The Lightkeeper's Woman

Never in a hundred years would she have pictured herself standing here waiting for a boat to take her to see Caleb.

Her love for Caleb had been like a wildfire, brilliantly hot, overpowering and destructive. What they’d shared, no matter how delicious, was not meant to last.

Yet, here she stood.

Henry had been asking her for months to marry him, yet she continued to put him off. Finally, she’d accepted. She had a wonderful man in Henry. He’d remained at her side after her father’s suicide and had begun courting her when none of her old friends would receive her.

Henry checked on her daily, he worried over her and made her feel safe. If she married him, he would see to all the details. She’d never have to worry about money again and her life would return to what it once was—petted and secure.

So why hadn’t she said yes?

She turned to the sound. The bits of sunshine that had peeked through the clouds moments ago had vanished. Erratic winds swooped through the reeds trimming the shoreline, making them sway and bend. An osprey flapped its wings and landed in its nest atop a wind-stunted oak.

The weather was closing in. She and Crowley would have to move fast if they were to make the journey before the storm hit.

It seemed even the heavens were warning her to keep away from Caleb.

“Best we get moving,” Crowley said as he brushed past her.

Alanna watched the old man limp down the peer. He seemed confident enough about the weather and making the crossing. After all, if it were too dangerous he wouldn’t make the journey, right?

Determined, she picked up her valise and stepped onto the pier. Bracing her feet she accustomed herself to the movement. Water lapped against the moorings as she tiptoed down the dock, careful not to get her heels caught in the wide openings between the boards.

The vibration of her footsteps had Mr. Crowley raising his head from the rope knot he was untwisting. He snorted. “Hurry up. We ain’t exactly got all day.”

She stared at his vessel that was as weather-beaten as her pirate captain. Her sail was patched in a half-dozen places and water sloshed over the bottom. “Is there supposed to be water in your boat?”

Crowley unfastened the rope from the dock. “The Sea Witch is an ocean-worthy gal and she’s never failed me.”

Doubt had her lifting her gaze to the sound. A handful of whitecaps dotted the waters. “The water looks rough.”

He shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.”

She nibbled her bottom lip. “Would it be better if we waited an hour or two?”

“Women. Couldn’t make up their minds if their lives depended on it. I thought you was in a rush? Look, if you don’t want to go that’s fine. But I’m not giving your dollar back.”

Her gaze lifted to Caleb’s lighthouse on the north end of the outer banks. It seemed much, much closer. The guilt and anger she’d carefully kept locked away for two years pounded at her heart. She was so close. “I have to go.”

“Then the water’s calm enough.” His eyes narrowed. “You bring the money?”

“I’ll give it to you when we return.”

“Fair enough.” He twisted his thin lips into a half smile. “Don’t worry, the Sea Witch will serve us well. Now if we are going to shove off we best do it now.”

Now or never.

Alanna handed her valise to Crowley who tossed it toward the bow of the boat. It landed in a puddle of water on its side. “Would you please right my bag? I don’t want my things getting wet.”

He didn’t spare the bag a glance. “With these waves and wind, we’ll both be soaked by the time we reach the banks.”

Alanna hesitated. Was anything to go right on this journey?

“Move your fanny!” Crowley said.

Sighing, Alanna lifted her hem. Careful not to snag her skirt, she climbed down the small ladder into the boat’s damp bottom. The dinghy wobbled from side to side as she clung to the ladder. It was one thing to look at the boat from the dock, quite another to stand in the leaky vessel. She doubted she’d have let go of the pier if Crowley hadn’t pulled her roughly onto a wooden plank seat.

“Women and the sea is a bad mix,” he muttered.

The rocking boat unsettled her stomach. She wished she’d thought to pack crackers or a piece of bread. It still wasn’t too late, she thought in a panic as she stared at the dock. She could leave this wretched place behind.

The box buttoned tight in her cape pocket brushed her leg, a reminder of why she was here. “It’s been a couple of years since I’ve been on the water.”

Crowley studied Alanna’s white-knuckle grip on the side of the boat. “You ain’t gonna panic or worse start crying is you?”

She lifted her chin. “Of course not.”

He studied her an extra beat as if he half expected her to cry. “God save us all.”

The old seaman took his seat across from her, his back facing aft. His knees brushed hers and she could smell the strong scent of whiskey. Gripping the oars, he pushed away from the dock.

Despite his age, Mr. Crowley was a strong rower and within minutes they were a hundred feet from shore. He paused long enough to raise the sails. The boat started moving at a fast clip.

Frigid northeastern winds smelling of salt and sea teased the curls peeking out from her hat and flapped the folds of her cape and skirt. The water grew choppier, and she lost sight of the dock.

Now that they were out of land’s reach, the lighthouse seemed miles away. A wave broke over the bow of the boat, spraying her face with seawater. Sputtering, she wiped her face clean. If the boat were to overturn, no one would be there to save her. She would simply vanish into the sea.

“I hear twenty-three men died when the Intrepid went down in a storm. The survivors say the ship’s boiler blew without warning.”

“Yes, it’s true.”

He snorted. “A good captain goes down with his men and his ship.”

How many times had she heard others in Richmond utter the same thing? Ironically, Caleb’s reputation would have fared better at the inquest if he had died with his men. But Caleb had been blown free of the Intrepid when the boiler exploded. In the maritime world he’d done the unpardonable—he’d survived when his men had died.

And then her father had supplied the reports that stated Caleb had refused maintenance on the Intrepid’s boiler so he could leave port three days earlier. His fatal error had killed twenty-three men.

She’d been so ill those weeks after the accident. Weakened and exhausted, she’d broken their engagement in a fit of grief and fear. Her father and friends had told her over and over that she’d made the right decision. As her health improved and she grew stronger she’d started to question the events surrounding the accident. Caleb had always seemed so careful when it came to his ship.

Her father had discounted her doubts and then without warning he had shot and killed himself in his study. The devastating loss had left her in a state of shock for months. When she finally let go of her grief, she came face-to-face with the reality—her father’s business wasn’t simply in trouble—it was gone. She was penniless.

“What are you to him?” Crowley said.

“An old friend,” she lied, hoping he’d leave her to her thoughts.

Crowley grunted as his narrowed gaze skimmed slowly over her. “You and he were friends? Lovers maybe, but not friends.”

The old man was right. Alanna and Caleb had loved each other; they had laughed together; and yes, they had been lovers, but they’d never been friends. So caught up were they in their attraction to each other, they rarely discussed anything other than the most superficial.

Perhaps if they’d been better friends, he’d have told her more about his business. In the months after the disaster, she replayed their conversations over and over. She’d searched for any clue that might have helped her understand why he’d set sail without repairing the boiler. Dear Lord, if money had been his problem, she would have sold her jewelry for him. But as hard as she thought back, all she could remember were comments he’d made about her hair, her wit or her pretty clothes.

Crowley asked other questions about Caleb, but Alanna offered vague answers, unwilling to talk any more than was necessary. Soon the two lapsed into silence.

As she watched another wave crash over the bow of the boat, her mind drifted to the Caleb she’d known and loved. She’d been drawn to him the instant she’d first seen him firing orders at the men in the shipyard. For the first time in her life, she disobeyed her father and strode out onto the Patterson’s Shipping docks, determined to meet him.

They’d been drawn to each other like lightning to water. From the outset, the passion that had burned between them seemed eternal.

The roar of thunder brought Alanna back to the present. The memories receded but as always they never quite went away.

She’d tried to rebuild her life and suddenly wondered if Caleb had done the same. It tore at her to think of him with another woman. He could well be a father by now. “Mr. Crowley, has the captain married?”

“No.”

A small part of Alanna’s heart eased. “Because of the Intrepid?”

Crowley’s hands tightened around the oars as he dug the paddles deeper into the water. “That’s part of it.”

“Have you seen him lately?”

For a moment he didn’t speak, his full attention on the water. “Been a few months.”

“Does he look well?” She hated her curiosity.

He stared at her as if she’d asked a foolish question. “As well as can be expected.”

“Does he spend most of his time at the lighthouse?”

“He’s a regular hermit.”

Lightning sliced through the clouds. The old man shifted his full attention to the sky that had grown suddenly very dark. Fat rain droplets mingled with the wind and the boat started to pitch.

Alanna’s lips tasted of sea salt. She glanced down at her cold feet and realized the water had risen up to her shoelaces. “The boat is sinking!”

Caleb stared out the lightkeeper’s cottage window, relieved to see the thunderclouds rolling over the horizon. An unexpected restlessness had been building in his bones for days. Normally, he’d have attributed the sensation to the onslaught of bad weather. Reading the weather was an extra sense for him, as much a part of him as sight and touch.

But since Sloan had delivered Alanna’s package last month, his well-ordered world had tipped out of balance.

Caleb’s heart had raced as he’d held the package wrapped in brown paper. With his fingertip, he traced A. Patterson emblazoned in the upper left corner.

“Who is she?” Sloan had asked.

Caleb’s lips twisted into a grim smile. “How do you know it’s a woman?”

“Your jaw’s so tense it’s liable to snap.” Sloan grinned. “And a man don’t fondle another man’s package.”

Caleb grunted. “We’ve supplies to unload.”

Sloan didn’t move. “So who is she?”

Caleb wondered if fire still spit from Alanna’s jade-green eyes when she was angry; if her hair still spilled down her back like spun gold. “Nobody.”

Sloan rubbed his bearded chin with the back of his hand. “Right.”

Caleb held out the box. “Take it.”

Sloan looked at the package as if it were hot coals. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Throw it in the sea for all I care.”

“No note?”

Caleb had been cheated out of his last confrontation with Alanna and his mind swam with a thousand unsaid words. He pulled a pencil from his coat pocket and on the box’s brown paper wrapping scrawled: I want nothing from you or your father. We are finished.

Sloan accepted the box from Caleb and studied the message. “You loved her, eh?”

Caleb’s head started to throb. “I was cursed by her.”

Since Alanna’s parcel had arrived, the island which had been his sanctuary had become brutally small. He’d paced the shores like a caged animal. He worked as hard as three men, but no matter how much he’d sweat, he couldn’t exorcise Alanna from his mind.

Twice, he’d nearly abandoned his post and rowed to the mainland.

But he’d stayed on guard.

Lightning flashed.

Caleb shifted his focus to the gray horizon. Aye, he’d take a storm over Alanna any day.

He grabbed his coat, shrugged it on and headed toward the lighthouse. With the storm brewing, he’d have to light the beacon.

Crossing the small sandy beach, he entered the base of the lighthouse and climbed the spiral staircase up to the top. Ever ready, he kept the giant Fresnel lenses polished, the lamps filled with oil and the wicks trimmed. And now as the blue sky had vanished behind the thickening clouds, all that was left was to light the lanterns.

Caleb rechecked the lenses that magnified the light for dozens of miles, and then climbed down a small interior staircase that led outside to the crow’s nest, the wrought-iron balcony that ringed the top of the lighthouse.

Wind howled around him as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his spyglass. Opening the telescope, he scanned the ocean horizon. There were no ships and if luck held none would venture this close to the shoals, sandbars that stretched the length of the outer banks, until the storm passed.

The danger of the storm was far from over but as he stared at the endless waters he felt a measure of calm. Unlike his days in Richmond, he was in his element here. He understood storms and he understood the seas. Here actions, not words, solved problems and saved lives.

He moved around to the sound side. He didn’t expect to see a boat. His assistant, Charlie Meeker, had gone into Easton yesterday on a four-day pass. Charlie had sense enough not to brave the waters today as did Sloan, who had only come to the island three days ago to restock supplies.

Only a fool dared these waters today.

And the world was full of fools, he thought grimly as he raised the spyglass on the remote chance that someone would attempt a crossing.

Caleb peered through the telescope lens. For an instant, a slash of white appeared in his scope but it disappeared behind a wave as quickly as it had appeared. A man with lesser experience would have attributed the sighting to a whitecap.

But he waited, holding his glass steady. He understood just how deceitful the sea could be, so he waited.

When waves rolled down, the splash of white peeked above the wave again. There was no mistaking what it was this time—it was a ship’s sail. “Who the hell would be out there today?”

He looked closer. Instantly, he recognized the Sea Witch. Crowley, of course. Like a vulture the man came out from under his rock each time a ship went aground. The old bastard had also done his share of gunrunning and smuggling during the war. But there were no shipwrecks to scavenge. And Crowley never made a crossing unless the money was good.

“What is that old bastard up to?” he muttered.

The waves pitched higher, and the boat bobbed in the water like a buoy. Caleb knew that soon the rains would grow heavy, swamp the boat and capsize it.

“I should leave you to the waters, you old bastard.” Caleb touched the small scar on his temple, remembering his last encounter with Crowley. The bastard had tried to kill him.

Crowley shifted his position to lower his sail, now straining against the wind. That’s when Caleb saw the trim figure of a woman.

An oath exploded from Caleb as he squinted harder. Though wind and fog blurred her face, he saw the crop of golden hair, like a beacon in the storm.

His gut clenched.

There was only one woman he knew who was foolish enough to travel in this kind of weather with Crowley.

Alanna Patterson.

The daughter of the man who’d ruined him.

The woman who’d betrayed him.

Chapter Three

H owling winds filled the sails and tipped the boat dangerously out of balance as waves crashed over the bow. Alanna watched the icy water slosh back and forth in the bottom of the Sea Witch and clutched the boat’s rim as it dipped closer to the briny water. “Mr. Crowley, are we sinking?” she shouted over the wind.

He muttered an oath and hauled himself to his feet using the mast as support. Bracing his feet, he glared at the taut white sail as he unleashed the rope and let out the canvas. The boat righted herself instantly, but the thick sails snapped and fluttered wildly.

“Mr. Crowley,” Alanna repeated. “Are we sinking?”

“Just a bit of water. Don’t get all hysterical on me.”

She lifted a drenched boot. “The water is up to my ankles.”

He shot her a sideways glance. “Then stop your complaining and start bailing.”

“With what?” Alanna searched around the boat but found nothing to use.

“You got two hands,” he shouted.

Fear crept up Alanna’s spine as she cupped her hands and started scooping handfuls of water out of the boat. She glanced up at the blackening sky. “Is the weather getting worse?” She heard the squeak of panic in her voice, but was beyond caring if Crowley thought she was a coward. She was afraid.

“What do you think?” he bit back. “Of course it’s getting worse.” Crowley wrestled the thick, flapping sail as if it were a wild bronco down to the wet boat bottom.

Alanna discovered that despite her frantic bailing efforts the water was getting deeper. “You said this boat was seaworthy!”

“She is. Mostly.” The oars scraped against the oarlocks as Crowley buried them into the choppy water. His muscles bunched and strained as he fought to assert his control over nature.

“Mostly?” Panic burned through her veins. She started bailing again. Oh God, Oh God. What had she gotten herself into? “Tell me we aren’t going to sink.”

“We’re not going to sink.”

“Do you mean that?”

“No.”

Alanna closed her eyes. If only she’d stopped to think this trip through. If only she hadn’t been so impulsive, she’d be safe at the inn or, better, in Richmond.

She remembered how quickly she’d left Richmond. She’d left a note of course, but she’d lied to Henry’s aunt and told her she’d gone to Washington. “No one knows we’re out here.”

A wave crashed into the side of Crowley’s face and he spit out a mouthful of water. “If we sink, it won’t matter who knows what. We’ll die any way.”

She glanced toward the lighthouse beacon. Clouds shrouded the island’s shoreline, but its light flashed bright. “How far is the shore?”

Worry had deepened the lines on the old man’s face. “Too far.”

Her clothes were soaked, and the cold was seeping into her bones. “Do you think he knows we’re out here?”

“If he does, he’ll not raise a finger to save my hide.”

Her teeth started to chatter. “Why not? That’s his job, isn’t it?”

“We had a run-in a few months back.”

Could this get any worse? “What kind of run-in?”

“I tried to kill him.”

Alanna didn’t ask for details. They didn’t matter now.

If she’d worked all day to select the most dangerous of circumstances, she’d not have done as well as she’d done in choosing to cross the channel now with Crowley.

The inky waters filled the boat. The rim sank closer to the water’s edge. A crack of lightning streaked across the even blacker sky.

Alanna’s soaked cape hung on her shoulders like lead and she couldn’t feel her toes. “I don’t want to die, Mr. Crowley.”

Droplets of rain dripped from his wrinkled face. His eyes no longer glowed with anger or frustration, but fear. “Who does?”

Frigid water drenched Caleb’s pants as he shoved the dory into the churning sound. The rowboat bucked in the wind, pushing back toward shallow water as if it, too, understood that only fools went out in weather like this.

“Goddamn you, boat, move!” Frustration ignited his rage. Caleb hated losing. Even more, he hated losing to the sea.

Cursing, he blew out a breath and focused on the set of notches he’d carved into the boat’s bow. The seventy-six portside marks denoted rescues. The twenty-three on the starboard side commemorated each man he’d lost when the Intrepid had gone down not far from these very shores.

He drove the boat deeper into the water and jumped aboard. Taking the oars in his callused hands, he rowed toward the spot where he’d last seen Crowley’s tattered white sails.

“Damn her. Damn her. Damn her,” he chanted as he rowed. “The Devil take them both.” Crowley was a thief and a liar, and Alanna wasn’t much better. Impulsive as ever, Alanna did what was best for Alanna without a thought to whom she endangered.

Anger sidetracked him and, for a moment, he couldn’t find the rhythm of rowing. He drew in several deep breaths. This rescue was like any other, he reminded himself. It was about beating the sea at its own game. It didn’t matter whom he saved, only that he won the game.

Drawing on sheer will, he set his gaze starboard and moved his arms in a steady tempo. One, two. One, two. As the wind howled in his ears, his muscles took over.

Caleb concentrated on the roar of his heart and the burn in his well-conditioned biceps as they pumped the oars. Currituck Sound was determined to make him earn every inch of forward progress today, but he’d never walked away from a fight. Hot sweat trickled from his stocking cap, warming skin chilled by the wind.

A woman’s scream pierced the rain and mist. He turned and caught sight of Crowley’s boat just as a wave crashed over it. The swell caught Crowley broadside and knocked him over the side.

Alanna clutched the side of the Sea Witch but by some miracle she wasn’t swept into the water.

Caleb dug the oars deeper into the water, coaxing more speed from his boat.

No one had been lost since he’d been on watch at the Barrier Island Lighthouse. No one! And he’d be damned if Alanna Patterson would be the first.

“Mr. Crowley!” Alanna’s wet skirts twisted around her legs as she scooted toward his side of the boat and wedged her feet under the seat in front of her. She pushed her rain-soaked cloak off her shoulders and held out an oar. “Grab on!”

Alanna watched the old seaman flail in the water. His hat gone, he smacked his palms against the water, trying to keep his body afloat. But each time he reached out for the boat, the water pushed him back. He dipped under the surface once, then came back up gasping for air.

He reached for the paddle. His bony fingertips brushed the smooth wood as a wave smashed into him and sent him under the surface. Tense seconds ticked as Alanna searched the water.

“Don’t die on me!”

The old man was drowning, and it was her fault they’d come out here. She should have waited until tomorrow. Why hadn’t she just waited?

Mr. Crowley’s head popped to the surface a good five feet from the boat. He gasped for air and spit up a lungful of water. Desperation tightened his face as he reached again for the oar she held out. His fingers dug into the smooth wood like fishhooks and he pulled himself closer to the boat.

Alanna struggled to keep the paddle steady. She strained against his weight and fought not to tumble into the water herself. Her limbs burned from exertion. The cold had sunk to the marrow of her bones. “I can’t hold on much longer.”

He spit out a mouthful of water. “Pull, woman, pull,” he yelled. “I ain’t ready to die yet.”

Her breath was labored, and she fought against the weariness slipping into her bones.

Crowley pulled himself closer to the boat and then swung one hand over the rim. He drew in a deep breath and struggled to pull himself in the boat. “Grab my belt, woman!”

Alanna dropped the oar and reached for Crowley’s thick belt. Angry wind blew rain sideways, but she tightened her numb fingers around the leather and pulled him up. He lifted one foot up on the side of the boat and yanked himself out of the water.

She felt a tremor of elation. He was going to make it back into the boat. He would get them to shore. Everything was going to be fine.