Chapter 163
Harriet settled on amus.e.m.e.nt. A giggle bubbled up in her, and she could see laughter reflected in Samantha's eyes. "This town knows me too well."
Samantha gave her a hug. "Everyone loves you, that's why."
Harriet thought back to Ant's revelation about everyone knowing her feelings for Nick. She gave Samantha a wry smile. "I guess that's not such a bad thing after all."
Mrs. Cobb reached for her hat where it lay on the table and placed it on her head--a new one without a stuffed bird adorning the brim. She tied her bonnet strings. "It's time to go, Miss Stanton. I watched from the window. Almost everybody is already in the church." She sniffed. "Seems like everyone and his brother has turned up. Good thing you didn't marry from a house. Wouldn't have been anyplace big enough."
Samantha handed Harriet a bouquet of roses, the same kind of white ones she'd carried for her wedding.
Harriet sniffed their sweet scent. I'll have to press one later as a keepsake.
The three women left the house and strolled down the street. As they crossed to the church, Harriet saw Nick and Elizabeth Sanders standing out in front. Samantha and Mrs. Cobb greeted them and continued inside, leaving Harriet with the couple.
Elizabeth was dressed in a sapphire silk gown that allowed the slight bulge of her pregnancy to show and made her eyes look like gems. Nick had on the suit he'd worn for his own wedding, although today he seemed more comfortable in it. The couple looked content and prosperous, and for the first time, Harriet could whole-heartedly wish them every happiness. The realization made her feel light and free.
Nick took her hand, the first time he'd ever touched her, and gave it a quick squeeze before letting go. "I want you to know, Miss Stanton, how very glad I am that Mr. Gordon has had the good sense to chose you for his wife. I wish you all the best."
"We wish you all the best, Harriet," Elizabeth chimed in. "May you have as happy a marriage as we do."
In looking from one to the other, Harriet could see in their eyes that they had known of her feelings for Nick. Today, she didn't feel shame. Instead, she allowed their genuine good will to seep into her body, twining with her joy. "Thank you. That's a wonderful blessing, indeed!"
Elizabeth leaned forward to kiss Harriet's cheek. Then the couple turned and climbed the steps to the church.
Harriet touched her cheek, marveling at how much things had changed. She fiddled with the gold pin at her neck. Elizabeth and I are going to be friends. Who would have thought?
Harriet brought her bouquet to her nose for one last fortifying sniff. The last time I entered this church for a wedding, I was so very unhappy. Now, I feel as if I could fly. She giggled at the image of floating down the aisle to her groom.
Harriet gathered her up her skirts to climb the stairs and stepped into the church. As she crossed the small foyer, a hush fell over the room.
Everyone turned to see her. She gave David, standing straight and proud next to his uncle, a fond smile, but then she only had eyes for Ant. Her husband-to-be waited tall and dark in the front of the church, wearing a new black suit and vest with a white s.h.i.+rt.
Elizabeth started playing Mendelssohn's "Wedding March."
Her heart lifted by the notes of the music, Harriet walked up the aisle, her eyes on Ant. His stunned expression, so full of love and pride, softened the angles of his face, rendering him handsome.
Harriet gave him a tremulous smile and couldn't wait to reach his side.
As she approached him, he took her hand. "You look beautiful," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips.
The brush of his mouth on her hand sent s.h.i.+vers up her arm and down her spine. In his eyes, Harriet saw the promise of love for all the years to come.
Ant solemnly gazed into her eyes and gave her his crooked smile.
How could I ever have thought him frightening?
Then they turned and faced the minister. Reverend Norton's austere face softened with a smile of affection. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here...."
THE END.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR.
USA Today Bestselling author Debra Holland is a three-time Romance Writers of America Golden Heart finalist and one time winner. She's the author of The Montana Sky Series, sweet historical Western romance, which she self-published as ebooks. In her first year, she had 97,000 sales, made the USA Today list with Wild Montana Sky, and sold Wild Montana Sky and Starry Montana Sky to Amazon Montlake. In February of 2013, Amazon selected Starry Montana Sky as one of the Top 50 Greatest Love Stories.
Debra is also the author of The G.o.ds' Dream Trilogy (fantasy romance.) She has a nonfiction book, The Essential Guide to Grief and Grieving from Alpha Books (a subsidiary of Penguin).
She has a free ebooklet available on her website, http://drdebraholland.com: 58 Tips for Getting What You Want From a Difficult Conversation.
Website: www.drdebraholland.com.
Finding Kate Huntley.
Theresa Ragan.
PROLOGUE.
Haiti, off the Coast of Le Borgne.
Kate awoke with a jolt. Moonlight filtered in through a porthole above her head. The boat lurched. What was happening?
Her father was an experienced sailor. He seldom set sail at nightfall. She climbed over fallen books and a new metallurgical microscope her father had given her two days ago in celebration of
The storm her father had mentioned was no longer brewing-it was here, in full force, angry and out of control. With a firm grip on the railing encircling the spiral staircase, she pulled herself up one step at a time until she reached the top. Her heart dropped to her stomach. What was once a sliding gla.s.s door was now a gaping hole. Furniture and pictures had disappeared completely, leaving bare walls, broken gla.s.s, and debris scattered about the room.
Another swell hit the side of the boat and water gushed inside. The boat rocked like a cradle, forcing her to her knees. Kate crawled across the floor, wood splinters and gla.s.s piercing her skin. She held tight to a built-in cabinet and stuck her head through the opening where the door used to be; sails fluttered, snapping in the wind, sounding like dozens of cap guns being shot off at once. Spray and foam hit her face, temporarily blinding her.
And then she spotted a shadow...a man...her father.
Thank G.o.d. His clothes were soaked through, his expression severe as he appeared to do battle with ropes and sails. But then another man stepped into view-a tall stranger. With a raised hand, he moved toward her father.
Pus.h.i.+ng herself to her feet, she stepped onto the slippery deck, her gaze on the knife in the man's hand.
"Dad!" she shouted.
Both men turned her way.
Her father took advantage of the situation and lunged for the a.s.sailant, wrestling for possession of the knife. She couldn't tell who was who, not until the stranger scrambled to his feet and headed her way, leaving her father lying motionless.
Dark clouds rolled overhead. Strong winds whipped hair across her face. Terror held her in place and stopped her from running, her gaze fixated on the snake tattooed across the man's shoulder, its tail ending somewhere inside his torn s.h.i.+rt. Rooted to the slippery deck, she glanced at her father's body and willed him to get up.
A loud crack sounded, and she looked up in time to see the mainsail break loose, sweep across the deck, and hit the man square across the chest, throwing him out to sea. It was as if G.o.d himself had reached down and slapped the man into oblivion.
"Dad!" she shouted.
Kate ran to him, her feet slipping on the wet deck. Her chin hit the wooden planks. Ignoring the pain, she crawled to his side, relieved to see he was still alive.
"We need to get to the life raft," he said, his voice raspy and weak.
She helped him to his feet and held him upright. Blood oozed from his side. "You're hurt."
"I'm alright. There's no time. The boat won't stay afloat much longer." The lines across his forehead deepened. "When you get to the island you mustn't tell anyone who you are."
"But why?"
"Do as I say. Trust no one. On your twelfth birthday," he hurried on, "I gave you-" He winced in pain.
She didn't like the way he looked. The anger in his voice told her he was scared. "Dad, what are you saying?"
He urged her back toward the railing. "There isn't time."
"We can go to the police," she said, helping him stay on his feet. "They'll help us."
"No," he said with more urgency than before. "Speak to no one. Do you understand?"
The harshness of his voice and the stern expression on his face told her not to question him again. The spray was intense, hitting her face and making her eyes sting. Pieces of rigging hung from the boat, flapping upward and banging against the side. Her father reached over the railing and yanked loose the life raft. The raft fell to the water. It looked a million miles away. "I can't do this."
"My brave little princess," he said, his voice calm again as he pushed wet strands of hair out of her face. "Your mother was brave and strong, just like you. You can do this. I know you can."
Before she could ask him how they were going to get into the raft, he jumped over the edge, bringing her with him.
The water was cold. But it was fear that numbed her senses. She wasn't even sure if her legs were kicking or if her arms were moving, but she knew she was underwater.
And she knew she was going to die.
Instinct and an intense desire to live made her move her arms, working hard to pull herself upward through the ocean's cold brutal waters. But the attempt felt as useless as trying to breathe underwater. Panic was replaced by an eerie calmness as her body and mind began to succ.u.mb to the ocean's strength. Strange, she thought, how dying didn't feel like dying. It was much more peaceful than she would have imagined.
Suddenly, strong arms encircled her waist and pushed her upward. Her head popped above the surface. She drew in a shuddering breath of seawater and air, then sputtered and coughed. "Dad," she called before another wave covered her head, forcing her under.
His hands grasped her waist again, strong and determined, thrusting her up and over the raft's edge. Her face smacked against the slick rubbery bottom. Her lungs burned with each breath. The raft rolled with the waves, threatening to toss her back in. Her father flung an arm over the edge; his hand grasped for something to hang onto. She clasped her hand around his thick fingers and pulled with every bit of strength she had. But he was weak from loss of blood, and he was heavy.
Wind whipped the waters this way and that, loosening her hold. The harder she pulled, the further he slipped into the black swells until she lost sight of him completely.
She looked at her hands and silently cursed her frailness. Gazing out into the dark waters, she prayed her father would reappear.
But he never did.
Her father was wrong. She wasn't brave and strong at all. She was a weakling.
CHAPTER ONE.
Ten Years Later.
Port-au-Prince, Haiti.
Foam and spray cascaded off the mainsail and onto Kate's face as she s.h.i.+fted the vessel from one tack to the other, nearing the docks of Port-au-Prince, Haiti's capital. The landscape before her was almost completely stripped of trees, but the city sprawled between mountains and water gave it a beauty all its own.
Despite the rowdy street life of Port-au-Prince, Kate was glad to be home, especially after spending the last three days and two nights babysitting a vacationing family of four. How many times had she told her boss's daughter, Fiona, that she didn't do overnighters? She didn't mind taking divers to secluded areas for the day, since they left her alone for the most part and they usually called it quits before dusk. But spending three days with two overly coddled kids and their snooty parents was too much to ask.
She tied the boat to the docks next to the Paradise, a sleek cabin cruiser she vowed would be hers someday. Then she headed up the dock and through the waterside slums where children were being washed in ditches and a desperate beggar held out his dark bony fingers.
Kate pulled a piece of dried beef from her pocket and handed it to the man before crossing the main boulevard, dodging more than one of the multi-colored buses called taptaps as she went. Despite the oppressing poverty, maybe even because of it, she loved Haiti. Haiti was heavily populated by resilient and determined people...people like her.
"J'aime bien ton derriere."
She turned and looked from the big hand covering her b.u.t.tocks to the dark eyes of an unfamiliar face. His thin lips curved upward into a l.u.s.ty sneer, "Belle fille."
She grabbed hold of his arm and twisted it behind his back. "Don't ever touch a woman unless she asks you to, got it?"
She tightened her grip.
"Je te comprends," he ground out.
With a heavy sigh, she let go of his arm and made her way through the front door of Prince Charters, the company owned by Esri Dalton, the woman who had found her ten years ago and took her under her wing. Instead of Esri though, it was Fiona whom she found behind the desk running the shop. Fiona's parents had both died of AIDS when Fiona was only seven. Fiona and Kate had spent the past ten years helping Esri run her business, though most days it seemed they spent more time bickering than working. They were practically sisters.
"You can't go around breaking the arm of every man you meet," Fiona said the moment Kate entered the shop.
"He touched me."
"If I broke a limb every time a guy touched me," Fiona told her, "I would have taken out half of Haiti's population by now."
Everyone knew what Fiona did at night, which was exactly why deadbeats, like the one Kate had just ran into, hung around the place all day long. Kate held out a hand. "You owe me forty dollars."
Fiona's mouth opened in protest.