Love Unexpected (20 page)

He'd always believed that Mitch hadn't wanted him and had left him to die. Alone.

Even though Mitch denied it now, Patrick still couldn't shrug off the feeling of abandonment. He may have forgiven Mitch, but the pain of the betrayal still lingered within him.

“I'm not working out any deals with you,” Patrick said. “Except that you're sailing away from here and never coming back.”

“Or else?”

Patrick didn't say anything in response.

“That's what I thought,” Mitch said. “You can't do anything to me. In fact, I think you should start asking yerself what you can do
for
me.”

“Or else?” Now it was Patrick's turn to ask the question.

“Or else I'll make sure everyone knows exactly who you are.”

“You mean who I
was
.”

“Doesn't matter. Once a crook, always a crook.”

“I'm done with thieving,” Patrick said. “You can go down
to Burnham's Landing and tell everybody there whatever you want. But it won't change my mind, Mitch.”

He knew he'd already ruined his chances with Emma. No doubt she would leave him. He didn't deserve her anyway. So long as she took Josiah, he'd let her go. Hopefully, Ryan would look after them, make sure they had a decent place to live.

Once Emma and Josiah were gone, he'd head south and maybe find work in one of the lumber camps or sawmills of the Saginaw Valley. He loathed the idea of giving up his lightkeeper job, but as much as it pained him, he had to do the right thing.

He'd spend the rest of his life doing the right thing. Perhaps someday, somehow, he would eventually make up for all his wrongs.

E
mma ran the brush through her hair one last time. Then she set the brush on top of the dresser and lifted her eyes to the cross. She wanted to say a prayer for wisdom and courage . . . and hope. But the words wouldn't come. She made quick work of parting her hair into three strands of a braid. She wasn't leaving her hair down tonight. Nay, she wasn't going to the lantern room for pleasure and companionship. Tonight she was aiming to discover the truth—the whole truth—about Patrick.

She wouldn't let embarrassment or propriety or fear stop her from asking him the hard questions. It was past time for her to know everything. Whether Patrick welcomed her to the tower or pushed her away, she couldn't let anything distract her from what she needed to do.

She looked out the slit of the curtain into the darkness of night. The tower door had squeaked a few moments ago, signaling Patrick's return from the dock where he'd been saying good-bye to Mitch. Apparently the pirate's crew had come after him in a rowboat, and Patrick had gone down to see him off.

Steeling herself, she slipped through the house, past Josiah sleeping in his bed. She opened the back door and let the breeze from the lake soothe her overheated face.

She forced herself across the yard to the tower, silently entering through the open door and climbing the steps, the stones cool beneath her bare feet.

Aye. She would ask him to share all that he'd been hiding. Who was the woman he'd hurt? What had caused Delia's death? Was he seeing another woman now? She tried not to think about the fact that he'd hurt people in his past, that he could hurt again if provoked enough. She didn't want to be scared of him, but how could she stop herself?

Her heart pounded against her rib cage when she reached the top of the stairway. She wanted to believe her legs trembled from the exertion of the climb rather than from nerves, but her dry mouth and throat betrayed her.

One fleeting look around the lantern room told her Patrick wasn't inside making notes in his logbook or cleaning the glass.

“Patrick?” she croaked, stepping out onto the catwalk. A quick walk around the gallery revealed he wasn't there either.

Back inside, she paused. Perhaps he hadn't returned yet from the dock like she thought he had. Maybe she'd only imagined the squeak of the tower door.

The lighthouse beam was rotating and flashing in its unique pattern. She stepped to the south window, the side of the tower that overlooked Presque Isle Harbor and the dock. For a moment she couldn't make out anything in the darkness.

She pressed her face closer to the window, and when the beam swept over the harbor, it illuminated the dock briefly, enough for her to see Patrick's strong frame and broad shoulders.

Emma's heart nearly stopped beating.

He was standing there with someone else. A woman. The light revealed her hair, which tumbled down her shoulders, and her long elegant gown. Then the beam moved on and darkness descended again.

He's with a woman.

She peered in the direction of the dock. She could make out a tiny light from the lantern Patrick had carried with him. It now sat near his feet and cast a faint glow over him and the woman.

He was holding her arms, and she stood only a short distance from him. If she leaned in any closer, he could kiss her.

Jealousy cut into Emma. She'd wanted to deny the possibility of another woman in Patrick's life, to ignore all the symptoms—the day-long trips away, the perfume on his coat, and his disinterest in her physically. But how could she disregard the facts any longer?

Not when Bertie had reason to believe he was seeing someone else. Not when he'd been with other women in the past. Not when he'd already withheld so much information from her about his crimes. This was simply one more thing he hadn't been honest with her about.

Emma leaned into the glass, not caring that her breath was steaming the window or that she was leaving hot smudges where Patrick had cleaned so meticulously earlier. She stared as the beam rounded the harbor again.

This time she caught a glimpse of the bodice of the woman's gown, the way it dipped low and revealed her creamy skin. It was much too tight and seductive for a moral woman. The lace and the fancy puffs were more like something a loose woman would wear.

Was she a prostitute? The thought made Emma's stomach churn.

The light of another lantern bobbed in a boat nearby. Had the woman come ashore with the pirates? Perhaps she was someone Patrick had loved in his past life. After all, Mitch had insinuated that Patrick had always attracted lots of women.

He was handsome enough to have hordes of women falling over him, women more beautiful than she was. If he had himself a pretty woman already, why would he be interested in her?

Bertie had been right. Patrick didn't really need her. She'd had to practically throw herself upon him to gain his attention.

Her face burned with shame at the thought of their kiss. He'd been about to release her, but she clung to him. He probably only kissed her because he'd felt sorry for her desperate attempts to attract him.

“Heaven have mercy,” she whispered. She'd made a complete fool of herself.

She knew she should tear herself away from the window and run back to the house, yet she couldn't make herself move. Riveted to her spot, she watched as Patrick drew the strange woman into a tight hug.

With a cry, Emma pushed away from the window and almost fell to her knees. “What have I done?”

But she knew what she'd done. She'd allowed herself to fall in love with a man who didn't feel the same way.

With a hand pressed against her aching chest and with tears clouding her eyes, she stumbled down the ladder. She slipped and tripped her way to the bottom of the stairway and couldn't keep from wondering if this was how Delia had fallen.

Had she been watching out the tower too? Had she witnessed her husband's unfaithfulness and been so distraught that she fell in her race to descend?

Blindly, Emma sped back to the house. All she could think
about was leaving before Patrick returned from the dock. She had to get away.

A sob caught in her throat as she stuffed her few belongings into her grain sack. She tried to ignore the driftwood cross on the wall, but it seemed to watch her every move, pleading with her to take it and not give up hope.

But what hope did she have? Even if she waited to talk with Patrick when he returned, even if she tried to discover who the woman was, there was no changing the fact that he'd deceived her, that he hadn't been honest about who he was and what he'd done. He'd practically invited her to leave him. If she stayed, she'd only humiliate herself more than she already had.

She glanced again at the cross above the dresser. Patrick had given it to her. She had every right to do with it what she wished. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she reached up and grabbed the cross from the wall and stuffed the gift into her bag.

She looked around the room one last time, an ache tightening her chest. Why had she thought she was finally home? When hope of a real home had eluded her for so many years, why had she believed it was within her grasp?

“Mamma?” Josiah stood in the doorway in his pajamas. His red hair was sticking up, and his thumb was half in his mouth.

“Go back to bed, wee one.” She hid her face and wiped once more at her cheeks, trying to erase all traces of her sorrow.

“Trip, Mamma?” He plodded over to the bed and touched her bag.

She hesitated. How could she leave this little boy? He'd captured her heart, and the thought of saying good-bye to him was unbearable.

“You should be asleep, little love.” She couldn't take Josiah. He wasn't hers. Patrick loved the boy, and it didn't matter that
he'd told her he wanted her to give the boy a better life than he could. Josiah belonged with his daddy.

“Me go too,” Josiah said.

More tears spilled down her cheeks. This was going to be harder than she'd imagined. She dried her face against her shoulders and kneeled down next to him. He stared at her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Mamma has to leave.” She squeezed the words past her constricting throat.

He reached his hand to her cheek and touched a stray tear she'd missed.

She couldn't do this. She couldn't leave him behind. With a sob, she wrapped her arms around him and drew him into a fierce embrace.

Why had Patrick done this to them? Why couldn't he have been a normal man with a normal past? Anger coursed into her blood.

“Me go with Mamma,” Josiah said again, struggling to free himself from her.

The anger slipped deeper, flooding her broken heart. She should take Josiah. It would serve Patrick right. It would hurt him, but maybe he deserved to feel some pain—some of the terrible pain that was tearing at her insides.

“Aye,” she whispered, smoothing a hand across the boy's unruly locks. “You can come with me.”

As she hurriedly stuffed Josiah's few belongings and clothes into her bag, she tried to ward off the guilt. Patrick had made her promise to take Josiah. He'd been adamant about it. She wasn't doing anything he hadn't already asked her to do.

Even so, when she darted across the yard, dragging Josiah with her, the guilt rose up to taunt her as surely as the shifting
shadows of the night. As much as she loved Josiah and considered him her son, he needed Patrick.

Josiah would throw a temper tantrum once he learned they weren't going back. She supposed after all the turmoil of losing his mother and the upheaval in his life, he coped the only way a toddler knew how—by clinging to his daddy and feeling insecure whenever he wasn't with the rock of his life.

The full moon lit the path Bertie had driven on with her wagon, the one she said led to the fisheries. Even with the moonlight to guide them, Emma couldn't keep from stumbling over the many rocks that dotted the path. In spite of her effort to stay calm for Josiah's sake, each step away from the lighthouse squeezed her chest more painfully, until she wasn't sure she could keep going.

She wanted to fall to her knees, pound her fists against the ground, and scream.

If she'd thought losing her mam and childhood home had been hard, she knew now that losing the man she'd fallen in love with was even harder. His betrayal stabbed her like nothing else ever had.

P
atrick plodded up the winding stairway. The chirping of crickets and katydids became fainter as he ascended, and the humidity of the night fell away for just a moment within the thick-walled tower. A mixture of sadness and relief weighted him down, making each step feel heavier than the last. He'd never been more relieved to see someone go than Mitch. The man had been a thorn in the flesh since the moment he'd regained consciousness.

But Patrick was sad that Mitch was so lost, not caring to change his ways, and sad that Sophie felt the same as Mitch. He agreed with her, though, that she was safer now that she was with Mitch, for it was better than what she'd been doing before.

Still, he'd begged her to stay with him, to let him take care of her and allow him to help her build a decent life for herself. As usual, her response was to laugh her seductive laugh, telling him she wanted her freedom. She didn't want to be tied down with a child.

“Ah, Sophie, lass,” he whispered as he reached the top of the stairs. The heat of the lantern room was stifling, and he
propped open the door to allow in the cool night breeze, along with the familiar scents of the lake—the unique mixture of sea grass and fish.

He sucked in a deep breath. He would miss it. And he would miss the lighthouse, the beauty of the solitude and silence. After years of revelry and fighting, his soul had found healing in the solitary life that came with a lightkeeper job. He knew the isolation drove many men crazy, but he loved it.

More than that, he'd loved sharing it with Emma. Her presence here had brought joy that he now realized had been missing from his life.

He peered out of the tower to the darkened bedroom window and guessed she'd be in bed by now. He couldn't keep from yearning for her to come up to visit him. His muscles tightened with the overpowering desire to wrap his arms around her. His gut stiffened at the memory of the last time she'd been with him in the tower a couple of nights ago, of how he'd held her, how they'd passionately kissed.

He clenched his fists, the need for her rising swiftly again. The only problem was that he had no right to a good and kind woman like her.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, doing the only thing he knew how to do in moments of agony. All he could do was pray—pray that God would help him endure the burdens he'd brought upon himself from his past.

Was there anything he could do to keep Emma from spurning him? Could he fall on his knees and beg her to live with him anyway, in spite of all she'd learned about him? He didn't want to lose her. As selfish as it was, he didn't want her to leave.

With a heavy sigh, he stared out over the harbor. If only Mitch hadn't decided to show up again.

But even as the thought sifted through him, he knew he would have had to tell her eventually. And he knew he had to tell her the truth about Josiah too. She needed to know everything.

At the sight of a smudge on the window, he frowned and turned to find the cloth he used to clean the glass before he'd left the tower to go down to the dock with Mitch. He lifted the cloth to wipe away the handprint, then stopped.

His heartbeat hitched. He studied the handprints, two of them, and the place where lips had hovered near enough to the glass to leave a mark. He raised one of his hands and held it over the print. Through the flashing of the light, he could see that the handprint belonged to someone other than himself. It was smaller, more delicate.

Was it Emma's?

He studied the prints. She must have come when he'd been at the dock saying good-bye to Mitch and Sophie. He didn't want to think about the possibility that maybe she'd come to say good-bye to him.

He lifted his other hand over the print so that he could imagine he was holding both of her hands. At that moment the beam fell upon the dock like a spotlight. His pulse chugged to a standstill.

What had Emma seen? What if she'd witnessed his interaction on the dock with Sophie?

He fell back with a groan. A sickening in the pit of his stomach told him that was exactly what had happened. Emma had seen him with Sophie. She'd probably watched them and drawn her own conclusions. Conclusions that had likely added to the hurt he already caused with his revelations earlier in the day.

He rushed down the tower ladder and descended the stairway two steps at a time. He didn't care that the bedroom window
was dark and that she was already in bed, he had to talk to her, had to reassure her that . . .

That what?

At the bottom of the tower he stopped, his breath coming in gasps. His chest ached, but not for lack of air. It ached because he loved her. The emotion swelled until he was light-headed with the knowledge of it.

“I love her,” he said into the night, letting amazement drift over him. As much as he'd liked various women over the years, he'd never really loved any one of them. Not even Delia.

He'd tried to love her. Every night he'd prayed for God to help him cherish his wife and treat her with the kind of love she needed. But never in all the days they shared together did he feel anything quite like what he felt with Emma.

He stared at the bedroom window, and his heart yearned to see her, to tell her his true feelings. Even if she rejected him, even if she couldn't forgive him for deceiving her, he had to tell her of his love for her. He couldn't hold it back any longer. She had every right to leave, but he'd beg her to stay and give him a second chance, to let him prove himself.

Determined, he entered the house and went directly to the bedroom and stepped inside. “Emma?” he whispered.

She didn't respond.

“Emma,” he said again, louder this time. He knelt down beside the bed. He put out a hand to touch her, but all that met his fingers was the smoothness of the bed.

He surged to his feet, crossed to the window, and yanked the curtains open. Moonlight and the glow from the tower lantern poured into the room, revealing an empty bed.

She'd made the bed since Mitch had left, but why wasn't she in it? Was she sleeping with Josiah again, afraid that perhaps
Mitch would return? He spun around and started to cross the room again when his eyes fell on the wall above the dresser. He stumbled to a halt.

Her cross was gone.

With a burst of panic, he rushed through the house until he charged into Josiah's room. One glance at the empty bed told him the worst.

She'd left him. And she'd fulfilled her promise. She'd taken Josiah.

“No!” His knees weakened, and he sagged to the edge of the bed. For a moment, pain washed over him, sucking him down and drowning him.

Of course, he never wanted to lose Josiah. He loved the boy more than he ever thought possible. But the idea of life without Emma? The thought was unbearable. Unthinkable.

“I
won't
lose her,” he said to himself, pushing up from the bed. He fought off a wave of despair and a voice telling him he didn't deserve her, that he should just let her go.

All he wanted was to go after her, to fall on his knees before her and plead with her to come home. To their home. To him.

But hadn't he promised he'd let her go if she was unhappy?

Reluctantly he returned to the tower. He had to do the right thing by Emma, and the right thing was to let her go and give her the chance to find happiness with someone else more worthy.

Emma leaned into Ryan and sobbed quietly against his shoulder. He didn't say anything, just cradled her and let her cry.

She was hot from her hike around the harbor after leaving the lighthouse, the humidity of the night enveloping her. If only
she could go up into the tower and stand on the gallery. The breeze coming off the lake would comfort her.

At the thought, her tears flowed only faster. She'd never visit the lighthouse again. Never climb to the top. Never peer at the dark expanse of sky filled with its multitude of stars.

And worst of all, she'd never see Patrick again.

“Oh, Ryan,” she said, brushing the wetness from her cheeks, “I didn't want to believe he was capable of loving someone else. I wanted to believe he was a good man.”

Ryan patted her back.

She'd easily found Burnham's Landing when she'd reached the cleared part of the harbor. When she'd rapped on the Burnhams' door, Bertie had answered it almost immediately, as if she'd been waiting for Emma, her lips pursed and her eyes radiating with I-told-you-so.

Josiah had tired of the hike not long after they started, so Emma had carried him most of the way. Thankfully he'd fallen asleep in her arms and hadn't woken when she placed him on a mat next to Bertie's sons who were asleep on the floor.

Bertie had peppered her with whispered questions, and after the woman had gone back to bed, Emma had sought out Ryan. She hadn't been able to wait until morning to talk to him. Yawning and half asleep, he'd led her a safe distance away from the shack where he bunked with the fishermen.

The darkness shadowed his face, even more now that they sat at the edge of the forest on a bench made from a log.

“Maybe he's still a good man, Em,” Ryan said softly.

She'd finally had to tell Ryan the truth about Patrick's past, and she'd been surprised he wasn't angrier at Patrick or even concerned for her safety.

She sniffled. “I think he wants to be a godly man, but he's trapped in the sins of his past.”

Ryan pulled a wrinkled handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her.

“Maybe it just takes time to stop doing some things.” She dabbed her nose with the cloth. “And maybe some people can't change no matter how hard they try. Like Dad.”

Ryan leaned his back against the maple that towered behind them. “Dad could've changed if he'd really wanted to.”

“He tried to quit drinking several times—”

“He was still hanging on to his guilt too tightly,” Ryan said, a thread of bitterness edging his voice. “If he'd repented before God, if he'd let go of the past, and if he'd moved forward in the confidence of God's forgiveness, then maybe he could have put his drinking behind him.”

“But don't you think it's hard for some people to change, I mean really change, if they've developed bad habits?”

“It might be hard.” Ryan crossed his arms, giving her his undivided attention, making her feel as though everything she had to say was important, just as he always did. “But I'd like to think that no one can sin too much or stray too far from God that He can't bring them back, heal them, and give them a new life.”

The distant howl of a wolf mingled with the insects buzzing around them. She shivered, even though the night was muggy. “Then you don't think it's hopeless for Patrick?”

Ryan swatted at his neck. And Emma slapped at the mosquito hovering near her ear. “It's not hopeless,” Ryan said. “I may not know Patrick well, but I know a godly man when I see one. And Patrick Garraty is a godly man.”

Emma wanted so much to believe Ryan. “Then why is he unfaithful to our marriage?”

“We don't know for sure what's going on. Maybe we should talk to him first and see what he has to say for himself.”

“But I've noticed other things. Long, unexplained absences, the scent of women's perfume on his coat.” And his lack of interest in the consummation of their marriage, only she couldn't admit that to Ryan.

Ryan started to shake his head.

“And Bertie said that another woman came between Patrick and Delia.”

“Bertha Burnham is nothing but a gossip.”

“She's my friend, and she's been concerned about me.”

Ryan snorted.

“She tried to warn me about Patrick's past. She suspected that he wasn't telling everything.”

“Listen, Em. I like Patrick a whole lot more than I do Bertie. And if I had to bet money on whose word I trusted more, I'd choose Patrick.”

But Patrick had withheld information from her about his past. How could she trust him to tell her the truth in other things? She lowered her head, letting the misery of her situation swamp her. “I guess this means you won't take me with you, that you want me to stay here with him?”

Ryan reached for her hand. “Of course I'll take you with me. We made an agreement with Patrick that if you didn't like it here, you could leave.” His hands surrounded hers, strong and solid.

She could always count on Ryan. He'd provide for her. She'd be all right. Except that she'd be homeless again . . .

A deep sigh pressed for release.

“You know I want you to be happy,” Ryan said. A shaft of moonlight came through the branches and glinted off his blond hair. “I haven't liked the idea of leaving you here.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand, grateful for his presence in her life. She tried to ignore the voice that told her he needed his freedom, that she wasn't his responsibility anymore, and that she couldn't burden him. That was one of the reasons she'd married Patrick in the first place, so that Ryan could move on with his life and figure out what God had planned for him.