Tides of Passion (38 page)

Turning, he grasped her shoulders, bringing her closer. She shivered beneath the warmth of his coat. A moist, heavy breeze fluttered the hair on his head, bringing his scent to her in a gentle caress. "I couldn't do this without the sea at my back. I just couldn't."

She tilted her chin, questioning.

He squirmed, looking like his clothing had abruptly shrunk two sizes. "I couldn't ask you to marry me."

She sputtered, half laugh, half gasp. "We
are
married. Or did that crack to your head do more damage than Dr. Leland led me to believe?"

Digging in his pocket, his trousers riding high on one side, he extracted a square, dark box. Handing it to her shyly, he rocked back on his heels as he often did when he was nervous. "I want a marriage nothing can tear apart. One you chose. One that"—he sighed—"isn't chosen for you. I know you. You take responsibility on your shoulders about as easily as I do. And you're loyal. But I want more than your loyalty; I want more than your love." He nodded to the box.

Staring at him, the flickering streetlamp above their heads spilling ivory into the gray pools of his eyes, Savannah realized that she would do anything to have him.

Slowly, she opened the box, the hinges creaking until a sapphire blazed amidst the velvet folds, a fervent blue fire. The stone sat atop a simple band of white gold.

"It was my grandmother's," he whispered.

She had never seen anything more lovely in her life. Tears welled in her eyes. She held them back, fearing Zach would misunderstand their cause.

"Um, if you don't like it, I wasn't sure if you would, and that's why I didn't give it to you before. I know you're used to nicer jewelry" He shrugged, running out of steam.

Turning the box so he could see the ring, she held out her left hand. "I adore it, Zach. As I adore you." Spreading her fingers, she said, "Put it on!"

He laughed, taking her beautiful ring in his big fingers.
Heavens, what if he drops it between a crack in the planks
, she thought, and breathed a sigh of relief when he slid it on her finger.

"Whew, good. I think it fits," he said, sounding like a child who had done well on a test.

She wiggled her fingers, the sapphire shimmering. How dear of him to give her his grandmother's ring without knowing for sure if she'd accept it. "Perfectly."
Everything
fit perfectly. "You said you wanted more. What more can I give you?"

"Your future." His hand slid to her wrist and circled it gently, bringing her fingers to his lips for a tender kiss. The band glittered in the light. His coat slipped from her shoulders and fluttered to the ground unnoticed. "I want babies. I want to read in bed with you underneath those fancy electric lights you're planning on getting. I want to spend this winter snuggling beneath the spreads and eating breakfast in bed the mornings Rory is at a friend's. And next winter and the one after that. I want to see your hair turn gray and your skin freckle with age, because it will in the Southern sun, you know. I want you to read me those liberating articles. I want to share the weight of the goddamned shipwrecks with someone who understands how much of my heart I cut out each time I pull a lifeless body from the sea."

He lowered his head as he said the last, his arms trembling.

"Oh, Zach." She walked into his arms, forcing herself inside the circle.
His
circle. "I love you," she murmured against his damp shirtfront, inhaling starch and soap and
him
. "I want those things, too. I want things I don't even know how to define yet. But with you, I feel sure I'll figure it out. We'll make a list."

He laid his cheek against the crown of her head and drew her as close as he could. "One more want I have, now that you mention it. No need for a list."

"Hmmm?" She tunneled her hand up the back of his shirt, wondering how quickly they could return to his hotel. His skin felt so warm, and he smelled entirely too tempting. How fantastic, she marveled, to have a husband who was such an amazingly appealing man.

"Well, Irish, to put it plainly like I prefer to, I want a wife who doesn't pounce on every problem in town and end up making troub—"

"Not on your life, Constable." She stepped back, glaring into his face to see if he was serious. His eyes held a barely-there spark of amusement, but the lopsided frown on his lips wasn't teasing in the least. "Being in the same family will not get you special dispensation. You cannot expect me to be anything but unbiased during our future discussions. I know it pains you to quarrel with your wife, but it can't be helped on occasion. Seriously, quarrelling never truly harms anyone. In fact, it clears the air much like peppermint does for a congested nose."

Pulling her back into his arms, he sighed against her ear. He sounded content in the final valuation. If not, she would work on making him happy in the privacy of his hotel room. "Yeah, that's what I reckoned, Mrs. Garrett. I guess I'm gonna have to learn to enjoy quarreling."

"Or the making up," she reminded him.

"Definitely the making up, ma'am."

Epilogue

There is no remedy for love
 

but to love more
.

~Henry David Thoreau

The door to the jail rocketed inward, slapping the wall with a bang.

Zach jerked his head up, his spectacles slipping down his nose. The cargo ledger in his hands hit the floor. Hyman Carter stood in the doorway, silent, accusing with nothing more than a finger jabbed in the direction of his factory.

A perturbed—Savannah's big word, not his, and why he thought it he guessed was her rubbing off on him after all this time—breath escaped before he could yank it back. Shoving back his chair, he shrugged into his jacket. The air was getting nippy again. You never could guess what you'd get in October.

"I thought once little Regina was born, darling girl, that all this turmoil would be put to bed, Zach. I gotta tell you, I sure thought that."

"Yeah, yeah," Zach muttered, wishing he had a penny for every time he'd heard
that
come out of some man's mouth in the past four years. Or some old biddy's after they left church, and he stood around in the yard waiting for Savannah to finish her business and social dealings.

Those were always grand opportunities to give a suffering husband kindly advice about how to handle his misbehaving wife.

"And with her expecting again, why, I can't believe she continues to prance around doing all this equal-female preaching. What I mean to say is, I can't believe
you
allow it."

A nickel for
that
one, and he'd truly be a rich man. "How about this, Hyman?" Zach dashed between a wagon hauling lumber and a fish cart hawking flounder for two cents a pound. Hyman kept up, huffing a bit, bound and determined to watch the drama unfold. "You tell Savannah you think she ought to stay at home and be a proper wife." He slapped the startled man's back before turning onto Main Street. "Tell you what, I'll buy front row tickets for the show."

"Why, I, that is, I could never," he stuttered, his jowls flushing bright red. "It wouldn't be my place, you see."

"Um-hum, what I thought." Zach left Hyman to his panicky fit, sprinting along the street, dodging through the crowd of people starting to gather. He heard the ruckus before he reached it. Nothing new there. Nothing new with any of it.

"Daddy!" The small projectile charging through the crowd and into his knees, now that
was
a tad different. The greatest difference in his life so far. She looked like something Savannah had spit out, a petite dynamo of a duplicate with the Garrett grays. His child all the way, in that way. Damned if that combination hadn't stolen his heart at first sight.

Catching his daughter in his arms, he pressed his lips to her neck and blew against her skin. Regina shrieked with laughter and wiggled frantically. This was her favorite greeting when he walked in the door every afternoon. That and a butterscotch lollipop.

It was his favorite greeting, too. Because he got to smell his daughter, up close. Today? Vanilla and the faint scent of lilacs. And glue. Ah yes, her mother's signs. He inhaled a deep breath, relishing the moment. She'd about gotten old enough to not want things like this: babyish hugs and kisses.

"Daddy, I made a poster all by myself. It's hanging up there on that dirty old wall." She pointed, and in the distance, he could see a rather sad-looking sign that said
Equal Pay
. "Rory said it stunk because I only painted inside the letters Mommy made. I think it looks good. I cain't get everything in the lines!"

"It looks beautiful, just like my Reggie-girl."

"Lemme go, Daddy," she said, struggling to get free, "I have to go help Mommy fight for freed-dom." When her feet hit the ground, she blew him a kiss and scampered through the crowd. He watched her dark head bobbing, faintly anxious until he saw her reach her mother.

Reggie's tiny hands moved in time with her spirited story. Savannah nodded and smiled, smoothing a tangled lock of hair from her daughter's flushed cheek. Finally, she looked over and above the crowd, snagging his gaze. The same bolt of lighting connected them, a storm of emotion and anticipation Zach no longer feared. He frowned at her, just for show mostly. When he watched his two precious girls, his heart wasn't up to being harsh.

And she knew it, the Irish devil.

Savannah arched a brow and nodded toward the jail. He shook his head, dipping his chin toward the modest crowd of women shouting and waving signs. The pounding surf nearly covered the screeching, but not quite, unfortunately.

Glancing around, she studied the crowd, debating to herself he could see. Calling Lydia to her side, she gave instructions that set the rally's finale in motion. Obviously she had judged
him
to be worth the sacrifice of a few minutes' bickering.

With a final, intense look, he retraced his route to the jail. The wind had picked up, throwing a chill into the air. People scurried past, trying to make it home for supper. A gull swooped past his shoulder, diving for a scrap on the boardwalk. Preparing, Zach slipped off his spectacles and put them away the minute his office door closed behind him. After four years, he and his wife had perfected this form of communication to near-science.

She arrived less than five minutes later, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing. Her beauty and the fact that she loved him still had the power to knock the breath from his body. "What a successful day," she said, closing the door behind her.

And locking it.

"Wonderful." He opened his arms to her, and Savannah slid inside his embrace, settling her bottom on his lap, her head on his shoulder. "How long do we have?"

"Caroline's taking Regina for ice cream and Rory's at Tommy's house." She nibbled on his neck, sending a hot wash through his veins. "An hour. Maybe a little less."

"Are you feeling up to this?" She was four months along and got sick pretty easily still.

She sighed in response.

Sinking his fingers into her hair, he tilted her head where he could reach her mouth. Her plump breasts pressed into his chest. He tugged her skirt to her knee, hoping she'd tell him if she wasn't up to it soon. Because he was
up
, that's for sure.

"Yes?"

"Yes, Constable. Definitely yes."

"That's my girl," he whispered before claiming her lips. Love poured through him, overwhelming, mind-boggling. "My Irish girl."

The End

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