Inglath Cooper - A Woman With Secrets

“A feast fit for a king,” Lily Granger declared.

“And a queen,” Lyle amended.

“Oh, yes, of course,” Lily said with a laugh. “Lyle’s a women’s-libber,” she added in an exaggerated whisper to the rest of the group. “Militant about it, really.”

Kate smiled, unable to picture either of the older ladies marching in front of the White House. They all sat down and began to eat, forks and knives clinking against white enamel plates.

From his seat at the end of the table, Cole looked at her and said, “Tomorrow, we’ll get to sample some of Ms. Winthrop’s cooking skills. She’ll be helping Harry with breakfast.”

“How wonderful,” the Granger sisters said in unison, actually sounding a little jealous.

“Indeed,” agreed Dr. Sheldon, pushing his black-rim glasses back up on his nose.

“I’m sure Kate’s a wonderful cook,” Margo said.

Kate’s earlier bravado disappeared along with her appetite.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly enough, everyone sharing a little about themselves. The Granger sisters were from New York City. Neither had ever married, and they spent most of their time traveling. They’d just returned from an African safari.

Margo and her father were a little more difficult to figure out. She still lived at home and was obviously very much under his thumb. Kate saw something of herself in the other woman and wondered if she longed to break free of her father’s protectiveness.

“So tell us something about yourself, Kate,” Lily Granger said. “Is that a Virginia accent I hear?”

“Yes,” Kate said. “Richmond.”

“Beautiful city,” she said. “Lyle and I spent a summer there in our teens. Nineteen—”

“Fifty-four,” Lyle finished for her. “Did you grow up there, dear?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Winthrop,” Lily murmured. “That name does ring a bell.”

“It is familiar,” Lyle agreed, one finger under her chin as if flipping through the Rolodex of her memory.

“It’s gotten a bit chilly.” Kate pushed her chair back and stood. “I think I’ll get a sweater.”

She took her time going to the cabin, rummaging through her things for the single sweater she’d brought along. She’d just as soon not talk about her family. When you were the black sheep in the flock, it could get a little uncomfortable standing in the middle of so much white.

By the time she returned to the deck, the Granger sisters had forgotten all about her. Cole was currently in the hot seat, but he was even more sketchy with the details of his life than she had been. She knew no more about him when he’d finished than she had when he started.

After the meal, everyone lingered for a cup of coffee before retiring for the evening. They stood on the deck with a light breeze at their backs. Kate said good night first and went downstairs, taking a quick shower and then slipping on her nightgown. She climbed under the covers, only to realize she’d left her book upstairs. Hoping everyone else would be asleep by now, she shrugged into her robe and climbed the steps on bare feet.

She breathed in the fresh sea air, salty and warm, the smell now familiar and appealing. She looked up at the sky, awed by the vastness of it and the fact that it made the trouble she’d left behind seem a little less significant.

The book was where she’d left it, beneath the lounge chair she’d been sitting in earlier. She picked it up, then noticed someone standing at the railing several yards away, staring out at the dark ocean.

She recognized the rigid posture and stepped back into the shadows, not sure why she didn’t want him to see her. She should go, but something made her hesitate, take the unobserved moment to study his profile. Wavy and untamed, he wore his hair a little longer than most of the men she knew. His jaw was tight. One hand went to the back of his neck as though to smooth away some knot of tension there.

The light caught his face, and in that instant, she saw something in his expression that surprised her.

Sadness.

The emotion seemed out of place for him. And for a crazy instant, she wanted to know its origin. But then she barely knew Cole Hunter.

She backed away, her gaze lingering just a moment longer, before turning and making her way back across the deck and down the stairs.

IT WAS ONLY when he was alone that Cole let himself think about Ginny. Wonder how much she had grown, whether her voice still had the same sweet lilt to it, whether she had lost all of her baby teeth.

Each of these questions cut through him like a knife, and he closed his eyes against the instant pain.

Now, at just a little after midnight, he sat up and rubbed a hand across his eyes. He’d been sitting here for a couple of hours or more. This night was no different from most when he had to force himself to go to bed. Just as he sat up, Kate Winthrop appeared at the top of the stairs. She hesitated at the sight of him, then bolted to the side of the boat where she hung over the railing and promptly threw up.

She sank down onto the floor, head in her hands.

He walked over, pretty sure she wouldn’t welcome his concern. Her eyes were closed. He put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped.

“Sorry,” he said. “Seasick?”

She suppressed a moan. “Please don’t overstate the obvious.”

“How long have you been like this?”

“I just now woke up this way.”

She barely finished the sentence before she jumped to her feet and leaned over the rail again, gagging.

He went to the galley and wet a towel, returning to offer it to her along with a small bottle of pills. “Take one of these,” he said. “It won’t help for a while since you’re already sick, but it will eventually.”

He removed the lid and shook one into his palm, then held out a glass of water for her.

Hand shaking, she took it, forcing the pill down. “Can’t you just throw me overboard?” she asked.

He looked down at her for a moment, then said, “As a matter of fact, I’d be happy to.”

A little help is better than a lot of pity.

—Celtic Proverb

LESS THAN TWO minutes later, Kate found herself being lowered into the water on an inflatable life raft. She’d followed his directions, letting him fasten a life vest around her, then guiding her into the dingy, not caring that she wore nothing more than a thin cotton nightgown or that her skin probably had the hue of green cheese in the moonlight. She was just too sick to care.

Once the raft reached the water, he buckled his own life vest and jumped over the side, tying the dinghy to the Ginny, then reaching a hand toward her and saying, “Come on, I’ll help you in.”

“This seems kind of crazy,” she said.

“It’s the only thing that will help until that medicine takes effect.”

Intent only on escaping the nausea threatening to consume her once more, she shimmied over the side and into the arms of a man she’d known less than twelve hours. She forced herself not to think about what might be lurking in the inky depths below them.

The water felt cool. Too lightheaded to hold on to the raft, Kate leaned against him, her back to his chest, his right arm around her waist, his left holding on to the raft. Her nightgown floated up and made a lily pad on the water, leaving her legs bare against his.

She couldn’t find the energy to protest.

“Give it a few minutes,” he said. “You should start to feel better soon, Ms. Winthrop—”

“It’s Kate,” she corrected him, perversely annoyed that he’d continued to address her that way even though she’d never asked him to do otherwise.

“You should feel better soon, Kate,” he amended, emphasis on her name.