Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  “Life in general? Or focused more narrowly on…other aspects?”

  His focus on these aspects flustered her. “Yes, I write about relationships. Of course, there are some romantic aspects because it’s part of everyday life.”

  “Ah. So you write fiction.”

  His leering smile unnerved her.

  Despite her effort to remain calm, her voice increased in pitch in relation to her frustration. “I hope to portray one’s entire life, not merely the romance. I do know a little.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Don’t be so condescending.”

  “All right. If you find you cannot make a living by your writing, what then?”

  What did he aim to suggest? An embarrassment? To insinuate she wrote poorly? “I don’t know. I can find some sort of work. I don’t intend to burden my brother and his wife forever.” Tears stung at her eyes, so she blinked them away. She would not allow herself to be so weak. Nor show any weakness to him. Why did he have to ruin every encounter?

  They rounded the corner onto Duval Street. When the Crowell house came into view, their pace slowed further.

  She steadied her voice, forcing a polite tone. “Might I borrow your newspaper? I would love to read news from up north.”

  He halted. “On one condition.”

  His serious tone took her aback. “What is it?”

  “You allow me to visit you tonight.” He stood so close, their shadows on the ground appeared as one.

  “I don’t know. Mrs. Crowell might object.” She didn’t know why she said it. Mrs. Crowell had no say over her comings and goings.

  “So?” His gaze held a challenge.

  “She was kind enough to take me on when I’m destitute. I’ve written my brother for the money. However, she cannot know for sure I will pay her. Her respect ensures she will not throw me out.”

  The excuse held no weight of truth, sounding flimsy even to her. Still, she couldn’t admit his company rendered her unable to trust her own decisions. His presence made her feel vibrant, alive in every sense. Unexpected bursts of energy made her want to run giddy along the beach, knowing he would follow.

  Sam set a foot on the stone walkway. “I will lend you my newspaper. Upon my return tonight, you may tell me to leave, or invite me to stay.” He proffered the newspaper.

  She slid it from his grasp. “All right. I’ll see you tonight.”

  He flashed a smile. “Until tonight.”

  Chapter Seven

  Sam hurried back to Whelan’s Dry Goods Store for the supplies, continuing from there on to the dock. When the crew complained of his lateness, he gave no excuse, instead joking that the time gave them additional rest. Liam cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing. Sam went about his chores, whistling while mending the tattered sail. He strove to engage himself in every conversation, but his thoughts returned to Livvie again and again.

  Liam stood against the rail beside Sam. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

  Sam squinted. “The day is fair, the company is enchanting. Why shouldn’t I be?” He could think of more enchanting company. Since Livvie had told him of her writing pursuits, his imagination ran wild. What sort of stories did she write? He had to read them. Tonight, he’d ask to borrow them.

  Liam grumbled. “If the day were not fair, we would be making profits.”

  “We cannot salvage every day. Variety, Liam. Have you not heard it is the spice of life?” Although Sam loved the challenge of the wrecking business, he treasured days such as these more than gold. Especially considering the prospect of seeing Livvie again this evening.

  Liam turned and leaned against the side. “I’ve a hankering for a different kind of spice. And I suspect ye do as well.”

  He stood, pulling the sail taut to test his stitches. His mending held, and his work was finished. “I hanker for some supper. How about you?” Sam wouldn’t let Liam’s prying sour his mood.

  Jahner Lang straightened from his task. “Are you going to the grogery? I’ll join you.”

  Liam extended his hand in a gracious sweep. “By all means. Let’s have a party.”

  Sam gave an inward groan. A large gathering would delay dinner. Perhaps he could slip a few extra dollars to hurry his meal ahead of the others. All day, he’d aimed to finish work so he could retrieve his newspaper from Livvie. Discuss the news, perhaps take another walk. Alone.

  After wreckers from another schooner joined them on their walk to town, Sam’s high spirits deserted him.

  They arrived at the grogery and filled two tables. Sam fetched a pitcher from the bar and ordered the fish special. “And hurry, can you?”

  Liam slapped his shoulder. “What’s yer hurry? Have a beer to wet yer whistle.”

  Sam held his impatience in check, though not without a struggle. “I’m hungry.”

  Liam leaned toward him. “I know that look, Sam Langhorne. It’s not fish ye’re hungry for.”

  Raucous laughter filled the nearby table.

  Sam held up a hand to the bartender. “Keep an eye on this one. He’ll drain your kegs if you let him.”

  “Ye’ll be helping me, won’t ye?” Liam teased.

  Sam resigned himself to a lengthy verbal sparring. “Not tonight. I have to catch up on my reading.”

  “Really? What are ye reading, now?” He bellowed with a theatrical flair, capturing all the men’s attention.

  Any attitude beyond casualness would invite further teasing. “The newspaper my brother sent.” He winked at Jahner, who guffawed.

  Liam widened his eyes. “It contains urgent news, does it?”

  “I won’t know unless I read it, will I?” Sam gulped his beer.

  The cook set Sam’s plate before him, and other men called out their orders. A reprieve, however temporary.

  Looking at each man around the table to engage his audience, Liam said, “I thought perhaps ye might be payin’ a visit to a certain little lady.”

  The men sing-songed a low oooo in concert. Now Sam would have no peace. He shoveled a forkful of fish into his mouth and chewed fast.

  “Which one?” asked Jahner.

  “Not Joanna Lavery, is it? Because I intend to visit her myself.” The smile left Adam Stroh’s face, and he lifted his mug to his mouth.

  “No,” Liam teased. “She’s younger. And prettier.”

  Lipp Reichert turned to Liam. “The companion of the hag?” The crew of The Brilliant still laughed about the older woman’s constant moaning.

  Jasper’s clipped Bahamian accent cut above the din. “Olivia Collins. Isn’t that her name?”

  “She’s something.” A faraway look haunted Jacob Preston. “A bit feisty.” The younger man, a crewman from The Brilliant, drained his ale.

  His eyes flashed too bright for Sam’s liking. “How do you know?”

  Jacob met his gaze. “I spoke to her a few times. She almost cut me off at the knees.”

  Sam recognized the hunger in Jacob’s eyes–the same hunger Liam described in his own. “She can be testy, yes.”

  “Ye’re going to visit her nonetheless.” Liam’s eyes twinkled with glee.

  “Yes.” Sam ate as hastily as he dared.

  Jahner laughed. “You always did love a challenge, Sam.”

  “The higher the challenge, the greater the reward. Eh, Sam?” Liam nudged him.

  “You’ll get no reward from her.” Bitterness edged Jacob’s tone.

  Sam grunted in agreement, eying the boy warily. Jacob would vie for Livvie’s affections again. Of that, Sam was certain.

  After he finished his meal, Liam insisted on buying a round of whiskey. Not Sam’s drink of choice, but he couldn’t refuse. Not the first, at least. Liam poured a second before Sam had the chance to decline.

  The sunlight faded from the sky. Sam drained his glass and turned it over on the table. “That’s it, I’m done.”

  “Off so soon?” Liam said in mock surprise.

  He’d have been off sooner if it weren’t for his friend. H
e smacked Liam’s shoulder. “See you in the morning.” The whiskey hit him while he walked. His gut burned, and his nerves went fluid. He needed a good splash of cold water. And fresh clothing. He would take care of the rest himself.

  Chapter Eight

  The light shifted through the bedroom window, fading as the sun dipped lower. Livvie moved her chair closer so she could read the newspaper without lighting a lamp, but the words on the page scarcely penetrated her thoughts.

  Where was he? Had he forgotten? Or had he stopped at the grogery to carouse with his mates? Her father had warned her that a lady could never depend on a man to keep his promise. Sam Langhorne was living proof.

  The three knocks at the front door echoed up the stairs to her room and set her heart to pounding. She folded the newspaper and stood to smooth her hair in front of the mirror.

  Downstairs, Florie lumbered through the hall, mumbling. The door creaked open, and Florie’s voice mingled with Sam’s. Livvie hurried back to her chair and pretended to read. Footsteps thudded up the stairs, and Florie stood in the doorway. “Mr. Langhorne’s downstairs for you.”

  Livvie affected a look of surprise. “Oh, thank you, Florie. I’ll be right down.”

  Hesitating, Florie glanced at Livvie’s newspaper and smiled. “I’ll tell him.”

  After she’d gone, Livvie realized she held the newspaper upside down. She threw it on the bed and followed the housekeeper down the steps. “Never mind, Florie. I’ll tell him myself.”

  Sighing, Florie headed to the kitchen.

  Sam stood peering at the painting on the opposite wall. Turning, his face lit up. “Good evening, Livvie.”

  She affected a lofty air. “Mr. Langhorne. You always seem to be in the dark.”

  He stepped toward her. “It does appear to be the case.”

  “Let’s go sit on the porch where it’s cooler.” Away from prying gazes. She opened the front door. “Did you bring Barnaby?”

  “Not tonight, no.” He followed her to the bench and sat beside her. “He stayed aboard.” His breath smelled of whiskey.

  “I see.”

  His mouth spread in a lopsided smile. “We all share him, though he belongs to Captain Howe. So I have the night to myself.” He studied her while he spoke.

  “I understand.” She’d assumed incorrectly that he owned the dog. Barnaby appeared so taken by Sam. Apparently, he thought a dog would infringe on his freedom. Barnaby had misplaced his loyalties. She wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  His smile filled his face. “I had a feeling you would.” He eased closer, his gaze intent on her.

  She drew away. “I meant I’m very sad for you.”

  His brows twitched. “Why?”

  She held back a laugh. “You cannot even commit to a dog.”

  His eyes blazed. “That’s not so–”

  “Can I get you a glass of lemonade?” She moved further down the bench.

  “No, thank you.” He inched closer.

  The heat of the evening amplified the stench of alcohol emanating from his breath.

  “I hope you didn’t interrupt your evening for me,” she said.

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  “I wondered whether you’d forgotten. You’ve been drinking, apparently.” She gazed down the street, where lamplight flickered in windows of the houses lining it, interrupted by sparse trees. The halting strains of a piano sounded, probably a child practicing.

  “Liam–Mr. Byrne–insisted on buying rounds at dinner.”

  Typical of a man to blame another for his own actions. She glanced away, disappointed.

  “A friend of yours was there,” he added.

  Confused, she searched his face—a mask of innocence. “A friend of mine?” Her friends lived in New York, not here.

  “Jacob Preston.”

  From his tone, she should know him. No one came to mind. “Who?”

  His gaze pierced hers. “A crewman from The Brilliant. He said he’d spoken to you several times.”

  She sensed anxiety beneath his light tone–in the way he held himself so still, awaiting her response. “I don’t know who you mean.”

  Inclining his chin, he watched her lips. “Young, a bit cocky. Handsome, or so he likes to think.”

  “Oh, yes.” He hadn’t introduced himself, only stepped in her path wearing a confident smile. She’d made quick work of his conceit and hadn’t given him another thought. She didn’t include cockiness among the traits she admired.

  Sam straightened, his pleasant demeanor turned serious. “So, he did speak to you?”

  “Briefly, yes.” She searched his face. “Why?”

  His breathy laugh held no humor. “He’s not to be trusted.”

  “Trusted how?”

  He bent toward her and lowered his voice. “He has a terrible reputation. If I were you, I would—”

  “Thankfully, you are not me.” Men could sometimes be worse gossips than women, turning on one another like dogs in a pack of strays. Yet, let one catch a scent, and they all headed off together. “And I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

  “I’m sure you are. However, you’re unfamiliar with people here.” His tone reminded her of her father’s partner’s when he intimated how lucky she would be to have him for a husband.

  She bristled. “And you intend to set me straight, I suppose?”

  He chuckled. “Well….”

  Standing abruptly, she stepped to the rail. “You presume too much, Mr. Langhorne.” He had no right to decide with whom she kept company, or called a friend. Must every man, even one of little means, be so controlling?

  The sparkle left his eyes. “I’m only looking out for your best interests.”

  “Yes, I’m sure it’s what all men tell themselves.” Indignity prickled the small hairs along her neck. Saving her life allowed him no additional privileges. She owed him nothing beyond courtesy, and now, perhaps not even that. She tilted her head. “I wonder what advice Mr. Preston might give me about you.”

  His lips thinned. “Surely you’ve no intention of asking such a question.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “And why not?”

  His nostrils flared as he stood. “Careful what games you play, young miss. And with whom.”

  Anger swirled her blood faster at his condescending tone. “It’s late. I’m going inside. I’m sure you can catch up to your drinking partners if you hurry.”

  His eyes flashed in the gathering darkness. “Yes, and they’re more companionable.” He descended the steps without bidding further adieu.

  She stomped inside and slammed the front door behind her. The audacity! Men believed they were granted the power to control women, to decide who was an acceptable social partner and who was not. She would renew her previous caution regarding men in general, and Mr. Langhorne in particular. No man would decide the least detail of her life without her permission.

  Chapter Nine

  Pale stars faded into the lightening skies, a blaze of orange and gold rimming the horizon. Standing at The Florida’s bow, the breeze washed over Sam as he scanned the reef for any sign of a distressed ship on their morning patrol. Heat would thicken the air soon enough. He loved this time of morning, when the world was still and the day was new.

  Usually, anyway. If today ended anything like the past four days, it promised to be aggravating, lengthened by repeated reflection on his last conversation with Livvie. Such a headstrong girl. Likely to get herself in trouble. He would have been glad to be the one to help her find trouble, yet each time he remembered her stubbornness, anger overtook him again. He crawled to no woman, especially one so obviously lacking in female skills. Owing to her sparse experience, her writing must pale in comparison to reality. Even fiction required a basis in truth. Another thing she knew little about, apparently.

  Why should her deviousness surprise him? In his experience, all women resorted to their own strategies to get what they wanted. But what did she want? A
pparently not him. The idea stung him more deeply each time it came.

  He grew distantly aware of a presence beside him.

  “Stop brooding.” Liam leaned his elbows on the rail. “Ye’re depressing even me.”

  Sam set his boot atop a nearby crate. “I’m not brooding. I’m thinking.”

  His friend grunted. “Don’t think too hard. Ye look about ready to strain yerself.”

  “No chance.” The knot in Sam’s mind loosened. Liam’s easy nature always had such an effect. “Besides, I don’t believe it’s possible to depress you.”

  “Not today. Not when we’ll be having sand fish.”

  “True, mate.” A delicacy, to be sure. If he couldn’t have one sort of delicacy, he’d indulge in another. Their planned trip to Sand Key this afternoon would ease his tangled thoughts.

  The Florida set course for shore. Sam leaped to the dock and tied the boat to its post. A girl in a blue dress at the edge of the dock caught his attention. A breeze blew her golden hair behind her shoulder as she turned.

  Livvie.

  His heart leapt against his ribs.

  She met his gaze and looked away uncertainly.

  Sam called over his shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” He strolled toward her. “What brings you to town?” After their last exchange, he was certain it wasn’t him.

  She clutched the handle of her basket. “Running errands for Mrs. Crowell. It’s such a beautiful day. I couldn’t bear to be inside.”

  Errands in town. He wouldn’t ask what led her to the docks–to do so would tempt another outburst. “Captain Howe has invited several people to supper at Sand Key. Why don’t you come along?”

  Barnaby bounded from the schooner and down the dock.

  She bent to scratch his head. “Hello. Are you sailing today too?”

  “Yes, we can’t leave our mascot behind.” Perhaps Barnaby could convince her, if Sam could not.

  She stood, cupped her hand over her eyes and scanned the horizon. “Where is Sand Key?”

  Not an outright “no,” at least. “It’s a beautiful island. If the wind is strong, it’s less than an hour’s sail.”