The Heart's Haven

by Jill Barnett

  She shot upright and spun around, obviously taken by surprise. “Kit!” she sputtered, clutching the waistband of the strangest garment Kit had ever seen. It looked like huge, billowing drawers, but the fabric was heavy trouser fabric. He couldn’t help but stare, trying to figure out what the hell she was wearing.

  “You could have knocked.”

  She looked ridiculous, standing there bare-armed, scolding him in those . . . things. Kit had to laugh. “What are you wearing?”

  She looked down and then quickly spun around. “I’m dressing. Get out.”

  “You mean there’s more to that getup?” Kit pushed away from the doorjamb and crossed over to her father’s desk. He pushed aside a scrimshaw paperweight and hitched his hip on the edge of the oak top. Dusting the ashes from his trousers, he rested his arm on his leg so he would be nice and comfortable while he was entertained. “This I’ve got to see.”

  “I said, get out.” Hallie’s face was blood-red.

  Kit spun the paperweight. “Your modesty is covered.” He pushed away from the desk and walked slowly around her, scrutinizing her from head to foot. He had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Covered by what, I don’t know, but you are covered.”

  “This is a reform dress,” she informed him in a tone that indicated her superior knowledge.

  “As in reformatory? How appropriate. That would be a great place for you.”

  “No,” she shot back, “as in abolish—you know, correct evils. And your plans for this ship are certainly evil.” She stomped her foot, apparently to emphasize her next words. “I won’t let you do it.”

  Kit picked up a piece of clothing from the bed. It looked like half of a skirt—the top half. He held it up and looked at her through the hole he assumed was the waistband. “How do you intend to stop me?” he asked, turning the thing this way and that, trying to understand its purpose.

  Hallie jerked the overskirt out of his hands and threw it behind her. “We’re going to live here.”

  “Oh you are,” he said, laughing.

  “Yes. You could call it—” She stopped. “Homesteading. We’re going to homestead the Sea Haven.”

  “There’s only one problem.” Kit brushed the gray ashes from the shoulder of his dark coat.

  “What?”

  “The Sea Haven is mine. You can’t homestead someone else’s property.”

  With a casual wave of her hand, she dismissed that. “We’re still not leaving.”

  Kit had crossed over to the open porthole, and he stood staring at the bay, not because he wanted to look at anything in particular, but to avoid looking at Hallie. Her facial expressions touched something deep within him, something he didn’t want touched. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back slightly on his heels, still staring outside. “Hallie-girl, you’ll leave if I want you to leave. I can cart your sweet fanny off of here faster than hell could scorch a feather.”

  “Just try it!”

  He spun around, ready to do just that, but instead of facing an insolent, stubborn, beautiful blond brat, he faced the barrel of her father’s Navy Colt, in the shaky hand of that blond brat.

  “Put that thing down before you hurt someone.” He stepped toward her.

  “Don’t move! I mean it, Kit. You will not carry me off this ship, and you will not sell it for fill.” She now held the gun in two shaky hands.

  Caution stopped him, that and the look of utter fear on her face. If she was as scared as she looked, waving that gun around when she was so frightened could be disastrous, especially from his point of view—that of the gunbarrel.

  “Get off the ship.” Her aim dropped an inch. “Now, please.”

  Kit held his hands out in front of him and slowly backed out of the cabin. He needed to think of some way to get that thing away from her before she hurt one of them. She followed him out the door into the narrow companionway. He backed up the stairs and contemplated slamming down the hatch door, but he discarded that plan because the gun could blow the door and him clear to Kingdom Come. Maybe he’d be able to get the weapon when Hallie maneuvered the stairs. Lack of space forced ship companionways into little more than steep, narrow ladders, and women’s huge skirts would—dammit!—she had those prison-pant things on.

  It irritated him even more when Hallie ascended the stairs. The freedom of movement must have surprised her, too, because she looked down in surprise at her attire.

  His long arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, forcing her arm and the gun barrel straight into the air. His body pinned hers to the locker wall just as the gun discharged, sending a shower of wood splinters raining on them. He could feel her head burrowing into his chest while he coughed from the descending cloud of splinted wood.

  The cloud settled but neither combatant moved. And it was quiet, so quiet that you could almost hear the sun set.

  The gun dropped from Hallie’s numb hand into a tin bucket, and the resulting clatter rang clear through every tooth in her head. She was afraid to look up, but Kit’s fingers released their tight hold on her wrist, and his hand slid, slowly, down the bare skin of her inner arm, over the sensitive hollow of her armpit; and his palm, hot and damp, closed over her hard-tipped breast.

  Hallie could feel his eyes boring their heat into the top of her head, but still she fought the overpowering urge to look up. She was afraid, and though Kit Howland angered her—though he didn’t give a fig about her father’s ship, though he was arrogant, demanding, and even though he laughed at her—Hallie couldn’t deny that he still owned her heart. It was no different today than two years ago. Only now she wasn’t a gawky young girl; she was a woman. A woman he’d kissed. And when he touched her the last thing she wanted to do was fight with him. Her body was like clay, his hands were the sculptor’s, and passion between them became that magic creativity—the force that forms a priceless work of art.

  The action of his hand as it held her, and felt her, was now something she craved, like the intimate friction of his tongue in her mouth. When his lips whispered across her temple, her own lips parted instinctively, and she had no choice but to surrender and look up into the dark, verdant depths of his eyes. They kissed with eyes open, watching. Once again Kit wedged his knee between her legs, but this time, when her burned leg needed the protective barrier of her petticoats, that protection wasn’t there. Hallie gasped and broke away. Excruciating pain that shot through her.

  Hallie turned her shoulder into the nearby wall, waiting for the pain to pass, gulping in air, tears burning her eyes. The wall was cool against her fiery skin, and its support felt heaven-sent. She could hear Kit mumbling, and she looked up.

  “For Christ’s sake, your face is pale.” Kit’s angry expression changed to one of panic. “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

  Before Hallie could answer, Kit picked her up and carried her out the afterhouse door. “Breathe!” he ordered the second they were out on the open deck.

  “You can put me down, Kit,” Hallie said. The pain in her leg had lessened to a slow throb.

  “Not until you do what I say. Breathe!”

  “But—”

  “Breathe, dammit!”

  Her pain dimmed, replaced by the irritation of his tone. He had no reason to shout at her like that. She surely didn’t need him to tell her what to do. It made her feel . . . stupid, and she was not stupid.

  So, he wants me to breathe, does he?

  Hallie leaned her face right into his and started panting as hard as she could.

  “Hi.”

  Both Hallie and Kit looked down at Knut.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Breathing,” Hallie said in an exaggerated tone.

  “Pushing her luck,” Kit shot back with equal meaning.

  “Put . . . me . . . down,” Hallie ordered through her locke
d jaw. When he pulled her closer to his big chest, her temper burned all the hotter. “I said, put me down.”

  Kit didn’t budge. Instead, he willingly joined her in a stubborn stare-down.

  “Hallie? Know what?” Knut asked.

  “What?” Hallie responded absently. Kit finally set her down, and that made her feel better, until she caught a gander at his face. It was bathed in a confident “I won” smile.

  “Gunnar has a gun.”

  “What!” Hallie shrieked.

  Kit sped past her into the afterhouse. He returned seconds later with the gun in one hand and Gunnar tucked safely under his arm. He set the boy down, none too gently, and put the gun on the tool shelf above his head.

  When he turned again, he paused, and then his eyes narrowed at the twins, who were now standing side by side.

  “Guns are not toys,” he said sternly.

  “But we don’t have any more toys,” one boy announced.

  “They all burnt!” finished the other.

  “But playing with a gun is dangerous!” Hallie scolded. “You two are nev—”

  “Let me handle this, Hallie,” Kit interrupted.

  “Wait just a minute—” Hallie said, wondering who the heck he thought he was. They were her brothers.

  “I’ll handle it!” Kit picked up Hallie and plopped her down on the nearby hatch hood.

  She felt like a pesky fly that he’d just swatted away. All right, mister, she thought, you want to handle this? Fine.

  Hallie sat back, wondering what Kit would do. While her heart went out to the bored twins, guns were not something to play with. She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened. Da would have tanned Gunnar’s hide, lack of toys or no.

  But with Kit, she just didn’t know how he’d handle Gunnar. She had been the boys’ authority figure for months now, and suddenly here was Kit Howland trying to step in and take over.

  Kit stepped closer to the twins, still staring intently, and then he looked at Knut. “Which one are you?”

  The twins looked at each other and smiled. Hallie could see their plans register all over those devious and identical little faces. Neither of them would pass up a chance to fool someone. With the family, they would tattle and argue, but with others, the twins had an unbreakable bond of loyalty, especially if it meant that one of them was going to get in trouble.

  Hallie chewed on her cheek to keep from laughing at Kit’s frustrated expression. When he turned to her for help, she gave him an exaggerated shrug. “You were going to handle this, remember?”

  His look was not happy.

  Hallie took great pleasure in thoroughly examining the nails on her left hand before she asked, “What do you intend to do?”

  “Teach him a lesson. Now tell me which one is which.” Kit crossed his arms and waited, arrogantly, expectantly.

  “Teach him how?”

  “Just never you mind.”

  “Are you going to hit him?”

  “I want to teach him a lesson. What do you think your father would have done?” The volume of Kit’s voice grew.

  “That doesn’t matter since you’re not our father.”

  “I’m your guardian, hand-picked by your father. You all had better get used to doing as I say.”

  “Then don’t look to me for help. You’d better learn to tell them apart yourself.” Hallie heaved a sigh and smirked just a little. “Since you’re going to be doing all this ordering around.”

  Kit stooped down, eye level with the boys. In utter silence he stared at them, appearing to be memorizing every pore, every freckle, every burn mark on their suddenly serious little faces. “I’ll tell you both this just once. Guns are not for children. They are not toys. Never, never are you boys to touch any gun, do you understand?”

  They nodded.

  “Our toys were all burnt up,” Knut repeated, and then both boys began to whimper.

  Kit put his hands on the boys’ shoulders. “I understand, and I’ll try to do something about that, but no more playing with guns.” He straightened and turned to Hallie.

  “Yoo-hoo, Christopher! Yoo-hoo, over here!”

  A look of true horror replaced the expression Kit had been wearing. “Aunt Maddie . . .”

  Hallie turned toward the high-pitched voice at the same time Kit did. Lee Prescott stood on the deck, helping a short, middle-aged woman climb on board. Her hair, a mass of curls the exact color of a ripe persimmon, waved from beneath the wide, flat brim of her straw bonnet.

  But to Hallie the most astounding thing was the woman’s apparel. She was clad in an emerald-green version of Amelia Jenks Bloomer’s reform dress.

  Like Queen Victoria with her scepter, she raised her green parasol imperiously. “Get over here, young man, and greet your aunt properly!”

  It amazed Hallie that a grown man could actually look like he was a nine-year-old in trouble. Kit slowly walked toward his aunt, looking like one of the twins. As he passed Hallie, she dismissed that thought, because no child could mumble such an inventive string of curses.

  Not wanting to pass up such a prime opportunity, she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “Now I understand where you get your obnoxious habit of ordering everyone around. It runs in your family.”

  Hallie could tell exactly when her words penetrated his blue mumbles because he paused and his shoulders stiffened.

  His aunt placed her gloved hands on Kit’s forearms and she looked up at him. “Humph! Don’t look suicidal to me. Could use a bath, though.” She shoved her parasol into Lee’s stomach. “Here, young man, make yourself useful and hold this.”

  She dug through her purse, pulled out a pair of spectacles, and held them up toward the sun. She helped herself to the handkerchief in Kit’s top pocket and snapped it open. Ash and soot flew through the air. Tossing the linen square overboard, she used her overskirt to polish the lenses. Then she pushed the frames on her noble nose and studied her towering nephew, looking him up and down. “Still smoking that godforsaken pipe, are you young man?” Before Kit could answer, she went on, “Filthy habit, gets ash on everything!”

  “Aunt Maddie, there was a fire. Didn’t you see it when you docked?” Kit stared at his aunt.

  “A fire? Oh, that’s right,” she said absentmindedly. Then her expression changed. “Good heavens! Don’t tell me your house burned down. If I have to stay in a hotel after spending four extra weeks on that floating vermin den Charles Taber calls a ship, well, you can bet—”

  “Calm down, Maddie, my house is fine,” Kit interrupted. “Only a third of the city burned, Happy Valley and the business district. My place is on Fern Hill, that one over there.” He turned and pointed to one of the unburned hillsides. “Come, I’ll take you home.”

  “Just a minute, Christopher. Who are they?” Maddie pointed at Hallie and the twins, and again without giving Kit a chance to answer, she drew her own conclusions. “Well, good for you! It’s about time you forgot that flighty Taber girl you were stupid enough to marry. I’m glad you picked a strong one this time. Just look at her! She’s tall and . . . good God, are those twins? Never mind, don’t answer that, I can see they are! That’s all the better, means she’s fertile, too.”

  Hallie heard Lee’s laughter, and if she weren’t so stunned, she probably would have been laughing too.

  Kit grabbed his aunt by the arm. “Hold it, Maddie. I’m not married.”

  “Oh.” Maddie’s exuberance deflated.

  Kit led her over to where Hallie still stood, flanked by her twin brothers. She had never seen anyone quite like Kit’s aunt. While she felt overwhelmed and somewhat uncomfortable about the woman’s assumption, something told Hallie that, mouthy and bold as she was, Kit’s aunt would be a friend.

  “Aunt Maddie,” Kit said, “this is Hallie Fredriksen a
nd her two brothers, Gunnar and Knut.”

  “Which is which?” Maddie asked.

  “I’m Hallie.”

  Maddie laughed, a hearty deep laugh. Her laughter faded, but she still smiled warmly at Hallie. “I love your ensemble, my dear. Shows extreme good taste.”

  Hallie grinned. “Thank you. I like yours, too.” She felt one of the twins fidgeting with her pants leg. “This is Knut.” She put her hands on the little boy’s shoulders and then turned to the twin on her right. “And this is Gunnar.” Hallie smiled sweetly at Kit as she identified the boys for Maddie.

  Kit wasn’t smiling. “I’ve been named guardian of the Fredriksens.”

  Maddie perked up. “Really?”

  “Hallie has two sisters too,” Kit added, completely oblivious to Maddie’s sudden brightness.

  “How old are they?” Maddie asked.

  “Dagny’s sixteen and Liv’s nine—”

  “Oh, that’s good. They’re too young.” Maddie removed her spectacles and gave Hallie a sly wink. “Well, Christopher,” she said, tapping him with her spectacles. “I want to get settled in and you are in desperate need of some soap and water. Haven’t changed much in twenty years. I still have to tell you when to bathe.” Maddie turned. “Do you know what he used to do?”

  “What?” Lee asked, his grin wide and his blue eyes sparkling.

  Kit broke in. “Come along, Maddie. I’ll take you home.”

  Lee handed Maddie her parasol, offered her his arm, and as they walked back toward the gangway, Hallie could hear him pumping Maddie about Kit’s childhood antics.

  Kit looked at Hallie. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He followed the others. Hallie waited until Lee and Maddie were over the side. Then Hallie called out, “Oh, Kit?”

  He stopped and looked at her. Smiling, she dangled the gun from her fingers. “I’ll reload.”

  “Good God in heaven! The bottom of a baby pram is cleaner than this hovel!”

  Kit looked around the dingy interior of his house and had to admit that it wasn’t particularly clean. Cobwebs hung from the parlor’s high ceiling, and boxes and crates were piled on the bare and dusty wooden floor. “Now, Maddie, I never use this room.”