The crowd refused to disperse. Galen swore briefly and caught Katy’s eye. Upstairs, he mouthed, and she nodded. She didn’t want to go with him, but she could hardly stay there on the deck.
Aster shoved past them and stormed up the stairs, elbows pumping. From a few steps below, Katy glared at the elaborate pompadour that bounced with every step.
“I don’t think she’s pretty at all,” muttered Tara. Katy turned to shush her and surprised a smug expression on her face.
Where were the tears that had been threatening to fall only moments before? “What are you up to?” she demanded in a fierce undertone.
“Why would you be thinking I’m up to something?”
“Because I know you, Tara O’Sullivan. And I’m warning you, I’m at my wit’s end. Unless Mrs. Riggins will have us back, we’ll be sharing a bench with the likes of all your fine friends.” She tried to sound stern, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“I don’t care. And Mr. McGinty is nice, even if he does like to watch his lady friend through the window. Katy, why do you suppose he lets her lead him around that way?”
“Mr. McGinty and his lady?”
“No, silly—Aster and the captain. If he had a wife, she wouldn’t dare take on so. I was thinking, you could—”
“No more thinking. You’ve thought us into enough hot water, as it is.”
By then they’d reached the top deck. Galen ushered them inside. “You two wait in here,” he said to Katy. Turning to Aster, he said, “Out on the balcony, if you please.”
With a last malevolent glare, Aster stepped outside. Galen followed, shutting the glass-topped door firmly behind them.
If it was privacy they were after, Katy thought, they’d be better off down in the boiler room. Even from here she could catch snatches of music from the Albemarle Belle.
Outside on the balcony, Aster immediately began to pace. Katy watched through the door as she passed back and forth, her jaw never ceasing to move.
“—can tell that wretched cook of yours to pack his things and get off my boat, and don’t think l won’t have his bags searched before he goes, either! Wicked old—”
Katy, with Tara’s hot hand clutching her fingers so hard they were numb, waited to hear Galen’s defense.
Unfortunately, his voice was nowhere near as carrying as Aster’s. He murmured something, and she came back with, “Believe me, the next time I hire a chef, it won’t be a toothless old fool who lets himself be talked into robbing me blind. And those two females you took in won’t be around to cause trouble, either!”
“Aye, madam, that we won’t,” Katy vowed softly.
Tara shot her a worried look, but then, Galen was speaking, and they both strained to hear.
To no avail. Aster had launched again. The woman could drown out a tree full of crows. “I warned you, they’re nothing but trouble! That little tramp is making a complete fool of you, and all you can do is follow her around with your tongue hanging out! Honestly—men. Between you and Papa, you’ve not got the brains of a walnut.”
“I’ve never seen the captain sticking his tongue out, have you, Katy?”
“Shhh.”
“Well, have you?”
“Tara, please . . .”
“It wasn’t about the food, Katy, honestly. There was a fight—I think it was a bad one, and one of the dealers came running out, and then everybody started yelling, and the policeman came and . . .”
She sighed and rested her head on Katy’s shoulder. All was quiet out on the balcony. Katy thought Galen must be speaking. After a few moments, Tara whispered, “I didn’t start it this time, Katy, truly I didn’t.”
Heartsick, Katy only patted her hand. Long before Aster marched off down the balcony to her own quarters, Katy had made up her mind. She had left home rather than accept charity from her neighbors. She would rather starve than beg from a stranger.
Galen came through the door, looking tired and defeated. She rose to meet him, determined to have her say before he could undermine her decision. “I’m truly sorry for all the trouble we’ve caused, Galen. We’ve been a burden to you. You’ve been nothing but kind, and for that we’re grateful, but if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way now.”
His face was pale with strain. Nevertheless, he cocked an eyebrow. “Oh? And which way is that?”
Which way, indeed. She hadn’t thought beyond the moment. “I’m certain Mrs. Baggot will allow us to sleep in the workroom until I can make other arrangements,” she improvised. She was certain of no such thing, but she’d go to her grave before she’d admit it.
“Sit down, Kate.”
“I don’t believe—”
“Tara, sit down. Please.”
Tara sat, and after a moment, Katy did, too. The odds were two to one against her.
Galen looked from one to the other, his gaze coming to rest on Tara. “All right, Tara, I’ve heard several views of what happened. Would you care to tell me your version?”
“Aster said it was the food, but I don’t think that was it at all. The man who got hurt wasn’t anyone I know. But if it was the food, I’m sorry.”
Galen sighed. He looked as if he were searching for just the right words to explain something. “There was more to it than that,” he said at last. “But, Tara, about your baskets—I’m sure you have only the kindest intentions, but it will have to stop. I run a business, not a charity mission.”
“But Willy said—”
“Willy’s a soft touch. I assure you, I’m not.”
“But we only gave away what was left over after everyone had finished. Willy said he wouldn’t trust a stew past the third day, not even in the icebox.”
“Then he can cook less of it from now on. He’s been cooking enough to feed an army.”
“But he said you’ve never turned away anyone in need. Sure, and didn’t you send Katy and me the money to come to Amerikey when we were cold and hungry and desperate?”
“Ta-ra!” Katy hissed. She glared at Galen. “That we were not, sir. We never once wanted for anything, I assure you.”
“But, Katy, you said—”
Katy shot her a warning look, for all the good it would do. It wasn’t that the child lacked pride, she simply lacked judgment. “You misunderstood,” she said with all the dignity she could summon, while she silently added up the cost of a week’s worth of meals for a dozen indigents and tacked it onto the huge sum she already owed the man.
At this rate she would go to her grave in debt.
“All the same, child,” Galen reasoned, “you can’t simply invite all your friends and all their friends to come for dinner whenever they take a notion. Willy was hired to cook for crew and staff. It’s not that I begrudge the food, but having strangers wander on and off the boat complicates things for all of us.”
“But they’re not strangers, they’re our neighbors.”
“That’s as may be, but, honey, there are places in town that look after the poor.”
“B—but my friends don’t like those places. They like Willy’s cooking better. Besides, what harm can it do to give away food that would only go to waste?”
Galen turned to Katy for help. Katy turned to Tara. Something told her the child wasn’t quite as guileless as she appeared. There was more to this matter than the food, and Tara knew more than she was telling, but getting to the bottom of it would take time and energy, and Katy had run out of both.
She did her best. “Tara, Miss Tyler doesn’t like having a policeman aboard the boat. She says it’s bad for business.”
“But he didn’t stay long, and besides, the Queen belongs to Captain Galen. If he says it’s all right, then why can’t they eat here?”
Katy sighed. Galen raked his fingers through his hair. Tara looked anxiously from one to the other and said, “They didn’t mean to cause any trouble. When I never showed up yesterday with my basket, they came to see if I was ailing, and Willy told them I had me a job, and the table was all set for dinner, and—”
/>
“And so naturally, they took it as an invitation,” Galen put in dryly.
“But Willy was their mate. He wanted them to stay.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Sure, and he must have told you. Before he came to work here, Willy sailed on a coaster with Mr. Bynum. He knew Mr. Smith from jail, and—” Breaking off, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, I never meant to say that.”
Katy closed her eyes and prayed for patience. “Tara, we had an agreement.”
The child looked desolate. Suspiciously desolate. “But, Katy, I never saw it, I only heard it. You didn’t say I couldn’t talk about what I heard.”
“I give up,” Katy said with a sigh. To her horror, her belly chose that particular moment to give a great rumble that could be heard clearly, even above the music from the Albemarle Belle and the noise from the gaming rooms below.
“Have you eaten anything today?” Galen asked quietly.
“I haven’t had supper yet,” Tara said quickly.
Katy wasn’t about to admit to having skipped breakfast and then gobbled down her biscuits and bacon before noon. Saints alive, it was hard enough to hang on to her pride without that.
Galen yanked the cord beside his desk. In less than a minute someone answered his summons. “Send up two plates of whatever’s left in the kitchen, will you? Oh, and a pot of tea and a glass of—?” He looked from Katy to Tara and back again, lifting a questioning brow.
“Milk,” said Katy, at the same time Tara stated her preference for coffee.
“But Willy always lets me have—”
Katy glared her into silence. She couldn’t refuse outright if the child hadn’t had her supper yet, but when the food came, she found she couldn’t eat a bite. While Galen sat with his fingers steepled, staring morosely at a calendar on the wall, its curling surface covered with scribbled notes and numbers, she shoved greasy bits of meat and cabbage about on her plate and tried to sort it all out in her mind.
Aster was fit to be tied. Katy couldn’t really blame her. She didn’t know who to blame, but the moment Tara laid down her fork, Katy stood and said, “We’ve packing to do. Come along now.”
“There’s no rush, you’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Katy met his eyes bravely, but looked away almost immediately, afraid of what she would see there. Afraid of what she wouldn’t see.
“That I am.”
“Katy, be sensible. If you won’t think of yourself, then think of Tara. You can’t drag her through that mob without even knowing where you’re going. For once in your life, think of someone besides yourself.”
That hurt. She couldn’t believe how much it hurt, but he was right. Lifting her chin, she said quietly, “If you don’t mind then, we’ll spend one more night here and leave first thing tomorrow. I thank you very kindly.”
Galen nodded. He looked as if he wanted to hit something. Oddly enough, she wasn’t frightened. She might not understand what was going on, but she did know he’d never intentionally do either of them any harm.
On their way to the door, Tara paused before Galen, her lower lip trembling. “Don’t you dare cry,” Katy muttered in a fierce undertone.
“I don’t care what that policeman said, Mickey and Sam aren’t crooks.” Her eyes were brimming, but not quite overflowing. Katy had a sinking feeling the little imp was doing it deliberately.
“I know that, Tara,” Galen said. Looking beyond her, his gaze met Katy’s. For one long moment, both of them forgot the child.
“The policeman pulled on their ears, that’s why Mickey called him a lick-spittle bastard.”
“Yes, well—” Galen cleared his throat. Katy looked away. “I’m sorry to have to burst your bubble, love, but people aren’t always what they appear to be.”
Katy closed her eyes and prayed for patience. Tara knew very well what she was saying. Even back in Skerrie Head, men were sometimes careless with their language. Trust a child to pick out exactly what words she shouldn’t.
Stepping aside, Galen held the door open. “Go to bed now. We’ll sort it all out tomorrow.”
Katy made the mistake of looking up again as she passed. There it was again. The heat of his body. That crisp, clean scent of bay rum and tobacco, laced with a hint of something more personal, something more masculine.
It was a good thing they’d be leaving tomorrow. She was beginning to believe she wasn’t quite as sensible as she’d thought.
*
Feeling an uncomfortable mixture of guilt, frustration, and tenderness, Galen watched them go. It wasn’t that he was a selfish bastard—though he’d be the last to deny it. It wasn’t even that he lacked judgment. He knew damned well he had no business feeling the way he was feeling, but at least he was man enough to admit it. It might not stop him from feeling the way he felt, but forewarned was forearmed.
The timing couldn’t have been worse. If only they’d waited until he could get his old business handled and his new business up and running, he could’ve handled it.
At least, he wanted to believe it was only a matter of timing.
Sure it was. Because he had too much on his mind, he wasted time brooding about a woman—hardly more than a girl—lining up all the reasons why she needed a husband and then shooting them down again.
Because his timing was all off, it took two drinks instead of the one he normally allowed himself to help him sleep. And then he dreamed. Dreamed about a dark-haired, green-eyed beauty with a waist he could span with his hands, hips that filled his palms, and a pair of. . . .
He woke up, swearing. Another bad habit he’d fallen into lately. Even during his seagoing years, he’d been moderate in his habits. A modest amount of drinking, a modest amount of fighting, a modest amount of wenching. A moderate man, all in all.
One thing he’d never done—he’d never imagined himself in love with a woman nearly young enough to be his daughter.
Katy was eleven years younger. Margaret, the only other woman he’d ever considered himself in love with, had been several years older. One of these days, maybe he’d get it sorted out.
Reluctantly, he buttoned his coat, straightened his tie, and headed back downstairs to see what else had busted loose.
The night was still young. Unfortunately.
*
Things appeared to be quiet. Buck, the ex-convict he’d hired to collect bets, watch for skulduggery and generally keep the peace, gave him the thumbs-up sign.
Buck had been the first one Galen had thought of when the trouble had started. Random occurrences, at first—a big win, a few too many drinks. The area was well lighted around the boats, but there were dark places where trouble waited. The first few times it had happened, a man knocked over the head and robbed, he’d issued a warning and considered it sufficient.
But then it had happened again and again, always to men who had won big pots, never the penny ante winners.
A pattern had begun to appear.
In a matter of weeks, he’d be ready to put his share of the business up for sale. The last thing he needed was this kind of trouble.
Behind the gleaming mahogany bar, Oscar poured two drinks at once without spilling a drop. Glass eye and all, the boy was turning out to be quite an asset. The girls all liked him. So did the dealers. Brand had done him a favor by sending him south.
Charlie was back. Galen had given him a raise after he’d married Sal. With a baby on the way, the poor guy would be needing it.
Pierre was his usual debonair self. It took more than a waterfront brawl to ruffle his feathers. The new girl, Sal’s replacement, was giving him the eye. Galen could have told her she was wasting her time. Pierre had a wife somewhere in Louisiana. When his family had banished him, she had chosen to stay behind, where the real money was.
He was better off without her, in Galen’s opinion. Not that he’d ever offered that opinion. Like most men, Pierre preferred to keep his private life to himself.
Galen would have preferred to
do the same thing. Unfortunately, his own private life was becoming increasingly and embarrassingly public.
Moving easily from one table to the next, from the large salon where Ava and the new girl were working to the smaller room where Ermaline was earning herself a few laughs and a tidy sum in tips, Galen told himself he would be glad to walk away from it all. Gambling had never been his chosen profession. The opportunity had come his way at a time when he was at loose ends, a time when he’d had a half-formed notion in his mind, and at a time when his bank account was at its lowest ebb.
He’d spent a little more than two years here, and didn’t regret it. All told, there were very few experiences in his thirty-three years that he did regret.
Of those few, losing a brother topped the list. After that came losing a ship and an entire crew. Declan O’Sullivan was somewhere in there, but Margaret, the one true love of his life, was little more than a dim memory, although there’d been a time when he could have sworn his life was ruined forever.
Evidently a man stopped feeling pain when a certain threshold had been reached.
Leaning against the bar nursing a shot glass of cold tea, he studied the new girl who had replaced Katy, who had replaced Sal.
She showed promise. She’d need to quit switching her hips and batting those painted eyelashes. According to Ila, the trick was to smile a lot, tease a bit if the occasion demanded, but to stand well back from the tables. Few men would risk tipping their hands for a sample of something that wasn’t for sale.
Without seeming to, he studied the girl, whose name was Dolly—Polly—something like that. He’d forgotten already. She was pretty. Aster insisted on pretty girls, but not too pretty. He’d noticed that about her. For a competitive woman, she was careful to keep the odds in her balance when it came to other women.
Funny, he’d never thought about it before. Usually the first thing he did was size up the competition, search out his opponents’ weaknesses, and figure the best way to use them.
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