by Sandra Jones
“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”
“Pardon?”
Jeremiah cleared his throat and braced his elbows against his knees, studying her. “I’ve watched you disappear into your thoughts off and on all evening. You’re thinking about Captain Campbell.”
“You’re mistaken.” She pasted on a smile.
He shook his head. “When Frederick and I boarded the Queen Helen today the captain was up there at the helm”—he pointed skyward—“staring daggers at me before he stalked away. Not the welcome I expected after everything he did for us.”
“Yesterday was hard on us all with Quintus’s death and—”
“Naw. That’s not it.” Jeremiah stood. “When we left Posey Hollow, all you could think about was getting to that school. Tomorrow the Queen is headed north, and the captain expects us to take the passage there, along with his friend from Chicago. If going to that school in Peoria ain’t what you want to do anymore, you better let someone know what it is that you really want.”
Facing the sunrise, Rory sat on the riverbank, watching the Queen Helen’s giant red wheel churning the water as it passed him, the decks vacant at dawn as usual. He ignored the emptiness of his chest and dragged his gaze away from the retreating boat to open the bottle in his hands. Using his folding dirk, he gouged at the cork in the neck until it came free, then he brought the fragrant wine to his lips.
“Damn, Campbell. Drinking at this hour? And wine? I always figured you were a gin man.”
Rory strangled a swallow and wiped his mouth with his fist before sending a glare over his shoulder for Kit, walking up behind him. The muscadine flavor he’d been waiting to savor failed to satisfy. His friend was right. Whiskey or rum would’ve been his first choice for the day, but Dell had given him the wine and he’d wanted something that reminded him of her…something to enjoy.
The day was too bleak to spend sober. Wine first, then on to something stronger. Moonshine, maybe. He had another gallon of that stashed away…but no, he’d left that on the Queen too.
Kit stood beside him. Arm bound in a sling and his bandaged shoulder blade visible beneath his shirt, he looked pale but not too bad. “If you don’t mind, I have Asa in the phaeton to take to the house this morning. He’s offered to make Uncle Bart a dealer’s box. Apparently Uncle Bart has been enjoying his card-playing of late.”
Asa would likely appreciate doing something useful while he waited with Rory for their next ship, but for some reason Kit’s cheerfulness struck a raw nerve. “Shouldn’t you be with your uncle assessing your new property?” Rory groused and tried another drink of the wine.
“Uncle Bart has everything managed. Besides, the packet is currently in Memphis, the Queen is now headed north, the Sultan is in New Orleans, and the Athena, the boat you’re waiting to captain, is headed this way from Natchez. Until the ships’ pilots learn of their change of ownership, that leaves only the brothel here in St. Louis for us to manage.”
Rory snorted. “You mean you and Wainwright are really going to keep the brothel?”
Kit rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m going to be the one keeping the brothel. Uncle’s with a lawyer at the place as we speak, preparing to sign it over to me.”
Any other time, Rory would’ve laughed his ass off at the thought of the pious old widower in a house of ill repute, but his soul was presently too empty to allow anything to amuse him.
“May I?” Kit reached for the bottle, but he held it away. Hell would freeze over before he shared Dell’s wine.
“What does Viv think about you being her boss?” Rory asked, hoping to distract the insolent man.
“She doesn’t. I’ve sacked her.”
“Sacked Viv?”
“She wanted to get her hands on more than the brothel, but Uncle and I weren’t interested in making any other arrangements, if you take my meaning. So she left. Besides, we’ll manage without her. We’ve got Philadelphia now, so I expect we’ll double our gambling profits if nothing else. Who needs Viv?” He shrugged.
Stunned, Rory climbed to his feet. “What do you mean, you’ve got Philadelphia?”
Kit snatched the bottle from the crook of his arm. “She came to Uncle Bart last night, said she’d like to work for him.”
“No. You lie! She’s on the Queen, bound for Peoria.” He pointed at the steamboat making its way upriver.
“It’s the gospel truth.” Kit lifted the bottle to his mouth, but Rory jerked it away, splashing the burgundy wine on Kit’s white shirt. “What, Campbell? She said she didn’t want to go to that school anymore. She’ll be fine. Someone will marry her in no time a’tall. They’re advertising for brides out West. I’m sure she’ll fetch a wealthy husband to take her away and settle down somewhere.”
“She was supposed to marry Jeremiah and become a teacher.”
“Guess she didn’t want to marry him.”
“Christ!” His heart thundered to life as if it had ceased beating until this moment. All at once, he wanted to both throttle Kit and hug him at the same time. “If she’s not on the Queen, where is she?”
Kit frowned at Rory’s clenched hand. “The brothel, I imagine.”
“Dell’s at the brothel?”
His affronted expression broke with a smile. “She’s with Uncle Bart, and it’s morning. There aren’t any customers at this hour, but even if there were, I daresay that woman can handle herself.”
Rory agreed with him on that account, but he’d never let the bastard know it.
The regal black Wainwright barouche, with its family crest on the door, stood incongruous with its surroundings in the St. Louis street outside Kit’s new brothel. A brief tour of the building had given Dell further evidence of Rory’s expertise with management. Perhaps it had been Vivienne’s touch, she acquiesced, but whichever, the place was a thriving business with content prostitutes, clean rooms, and lush furnishings. The only thing she saw that Kit could do to improve the place would be to shore up the gaming salon with more tables and dealers.
Bartholomew climbed into the carriage ahead of her, needing room to negotiate his aging joints, and Dell followed with one foot on the step when a second carriage turned their way.
Rory sat at the helm of Kit’s phaeton with Kit and Asa in the back.
Her heart gave a sad tumble seeing her beloved looking so deliciously roguish in the driver’s seat with the wind in his hair and in his rumpled charcoal suit. Compassionate as always, he drove for his wounded friend.
She glanced back at the brothel feeling a skewer of jealousy that the men would be visiting there, but it was too early for a call on the ladies, surely. And they wouldn’t bring the boy…
Looking back as Rory stopped the phaeton behind their own carriage, her gaze tangled with his. Face flushed from the ride and perhaps the altercation two days ago, he jumped down from the rig, still staring at her.
The back of her neck prickled at being held captive by his intelligent, direct gaze. She gave her heated skin a quick chafe and offered him a smile, stepping down from the barouche. “Good morning.”
Rory continued to stare as he towered over her, making her think she ought to check her scalp to see if she’d sprouted horns or perhaps had a bit of the morning’s ham wedged between her teeth.
“Well?” she snapped. His silence disconcerted her and a thread of anger wound its way through her insides. “You’re bein’ impertinent. We’ve finished our business here. If you don’t have anything to say, we’re going back to Bart’s house.”
When she put her foot on the step, he took her hand. His touch was hot, igniting her pulse with instant awareness. He ran his thumb across her knuckles. “I do have something to ask.”
She lifted her brows, holding her breath.
“Why weren’t you on the Queen today when it left?”
Her insides twisted. “I decided that wasn’t wha
t I wanted.” She lifted a shoulder, faking indifference.
His eyes closed briefly as if she’d struck him. When he reopened them, they glittered. “This is my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t brought you along…you were going to do such good things, teaching children to read. Christ, to trade that work for this!” He gestured at the brothel.
“Audacious, Campbell! I didn’t let you borrow my phaeton to come here and insult her!” Kit cried, rising out of his seat. “Philadelphia, you don’t have to listen to his remonstrations.”
Rory’s high color made sense to her now. He was angry, thinking she’d decided to work in a brothel. She tugged her hand free from him as her face went up in flames. “I’m not working here! What gave you that idea? How could you even think that?”
Rory shot a dark look at Kit, who suddenly checked his timepiece with pinched lips. Rory shifted, blocking Kit from her view, and lowered his voice. “This life of greed isn’t you. Think what you’re doing. What makes you happy? It ain’t this.”
The heaviness in her heart returned again, threatening to engulf her in another wave of pain and despair.
Matching his softer volume, she said, “Being on the river makes me happy. Always has.” It was true. Perhaps it was one reason her mother had been so adamant in telling her to stay away from the Mississippi. She’d known that Dell would be lost to the river life if she ever ventured near the waterway again.
“The lady’s going to join the crew of one of my new boats,” Bartholomew explained from the interior of the barouche. “It’s my first venture in philanthropy. She’s going to run a book delivery service to the riverfront youths.”
Rory continued to frown, and his blatant disapproval threatened to undo her. She didn’t need to explain her actions to him, but she wanted to nonetheless.
“You were right about me, Rory. You said folks like us like to take risks.” The muscles of her mouth pulled down as she fought tears. “You said, ‘It’s all we’ve got.’ And…I thought my staying around might make you happy too. I’m not my mother. I couldn’t just up and leave. Not when I…”
His gaze dropped to his feet, his face suddenly tense and his fringe of lashes hid his eyes from her as she babbled.
He didn’t want her to stay.
A tear leaked from her eye. She turned back for the carriage.
Bartholomew grumbled, “Campbell, you dunderhead! The gal loves you.”
She climbed onto the step, sniffing back more tears as if she needed any more reason to feel humiliated.
Suddenly she felt hands on her waist. Rory’s hands and forearms closed around her, pulling her off the carriage. Struggling, she slid against him as he put her on her feet. Then he turned her around firmly by the shoulders.
She pushed at his chest, hard and unyielding, prepared to shout at him, but her protests died in her throat when she looked up into his tearful eyes.
He took her hands, brought her knuckles to his lips, and kissed them. His breathing ragged, he closed his eyes as he continued to adorn her hands with more tender kisses. Her stomach somersaulted, and he looked at her.
“Angel, if you want this life, then say you’ll be mine. Stay with me. I love you with all my bein’—my heart and soul.” His mouth curved in a smile. “I’ve never loved another, never will.”
He dropped to his knees, and she couldn’t tell if the trembles she felt were his or her own. His eyes steady and serious, he said, “Philadelphia, I want to be your husband. I’ll love you, protect you, and give you as many children as you can stand to teach to read. Babies who’ll tug on your skirt and beg for one more story.”
“Or one more game of cards?” She smiled through her tears.
He grinned. “Yes. And if you decide you want to go to school later, let me go with you, wherever you go—if you can bear to be seen with a man like me.” His neck worked, watching her expectantly, then he asked, “So will you marry me?”
Speechless from the knot in her throat, she nodded and kissed his smiling lips. He pulled her against him as he climbed to his feet, lifting her off the ground as he deepened the kiss. Ignoring the objections of the men around them, they kissed until their tears mingled and they were breathless.
“I love you,” she strangled out, and her three little words caused his face to brighten like the noonday sun. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Epilogue
Illinois River, Illinois, four years later
The physician shook hands with Rory and Asa, then dropped his hat on his head before heading down the porch steps to his waiting rig. Rory waited until he disappeared, then grabbed his wife.
“Rory Campbell!” Dell cried pushing half-heartedly at his shoulders as he drew her into a waltz. Her smile widened as he spun her in a circle, and her fingers curled into him. She gasped. “If the neighbors see us dancing with no music, they’ll think you’ve gone mad!”
“Right. Asa, fetch the fiddle I bought you.” He pulled her closer, loving the feel of her in his arms as she followed his lead.
“Aye, sir.” He smiled and turned for the front door with his hands in his pockets.
“No, Asa.” His wife laughed. “We’ll not be dancin’ that long.”
“Why not?” Rory grumbled.
Dell’s chignon drooped in their swirling dance, and he finished pulling her hair loose to her shoulders. Her skin looked radiant tonight and every night since she’d revealed she was having a baby. He ran his mouth along her neck, breathing in the honeysuckle fragrance of her hair as he kissed her skin. “Both patients are doing fine. The doctor said so. I think that deserves a dance or two.”
She trembled and gave him a sultry look while her back was to the boy.
“If the two of you start that again, this patient will be sick, all right.” Asa cradled his stomach, aping revulsion despite the healthy color of his face, which was still tawny from their last trip south.
Rory released Dell and sent him a glare. “Isn’t tonight your turn to cook?”
“Yes. And you better make enough, Asa. Remember how much you and Rory like to eat, but I’m eating for two, also,” Dell said, using her stern tone, the one Rory called her “teacher voice.” Usually, it made both him and Asa crack up, but lately they’d learned to save their joking for when she wasn’t around, fearing her new emotional state. It had taken a day of apologies and a new rifle to make amends for the last time Rory had accidentally insulted her by his lighthearted jests.
Asa’s towering body filled the open doorway, pausing on the threshold. “I will! But since we’ve all waited at home for the physician today, no one has been to town for meat. Don’t expect a miracle. It’ll be cornbread, potatoes and cabbage.”
Rory rested a hand on Dell’s waist, drawing her bottom against him. She gave him a saucy grin over her shoulder, making him painfully stiff.
How long had it been since they’d been alone? They’d lived in the house for a month since her condition had caused her to suffer seasickness.
Thinking of the river, a warm glow expanded through him. “I have an idea for dinner. Philadelphia, let’s get our fishing poles.”
Dell wrangled with another plump night crawler, threading her hook before tossing the bait into the water. The sun was setting and light fading to a golden orange glow, but she could see where the line had landed beneath a fallen tree close to the riverbank. Satisfied with her cast, she returned the butt of her cane pole to its hole in the ground and sat down beside Rory on the blanket.
“This may be your most outlandish idea yet.” She wiped her hands on her skirt and leaned back on her elbows, stretching her legs out before her.
He grinned and turned the page of the book he’d been reading. “You’ll eat your words when you bring in your first catch.”
“I’ve been fishing all my life. And there. Are. No. Catfish. Here.”
“And you’ve traveled enough
to know? You, who never left Posey Hollow for fourteen years?” He leaned over and tweaked her chin. “I’m tellin’ you, the flatheads start biting when it gets dark.”
His teasing expression darkened as he eyed her mouth hungrily. Dell leaned forward, eager for his kiss, but he put a finger against her lips. “I have to finish the chapter. The light will be gone soon, and I won’t be able to read to him.”
“Or her!” she scolded, and fell on her back, faking a pout.
Rory had bought them a house close to Asa’s school where Dell taught, as well as near the river, until she could stand the swaying motion of the Athena again. Their story reading on the front porch swing had become a nightly ritual and something Dell hoped they would continue after the baby came.
Truth was, she loved listening to Rory read aloud. Loved the sound of his voice and the way he put such animation into his characters as he read Scott’s Waverley novels to their unborn child. The Talisman had never captured her imagination as well as when his drawl narrated the Crusaders’ tale.
He spoke across the open book at the small bump of her midsection. “Now where were we before your mama got impatient with those ol’ catfish?”
“You were at the part where the knight and the Saracen were disrobing and admiring each other’s physiques—”
“Shhh!” His eyes flashed wickedly up at her. “The babe could be a girl!”
“So you admit it!” she laughed. They’d had an ongoing yet playful battle for weeks over whether the child would be a boy or a girl.
“I admit there’s a possibility,” he smiled sheepishly. “Though I think otherwise. Still, we wouldn’t want to corrupt the babe with your wicked interpretation of Sir Walter’s depictions of the realities of war.”
“I’m just recalling what I heard so you can begin again.” She straightened the collar of his unbuttoned shirt and stole a stroke of his warm skin beneath.
His voice went gravelly. “All you heard was how the men were taking their clothes off?” He bit his lip, feigning astonishment. “You’re a wanton, Philadelphia Campbell! If you weren’t in a delicate state I’d punish you for your wickedness.” He kissed her earlobe and gave it a tiny tug with his teeth.
