent, listening to the wind. Or that he’d spoken again. His voice was rough, but something in it touched a chord.

Rousing, she looked at him through feverish eyes. Struggling to one elbow, she tried to concentrate. “Jock?”

The mistake sent an icy dread through him. Hallucination; she was deteriorating more than he feared. But he wouldn’t give up hope. Not yet. “Shh.” With the back of a hand whitened by cold he traced the curve of her cheek. “We’ll talk when the storm calms.”

As if she didn’t hear him, catching his hand, turning his palm to her glazed gaze, she whispered, “You’re hurt?”

Realizing she hadn’t the breath for more, he assured her. “The burns will heal.”

“Burns? How?” The words were a gasp, the effort a struggle.

“Grabbed something hot.” Heartened by this lucid perception, as he took back his hand he added in a wry understatement, “Something I knew was hot.”

She laughed feebly. A caricature of the sound that brightened the lives of all who knew her. Caressing his face with fingers tipped by nails gone black, she whispered, “My fearless Jock. You never…” Each word was a ragged wheeze as she fought for breaths that never seemed to reach her lungs. Her gaze drifted. As she lost her point of focus, her eyes rolled back, nearly disappearing within their sockets.

“Joy!” Willing her to hear, he muttered, “Tell me.” Afraid before if she squandered precious strength to speak, he was more afraid now if she couldn’t. While the screech of the wind and a mad flap of canvas quieted, he brushed her cheek with his and kissed her temple as Jock would. “Talk to me, Joy.”

With her breathing eased in the lessened force of the wind, a tiny bit of the color returned to her face. Her lips moved, then there were words. “Never…” The chuckle was half cough, yet still her trademark laugh. “Never learn, Jockolove.”

“No, Joyful girl.” He was Devlin O’Hara, not Jock. But if it would help, he would be the person she desperately needed him to be. Murmuring the endearment he’d heard so many times, he slipped into the role of lover, for a friend. “That’s why I need you.”

She nodded, her chin resting so long against her chest, he feared she wouldn’t lift her head again. Recalling the name that defined her, he prompted softly, “Joyful?”

Lashes fluttering against her cheeks, she tried another laugh. As Joy always laughed, even in the worst of times. “Still here.” Her voice grew clearer. A fit of shivering abated, as if her body hadn’t the strength for more than one exertion. But when she lifted her gaze there was light, the illumination of a kind soul and happy heart. “Couldn’t wait for you to come down the slope. Couldn’t wait to tell you.”

“What was so important, sweet Joyful?”

As if it would listen, the wind calmed again, then ceased. From their paltry shelter, he looked on a desert of white. With every jagged pile of stone, every jutting rock obliterated by snow.

Silence, as deep as the peak was tall, crackled in still air. Wrapping her tighter in tattered clothing he’d managed to snatch from the burning plane, he lowered her to a makeshift pallet. With his arms cradling her, he waited.

So long after his question that he thought she’d drifted away, in a voice filled with a wonder, she told a labored story.

He didn’t mean to interrupt the broken flow, nor shatter the whispered hope, but once his control slipped. Jerking back, he stared down at her. “God help me! I didn’t know.”

The palm of her hand folded over his lips, her fingers curled around his chin. “Don’t! I know I promised, but the doctor thinks the damage the rheumatic fever…”

As her voice gathered strength, he listened to lilting words grotesquely at odds with the gray cast of her skin and the rattle of each hard-won breath. As mute as stone, as grave, he learned of the risk she’d taken to make this ill-fated flight.

Long after her story was finished, he held her. Long after she slept an unnatural sleep, he watched over her as he had for days. Finally he slept, as well.

When he woke, the day was brighter, impossibly tranquil. His first thought was of Joy. Touching her throat, he checked her pulse. The beat of her heart was erratic. But that it beat at all was cause for celebration.

Stimulated by a surge of adrenaline, an insightful mind began to function positively. What he’d perceived as the final disaster, he recognized as a final gift of the mountain.

Extracting himself from her embrace, praying one breath would follow another, he waited until a mild restlessness subsided. Reluctant to leave, certain he must if she would have any chance of living out a dream, he turned abruptly. Stepping from their shelter, pausing only to orient himself, he set his plan in motion.

Later, taxed beyond human endurance, with the sweat of his struggle turned to dangerous rime beneath his clothing, he staggered back to shelter. Back to Joy.

She neither woke nor stirred as he gathered her to him. Soon he was as silent, as still.

He didn’t wake when the Lama, a high-altitude rescue helicopter, passed over. Nor when it returned to fly so low its blades swept away the message stamped into rare loose snow. He didn’t wake when the first of its team reached the shelter. Nor did he hear the jubilant cry, “Survivors. Good God! We have survivors!”

In the midst of the exhilaration of four dedicated men, only a voice he knew and a hand gripping his arm roused him. But as numb senses rallied, eyes burned by glare wouldn’t see. “Jock?”

“Yes, Dev.”

The familiar voice echoed in the darkness of his mind. “I tried to keep her warm.”

“I know.” No one among the search team, least of all Jock Bohannon, could believe this man had done as much as he had, as long as he had. The message was a wonder in itself. “Give her to me, Dev. We have to get you out of here.”

He pulled away, his befuddled mind clinging doggedly to his one purpose. “I have to take care of Joy.”

“You have. Now let me.”

“Jock?” Memory sparked, the veil began to lift. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about her heart.”

“She didn’t want you to. She didn’t want anyone to know.” Carefully prizing burned, frostbitten hands from their burden, Jock took his wife into his arms. “I’ll take care of her now.”

“The cold hurts. Don’t let her be cold.”

“She won’t ever be cold again.” There were tears on Jock Bohannon’s craggy face as he whispered, “I promise.”

When the Lama lifted from the mountain, and while the wounded man slept, the rescue team looked down on a pitiful shelter built by horrendously burned hands. Once again, against impossible odds, one of the extraordinary men known as Alaska’s Denali fliers had accomplished an incredible feat.

Devlin O’Hara had beaten the mountain. But fate had played the last hand, sending a second freak storm to the lowlands, grounding the Lama’s desperate last-ditch search for an hour.

An hour too long, a grieving Jock Bohannon thought as he caressed his wife’s still face. An hour too late.




One


“Mayday! Mayday! We’re going down.”

As sweat beaded his forehead and plastered shaggy hair to his rigid throat, Devlin O’Hara shivered. Muscles tensed. Scarred hands curled into fists. “We’re breaking up.” His tone turned guttural. His body arched, from a straining throat rose a desperate cry. “Fire! We have a fire.”

Then the night was still. In utter calm, a waning moon cast pale patterns over a rippled expanse of white. Silence deepened.

Then it began. The shivering, the hushed plea.

“Please.” Shivering became shudders. “Oh, God! Too high, too cold.” A body honed to muscle and sinew tensed.

“No!” Lurching upright, his eyes flickered open, ending a remembered nightmare. As he stared through the birth of dawn, a frozen mountain slope faded, becoming his childhood bedroom.

Throwing a soaked sheet aside, unmindful of his nakedness, he walked to the open window. Flinging the curtain aside, bathed in the nuance of daybreak, Devlin O’Hara watched as crimson streaked across the horizon, painting the bay in dark fire.

An autumn sunrise over the Chesapeake, one of his favorite memories, in his favorite place, his favorite season.

The house was tranquil, but its dignified repose would be short-lived. His family would be waking with the sun, eager for the adventure of a new day. The joyful adventure of coming together.

In growing numbers, with various names, but O’Haras still, they had come. And, for a while, they would be simply family. Mavis and Keegan asked nothing more of their unique brood than this time.

He hadn’t planned this visit. He hadn’t planned anything beyond making it through each minute of each day for months. Yet, on the eve of the appointed time, he found himself packing, then taking leave of many friends…and one nemesis.

But now he knew there was no escape. The deadly beauty and tragedy of the mountain went with him wherever he might go. Even here. This sanctuary of sanctuaries was no longer his.

Denali lived in his days and nights. And Joy died.

They always would.

Wearily, Devlin closed the curtain on a new day on the Chesapeake. He didn’t deserve this place or this family.

He shouldn’t have come.

“So, what do you think?” Leaning against the antique frame of leaded windows, Valentina O’Hara Courtenay stared through polished panes, pondering her own question.

Anyone but an O’Hara would have been awed by the house and the charm of the view. But to the five siblings gathered for the annual reunion, it was simply home. And, sometimes, sanctuary.

From the look of the man who walked the shore that lay beyond the lawn, it was the latter he needed. If he didn’t flee, he would be here two weeks. But could an autumn fortnight spent by the Chesapeake resolve the troubles plaguing Devlin?

“I don’t care what he says, he isn’t fine,” she declared, facing her younger sister. “He’s too quiet. Too alone.”

“Val, no one walks away from the loss of a friend unscathed,” Patience reminded gently. “Five months isn’t nearly long enough to console one who cares as deeply as Devlin.”

“Of course not,” Val conceded. “It’s natural he still grieves. But you can’t believe that’s all it is any more than I do.”

“No.” Patience sighed. “And it isn’t his hands. His next lady love should find the scars interesting more than ugly.”

“If there is one,” Val drawled as she prowled the room.

“There’s always a lady in Devlin’s life, Val.”

“Precisely.” Val leaped on the comment. “Until now.”

The point made, both fell silent. Restlessly, Valentina paced, only to pause before a wall of family portraits. Studying each, she named them in order, eldest to youngest. “Look at us. Devlin, Kieran, Tynan, Valentina, Patience, eternally sixteen.”

“Only in portraits.” Far into her third pregnancy, Patience felt much older than sixteen.

Valentina hardly heard. “No more than a year or two separates either of us from the next. We look and think alike, up to a point. With Devlin as our standard. We wanted to be like him. Beautiful Devlin, of the blackest hair, the bluest eyes.”

“Yet it was never as much that he was oldest, or how he looked, as his kindness and caring, and courage.” Patience smiled, remembering. “Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound.”

“Superman,” Valentina agreed fondly. “Bigger than life. His smile quicker, his passion greater, his heart most tender.”

“Now he rarely smiles,” Patience observed sadly. “If he feels anything, it doesn’t show.”

“Or the reverse?” Valentina ventured. “Is what he’s feeling so awful, he dares not let us see?”

“But we’re family, Val. If he’s hurting, we can help.”

“Can we?” Valentina turned from the window. “Perhaps the mountain took something from him only he can get back.”

Patience understood her sister’s logic, Devlin’s behavior was strange. They were accustomed to his solitary disappearances. But if there was ever trouble, he found a way to communicate, to reassure his family. With the crash, there had been only silence.

Months later, he’d written, saying he wouldn’t make the family gathering. Only then had he spoken of the crash and Joy.

Despite their worry about his uncharacteristic behavior, keeping a childhood rule that still guided their lives, no one questioned, no one interfered. No one understood.

Until he’d walked through the door two days before, weary, thin, dreadfully haggard, no one expected to see him. In a way, Patience thought, none of them had. The real Devlin bore little resemblance to the grim specter who haunted the shore.

“He’s like a stranger.” Devlin had moved from sight, but Valentina knew he hadn’t gone far. His reluctance to leave the house and grounds, or to mingle with his own, was patent. “I suspect he feels like a stranger even to himself.”

Patience sighed. “I don’t understand.”

“Hopefully we will soon.” Val grimaced. “I broke the rule.”

There were few rules within the family, and Patience knew instinctively which her sister had broken. “What have you done?”

“I’m interfering. I called Simon.”

Patience nodded. Who else would Val call? Simon McKinzie, commander of The Black Watch and the most powerful man in covert operations, could unearth the problem. “When will you know?”

“He promised by two.”

Patience glanced at a clock. “Less than five minutes.”

Valentina caught an uneven breath. “Was I wrong? None of us has ever intruded so blatantly before.”

“You weren’t wrong. Even though he needs someone, Devlin’s shut us out. No,” Patience repeated firmly. “You weren’t wrong.”

“He might hate me.”

Stretching out her hand, Patience waited until Valentina clasped it in her own. “Devlin could never hate you. He may not be happy with this at first, but in the end, he’ll thank you for having the wisdom to know when a rule should be broken. As I do.”

In concert, the clock boomed the hour, and within a cabinet housing instruments of modern technology, a fax machine chattered. Both women froze, hands clenched. It was only when the machine fell silent that their fingers drifted apart.

Valentina moved to the cabinet to take out the printed sheet. Turning, she came to Patience and, in deference to the concern she saw on her sister’s face, laid the document before her.

Patience read slowly, carefully, with the gleam of tears in her eyes before she was half through. When she finished, wordlessly, she returned the single sheet to Valentina.

Valentina absorbed each word. Contained here were the facts that had changed her brother into a man she didn’t know. As Patience had, she read slowly, carefully. Finally, with a heavy heart, she tucked away the report that changed all the rules. “I’m not sorry anymore. Now I know what to do.”

“How can I help?”

Valentina’s lips lifted in a smile. “You’ve done enough by listening and supporting my choice. But there is one more favor.”

“Anything.”

“If you would make my excuses, for the rest of the day.”

Patience nodded shrewdly. “You’re leaving the island.”

“As soon as possible.”

“Where will you go?”

With an elegant lift of her shoulders, Valentina asked, “Where would I go with a problem of this sort?”

“To Simon,” Patience supplied softly.

“Good afternoon, Simon.”

When the door to his private office opened unannounced, Simon McKinzie knew who his intruder would be. No one else among The Black Watch would dare such a bold act.

“Ahh. Mrs. Courtenay, I thought you had retired.” Leaning back in his chair, he glared at her. “What happened to knocking?”

“I have. And what happened to ‘Good afternoon’?”

“Perhaps it went the way of knocking before entering.”

Valentina had the grace to be truly contrite. “I’m sorry, but there’s a problem only you can help resolve.”

Simon took stock. Who among his agents was facing personal problems? Before retiring from The Watch, Valentina had possessed a magical radar when it came to sensing troubles within the organization. “What is it now?” he asked. “Or should I say who?”

“My brother.”

“By my count, you have three, missy.”

“It’s Devlin.”

“Devlin isn’t one of mine.” Though not from lack of trying, Simon admitted. Devlin O’Hara was perfect for The Watch. But beyond the rare assignment, he eluded its persuasive leader.

“He has been, on occasion.”

Simon had leaned back until his chair teetered on two legs. Now it banged down. “How the devil could you know that?”

Despite her worry, Val laughed. “Lucky guess.”

“Remind me not to play poker with you,” he grumbled.

“Consider yourself reminded.” Advancing to the desk, she leaned closer. “Will you help?”

“Sorry, missy, that’s impossible. In the first place…”

Valentina caught his hand in hers. Folding each finger to form the fist he would have made with each of five points, she held it tightly. Every agent knew the gesture. “Simon, there is no first place, or fifth. This is Devlin, the strongest and best of us.”

Simon nodded as she released his fist. “Denali.”

Of course he knew. He would have gathered the information himself. “Then you understand the problem.”

“I know the facts and ramifications,” he corrected. “I’m sure no one understands the problem, or the solution as you do.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Ahh, in case it isn’t, why don’t you explain.”

“Who is Devlin?” She asked. “What is he to us?”

“Your brother, your hero and knight gallant.” Simon knew the direction she was taking this. But it would be interesting to see how far she would go.

“For as long as we can remember, there’s always been someone he could rescue, or care for, or protect. Now he believes he failed on Denali. As long as he does, he’ll never forgive himself.”

“So you would offer him a chance to redeem himself,” Simon suggested. “Hoping in redemption, he finds forgiveness.”

“That’s where you come in. He needs a damsel in distress.”

“One of my damsels.” Simon didn’t wait for an answer. “And no doubt you know exactly who.”

“Exactly. With your permission, of course.”

“Of course.” He watched her for a considering moment. “Does this damsel have a name?”

“Kate Gallagher.”

“What do you know about Kate, missy?”

“I met her once, outside your office.”

“Once?” Simon lifted a shaggy brow. “From that, you deduce she’s what your brother needs?”

Valentina didn’t hesitate. “I liked what I saw. Later, I heard she lost her partner. Now she’s troubled and nothing The Watch offered has helped. Devlin seems the logical solution.”

“For both of them?”

Valentina met his look calmly. “He won’t hurt her, Simon.”

“Has it occurred to you your brother might refuse to take part in this cockamamie plan, Valentina?”

“You give the okay on Kate. I’ll handle Devlin.”

“You’re that sure, are you?”

“Our brothers have never been capable of refusing Patience or me. Devlin’s different now, but he won’t say no.”

The venerable commander of The Black Watch was equally as sure. Just as he’d known when she marched into his office with that familiar determined look that no matter what she wanted, or what argument he offered, he would lose.

“So,” Valentina concluded. “If there’s nothing else…”

“Haven’t you overlooked something?”

Mission accomplished, she was ready to leave. “Have I?”

With a scrawl, he tore a sheet from a pad. “Kate’s address.”

“I know where she is, Simon.”

Crumpling the paper, he muttered, “Given that her location is a deep secret, it seems I have a leak.”

“There’s no leak. My source talks only to me.” A grin teased her mouth. “Unless you consider me the leak.”

“Never you, Valentina.” Drawing his thumb across a lighter, he touched flame to paper. When fire licked away letters spelling out Belle Terre, South Carolina, he dropped it in an empty trash can. “As usual, your visit has been…interesting.”

“My pleasure.”

“And mine.”

Val paused by the door. “The standing invitation still stands, should you find time to come to the shore.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Positively, I hope.” With a wave, she was gone.

Into the quiet, Simon spoke thoughtfully, “Maybe I will go out to the bay. Renew old acquaintances. Lay some groundwork.”

The day was coming when he must choose his replacement. Given her intuition and with added maturity, Valentina O’Hara Courtenay would be the perfect choice. If she could succeed with Devlin in this, Simon hadn’t a doubt she could do anything.

Ravenel’s By The River was not just a grocery store, but also a meeting place for the citizenry of Belle Terre. Today, pleasant temperatures of autumn had brought shoppers out en masse. With music drifting about them, they traversed wide aisles, filling carts with an extraordinary array of wines, flowers, and groceries.

No one seemed to hurry. Some only nodded and smiled at other shoppers. But the majority stopped to chat, to gossip, to laugh, or to adjourn to the canopied balcony that served as a teahouse. There, with the river sliding by, in the shade of a centuries-old oak, they sipped tea, sherry, and even the ritual bourbon and branch water to the accompaniment of more gossip, more laughter.

Only Kate Gallagher seemed oblivious to the pleasant surroundings. Only she paid no homage to expected Southern customs as she moved through the music, gliding from one corridor to the next. Her head bent, her face veiled by a wealth of hair falling against her cheek, none who passed caught her eye. Some glanced her way. Others appeared inclined to speak. But as if the silvery veil were a wall innate courtesy must not breach, no one intruded.

Once upon a time Devlin O’Hara would have considered that aloof detachment a challenge. One look at the melancholy barely hidden in Kate’s distracted gaze, and it would have become his prevailing mission in life to make her world a better place. To make her smile, perhaps even laugh, as the others laughed.

But that was once upon a time. A time of innocence now and forever lost to him. And no matter what he’d promise Valentina, he wouldn’t interfere.

He’d learned that some things never heal, and the pain and guilt never eased. Perhaps for some, as for him, it shouldn’t.

If, as the cliché promised, the blind couldn’t lead the halt, who was he to play Galahad?

And if the question had an answer, it wasn’t one he wanted to face. Not now. Not yet. So it was that when she approached his loitering space, he turned away, determinedly immersing himself in deciding which brand of coffee he needn’t buy.

He sensed her faltering step rather than heard it. Something more than the rustle of her clothing, or the scent of sunlight and flowers, warned of her nearness. An inexplicable awareness sent an uncommon disquiet racing through him.

More to counter any feelings regarding Valentina’s latest lost lamb than an interest in the coffee he wouldn’t be drinking on a Belle Terre morning, he reached for a brightly labeled packet. Unexpectedly, their hands collided, but his a fraction behind. With a pilot’s instincts and reflexes, his fingers closed over hers, keeping the package from tumbling out of her grasp.

For a moment neither moved nor spoke. Devlin stared down at a mass of hair ranging from dark gold to the palest silver, and falling from a center part. Barely realizing he was holding his breath, he waited for her head to lift.

When she stirred, her unshielded gaze rising to his, her eyes were golden brown and fringed by dark lashes. Her look was remote, without emotion.

“Pardon me.” Her voice was low and restrained, as remote, as emotionless, as her gaze. Each spare word was without accent, and perfectly enunciated in the quiet tone of a woman apart. A woman going through the motions of her life, taking each moment as it came. Coping…only coping.

Devlin was struck by the conviction that there should be fire in those eyes. The light of the pleasure of life, the need of an accomplished woman to be all she had worked to be. Above all, there should be passion, desire, love, and contentment.

Wondering how glorious that gaze would be alight with love, he responded belatedly, “What is there to pardon?”

Turning from his study of her face to the packet they held jointly, Devlin’s lips moved in a rare smile. “Unless preferring the same brand of coffee is a problem for you, Mrs….?”

The implied question seemed to fill the little space separating them. A simple question, but a look of haunting sadness altered the line of her lips. “It’s Miss. I’m not married. As I suspect you’ve observed.” Her voice was steady, hardly more than a breath. “And my name isn’t important.”

Devlin’s smile, not the smile of old but one that would have set Valentina cheering, was undaunted. “Suppose I go first?”

“No.” Her hair brushed over her shoulders with the slight shake of her head. “I don’t mean to insult you, but who you are doesn’t matter since it isn’t likely we’ll ever reach for the same package again. So, if you would give me back my hand, I’ll take my bit of coffee and leave you to the rest of your shopping.”

“I’m called Devlin.”

“My hand, please.” There was no anger in the reminder, no struggle to pull from his grasp.

“You’re in a hurry?” His clasp didn’t ease.

“My hand, please, Mr. Devlin.”

“O’Hara.” Devlin wasn’t certain why he persisted, except that even anger would be an improvement over the lost, sad look.

“I beg your pardon?”

A spark of interest? Recognition of the name? Indignation? Or irritation, pure and simple? Whatever the reason, however coolly couched, he viewed a response of any sort as encouraging. “Devlin is my given name. O’Hara, my surname.”

“Congratulations, Mr. O’Hara. I’m sure being a Devlin and an O’Hara is a marvelous experience.” A bit of life, albeit small, flashed in her gaze. “Now, if you’re through making a spectacle of both of us, I’d like to be on my way.”

“Of course you would.” Releasing her, with a small bow, he stepped back. “Have a good day, Lady Golden Eyes.”

Making no acknowledgment of the name he’d bestowed in lieu of the name she’d refused him, she dropped the disputed package in a basket looped over her wrist. Without a hint of anger, she turned and walked away. He’d been dismissed, as if he’d never existed.

“Golden Eyes.” He called softly, but not so softly she didn’t hear. At her hesitant step, he said, “You forgot something.”

Facing him, the frown line deepening between her brows, she let her gaze sweep over him, seeing more than a face and a hand for the first time. “I beg your pardon, Mr. O’Hara?”

The apology again. “You do that a lot, don’t you?”

Her head tilted, her questioning look met his.

“Never mind.” The grin that had been buried in grief for months warmed his face again. “It isn’t important.”

“In that case, I’ll leave you to your shopping once more.”

“The coffee.” Devlin indicated the silver foil package in her basket. “I was here first, that package is mine.”

“Yours…?” With a start, she looked down at her basket then back again at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, there are others.”

Devlin nodded. In recent neglect, his black hair had grown quite long—a lock fell over his forehead. Raking it back, he grinned again. “That’s the one I picked, and that’s the one I want.”

This time no flicker of emotion showed in her face. “In that case.” Taking the coffee from her basket, she returned to him. Taking his hand in hers, offering no comment on the scars marring his palm, she placed the packet in his grasp. “Be my guest, Mr. I’m-called-Devlin O’Hara.”

Spinning about, she walked away, dismissing him again. He started to call out, to apologize, but he’d disturbed her enough for one day. Or any day, for he wouldn’t be around for more.

He would keep to the letter of the half day he’d promised Valentina. Then he would turn his back on Belle Terre and the woman his sister thought could be saved.

“Perhaps she can.” His lips barely moved, his words only a breath more than a thought. As he watched her move down the aisle, he remembered details he’d missed from afar—the frown line etched between her tawny brows, shadows lying like bruises beneath lightless eyes. The bittersweet tilt of a beautiful mouth.

A mouth meant for kisses, not sorrow.

While he struggled to put the errant thought aside, Devlin O’Hara felt a twinge of regret that he couldn’t erase the frown, or put a sparkle back in her eyes. On impulse he’d called her Lady Golden Eyes, but he suspected that in moments of unbridled anger or love those eyes would be as bfiercely golden brown as a tigress’s.

Against his will, his thoughts turned again to her lips. The gentle bow, the full under lip, as tawny pink as a rose petal moist with dew. How would her mouth look in a smile meant only for him? How would it feel beneath his? How sweet would she taste?

With more force than he intended, he dropped the coffee in his basket. Even in his mind he wouldn’t be lover or savior.

If she could be led back to the living, it wouldn’t be by his hand. There was still fire banked there beneath the ice of grief and guilt. Hopefully someday she would be warmed enough by it to reach out and find her own way to resolution.

There was strength beneath the aloof veneer. Strength that allowed her to cut herself off from pain that might destroy her. So now she lived in limbo. For some, in the long run, it could be destructive…for others only a period of quiet healing.

Was that the key? Was Kate Gallagher a woman who sought a quiet life denied her? Perhaps that explained why her voice remained quiet and calm, whether she was or not. The outward control was a gift as well as a skill for one who had gone from mediating bitter arguments to leading a team of first response for The Black Watch.

How many countries, and how many volatile and unstable situations had she gone into? How many times had she risked her life, with only that skill and Paul Bryce to aid her? How many times had she been underestimated and misjudged? How many rebels and dissidents hadn’t looked past the subdued decorum?

Valentina had called her Simon’s best first weapon of choice. A dangerous trust, a treacherous and threatening existence. One that drew partners close, spurring unrivaled bonds. Even love.

Losing Paul Bryce would have been like losing a part of herself. Though she might heal in the self-imposed solitude, until she regained that part and rejoined the real world, Kate Gallagher would never be truly whole.

Like strength, spirit was there. He saw it in her face and her eyes. He heard it in her voice. Perhaps she was even halfway toward awakening it. Wanting only an intermediary, a person or a need, that would draw her the rest of the way.

Devlin could only hope that person, or that need, would come to her before it was too late. Before she settled into a life that was half what it should be.

As he watched her slipping unheeding past fellow shoppers, Devlin O’Hara held little hope the mentor she should have was among them. After months of living in Belle Terre, she was as much a stranger as he. Her wall of silence was too much for their native Southern gentility.

Suddenly he realized Kate had stepped to the checkout line, zipped through with her meager purchases, and was ready to leave. He’d followed and watched her discreetly for some time. After their encounter, if he continued much longer, despite her distraction she would become aware of his scrutiny. Even so, less because of his promise to Valentina than for reasons he couldn’t explain, Devlin wasn’t ready to step back and go away.

“No. Thank you, the flowers are lovely. But…” Her low voice shook him from his reverie. She’d paused by the door as she spoke to the tiny child who stood by an elderly lady and her pails and baskets filled with flowers of every sort imaginable. The bouquet the child offered was wrapped in a sheaf of green paper and surely contained at least one of each blossom.

The child said nothing as she held the bouquet out to Kate, a smile dimpling her cheeks.

“It would please her if you would take the flowers.” The old woman’s voice was quavery and weak. “God knows, there’s little enough in her young life that’s pleasing.”

“But I haven’t the proper change.”

“The flowers are a gift,” the woman interrupted. “Tessa hopes they might keep you from looking so sad.”

Kate hesitated.

“Please,” the woman pleaded.

From the place he’d taken in the express line, Devlin could see the sudden glitter of tears in Kate’s eyes. Looking from the young, handsome woman to the fair child who could have been her daughter, he found himself praying she would accept the flowers, for all their sakes.

Though few of his prayers had been answered of late, his heart lifted when Kate knelt before the silent child. Taking the flowers, solemnly she kissed a dimpled cheek. “Thank you, Tessa. I’ve never had a bouquet or a present as lovely.”

Tessa ducked her head shyly, saying nothing. Even when Kate said goodbye, the child didn’t look up or speak.

“Have a good day, ma’am.” The lady spoke for both.

“Thank you.” Kate paused at the exit. Stroking the flowers across her cheek, she smiled. A blinding, wonderful smile. “How could I not?”

Devlin caught his breath, dazzled by the woman he’d glimpsed. The woman Kate Gallagher must be again. Impulsively, he moved toward her. An insistent voice called him back.

“Your change, sir. And your coffee.”

“Keep it.” Eager for another glimpse of that woman, he flung the words over his shoulder.

“I can’t, sir. Please.” The clerk’s plea was plaintive, even disturbed. “It would mean my job.”

Impatient, Devlin returned to the counter. He wanted neither change nor coffee. The purchase had been justification for time spent in the store, an excuse to stay close to Kate. Taking up the coins, mindful not to forget his purchase lest he be summoned back again, he hurried to the exit. Pausing to tweak a golden curl and wink down at little Tessa, he stepped into the street in time to see the lady of his concern drive away.

He’d come to the coastal town because he’d given his word. All he intended was a quick trip from the Chesapeake, a short stay and a quicker look at Valentina’s latest lamb. Then, home.

If there was such a place.

Quickly in, quickly away. An ironclad plan, with no expectations of more. But that was before he’d seen Kate Gallagher.

“‘The best-laid schemes o’mice and men gang aft agley,”’ he quoted in a muttered undertone. All for a smile.

Could he leave now? With a ghost of the rueful grin that had once set every young heart it touched aflutter, he mocked his own frailty. “I must. I should. But how, Lady Golden Eyes?”




Two


Music washed over him, ebbing and flowing like the tide lapping at his feet. In the time he’d sat on the derelict palmetto washed from another shore, the mood of the pianist changed. From tentative beginnings the tempo had gradually quickened, then swelled, filling this secluded section of shore with its moods.

First it was wild with the violence of unspeakable torment. Next, fiercely angry, each note resounding as if the musician fought the music, the instrument, and herself. Then the temperament changed, quieted. In slow, muted notes despair reached a deeper level, and Devlin heard the throb of anguish that defied solace.

As the piano fell silent, one note lingering in the night, he knew he’d been given rare insight into the heart of Kathleen Moira Gallagher, daughter of a roving diplomat. Once a model and an icon of beauty, a gifted pianist and a lawyer, an agent of The Black Watch and Simon’s mediator par excellence, now she was simply a grieving woman whose soul stumbled.

When he’d followed her surreptitiously from Ravenel’s to Summer Island, the gated, guarded seasonal playground of the wealthy of Belle Terre, it was to quiet a need he thought had died forever on Denali. To subdue a faltering, resurrected impulse to ease the hurts of others, he’d come to make himself believe he, least of all, could lead her back into the life she should have.

A simple matter, quickly done. So he hoped. Instead he’d tarried long in this single day he’d promised Valentina he would devote to Kate Gallagher. Tramping from one end of the somnolent paradise to the other, seeking proof of peace, the healing panacea Kate needed, he’d delayed and detoured, exploring marshes, docks, and the house that would have been his. Had he decided to stay.

Before he was ready, before innate urges were stifled, night had fallen. With the lights of Belle Terre sparkling in the near distance, the moon lifted over sea and shore like a great gold and silver globe. Silver and gold, the color of her hair. A reminder he didn’t want. And, without intending it, he’d found himself on this part of the shore, sitting at the base of zigzagging steps leading where he’d never meant to go. To Kate.

When the first note sounded, he’d turned from it. The step away wouldn’t come. He willed himself not to stay. He had.

Crouching on the salt-scoured palmetto, he listened.

Now the shore was quiet, the spell of her music ended. He was free to go. He knew he wouldn’t. “The blind and the halt, Kate.” He stared up at her house and the light that left more in darkness than it illuminated. “We shall see where one leads the other.”

He turned again, truly leaving this time, but only to make the calls that would confirm his stay on Summer Island. As he moved deeper into darkness, away from the little light, he didn’t notice the woman on the deck above. He didn’t see her drifting like a waif down the steps to the shore. He didn’t know she knelt in the sand contemplating his footprints as if they would tell a story. Or that when she stood, it was to search him out with a puzzled frown, studying the familiar lines of his retreating figure.

“No.” Out of habit Kate pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. The insidious thrum of tension was there. The encounter with the dangerously attractive but enormously annoying man hadn’t helped. Then, as if that weren’t enough, Jericho Rivers, sheriff of Belle Terre and the surrounding county, called to say the island might soon have another resident.

In the confusion of the abrupt interruption by an emergency call, Jericho hadn’t given her a name, but managed to assure her that the newcomer was a friend, a good man. High praise from the taciturn sheriff. Surely it stretched the realm of coincidence to imagine the man in the grocer’s and Jericho’s friend were the same.

It couldn’t be. Letting her hair fly in the wind, Kate remembered Devlin O’Hara. The mischievous look, his fascinating eyes at odds with his smile. A deep voice with an edge of uncertainty, as if it had been a while since he’d laughed or teased.

Despite her annoyance, she hadn’t been blind to his charm. Or was it that he was charming and she noticed that annoyed her? Did it matter? The new islander wouldn’t be Devlin O’Hara.

If it should be, they needn’t meet again. Though the land mass was considered small with three miles of beach, there were only six houses lining the shore. The property of each was bounded on the west by the narrow river separating the marsh from the mainland, and on the east by the sea. With each possessing docks on the riverside and decks at the front with promenades to the shore. Trailing north to south, each house was set in the middle of a half-mile tract. Except Sea Watch, her home in recent months.

Indulging a penchant for privacy, the owner of Sea Watch set his house on the southernmost tip, where sea and river merged. Thus, with nearly a mile setting the house apart from the others, she needn’t trip over anyone.

“No matter who he is.” Peering after him, she discovered he’d moved beyond the natural curve of the island and out of sight. That was as she wanted him.

Keeping solitary spaces had never been difficult. Falling within the domain of Belle Terre, the island was populated exclusively by local residents. Townies, wealthy enough to keep second homes for the island’s namesake season. Most houses were closed for the year and for the social season the first of August.

Some of the owners returned for rare weekends. Others for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Except for that possible influx, with Hobie, the elderly guard, controlling the mainland gate and protecting against interlopers, Kate had what she counted the best of all seasons virtually to herself. Until now.

There was no need to waste time in worry. Two did not constitute a crowd. The bastion of water and sand that kept the world away needn’t change.

“He won’t.” As a gust of wind swept the words from her lips, Kate clenched a fist. “One man won’t change my life.”

A lonely figure caught in moonlight, she crossed the sand. It was late, she was tired. But as she climbed the steps, she knew she was not tired enough. Tonight she’d played long and forcefully, and still the music failed her. Neither its therapy nor exhaustion numbed her mind.

Retracing her steps, she entered the house, intent on closing it for the night. For a half hour she moved about restlessly, avoiding the inevitable. When there was no more to be done, she drifted to a window to watch the surf, to lose herself in the alternately dark and luminous rhythm. Hopefully, to forget.

Longer than was prudent, she watched the wash of waves. Sometimes the past intruded, with thoughts of Paul Bryce. Other times she thought of nothing. Once, she recalled the solitary figure whose footprints told a story of pausing beneath her window. Had he stayed to listen, or only to rest before walking on?

The newcomer, roaming farther afield than she wished. A stranger on the beach that had been hers alone.

A good man, the sheriff had assured her. Jericho wouldn’t lie. And the stranger did not trespass. The beach belonged to everyone. As she conceded that reality, Kate realized the hour had gone from late to early. It was time to face her demons.

Turning out the lamp, she went to her bed knowing sleep would not come quickly. When it came, because the music failed, it would not be blessedly dreamless.

Sun streamed through an open window striking unshielded eyes with a vengeance. Throwing an arm over her face, Kate pondered her day. But what was there to ponder? What would be different? She would rise, sit on the deck drinking endless cups of coffee, hoping to stave off the threat of a migraine. While she drank, she would watch shorebirds strafe for their first meal of the day. After her own meager breakfast, more homage to a habit than for nutrition, she would tramp the land for hours.

She might collect shells, she might not. Maybe she would gather driftwood, maybe not. But she would climb the tallest dune. There, she would watch herons and egrets moving in the grasses of the marsh and through the surf. Perhaps she would catch a glimpse of a night heron, home late from a long hunt. Or the elusive green, that favored the minnows in the tidal pool beneath the dune.

Then there were the dolphins, sleek, graceful, common in the autumn season. “And the whales.”

Enthusiasm colored her voice as she braved the sun. Would they be back? Days before, on her morning ramble, she had sighted them. Two mammoths of the sea, cavorting in the still warm waters of the Carolina coast. Yesterday, after her trip into town, she hadn’t looked for them again. But maybe today.

Rolling out of bed more eagerly than she had in longer than she could remember, she threw on a shirt and dashed to the kitchen. A rattle of canisters and cabinet doors later, she stopped short. No coffee. Which meant no caffeine. Leaning against the cabinet, she recalled the day before.

“I gave it to him.” Then, hurrying from Ravenel’s and the crowd, she’d forgotten all about coffee.

No problem. Lifting a shoulder, she shrugged aside the error. There were other remedies or other ways. Even a return trip to Ravenel’s, this time with no Devlin O’Hara to set her in flight.

But that day hadn’t been a total loss. She had met Tessa. A glance at the bouquet standing in a teal and copper vase on the kitchen counter drew an uncommon smile from Kate.

The child was exquisite with her blond curls atumble, brown eyes shining. Could even Scrooge have refused her flowers? Touching them, Kate remembered the old lady’s words…. A gift. Tessa hopes the flowers might keep you from looking so sad.

As she remembered, Kate realized she was smiling. Yesterday, Tessa had made her smile. And now again, she was truly smiling. In that moment, the darkness in her heart weighed a little less heavily, her thoughts were clearer.

Tea! Tea would be a nice change. “How long has it been?”

A knock at the door interrupted her monologue—a habit she’d fallen into during the days she spent alone. Strange. But not so strange as morning visitors, she decided as she went to answer.

Her smile vanished as she opened the door. “You!”

Before she could stop them, suspicions she’d spent an evening denying spilled out. “It was you on the beach last night.”

“Devlin O’Hara, ma’am, paying a neighborly call.” As he inclined his head slightly, his hair falling over his forehead gleamed blacker than black.

“Neighborly.” Kate crossed her arms before her, remembering the state of her nightclothes. “Which, I suppose by association of words, means we’re to be neighbors.”

“For now,” he amended. “Only for a while.”

His smile was the same, but with the light of morning falling on his face, she realized any expression left his remarkable eyes untouched. Was there a coldness beneath the banter, or an unfeeling void?

Whichever, it wasn’t her concern, and the sooner he went away, the better. “Ahh, so for only a while we’re to be neighbors. I suppose that means you’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“Not this time. I’ll save that for later.” If he felt the cut of her mockery, it didn’t show. His smile altered, his mouth curving generously. Taking his hand from behind his back, he produced the foil packet of coffee. “I have two, so I came to share.”

“You’re so sure I need a share?” There might be no emotion in his eyes, but his piercing gaze missed little. Barely resisting the urge to smooth her hair into order, she caught at her shirt, drawing it closer about her breasts.

Leaning an arm on the doorjamb, his forehead resting on his wrist, he looked down at her. “You left Ravenel’s without any.”

Kate wasn’t short, but in her bare feet, the upward tilt of her head required to meet his gaze was significant. As he shifted positions, the sun striking her face turned him into a looming shadow. A ploy to hide his expression, or lack of it? Was Devlin O’Hara far more complicated than he seemed? A man guarding secrets? But if there were secrets, they were none of her concern.

“Ahh, I see,” she drawled, matching his projected mood. “I left the store empty-handed, so to speak. Which led you to assume my coffee coffer is bare?”

He didn’t take his gaze from her. “Would you have been in Belle Terre otherwise?”

“Touché, Mr. O’Hara. You’re very astute.”

“I have my days.”

“Yes, you do, don’t you? This time you were right.” As she took the package, her fingers brushing his, she said in genuine sincerity, “Thank you.”

In answer, he touched his brow in a small salute. “Enjoy, Miss Gallagher. And have a good day.”

Kate watched his retreat. For all his rugged handsomeness and wicked teasing, she sensed a devastating sorrow hidden deeply within him. An unshakable conviction she couldn’t explain. Intuition? Compassion? The wisdom of one wounded soul recognizing another, when once she would have been blinded to it? The incredible certainty that no matter that they were strangers, they were no different? In the end, was it knowing in some strange way that, as she, he had not yet found the peace that must come with healing?

Surprised by that bit of wisdom, touched by his kindness in the throes of trouble, Kate called out, “A question, Mr. O’Hara.”

He stopped at the end of the deck, his hand on the railing, one foot on the first step. A stance that rippled the shirt clinging to his shoulders, emphasizing the flat plane of his midriff. His arms and face were tanned, the brand of a life spent out of doors.

In wind and water? Sun or snow? If she were to guess his age, she would say thirty-six. Maybe thirty-eight. Would that mean he was a veteran sailor? Aging surfer? Jaded ski bum? As her mind formed the thoughts, she was discarding them. No doubt any of the three would be too tame for him, even though he waited patiently, as if he had all the time in the world for her. “You don’t really have any extras, do you?”

“Extras?” He lifted an innocent brow. Too innocent.

“Coffee, Mr. O’Hara.” Kate waggled the package. “You don’t have even one extra, do you?”

He took a deep breath, his chest lifting and straining harder against the seams of his shirt. “No, ma’am, I don’t.”

Once Kate would have thought the repetitious title was sly mockery. But given the way he used it, the easy flow of it in his speech, she was almost certain it was an intended courtesy. Ma’am, the contraction of madam, a title of honor for a lady. Something learned long ago, no doubt, and deeply ingrained.

“I make a good cup. Will you join me, Mr. O’Hara?”

“Thanks.” He hesitated. “But I’ve intruded enough.”

Minutes ago, Kate would have agreed. Now, in an about-face, she didn’t want him to go. “You haven’t intruded. In fact, I’d like some company. For one morning, at least.”

Devlin smiled then, the same half smile. The lady was smooth. In one breath she’d been gracious and hospitable, and in the next closed the door firmly against repeat performances.

His decision to stay on the island was unexpected, and he was without a clue how to begin with her. He’d come today out of conscience, but hoping to find a chink in her armor. The invitation had taken him unaware. Yet it was a beginning, and he’d learned a man never won points with a lady by refusing an invitation. “Then it would be my pleasure for one morning. But there is a condition.”

“What would that be, Mr. O’Hara?”

“That you call me Devlin.”

“Only if you call me Kate.”

“Done.” He laughed then. A warm, wonderful sound.

“In that case, Devlin O’Hara, will you join me for coffee?”

Not quite as he asked, but close. “Yes, ma’am, I will.”

“Then it’s settled.” Stepping away from the door, Kate led him to the great room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll start the coffee—while it’s brewing I’ll catch a shower and change.”

“A pity.”

He hadn’t gone into the sitting area, but had followed her closely. So closely that when she faced him, she was exquisitely aware that he smelled pleasantly of soap and sea mists. A thoroughly masculine scent that fit him perfectly. Trying not to stare or breathe, she backed away and found herself hemmed in by cabinets and his lean, virile body. Blinking, she looked up at him. “A pity?”

“You look fetching in your nightclothes.” Catching the neck of her T-shirt between thumb and forefinger, he let the banded fabric roll beneath his touch. “A Clemson University Tiger T-shirt and an orange overshirt.” Moving his hand to the overshirt, he drew the collar closer about her throat. “Silk, unless I miss my guess. A combination I don’t think I’ve seen before.”

Laying the package aside, Kate leaned back, bracing against the counter, creating an inch more space between them. “Should I take that to mean you’re accustomed to spending your mornings with ladies in nightclothes? Elegant, garish, or otherwise.”

“No,” Devlin replied solemnly. “You should assume I have sisters, who would envy you this.”

Kate laughed, suddenly at ease, as he intended. “What you mean is, they would envy my nerve, or faint dead away at the sight.”

“Maybe.” Devlin wondered if she had any idea what the vivid colors did for her eyes. In his mind she was a tigress. Once she had been, in looks and spirit. She would be again. “Tell you what, I’ll make the coffee, you go do whatever…”

“That sounds like a plan.” Relieved without knowing why, she slipped past him. Yet, in her dash for the security of the bath, she paused. “You can find what you need?”

“I’ll muddle my way through.”

“I imagine you’re good at that. Muddling, I mean. Making the best of a situation.”

“I have been. I was.” A shadow crossed his face. “Once.”

Troubled by the quick change, Kate waited for more. When there was none, she hurried away.

“Sorry I took so long,” Kate said as she stepped onto the deck. What she saw there was astonishing. In less than twenty minutes, Devlin had not merely made coffee. He’d plundered the refrigerator, the pantry and the property owner’s linen closet.

In the time she’d been in residence, she’d spared the closets only a cursory glance. She knew there were fine linens of all colors and an assortment of table settings to boggle the mind, but she was reluctant to use them. Obviously, her astonishing and accomplished guest felt no such reluctance.

“Hello.” Looking up from the table he’d set, he let his gaze sweep over her. If orange became her, a turquoise shirt tucked into white slacks was spectacular. If it weren’t for remnants of fatigue marking her features, she could return to the runway of any fashion house in the world.

“You were going to make coffee.” Kate moved to his side.

“I did.”

“But this.” A gesture encompassed the table, crystal and silver glittering in the sun. Napkins—of linen, no less. A salad of fruit she’d stashed in the fridge and forgotten. With what appeared to be a pitcher of mimosas. Best of all, Tessa’s flowers sat in the center of the table. “This looks like a celebration.”

“Maybe.” Drawing out a chair, he waited, silently, until she had no choice but to take the offered seat.

Wondering what the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but with the saddest eyes, would find to celebrate, Kate’s gaze followed as he returned to stand across from her. Sipping from a glass he’d filled for her, discovering it was truly a mimosa, she watched him over the glittering rim before setting the glass aside.

Forgetting that as recently as yesterday she wouldn’t have noticed any man, attractive or not, she settled back. And with a long, slow look, Kate Gallagher committed to memory all that made Devlin O’Hara an intriguing man.

Ranging over the little not masked by table and flowers, her gaze touched first on his hair. Darker than she believed possible, longer than she liked as a rule. But on Devlin, the shaggy look of disregard was seductive, especially when it capped craggy features that spoke of a life of adventure. Eyes like blue topaz with barely masked anguish lurking in their depths, and a mouth that could be grim and beautiful at once, completed an aura of compelling magnetism and extraordinary sensuality.

Compelling, extraordinary, and unstudied. It hadn’t taken long to understand that nothing about Devlin was calculated. How he looked, how he talked, the frisson of sexual tension he exuded, were natural. Part and parcel of a man who would be irresistible…if she’d met him in another time, another place. If both hadn’t brought the inescapable baggage of terminal grief along with them.

Watching as he spooned a colorful array of fruits into brandy snifters, then topped each with a bit of cream, she wondered when and where he’d learned to be so creative in the kitchen.

Had he been married? Was he still?

Of course not. Kate was certain there was no woman in Devlin O’Hara’s life. But had there been? Had he lost someone beloved? Did that explain the grief she saw in him? And, perchance, his palms?

He made no effort to hide the scars, but something in his demeanor warned discussion was off limits. As someone with her own secret hurts, Kate would never pry. When, or if, he wanted her to know, he would tell her. She would not question, until then.

Or never. He’d said he would stay for a while. For all she knew, “for a while” meant only this day.

“Something wrong?” he asked. “You don’t like mimosas?

“I beg your pardon?” Kate was so engrossed in her thoughts, she only half heard him.

“You were frowning. I asked if there’s something wrong.”

Kate sat a little straighter, improvising. “Only that I’m sitting like a dolt, when I should help.”

“No help needed.” His piercing gaze traced the lines of her face. “You’re too lovely to be a dolt. So, sit in the sun. Rest while I finish, then we’ll share our first meal.”

“I am rested.” With the flush of his compliment on her cheeks, she knew it was true. “More rested than in a long time.”

“No dreams last night? Or only good ones?”

The question surprised her, making her wonder how he could know she dreamed, and in those dreams faced her demons night after night. But as quickly, she knew he asked because it was the same for him. Devlin had his own battle in the dark. But the lasting surprise was her recollection that it was Devlin who strolled through her dreams, smiling his half smile and teasing, then disappearing into a glittering moonlit sea.

“I dreamed,” she admitted. “But only good ones.”

Circling the table he set her salad in place. As he leaned near her, his fingers curled briefly over hers. “Any night without the troubles that stalk us is a good night, isn’t it, Kate?”

Looking at him, golden gaze meeting blue, with his clean scent a part of every breath, the beat of her heart thundered in her veins. He was so close, she saw the creases radiating from his eyes. Laugh lines. The mark of a man who once had enjoyed life. A man who understood her, for the life he lived now was the same.

Though he was a stranger who had appeared on her doorstep, she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him. But she hadn’t the right. “A night without troubles is a gift I don’t deserve.”

“I doubt that,” Devlin countered gently, then said no more, for it wasn’t time. They were moving too fast. One wrong step and doors that opened a sliver would close to him forever. “Enough serious stuff. Agreed, Lady Golden Eyes?”

The silly name drew a reluctant smile. “Agreed.”

“Then, one last touch and breakfast is served.” Drawing a flower from Tessa’s bouquet, he snapped the stem and tucked the creamy blossom in her hair. “A pretty flower for a pretty lady.”

His hand lingered at her cheek in a caressing touch. So much in his life was harsh and unforgiving, he only wanted to feel a bit of softness. Just a bit.

“Kate.”

“Devlin?”

She’d never said his name like that. Never called him simply Devlin. He wanted to hear it again and again in that low, calm voice while the sun and the sea spun their magic around her.

“When I came, I didn’t intend to stay. I promised myself one night…” He faltered over the half-truth. Devlin who never lied, who never feared anything, was afraid he would hurt her. Afraid his presence would ruin the island for her and destroy the little contentment she’d found.

“The island is a pretty, peaceful place. I’ve seen a lot of the world, yet I didn’t expect what I found here. Even so, I won’t intrude, I won’t stay, Kate. If you don’t want me here.”

She waited through his little speech, hearing words of praise she’d said when she first came. She heard him voice the fears she’d felt when Jericho warned of a stranger in her paradise.

She knew Devlin would go, if she asked. Yesterday, it would have been what she wanted. Now she heard herself saying, “Summer Island is big enough for two. Our paths needn’t cross.”

Devlin pretended nonchalance. “I suppose not.”

“But today they have, thanks to neighborly kindness.”

“This was presumptuous. Rummaging through your supplies and food. Dragging out table linens. Robbing a superb wine cellar.”

“Letting good food go to waste,” Kate added to his list. “With generously shared coffee growing cold. Sit down, Devlin. What you’ve done is not an intrusion. Yes, I’ve had the island to myself, but it isn’t mine, you know.”

“Two isn’t a crowd?”

“Let’s take it one day at a time, and see how it goes.”

“Then I’ll stay, Kate. One day at a time.”

Devlin sat across from her. Listening as she told him of the island creatures and their habits, he discovered she hadn’t spent her reclusive life moldering. She was observant, well read. Well versed, even expert, in the history of the area.

“Once Summer Island was called after Stede Bonnet?” he prompted, to hear her speak, to listen to softly elegant tones.

“This was Bonnet’s hunting ground. Anchoring on the backside of the island, the gentleman pirate waited for his prey. Hopefully, he was a better gentleman than a pirate. After he was hanged in Charleston, the name was forgotten. Now some call it Summer Island. To others, though there are dozens of islands scattered along this coastline, it’s simply the island.” Grimacing, she said, “That’s enough instruction for one day.”

“You make it interesting.”

“And you’re a gentleman and a liar.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I treasure the compliment.”

They drifted into a companionable silence, broken only by the clatter of palmettos catching a breeze. Kate was first to speak. “There were whales off the point day before yesterday. They don’t come often. When they do, they stay for some time. I’ll show you the best dune for observing, if you like.”

She offered it like a gift. Rising to go to her, drawing her from her own chair and keeping her hand in his, Devlin murmured, “I’d like that. I’d like it very much.”

The reclusive Kate had reached out. But he wasn’t fooled. With the sea at their feet and an autumn sun to warm them, a man and a woman who were more than strangers, but not yet friends, might spend a pleasant morning walking the beach. But there would be dark times ahead for both of them. Times when Denali came for him in his dreams. Times when Kate fought her demons and herself with night music.

But someday, for Kate, there would be times of peace.




Three


A sharp report splintered the air, followed by a rapid barrage impacting like gunshots against Kate’s ears. Recoiling instinctively, she tumbled from her seat, a paperback novel flying from her lap. Crouching on the weathered dock, she braced for more.

But there was no more. Quiet settled over a peaceful day as if it had never been broken. A flock of ibis, erupted from the limbs of a bald cypress by the first battering sound, began to return. Croaking raucously in a show of indignation, each perched precariously again in a great flap of wings and flying feathers. Once settled, wings tucked, feathers soothed, only their low grousing and the lazy lap of the river marked the passage of the day.

Birds ceased their muttering, the river sped to the sea undisturbed. As the midmorning sun burned hotly over the dock of Sea Watch, the well of quiet deepened, only to be broken by a humorless, restless laugh.

Rising, dusting sand and splinters away, Kate shrugged in disgust. After joining The Black Watch, she’d endured months of training. Grueling, precise drills teaching and preparing her to deal with any situation. The skills Simon McKinzie required were drummed into her. Drummed and tested, until each merged with natural abilities. Becoming first nature, as Simon promised, not second.





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