hands. So cold. “He left me.”
“Yes.”
She huddled under the blanket. “Am I dead?”
“No, you’re very much alive.”
She nearly wept with gratitude. “Thank you.”
Black-booted feet braced on either side of her. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re far from safe.”
She opened her eyes. Rain dropped on her face, making it difficult to focus.
Her rescuer’s face was turned toward the lighthouse’s steady beacon, but she could see that he was dressed in a heavy black coat and wore a stocking cap. His shoulders were broad, his legs powerfully built. Large callused hands gripped the oars.
Tears tightened her chest. What little strength remained, the cold now sapped. Struggling to think, she closed her eyes and slipped into unconsciousness.
Caleb glanced down at Alanna. Curled on the bottom of his boat, she was breathing, but she looked painfully small and her blond curls were matted against her pale skin.
She’d need warm, dry clothes soon or the cold would suck the life from her. But for now, all he could do for her was get her to shore.
Caleb set his sights on the lighthouse shore. His body was well conditioned to the hard work but soon the winds would be too much for him.
The dory bumped against the sandy shore thirty minutes later. He jumped from the boat and yanked it onto land. Rain pelted his face as he tied the boat line to the moorings of a small dock.
He quickly stowed the oars in the boat bottom and lifted Alanna into his arms. Even with the weight of her damp clothes and cape, he could tell she’d lost weight. Alanna had always been vibrant and alive, never frail.
The years had taken a toll on them both.
The thought offered Caleb no satisfaction as he hoisted her against his chest and started toward the small white-framed cottage just a hundred yards from the base of the lighthouse. A black shutter had come loose from its lock and banged in the wind against the side of the house. A rooster-shaped weather vane atop the roof spun wildly in circles.
He glanced up toward the lighthouse to make sure the light still burned bright. Satisfied when he saw its steady flash, he strode up the five steps to the porch and pushed through the front door.
Water dripped from his clothes and Alanna’s skirts as he strode down the darkened hallway toward a back room he reserved for the rescued. He laid her on a bed outfitted with fresh sheets.
Caleb pulled off his wet gloves and lit a lamp and then the preset fire in the hearth. He waited until flames flickered, sparked and spit out the first bit of warmth.
He drew back, shrugged off his coat and hung it on the back of a wooden chair before turning his attention to Alanna.
He raised the lantern. Her damp blond ringlets blanketed her face and her gloved fingers were curled into small fists as if she still fought for her life.
He touched her cheek, needing to reassure himself that she was real. Her skin felt cold, but her breathing sounded stronger.
The wet clothes were seeping the warmth from her body and if he didn’t undress her soon, what the storm hadn’t accomplished, hypothermia would.
He set down the lamp on a small bedside table and flexed his fingers. His outrage remained as raw as the day of the inquest—the day she’d refused to see him.
Annoyed, he reminded himself that he’d stripped many a near-drowned sailor. And buttons and bows aside, the job remained the same.
The sooner he set about the task, the sooner it would be over.
Lifting her foot, he yanked at the laces of her boots, then tugged each off and tossed them on the floor. “Why couldn’t you stay away?”
She moaned softly at the sound of his voice but remained unconscious.
Caleb unfastened the clasp at the base of her throat and pulled off her cape, made five times heavier by the water. He was amazed she’d stayed afloat as long as she had wearing the contraption.
Most men or women couldn’t swim, but Alanna’s father had had a healthy respect for the sea and had insisted his daughter learn as soon as she could walk.
And she’d always been a fighter.
There’d been a time when he’d known her body intimately. Touching her had been as natural as breathing. Now he felt like an interloper.
Irritated, Caleb stripped off her clothes as quickly as he could manage. He then grabbed a blanket from the edge of the bed and laid it over her. He tucked the folds around the edge of her slim body and moved her to the other, drier, side of the bed.
An involuntary shiver escaped her lips as if she were finally wrestling the chill from her bone. She looked so small, so helpless.
Caleb stood back and dug a hand through his wet hair. His fingers brushed the rough skin of the scar on the right side of his face. “You shouldn’t have come.”
As he turned to leave, she rolled on her side and curled her knees up to her chest. “Caleb.”
Chapter Four
T he instant Alanna stepped out onto Patterson Shipping’s docks Caleb Pitt had noticed her. He’d also not been happy to see her. Still, Alanna kept walking, drawn like a moth to a flame.
His ink-black pants and cable-knit turtleneck sweater had been as dark as his thick, closely cropped hair. His long, muscular legs had eaten up the space between them in seconds.
“Lady, do you have any idea how dangerous these docks are? Most sailors would eat a pretty thing like you up,” he shouted over the winds.
Undaunted, Alanna had stood her ground. “I’m looking for my father, Obadiah Patterson.” If she thought dropping the company president’s name would intimidate him, she was wrong.
His powerful body blocked the sun as he towered over her. His gaze trailed over her small frame, taking in every detail. “Then you should know how unsafe these docks are for women.”
His masculine scrutiny left her body tingling. “I stand corrected.” Unrepentant, she held out her hand. “Alanna Patterson.”
He pulled off a worn leather glove and took her hand. He squeezed her fingers gently, but she could feel the leashed power in his hand. “Caleb Pitt.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Father’s told me a lot about you.”
“That so?”
She smiled, confident. “Father says you’re rough around the edges, trouble.”
Caleb’s vivid blue eyes sharpened. He leaned close to her. His own scent mingled with the sandalwood of his soap. “He’s right.”
She held her ground. “He also tells me a sea witch blessed you with the gift for reading the seas.”
Laughter sparked in his eyes. “I’m afraid you’ve got it wrong. ’Twas not a sea witch that gave me the talent, but the Devil.”
She feigned shock. “The Devil?”
“Aye. The talent to read the seas and predict storms in exchange for my soul.”
Alanna laughed at his outrageously dark humor. “I’ve never met a man who sold his soul. Tell me, would you like to attend a dinner party Father’s having on Friday? I’d be very interested to know how one goes about bargaining with the Dark Prince,” she’d teased.
“I’d be delighted.” His extra emphasis on the last word made her more aware that with this man she was out of her depth. He possessed an earthy masculinity that, despite her best efforts, left her breathless and blushing.
Alanna’s mind drifted in