by Holt, Cheryl
“Friend of yours?” Robert asked.
“It’s Miss Barnes.”
Robert barked out a laugh. “Why the hell was she in that tavern?”
“She’s a female,” Hayden replied. “Who can guess why she does anything?”
“I believe you can handle this on your own.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone with her.”
But Robert was already hurrying off in the other direction. “You’re good with women,” he called over his shoulder. “You always brag about it.”
“Coward,” Hayden fumed as Robert disappeared.
There were sailors everywhere, and several of them had locked their attention on her, so she was in need of his protection. He marched over to her, and she was incredibly angry. Her overt fury had heightened the emerald color of her eyes, the rosy hue of her cheeks.
Really, the men in her family should have locked her in a convent so she couldn’t beguile mere mortals like Hayden.
“Hello, Miss Barnes.”
“Oh, it’s you.”
She wasn’t happy to see him, and her lack of enthusiasm set a spark to his temper.
“What are you up to now?” he asked.
“The same thing I was up to before.”
“What was that? I paid so little heed to your blathering that I can’t recollect what you told me.”
“I’m searching for my father.”
“I’m certain he’ll stagger to your hotel room once he’s run out of money.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m searching for him.”
Hayden scowled. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning I can’t find him. What would you suppose?”
“He’s vanished? How long ago?”
“I have no idea.”
“Are you afraid for his safety? Are you afraid he’s met with foul play? What?”
“I’m not concerned about a horrid end. I simply can’t figure out where he is.”
She strutted over to the door of the tavern as if she’d stroll in again, but he grabbed her and yanked her away.
“What is wrong with you?”
“With me? Nothing.”
“You couldn’t prove it by me. Were you raised in a cave by wolves? You act as if you’ve never been out in public before. You can’t waltz into a tavern and expect to be welcomed. Women aren’t allowed.”
“I know that.” She gaped at him as if he was the thickest oaf ever.
“So you went in anyway?”
“I thought I saw him in there. Could you check for me? Just so I can be sure?”
Hayden dithered, and alarm bells were ringing in his head. This was precisely the reason he should have avoided her. Calamity practically oozed from her person. A fellow who stood too close would get ensnared in her web. How would he ever escape in one piece?
He should have stomped off, but she was gazing up at him as if he was her champion and could fix all her problems. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
“What does he look like?” he muttered, chastising himself for being an idiot.
“He’s British and forty-five, but he could pass for thirty. Medium height, slender stature, dark hair. Green eyes like mine. He’ll be wearing a black coat and his preacher’s collar.”
“Since he’ll be dressed like a vicar,” Hayden facetiously said, “I won’t be able to miss him.”
“No, he’ll be easy to spot. He’s charming and gregarious. If he’s there, he’ll be surrounded by a crowd who will be hanging on his every word.”
“His name?”
“Simon. Simon Barnes.”
“You wait right here,” he told her. “Don’t move a muscle.”
“I won’t.”
“Swear it.”
“I never swear.”
He rolled his eyes, then cast a dangerous glower to the sailors who were lurking and furtively watching her. Silently, he apprised them that she was his, that they had better not bother her. His message was impossible to disregard, but just in case, he slipped a knife from a holster on his wrist and placed it in her hand.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“I will be in there for a few minutes. If any man approaches you, stab him.”
“I most certainly will not!”
She tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it. “I’m serious, Miss Barnes. Keep the knife, and if you have to, stab like you mean it. Don’t fool around.”
He wouldn’t argue further, wouldn’t debate the issue. She never listened, so why waste his breath?
He marched in and quickly ascertained that there was no British vicar among the customers. There were sailors from a dozen countries, babbling in a dozen languages. Still though, he questioned the bartender about Vicar Barnes, but the pastor had never visited.
Hayden walked out, and for once, Miss Barnes had behaved exactly as she’d been commanded. She was leaned against the wall of the building, her haughty glare preventing any rogues from talking to her. When he emerged, her expression was so optimistic that he could hardly stand to tell her the truth.
“He’s not there, Miss Barnes.”
“Oh,” she glumly mumbled as she returned his knife.
“I conferred with the bartender, and he’s never been there.”
“All right. Thank you.”
She was crestfallen, like a child who’d been informed her puppy had been run over by a carriage. He wanted to hug her and insist it would all work out, but he never acted like a dunce, and he wouldn’t start over her.
“Let’s get you to your hotel,” he said.
“I can’t hide myself away. I’m too busy.”
“With what? Looking for your father?”
“Yes.”
She made a shooing motion with her hand. “You don’t have to tarry. I’m fine on my own.”
“Miss Barnes, we have already established that you’re not fine on your own.”
“I’m not your responsibility, am I?”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed.
Yet in an odd manner, it was beginning to seem like he had a duty to her. Until one of them left Santa Cruz—hopefully he’d escape first—he suspected he’d always fret about her condition.
“Why can’t you find your father?” he asked. “I’m confused about what’s driving you.”
“He sent for us. He was assigned to a church in Santa Cruz, and he was provided with a small house to use as a rectory. He paid our way.”
“But you’ve arrived, and he’s not here.”
“Yes.”
Hayden nodded. Now he understood. “Have you notified the authorities?”
“Yes, but they were no help, and with the language barrier, I’m not sure they grasped my problem.”
“You don’t speak any Spanish?”
“No.”
And she wouldn’t have learned the local dialect either, which would be more of a benefit. If a British vicar was in the area, the locals would know.
Hayden immediately pondered how he could investigate for her. Just as swiftly, he realized he was being sucked into her life, and he pushed away the notion of assistance. If Vicar Barnes was as foolish as his daughter, there was no predicting what might have happened to him, and Hayden wouldn’t engage in the futile endeavor.
“What is your plan if you don’t ever find him?” he asked.
“I don’t have a plan.”
The comment alarmed him. She couldn’t dawdle in Santa Cruz with no money and no friends. There was plenty of employment for a female in the squalid port town, but it wasn’t the sort of work a decent woman would ever consider.
He steered her away from the tavern. For a bit, they strolled in silence. The tide had turned, and fishing boats were coming in, the hulls riding low from the weight of the morning’s catch. Their colorful sails flapped in the breeze. She stopped to watch them. He stopped too.
“It’s so pretty here,” sh
e murmured. “Different, but pretty.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful.” There was a scraggly park over by the water with a bench and a few palm trees to shade it. He gestured to the bench. “Would you like to sit?”
“I would actually.”
They walked over and plopped down, and they were silent again, and it gave him the chance to wonder why he’d prolonged the encounter.
Apparently, he wasn’t finished with her. With how she’d practically fallen into his lap, he felt as if they’d been destined to cross paths. If that was so, then there was something he needed from her, something she could supply or that he had to have. What might it be?
“Thank you for the basket of food you sent,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
“The boy who delivered it? William? He claims your name is Nine Lives.”
“It is.”
She turned toward him, and he turned too. Their arms and thighs were pressed together, and he could see the freckles on her nose, the flecks of gold in her green eyes. If he’d wanted to—which he definitely didn’t!—he could have dipped in and kissed her. She was that close.
“What’s your real name?” she asked.
“Nine Lives.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not about to call you Nine Lives.”
“Why not? It’s been my name forever. I can’t remember what it used to be.”
For a year or two after his accident, he’d tried to tell people who he was: Hayden Henley, Viscount Henley, son and heir to John Henley, Earl of Middlebury. But his announcements had been met with guffaws and derision.
Whoever heard of a British viscount sailing with pirates? Whoever heard of a British lord wallowing with the dregs of society out on the edge of the world?
He’d ceased his struggles to convince others of his identity. When he sauntered in the front doors at Middlebury Manor, then everyone would know. He wouldn’t have to beg to be believed.
“It’s not your name,” she said. “It’s your nickname.”
“Yes.”
“It indicates that you’ve suffered many catastrophes in your life.”
“And I survived all of them.”
“Have you been in Santa Cruz long?”
“A few weeks.”
“You don’t live here?”
“I’m passing through.”
“Passing through to where?”
He nearly blurted out London, but he swallowed it down. He would not rescue her. He would not offer her free passage.
“I haven’t decided where I’m off to next,” he lied.
“You’re from London?” she asked.
He shrugged. “England, anyway.”
“How did you wind up so far from home?”
“I was on a ship that sank.”
“My goodness!”
He waved away her concern. “It was a long time ago, and I never managed to head in the right direction after that.”
He wouldn’t talk about that interval that had been so perilous. He never talked about it, and there was no point really. It was ancient history, and he couldn’t change the past. Things had been better since he’d met Robert. Hayden was smarter now, shrewder, still driven but much more focused on getting what he desired.
“Do you miss England?” she inquired.
“Mostly not.”
Suddenly, the oddest burst of affection swirled between them, and he was anxious to unburden himself. He wanted to confess how desperate his tribulations had been. She would understand and empathize, but he never confided his troubles to anyone. Especially not a woman.
“How should I assist you, Miss Barnes?” He was eager to end the conversation as quickly as he could. Why linger? “How can I help you out of your predicament?”
“You don’t need to help me.”
“I can’t bear to think of you being trapped on Tenerife.”
“Might you have a fortune to share with me?”
Yes. “No.”
“If you could shower me with money, it would solve all my problems.”
“An infusion of money would solve everybody’s problems.”
“That’s true in my case.”
“If you could guess your father’s location at the moment, where would it be?”
She hesitated, a thousand replies obviously winging in her head, and ultimately she said, “I have no idea.”
“Liar.”
“Why would you assume I’m lying?”
“Because your face is an open book to me, and I can read every detail that’s written there.”
“When I’m around you, maybe I should shield my expressions.”
He nudged her thigh with his own. “Tell me.”
She pondered, then admitted, “My father is a wastrel.”
“Isn’t he a vicar?”
“Yes, but he has some…well…attributes you wouldn’t expect in a man of the cloth.”
“What kind of attributes?”
“He likes the ladies a bit more than he should.”
“He’s a cad?”
“It’s probably accurate to describe him that way.”
“And he’s still in the ministry?”
“He’s sort of in the ministry.”
“Isn’t a fellow either a preacher or not? Is there an in-between state?”
“It’s complicated,” she claimed.
“It certainly must be.” She was blushing in a pretty manner that tantalized his male sensibilities. “So he’s likely off with a doxy when he shouldn’t be.”
“Perhaps.”
“Will he surface when he’s weary of her?”
“I hope so.”
“What if he doesn’t? What if you never run him to ground?”
“I’ll figure something out,” she wearily said. “I always do.”
The comment hinted at a hard life, at difficult choices. It would have been draining to stumble along in the wake of such a reprobate, and now, he’d left her in the worst jam ever.
Hayden felt sympathy bubbling up, felt compassion stirring. He let it take hold. It was all right to feel sorry for her. Compassion was a fine emotion. It didn’t have to lead anywhere.
“How old is your sister again?” he asked.
“Sixteen.”
“You believe you’re responsible for her.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose,” he said, although that wasn’t necessarily true.
Over the years, he’d learned not to worry about others. He’d barely had the energy to keep himself alive. There had been no extra energy to expend on anyone else. Usually, he assumed he’d forgotten how to care, but he might have been wrong.
Evidently, he cared about her. But why would he? He’d only unraveled a few facts, and he didn’t like them. It was a peculiar and interesting development.
“Would you like me to make inquiries among the locals?” he asked almost against his will. “I could.”
“Actually, we received a note this afternoon that he might have been spotted on the other side of the island.”
“Might he have been?”
“Who knows? We’re traveling there tomorrow to check.”
“Should you?”
“I’ve been in Santa Cruz for a month, and I’ve exhausted every other avenue. It’s entirely possible that he’s over there.”
She didn’t look all that convinced, and he thought she was very brave. He also thought it would be better for her to visit a less populated part of the island. If she was stranded over there, at least she’d be away from the sordid elements that were so common in Santa Cruz.
“So…Mr. Nine Lives,” she said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
He couldn’t comprehend the rush of disappointment that swept through him, but he shoved it away and quickly regrouped. “Is this goodbye?”
“Yes. I can’t have supper with you. We have to pack and get to bed
early.”
“I understand.”
In a way, he was relieved that their supper was cancelled. He shouldn’t have extended the invitation in the first place. It had been a spur of the moment decision, arrived at because she was fetching and British.
“I should be going,” she said.
He might have insisted she dawdle, but he couldn’t conceive of a valid reason for it. “Yes, you should.”
“Will you walk me to my hotel?”
He grinned. “Aren’t you a woman who can take care of herself?”
“Yes, I am, but I’d still like you to walk me.”
“You enjoy my company. Admit it.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. I’ll never tell. You’re too vain by half, and I won’t stroke your ego.”
Yet she didn’t move, and neither did he. They were staring, cataloguing features. She seemed so familiar to him, as if she might be someone from the past he ought to recall.
“Have we met before?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps when we were children in England?”
“No,” she repeated. “I’d definitely remember you.”
“You are so…so…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. It was too maudlin, and she finished it for him.
“Familiar?”
“I guess.”
“I was thinking the same,” she said, “but I’ve persuaded myself it’s merely the odd circumstance of our encounter that’s driving us to see what’s not really there.”
“Yes, that’s probably it.”
They tarried for another minute, not able to pull away. Then she stood, so he stood too. They strolled down the bay, but much too soon they were at the alley where her hotel was located. They proceeded to the door, and the building was just as decrepit as it had been initially.
“I’m giving you a gift,” he said, “and I want you to take it. Don’t argue with me.”
“That depends on what it is.”
He had a purse of coins in his shirt. It wasn’t much, but it would erase some of the immediate peril she was facing. He jerked it out and handed it to her.
She frowned warily, then she opened it and glanced inside.
“If I was overly proud or prudent, I’d refuse it,” she told him.