The Lightkeeper Read online

  “That’s what she said.”

  “Mmm.” Fiona’s voice held no judgmental tone. Jesse liked her for that. “That’ll be harder still, then.”

  “Now that she can get around, you’ll be taking her into town. Get her settled and—”

  “We mustn’t be hasty.” She preceded him into the house and set her bag on the kitchen table. Together, they went into the little bedroom.

  Jesse’s breath caught, air hooking painfully into his chest. Mary Dare slept in the sunlight atop Palina’s quilts. She still wore the green-and-yellow dress.

  Later, Jesse. I’ll take it off for you later. We have plenty of time.... His dead wife’s voice whispered in his ear, and he shook his head, forcing himself to look at Mary Dare.

  The light caught at her hair and limned the porcelain delicacy of her skin. Beneath her eyes, circles of fatigue bruised the fragile skin. Despite the meal to which she’d helped herself, she looked gaunt and frail.

  “She’s weak as a kitten,” Fiona whispered. “I’ll not be dragging her down the bluff to town in this condition.”

  Jesse cleared his throat. “But—”

  “She’s staying.” Fiona clamped her hands at her hips and jutted her chin up at him. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then get over it, Jesse. For once in your life, think of someone besides yourself!”

  Mary Dare flinched in her sleep.

  “Sorry,” Fiona muttered. “You’re a vexing man, Jesse Morgan.”

  “I’ll look after her until week’s end,” he said. The words tasted sour on his tongue. “And not a minute longer.”

  Stung by Fiona’s triumphant smile, he stalked out of the room.

  * * *

  “How are you feeling this morning?” Jesse asked. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded rusty, like a hinge on an unused gate.

  Mary Dare’s smile made the sun seem dim. “Hungry,” she confessed, stepping into the kitchen. The green dress was wrinkled in the back and her hair was sleep-tousled, heavy waves draping her shoulders.

  “There’s bacon.” He pointed. “And Palina’s cardamom bread. Coffee?”

  “I’ll have a glass of milk, if there is any.”

  “There’s always milk. The Jonssons keep a cow.”

  “That’s lovely. And when shall I be meeting the Jonssons?”

  “Soon. They’re on duty at the lighthouse.”

  “What are they doing there? I don’t see a speck of fog.”

  “Cleaning the equipment. They’ll be done soon.” He watched her eat and drink. Though not gluttonous, she consumed the bacon and bread with efficiency and relish. Expectant mothers needed plenty of good, fresh food. Fiona had told him so. But, of course, that wasn’t the first time he’d heard that advice.

  “Jesse, darling, I have the most marvelous news!” Emily had breezed into his study, a vision of frothy white against the walnut-and-leather backdrop of his library shelves. “I’ve just been to the doctor, and he confirmed it. You’re going to be a papa!”

  He shook off the memory and waited patiently for Mary to finish. She looked better today. Better every moment, in fact. Her pallor seemed less alarmingly pasty. Her eyes were bright, almost eager, and the dark circles were fading.

  Excellent, he thought. Get her well enough to make the trip to town, and he could be rid of her. Free. Alone. That was all he wanted.

  “Can I make you some tea?” he asked. “Dr. MacEwan left an infusion that’s supposed to aid in digestion.”

  “I believe my digestion’s fine,” she remarked with a wink.

  That smile. It was brutal in its simple, dazzling beauty. It hammered at him like a fist.

  When she finished her breakfast, he whisked away the dishes and washed them in the sink. Over his shoulder, he said, “Do you need to go to your room and rest?”

  “I’d like to take a walk.”

  “You’ll tire yourself.”

  “Just a little walk, mind. The fresh air will do me good, don’t you think?”

  Jesse seized on the idea. Anything to get her to feeling better. Anything to get her away from him. She had no idea how each moment he spent in her presence drilled at him, disturbed him in ways he didn’t want to be disturbed.

  “We’ll go to the strand.” He turned toward her. “There’s a way down that’s not too steep.”

  Her smile lanced through him again, warm sunbeams thawing frozen flesh until it ached. “I’d like that, Jesse,” she said.

  This was for her, he told himself as he put one of Palina’s knitted shawls around her shoulders, awkwardly tying it in the front. Mary stood like a docile child, watching him. Trusting him.

  The fresh air was going to help her feel better, and when she felt better, she could leave. That was why he was doing this.

  When they were halfway down the rock-strewn track, she called his name. He stopped and turned. “Is it too much for you?” he asked, feeling a touch of dread. What if he had to carry her again? To hold her close and feel her warmth and the beating of her heart? “Do you need to go back?”

  “No. It’s not that. Jesse?”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve been more than kind to me, and sure I’m the last person to criticize, but could I just be pointing out one small thing?”

  “What?”

  “It occurs to me that you’re not accustomed to walking with a companion.”

  He snorted. “Of all the—”

  “It’s true. You march along like a parade marshal. When two people walk together, they generally go side by side.”

  “We’re not together,” he said. “You said you wanted a walk, so we’re walking.”

  She blew out an exasperated breath and came toward him, her feet clumsy in the oversize India-rubber boots he’d lent her. “A walk isn’t just walking,” she said with a magnificent lack of logic. “It’s talking and sharing.”

  “I don’t do things like that.” He turned and trudged down the hill.

  They crossed the grassy dunes and came to a long strand of sandy beach. He turned and watched her, walking backward. “Look, I’m sorry you’re alone. But if you expect companionship from me, you’re bound to be disappointed.”

  “It would take a lot more than that to disappoint me,” she said.

  Her statement piqued his curiosity, but he thrust it aside. He didn’t want to know what had disappointed her in the past. He didn’t want to know what she dreamed about for the future.

  “I live alone by choice,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want a companion.”

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded. “You didn’t ask to save me. No doubt if you’d had a choice, you never would have come down on the beach and found me that day.”

  Damn it. Was wishing her out of his life the same as wishing he’d never found her? “Mary—”

  She held up a hand. “I understand. Now, let us have our walk.” She tossed back her head and let the wind blow through her hair. “It’s cold here.”

  “Take my coat.”

  She shook her head. “The shawl’s enough. I’ll be rid of these boots, though. I love the feel of the sand beneath my feet.” Before he could protest, she kicked off the boots.

  “Put those back on,” Jesse said. “Your feet will freeze, and then I’ll be stuck with you even longer.”

  “A fate worse than death, I’m sure.” Her dainty feet barely made an impression on the hard-packed sand as she walked.

  And for no reason he cared to examine, Jesse found himself walking beside her. Stubborn female. She should be eager to get away from him. In the past, his growling and snarling had effectively kept other women at a distance. This one had no respect for the iron in his soul.

  “This place is truly th
e edge of the world,” said Mary. With an easy movement, she slipped her arm through his.

  The shock of the contact jolted him like a physical blow. His muscles turned to stone. Perhaps she felt some measure of the intensity, for her cheeks flushed with color. “Is something the matter?”

  He glared at her hand. “Don’t—”

  “I forgot.” She extracted her arm. “You don’t like being touched.” She headed northward on the beach with her face into the sea breeze. The wind sheared down from the towering forested cliffs, causing tears to gather in the corners of her eyes.

  He thought of offering her a handkerchief, but stopped himself. She glanced sideways at him, her glorious red hair swirling on the wind. Chagrined that she had caught him studying her, he hunched his shoulders and pulled his hat over his brow.

  She stopped when she came to a huge, twisted piece of driftwood. She studied it for a moment, observing the whorls in the grain, the deep gashes and cracks, the holes bored into it by worms. Without saying a word, she wandered on. A few feet from the log lay a scattering of shells, all broken and crushed, some with slimy green weed clinging to them. He saw her shudder, and she quickened her pace.

  Jesse wondered what she was thinking. Was she remembering the shipwreck? The father of her baby? He had so many questions to ask her. Yet he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to know the hopes and dreams that filled the head of Mary Dare.

  Because the more he knew about her, the more real she became to him. All he wanted to know was how soon he could get her to a better place than his house.

  She halted again when she came to the remains of a dead seagull. It had been picked clean; the bones resembled a chicken carcass. The wings, still intact, lay spread far apart as if the bird had been tortured.

  Mary turned and looked out to sea, at the long white lines of waves marching relentlessly toward the shore. Jesse kept watching her, wondering what was going on behind her haunted eyes. He wasn’t certain how to speak to her. It had been so long since he had spoken at length to anyone.

  The silence spun out, growing more and more uncomfortable.

  Jesse cleared his throat.

  Finally she spoke. “Everything that washes up on the shore is damaged.”

  The statement hit him like a sucker punch—hard, unexpected. For a few moments he had no idea what to say, how to react. He stared at her. She was so damned pretty with her hair flowing behind her and her face pushing into the wind, those large eyes seeming to see everything.

  “The sea is rough on things,” he said tersely, yanking his gaze from her.

  “Yes.”

  She sounded so bleak and hopeless, so un-Mary-like. Her mood should not be a matter of concern to him, but it was. He couldn’t help it. “Sometimes treasures wash up on the beach.” His words sounded awkward, inept.

  She blew out a breath and started walking again. “I’ve never seen any.”

  He studied her as she moved away from him. “I have.”

  She seemed not to hear. He could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was filled with doubts and regrets and other things he had no right to share. And that she didn’t believe him. That was what bothered him the most.

  He picked up a piece of wood and turned it over in his hands, then lengthened his strides to catch up with her. To walk beside her. Exactly as she wanted.

  “Sometimes the damaged things are treasures in their own way,” he said, sounding unbelievably stupid but unable to stop himself. “A piece of driftwood has its own kind of beauty. A broken shell becomes a piece of jewelry. A dead fish feeds the scavengers.”

  She tossed her head. He could tell she was having none of it. And he could tell their conversation was not about driftwood and dead fish, but about Mary Dare, who had washed up on the beach. Who believed herself damaged.

  He drew back his arm and hurled the piece of driftwood as far as he could, not looking to see where it landed.

  “I suppose some things are best left to feed the scavengers,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Faith, I’ve never slept so much in my life,” Mary mumbled as she pushed aside the covers and got out of bed. She squinted at the window. Great pink fronds of light spread down through the trees and across the far-off horizon as the sun began to set. “I’ve slept the day away.”

  She shuffled over to the washstand to splash water on her face. Then, smoothing the wrinkles from her borrowed dress, she went into the kitchen. Jesse Morgan was there, fixing supper.

  She stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment. He moved with the unhurried deliberation of an old man, yet he wasn’t old at all. He was young and vigorous. What made him seem ancient?

  I don’t like being touched.

  She was filled with questions about her reluctant host. And she knew he would not willingly answer them. Not yet, anyway.

  She cleared her throat. He paused in the midst of lifting the lid from a cast-iron pot on the stove. He replaced it and turned to face her. “Supper’s ready.”

  “It smells delicious.” She walked to the table. “Where is the jar of wildflowers I picked?”

  He scowled. “I set it out on the porch.”

  Without another word, she walked out and found the jar on the stoop. The bursts of daisies made her feel as if she held sunshine in her hands. The spicy perfume warmed her senses. Almost defiantly, she set the jar in the middle of the table. A light yellow powder settled on the surface.

  “They make a mess,” Jesse said.

  “I’ll wipe the table clean after.”

  “They’ll be dead in a few days.”

  “I’ll pick more.”

  He looked at the ceiling for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Aye, too well at that. The walk must’ve taken more out of me than I thought.” She hesitated, thinking of their conversation on the beach that afternoon.

  Sometimes the damaged things are treasures in their own way, Jesse had said. She wondered what he meant by that. Was he softening toward her? Was he starting to care?

  She almost laughed at herself. He had clearly spent years teaching himself not to care. A few days with her was not going to change that. And she was a fool for wanting to change it.

  Oh, but she did want to.

  “Shall I slice the bread, then?” she asked.

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  While he spooned up stew into two speckled enamelware bowls, she randomly selected a knife at the sideboard and attacked the loaf.

  “That knife’s for filleting fish,” he said.

  “Is it, now?” She set the sliced bread on a cloth napkin and carried it to the table.

  He poured a mug of beer from a corked bottle.

  She looked longingly at the tin-lined icebox in the corner. “These days I find I have a craving for milk,” she said.

  His ears reddened as he poured her a glass. She couldn’t help smiling. Mum always said men didn’t know how to behave around a woman who was expecting. It was as if they would admit no connection whatever between the sex act and the appearance of the baby in a woman’s belly.

  She sat down at the table. He picked up his spoon. Making the sign of the cross, she bowed her head, murmuring a prayer of thanks. When she looked up, she saw him regarding her oddly.

  “Habit,” she admitted. “And faith. You don’t give thanks, Captain Morgan?”

  “For what?”

  “For the fruit of the earth and the sea. For life and health.”

  “No.”

  Mum would have a calico cat if she knew her globe-wandering daughter had crossed paths with a heathen like Jesse Morgan.

  “I’m thankful to you as well,” Mary said, sampling the stew. “’Tis because of you entirely that I’m he
re at all, eating this delicious meal and—” she struggled to keep a straight face “—sharing your sparkling company.”

  His brow darkened like a thundercloud. “I’m pleased you survived the wreck—don’t think I’m not,” he said grudgingly. “But I live alone by choice. I’m not used to sharing my home.”

  “I had no idea,” she murmured. Then, contrite, she added, “The stew is delicious. And I had the loveliest day today.” It was true; she realized that as soon as the words were out. Not long ago, she had been certain that a beautiful day spent in the company of a friend was a dream that would never again come true for her. Jesse Morgan was not exactly a friend, mind, but she had enjoyed being with him. Enjoyed the day. There was something timeless and wonderful about a shoreline where the earth and sea meet. She had always felt it, back in Ireland and now here at this remote spot.

  “You’re getting stronger every hour,” he remarked.

  She wanted to throw her arms around him in gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

  “I’ll take you to town where you can recuperate properly,” he said. “Tomorrow—”

  “I’m recuperating just fine right here,” she retorted, stung. So that was why he was so all-fired eager to feed her and pamper her. Not because he cared, but because he was fattening her up in order to send her out into the world.

  “You can’t stay here.” He grabbed his beer mug and took a long drink.

  Her appetite gone, she set down her spoon and pushed her dish away. “Faith, and who would want to? I ask you that. I’ve been made to feel the intruder ever since I woke up in that room.”

  Mary caught her breath and clapped a hand over her mouth. Ah, this temper of hers. Mum always used to say it would get her in trouble. She took her hand away from her mouth. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. You saved my life. What right have I to expect anything more from you?”

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw. Why, she wondered—not for the first time—would nature favor a man with such extraordinary handsomeness, then make him want to hide away from the world?

  “Ilwaco has a good hotel and several boardinghouses,” he said. “You’ll be closer to the doctor in town.”