Wrecked

by Deanna Wadsworth

  Chapter Nine

  “The course pursued by the individuals now engaged in this occupation (wrecking) on the coast of Florida... are the instruments of saving an immense amount of property which without their exertions would be wholly lost.”

  —Judge James Webb; judge of the superior court, Key West, 1838

  The tension in the small meeting room felt as heavy and as stifling as the air. Apparently Pembroke & Kirkwood Trading had filed a claim of misconduct against Lawson Salvage when they submitted their libel after the auction. The US District court was not holding session right now because Judge Marvin was in St. Augustine and would not return to Key West for another week or so. With the judge unavailable and no chance of arbitration, Rief, Cole, and Uncle Richard were instead defending to the judge’s assistant the version of events they’d presented the court.

  Rief was trying to pay attention, but his thoughts kept returning to Mathew.

  Though having been with his share of men—even a few women when the deprivation of skin to skin contact became too much to bear—nothing could compare to Mathew. When he’d kissed Rief, touched him, and held him close, the pain had all but washed away. His insides boiled with lust just thinking about the way Mathew had seized control, rubbing their cocks hard and fast while Rief just barely managed to hold on. But the gentle touching and kissing at the end had meant more to Rief than any sexual release.

  Happiness he’d never thought possible bubbled up inside him, and he closed his eyes for a moment, longing to drown his grief in the shelter of Mathew’s arms once more. Feel redemption in the passion of two bodies joined, making love. Run his thumb over those full lips then drink from them until he was drunk from it.

  Tonight he would get that chance.

  He’d never really had a lover, and the prospect of sharing such an intimate friendship with Mathew was too impossible to believe.

  “This is bullshit,” Cole burst out, startling Rief into paying attention.

  The secretary looked up over his spectacles, pausing in his note-taking. Rief shifted in his seat, feigning composure. He needed to stop thinking about Mathew or he’d get an erection that would be difficult to explain in a business meeting.

  Easily as large as Cole, though his bulk consisted more of fat than muscle, the judge’s assistant, John Bunden, gave Cole a superior scowl. “They insist you could’ve dislodged their ship, but you abandoned her and the storm caused unnecessary damage.”

  “I made the call to seek shelter and not to kedge her during the storm, and I stand by it,” Cole said. “We got everyone out safely and salvaged most of the cargo doing it my way. And that ship was stuck so bad it took four tries to dislodge her when the tide was high. There’s no way in hell we could’ve done it during that norther.”

  “All charges of incompetence have to be looked into,” John went on while the secretary furiously took notes. “They’re also claiming conspiracy because the auction was held so quickly.”

  Uncle Richard laughed. “There’s only so much space to store goods of that quantity on a tiny island like ours. We had to unload them because another wreck was headed to town. I delayed the auction as long as I could.”

  “They’re claiming the local merchants, yourself included, Richard,” John’s beady eyes locked on his face, “deliberately kept the bidding down to diminish their cut.”

  “The auction doesn’t have anything to do with my crew,” Cole argued. “We’re damn good at what we do. Those bastards hired us to do a job and we did it.” He waved the slip of parchment that should have ended the discussion.

  “It is all taken into consideration when awarding a salvage fee,” Bunden countered.

  Every wrecker, before they salvaged a barrel, made sure the captain of the wrecked vessel signed a document stating they knew the wreckers expected payment for their services. Unless captain and wreck master made a gentleman’s agreement, or they allowed an arbitrator to draw up an agreement, it was up to the court to determine the salvage award and that was determined by several factors.

  The state of the weather—which had been hell in this case.

  The willingness of the wreckers to go out in rough seas with the risk to life, limb, and ship—and they had.

  The value of the goods sold at auction would also be taken into consideration.

  Finally, the price was determined by the degree of skill needed to operate the salvage.

  It had taken sixty-one men, five divers, seven wreckers, and the steam pump along with its operator over seven days to salvage the bulk of Lucky Clipper’s cargo. Cole had returned on the Mirabella after his crew, the Janie, and the Stone’s Throw had warped the ship back. Repairs would begin as soon as the insurance agents had their say. Mathew had assured him of her seaworthiness last night. That should’ve prompted the court to rule in favor of Lawson Salvage.

  Ruffling up his dark hair with an angry fist, Cole looked so much like Dad just then it made Rief’s gut tighten. Hell flashing behind his eyes, Cole pointed a vicious thumb at Rief, making him jump. “My brother saved that ungrateful lout’s son! He coulda died without us!”

  Sweat itched down Rief’s spine in the stuffy room and his chest lurched as he remembered that panicked dive, and more importantly, the words Mathew said last night: I wanted you from the moment I felt your body against mine in the sea.

  “It was you that saved Lord Pembroke’s son?” John turned his fleshy face toward Rief.

  He sat upright, throat dry. “Yeah, Matt was a good ten feet under when I found him.”

  Cole’s brows shot up.

  What the hell was he thinking, using his given name? The last thing he needed was for Cole to discover he had a relationship with a man. If anyone ever learned the truth, the gossip would run like wildfire through town.

  Rief didn’t think he could withstand any more.

  “Mr. Weston would’ve died if I hadn’t got to him,” he rephrased, ignoring his brother’s frown at the switch in names.

  “Are you writing that down?” Uncle Richard asked the secretary pointedly, and the man nodded.

  “Unfortunately saving lives is not the issue. It appears they have some legitimate complaints. Your license will come up for review if such claims are proven valid,” John said, then slanted a glance at Rief.

  Not even a blind man would’ve missed the vengeful glint in his eye. The man hated Rief more than Satan after that drawing of his fiancée.

  Rief shook his head, wishing someone had told his younger self how risky putting the things he saw to paper could be. But what was done was done, and nothing Rief could do now would make the man forgive him for something that happened fifteen years ago.

  “We didn’t do anything to lose our license,” Cole cried. “It was by the book.”

  “Let’s not lose sight of the fact this is just a stunt to lower the salvage award. They all try it,” Uncle Richard assured him.

  “Yes, well, when Judge Marvin returns, I will give him your testimony, and it will be up to him to decide. Right now, I need the figures from the auction, please,” John said, shuffling a few of the documents in his hands. He looked at Rief expectantly, but it was Uncle Richard who presented them.

  Meeting his uncle’s eye, Rief gave him a quick, appreciative smile. Thankfully, Cole was stewing and did not notice the exchange.

  Rief had taken over the majority of paperwork for both Uncle Richard’s store and the salvage company, freeing Cole up to do what he loved at sea and for their uncle to work a little less. He really shouldn’t have slacked in his duties for Uncle Richard—the man had been more of a father to him than his own. But since Mathew had entered his life, Rief had done nothing but lock himself away to paint and pine for Mathew like a lovesick ninny.

  Though grateful his uncle had not told Cole about his negligence, he couldn’t be sure if the man kept it to himself because Cole would be furious if he knew or out of shame.

  Would Mathew recant his wish to be Rief’s lover and friend if he learned w
hat Rief was capable of too?

  After last night, Rief clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, Mathew might accept all of him, even the things he could not accept about himself.

  As the droning sound of the men comparing invoices and sales sheets became hypnotic in its monotony, Rief amused himself with concepts and poses he might place Mathew if he deigned to sit for him tonight. He closed his eyes, conjuring a blank canvas, already feeling the coolness of the paint between his fingers. Perhaps he would use cobalt mixed with a hint of red to create the almost violet accent in the center of his irises. Would he use his fingers or a brush to create the high color in Mathew’s cheeks when he climaxed?

  The delicious memory of last night, coupled with the warmth of the room lulled Rief into a hazy state of relaxation. He let his mind empty until he saw Mathew in bed, blankets tangled around his naked body. As if he were alive on the canvas in Rief’s mind, Mathew began to stroke his chest, trace the lines of his abdomen. Then he caressed his cock, slow and seductive. Eventually, an image began to emerge, the colors swirling, filling in. Cream and sienna, black and red....

  Without warning, the image rippled like heat off the ground on a hot summer day.

  Rief’s heart rate increased.

  The air ripped from his lungs.

  Helpless to stop it, the scarlet paint began to spread, fast and hot, twisting into flames, and rising around Mathew until there was no longer a beautiful man or even a canvas.

  Fire filled his vision and pain stabbed into Rief’s skull.

  With a start, he jerked upright.

  “What the hell?” Cole exclaimed.

  Suddenly Rief was back at the customshouse, coughing hard, hacking and trying to catch his breath. For a flash, he thought the room was on fire, but when he looked around, he saw nothing but three men staring back at him in confusion. His head throbbed as if someone had kicked it, and his eyes watered from smoke that wasn’t there. Wincing until the pain reduced to a slow throb, he pressed his fingers to his forehead, waiting for the familiar ache to pass. Embarrassment heated his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, heart still thumping.

  Scowling, Cole shook his head.

  Rief kept his gaze lowered as the ache in his brain lessened and he once more had control over his breathing. He could still taste the smoke, smell it deep in his nostrils.

  But it had all been in his head. A vision only Rief could see.

  He felt Uncle Richard’s keen eyes upon him, and the weighty glare of John’s shrewd disapproval.

  Dammit! Why couldn’t he just be normal? Why did he always have to be exposed this way?

  While Rief did not suffer from the violent dreams that had plagued Mother, shocking images often came to him without warning, followed by a powerful urge to paint them. Even now, his hands itched, searching for a brush and longing to draw the fire he’d just seen. While he couldn’t take back the mistakes he’d made or stop the rumors from circulating, he had gotten smart enough not to put the things he saw to paper anymore, physical evidence he didn’t need to be laying around. The gossip had never really died, and though the rumors had quieted, time had merely rendered them more fantastic, more frightening.

  If Rief Lawson drew your likeness, you died.

  It wasn’t exactly true, nor was it a lie.

  Rief had only one guarantee—whether he drew it or not—what he saw always came to pass, and only afterward would it make sense.

  “My first time as wreck master on a job this big and I get a war.”

  When Uncle Richard didn’t reply, Cole glanced over. The man had locked his gaze on Rief as he stormed away from the customshouse. So intent on whatever consumed him this time, his brother sidestepped one of the chickens running wild on the island. Right near the harbor, the sounds of men shouting and gulls crying filled the afternoon. Not even the crisp, fishy smell of the sea air could calm Cole’s irritation.

  “I’m worried about him.”

  “He’s fine,” Cole said dismissively, though he had noticed Rief acting odder than usual—which was saying something.

  “No, he isn’t.” Richard sighed and covered his silver head with a beaver hat. “Let me buy you lunch, nephew. We have some important things to discuss before I leave.”

  “Leave? Where are you going?”

  He placed an arm around Cole’s shoulder and led him down the steps of the small wooden structure. “I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone. With all this political debate, there’s a risk the abolitionists might actually sway public opinion. Can you imagine what could happen to our way of life if men like Lincoln manage to influence Washington?”

  “But we don’t own slaves. How does that affect us?”

  “You have to look at the bigger picture, Cole. The abolitionists cannot see that it’s not just about freeing the blacks. Once the people vote to give the federal government more power than an individual state, everything will change. Already gone are the days when a wrecker could make an agreement with a captain without the courts getting involved. Do you want some landlubber from the North saying what is and isn’t right for our business?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Good man. That’s why I’ll be headed to Virginia soon. I need to see and hear for myself how serious things are getting. I want a say in who gets put up for presidency.”

  “But the election isn’t for two years,” he protested.

  He flashed a smirk. “The decisions made before an election can often be more important than the actual vote. Key West is a very valuable port, and I won’t have just any buffoon in the Whitehouse telling me what I can and can’t do in my own state. I have many influential contacts and our business ventures need to be protected. At all costs.”

  He nodded, appreciating his uncle’s wisdom. “When are you leaving?”

  “Not until all of this is settled.” He gestured back to the customshouse. “It’ll not be a brief trip when I do go, and not one I’ll only have to make the once in the next two years either. I’ll tell you before I go, though, don’t worry. My future absences lead me to what I really need to talk to you about.”

  The ominous note in his voice unnerved Cole. What could be more important than their wrecking business? But Dad had always relied on Richard’s shrewd mind. Cole saw no need to do otherwise.

  A small group of soldiers from nearby Fort Taylor passed them on the sidewalk, stern-faced and watchful. They were sweating in the deep blue wool of their uniforms, and Cole wiped at his own brow in sympathy, grateful not to be wearing the heavy fabric. Most Key West natives were not fans of the military presence, because it had a long and unfavorable history on the island. Captain Porter put the town under martial law soon after Spain ceded the island to the Americas in the early ’20s. The soldiers didn’t interfere overmuch now and work was plentiful due to the fort’s construction, but Cole hated to imagine what could happen if the government suddenly had more control over Florida than her residents did.

  Perhaps Uncle Richard’s concerns weren’t as premature as he’d first thought.

  They arrived at his uncle’s favorite restaurant called Havana House. The interior was clean, and filled with tables and benches. Since it was midday, several groups of men chatted over drink and bountiful food. His stomach rumbled, and he realized it had been some time since he’d eaten.

  “Hello, Mr. Chambers,” a pretty girl at the counter greeted them and led them to a table in the back corner. After Richard ordered food and ale, she left.

  Richard gave him a wink. “She had her eye on you.”

  “You’re the one with all the money, Uncle, perhaps her taste lies with more matured ale,” he teased.

  While he never understood why his uncle had not taken a wife, Cole just hadn’t found the right girl. If this case ended fairly, perhaps he’d finally have enough money to find himself a wife. Maybe have a few children underfoot. Liking the idea, he glanced back at the blonde, pleased to catch her staring. He smiled in return, noting she had a good pair of birthi
ng hips under that cotton frock.

  Maybe I ought to have lunch here a bit more often.

  “If I am going to be gone, you and Rief will have to take care of the business,” his uncle said, rather abruptly changing topics. “Together.”

  The idea of having personal dealings with his brother squashed any flirtatious notions about the girl. “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Richard laced his fingers in front of him on the table. “I know you two have troubles, but I have something that might make it easier.”

  “We’re grown men, Uncle,” he said, perturbed. “We can conduct business without incident.”

  “I’m worried about Rief. Since you boys lost your father, he’s been very different. The things he’s doing, the way he looks at me sometimes. It’s like he’s looking right through me. It reminds me of your mother and that frightens me to my bones.”

  Stubbornly, Cole shrugged, suspecting where this conversation was headed and determined to veer it off course. “He’s fine,” he repeated, looking around the restaurant. “Where’s that girl with the ale? Tell me about her? She got a name?”

  Richard ignored the questions. “Rief’s been locked away painting ever since he came back from the wreck. If he’s doing that, you know something must be troubling him. Aren’t you curious what it is?”

  Not surprised his brother was up to his old tricks, he resisted the urge to pound a fist on the table. He refused to step foot near his brother’s art—if one could call it that—a self-imposed boundary so they could get along. Things had gotten better between them when Rief stopped going on patrol. Though he’d been a great diver since he’d been a teen, no one lamented his absence. His presence spooked the crew, embarrassing and distracting Cole from the job.

  “I don’t wanna upset you,” Richard began hesitantly.

  He growled in frustration, ruffling up the hair on the back of his head. “I have too much on my mind to worry about whatever has that boy all riled up. It’s always something with him. Why can’t he just be normal?”