Crystal Cove (Friday Harbor #4)(38)

“How does someone end up without a soul?” Justine asked in a hushed voice.

“Some people simply aren’t born with one. It’s a trait just like eye color or the size of one’s feet.”

“But that’s so unfair.”

“Yes. Life is often unfair.”

“How can this be fixed?” Justine asked. “How could a person manage to get a soul if he doesn’t have one?”

“He can’t,” Rosemary replied. “It’s not possible. Or at least I’ve never heard of such a thing happening.”

“But if they realize they are soulless,” Sage said, “that’s when things become precarious. Every living creature is compelled to preserve its own existence. Is there anything a man like Jason wouldn’t do for a chance at eternity?”

No. He would stop at nothing.

Justine’s hand crept to the center of her chest, where the little copper key was hidden beneath the bodice of the nightgown.

Rosemary glanced at her with compassion. “I see that you understand now. Associating with a man like Jason Black could turn out to be a dance with the devil.”

“Could Jason ever love someone if he has no soul?”

“Of course,” Sage said. “He still has a heart, after all. What he doesn’t have is time.”

* * *

After seeing to the boat, Jason made the long, slow climb back to the lighthouse. The ancient stone steps had settled badly, some of them diagonally slanted, many of them cracked. The center of each step had been worn into hammock shapes by the tread of countless shoes. Rain had made all of them perilously slick. Wind gusts struck from different directions, challenging his balance. He still didn’t know how he’d managed to carry Justine up the stairs without falling; he’d been too jacked with adrenaline to think about it at the time.

He doubted he would ever recover from the sight of Justine struggling in the ocean, her face gray with the resignation of someone who was on her way to dying. He would have done anything for her, risked anything, without question. He would have given her his life, fed his own blood directly into her veins, if that would have saved her. And to say the least, self-sacrifice was a new concept for him.

The strangest part was that he wasn’t trying to reason himself out of it; he didn’t even want to. The way he felt about Justine was something he had no choice in, just as he had no choice about whether he wanted to breathe or sleep or eat. It was too soon to be this certain. But that didn’t matter, either.

His past relationships had ended when they became inconvenient or stale. And each time Jason had gone on his way with the arrogant conviction that love would never get the better of him.

What an idiot he’d been.

Now he knew that it was only love when you knew there could be no end to it. When it was as inevitable as gravity. Falling in love, a helpless descent in which the only way to avoid being hurt was to keep going. Keep falling.

As he neared the top of the stairs, he took a good look at the lighthouse. It was a turn-of-the-century design, constructed of limestone and wood shingles, with surrounding porches braced by wood columns. The octagonal tower, integrated with the keeper’s cottage, overlooked the steeply pitched and gabled roof.

Passing a fog bell mounted on the front porch, Jason shouldered his way past the door and closed it against the storm. He removed his jacket and hung it on a hook, and took off his sodden boat shoes. His T-shirt, which he’d put back on before going down to the dock, was cold and clammy. His board shorts had dried, but he felt sticky and sea-brined. The smell of baking bread filled the house, making his mouth water. He was starving.

“Mr. Black.” Sage hurried to him with an armload of white towels, her silver curls dancing like butterfly antennae. “Here you are,” she said brightly.

“Thank you. Please call me Jason.” He scrubbed the towel roughly over his hair and the back of his neck. “How is Justine?”

“She is sleeping comfortably in our bedroom. Rosemary is watching over her.”

“Maybe I should check on her,” Jason said, trying to contend with a tight feeling in his chest, iron bands around his heart. Worry. Another new feature on his emotional landscape.

“Justine is a healthy young woman,” Sage said gently. “A little rest, and she’ll bounce back to her usual self.” She gave him an arrested glance, as if something in his face had surprised her. “You were very brave to do what you did today. I understand what it means for a man in your position to take such a risk.”

A man in his position? Jason held her gaze, wondering exactly what she had meant.

“Let me show you to the guest bathroom,” Sage said. “You can take a nice hot shower, and put on some dry clothes.”

He grimaced. “Unfortunately I don’t have a spare shirt or—”

“Not to worry, dear boy, I have set out some things that belonged to my late husband. He would be delighted for someone to get some use out of them.”

“I wouldn’t want to…” Jason began, uncomfortable at the prospect of wearing old clothes that had belonged to a dead man, but his attention was seized by the phrase “late husband.” “You were married?”

“Yes, Neil was the lightkeeper here. After he passed, I assumed his post. Follow me to the guest room—we’ll take a roundabout path so you can see the house along the way.”