Safe In His Arms

It looked as though it had been a long time since anyone had traveled this way. From what she’d learned, she would be the first to stay in the house in nearly twenty-five years. She couldn’t help but wonder what kind of condition the cottage might be in. If the lane were any indication, she expected the worst.

The lot was pie shaped, with the widest part of the slice at the entrance. The tip was at the end of the lane, where she assumed the property emptied out onto the beach. In between, there was a thick tangle of towering oaks, palmettos and untamed underbrush. The dense mixture cast the grounds into a premature darkness, giving the property a haunted, eerie feel.

Jessie shook off her discomfort, telling herself her unease was nothing more than the wearing effects of a growing headache and an empty stomach. Both of which would be taken care of once she’d unpacked her bags and had settled in for the night.

The trees thinned and the waning sunlight peeked through, relieving her anxiety. The reprieve was brief, however. Within moments the house came into view.

Jessie blinked once, twice, unable to believe her eyes. She checked her map, making sure she had the right address. But there was no question. This was Gull’s Cottage.

Cottage…a misnomer for sure. It was the most beautiful beach house she’d ever seen. A large, one-story home, painted white, with a high, slanting roof and a wraparound porch. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on the sides she could see. The view of the ocean must be breathtaking, she thought.

It was much more than she’d expected. Obviously, over the years, someone had taken a great deal of care of the house. She wondered what other surprises awaited her.

Jessie parked the car in the circle drive, as close to the house as she could. As the sun began to sink into the horizon, she felt an urgency to hurry and unpack, to go inside where it was safe.

Frowning, she turned off the ignition and stepped out of the car, wondering where these feeling were coming from. Her only true fear was that of complete darkness. But she had ample time before the sun made its final descent. For now, there was plenty of lingering light in the dusky sky. So why was she suddenly so unnerved?

She grabbed the groceries from the front seat. Forcing herself not to hurry, she strode up the uneven brick walkway to the front porch. Unlocking the door, she let herself in.

The rooms, dark and thick with shadows, set her nerves even further on edge. Groping for a light switch, she said a quick prayer of thanks when the entryway emerged from the shadows, glowing warmly beneath the overhead light. Before leaving home, she’d checked to make sure the utilities were in service. The lawyer for her parents’ estate had assured her that the cottage was being looked after by a caretaker, that its power and water were hooked up and that someone came in monthly to clean.

The heels of her sandals tapped against bare wood as she walked slowly through the house, her footsteps echoing loudly in the quiet rooms. The floors were golden, heart of pine planks. Even a thin coating of dust couldn’t hide the richness of their patina. Sheets covered most of the furnishings, giving the place a ghostly ambiance.

As she continued to explore, she was struck by an uneasy feeling of dеj? vu. It was as though she’d been there before…which she had, she reminded herself. After all, she was supposed to have spent the first five years of her life in this house.

The thought sent an unexpected shiver of apprehension down her spine.

Forcing herself to continue, she made her way to the back of the house, turning on more lights as she went. When the wooden floor gave way to a burnt-red flagstone, she knew she’d stepped into the kitchen.

She felt along the side of the wall until she found the electrical switch. A pair of twin lights over a large center island came to life. The cabinets were carved of oak, the countertops a snowy white ceramic. Though yellowed with age, a delicate floral-print paper covered the walls. The room appeared cozy and inviting. She glanced outside. Even in the growing darkness that pressed against the windows, the view of the ocean was amazing.

But the beauty of the room didn’t matter, once she stepped farther into the kitchen.

Without warning, the room spun beneath her feet. A fist of anxiety squeezed her chest, making it impossible to draw a breath of air. Her heart pounded so quickly, so hard against her rib cage, she was afraid it was going to explode.

Suddenly her head felt light, as though it was floating. The room slowly darkened. Dropping the groceries, she reached out, flailing her arms for something, anything to support herself…because in another minute she was sure she was going to faint.

Somehow, through the sheer strength of willpower, she made it to the glass-paned door that led outside. Struggling with the lock, she stumbled out onto the porch that overlooked the beach. There was no furniture, nothing to collapse onto. Instead, she headed for the railing, leaning her weight against it for support.

Gulping in deep breaths of air, she willed her racing heart to slow. Never in her life had she experienced such a blind sense of fear. What in the world could have provoked such a panic attack?

Too overwhelmed to consider the possibilities, she closed her eyes and slowly slid downward, until she felt the solid wooden deck beneath her. How long she sat there, listening to the pounding of the surf against the shore, she wasn’t sure. By the time she felt strong enough to open her eyes, the night had gotten a firm foothold in the sky.

Compared to the pounding fear that had gripped her earlier, the momentary flutter of apprehension at the unexpected darkness seemed insignificant. Besides, it wasn’t completely black outside. There were stars twinkling overhead. And a full moon glowed in the night sky.

The air had grown colder, also. She was shivering—from the chill or from shock, she wasn’t sure which. But her heartbeat was steady, and her breathing had returned to normal. The soothing night air had worked its magic. She felt calm enough to go back inside.

Pushing herself onto unsteady feet, she walked slowly to the door. Her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Once again her heart jackhammered in her chest, telling her she wasn’t in complete control.

Unexpected anger surged deep inside her. All day long she’d backed down from one challenge after another. First she’d allowed the man on the highway to take advantage of her helplessness. Then, the women in the store. Because of her own timidity, she’d passed up an opportunity to find out more about her birth mother. She’d had enough of playing the part of a wilted Southern flower.

Forcing herself to face her fear, she threw open the door and stepped inside. While she didn’t suffer another panic attack, she wasn’t comfortable, either. Her appetite had fled, right along with her composure.

It had been a long day, she told herself. Perhaps the best thing would be to unpack her groceries and suitcases, then call it an early night. Right now all she wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed. Then she’d try to forget about what promised to be one of the worst days of her life.

“She’s dead,” a deep, male voice called out.

“No, she can’t be,” Samuel growled, refusing to accept the verdict. Stubbornly he turned the ignition one more time. Once again his attempt to start the engine of his shrimp boat was met with complete silence.

In the pilot house, he slammed his fist against the steering wheel. The sun was just a promise in the sky and already this morning he’d overslept his alarm clock, nor had he had time for his morning cup of coffee, and now the engine wasn’t working.

Dammit, what else could go wrong today?

“Give it up, Samuel.” A thin, wiry man clambered out of the hold, hoisting himself onto the deck. Scratching his salt-and-pepper beard, he shook his head in disgust. “The engine’s busted. Looks like we won’t be trawling for shrimp anytime soon.”

“Thanks, Jacob. Tell me something I don’t know,” Samuel said sharply.

Jacob held up both hands in surrender. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m only doing my job.”

Samuel sighed. There was no use alienating one of the few men on his crew he could always count on. Jacob was loyal and hardworking. More than that, he was a friend. In a town where memories were long and acceptance was short, friendships were hard to come by. Jacob didn’t deserve any unnecessary grief dumped on his shoulders.

“Sorry,” Samuel said. “Ignore me. I’m just in a bad mood.”

Jacob eyed him curiously.

Self-consciously Samuel rubbed a hand along the stubble of his unshaved beard. Maybe he could have taken a little more time combing his hair, too. But all the primping in the world wouldn’t hide the dark circles under his eyes.

Finally Jacob said, “Looks like you could have caught a few more zees last night.”

“Nothing a little coffee can’t fix,” Samuel growled.

“I can take a hint.” Jacob chuckled as he headed for the crew’s quarters. “I’ll fix us a pot of java before we tackle the engine.”

“Thanks,” Samuel called after him. Rising to his feet, he pushed himself from the pilothouse and stood outside on the empty deck. The boat swayed beneath his weight. Above him the heavy iron outriggers creaked in the morning breeze. Their raised arms formed a black vee, pointing toward the heavens. He lifted his face and let the growing sunlight warm the chill from his heart.

He blamed all of his troubles on Jessie Pierce.

Ever since he’d bumped into her yesterday, nothing seemed to be going right. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn’t been able to keep his mind on anything but her. Last night, when he’d tried to shut his eyes and sleep, her image had haunted him.

It was as though she were there with him in his bedroom. Her hair black and shiny. Her dark-blue eyes glittering with an inner light. Her skin so creamy and smooth he’d wanted to brush his fingers along it. Even the thought of her full red lips, curving slightly, as though she were ready to laugh at his foolish infatuation, only fanned the heat of his ill-advised fascination.

Samuel blew out a breath, releasing some of the pent-up tension building inside him. What was wrong with him? He had more important things to consider than his beguilement with a woman. Not just any woman, he reminded himself sternly, but Jessie Pierce, of all people.

He had to focus on his future. If he wanted to make the mortgage payments on his boat, he couldn’t afford to lose another day’s work. He had to get the engine fixed—now.

With a sigh he turned toward the hold, ready to tackle the engine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught an approaching jogger on the beach.

At this time of day, there was always an occasional walker or jogger passing by. Summertime on the island brought the tourists out of the woodwork. They all seemed fascinated by the sight of shrimp boats, thinking of them as a novelty, not as a man’s work, his lifeblood.