Undercurrent of Secrets

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  “He’d find out soon enough.” Face’s shoulders lifted in a lazy shrug. “He needs to get the feel of her.”

  “I agree. But not in front of four hundred passengers to witness his embarrassment.”

  “You’re too sweet, Hattie.” His lips curved into a fond smile. “Wish you’d be that softhearted with me. Any chance you’ve decided to run away with me?”

  “No.”

  He chuckled. “Thought I’d ask.” He threw me a rascally grin, his dark brown gaze drifting over my head. His mouth flattened into a scowl, and he cursed under his breath. “Be seeing you,” he said before sauntering off.

  I turned, wanting to understand Face’s shift in temper. Jack leaned against the post beside the stairway. How much of the conversation had he heard?

  He joined my side, taking Face’s spot. “You were right.”

  I tried not to get distracted by his nearness or how the sunshine highlighted his sculpted jawline. “Only because I’m familiar with the boat.”

  “I meant about my stateroom.”

  “Minnows?”

  “Salamanders.”

  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cringe. “That would’ve been an interesting gulp of water.”

  “One I avoided, thanks to you.”

  “It was nothing.”

  The skin framing his eyes bunched, the now-familiar expression in place. He was studying me. My toes curled under his pensive stare. “Why are you inspecting me like a crate of olive oil?”

  He stroked the edge of his chin in serious contemplation. “I was considering your voice.”

  I looked at him sharply. “My voice? What about it?”

  “Last night it declared me a stowaway. Today it saved me from two forms of humiliation.” His gaze roamed my face, and I felt that irksome flutter. “I’m just wondering if your voice is the sound of an angel guiding me along, or a siren drawing me in to my demise.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Chapter 8

  Mist curled over the water. Birdsong awakened the trees just yonder from where I sat in the wooden dinghy. Mornings on the river were majestic. Especially the blazing sky splashed with golds and oranges. It all breathed life into my soul.

  “This coffee tastes like cylinder oil.”

  And then there was Face.

  “You’re not concentrating.” I gave him my no-nonsense tone, and he had the gall to grin wider.

  “You flush a pretty shade of pink when you’re annoyed. It’s a nice sight to see first thing in the mornin’.” He set down his coffee mug and finally cast his line into the water. “I thought we weren’t gonna fish until we reached Owensboro. What’s the rush?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “And that reason is you wanting to get me alone.” He glanced toward the Idlewild. “We can row this dinghy further out of view.” His eyebrows waggled.

  “Perfect.” I checked my fishing line. No bites yet. “Then no one would see your embarrassment when I push your sorry hide into the river.”

  He laughed. “Always the charmer.”

  “You know that mumbo jumbo doesn’t work on me. Read the sentence.” I kept my voice low so as not to frighten the fish and pointed at the Bible in his lap. Duffy had taught me how to read using the Good Book, and so I figured it’d work for Face too. And maybe instill some morals along the way.

  He winked at me then focused on the page. “The Lord is my shep…herd. Shepherd. I shall not want.”

  “Very good.”

  He shifted under my praise. These lessons were the only times I’d seen him like this—less than confident. He’d always been quick to flash a prize-winning smile, yet behind those flirty layers was a vulnerable man. Face had been too proud to admit he couldn’t read or write, though I’d known. I’d offered to teach him, and he’d accepted on the condition that the lessons were away from the rest of the crew. The only place of privacy was on this hardly-river-worthy boat under the guise of catching fish for the crew’s supper.

  “How about we practice writing numbers?” I readied myself for an earful of whining; instead he gave a quick nod.

  I reached for the chalk and slate I’d packed in my bag. Face nudged my boot with his.

  His dark eyes, the same color of the coffee in his mug, fastened on mine. “Hattie, I put the oil on Cap’s boots.”

  “You?” My cutting tone was more accusation than question. My toes itched to give him a swift kick in the shin. “How could you? Picking on an old man. That’s a low I didn’t even think you capable of. I’m gonna row us back, so you can march yourself to the pilothouse and let Duffy know. Of all the meanest—”

  “I told him this mornin’.”

  “You did?” I lowered the slate, while my right hand kept a firm grasp on my fishing pole. “What’d he say?”

  “He forgave me.” And from the wonder in Face’s tone, he must have expected Duffy to send him packing. “Didn’t even require an explanation.”

  “But I do. Why’d you act that way?”

  I could float to the shore and back in the span of time it took Face to fess up. “I got all riled ’cause he docked my pay when I broke that window.”

  Face had been showing off for some pretty girl in Brookport and had broken one of the panes on the deck. Duffy had let him off easy, considering Face had also been neglecting his duties.

  I ground my jaw, my temper sizzling. “What if he’d gotten seriously hurt? I should break this slate in two right over your pretty head for being so foolish.”

  He gave a repentant look. “I’m done being that way.” He held up the Bible as if he was swearing to more than me.

  I knew better than to blindly swallow that baloney. “You mean, done with pranks on Duffy? Or in general? Because I’m thinking about a certain first mate with a pitcher full of salamanders.”

  “That’s different.” His eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust that man. He’s not what he seems to be.”

  My breath stumbled in my lungs. “What makes you think that?”

  “C’mon, Hattie. You’re cleverer than that. The man shows up outta nowhere. Spends most of his time digging ’round in the hold. Then there’s the matter of him having the brains of how to run the boat but no clue about how to handle her crew. How can ya be a mate and not know the ways of a riverman?”

  My lips pressed together. “I thought the same thing.”

  “Bet ya did. You got heaps of smarts behind that lovely face.”

  My brows rose in gentle reprimand for his flattery, but he only winked. The moment fell quiet and Face’s expression turned serious.

  “Watch your back around him, Hattie.”

  “Why, is he prone to pranking, like you?”

  He sighed. “I told you I’m done bein’ that way. I promise.”

  “Your promises are about as dependable as the catfish today.” I grimaced at the still empty bucket. “Why aren’t they biting?” I needed at least five to make a good bribe.

  “They’ll come ’round. Just gotta be patient.”

  “Then here.” I handed over the slate and grabbed some chalk. “Let’s practice our skills.”

  He gave an appreciative smile, giving me the barest glimpse of how much this meant to him.

  For the next couple of hours we worked on the lessons, managed to wrangle seven catfish and several smallmouth bass, and chatted about this evening’s moonlight excursion.

  “The Idlewild was filled to the full last night.” Face grabbed the oars and started rowing toward shore. “I thought for certain the dance floor was gonna bottom out.”

  I agreed. “Wonder if we’ll be packed this evening too.” This was our last night in Evansville. After the moonlight trip, we’d head for Owensboro. “Bricker did a swell job getting our name out there.”

  There was at least a full month’s worth of advertising already circulating before the Idlewild had reached Evansville’s wharf. They’d been sold out both nights. The brightness in Face’s expression had nothing to do
with teeming excursions, but my talk of Bricker. Mr. Bricker had been the charter agent for as long as I could remember. And he’d always excelled in lining up events for the season. “You’d be a good agent, Face.”

  His eyes sparked with hope. “Think so?”

  “’Course I do.” He had a natural ability in sales. With his charm, he could sell a face-full of blemishes to a beauty queen. But he had to know how to read and write in order to be an agent. Most of the work was drawing up contracts for future charters and writing advertising bills. Face had a lot of potential; he just needed the skills required to get him there. “That’s why we’re working so hard, isn’t it?”

  His gaze lingered on me, and I was reminded why all the gals out there were smitten. “Will you dance with me tonight?”

  I laughed. “You know I never dance during moonlights anymore. I learned my lesson.”

  “That was only one time.”

  “One time too many.” Earlier this summer a passenger seemed to believe my duties extended to taxi dancing. He threw dimes at me and tried to yank me onto the dance floor. One stomped heel to his foot had put an end to that. “You’ll have no problem finding a partner, Face.”

  “If you say yes, I’ll even reward you with a kiss.” He leaned closer as if to smooch me here and now.

  I reached over the side and splashed him with water. “Talk that nonsense again, and I’ll soak you even more. You know perfectly well where I stand on that matter.”

  His eyes flitted heavenward, and his parted lips released a stream of air. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

  We shored the dingy, and I grabbed tonight’s supper and my teaching bag. All in all, it had been a productive morning. Now to squeeze in the next step of my plan before breakfast.

  Face wrapped his pinky finger around his empty coffee mug. “I’ll take care of tacking the boat.” He leapt out of the dinghy and reached for me.

  I waved him off, lifted my skirt with my free hand, and stepped onto shore, not caring that my shoes sank into the mud.

  Face kept close. “I’ll convince you yet, Hattie.” His gaze dipped to my lips. “That kiss you’ve been saving is as good as mine.”

  “Ha!” I shoved him, and he playfully responded by stumbling back. “You can’t claim a girl’s first kiss. It’s not yours to take.”

  His smile was about as relentless as his antics. “Oh, I’m not gonna take it. Just woo you into giving it freely.”

  A throat cleared loudly behind us.

  The unmistakable stature of Jack Marshall leaned against a tree as if he’d been waiting all morning for our return. He took one glance at Face and then a long, sweeping gaze at me, as if making sure I was all right. “What’s going on here?”

  Face bristled. “I don’t see how what I do with Hattie is any of your concern.”

  Those words caused Jack to rise to full height, his glare spearing Face. The deckhand took Jack’s commanding gesture as a challenge and widened his stance.

  Oh for Pete’s sake. These men were two heaving breaths away from a posturing match.

  “Don’t get your feathers ruffled, Face.”

  He ignored me, training his glower on Jack. His hands were clenched into fists. The stony set of his jaw made me skitter between the men.

  “Face.” I put my hand on his arm, his tense muscles rippling beneath my fingertips. “Remember what you told me earlier. Now’s the time to prove to me and yourself that you weren’t just jawing.”

  At my words, his shoulders slacked a little. “For you, Hattie,” he muttered and then pushed past Jack toward the Idlewild.

  His stomping footsteps faded, and I released my breath. All I needed was two grown men sparring along the river’s edge. Thanks to Jack, I was now stuck with the task of hauling the dinghy to the Idlewild. Pushing a wheelbarrow was one thing, dragging a heavy, cumbersome hunk of wood across bumpy earth was another. I glared at the man who was responsible for my soon-to-be-aching muscles. “Was that necessary?”

  “I went searching for you only to be told by the striker that you ran off with Face.” A faint pink crept up his neck. “He implied more was going on than fishing.”

  No wonder Jack was hotter than a triggered crate of firecrackers. He’d thought Face was after my virtue. The engine room apprentice should only stoke the fire in the belly of the Idlewild, not the heart of Jack Marshall. “Face didn’t lay a finger on me.”

  Despite my adamant tone, doubt rippled his forehead. “I’ve seen his behavior around women.”

  It was all a show. Face charmed the ladyfolk at every port, but he’d never disgraced them. Duffy wouldn’t allow it. And in spite of Face’s wayward declarations, he had a soft heart. Jack would learn that too, if he’d quit barking at the crew and try befriending them. “Thank you for your concern, sir, but—”

  “Jack.”

  “But, Jack, I’ve been taking care of myself for nearly twenty-one years. I think I’ve gotten the hang of it by now.” How many times did I have to tell the man?

  He stepped closer, gaze searching. “Are you sure he didn’t cross a line?” His tone gentled. “You can tell me anything.” His open expression enforced the truth behind his words.

  I shot a look to where Face retreated. “He doesn’t know how to read. And is too ashamed to have lessons in front of everyone. So Duffy allows us to go fishing as long as it doesn’t interfere with his duties.”

  His head tilted. “You’re teaching Face?”

  “To read and write. He wants to be a charter agent.”

  The deep groove between his brows eased. “That’s kind of you.”

  I shrugged. “Shouldn’t everyone have that opportunity? You know, a chance at their dreams? At the very least be able to read. Words are a gift.” I jerked my head toward the bag slung over my right shoulder, my Bible resting in plain sight. “Especially that Word. I couldn’t imagine not being able to read God’s love notes to me.”

  His expression slacked in surprise. “You’re using the Bible to teach Face?”

  “Yes, and I think it’s helping him in more ways than one.” I nudged a twig with the toe of my boot. “The more time I spend with him, the more he changes for the better.”

  His gaze hooked mine, locked, and something passed between us. “I can see how that could happen.”

  I bit my lip, unsure how to tame the surge of what seemed awfully close to attraction.

  “Would you like me to take this aboard for you?” He gestured toward the dinghy.

  “That would be swell. Thank you. It goes in the corner of the hold. Be sure to angle it against the wall.That way it won’t take up too much space.”

  His lips twitched. “Anything else, Admiral?”

  It was the second time he’d called me by that nickname. And that warmth settled around me again. My gaze drifted to the metal bucket I clutched, and everything cooled to icy proportions. I had a job to do. A cook to bribe. I couldn’t let these strange flutterings deter me from my original purpose. But then… “Why were you searching for me?”

  “To return this.” He pulled the freight log from his pocket.“I shouldn’t have doubted you. You have a good system.”

  Jack handed me the pad, and his thumb held my index finger for a heart-pounding second. The gentle clasp wasn’t romantic in theory, yet every cell in my body responded to his touch.

  He offered a friendly smile. “I think we can work well together.” With that, he gripped the dinghy and trudged off.

  I slid the log into my bag, taking longer than necessary situating the strap on my shoulder, hoping my pulse would return to human levels. What was wrong with me? I didn’t have time to explore these bizarre sensations. I had to get to Miss Wendall before the breakfast rush. Determination renewed, I set off, but something snagged my attention.

  A slip of paper lay upon dried leaves.

  It must have fallen out of Jack’s pocket when he retrieved the log. I scooped it up and was about to holler after him, but the markings on the ivory note trapped the
words in my chest. I held it to the light, trying to make sense of it. The only thing that became clear was Face had been right—Jack Marshall was not who he appeared to be.

  Chapter 9

  Devyn

  Devyn ushered the mother daughter pair, her last tour of the day, into the Belle’s ballroom. Yet she could see that the space—decorated for the children’s Treasure Island Adventure—wouldn’t inspire one to say “I do,” but rather rumble a hearty “Arrr!”

  A section of the dance floor had been roped where the hired actors would perform a sword-fighting scene. A gangplank suspended off the bandstand. Dozens of wood chests, spilling with fake treasure and jewelry, were scattered throughout. The atmosphere was perfect for the tiny wannabe scalawags coming aboard in a few hours, but not so ideal for a wedding event coordinator trying to convince a moody bride to charter the boat on the best day of her life.

  “Just envision.” Devyn stepped past a cluster of paper palm trees and swept a hand in front of her. “Twinkle lights strung from the gingerbread trim, reflecting beautifully off the tin ceiling. With the paddlewheel in motion and the sunset as a backdrop, it makes for a memorable romantic evening.”

  The prospective bride, Larissa Newton, kept her gaze pinned to her phone, her manicured fingers dancing across the screen. “Mmhmm.” Her tone proved about as lively as the skeleton hanging from the ceiling fan.

  The mother, on the other hand, turned a slow circle and released a wistful sigh. “Yes, that was how it was with mine.”

  Devyn smiled at the older woman who had a Renée Zellweger look about her. “You were married aboard the Belle?”

  Mrs. Newton’s fingers splayed against her chest, and she nodded. “In ’93.”

  Ah, that explained the mother’s enthusiasm and the daughter’s lack thereof. The younger woman wanted to have her own fairytale wedding, not a copycat of her parents’. “My folks were married here in the eighties. I’m sure you noticed we’ve done some updates since then.”

  Larissa snorted. “Doesn’t look like it.”

  Devyn overlooked the slight. “The Belle’s charm is in her timeless beauty. It’s our intention to preserve the boat, keeping as much original as possible. When I say things have been updated, I’m speaking more of the surroundings. The Louisville skyline is breathtaking at night.” Devyn had given countless tours, and not one of them had been the same. She refused to sink into used car salesman mode and rattle off practiced speeches. Her number one rule was to speak from the heart. Sometimes it worked…