Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (10 page)

She parted her lips to breathe, and the kiss deepened. He tasted of mint and tea, and when his tongue touched hers, every nerve in her body came to life. A shudder ran through her. The most intense pleasure she had ever known gripped her heart—she’d been lonely and never known it.

He pulled away, his chest heaving. “You need to leave.”

She stood, nodding. Wrapping her arms around herself, she walked to the door and flung it open.

“Alanna?”

“Yes.” She stepped outside and turned to him.

“You don’t ride sidesaddle. You ride like a man, don’t you?”

She laughed at his absurd way of defusing what had just occurred. Relieved, she cocked her head. “I beg your pardon?”

A lighthearted grin curved his lips. “The muscles in your legs are evenly matched.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “Oh, one other thing.”

“What?”

“That little dagger strapped on the outside of your left leg is a little too high. Not an easy reach. Even with your skirts up, it could cost you precious time.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “It’s not a dagger, it’s a
sgian dubh
.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Mischief threaded through his words. “How is it you know what a
sgian dubh
is? Or is it the Scots part of that Scots-Irish blood of yours?”

She turned and tossed her words over her shoulder. “And how would you, a border ruffian from the middle of nowhere, know about a particular knife worn inside the stocking of a Highlander in full dress kilt?”

Wolf sat before the fire tearing pages from the daily journal he kept, and tossing them one by one onto the flames when Thompson returned. The captain, his usual cup in hand, pulled up a chair beside Wolf. “Care to share the dull mood?”

Wolf shot Thompson a glance, and resumed tearing the paper into strips and tossing them into the flames. Guilt seeped through his gut again.

With a loud slurp of tea, Thompson leaned back, stretched his legs, and heaved a tired sigh. “I hope your foul mood isn’t about Malone. You can’t be sailing the waters of Cape Stiff feeling melancholy. Not when you’re apt to spend a good deal of time strapped to your bunk.”

“It’s not about Malone.” Hell, no place on board to be alone.

“Better to clear the air, son.”

Wolf tossed what remained of the ledger on the floor beside him and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I did something today I’m having trouble living with.”

Thompson remained silent.

Wolf shrugged. “Not sure I know how to go about correcting things.”

“You mean the knife?”

“No.” Wolf kept his gaze fixed on the flames charring the paper he’d tossed in. “I mean I accosted one of your passengers today, and it’s not sitting well on my conscience.”

Thompson cocked a brow.

Wolf heaved a sigh. How the hell did he go about saying what needed to be said? “While you were meeting with the Malones, their daughter came to call.”

Now it was Thompson’s turn to keep his eyes fixed on the fire. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure if I really know. She invited herself in here, but when I tried to help her right back out, she wouldn’t budge. Sat there muttering something . . . some crazy fool things.” He didn’t know why, but for some odd reason, he didn’t want to divulge the part about her suggesting marriage.

“And?”

“After the battle I had with her father this morning, I sure as hell wasn’t in a mood to go another round if he found her in my stateroom. I finally got mad and shoved my hand up her dress to scare her off.”

Tea spewed back into Thompson’s cup. “You . . . you what?” He leaned forward, bent to look at Wolf’s face. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Would I make this up?”

Thompson set his cup on the floor. “And she let you?”

Wolf frowned when he saw a look of amusement mixed with incredulity on Thompson’s face. “
Let
me? Damn it, Thompson, she didn’t have a choice. I had one arm behind her, and the other crossed in front of her. She had no place to go.”

Thompson leaned back, his look of amused surprise turning to one of undisguised humor. “She must like you,” he said with a little chuckle and a shake of his head. “Tell me more.”

“
Like
me? God Almighty, Thompson. Don’t try to tell me if you spent the morning threatening me and warning me to stay away from your daughter, and I sat here tonight telling you I spent the afternoon with my hand shoved up her dress so far I could steal her necklace, that all you’d have to say is,
she must like you.
” Wolf grabbed his journal, tore the rest of the written pages out, and tossed them all into the fire. “What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway?”

Thompson slid his body down so his head rested against the chair’s back and grinned. “What you did wasn’t right, I’ll grant you. If it were any one of my daughters, I’d probably have you thrown overboard. But Alanna?” Thompson’s lips trembled. He leaned on an elbow and covered his mouth with one hand. A chuckle slipped out. “Forgive me, Wolf. I’m so tired, I suppose I’m slaphappy.” And then he broke into a hearty laugh. “I wish I could’ve been a mouse in the corner.”

Wolf’s frustration turned to boiling anger. “You can be such a horse’s ass.”

Thompson finally contained himself. “Ease up on yourself. There was nothing you could have done to hold Alanna down if she didn’t want to be there. She can yell and scream and raise the biggest hissy fit a female ever made, if she’s of a mind to. Although, come to think of it, I haven’t seen her do that in many a year.”

Wolf shoved a hand through his hair. “I sure as hell didn’t figure your reaction right at all, so I guess it’s best if we put a halt to this conversation.” He pulled an envelope from between the pages of his ledger and handed it to Thompson. “Would you deliver this apology to Alanna in secret?”

Thompson slipped the envelope into his jacket pocket. “I’ll see she gets it tomorrow, first off.”

He sat back and stroked his beard as he studied Wolf. “You’ve had some pretty rough treatment from her parents, by the way. I think you’ve handled it well. I do hope you’re man enough to admit to yourself that rejection hurts.” Thompson measured his words. “Especially when it comes from the parents of someone you’re attracted to.”

Before Wolf could speak, Thompson raised a hand and continued. “And after what you’ve told me just now, and what you said the first night they came to dinner, when you claimed you’d rather have any elderly woman aboard for feminine company than a powder keg of a young one? Well, it makes sense that you ignored her all evening, because she’s one helluva powder keg.”

 

 

A gale hit the next day, welcoming them to the Horn.

Mates bellowed for all hands. Topmen scrambled up the rigging, furiously gathering canvas as the storm blasted the clipper with all the lethal wrath she had in her.

Thompson ordered upper yards lowered to take the strain off the mast as the storm plunged the tips of the ship’s yardarms below the sea’s boiling surface. Passengers were ordered to their bunks to tie down—crew members lashed themselves to the rails and masts to keep from being washed overboard by the waist-deep waves pounding the deck.

All night long, the clipper lurched and heaved as the mighty surf exploded all around her. The torrent of rain and hail mingled with the roar of the waves until Wolf thought his eardrums would burst. He vowed this would be his only trip through such a hideous place.

The next day a blizzard struck.

The passengers saw little of one another over the next thirteen days as the ship repeatedly tacked back and forth over the same route in the screaming winds—a desperate attempt to gain miles through the icy rains or blasting snowstorms that pelted the ship.

When the storm finally abated, and they headed toward the Atlantic and the Eastern Seaboard, Wolf stayed busy and kept to himself. Oftentimes, he was able to find work mending sails or ropes and checking the inventory that lasted throughout the dinner hour.

The few times he could not avoid the gathering, he joined them, but offered little in the way of conversation, or eye contact with the other passengers. Alanna continued to observe him with the same calm, but made no further attempt to meet with him.

During her exercise periods, Wolf made sure he worked below. But there were times he assisted the crew on deck when she, and her mother, or Hsui Lin were there. She watched him then.

Always.

And he knew it.

He detested that Thompson was right about his attraction to her. He also resented his feelings, resented the urge to speak to her, or even to think about her. Most of all, he resented her constant intrusion upon his dreams.

He worked diligently with Thompson and the crew. The men came to respect him for his willingness to do whatever it took to get the job done. Any job. In time, Wolf was able to make sense of the bills of lading. There wasn’t anything wrong with them. Cargo was missing.

Among the crew, Wolf could not find one that he could come close to suspecting. By the time they neared Boston, Thompson had no recourse but to sadly point his finger at Malone. That, he would do after authorities were called aboard.

Wolf and Thompson kept their decision to themselves. No one would have guessed there was anything wrong, especially at the captain’s dinner their last night. The Malones were punctual, as usual, but tonight, the women came dressed in their finest.

Wolf squelched his bright flare of desire when Alanna entered the stateroom. She wore a cream-colored dress of a soft fabric, which hugged the curves that had grown increasingly sensuous to him. Over her dress, she had on a short beaded jacket—the very beads that had spilled across the deck.

Wolf flashed a wicked grin at Thompson.

“We used every last bead we had, not a one left over,” Mrs. Malone announced when both the captain and Wolf complimented her on her handicraft.

“How long do you plan to remain in Boston?” Malone asked Wolf.

His lips thinned. “Only as long as business requires.”
Not to worry, you won’t see my face again, you sorry bastard
.

“Will you be returning to San Francisco, or Missouri?” Mrs. Malone chimed in.

“Missouri.” Wolf had no idea where he would go after he solved his mother’s murder. A sudden emptiness at the idea threatened his mood. He glanced across the table, and nearly winced. Alanna was so without guile—a breath of fresh air never to be taken again after the morrow.

Abruptly, he excused himself. The others at the table ceased their discourse. He returned with two small packages, and a third that was cylindrical and approximately ten inches long.

He handed one of the small packages to Malone. “For you. The remainder of my ginger tea and wrist bands.”

Mr. Malone’s grin widened. His head bobbed up and down.

He turned. “For you, Mrs. Malone. A bag of beads, the remainder of those I’d collected the day they scattered all over the deck.” Wolf grinned at her with overstated innocence she could do nothing about.

Thompson chuckled.

Mrs. Malone regarded Wolf, not much differently from the way she had the day she’d refused his find. “Thank you. I . . . I appreciate your kindness.” Pink splotches marked her cheeks.

Wolf reached across the table and deposited the round package in front of Alanna. “And this is for you, Alanna Malone,” he said softly.

Mrs. Malone’s gaze darted from Wolf to her husband, who sat quietly waiting for his daughter to open her gift. He didn’t so much as flinch at Wolf calling her by the name he’d forbidden Wolf to use.

Alanna picked up the object, and unwrapped the cloth surrounding it. “Oh,” she whispered. Lifting it, she turned the carved cylinder in her hand, inspecting the way Wolf had fitted the broken pieces of beveled glass into the front, and on each side and bottom, in small slits carved into the wood. At the center of one end of the cylinder rested a small vial Wolf had appropriated from the ship’s medicine chest and filled with oil. Beads and sequins glistened and floated in the clear liquid, some of the very ones Mrs. Malone had turned down the day they had scattered across the deck.

“What the devil is that?” Mr. Malone demanded.

Alanna lifted it to one eye and pointed it at the chandelier hanging over the table. “It’s a kaleidoscope.” Her voice was soft as a whisper when she laid the piece of wood down and bent her head over it. Silence permeated the room as she ran her fingers, feather soft, over her gift, as though she were lost in her own world. “Thank you.”

She raised her head and looked into Wolf’s eyes. With a blink, a tear splashed down her cheek. She made no attempt to wipe it away or to hide it. “I shall keep this with me, always.”

Wolf’s heart thundered.

“Let me see that.” Malone snatched the object up in his plump hand, and played with it until her mother begged for a turn.

Wolf was surprised at the Malones’ lack of objection to Alanna’s response. It was as though an invisible power held their tongues. Perhaps it was because it was their last night aboard ship that they chose to ignore the way Wolf looked at her; or perhaps it was because he’d presented the gift to their daughter openly.

The Malones pleaded fatigue shortly after dessert and left for their bunks.

Wolf and Thompson spent their final evening in front of the fire. They were sipping whiskey and chuckling over events when a knock sounded at the door. Before either man could stand, Alanna entered the room and marched over to the two. She handed the captain an envelope.

“This is for you.” She turned to the fireplace, her back to them.

“What is it?” Thompson queried.

Uncomfortable, Wolf rose to excuse himself.

“No. Don’t leave. This concerns you, as well.” Her back went a little straighter, her head a bit higher. “My father knows I am here, but he does not know why. And I beg you not to address this issue with him, Captain.”

Thompson’s face was a sudden display of fatherly concern. “Good God, what is it?” He started to rise once more.

“Please, sit, sir. I won’t be staying long. In that envelope is all the money for the missing cargo. I stole it.”

Wolf flew out of his chair and moved across the room, far enough away to gather his wits—and to observe her. He sensed she wasn’t lying. She still acted calm and reserved, but he saw great pain etched in her face.

Thompson reached for her.

She retreated.

Wolf stared at her, torn between wanting to rush to her side and an odd sense of having been betrayed.

“It was my running-away money. My last hope before I returned to Boston.” She flashed a pained glance at Wolf, then back at Thompson.

Direct and forthright, she continued. “I hired certain men, not aboard this ship, to help me while we were in San Francisco. As you well know, Captain, I have sailed with my father for a long while, and helped him in his business. Enough so that I thought I could get away with it.”

Wolf came forward, stood directly in front of her. Her eyes held his penetrating gaze. “Why would you have to steal from your own father? Surely, if you wanted money to run . . . to do whatever, you must have jewelry—”

“I have nothing of my own. My father owns everything, controls everything—and everyone. All I hear is ‘this will all be yours one day, Alanna,’ until I could spit.”