Steam Me Up, Rawley

by Angela Quarles

  “When you get to the hotel, ask for Colonel Gillespie. He is the justice of the peace. He will assist you with the criminal.”

  They remained silent for the rest of the short trip. Ahead, a smattering of lights hugged the shoreline. As they drew closer, the lights coalesced into a brilliantly lit, three-story hotel facing the bay, with a smaller string of buildings huddling nearby. The hotel looked completely modern and so out of place against such a wilderness. The settlers here sure were hopeful.

  Their escorts gracefully slid them into a berth on the hotel’s dock. They secured the boat to a post and hopped out, assisting her as she disembarked.

  Loki jumped onto the pier and ran ahead, chittering. Rawley reached into a pocket inside his wrinkled coat and pulled out a flat leather pouch. He selected a couple of coins and held them out to Mr. Jimenez, who backed away, looking gravely offended.

  “No, no, no,” he said, hands waving in denial. “You have helped my country. Besides, you are stranded, no? You will need all your money to return to your home.”

  Rawley bowed, and they shook hands. “Thank you for your assistance. We greatly appreciate it.”

  Adele shook hands with him and the boy, who straightened, puffing out his little chest. “Thank you.”

  Adele waved goodbye, accepted Rawley’s arm, and ambled down the dock to the hotel’s entrance.

  Rawley stopped. “We should pretend we are married.”

  A traitorous thrill shot through her, which she fiercely tamped down. “Why?”

  “This is a frontier town. They tend to be either very wild or very conservative. Either way, it would be inadvisable for a single woman to be among them.”

  He had a point, but that meant sharing a room. “What about brother and sister?”

  He gave her a hard look. “I can’t do an American accent. Can you manage an English one? Besides, I would be unable to protect you if you were in a room alone. I will sleep on the floor by the door.”

  As long as they were only pretending. She nodded, replaced Loki on her shoulder, and they continued inside. A thin boy, all bones and jaw, sat at a reception desk bouncing a ball in a desultory manner. At the jingling of the bell over the door, he shot upright, mouth agape, eyes wide. At first, she surmised his evident surprise was due to their ragged appearance, but as she took in the empty lobby and inhaled the smell of new wood, paint, and upholstery, she suspected it was more due to any guests appearing at all.

  He licked his hand and ran it over his scruffy hair. “Welcome to the DeSoto Hotel, jewel of Sarasota,” he squeaked.

  Rawley stepped up to the desk and recounted their ordeal, the only untruth being their relationship. “Can you rouse Colonel Gillespie for us?” he concluded.

  The boy nodded, donned a hat, and ran out the front door without saying a word.

  Rawley looked at Adele, and they both shrugged at the same time, which shifted something inside her. She put a hand to her mouth to cover an unladylike snort, but it was too much. She bent over and laughed. She gasped in breaths and straightened. Seeing Rawley’s puzzled expression only made her laugh harder.

  “What is so amusing?”

  She smoothed her hands over her stomach, trying to calm her mirth. A deep breath. Another. She wiped her eyes, waved a hand at him and herself. “Just look at us.” She waved a hand outward. “The situation. I mean, it’s quite a story, isn’t it? But every lick of it is true. And I’ve never seen you so rumpled. That in itself is funny enough.”

  He pulled on his cuffs. “Yes, well...”

  “And the sight of that man coming out of the water, his suit making him look like a bloated fish...”

  A deep masculine chuckle. Was that—? Her gaze snapped to his. One of his rare smiles lit his face, making her insides go all warm.

  “And the sight of you, dripping wet, dragging a log at least half your height and whacking him...” He shook his head. “No, I’ll never forget that sight.”

  She smiled up at him, and they shared a moment just grinning, like they were both replaying the recent traumatic events for the comic side. Then his eyes turned serious, darker.

  He stepped forward and ran a finger down her cheek. “Yes. I will never forget the sight of you,” his voice rumbled. “Like an avenging angel you were.”

  Her breath caught. She put a hand on his chest, needing more contact than a tentative finger on her cheek. The horror of it all hit her equally as hard as the hilarity had from a moment before. Her throat clamped shut. She jumped forward and hugged him hard, pressing her face against his chest. His arms immediately engulfed her, holding her tight. He rocked her from side to side.

  As her shudders faded, an odd vulnerability crept in. To exhibit such weakness... Thankfully, he didn’t belittle her by saying condescending, trite assurances. More like they were equals, comforting each other after going through an ordeal together and surviving.

  A commotion at the door sprang them apart.

  A dapper gentleman led a gang of a half a dozen other men, ranging from fishermen types to tradesmen, judging by their attire. The leader stopped in front of them and bowed. “I’m Colonel Gillespie,” he said in a thick Scottish brogue.

  Rawley introduced them as Dr. and Mrs. Rawley and quickly outlined the situation as it stood.

  “So it’s true what wee Chappie said. I could scarce credit it, had to hear it for meself.” He turned to his men. “Lads, secure this criminal.” He puffed out his chest. “Bring him to our new jail.” He turned back to Adele and Rawley. “Just built it. Been itching for a chance to use it.”

  “Glad we could oblige,” Rawley replied, deadpan.

  “Now, about your accommodations. This is my hotel, built it last year. Ain’t she a beauty? I’ll put you up in our best suite, and I won’t hear any lip about payment, you hear me?”

  Rawley bowed, and the colonel snapped his fingers at “Chappie.”

  “Put them in the DeSoto Suite.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?” He slapped his hat against his leg. “Food! Ye must be half-starved. Get yourself settled above, and I’ll have some sent to ya right away.”

  “That is extremely generous of you. And most welcome,” Adele said.

  Rawley pulled her closer against him, and she reveled in the security of it. “We’ll need to get some messages sent off in the morning.”

  “Anything urgent?”

  “Most can wait, but it would be nice to get word to The Neptune.”

  “My aunt is on board and would be worried. Plus the captain was aware of our situation and needs to know the killer is no longer on board.”

  “Where will they be docking next?”

  “Havana tomorrow, Cancun, Mexico the next, before it returns to Mobile.”

  He nodded. “I’ll make sure word gets to both.”

  “You have telegraph service here?”

  “Not yet, but Tampa just got a line in. I’ll send someone on horseback right away to carry your message. They should be able to reach Tampa before your ship docks in Havana.”

  “Again, we are much obliged.”

  “Och, don’t mention it. I’m glad to be of help in this part of your adventure.”

  The DeSoto Suite was sparse but clean and in excellent taste. Adele could smell the fresh cut wood used to fashion the floors, walls, and joists.

  She collapsed into one of the chairs in the sitting room after availing herself of the bathing room in the hall. Rawley had used the other and was already ensconced in a chair. The bath had been a welcome relief, though donning the same clothes afterward muted the pleasure. “I could use a bourbon.”

  Rawley answered with a grunt. Loki expressed his opinion on the matter by shuffling to the settee, dragging himself onto the seat, and promptly passing out.

  “I wonder if my aunt has noticed our absence.”

  That got a dry chuckle from Rawley. She was coming to crave eliciting these reactions from him. “I wouldn’t want to bet
on it.”

  Now that she was sitting, safe, exhaustion settled in, making her bones heavy. “Lord, I could sleep for a week.”

  “I, as well. No doubt we will be sore in the morning.”

  A sharp tap sounded on the door.

  “Come in,” said Rawley. He looked back at her. “I don’t think I can stand.”

  She laughed. “Me neither.”

  A maid entered with a tray, followed by a young boy carrying another. “We have supper for you. Colonel thought you’d like whiskey. Scotch, he called it. From his private cellar. Fifty years old, he said, but why you’d want something so old is beyond me.” She set down the tray with a thunk, the scent of roasted meat making Adele’s stomach growl.

  The boy set down another tray.

  “When you is done, set the trays outside.” With that they turned and left.

  “Bless Colonel Gillespie!” Adele sighed.

  “I’ll drink to that.” He opened the bottle and poured a hefty portion into both their glasses. He lifted his. “To the colonel.”

  She clinked his glass. “To the colonel.”

  She took a sip, prepared for the strong taste of hard liquor. She’d never had scotch before, but was not unfamiliar with other forms of whiskey. The unique, smoky taste was a surprise.

  “That’s peat you’re tasting.” He closed his eyes. “Nothing like a good scotch whiskey.”

  She took another sip, closing her eyes and letting the warmth seep into her bones, her skin. Oh, it tasted heavenly. She shivered and opened her eyes. Rawley’s gaze was intent on her. He blinked and took his knife and fork and cut into the roast beef.

  At the first bite, she groaned. So good. Her whole world compressed to the food in front of her and getting it in her stomach.

  They ate in silence. When she couldn’t possibly eat another bite, she sat back with a sigh. “That was delicious. I don’t know what half of it was, but all the same...”

  Rawley smiled and tipped his glass in a salute, taking another sip.

  She watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he swallowed. His strong fingers as he held the glass and returned it to the table.

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  “We’re alive,” she whispered.

  His eyes grew serious. “Yes.”

  “I mean, I knew that, but sitting here, eating, doing something so normal, it struck me how lucky we are. How close that had been.”

  He only nodded, but it wasn’t a just-humoring-her nod. This one encompassed all she wanted to say but couldn’t articulate. He understood.

  “I was thinking about this as we, er, freshened up.” It felt too intimate to say it was while she’d been bathing. “Oddly, I think I finally understand what Mr. Tonti was pushing me to include in my stories.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulled together the disparate thoughts from earlier. “We had a harrowing experience, which churned up a lot of emotions I’m still processing. But every story has a person the events are happening to, right?”

  Rawley nodded.

  “Well, they would have emotional fallout too, but have no way to share. A reader would want to tap into this, experience it vicariously.”

  “That seems natural.”

  She sat forward, feeling like her realization was coalescing into a truth inside her. “A reporter could not only help extract and give shape to those emotions, but also help a reader understand. This is what changes people’s minds. This is what makes them care. This is what makes a difference in the world. I’d been too focused on adhering to the facts, I neglected the truth of emotion.”

  “But you dislike the types of stories he prints.”

  “I do. He focuses solely on emotion and uses it to manipulate, regardless of facts. It’s what made me dismiss his advice. But I can do both.” She stared into the fire. “I think.”

  “You can. I’m confident of it.”

  “Hmm. What day is it?”

  “April 21st, according to the guest register I signed.”

  “And the deadline Mr. Tonti originally set is two days from now.” Adele jumped up, reenergized. “And I’m sitting on the biggest story to hit Mobile in quite some time. I wonder if they have a typewriter I can borrow.”

  Rawley chuckled and stood. “I will inquire.”

  “Wait. I must do this properly. Interviews and the like. Would you be amenable to staying one more day here?”

  “Of course. I’d planned to be away for longer than that on the cruise.”

  “Let’s organize our plan of attack then for tomorrow. I’ll need a pen and notepaper, the typewriter...” She paced the room. “And I’ll need to see if they have a Pelican Express here to dispatch the story once it’s completed.”

  “Pelican Express?”

  “Surely you saw their stations in Mobile? At any rate, they’re pelicans which are modified to carry packages. I’ll show you tomorrow.” She picked up her glass of scotch. “To our adventure.”

  “And may we not have another like it.”

  “You can’t possibly mean that,” she protested.

  “Being threatened by a killer with a knife and gun, nearly drowning, wrestling said killer when limp with exhaustion, trying to find a human settlement in the Florida wilderness? No, thanks.”

  She leaned forward. “You had fun, admit it. You were magnificent.”

  He muttered something.

  “I can’t hear you.” She cupped her ear and tilted her head toward him.

  “I said, ‘I don’t know about that.’”

  “Rawley, this game you play is growing tiresome. You love adventure. You just won’t admit it. You were every bit as dashing as I’ve maintained from the beginning.” She glared at him, hands on her hips.

  His lips quirked, and a teasing note glinted in his eyes. “Dashing?”

  She punched him in the shoulder. “Oh, you are impossible.”

  He grabbed her arm and pulled her into his lap. “Honestly, Adele. I’m not this man of daring you claim.”

  She frowned at him.

  “But I must admit,” he said, tracing a finger along her neck, “I feel that way when I’m around you.”

  Her breath hitched. “You like it.”

  His eyes darkened as he stared at her and then her lips. “I do like.”

  Warmth coiled within at his heated regard. All the day’s excitement, the battle for their lives, curled into that heat, set off an urgent need to connect with him.

  They were alive.

  And against all logic, she craved this sharing. Craved his fevered touch one more time before reality crashed in on the morrow. Selfish, a small part of her admonished, but she saw her hands, as if on their own, stretch up and cup his handsome face, a finger trace a dashing eyebrow. His breath swirled with hers in the small space between them, carrying a trace of the peaty scotch. She brushed her lips to his. At the first light sweep of her mouth, he stiffened. Then he groaned, tightened his strong arms around her, and crushed her mouth with his.

  Heat shot through her veins and arrowed downward. She thrust her fingers into his dark hair, gripping, as their tongues clashed, explored, feasted. He tasted of spicy heat, of pure male. Of danger. Of life.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Wherein Our Hero And Heroine Show How Appreciative They Are To Be Alive

  Rawley broke the steamy kiss and scorched a path down Adele’s neck to the sensitive spot behind her ear. She squirmed in his lap, and her backside brushed against something hot and hard. Oh, his arousal!

  “Adele, you’re killing me,” he breathed in her ear, a thread of tension coloring his words.

  She shivered and dropped her head to the side, giving him better access. Oh, his heated kisses on her neck did wicked things between her legs.

  “Yes?” she prompted.

  He reverently pressed a tender kiss at the swell of her breasts, his lips so, so near where she ached to have him, and she trembled at seeing him holding her and acting like he treasured
her most in the world.

  “Yes.” He eased up her skirts, inch by inch, the fabric brushing against her sensitized skin, his warm hand smoothing up her bare calf. The rough pads of his fingers rasped against her skin, and goose bumps popped up on her flesh. He captured her mouth again in a searing kiss.

  Her heart thump-thump-thumped, and she kissed him harder, hoping he’d continue his sensual explorations. Hoping her instincts to just be in the moment with him, to share with him on a primal level, were right. Hoping she wasn’t on the verge of another mistake. A mistake that would wedge them apart again. When questing fingers finally grazed her most intimate flesh, she shivered. “Please.”

  He stroked, finding her already saturated with her juices. “Please, what?” he whispered, his warm whiskey breath caressing her ear. Goose bumps erupted on top of the goose bumps.

  “I want you,” she panted. And she did, Lord help her. She wanted him. This was the cause of the inexplicable pull he held over her. She wanted him. Wholly. Completely. Fully.

  He pulled away, and his heavy-lidded gaze snagged hers. Her heart hitched. Too late, she worried if he’d renew his addresses. But that gaze dropped to her mouth, followed by his talented lips, which brushed tenderly against hers. He shifted beneath her, and suddenly, she was lifted into the air by his strong arms. At the canopy bed, he eased her onto the sheets, cool and crisp and fresh.

  She greedily watched as he yanked off his cravat, never breaking eye contact, and tossed it onto a nearby chair. Next his coat, waistcoat, and shirt.

  She held her breath and squirmed, another hot rush of desire pulsing through her. His slow reveal of himself had her mesmerized. One by one, he popped his trousers’ buttons, the light from the nearby fire and gas lamps playing across the hard planes of his chest, and slid the fabric down along with his smalls.

  “Oh, Lord above,” she murmured. He was magnificent. Never before had she seen a man nude. Her gaze traveled from his broad chest, lightly dusted with dark hair, down to his flat stomach, where a darker line of hair arrowed down. Down to his fierce arousal, standing proud.

  Breaths coming faster, gaze soaking in his body, she stood and reached behind to get her dress undone. Her hands shook.