by Cate Masters
“I’m sure I will be. Thank you. Enjoy your turtling expedition.”
The yearning in her voice made him long to invite her. Maybe some night when Mrs. Crowell wasn’t hovering like an old crow.
The proprietress waited until he descended the porch stairs. “Good night, Mr. Langhorne.”
He paused to touch two fingers to his forehead in salute. Once she turned, he smiled and winked at Livvie.
Her face flushed and she smiled.
Mrs. Crowell croaked, “Are you coming along, Miss Collins?”
“In a moment.”
He walked backward, and she watched. The further he walked, the stronger the urge washed over him to return to her.
All in good time. Only that thought allowed him to turn, finally, and stride to town.
Chapter Twelve
Liam hunched over the bar and slammed the shot glass on the counter. “Another whiskey.”
Sam clasped his shoulder. “You started without me.”
“Did ye expect otherwise?” Liam surveyed him like something looked different. “Where have ye been, my boy?” He lifted the refilled glass to his lips.
Sam leaned onto the counter and signaled the bartender. “I paid a visit to Miss Collins.”
Sputtering, Liam set down his glass. “Miss Collins again?”
“Yes. She’d exposed herself the other day. I wanted–”
“Exposed herself, eh? Ye told me ye only walked her home.” Liam nudged his elbow into Sam’s side.
Sam’s thoughts were tangled enough without any help from Liam. “Her fair skin overreacted to the southern sun, as I suspected.”
“Did ye apply a special salve, eh?” Liam narrowed his eyes and arched his brows in expectation.
Sam thanked the bartender, who set an ale in front of him. He would not answer his friend’s lewd suggestion.
Liam clucked his tongue. “Ye be careful, lad. Ye’ll soon be the one who’s caught–in a soft net. Don’t be fooled. The threads of those nets never loosen.” His eyes glittered, no doubt imagining Sam’s sins.
The cool beer soothed Sam’s palate and his spirit. “No woman’s wiles have trapped me yet, my friend.”
Liam’s throaty chuckle gave Sam pause, uncertain whether his joke amused him, or some perceived blindness.
“Tonight ye’ll be safe from the reaches of all females. Finish yer ale, and we’ll be off. We’re wasting moonlight.”
Sam raised his glass. Moonlight was better spent on other pursuits besides turtling. He wouldn’t inspire Liam’s teasing by saying so. “We must fulfill Captain Howe’s promise to Mayor Worthington for venison and turtle for the feast.” He tilted the glass to his lips. Tomorrow, they would hunt Key deer–smaller than the deer up north, their meat every bit as tasty. A day in the wilds of the Keys would distract him from imaginings of Livvie. The week had been too slow, allowing too much idle contemplation. A day away would provide relief, a quiet space to renew his pledge of personal freedom. “Excellent.”
* * * *
The sloop hit the sand, and Sam, Jasper, Liam, and Jahner grabbed its sides and hauled it up the sand. The full moon lit the beach like early morning.
After the men walked a few yards, Liam pointed. “Tracks.”
“Our timing couldn’t have been better,” Jahner said. “The nest must be close by.”
They followed the indentations to a crescent-shaped mark, indicating where the turtle had swiveled, its hind shell gouging into the sand. The Conchs had taught them long ago to look for these signs, only visible before the tide or wind erased them.
“Let’s dig.” Liam dropped to his knees and scooped away sand.
Jasper grasped Jahner’s arm and looked down the beach. “Look, there’s another.”
They ran after it like wild men. Jasper ran along the water line to cut off its escape. Jahner circled behind. They set upon it, and after a struggle punctuated by shouted curses, turned it over, giving a chorus of whoops as they stood.
Sam laughed and helped Liam uncover the nest. “Impressive. Not many can turn a turtle heading for water. Let’s hope our luck is equally good tomorrow.”
“Jasper has the strength of three men. And he’s not much for humor, so I don’t test our friendship by taunting.”
Sam chuckled. “I noticed. You save your taunts for me.” His fingers found the smooth, round eggs. “Here’s the first sixty or so. How many beneath?”
After removing the top eggs, they found a second layer of more than one hundred.
“Like buried treasure, they are.” Liam cupped three in his palms. “And more to be had. Come on.” He walked toward the two men and their prize. “Careful she doesn’t get away from you–she’s trying to turn herself.”
The turtle craned its neck against the sand, lifting itself, and failing in each attempt.
“Place the coral rock beneath its head to take away her leverage.”
Jahner set the coral under the turtle to discourage any further effort to flee. They followed its trail to the nest and dug up the eggs. Jasper stood guard over the turtle while they gathered eggs.
A pang of guilt crept over Sam while they robbed the nest within sight of the flailing turtle. He never wanted to feel so helpless, so utterly beyond hope, or overwhelmed by despair that death itself was preferable to suffering through another day. When he left Philadelphia, he’d vowed never to experience that again.
The reminder washed his preoccupation of Livvie away, allowing him a night’s rest before rising early for the hunt. His renewed focus sharpened his aim as he raised his rifle to his shoulder. His bullet felled one of the three deer they brought back. Lifting the doe’s head, its light brown eye–full of accusation, innocence and beauty–seared into his brain, mingling with images of Livvie: standing so close to him on the porch, walking beside him through the streets of night. Trusting. Waiting.
“Anything wrong?” Liam looked at Sam as though he were a madman.
“No.” He lay the deer’s head down carefully. They tied its legs onto a pole. Sam made sure to take up the front so he could not see its face, only feel its weight while he walked.
Chapter Thirteen
Livvie no longer resembled a boiled lobster. Patches of white skin flaked from her arms, neck, and forehead, although Florie’s soothing balm lessened the peeling. On her walks into town, she’d noticed few others whose skin hadn’t been tinged bronze by the sun, and so felt less out of place.
When Sam arrived at her door, her heart fluttered like a swarm of hummingbirds as she descended the stairs. She wasn’t quite sure if it was because she would be free of the oppressive scrutiny of the Crowells, and the clinging whines of Mrs. Locke, or because of Sam.
Or the dance. She so eagerly anticipated tonight. Florie had helped her fix her hair, sweeping the sides up into a barrette and adorning it with three plumeria blooms. In the heat, their fragrance filled the bedroom. Mrs. Locke would think her a harlot. Livvie giggled. Let the old woman think what she would. Tonight, Livvie intended to dance.
Florie opened the door. He’d taken obvious pains to comb his hair and wear good clothes, and his gaze went immediately to Livvie, oblivious to anyone else. He crossed the threshold the instant her foot touched the landing, as if he sensed her eagerness. Or felt it himself.
Mrs. Crowell stepped into the hallway and raised her chin. “These affairs can be rather raucous. Take good care of Olivia.”
His sideways glance sent a shiver through Livvie. “I will, Mrs. Crowell. Have no fear.”
“Good night.” She swept out the door before the woman could say another discouraging word.
He laughed and caught up to her. “Reserve some energy for dancing, Livvie.”
“You will dance with me, won’t you?” She had energy to spare. If she didn’t exhaust it dancing, she feared the headiness of the evening would cause her to lose her head–or worse.
“Of course.” His mouth opened in a half-smile.
“Then worry about your own stamina
. I can dance till morning.”
His gaze crawled across her appraisingly while they walked. “May I say you look especially lovely tonight?”
She straightened her shoulders. “Yes, you may.” To distract his attention from her faded dress, she held her head high and exuded the grace of a princess. Tattered royalty she may be. In Key West, few people truly judged. Oh, they wagged their tongues for sport, but even Mrs. Crowell turned a blind eye to the goings-on in town, for the most part. Livvie suspected the woman’s stated concern sprung from a business, rather than personal, nature. Patronage at the boarding house might suffer if one of its guests came to harm.
“I’m happy to return the compliment.” She forced herself to look ahead, sensing his intense attention. His dark eyes could draw her in too easily, distract her toward musings best ventured into after solemn vows. Silently, she pledged to end the evening with her honor intact.
Key West’s town hall doors were thrown wide to the evening. Music mingled with laughter to echo through the streets. Lanterns strung from posts added to the festive air.
“Sounds like there’s quite a crowd.” Her insides twinged, imagining herself in his arms–soon to be not a dream, but very real.
Sam matched her stride. “I expect everyone in town will be here.”
“Except Mrs. Crowell or Mrs. Locke.”
He took her arm as they neared the doors. “Thank heaven for small favors.”
“Oh, it’s marvelous.”
Men and women moved in pairs across the dance floor while others stood at the edge, clapping or cheering. Not the sober, somber dances of New York. Skirts swirled, feet flew to the merry rhythm of the accordion and violin. Although she’d never before witnessed such dances, she longed to try them.
Sliding his arm around her waist, he pulled her into the crowd. “Let’s dance.”
“I don’t know how.” Despite her protest, she entwined her fingers in his.
He drew her close, his mouth at her ear. “Then you’ll learn.” He swept her onto the crowded dance floor.
Not even attempting to mask her pleasure, she laughed, trying to follow the other women, who whirled about, swirling around their partners. He grabbed her hand, raised it above her head, and she twirled beneath it. She followed his gentle nudges that hinted at which direction she should move. After three such dances, she had trouble catching her breath.
He held her hands, his mouth open in a smile. “Shall we sit one out? Get a drink?”
She tucked a stray strand of hair into place. “Yes. I’d love a drink.”
“Ah, there’s Liam.” He led her to the table where his mate sat, a woman draped about his shoulders.
Liam’s companion flashed a provocative smile. “Hello, Sam.”
When Sam held out a chair, Livvie sat. “Millie, this is Olivia Collins.”
Livvie nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”
Sam leaned over Livvie’s shoulder. “What would you like to drink?”
Even in the heat of the night, his breath felt warm and sweet on her face. She might rather gaze into his dark eyes a little longer. “I don’t know. Is there any punch?”
Millie tittered, whispering in Liam’s ear.
Sam chuckled. “I’ll see if there’s any.” He straightened. “Anyone else?”
Millie held out her glass. “You know what I like, honey. Whiskey.”
Livvie couldn’t help staring. Millie hardly looked old enough to drink whiskey, let alone flirt with a man easily twice her age.
“Are ye enjoying yer stay in Key West?” Liam asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“You leaving soon?” Millie leaned her elbow against Liam’s shoulder. Her cool gaze cut through the humid night.
A stubbornness came over Livvie. She could inform this brazen girl she’d likely be gone within weeks. Millie would have to wait for Sam awhile longer. “I’m not sure. It all depends.” On what, she’d not reveal.
Arching a brow, Millie’s eyes narrowed.
In smug satisfaction, Livvie leaned back against her chair.
Sam walked through the throng, balancing two smaller glasses against a tall beer mug, conversing amiably with those he passed. Throughout, he kept his gaze on her, like a guiding star.
A feeling rose within Livvie, the likes of which she’d never experienced. She might have been reeling him in, drawing him toward her. The lights, the noise, the crowds faded away. Sam approached, his gaze locked on hers. She had the sensation of being underwater again. Everything else seemed in a haze, fading from existence.
He placed the drinks on the table. When he finally sat beside her, the sensation heightened as his hand swept lightly across her back.
“Sip it slowly, Livvie. It’s a little stronger than you’re used to.” He ducked his head, his look stern, like she were a schoolgirl.
The tang of the drink refreshed her palate. “It’s delicious. What’s in it?”
“Jamaican spirits, mainly–along with caracoa, eggs, some other ingredients. It’ll sneak up on you if you’re not careful.”
Millie’s high-pitched titters cut through the music. “Drink up, sweetie. It’s good for what ails you. Or perhaps you, Sam. I’d wager the young miss will be paying a visit to Conchtown tonight.”
With a leering smile, Liam murmured in her ear as his hand crept across her waist along the bottom of her breast.
Tensing, Livvie forced her gaze to the dance floor. She gulped the last of her drink as she stood. “Let’s dance.”
“In a minute.” Sam rested his elbows against the tabletop.
She pulled on his sleeve. “Sam.”
His resolute smile did not match his clipped tone. “I’d like to finish my drink.”
Millie’s sultry gaze went to Sam while Liam nuzzled her neck. “Sam, the lassie wants you.”
Livvie shot her a hateful look. Millie smiled, the gleam in her eye equally loathsome.
Sam tilted the glass to his lips. “I said in a minute.” He patted the chair. “Sit.”
Bile rose in Livvie’s throat. No man commanded her like a dog. “I’m getting another drink.” Turning too quickly, she bumped a chair. Millie’s lilting giggle fueled her anger.
Sam would follow any minute, as she’d asked. She was sure of it. She couldn’t endure Millie’s vile presence any longer.
At the punch bowl, she refilled her glass, gulped it down, all the while stealing glances at the table where Sam sat. The men were engrossed in conversation, while Millie appeared more interested in Livvie’s whereabouts.
Livvie sipped until she’d emptied her glass. She refilled it again. The dancers all looked so graceful, so exhilarated by one another. The thrill of feeling Sam’s touch upon her had been too fleeting. Likewise his attentions.
A young man strode toward her, his eyes bright. “You look lonely.”
“I am.” A glance at Sam made her regret her hasty response. She’d rather be sitting beside him.
“Care to dance?” the young man asked.
Why had Sam not followed? “I shouldn’t.”
“Why not? Maybe it will spur more attention from your escort.”
He had a point. Why not indeed? “All right, I’d love to.”
The young man guided her through the crowd to the dance floor, whirled her against him and led her in a lively dance.
She stumbled along, unable to match his movements. Other dancers bumped into her, and glared at her in disdain.
The song ended none too soon. Her head spun, and she fanned at her face. “It’s so warm in here.”
“Let’s go outside, then.” His voice buzzed at her ear, his arm clenched her waist.
The closeness of the hall made her blink, caused the lantern light to swarm. She realized she was walking, and that he held her too close. Her feet trampled atop his. His hold was too high on her waist. Pushing failed to budge it.
His voice sounded kind, even if he gripped her tightly. “You’re a wee bit unsteady, miss. Let me help you.”
“I should go back.” Where was Sam?
“Not yet.” They cleared the doorway. He dragged her sharply to the side, along the building. At the end, where the shadows were deepest, he pinned her against the wall.
Her shoulders thumped against the wooden slats. Alarm brought clarity to her head. “What are you doing?”
“I have a cure for your loneliness.” He pressed harder against her, cupping her derriere. “You don’t remember me, do you?” His face nearly touched hers when he spoke, his tone held no sweetness.
“What? No. Let me go.” She squirmed, fear building when his grip tightened.
He locked his hips against hers. “Jacob. Jacob Preston. We met a few times in town.”
Her alarm ratcheted higher. “Leave me alone.”
He thrust his knees between her legs. “Not just yet, pretty girl. I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you.” His lips raked against her neck. He hissed at her ear, “You won’t forget me again.”
Shock somehow loosened her muscles. Panic made her uncoordinated. She shoved at him. “You’re disgusting. Let me go.”
His mean laugh seared through her. Terror overwhelmed her as he tugged her skirt up. The feel of his fingers along her bare thigh made her scream, a high-pitched noise that surprised even her.
Clamping a palm tight across her mouth, he clucked his tongue. “You and I are going to spend the night together.” His grip firm, he moved behind to drag her. “You’re going to make me very happy.”
“Livvie?” Sam called.
Jacob clamped tighter against her mouth. She managed to open her lips, and widen her jaw enough to chomp into his calloused skin.
His agonized cry spurred her to action. She whirled to face him and jerked her knee upward, hard into his crotch. With a surprised grunt, he doubled over. When his grasp loosened, she stumbled away.
Footsteps thudded in the darkness. “Livvie, where are you?”
Jacob lunged for her and dragged her backward. “Stay out of this, Langhorne. She’s leaving with me.”
Sam’s outline shone against the backlighting. “Not if she doesn’t want to, Preston. If you let her go now, I’ll spare you further agony.”
