Full Steam Ahead

by Karen Witemeyer

  She was making it awfully hard to keep up the disgruntled employer pretense that he’d started last night. He usually had no trouble being disgruntled around people, especially when he was trussed up in a jacket with ridiculously tight sleeves and a collar that made his neck itch. His bad temper was legendary in the Thornton household. ’Twas why his mother finally stopped forcing him to attend parties and why his father put him in charge of King Star’s accounting records.

  Yet a few teasing comments from Nicole had him mighty close to whistling, for pity’s sake. He actually liked the chit. Outside of his sister and mother, he couldn’t remember ever actually liking a woman before. Oh, he’d been attracted to several and even admired a few, but he’d always felt pressured to put on an act for them, to cover up his flaws so they wouldn’t see his true self. When the act became too tedious, he simply forfeited the chase. Without much regret.

  Nicole, however, had already seen his flaws. He’d paraded them before her since the moment she arrived for her interview. Yet instead of turning up her nose, she’d come to accept them as part of him, even teased him about them. It left him with no tedious act to maintain, only a growing hunger to learn more about her, to prove that he could accept her flaws, as well. Starting with that bullheaded stubbornness that kept her from asking for help.

  As he climbed into the driver’s seat and took up the reins, he leaned close to Wellborn on the seat beside him. “Tomorrow I want you to go to the landing in Liberty and see what you can learn about a family named Jenkins,” he murmured in a voice too low for Nicole to hear over his housekeeper’s chatter and the jangle of the harness as the horses set the wagon in motion. “It seems they’re the ones making trouble for our houseguest. Competitors of some sort for her father’s business. I recall her mentioning something about reading shipping manifests from a young age, so her father might be involved in freight or import/export endeavors.” Their conversation by the pond came back to him, as well, the part where she’d tried to convince him that she was unruffled by his soggy condition. “She grew up near the Gulf, so you might start by questioning the crews coming up from Galveston.”

  Wellborn dipped his chin. “I’ll see to it first thing in the morning, sir.”

  Darius straightened. “Thank you.”

  In the meantime, he planned to keep a close eye on his new secretary. Perhaps make a few discreet inquiries of his own. And if the prospect of spending more time with her happened to speed his pulse every time he thought of it, who was he to complain? With the sadly insufficient amount of sleep he acquired each night, a rush of fast-pumping blood every now and again would help keep him alert.

  And the distraction she presented? Well, he’d find a way to deal with it.

  After a thirty-minute wagon ride, a two-hour church service, and another thirty minutes in the wagon on the way home, Darius was seriously reconsidering his ability to deal with the distraction his secretary presented. On the ride to Grand Cane, he’d run countless scenarios through his head about how he could best protect her from the unknown Jenkins brothers. During church when the preacher extolled the congregation to look not only to their own interests, but to the interests of others, his first thought was of her. Even now as he steered the horses onto the drive that led to Oakhaven, he found his senses straining to eavesdrop on the ladies’ conversation behind him instead of concentrating on his driving.

  “I can’t believe I just attended the church that Sam Houston’s wife established. Maman won’t believe it.” Nicole’s giddy enthusiasm reminded him for the first time of the difference in their ages. She carried herself with such maturity, self-possession, and intelligence that he’d never given much thought to her age. Yet by physical appearance, he’d guess her to be of similar age to his sister who’d just turned twenty this past year.

  And the way she called her mother Maman. French ancestry. Another clue to have Wellborn follow up on.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Wellborn cooed. “She and her sister-in-law, Nancy Lea—she was the lady in the yellow bonnet—were the ones to suggest building a church near the Houston home. Did you meet Nancy?”

  “I’m sure I did.” Nicole laughed, the light sound carrying an edge of self-consciousness. “However, all the names and faces are rather a blur right now.”

  “Don’t worry about that. A few more visits, and you’ll have everyone straightened out.”

  “Of course.” Nicole responded politely, but Darius heard the change in her voice, as if someone had snuffed the light from it. And he knew she was thinking the same thing he was—she wouldn’t be here long enough to learn the names.

  Darius frowned and turned his attention back to the horses, guiding them between the barn and the house and pulling them to a halt near the front porch. He had just reached for the brake lever when Mrs. Wellborn screeched.

  “Thief!”

  Darius whipped his head around. There. The parlor window. A boy. Halfway in, halfway out. Though in a blink he was all the way out. Out and running like blue blazes across the open field on the far side of the house.

  Passing the reins to Wellborn, Darius prepared to give chase when a tiny growl echoed behind him.

  “Oh, no, you don’t.” Heedless of her finery, Nicole leapt over the side of the wagon as if it were three inches off the ground instead of three feet and ran after the boy at a speed he’d never witnessed in a woman.

  Darius vaulted after her, immediately lamenting his Sunday garb. Running down a fleet-footed lad and a gazelle of a woman would be so much easier sans necktie and jacket. Eventually, his longer legs prevailed, catching him up to Nicole.

  “I’ll get him,” he huffed as he passed her, assuming she would pull up and catch her breath. But the crazy woman never slowed, even when he passed her. Her feet continued slapping against the earth behind him.

  Did she doubt his ability to apprehend the lad? The thought pricked his pride and added an extra surge of energy to his stride. “Ho, boy!” he called. “Hold up there.”

  The young thief glanced over his shoulder at the shout, then tripped over something and fell sprawled on the ground. He started to scramble to his feet, but when he got on all fours, he froze.

  Darius sprinted faster. Was the lad hurt? Whatever he had stolen, it wasn’t worth the child coming to harm. But as he rushed up behind the boy, his heart dropped to his stomach and he careened to a halt.

  A coiled rattler lay not two feet in front of the boy. The deadly shhhh of the snake’s tail had the hair standing up on the back of Darius’s neck. The creature’s head lifted another inch, its forked tongue darting out as if measuring the distance of the strike.

  “Easy, lad,” Darius murmured in a soft voice. “Keep still. I’ll not let him bite you.” Though how he was going to keep that rash promise, he hadn’t quite figured out. He had no pistol. No knife. There wasn’t even a decent-sized rock within arm’s reach. All he could think to do was grab the boy and fling him behind himself, praying the rattler would either miss or strike him instead of the boy.

  Darius inhaled a steadying breath and braced his feet. He’d have only one shot at this. God, you closed the mouths of the lions for Daniel. Please do the same with this snake.

  He leaned forward, his eyes glued to the boy’s middle. His fingers spread slightly in readiness. One. Two. Thr—

  Thwack!

  A small blade pierced the snake’s head and pinned it to the ground. A precision shot.

  Together, Darius and the lad turned in the direction from which the throw had come.

  His intrepid secretary stood glaring at the rattler, her face flushed, her breathing heavy, and her outstretched right hand in perfect post-throwing position.

  CHAPTER 16

  Nicole gulped air into her lungs, doing all she could not to bend over and brace her hands on her knees. Even with the loose lacing she’d always preferred, she swore she could feel her corset compressing her lungs. But she dared not show any weakness. With the snake out of the way now, the boy might
try to take off again.

  When Mrs. Wellborn had cried thief, Nicole’s heart plummeted to her stomach. Had Will and Fletcher paid the boy to ransack the house while they’d all been away at church? It wouldn’t be hard for the boy to pick her room out from the others. How much time had he spent inside before they’d come home? Enough time to search the few drawers and under the mattress and realize that the Lafitte Dagger must be hidden elsewhere? Had he been clever enough to notice the uneven floorboard? He was a small lad, his eyes closer to the floor than a man’s.

  Most likely the boy was simply looking for a few baubles to pawn, but she couldn’t be too careful. Her family’s future rested on that dagger. If even the slimmest chance existed that this boy had it, she’d chase him all the way to the Gulf. She needed to see his cache.

  She turned to address the lad and found two pairs of eyes staring at her as if she’d just sprouted a horn in the middle of her forehead.

  “Gadzooks, lady! Where’d you learn to throw like that?” The awe in the boy’s tone brought heat to her cheeks.

  “A pirate taught me,” she snapped, stomping forward to reclaim her blade. For heaven’s sake. Did all males assume women to be helpless creatures incapable of fending for themselves? Pressing her shoe against the snake’s neck, she held the lifeless rattler down and yanked the knife free. There wasn’t much blood, but still, she couldn’t exactly lift her skirts and slip it back into the sheath strapped to her thigh with Darius and a child looking on in rapt attention.

  “A pirate, Miss Greyson?” Darius regarded her with a raised brow, obviously not as awestruck as the gaping boy at his side.

  She sighed. “All right, so my father was an ordinary seaman, not a pirate. But I used to imagine him a pirate while we had our lessons.” She tossed a wink at the boy. “Made it so much more fun, you know. My father ensured I was proficient with pistols, too, but I preferred the blades. So much more elegant and lighter weight. Much better suited to a lady, wouldn’t you say? Pistols are dirty things, what with all that black powder and the flash from the flintlock every time one pulls the trigger.” She gave a little shudder, and the boy cracked a smile.

  Now was as good a time as any, she supposed.

  Gesturing toward the odd-shaped lump bulging around the boy’s middle with a tilt of her head, Nicole kept her tone light, nonthreatening. “Care to show me what you’ve got hidden beneath your shirt?”

  The boy’s arms wrapped tentatively around his belly, and his gaze dropped to the ground. His shoulders slumped. “I guess it’s only fair I give it back. Since you saved me from that rattler and all.” He tugged his shirttails free from his trousers and cupped his hands beneath to catch the loot.

  Loot that amounted to a round loaf of bread, a jar of jam, and a small wedge of cheese.

  He extended the offerings to her, the thinness of his wrists evident as they stretched past the ends of his too-short sleeves. Nicole’s heart twisted into a painful knot as she stepped forward to accept the stolen items from him. Moisture collected at the back of her eyes. She felt like the thief, taking food from a boy so obviously in need of nourishment.

  “Where are your parents?” Darius asked in a voice carefully devoid of recrimination as he stepped closer and placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder.

  The child flinched, but whether from Darius’s touch or his question, Nicole couldn’t decipher.

  “Dead, sir.”

  “And your guardian?”

  The boy’s face blared mutiny, his lips a thin line, his eyes narrowed. “I ain’t tellin’ ’cause I ain’t goin’ back. Not ever.”

  Nicole met Darius’s gaze over the youngster’s head. What atrocities had the boy suffered that made scrounging around on his own preferable to living with his guardian? Her heart broke for the little warrior, his arms crossed over his bony chest, his determination not quite hiding the fear in his eyes.

  They couldn’t turn him over to the law. He’d be forced to return to his guardian or sent to a workhouse. What kind of life was that for a young lad? He’d only taken food, nothing of monetary worth.

  As if Darius had read her thoughts, he hunkered down in front of the boy. “My name’s Darius Thornton, and I own the house back there.” He tipped his head in the direction of Oakhaven. “I’m a very busy man with important work to see to, and chasing you out into this field has inconvenienced me greatly.”

  The boy hung his head, his spirit draining out of him. Nicole gritted her teeth and surged forward to intervene, but Darius stopped her with a look.

  “There might be a way you could make it up to me, however.” He paused, not saying more until the boy met his eye.

  “You see, it occurs to me that I might be able to get even more of my important work done if I had additional help around the place.” He leaned close and lowered his voice as if imparting a secret. “Wellborn, the other fellow back there? Well, he’s a bit of a dandy, always dressed to the nines. Hates to get dirty. So half the time, I’m the one mucking the stalls in the barn when what I should be doing is researching steam pressure and boiler plates. You ever muck a stall, boy?”

  The lad eyed him speculatively. “Yes, sir.”

  “Know how to saddle a horse or harness a team?”

  “I done it a time or two.”

  Darius thumped him lightly on the shoulder, then pushed up to his feet. “Excellent! I thought you had the look of a lad who knew his way around a barn. I bet you can even milk a cow.”

  “Shoot, mister. I been milkin’ cows since I was big enough to carry the pail without spillin’.” A light of understanding suddenly lit the boy’s eyes. His arms uncrossed in a flash, and he bobbed around in front of Darius like a dog waiting for his master to throw him a ball. “I can feed chickens, too,” he said, “and collect eggs. And I know the difference ’tween a weed and a carrot top. I used to help my ma out in the garden back home. I bet I could save you all kinds of time, Mr. Thornton.”

  He glanced guiltily at the food in Nicole’s hand.

  “I don’t eat much. Honest. That would have lasted me several days. And I could bunk in the barn. I’m used to sleepin’ outside. I wouldn’t even need a blanket or nothin’.”

  Darius sharpened his gaze on the lad. “Now see here, young man. If you come to work for me, I expect you to eat every morsel placed in front of you. You’re scrawny enough as it is. I don’t care to have walking skeletons on my payroll. They’re too fragile.”

  The boy stood tall. “I’m strong, mister. I swear. I won’t be lettin’ you down. No, sir. I’ll clean my plate every night, just like my mama taught me. You’ll see.”

  Nicole suppressed a smile. “You better promise the same for breakfast and noon, as well. Mr. Thornton can’t abide waste.”

  The boy’s jaw slackened, as if he couldn’t quite imagine such bounty as three meals in the same day. Then he closed his mouth with a snap and nodded like a soldier accepting orders. “Breakfast and noon, too.”

  “And when I set up your cot in the tack room,” Darius continued, his tone serious, “I expect you to make it up every morning, no matter how many blankets there are. Understand?”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  “And when I pay your wages at the end of the month, no running off to town to fritter them away on candy if there’s still work to be done.”

  “W-wages?” The poor boy looked completely overwhelmed.

  Darius did, too, though he did a better job of hiding it. There was a definite shimmer of compassion in his eyes, and his voice had gone rather thick. In fact, he had to clear his throat before he continued.

  “You heard me,” he said gruffly. “Wages. I’m from the north, boy. I don’t believe in slavery. What I do believe in is respect, hard work, and integrity. Give me that, and we’ll get along just fine. So what do you say? Will you come work for me?”

  The boy nodded, his eyes still a bit glazed. “Yes, sir.”

  Nicole’s chest felt near to bursting, not only for the child so in need of a home,
but for the tender heart of the man offering one for the lad’s use. Not exactly what she expected from an obsessive scientist, even one with a noble purpose. For despite his arguments to the contrary, she expected having the boy underfoot would hinder more than help, at least at first, as the boy learned his way around. But Darius was willing to take him on anyway. Even after the lad had stolen from him. She couldn’t imagine many of the men she’d met in Galveston or Boston taking such charitable action.

  Before the dreamy sigh rising up in her throat could escape, however, Nicole clamped her lips shut and forced her attention away from her employer. Going soft for the man would do neither of them any favors. She was on her way to New Orleans to find a husband, an heir for her father. And no matter how good a man Darius Thornton was, or how his smiles made her heart skitter, she couldn’t lose sight of her mission. He might know the inner workings of a steam engine, but that wasn’t enough. Her father needed a man who knew the shipping business in its entirety: from hiring crew, to managing inventory, to selecting trade routes, to generating new business contacts. Losing her heart to a man who could never be her father’s heir would be a disaster.

  She needed to leave. Sooner rather than later.

  “What’s your name, son?” Darius asked, gesturing for the boy to walk beside him back toward the house. Nicole made no move to follow the twosome. Distance was what she needed now.

  “Jacob.”

  The pair moved past her, and despite her pledge to keep herself distant, Nicole couldn’t suppress a grin as Jacob mimicked Darius’s stride, matching right arm to right arm and left to left as they walked. She remembered doing much the same thing when her father would take her sailing—imitating his wide stance on deck, the angle of his jaw as he shouted orders, even ducking her head as he did when they entered his cabin despite the fact that there was about as much chance of her hitting her head on the crossbeam as there was of the Gulf running dry.