Duffy’s chin lowered in defeat and sorrow. “My girl,” he said on a sob. “My girl.”
Jack couldn’t believe it. Hattie was a fighter. She wouldn’t let them kill her. But even she had her limits. The thought of her in pain, burning, rent his soul. No. No! “This is her uncle’s doing. I’m going to destroy him. Make him suffer like he did her.”
“Won’t bring her back, son.” Duffy’s voice trembled. “Nothing can bring her back.” He stood and shuffled away, shoulders heaving.
Jones gave a slow shake of his head and left.
Jack’s soul cleft in two. Hattie. His Hattie. With a guttural cry, he kicked the stool and stormed from the stateroom.
He didn’t know where he was going, but he needed off this boat. Away from it all. But his heart yanked in another direction. He tore into Hattie’s room. The sweet smell of rosewater and talc taunted him. He grabbed her songbook from the small desk. Clutching it to his chest, he wept.
Chapter 32
Devyn had never gotten emotional over bluegrass music before, but today she could cry along with a tinny banjo’s strum commemorating another failed endeavor. The Mountain Road Boys had just rejected her request—more like pleading—to perform this Saturday. Even after she’d offered season passes for the Belle, a year’s worth of free food at MJs Pizza (Mitch would’ve understood. Emergencies called for sibling backup!) as well as her lifetime gratitude. Still, nope.
She rolled her head back against her chair and groaned.
“I take it the Mountain Road Boys aren’t coming?” Steph entered Devyn’s office, clipboard in hand.
“They’re booked all weekend.” The ball was three days away. Devyn had lowered her sights from A-list music artists to local-and-loved bands. No one was available. Yes, it was short notice, but somebody had to be free to perform. “I’m getting desperate. My mom’s uncle can play a mean rendition of “Moon River” on his accordion.”
Steph winced. “Sweetie, that’s too desperate.”
“You’re right. Plus he has a weird habit of scaring children by popping out his glass eye.”
Steph’s pencil-lined lips pursed in thought. “You’re thinking all on the lines of music. What about something else?”
“Like a standup comic? All I have to do is stand up there, and it’s a guaranteed laugh.” She sighed. “I’m bombing this opportunity.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“No, but I should’ve had backup plans on all fronts.” The nonexistent entertainment wasn’t the only glitch. The forecast predicted bad weather this weekend. Not just any regular thunderstorm, but a walloping gale. Rain would be bad enough, causing the guests to be huddled inside, watching gloomy skies rather than an amazing sunset. But with the expected high winds and limited visibility, the boat would be forced to remain docked, taking away the entire charm and uniqueness of the Belle.
Her phone buzzed. She read the incoming text and moaned. “Now my brother’s saying the breaker in his basement blew. It’s been out for days without him knowing. The paw paws in his spare fridge are spoiled.” Her breathing tightened, darts of pain shooting across her chest. “I think I’m going to have a panic attack.” She pinched her eyes shut, buried her face into her folded arms on her desk, and prayed.
“Oh good.” Steph exhaled, but Devyn refused to lift her lashes. “Your cure’s here. Handsome, go play doctor and fix our girl right up.”
She hadn’t the strength to look up at Chase or else the tears she’d been bottling would burst free, like shaking a two-liter then popping the lid. Booted steps crossed her office, but she would have known the moment Chase drew near without the sound of his rhythmic footfalls. No, his amazing cologne enveloped her in a soothing cocoon. And she couldn’t help but sniff through her only unclogged nostril.
Two solid hands slid over her shoulders, massaging. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything,” she mumbled into her sleeve.
His talented fingers worked the knots on the base of her neck. “Care to talk about it?”
She allowed him to knead her shoulders for a few more comforting seconds before glancing up. The pinch of concern in his eyes made her own well with tears. “I need outta here. I feel an all-out sobfest coming.” Thankfully Steph had already left them alone.
Chase tugged her up and into his arms, cushioning her head against his chest. “Let’s go back to your place. We’ll talk, order pizza, and watch one of your old movies.” The man really was the sweetest.
She sniffled. “Sadly, not even carbs and Cary Grant can fix my problems.”
“That bad, huh?”
Through her choking tears, she explained all the snags in their event. Chase simply held her and ran a soothing hand along her back.
“On top of that, I can’t stop thinking about Hattie.” She wiped her soggy cheeks with the edge of her sleeve. “It’s stupid, I know. But I feel like I’m in mourning.”
“It’s not stupid.” He released her to grab her cardigan from the chair back and handed it to her. “We were fully invested in this girl, and her end was tragic.”
Very tragic. Now that they knew her real name, they’d been able to discover everything about her death on the internet—her obituary, pictures of her humongous headstone in a Pittsburgh cemetery. They’d searched several newspapers, but they’d all run the same story, stating Hattie had intended to meet up with her beau—Devyn assumed he was her great-grandfather—with plans to elope. The pair had planned to meet at the cabin in a secluded spot, but Hattie had dozed off and knocked over a kerosene lamp.
Harriet Fairview had been burned alive.
But if Hattie and Devyn’s great-grandfather both had worked on the Idlewild, why would they have had to meet up somewhere? Wouldn’t they have already been together?
Several of the old articles had quotes from Garrison Jones, Chase’s great-great-grandfather, who’d been the Fairview family lawyer. They hadn’t complete clarity on his great-grandpap Charles Jones’s role in all of it, or why he’d been so anguished over Hattie. But they assumed Charles had known Hattie through her connection with his lawyer father, and her death had impacted him.
Devyn’s breath shuddered. “Here I am whining about a ball, when Hattie had an awful demise. She died at twenty-one, robbed of an entire lifetime with the man she loved.” Though if Hattie had lived, Devyn wouldn’t exist now. Nothing like a loaded dose of survivor’s guilt to add to her neurotic meltdown.
“Let’s not think about that right now.” He smoothed the hair back from her cheek. “Ready to go?” He threaded his fingers through hers, and they walked out of the lifesaving station offices to Chase’s Jeep. The sky blanketed dark gray, promising rain.
He held open the passenger door, then rounded the front, only to pause and tug his cell from his jeans’ pocket. He peered into the windshield, holding up his index finger, letting her know he had to field the call.
She waved him off. Might as well call Mitch back and try to get something figured out for dessert. But her phone buzzed, displaying a number she didn’t recognize. No doubt it was another potential entertainer turning her down. Or the florist saying all the flowers had been destroyed by zombie beetles. At this point, nothing would surprise her. “Hello, Devyn Asbury speaking.”
“Afternoon, Miss Asbury, this is Phil Beaumont from the Ohio Steamboat Museum. I found some information that might be useful in your search.”
Their search had hit a deadly end, but she hadn’t the strength to say that. Poor Hattie.
“We located some inventory logs and purser books for the Idlewild during the timeframe you’re interested in.”
She straightened. The logs would include a payroll and have the crew names listed. “Was there a Marshall Asbury on the crew? Or maybe Johnathan Asbury?”
A few sprinkles alighted the windshield. “No Asbury, but there’s a Jack Marshall here. Says he’s the first mate.”
Marshall? Why would her great-grandfather use his first name as his last? Th
ere must be more to the story. “Was there a Hattie Fairview?”
“There wasn’t any lady by that name. But the cook’s name was…let’s see…” She heard pages flipping. “Miss Agnes Wendall.”
Maybe Hattie hadn’t been on the payroll. Maybe the steamboat captain who’d been her guardian had taken care of all she needed. Which reminded her. “What about the captain’s name?”
“Ah, that would be Finnegan ‘Duffy’ Woodruff.”
“Let me grab something to write with.” Her gaze scrambled. Chase’s notebook rested on the dash. Surely, he wouldn’t mind her taking a piece of paper. Especially since she already knew his secret. She snagged the notepad and flipped to find a blank page. Her brow furrowed. These weren’t food logs, med dosages, or appointment info. These were phrases, words.
Sunset shone in her eyes and it set my soul aflame. Dated the day of their first date. When they’d been on the evening cruise.
He wrote poetry? About her?
She flushed with warmth but then another thought drained her cold. Her fingers skimmed to the front of the notepad. All poems with dates. One group of words made her heart clench. It was the poem Travis used in the breakup video. Dated two years ago.
Before that ridiculous book of poetry had even been printed.
“Sorry about that.” Chase settled behind the wheel. “Feeling any better?”
She couldn’t pull her distraught gaze from his eyes, his granite—no, slate-colored—eyes. Rain droplets had caught in his hair, curling the tips. But she was the one soaked in unbelief, abject shock.
“What’s wrong?” The easy smile slid from his face. “Still thinking about Hattie? The ball? We’ll get it—”
“I know.” Her voice warbled, and she hated the sound.
“Know what?” He reached to caress her face, but she shrank from his touch. “What happened?”
“You’re Slate.”
His gaze fell to the notebook in her lap, and a muscle leapt in his jaw. “You knew that already. We talked about it.”
What? “No, we haven’t.” Her snappish tone was accented by a rumble of thunder. “I would’ve remembered that conversation. I have no recollection of you saying, ‘Hey Devyn, you know that worst moment of your life? I was part of it.’”
He jolted as if she’d slapped him. “I had no idea your jerk of a fiancé was going to use my poem. That’s not my fault.”
“But you’re at fault for lying to me this whole time.” She picked up the notebook and shook it. “How could you? I trusted you. Fell in lov—” No, she was not going there.
“Wait. Devyn, back up.” He dropped his keys in the cupholder as if saying he wasn’t going anywhere until they’d worked this out. “The day at your family’s cabin, when we were by the falls, I tried to tell you. But you said you knew all about it. That we didn’t need to discuss anything because it was a personal part of my life.”
“No. No, no, no.” This wasn’t happening. Her fingers skimmed her pounding temple. “I thought you were sick.”
“What?” His forehead rippled. “What gave you that idea?”
“Your phone conversation a while back, I kept hearing the words insurance, and agent, and overdue. Then I saw you jotting words on the Belle before dinner. I thought you were logging what you ate. My mom did that when she was on lots of meds.” She shifted her stare toward her window, watching rivulets of rain twist down the glass. “I totally assumed the wrong thing.”
Chase sat for a long minute. “I was probably talking to Melanie. My agent. She’s pressuring me to accept Travis’s offer. I told her my biggest insurance right now is staying anonymous.” His laugh held no humor. “But that won’t last unless I give my publishers some more material. I’ve been struggling, and I’m overdue on my deadline.”
All those words she’d thought had to do with sickness had been aimed at him being a writer. Slate. “Why didn’t you mention it even before?” Agitation renewed, she nailed him with a glare. “You had plenty of opportunities to tell me before that mix-up at the creek.”
“Because, Devyn.” His tone was deep and heated. “The very first time we met you basically strangled my book and called it trash.”
Ugh. She did.
“Then…” He palmed the back of his neck, his eyes sliding shut for a few sharp breaths. “Then we got close. I wanted to tell you several times, but I didn’t want to lose you. To lose what we have.”
What did they have? Clearly communication issues. But the boldfaced truth rose from the swell of chaos—she had fallen in love with Slate.
“Say something.” His imploring gaze made her look away. “Anything.”
She bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t know.” This day had been disaster upon disaster. The ball planning was in shambles. Her relationship with Chase now teetering like a Jenga tower—one more unwise turn, and it could topple completely. “You’re not who I thought you were.”
He blew out a shaft of air. “You know who I am.”
“Do I?”
His gaze latched hers. “Devyn, you know me. More than anyone else outside my family. I don’t want to lose what we have here.”
At this moment she wasn’t certain what she felt. It wasn’t his fault about the misunderstanding at the cabin. She wasn’t too unreasonable or proud to accept the blame for her part in that. But still, the truth was a shock to her core. More like an explosion. And now her emotions were fragmented debris scattered all around her.
“You also know how important it is to remain anonymous.”
Oh, she knew. Travis had been prepared to toss a lot of money at Slate for a reveal on Space Station.
Chase was waiting, but she couldn’t offer a response. Her thoughts were jumbled, too mixed up to understand, let alone voice. But her choice in remaining silent seemed to make Chase more anxious, his searching gaze never straying from her face.
“I know you’re upset with me. Angry, even.” He scraped both hands through his hair and then collapsed his head against the seat back. “Just please, don’t do anything rash.”
Her jaw unhinged. “Like?”
“Like break up with me or…”
“Or what?”
“Ruin me.”
Her breath iced over in her lungs. “You can’t be serious.” Was that what he thought of her? “Chase, I know exactly how it feels to be ruined in the public eye. I would never do that to anyone. Anyone! Let alone the man I—” She’d said enough. Her shaky fingers managed to open the door.
Chase looked stricken. “Devyn, please stay. I didn’t mean it to—”
She exited the Jeep and hurried down the Riverwalk toward her apartment building, the rain mixing with her tears.
Chapter 33
The storms had rolled in earlier than forecasted.Two days after Devyn and Chase’s explosive argument the sky had cracked open and unleashed its wrath on Louisville. Electricity had flickered on and off. Some areas of the city had flooded.
But Devyn had work to do.
She’d tried—but failed miserably—to keep her thoughts focused on the ball and off Chase. He’d called a dozen times. Texted more than that. And like the responsible adult she was, she hadn’t responded. Finding out her man was Slate had been a crazy mountain of emotions to scale, but realizing he was afraid she’d purposefully expose him? That was like an avalanche tumbling down said mountain and burying her in hurt. And she’d yet to climb out.
Relationships were built on trust, and if he didn’t trust her to keep his secret, then what was the use? This morning she’d located a general non-disclosure agreement at work, filled out what she could, and signed it. Soon UPS would supply him with legal proof that she had no intention of destroying him.
All afternoon and into early evening, Devyn and Steph had been decorating the ball room, transforming it into a river dreamland. But even that couldn’t keep Devyn from checking her phone. The few stragglers she’d been waiting on about the entertainment hadn’t gotten back to her, but she was mostly curio
us if Chase would reach out again. His last text had been five hours ago.
Maybe she should—
“Hey, Devyn?” Steph called over her shoulder while standing on a stepladder, screwdriver in her hand. “Leave the entertainment to me.” She resumed unscrewing the faded No Smoking sign as if what she said wasn’t a huge deal.
Devyn shook her head. Maybe she’d misheard. She hadn’t been too awesome in the communication department lately. “What’s that, Steph?”
“Leave the entertainment to me. I’ll handle it.” She tugged the sign from the wall.
“That’s really kind of you, but—”
“It’s my responsibility now.” Steph stepped down from the ladder and approached Devyn, a sympathetic smile in place. “Look at you. You’ve been micromanaging this entire event.”
“Isn’t that what you told me to do? To take care of everything?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “And I’m sorry for it.” She pulled out a chair and sat then motioned for Devyn to sit too. “You’ve been running yourself ragged.”
“I really want the Belle to win.”
“Do you?” The twist in her tone paired with the knowing lift of her brow. “Or do you have something to prove to yourself?”
Devyn glued her stare on her chipped thumbnail rather than let Steph glimpse the truth no doubt flooding her eyes. “I just want something to go right.” Was that too much to ask? “But even this spun out of control. Thank God, it’s manageable again.” The weather now seemed cooperative, promising clear skies for the event. The décor had come together and the parts they’d already arranged looked stunning. Mitch had called earlier with news of salvaging enough fruit to make pawpaw crème brûlé for dessert. Which would be a tastier dish than the pudding. And yet Devyn still felt like a failure. Was it the missing entertainment factor? Or more likely her rocky relationship with Chase? Her pillow was probably still soaked from her unending tears. “I’ll rest after the ball.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, honey.” Steph pushed off the table and stood. “I’m sending you home. Now.”
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