Looking for a Hero

by Patti Berg

  She’d allowed the words to slip quickly from her lips. If she’d given herself time to think, she never would have offered. Doing so made it much too easy for him to leave, and she wasn’t sure that was what she wanted.

  “You are most generous, Kate.” He spoke without looking at her, and for one moment she wondered if he was as torn about returning to his own time as she was about him going. He was silent for far too long, and then he slowly faced her. A warm smile shone in his eyes and on his lips. “I will sleep on your offer.” He bowed his head in his ever-so-proper manner. “Good night, Kate.”

  And then he was gone—far, far too soon.

  Kate yawned. Morning had come too early, awakening her from sweet dreams of sailing on placid waters, beneath a bright full moon. She wandered down the hallway and peeked into Morgan’s room. It was empty, and her heart sank. She stepped through the door and looked around for any hint that he might return, but his coat was no longer draped over the chair, and the bed was made. There were no outward signs that he’d ever been in her home.

  If it weren’t for the strange loneliness she now felt, she might have believed she’d dreamed the past few days. They’d been real, though—very, very real—and Morgan’s smile, his scar, the intensity of his eyes overwhelmed her every thought.

  “Good morning, madam.”

  She jerked around at the sound of his voice.

  “I have startled you. I apologize.”

  “I thought you’d gone.”

  “On the contrary. I have been downstairs, eating breakfast with Casey and your aunt. Something quite tasty called Mickey Mouse pancakes.”

  Kate pushed her hair behind her ears and tried not to look as relieved as she felt. “Casey should have woken me up. I’ve got kids coming any minute.”

  “You were sleeping soundly. We did not have the heart to disturb you.”

  “You came into my bedroom again?”

  “Aye, madam. With your daughter.” He smiled. “You are quite beautiful—awake and asleep.”

  She ignored his comment, tilting her head to look at the toes of his boots rather than meet his eyes. Then she changed the subject. “Did you think any more about taking my boat?”

  “Aye.”

  She raised her head slowly and met his smile. She swallowed the lump of dread that had formed in her throat. “So, are you going to leave?”

  “Nay. Not on your boat. ’Tis a vessel I would be proud to sail, but in my heart I do not believe it will take me home.”

  “Why?”

  “As you suggested last night, I imagine I will be able to go home only if the circumstances that brought me here are repeated.”

  “Then you’re going to stay?”

  “Casey talked of making breakfast for me tomorrow morning, and the next day, too. ’Twould be hard to break her heart.”

  Kate couldn’t help but smile. “There’s so much to think about if you’re going to stay. You’ll need a job. You’ll need identification. You’ll need—”

  “I’ll need to search for a ship,” he interrupted. “I’ll need to do everything in my power to recreate the events that brought me here.”

  The finality of his words slammed against her chest. She didn’t want him to leave, but…but maybe his leaving would be for the best, she rationalized. He was a pirate, after all, a man not suited to the kind of life she led, a man who’d never be happy tied to one place. A man with a past that would be far too hard to ignore.

  “I would appreciate your assistance, Kate.”

  She bit the inside of her lip. “Sure,” she said, not knowing what else she could possibly say. “What would you like me to help you with?”

  “I need books to read. I need to know everything that happened between my time and yours.”

  The doorbell rang downstairs, helping her to forget about him leaving, pulling her back to reality. “That’s Bubba and his mom. I’ve got to go.”

  Morgan’s fingers circled her arm and kept her from rushing away. “I need a place where I can be alone. A place where I can think—and plan.”

  “You can use my husband’s office,” she said, surprised at her own words. Everything in that room was personal, private. That room had been Joe’s own special place, yet she hadn’t hesitated a moment in allowing Morgan to use it.

  She moved quickly down the hall and opened the door. She’d expected to see the image of Joe looking up at her from behind his desk. She’d expected to see his smile. But Joe was gone, and when Morgan walked into the room lined with bookshelves filled with volumes about the history of his time, and glass display cabinets holding artifacts that seemed old and unfamiliar to her but were so much a part of his life, it seemed as if he belonged there.

  The doorbell rang again.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said, quickly scanning the length of him from the scar on his face to his boots, and back again to the rings in his ears. “You’d better stay up here all day.” She smiled faintly when he raised a questioning brow. “You might frighten the children.”

  He laughed. “Run along, Kate. There is much here to occupy my time,” he said, looking about the room. “I give you my word that I will stay away from the children—and you, at least until this evening.”

  A nervous smile touched her lips. For a moment he thought he saw them quiver. God, but he wanted to kiss them.

  He watched her run down the stairs when the bell rang at the door yet again. He watched the way she lovingly slipped her arm around a little boy and took him from his mother’s arms, and saw the look of delight on the child’s face as his fingers wound through Kate’s hair.

  He longed to touch her hair, too, to bury his face in her mass of honey-colored waves, to hold her close.

  He took a deep, calming breath.

  You have to go home, he reminded himself. Far away from Kate and this life that you were never meant to be a part of.

  Slowly he closed the door, and concentrated on his need to return to 1702.

  He wandered about the room, a chamber paneled in dark wood that reminded him of his cabin on board Satan’s Revenge. He swept his hand over the large desk, studying the picture of a man in uniform that sat off to one side. Handsome, young. A broad smile brightened his face. He looked to be the kind of man anyone would be proud to call friend.

  Several worn but inviting chairs were scattered about the room. Glass cases sat against one wall, filled with sabers, muskets, daggers, and pistols, weapons that looked as if they’d weathered the storms of many centuries. Resting on one shelf was his own jewel-hilted cutlass, his dagger, and his pistol, locked away for safekeeping.

  But it was the books that interested him most. Volume upon volume stood upright on the shelves lining two walls, and he scanned the titles, pulling down one on the history of North America, one on piracy in the Caribbean, another chronicling maritime activities in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

  Taking them to the desk, he sat down and opened the history book, and immediately began skimming pages. The Revolutionary War intrigued him. More than likely he would have been long dead by the time that conflict took place, but he imagined he would have sided with the Colonies. Freedom was something he cherished, and he longed for the days when he could again walk the streets without hiding from soldiers or those who wanted the bounty on his head.

  As he browsed, he realized that war was the turning point for most everything that had occurred in this country, not unlike the history of any other land.

  He read about the development of the railroads, the motorcar, and the airplane, an invention that captured his imagination. ’Twould be a marvel to fly through the clouds, far above the earth, and look down at the vast and beautiful oceans and land.

  There was space travel, too, and he thought about putting his foot down in the dust on the moon, exploring a place far different from an uncharted tropical island, and gazing thousands of miles away at the small planet known as earth.

  These were things that he could never do. T
hey were unheard of, almost undreamed of, in his own time, a time he must return to. ’Twould be enough, though, to know of the future, to tell others of what was to be, although they would think him mad.

  He laughed, and his voice echoed through the room.

  Rising from the chair, he stretched, then went to the window and looked out to the grassy lawn where Kate played with Casey, the boy he’d seen earlier, and four other little ones.

  As a young man, before his life had taken its disastrous turn, he’d thought of having a wife and children, and he’d pictured scenes such as this taking place on the grounds of his own home.

  A woman like Kate would have made the perfect wife for him, but he’d never looked for anyone like her because a woman in his life—a good woman—would only complicate his existence.

  Watching Kate and the children was the closest he would ever come to the life he’d once longed for.

  The littlest boy crawled toward Kate, and she swept him up into her arms. She held him close and kissed the top of his head.

  A woman like Kate should have a dozen children of her own. He imagined he should have had that many, too, but life had sent them both on different courses.

  As if she knew he was there, Kate tilted her head and looked up to the window. She smiled softly, then turned her attention back to the children, and his heart ached for all that he had missed, and would continue to miss, in his life.

  Morgan was asleep in the easy chair when Kate walked into the room. The children had gone home and Casey had gone to Evalena’s for yet another evening. Kate knew her daughter and aunt were conspiring. They wanted her to be alone with Morgan. Tonight, unlike last night, she didn’t seem to mind. She liked his company and wanted to take advantage of it as long as possible.

  He looked vulnerable and peaceful with his eyes closed in sleep. He’d removed his jacket and the ties were loosened on his shirt. One leg was slung over the arm of the overstuffed recliner, an open book rested in his lap, and one arm hung lifelessly over the other side of the chair.

  He looked like he belonged in that comfortable old seat, in this room.

  She picked up the now empty plate she’d brought up to him at lunchtime. Two photo albums sat on the desk, one opened to a page filled with newspaper clippings about Joe’s death, about Nikki shooting Joe’s killer, about Joe’s funeral.

  She closed the book, not wanting to remember the worst time of her life.

  From the corner of her eye she saw Morgan stir, saw the look of concern on his face. “’Tis sorry I am about your husband.”

  She smiled, accepting his sympathies just as she had accepted those of so many others, then she leaned against the desk and looked at the pile of books stacked beside the recliner. “So, what do you think about everything that’s happened in the past three hundred years?”

  “’Tis overwhelming when you attempt to digest all the information in one day.” He rose from the chair, moving slowly toward her. “Is it possible for me to leave the room now? I feel as if I’ve been locked away forever.”

  “Was it all that bad?”

  “Nay. I learned much.”

  “Did you find anything on time travel, anything that might help you go home?”

  He leaned beside her on the edge of the desk. His sleeve brushed against her shoulder as he folded his arms over his chest. His hip touched hers, and she moved away, afraid of letting him get too close, afraid of letting her feelings get caught up in something that couldn’t last.

  His gaze followed her across the room. “I learned very little about my ship, and nothing about my crew.” His jaw tightened. “From all I read, I fear that only one man survived the storm—the man who had been my prisoner.”

  Kate stepped behind the chair where Morgan had been sleeping, and rested her hands on the leather. “At least one person survived.”

  “’Twas he who should have died.”

  “Why? Who was he?”

  “The bastard who murdered my family.” He paced across the room, staring out the window. “My crew perished in that storm. I was hurled through time. But that bastard lived a good long life. He should have died at the end of my sword instead of peacefully in his bed in Dover.”

  “He’s dead. Does it matter now how he died?”

  “Aye. It matters greatly.” Morgan turned, stalking back to the desk. He picked up one of the books and flipped it open to a page he’d marked. “He told many a tale about his imprisonment on Satan’s Revenge and his torture at the hands of Black Heart.” Morgan shook his head. “I gave the bastard bread and water, which was far more than he deserved. He was chained, but I did not hang him from the yardarm, as I’d wanted, nor did I cut his skin away inch by inch. I made the mistake of allowing him to live until he could be tried by a court of law, and because of my foolishness, the blackguard lived a long, rich life.”

  Kate moved toward him and touched his arm, hoping to give him comfort. “I’m sorry.”

  Morgan slammed the book shut. “At least he wasn’t able to claim Satan’s Revenge as his own. He’d wanted her—just as much as he’d wanted everything else that I loved. But she disappeared.” A satisfied grin touched his mouth. “My ship had a mind of her own. Like any good woman, she’d never willingly give herself to someone low and disgusting.”

  “Do the books say what happened to her?”

  “She disappeared in a flash of light…glimmered like a ghostly figure, or so the story went. There was no fire. She didn’t sink. She just vanished, and at that very same moment, the storm cleared and the sky turned blue.” His eyes settled on hers, hatred mixed with thoughtfulness turning their azure color to a stormy blue. “’Tis only a guess, but I strongly believe Satan’s Revenge traveled through time, as I did.”

  He wanted to go home.

  He wanted to find Thomas Low.

  He also wanted to stay.

  Standing in the kitchen, watching Kate prepare the evening meal, brought back images of the life Morgan had once known. Servants had prepared the food and he’d rarely gone into the kitchen, but as his family sat around the dining table, they’d talked of the day’s events, of travels they had taken, of trips that were on the horizon. After dinner, his mother would play the harpsichord and sing, his father would puff on his pipe and read books on agriculture, and his sister would dance, or sit on his lap and listen to fairy stories.

  He smiled wistfully. Those had been the grandest of times.

  And he was able to recapture some of that closeness and warmth here in Kate’s home.

  “Kennedy Space Center isn’t too far from here,” Kate told him, as she slid a plate loaded with Evalena’s apple pie and the deliriously cold treat called ice cream in front of him. “We could drive there this weekend, maybe. You, me, and Casey. You could see the launching pads, some of the spacecraft, and even a moon rock.”

  He smiled, listening to the sweetness of her chatter, talk that sounded as if she believed he’d be there forever. They’d talked briefly about the disappearance of Satan’s Revenge. She’d insisted it had been hit by lightning; he contended that he’d see his ship again. She talked of the future; he thought only of today.

  He could not stay, no matter how much he wanted to. And he could not allow her to believe that he would.

  She sat down across from him and folded her arms on the table. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “I cannot stay, Kate. I must go home.”

  She bit her lip, and her gaze focused on his plate. “I know, but you should take advantage of every moment you’re here. There’s so much to see and do.”

  “And you wish to be my guide?” he asked, far too cruelly. “You wish to spend every spare minute with me, knowing I could leave at any time? ’Tis rather foolish, Kate.”

  She pushed up from the table and went to the kitchen sink, where she stared out the window into the darkness. “If you’re worried I might fall in love with you, you’re wrong. There’s no chance in hell of that happening.”

  “’Tis gl
ad I am that that matter is settled. I am not the kind of man a woman should love.”

  “No,” she said. “No, you’re not.”

  She turned on the television, allowing the noise of other people to fill the silence of the room, then busied herself by cleaning the dishes.

  Morgan stared at the stiffness of her back for the longest time. ’Twas better that she remain angry with him. ’Twould be good for him to leave—the sooner, the better.

  A flicker on the television caught his attention, and he turned to see a dark-haired woman standing before the silhouette of a ship. “They say seeing is believing,” the woman behind the glass said, “but I’m still not sure if this is real or a magician’s illusion.”

  Morgan pushed up from the chair, knocking it over in his rush to the TV.

  “Just after sundown this evening,” the woman continued, “what appears to be an eighteenth-century sailing ship washed up on the beach near the St. Augustine lighthouse. From all outward indications, the ship is in good condition, except for a missing mast. Whether it is a replica—or, unbelievable as it might sound, the real thing—has not yet been determined. Police have boarded the vessel….”

  Kate’s shoulder brushed lightly against his arm as the woman disappeared from the picture and Satan’s Revenge came into view. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Please tell me that isn’t your ship.”

  “I cannot.”

  The voices on the television became nothing more than a loud hum as he looked at Kate. “I must go.”

  “But the police are there. You’ll never be able to get on board, and how on earth do you think you can sail her away from here?”

  “’Tis something I will deal with when the time comes.”

  He cupped her cheek, fighting the urge to kiss her. “You will tell Casey good-bye for me?”

  “What about the pancakes she wanted to fix for you tomorrow and the next day?”

  “I cannot stay, Kate. I have told you this already.”

  “Do you think you’re just going to walk on that ship and presto, you’re back in seventeen-oh-two?” she blurted out. “Do you really think leaving is going to be that easy?”