Читать книгу Safe In His Arms - Christine Scott - Страница 12

My father…a kind, gentle man…he couldn’t have done anything so vile, so brutal.

Samuel’s final words played over and over in her mind, as Jessie slammed the BMW into gear and sped away from his house. Her tires squealed in protest at her rough handling, spewing out dirt and crushed shell. Within seconds the house disappeared behind a cloud of dust and debris.

His father. Of course. She should have known he’d been the man in the newspaper article. Who else could have borne such a striking resemblance to this man than his own father?

He died for a crime he didn’t commit. If anyone should know that, it’s you, Jessie Pierce.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to still her trembling hands. The look on Samuel’s face, the adamancy of his tone—he actually believed she knew his father to be innocent. That she’d allowed a wrongfully convicted man to die in prison.

No wonder he held such animosity toward her.

Golden rays of the midday sun glinted off the road, turning the pavement up ahead into a shimmering mirage. Yet she felt none of its comforting warmth. Jessie drew in a shaky breath. She felt chilled by the elusive memories of her past.

Too soon she spotted the lane leading to her cottage. She slowed the car, carefully making her way over the deep ruts. Even at high noon the towering, moss-covered live oaks and the thick underbrush cast huge shadows, choking out any filtering light. The house, despite its brilliant coat of white paint, wore an ominous pall.

Unable to face the darkness that surrounded the house, Jessie parked her car in the driveway and walked the short distance to the beach. A few feet past the boardwalk, her strength gave out. She sat down hard on a cushion of soft, warm sand, her muscles shaking with relief. Blindly she stared at the undulating waves of the ocean.

Her mind still reeling, she forced herself to go over the events of her disturbing encounter with Samuel. He had said that his father had died for a crime he did not commit. Which meant Samuel believed someone else had murdered Eve Pierce.

Or did it?

Mixed in with the anger and the bitterness, Jessie had seen another emotion shadowing Samuel’s eyes. An emotion so raw and painful, it had hurt for her to witness it. An emotion so intense, she had wanted to reach out and ease his suffering.

There had been a guilty uncertainty in his gaze.

Despite his protests to the contrary, Samuel was not completely sure of his father’s innocence.

Jessie’s breath caught painfully in her throat. More than anything else, her own reaction toward Samuel’s anguish had disturbed her. Caring didn’t come easy for her. Her protective instincts usually kept her aloof from others and their problems. Better to live an isolated life, she reminded herself, than to risk the pain of caring too much. Especially not for a stranger, a man whose father may very well have murdered her own mother.

That is, if the newspaper accounts of her mother’s death had been accurate. She frowned. Could they have been wrong? Could the person who murdered her mother still be at large?

Jessie shuddered at the possibility that such a devastating mistake could have been made. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings. The foaming waves of the ocean formed a jigsaw pattern against the beach. The air was heavy with the scent of salt and the live fish of the sea. In the distance a mother and child laughed in delight as the winds carried their kite high into the sky.

Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful. It felt odd that the lives of others went unaffected while her life had undergone such a complete and staggering change.

Her mother had been murdered in Gull’s Cottage. That much she knew for sure. The truth of whether or not she’d been a witness to the horrible crime was still buried deep inside her. According to the newspaper’s account, Samuel’s father was found guilty of the murder. But the little voice in the back of her mind told her that something wasn’t quite right with the story. That there was more to the events of the past that hadn’t yet been revealed.

Unfortunately Samuel’s father was dead, as was her mother. Did that mean the secret behind her mother’s death would forever be buried?

She closed her eyes against the emotions roiling inside her. In Atlanta she’d learned to cope with her fears by distancing herself from her own emotions. Though her adoptive mother had constantly tried to bring her out of her shell, Jessie had stood firm in her belief that if she didn’t allow herself to feel, to get close to others, then she would never be hurt.

In her own way she had become an island.

Until she’d returned to Gull’s Cottage, she’d never realized how fragile her world had become, how successful she’d been at denying the truth. Clearly, the emotional problems of her adulthood were tied to the one traumatic event of her childhood—the event that she’d tried so hard to suppress—her mother’s death.

Drawing in a steadying breath, Jessie slowly opened her eyes. She hadn’t been the only one whose life had been changed by that violent act. Samuel had been deeply affected by his father’s conviction of guilt.

Through the actions of their parents, her past and Samuel’s were irrevocably connected. He was the key to the answers she sought. No one else would know as much about his own father as he did.

Whether she liked it or not, the path to the truth passed through Samuel Conners.

The next morning Jessie steeled herself for what lay ahead. She’d risen early, even before the sun. Now, with the dawn stretching ribbons of purple and pink throughout the lightening sky, she walked along the beach, heading for the one place where she knew she would find Samuel.

The docks brimmed with activity as she approached. Crews of fishermen called out to one another, laughing, joking as they prepared for their morning’s work. Boats rocked against their moorings, the water slapping against their hulls. Gulls screamed overhead, as though impatient for their chance at scraps from the morning catch.

Despite the crush of activity, her appearance didn’t go unnoticed. As she passed, she received curious glances from the sea of primarily male workers, some more blatant in their show of appreciation than others. Her step faltered, her face flushing with embarrassment, as catcalls followed her down the wooden dock. Quickening her step, she hurried to Samuel’s shrimp boat.

The Marianna stood silent, oblivious to the frenetic activity of the surrounding fishermen. So quiet, in fact, that Jessie wondered if anyone was aboard. She hesitated, biting her lower lip as she studied the white boat with its blue trim, debating the wisdom of calling out and attracting any more unwanted attention.

Just as she was about to turn around and head back to Gull’s Cottage in defeat, a familiar blond-haired figure emerged from the shadows of the hold. Samuel’s powerful body dwarfed the boat as he stepped onto the deck. Like a magnet drawn to steel, his gaze flew to her. In stunned silence, he stared at her.

She froze, held by the force of his gaze. Dressed in a grease-stained T-shirt and faded jeans, he wore a harried expression on his face. The wind stroked his sun-streaked hair, blowing it across his forehead. Absently, rubbing his hands with a dingy white cloth, his gaze slid up and down the length of her body.

Jessie fought the urge to squirm beneath the touch of his assessing glance. Even without the censure that she saw reflected in his eyes, she felt out of place in her pristine white jeans, her black-and-white-striped shirt and her unscuffed tennis shoes. He didn’t need to tell her what they both already knew.

That she didn’t belong here.

Jessie was the first to break the silent standoff. Gathering her courage, she cleared her throat, then said, “I need to talk to you.”

For one terrible moment she thought he might turn and walk away, ignoring her and her request. Instead, he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” he said, his tone a low warning.

Aware of the other nearby fishermen stopping to watch them, Jessie braced herself against the undisguised hostility in his stance and the anger which corded his muscles. Sternly she told herself she could not let him intimidate her. Lifting her chin, feigning a confidence she did not feel, she said, “Is that because you’re too scared to talk to me?”

For the first time since she’d met him, Samuel actually smiled, seeming amused by the question. He drew himself up to his full six-foot-plus height and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. In a cool voice that sent a chill down her spine, he said, “I’m not the one who should be frightened.”

Jessie’s heart pounded against her breast. She fought the urge to turn and run. Despite the challenging look in his eyes, she sensed that his threat was harmless. That, no matter how daunting an image he tried to project, Samuel would never hurt her. Taking a gamble on her instincts being correct, she stood her ground and refused to budge.

Slowly his smile faded. Releasing an impatient breath, he stepped down from the boat and landed with a thud on the dock in front of her. For a long, resolve-stealing moment, he stood within inches of touching her. Close enough that she felt the heat of his sun-kissed skin. So close that she grew lost in the pale blueness of his eyes. Dizzied by his overwhelming presence, she was tempted to rest a hand against the anchoring strength of his wide shoulders.

“I don’t have time to waste on chitchat,” he said finally, his curt tone snapping her out of her trance. He jabbed a finger in the direction of his boat. “Right now I’ve got to take a test run with my repaired motor. If you want to talk to me, it’ll have to be out on the ocean.”

Without another word, he stepped away from her and began loosening the thick lines of rope that moored the boat, leaving her to deal with a confusing rush of emotions.

He wanted her to turn and run. She’d heard the challenge in his voice. He was letting the decision to stay or go fall squarely on her shoulders, gambling on the chance that she’d be too scared to actually take him up on the offer.

If she were smart she would run as fast as her feet could carry her. Knowing how much he must resent her, she told herself, she would be a fool to go anywhere alone with him. Once they were on the ocean, there would be no one to protect her from his anger.

Despite what reason might be telling her, Jessie felt as though she could trust the man standing before her. As illogical as it might sound, deep in her heart she believed that nothing bad would happen to her as long as she was with him.

Besides, she was tired of running away. Tired of crawling into her protective shell of isolation at the first sign of trouble. Never opening herself up to what the world had to offer, good or bad, had proved a very lonely way to live.