by Cate Masters
“Yes.” The lamplight highlighted her hair.
“Feisty, too, eh?” Liam winked.
Sam snorted. “Yes, she’s strong-willed.”
“The perfect temperament for living in a harsh place such as Key West.”
Sam ignored his friend’s comment. He couldn’t tear himself away from the scene. The more he watched the old goat’s hands on her waist, the more he wanted to knock him to the ground and sweep her up in his arms.
Liam sighed. “If I weren’t such an old fool, I’d have settled down with a pretty girl like her years ago.”
Sam surveyed his friend for a sign of sarcasm. “You’re not serious.”
The faraway look in Liam’s eyes matched his wistful tone. “It’s me one regret in life.” He blinked hard, appearing to remember something. “In fact, I believe I’ll go find Millie and ask her to marry me.”
Sam waved him away. “Now I know you’re daft.”
Liam laid a hand over his heart. “Ye wound me. Do ye not think me human? In need of companionship?”
“I thought your need of companionship extended only to the grogery.”
Liam tilted his head. “I’ve been contemplating marriage for some time. Millie’s agreeable enough. And willing enough.”
“She’s willing enough, for sure.” Sam regretted the comment when he saw Liam’s stung look.
Liam clasped Sam’s shoulder. “Good night, old friend. Tomorrow, we shall celebrate an engagement.”
Sam sat on the curb, and Liam strolled away. His off-key rendition of My Wild Irish Rose made Sam wince.
“The bloom’s already off that rose,” Sam called.
Liam’s laugh echoed through the streets. “It’s still sweet.” His lilting song faded, leaving only the violins and piano to serenade the night.
He should leave too. Go home. He grunted. Nothing but an empty bed awaited him there. Maybe he’d go back to Grohl’s.
A rustling of leaves in the yard stirred him to attention. He slipped behind a tree and peered around it. His heart skipped seeing Livvie stroll aimlessly through the garden.
He jumped the white picket fence and went to her, careful not to arouse attention from anyone inside.
Livvie turned, her mouth agape as he approached.
He bowed giving a flourish of his arm. “Good evening, Miss Collins.”
“I didn’t think you were coming.” Disappointment, and a little anger, tinged her tone.
He would never be able to explain to her satisfaction why he couldn’t bear to attend, so he wouldn’t try. “I happened to be passing by, and I saw you.”
Her gaze flicked toward the street, and back at him. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to see you dance with the old goat.” He leaned against the coconut palm tree.
“His presence will cause the voyage ahead to quickly become tedious.” She stepped around the tree, farther away from the house.
Sam followed, suppressing the urge to press himself against her. “When does The Excellent arrive?”
“In a few days, if my brother’s letter is correct.” She lowered her head.
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw tears in her eyes. She pressed her lips together, and a small pulse along her jaw told him she’d clenched back any tears daring to follow.
His chest swelled; the pressure almost too great to bear. The music in the house slowed to a waltz, and he held out his hand, palm up. “May I have this dance?”
She eyed him suspiciously, but relaxed when he tilted his head in a grin. Her breathy laugh mixed surprise and pleasure. “You may.” Her fingertips caressed his palm.
Their bodies swayed in perfect rhythm. He was reminded of the day he first saw her, standing on the deck of The Florida, swaying in time to the schooner’s rocking.
Their movements paced slower than the violins playing inside the house. She avoided his gaze, and he didn’t allow himself to hold her too close. If he kissed her, he didn’t know how he would stop himself.
“You waltz so well,” she said.
“You sound surprised.” He made his tone light to try to put her at ease.
“Of course, I knew you could dance. The waltz, however, requires a particular grace.”
“I thought I’d already proven myself graceful.” He’d intended it in jest, but also wished to provoke her memory of their afternoon together. He had been able to think of nothing else.
She drew in a ragged breath, her eyes widened, and she looked away. “You know what I meant.”
“And you know what I meant.” The scent of her intoxicated him, sent his blood humming through his veins. “Let’s leave here, Livvie.”
She spread her hand across his chest, bracing against him. “What? Where?”
He linked his fingers through hers, and tightened his embrace. “To my cabin.” His lips caressed her ear and he whispered, “To my bed.”
Sighing, she trembled against him.
A tumultuous storm rose up and overtook his senses. He smothered her in kisses and drew her into the darkest corner of the yard, unable to hold her close enough to satisfy his need.
She returned his urgent kisses equally, fueling his desire. His caress swept down her back, across her curves.
She pressed against him.
“Livvie, I must have you.” He needed her like any other sustenance, as urgently as he needed air to breathe.
She pulled away weakly. “Stop. I can’t think.”
“Don’t think,” he whispered. “Feel.” He slid his hand up her waist and cupped her breast.
“No.” She tugged it away.
“Why not?” His voice shook in desperation.
“No.” She pushed hard at his shoulder. “I can’t.”
He could hardly speak. “What do you mean, you can’t?”
She extracted herself completely from his embrace. “I cannot risk another…encounter.”
He stood helpless. “What risk?” Did she fear gossip?
“How can you ask such a thing? You know perfectly well.” She glared at him. “I’m leaving soon. How would I explain to my brother if I am bearing a child when I arrive in New Orleans?”
He reached for her. “There are other ways, equally satisfying. Let me show you.”
“Stop. This is madness.” She turned away, lingering uncertainly.
He moved to face her, crouching to coax her gaze to his. “Yes, and I’m a madman. Mad with thoughts of you that come unbidden and won’t cease.”
“Then why continue?” Her eyes flashed such a mix of emotions, he hardly knew how to respond. Until he recognized one of the emotions as hope. She was frightened, needing reassurance.
“I awake in the night aching to feel you near. I reach for you, but the emptiness is too much to bear.” He’d never admitted to any woman the physical need of his feelings. And never in such desperation. Had it been anyone else, he’d have thrashed himself later for such revelations. Livvie had to understand the depth of his feelings.
She withdrew, tears welling in her eyes. “You want me to relieve you of your needs so you can sleep?”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
The back door slammed. Speaking in low tones, a man guided a woman to the side of the porch.
Sam froze. When the two embraced, Sam took Livvie’s hand, drawing her to the fence. “Come with me.”
“I can’t.” Her eyes held such sorrow.
When he moved closer to embrace her, she turned away.
“Please go.”
“Now? Can’t we spend a little time together?”
“There’s no point.” Her voice small, she retreated from his grasp.
Her words stung him. “Oh. I see.” He clenched his jaw. “It isn’t enough to want to be together.”
Her eyes searched his.“For one more night? No. It isn’t. You’ve already told me that I don’t belong here.” Her statement held a challenge—and a plea.
His stomach clenched. She wanted more than r
eassurance. She wanted a declaration. A declaration he wasn’t ready to give.
From the porch, the man called, “Who’s there?”
Livvie swiped her cheek. “Just me,” she called. “Olivia Collins. I needed some air.”
The woman asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes.” Livvie’s face was a mask of disappointment. “I’m just coming in.”
He could only watch while she walked toward the house and climbed the steps. He waited in hopes she might change her mind and return, his hopes falling further with each step, until she went inside. The couple stayed on the porch in the shadows.
In one leap, he was on the other side of the fence.
“Is someone there?” the man called again.
Sam strode off. Let them think what they damn well wanted.
He let the darkness swallow him. Before he knew it, he strode to the edge of Conchtown. Three men stood outside a cabin, their identities obscured by shadow.
One stepped in his path.
Jacob Preston tilted his head and sneered, “What’s the matter, Langhorne? No luck with the ladies tonight?” The stale smell of ale filled the air between them.
Sam’s nostrils flared. “Go home and sober up.” He pushed past.
A shove at his shoulder made him whirl, fists clenched.
At first Preston tensed, and then relaxed when Sam made no move to fight. Preston strolled in a circle around him. “You’re not very neighborly tonight. I asked a friendly question.”
“Maybe it’s none of your business, boy.” He emphasized the last word. Preston’s frame had thickened after a year of wrecking jobs, though not by much. Sam could easily knock the lad cold.
Preston widened his eyes like a madman. “Maybe you’re right.” He glanced at his friends and laughed. “Maybe I shouldn’t worry about it at all. Instead, I should take care of myself.”
“Exactly. Good night.” Sam took a step.
Preston blocked his way, a gleam in his eye. “I know,” he taunted. “I’ll go knock on the door of the Crowell’s Boardinghouse. There’s a pretty girl there. I bet she’s lonely tonight.”
Sam ground his teeth. He could contain himself.
“Not tonight,” his friend said. “I’ll wager she’s at Bethel’s party.”
Preston snapped his finger. “Right, I’d forgotten. I’ll bet she’s thirsty. She does love to dance.”
Sam grabbed his shirt. “Careful, lad. You don’t want to upset anyone.”
His friends stood straight, ready to spring to Jacob’s aid.
Although Preston laughed, his voice shook. “Who? You?” He shoved his hands between Sam’s arms to loosen his grip.
Sam drew his fist back and sailed it into Jacob’s jaw. His eyes rolled back, and he fell to the ground.
Sam turned, ready for the others. “Anyone else?”
They held up their hands and backed away, shaking their heads.
Sam exhaled. “Smart men. Too bad your friend isn’t so wise. He might need some help getting home.”
They didn’t move until he walked away.
He flexed his hand to ease the pain. It was not the release he sought.
Chapter Twenty-Three
An eerie howl awoke Sam. The wind groaned through the window shutters in a whisper of doom. Going to the window, he shut it, bolting the shutters. In the pre-dawn dimness, he dressed hurriedly. The gusts soon became a gale. Anything not bolted in place rattled and banged. As Sam stepped outside, a bucket tripped end over end toward him. He stepped from its path, continuing to the wharf, huddling against the driving rain.
The Florida rocked in place as waves crashed against the bow. He climbed aboard, and then down below.
Liam sat near Captain Howe and a few other men. “Any news?”
“None yet. If any ship’s out there, it won’t be long before we must go to its rescue.”
Two unfamiliar men sat in the corner, their skin darker than the shadows surrounding them. Sam met their gazes momentarily, then sat next to Liam on the floor.
“New divers?” Sam asked.
Liam grunted. “Homer Jackson and Lemuel Smith.”
Replacements for Jasper and Isum. The expendable Negroes. First to be sent to the depths in any weather or situation. Sam’s stomach churned, keenly feeling the blinded divers’ absences. He couldn’t blame these men for taking their places, nor warn them of the dangers. They already knew. The money more than made up for it, Jasper used to say. Sam wondered what he would say now.
Captain Howe sipped his coffee. “Sleep now, if you can, men.”
The crew unfurled their bedrolls on the floor, the schooner rocking like a mad cradle. Sam stared at nothing, his thoughts as tumultuous as the sea.
Captain Howe went up on deck.
Liam stirred, glancing at Sam. “I pity any ship a’sail today.”
The captain called from the stairway, “Set sail, men! The lookout spotted a ship.” His voice was loud enough for the crew, but not enough to alert wreckers on nearby schooners. If a ship struck the reef it would need all available hands. Captain Howe obviously intended to arrive first to assume the role of Wrecking Master.
The crew needed no further prompting. Each man scrambled to his feet, rolling his bedroll, stowing it within seconds, and then hurried up top.
Light crept through the low, dark clouds, suddenly illuminated by streaks of lightning.
Sam gripped the rail, squinting in the direction of Captain Howe’s gaze. A blaze of lightning lit the scene in a surreal light. Sure enough, the silhouette of a tall ship, its sails ragged and torn, rocked a few miles out.
“Quickly,” the captain urged. “Get The Florida underway.”
The men took up their positions. Sam pulled up anchor while Liam freed the schooner from the dock. Using uncanny precision, Jahner guided the rudder to bring the boat clear. The others hoisted sail. The wind favored their destination. The Florida skipped across the ragged ocean.
Aided by the force of the wind behind them, raindrops struck Sam’s skin, sharp as pinpricks. The rudder groaned when Jahner steered them alongside the ship, lowering the sails so as to keep a safe enough distance to avoid collision.
The wreck creaked, its great moans testament to its gaping wounds wrought by the reef. Aboard, figures scrambled about in a frenzy. By the angle of the stern, the ship was taking on water fast. Their first task would be to save the passengers before negotiating any salvage work.
Captain Howe boomed, “Ahoy!”
The ship’s captain appeared at the rail in answer, confirming their assessment. The ship was sure to be a total loss. If not for the storm, The Florida might have freed it from the reef to tow it down the Gulf Stream for repairs. The gale battered it against the reef mercilessly, damaging it beyond repair. The great ship tilted at the mercy of the wind.
“Why don’t they lower their sails, for chrissakes?” Liam said.
An uneasy feeling crept over Sam. “Maybe the storm surprised them in the night.” Even so, someone should have been on watch. These reefs claimed so many ships because most captains only learned of their existence once it was too late, when their ships were caught as surely as an animal in a steel trap.
“The mast won’t hold much longer in this.” Sam scanned the waters for any sign of life. Rescue would be difficult in these rough waters. Not impossible, but he’d require the crew’s expert assistance.
Waves surged against the sinking ship. It responded in great creaks and groans, its gashes deepening. A sail slumped toward deck, gaining tremendous speed and force. A bolt of lightning shot from the clouds, striking the main mast. A loud crack split the air as it toppled toward The Florida. The wreck twisted against the reef, hurling people into the black seas.
Time stopped while Sam stood awaiting his fate. The steepled wood swung from the sky, lowering like the wrathful finger of God. A warning. An omen. An eerie silence prevailed despite the storm. The mast swung down, crashing into the sea within feet of the schooner. The
resulting wave swept The Florida back toward shore, tilting and spinning like a child’s toy. The force of it flung Sam across the deck. He grabbed hold of the first thing within reach, a rope giving too much slack. It allowed him to shimmy up the side rail. Strong hands grasped his leg.
Liam. Sam gripped his extended hand and held tight. Both struggled to hold the rail. The schooner’s rocking slowed as The Florida righted itself atop the sea.
Sam threw down the useless rope. “I owe you one.”
Liam winked. “More than one, but I’m not counting, mate.”
Captain Howe yelled orders to bring the schooner back to the wreck. “We’ve work to do, men. Quickly. People are in need of rescue.”
Each man readied for the grim task ahead while they set sail toward the ship. The howling wind echoed with screams. They seemed to bubble up from Davy Jones’ locker itself. People were tossed from the wreck—or jumped. Some bobbed in the waves, many others had likely already plunged below the surface, struggling for their lives.
Once the schooner came to an uneasy rest on its anchor, Sam leapt with his mates into the choppy sea.
Sharp broken planks and other debris slowed attempts to swim. High waves pounded his chest, engulfing him. Sam gasped for air, his muscles already feeling the strain. He aimed for the nearest person, a woman whose bonnet was stained red along a gash. He took hold of her. She made no attempt to cling to him. He clasped her jaw to look at her. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, though her chest rose and fell with breath. She was alive, but in need of more assistance than Sam knew how to give. He swiveled her onto her back and swam, hauling her along.
Waves crashed over his head almost too quickly to catch his breath in between. He made his arduous way back to the schooner, visible for fleeting seconds between the swells. The harder he swam toward it, the farther away the ocean dragged him, as though Poseidon himself had cursed them all.
This is madness. The shore appeared unreachable from here. He ached to see Livvie, to hold her. Time was too precious, He risked everything here when he should be with her.
Something slammed into the back of his head, sending his face into the water. By reflex he gasped. The sharp taste of salty water stung his nostrils, his mouth. The sea turned black as octopus ink. He felt himself sinking, floating in darkness. In the darkness, a figure glowed–a woman whose hair glistened gold, whose eyes held the hue of dark amber. “Sam,” came her watery whisper. “Sam.”