Shadows swallowed her as the path disappeared into the woods lining the shore. Oaks, maples, and bald cypress trees towered above her, and from their canopy of branches she heard the high-pitched squeal of hatchlings and the scold of a mother mockingbird standing guard at her nest.
Maggie drank in the peace of the thicket. With every step, stress seemed to roll off her shoulders in waves. As much as she loved the ocean, the kiss of wind upon her face, and lap of waves against her ankles, she preferred to wrap herself in the sweet, fragrant blanket of the forest. The Lake Bliss forest, in particular. Papa Ben called her a nester, and she guessed he was correct. She figured it was a typical reaction to living so much of her life at the mercy of the tradewinds.
Twenty minutes of leisurely walking brought Maggie to the rolling bluffs that comprised a little more than half of the Lake Bliss shoreline. The forest and the exercise had worked their magic on her. By the time she reached the sharply sloped trail leading down the tawny, weatherworn crag to water’s edge, she sought companionship more than comfort. And to make her feel even better, her knee didn’t hurt one little bit.
Reaching the bottom of the path, Maggie spied the flat-surface boulder where Gus sometimes sat to dip his bottles. She didn’t see the rowboat at its normal mooring beside the rock. Looking closer, she spotted signs in the gravel and brush that someone had recently made his way along the narrow ledge that rimmed the water. Had Papa Gus followed the trail around the bend? If so, where was the rowboat? Why wasn’t it tied to the rotting stump as usual? Maggie worried the question as she followed the path toward the point where the shoreline made a bend.
A voice not her grandfather’s caused her to halt suddenly.
“Hell, I could have made a mistake like that myself.” Rafe Malone’s matter-of-fact tone echoed off the steep wall of the bluff. “You said you aren’t hurt. No harm done.”
Maggie’s eyes went wide, and her first instinct was to rush forward. But the rule to look before leaping drummed into her since childhood gave her pause. Suspicion glided like a water moccasin through her mind.
What was Rafe Malone doing out here away from the hotel? The last she’d heard he was to meet with Papa Ben to study the maps of the Yucatan coast. Why was he out here a few scant hours after he was told about the treasure?
Had he lied this morning about his trustworthiness? Was he meeting someone? A partner from his old gang, perhaps? Someone he had recruited to steal the treasure from her papas once they’d recovered it? Rafe Malone was a thief and likely a liar. They’d be fools to trust him. Why hadn’t her grandfathers listened to her? Her grandfathers. Oh, Lord. Where was Gus? Had Malone done something to Gus?
Cursing the fact she didn’t carry a weapon, Maggie cast her gaze around her, searching for something, anything she could use. As she stooped to lift a plate—sized rock off the ground, she heard a most welcome string of curses.
“No harm to anything but my pride,” Papa Gus griped.
Relief drenched Maggie. She released a breath she hadn’t been aware of holding and shook her head at her own foolishness. What had gotten into her? It wasn’t like her to jump the gun like that. What had made her so quick to expect the worst of Rafe Malone?
That wicked grin of his, most likely, she decided. That and perhaps the aftereffects of her encounter with slimy Barlow Hill. Maggie started forward ready to confess her foolishness, but her grandfather’s next words stopped her.
“I don’t want anyone to know about this. Especially my Maggins. I’ll have your word on it this minute, Malone.”
“But, Gus, you needn’t—”
“Your word, Malone. I’ve gone from being the most surefooted sailor on at least five of the seven seas to dunking my ass in Lake Bliss. It’s a long way for a man to fall.”
“Nah, five foot at the most. Look, Gus, you’re making a big deal out of nothing.”
“Nothing?” He laughed dejectedly. “It’s not nothing that my eyes are going on me. I’m a piss-poor judge of distance anymore, Malone. And I never used to get dizzy in the head.”
Maggie’s eyes widened at the defeat in his tone. Gus didn’t talk this way. It worried her; it frightened her. She stealthily eased her head around the bramble blocking her view and peered at her grandfather. His gnarled fingers held the branch of a willow, mooring him to the shore as he floated neck deep in the green—tinted water, embarrassment painting a slash of red across his face.
Maggie couldn’t see Rafe Malone from where she stood, but she heard his words clearly. “If you think you’re bad off, you should see my pa. How old are you, Gus? Sixty-one? Sixty-two?”
“Sixty-nine come August.”
“Well, I’ll be dipped. Never would have pegged you for that old. My pa is sixty. Damn near a decade younger than you. He’s been falling over things for at least five years now. And he’s getting soft in the head. What I’d give for him to have his mind back all sharp like yours.”
After a long pause in the conversation, Gus said, “Reckon I’m like a broken-backed rattler. I still have a little bite left in me. Only saving grace in all of this is that none of the others were here to see me. The men would give me ever-loving grief, and Maggie, well, she’d get all fretful. Worrying is bad for her health; she’ll sometimes have a spell if she gets to stewing too much. Now, I never did get your word to keep quiet. Say it, then help me out of here, boy.”
“You have my word.”
Ducking back behind the bush, Maggie heard water splashing and the rustle of brush.
“You sure you’ll be all right?” Malone asked. “That’s a nasty tear in your shirt.”
“Didn’t even break the skin. Now back off, boy, and keep your hands to yourself. I’m telling you I’m fine! I’ll not be needing you for a walking cane. In fact, I think I’m in the mood to hike back to the hotel. It’ll give me time to dry out before the others can get an eyeful. If you want to help, you can fill the bottles and row the boat back to the hotel for me.”
Maggie took brisk but careful steps back toward the boulder. There she paused. From the sounds of it, Papa Gus wouldn’t want her to see him this way at all.
Glancing around, she spied a leafy holly and dashed behind it just as Gus lumbered into sight.
“No barnacles on me yet,” he grumbled as he passed her hiding place, his expression set with determination. “Plenty of spring in my step. Can sail rings around men half my age. I’ll be a cracked-shell crustacean before I let the years win.”
That’s the way to talk, Papa Gus, Maggie thought as she blinked away the sudden tears flooding her eyes. She knew her grandfathers wouldn’t live forever, but she wasn’t prepared to lose any of them anytime soon. She stared unseeing at the path where he’d disappeared, her mind lost in fears of the future and memories of the past.
“You can come out now.”
Rafe’s voice startled Maggie, and she jerked her head up and back. The man was naked again! Half—naked, anyway. He wore only a pair of snug buckskin trousers.
Heat from a blush stained her cheeks, and she attempted to turn around. A fierce tug at her scalp was the first indication she’d caught her hair in a bramble bush behind her. “Son of a blowfish,” Maggie muttered beneath her breath.
To her embarrassment, Malone laughed. “Why, Miss St. John, I am appalled. Such language from a lady.”
She closed her eyes. Just her luck the man had hearing good enough to hear the sun rise.
“Of course,” Malone continued, “it took me a few hours in your grandfathers’ company to realize y’all have your own particular way of cussin’. I must say I’ve wondered about it.”
He could just keep on wondering. Maggie didn’t feel like explaining that her papas had cleaned up their speech when she, at five years of age, had spoken a particularly vulgar curse during a moment of frustration. Instead, while she lifted her hands to her hair to work it free of the thorns, wincing as the movement yanked at her scalp, she asked, “How did you know I was here?”
�
��You were about as quiet as a running buffalo. Bet it comes in handy that all your grandfathers are hard of hearing.” Malone clicked his tongue and added, “Hold still, Maggie. You’re gonna get yourself tangled even worse.”
His shadow blocked the sun as he moved close. The scent of sandalwood soap made her want to lean forward.
When he touched her, she froze. His fingers worked gently, slowly freeing her hair strand by strand. As the seconds dragged by, Maggie felt a fluttering in the pit of her stomach. To her dismay, she realized it wasn’t fear or apprehension causing the reaction, but rather something just as elemental.
Rafe spoke in a low, husky drawl. “This calls to mind a story a friend of mine tells about helping untangle a lady from a bramble patch a few years back. The incident caused him no end of trouble. I gotta say being with you like this makes me appreciate the tale in a whole new light.”
He massaged her scalp where a tangle had pulled, and Maggie’s eyelids grew heavy. She wanted to purr. She cleared her throat instead. “What happened?”
Malone chuckled. “To Katie and Branch? Shoot, a person could write a book about those two. I guess the shortest way to tell the story is that he married her.”
Maggie opened her eyes and immediately snapped them shut. Rafe Malone’s bare chest was mere inches away.
He continued. “You remind me a bit of Katie Kincaid, actually. You’re both strong, outspoken women. You both have a temper.” He paused a moment, the pitch of his voice deepening as he added, “And you, Maggie St. John, are heartstoppingly beautiful all dressed up in briars.”
His compliment stole into her heart and warmed her like the Caribbean sun. Strong. What a wonderful word.
He freed the last tangled strand from the thorns and smoothed it back away from her face. His fingers lingered in her hair. “Spun silk. Gold with a hint of red, just like a west Texas sunset. You be more careful with it, Miss Maggie. It’s too pretty to leave behind on brambles.”
Placing his hand beneath her elbow, he helped her move out and away from the bushes, but he didn’t release her. Awareness stretched between them, and Maggie fought to remember all the reasons why she didn’t trust this man. He was a rascal. A seducer. A thief.
My word is my most valuable possession.
“You lied.”
“No, ma’am.” His voice wrapped around her like a velvet ribbon. “West Texas sunsets are oftentimes gold as your pirates’ doubloons with a hint of red for excitement. And if your hair isn’t silky, then I’m not the most talented thief in Texas.”
And Rafe Malone was the most talented thief in Texas. She wondered if his talents extended to stealing women’s hearts.
The thought was enough to break the hold he had on her. She scooted past him and stepped back to the boulder. “I wasn’t talking about me. I heard what you said about your father to Papa Gus, yet when you spoke to me this morning you claimed to me to be an orphan.”
He shrugged. “Now there’s a lesson for you, Miss Maggie. Eavesdropping has its place. The problem is sometimes you hear things you’d rather not have heard. Gotta be prepared to take the bad along with the good.”
He was right and Maggie knew it, and that riled her anger. “Put your shirt on, Malone,” she groused. “I’ve seen more of you naked than I have clothed.”
“A few minutes earlier and you’d have seen even more of me naked,” he fired back with a wicked grin. “Your Gus had me diving for the bottom of Lake Bliss searching for something one of the others lost a while back.”
Maggie nodded, grateful to have something to think about other than Malone’s bare chest. “Papa Lucky’s lucky dagger. He was using it to cut line last year and dropped it into the lake.” While she spoke, Rafe grabbed his shirt off a nearby bush and slipped it on. Maggie doggedly crushed a quiver of disappointment that he’d honored her request to dress. “Could you reach the bottom?”
“Easily. The water wasn’t twelve feet deep. It took some doing, but I finally found the knife. Actually, I don’t think the dagger was the entire reason he wanted me to dive. I got the feeling it might be a test of sorts.”
The man was perceptive, she’d give him that. Gus had told her the path to the treasure required some diving. Obviously her grandfather had thought to put Malone through his paces while taking advantage of the opportunity to hunt for Papa Lucky’s lost weapon. Its retrieval would make her papas happy, she knew. Especially on the eve of the trip. Not long ago, Maggie had heard Lucky blame the cave-in that blocked easy access to the treasure on a turn of bad luck that began with the loss of the knife. “I know my grandfather appreciated your help.”
He watched her expectantly. Maggie remained silent.
A rustling in the bushes nearby caused a blue heron to take flight and she observed its ungainly effort to gain the air. That was when she finally spied the rowboat secured to the bank some thirty yards up the lake. “I’ll take care of the bottles for Papa Gus if you want to head back to the hotel,” she said, offering Rafe an encouraging smile.
He shook his head. “We’d best stick together. No telling what that rustle was a minute ago. Maybe a bear, you think?”
“It sounded more like a squirrel to me.”
But Rafe Malone was not to be dissuaded. He followed her along the path toward the boat and stood beside her as she knelt, favoring her bad knee, atop a dusty rock beside the crate of empty bottles. Removing one, she dipped it into the lake. Air bubbled to the surface as water rushed into the container. When it was full she set it carefully inside the crate and grabbed another bottle. She filled three more before she found the nerve to ask, “So whom did you lie to, me or my grandfather?”
Rafe sprawled beside her and plucked a cork from a small box inside the crate. “You mean about my family?”
“Yes.”
Taking one of the filled bottles, he inserted the cork with a firm slam of his fist. “Look, Maggie, the man misjudged his step and took a plunge in the lake. It embarrassed him. His pride was hurting. All I did was ease it a bit.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“Yeah.” He cocked his head and inquired, “What other reason could I have?”
Maggie couldn’t imagine.
She filled four more bottles with Lake Bliss water and wondered if it could be true. Had he lied to Papa Gus solely to spare her grandfather’s ego? Handing him a bottle to be corked, she lifted her gaze to his. Malone’s eyes glittered like sunshine on water and she stared mesmerized into the light.
And Maggie believed him. Darned if she didn’t believe him. One little lie made her wonder if she hadn’t been too hard on the man. What was the old saying? A lie told in kindness doesn’t count against you. What Rafe Malone had done, what he’d said to Papa Gus, had been an act of kindness. In fact, it sounded just like something her grandfathers would do.
The similarities between Rafe Malone and her papas struck Maggie like a fist. All five of them were rascals, rogues capable of charming peas from their pods. They were dangerous, adventurous, appealing men. Honest in their dishonesty. Honorable.
My word is my most valuable possession.
Maggie inhaled a deep breath. And Rafe Malone was kind, just like her papas. Was that why she was drawn to him? Had her grandfathers brought home a younger version of themselves?
Was Rafe Malone Maggie’s kind of pirate?
~~~~~~~~~~
“What do you mean, you don’t have a ship?” Five days after leaving Lake Bliss, the question exploded from Rafe’s mouth as his gaze settled on the impossibly small sailing vessel docked at the end of a Galveston pier. The forty-five-foot sloop bobbed gently in the muddy bay waters, the name Buccaneer’s Bliss a golden arch across its bow. Bliss, ha. Nightmare was more like it.
Rafe drew a slow breath, filling his lungs with salty air, and turned to his companions. “I’d just as soon not sail anywhere in that. It looks like one decent—sized wave will swamp it.” Shaking his head, he gazed back at the boat. “Buccaneer’s Bliss. You should ca
ll it the Leaky Teaky. I can’t believe you don’t have a ship. What kind of pirates are you?”
“Retired pirates.” Snake’s droll brogue rolled across the salty morning air like breakers on the beach. “We traded in the Mary Margaret for rocking chairs once we realized the barkentine wouldn’t fit on Lake Bliss. Now, grab your bag and stow it. We sail in the morning with the tide.”
Rafe stood his ground, his frown fixed on the boat, while Gus scowled and folded his arms. “What’s the matter with you, Malone? Do you actually think we’d take chances with our Maggie’s safety?” He gave Snake a sidelong glance and said, “The fella may be brave, but I question whether he has any smarts.”
“I’m wondering about how brave he is,” Snake replied. “The boy sounds like he’s afraid to sail with us.”
“I’m smart enough to be afraid to put to sea in that rickety old tub,” Rafe fired back, his voice rising like the caws of the sea birds perched on the yardarms of the Buccaneer’s Bliss. “I signed up for adventure, not suicide.”
A feminine laugh drifted from behind him. “Whine, whine, whine. You sound just like my children.”
Recognizing the voice, Rafe whirled around in surprise. “Honor?” He had just enough time to grin before the brown-eyed beauty, Mrs. Luke Prescott, threw herself into his arms and kissed him.
“Rafe Malone, am I glad to see you!” she said.
“That doesn’t mean you have to kiss him, Sunshine. Malone, get your hands off my wife.” Luke Prescott ambled up the pier holding a bundle of blue-eyed, blond-haired one-and-a-half-year-old feminine energy in each arm.
Rafe gave Honor Prescott an extra hug for her husband’s benefit before releasing her so he could swoop one of her daughters from Luke’s arms. He smelled talc and lemon candy and happiness. “Kimmy, my love,” he said, giving the child a tickle kiss on the neck.
“Me, too!” cried the child in her father’s arms.
Tess wasn’t about to let her sister have all the fun, so Rafe relieved his partner of his other daughter and nuzzled her into giggles also. Rafe was laughing, too, when he looked past Luke and said, “Hey, Micah. Jason. Fancy new hats y’all are sporting, boys.”
The Wedding Ransom Page 6