She laughed. That’s what you get for wearing a UK shirt.
Then she added the emoji with the silly face.
“What’s that smile for?” Steph stood in her doorway.
“I was texting Chase.” She glanced up from her phone. “What do you think about the invitations?”
“Same as you. Stunning.” She ventured farther into Devyn’s office. “I showed the design to Dalia, and she’s interested in seeing more of his work. They’re looking to update the clothing in the gift shop. Think your man could design T-shirts, hoodies, and such?”
“He’s not my man, and I’m sure he could come up with something.” Her phone dinged again.
Can I take you out tonight?
Her breath stalled, and she just stared at his words as if they’d magically change into something else.
“You should see the look on your face. What’s wrong?”
“He just asked me out.” Disbelief registered in her tone.
“And why wouldn’t he?” Steph raised her coffee cup to her lips and sipped. “If you’d look in the mirror every once in a while, you’d see for yourself how gorgeous you are. And available.”
“I don’t think I can date. Not this close to my breakup.”
“This close?” Steph dragged the chair by the door to the desk. “It’s almost been a year. Travis moved on, and rather quickly.”
She winced. He’d moved on before they even broke up.
“And not sure if you know this, but Space Station hasn’t been doing so hot lately.” She took another sip. “My nephew was complaining about their new format. It’s confusing, and it glitches. I guess there’s a big to-do about it all over social media.”
“New format? I designed it to have updated features, not to be completely revamped.” It had been her ideas, her labors with coding, and Travis had changed it all?
Dalia, the marketing manager, peeked her head in the office doorway. “Have you told her yet?”
Steph winced. “I was getting around to it. Circling the airport, you know? And you just crashed the landing.”
Devyn’s gut twisted. “Told me what?”
Dalia exchanged a glance with Steph. “There’s a hashtag going around about you.”
“Not again.” Why would Travis start another hashtag about her? Hadn’t he tormented her enough?
“This one’s in your favor.” Steph gave a sympathetic smile. “People are so angry about the changes they’re demanding your return to Space Station. The hashtag is BringBackDevyn. It’s trending.”
It wasn’t awful, but still, it attracted attention. “Why can’t I just be left alone?” Her eyes slid closed. “I can’t take off work and hide away.” Not when there was so much to do.
“No one knows you work here. Your name isn’t even on the website for event coordinator.”
That was true. And she wasn’t on social media where her location could be tracked. But all people had to do was watch the video where Travis “gifted” her the penthouse and they’d know where she lived. A sigh pushed from her lungs. She really needed to sell the place. Maybe once the ball was over she’d find a good Realtor. In the meantime, it wasn’t like she could run away to her family’s cottage in the sticks.
She took a calming breath. “It could be worse. I’ve weathered this before when it was.” Soon Travis would adjust Space Station and her spotlight would dim to nothing.
Dalia flipped her raven-colored locks over her slim shoulder. “Want to go with me to the gym on our lunch hour? Sweat therapy and all that.”
The only crunches Devyn did was the kind with her teeth, chomping Cool Ranch Doritos. “Thanks, but I have a hot date with my cell phone.” She lifted the paper of numbers listing several steamboat museums.
“Speaking of hot dates.” Steph had a special talent for never letting a subject drop. Although Devyn had walked right into this one. “Did you answer Chase yet?”
“Who?” Dalia perked. “That guy who keeps coming to visit you here?”
Devyn downplayed it. “He’s not here to see me. He needs information about the Belle.”
Steph scoffed. “I guarantee you the Belle isn’t why he asked you on a date tonight.”
“I’ll answer him soon.” When she was once again alone and could think of a polite refusal.
“Nope.” Steph smiled. “I know what you’re thinking, and I think you should go.”
“I don’t want to go anywhere public right now. Not until this all blows over.”
“Then don’t leave.” Dalia tapped her chin. “Invite him on the sunset cruise tonight. Most of it is in dusk, a nice cover for you.”
Steph nodded. “And you could always use your employee advantage and stay on the texas roof.”
Which would work. Passengers weren’t allowed anywhere near the pilothouse during sailing hours. But did she really want to cross that line with Chase?
“What’s one date?” Dalia shrugged. “It’s not like you’re signing your life away to him.”
She was right. What could one night change? Maybe this would be the distraction she needed. Or maybe this would be a colossal flop. Steph and Dalia went about their business, leaving Devyn to her jumbled thoughts. A date with Chase. The staggering hashtag.
Her mind needed to focus on something. Anything. Her tour wouldn’t arrive for another fifteen minutes. Not enough time to get immersed in the ball’s work, but maybe enough time to flip through Hattie’s songbook. Eleanor was kind enough to let them have this one-of-a-kind book. She carefully flipped through the pages until her eyes landed on a light, almost unreadable pencil scrawl. How had they missed this before?
Biting her lip, she reached for her phone and texted Chase.
I found something else in the songbook.
His response dinged almost immediately. Awesome. Excited to hear about it. Also are you sparing my feelings by pretending I didn’t just ask you out? Because I’m pretty sure my pride has already tanked.
Oops! Though she’d decided to go out with him, she totally forgot to text her answer.
While your pride could use some tanking – my answer for tonight is yes. I know the perfect place. She added a wink emoji and hoped he’d agree to the sunset cruise.
She glanced at the time on her phone screen. Only a couple minutes until her tour. She typed a text letting him know she’d call him later to discuss tonight and then gathered her tour folder.
Her head still swirled from all the dizzying events that’d taken place in just a span of a few minutes. But one thing was for certain, she was going on a date tonight. A thought that both excited and terrified her.
Chapter 15
Hattie
Abraham Lincoln, Charles Dickens, and the woman who’d abandoned me. All had at one time walked the very ground beneath my feet—the Louisville wharf. Though the latter on the list held fault for this pre-dawn visit.
Between the fifth and sixth mooring ring.
Duffy’s seven words had been etched in me since the day I’d gathered nerve to ask where he’d discovered me. The smack of my steps clashed with the caw of seagulls swirling overhead. I counted the corroded rings bolted to the coarse concrete and slowed my pace at the fifth.
Heart thudding dully, I lowered to the ground between the rusted, circle boundaries. To the place I’d been deserted.
My thoughts ran murky like the river water beneath my dangling feet. Where would I be had my mother not left me? Were my parents alive? Still in Louisville? Had I passed them on the streets on the several occasions we’d moored here?
It was such a peculiar feeling, being abandoned. I’d often forced myself to approach things logically. My parents may have landed themselves in a situation forbidding them from keeping me. What if they’d thought they’d done what was best? That they granted me a better life than what they could offer? How many times had I rehearsed those reasonings? Until they’d descended into my soul like an anchor, keeping my overactive imagination from drifting. From believing I had been to b
lame.
Doubt snarled and jabbed its spiky finger into my chest, accusing.
As an infant, I’d been too young to display the myriad of faults that overwhelm me as a twenty-year-old, but maybe they’d suspected me a misfit. What if they’d judged me a troublesome creature that could only belong to the wilds of the river?
My nose stung and I rubbed at the burn, only to have a tear escape down my cheek.
Footsteps sounded behind me, and I quickly mopped the dampness from my face with the edge of my wrap.
“You’re up early.” Jack’s voice floated over my shoulder.
“I’m beginning to suspect you don’t sleep.” Ever since our talk about the possibility of alcohol being on the Idlewild, we’d been overly alert. Jack more so. He was always the last to his cabin and the first roaming the decks. And his agitation seemed to increase the closer we came to Louisville. “I know what you’re going to say—that I shouldn’t be out here. That the wharf is unsafe for a woman at this hour.”
“Actually, I was about to ask if I can join you.” He gestured to the spot beside me on the deck.
Oh. I nodded, hoping my eyes weren’t shiny from my tears.
He sat near enough that his side warmed mine. I kept my eyes on the water, but I felt his gaze on me.
“We’ve been to a dozen towns along the river, and this is the first time I’ve seen you camp out on the wharf. Do you have a certain love for Louisville?”
“Yes and no.” I glanced over to see curiosity puckering his brow. “On this exact spot, when I was a baby, Duffy found me. When we travel here, I always make time to visit and think.”
The gentleness in his eyes swayed me to continue.
“How different would my life have been if only my parents had kept me? Why did they leave me here?” Duffy hardly ever mentioned it. He’d dismiss my questions with a tight grimace as if the topic made him sad. “Who abandons their child on a dirty wharf?”
“Maybe someone desperate,” Jack offered. “Maybe your birth mother had to in order to protect you.”
“Or maybe she wanted rid of me. Maybe I was a burden.”
A wharf worker down the way hollered something unsavory to a passing rowboat. But the man’s crass voice was mild compared to the screams in my mind. I’d come here for peace but received the opposite.
I moved to stand, but Jack stilled me with a tender look.
“The sun’s coming up.” His gaze swept my face. “The sky’s destined to be beautiful.”
His warm hand wrapped mine, as if offering support. Instead of filling the silence with talk, he spoke with touch.
We stayed like that for several comfortable minutes, admiring the sun whispering over the horizon. God was putting on a show for us with brilliant colors that in theory shouldn’t go together, but in the expanse of the sky it was nothing short of a masterpiece. Jack’s thumb stroked my knuckles as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Yes, he invited me to be his comrade in investigating, but here, he was my friend.
My nose burned again, but for a different reason. Jack Marshall had no doubt graced the polished floors of the elite, yet he sat on a spitstained wharf, cradling the fingers of society’s reject. A river rat. And his eyes—those bright blues as vivid as the sunrise we’d just shared—were not peering at me in pity or repulsion but in appreciation. And blast it all, if it didn’t make my eyes water. I turned away, the emotion overpowering.
We should return soon. A full day stretched before us. I slowly tugged my hand free from his. “Jack?”
He seemed caught up in his own thoughts. “Hmm?” His attention shifted to me, and my breath caught with the gentle force of it.
“Thank you.”
His smile was tender. One I tucked in the folds of my heart to revisit.
“Are you helping with the cargo?” His expression slipped into that of a determined prohibition agent.
The freight was to be on-loaded at seven. A little over two hours from now. Then we’d head toward Tell City. I pushed back an errant lock of hair, causing Jack’s focus to stray, following my movement. “I’ll be there. After I burn a few eggs and toast.” The poor Idlewild crew had to suffer with my cooking since Miss Wendall was in town gathering more supplies to stock the galley.
We made our way to the boat. I spent the next harried moments preparing breakfast, beating my personal record of only dropping one egg on the floor and burning just the tip of my index finger on the frying pan. I may have lost shards of shells in the scrambled eggs, but no one complained about their food. Not even Ludwig, who had an opinion on everything.
After the plates were cleared and washed, I scurried to the wharf where the deckhands, the purser, and Jack were waiting for Duffy’s signal to on-load. With the logbook back in my possession, I continued my role accepting payments from merchants for their shipment. Within the half hour, I’d received cash for crates of grain, barrels of Karo syrup, and bags of mail.
I paused at the next piece of freight. “Who does this belong to?” I motioned to the large crate mostly obscured by a wall of boxes containing soap chips. “Should I run to the dock office and see if the merchant left payment for us?” Some storekeepers and vendors hadn’t the time to wait around, so they’d pay in advance.
Jack glanced from the barrel of vinegar he was checking in. “Money was left for it at the wharf office.”
“Ah, I was wondering where you wandered off to during breakfast.”
Duffy gave the signal to start loading. Jack and I inspected the crates then waved the deckhands to haul the freight into the Idlewild’s belly. We worked in orderly chaos. My next crate was the one that had been left unattended, the one which Jack had already collected payment for.
I crouched, mindful of my skirts, and pushed on the edge, attempting to scoot it closer to the other freight. It wouldn’t budge. “Did the missive say what’s in here?” I popped the lid with my crowbar and studied the contents—boxes of matchsticks. My hand dug deep until my fingertips brushed the bottom. Odd. “Hey, Jack?” I waved him over, and he held up a finger as he finished business with an older gentleman.
“What’s the problem, gorgeous?” Face stepped beside me.
I wasn’t in any humor to respond to his teasing. “It’s filled with matchsticks.”
He perused the crate, his eyes holding amusement. “So it is.”
“Don’t sass me, Face.” I glared.
“Step aside. I can lift it for you and haul it aboard.”
“That’s not the point. That box is—”
“What’s the trouble?” Jack approached with his usual confident demeanor.
“She was talking to me, Mate.” Face didn’t even bother to conceal his annoyance.
“But she asked for me,” Jack countered, his expression neutral.
Men could certainly be ridiculous. “Both of you, quit yapping and try to lift that box.” I pointed sharply at the wooden beast. “It’s only matches. I should at least be able to move it. But I can’t.” My chin jutted, daring them to question my strength.
The men wisely remained silent. Jack hunched over and inspected the box while Face made an effort to pull it toward him. It scraped only an inch.
Face whistled. “Are those matchsticks dipped in lead?”
Jack and I exchanged a meaningful look. This crate could be what we’d been searching for. Was there a false bottom crammed with illegal alcohol? I lowered my voice. “We need to search this freight thoroughly.”
Jack nodded. “Face, please fetch the captain.” He waited until the deckhand turned before speaking again. “If this is what—”
A dark blur loomed at the fringes of my vision. I flinched. A massive man, clad in a black workman’s uniform, careened toward Jack and lobbed a punch. Jack swerved but caught a knuckle on the lip. He recovered and launched himself at the assailant. Face turned at the commotion and joined in the ruckus, spearing an elbow to the attacker’s back. A fierce growl erupted from the man’s lips, his fiery red hair fallin
g over his feral dark eyes.
He lunged toward Jack, but this time Jack was prepared. He dipped and launched a punch to the man’s gut, causing the brute to double over. Face moved in, grabbing the man’s arms and wrenching them behind his back.
“Who are you?” Jack’s tone was low and powerful.
Rather than recognizing defeat, the goon writhed in Face’s grip and kicked his right leg, his heel not quite reaching Jack.
“Let’s try this again.” Jack spoke through clenched teeth. “Who are you?”
The man let loose a string of curses. Jack raised his tone, but his words were muffled by the man’s vehement threats. Face struggled to keep him subdued. A strong tobacco odor clogged the air, adding more confusion as I gawked at the scene. The rest of the crew in the Idlewild’s cargo hold should suspect something amiss by now. Why weren’t they—
“You’re a fair view if I ever seen one.”
I jumped at the deep snarl and swirled around. Another man stood several feet behind me. Where on earth had he come from? With the river to our left, and the wall of soap chips freight to our right, his appearance was impossible. He was my height and maybe even my weight, but he held the advantage in his right hand—a pistol. He yanked me closer and pressed the barrel to my neck, the bite of metal like ice against my flushed skin.
“Call off your friends.”
“Jack.” My voice rattled a weak whisper.
Thank God Jack glanced my way. His left hand bunched the man’s collar, his right fist cocked, readying to deliver a penetrating blow, but his entire frame tensed at the sight of the thug with the revolver.
Face caught sight of me and the gun, his face blanching. The first attacker broke free from the deckhand’s white-knuckled clutch.
“Keep your hands to yourselves and your traps shut.” The armed man’s venomous spittle sprayed my arm. “Then little missy won’t get hurt.”
His words ignited my blood. He spoke as if I was a helpless female at his mercy. My fingers tightened around…the crowbar. I tucked it into the pleat of my skirt and angled as far as his grip allowed, keeping him from spying my weapon.
Undercurrent of Secrets Page 11
