by Sarah Monzon
Isabella stood and surveyed her surroundings. Rough men mulled around the deck. She recognized a face here and there as some of the crew from the Santa Rosa.
A boy on the verge on manhood approached, splotches of hair dotting his jaw. His gaze assessed her, and she pushed back her shoulders. While his regard may not have leered, she would show no weakness.
He waved a hand behind him while not taking his eyes off her. “These men I fished out of the sea say your sunken ship carried nothing of value, but I find I have salvaged a treasure from the wreckage after all.”
The captain of the ship seemed no older than she. Was it possible?
Captain Montoya moved to stand beside her. “You have an eye for beauty, my good man, for my wife is a rare gem.”
Her eyes widened. Wife?
The sailor—or perhaps pirate, albeit one so young?—compressed his lips and stared hard at Captain Montoya. “Wife, you say? Why bring your woman on such a voyage?”
“We were recently married, and I could not part from her.”
The man continued to stare, then flicked a glance her way again, one side of his mouth pulling. “Yes, I can see why.” He reached out his hand, and the captain grasped it. “I am Daniel Abana. I will take you to Nassau, but you will need to keep an eye on your woman. The city is a den of pirates who will not think twice to steal whatever it is they want, including señoras.”
The captain found her hand and hooked it in the crook of his elbow. “She’ll never leave my side.”
Captain Montoya dragged her along as he toured the deck, checking on his men who had been pulled from the wreckage. She scanned every face, searching for her beloved uncle. At her query to his fate, each man in turn shook his head. No one seemed to know what had happened to Juan de la Cruz. Until the last man.
“Sí, I saw Juan when the storm fought its hardest. Pedro had climbed up the rigging to cut the sails, but had frozen halfway up. Juan followed him and was able to get him back to the deck, but when the big wave tossed the ship on its side, Juan’s foot caught in the ropes. I was washed away after that, but I do not think he was able to free himself before the galleon capsized.”
Isabella’s heart clenched, and her knees went limp. If not for the strong arms of Captain Montoya, she would have collapsed. He lifted her like a child, and she buried her face in his leather jerkin. Tears squeezed past gritted eyes. How could Tío Pepe be dead? He had already come back to life for her once. Would he really leave her all alone with no family? Would Díos take him from her when he was all she had left?
“Is there a room where I may take my wife? She has suffered a terrible shock.” The captain’s chest rumbled against her cheek.
Still, she jammed her eyes closed, refusing to open them. Refusing to look around her and see the truth for what it was. That among all the faces of those who’d survived, her uncle was not included.
She was aware of movement, of being carried from one place to the next, of a door shutting. She waited, expecting the captain to set her down, perhaps on a chair or a bed. Her body lowered, not onto a soft cushion but onto a lap.
Captain Montoya cradled her back. “I am sorry about your uncle. Juan de la Cruz was a great man and a good friend to me.”
Isabella couldn’t find her voice, so she merely nodded her head, the soft leather covering his chest caressing her cheek.
Slowly the shock wore off, leaving a searing grief in its wake, embarrassment its companion. She slid from the captain’s lap and ducked her head. “I apologize for my behavior.”
He stood and placed a finger under her chin, lifting until their eyes met. “No apology is necessary, Isabella.”
Her tongue hit the roof of her mouth to say thank you, when he spoke again.
“I know this is not a good time, but we have many things to discuss. Daniel Abana will dock at Nassau. Have you heard of the city?” At the shake of her head, he continued. “It is no place for a woman, especially a beautiful señorita such as yourself. There are Spanish, English, French, but no matter where they were born, they have all turned out the same—pirates. Thieving reprobates, the lot of them.”
She kept quiet while he began to pace. “Though I do not begin to know what your plans had been when you boarded my ship, I doubt finding yourself among a den of pirates was among them.” He paused his pacing and looked at her. “Have you thought about what you will do now?”
Instinctively her hand went to where Abuela’s necklace had rested for so long. The only hope of her future lay at the bottom of the sea. Fear’s talons gripped her. What would she do? In a city full of self-serving men who allowed greed and base desires to drive them, there was no place for her. No respectful job she could acquire, no cozy house to call home. The only means to provide for herself and Luis would be in the skin trade. She would rather have drowned than to end up in that fate worse than death.
“Do you wish to return to Spain? I am sure we could find a vessel to return us all.”
Return to Hernando? It was like escaping a pack of wolves only to land in front of a viper. She shook her head. “I will not touch Spanish soil.”
The captain rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought not.” He took a step toward her, his gaze catching her eye. “Then there is only one course for you to take.”
She regarded him. “What course is that, el capítan?”
“You will marry me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Off the Bahaman Coast, Present Day
The sound of bubbles from her regulator instantly put Summer at ease. Things with Trent might be confusing, but diving—the languid feeling of ocean all around her, the rhythmic cadence of her even breathing, the dancing of light refracting off the water—this balanced her equilibrium.
Trent came along beside her and gave her a thumbs-up. She nodded, and they continued to dive deeper at a steady pace. If Jonathan had stopped the boat at exactly the same spot as last time, they wouldn’t have to search in too large a radius before they found something. If anything was even here, that was.
Summer reached up and turned on her headlamp. A twin light illuminated from Trent, and she looked over. He’d turned on his handheld flashlight. The sun still shone through at this depth, but she didn’t want any shadows hiding what could be there.
The glow from Trent’s flashlight oscillated back and forth.
So far nothing. Not even a fish.
Then the beam beside her stopped moving. It fixated on one spot, and Summer peered toward the end of the shaft of light. Nothing there. She turned her head to look at Trent, and he jabbed his finger in the direction she’d been studying, his eyes bright with excitement.
Already he moved in that direction, finned feet propelling him forward. She followed and gripped her camera, just in case.
What she assumed were shadows on the ocean floor began to take shape…and not the shape she’d imagined.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Her throat closed against the disappointment. She’d let her imagination run away with her and hadn’t stopped to think about the logistics. Of course there wouldn’t be a grand old ship pristinely preserved, masts still standing tall after three hundred years in the high saline waters of the Caribbean. Not to mention wood-eating shipworms and other marine life. Crustaceans and octopi were notorious for moving or breaking anything in their way.
She tried to tune out the mocking voice of defeat and erase the image she’d built up in her mind. With the deadline looming the next day, she didn’t have any other option but to make this work.
Trent swam a few feet ahead of her, bubbles rising above his head. She turned off her headlamp. At only a depth of about thirty feet, they really didn’t need it.
Summer stopped kicking and let her body suspend in the water. Her eyes scanned below, and a sense of awe overtook her. Clearly defined and yet still camouflaged among the silt and sand, jutting a foot or so above the ground, lay the remains of a ship.
What was the story behind those remains? She felt if s
he could just listen close enough, the voices from the past would whisper to her. Had this ship been among the fleet that brought riches to Spain, as Trent thought? Perhaps it had been a pirate ship. Plausible, considering Bahama’s ripe history.
She brought her camera up to her face, willing the wreck to speak to her. Her finger descended on the shutter, the frame capturing Trent inspecting the discovery.
Were these photos going to be enough to convince Tabitha Michaels to take a chance on her? The editor had asked for something different, edgy. Summer was used to photographing coral reefs and the marine life that called that habitat home. In comparison, these photos were grey and colorless, but they were different.
She swam closer and took shots from all angles, then kicked her legs to propel her nearer the surface and took more. How had no one found this shipwreck before? They weren’t too far from the coast, nor very deep.
Movement caught her eye, and a hawksbill sea turtle came into view. The animal’s fore flippers pushed up and down like the wingbeats of a bird, soaring gracefully through the water. Each scute of his shell a tawny tie-dye of hazel, chocolate, and caramel. He glided through the water at a leisurely pace, unconcerned about the strange creatures sharing his space.
Summer snapped frame after frame of the turtle. Swimming above him, she noticed the juxtaposition of his colorful body contrasted sharply with the drab, silty background. The shipwreck’s outline made an interesting backdrop—one Tabitha Michaels would hopefully appreciate.
The turtle swam off into the hazy distance, and she returned her attention to the ship remains below. Water pushed around her as she made her way to where Trent was examining a specific section. He reached out a hand and ever so gently rubbed away some of the sand and silt.
Something was different there, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Besides the silhouette of the ship, the only shapes within the hull were the contours of old crates. The swirly line of a distorted circle didn’t look like it belonged among the rest of what they’d found.
Summer watched through her lens as Trent brushed aside a bit more sand. His thumb and index finger pinched together at the silt, then lifted, a jeweled necklace dangling from his hand. She zoomed in, and the shutter closed as it captured the photo.
Never in a million years would she have imagined she’d be a part of a discovery like this. Hidden treasures and the men who hunted them were things of Hollywood, not the mundane existence she’d lived until now. Who would have thought her reality would far outreach any of her fantasies?
She lowered the camera from her face and met Trent’s eyes. The blue of his irises buzzed with excitement. He pointed up to the surface, and they both ascended until their heads bobbed out of the water.
Trent tore his mask from his face and spit the regulator out of his mouth. “We found it, Summer.” He threw his head back and laughed. “I can’t believe we found it.”
She removed her regulator and scooted her mask high on her forehead. A smile stretched across her face, his exuberance contagious.
Their gazes pulled and locked. He brought his arms around her, and in a breath his mouth found hers. While their kiss under the pier had been carnal, full of passion and desire, this kiss—she melted against him—this kiss was different. His soft lips lingered, didn’t demand and didn’t rush. The sweetness of it filled her, scattering her senses until they were the only two in existence.
As all good things did, the kiss ended. He pulled back enough to look into her eyes, his hand cradling her cheek. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Heaven help her. If she was honest with herself, she’d admit she’d wanted that kiss for just as long as he had. Denial and logic hadn’t served her well as barriers around her heart. He’d scaled them both and found a way in.
She pressed her cheek against his hand. “What am I going to do with you?”
He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose, and then winked, one side of his mouth lifting. “Anything you want.”
She gasped, then grinned. Cupping her hands, she shot water in his direction.
Laughing, he splashed her back.
The boat sidled up to them, and the engine idled. Jonathan poked his head over the side. “Find anything?”
Trent lifted his arm from the water, the necklace clasped in his hand.
Jonathan whistled. “Blackbeard’s treasure, huh?”
Summer laughed. “Hardly. Although it will be interesting to see what else is down there.”
Jonathan lowered a ladder, and Trent and Summer climbed aboard the boat. Water collected at their feet on the deck, and Jonathan tossed towels at them.
“I’ll report the find to the proper authorities.” Trent ran the towel over his head. “There’s a lot of protocol with a find like this.”
Summer eyed the jewelry still hanging from Trent’s hand. “May I?”
He handed it over, and the weight surprised her. Looking closer, the quality of the gold and gems caused her jaw to unhinge. Not even three hundred years in a watery grave buried beneath layers of sand could tarnish the heirloom’s beauty.
“Do you think there’s a story to this necklace?” She didn’t look up. Didn’t direct her question to anyone in particular. Just spoke the words, her own imagination building up different scenarios.
Perhaps the necklace had been a gift from a doting husband, given to his wife on their sixtieth wedding anniversary. Nah. People didn’t live that long in the seventeenth century, and what would an elderly couple be doing sailing across the ocean to the other side of the world? A gift for a fiancée then? Maybe a young navy captain had given the family heirloom to his lady love before he set sail on the seven seas. After establishing a place for her in the New World, he had sent for her. Only, the ship she’d sailed upon had encountered a great storm and she was lost to him forever.
Goose bumps sprouted across her arms. Awareness rippled through her as Trent came to stand at her back.
His breath warmed her ear and caused a shiver down her spine. He reached out a hand, his arm jacketing hers as he took the weight of the necklace in two fingers. “There is always a story.”
She turned her head and immediately regretted the action. Not even inches separated their faces, their lips. Her breathing stilled, while her heart raced.
This was not a good idea.
While she admitted to being no better than the other women who’d fallen for his charms, that didn’t mean she had to act on those feelings.
Memory of their shared kisses mocked her.
Fine. It didn’t mean she had to act on those feelings again.
The boat lurched forward. Unbalanced, she fell first against Trent’s chest and then into his lap. His arms encircled her, and she felt oddly protected.
As suddenly as the boat had gained momentum, it stopped. She jerked forward and then back, settling more firmly between Trent’s thighs. He rested his chin on the top of her head. If it wasn’t impossible, she’d suspect him of arranging that little surge just for this cozy embrace.
She extricated herself from Trent and glared at Jonathan. What had he been thinking?
Jonathan glanced away and muttered a “sorry” under his breath.
Agitation seeped away. Uncomfortable was the best word she could think of to label how he must feel, but she knew that probably didn’t even begin to describe it.
And it was her fault.
She’d rejected him, she’d begged him to help even when he’d said he needed more time, she’d admitted to feelings for another guy, and now, on top of all that, she’d made him witness her reaction to Trent’s nearness. Talk about being the worst friend ever.
She glanced in his direction to find him staring out over the horizon. Walking to his side, she bumped him with her shoulder. “I still have some oxygen in my tank. You want to go down and take a peek?”
He looked down at her, parallel lines etched along his cheeks. “Nah, that’s okay. Let’s head in if you’re done.”
More than the steps he took to the helm’s chair distanced them. “Maybe later.”
Her heart strained to make it right, to fix the pieces in their friendship that had come apart like a puzzle jostled by a toddler. But he’d begged for time, said later, and no matter how much it hurt, she needed to give him the space to work it out.
Trent had no sooner finished stowing the equipment than Jonathan opened the throttle. The boat bounced, a slight wind making the water choppy. Summer gripped the white vinyl seat cushion and gritted her teeth against the jarring. Hair that had worked its way out of her braid whipped out behind her, and the sting of the wind caused her eyes to water.
They made it back to the marina in half the time it had taken to reach the dive location. Jonathan jumped from the boat. A cowboy at a rodeo couldn’t have tied a calf’s legs as fast as Trent secured the rope to the dock’s cleat.
He pressed his hands to his thighs as he stood from his hunched position. “Did you leave anything in the rental car, Summer?”
Had she? No, everything was either back at the hotel or in her duffel. “I don’t think so. Why?”
Jonathan’s eyes looked past her to Trent. “I assume you’re staying at the same hotel?”
“Yeah, they had a room available, even though I didn’t book ahead.”
“Would you mind taking Summer back to the hotel? I need to head home earlier than expected. Something came up.”
“Sure.”
Jonathan turned without looking at her and started walking toward shore, causing her chest to weight like the cement piling surrounding her.
“Jonathan.”
He stopped but didn’t turn around.
The boat rose and dipped with the waves, but she stepped over the expanse from its side to the dock. Half a dozen steps and she faced him. “I’m sorry.” She touched his arm, but he seemed to look through her instead of at her. “Please…please don’t be angry with me forever.”