Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

  Her face relaxed, and she gave a small smile. “I will see what I can find.”

  Loud snores sounded behind her as she exited the captain's cabin. Luis needed nourishing beef broth and fresh milk. Too bad the ship stocked neither. Not even fresh water. He'd have to settle for wine and salted pork like the rest of them.

  First she'd need to find the quartermaster. As second-in-command aboard the ship, the man controlled all the supplies. Nothing left the hold or passed a man’s lips without the quartermaster’s approval. If rumors were true, he tended toward the tyrannical when someone helped themselves, before consulting him, to whatever was on board.

  The galleon dipped, and Isabella stumbled. Weeks at sea and she still had trouble staying upright at all times. Thankfully her stomach was steadier than her legs.

  When she stepped onto the main deck, she shielded her eyes with her hand. The bright sun rested high in the sky, its light refracting off the water’s surface. Midmorning. Her stomach growled. She’d have to request rations for herself as well. Her stepfather’s clothes already swallowed her. If she continued to lose weight due to lack of nourishment, the garments might fall right off.

  She looked around and drew in a deep breath of fresh air. The captain’s cabin might be large compared to the quarters most of the crew called home while out to sea, but the air was stagnant and the walls confining.

  The sails flew high, the wind blowing and causing them to curve. It reminded her of a time she’d filched one of her mama’s petticoats as a child. She’d gathered sticks around the pond by her house, latched them together, and then tied the petticoat to a makeshift mast in the center of her crudely built raft. Her mama’s undergarments were much too large for the size of her vessel, and nary a breeze. No wonder the thing had sunk in under two seconds. So far, it seemed her sailing expertise had improved with age, to God be praised.

  “I did not expect to see you above deck today.”

  Isabella turned, the soft lines around her uncle’s eyes welcoming. “I am looking for the quartermaster. Luis is hungry, and I thought it good to keep up his strength with a bit of nourishment.”

  Juan’s lips drew to a thin line as he looked around the main deck. “I have just come from a meeting with the pilot and the captain on the quarterdeck, in which he was to have attended.” He looked at her, his brow furrowed. “The captain was not pleased with his absence, but I predict the man will have a satisfying excuse. He always does. Somehow the captain overlooks his many flaws.”

  “Have they sailed together often?” She’d seen loyalty cloud many people’s judgments.

  “Sí. There is some history there, I think.” Juan stared out into the horizon, deep in unspoken thoughts. He blinked hard, then turned back toward her. “No matter. If he is not to be found, then of course you must tend to your charge and provide him with something to eat. The captain would expect this.”

  His eyes softened once more as he gazed upon her. “Everything is well with you? Your secret is still secure?”

  “Luis—”

  “Juan! I need you here with me.” Captain Montoya loomed from the quarterdeck. Power emanated from his tall form. His eyes dark serious, no laugh lines softening his features. Did the man never smile? She’d seen his gentleness with little Luis, but mostly he was a man given to the burden of his responsibilities. Her skin flushed as she took him in.

  Strange.

  Isabella's stomach growled. She turned on her heel and once more entered the darkened belly of the ship. It was a maze she had finally learned to navigate, and after descending its layers, she found herself in the hold. Voices carried and echoed off wooden barrels and crates.

  “The men are ready. We put the plan to action in three days.”

  She froze. A mouse had once attempted to cross the street in her town, and when the little thing noticed a carriage rumbling toward it, it too had stopped in its tracks. She had silently encouraged it to either go back or continue forward, but it hadn't moved a muscle. The poor creature became flattened on the dirt lane.

  Move, or your fate will be that of the rodent's.

  On tiptoes, she stepped down the remaining stairs. She hunched her body and squeezed behind a large crate.

  “What will be the signal?”

  She closed her eyes. Every sense strained to form a complete picture, to try to put the pieces of the puzzle together. If only she hadn’t been committed to keeping as far away from the rest of the crew as she could. Maybe then she would be able to recognize the high-pitched nasally voice of the speaker.

  “A mighty roar and an upraised fist. We are men. We will take what we want by force.”

  Her hands shook. Whereas the first voice lacked confidence and conviction—a mere pawn—this man caused her to quake. His voice was hard. Vengeful? Perhaps. But without a doubt steadfast to whatever plan his evil mind had concocted.

  She reached out her hand to steady herself, her legs going to mush like undercooked porridge. The crate shifted. She could feel her eyes bulge and was unable to blink.

  Move! Do something! Catch it!

  Paralyzing fear kept her immobile.

  The crate thunked to the floor.

  She envisioned herself getting crushed under a carriage wheel like the rat.

  Torch light swung in her direction. “Who is there? Show yourself,” the evil voice demanded.

  Her hands grew clammy, and she rubbed them on her breeches. Time to be brave. Act like nothing was amiss. Live another lie.

  She shuffled a few of the other crates around before popping her head over one. “Oh, is someone else down here? I came for provisions for Luis. He is sick, and Captain Montoya wishes him to have the best of care.”

  Had it been a good idea to mention the captain?

  The two men advanced toward her, their boots smacking the wooden floor beneath them. She swallowed hard but met their gaze. Built like Spain’s prized Lipizzaners, the leader towered over her. Fire sparked from his eyes, and she fought the urge to cower.

  “What did you hear?”

  Sweat gathered in the pits of her arms, and her pulse throbbed in her ears. “Hear? I heard nothing, señor. I have just arrived and was not aware of anyone else’s presence. My mind was preoccupied with Luis’s care.”

  The bulky man took another step forward. “I am the quartermaster. All requests for provisions must come to me.”

  He was the quartermaster? “I looked for you, señor, but was unable to find you. Luis is sick, you see, and needs to keep up his strength. He needs food if he is to recover.”

  His eyes bore holes in her head. “I do not believe you.”

  “I assure you, señor. Luis is very sick.”

  “I do not care if Saint Peter himself has come to issue Luis into heaven. I do not believe you did not hear our conversation.”

  Her eyes flicked to the man behind the quartermaster as terror threatened to strangle her. “I do not—”

  A large hand darted out and clamped onto her shoulder. Shards of pain rippled down her arm. “Not a word, you hear? Not a word to anyone unless you wish to be the shark’s next meal. Comprende?”

  The pressure increased until Isabella was sure he’d snap her bone. Against her will, tears watered her eyes, and she nodded her head.

  ***

  By the time she made it back to the captain’s cabin, Isabella's heart returned to its normal rhythm. She would have to apologize to Luis about not getting him the food he had requested. Perhaps later she would be able to locate her uncle and persuade him to bring them a few morsels. Starvation seemed a better course than running into the quartermaster again.

  The knob turned in her hand, and she pushed the heavy wooden door open. Silence met her ears. If not for the lump on the floor, she would have thought it vacant. No matter. At least with him sleeping, she would not have to tell him she had returned empty handed and he would have to remain hungry a little while longer.

  She walked to the far end of the room and pushed back one of the
heavy, dark curtains. They had remained drawn to give Luis every opportunity to rest. A glance behind her affirmed the small shaft of light did not disturb his current slumber.

  A gray film covered the large panes of glass. Even so, she could see out. Having grown up near the seaside, the sight of the ocean was nothing new. It was, however, the first time the ocean had been the only thing in sight. A feeling of loneliness crept in her soul. Odd, considering the number of people who made up the galleon's crew. Finding oneself alone proved nearly impossible, so how could she be feeling lonely?

  Melancholia was a fool’s friend and Diablo’s tool. Idle hands had turned her thoughts introspective. Time to get back to work.

  She let the curtain fall once more and tiptoed toward Luis. Strange that she couldn’t hear him at all. The hours she’d spent with him the day and night before were full of wheezing and coughing.

  His head lay to the side, his eyes closed. Her stomach churned.

  Please no.

  A useless plea. The knowledge of the truth sank like a rock thrown in a lake.

  Luis was dead.

  His pallid skin had taken on a gray hue, and his chest no longer rose and fell with signs of life.

  With shaking fingers, Isabella stretched out her hand and placed it in front of Luis’s nose and mouth. Not a puff of breath touched her palm. She rocked back on her heels and covered her face with her hands. How would she tell little Luis he was now an orphan?

  First, she must report the news to Captain Montoya. The man would not be surprised. Few recovered from wasting disease.

  Squaring her shoulders, she made her way to the main deck.

  “Place the end of the rope through the loop, and pull tight.” A familiar, deep voice pulled her attention to a pair seated upon a crate in the corner.

  Little Luis’s small form hunched over a short length of rope. His tongue jutted past thin lips in concentration. He lifted the rope, a knot secure in the middle.

  “I did it!” The boy’s eyes shone.

  Captain Montoya laid a hand on Luis’s head. “Muy bien. Soon you will be a skillful sailor like your papa.”

  Isabella’s throat closed. How she wished her tidings could be different.

  The captain lifted his head, and his piercing black eyes bore into hers. She read his question there and sadly gave a small shake of her head.

  He turned back to the young charge beside him. “I want you to take this piece of rope and practice the three knots I have taught you today. When you can do them all perfectly, come back and find me, and I will teach you three more.”

  Luis bounded to his feet. “Si, señor.”

  As he trotted past her, he held up his knot with a grin.

  If only his days could remain so carefree.

  Captain Montoya stood, his height blocking the setting sun and casting a long shadow across the planks of the deck. A halo of light shone around him, making him seem unworldly—her pulse quickened—and imposing.

  “Luis?”

  His voice brought her thoughts back to earth. She blinked hard. “Has breathed his last, I am sorry to say.”

  Had his shoulders drooped at the news? “I am sorry to hear it, though not surprised.” He stepped forward, his stride full of purpose. “Come, we must prepare his body.”

  She followed, her own steps leaden. Emotions frayed and head slightly dizzy from lack of proper sleep, she was ready to find a quiet corner, have a nice cry, and sleep for two days straight. Her skin crawled, and she resisted the urge to scrape her nails all over her body. If she were dreaming of things she’d rather be doing, soaking in a warm bath of clean water with a new bar of soap would be at the top of the list. Temptation to jump into the frothy ocean had nearly overcome her a number of times. Maybe the quartermaster’s threat to feed her to the sharks wasn’t so bad. Countless vermin already considered her a meal.

  The captain’s cabin door swung open, and she followed Captain Montoya inside. Luis lay as she had left him. If only she had been able nurse him back to health. How was she going to keep her promise and raise his son?

  The heels of Captain Montoya’s boots thunked on the floor, the sound deafening in the quiet room. He bent over Luis a moment before gathering an edge of the blanket his body lay upon.

  “I do not wish for his son to see him thus. It would leave a mark he would not soon forget.”

  Arguments to the contrary rose in her belly. She had been denied a final farewell to her own beloved mother. Hernando had seen to it. But to have been able to hold her hand or kiss her cheek…to tell her how much she loved her one last time. Even if Mama couldn’t have heard.

  She pushed her feet forward, past the memories and pain of regret. Bending, she clutched the end of the rough wool blanket.

  “Let us wrap him in the blanket and hide his face.”

  Like frijoles in a tortilla. Her stomach soured.

  The feeling continued as Captain Montoya studied her. He took her measure and found her lacking. Why did that bother her so much?

  “I do not believe you are strong enough to even carry half his weight.” He bent and scooped the lifeless body into his arms. “Sword practice begins again tomorrow. You must gain strength for the rigors of sea life if you wish to remain a sailor.”

  Good thing she did not wish to remain a sailor.

  A crowd gathered as the captain carried Luis’s body onto the main deck. Some of the men even removed their hats out of respect.

  “Capítan, I have learned the knots you showed me and am ready—” The small voice skidded to a stop.

  Isabella stepped behind Luis and laid a hand on his shoulder. How she wished to kneel down and embrace him. But only a woman would show such compassion, and she was supposed to be a man.

  “Papa?” His little voice broke.

  “I am so sorry, Luis.” Isabella pushed back tears.

  Captain Montoya stopped near the side of the vessel and turned to look over the gathered crowd. “Luis Rodriguiz was a good man”—he looked toward the man’s son—“and a good father. Díos, to you we commend his body and soul.” Without another word he turned and tossed the blanket-wrapped body overboard.

  “No!” The one word tore from the ten-year-old’s lips and echoed in Isabella’s heart.

  No matter the boy was nearly her height, no matter that she was supposed to pretend to be a heartless man, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and ushered him away from the scene.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Modern-Day Florida

  Spending all of her twenty-six years living in the Sunshine State should have been enough to teach Summer not to leave the sunscreen at home. And having red hair meant a double layer, not go without. Even if she wore a rash guard. Her skin was painful to look at, but even more painful to touch.

  Gingerly she sliced off a leaf from an aloe plant and peeled back the outer layer. The pharmacy sold aloe in bottles for sunburns, but straight from the source worked best. The juice oozed, its cool, sticky center an immediate relief from the burn. The gel of the aloe dried in seconds, leaving her skin hot and tight.

  From her closet she pulled out a chevron-printed strapless dress with a stretchy top. Her back and shoulders were the most lobster-esque, so instead of slipping the dress on over her head, she stepped into it and shimmied it up over her hips. She pulled the fabric wide and carefully tugged the dress over the most sensitive areas and into place. A messy bun would have to do for her hair.

  How was she doing on time? A glance to the clock on the wall showed she had at least ten more minutes before it was time to leave.

  Her camera case lay open on her desk, and she scooped the Sony NEX out and turned it on. Maybe the burn would be worth it if she'd gotten a money shot. Clicking through the images, her hopes fell flat. Parrot fish, a large school of jacks, a few barracuda. Decent shots, but nothing new or edgy. More likely to be sold at the city’s arts and crafts festival than to be featured in Our World.

  Had her only chance to see her name am
ong photo credits in the glossy pages of the prestigious magazine slipped through her fingers? They'd been back from the Bahamas a week now, and Trent had yet to call with new plans. He'd yet to call period, as a matter of fact.

  Which was good.

  Really.

  She'd gotten caught up in the moment, pulled in by his magnetic gaze and cheap flattery. Chalk it up to a moment of weakness. That was all the kiss was—a moment of weakness. Thankfully she'd had a few days for her head to clear, and she was finally thinking straight again. Every mama warned her daughter about men like Trent. Smooth talkers, devil-may-care attitude, and sexier than anyone had a right to be.

  On second thought, why did she need Trent to find the galleon? He needed her, not the other way around. She knew where it was. If it was there at all. All she needed to do was sell a few prints to raise money for a plane ticket. That and figure out who could go with her. Number one rule—always have a diving buddy. Jonathan was usually hers, but after what had happened last week, the thought of asking him felt awkward.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Mark perhaps? Although he preferred to ferry the boat and stay out of the water. Oh well. She'd have to think about it later. It was time to head to Mom's for dinner.

  ***

  Summer pulled her PT Cruiser through the entrance of Cyprus Grove Estates. The housing community may have given it a fancy suffix like estates, but it was still a trailer park. Nothing glamorous about it. She drove past the nicer modular double-wides and turned down a street of older tin-sided single-wides.

  Her eyebrows rose at the sight of Mark's Chevy pickup. Guess it wasn't a mother-daughter meal after all. Maybe Mom was trying to thank him for fixing her roof. Fortunately he'd been able to get to it before tropical storm Marie had hit. Her torrential rains and heavy winds would have spelled disaster on the roof that had been a blue tarp held down by old tires.

  Summer threw the vehicle into park and turned off the ignition. Hanging baskets of purple wave petunias spun in the breeze from a swivel clasp. Wind chimes tinkled in the evening air. The small porch Mom had built six years ago really did add a homey feel to the place. Even so, her heart ached. Mom deserved better. She'd worked hard her whole life and had nothing to show for it. Minimum wage wouldn't get her into a safe and comfortable subdivision. Those were for married couples with 2.5 kids. Not single working moms who sacrificed their own comforts for their daughters’ dreams—like buying Summer her first Nikon as a high school graduation present.