A Light For My Love (41 page)

She felt his lips on her temple and she
lifted her face to his. When his mouth covered hers she responded
with hungry desperation. Heartache, piercing and cruel, flooded her
in waves. She clung to him tightly and wrapped her arms

around his slender waist inside his coat.
Inhaling his scent, she tried to commit to memory the feel of his
lips on hers, the rush of his breathing, the small anguished noise
that sounded in his throat.

Finally, he disentangled her arms and brought
both of her hands to his mouth for a final kiss.

"Quinn asked me to give you this, too," he
said, and pressed another kiss to her cheek. Then he reached inside
his coat and produced an envelope. "Read this after we've gone,
okay?"

She took it from him, feeling the rough linen
texture of the paper under her fingertips. She glanced down and
recognized Jake's firm pen strokes where he'd written her name. She
couldn't speak; her throat was too constricted.

Suddenly he seized her by the back of her
neck and brought her mouth hard against his lips once more. Then he
turned and strode to the door, pulling it open. She stumbled after
him.

"Good-bye, China," he choked and pounded down
the stairs.

She took two running steps out to the porch
and watched him hurry down the path that led to the front of the
house. Turning, she thundered through the kitchen and down the hall
to the front parlor. Over the blue Persian rug she sped to the
alcove windows in time to see him run down the sidewalk, past the
house, and on toward the waterfront.

Then he was gone.

"Good-bye, Jake."

A bubble of sorrow swelled under her heart,
making her breath short. She turned from the windows and dropped to
the settee, seeing the letter she still clutched in a death grip.
He'd said to wait until after twelve to read it, but, dear God,
what did it matter now, when her heart was breaking?

She turned the envelope over in shaking hands
and carefully opened the flap. Inside was a single sheet of heavy
cream paper, creased once, bearing the same bold ink strokes as the
envelope.

Unfolding the note, she read the two short
lines he'd written then clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle
the sob that rose from her throat.

To the sweetest flower in Astoria

I love you

John Jacob Chastaine

*~*~*

"I appreciate your confidence, Hollis.
Considering everything that's happened, I would have understood if
you'd decided to cancel our agreement," Jake said, backing up to
let a husky stevedore pass. The docks teemed with activity under
the spring sky; horses and wagons, screeching gulls, the noisy chug
of steam-powered winches, shouting longshoremen, and merchants all
jostled together, raising a familiar racket and making the rough
planking vibrate beneath their feet.

On his way home for lunch, Peter Hollis had
come down to look at the
Aurora
, the steel-hulled bark that
would carry his canned salmon. His timing couldn't have been worse
as far as Jake was concerned. He'd felt empty and numb after
leaving China; he didn't want to talk to anyone. But he obliged
Peter by giving him a tour. The
Aurora
hadn't the grace of
the
Katherine Kirkland
, or her beauty of design, but she
certainly appeared seaworthy and she would get the job done.

"I admit I had some reservations," Peter
conceded after they returned to the dock. "Pacific Maid Packing has
been on a bit of shaky ground financially. When my father finds a
buyer for his bar piloting business, the capital will make a big
difference to the cannery." He nodded toward the steam tug tying up
to the
Aurora
to tow her over the Columbia River bar.

"Till then, we can't afford to lose a sizable
cargo in a fire. Quinn and his ship wouldn't have been much help if
he had gotten here and found there was no warehouse. So I was ready
to tell China we'd have to withdraw—until she offered that
collateral. If she was willing to risk her home, I knew she must
have a lot of faith in you, and it gave me confidence. Of course, I
didn't hold her to the offer, although I understand a couple of
your other shippers did."

Jake stared speechlessly at the mild-looking
Peter Hollis. He turned a poker face on the man, but he was reeling
from the information. China had pledged her home, the only material
thing she had left, to save his business and his dignity. He
shuddered inside; if he had failed her or stuck with his original
plan to stay on Tenth Street—

"Ah, here comes your third partner now,"
Hollis remarked, as Quinn joined them. "I was just telling
Chastaine that your sister was able to convince me to wait for your
ship when she offered her home as security against any loss. It was
a pretty bold thing to do."

Quinn flashed a private, angry look at Jake,
but said only, "China's got a lot of courage, that's for sure."
Then to Jake, "We've only got a few minutes before we cast
off."

Hollis bade them farewell and good luck, and
left to get his lunch.

After he was gone, Quinn turned to Jake and
gripped his forearm. "Did you ask China to use the house for
collateral with those men?" he demanded, suspicion in his
voice.

Glaring at him, Jake yanked his arm free and
responded in a low voice, "I can't believe you're asking me that,
Quinn. The first time I heard anything about it was just now.
Besides, don't you think it's a little late to start playing the
protective brother?"

Quinn's own expression turned both sheepish
and rueful. "Hell, I'm sorry. She must have pretty strong feelings
for you to wire me for help and to risk the house. What happened
between you two? No offense, but I always thought she could barely
stand you. Jesus, she could barely stand either of us."

Jake gave him a black look. "Look, Quinn, I
really don't want to talk about this."

"Whatever you say," Quinn shrugged with a
knowing look.

They stood at the starboard rail, watching
the crew of the
Aurora
swarm over her, making last-minute
gear and rigging checks. When a boy who reminded Jake of Willie
Graham came to report a problem in one of the holds, Quinn left to
investigate.

Jake leaned his elbows on the rail, not
really seeing the swarming bustle on the dock. What he saw instead
was a red-shingled roof on the distant hillside. It had been the
first thing he looked for three months earlier, when he'd sailed
into Astoria on the
Katherine Kirkland
.

Oh, hadn't he been full of piss and vinegar
then, so proud of himself, ready to show Pop and everyone else what
a big man he'd become. But most especially he'd wanted to prove it
to the woman who lived under that red roof.

And now he was sailing away again, with less
than he'd had when he'd gotten here. His ship was a litter of
broken black cinders that had washed up on the Columbia's banks
between here and Point Adams. He'd lost everything that
mattered—the
Katherine
and the woman he'd hoped to win. His
stomach clenched into a tight knot that felt like a fist.

Some men went to sea because they were
running away, or they wanted adventure, or they sought, as he once
had, to make their fortunes. He was leaving this time because he
had nowhere else to go. The sun fell across his back, but he was
oddly chilled by the thought. It had always been enough before, he
and the ocean. Maybe because he'd hoped it wouldn't be
forever . . . 

Quinn had solved whatever problem had been
brought to him, and now he rejoined Jake at the rail. "We're all
set," he said, and signaled the first mate.

The shouted order to raise the gangway and
cast off brought Jake back hard to the present. He turned to take
one last look at Astoria and the red roof on the hillside. When he
would see them again only God knew.

Suddenly a curious sight caught his gaze—a
solitary female figure standing on the dock amid the laborers and
cargo. Her lavender skirt was a conspicuous spot of delicate color.
The brisk spring breeze lifted her hair from her shoulders, and she
pulled her shawl close around herself.

Jake was hurtled back to a gray dawn seven
years earlier, when this same woman had come down to the
waterfront. The memory of her, waving frantically, vulnerable and
alone, growing smaller and smaller as their ship left her behind,
had visited him in dreams many times since. And he'd suffered an
aching emptiness in his soul that, in all these years, would not be
filled.

"Not again," he vowed aloud. "Not again, damn
it!" He turned to China's brother, fear and urgency driving him.
"Quinn, order the gangplank dropped!"

Quinn turned to look at him. "What the hell
are you—"

"Give the goddamned order!" Jake shouted. He
gripped Quinn's lapels, his heart hammering against the base of his
throat. "I'm not going to leave her again!"

"Okay, okay," Quinn said, and ordered the
gangplank lowered again. Obviously baffled, he followed Jake's
riveted gaze and saw his sister standing on the dock.

Jake ran aft and waited impatiently for the
crewmen to obey, then flung open the gangway and scrambled down the
ramp.

"China!" he roared.

Immobilized, China stared at Jake, tall and
blond against the backdrop of the
Aurora
, unable to believe
her eyes as he pounded over the planking toward her. He ran in
front of a moving horse, causing the animal to rear and the driver
to swear mightily at Jake, but he didn't slow down. He dodged
crates and barrels, nearly mowing down a man pushing a wheelbarrow.
Nearing her, he opened his arms and her paralysis fell away.

"Jake!" With a sobbing cry, she sprang
forward into his embrace.

They rained a hundred frantic kisses on each
other and babbled each other's names again and again, while curious
bystanders turned to look at them.

"I'm sorry, Jake, I read your note right
after you left. I know you said not to, and I know you said I don't
listen but—"

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay. If it brought you
down here, I'm glad you didn't listen." He pressed her head to his
shoulder and stroked her hair. His breath came in harsh gasps.

Finally he took her face between his big
hands. They were cold, and she felt the slight tremor in them. He
tipped his head back and glanced at the sky. Swamped with the
jumble of emotions coursing through him, he knew what he wanted to
tell her, but could he make himself say the words? They'd been
stuck in his heart for years, never traveling as far as his throat.
Writing them had been easier.

"I need you in my life, China. I need you to
come home to, to be with." He bent his head to hers. "I want to
hold you in the night, to give you a place with me that's safe and
quiet, where we can close out the rest of the world."

China held her breath, enraptured by his
words. This was what Dalton, as dear as he was, could never have
given her. She closed her eyes, feeling the brush of his lips
against her ear.

"When I came back three months ago, it was to
see you. To see if you were all right. To see if you were married.
If you had been, I think I would have killed that weasely little
bastard, Zach Stowe."

"Why, Jake, why?" China urged, employing his
own pressure tactics.

"Well, because . ." he stumbled to a
halt.

She would hear him say it. "Tell me why any
of it mattered!"

"Because I love you!" He pressed his lips to
her forehead and intoned more gently, "God, how I love you." Once
he'd said the words, it was as though the fetters fell away from
his heart, and it gave up its long-held secrets. "Since I was
fourteen years old, since that day you tried to bandage my hand. I
just didn't know what it was. I tried a hundred times and as many
ways to forget you. I never could do it. You're in my blood, in my
soul. You're etched on my arm."

"Oh, Jake," she whispered.

"I want you to be mine. Will you marry me,
China?" he asked. The expression on his face was tense,
expectant.

She'd sworn she would never marry a sailor
and spend her life the way her mother had, alone and waiting. But
she realized she'd spent the last seven years waiting for a man
with honor, waiting for Jake Chastaine.

"Yes, I will, yes," she said. She held his
hands in hers and looked up into his eyes. "I love you too much to
lose you. If a few days or weeks at a time is all we—"

He crushed her to him in a fierce embrace.
"Then we'll do it today, this afternoon before the ship
leaves."

"But can we do that?" she asked. "Who will we
find? I don't think Father Gibney—"

"Father Gibney is going to have to work it
out later. I'm not going to take the chance of having something
coming between us again. We're getting married this afternoon at
the courthouse."

"But—will we have no wedding night?" she
murmured, suddenly shy.

"You don't understand, honey. I'm not leaving
you," he pledged. "I'm not leaving Astoria. But Quinn has to go
this afternoon, and I want him to give the bride away."

"Jake, really? You're giving up the sea? What
will you do?" Her love for him increased with each thing he told
her.

He pushed her hair back from her forehead,
grazing her skin with his fingertips. "I heard about a little bar
piloting business that's for sale here. It might be a good way to
spend the insurance money from the
Katherine
. I think she
would approve." His eyes darkened as he looked at her. "But I'll
figure that out tomorrow. Tonight, though, you're my chief concern.
We'll have another wedding night, don't you worry."

"Another?" she puzzled.

He gave her a bashful look. "Well, I kind of
figured the first time I made love to you was our wedding night. I
told you I loved you that night, too."

"No, you didn't," she protested, pulling
back. "I would have remembered."