“Only twelve dollars a bushel,” a black man called, brandishing his offering. “They be getting more than dat in da market.”
“What could I possibly do with a hundred sponges?” Mathew retorted, laughing as the men tossed out a myriad of suggestions.
“Give ’em to yer lady,” one said.
“Ye a merchant, true?” another added.
Mathew faced them, walking backward with his palms up. “True, but a merchant without a ship, I am afraid.” Chuckling, he fell back into step with Rief. “Determined chaps, aren’t they?”
“Winter is coming, and there are less ships traveling the Straits,” he explained. “We have to do something to make money.”
“We? Do you dive for sponges?”
“Sure, sometimes. It’s easy money. Less work than turtling.”
“You are a master of many skills. You never cease to impress me, Rief.”
He blushed under the unexpected compliment. “I just do what I need to in order to survive.”
A sad sigh escaped Mathew. “Indeed. But surviving is not the same as living, is it?”
He tightened his lips into a grim line. “No, it isn’t.”
Shielding his eyes, Mathew paused to look up as a large shadow passed overhead. A brown pelican flew above, landing on a nearby schooner, where a flock of his brothers were perched atop a yardarm. One dove into the water and came up with a splash, a flailing fin in its giant beak. A great heron had perched itself on the ship’s gunwale, neck crooked into an ‘S’ and willowy feathers dancing in the breeze. Mathew watched the large birds for a moment, then turned to Rief.
Face serious, he said quietly, “We just received word that Judge Marvin will return to Key West within a few days.”
Rief could not summon more than a simple “Oh.”
“Yes, which means our case will be settled soon. Most of the arrangements to repair our ship were handled this morning....” Mathew’s voice faltered and then he added, “I may be leaving in less than a fortnight.”
Their eyes met, and the harsh weight of reality threatened to squash Rief’s good mood. He looked around the wharf to see if anyone were close enough to overhear the before he said, “We both knew this was temporary.”
“That doesn’t stop it from hurting,” Mathew said in a hoarse whisper.
“I know.”
Giving Rief a trembling smile, which both exhilarated and pained his heart, Mathew nodded. “It just isn’t fair. I don’t even know how I will survive the first hour away from you.”
His eyes began to sting, but he blinked hard, fighting it. “I don’t know if I will.”
Mathew looked at him sharply, studying him. “But you will keep drawing me when I leave, right?”
Rief looked away to hide his anguish. “I don’t think I could ever stop.”
But would mere images of ink and oil ever be enough after he’d felt the real thing in his arms?
“I wish we could change the world, Rief,” he said with quiet fervor. “I wish that more than anything.”
“Me too.” Damn, Rief wanted to touch him but feared his body’s reaction.
“Would you consider painting me your likeness? So that I....” Mathew’s voice trailed off. Awkwardly he brushed at his eyes and shaded them, pretending to watch the birds again.
It touched him that Mathew wanted something tangible to remember him by. “Of course.”
A slow, genuine smile swept his face. “Thank you.”
Throat tight, he only nodded.
Depression and darkness sought to close in on Rief. He tried to think of something to say, but it all sounded so trite and false, for they knew this affair could never be permanent. Every second that passed was closer to the time he would lose Mathew. He’d waited for him his entire life, and to know they might have less than two weeks crippled him with grief.
For years he had been starved of love. Painting a mysterious man and making love to him on the canvas. His only lover had been that image. The only real kisses he received were from the brush and any genuine embrace was the paint. But a cold lifeless piece of art left him with nothing after he poured his heart and soul into it.
How much emptier would his life be after basking in the cherished feeling of Mathew’s companionship?
Clearing his throat, Mathew moved closer to the edge of the pier. “The water is so clear I can see that anchor as if it were right underneath my nose.”
Rief understood his need to change the subject. Grateful to have a reprieve from such painful thoughts, he joined him.
“Oh my,” Mathew gasped when he saw a dozen big fish circling below, each with large eyes and sharp tails, the sunlight glinting off the silver of their scales.
“Tarpon,” Rief explained. “Most folk think they’re sharks. Harmless, really.”
Mathew studied the silver fish. “I’ve never seen tarpon before. I imagine you could feed an entire crew from one of them.”
“Not really. There’s too many bones. They swim here because they want the scraps from the fishermen’s cleaning stations. Watch this.” He strode over to one of the nearby platforms where a sailor was busy cleaning and filleting his catch for the day. Rief shooed away the seagulls and egrets lying in wait and pointed at his scrap bucket. “May I?”
“Help yerself,” the sailor said, kicking his boot to discourage a large, determined crane from getting too close.
Flinching when the bird flapped its wings in complaint, Rief quickly snatched up a couple of fish heads. “Thank you, sir.”
“What are you doing?” Mathew cringed at the angry gulls screeching and swooping.
Snickering, Rief tossed one of the heads into the water. Several gulls tried to catch it midair, but it landed in the water before it could be stolen. The tarpon went into a frenzy of vicious tail whipping and splashing to get the morsel first.
Mathew laughed. “I don’t know who is more determined, feather or fin.”
“Follow me,” Rief said, seized with a sudden, boyish need to impress him. Taking him by the hand, he pulled Mathew toward a ladder that led to one of the lower docks used for small skiffs.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said, releasing his hand after a playful squeeze. With the second fish head still in his grip, Rief climbed down.
When they were both on the rocky platform, Rief lay flat on his stomach across the weathered wood, the sea less than an arm’s length below him. Water soaked the front of his clothing, but he ignored the wetness and skimmed the bait over the surface. One of the tarpon sensed the nearness of food and lashed about, the others coming closer to investigate. He glanced back to make sure he had Mathew’s full attention. “You watching?”
“Yes, but do be careful,” he cautioned, looking anxious. “Those fish are rather large.”
Chuckling, Rief plunged his hand below the surface, never releasing the bait. Fishes thrashed and flailed, splashing cool water into his face and across his back. Determined, he waited for one to get close with its huge mouth then he raised his hand. The tarpon leapt up, its wide mouth agape.
It latched on to Rief’s fist, its hard mouth cutting into his forearm. He wrestled with it, getting soaked further. When he released the bait, the fish dropped with a great splash.
“Bloody hell!” Mathew cried.
Rief rolled onto his back and waggled his empty hand, laughing like a schoolboy.
“That was positively the wildest thing I’ve ever seen!” Mathew’s whole left side had been drenched, and he removed his top hat to shake off the water.
Smiling, he clambered to his feet, wiping his hand on his wet pants. “Wanna try it?”
“Heavens, no! You already soaked me. I don’t need to smell like a fish too.”
Rief laughed at his indignant huff. “Afraid of a little water?”
Donning his hat, he eyed the still-thrashing fish, careful to keep his distance from the edge of the moving dock. “No, just what lurks below.”
“C
’mon, then,” he teased, gesturing toward the ladder. “Let’s get his lordship back up where he’s safe from the scary tarpon.”
Mathew gave him a wry arch of brows, acknowledging the jest, but expressing his annoyance with a quick, “Perhaps I should be more leery of this gypsy savage I have named friend than mere fish.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed, laughing as he followed him up the ladder, taking advantage of a chance to stare at his ass. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so freely with another. It felt good.
Really good.
Mathew reached the upper pier, then turned and extended a hand to help Rief up the last two steps. “I still cannot believe—why! You’re bleeding!” he cried. He seized Rief’s arm and turned it over, running his fingers over the small cuts.
“I’m all right.” There were a few scratches, but the water made them appear worse. “It’s nothing. I barely felt it.”
Mathew seized his hand when he tried to pull away. “Are you sure?” He brushed his fingers across the back, inspecting the skin for damage.
Rief sucked in a breath.
The busy sounds of the marina disappeared, and suddenly there was nothing in the world but Mathew and the union of their hands.
When their eyes met, Rief’s legs wavered. His grip tightened on Mathew. New shivers tickled down his spine, having nothing to do with the breeze wafting over his wet skin. Unable to turn away from his muse, his lover, his friend, Rief stared. Water sparkled on Mathew’s cheek, glistening in the sunlight. The tropical climate had pinkened his creamy skin, drawing out a faint dusting of freckles across his cheekbones and that pert, crooked nose.
So shaken by the man’s beauty, Rief didn’t know if he wanted to paint him or kiss him. His groin felt suddenly heavy. A dark urge inside him stirred, telling him to twine Mathew in his arms and kiss him hard, damning the people nearby. Blood throbbed in his temples, and he could hear Mathew’s breaths coming in quick succession, one after another. Almost panting.
“Ho, what’s going on here?”
Rief jerked his hand back as if Mathew’s were on fire, the rest of the world careening back into focus. Feigning composure, he turned as Cole and Dennis approached them.
“Nothing,” Rief replied, hoping he didn’t sound suspicious. Dammit, being with Mathew made him lose all track of common sense! “Just showing a friend around.”
“Friend?” Cole’s face twisted with bemusement, taking in their wet attire with one sweeping look.
Dennis snickered, then spat tobacco onto the pier. “Since when do you have any friends?”
When his brother let out a bark of laughter, Rief’s cheeks went hot. The harsh truth of those words destroyed the embarrassment of being caught touching Mathew in public. Any sharp or witty retort died in his throat.
“Actually, I happen to be his friend,” Mathew declared, startling Rief as he took a place at his side. Even with half of his clothing wet, he managed to look quite authoritative staring up at the two larger men. His posture smacked of the arrogance Rief had only witnessed from the man’s father.
“What?” Cole wore a confused smile. “Why the hell would you be his friend?”
Though Rief could not come up with a reason, Mathew didn’t have the same difficulty.
Back ramrod straight and top hat barely bringing his height to Cole’s chin, Mathew glared up at them. “Did you forget this man saved my life? What greater basis for a friendship might one need?”
Mathew’s regal bearing seemed to quell their humor. Cole looked contrite, glancing at Dennis. “Well, yeah, I suppose....”
“Never mind that,” Mathew interrupted, waving his hand at them much the way one did to a wayward child. “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you. We have plans, so if you will excuse us, gentlemen. The afternoon is getting away from us.” He knotted his hands in the small of his back, tipping his head for Rief to lead the way. “After you, Mr. Lawson.”
The look of shock on his brother’s face was priceless. Rather than laugh at how Mathew had so soundly put them in their place, he was too flustered to do more than manage, “Whatever you say, Mr. Weston.”
Refusing to look back, he could feel Cole’s and Dennis’s eyes burning a hole into them, the breeze carrying their angry whispers. After a few yards, his heart rate returned to normal. When he was sure they were out of earshot, he whispered, “You didn’t have to say all that.”
Still fuming, Mathew shot him a glare. “You can’t be serious? Of course I had to say something. They made me so damn angry. As if you can’t have friends, like somehow you don’t deserve them. To the Devil with them both! Together they couldn’t be half the man you are.”
Warmth stained his cheeks. “Thank you.”
Mathew huffed a bit, his steps determined and angry. “The nerve! I won’t stand for it. No one will ever speak poorly about you in my presence. And that includes you, Rief Lawson. Do you understand me?”
“All right.” He bit back a chuckle at the man’s vehement declaration. After a moment, he added, “But it is true.”
“What is?”
“That I have no friends.”
“Well it’s not true anymore,” Mathew said with quiet conviction. “You have me.”
Maggie paced the veranda, wondering what kept Matty. Papa had returned hours ago, and he’d claimed to have no idea where the boy had gone or when he’d be back. Matty had been behaving even more strangely since they’d arrived in Key West, so incredibly secretive. Sneaking off and not telling her. Then being out all night! Something was amiss. Her only consolation was that he had never been a libertine, so he couldn’t possibly be having a rendezvous with a seductress like that wretched Lucy Cogswell.
Chewing her lower lip, she glanced at the street once more. As if her very will had forced him to appear, Matty was walking toward the inn—still wearing that absurdly fancy red frock coat he’d worn to dinner last night.
He was not alone.
What in heaven’s name was Matty doing with that wrecker Rief Lawson?
After Mr. Fairfield’s story, he hadn’t actually hired the man to paint her, had he? As fun as it would be to rub a portrait in Pansy’s piggish nose, what if the rumors were true? She’d hate to be cursed to die, all for the sake of vanity.
Though Maggie wanted to dislike this wrecker, she forced herself to be charitable and not jump to conclusions. The man had saved Matty’s life, after all.
He couldn’t be all bad.
Slipping behind a tall leafy plant growing beside the veranda—that’s not spying at all!—she watched them standing on the side of the street, neither appearing in a hurry. A warm wind carried the sound of laughter to her.
Curiosity raised, she scrutinized them from her hidden locale. They had stopped fifty paces from the inn, far enough away she could not hear what they said, but close enough to see they were in good spirits.
That vexed her more than she wanted to admit.
Try as she might to be his best friend, Maggie was but a girl. Everyone knew men preferred the company of other men. It had not always been the case with her Matty, but time, as she had long feared, had rendered him no different than any other son of Adam.
Then Matty and the wrecker stopped talking altogether. But they remained looking at each other and smiling. She frowned.
How very queer!
Just when the bizarreness of their actions began to make her awkward, Matty touched the wrecker’s arm. Quick words were shared—oh why have I never learned to read lips?—and the other man gave a polite bow before turning to leave.
For longer than Maggie would’ve expected, Matty lingered to watch him walk away. An inexplicable surge of jealousy went through her, wondering what they’d been doing. Was this wrecker the one who kept Matty out all night, carousing at a cockfight? Papa had said the wreckers were but a step above pirates, so why would Matty socialize with one?
Finally Matty turned, wearing a silly grin upon his face. Walking briskly toward the inn, h
e tucked his hands into his lower back the way he always did when he was up to something. He bounded up the porch steps two at a time.
Not wishing to be caught lurking, she stepped out. “Hello, Matty.”
He jumped. “You scared the blazes out of me, Mags!”
She glanced over the railing, where the wrecker could still be seen. “I saw you with your friend and did not wish to interrupt.”
That silly grin returned, wider than before and bright enough to light up a room. “That’s Mr. Lawson. The man who saved me.”
Attempting to be demure, she smiled. “Yes, I recall. The artist, correct?”
“One and the same. We ran into one another after I left your father with the insurance adjuster. Rief showed me these fish called tarpon. Why, they are as big as you are! At first I thought they were sharks. But Rief—oh, Mags, you should have seen it!” he interrupted himself with a fantastic laugh, eyes wide with boyish enthusiasm. “Rief took a fish head and dangled it in the water until one of the tarpon jumped up and swallowed his arm! I’ve never seen anything so wild!”
She didn’t know which was more unexpected—his behavior or tale. “That does sound wild.”
Suddenly Matty took her by the shoulders and smooched her cheek loudly, his exuberance taking her aback. “You would have squealed had you been there!”
“Contain yourself!” she cried, extracting herself. “Are you intoxicated?”
He stuck out his chest, taking a deep breath through his nose. “Intoxicated on life perhaps,” he mused, still wearing that asinine grin.
“What has gotten into you?”
“It’s this island.” He indicated their lush tropical surroundings with one sweeping gesture of his top hat. His blond hair was sweaty, matted to his head and most unbecoming. “Key West throbs with the blood of life, love, and despair. Can’t you feel it, Mags? It’s not like society back home, bent solely on fashion and intrigue or the shameless pursuit of entertainment. Here people are real, raw. The salt of the earth. Why, there are chickens running wild everywhere!” Matty threw back his head and laughed louder than expressly necessary, his cheeks flushed. “Even the best author couldn’t imagine such a perfect place!”
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