Make You Mine

by Macy Beckett

  She obliged, stepping onto the main deck, then making a beeline for the bow ramp. The clicking of her sandals drew the attention of twins, Alex and Nicky, and their big brother Beau, who leaned against the deck rail, watching the last guests depart.

  In true Nick fashion, he whistled at Allie as she passed. “You sure look nice. Got a hot date?”

  “No!” she said a bit too loudly. “Just picking up some fresh fruit from the farmer’s market.”

  “Hey,” Marc said from behind. “I need to go into town, too. Want to share a taxi?”

  Judging by the muffled laughter coming from his brothers, their act wasn’t fooling anyone.

  Beau followed them down the ramp. “I’m stopping at the farmer’s market. I’ll split a cab with you guys.” When Marc fired a glare over his shoulder, Beau returned it with twice the fury. “Is that a problem?”

  Marc didn’t object, probably because his pawpaw was still watching, but the instant the three of them crowded into the backseat of a taxi, he let Beau have it. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  “Like hell I am.” He shot Allie a chiding glance from the opposite end of the bench seat. “You two are the worst pair of liars I’ve ever seen.”

  Allie bit her lip and linked her arm through Marc’s. “Do you think your granddaddy suspects anything?”

  “If he saw the way you two looked at each other,” Beau said, “then, yeah. He’s old, not blind. That goes for the rest of the staff, too. They’re gonna think the captain’s playing favorites, and that’s the last thing we—”

  “Enough,” Marc ordered. “Shut up or get your own taxi.” He wrapped an arm around Allie and told the cabdriver to take them to a place called the Hill, then turned the topic to the Italian restaurant where he’d made lunch reservations. “The best in the city,” Marc claimed.

  Beau frowned but let the subject drop. He asked Allie, “What’s your sister up to these days?” Though he used a casual tone, he shrank a few inches into the vinyl seat. “She ever get that education degree she talked about?”

  Allie laughed at the idea of her sister leading a classroom of children. She’d forgotten that Dev had wanted to become a teacher. “No, she dropped out of college freshman year. She’s kind of a Gypsy now—just a short-term gig here and there. She gets bored easily.”

  Beau didn’t seem to like that. He spent the rest of the ride in silence, staring out his window. When the taxi pulled up beside an adorable Italian bistro, Marc tossed his brother a twenty-dollar bill to cover the fare and ushered Allie onto the sidewalk. Before the cab pulled away, Beau rolled down his window and asked, “Hey, will you tell Dev I said hi?”

  Allie wished she could help, but any communication from him would only make matters worse. “I’m sorry, baby. That would be a bad idea.”

  Beau nodded and rolled up his window. With a wave, he was gone.

  “After you.” Marc’s touch returned Allie’s attention to present company. He held open the door for her and settled his hand at her lower back while leading the way to their table. Once there, he pulled out her chair like a gentleman and ordered a bottle of chilled white wine.

  “This is nice,” Allie said, taking in the cozy dining area of a dozen round white-draped tables, each anchored by a duo of candle tapers. The tangy scent of marinara and baking bread set her mouth watering. Marc had chosen well.

  He opened his menu and began perusing its offerings. “Only the best for my gal.”

  The offhanded statement set Allie’s heart fluttering. She raised her own menu so he couldn’t see her smiling. When the waitress returned, they both ordered the chicken parmesan, and Marc poured their wine.

  Lifting his glass in a toast, he began, “To . . .” and trailed off in deliberation.

  “To old friends and taking chances,” she suggested.

  “Agreed.”

  He clinked her glass and took a long sip, locking eyes with her from above the rim. She detected something new in his gaze, more than the wicked desire she’d seen burning there for the past week. This seemed tender, like he wanted to pause time and live in this moment for a while longer. Was it her hopeful imagination, or had Marc actually fallen as hard and as fast as she had?

  “You’re the prettiest girl in here,” he said, instantly bringing a blush to her cheeks.

  Allie stared into her lap. “Don’t be silly.”

  She’d never felt shy around him before, but now her palms were starting to sweat. She blotted them on her linen napkin and took a few gulps of wine. The alcohol helped loosen her tongue, and by her second glass, she felt like herself again.

  They talked about their hobbies, and when the topic of favorite movies came up, Marc’s response was, “Unforgiven, with Clint Eastwood. It’s about a—”

  “A retired gunman who gets revenge for a mutilated prostitute,” Allie finished. “Yeah, I liked that one, but not as much as A Fistful of Dollars. That was Clint’s best work, if you ask me.”

  Marc’s eyes widened. “You like Westerns?”

  “No,” Allie said, leaning forward for emphasis, “I love Westerns.”

  “Oh, my God.” He looked ready to marry her on the spot. “You might be the world’s most perfect woman. Do you know that?”

  “Real funny.”

  Allie had her flaws, and so did Marc. But as the hour passed, she couldn’t help wondering if they were perfect for each other. The longer they talked, the more they discovered how much they had in common. They both hated collard greens and the Chicago Cubs, they felt equal pressure to keep their businesses afloat, and they each pictured themselves moving back to Cedar Bayou one day.

  “I like the city,” Marc said. “But sometimes the bayou’s the only place I can hear myself think.”

  Allie nodded. “I miss the way the air back home smells in the summer—like lavender and honeysuckle. Outside my shop it mostly smells like car exhaust.”

  They spent a few minutes gossiping about old friends, and when they’d finished lunch, Marc hailed another taxi and told the driver to take them to the Missouri Botanical Garden.

  “You’re going to like this,” Marc promised during the ride. “Especially if you miss the flowers.”

  And he was right. She loved it.

  Marc led her on an easy stroll through the Japanese garden—fourteen acres of lush green lawns and winding paths leading to an expansive lake with four tiny islands of stone jutting proudly from its depths. Lanterns hung from the lowest branches of blossoming trees, and the air was heavy with floral warmth.

  Marc held her hand the whole time, releasing her only to wrap an arm around her waist. They crossed an arched wooden bridge and paused in the middle to gaze into the water. Allie thought she spotted a turtle, but she couldn’t be sure. When she glanced up to ask Marc if he’d seen it, she found him watching her. He had that soft look in his eyes again, but before she could ask what he was thinking, he cupped the back of her neck and drew her in for a gentle kiss.

  His lips moved in perfect sync with hers while his fingers traced the contours of her face. This kiss was different from the hundreds of others they’d shared, so full of tenderness that Allie’s throat grew thick with emotion.

  There was love in this kiss—she felt it.

  She locked both arms around his neck and melted into him without a care for the passersby on the bridge. She let herself get lost in Marc’s embrace until his cell phone vibrated against her thigh.

  With a reluctant moan, Marc pulled away and reached into his pocket for his phone. His brow furrowed as he read the message on his screen. “Uh-oh.”

  “What’s wrong?” Allie asked, leaning to peer at his phone.

  The text was from Nicky. Hurry back to the Belle. 911!

  “Sorry, hon,” Marc said. “We’ve got to go.”

  They rushed to the parking lot and hailed a cab. During the ri
de to the dock, Marc’s body was so stiff, he could have posed as one of the sculptures in the Japanese garden they’d just fled. He spoke on the phone with Nick, and though Allie was only privy to one end of the conversation, she could tell something major had happened to the boat’s engine.

  “How bad is it?” she asked when he’d disconnected.

  Marc drew a deep breath and let it go in a loud puff. “Bad enough that we’ll be stuck in St. Louis another day.” He leaned forward and cradled his head in both hands. “Maybe two. And that’s assuming I can find someone to fix the train linkage.”

  Allie didn’t know what a train linkage was, but it sounded complicated. She scooted nearer to Marc and rubbed his back. “I’ll work with Ella-Claire to keep the guests happy during the layover. Maybe we can throw together a quick gala—everyone loves a party.” When he didn’t reply, she promised, “It’s going to be okay.”

  He took one of her hands and held it tightly. “Thank you.” He didn’t say anything more until they reached the Belle.

  When they stepped out of the cab and approached the boat ramp, Marc’s pawpaw greeted them with folded arms and a scowl. He stood at the head of the ramp, blocking their entry as Marc’s brothers loitered behind, looking uneasy.

  Allie’s internal alarm blared when she realized nobody would make eye contact with her. Then she recognized her luggage heaped into a pile at Pawpaw’s feet, including her backpack of gris-gris supplies.

  Allie’s ribs tightened around her sinking heart. They were kicking her off the boat.

  Marc noticed, too. He pointed at her suitcase. “What’s all this?”

  “It’s your wakeup call, boy,” his granddaddy spat. He nodded toward Allie without giving her the courtesy of a glance. “We’ve had nothin’ but trouble since you brought her on board. Now the engine’s half-busted, and we’re about to get shut down. She’s a blight on this family.” He jabbed a finger at the ground. “It’s gonna end right here.”

  Allie’s face burned. She was no stranger to rumors and scrutiny, but this was different. This was personal. But she wouldn’t fight back—she knew how important Marc’s family was to him. Blinking away tears, she took a step toward her bags, but Marc reached out an arm to stop her.

  “Miss Mauvais isn’t going anywhere,” he said in a low firm voice that dared anyone to disagree. He locked eyes with Beau. “You all go on and take Allie’s things back to her room.”

  Nobody said a word.

  Beau scratched his neck and studied the tips of his shoes. “Listen, little brother, I get where you’re coming from. Allie’s a damn fine pastry chef, but folks are starting to talk. I’m not saying this is right, but maybe—”

  “When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.” Marc’s voice cut like steel, causing his younger brothers to glance nervously at each other. “I said, take Allie’s things back to her room. So either do it, or pack up your own shit and go.” When nobody moved, he added, “Now.”

  Slowly, Beau grabbed her suitcase and gave his brothers an encouraging nod. The twins took the rest of her luggage and Worm slung her backpack over one shoulder. They made their way toward the stairs while watching the storm brewing between Marc and his grandfather.

  “She’s entranced you, son,” Pawpaw said. “You can’t see it, but I can.”

  “Save it. I’ve got enough to deal with.” Marc stepped forward until he was toe-to-toe with the man. “Move aside.”

  Pawpaw raised his jaw. “I won’t let you bring her on board my ship.”

  “Last time I checked,” Marc ground out, “it was my name on the deed, not yours.”

  “If your daddy knew what you were up to, he’d tell you to get your priorities straight.”

  Marc didn’t back down. “And I’d tell him to mind his own damn business. Allie’s saved my ass more times than I can count. She stays. I’m your captain—whether you like it or not—and I’m going to give you one last chance to move before I haul you out of the way.”

  Pain flashed in his granddaddy’s dark eyes, so much like Marc’s they could pass for father and son. “We’re kin, boy. I spent my whole life building this legacy for you and your brothers. You gonna turn your back on me for a woman?”

  Marc clenched his teeth and fell silent, scrubbing a hand over his face and clearly beginning to waver.

  “It’s time to choose,” Pawpaw said. “It’s her, or it’s me.”

  • • •

  Shit.

  As if Marc didn’t have enough trouble on his hands with the train linkage, now he was facing a full-on mutiny from his own family—the people who were supposed to have his back.

  So much for blood being thicker than water.

  They could learn a lesson from Allie. She didn’t owe him a damn thing, and yet she’d worked harder than anyone to make this trip a success. The curse wasn’t her fault, and he had no intention of abandoning her in St. Louis.

  He’d rather sever his own arm.

  “I’m not choosing anything,” Marc said to his pawpaw. “If you can’t support my decisions as captain, then you’re the one turning your back on me, not the other way around.”

  Pawpaw’s glare shifted to Allie. “You don’t know what she’s done.”

  “Yeah, I do,” Marc said. “Let me tell you what she’s done.” He looked the old man in the eyes while he recounted the story of the Gibsons’ wedding cake and how Allie had stepped aside to keep Chef Regale on board. “She didn’t complain once while she was in the casino, because Allie’s a team player. When she heard about the problems in the engine room, she started planning a party for the guests. I didn’t have to ask—she took the ball and ran with it.” Then Marc said, “What have you done, aside from criticize Allie and call her a witch?”

  Pawpaw didn’t have an answer for that question.

  “That’s what I thought.” Marc hitched a thumb toward the dock. “Either apologize to Miss Mauvais and get back to work, or fetch your things and call a cab. I’ve got to see to the train linkage.” He pushed around Pawpaw and strode onto the bow ramp, leaving his grandfather to make his decision.

  Chapter 13

  Allie gripped the deck rail, watching Marc’s pawpaw fade into the distance as the Belle’s massive paddle wheel turned a lazy rotation and left the old man behind. A faded yellow taxi pulled into view near the dock, and Pawpaw loaded his duffel bags into the trunk. He shook his head one last time, then climbed into the backseat. Moments later, he was gone.

  She couldn’t believe it. Marc had chosen her over his grandfather.

  Allie didn’t know what to think about that.

  Most women would feel flattered, but she wasn’t most women. Allie cared for Marc, and she hated causing a rift in his family. He’d stormed off to the boiler room an hour ago, but she could sense his pain from a distance—a steady ache beneath her breast that likely wouldn’t let up until she’d helped set things right with his grandpa. And if the ugly words the men had hurled at each other were any indication, peace wouldn’t come easily.

  At least the boat’s engine had given them a reprieve, humming to life thirty minutes ago as unexpectedly as it had quit. Releasing a breath, Allie faced the setting sun, a smudge of tangerine glowing through bubble gum clouds. It was a beautiful evening, but there wasn’t time to find a rocking chair and explore her thoughts.

  The guests were waiting for dessert.

  She returned to the galley and helped serve the eight-layer Peach Decadence cake she’d spent the afternoon baking, then added cookies and bread pudding to the buffet. She cleaned her station and prepared tomorrow’s breakfast menu. When her work was done, she lingered in the kitchen, unsure of where to go next. Should she visit Marc or give him some space?

  Deciding to follow her instincts, Allie climbed four flights of stairs to the pilothouse door. After knocking twice, she peeked inside and found him sitting at the helm
in his tall captain’s chair.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “Just seeing if you need anything before I turn in.”

  He swiveled to face her, a pout tugging the corners of his mouth. “My shift’s done in an hour. Can you wait up for me?”

  “If that’s what you need.” She stepped inside and slung an arm over his shoulder. With her free hand, she tugged off his hat and brushed her fingers through his loose hair. “Are you sure you don’t want to be alone? I’ll understand.”

  Marc pulled her onto his lap. “Sugar, nothing relaxes me like you do.” A shadow seemed to pass over his stunning features, his hands tightening around her hips. “I don’t want to waste one minute of the time we have left by sleeping apart.”

  Allie lowered her brows. The time they had left? What was that supposed to mean? “I’m not going to turn into a pumpkin when we dock in New Orleans, you know.”

  The irritation must have shown on her face because Marc started backpedaling. “Don’t get the wrong idea—I’m not saying this is just a vacation fling.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive.”

  She gave him a skeptical look. “Then what’s with the ticking clock?”

  “Come on, Allie,” he said, turning toward the front window. “You know me.” His tone was thick with self-loathing in a way she didn’t like. “Not just me. My whole family—we have a way of ruining everything we touch. Even one another. Today proved that.”

  Allie cupped his cheek until he met her gaze. “And you think you’ll ruin me?”

  “Not you,” he told her. “You’re too strong for that. But us?” His dark eyes said the rest. I’ll ruin what we have together. “I don’t want to screw up, but I have to admit I don’t have the best history.”

  “Baby, you don’t give yourself enough credit.” Marc needed to see that he wasn’t doomed to follow the same path as every Dumont man who came before him. “You’re not your daddy. You won’t make the same mistakes he did.”

  “That’s why I always use protection.”