Jack blinked away the image of her as a child running through the parklands of her home. “Sometimes you have to forget everything you know and see the world with new eyes.”
“Yes! I think so, too,” Sophie agreed. “Sometimes everything you know is just plain wrong.” She was talking about Harlan now, her life in general, but he needn’t know it. “Sometimes everyone around you is telling you something is one way, and you try so hard to believe it, and it just doesn’t feel right.” She chewed her bottom lip, contemplating that truth. “D you know what I mean?”
His eyes twinkled a bit. “I do.”
“Sometimes,” Sophie continued, encouraged by his rapt attention, “nothing feels right until you forget everything you know ... and follow your heart.”
He shook his head. “Your heart will get you in trouble,” Jack proposed. “Follow your gut instead. It never lies.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Her gut said she was doing the right thing.
“So what did you do with your shark’s tooth?” he asked, and smiled. “Did you save it?”
Sophie bit her lip and told him a bit sheepishly, “My mother found it, actually, and was quite horrified by it. She tossed it in the garden, and told me never to get my hands dirty again. But I went back later and found it, took it inside, and hid it in my pillow.” She refrained from adding that she would pull it out each night and sleep with it tucked in the palm of her hand, certain he would think that was silly.
“I used to imagine it was my good luck charm, to scare away the ghoulies.”
He laughed, the sound of it rich and warm.
It made Sophie feel completely at ease.
“I think that’s every budding anthropologist’s first discovery ... the infamous shark’s tooth.”
Sophie grinned at him. “Was it yours?” She lifted her knees up and hugged herself, lying her cheek atop them, feeling perfectly at ease when only minutes before she had felt awkward.
“Actually, no.”
“What was yours?”
“A canine tibia.”
Sophie scrunched her nose. “A dog’s leg?” She laughed. “Yuck!”
He grinned. “Yep. Told my friends it was an ancient breed of horse that belonged to pygmies who migrated from Africa.”
Sophie giggled. “You told them that?”
He nodded, looking quite pleased with himself, and Sophie suddenly imagined him as a child, his golden hair white from the sun and his skin deeply bronzed, his teeth flashing in a mischievous grin that was inherently all boy. “Wherever did you come up with a theory like that?”
“Vivid imagination, mostly,” he admitted. “But my father was an anthropologist,” he told her, “and I picked up bits and pieces from him.”
Sophie’s brows lifted in surprise. “Was he truly?”
“One of the best,” Jack said, and Sophie could see the pride in his face. His eyes filled with admiration and his smile was genuine.
“He must be so proud!” Sophie exclaimed.
He blinked then, and looked away, then back, shuttering emotions from her. “He’s dead now, Sophie.”
She’d known that, actually.
“Oh.” Sophie flinched at her own carelessness. How could she have forgotten? She sat up, her heart twisting a little. “I’m sorry,” she offered, and wanted to hug him suddenly.
“Don’t be,” he said, and smiled too. “He lived a full life.”
She wanted to ask more, but didn’t dare.
Their gazes held.
Her heart began to beat a little faster, and she swallowed a knot that rose in her throat.
“I guess I should go to bed now,” she said after a moment, taking a deep breath and sliding her feet to the floor.
She was feeling strange suddenly, wanting things she shouldn’t dare even think of.
He didn’t speak, merely continued to stare, and Sophie’s stomach fluttered without cause.
“Well... g’night,” she whispered and rose, leaving him to his work.
“G’night, Sophia,” he whispered back.
Her body shivered at the sound of her name on his lips and she quickly closed the curtain between them. Without another word, she put out the lanterns on her side of the room. She had no idea what had just happened between them, but her head was spinning as she climbed into her hammock.
As she lay there, she tried not to think of him sitting on the other side of the curtain, but was far too aware of every shuffle of his papers ... every sound that came from his half of the room.
Her heart didn’t stop pounding until long after his lantern clicked off and the room lay completely still.
The storm that had been threatening earlier never materialized and the sound of the waves slapping outside the cabin lulled her to sleep.
CHAPTER 16
It was late afternoon when Sophie finished her self-appointed chores.
She was weary as she made her way back to the cabin for a moment’s respite, but filled with satisfaction over the day’s accomplishments.
In the last few days, she’d managed somehow to stay out of trouble, and had even made strides toward making amends with Jack. He seemed different toward her today—not that he’d spoken to her much at all, but it seemed to Sophie that every time she’d chanced to look up, he was there, watching her.
She couldn’t tell if it was because he didn’t trust her, or if he still expected her to find her way into trouble... or if it was something more... but something about the way he looked at her sent her pulse skittering.
Maybe he had felt what she’d felt that first night in his cabin? She tried not to think of that, pushed it aside.
Her life was complicated enough, and she was determined now to uncomplicate it at all costs. Jack MacAuley was a distraction she could do without. She didn’t need a man in her life.
At any rate, there were other things to concern herself with this moment. Thanks to Kell, the stove was no longer a complete enigma, and she’d managed to concoct a few edible meals. She thought perhaps she was improving, though it wasn’t as yet evident in the expressions on the crew’s faces. She’d work on her seasoning now, and maybe before long she would see them smile at the prospect of eating the fruit of her labors.
She found the captain’s cabin empty and slipped within, closing the door behind her. She had one dress left and contemplated changing into it, soiled as this one was becoming, but she didn’t dare. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t just buy another. Nor was she certain how to wash them without ruining the material. No, she’d have to make do.
Untying her makeshift apron, she tossed it over the rope that separated their rooms, and dared to go and sit at Jack’s desk. She really should wash up first, she thought, but she was far too tired to actually do it. She sank back in his chair and set her feet up as she’d seen him do while reading his papers, and smiled to herself at the picture she must present.
She imagined the look he’d wear if he walked in just now, and bit her lip to keep from laughing.
All she needed was a cigar and a brandy and a pair of pants and she’d be just one of the crew. Which made her wonder. What would it be like to be Jack? To simply be able to come and go when he pleased? To be in love with his work? To live life by his own rules?
Her gaze was caught by the portrait of Harlan. She removed her feet from the desk and leaned over to snatch it into her hands.
How could she ever have thought herself in love with this puny man? Somehow, he paled in comparison to Jack. Everything about Jack MacAuley bespoke vitality. He was passion incarnate and Sophie couldn’t see him doing anything halfway.
She admired him, she realized.
She set the portrait of Harlan down and scrunched her nose in disgust at it. His looks were deceiving. He seemed far too angelic when he should be wearing devil’s horns and an evil goatee.
On a whim, she picked up Jack’s quill and dipped it in his inkwell, then drew tiny little horns on Harlan’s head. She smiled, satisf
ied with the impression. Next she drew a small goatee, pointy at the end—almost like another horn—and went on to doodle a mustache as well. Funny, she had never noticed how weak a chin Harlan had before now. The goatee only seemed to accentuate it. She giggled as she drew, imagining the expression on his face were he to see her disfiguring his picture. Next, she drew little money symbols in his pupils ... so tiny one could almost mistake them for a simple gleam in his eye, and then she smiled at the finished product, her mood improved a hundredfold.
It was strange actually... She was no less determined to face Harlan and seize back her honor, but somehow... the edge had softened from her anger. She no longer felt such bitter fury when she thought of Harlan with other women. It no longer stung so much that he had no wish to see her.
In fact, it no longer even seemed to matter that he’d been so willing to leave her on a shelf until he was good and ready to encumbrance himself with the burden of matrimony.
The one thing that did bother her was that he had used her and her father ... and he continued to use her without compunction.
She set the portrait down again on the desk so that it faced her side of the room, thinking that there was nothing to stop her now from going to Paris to study art.
Or perhaps she would go to Italy ...
Or maybe she would go dust off some heretofore undiscovered pharaoh’s tomb in the great land of Egypt and give Harlan a better example to follow. She leaned forward and flicked her finger at the picture, knocking it on its face, smirking at it. It was really bad of her to feel so vengeful, but she couldn’t quite keep herself from it. She truly hoped it didn’t make her a terrible person.
Her thoughts returned to Egypt. Wouldn’t it be fun to explore new cultures and to piece together the puzzle of their existence through their artifacts? She envied Jack fiercely. She wanted to know the things he knew.
She glanced down at the small silver key that protruded from the drawer lock. It was too tempting. Her curiosity beckoned her to open the desk drawer.
She couldn’t resist.
His papers were all neatly stacked within and she pulled out a handful of them.
The documents were all titled, with myriad notes scribbled into the margins. Some caught her attention more than others...
“The Phoenician Connection” ... “Hieroglyphics at Closer Inspection” ... “The Maya Code.” Skimming the material, she noted that the last appeared to be an in-depth interpretation of the Mayan system of record keeping. She leafed through a few more, and paused at one that bore interesting sketches in the margins. It was titled “The Supernatural Association.”
One sketch appeared to be the body of an infantile human with the spots of a jaguar and a rather grotesque face. The figure was lying on its back and appeared to be having a tantrum of sorts. Under that particular drawing was scribbled “Baby Jaguar, Early Classic Tikal and Caracol.” The passage beside it was about the Bearded Jaguar God of the underworld, and Sophie surmised they were one in the same—a Mayan version of the devil perhaps?
The next paragraph spoke of a god who sat on his throne in judgment and destroyed an early creation by flood ... How strangely coincidental.
Or perhaps not so much at all...
She flipped a few more pages and found another drawing entitled “The Body and Its Accouterments.” It was a gruesome picture of the skeletal remains of a Mayan man, with labeled artifacts outside the boundary of the drawing, and markings showing the position in which they were found.
Fascinating.
There were, after that, pages upon pages of crudely drawn maps, depicting what Sophie assumed were tombs. Had he drawn these maps himself? Had he actually, with his own two eyes, beheld the bodies at rest? How must it feel to unearth something that had not been seen by human eyes since the day of its interment?
She read on, devouring information like a hungry beggar, losing track of time. It wasn’t until the sun began to set and she was forced to light the lantern on the desk that she realized just how late the hour had grown. Still she couldn’t put down the manuscripts. They held her enthralled. Here in these papers were a man’s life’s work, evidence of the time and heart he had invested in his profession.
Sophie read until her eyes grew weary, until she had to squint to see the letters because the room had grown too dim to make them out. Greedy for knowledge, she turned the lantern light higher, the better to read by, and removed it from its brace, drawing it near. As she huddled over its flickering flame, heat caressed her lips and cheeks, seducing her into a sweet languor...
She felt the heat like a whisper touch of his finger, and she closed her eyes...
Like a phoenix, his image rose before her, and Sophie dared to imagine what it would feel like if he came to her and took her face in his hands ... if he kissed her...
To her shock, her mouth remembered the taste of him, the feel of him... and she touched a finger to her lips... caressing them softly.
She never failed to surprise him.
Jack had expected Sophie to pout over the loss of her gowns but she hadn’t from the first. A simple grimace had been the extent of her lamentation.
She simply made do with what she had.
He’d also expected her to complain about her cabin; she hadn’t.
Instead she’d moved in with him.
He chuckled to himself over that one.
After she’d paid him ten thousand dollars for passage, he’d never anticipated she would willingly roll up her sleeves and work, but she had, and without ever having been asked.
Her meal tonight had actually been edible, and it was apparent she was trying.
She was either a very remarkable woman or a clever little spy who was bound to turn his entire crew against him. He hadn’t done a damned thing to her, but a blind man couldn’t miss the suspicious looks he was getting from his crewmen. She was winning them over with very little effort, and Jack could damned well see why.
Her smile alone, when she favored them with one, was enough to make a man’s gut flop. The thing was, Jack didn’t really think she even knew it. She seemed oblivious to the fact.
It had been a long day, and he was tired, but he was actually looking forward to the rest of the evening alone with her.
He whistled a cheerful tune as he approached his cabin, hoping it would be enough of a warning, just in case she was in the middle of her toiletry. There was no telltale scurrying behind the door, and so he knocked lightly and then opened it.
His good mood dissipated at once.
Rage filled him at the sight of her.
CHAPTER 17
She was a lousy as hell spy!
She’d obviously fallen asleep while snooping through his papers.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jack shouted at the top of his lungs as he entered his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
He startled her from her slumber, and she awoke with a gasp, her hands flying out, papers scattering.
Her gaze met his for the briefest instant; confusion in hers, then fear.
It happened too fast to stop it.
She knocked the lantern over. Its flame spilled onto his research, engulfing the papers at once. She shrieked in alarm when she realized and tried to put out the flames, blowing on them.
The fire merely spread faster.
His work was going up, literally, in smoke!
Jack moved quickly; he removed his shirt and began to smack at the flames, yelling for Kell to get water—something—anything!
By God! She was going to kill them all!
She ran out the door suddenly, shrieking, abandoning him to the fire—damned woman!
“Yah, right, save yourself!” he growled after her.
He was thankful the ship was small. Someone shouted at him and Jack ordered him to bring water to put out the fire—all the while continuing to slap out the flames, cursing Sophia Vanderwahl under his breath.
Had he really begun to soften toward her?
Dangerous
prospect.
He was going to have to remember this the next time a good thought about her niggled its way into his brain.
“Kell!” he shouted. “Damn it, someone get in here!”
He heard footsteps and spun to see who was there. Water rushed past him, onto the desk, but not without drenching him first.
Before he could say anything, she ran away again, bucket in hand.
Stunned, he turned again to slap at the flames.
Kell was right behind her with another bucket, and someone else with another. By the time Sophia returned, the flames were extinguished, and she stood in the doorway, looking a little bit dazed and a lot sorry.
Jack wasn’t in the mood to be forgiving.
“What were you doing at my desk?” he railed at her. “Looking through my papers?”
She stood there clutching her bucket, and had the nerve to look injured by his anger.
“I should have known you couldn’t be trusted!” he told her, slamming his shirt down on the floor at her feet. She winced and took a step backward. Kell came up behind her, but Jack was undeterred.
By God, he had had enough!
“Did Penn put you up to this?”
He wanted to know right now. To hell with waiting to see. If she was Penn’s spy, for whatever reason, he wanted her exposed.
“Jack,” Kell objected.
“I... I don’t know what you are talking about,” she replied.
Jack ignored Kell, determined to find out the truth once and for all. “Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t!” she protested, her eyes filling with tears. “I fell asleep and then you scared me and then—”
“I know what happened then,” he countered. “What I want to know is why you were going through my papers!”
Sophie stood there, trying to make sense of his questions.
She shouldn’t have been snooping, that much was true, but she didn’t understand why he was so furious with her. She had almost burned down his cabin, that much was also true, but she certainly hadn’t intended to do it and it was as much his fault as it was hers for he had scared her to death. Still... it seemed to her that she was missing something...
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