Love Unexpected (22 page)

The pirate lunged at him, both fists swinging, with a speed that took Patrick by surprise. He danced around the dangerously rocking boat, over the legs of the unconscious men, ducking and swaying to avoid the punches. The man hit him several times before Patrick could find an opening for another punch.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Mitch had stopped on the bank. He'd lowered his gun, crossed his arms, and was watching the boxing match with apparent interest.

“You know who you're fighting, Steel?” Mitch called in a voice
drenched with excitement. “You're face-to-face with Hook. The one and only Hook.”

The young pirate didn't respond except to grunt and try to send an uppercut to Patrick's chin. So this was the man Mitch had wanted him to fight. He was probably Mitch's new well-trained prizefighter, his biggest money-maker.

For a moment, the surrounding lake faded as the swaying boat turned into a fighting ring and Patrick was back in a crowded warehouse amidst cigar smoke and the shouts of those placing bets on the fight. His body glistened with perspiration, and he reacted without thought.

All he knew was that he had to knock out his opponent. He swung back his arm, then looped it forward in a semicircle, putting all his weight behind it. His fist connected against Steel's jaw, throwing him off-balance. Then Patrick delivered a stinging blow straight to the man's nose.

His opponent crumpled and started to fall over the edge of the boat. Patrick grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt and maneuvered him to the floor next to the other two. His stomach lurched at the sight of blood on Steel's face, and he wanted to curse himself for hurting the man.

But one look at the bloody pulp left of his knuckles told him where the blood had come from. Only then did the agony in his hands taunt him. He'd fought with his fists and knocked out three men, and he'd done it without hesitation.

He took a step back from the carnage, guilt pummeling him as surely as Steel's fists.

“Just as I thought, Hook,” Mitch called from the bank, his arms crossed in satisfaction, as if they were at a boxing match instead of in the middle of a gun battle over stolen wood. “You haven't lost your touch. You're still as good as you used to be,
maybe better. All that rowing and fishing you've been doing has made you even stronger.”

Patrick stared at the men he'd knocked out, the moon shining on their upturned faces. It had been all too easy to fall back into his old self, to hit and to hurt others. Was it always going to be a battle to force his past to stay behind him, to keep it from catching up and attempting to take over?

“I could turn you back into a big name,” Mitch said, staring across the water to the boat. “With your strength and size we could make bucketfuls of cash every night.”

Patrick yanked off the hat and shrugged out of the filthy shirt. He wouldn't take on that lifestyle ever again.

“Beautiful women, endless parties.” Mitch was relentless. “It could all be yours again, Hook.”

Behind Mitch, Patrick could make out the forms of several of the fishermen zigzagging stealthily toward the cordwood, their guns aimed at the last standing pirate.

“I don't want it, Mitch,” he said, bending and wrapping a rope around Steel's hands, hoping to distract Mitch from the approaching men. He certainly didn't want to end up in a boxing match with Mitch. He wasn't sure he could hit the man, even if he came at him with both fists flying.

Besides, Mitch was armed. He didn't think Mitch would shoot him, but he didn't want to find out. He'd have a much better chance of surviving if he had help from the fishermen.

“This fight tonight,” Patrick said, winding the rope around his captive's ankles, “is the last time I plan to use my fists.”

“Oh, that's right,” Mitch said with a bitter laugh. “Yer Saint Patrick, aren't you? Too good for the likes of me now that you got religion.”

“I'm not too good. I'm the worst of sinners.” Patrick pulled
the rope into a tight knot, then took the remainder of the rope to the other man he'd knocked out. There was just enough left to bind him too.

“If you're such a sinner,” Mitch said, “then you'll fit right in with the lot of us.”

“Thanks to God's love, I'm a sinner who's been set free from my past.” Patrick tossed Mitch what he hoped was a casual glance, noting that Fred Burnham was almost upon him, his gun leveled and ready.

“Set free? Set free from a good time and plenty of money?” Mitch laughed again, but the sound was hollow. “Free so that now you can go to church and follow all kinds of rules?”

Patrick shrugged. He couldn't explain it, but in the process of giving up his old life, it was as if a breeze had blown through him, cleaned him, and given him hope that he'd never had on his own. He didn't feel in bondage to rules. He also didn't feel as if he'd lost any pleasure in life. In fact, it was just the opposite. And since he married Emma, he'd felt more pleasure being with her than with all the other women he'd known in the past.

“You're telling me you're happy here?” Mitch asked.

“I've never been happier,” Patrick said. He knew it was the truth. He loved Emma. His short time with her had been the best time of his life. The thought of losing her ripped at his heart again.

Fred Burnham and two other fishermen approached Mitch's back. One of them shoved the barrel of a gun into Mitch, and he stiffened. Before he could move, the other men had grabbed his arms and wrenched them behind his back.

Surprise arched Mitch's brow. Then as he stared at Patrick, his eyes filled with the pain of betrayal.

Patrick didn't say anything. He simply watched, aching at the sight of his old friend, shut off to the ways of God. Patrick had given him a chance to turn his life around and do the right thing. Mitch had only spurned his offer by robbing and hurting the people he'd come to care about.

It was time for Mitch to face the consequences of his actions. But even knowing that Mitch's arrest was the right thing, Patrick couldn't watch as the men hauled him away and locked him into the supply shed, along with his three accomplices who were finally starting to stir.

Fred posted a guard in front of the shack and sent a couple of men down to Fremont to fetch the sheriff. In the meantime, Ryan had regained consciousness, and Emma helped him into the Burnhams' log cabin. Widow Burnham was tending to his bullet wound.

Dawn started to break, and Patrick knew he needed to return to the lighthouse and turn off the lantern, along with the other duties he'd put off during the night. Even so, he lingered there, chatting with the other men about the shooting, receiving their good-natured congratulations on almost single-handedly defeating the thieves.

He didn't care about any of that. All he wanted was to see Emma and his boy Josiah and wrap them both in a fierce hug before saying good-bye. From where he leaned against the side of a fish shanty, his attention kept straying to the doorway of the Burnham cabin.

Faint sunlight streaked the lake when Bertie finally strode outside. “We fished the bullet out of Ryan's shoulder and got him stitched up real good.”

The men nodded, one after the other. During the shooting, Ryan had been the only one injured. They were grateful to him
for alerting them to the thieves and being willing to help them fight, even though he wasn't one of them.

Bertie scanned the men until she saw Patrick. Her lips pinched with obvious displeasure. “You better arrest Patrick Garraty too,” she said, pointing at him.

His heartbeat took a dive, but he didn't move.

The men standing around him grew silent. They were sipping coffee and readying their nets and sails for their day of fishing.

“He's a pirate, just like the rest of the lot.” Bertie's accusation rang out in the morning air. She stood on the grassy bank outside the cabin, the lamplight from the interior illuminating her, making her loom larger than life.

The men murmured their disbelief.

“It's true,” Bertie said louder to make herself heard, her sharp gaze fixed on him. “I've got plenty of proof, so there's no sense in denying it, Patrick.”

Patrick could feel all eyes upon him, burning into him with suspicion and mistrust where only minutes ago had been warmth and acceptance. He knew he had to say something to defend himself, but what could he say now that the truth was out?

“I won't deny I was once a pirate,” Patrick said. “But I gave up my sinful ways. I'm done with that life.”

Bertie took a step toward him, her thin body stiff. “I suppose that's why you gave shelter to their ringleader, Mitch Schwartz, this past week? From what I hear, he's an old friend.”

“I found him in a wreck north of the light. I could have left him there to die, but I didn't. I brought him home and bandaged him up.”

“Or maybe you concocted this here whole thieving business.” Bertie spat the words. “Bet he was planning to give you a cut of
profit if you helped him. You're probably in cahoots with him to rob the all the ships passing through here.”

“That don't make sense,” said one of the older fishermen. “Why would Garraty knock out the pirates and stop them from the thieving if he was aiming to help them?”

“'Cause they didn't expect anyone to see them doing the stealing,” Bertie replied. “Once Ryan caught them at their dark deeds, then Patrick had to cover up his part in it.”

The men muttered among themselves again, and Patrick didn't know what to say. Now that Mitch had taken his revenge by revealing his past, he'd have an uphill battle ahead of him to prove his innocence.

Deep down, he'd known the moment he found Mitch washed up onshore that saving the man would ruin the good life he'd tried so hard to build over the last few years. He just hadn't expected it to come crumbling down so quickly.

Emma stepped outside the cabin and went to stand next to Bertie. Her face was ashen, and her hair hung in disarray. She was obviously shaken by Ryan's injury. Regardless, she'd never looked lovelier.

She scanned the crowd, coming to an abrupt halt on him. Relief softened her features, making her even more beautiful. Was she glad to see him? Had she been worried about him?

He wanted to give her a reassuring smile and let her know how happy he was to see her. He wanted to pull her away from the crowd and have the chance to say good-bye in private.

“Well,” Fred Burnham said, pushing back his hat and watching Patrick, his eyes pleading with him to deny Bertie's accusations. “What do you have to say for yourself, Garraty?”

Emma's attention swung back and forth between him and the tall weather-worn man.

“I've already told you,” Patrick said. “I gave up that life—”

“I suppose that's why your wife caught you in the arms of another woman last night.” At Bertie's words, silence fell over the gathering, leaving only the sound of the waves as they lapped against the shore.

The noise in Patrick's head tapered to a deadly calm, the lull before the storm. The only way Bertie could know that information was if Emma had shared it. But surely Emma wouldn't have told the woman anything without first talking with him, would she?

Emma shrank back, half hiding her face behind Bertie. Apparently she had.

“If you're so high-and-mighty,” Bertie continued, “then why are you throwing yourself into the arms of loose women instead of taking your own wife to bed?”

The low whistles from some of the men sent a rolling surge about his stomach. “What I do with my wife is none of your concern,” he finally said.

“It is my concern,” Bertie said. “Delia was my cousin. I know how unhappy she was with you. And it's no wonder. You being a pirate and an adulterer and all.”

Each of Bertie's cruel words stabbed him. Not because he cared a whit what Bertie thought about him but because he knew that was how Emma felt. She despised him and she'd run straight to Bertie and told the woman all that had happened. Maybe Emma had been the one to tell Bertie about his harboring of Mitch. Maybe Mitch hadn't said anything to the townsfolk after all.

Emma refused to look at him, but instead cowered at Bertie's side.

The knife sank deeper into his chest. What hurt him most was knowing that Emma hadn't trusted him. She'd believed the worst about him. She'd rushed to judge him. Just like Bertie.

The faces surrounding him were shrouded with shock. Obviously they found him wanting. In their eyes, the sins of his past outweighed the new man he'd become.

Patrick's shoulders slumped. What more could he expect? If he stood in their shoes, he'd probably feel the same revulsion.

“Patrick Garraty's a dangerous man,” Bertie called. “We don't need the likes of him around here.” The men began talking among themselves when Bertie shouted above the commotion, “Besides, you can't let a man like this run the lighthouse. He ain't fit for the job. No telling what kind of mischief he'll make. I say we arrest him.”

Emma grasped Bertie's arm. “Surely he doesn't deserve to be arrested. He's committed no crimes—at least not tonight.”

“'Course he's going to deny he was involved in stealing our wood.” Bertie shook off Emma's hold on her. “But until we talk to the sheriff, he has to be locked up with the others.”

Patrick bowed his head. He wouldn't convince Bertie or the others here that he was innocent. If he couldn't convince Emma after the weeks of living with him, after getting to know him, how would he ever convince the rest of the townspeople?

Fred Burnham stepped forward. “Who's gonna tend the light while he's locked up?”

“Emma will,” Bertie answered. “She told me she knows how to light the lantern and that she's handy with that sort of thing. She won't have any trouble.”

Emma uttered a protest while Patrick forced himself not to look at her again.