by Ana Morgan
“Blade Masters is my name. I need to get to St. Louis as quickly as possible.”
He’d said ‘I,’ and not ‘we.’ Stormy dug her fingernails into Blade’s forearm. She was going along with him, come hell or muddy river water.
“What about this one?” The captain jutted his chin at her. “She goin’ too?”
“Yes!” Her shout overrode Blade’s subdued “No.”
“You related? I don’t take relations. Can’t stand the squabbling.”
“Well, I’m going,” she announced. “Whether he wants me to or not.”
“Stormy, you have to go home,” Blade hissed. “The river is dangerous. I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“You haven’t explained why you have to go at all.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, pivoted her away from the captain, and leaned close to her ear. “I think Jonathan Vance is threatening my family.”
“That trouble-stirring snake. You need help, and I’m going with you.”
“No!”
“That’s what fiancées do.”
“You runnin’ away, eh, girlie?” the captain said.
“Yes, sir. I’m sick of chores and small towns. I want a big city like St. Louis.”
The captain’s gaze dropped to her chest, where her corseted breasts strained the buttons of her shirt. His tongue flicked across his lips. “You can ride for free if you service me.”
“I’ll work for her passage,” Blade snapped. “It looks like you’re short a hand.”
The captain glared, clearly not pleased with the interference in his bartering. “What could you possibly know about snagging? You’re nothing but a cowboy.”
“I used to work for LaBarge. I’ve loaded freight and cleared snags.”
“Right.” Rolling his eyes, the captain started to turn away.
Stormy put her hands on her hips and posed like Marie and Aimee. She jerked her head toward Blade. “He’s my second cousin. I took off, and he couldn’t stop me. He’s telling the truth about LaBarge.”
Blade’s hand found hers and squeezed hard enough to hurt. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with what she’d said, but the captain seemed to be coming around.
“You don’t say.” The captain looked them up and down until his features softened. “I do need another snagger. My other darkie drowned just north of Pierre.”
“I’m your man,” Blade said. “If I don’t measure up, you can put us off in Sioux City.”
“You are mighty close cousins, eh, Masters?” He broke into a genuine belly laugh. “Trimble’s the name. Rufus Trimble. Gather your things and stow her in cabin six. We shove off in one hour.”
Chapter 19
Blade hurried to the docks carrying his saddlebags and a pillowcase stuffed with two clean blankets, bargained from Purdy. Stormy had to run to keep up. Their hour to get ready was almost up. And, he had much to worry about.
Usually he held the high ground and called the shots, but things were happening beyond his control. His bank account frozen. Vance twisting the truth. Stormy following him—and now, against his better judgment, coming with him.
All because he’d allowed himself to love again.
Brownie, Zed, and Running Bear were surely frantic. He hoped Purdy would send the wire he’d penned in haste for Zed Hawkins, explaining that Stormy was with him and he’d keep her safe.
A stab of guilt assaulted him. His parents must have suffered for years, not knowing where he was or if he was still alive. Maybe the ground he stood on wasn’t as high as it needed to be.
Still, Stormy had no business riding on a snag boat. Her sass and her fists would be inadequate if the crew ganged up on him. Hell, he didn’t even know if she could swim.
They turned onto the block with the livery stable, and he stopped.
Stormy looked up at him. Her breath came in quick pants, and her eyes gleamed with excitement.
“Stormy, please go home. I don’t know if I can protect you. Ride straight to the ranch and stay away from Vance. Let Running Bear take back Olin’s horse.”
“No. You need me. I’m the reason Captain Trimble agreed to take us on.”
He wanted to throttle her. “I’m working for our passage. You heard what he said. Snaggers drown.”
“You won’t drown. You’re experienced.”
Oh, he wanted to believe that. There hadn’t been any big storms in nearly a month. No rain meant low, slow water, which didn’t wreak havoc on the riverbanks and erode trees into the river. Maybe he wouldn’t have to go in the water at all.
Still, he had the feeling Captain Trimble would test him. Maybe try to do him in, just to get his hands on Stormy.
If he’d had money in his pocket, he would have waved Trimble on and waited for the next passenger steamer. Take Stormy on a first-class ride to St. Louis.
But he didn’t. He had to get to St. Louis fast, and at the same time, keep her safe.
~ ~ ~
Blade helped Stormy onto the snag boat with a stern warning to stay away from the edge. The Snagger II had no railings, and the deck was slick and uneven.
She craned her neck like a curious goose as he familiarized himself with the layout of the ship. Snagged trees, hoisted out of the water, dotted the deck, and a two-man saw hung from a peg driven into a post that supported the upper wheelhouse. He had a feeling he’d be sawing many boiler-length bolts.
The only crew on board was the big, barrel-chested roustabout who’d tied the Snagger II to the pier. He lay with his eyes closed on a pile of dirty burlap sacks. His thin cotton cap had toppled off his head, revealing hints of gray in his short-cropped hair.
Blade gritted his teeth. Had Trimble evicted him from cabin six? Or did a dark-skinned man not rate a cabin at all? He roused the man gently.
The roustabout jumped to his feet.
Stormy smiled and held out her hand. “He’s Blade Masters. I’m Stormy Hawkins. This is my first trip to St. Louis.”
“Pleased to meet you, Missy.” The roustabout’s lips parted in a gap-toothed yawn. “Best get some shut-eye, suh. Cap’n Trimble likes hunting snags and shooting possums in the dark. Never know when we’ll have to go under.”
“I’ll be ready,” Blade said grimly. “Number six?”
With an arm decorated with tattoos, the man pointed to the last cabin. Its short swinging door befitted a Kansas saloon, not a riverboat cabin.
Blade prodded Stormy inside.
The corners of the narrow, windowless room butted against the snag boat’s twin smokestacks. The air inside hung hot and stale, heavy with the odors of river and unwashed men.
After setting his saddlebags in one corner and lighting the sole kerosene lamp, Blade stripped the stained bedding from an army surplus cot and folded one of Purdy’s blankets into a crude mattress. He stuffed the other blanket into the pillowcase to make a cushion and stepped back.
“You’ll sleep there,” he said. “Now let’s get you out of that under-thing. Quick, before the rest of the crew returns.”
She took off her jeans and shirt, and then turned so he could untie the corset’s laces.
He pulled on the ties at her waist and loosened them down to her hips and up her back, revealing the soft, creamy skin he’d caressed the night before while they made love. The craving to kiss her neck rose in him so swiftly, he nearly gave in.
Anger at himself, for almost losing control, and at her, for being so damned desirable, quickly doused his ardor. He spoke with deliberate brusqueness as he walked toward the door. “Put your clothes back on and get some rest.”
He scavenged the deck until he found a sturdy stick he could use as a club and a short length of twine. He tied one end of the twine onto the swinging door and looped the other end around his wrist to hold i
t shut.
Weary to the bone, he sat just outside her door and leaned against the wall. Steeled himself for a long and sleepless night.
~ ~ ~
A blast of the Snagger II’s steam whistle jolted Blade awake. His head felt foggy, and his body ached. Listening for Stormy’s even breathing, he slid the club inside the cabin and pushed himself upright.
“Coffee’s hot,” Stormy shouted.
He turned toward her voice.
She sat with the roustabout and four crew outside the galley and held up a mug. The men around her howled with laughter.
He looked down at his wrist. He was still tied to the door. She’d managed to wriggle out without rousing him.
Swallowing a few choice words, he found a seat on an upended barrel at the far end of the crude table.
“Name’s Mouse, suh,” the giant roustabout said. “Missy here’s been telling us how you saved her from the stampeding longhorns.”
“Is that so?” Blade said dryly. He didn’t know which was more outrageous—Mouse’s name or Stormy’s fib. “Did she explain why she was in that predicament?”
“Why, yes.” A slight, stooped man with closely cropped gray hair passed him a mug of coffee. His voice quavered as much as his hands. “She was searching for the neighbor’s toddler, who’d wandered away.”
Blade took a sip. The brew was thick and bitter. Just what his throbbing head needed.
“I’m Fitch,” the old man said. “Engineer. Captain Trimble said you ratted for LaBarge.”
“Now that much is true.”
“Mr. Fitch has a pet gull.” Stormy pointed to a large white seagull perched on a post near the big paddlewheel.
Blade stood, leaned into the galley, and introduced himself to the cook, Captain Trimble’s father. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Females are bad luck on a snag boat,” Trimble Senior gruffed without removing the cigar from his teeth. He dished a bowl of runny grits. “Better eat fast. Rufus has spotted snags.”
Blade returned to the table and met the other crew. Tom Little stoked the furnace with wood all day. Big Jones was the night stoker, and Clifford Benjamin, the assistant boiler engineer.
Blade forced himself to eat a few bites. When Mouse stood, he followed without regret. The grits were close to inedible.
Barefooted, he and Mouse waited at the bow while Captain Trimble steered up the middle of the channel toward a cluster of three snag trees. From the angle their branches tilted out of the water, he knew their heavy rootballs clung to the sandy river bottom. They were stuck but not fixed, and could shift at any moment, pinning him or Mouse in a murky grave.
“You good at holdin’ your breath, suh?”
“I used to be.”
“Can’t see nothin’ down deep.”
“LaBarge had a tap system. One short for up. Two for down. One long for go right. Two long for go left.”
“And if we lose touch?”
“Level around the trunk until we meet.”
Mouse gave a quick nod and smile. “We’ll do fine.”
Blade wasn’t so sure. When he’d snagged for LaBarge, he was young and fearless. He’d had no one but himself to worry about. Now Stormy was ever present in his mind. For the hundredth time, he wished she’d agreed to ride home. If something happened to him . . .
He turned to check on her.
She’d moved closer. So had pimply-faced Clifford Benjamin, who hovered like a mongrel dog sniffing for a bone.
Blade wanted to run back and push him away, but Trimble barked, “Go.”
He jumped into the river.
The water was just as he remembered it. Warm, gritty, and treacherous. He bobbed to the surface and studied the three-tree snag while he waited for Mouse.
A heavy chain hit the water an arm’s length from his head.
A volley of curses rose to his lips. Trimble’s unannounced release was deliberate. Test the new man.
He’d survived LaBarge. He would best Trimble.
Mouse came up for air gripping the thick hook that attached to the end of the chain.
Blade swam to him. Pitching his voice low, he said, “I’ll dive and feel for gaps.” Without waiting for approval, he filled his lungs and pulled himself down along the trunk of the closest tree until he touched bottom. Then, he shimmied up halfway and felt for a space that would accommodate the oversized hook.
He needed to fasten the chain so Trimble could raise it. If the chain wasn’t secure, it would open, sending the heavy timber down on their heads.
He found a gap, hauled himself up to the surface, and shook the water out of his eyes. “Two feet down,” he told Mouse. “You take the near side; I’ll take the far. Pass the hook and feed the chain. I’ll hand it back and you hook. Agreed?”
“Yes, suh.”
“On three. One, two . . .” He filled his lungs and dove.
He and Mouse finished before he was out of air. They surfaced at the same time and grinned.
“Haul up,” Mouse shouted to Trimble. “Back up, suh. In case she flips.”
Trimble engaged the winch, and the tree rose out of the river without fanfare. Little and Jones swung it into position on the deck, and Trimble set it down. Benjamin, he noticed, still stood beside Stormy.
One more problem he’d have to handle.
Chapter 20
Stormy almost wished she’d listened to Blade and returned home. The days and nights turned as slowly as the paddlewheel at the back of the Snagger II.
She offered to peel potatoes and scrub pots, but Trimble Senior swore hell would have to freeze over first.
Clifford Benjamin was good company until they docked at Dakota City for supplies. He invited her to accompany him into town, but after Blade had a private talk with him, he kept his distance.
Sometimes, old Mr. Fitch chatted when he wasn’t on duty tending the big boiler. Once he understood she liked wearing jeans and shirts, he gave her a spare set of his clothes. He was a slight man, and she was grateful to have something to change into.
Blade and Mouse worked long hours. During the day, when they weren’t in the water hooking snags, Stormy sat cross-legged on the deck and watched them saw trees into four-foot bolts. Blade’s muscles rippled as he pushed and pulled on his end of the big two-man saw. He was so strong and handsome. She still couldn’t believe he was hers.
This was the real reason she’d insisted on coming along. Down deep, she was afraid he’d forget about her, or change his mind about wanting to marry her. Except for her land, she wasn’t much of a catch.
Real ladies carried parasols and sipped afternoon tea out of fancy china cups. She built fences and herded cattle.
Desirable girls like Aimee and Marie knew far more about pleasing men. Her skin was tanned, not milky white, and she wore work gloves, not lacy whites. The only dress in her wardrobe was the one Blade had ordered from Mrs. Boe.
She’d put on his ring, but she’d also turned him down, and he hadn’t asked her to marry him again. Officially, that made him an eligible bachelor. Plus, his father owned an investment bank. When Blade returned to St. Louis, rich Society mothers would throw their pretty daughters at him.
She didn’t know anything about the fineries of balls and dinner parties. Was he dreading how his family and friends would laugh when they met her? He’d barely spoken to her since they’d boarded the Snagger II.
Mouse touched her shoulder. “We’s done for the night, Missy. I’s got to sharpen the saw, and you’s got to get ready for bed.”
“Where’s Blade?”
Mouse pointed toward her cabin.
Blade lay on his pile of burlap sacks, eyes shut, limbs unmoving.
Her heart leapt into her throat. “Is he all right?”
“He’s just wore out, Missy. I told him to rest, that I’d watch over you tonight.” He helped her up and escorted her to her cabin. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Thank you, Mouse. Could I stay out on deck with you for a while?”
“Sure. I knows it’s mighty hot inside.”
She smiled with gratitude and leaned back against her doorframe, like Blade always did.
Mouse handed her a jug of water and settled close by. “They say trains is going to put riverboats out of business. They’s laying tracks across Missouri and beyond.”
“I’ve read it in the papers. If that comes to pass, what would you like to do?”
“Me? I just take each day as it comes.”
“I’m serious, Mouse. If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?”
He was silent for a long while, and then he smiled sheepishly. “I’d raise fruit trees. I’d build me a little house and put a white fence all around it to say that everything inside belongs to me.”
“Where would you put this fruit tree farm of yours?”
He laughed quietly. “Shucks, Missy. Don’t get me going. Someone like me can’t afford to have dreams.”
“How much have you saved up from being a rat?”
“Some,” he said evasively. “I don’t spend no money.”
“Blade could help you find a place. Or, maybe there’s a spot in the section we just fenced. Would a north-facing slope be good? There’s a seamstress you should meet. She’s a widow.”
~ ~ ~
Blade woke to the sound of a high-pitched, menacing hiss. He jumped up and ran to the engine room.
The metal boiler groaned with internal pressure, and the main gauge read an explosive 175 psi. The bleeders weren’t letting steam out fast enough. His worst nightmare was coming true.
