by Janet Dailey
But it was a gentle arm that encircled her shoulders and guided Selena to her cabin. Chance took the key from her hand and unlocked the door, but she didn't immediately enter. Flirting with danger, she looked up at him, her eyes still luminous with the emotions he had aroused.
"Chance, I—" she tried again to speak.
His mouth tightened as he pressed his hand across her lips. "Just say good night, Red," he ordered.
"Good night," Selena complied, and returned his jacket before slipping quietly inside the door.
In the room, she listened to him walk to the railing. She partly understood his reluctance to talk about what was happening between them. She was confused, too. At times, she disliked him intensely, distrusted him. She didn't know what her, true feelings were. Possibly he didn't, either.
With a sigh, she began undressing. As she hung the red dress up on a hanger, she remembered that Chance still hadn't returned the matching shawl. She would have to ask him about it tomorrow.
Although he was outside, she knew he was right that the evening was at an end for them tonight. There were a few things they had to think about before they met each other in the morning.
The next morning Selena awakened to discover the boat was tied up at Paducah, Kentucky, to take on fresh water for the boilers. In the night the Mississippi River had been left and the Delta Queen had entered the Ohio River.
When she went down to breakfast, Julia was at their table, but not Chance. There were indications at his place setting that he'd been there and gone.
"Good morning, Selena. Did you and Chance dance all night?" Julia had retired the past evening when the dancing had started.
"We tried," she admitted, taking her chair. Her gaze slid to the empty chair opposite hers. "He must have been up early this morning."
"Yes. He was leaving as I came down," Julia told her. "He seemed restless, as if he had something on his mind. He said he was going to walk into town."
Regret swept through Selena. She would have gladly gone with him if he had asked. Subdued, she ordered her breakfast, discovering that she wasn't nearly as hungry as she had thought.
She was in the forward cabin lounge when Chance returned, within minutes of the boat's departure. A newspaper was tucked under his arm as he climbed the stairs from the main deck. He smiled and wished her good morning, then walked to the coffee urn to pour himself a cup before settling in one of the sofas to read the paper.
Expecting something more demonstrative, Selena managed to hide her disappointment and began chatting with some of the other passengers in the lounge. When the boat was well under way, she wandered outside.
After a week of viewing the levee-lined banks of the Mississippi and the flatlands stretching beyond them, the scenery along the Ohio River provided a startling contrast. Massive hills came right up to the water's edge on one side, their heavily treed slopes permitting occasional glimpses of rock faces.
The other side of the river was valley farmland with more hills in the distance. Selena noticed these features alternated. One time the hills would be on the right and the valley on the left. Around the bend, the positions would be reversed.
The buildings along the river ranged from farm homes to ramshackle huts to beautiful country homes. The wind turned brisk and blustery, forcing Selena to the lee side of the boat, where she watched the changing scenery alone.
Not until the afternoon did Chance seek her out. He was friendly and charming, but something was missing. She had the distinct impression that he had withdrawn behind that bronze mask his features could set to conceal his true feelings from the outside world.
The previous night with all its hinted-at changes might never have happened. Selena wondered if it had or whether she had only imagined the difference in Chance's attitude last night.
The next afternoon there was kite flying off the stern of the sun deck. Selena had assembled her kite in the aft cabin lounge and was carrying it up to the sun deck when she met Chance.
"Well, if it isn't Mrs. Benjamin Franklin!" he mocked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Why don't you go fly a kite?" she suggested laughingly.
"I certainly hope you don't intend to fly that one," Chance commented, eyeing her kite skeptically.
"Why not?" She looked at it, finding nothing wrong.
"Because it won't fly. Didn't you follow the instructions when you put it together?"
"I couldn't understand the directions." Selena gave a helpless little shrug. "But I thought it looked like a kite when I was through."
"Here." He reached for the kite. "The string is tied wrong, I'll fix it for you."
Obligingly Selena handed him the kite and its ball of twine. With quick, sure movements, he cut away her work and rethreaded the string properly through the kite before he gave it back to her.
"Have you ever flown a kite before?" he asked.
"No," she admitted with a dimpling smile.
"Then may I come along to view the launching? It's bound to be something to see." The grooves around his mouth were deepening in an effort to hold back a smile. It didn't matter because his eyes were laughing at her.
"Very well," Selena agreed readily. "But don't make fun of me."
"Would I do something like that?" His-voice was heavy with mock innocence.
"Yes."
There were quite a few fellow kite-flying passengers on the sun deck when they reached it, but only two kites were actually in the air. The rest were still trying.
After Selena made four unsuccessful attempts to get her kite airborn, Chance stepped forward to offer some advice. Under his direction she succeeded on the next attempt.
"Give it a little more string." Chance stood close behind her, and her shoulder brushed against his chest as she obeyed his instructions.
"More string."
"It's flying! It's actually flying!" she breathed, her eyes sparkling. The words were barely out when the kite began looping crazily like a wild thing trying to free itself from tether. "What's wrong?" she asked, frantically feeding out more line.
"I think it's caught in the down drafts created by the paddle-wheel's rotation," Chance answered, watching the erratic behavior of the kite. At that moment it swooped, diving for the red paddle wheel. "Look out! You're going to lose it."
Jointly they attempted to reel the string in to rescue the kite from the churning paddles. For a few seconds, it looked as if they were going to save it. Then it was gone.
"That red monster ate my kite!" Selena declared with a mock sigh.
"We'll see how everybody else fares," Chance smiled.
No longer participating in the flying, they stood to one side and watched the others. The "red monster" had a voracious appetite. It gobbled up more of the kites until there were only six left, soaring high out of reach of the paddle wheel. It became a contest to see which kite could fly the highest, and more balls of string were added to each kite.
A practical joker in the spectators called out, "Bring them in. There's a bridge just around the bend!"
There was a moment of panic until the kite flyers realized their legs were being pulled. There were numerous threats to throw the joker overboard, but all six kites remained on the boat.
Gradually the crowd of spectators thinned, and Chance and Selena wandered to an empty section of the port railing. Chance rested his elbows on the teak wood and leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. The sun was hot and the breeze was cool, a perfect combination. Selena laid her hands on the railing and lifted her face to the wind and sun.
With no advance warning of his topic, Chance said, "I had my secretary call the charity you said you sent the money to in New Orleans."
His announcement caught Selena completely off guard. Stunned, she could only look at him, unable to make any response. He glanced over his shoulder, noting her reaction.
"The charity admitted that they had received that amount of cash from an anonymous donor," he finished.
Finall
y she found her voice. "Are you convinced now that I've been telling you the truth?"
"Yes." He straightened from the railing and turned to her, his gaze steady as it met hers. "I owe you an apology, Selena, for my behavior in New Orleans and aboard this boat."
Her smile was a mixture of chagrin and ruefulness. "It wasn't entirely your fault that you got the wrong impression about me," she felt bound to admit.
"Do you forgive me?" '
"Of course."
"You're very generous," Chance remarked dryly, turning away to study the valley farmland the boat was approaching. "If the situation was reversed, I don't know if I would be that ready to forgive." She was about to make a response when he distracted her attention. "Look!"
She followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw a small boy racing across a plowed field toward the river, running and stumbling over the clods of dirt. He wanted to reach the bank before the Delta Queen went by. Selena held her breath, afraid he wouldn't make it and knowing he was running his heart out.
"He's going to make it," Chance announced.
"Do you think so?" Selena doubted.
"This isn't exactly a speedboat," he chided.
Just as the bow of the steamboat glided past a grassy area on the bank, the boy reached the same spot. Winded, a sandy mop of hair tousled by his race, he began waving wildly, a broad grin slitting his freckled face. Selena waved back with equal enthusiasm along with Chance.
When they had glided past and the red paddle wheel was churning its goodbye, Selena continued to watch the figure on the bank growing steadily smaller.
"How exciting it must be for a small boy to see a boat like the Delta Queen steaming up the river," she commented. "How exciting for anyone. I guess children can just better express it."
"True," Chance agreed absently, and moved away from the railing, unexpectedly adding, "I'll see you at dinner."
After his apology, she had thought that his air of remoteness would leave. But there was a part of him that was still reserved and aloof. He was holding back and she didn't know why.
On Wednesday, the Delta Queen arrived in Louisville, Kentucky. For the third time, Selena stood on deck with Julia as the boat docked, unable to believe that Leslie would fail to appear again. Yet there was no one waiting on the waterfront except an obliging deckhand from the Belle of Louisville to help them tie up.
Cars and trucks whizzed by on the elevated interstate highway system passing above the wharf, some honking at the Delta Queen as she docked. The crew members not involved in the tying up were busy decking out the boat in all her finery. Pennants streamed from her landing boom and bunting was draped on her railings, all in festive preparation for the great steamboat race later in the day.
Neither woman felt festive as they turned away from the railing. Selena was confused and concerned. The same expression was mirrored in Julia's face along with aching disappointment.
"What do you suppose happened this time?" Selena asked.
"I don't know," Julia shook her head bewilderedly. "Leslie said he was driving straight here. He should have arrived at least by Monday. I can't think why he's not here."
"Would you like me to go ashore and make some telephone calls?"
"Oh, no, I can't let you do that—not after the last time," Julia refused hurriedly. "Chance would never forgive me."
"Chance doesn't have any say in what I do," Selena answered with a trace of irritation.
"Perhaps not." But Julia didn't exactly concede the point. "But I think I should make the calls. Would you stay on the boat in case Leslie comes while I'm gone?"
"Yes—"
"He's a tall, rather strongly built man, plain-looking, with a mustache, and he always wears a hat." A smile touched the older woman's mouth as she described him.
"I'll watch for him," Selena promised.
Twenty minutes after Julia had left, Chance came by, looking vitally masculine in a blue blazer and gray slacks. He gave Selena one of those disarming smiles that reached his eyes. She felt her heart flutter at the sight of him, so handsome and so male.
"Shall we do some sight-seeing in Louisville?" he suggested. "Go out to Churchill Downs and see if we can pick the Derby winner on Saturday?"
"I'm sorry." She hated to refuse, wanting very much to accept his invitation. "I promised Julia I'd wait here in case Leslie arrived while she was gone."
His mouth immediately thinned, his features chilling into hard lines. "Leslie isn't—" he began impatiently, then abruptly cut off the rest of the sentence.
But Selena had heard enough to take a wild guess that it would have been, "Leslie isn't coming." Her look became wary and accusing.
"Leslie isn't coming?" She demanded that he finish it. "What do you know about this?"
The bland mask slipped into place. "I don't know anything about it," he returned smoothly.
"I was simply going to say that Leslie isn't your affair."
"I don't see it that way." Her reply was stiff; she still did not quite believe his explanation.
He seemed to shrug although Selena detected no movement. Perhaps it was his attitude of indifference that gave her that impression.
He moved away, adding coolly, "I'll see you later," over his shoulder.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Julia returned, disheartened by her fruitless efforts to find or contact Leslie and upset by his unexplained absence. The state of her nerves wasn't improved by the influx of photographers and cameramen and various other members of the news media aboard to cover the race, or the hundred or so extra passengers who were coming on the Delta Queen just for the race.
"Why don't you lie down in your room for a while?" Selena suggested. "I'll tell the chief purser and the porters where you are. If a message comes from Leslie, then they'll know exactly where to find you.
"Yes, perhaps you're right," Julia agreed, her hands twisting in agitation. "I'll do that."
Selena spent some time in Julia's room, trying to calm her down and offer some words of reassurance, however meager. When she returned to the outer deck, the railing was crowded with passengers, the regular list and the new intruders.
The deep, rasping whistle of the Delta Queen blasted its long-and-two-shorts signal that it was leaving port. The Belle of Louisville was already in midstream along with the starter's boat. A crowd of spectators stood behind the barricades on the dock. The great steamboat race was about to get under way. Reversing into the channel, the Delta Queen moved upstream to draw level with the Belle.
"The railroad bridge overhead is the starting line." Chance was at her elbow, holding a mint julep in each hand.
"Thank you." As Selena took one of them, the paddle wheels on each boat stopped turning and they floated toward the bridge.
When the bows of the boats reached the imaginary line, the cannon on the starter's boat went off. Smoke billowed from the stacks and, the paddle wheels began rotating again, churning up the water.
Yet nothing seemed to be happening. They were inching forward at a snail's pace, no explosive acceleration, no leap forward. The passengers on each boat were yelling. "Go! Go! Go!" Selena couldn't help laughing at the exceedingly slow start, so very different from the beginning of any other race.
"I told you before, this isn't a speedboat," Chance murmured dryly. "The Belle is shorter and lighter. She'll get up steam and power first and move into the lead. It takes the Delta Queen a little longer to get going. Then we'll catch up—I hope."
As he predicted, the Belle of Louisville took the early lead with the Delta Queen slowly closing the gap. Selena sipped at the sweet drink in her hand. The race was a very novel experience.
"How long is it?" she asked.
"Twelve miles. We go up to Six Mile Island and turn around," he explained. "The starting line is the finishing line, too. The race takes about two hours."
Both sides of the bank as far as Selena could see were lined with people, sometimes four and five rows deep, family groups picnickin
g while they watched the two old-time riverboats churning up the Ohio. The helicopters carrying more members of the news media followed the race's course, swooping low, sometimes hovering above the two boats.
A roar went through the passengers on the Delta Queen as they realized she was pulling ahead. The crowds on the bank saved their cheers to encourage the hometown favorite, the Belle of Louisville.
They had not reached the halfway point when Chance suggested, "They have a buffet set up in the Orleans Room. Shall we eat before the rest of the passengers decide to crowd down there?"
Selena agreed readily, knowing they would have plenty of time to eat and be back on deck for the finish of this unique race. Only a few other people had the same idea as Chance, so the room was fairly empty. They helped themselves to the buffet and sat down at their regular table. They were halfway through the meal when the Delta Queen was jolted.
"What was that?" Selena looked up in alarm.
"A towboat," Chance explained as they were jolted again. "We've reached Six Mile Island and are turning around. There are two towboats waiting, one for us and one for the Belle, to help us make a sharp, clean turnaround."
With the turn complete, the Delta Queen headed downstream, tooting her hoarse whistle twice. For a moment, Selena didn't understand the implication of the signal. Then it struck her. The pilot was signaling to the Belle that they would be passing on the starboard side.
The Belle of Louisville was still coming upstream, not having reached the turnaround point, and they were heading down, well in the lead. Suddenly the whistles carried the sweet ring of victory.
"We're going to win, aren't we?" she smiled at Chance.
"Barring a catastrophe," he agreed.
Her gaze slid to the empty chair Julia usually occupied, and some of the delight left her as she remembered that the older woman was in her room, heartsick and worried by Leslie's absence.
"I wonder why Leslie wasn't here to meet Julia," she mused aloud.
"I don't know," was the sharply clipped response from Chance.