Make You Mine

by Macy Beckett

  Now there was the incidental matter of who would cook their meals.

  “Gimme some of that, boy.” Nodding at the bottle of Crown Royal, Pawpaw slid his tumbler across the table, and Marc used his free hand to pour two fingers of whiskey before sliding it back.

  The executive bar had been deserted anyway, so he’d closed it down for an emergency family meeting. Nicky and Alex sat at opposite ends of the table, wearing the same worried expression, no beer bottles in hand.

  Bad sign.

  “Grab a Sam Adams and let’s figure this out,” Marc said to his twin brothers. When neither of them made a move for the cooler, he tipped his frozen peas in that direction. “That’s an order from your captain.”

  Alex threw him a sour look and reached into the cooler for two beers, then handed one to Nick, who unscrewed the top and took a deep pull. He toasted Marc with his bottle. “You run a tight ship, Cap’n.”

  Marc knew it was a sarcastic jab, but he let it go. “Damn straight. I didn’t take shit from Regale and I won’t take it from you, so don’t start.” Okay, maybe he didn’t let it go. But his blood was still boiling from the fight, and now wasn’t the time to needle him.

  “I still can’t believe you cleaned his clock,” Nick said. “That man was our bread and butter.”

  “That man was an unreliable dictator.” Marc sucked in a mouthful of cola, and it slid down the wrong pipe. He coughed and swiped a hand over his mouth. “The guests won’t be sorry to hear he’s gone. Not after he held them hostage for an hour with no supper.”

  “You know who else should be gone?” Pawpaw said, pointing his tumbler toward the casino.

  “Don’t start.” Marc wasn’t in the mood to hear it. God help him once word spread among the crew that he and Regale had come to blows over Allie. Pawpaw would go apeshit. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”

  It wasn’t the truth, but he didn’t much care.

  “I second that,” Nick said. “If anything, she’s good luck. You should’ve seen her today. Every time she blew on someone’s dice, they rolled a seven. The guys are nuts about her.”

  Marc’s brows lowered. Just how many pairs of dice had there been? “Now that Regale’s gone, I want her back in the galley doing what I hired her to do,” he grumbled. “First thing.” Alex snickered and Marc kicked him under the table. “I mean it.”

  “Aye-aye, Cap.” Alex took a swig of beer, but he still had a smug smile on his lips.

  Ella-Claire joined them and dragged over a chair to sit beside Alex. “Sorry I’m late.” She grabbed Alex’s beer, took a leisurely sip, and handed it back as if it were the most natural thing in the world to share a drink with him.

  What was up with that?

  He knew the two were buddies, but Marc didn’t want Ella’s mouth touching Alex’s—not even by way of a beer bottle. Marc got up from the table and grabbed a Sam Adams from the cooler, then handed it to his sister. “Here, hon,” he said, untwisting the top for her. “You don’t want to go drinking after any of my brothers.”

  Alex scowled, first at Marc, then at the lip of his beer bottle. “You sayin’ I have cooties?”

  “Of course you do,” Ella said with a friendly shoulder bump. “But they’re sweet cooties.” Just as Marc resolved to keep an eye on those two, Ella said something that shut down his mind to cohesive thought. “By the way, I took the liberty of calling Beau.”

  The men at the table drew a collective breath, and all eyes shifted to Marc. It took him a minute to find his voice. When it resurfaced, he sounded eerily calm despite the rush of anger in his veins. “Why would you do that?”

  Ella rolled her eyes as if the answer should be obvious. “Because he practically cut his teeth in that galley. Didn’t you tell me he started working in the kitchen before he could say his ABC’s?”

  Marc couldn’t deny it. His big brother had always been a clever bastard and that, combined with his gargantuan size, meant any problem he couldn’t solve with his brain had been solved with his fists. As kids, Beau had lorded it over him until Marc grew big enough to push back. They’d been at each other’s throats ever since.

  “No,” Marc said. “He won’t take orders. He’s worse than Regale.”

  “He’s family,” Ella pressed. “And he’s changed.”

  Marc cocked his head to one side and gave her a skeptical look.

  “Really,” she swore, holding up a hand in oath. “I don’t know where he’s been for the last couple of years, but he sounds like a new man.” She sipped her beer, then lifted it toward Marc. “You know what he said when I told him you’re captain now?”

  Marc laughed without humor. “He probably asked if our liability insurance is paid up.”

  “He said It’s about flippin’ time.”

  “Flippin’?” Marc asked in disbelief.

  “Okay, that’s not the actual word he used, but still,” Ella said. “He’s happy for you.”

  Marc doubted that. “Doesn’t matter. He’s not a gourmet.”

  “His food is just as good . . .” Alex pointed out.

  Nick added, “He works at half the salary.”

  “And he can meet us in Naaaatch-ez,” Ella sang, flashing an encouraging smile.

  Marc tossed his frozen peas onto the table and wondered if it was too late to rehire Regale. Kicking a man’s ass tended to burn bridges, but in this case it might be worth trying to get him back.

  “Hire the boy,” Pawpaw hollered, “and be done with it!” Then he muttered under his breath, “You’ll bring a Mauvais on board, but not your own kin. It ain’t right.”

  “Jesus, fine. Just do it.” Marc reached for the bottle of whiskey but changed his mind. Liquor wouldn’t cure what ailed him. Nothing would.

  This trip was a bona fide disaster.

  • • •

  Allie shook her hips to the beat of “I Feel Lucky,” singing along with Mary Chapin Carpenter from the iPod docking station in the galley. Regale had never allowed music in his kitchen, but this wasn’t his kitchen anymore.

  “I feel luckyyyyyyyyy, yeah!”

  She whistled the rest of the song as she drizzled cream cheese icing over a batch of newly cooled breakfast Danish. Nobody else sang with her, but the galley staff had a collective spring in their step, a lightness that came from a total liberation from tyranny. Maybe Allie should play “Ding Dong! The Witch Is Dead.” They’d probably dance a jig to that.

  But it wasn’t only Chef’s absence that had Allie smiling. The Belle had finally docked in Natchez, and the passengers would soon disembark for a day of historic plantation tours and shopping—which meant the kitchen could operate on half staff.

  Luxurious as the Belle was, Allie’s feet itched for the firmness of solid ground. A flowery sundress and a pair of strappy sandals beckoned from her suite upstairs, and she couldn’t wait to get out of this uniform and into something pretty.

  After shuttling the Danish into the main dining room, she boxed up a dozen to take to the fire station and clocked out for the day.

  Two hours later, Allie tucked the remains of Regale’s melted cell phone inside her handbag, grabbed her box of Danish, and made her way onto the main deck, where Marc and his family lined the exit ramp to remind guests of the departure time and wish them a pleasant day. She waited for the passengers to clear out before approaching the ramp.

  Marc shielded his face from the low morning sun, looking dashing as ever in his white captain’s uniform. It wasn’t until he turned to walk back inside that Allie noticed someone had blackened his eye—and done a thorough job of it. His upper lid was swollen half shut, the skin beneath it puffy and stained purple. His gaze widened when he noticed her, and for an instant, she thought she saw a spark there, excitement mingled with desire. But he snuffed it out just as quickly.

  “What happened?” she asked him, pointing to her own face
.

  He grumbled to himself and tugged open the door to the side lobby, then left without another word. His pawpaw gave her the stink eye and followed.

  Nick chuckled while taking a moment to appreciate the plunging neckline of her sundress. “Nothing he didn’t deserve.”

  “Yeah,” Alex added. “But you should see the other guy.”

  Allie started to ask about “the other guy,” but decided she didn’t want to hear any more. If Marc was going to ignore her, let him stay behind and stew all by himself. But before she had a chance to say so, Alex and Nick’s heads swiveled in perfect synchronization toward the bow ramp. She glanced over her shoulder to see what had drawn their attention.

  It was a striking young woman—no surprise there—with hair the color of ripe strawberries and a smile that radiated easy sex. She wore a halter top and matching booty shorts paired with five-inch screw-me pumps. Allie wanted to ask how many pole tricks the girl could do, but Mama had raised her better than that. Instead, she darted a glance at Ella-Claire and raised an eyebrow.

  “Can I help you?” Ella-Claire asked the girl.

  “Yeah, I’m Nora.” The woman popped her gum and nodded toward the pilothouse. “Marc’s girlfriend.”

  Funny how two seemingly harmless, intangible words had the power to suck all the oxygen from Allie’s lungs. Her lips parted, but she couldn’t breathe through them.

  Marc had a girlfriend?

  He’d neglected to mention that small detail when he was lying on top of Allie with his fingers inside her. As the moments ticked by, the shock began to wear off, replaced by hurt. Allie thought she’d made progress with Marc—she believed they were friends. Was she fooling herself the whole time? Had she only seen what she’d wanted to see?

  Nick and Alex exchanged a concerned glance, the kind men shared when one of their comrades was in trouble. Nick smiled and indicated the row of rocking chairs lining the side deck. “I can’t let you inside, hon,” he said. “But if you have a seat, I’ll call Marc down to meet you.”

  Nora pouted her overly glossed lips but didn’t argue. She strutted to the nearest rocker and sat in it sideways, slinging her bare legs over the arm of the chair.

  Classy.

  Allie told herself she’d dodged a bullet—any man who had such lousy taste in girlfriends wasn’t worth having. But there was no denying the slow ache opening up inside her like a sinkhole. If she stood there staring at Nora’s infinite legs any longer, Allie might cave in on herself. She tightened her grip on the box between her hands and ordered her feet to move toward the metal ramp.

  “Allie, wait,” Ella-Claire called from behind. When she caught up, her blue eyes were full of sympathy. “I could use a break. Want some company?”

  Girl time sounded perfect right now. Allie didn’t trust herself to speak over the lump in her throat, so she nodded.

  As she led the way down the ramp, she heard Marc’s voice in the background, but she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t stand to watch him embrace another woman and lead her inside—and she especially couldn’t think too hard about what the two of them would do once they were alone.

  When had she fallen so hard? Allie figured Marc would break her heart; she just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

  Once her sandals connected with pavement, she pushed Marc from her thoughts and scanned the road signs to orient herself. “We need Main Street,” she told Ella.

  “This way.”

  Ella seemed to know the lay of the land, and God bless her, she didn’t say a word about what had happened aboard the Belle. They strolled through town at a leisurely pace, enjoying the gentle breeze on their shoulders as Ella filled the conversation with which movies she wanted to see next, and with which date. Turned out she’d been seeing a few different men, but none of them seriously.

  Allie stopped at an intersection to wait for the crossing signal. “So there’s nobody special?” she asked. “No one you like more than the others?”

  The light turned green and Ella crossed, shaking her head and setting her ponytail into full swing. “Not really.”

  That wasn’t a firm yes or a no. Allie’s experience with matchmaking had taught her that Not really usually meant Yes, kind of. “My mama used to call that a liquid answer.” She slid Ella an encouraging grin. “Sounds like you’re not too sure.”

  Ella shrugged. She didn’t say anything, but her hand darted to the frog pendant at her throat, and she worked it between her thumb and index finger. It was a nervous tell, sure as sunrise. Words lied, but body language didn’t.

  “That’s a cute necklace,” Allie said casually. “Where’d you get it?”

  A reflexive smile curved Ella’s lips. “Alex bought it for my birthday last year.”

  Bingo.

  “It’s an inside joke,” Ella went on. “When we were kids, we used to sneak off to the creek to catch frogs. One day my mama found a toad in the washing machine. I must’ve left it in my pocket.” Her smile widened at the memory. “It survived the washing, so Alex named it TIC, short for The Invincible Croaker. We put him in a shoebox and traded him back and forth for the summer—one week at my house, one week at his.”

  “Joint custody,” Allie mused.

  “Yeah,” Ella said. “But he died in captivity.” A wistful sigh escaped her lips, and she turned her gaze to a merchant’s window as they passed. “I guess some things aren’t meant to be caught and kept.”

  “Mmm,” Allie agreed, then gave a nudge with her elbow. “Like Dumonts?”

  A light flush stained Ella’s cheeks. “You have to admit they don’t have the best track record.”

  Allie thought back to Marc’s surprise girlfriend, and the corners of her mouth turned down. “Ninety-nine years of lying, cheating, and running around? I’d say that’s an understatement.”

  Ella shoved both hands in her pockets and peeked at Allie. “Do you really think they’re cursed?”

  The word no formed on Allie’s lips, but she hesitated. Right now, some redheaded hoochie was wrapped around Marc like a horny squid. For all Allie knew, he had a different woman at each port. “They sure act like it.”

  After another block, they reached the fire department, and talk of curses and frogs turned to the science behind forensic investigations.

  At first, the firemen shook their heads at Allie’s request, but once they’d filled their bellies with her legendary Danish, they took Regale’s cell phone and promised to call her in a few days with their findings. With a wave of thanks to her new admirers, Allie returned outside, where she and Ella made their way back down Main Street.

  The temperature had ratcheted from warm to whoa in the last thirty minutes, so they kept to the shade and began looking for ways to stay cool. After browsing for antiques, they stopped at a hole-in-the-wall diner for lunch, then splurged on ice cream—a double scoop.

  While they strolled along the river with their waffle cones in hand, Allie learned that Ella-Claire had secretly considered taking a job with a European cruise line, but decided against it when Marc’s daddy had handed over the reins. When it came to her brother, Ella had a clear case of hero worship.

  “Listen,” Ella said when they’d come full circle and reached the dock. “I really like you, and I know my brother does, too. Don’t give up on him yet.”

  Allie stared at the Belle’s vacant decks, seeing no sign of Marc or his girlfriend. Her heart pinched at the thought that the two might be holed up inside his quarters. “Thanks, baby. For you, the feeling’s mutual.” She licked a drip of ice cream from her wrist and frowned at the pilothouse. “But when it comes to your brother, I’m afraid he likes all the girls.”

  A deep male voice boomed with laughter. “Glad to see nothing’s changed since I’ve been gone.”

  Allie spun around and came face-to-face—or rather face-to-chest—with a gray T-shirt stretched tight ove
r the largest set of pecs she’d ever witnessed outside a WWF ring. She craned her neck skyward and recognized a familiar pair of green eyes smiling down at her from beneath a thatch of short auburn hair.

  Merde.

  The last time she’d seen this man, he’d left her sister holding the bag for two misdemeanors . . . and broken her heart. But that was on graduation night. No one had seen hide or hair of him since—and he was hard to miss.

  “Beau Dumont,” she breathed. It sounded like an accusation, which it was. What in the world was he doing here?

  “Hey, Allie.” He flashed that crooked smile, the same one that had brought her sister to her knees, probably in the literal sense. “You’re as pretty as ever, darlin’.”

  “And you’ve grown.” Which she hadn’t thought was possible. “Where’ve you been?”

  Beau lifted one massive shoulder and ran a meaty hand over his buzz cut. “Joined the marines. They kept me fed.”

  And how.

  “What’s new with Dev?” Though he kept a hold on his lazy smile, Beau folded his arms protectively across his chest and held his breath while waiting for her answer.

  So Allie made him wait a few more beats. “She’s meaner than a sack full of rattlers, thanks to you.”

  That wiped the grin off his face.

  “Uh, Allie,” Ella-Claire said. “Meet our new head cook.”

  Allie couldn’t help laughing. She wondered what Devyn would say when she discovered that Beau Dumont was not only back from the dead, but working in the Belle’s galley. She’d probably ask Allie to perform an “accidental” vasectomy with a dull butter knife.

  “What’s funny?” Beau asked, opening his arms to hug Ella-Claire.

  Ella smiled up at him while wrapping her arms around his waist. “Allie’s your pastry chef.”

  That slippery grin lifted one corner of Beau’s mouth. Keeping Ella tucked against his chest, he slung his other arm around Allie, then towed them both toward the boat ramp.