Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  Sam pressed his lips together. “Ah, so you’re acquainted with the malady. Still, the Florida sun holds a greater intensity than up north.” His skin, too, had a sun-kissed glow, bringing his handsome features into relief.

  The doctor sipped from his cup. “If you need a salve tomorrow, send your servant to my office.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “The Crowell’s cook is very good at preparing ointments also.”

  “The island has a wealth of plants.” Mrs. Meade chewed daintily. She smiled politely at Sam, some unspoken suspicion in her gaze.

  Liam shoved the food around his plate. After he set it down half-eaten, the cook did not complain. Barnaby’s death robbed Livvie’s appetite as well.

  Sam and the other crew members helped Cook clean up afterwards, and then they pushed off for Key West. The evening sky’s colors faded to grey.

  Mrs. Meade smiled. “I’ll do my best to quell any gossip, Olivia.”

  She tilted her head. “Why should there be any gossip at all?” Could they only think of such small talk, after such a horrible day?

  Dr. Meade harrumphed. “Key West is a small place.” He smiled. “Luckily, you didn’t go off alone with these wreckers of reportedly ill repute.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “Their poor reputation is not deserved.”

  Captain Howe chuckled. “You’re quite right, Miss Collins. Perhaps you could inform others upon your return to civilization.”

  “Yes. Civilization.” Along with all its dear trappings. She wished he hadn’t reminded her.

  Sam leaned against the opposite side of the boat. “Don’t worry. Word will never reach your brother’s ears of our outing.”

  Liam gave a great sigh. “Many things happen in Key West of which the outside world never learns.” He hadn’t so much as grinned since the shark took the dog.

  Her heart ached to console him. Of Sam, she couldn’t quite discern his state of mind. He’d turned quiet, too, going about his tasks stone-faced.

  She leaned on the rail. Such a fateful day. Its bright promise snatched away by a shark. She shuddered to think of what might have happened had Sam not come to her rescue. If only she’d recognized the danger earlier, she might have saved Barnaby.

  The sky darkened to deep indigo. A glint caught her eye where the schooner sliced through the water. She gasped. “What’s that?”

  Captain Howe moved next to her. “That, my dear, is phosphorescence.”

  Entranced, she could not look away. “I’ve never seen anything so magical.”

  The boat stirred up the tiny light-giving sea creatures along the reef, turning the water luminous in their wake.

  The doctor harrumphed. “It’s hardly magical.”

  “To one who’s never seen it before, it is. Like you’re opening the door to a treasure beneath the glassy surface of the sea.” She would not be dissuaded from her poetic nature. At times, she held onto childish notions others her age had long abandoned. Sometimes, such as today on the beach, her childlike ignorance brought her into the path of danger.

  Still, she was glad to have a quick mind and an active curiosity that served to educate her.

  The schooner neared the wharf, and Sam helped lower the sails to secure them. Jumping onto the dock, Liam and Jahner tied the boat to its posts. As The Florida jerked to a stop, Doctor Meade climbed out. Captain Howe assisted Mrs. Meade.

  Hitching her skirt, Livvie climbed up. Sam took her arm to guide her. Though she needed no assistance, she thanked him.

  He murmured, “If you give me a moment, I’ll walk you home.”

  “All right.”

  Mrs. Meade turned to Livvie when Sam went aboard. “We would be happy to give you a ride in our carriage.”

  She gave a polite smile. “I prefer to walk, thank you.” If her reputation was to be in doubt, she could do no further harm by allowing Sam to walk her home. Although they weren’t so snobbish as New York’s society people, she much preferred Sam’s easy company to theirs.

  “Thank you again, Captain, for a lovely outing.” Mr. Meade shook hands with the captain, who bowed to Mrs. Meade.

  Bidding good night, Livvie stood on the dock, gazing out over the sea.

  The conversation between Sam and Liam was unintelligible, but their easy tones conveyed their close friendship. After moving about the deck finishing their tasks, Sam followed Liam onto the dock.

  “A lovely evening to you, Miss Collins.” Liam nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Byrne. The same to you.”

  “Don’t let this scoundrel bedevil you.” Walking away, he held up a hand, whistling softly.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t,” Livvie said softly, directing her comment to Sam, approaching her.

  Cocking his jaw, he watched Liam walk away. Letting out a half-breath, half-laugh, he stood beside her.

  Facing the open sea, she sighed. “It’s incredible how calm it can be. After seeing how terrible its storms are.” A full moon hovered at the horizon, its light growing stronger in contrast to the fading daylight.

  “We have the best and the worst of weather here.” His expression proved unreadable–a mixture of appreciation, awe—and yearning.

  Livvie wondered if Sam was akin to those sailors in love with the sea, not needing a life on shore. How could any man live such a lonely life? “Tonight’s beauty almost makes me forget the ugly storm.”

  He grunted, appearing to be lost in rumination.

  They stood in silence a few moments. She shouldn’t be speaking of weather at such a time. Of course his mind was elsewhere.

  She shivered. “I suppose I should be getting back, or Mrs. Meade will inform Mrs. Crowell of my loitering.”

  He laid a hand on the small of her back as they turned toward town.

  “The old biddies gossip because they’ve nothing better to do.”

  “I’m well acquainted with gossip.” How she despised it. Along with the small-minded people who engaged in it.

  He gave her his full attention. “How so?”

  Realizing she’d given him an improper impression, she hurried to correct it. “After my mother died, my father followed rather unorthodox methods of raising me. The pastor and his wife visited often, concerned for my well-being. We were not church-goers.”

  He grunted appreciatively. “Always deemed a cry for help up north.”

  Something about his knowing look raised her curiosity. “So you’re acquainted with gossip too?”

  His face hardened for a moment, and his eyes glazed. If she’d touched a nerve, he hid it well.

  “At least in Key West, we can ignore it more easily. We wreckers are much more forgiving of one another because we’re all sinners.”

  A shiver passed over her, whether from his nearness or the night air, she didn’t want to know. “I don’t believe it.”

  He threw his head back in a laugh. “Believe it, Livvie–sinners and madmen. Oh, we’re saintly enough while we’re rescuing others, I admit. The times between shipwrecks tempt even the most angelic of us toward sin.”

  The growl in his voice gave her a thrill to imagine such a handsome angel sinning in the most pleasurable way. She glanced away to break from his spell. “What do you do to fill the time?”

  He strolled easily beside her. “Crews patrol the reef every morning for wrecks. If there are none, we’re free to hunt, or fish, or go turtling. We sail to Havana for supplies. If the time drags on too long, fights become common.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mrs. Crowell had spoken of wreckers’ fights. Livvie had dismissed it as idle talk.

  Sam lifted his face to the stars. “Liam says he’s going to buy a plantation, get out of wrecking. He claims too many others are in it now to make it profitable.”

  “You disagree?”

  “No, I believe he’s right. More men arrive each month looking to make their fortune. Some men have centered their entire lives around wrecking. I don’t yet know if I will or not. Liam’s idea is very smart. I may have to follow it.”
<
br />   “You’d compete at farming?” Men were impossible, always aiming to best one another at everything they did.

  “Not at all. I’d plant alternate crops. There are plenty of possibilities.”

  “Would you miss the wrecking life?” Perhaps the labor of farming would yield greater reward, or at least a more lasting satisfaction.

  “It’s gotten in my blood, but many things can satisfy a man’s soul.” He leaned his head toward hers.

  She stifled a grin. Sam was never one to miss a taunt, to try to instill in her the recklessness he must feel. Safest not to acknowledge it. “So do you think you’ll get another dog?”

  He inhaled sharply. “It’s up to the captain.”

  “What about you?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You loved Barnaby. Surely you’ll miss him.”

  He stiffened. “I’m sure we all will.”

  “Why not get a dog for yourself?”

  “What? No. It’s not possible.”

  “Of course it is.” She found it hard to believe he hadn’t considered it. The way he coddled Barnaby, fed him, petted him–he must have loved him.

  “No,” he said sharply, and then softened his tone. “Let’s not discuss it any further.”

  His rebuke stung. “I’m sorry.” Sorry he apparently considered even owning a dog too much of an intrusion on his personal life. She rubbed her arms. “The night air has a chill to it.”

  “I suspected as much.” He halted, his hand light on her arm.

  “What?” Her pulse raced.

  Moonlight dappled his face, and he stepped close. The air hung heavy with unspoken words, emotions she could not name, too tangled to sort.

  He held his palm to her cheek. “Your skin’s burned.”

  If not by the sun, her cheeks burned now at his touch. “Really, you must stop worrying. I’ll be fine.” The urge to discover the real meaning of love renewed itself. Caution struggled against it and finally restrained her.

  His hand drifted away, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

  The boarding house stood less than half a block away. Close enough to run to. Or run from without being seen.

  She shivered. “I should be going.” She turned too abruptly. “Thank you again for inviting me.”

  He gave a nod. “Thank you for joining us.”

  For a moment, she stood, her gaze locked on his. The pale glow of the lamp inside softened his features. His full lips parted when she glanced at them, her heart quickening. She imagined how he might take hold of her, his mouth insistent upon hers.

  Her voice failed her as she whispered, “Good night.”

  After rushing to the house, she hurried up the steps without looking back. Maybe Florie had spoken the truth when she said the devil himself chased after her.

  Chapter Eleven

  The morning’s sail along the reef revealed no ships in need of aid. Again. After a long night of bedeviling thoughts of Livvie, Sam needed a distraction. Even now, miles from shore, he felt drawn to her.

  Liam said something. Sam only heard the last word: think. His brain desperately needed a reprieve from thinking. He knew of no cure.

  “Well?” Liam asked.

  “What?”Sam pretended an interest.

  “What do you think? Do you want to go hunting today?” Liam set his hands on his hips. “Or perhaps we’d be in more danger in your company. You’re likely to shoot one of us.”

  “You’re mad. I’m an excellent shot.”

  “Yes, when you’re not blinded by love.” His loud cackle infected the rest of the crew to echo it.

  “If I’m not back in time, go without me.” Sam cleaned up in a hurry, and walked at a quick clip to the boarding house.

  Mrs. Crowell opened the door only a few inches, her quick gaze traveling his length displayed palpable distaste.

  “Morning, Mrs. Crowell. Is Miss Collins busy?”

  “Wait here. She’s not feeling well and may not be up to seeing anyone.” By her tone, he gathered she meant especially not him.

  He summoned his best smile. “Thank you kindly, Mrs. Crowell. I’ll wait while you ask her.”

  Her thin lips and arched eyebrow signaled disapproval. Her husband made a good living as a merchant, equally profiting from the wreckers’ livelihood. Still, the woman had a ready scowl for any wrecker approaching her home. Sam hoped her tales of wanton wreckers hadn’t tainted Livvie. Enough rumors swirled from this town like schools of piranhas–warning of wreckers’ thievery, plotting against ships to cause their ruin. None of it true. Well, little of it. Sam couldn’t deny some of his crewmates lacked equal scruples for all salvaged goods. Lewis Pinder being an exception, even petty thievery seemed scarce. None would commit major crimes against others.

  The creak of the door caused him to turn. Livvie stepped onto the porch, and surprise burst from him in a laugh. He disguised it by coughing, and covering his mouth behind his hand.

  Her face, bosom, and arms glowed red like an angry sun. Her bright eyes shone like starlit amber. The sun had been kinder to her hair, which glinted gold among her honey-colored tresses, giving her an angelic appearance. An angry angel.

  She put her fists to her hips. “You needn’t hide your mirth. I know what I look like.”

  He cleared his throat. “I would never take pleasure in your pain.”

  “But you’ll relieve yourself of fault. You did, after all, warn me.”

  “I should have protected you. I share equal blame.” At her frown, he added, “More blame, since I’ve experienced the Florida sun’s effects.”

  She turned away abruptly and held the railing, her bright red skin contrasted against the white paint. “My stubbornness is to blame. I release you from any guilt.”

  The pain in her tone urged him toward her, along the rail. “I cannot forgive myself unless you allow me to make it up to you.”

  “Do you have a different salve than the awful stuff Mrs. Crowell gave me? I smell like a rotten greenhouse.”

  He sniffed. “No, not nearly so awful. I’m afraid I can’t offer anything better than Mrs. Crowell’s ointment.”

  “Then what?” She eyed him warily.

  “Come to the dance Saturday.”

  She winced. “Dance? I can barely move without flinching.”

  He kept his tone even to calm her, like a skittish filly. “You’ll feel much better by Saturday. The salve aids in healing and eases the burn.”

  Her sharp exhale told him boredom had already set in, being confined indoors. Her leg twitched in impatience, or to ease pent-up energy. If she weren’t suffering from a stinging burn, he would take her to the beach and let her unleash her energies on him.

  She pressed her lips together and stared ahead, and he knew she would accept. He did his best to hide his elation.

  Her bosom rose as she took in a breath. “Where is this dance?”

  “In the town hall. Mr. Simmendinger is a master accordion player, and Mr. Caruthers plays a lively violin also.”

  “I haven’t been to a dance in two years.” A wistfulness hung in her voice. “The only gown I have is the one I’m wearing.”

  “It’s lovely. Like its owner.” Sam’s tongue loosened uncontrollably in her presence. He made a silent vow to hold it from now on. Or put it to better purposes.

  “It’s a mended rag, torn in so many places.” She smoothed her skirt as if to erase the tears. “If only I’d been able to save my mother’s necklace. Its beautiful pearls and sapphires would steal the attention away from my shameful garment.”

  Pearls and sapphires? Hadn’t he glimpsed such a necklace in Pinder’s hands? Tomorrow, he’d ask. Bribe the weasel, if he had to. He’d love to see Livvie’s delight when he returned it to her. She might even repay him with her own special kindness.

  “No one will be looking at your gown, Livvie.” His greatest fear was that the other men would be imagining her without any garment.

  Her head snapped up. “Because they’ll be laug
hing at my bright orange skin–yes, I know.”

  Frustration exited him in a sigh. “What I meant, was your loveliness will distract them.”

  Her eyes flicked expectantly. Never a good thing. He lightened his tone. “It will be a night to remember. Good music, dancing, food. And excellent company, if you’re with me.”

  She gave a laugh. “Is that so?”

  “I will make sure you have a wonderful time, to make up for the agony you’ve suffered.” He had every hope for it. After the dance.

  “You make it difficult to refuse,” she said softly.

  He gripped the rail to keep himself from reaching for her. “Good. Then I will come by at eight.”

  “Eight? Isn’t that rather late to start?”

  “Not in the Keys. To dance any earlier might cause a lady to faint from the heat.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I have never fainted, Mr. Langhorne.”

  He smiled. “Or suffered a sunburn.” He ran a finger up her forearm, faintly grazing her skin, the heat of her rising to his touch.

  Her gaze followed the movement, and their heads inclined toward each other. Both raised their glances at the same moment. The heat from her skin was nothing compared to the heat that washed over him. If she weren’t suffering, he’d be sorely tempted to taste those parched lips, draw her flaming body to his and quench both their needs.

  At the creak of the door, she stepped away and turned.

  Mrs. Crowell glared. “Perhaps you’d care for some lemonade, Mr. Langhorne?”

  The woman’s sardonic tone discouraged him enough.

  He straightened. “No, thank you, ma’am. I must say good night.”

  “So soon?” Livvie whirled to face him.

  Her disappointment heartened him, and made him more eager for Saturday’s approach. “I’m afraid I have business tonight that cannot wait.”

  “What business?”

  Curiosity appeared to drive her question rather than prying, he was relieved to note. He could not abide a suspicious female.

  “Turtling. We hunt by moonlight.” He nodded. “I hope you’re feeling better soon.”