Tides of Passion_Historical Romance by Tracy Sumner

Author:Tracy Sumner [Sumner, Tracy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tracy Sumner
Published: 2011-10-17T04:00:00+00:00

10

No matter how hard a man may labor, some woman is always in the background of his mind.

~Gertrude Franklin Atherton

Heart pounding, the dream returned in a series of flashes. Hannah's shrill, weak cries; his lungs burning as he raced for a doctor; her crystal blue eyes wide and unseeing; her arm hanging off the bed, fingers trailing on the cold floor.

The ending was always the same.

Zach drew a hitching breath and let his head flop back to the pillow. The salty sting of tears pricked his throat, and he swallowed thickly. For a moment, he had awakened and imagined someone slept beside him, someone warm and sweet-scented. Before he had the chance to align his thoughts, a sharp burst of pleasure expanded his chest.

Savannah.

Blinking, he rolled over, searching for the round indentation in the pillow, the wealth of glossy hair spread across his sheets.

He wasn't going crazy, he reminded himself as he had so many times since she arrived in Pilot Isle two weeks ago. Savannah Connor was real. Flesh-and-blood real. Not simply a product of his dreams.

Or his loneliness.

And while she was here, she was his.

It took another moment to realize he lay on the cot in the jail cell and not in what he had come to think of as "their" coach house. He never had nightmares during the nights—or rather the stolen hours in the middle of them—that he spent with her there, in what had become a frequent occurrence. Wrapped around Savannah's body, exhausted from loving her, he slept better than he did after a shot of whiskey, even better than after a late-night walk on the beach. If not for the sunset-to-sunrise patrols like the one he had finished at daybreak, he would consider himself well rested for the first time in two years.

Stretching, he slung his legs over the side of the cot, untangling himself from a blanket he hadn't remembered throwing over his body. Strange. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he scratched his day-old beard and sniffed.

He followed the scent to his desk and the yellow mug, covered with a napkin to hold the heat inside. A note lay beside it. Zach squinted, unable to make out the script. Glancing over his shoulder, checking to see that he was alone, he went around his desk, opened a small side drawer, and took out a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. He stared at them with such strong distaste he could feel the sneer twist his lips.

Damn, when had he become old enough to need spectacles?

The wire arms hooked unfamiliarly over his ears, mug of lukewarm coffee in one hand, he began to read and sip in time.

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