Angels, Sinners and Madmen

by Cate Masters

  Shocked, she sputtered, “But you said they’re free men.”

  “Free,” he spat the word. “They’re still slaves to money. If they refuse to dive, they lose their jobs.”

  “How awful.” Even here, no justice existed.

  Sam pressed his lips together, his bleary eyes wetted by tears.

  “Let’s go. I’m taking you home. You can’t sit here all night and day.”

  He turned to her, his smile lopsided. “You’re taking me home? Aren’t you afraid I’ll take advantage of you?”

  She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. To your feet.”

  He grabbed the whiskey bottle and held it up. “Empty.” He sounded surprised and devastated.

  “We’ll get you some water to drink. Maybe some coffee later. All right?” She tugged. “Up.”

  He snorted. “You’re mighty bossy.” Peering up, he swayed.

  “When I need to be, yes. Come on.” She pulled using all her might.

  Grabbing her, he struggled up from the ground.

  She toppled under his weight. “The tree. Hold onto the tree.”

  He finally managed to straighten his legs—for the most part. He belched loudly. “’Scuse me.”

  “I hope we can do this,” she said, more to herself than to him.

  He held up a hand. “One second.” He took a deep breath and straightened his spine. “Oh, never sleep against a tree.”

  “Or drink an entire bottle of whiskey.” She held his waist and chest. “Let’s try this.”

  He stumbled ahead. “Liam.”

  “What about him?” She glanced down the narrow strip of sand for a body, hoping not to see one.

  “He wanted to help me finish it off.”

  Relief washed over her. “I see. And where is Liam?”

  He swiped at the air. “Home. Hours ago.”

  “You should have gone home too.”

  “Couldn’t. Had to keep watch.”

  His shortened sentences seemed to help him focus on walking. His steadfast pace surprised her.

  “Someone else will watch now. You must rest.”

  “Yes, Livvie, dearest.” He chuckled, looking down at her, his brows knit. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m helping you home.”

  Half a smile crossed his lips. “You came looking for me.”

  Since it wasn’t a question, she didn’t deny it. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  He gasped. “Why, I’m shocked, Miss Collins. You’re a brazen hussy.”

  She flashed a weak smile at a passing man. “No more talking, Mr. Langhorne. Just walk.”

  He winced. “You won’t allow me any fun, will you?”

  “Not at my expense.”

  His feet stopped as though mired in quicksand. “I would never hurt you.”

  “Come on, Sam. Keep moving.” Her shoves were useless.

  “You know I would never hurt you, don’t you, Livvie?”

  His desperate pleading touched her, and she struggled to keep her voice even. “Yes, Sam. I know. Please walk.”

  He shuffled on. “You wound me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Their stumbling steps finally brought them to Sam’s door.

  “Do you have a key?” she asked.

  “I don’t lock it.” He reached for the door knob and pulled her inside.

  She helped him to the bed. “I’ll get you some water.”

  He clutched her skirt. “You won’t leave me, will you?”

  She peeled his fingers away. “I’m simply getting you some water.”

  His other hand grasped the fabric again. “Say you’ll stay.”

  To deny him in this sad condition would be cruel.

  She softened her voice. “Sam.” Her heart ached, seeing him so vulnerable, in such pain. She laid her palm against his cheek, and he nuzzled into it. She yearned to take him in her arms, tell him it would be all right. Instead, she gently pushed him back onto the pillows.

  He gave a long exhale and rested his forearm across his eyes.

  She untied his boots and tugged them away, then his socks.

  She poured a glass of water from the carafe on his dresser and brought it to him. “Here, drink a bit.”

  He raised his arm, grabbing her wrist. “Sit by me.”

  Her nerves tightened, every inch of her aware of him. “All right.” She perched at the edge of the bed, by his legs. Outside, someone called to someone else, and she tensed. If anyone were to catch her here, gossip would surely follow her. Possibly all the way to New Orleans.

  His grip tightened. “Closer.”

  She tried to hide her nervousness while she inched nearer, until he loosened his hold.

  “There.” His smile lazy, he relaxed against the pillow.

  She presented the glass. “Drink.”

  His fingers entwined through hers around the glass. “Will you kiss me if I do?” He held her gaze. His tousled hair and unshaven face should have repelled her, yet instead held a strange attraction. She found it difficult to resist him. “Not today. Your breath smells too heavily of whiskey.”

  He took the cup and rested it against his chest, studying it. His gaze flicked to hers. “If not today, perhaps tomorrow?”

  She suppressed a smile. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe.” His eyes shone, and he brought the cup to his lips. Emitting a jagged sigh, he eased down on the pillow. “Maybe.” He placed the cup on his ribs. “Events prevented me from reading your pages. I’m sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.” Her story seemed flimsy in comparison to what had transpired these past few days.

  “I intend to read them. And I will.” His eyes drifted shut.

  “I know. Get some rest.” She slipped the glass from his grasp, smoothed his hair against his forehead and eased upward.

  He grabbed her hand and dragged it across his lips.

  Her mouth dropped open at the touch of his stubbly whiskers. They scraped her skin, leaving their mark deep inside.

  “You said you’d stay.” He cradled her palm to his chest.

  “I can’t.” Despite her effort, mounting fear crept into her voice.

  His face looked as angelic as a little boy. “Just until I fall asleep. I won’t be able to sleep unless you’re here.” His gaze holding hers, he squeezed her hand.

  His sincerity melted her heart. “All right. Until you fall asleep.”

  He swallowed hard. “Good.” His eyes fluttered shut.

  Watching him lay there, a tenderness welled within her. The horrors of the previous day still lay evident in his knit brow, his firm grasp. Even roughened from lack of sleep, his striking features, his long-lashed eyes and full mouth, took away her breath. He was beautiful. His nose widened at the nostrils, slightly flared, sometimes giving him an annoyed appearance. She ached to trace her finger along the curve of his full lips, wishing she could feel those lips against her own. While sober, this time, so she could fully remember it. Hazy memory didn’t allow her to relive it properly beyond the overwhelming sensation. Whether caused by the drink, or Sam, she couldn’t be sure.

  She’d allowed two other boys to kiss her in her lifetime. One had less experience than she, if his slapping kiss were any indication. The second had barely touched his lips to hers before his fingers wandered too far up from her waist; she’d pushed him away, and then run. For once, she wanted to know the touch of a man who knew what he was doing, who would know how to arouse her. Unless her dreams had embroidered upon the memory, he certainly had the other night.

  He’d spoken correctly when he said her writing about relationships would be a fiction. She knew nothing firsthand, however much she longed to. Since meeting Sam, such thoughts grew to vivid imaginings, consuming all ration and reason.

  Sam clutched her like a lifeline, his strong grip warming her.

  The feelings rising up were unlike any she’d ever experienced. While his breath evened out, hers grew more rapid. Alone, in his cabin, she could touch him. He might never realize
it. Her fingers fluttered across his chiseled chest, to his navel.

  He turned his head. The sound he gave–half moan, half sigh–sounded an intimate signal, inviting her to curl next to him. His breathing deepened. When his shirt fell open, his revealed skin aroused more than her curiosity. The fabric of his trousers clung to his contours, the bulge curving down one leg evident.

  Ever so lightly, she traced along its curved edge. It thickened and hardened, changing her fear to a heady thrill.

  What on earth was she doing?

  A loud snore snapped from him as he rolled away, releasing her.

  She was free.

  She told herself to leave now, before she allowed herself to get into deeper trouble than she’d ever known.

  The narrowness of his waist invited her touch, her kiss to his hip. Oh, such sweet trouble it would be.

  Easing from the bed, she pressed her lips to his forehead. “Sleep well, Sam.”

  Opening the door, she paused to look at him. How easy it would be to stay.

  Footsteps outside reminded her of the precarious situation. She shut the door until they passed, glancing out the window before opening it again.

  “Maybe tomorrow, Sam.” The door clicked shut behind her. She cut down a side path to the next street and headed home.

  * * * *

  Time had stretched immeasurably since Livvie had left this morning. She walked to the kitchen house, where Florie sang in loopy rhythm. The cook would be able to give her an idea of the time and whether anyone had asked after her.

  She pushed open the door. “Hello, Florie.”

  Florie’s smile quickly faded. “Miss Collins. Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

  Narrowing her eyes, Florie appraised her. “You look different somehow. Did something happen?”

  “No. I ran into Mr. Langhorne. He was rather ill. I had to get a friend to bring him home.” Her earlier feeling of treading in precarious territory returned. This subject could only lead to more questions. She had to change it. Now. “He’d been waiting all night for the ship’s captain to signal for help. Apparently they never did. At least all of the twenty wreckers who were blinded survived. Such terrible news.”

  Florie’s sharp gaze penetrated uneasily. “Mmm. Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

  The woman’s uncanny senses picked up on Livvie’s excitement.

  “I’m disturbed to hear such awful tidings, of course. Has Mrs. Crowell been out?”

  “Yes. It’s nearly lunchtime. You missed breakfast.”

  “I wasn’t hungry.” Although her stomach fluttered, her hunger was definitely not for food.

  “You’re not going to eat? I made a special chicken salad, very light and delicious.”

  Livvie could always divert the cook’s attention by speaking of food. “Yes, I’ll have lunch. May I assist you?”

  Florie waved a dish rag at her. “No, you’ll get me in trouble with Mrs. Crowell again. You go on inside and wash up.”

  Walking up the stone path, everything looked different. Florie was right. She felt far removed from the girl who’d left a few hours earlier, as if another dimension had opened to her. She had glimpsed that which so many authors wrote with such authority. The key now was to learn to navigate the new territory.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pounding on the door startled Sam from sleep. He jerked upward. The pounding in his head worsened.

  “Go away.” He fell back to the pillow.

  The door muffled Liam’s rough voice. “If you want to keep your job, you’ll get up now. Awake or no, we’ve work to do.” Muttering, he added, “If the sorry-assed lad can’t take his liquor, he shouldn’t drink.”

  Blinking, Sam sat up. His eyes felt drier than the Sahara; an unnamable ick lined his mouth. “Liam.”

  “What?”

  Rolling off the bed, he shuffled to the door. Outside, Liam sat on the doorstep, holding his head in his hands.

  Sam chuckled, but immediately stopped when it caused his head to almost burst. “I’m not the only one suffering.”

  “Aye, misery loves company. Let’s go.” Liam sat, unmoving.

  “I’m coming. Let me put on my boots.” He shuffled back to the bed, reaching for the spot on the floor where his boots usually sat. He found only empty air. Strange. He always set his boots exactly there, so he could find them no matter what condition he was in. When he bent further to look for them, the lightness in his head made him sway.

  Liam grumbled outside.

  “Hold on. I can’t find my boots. I don’t understand where….” Realization struck him. He hadn’t been the one to take off his boots.

  His memory of yesterday returned in bits. Livvie finding him at the beach. Helping him walk home, acting as his crutch. Sitting at his bedside. The last memory he had was of holding her hand, asking her to stay. Ah, hell. Had he really been so pathetic? Yet she had stayed.

  A wave of renewal washed over him, refreshing Sam from the inside out.

  Clattering came from the doorway. Liam lurched against the door jamb. “What in the name of all that’s good and holy are ye doing just sitting there, grinning like a fool? Have ye lost yer mind?”

  “Not my mind. Perhaps another part of me.” To say any more to Liam was to invite ridicule. “And my boots.”

  “Are ye daft? They’re right there.” He pointed.

  Sam followed his finger. “Ah. So they are.” He bent to retrieve them, and his earlier nausea hardly registered. All he felt was Livvie’s touch, her brushing away his hair, soothing his brow.

  Liam set his fists at his hips. “If ye move any slower, we’ll arrive in time to go home.”

  “Patience is a virtue, Liam.” A virtue Liam did not possess. Sam loved to remind him anyway.

  “Virtue.” Liam spat the word. “Of the seven virtues, I’ve only Prudence and Fortitude left, my boy. I never claim more.”

  “And it’s balanced evenly by the seven sins. You’re only guilty of Lust and Gluttony. Perhaps an occasional Sloth, though it’s well earned.”

  Liam set his steely gaze on Sam. The previous day’s alcohol had diluted its intensity. “Yer looking to invoke Wrath also. Yer lucky I have no energy for it today.”

  Sam chuckled and tugged on his boots. He exhaled and set his hands on his knees. “I’ve no energy for work, but I suppose we’re bound by duty.” He stood, raking his fingers through his hair.

  In walking outside, the sunlight caused them both to groan and shield their eyes.

  “All right, my friend,” Sam said. “Let’s go see whether the good captain has come to his senses and let us put his ship to right.”

  “It’s not the ship I’m worried about. It’s whether its captain will cause trouble for The Florida.”

  “Surely, he’s come to his senses by now. To send any more men below would be ludicrous. Blind men cannot salvage goods.”

  Liam growled, “The ship’s captain doesn’t care about our men. His interest lies in his contract, and his own duty to deliver the goods.”

  Sam’s legal texts held the key. “The contract was signed assuming the ship would arrive safely. All the conditions have changed since he put his signature to it.”

  Liam’s narrow-eyed look crawled across Sam. “Spoken like a man of the law.”

  “The only law I follow is common sense, which dictates valuing lives above goods. It’s the wrecker creed, is it not?” Sam hid his legal training from his colleagues. He had no desire to return to a courtroom, and even less desire to be treated differently from what he wanted to be–a wrecker.

  Liam grunted. “Aye. But the captain no doubt has his own creed and keeps to it.”

  They walked past the warehouses. The wide doors stood open, the only two men in sight idly talking. When one saw them approaching, he leaned closer to the other and whispered something.

  Sam said, “It’s unusually quiet today.”

  “Too quiet. I have an uneasy feeling.”
r />   They stepped onto the wharf. The Florida sat secured to the dock, and they climbed aboard.

  Liam asked, “What’s going on? Any word about the wreck?”

  Jahner sat on a crate, tying knots. “The Florida has been ordered to stand down.”

  Sam tensed. “What do you mean?”

  Jahner set his jaw. “The captain lodged a complaint against Captain Howe. Said he failed to fulfill his end of the bargain as Wrecking Master when he deserted, so-called.”

  “Hogwash.” Liam spat over the rail.

  “Judge Marvin signed an order against The Florida. We’re not allowed to assist any wrecking operation until he decides one way or the other.”

  “This is outrageous.” Sam balled his hands into fists.

  “Though it may be unfair, we’re bound by it.”

  Sam persisted. “Where’s Captain Howe? Has he hired an attorney?”

  Jahner shrugged. “Haven’t seen him today. I expect he’s at home.”

  The captain never sat idly. He must be doing something—meeting lawyers, reviewing the relevant documents. Something. Anything. Not merely waiting for a judge to decide his fate.

  Judge William Marvin had a reputation for fairness, for the most part. Occasionally, he made unseemly decisions. After review, most were equitable. Sam had read the judge’s Treatise on the Law of Wreck and Salvage and admired his forthright interpretation. The only decision Sam ever grew angry about was Judge Marvin’s decree that the slaves on a shipwreck were property, ordering they be returned to their “rightful” owner. Rightful. As if any man could own another. The notion made Sam’s blood boil.

  “Any idea when the judge’s decision is due?” Sam asked.

  Jahner shook his head. “The first mate said to keep The Florida in top shape until we get word. Once we get the go-ahead, we sail straightaway.”

  “If we get the go-ahead.” Something didn’t feel right. All too often, justice was determined by who had the better connections, and the fuller purse, rather than adhering to its virtue.

  “All of Key West knows Captain Howe is a righteous man guided by unerring judgment.” He couldn’t understand how the judge had reached such a decision, unless it was merely a tactic to appease the ship’s captain.