Undercurrent of Secrets

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  I pitied the deckhands. But maybe I should pity our aggressive mate. Did he not understand the workings of rivermen? How they won their revenge one way or another? Something told me this was his first outing as an officer. He seemed as green as the algae on the dock we stood on.

  “That task would take all morning.” I stood a bit taller, but still only reached his chin. “And I’m sure these men have plans to go up the hill.” I jerked my head toward the town of Henderson. Working twelve to sixteen hours a day made the crew possessive over the sliver of free time they were granted. The mate’s directive would stoke a fire of grudge he might not be able to extinguish.

  “It’s a sacrifice we all will make.” His gaze finally met mine and my initial assessment was confirmed.

  He was handsome.

  The kind that would give me a pinch in my gut if I wasn’t already prone to dislike him.

  His eyes, masked by darkness last evening, caught the early morning light, revealing an icy blue shade. But more than that, it was how he presented himself. His uniform was crisp and creaseless. His cap straight atop his head, the golden hair beneath trimmed and orderly.

  The man took pride in his appearance, his role as first mate. I was suddenly aware of how disheveled my appearance must be. It had taken me less than three minutes to throw on my charcoal-colored dress and run a comb through my hair. But I had spent the sunrise moments in the pilothouse with Clem, and the breeze had danced in my hair, whipping it about. No doubt I looked wild.

  “The docks at this time of day is no place for a lady.”

  “Don’t worry, I have my trusty penknife. The captain of the Glory Skies taught me how to use it.” I sent him a razor-sharp look. “If anyone messes with me, I know exactly which tendons to slice that’d make a man uncomfortable for the rest of his life.”

  His startled gaze swept over me. “You carry a knife on your person?”

  “Doesn’t every lady?” I tossed back the word in the same inflection he’d used. “I thought all young women used a knife for grooming. How else would we pick food from our teeth or clean beneath our fingernails?”

  I said this purely to shock the man, but he seemed rather entertained. As if all the words that came out of my mouth were solely for his pleasure. But those laugh lines framing his eyes by no means daunted me. “In fact, I had a seamstress in Owensboro create me a special garter to keep it secure.”

  “Better be careful not to walk too fast. Those things are known to slip. You could do some serious damage to your leg.”

  Arg. He was supposed to be appalled at my words. Not join in the scandalous talk. “So as you see, I’m not your typical lady. I’ve lived on the river all my years and am perfectly capable of fending for myself.”

  “You can stay, but you need to give me the discharge book.” His voice turned back to the business at hand.

  I clutched the worn binding to my chest. He was already performing most of my tasks, taking my position, and soon he would take Duffy’s. A surge of indignation rushed through me. “No, I’m in charge of the log.”

  His head reared back at my insubordination. “I thought you were only the perfessor.”

  Only? “I do more than just play the calliope.”

  “Such as?” He eyed me. “What exactly is your role then?”

  Of all the—“I’m a floater.”

  His brows rose as if he’d never heard the term in his life. Well, fine. I’d enlighten him.

  “I have my hand in everything. Helping Miss Wendall in the kitchen, playing the piano during the day trips, working with the purser on the books.” I held up the log. “I’ve even been a standby coal passer.”

  He blinked. “Surely not. That’s a man’s job.” His gaze drifted to my arms as if sizing me up. “You shouldn’t be straining with wheelbarrows.”

  “Straining? Oh, please. You talk as if I’m some porcelain creature that could snap in the wind.” A hundred pounds in a sturdy wheelbarrow was nothing. What would this man say if I admitted to steering this tonnage vessel? Handling the hardware, controlling this steamboat, demanded a strength I hadn’t known I’d possessed. But I’d done it. Many, many times. But seeing as how I didn’t have my pilot’s license, I wouldn’t want this man pestering Clem about it. So it would probably be best to navigate the conversation into safer waters. “I have a system.” I tapped the edge of the notebook decidedly against my palm. “A good one.” One I poured my heart out to perfect.

  “So do I. And it involves checking the articles that go off the boat to match the log to a T.”

  And now he was attacking how I ran things? My gut bubbled hotter than the firebox that ignited the boilers.

  He stuck out his hand for the slim notepad I gripped. We were at an impasse. I was already out of sorts from learning about Duffy’s retirement; I felt one more thing would crack my composure.

  The deckhands stood on the main deck, watching the show. I lifted my chin, and he did as well, raising his freshly-shaven jaw, his neck boasting several nicks from his razor.

  No, not nicks. Scrapes. Shaped in half-moons like my fingernails.

  I gasped and dropped the log. “I did that to you.” And before I knew it, my hands were on the man’s neck for the second time in twelve hours. I ran the pads of my fingers over his throat. There was a medical bag in the galley, but it didn’t feel like there was any swelling beneath the scabs. No bruises. “Can you swallow okay? Any feelings of discomfort?”

  Surprise filled his eyes, and he stared at me like I was a peculiar creature. Then something else took the place of shock—mirth. He was laughing at me without voicing a chuckle. “The only discomfort I feel is your toes digging into my shoe.”

  Oh. I hadn’t realized how close I was. Come to think of it, I could smell his aftershave mixed with the starch of his collar. “Sorry.” I shuffled away and clasped my fingers tightly behind my back. “Just wanted to be sure you were okay,” I said by way of excusing my rash behavior. Why couldn’t I keep my hands off this man? “I mean, I practically choked you last night.”

  “Practically?” Humor laced his voice and, despite my ire, I kind of liked it.

  No, this man was my enemy. He’d come aboard with the sole motivation of becoming Duffy’s replacement. No one could take his place. But maybe, if I acted friendly, I could learn how best to sabotage Jack Marshall’s chances. And the first thing in order was appearing remorseful. “I’m also sorry for mistaking you as a stowaway.”

  He held up a hand. “No need to apologize. You were protecting your boat.”

  Something in his tone made me study him closer. He wasn’t mocking me. Rather it appeared the other way around, as if he held some sort of admiration for me nearly strangling him.

  “And besides, it was worth it, for you released your death grip.” He bent down and scooped up the precious log I’d abandoned. “Now I can get to work.”

  My first battle could be tallied as a defeat. I needed to outwit this man and preferably before we docked at Pittsburgh.

  Chapter 6

  Devyn

  MJ’s Pizza was Devyn’s second home. Not only did she prefer the aroma of carbs to any steakhouse on the planet, but the owner was one of her favorite humans. Most of the time.

  “So you invited a man you only met hours ago here? Tonight?” Mitch leaned on the counter beside the register and lifted a brow in that annoying rebuke only older siblings employed. Though he was just older by five minutes and thirty seconds.

  “Well, yeah.” She shrugged. “If he turns out to be a weirdo, I have you to defend me.”

  He scoffed. “So now you welcome my muscles.”

  “Umm, the last time you offered to defend my honor you could’ve landed in jail and had the entire exchange blasted all over Space Station.”

  “I hate that name.”

  “You and me both, big fella.” After her breakup, Mitch was murderously angry with Travis. Not that Devyn hadn’t been grateful for his brotherly wrath, but Travis would have used any r
etribution as another exploit for his crummy channel. One Asbury publicly humiliated had been enough.

  “Besides. Tonight isn’t a date.”

  “Then why are you dressed like that?” He tugged her ponytail, making her Cardinal hat shift on her head.

  “A T-shirt and faded jeans is hardly date appropriate.” In fact, her attire served two purposes. One being to dissuade any interest from Chase, and the other to avoid public recognition. A baseball hat and comfort clothes were entirely different than the chic always-trendy way she’d dressed last year.

  “You don’t know dudes, Dev.” He shook his head as if he felt sorry for her.

  “Whatever.” She popped him on the arm. “And for the record, I’m not looking for a dude.”

  “Because of Travis? I told you he was a loser from the start.”

  “Yes, yes you did. And I should’ve listened.” But this wasn’t about Travis. For once. “I’m thinking since you married my best friend, then you totally owe me one.”

  His brow wrinkled. “What, a new best friend?”

  “No, Angie’s stuck with me. Since I gave you your dream girl, you need to pony up and supply me my dream guy. I’m thinking Italian, dark, maybe an aversion to anything social media-related. I’m totally cashing in.”

  He laughed. “I don’t know anyone like that. How about a video-game junkie who still lives in his parents’ basement?”

  “Don’t even.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve suffered enough of that mind decay from your teenage years.”

  “Good times.” He smiled. “So when’s your not-a-date friend coming?”

  “He’s not my friend either. Like I said, I just met him. And he’s supposed to be here at six.” She glanced at her phone. Ten minutes. She still had time to run away. It would be so simple. She hadn’t even given him her number. So he couldn’t badger-call her. Though he did know where she worked, and—

  “You gonna bail?”

  “We may be twins, but we’re not supposed to share the same brain. Knock it off. It’s creepy.”

  “You’re really thinking about ditching this dude?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t.”

  “But I have so many other things I need to do to get ready for the ball.” This whole mystery photo could only complicate life more. Granted, she was intrigued, and she could use all the help she could get with the contest. Especially free help. “Besides, just a second ago, you were dissing me for inviting him in the first place.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you should stay.” His voice had an uncommon serious edge to it. “You’ve been like a recluse since your breakup.”

  “You know the reason behind it.”

  “So what if someone recognizes you. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the victim.”

  No matter how many times Mitch said that, Devyn couldn’t believe him. Yeah, she was a victim of Travis’s manipulation, but she’d willingly put herself there. Willingly allowed him to put their relationship on display. Not to mention all the morals she’d abandoned in order to cling to her former fiancé. She knew better. Man, she knew. But she hadn’t the time to go into that with her brother. “I still don’t know this guy. He could be a major creep.”

  “What was your first impression of him?”

  “That he looked like a pirate.”

  He snorted. “Only you.”

  “He kinda does though. Without the whole hook, wooden leg, and parrot-on-the-shoulder thing going on.”

  “Does he have a beard?”

  “No, but he has a scar.”

  He lifted his hands as if surrendering, and she laughed. It was good to be around her brother. He always understood her, and in those slim times when he couldn’t, he made her smile.

  “At any rate, Dev, if this guy turns out to be a jerk you can lodge a skeeball into his skull.” He tapped the space between his eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone with better aim than you.”

  Being a fastball pitcher for the University of Louisville had always been one of her dreams, however short-lived. Mom’s diagnosis had come sudden and fierce. Devyn had quit the team her sophomore year to take care of her. Once Mom went into remission, Travis had reappeared into her life. Then Space Station. Life before Travis seemed so long ago. Almost as if she were a different person.

  Mitch’s attention drifted to his phone’s screen. “No need to be scared, Sis. I’m here. Nothing’s going to happen. Never know, you might end up liking him.”

  Familiar strains of a song poured from the sound system, and Devyn gasped. “Ole Blue Eyes.”

  Her brother glanced up from his phone, which he must’ve been using to activate the stereo. “When you texted saying you were coming tonight, I made you a playlist.”

  “Of the classics?”

  “Yes. And nineties Christian songs.” He pocketed his cell. “You have the weirdest taste in music. You know that, right?”

  Even as he spoke, a DCTalk favorite started. Her eyes misted. The not-gonna-happen-wedding week had been rough on her emotions, and her brother had been the one that had helped the most. He’d texted her funny GIFs, had daisies delivered to her work, and even dropped off the anniversary edition of Roman Holiday. The perfect classic movie for the situation, because while Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck were always amazing, the ending wasn’t sappy. It was real life. And that had been what Devyn needed.

  Her six-foot-three, U of L linebacker brother. The best in the whole world. “You have a soft spot larger than Kentucky.”

  “Tell no one.” He tried to look gruff, but the tenderness in his eyes outshone all.

  “I’m sure Angie knows already.” She nudged his elbow. One thing about Mitch Asbury, he loved the women in his life. He was proof that good guys still existed. Someday, Devyn would find one of those few remaining that would make her soul hum and her heart light. And above all else, love her for who she was.

  On that wistful note, she glanced toward the entrance.

  Chase Jones had walked in and was staring straight at her.

  Chase met Devyn halfway between the cash register counter where Mitch stood guard and the door.

  He offered a smile. “I was half-thinking you wouldn’t show.”

  “I considered it. Several times.”

  His dimples winked at her. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “You may not say that after I crush you.” She gestured toward Game Alley.

  “You’re serious?”

  “I never kid about Skeeball.” A smirk teased her lips. “Did you bring the samples I asked for?”

  “Right here.” He raised a black leather portfolio.

  “Good, we’ll talk over pizza.” She inclined her head, moving toward the pizza buffet.

  “Aren’t we supposed to pay first?” He cut a glance at the counter where Mitch stood beside a teenage cashier, helping her change the receipt paper.

  Her brother chose that moment to glance over and level a look at Chase. Man, he could be intimidating if she didn’t know what a teddy bear he really was. “Nope. See that man right there giving you the stink-eye?”

  “Can’t miss him.”

  “That’s my twin.”

  He paused. “You’re a twin?”

  “I am. We hardly resemble each other.” Mitch with his tall dark looks and her with her light hair and eyes. They both had an athletic build, though her brother’s superseded hers. She had curves and toned muscles, which she’d come to appreciate. But boy, it had taken her long enough.

  “Mitch owns this place, so I get all meals free. Yours is on the house tonight too.”

  “I’m not much for freeloading.”

  She shrugged. “You can try to pay if it bothers you. Mitch will still wave you off though.”

  After loading their plates, they got their drinks and chose a booth in the corner. The hanging lamp cast a soft glow.

  Chase was the first to break the silence. “Makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “Why you chose to com
e here.”

  “For the garlic pizza, of course.” She tore off a hunk of said pizza and mopped it in ranch dressing.

  “That’s more like a glorified breadstick,” he remarked. “There’s no sauce on it.”

  “Because it’s perfect without it.” Her lashes slid shut as she took a ranch-soaked bite. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, an amused smile lining his mouth.

  “Would you like me to give you two a moment?”

  “A man should never come between a woman and her garlic pizza.”

  “Noted.” He winked and took a sip of his drink.

  “But yes, it does make sense why I picked this place. I’ve had a personal bodyguard since birth. Kinda nice.” She wiped her fingers on her napkin. “You can’t blame me. We hardly know each other.”

  His bent elbows rested on the table, his tattoo making an appearance along with his impressive bicep. “I know more than you think.”

  His words froze her blood. He knew. Of course he did. How could she have thought she’d be able to hide her past—her very publicly documented past—from anyone? Maybe Mitch was right. Devyn should quit hiding. Confront it all. But somewhere between now and last October, she’d lost her backbone, and she didn’t have the strength to retrace the steps of her memory to retrieve it.

  Something glinted in his eyes. “Take a shot at it?”

  Fine. Might as well get it over with. “By all means.” She took another bite. If she was going under, it would be in a blazing glory of carbohydrates.

  “Going by your shoes earlier and your purse tonight, you have a thing for red. I’m guessing it’s your favorite color. You haven’t outgrown your imagination.” His lips curled into a smile. “I’m referring to your waltzing.”

  “I figured.”

  “And you have a dislike for poetry.”

  “Not all poetry,” she corrected. “Just Slate’s.”

  A crease settled between his brows. “Seems like there’s a story behind that.”