Amelia and the Captain

by Lori Copeland

  She felt a bump, perhaps through her fingers on the wheel, or maybe through the soles of her shoes on the planked floor. “What was that?”

  “Probably a sleeper,” he said, scanning ahead.

  “A submerged log?”

  “I see you’ve been doing your homework.”

  “Henry told us about planters and sleepers the night we came aboard.”

  “Henry’s spent his life on the river.”

  “It’s a lovely river, but muddy.”

  “The muddy Mississippi—she’s flowing fast with a lot of loose debris.” He caught something out of the corner of his eye and turned to look back. Two Indians in a canoe were now following the boat.

  Following his gaze over her shoulder, Amelia felt her heart spring to her throat when she saw the intruders. “What do they want?”

  “Nothing, I suspect,” he said calmly, glancing at them as he scanned the waters below. “Most likely they’re intrigued by a ‘fire canoe.’”

  “Fire canoe?”

  “That’s what the red men call a paddle wheeler. Because of the sparks coming from the stack, they assume the boat is on fire.” His attention focused on her. They were in such close proximity, she could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin.

  “You don’t really want to hear me tell you why the Mississippi is muddy, do you?” He skimmed a lock of stray hair from her cheek. “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

  “Just normal things.” She eased forward to the edge of the seat, his presence overpoweringly male.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere.” She felt her cheeks growing red from his unnerving perusal.

  They both fell silent for a moment as the boat plowed through the opaque waters. The Indians eventually turned away, paddling their canoe into an arm of the river.

  His voice grew tender. “This has been quite an adventure. I’m sure you’ll be glad when it’s over.”

  “Yes—and no,” she admitted with more vulnerability in her tone than she liked. Drawing her head to his shoulder, he held her for a moment.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so much trouble.”

  “I’m sorry I’ve been so cranky. Seems we both have been under a little strain lately.”

  “I’ve caused all the trouble, not you.”

  “Agreed,” he teased softly.

  She glanced to meet his eyes. “Oh, you.” Nothing had been the same since she’d met him. Nothing ever would be again.

  “Amelia, there’s something you need to understand. If you have anything romantic in mind, my life is not my own—not yet.” He spoke as if he, too, had given thought to the future—maybe too much. They had known each other so briefly, and yet neither she nor he could deny that something enchanting happened when they were close. Their faces were now scarcely inches apart. She could see the tightening around his eyes, feel the intensity of his thoughts as he studied her. Instinctively, she leaned closer. The moment was more temptation than she could resist.

  “I…” She couldn’t mislead him. She’d done that too many times in the past. “Are you saying that you find me attractive?” She could hear her heartbeat in her throat.

  “I didn’t say that—not that I don’t. You’re a hard woman to overlook.”

  “Is this ‘sweet talk’?” If so, she thought the words would be more gratifying. Romantic. There’s was absolutely nothing satisfying about “You’re a hard woman to overlook.”

  “I’m not saying that either…”

  “The fact that we haven’t known each other very long doesn’t mean we can’t feel…drawn to one another. Anne-Marie said sometimes people marry without even knowing the other. Arranged marriages. Have you heard of them?”

  “Of course—”

  “I wouldn’t care for the arrangement. I’d want to choose my mate. Before I met you I really thought that I didn’t care for men. Strange how that’s changed.” She glanced up. “Not that I’m in love with you. That couldn’t be, not this fast, but the feelings I have give me hope that someday I’ll meet a man like you and marry.”

  “Really.”

  “Really.”

  He drew back to look at her. “How did we get from muddy water to the subject of marriage?”

  Now that the ice between them was broken, she might as well venture into the water. She’d never kissed a man, and Morgan Kane looked very kissable at the moment. Drawing his lips to hers, she kissed him in ways she hardly understood, letting new emotions guide her. She didn’t care if her instincts ran astray. Had it not been for Jean Louis’s unexpected return, the embrace might have gone on forever.

  Instead, she broke away, scooting off the pilot seat. “Evening, Captain.”

  Jean Louis’s gaze moved from Amelia to Morgan. A sly grin broke across his rugged features. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  Morgan cleared his throat. “No. I was just acquainting Amelia with the muddy Mississippi.”

  “Yes,” the captain mused. “I sensed you two were getting to know one another.”

  “The river is…extremely muddy.” Amelia gathered her skirt and smiled. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

  Hastening to the door, she swallowed back a lump of humiliation. What must Jean Louis think of her now?

  Amelia found Henry on the foredeck the next morning. She sat down and visited for a while until she inquired if he happened to have any worms. He said that he did and went to get them. When he returned, he was carrying a large fruit jar full of dirt containing nice, fat river worms. After she talked him out of one of his cane poles and the jar of worms, she retired to the back of the boat.

  Settling on a warped board, she stripped off her shoes and wriggled her toes in the water, relishing the sun’s warmth.

  She dug a worm from the jar, carefully threaded it onto the hook, and cast her line some twenty feet behind the boat. She would have preferred that the boat was moored, but since it wasn’t, she’d have to do the best she could. Curling her legs under her torso, she prepared to do some serious thinking. She had dared to kiss Morgan Kane. And he most definitely kissed her, but at her initiative. That didn’t count. If he was truly attracted to her, he would have made the choice. She jerked and then landed her first perch. Pan size. She removed the hook, put on new bait, and then threw out again.

  “Been fishing long?”

  She recognized Morgan’s voice, but her eyes remained on the bobber. “Long enough to catch one.”

  Leaning down, he extended a slice of something to her on the blade of the knife.

  She eyed the offering suspiciously. “What’s that?”

  “Turnip. Eat it. It’s good for you.”

  “I don’t like turnips.”

  “Try a small bite. You’re going to die of scurvy if you don’t start eating fruits and vegetables.”

  “I’m not dead yet.” Lifting the slice of turnip off the blade, she gingerly brought it to her lips.

  He took a seat. “Eat it,” he encouraged when her hesitation lingered. “It’s not going to bite you.”

  Closing her eyes, she shoved the vegetable into her mouth, chewed quickly, and swallowed before she lost her nerve.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  It was neither bad nor good, but she’d stick with bacon. “How far to New Orleans?”

  Morgan slipped a slice of turnip into his mouth. “Should arrive before week’s end, maybe a few days afterward.”

  Today was Wednesday, which meant they were getting closer to their destination. The air seemed heavier with him around. It was an effort just to breathe deeply. She wished his presence didn’t have such a staggering effect on her.

  He shifted. “What are the others doing?”

  “If you’re referring to Elizabeth, I have no idea what she’s doing.” Her uncharitable tone left little doubt that she didn’t care what Elizabeth was up to. The kiss she’d shared with Morgan wasn’t easily forgettable. He had kissed back. Was Elizabeth the recipient of his
stolen kisses, his stolen moments?

  Tipping his hat over his eyes, he grinned and stretched out more fully on the deck. “I don’t recall mentioning Elizabeth.”

  She kept her eyes on her line, wishing he would go away. She couldn’t think straight when he was so near. She had deliberately sought privacy in order to think.

  “Something just took your bait.”

  “Did not,” she stammered when he caught her daydreaming. “That’s the current.”

  “Something stole your bait,” he repeated.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Just to show him, she pulled in her line and tried to ignore the smug look that lifted the corners of his mouth when she examined the stripped hook.

  Grabbing the fruit jar, she dug for another worm. Every time she snagged one, it managed to wriggle out of her grasp. She could feel the heat of Morgan’s gaze as she tussled with the enticement he caused within her. Her frustration mounted, and she attempted to redirect his attention. “Austin Brown must be pretty humiliated—and furious by now.”

  “I’d imagine he is.”

  She finally baited the hook and stood up to swing the line back into the water. It was useless to ignore Morgan. With an exasperated sigh, she sat down beside him. He wasn’t the sort of man one could ignore for long.

  Her brow bent into a frown. “Do you think he’ll really try to follow us?”

  “I know he will. Dov Lanigan has a great deal to lose if Austin Brown doesn’t deliver.”

  She glanced over. She’d never thought much about how she looked, but the comments lately had seemed to imply that she was prettier than usual. She never considered herself to be anything but Amelia. “Do you think I’m pretty?”

  He glanced over. “You’re all right.”

  “Prettier than Elizabeth?” The question slipped out before she’d been aware of the thought. When he didn’t answer, she thought he might not have heard her. When the silence grew increasingly awkward, she thought she would explode if he didn’t answer the question. “Prettier than Elizabeth?” she repeated.

  “What is this fascination you have with Elizabeth?”

  Her tone had taken a personal turn. “I’ve seen the way she hovers around you.”

  He shrugged. “She’s like a pup. Friendly.”

  “She’s about as friendly as a sore bunion.”

  “Now, now,” he chided. “What’s Elizabeth done to you?”

  She jerked her line, missing the catch. “Shoot.” She reached for the bait jar.

  “I am well aware that you and Elizabeth do not care for each other.” Tipping his hat, he lay back to doze. “Why don’t you leave each other alone, stop getting under each other’s skin? Surely you can find something more productive to do than snarl at one another.”

  Snarl? He thought she snarled? What about Elizabeth and her cutting remarks? Had he taken note of them? Like her snarling? And for the record, she didn’t snarl. She noted. There was a world of difference in snarling and noting. Anyone knew that.

  Getting to her feet, she threw out her line and then sat down again. Suspicion gnawed at her nerves. “Has Elizabeth been talking about me?” She wouldn’t put it past the woman. Criticizing her behind her back.

  “Something got your bait again.”

  “Drat! At this rate, Henry will have to dig more worms when we reach the next landing.”

  She fell silent for as long as she could stand it. When her strained whisper broke the silence, her next question seemed to stun him. “Does she please you?”

  He opened one eye. “What?”

  “You favor her. Does she please you?”

  He lifted his head and pinned her with a cold stare. “If you’re asking what I think, you shouldn’t be thinking or asking such things. I would have thought the mission nuns would have taught you better.”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t know anything about that sort of stuff.”

  “Nor should you.”

  “You act like I’m to blame for this conversation. You shouldn’t be doing such things.” She squared her shoulders defensively. “You’re not married to her.”

  “To Elizabeth?” His tone rose.

  “Look. I don’t know what you do with Elizabeth. That’s why I’m asking.” Great balls of fire! Was the man dense?

  He lay back again, adjusting his hat against the sun’s unyielding rays. “That’s right, you don’t know what I do with anyone.”

  “Excuse me, but I thought that’s been established. But God has given me eyes. I know that you and Elizabeth spend a lot of time together. I know what that means. I’m not a child.” Shifting, she reverted to a safer subject. “What’s in Washington Territory?” He’d said he was from there. Would he return once the war was over?

  “Silas and Laura Stevenson are there.”

  “Jean Louis told me about your childhood. Laura and Silas are special people.”

  “The couple took me in when my mother couldn’t keep me. Silas’s health isn’t good now, and he’s no longer able to work his orchards. As soon as I’m finished here, I’m going back to help Laura.”

  “Orchards?”

  “Apples. Silas raises the finest Jonathan apples you’ve ever put in your mouth.”

  “You don’t have a father?”

  A veil dropped over Morgan’s features. “I’m sure I had a father, but I never knew him.”

  It would seem she was getting much too personal for his taste, and she was out of line with her questions. Jean Louis said Morgan’s mother never returned to claim him. The subject was a touchy one, even though the small child had grown into a man. She handed him the pole. “I’m only here to think. I’ll net what you catch.”

  He took the pole, examining the bait. “You can’t think without a pole in your hand?”

  “Not as hard. My sisters and I fished almost every afternoon if weather allowed. The nuns loved the fresh catch, and we hatched a lot of crazy plans during long summer days.”

  They sat in silence as Morgan threw out the line. A few pecks jiggled the bobber, but nothing took the bait.

  “You going to be all right once we reach New Orleans?” he asked.

  “Of course. I promise to book passage immediately for home.” Unless he told her not to—which he wasn’t going to do. He’d be only too glad to have her off his hands, though he had enough manners not to state the obvious.

  “No dallying this time. I’m serious. You have a tendency for drawing trouble.”

  “No dallying. Not one piddle, I promise.”

  “I believe we’ve had this conversation before.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t mean what I said then. I do now.” Smiling, she sighed. “I’ve been such a nuisance, and you have been very kind to me and the other women. I know I have delayed you from your work, and I apologize. If there’s anything I can do to make up for—”

  He grinned. “Just keep your promise and go home.”

  “Agreed.”

  Warm sunshine beamed from an unblemished sky. Right now the world was so peaceful and perfect, Amelia wished that time would stop. That the two of them could sit together all day until the sun slowly sank behind the water’s edge.

  “Your sisters must be concerned about you.”

  “When you happened along, I was truly blessed. I can only pray that the men who rescued my sisters are as honorable as you. Pure certainty strengthens my knowledge that God indeed shined on me the day you rescued me. If only Abigail and Anne-Marie were so blessed, though God has no reason to bless a single one of us.

  “The McDougal hearts have always been in the right place, but youthful exuberance tainted our ‘missions.’ Our schemes have adequately kept the mission going for the past few years, but at what cost? The good ladies of the veil accepted our feebly concocted stories of strangers offering money for the old mission without question. Good-hearted people simply handing us coins when in truth, the three McDougals bilked innocent people. We knew what we were doing was wrong. Sinful. We once sold a herd of cattl
e that wasn’t ours. A whole herd. The amount we gained from that little adventure kept the older nuns in food and necessities for a long time.”

  Morgan jerked and the line tightened. “Got one.”

  Amelia bent and netted a sizable sun perch. “Lovely!”

  Morgan removed the catch and threaded a worm on the hook. “So you were actually Robin Hoods for the convent.”

  “We thought we were. Of course the nuns had no idea what we were doing. At first I didn’t enjoy the ruse, but soon the excitement of our brazen exploits overrode my reservations. I suppose all three of us felt a rush of pleasure every time we successfully fooled someone and walked away unscathed. We especially enjoyed tricking men. Strange…but then, not so strange. Abigail detests men.”

  His brow lifted. “Abigail?”

  “My sister.” She shrugged. “I never thought to ask why, but she doesn’t like men. She’s pure tomboy. You would think she would take to men.”

  “She’ll change when she meets the right man.”

  “Ha. There is no right man for Abigail.”

  “If I were a betting man, I’d wager there is. She’ll run across him one day. She’s still young.”

  He could be right. Amelia had thought she didn’t like men. Until now. Her gaze strayed to the one sitting beside her. Lean, tanned. About as male and desirable as God ever made man.

  He tossed the line back into the water. “How long did you ladies figure you could keep up that lifestyle?”

  “Forever. We were very immature and misguided.” She shifted. “I know I’ve learned my lesson. If Abigail and Anne-Marie survived, I have a hunch they’ll be more than grateful to walk a straighter path.”

  He turned to focus on her. “Miss McDougal, I believe you mean that.”

  “I do. You can bank on it.”

  “So you plan to go back to Mercy Flats, to the orphanage, and remain there?”

  “I do.” Their gazes met and sobered. Before she knew what was happening, he lowered his head and kissed her. Not for a single moment did she pull away. In fact, she snuggled closer and settled in for the long-awaited embrace. When lips parted, she whispered, “Thank you, Morgan Kane.”