Finders Keepers (A Carrington Family Novel Book 1)

by Sarah Monzon

The muscle alongside his jaw ticked. “You guard your words for a man I perceive does not deserve such protection.”

  A hand touched her arm, and she flinched. An involuntary movement, but one that cost her.

  “As I suspected.” He took a step back.

  Isabella filled her lungs from the added space between them. Some of the tension dissipated with the distance…until she ventured another look at his face. Still etched in stone. Still harboring a brewing storm. If he suspected mistreatment, had he no compassion for her plight?

  “My ship became your refuge then. A poor choice, but perhaps your only option?”

  Loathing soured her stomach. “My stepfather is Diablo himself. He killed my mother and then turned his eyes on me.” She pounded her chest with a closed fist. “If you are looking for repentance for my deception, then you will be sorely disappointed.”

  His eyes sparked, and his lips pressed thin.

  Boldness expanded her chest, and she sneered. “And now my fate goes from one man’s hands to another. What is to become of me? A prisoner in the hold of the ship? Thrown into the sea to feed the sharks? Although that is an end to which I have already been threatened.”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Who threatened you?”

  She could taste the quartermaster’s name on her lips, but caught herself before spitting it out. Even in anger one must exhibit self-control.

  Isabella studied the man before her. Danger lurked in Captain Montoya’s eyes. His muscles bunched, ready to charge like a raging bull, yet her heart rate remained steady, the palms of her hands dry. Despite all of his intimidation, she was unafraid. He would not harm her.

  Certainly the man was angry. But if not with her, then whom?

  It is man’s God-given responsibility to protect and care for His creation—including the beautiful culmination of His creation—woman. How she had forgotten the priest’s words? Though not spoken to her, she had overheard them as the priest talked to a man given to too much wine and mistreating his wife.

  Was Captain Montoya’s temper ignited by the injustice done her? If she revealed who had threatened her, would he storm out to seek restitution? She must measure her words carefully, for even if the quartermaster were under lock and key, there were others who’d conspired against the captain.

  “There is much going on aboard this ship of which you are not aware.”

  His feet squared. “No more riddles, Isabella. Speak plainly. Who has threatened you?”

  Isabella. Her heart thrilled. Besides the few times Tío had spoken to her in private, weeks had passed since she’d heard her nombre. Even if the captain had said it in a low, warning manner.

  A small lock of black hair curled on Captain Montoya’s stern brow. Hard lines framed his mouth, and his strong jaw clamped together. She had thought him intimidating and more than a little dangerous, but of a sudden her perception shifted. Instead of hiding behind a facade of bravado, her fingers itched to smooth his forehead and trace the deep grooves along his mouth. His stance, the muscles bunched beneath his jerkin, the truth hidden in the depths of his black eyes. Was it true that he sought to protect her from a threat of harm?

  But it was she that needed to protect him. Rather, she needed to warn him so he could protect them all. As his shoulders widened, she had no doubt he could navigate the winds of peril blowing their way.

  She took a step forward and laid a hand on his forearm. They both stared at the point of connection until she dropped her hand and lifter her eyes back to his. “Mutiny is on the lips of your crew.”

  “Mutiny.” Incredulity coated the word.

  Díos, help me convince him of the truth. “While in the hold I overheard a plot. Some of your crew plan to take the ship from you.”

  Suspicion clouded his face. “What were you doing in the hold?”

  Heat creeped up her neck, but she refused to avert her gaze. “Securing my disguise.”

  His eyes lowered to her bosom, and she squirmed. Unfortunately, the bodice of Señora Cruz’s gown dipped low and pressed tight, revealing creamy flesh better left hidden behind fabric.

  Was that a twitch of his lips? She wanted to cover herself with her arms. Or slap his cheek.

  Her skin flushed hot as he looked back into her eyes. “Who threatened you, Isabella?”

  She held his gaze. “The same man threatening you.”

  He was in her space again in an instant. She took a step back, but he caught her shoulders and held her in place. Inches separated their faces. “I will have a name.”

  She lifted her chin. “After you hear all I have to say.”

  His grip tightened before he released her. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I am listening.”

  Pressing a hand to her stomach, she swallowed hard. “I do not know when the attack is planned, nor everyone involved. Those bent on treason will take over the ship, and I fear many lives will be lost in the fight. The sign will be a raised fist and a mighty roar.”

  Face hardening once more, he regarded her. “And the leader?”

  “’Tis your quartermaster.”

  Captain Montoya swore under his breath.

  A burden lifted from Isabella. “You believe me?”

  “Sí.” He caressed the hilt of the sword strapped to his side. “Though you have deceived us all, in this I judge your words to be truth.”

  Hurt nicked her at his words. True, she had misled them, but it had been necessary. She hadn’t had any other choice. That she would now be deemed untrustworthy sat like an anchor in her stomach.

  “What will you do?”

  Without shame he deliberately looked from the top of her shorn head to the hem skimming the wood floor. Fabric bunched in her hands as she squeezed the sides of her skirt.

  “That is not your concern, Isabella.”

  He continued to use her name. To remind her that she was a mere woman? That these matters were beyond her sensibilities?

  Her teeth clenched. “I disagree.”

  One brow rose.

  “The quartermaster is aware that I am privy to his plans. He has warned me against speaking the truth and exposing him. Do you not think he will take measures to secure my silence? Has he not already promised what end I will face if I do speak against him?”

  His hand curled around the hilt of his sword. “That will not happen.”

  She eyed the length of his sheathed weapon. “Do you plan to stay by my side the remainder of this voyage? To forgo sleep in order to protect me? ’Tis not possible.”

  He shook his head. “Juan and a few of my other men that I trust with my life will rotate to guard—”

  “To the detriment of everyone’s duties and the safety of all. What of the mutiny? True, Tío—”

  Captain Montoya’s head jerked back. “Tío? Juan is your uncle?”

  She pressed her lips together. Already she had said too much. Had she jeopardized Tío’s position by revealing their relationship?

  His eyes glinted. “Juan knew you were aboard the entire time?”

  There was no need to reply. Silence confirmed his question.

  “You worry about treason, but already I have been betrayed.” He shook his head. “How could Juan have allowed his niece to do all you have done?”

  Accusation cooled her blood. “He did not know until I was already aboard the ship. I would not be dissuaded.”

  The captain turned and paced the length of the cabin, muttering under his breath. His sword bounced against his leg as he walked like a caged animal. The movement caught Isabella’s attention, and a plan began to form in her mind. She remembered the weight of the sword in her hand. How her muscles had strained but her spirit had soared during her one and only spar. Having a man guard her at all times endangered them all. All eyes needed to be focused on the rising threat and disarming those bent on rebellion. If she could protect herself…

  Without thought Isabella stepped in front of Captain Montoya and cut off his path. “Teach me to fight.”

 
He met her gaze briefly. “No.”

  One word and he stepped around her like she were nothing more than a stump along the trail.

  Lengthening her stride, she intercepted him once more. “Do not forget you have already given me one lesson. I only ask you continue what you have started.”

  His eyes narrowed before slipping to the decidedly feminine parts of her body. “I will not teach a woman the use of the sword.”

  Would men never cease to think women weak? Was it not women who bore and raised them? Had she herself not fulfilled every task set to her the last month aboard the ship, same as every other male crew member? How she wanted to stamp her foot against the injustice.

  “My fate is sealed then.”

  The pacing ceased at the other side of the cabin, but the captain didn’t turn to face her.

  Isabella allowed the silence to stretch. Perhaps he would come to his senses and realize that not only did she need a way to protect herself, but she could also help defend the galleon from impending danger.

  Still his back remained toward her. Would there be no more discussion? If not, there was no reason for her to stay in the cabin. She needed to find Tío Pepe and inform him of everything that had transpired. Little Luis would surely be looking for her as well.

  Without the layers of petticoats required, the hem of her borrowed dress dragged along the floor on her way to the door. She lifted the front to ensure she wouldn’t trip, but the ill-fitting clothing posed a nuisance. How would she keep her balance when the ship swayed with the ocean waves during a strong wind? Hernando’s discarded garments caught her attention as she passed them. They really were more practical for life at sea. Perhaps a moment would arise when she could come back and retrieve them.

  Her hand lifted to open the door.

  “You have not been dismissed.”

  A prisoner it was to be then. Although not a cell in the hold but within the captain’s own quarters. “There is nothing left to discuss.”

  “I am still captain of this ship, and those on board will obey my commands.”

  Isabella swept a hand down the length of her. “You forget that I am no longer a member of your crew, Capítan.”

  His eyes narrowed, and a second later he jerked the chair out from under his desk and dropped into it. He motioned to a chair on the other side. “Sit.”

  Her chin notched up. “I do not—”

  “Sit.”

  The order brooked no argument. As much as she wanted to remain on her feet, to challenge his demands, she found herself moving in his direction. She lowered herself onto the seat and smoothed out her skirt, refusing to look up.

  “I will teach you to fight.”

  Her head snapped up as a grin spread across her face.

  “However, until you have mastered the weapon, you will remain here, in my cabin, at all times.” His eyes bore into her.

  Back to prisoner. She looked around her new cell and stopped short at the bed pushed against the wall. Her throat constricted, and she swallowed past the lump. True, she’d been sleeping among men for weeks now, but they had all believed her a man as well. Captain Montoya’s demand that she stay within this room was for her own safety, surely. He wouldn’t…would he?

  “Now”—his voice brought her attention back around—“I need to investigate and perhaps put a stop to this mayhem before it even begins.” He stood and walked around the desk, stopping at her side. Bending at the waist, his fingers slipped into his boot. When he straightened he held a small dagger in his hand. “Only use this if absolutely necessary.”

  She nodded as her fingers closed around the leather sheath. The blade weighed little more than air.

  Captain Montoya strode toward the door, and Isabella heard the hinges creak. The sound of the door closing didn’t come, and she turned. He stood there, looking at her.

  “Do not open this door, no matter what.” And with that he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Florida, Present Day

  Following the clues and going straight to the source—two basic principles for treasure hunters. First time a source was the mother of the woman who fascinated Trent. That made things…interesting. It had only taken a second to pull up Summer’s Facebook profile and then a click on the About tab, click on Family and Relationships, and, voila, a thumbnail picture of Patricia Arnet appeared. He knew where Summer got her high cheekbones and creamy satin skin. The smattering of freckles across the middle-aged woman’s face made him think she had been a redhead before her hair turned silver.

  Trent wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn’t have much experience with mothers. Not since high school anyway. Even then it was usually the glare of the fathers that kept him in line. There was his own mother, of course, but she didn’t really count in this consideration.

  The back of his throat tickled, and he coughed into his elbow. If only Summer knew the name of her dad, he could bypass her mom altogether. Why didn’t Summer know her dad’s name? Seemed like her mom had been up front with her about her conception and all. Why hide the man’s identity? Was there something sinister or shameful about him? Doubt niggled the back of his mind, but he pushed it away.

  Maybe Patricia had never told the guy that he’d knocked up his one-night stand. A fellow had a right to know if he had a long-lost daughter. Maybe she did tell him, but he’d hightailed it out of there. It was a one-night stand after all, not a long-term relationship. Maybe…maybe he should stop stalling and go talk to Patricia himself.

  ***

  Two hours hadn’t been long enough to cruise away his jitters. If anything, the time had wound Trent up even more. Like a four-year-old on five cups of coffee. He killed the engine of his Harley and shook out his hands, flinging nervous energy from his fingertips. It was ridiculous, this jumpy feeling that had his muscles twitching and prevented his lungs from taking a complete breath.

  He stared at the single-wide. Just one of dozens lined up on their tiny lots. Besides showing its age, the trailer had a homey feel about it. Hanging plants from a small covered porch, banana trees reaching to a roof that looked like it had been recently replaced, small driveway swept clean. None of it calmed the zinging inside his chest.

  Move. The single-word command had its desired effect. He dismounted the motorcycle and walked to the front door. No doorbell. He opened the storm door and knocked, taking a step back as he lowered his arm. Hopefully Patricia was home. He probably should have called first, but he hadn’t known what to say. Hi, you don’t know me, but can you tell me the name of the guy you hooked up with twenty-six years ago? Pretty sure he would’ve been answered with a dial tone, or worse.

  Footsteps sounded in the house, and the door creaked open. A man stood in the doorway.

  “Oh.” Trent mentally stumbled. From what Summer and his little Internet research had said, Patricia was single and lived by herself. He hadn’t expected a man to answer the door. The guy looked familiar though. Had they met before?

  “Trent, isn’t it?” The Tom Selleck look-alike, all the way down to the mustache and Hawaiian shirt, extended his hand.

  Trent shook it. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Mark.”

  Right. The other guy that had been in Summer’s office that day with Jonathan.

  “Are you looking for Patty?”

  “Umm, yeah, is she here?”

  Mark stepped to the side and opened the door wider. “She’s fiddling with something in the back room. I’ll get her.”

  Trent walked into the house and shut the door behind him as Mark disappeared. He soon emerged with a woman who looked remarkably like what Trent pictured Summer to look like in twenty-five years, only a little shorter.

  “I’ve got some errands to run, so I’ll go and let you two talk.” Mark bent down and planted a kiss on Patricia’s cheek. “It was good to see you again, Trent.” Another handshake and then Trent was left alone with Summer’s mom.

  She took his measure, scanning
him up, down, and up again. “So you’re Trent.”

  There was nothing about the tone of her voice, her expression, the look in her eye, nothing to give away her thoughts. Did she approve? Disapprove? Setting aside judgment until she got to know him better?

  He stepped forward and offered his hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Ms. Arnet.”

  Her small hand gave his a light squeeze. “It’s Patty.”

  First name basis. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  “Come on in and take a seat. Would you like some iced tea?”

  “Uh, sure, that sounds nice, thank you.” He sat on one end of a beige microfiber loveseat and scooted aside a small throw pillow decorated in geometric shapes.

  Glasses clinked behind him, and Trent heard the suction of the refrigerator door as it opened, then closed. He picked at the corner of his cuticle and then buried his hand under his leg. Only females poked at their nails when they were nervous. If only he could convince himself that Patty was just another woman, he could charm her like a leprechaun with a four leaf clover. Then he could stop being nervous and doing stupid things like picking his nails.

  “Here you go. I hope you like it sweet. I tend to put a bit more sugar in my tea than most people.”

  Trent took a sip and tried to keep his eyes from bugging out. He’d need a trip to the dentist if he drank that whole glass.

  Patty sat on the opposite side of the couch and curled her legs under her. Her elbow poked the back pillow, and the side of her head rested in her hand. Every muscle relaxed.

  He wished he could say the same thing.

  “Now Trent, you’re going to have to forgive me.” She sat up straighter and folded her hands in her lap. “There’s a question that keeps coming to my mind. It’s archaic, and I’ve tried to forget it, but I can’t stop thinking about it.”

  Trent set the tea glass on the coffee table. “What question is that?”

  Her eyes lasered him. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

  Intentions? Whoa. So this was what a deer caught in the headlights of a tractor-trailer felt like.

  “Uh…” Nothing. His mind was completely blank. Like a TV with the power turned off.