Hearts Made Whole (11 page)

A ready retort died upon her lips.

His fingers on her arm became more firm, and his expression turned grave. “Admit it, the only reason you're thinking about marrying him is because once more you're looking out for your siblings. You see it as a way to take care of them, regardless of the sacrifice you'll have to make.”

He was absolutely right. Even so, she didn't want to admit it. “I won't have to sacrifice anything. Arnie's a very nice man. He'll make a good husband.”

Ryan's brow shot up. “He's got the mind of a child. If you marry him, you'll end up having one more person to take care of.”

She wouldn't agree with him. She couldn't. “I know he'll treat me with the utmost respect and kindness.”

“Like a child treats his mother.”

“He's a man. And he'll treat me as such—”

He cut off her words by tugging her with the same strength he'd used when he rescued Hugh from the well. She stumbled against his chest in mortification and had to tilt her head back to keep her face from brushing his.

Before she could protest, he swooped forward and brought his mouth down against hers.

The move was so unexpected she drew in a sharp breath, which was cut off by the pressure of his lips. The firmness was more than she imagined when she'd shaved him, a strange mixture of strength and softness. The touch sent a rushing current through her, flooding her with warmth.

His lips lifted a mere fraction, and she expected that he'd end the kiss, back away, and put a proper distance between them. Instead he only angled his mouth so that he took more of her and captured her fully.

She could do nothing less than respond, letting his lips guide
hers, pressing against him, tasting of his warmth and fullness until she was heady with the heat of the kiss.

As abruptly as he started, he broke away from her, leaving her lips bare and craving more.

“That's what it's like to be with a man.” He took a step away. His chest heaved and his breathing came hard, as if he'd just swam a great distance. “Arnie will never kiss you like that.”

She didn't know how to respond. She could only stand there trembling from the power of his kiss, her lips swollen and now cold from the morning air that had taken away the warmth of his touch.

He dragged in a ragged breath and stared at her through the hair that hung down his forehead. His brown eyes regarded her in a way that sent more hot waves lapping against her insides.

She had to lower her eyes or burn up altogether. She focused on the toes of her boots and her hem dampened by the dew on the long grass.

“Don't settle for Arnie. You shouldn't have to marry someone like him just so you can take care of your family.”

She continued looking down at the water-stained leather of her boots. “Maybe over time I'll learn to love him.”

Ryan muttered a groan.

Before he could protest, she hurried on. “Love and passion”—she flushed as the words left her lips—“aren't nearly as important as duty and loyalty to my family.”

“That's what I mean.” His voice was exasperated. “You're taking care of everyone else and not considering yourself.”

“It's called sacrifice,” she said, striding forward and brushing past him. “Maybe that's not something you care about, but I do.”

“Of course I care about it.” He trailed after her.

She rounded the corner of the keeper's dwelling, her body attune to his overpowering presence behind her. For a moment she couldn't see anything except his face and the desire that had rippled across his taut features when he'd pulled back from their kiss. Then her sight cleared, and she stopped with a gasp and glanced around at the utter destruction that met her.

Every single one of her precious plants had been ripped from the ground, roots and all. Zinnias and marigolds, impatiens and geraniums, even her parsley and thyme. They'd been snapped, shredded, and trampled so that all that was left of her beautiful garden were piles of debris. Every remaining greenery and even those that had faded had been viciously uprooted and sliced. Nothing salvageable remained.

A cry slipped from her lips. Overwhelmed, she dropped to her knees.

“What in the name of all that's holy,” Ryan muttered. He was at her side in an instant, kneeling next to her, concern crinkling his brow.

“My garden,” she whispered, reaching for the bulb of one of her rare lily plants. It was mashed into a dangling pulp.

Ryan slipped his arm around her waist, solidly supporting her and keeping her from crumpling altogether. Somehow even amidst the mindless destruction that sprawled before her, his simple act of comfort stopped the hysteria that was cutting off her airway.

She sagged against him and allowed his weight to support her.

“It looks like a tornado came through,” he said solemnly.

She reached for another plant, or what was left of the shredded roots. She brushed the damp soil away to reveal the white interior that had obviously seen the sharp slice of a knife blade. “This was no accident.”

“Who could have done it?” Ryan asked, his expression mirroring disbelief. “And why would anyone want to?”

She stared at the years of loving labor ruined in one fell swoop. Ryan's question echoed in her mind.
Who would have done such a thing
?

She looked up to Sarah's window and was relieved to see the curtain still pulled. Her sister hadn't witnessed the devastation.

“Caroline.” Ryan turned her so that she faced him. His brows came together, and worry darkened his eyes. “We need to find out who did this.”

She nodded but couldn't speak past the grief clogging her throat.

“Do you think the twins did it? As a practical joke?”

She shook her head. Harry and Hugh were mischievous, but they'd never destroy her garden so thoughtlessly. Would they? What if they'd come out in the early morning before breakfast and thought to play a game of sorts?

“No,” she whispered. “They couldn't have done this.” At least she wanted to believe Harry and Hugh weren't becoming so wild and undisciplined that they'd resorted to violence. But the guilty voice at the back of her mind whispered again that they'd been deprived of the supervision they needed since before her father died.

Ryan's grip on her upper arm tightened. “What about enemies? Have you made any enemies?”

She wanted to blurt out that of course she didn't have enemies, but at the thought of Mr. Finick, she blanched. Had he heard that she was staying on as an assistant? Had he sent someone out to the light to threaten her into leaving?

Her attention shifted to the north woods, to the direction of the old windmill and where Jacques Poupard lived. Had the
old Frenchman finally gotten tired of the twins' antics? Had he decided to repay them for all the trouble the boys had been to him?

She didn't want to believe Monsieur Poupard would resort to such destruction, especially since he'd been the one to alert her when Hugh had nearly drowned in the well. He might be grumpy, but he wasn't mean-spirited.

“Think about who might want to do this to you,” Ryan added.

What about Mr. Simmons? He'd never liked Father. Maybe he'd heard she was staying. But what harm was her presence at the light doing him? Last night his supply boat had unloaded goods under the cover of darkness along a smooth stretch of beach just south of the lighthouse—most likely illegal goods. Part of her wanted to alert the authorities. But she didn't want to stir up any unnecessary strife with Mr. Simmons, not now with her job so tentative.

She looked Ryan in the eyes and saw the worry there. “I don't know.”

Even if she had unknown enemies, she had no idea why any of them would want to ruin her garden. It made no sense.

A breeze rippled under her shawl, sending a chill over her skin. She tugged the knitted wrap closer to her shoulders. But the chill penetrated under her flesh all the way to her heart.

All she could do was sit in helpless despair and stare at the ravaged garden while her soul wept.

R
yan swallowed the last bitter mouthful of the rum Simmons had generously poured him. He plunked the glass down on the bar and then pushed back.

“You're not going yet, are you?” Behind the bar, Simmons paused in wiping a beer glass. The giant's bald head glowed in the dim lighting of the tavern.

Ryan nodded, guilt pouring in his gut and sloshing there like sour whiskey. He hadn't planned on staying at all. In fact, he hadn't really wanted to come here in the first place.

But his empty flask had taunted him mercilessly until his thirst had driven him from the boathouse. He'd saddled his horse, telling himself he was only going for a ride to distract himself. But his horse had ended up at the Roadside Inn, and once there, Ryan hadn't been able to resist going inside.

Simmons had gladly filled up his flask, then poured him a glass without even asking. Soon one drink had turned into two.

“You need another shot before you go,” Simmons said, lifting the decanter and tipping it toward Ryan's abandoned glass.

“Nay,” Ryan protested.

Even though the warm rum was moving through his veins and dulling his aches, it wasn't taking away the guilt. It only seemed to magnify it, until his head was pounding, not with pain but from the need to get away from the tavern.

Ryan pulled the last of his coins from his pocket and dropped them onto the bar with a rattle.

Simmons waved the money away just as he had during the last couple of visits. “Drinks are on me, Chambers.”

Ryan pushed the coins back toward Simmons. “I'll not be indebted—”

With a guffaw, Simmons cut him off. “You're my friend. And as I told you before, I'm always kind to my friends.”

Ryan didn't quite understand how he was Simmons's friend. But he wasn't about to question the man's sincerity.

“Take it,” Simmons said again in his smooth voice that belied the tattoos covering his arms from his wrists to the rolled-up sleeves that hugged his bulging biceps. “It's my way of saying thanks for being such a good keeper.”

“Then thank you,” Ryan said, ducking his head to hide the shame he felt. He wasn't a good keeper. Aye, he'd made it up to the tower again that morning, and this time Caroline had let him complete the duties of extinguishing the light while she only looked on and offered him a few tips now and then. But that didn't make him a good keeper, not when Caroline was still handling the majority of the work while he drank the days and nights away.

He started to back away from the bar. The inn was more crowded than the last time he'd been here. The tables were full, and the laughter and smoke swirled around him, jeering at him and reminding him that he didn't belong in such a place. He never had.

His shame only rose higher, searing his chest, until he knew he couldn't remain silent. Simmons had turned away to pour a drink for another customer, but Ryan addressed him anyway. “If anyone deserves praise for being a good keeper, it ought to go to Caroline Taylor.”

Through a crescendo of raucous laughter, Ryan couldn't be sure if Simmons had heard him. For a long moment the giant didn't acknowledge Ryan's comment but merely corked the flask and placed it back among the collection of bottles on the shelf.

Simmons finally shot Ryan a look, his eyes hard. “The only place for that headstrong girl is in my son's bed.”

Ryan glanced to the broom standing abandoned in the corner. He hadn't seen Arnie since he'd arrived, and he'd been somewhat relieved. He knew if he saw the young man, he'd have to tell him to stop pestering Caroline to marry him.

“I agree with Finick one hundred percent,” Simmons said, leaning over the bar toward Ryan. “Let men do men's work. And keep the women in the home.”

Ryan scrambled to find a response, but all his thoughts swam together in a murky puddle. He'd always held the belief that women shouldn't do men's work, that as a man it was his duty to take care of and protect women and children. But Caroline was as good at light keeping as his brother-in-law, Patrick Garraty. If she enjoyed it and wanted to do it, why should anyone deny her the opportunity simply because of her gender?

The tavern door opened, letting in a stream of sunlight that made Ryan blink. Along with the sunlight came a chorus of shouts.

At the ruckus outside, Simmons banged a fist against the bar, causing the glasses to clink together. He uttered several oaths
under his breath, then with quick, thudding steps rounded the bar and elbowed his way through the tavern toward the door.

Ryan pulled the brim of his hat lower and started after Simmons, careful to avoid any jostling against his injured arm. He wanted to get back to the lighthouse before Caroline noticed he'd left. But he doubted that would happen now, and he dreaded facing her questions about where he'd been.

Not that she'd ask. He'd learned that she wasn't one to pry.

Even so, with each passing day he realized he coveted her respect, and he hoped she wouldn't be able to smell the cigar smoke on his clothes or the rum on his breath when he returned.

She'd been in a state of mourning since she'd come upon her ruined garden yesterday. Afterward, he'd spent the morning helping her clear away the rubbish and burn the slashings. Every time he'd glimpsed her stricken, pale face, his resolve to find the perpetrator had grown.

Of course, the pain in his arm from all the activity had sent him to the boathouse even earlier than usual to his pills and whiskey. He hadn't had the chance to question the twins yet. Caroline said they claimed innocence, but Ryan wanted the opportunity to look them in the eyes and find out for himself.

As Ryan pushed his way out the tavern door, he almost bumped into Simmons, who'd parked his bulky frame only a step from the door. He was shouting curses at a group of people who'd assembled on the dirt road in front of the hitching posts.

They held signs on sticks, pumped them in the air, and called out, “Stop cruelty to animals! Outlaw cockfighting!”

“Get out of here. Now!” Simmons shouted, raising a fist.

“Call off the cockfight for tonight and we'll leave,” yelled a plump-looking woman in the front of the group. She was
shorter than the others in the gathering, which Ryan noticed was mostly made up of women.

“Go home, woman!” Simmons shouted. “Before I ride out and find your husband and tell him you're disturbing the peace again.”

“You know he'd be out here protesting with me if he were home,” the woman called back. She stepped forward away from the others, the obvious leader of the group.

It was then that he caught sight of Caroline's face. She'd been tucked out of sight at the back of the group. She slouched her shoulders, lowered her head, and kept her sign lower than anyone else.

Ryan tipped his hat up. What was she doing among the rabble-rousers?

She glanced up under the brim of her bonnet. Her beautiful blue eyes connected with his. At the sight of him, she straightened and her eyes widened.

Guilt came roaring back, and he took a quick step back, wanting to disappear inside the tavern. But he knew it wouldn't do any good now. She'd seen him, and there was no use pretending otherwise. If she hadn't known before, now she'd know exactly just how low he'd sunk.

He waited for the disappointment to register in her eyes, but at another shout from Simmons, she lowered her head again.

Was she afraid of the man? Of what he'd do to her if he saw her there in the crowd of protestors?

Blue veins bulged in the back of Simmons's neck above his shirt collar. Ryan had the feeling the giant wasn't the kind of man anyone wanted for an enemy.

Simmons yelled a string of profanities. “If you don't get out of here, I'll be sending you home with my fists! I don't care if
you are a bunch of women, I won't be afraid to give you the discipline your husbands are neglecting.”

At that, Ryan started past Simmons. He wouldn't stand back and let Caroline get punched around. He slipped around the hitching posts and pushed aside the gathering until he stood in front of her. She didn't look up at him but instead stared down at her boots.

Then the protests faded as a dozen pairs of eyes burned into him, including those of Simmons.

“I'll take you home now, Caroline,” he offered.

“Is that the lightkeeper girl?” Simmons called.

Ryan held out the crook of his arm, and he was relieved when she didn't hesitate to hook her hand into the fold and allow him to lead her toward his horse.

“That's right.” Simmons's voice followed them. “Get her on out of here. Unless of course she's here to marry Arnie.”

“Let's go,” Ryan said under his breath. “You're not marrying Arnie.”

“You can't go now, Caroline,” said the round woman leading the protest. “We're just getting started.”

Caroline glanced apologetically over her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Esther. I need to go.”

Esther pursed her lips together as if she wished to say more, but thankfully she'd didn't object further.

He assisted Caroline up onto his horse, helping her get comfortable sitting sideways before hoisting himself behind her. His good arm strained under the effort, yet the moment he was situated he forgot about everything but her soft body in front of him.

He had to lean into her to grab the reins. She turned rigid momentarily, but once he straightened again, he could feel her relax.

The crowd had resumed their protests, Esther the loudest of all, drowning out Simmons's curses. Ryan urged the horse into a trot down Big Marsh Road, which led out to Windmill Point. After several minutes the shouts faded, replaced by the crunching sound of hooves pushing through the dry leaves that had already begun to fall.

He glanced at the profile of Caroline's cheek and neck, the smooth stretch of skin teased by strands of hair that had come loose from her bonnet. He wished he could read her emotions and know what she was thinking. He wanted her to speak her piece and get the lecture over. Instead they rode in silence.

Finally after several moments, he cleared his throat. “I'm sorry, Caroline.” He wasn't exactly sure what he was apologizing for—maybe for drinking or for being at the tavern or for any other of his innumerable sins.

“You don't need to apologize to me,” she said gently, turning slightly so that he could see more of her face. Her expression was sad but resigned.

Had he put the sadness there? The thought sent a shard into his heart. The last thing he wanted to do was add to her despondency. “I shouldn't have gone to the tavern.”

She didn't deny it, but her fingers closed around his on the reins. And when she squeezed, the pressure went deep and soaked into him. He drew a deep breath, and it was like getting a fresh gasp of air for the first time in years. A sense of purpose surged through him, something he thought he'd never feel again.

His throat clogged with emotion, and he was overwhelmed with gratefulness for this woman sitting in front of him. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met. She hadn't condemned or judged him. Instead she seemed to understand what he was
going through, even though he hadn't shared the awful truth with her.

He turned his palm over and threaded his fingers through hers.

Her gaze flitted down to the intimate hold. When she didn't protest, he laced his fingers tighter, sliding their hands together. Then at the jostle of the horse, her body sagged against his chest as if she'd finally given up the effort to hold herself away from him. He tilted his head, breathing in the flowery scent that he'd recognized belonged to her.

The smoothness of her neck stretched before him. Another tiny bend forward and his lips would touch the soft skin that beckoned him.

He thought of the kiss they'd shared yesterday morning, of the eager way she'd responded. He hadn't intended to kiss her. And ever since, he'd felt uneasy about taking advantage of her that way. He could have made his point without being so brash.

But now he couldn't stop from wanting to twist her around in the saddle and kiss her again.

He swallowed hard. He couldn't. He respected her too much to use her for his own pleasures.

“I'm sorry for kissing you yesterday,” he whispered.

“You are?” She tilted her head, giving him full access to her neck.

He looked away from the temptation and had to swallow his desire again. “I shouldn't have kissed you without your permission. Will you forgive me?”

She hesitated. “There's no need to forgive you, Ryan,” she finally said. “It didn't offend me.”

He breathed out his relief, and a smile spread across his lips. “Since it didn't offend you,” he said against her ear, “then
maybe I'll kiss you again sometime.” Her soft gasp made his smile creep higher. “But next time I'll ask you first.”

She chewed her lower lip and stared at their hands intertwined together and resting against her leg.