Raise The Jolly Roger: Somewhere In Time

by Tracy Kincaid

  Raise the Jolly Roger

  (Somewhere in Time)

  By

  Tracy Kincaid

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Raise the Jolly Roger

  Copyright 2017 © Tracy Kincaid

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published by TK Publishing

  http://www.tkincaidauthor.com

  Cover by JRA Stevens

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Other books by

  Tracy Kincaid

  Changing Lives

  Released July 2015

  Freeing Lost Souls

  The Family Tree Series Book One

  Released January 2016

  Past, Present, and Future

  The Family Tree Series Book Two

  Released June 2016

  Lost & Found

  The Family Tree Series Book Three

  Released November 2016

  The Somewhere in Time Series

  With this Ring by Eryn Black

  Time and space are all relevant where the heart is concerned and when the heart is in pain, wanting or need Mr. Wells and his antique store Somewhere In Time is ready to serve.

  Fallen through time, Cassy Day finds herself adrift and alone in the vast ocean. Rescued by a handsome pirate, she soon discovers a bountiful treasure of sin and love in his strong arms.

  Captain William Jones didn't expect the bedraggled castaway to be such a delightful temptation and welcome diversion from his routine voyage.

  Together their heat and sensual encounters bring a whole new meaning to “Raise the Jolly Roger.”

  This book is for mature audiences.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Dedication

  To Matt Kincaid

  You are my best friend and my partner in crime. When the seas were rough, you stood by my side. Now to find a pirate ship so we can chase that booty together. Raise the Jolly Roger, my love!

  SPECIAL THANKS

  To Whitney, Eric, and Samantha: I love you each with all my heart.

  To Dad: Please don’t read the sex parts, that would be weird for me. LOL

  To Mom: Thank you for being there to bounce ideas off. Love you.

  To Jim and Nita: Thank you for being part of my team of editors. Love you guys!

  To Eryn Black: Thank you for coming up with a fun idea for this anthology. I have enjoyed trying something new.

  Prologue

  1710 A.D. Boston

  Captain’s Log 25th May

  Our return to Boston will be a short one as we are only here to pick up supplies before we are needed back in Port Royal. The men and I are eager to return to port for some much needed time off the ship. I am sure, with the bounty we receive from this shipment, the men will be most happy…

  Demetrius comes into me quarters in a rush. “Cap’n, the Sea Witch is on dock and asking for ye.”

  I run me hand through me hair as I follow him out on deck. The Sea Witch is standing on the dock below. “What do ye want, Witch? I do not have time to deal with yer doings this day.”

  “You should hold your tongue. You know not who you talk with.” The Sea Witch is standing next to the Rum Runner, me ship. She is dressed in a long black dress with a black corset. Her hair is as black as a raven; long and unruly. She wears a lace veil over her face so I cannot see her features clearly, but I do see her blue eyes as she looks at me. She is a fright to any man.

  We are at port in Boston gathering provisions before we head back out to sea. Half me men are on board storing what has been brought to us by me men on land. “What do ye want?” I have heard that the Sea Witch is an evil wench. She has sent many men to their deaths. The faster I can be rid of her, the better off we all will be.

  “I require passage.”

  I laugh bitterly, looking down at her from the deck. “Ye could take over any ship ye want. Why do ye seek passage with mine? Be gone, Witch. I am too busy to deal with ye.” I turn me back to her.

  “How dare you laugh at me!”

  By this time, all men on deck are watching and the ones on land have come back and are waiting to re-board.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  I turn back around to face her. “Aye, ye be the Sea Witch that sends ships and their crew to their deaths.”

  “Ah, then you should know not to cross me.”

  “I do not want ye anywhere near me ship. Ye be a wench and any wench be bad luck. Be gone.” I walk over to Demetrius, me First Mate, to issue me orders. Making a line from the deck to the dock, twenty-five men in total, pass the boxes up onto the deck in an assembly line fashion.

  “How dare you talk to me like this.” She turns to walk away but stops after a few paces and laughs an evil laugh.

  All the men stop and look between the Sea Witch and me.

  “You should learn some manners.” She has gotten on me last nerve and I want her gone. I turn and stare at her.

  “Fine, William.” She draws out me name. “If you would have offered to take me to my destination then I would have spared you.” The men look at me with terror in their eyes. “Are you afraid yet, dear William?”

  “Nothing ye do will scare me, Witch.”

  “Then a curse would do you well.” She waves her hands and says words to herself before walking away with the same evil laugh.

  “Cap’n, maybe we should give her passage? That Witch is a fright,” Demetrius suggests.

  “We do not have time for her games. We have a deadline to get these supplies back to Port Royal and we’ve wasted enough time here. All hands hoay!” I yell to get me men working again.

  “Once all of the supplies are on board, get the sails up and let’s leave port.” I head back to me quarters when Demetrius stops me by grabbing me around the arm.

  “Cap’n, do ye think she has cursed us?” He still looks terrified.

  “I think that vile wench was all talk. Now let’s go.” I wrench me arm away and storm off.

  I settle in me quarters and pour meself some rum. Just as I’m about to sit at me desk to add to me captain’s log, I hear the men yelling on deck. Slamming me book shut and me mug on the table, I run to see what the commotion is all about. When I get on deck, I ask Demetrius what the ruckus is about.

  “I think it’s the curse, Cap’n. The men on land can’t get back on the ship.”

  “Has anyone tried to get off the ship?”

  He nods his head. “It’s as if something is blocking us.”

  I’m starting to think that maybe I should have just let the witch on board.

  “We can’t leave and they can’t get on,” Demetrius reiterates.

  I walk over to the plank to try
it for meself with no luck. “Damn yer blood, Witch!” I yell.

  “What do we do now, Cap’n?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Chapter 1

  The Funeral

  Present Day Boston

  I chose this cemetery because it’s one of the oldest cemeteries in the state with many aged tombstones dating back to before the American Revolution. My family has always enjoyed history, and this place has plenty of it lying beneath its soil, from accused witches from the Salem Witch Trials to pirates and soldiers from the Revolutionary War. I figured this would be the place they would want to spend their long rest.

  When I feel the need to be alone, I’ll sometimes come to this cemetery to clear my head of all the stress my life carries. When I tire of running, I walk through the tombstones, reading them and making up stories in my head on how they lived and how they died. It’s a very peaceful place to spend time alone.

  The sky is cloudy and the earth is still damp as I stand at their grave. I still can’t believe my parents are gone. Not very many people turned out for the service today because the weather is so dreary. I’m glad because I don’t think I could handle hearing everyone giving me their condolences. I’m not having any sort of get together after the funeral either. I don’t see the point of entertaining people that I barely know, when all I really want to do is be alone. I feel numb and I just want to go home. I just want to forget about how miserable I feel.

  “The service was beautiful, Cassy. Your parents would have liked it,” Wendy says to me as we walk away from the gravesite. I don’t answer. I just don’t feel like interacting with anyone right now.

  Since I’m an only child I knew that someday I would be alone, but I didn’t think it would be this soon. Last week my parents boarded a plane heading for their second honeymoon. They had just retired from their jobs, having saved their whole life for this trip. The Greek Islands was a place we had all dreamed of going someday. All it took was an engine problem and their plane crashed in the middle of the ocean somewhere. I’m not even sure why we are having a service. It’s not like their bodies were found. It will just be a place for people to visit, I guess. Seems like such a waste of space in such a beautiful place. It would be different if they were here. For all I know, they are still alive and on some deserted island in the middle of nowhere. Years from now, some guy on a fishing boat will get lost and happen upon them, like in that weird movie a few years back.

  “Hey! Earth to Cassy.” At some point, I must have stopped walking. Wendy’s now standing in front of me waving her hands in my face. “You okay?”

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

  “It’s over now, so where would you like to go?”

  “I need to start cleaning out their house.” Wendy and I are roommates in a small house in Boston. My parents have…had a house in Somerville. Everything was left to me but I don’t think I could live there now.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to take time to think about it? I mean I don’t mind helping, but I really think you should take some time to think about what you want to do with everything.”

  “What’s there to think about Wendy? I can’t stay in a house filled with nothing but memories. What am I going to do with such a big house anyway? I’m all alone. I’ll sell it and most of the stuff inside, pay off my student loans and any bills I’m stuck paying of theirs, and move on with my life.” Needless to say, I’m angry about them dying and leaving me alone. “Look, I don’t mean to yell at you. I’m pissed off. This was not supposed to happen. I don’t know how to deal with all this anger I feel inside.” Tears start to stream down my face. I feel another anxiety attack coming; the strange tingles are starting to take over my hands and face and my breathing is becoming shallow. I started having these attacks soon after the airline representatives showed up at my house to tell me about my parents and their plane. I couldn’t watch TV for days after the accident. When I saw the first report, I didn’t want to believe that it was the same plane. I was staring at the TV holding my parents flight information in my hands when the reps showed up. I was…am devastated. Life is so short and unfair.

  “I know you didn’t mean it. Why don’t you take a week or two off and do something for yourself? Are you all right? “You suddenly look pale.”

  “I need to sit.” I say out of breath. She helps me over to a small bench not far from the graveside.

  “Are you having another panic attack?” she asks anxiously.

  I nod and lean over my knees, hoping to stop the anxiety from hitting me full force. If I could, I would curl into a ball and cry myself to sleep. If we were home that is exactly what I would be doing right now.

  “Here.” Wendy pulls a bottle of water out of her purse and hands it to me. I take slow sips and deep breaths, and feel the tingles start to go away.

  I start to feel like myself again. “Maybe you’re right. I can’t deal with my parents’ belongings right now. If I keep having these attacks, I may never be able to deal with it at all. Let’s just go home so I can get out of these clothes.” I’m starting to feel restricted in this black getup I’m wearing. I don’t usually wear black at all, but I thought it appropriate for the funeral.

  Wendy Jackson has been my best friend since birth. Our mothers gave birth in the same hospital within a few hours of each other. They even shared a room after delivering us. We have always been like sisters and I know she means well, but honestly, I just want to be left alone with my self-pity.

  * * *

  Wendy pulls up our driveway and parks her Toyota Prius. We live in a small, two bedroom, two bath, red, brick house at the end of a cul-de-sac. The house belongs to Wendy. Her parents owned it before her. When they moved, they sold it to Wendy for a good price. I rent a room from her. When we get out of the car, she goes into the house ahead of me. I stand looking at the house. It’s nothing special; just a plain little bungalow style house. I have very few memories here. I’m a nurse and the hours I keep don’t allow me much time to myself. When I started nursing, I buried myself in learning as much as I could as I worked. On my off days, I catch up on sleep or TV. What a way to live my life, and now I will do it all alone. I walk into the house, into my bedroom, and sit on my bed to just breathe for a moment before I change.

  Wendy and I have lived in this house for a few years, but it has never really felt like home to me. Just a place where I sleep. I’m hardly ever here. I have very little life outside of work. I put everything I have into school and work and have no time for friends or a boyfriend. Hell, even Wendy and I don’t see a lot of each other anymore. When we do, it’s usually in passing. We are not as close as we were as kids.

  Standing up, I walk to my desk where I have a picture frame. Lifting it, I look at the photo of my parents and me at my nursing graduation. They were so proud of me. Hell, I was proud of myself. I worked hard and they were with me every step of the way. Feeling tears slip down my face, I set the picture back on my desk and swipe at my eyes. I’m so sick of crying. I would think that I’d run out of tears by now.

  I change into my jogging pants, an old t-shirt, and a windbreaker. When I walk out of my room, Wendy’s on the couch watching TV in her sweats and hoodie. “Where are you going?” she asks.

  “I’m going for a run.”

  “Are you sure you feel well enough for a run?”

  “Wendy, I just need some time to myself. I don’t want to think about anything except breathing.”

  “Just be careful. Do you have your cell phone?” I know that Wendy is trying to be helpful, but she’s getting on my nerves.

  I point to my arm where I have my cell phone strapped, with my earbuds in hand and ready to stick in my ears. “I’ll call if I need you.” And with that, I step outside, putting in my earbuds and turning on some music. I need music that won’t make me think about my parents. I find some fast-paced workout music. That should do the trick.

  The air is thick with humidity that makes it a bit hard to breathe, but I fight
through it. The weather is hot and humid from the rain we have been having. I start down the street with a slow jog to warm up, but that doesn’t seem to be working to take my mind off things, so I pick up my pace. I make it to the beach in record time where I collapse on a nearby bench just off the bike path, pull my earbuds out and stare out to sea. What I wouldn’t do to have a ship to get lost at sea with. Maybe I should take Wendy’s advice and get away for a while. I could book a cruise. The sun is starting to set. The sky’s clear with a few wispy clouds that look like loose strands of pink cotton candy.

  I try to slow my breathing but can’t seem to manage it. I lean forward and put my face in my hands, trying to calm myself. Of course, I would have another anxiety attack now. I can just start to feel the tingles in my hands and face. I forget about my hands and face when my calf begins to cramp up. I move my hands to try to massage it out while my eyes sting with unshed tears. Damn, that hurts!

  “Miss, are you all right?” a man asks.

  I blink the tears out of my eyes, look up, and shake my head. The man looks as if he may be a college student, young and lean in appearance, with dark brown hair and warm, melted chocolate colored eyes. He’s good looking with an accent I can’t quite place.

  “Is your leg cramping up? Can I help? May I?” He kneels in front of my leg. “Please.” I feel the tears sting the back of my eyes again from the pain. His hands feel nice on my leg as he massages the knot out of my calf. I stare at his hands as they work their magic. “That feels so good.” I don’t mean to moan but his hands on me feel that good. If only he would move them up my thigh. Jesus, where is my head.

  “Feel better?” he asks with a smirk.