by Burton, Mary
Timothy’s cheeks colored with embarrassment. “What are the chances of you finding anything?”
“Poor.” But he needed to look.
He hoisted himself on board. Horace Freely, a fisherman, stood on the deck. A big man, with a round belly, he sported a full red beard. He wore a stocking cap and a pea jacket over his dark pants. His boots were scuffed.
Next to him stood Steve Jenkins. Tall and thin, he was young, not more than thirty, but his shoulders slumped—evidence of his twenty years hauling nets full of fish.
Both men look angry. Each held opposite ends of the boat’s wheel.
“You said I could have it,” Horace said.
Steve tightened his grip. “You got the wheel on the last ship.”
“What’s going on, men?” Ben asked.
Both looked up at him, surprised to see him.
“Ain’t never seen you two on a wreck before,” Horace said. “What brings you out here?”
Ben stood with his feet braced apart on the sloping ship. To his surprise, she’d not shifted much in the past couple of days. “Hoping to retrieve a few of Rachel’s belongings.”
Horace yanked the wheel out of Steve’s hands. “If she left it belowdecks, you’ll never find it.”
Steve glared at Horace. Their argument for the wheel hadn’t ended. “It’s completely flooded. I tried to swim down there myself but it’s pitch black.”
Horace and Steve couldn’t swim like many of the other fishermen. However, Ben was a powerful swimmer. After his parents had died, he had pestered Ida until she’d found someone to teach him how to swim. He’d sensed then that the ocean would always be a part of his life and he’d wanted every advantage he could muster when he dealt with her. Timothy’s ability to swim had been one of the reasons he’d okayed his hire.
Ben glanced toward the small door that led to the hold belowdecks. “I may have a look anyway.”
Horace scratched his chin. “We’ll help if you give us half of what you find.”
“Thanks, but no. Timothy and I will see to it.”
The two men nodded but neither looked happy. They wanted the bounty belowdecks and were frustrated that they couldn’t get to it.
Ben and Timothy walked to the door. Water slashed over the steps. Rays of sunshine from the cracked deck above seeped through the hallway ceiling.
Timothy squatted and looked below. He shook his head. “Where did you find Rachel?”
Ben shrugged off his jacket. “The cabin on the right.”
Timothy squinted. “A miracle you found her.”
“Aye.” Finding her had been a hurdle but he suspected keeping her would be an even greater one.
“You know if you find her money, there won’t be anything to keep her from leaving,” Timothy said.
“I want her to stay because she wants to, not because she has to.”
“And how are you ever gonna find it?”
“I’ll have a look and see if I get lucky.”
Ben took the rope from Timothy and tied one end around his waist. “If I tug on it, I’ve got a problem.”
“I’ll come after you if I feel the tug.”
Ben clamped his hand on Timothy’s shoulder. He’d not started shaving, yet in this moment he spoke like a man of great confidence. “Just pull me out.”
Rechecking the line, Ben took in a deep breath and then slipped below the water’s surface. Salt water stung his eyes and blurred his vision, but he cut through the water, knowing he’d have about a minute before he had to resurface for air. He reached the cabin easily. The door he’d chopped through nights ago still hung on the hinges.
He swam into the small cabin. Because of the angle of the ship, this side faced up. Though flooded, bits of light filtered in through the portal.
A chair floated in the corner above three wine crates. Next to the bunk, he saw the purse. It floated in the water, its mother-of-pearl beading flickering in the light.
He grabbed the purse and shoved it in his belt. He untied the rope from his waist and fastened it to each of the crates. The wine would be a welcome edition at Callie and Timothy’s wedding.
When he reached the surface, his lungs ached for air. Timothy waited for him. He’d taken off his coat as if he were ready to dive into the water.
“I thought I’d have to come in after you.”
Ben gasped in another lungful of air. “I found you a wedding gift. Tug on the line.”
Timothy pulled the rope and the three crates of wine appeared. He dragged the crates up to the top deck and pulled out a bottle. “This has the look of expensive wine.”
Ben shook off the damp water. “I think that it is.”
“Did you find the purse?”
Ben tugged the delicate bag from his belt. In the sunlight he could see that it was finely made, very expensive. “Aye.”
In the handle were carved the initials R.E. Who the devil was R.E.?
“You going to open it?”
He touched the clasp with his thumb, rubbed his finger over the engraved lettering. “I’m tempted, but no, I won’t open it.”
“Yeah, but how are you going to find out anything more about Rachel if you don’t open it?”
“I’ll wait until she tells me.”
Rachel stood on the beach as Ben and Timothy rowed the last wave in. The waves crashed around them as they hopped out of the boat in the knee-deep water and pulled the dory to shore. Boxes filled the boat.
She hugged her shawl around her shoulders. Ben’s hair was wet as were his pants and the shirt under his jacket. A jolt of worry snapped through her body.
Rachel met them at the water’s edge. She was careful to stay out of the surf and to keep her boots dry. “What happened?”
Ben’s gaze caught hers. Dark and hot, it sent rivulets of desire through her. “No, trouble,” he said. “Just doing a bit of scavenging.”
Timothy grinned. “He found three cases of wine on the Anna St. Claire. Said me and Callie could use them for our wedding.”
She glanced at Ben, wondering why he’d venture to the ship. “What a wonderful gift for you.”
Timothy picked up a crate. “Is it any good?
Rachel lifted a bottle. “Ah, yes, this is very fine indeed. It’s a French red. The year is excellent and you’ll find the taste not too sweet or bitter.”
The boy shrugged. “I’m an ale man myself.”
Rachel knew fine wines, Ben mused. Another detail to add to his meager collection of information he knew about her. “Why don’t you get those boxes up to the boathouse?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. Be back in a minute for the others.” He hurried away.
Ben pulled the boat away from the surf.
“You found the wine in the captain’s cabin,” Rachel said.
“Sitting right there by the bunk without a one broken.”
“When you spoke of the scavengers before, there was an edge of distaste in your voice. You’re not the kind of man that goes back for a case of wine.”
He unloaded the two remaining cases and set them on the beach. “I didn’t go back for the wine.”
“Then what?”
He reached under his coat and pulled out her purse. He laid the purse in her hand. “This.”
“Why would you take such a risk?”
“I’m assuming there were no trunks to be found in the hold of the ship.”
She fingered the mother-of-pearl design. “No, there weren’t.”
“Then you hold all the connections to your past.”
“Why?”
“You’ve a chance for a fresh start now, Rachel.” His expression was unreadable. “Didn’t you say it had all your money?”
“Yes, it does.”
He moved closer to her. “Open it.”
Tearing her gaze from his, she snapped open the purse. Tucked inside were the wet bills and the volume of poems her mother had given her.
He glanced at the purse. “It should all dry in the sun.”
Tears sprang in he
r eyes. “This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He lifted his gaze to hers. They’d darkened with an unreadable emotion. Slowly he leaned forward until his lips almost touched hers. “I want you to stay,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But I want you to have a choice.”
He brushed a curl from her face. Her smooth skin felt so good against his skin. For a moment they stood on the shore, her skirts moving in the breeze, flapping around his legs. He cupped her face in his hand.
Ben leaned his head forward. He was going to kiss her.
She didn’t pull away. The kiss was gentle and undemanding yet it rattled his senses. His body craved more.
She pulled back. “What do you want from me?”
“Stay for a while. Let’s see what there is between us.”
She twisted one of the shawl tassels around her finger. “I can’t make promises to you and I don’t want you to make any to me in return.”
A smile tipped the edge of his lips. “My promises come with no strings and I give them as I see fit.”
As the sun dipped into the horizon twenty miles north on the tiny Virginia costal town, orange-red light splashed over the piers jutting out from the mainland into the ocean. The fishermen, returning from their twelve-hour day at sea, were in good spirits. The catch had been unusually high.
All the boats had returned to port except one— Marcus Smith’s. He’d gone out farther today than the other fisherman because he’d wanted to double his catch.
A few fishermen had started to whisper that Marcus might have run into trouble. Boats capsized and fisherman died on clear days.
However, Marcus’s older brother didn’t listen to the whispers. He had already unloaded their catch for the day. His stomach grumbled and he wanted to get home to his wife. But the brothers had made a pact years ago—they went home together each night.
When Sam spotted Marcus’s boat sails, it was past five o’clock. His brother waited until the fishing boat scraped alongside the dock and he could see with his own eyes that his brother faired well until he released a sigh.
“Ahoy, there,” Marcus called. “I’ve found a man!”
The fisherman didn’t hurry. Sailors had been found before floating in the ocean. The Atlantic’s graveyard claimed many a tall sailing ship.
Sam strode to the end of the dock. Hands on hips, he looked down and studied the man lying in the bottom of the boat on a pile of fish. “Is he dead?”
Tying his boat to the pier, Marcus shook his head. “Wasn’t the last time I looked.” He nudged the large man with the tip of his boat. “Takes up too much space, if you ask me. I could’ve caught more fish if I hadn’t found him.”
Seaweed coated the unconscious man’s black beard and his blue jacket now torn at the shoulder. He coughed and sat up with a jerk.
The stranger swung at Marcus’s booted foot. “Merde. God’s curse on you all!”
The brothers nodded. “Alive.”
Marcus poked the man again. “Fine talk. I just hauled your worthless ass out of the water.”
The man spit. “I might as well be at the bottom. My ship’s gone.”
Marcus’s back ached and he had little patience. “Ships are lost in these waters all the time. You should have been more careful.”
Sam offered a hand to the stranger. He wanted to be done with him. “What’s your name?”
The man accepted it and climbed up onto the pier. “LaFortune. Captain LaFortune.”
Chapter Ten
An hour later Rachel stood on the back porch, watching Ben stride toward the boathouse. Cold sea spray misted her face. The wind flapped her skirts.
His sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms. Muscles bunched and strained as he shoved the boat into the boathouse. The boat looked heavy, yet he moved it with ease.
He’d sent her back to the cottage promising to meet her inside soon. She’d wanted to stay on the beach but understood he had work to do…and she needed to keep her distance.
She glanced down at the soaked purse. Deep conflicting emotions ran through her body.
Ben had given her a gift more valuable than diamonds.
Her father would never have considered him as a suitor. In fact she wouldn’t have, either, two years ago. In those days money and social position had seemed so important. She’d learned since then that money and smooth manners could hide a lot of sins.
However her sentiments for Ben went beyond gratitude. He evoked emotions she could not quite define. Seductive and dangerous, warm and tender, her newfound feelings left her afraid and excited.
Like it or not, she cared for him.
Ben tied the boat down and closed up the shed door, taking care to secure the lock. Before Rachel, he’d have spent the several hours before his shift working. Now, he wanted to spend the time with her.
He saw her standing at the kitchen window. Walking faster, he moved across the yard and into the house. Anticipation warmed his blood. The aroma of coffee greeted him.
“You must be frozen to the bone,” she said. She stood by the stove peering into the large coffeepot.
The wind had blown her hair free of the ribbon at the nape of her neck, leaving wisps framing her face. The shorter style suited her. She looked much younger. Carefree almost.
For the first time, the cottage felt like home. “I’m used to the cold. Is that coffee?”
“It’s the same from this morning but I’ve managed to warm it. Though it’s so strong you might need a take a fork and knife to it.”
“That kind of coffee builds character.” He saw the purse lying on the table. His gaze scanned the initials on the handle. R.E. “You should open the bag. Let the bills dry.”
She nodded. “You’re right. I’d meant to open it, but it took me longer than I thought to stoke the fire to heat the coffee.”
He accepted the cup she offered. His fingers brushed hers. “Have you ever laid a fire in a stove before?”
“No,” she said, laughing. “Luck led me to the kindling trap and glowing embers.”
He watched her move to the table. He waited, expecting something. What that something was, he couldn’t say.
She pulled out the roll of bills and a small leather-bound volume. She reached not for the bills, but for the book. Salt water stained the leather-bound cover and the pages had all but dissolved into each other. Gently she opened the book. It was ruined.
Rachel tipped back her head. To his surprise he saw tears pool.
“What is it?” he said.
“A book of poems.” She wiped away a tear.
He stared at her, baffled by her sadness. “Your money seems to be all here.”
“Yes.”
Any practical-minded woman would see that the money was paramount. “You’re crying.”
She turned her face from his. “I’m not.”
He laid a land on her shoulder. “I don’t know much about women and their emotions, but I know crying when I see it. What’s wrong?”
“I’m being silly. It’s just that I loved this book.”
He glanced down at a soggy volume. “You can buy others one day.”
She gently turned a soggy page. It tore. “It wouldn’t quite be the same.”
“A book’s a book.”
“It was a gift from my mother. She gave it to me on my twelfth birthday. The cancer took her just months later.” Rachel reverently closed the book. “I’ve read a poem in the book every day since. It’s a great source of comfort. I can’t believe that I hadn’t thought about it these last couple of days.” She gently laid the book on the table. “This book was my only friend at times.”
“Why were you so alone?”
For a moment she stood silent, staring at the book, then she stared up at him, her eyes liquid sapphires. “Kiss me.”
“What?”
“Kiss me.”
He took a small step toward her, closing the gap between them. He waited, ready to back off if she looked skittish.
Ben needed no further encouragement. He tipped her chin up as he lowered his head toward hers. She closed her eyes. He hovered close to her, his lips only inches from her. Lord, but he liked just looking at her. Slowly he closed the inches between them and pressed his lips to hers.
She tasted sweet. Like nectar. And he quickly discovered that one chaste kiss would never be enough. He banded his hand around her waist and gently pulled her close. He deepened the kiss. She melted against him, her arms wrapping around his neck.
He struggled to keep a rein on his desires. He wanted nothing more than to take her to his room and drive into her.
She rose up on tiptoes, sliding her long fingers into his hair.
He hugged her closer to him. He coaxed her lips open with his tongue and explored the soft folds of her mouth.
A soft, mewing sound rumbled in her throat. His body hardened in response. He’d never wanted a woman more than Rachel.
But the mysteries surrounding Rachel hovered in his mind. He wanted to pretend the past didn’t exist but the unknown cut through the haze of desire. His body still raged for her, but his mind rebelled.
As much as he wanted her, he sensed if he took her now he’d lose her.
He broke the kiss.
He kept his hands on her narrow waist, but put a few inches between them. He stared at her closed eyes and her lips still moist from the kiss.
Her eyes fluttered open. Embarrassment colored her cheeks when she realized he was staring at her. Slowly, she unwound her hands from around his neck. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” His voice sounded ragged.
“Then why did you stop? Am I not good at this?”
Dear Lord, didn’t she realize she had the power to make his knees weak? “I want you to kiss me because you want to, not because you’re trying to shut me up.”
She blinked stunned. “I wasn’t—”
“You were,” he interrupted. “And I happily obliged. But it won’t work next time, Rachel. Next time I ask a question about your past, don’t substitute answers with kisses.” Without another word he left.
