Sanctuary

would.”
    “No, sir. I’d say it’s more I grew into it. I love her, Mr. Hathaway. My feelings for her are long-standing and steady. You’ve known me and my family all my life. I’m not feckless or foolish. I’ve got some savings put by. I can make a good living with my hands and my back.”
    “I don’t doubt it.” But Sam frowned. Maybe he’d barely sipped through his first cup of coffee, but his mind was clear enough to catch the drift. “Giff, if you’re asking me for permission to . . . call on my daughter, seems to me you’ve already opened that particular door, walked in, and made yourself to home.”
    Giff flushed and hoped his swallow wasn’t audible. “Yes, sir, I can’t deny the truth of that. But it’s not that particular door I’m speaking of, Mr. Hathaway.”
    “Oh.” Sam opened a drawer for a spoon, hoping Giff would take the hint and mosey on before things got any stickier. Then he put the spoon down with a clatter and stared. “Sweet Jesus, boy, you’re not talking about marrying her?”
    Giff’s jaw set, his eyes glinted. “I’m going to marry her, Mr. Hathaway. I’d like to have your blessing over it, but either way, I’m having her.”
    Sam shook his head, rubbed his eyes. Life just flat refused to be simple, he reflected. A man went along, minding his own business, wanting nothing more than for other people to mind theirs in return, but life just kept throwing tacks under your bare feet.
    “Boy, you want to take her on, I’m not going to stand in your way. Couldn’t anyhow, even if I planted my boots in concrete. The two of you are of age and ought to have the sense to know your own minds.” He dropped his hands. “But I’ve got to say, Giff, as I’ve always been fond of you, I think you’re taking on a sack of trouble there. You’ll be lucky to get one moment’s peace from the time you say ‘I do’ till you take your last breath.”
    “Peace isn’t a priority of mine.”
    “She’ll run through every penny you’ve put by and won’t have a clue where she spent it.”
    “She’s not near as foolish as you think. And I can always make more money.”
    “I’m not going to waste my breath talking you out of something you’ve got your mind set on.”
    “I’m good for her.”
    “No question about it. Fact is, you might be the making of her.” Resigned to it, Sam offered a hand. “I’ll wish you luck.”
    Sam watched Giff go off with a spring in his step. He didn’t doubt the boy was in love, and if he let himself he could remember what it was like to feel that light in the head, that edgy in the gut. That hot in the blood.
    Sam settled in the breakfast nook with his second cup of coffee and his soggy cereal and watched the sky lighten to a bold summer blue. He’d been just as dazed and dazzled by Annabelle as Giff was now with Lexy. It had only taken one look for his heart to jolt straight out of his chest and fall at her feet.
    Christ, they’d been young. He was barely eighteen that summer, coming to the island to work on his uncle’s shrimp boat. Casting nets, sweating under a merciless sun until his hands were raw and his back a misery.
    He enjoyed every second of it.
    He fell in love with the island, first glance. The hazy greens, the pockets of solitude, the surprises around every bend of the river or road.
    Then he saw Belle Pendleton walking along the beach, gathering shells at sunset. Long golden legs, willowy body, the generous fall of waving red hair. Eyes as clear as water and blue as summer.
    The sight of her hazed his vision and closed his throat.
    He smelled of shrimp and sweat and engine grease. He wanted a quick swim through the waves to loosen the muscles the day’s work had aching. But she smiled at him and, holding a pink-lined conch shell, began to talk to him.
    He was tongue-tied and terrified. He’d always been intimidated by females, but this vision who had already captured his heart with one smile left him grunting out responses like an ill-mannered ape. He never knew how he’d managed to stutter out an invitation to take a walk the next evening.
    Years later, when he asked her why she’d said yes, she just laughed.
    You were so handsome, Sam. So serious and stern and sweet. And you were the first boy—and the last man—to make my heart skip a beat.
    She’d meant it. Then, Sam thought. After he had worked enough, saved enough money to satisfy him, he’d gone to her father to ask permission for her hand. A great