Night Music

He turned again, truly leaving this time, but only to make the calls that would confirm his stay on Summer Island. As he moved deeper into darkness, away from the little light, he didn’t notice the woman on the deck above. He didn’t see her drifting like a waif down the steps to the shore. He didn’t know she knelt in the sand contemplating his footprints as if they would tell a story. Or that when she stood, it was to search him out with a puzzled frown, studying the familiar lines of his retreating figure.

“No.” Out of habit Kate pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. The insidious thrum of tension was there. The encounter with the dangerously attractive but enormously annoying man hadn’t helped. Then, as if that weren’t enough, Jericho Rivers, sheriff of Belle Terre and the surrounding county, called to say the island might soon have another resident.

In the confusion of the abrupt interruption by an emergency call, Jericho hadn’t given her a name, but managed to assure her that the newcomer was a friend, a good man. High praise from the taciturn sheriff. Surely it stretched the realm of coincidence to imagine the man in the grocer’s and Jericho’s friend were the same.

It couldn’t be. Letting her hair fly in the wind, Kate remembered Devlin O’Hara. The mischievous look, his fascinating eyes at odds with his smile. A deep voice with an edge of uncertainty, as if it had been a while since he’d laughed or teased.

Despite her annoyance, she hadn’t been blind to his charm. Or was it that he was charming and she noticed that annoyed her? Did it matter? The new islander wouldn’t be Devlin O’Hara.

If it should be, they needn’t meet again. Though the land mass was considered small with three miles of beach, there were only six houses lining the shore. The property of each was bounded on the west by the narrow river separating the marsh from the mainland, and on the east by the sea. With each possessing docks on the riverside and decks at the front with promenades to the shore. Trailing north to south, each house was set in the middle of a half-mile tract. Except Sea Watch, her home in recent months.

Indulging a penchant for privacy, the owner of Sea Watch set his house on the southernmost tip, where sea and river merged. Thus, with nearly a mile setting the house apart from the others, she needn’t trip over anyone.

“No matter who he is.” Peering after him, she discovered he’d moved beyond the natural curve of the island and out of sight. That was as she wanted him.

Keeping solitary spaces had never been difficult. Falling within the domain of Belle Terre, the island was populated exclusively by local residents. Townies, wealthy enough to keep second homes for the island’s namesake season. Most houses were closed for the year and for the social season the first of August.

Some of the owners returned for rare weekends. Others for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Except for that possible influx, with Hobie, the elderly guard, controlling the mainland gate and protecting against interlopers, Kate had what she counted the best of all seasons virtually to herself. Until now.

There was no need to waste time in worry. Two did not constitute a crowd. The bastion of water and sand that kept the world away needn’t change.

“He won’t.” As a gust of wind swept the words from her lips, Kate clenched a fist. “One man won’t change my life.”

A lonely figure caught in moonlight, she crossed the sand. It was late, she was tired. But as she climbed the steps, she knew she was not tired enough. Tonight she’d played long and forcefully, and still the music failed her. Neither its therapy nor exhaustion numbed her mind.

Retracing her steps, she entered the house, intent on closing it for the night. For a half hour she moved about restlessly, avoiding the inevitable. When there was no more to be done, she drifted to a window to watch the surf, to lose herself in the alternately dark and luminous rhythm. Hopefully, to forget.

Longer than was prudent, she watched the wash of waves. Sometimes the past intruded, with thoughts of Paul Bryce. Other times she thought of nothing. Once, she recalled the solitary figure whose footprints told a story of pausing beneath her window. Had he stayed to listen, or only to rest before walking on?

The newcomer, roaming farther afield than she wished. A stranger on the beach that had been hers alone.

A good man, the sheriff had assured her. Jericho wouldn’t lie. And the stranger did not trespass. The beach belonged to everyone. As she conceded that reality, Kate realized the hour had gone from late to early. It was time to face her demons.

Turning out the lamp, she went to her bed knowing sleep would not come quickly. When it came, because the music failed, it would not be blessedly dreamless.

Sun streamed through an open window striking unshielded eyes with a vengeance. Throwing an arm over her face, Kate pondered her day. But what was there to ponder? What would be different? She would rise, sit on the deck drinking endless cups of coffee, hoping to stave off the threat of a migraine. While she drank, she would watch shorebirds strafe for their first meal of the day. After her own meager breakfast, more homage to a habit than for nutrition, she would tramp the land for hours.

She might collect shells, she might not. Maybe she would gather driftwood, maybe not. But she would climb the tallest dune. There, she would watch herons and egrets moving in the grasses of the marsh and through the surf. Perhaps she would catch a glimpse of a night heron, home late from a long hunt. Or the elusive green, that favored the minnows in the tidal pool beneath the dune.

Then there were the dolphins, sleek, graceful, common in the autumn season. “And the whales.”

Enthusiasm colored her voice as she braved the sun. Would they be back? Days before, on her morning ramble, she had sighted them. Two mammoths of the sea, cavorting in the still warm waters of the Carolina coast. Yesterday, after her trip into town, she hadn’t looked for them again. But maybe today.

Rolling out of bed more eagerly than she had in longer than she could remember, she threw on a shirt and dashed to the kitchen. A rattle of canisters and cabinet doors later, she stopped short. No coffee. Which meant no caffeine. Leaning against the cabinet, she recalled the day before.

“I gave it to him.” Then, hurrying from Ravenel’s and the crowd, she’d forgotten all about coffee.

No problem. Lifting a shoulder, she shrugged aside the error. There were other remedies or other ways. Even a return trip to Ravenel’s, this time with no Devlin O’Hara to set her in flight.

But that day hadn’t been a total loss. She had met Tessa. A glance at the bouquet standing in a teal and copper vase on the kitchen counter drew an uncommon smile from Kate.

The child was exquisite with her blond curls atumble, brown eyes shining. Could even Scrooge have refused her flowers? Touching them, Kate remembered the old lady’s words…. A gift. Tessa hopes the flowers might keep you from looking so sad.

As she remembered, Kate realized she was smiling. Yesterday, Tessa had made her smile. And now again, she was truly smiling. In that moment, the darkness in her heart weighed a little less heavily, her thoughts were clearer.

Tea! Tea would be a nice change. “How long has it been?”

A knock at the door interrupted her monologue—a habit she’d fallen into during the days she spent alone. Strange. But not so strange as morning visitors, she decided as she went to answer.

Her smile vanished as she opened the door. “You!”

Before she could stop them, suspicions she’d spent an evening denying spilled out. “It was you on the beach last night.”

“Devlin O’Hara, ma’am, paying a neighborly call.” As he inclined his head slightly, his hair falling over his forehead gleamed blacker than black.

“Neighborly.” Kate crossed her arms before her, remembering the state of her nightclothes. “Which, I suppose by association of words, means we’re to be neighbors.”

“For now,” he amended. “Only for a while.”

His smile was the same, but with the light of morning falling on his face, she realized any expression left his remarkable eyes untouched. Was there a coldness beneath the banter, or an unfeeling void?

Whichever, it wasn’t her concern, and the sooner he went away, the better. “Ahh, so for only a while we’re to be neighbors. I suppose that means you’ve come to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“Not this time. I’ll save that for later.” If he felt the cut of her mockery, it didn’t show. His smile altered, his mouth curving generously. Taking his hand from behind his back, he produced the foil packet of coffee. “I have two, so I came to share.”

“You’re so sure I need a share?” There might be no emotion in his eyes, but his piercing gaze missed little. Barely resisting the urge to smooth her hair into order, she caught at her shirt, drawing it closer about her breasts.

Leaning an arm on the doorjamb, his forehead resting on his wrist, he looked down at her. “You left Ravenel’s without any.”

Kate wasn’t short, but in her bare feet, the upward tilt of her head required to meet his gaze was significant. As he shifted positions, the sun striking her face turned him into a looming shadow. A ploy to hide his expression, or lack of it? Was Devlin O’Hara far more complicated than he seemed? A man guarding secrets? But if there were secrets, they were none of her concern.

“Ahh, I see,” she drawled, matching his projected mood. “I left the store empty-handed, so to speak. Which led you to assume my coffee coffer is bare?”

He didn’t take his gaze from her. “Would you have been in Belle Terre otherwise?”

“Touché, Mr. O’Hara. You’re very astute.”

“I have my days.”

“Yes, you do, don’t you? This time you were right.” As she took the package, her fingers brushing his, she said in genuine sincerity, “Thank you.”

In answer, he touched his brow in a small salute. “Enjoy, Miss Gallagher. And have a good day.”

Kate watched his retreat. For all his rugged handsomeness and wicked teasing, she sensed a devastating sorrow hidden deeply within him. An unshakable conviction she couldn’t explain. Intuition? Compassion? The wisdom of one wounded soul recognizing another, when once she would have been blinded to it? The incredible certainty that no matter that they were strangers, they were no different? In the end, was it knowing in some strange way that, as she, he had not yet found the peace that must come with healing?

Surprised by that bit of wisdom, touched by his kindness in the throes of trouble, Kate called out, “A question, Mr. O’Hara.”

He stopped at the end of the deck, his hand on the railing, one foot on the first step. A stance that rippled the shirt clinging to his shoulders, emphasizing the flat plane of his midriff. His arms and face were tanned, the brand of a life spent out of doors.