The Beaches and Brides ROMANCE COLLECTION: 5 Historical Romances Buoyed by the Sea

by Cathy Marie Hake, Lynn A. Coleman, Mary Davis, Susan Page Davis

  Conner filled a knapsack with food, gave the boy a new pair of blue jeans and a shirt, reimbursed him for his trip from Alaska, and paid him well enough that he shouldn’t have any trouble reaching California. “If you decide to stay in town or come back this way, let me know.”

  Todd nodded, slung the pack onto his back, thanked him, and walked out the door.

  Martin said, “Who was that?”

  “Someone I wouldn’t mind hiring. He was on Randolph’s ship and brought me his logbook and a few other things. I’m going to go in the back and look through this. Let me know if we get busy and you need me out front. Owen and Hansel said they’d be in to work. We’ll see if they show.”

  He first read the last entry in Randolph’s log:

  29 SEPTEMBER

  I don’t like the looks of the clouds boiling in the northwestern sky. The wind blew all night, rocking the ship. Hardened sailors who never fell ill were heaving over the side but stayed at their duty. We are in for a rough day and night before we dock. If we dock. I hope we survive.

  Tears welled. Randolph had known he likely wouldn’t make it. A seasoned sailor could read the sky, the clouds, and the water. Randolph had been at sea for nearly sixteen years—since he was fifteen. He knew all too well what he was up against. Conner would give up the chance he now had to have a relationship with Vivian if he could have Randolph back. He missed his friend.

  That night after a pleasant evening with Vivian, Conner worked for two and a half hours at the shipping office, sorting through invoices and scheduling shipments, trying to make sense of the paperwork with the ledger from Randolph. His head bobbed forward and he jerked awake, causing a muscle in his neck to twinge. He needed more sleep than he was getting lately, but what could he do? He had his own business to run, and he had to keep Carlyle Shipping afloat until William could come and oversee the business—whenever that would be. And then there was Vivian. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her. But if he did that, both businesses would go under.

  He looked at his watch as a yawn overtook him, so he stood and stretched. He would get up early, come back, and finish the invoices before he opened his store. Rubbing his face, he shook off another yawn. The night air would revive him.

  He locked up and left. Drinking deeply of the cool air, he felt more alert as he began the walk home, but he knew he’d fall asleep the moment his head sank into the pillow.

  He heard a scuffle up ahead and stepped into the shadows of the nearest building.

  Someone said, “No! Let me go!”

  “You’re coming with us,” a gruffer deeper voice said. “Tie his feet.”

  Don’t get involved. Just go home. He knew what was likely going on. Men were often shanghaied and taken on board ships as unwilling crew. Usually they were too drunk to realize what was happening and just woke up the next morning at sea. But this was different. This man sounded stone sober, and he definitely didn’t want to go. Lord? As soon as Conner opened his thoughts to his Savior, he knew he’d help the poor soul if he could. But how?

  “No! No! No!” the frightened, young first voice said.

  He recognized that voice, but from where?

  “Shut him up!”

  “Not on a ship!”

  Todd! Todd Major. He definitely couldn’t let them put that poor boy back on a ship, not after what he’d been through. He peeked around the corner and saw them carry Todd bound hand and foot into the saloon. They would take him through the tunnel under the street and to the dock.

  He couldn’t confront them in the saloon or the tunnel unless he wanted to end up hundreds of miles from home at sea. He had to hurry if he was going to get a gun and reach the dock in time to rescue Todd. Martin lived a block away in an apartment. He ran there and knocked several times before he got Martin to come to the door.

  “Do you have a gun?”

  Martin nodded. “What’s up?”

  “Todd Major, the boy from this morning, was just shanghaied. I can’t let them take him back out to sea.”

  Martin crossed the small room to a bedside table and retrieved a six-shooter. “I’m going with you.” He pulled on a shirt and his boots.

  “Martin, I can’t ask you to come. It might get ugly.”

  “Because it might get ugly is exactly why I should come. And you didn’t ask; I volunteered.” Martin grabbed his coat. “Let’s go.”

  Conner had to smile at Martin, only four years younger than himself, so full of virtue and gumption. He didn’t want to endanger Martin, but he didn’t have time to argue if he was going to save Todd from going to sea. A seaman’s life was suited for a bold few like Randolph. Others chose it out of necessity or because it was thrust upon them.

  “Three men took him into Barter Saloon. I figure our best chance will be to follow them when they come out the other end and free him before they put him on the ship.”

  Martin nodded and followed close behind. They moved through the shadows and arrived at the dock as Todd and another man were being carried over the shoulders of two men up the gangplank. They were too late. Conner wanted to curse but refrained. He ducked into the shadows and leaned against a shed wall.

  Martin followed suit. “Is that him squirming?”

  “Yes.”

  Martin sighed. “We’re too late.”

  He could hear the regret in Martin’s words. “They haven’t sailed.”

  “We’re not going to go on board?” A bit of panic crept into Martin’s voice.

  “I can’t let them take him like this.” It was one thing to go voluntarily as Conner had done as a boy, but to be forced … He had to think of a way to get on board without being noticed.

  “Conner?”

  “What?”

  “I have to confess that I’m a mite scared.”

  Martin seemed to realize that if they failed, they, too, could be sailing for the unknown. Lord, don’t let us fail. “I’ll take the gun. You go home.”

  Martin shook his head. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  He clasped Martin on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He stared at him a moment. “I’m scared, too.” He wasn’t sure if he should admit that, but it seemed to encourage Martin. “I’ll get aboard. You stay here.”

  “Shouldn’t I come with you?”

  “I think it will be easier for just one of us to board unnoticed. Two would look suspicious.” He was pretty sure he could get on the ship. After that, he’d have to improvise as he went.

  “How are you going to get aboard?”

  Conner thumbed toward the supplies that would soon be loaded. “I’ll hoist a sack of flour over my shoulder and walk up the plank like I belong there.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Keep a lookout.” For what he wasn’t sure, but it was comforting to know that someone would know what happened to him if everything went wrong. And he wouldn’t be worrying about Martin’s safety.

  Martin held out the gun. “You might need this.”

  “You keep it. If things get messy, shoot it into the air. That should bring the sheriff and a few other folks.”

  Martin shoved the gun back into the waist of his pants. “Do you want me to go get the sheriff?”

  “He won’t likely do anything. If it was a matter of the captain’s word against mine, it would be easier to side with the captain and let a boy no one knows sail.”

  “Then why shoot to get the sheriff to come?”

  “Just a diversion. If we get separated, meet back at my store.” He didn’t wait for Martin to acknowledge his order but trudged out toward the supplies and hoisted a sack of what felt like potatoes onto his shoulder. Sailors moved around the dock and up and down from the ship, so he strode up the gangplank, half holding his breath. No one stopped him.

  When he stepped on deck, someone said, “You, there. Captain’s itchin’ to get under way. Pile the supplies over there. We’ll carry them to the galley after we set sail.”

  Conner acknowledged him with a grunt,
crossed the deck, and set the sack down, all while scanning the ship to decide his next move and discover where Todd might be. Near the forward hold, four bodies lay. Three looked passed-out drunk; one, bound and gagged and squirming. He strolled over, pulling out his knife, trying not to draw attention to himself. When he was sure no one was looking, he knelt down. “Shhh.”

  Todd’s eyes widened in recognition.

  He slid his knife under the rope around the boy’s wrists and sliced it, then did the same with the ankles while Todd yanked the gag from his mouth. Conner glanced at the other three men. There was no way to help them while they were unconscious.

  Another sailor joined the one at the top of the gangplank and began surveying the deck. Conner grabbed Todd’s arm and pulled him into the shadows under the stairs leading to the smaller deck above.

  “Where’s the boy?” the new sailor bellowed as he strode over to the three sleeping men.

  Conner could see the feet of two more sailors join the first, who picked up a piece of cut rope.

  “He had help. Find them.”

  Men scurried around the deck. Conner leaned close to Todd’s ear and whispered, “I’m afraid there is only one way off this ship now.”

  “Dead?” Todd’s voice was small and scared. “I’d rather die than sail.”

  Conner wasn’t planning on dying tonight, but that was one option. He immediately thought of Vivian. If he died or was forced to sail, he wished he’d told her how he felt about her, but there was no time for regrets now. “Do you swim?”

  “A little.”

  “When I start moving, we’ll only have a few seconds to run for the side and jump.”

  “Will they shoot at us?”

  He hoped not. “We won’t be worth the effort.” Lord, give us an opening to get off this ship.

  Todd shimmied into his canvas pack. When had he grabbed that? He didn’t want to fight the boy over it now, but once they were in the water, it would only weigh him down.

  Two rapid gunshots on shore caused him to instinctually duck. Martin. The sailors momentarily turned their attention, and Conner grabbed Todd by the coat and dragged him to the railing; then he grabbed the boy by the pack and helped him up and over the railing. Splash! Shouts came from the sailors as they headed toward him. He dove over the side into the frigid black water. His skin tingled from the cold and nearly rendered him immobile.

  He broke the surface to shouts from the sailors above. He heard four more shots coming from the shore. It was time for him and Todd to get as far from there as possible before the sailors decided to start shooting back.

  Todd struggled to keep his head above water, flailing like … like a drowning man.

  “Give me your pack.”

  “No. It’s everything I own.”

  It was filled with the food and supplies Conner had given him that morning. “It’s pulling you down. I’ll take it. I’m a better swimmer.”

  “You won’t let it go?”

  “I’ll get it to shore. I promise.” He wrestled the pack off the boy’s back.

  Todd was able to maneuver better.

  “Head for shore.” Conner swam with one arm and pulled the pack behind him.

  When Todd said he swam a little, he meant a very little. Even with the pack, Conner beat the boy to shore. In waist deep water he tossed the pack onto the beach and reached back to help Todd wade to dry land. Todd collapsed on the ground. Conner knelt beside him. “You okay?”

  Todd nodded. “Mr. Jackson, I have a confession to make. I can’t swim.”

  This lad had more determination than stampeding cattle. Conner had to admire that. “Well, you did pretty well. Let’s get going in case they decide to come find us.” He hoisted the boy up, and the two staggered down the beach all the way to the back of the store.

  Conner dropped the dripping pack inside the door and opened the potbelly stove. Embers still glowed. He added wood and blew on it until flames jumped to life.

  Todd bent down and petted Fred, who was sniffing him. “It’s real fortunate about those gunshots. They helped us get away.”

  “They weren’t fortunate; they were Martin. He should be at the front.” He started walking. “Come along, and we’ll find you some dry clothes to wear.”

  He opened the front door, but Martin wasn’t waiting for him. Martin should have beaten them here. Unless Martin didn’t realize he’d gotten off the ship already.

  He turned to Todd. “Look through the Levis and shirts and find yourself something that fits. You stay here.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Those gunshots were from my assistant. I’m going to find him.” He wasn’t going to save Todd just to lose Martin.

  He got to the building he’d hid behind with Martin and watched the scurry of men on the dock and ship. Had they caught Martin? He raked a hand through his hair. He loathed the thought of going back aboard. Escaping once had been a miracle. Escaping twice? Impossible.

  “Conner,” a voice whispered from the deepest shadow.

  “Martin?” When he saw Martin stand and could make out a few dim features, relief filled him. “I was afraid they got you.”

  “They almost did. I scared a cat out of the corner, and they thought that was all that was back here. Did you find him?”

  “He’s back at the store. Let’s go.”

  “You’re all wet.”

  “We had to jump ship.”

  Once he got Todd settled in his own bed, sent Martin home, and got into some dry clothes, Conner walked uptown and stood outside Vivian’s house. He could see her kneeling on the widow’s walk, so he stayed in the shadows. What was she doing?

  She stood and went back inside.

  “I love you,” he whispered into the night. Even though he knew she couldn’t hear him, he felt better for having voiced it. Now he could go back and sleep.

  Chapter 10

  A week after receiving Randolph’s satchel, Conner had read through the log. It spoke of nothing personal, only business about the ship and crew, but as he closed it, he noticed the corner of a paper sticking out from the back cover. He pulled it out. An envelope with Vivian’s name on it. His heart skipped a beat. Randolph’s last words to Vivian. His wife.

  He couldn’t forget that. She’d been Randolph’s wife and still was while she wore mourning clothes for him.

  He turned the letter over and over in his hands. What had Randolph said to her? Should he give it to her? It was in the back of the ship’s logbook. Did Randolph mean for it to be there? The boy hadn’t given him any message to pass on to Vivian. He did know two things: He desperately wanted to know what was in this letter, and he didn’t want to give it to Vivian.

  After he closed up shop the next day, Conner felt awful from lack of sleep. He’d waffled in his decision about giving Vivian the letter. When he finally had fallen off to sleep, Fred had spent half the night chasing a rat, which she caught and killed.

  He saddled Dakota and rode up to Vivian’s. The letter was none of his business. Whether Randolph knew it was there or not and whether he intended for Vivian to have it or not, it belonged to her. He believed that God had made sure it reached him so he could give it to Vivian.

  Scotty was in front of the house pulling weeds when Conner rode up. “I figured it was about time for you to be arriving.”

  Was he becoming that predictable? “How’s she doing today?” He swung down off his horse.

  “Maggie’s not fussing, so Mrs. Carlyle must be fine.” Scotty took Dakota’s reins. “Go on in. Maggie’s expecting you.”

  Very predictable, but as long as no one minded, he wasn’t going to change.

  Maggie met him in the foyer and took his overcoat. “Mrs. Carlyle’s in the parlor. Go right in. Supper will be ready shortly.”

  “Maggie? Should I not come over every evening?” He held his breath for fear of the answer. Why had he even asked?

  “You always came before the captain was married and then after he married, so why no
t now? He would like that you are looking after Miss Vivian. You were a brother to him. She has no other visitors because of the mourning time. It does her good to have daily company. It does us all good.” Maggie hung his coat on the entry rack. “I feel better knowing you are aware of her daily moods. She’s been doing real well since those first few days.”

  “Maggie, I believe her mental state is fine.” Except for maybe not minding that she wasn’t included in her husband’s will—that still bothered him—but he’d taken care of it.

  “Sometimes a widow looks fine but something’s brewing inside, and one day she just snaps. I don’t want nothing to happen to Mrs. Carlyle. She’s a good woman.”

  That she was. “I’ll tell her that supper is almost ready.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie nodded and headed back toward the kitchen.

  When he entered, Vivian sat on the settee, working blue spun truck into a mitten with four thin knitting needles. “Maggie says supper will be soon.”

  Vivian looked up through sorrow-filled eyes. “Thank you. It’s so good of you to come. Please sit down.”

  How had he not noticed her downhearted countenance? Was it the will or something else? “Are you feeling all right?”

  She tried to smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

  Something was troubling her. “Have you spoken to Mr. Benton about petitioning the courts to initiate the unsigned will?”

  “Yes.” She set her knitting aside and stood. “I told him to destroy it.”

  He turned her around by the shoulders and heard Randolph’s voice in his head. Don’t touch her. Don’t ever touch her. He took his hands away. “Why?”

  “I can’t explain it. I just know that things are the way they are as God has ordered them.”

  “Is that why you’re sad?”

  “I’m not sad.”

  “It’s in your eyes.”

  “I’m tired of being cooped up, and when I do go out, being expected to behave the grieving widow. I am very sorry Randolph died, but I hardly knew him. I know more about you than I did my own husband. I hope you don’t tire of my somber mood. I need your friendship even if it’s only because of your loyalty to my husband.”