Damn . . . for a minute, he’d almost been tempted. There was definitely something lacking lately in his diet. Something Will couldn’t provide.
Next he’d checked out the hotels, but quickly crossed them off his list. Too many transients. Never stopping to think that she’d shepherded her sister safely over thousands of miles, he told himself that Katy was entirely too young to be staying in a hotel unchaperoned. With her looks and innocence she wouldn’t last a day before some fast-talking slickster took her under his wing and into his bed.
God knows what would happen to the kid then. She’d probably wind up in a fortune-telling tent out at the fairgrounds. Either that or tucked away in the State Hospital for the Insane.
Tucked away, hell, she’d probably end up running the place.
She was one spunky kid. One spooky kid, he corrected. Pausing to brace his hands on the railing, he checked automatically for chipping paint while he thought about the pair he’d inherited. A fine misting rain beaded on the brim of his felt hat, soaked through the shoulders of his wool broadcloth coat.
To think he’d considered Tara the harmless one of the pair. How dangerous could a twelve-“practically-thirteen”-year-old little girl be, after all?
That was before she’d practically driven him out of business.
Katy, now . . . Miss Kathleen Something-or-Other O’Sullivan. She was a different problem altogether. He hadn’t sent for her, didn’t want her—
Well now, that wasn’t altogether true.
The devil of it was, he didn’t know what he was going to do with her. She couldn’t stay here. Aster aside, there was no room aboard the Queen for anyone who didn’t earn his keep.
Even if he found her a job and a place to stay, he’d still feel responsible. Once a man had sailed as captain of a ship, he couldn’t help feeling a responsibility toward his crew.
Or maybe it was about Liam, his baby brother. If he’d taken his responsibility toward Liam more seriously, the boy might be alive today.
God, he didn’t know. He only knew that as much as he resented having the pair of them thrust upon him, he was responsible for their welfare. He couldn’t change the past, but he could see that it didn’t repeat itself, not on his watch.
Shaking the moisture off his hat, he turned and sauntered slowly up the gangplank, crossing the deck and letting himself inside.
The crew was at supper, getting the jump on the first rush of traffic. He ate more often than not at the Albemarle House in town. Tonight, he hadn’t bothered.
The truth was, he’d forgotten to eat. Lost track of time.
The woman was getting under his skin, interfering with his business. Before she’d been here twenty-four hours, she had him running in circles. Galen prided himself in being able to size up most men. When it came to women, he wasn’t quite as fast, not quite as accurate.
When it came to Katy O’Sullivan, he was dead in the water.
He turned toward the double doors that led into the gaming rooms, his boots squelching with every step. The land was so damned flat it took forever for puddles to drain away. He must have stepped in every one between Culpepper Street and the Norfolk Road.
Entering the main salon, he stood quietly observing the play, his senses alert for anything that might indicate possible trouble. There was the occasional burst of laughter, the usual calls for drinks, cigars, fresh cards. Business as usual. Not that he’d expected any trouble.
Only a handful of strangers tonight. He knew most of the men here, including the hotheaded young blades who occasionally got out of line. His stance that of a man with nothing more on his mind than seeing that his business ran smoothly, he searched every table, looking for some clue—a giveaway sign.
There was nothing at all. It might as well have been Bell-fort’s place, which was more excursion boat than gambling establishment. Wholesome Family Entertainment, that was the way he billed his cruises, even though everyone knew his gambling rooms were the chief source of revenue.
It drove Aster wild. But then, everything Bellfort did drove her wild. It was Galen’s opinion that her chief goal in life was to run the man out of business.
Sally was looking tired. She couldn’t have been on duty more than a couple of hours. He figured it must be the weather. It affected some people that way. On the other hand, it might be female trouble, in which case Ila would have to deal with it. It was a bit out of his line of authority, thank God.
The girls were popular, though, he was forced to admit. Having them in the background, with their flashy red silk gowns and their painted faces, gave the players a feeling of being reckless devils, even though most of them were staid, respectable businessmen. An illusion of wickedness was good for business. Aster had been right about that, if damned little else.
Galen would lay odds that not one in a dozen of his regulars had ever visited Miss Dilly’s Sporting House on the outskirts of town. Too risky in a place where everyone knew practically everyone else and rumors spread faster than a new hatch of mosquitoes. Besides, the place was shut down on a weekly basis. No pillar of society could afford to be caught in a raid.
As tired as he was, Galen had to smile at the thought of Old Judge Henry, with his gout and his platitudes, being hauled off to jail for illicit fornication.
Or any other kind of fornication. The man could hardly bend his creaking joints enough to sit at a table.
Quietly, he moved through the room, nodding to acquaintances, lifting an eyebrow at each of his dealers and the lookout, receiving barely perceptible nods in response. All was well. Paul Hyde, prominent attorney, appeared to be on a losing streak, but he could handle it. Sam White, on the other hand, was grinning like a hyena over his hand. Probably a pair of deuces. Maybe fours over treys. Sam couldn’t bluff his way out of a paper sack, but now and again he had the devil’s own luck.
Galen moved silently across the room and stood for a few minutes watching a new man deal faro. The fellow showed promise. Good hands and steady nerves. He could attack the tiger in another man’s lair without so much as the flicker of an eyelash.
Could he be the one? He’d bear watching, but Galen wasn’t ready to accuse any man without irrefutable proof.
Damp and uncomfortable, he went on to glance into the small salon, where the high-stakes games would be getting under way in a few hours. It was Aster’s latest showplace, with new carved paneling, a couple of gold-framed oil paintings, and a brass chandelier roughly the size of a bathtub.
He’d argued against the expense, but he had to admit it seemed to be paying off. All the same, he’d rather have spent the money on another set of pumps. When Elsworth Tyler had contracted to have the Pasquotank Queen constructed at a small shipyard up the coast that had since gone out of business, he’d been far more concerned with what showed above her waterline than with what was hidden below.
Galen had examined her with a far more critical eye and found her sadly lacking. But what the devil—a man could hardly complain about the shortcomings of a boat he’d won in a poker game.
Satisfied that all was running smoothly on the main deck, he went below where he poked his head through the galley door and left orders with one of the kitchen boys to have a cold plate and a pot of coffee sent up to his cabin.
One more stop, and then he could get out of these damp clothes and enjoy a bit of supper. And because he was wet and despised being wet—and because the hand he was stuck with held too many jokers—he just might indulge himself in a couple of shots of Kentucky’s finest.
He rapped on Ila’s door and waited, knowing that if she had her nose buried in one of those books she borrowed from the lending library, the boiler could explode and she wouldn’t notice. One of these days he was going to find out just what was in those things that was so engrossing.
The door opened a crack. Two pairs of wary eyes peered out at him, and then the door swung wide. Both O’Sullivans beamed up at him. Katy was the first to speak. “Sure, and she said you’d be back for us.”
“Back for you?”
“Miss Ila. She gave us her cabin for tonight, but she said you were out finding us a place to stay in town. Do you want us to go now? We’ve our bag all packed.”
Galen cleared his throat. He backed up a step. Over their heads he could see the rumpled spread on Ila’s bed. There was a pile of clothing neatly folded at one end and a sewing basket in the room’s only chair.
“I’ve been working, that I have,” Katy told him earnestly. Damn, he did wish she wouldn’t look at him that way. “I’ve earned our supper, so we’re free to go.”
“You don’t have to earn your keep, I told you, you’re my guests.” Had he told them that? Probably not. “Look here, there’s no point in rushing into anything, Miss O’Sullivan. Katy. I haven’t finished checking things out in town yet, but I promise I’ll find something suitable tomorrow.”
“I peeled the taties,” Tara put in. “Onions, too. And Katy sewed on lace until her eyes got to bothering her. She can’t see all that well, you know.”
“Whisht, child, hush your mouth!” the older sister hissed.
Galen looked from one of them to the other. If there was something wrong with her eyes, it didn’t show from the outside. They were far and away the loveliest eyes he’d ever seen.
Which was neither here nor there. The important thing was that he was no closer to a solution than he’d been when he’d met them at the train. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if there even was a solution. Maybe he was fated to carry the pair of them around his neck, like Mr. Cole-ridge’s albatross.
“Captain Galen, do you think there’s any more of that ginger cake in the kitchen? I went back for a second piece, but Mr. Willy wasn’t there, so I came right back, but I’m still hungry.”
“Gingerbread?” He plucked his damp collar away from his neck and stared down at the girl. Evidently, she took it as permission to go find out. With a grin that rearranged a few hundred freckles, she darted under his arm and out the door, calling over her shoulder that she’d bring him a piece, too, while she was at it.
“I’m sorry,” Katy murmured. She wasn’t sure why she was apologizing, nor did she have any idea whether to invite the gentleman inside, step out into the hall with him, or shut the door in his face. Back home, she’d never had cause to worry about propriety.
He took the decision out of her hands. Looking tired and harried, he nodded and stepped past her, glanced around for a place to sit and ended up leaning against a high carved dresser.
Hands clasped in front of her waist, she stood waiting to hear what he had to say. The poor man was soaked to the skin. He needed dry clothes and a pot of the kind of tea that had restored her strength and courage last evening.
Yes, and given her the headache this morning.
According to the housekeeper, he’d spent the day searching for a place for them to go. The woman had told her he had to get rid of them before Aster came back.
Aster, it seemed, was a woman who owned nearly as much of the boat as the captain did, only she acted as if she owned it all, and Tara said everyone was afraid of her. Not that Tara’s information was always dependable, but this time, Katy had a feeling she might be right.
Galen cleared his throat. She glanced up expectantly.
“Still raining,” he said.
“Aye, I can see that. It rains a lot at home.”
“Do you miss it?”
He sounded so hopeful, she felt her heart constrict. He was wanting to send them back without even giving them a chance. “That I do,” she said, knowing that truth was the best way, even when dreams were shattered for the telling of it.
“Would you like to go back?”
“There’s nothing left to go back to.”
“Home? Friends? A young man, perhaps?”
She did wish he wouldn’t look at her that way. She knew well enough that she wasn’t looking her best, but then, not even her best was any match for the fashionable ladies she’d seen driving past in their feathered bonnets and ruffled parasols and beautiful gowns. Tara said they must be the princesses who lived in the castles on the far side of the train station.
He was staring at her, obviously waiting for an answer. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but we’ll not be going back.” Not even if they could have afforded the passage. “The O’Neills moved into Da’s house, for their own was falling down. I’ve friends, but I’d not be beholden to them. There’s work to be had in this country, and none at all to be found back home in Skerrie Head.”
She waited hopefully to hear that he’d found her a wonderful job and a place to stay. He was entirely too close, as the room was quite small, and while she couldn’t see the fine details of his face as clearly as she’d have liked, she was disturbingly aware of his scent. That warm, intriguing blend of bay rum, damp woolens, laundry soap, and male sweat.
Even in this condition he was a fine, handsome man, with his fancy summer weight woolen coat clinging to a pair of wide shoulders and those long, powerful limbs. Easier to picture him striding across mountains than lolling about on a fancy gambling boat.
Hands clasped before her, she lowered her gaze. Even his boots were handsome. Painfully conscious of her own flat, worn boots, she peered up to see if he’d noticed them, and then glanced away.
She did wish he would leave.
No, she didn’t. He looked tired. Clearing the unfinished mending from the room’s only chair, she said, “Would you care to sit, sir?”
He stood his ground, but sighed. “Miss O’Sullivan—Katy—I’m going to be honest with you. There’s—”
“I should hope so, sir, for—”
“Stop calling me sir, my name is Galen. Katy, we’re going to have to come to an understanding, and I can’t do it with you sirring me every other breath. You’re neither staff nor crew, you’re my guest.”
Aye, she thought, and you can’t wait to be shed of us. For all he was wet and tired, and something was hurting him, he was a spleeny devil. She admired a man who spoke his mind, even when she didn’t care to hear what he had to say. “I’ll call you the McKnight, then if you please.”
“The nothing! My name might be Irish, but I’m an American. Have been for three generations.” He was pressing his fingers into his thigh as if to keep from throttling her. “You’ll call me by my name, dammit. I beg pardon for swearing, but it’s been a long day. Now, where were we?”
“We were having us a fair brave tantrum, si—Galen. I’ll take part of the blame on my own shoulders, for I know you were never expecting us, but you, sir, are a collach, and the sooner you’re rid of us, the better off we’ll all be.”
He sank into the arm-sprung slipper chair, closed his eyes, and then he began to chuckle. Kathleen watched him warily. She didn’t smell the drink on him, but it paid to be wary of a man who laughed when he was angry.
“Dare I ask what it is you just called me?” he drawled.
“Collach? ‘Tis a hard-shelled crab. The gentleman crab.”
“Gentleman crab, hmm? Here we call ‘em jimmies.” He tipped the chair at a dangerous angle, regarding her with jaded amusement.
Come along now, just a bit more lift at the corners—that’s it. It’s called a smile, sir, and you’ve a lovely one when you care to use it. She bit her lip, trying not to smile back, but she couldn’t help herself. For all he was crusty as any crab she’d ever caught, shucked, and used to bait a hook, it was impossible not to respond to such a man.
“We’ll soon be off your hands,” she promised, using the soothing tone she used on Tara when the child needed comforting. “We’ll not be bothering you a minute more than it takes to find us a place in town. We never meant to disaccommodate you, that we never did.”
His smile disappeared. “No need to be in such a rush. You’re more than welcome to stay until you find something that suits you, only—”
“Only Tara makes you uncomfortable, for she’s different in some ways. It’s the sight, isn’t it? I’m used to it, but it
strikes some as strange.”
“Yes, well . . .” He looked so worried she found herself wanting to reach out to him, to touch him—to smooth away the lines that furrowed his brow.
“Don’t say another word, for I understand. It might please you to know that I’ve not been entirely idle. I’ve spent the day darning stockings and sewing torn seams and ruffles. There’s still a muckle of work to be done, but I promise I’ll see to it first thing in the morning, as soon as there’s light enough, and then we’ll take our leave, for I never expected—”
“Katy.”
“Never expected—well, that’s not quite true, I might have expected, but it wasn’t right, that it wasn’t, and I—”
“Kathleen.” He was kneading the muscles of his thigh again. It came to her then that he was hurting, and not just trying to keep from striking her. Or strangling her. Not that he ever would, for he was a gentle man, even in his anger. Tara had said so, and Tara was an excellent judge of character.
But then, Katy would have known it anyway. Her eyes might be cloudy, but there was nothing at all wrong with her other senses.
He was hurting, and too proud to admit it. She wanted to help him, but men were so full of themselves, not a one of them would own up to a weakness.
He stood abruptly, and his arm struck the basket of mending she’d set on the chest. They both reached out at the same instant to keep it from spilling. Hands touched, jerked back, then touched again. His eyes blazed, going from blue to black in the time it took her to step away.
“Kathleen—Katy—”
Suddenly, the door burst open. “Katy, you’ll never guess! There’s fish cakes and lemon sauce, too, and Mr. Willy said we could have it all, for I told him . . .” Her face fell. Looking from one flushed face to the other, she whispered, “Katy? Is something wrong? Is it my fault again?”
Chapter Five
In the heat of a new day, the waterfront teemed with activity. Sometime during the night the rain had ended. The sun, brilliant in the clear morning air, glistened on wet masts and wet rigging, danced on the surface of the river. Katy breathed deeply, welcoming the familiar scent of fish, wet hemp, and musty canvas, missing the sour smell of sheep and salt air.
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