Beloved Counterfeit (13 page)

“Back to Mrs. O’Shea. What of Mr. O’Shea?”

Viola grinned. “Remy Dumont. Are you interested in our Ruby?”

“Nonsense.” He took up his pacing once again.

“You are.” Viola rose and caught him by the arm. “You are.”

“I find her interesting,” he said, wrestling out of her grip. “And as she is obviously a friend, I wish to know more about her.”

“Liar.” She giggled. “Though I will oblige you. I’ve not asked outright, but the understanding is Ruby is a widow. A pity considering the children.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “you mentioned the children.” He paused. “Repeatedly. And, I assume, with purpose.”

“With no more purpose than you’ve colored our previous conversations.”

“I have no idea to what you refer,” he said with a wink, “though I’ll admit I’ve made no secret of the fact I intend to leave here with you, and sooner rather than later.”

Indeed, he had not. What Remy didn’t know was that he had already begun to wear on Viola’s resolve. Were she to listen much longer, she might find herself packed aboard a New Orleans–bound vessel without settling the issue of her feelings for the doctor who held her heart.

“Vivi, you cannot continue to skirt the issue of why I’m here,” Remy insisted.

“And you cannot continue to ignore the fact that while I am very pleased to see you, I am quite uncomfortable with this topic.” She averted her gaze. “So tell me more of what you’ve been doing since we parted.”

“What I’ve been doing?” Remy exhaled, a familiar sign of frustration. “I’ve been reading.” He shook his head. “Actually, I’ve been driving myself to distraction trying to figure how you got all the way to the steps of the cathedral before you decided Andre Gayarre was not the husband for you.”

“The truth?” When he nodded, she drew a deep breath and continued. “I never thought there was a choice to be had, Remy. Our fathers were bound and determined to merge families.” She paused. “I rather enjoyed Andre’s company. He could be quite charming, and he did court me as if ours was not a marriage arranged in a boardroom.”

“Which it was.”

“Yes.” The admission hurt, even now. Somehow she’d managed to convince herself Andre Gayarre had fallen in love with the woman he would have married regardless of emotions. It helped to believe that much.

Her brother shook his head and gave her a look that said he would suffer no further nonsense. “Andre Gayarre came to Fairweather Key to bring you back or kill you, but instead he lost his own life.” Her gasp seemed to cause him to pause. “You didn’t think I knew of this?” Remy shook his head. “The benefit of being the studious youngest child is that my elders take for granted that I am neither listening nor competent to decipher their doublespeak.”

Opening her mouth to respond, Viola found no words. She settled for closing her eyes. Indeed, Remy was one not to be underestimated.

“So about the guilt you’ve been carrying,” he said.

Unable to remain still, Viola rose. Her feet traced a path to the hallway and her bedchamber beyond. “I’ll not have any further mention of Andre in my home,” she tossed over her shoulder for good measure.

An attempt she knew would give nothing but fuel to the fire that was this discussion.

“No need to speak of him,” her brother called. “I’ve my answer, Vivi.”

Viola turned to retrace her steps. She found that Remy had returned to the comfortable chair near the window. “What answer?”

“I had to come here and see for myself,” he said. “I needed to know whether it was true.”

“You’re talking in circles.” Viola shook her head. “I’ve had a long day. I’m sure you’ll find another way to amuse yourself in my absence.”

“Indeed,” he said. “I thought I might clean the pistol I gave you. Where might I find it?”

“Pistol?” Viola grasped the door frame for balance and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

“Don’t be coy,” he said. “I merely wanted to offer up my help. I’ve nothing to do, so cleaning the weapon seems to appeal.” He rose and took a few steps toward her before halting. “Where is it, Vivi?” Abruptly he turned on his heels and headed back to the chair. “No need to explain,” he said. “I’m sure the doctor is taking good care of it.”

She froze. “It’s been two years since I thought of the location of that pistol, Remy. What are you insinuating?”

“Me?” Again Remy shook his head. “Nothing. Though the next time you’re tempted to evade my questions, I would remind you that I’m the one who taught you to shoot.” He sank onto the chair and stared. “I recall you rarely missed whatever you aimed at.”

* * *

“The nerve.”

Ruby yanked another set of bed linens from the never-ending pile and threw them into the basin. That this man, practically a stranger, would assume she would fall into his arms and be grateful for his proposal of marriage.

“The very nerve.”

In truth, she did feel the slightest bit of appreciation for Micah Tate’s valor and, in retrospect, for his honesty. Still, even the men who’d pushed actual dollars into her hand rather than a sand dollar hadn’t asked her for a child.

“And before I even agree to give him the time of day.”

She rubbed the soap cake until her arms hurt, then paused and started all over again. By the time she finished every piece of bedding in the boardinghouse, Ruby was no closer to taming her aggravation.

The real trouble, beyond any issues of pride or preference, was the fact that Micah Tate had stirred up a hornet’s nest by treating the smuggler Rabelais as he had. With Jean Luc no longer feeling charitable toward her, he’d likely go straight to Thomas Hawkins with the news of where she now lived and with whom.

It was the
with whom
that bothered her most.

While she alone was responsible for her circumstances, the girls were innocent of anything save their birth to a mother ill equipped to raise them and a father who would never see them again.

“At least as long as I’m alive, he won’t.”

Ruby tipped the basin and sent a stream of sudsy water flying. She thought of the sand dollar upstairs in the attic room she shared with the girls, of the promise made by the man who had pressed it into her palm.

She didn’t love him. All Ruby knew of love was that people who had no idea what it meant bandied about the word as if bestowing it was some sort of reward. Or withholding it a punishment.

Yet Micah Tate offered something no other man had: protection. He of all the men who’d sought her attention had offered nothing but safe harbor. Even Jean Luc Rabelais had not offered this—not without asking for something in return.

Then again, the wrecker’s already discussing babies
.
“And there’s only one way to accomplish that.”

The thought took her back to the indignation that fueled her irritation. Was she destined to always be worth only one thing to men?

Gathering up the linens, she hauled them toward the rope where the sun would dry them in a few hours’ time. Hefting the heavy fabric over and over made her arms ache, but the labor gave her the release that screaming could not.

She sighed. Nothing would come of this fretting except possibly blisters and wrinkles—blisters from scrubbing away her aggravation and wrinkles from worrying about when this sham of a marriage would turn ugly.

It doesn’t have to be a sham.

Ruby froze, her fingers releasing the soggy linens to puddle on the damp ground. A real marriage was something she’d never considered.

Dare she hope this God she’d only recently begun to trust might have something like that for her? Surely a woman with the past she carried around wouldn’t be fit for any man who might worship the Lord.

Yet she’d been promised she was a new creation. Claire was gone, and Ruby had taken her place.

She reached for the topmost bed linen and shook it clean, then draped it over the rope. As she worked out the worst of the wrinkles, Ruby considered the dilemma before her. To stay and face either fear or marriage, or to go and pray that her past and those associated with it did not follow.

The wind whipped her hair about, obscuring her vision until she returned the errant strands to her braid and moved to turn her face to the wind. Wet fingers went back to their work as she glanced out toward an ocean so green it hurt to look at it. No unfamiliar sails pierced the horizon, nor did any stranger stand at the gate.

Yet she kept watch, waiting for the inevitable even as she considered her options.

Leaving Fairweather Key was a possibility. It always had been. The trouble with that was twofold: She had nowhere to go and no way to get there.

If she was being truly honest, Ruby had to admit she’d never felt more at home than in this place. And the girls were happy here. In the months since they’d landed on the reef, she’d seen the twins blossom into normal children who had friends and enjoyed their schoolwork. And Tess, well, she never met a stranger no matter where she went.

That Tess had found surrogate grandparents in Mary and Hezekiah Carter and a host of pretend aunts and uncles in the extended family they’d collected in Fairweather Key made Ruby thank the Lord for their unexpected arrival here.

The only fly in the ointment was the specter of Thomas Hawkins.

Logic told her by now Jean Luc was halfway back to wherever Hawkins’s band of ruffians was holed up to puff up his wounded pride by telling Tommy where he could find her.

Ruby finished hanging the last of the linens then reached for the basin. Maybe the next time Micah Tate asked her to marry him, she’d think a little harder about saying yes.

Trouble was, he’d have to hurry, or leaving would be the only answer.

Chapter 16

Given that his first try at proposing to Ruby O’Shea didn’t turn out as he hoped, Micah decided to change his strategy. In his experience, the more a body missed something—or someone—the more dear it grew.

Since he’d been a fixture at Ruby’s table every day, he decided a little absence might make her heart grow fonder. So for the next three days, Micah took his lunch down at the harbor with the others who made their living on the sea.

He’d almost forgotten how very much he enjoyed the company of the wreckers and fishermen who called the vessels in the harbor their homes. Spending time with them also gave Micah an idea of who might be included in the band of man who would be charged with seeing to the island’s safety.

To be sure, he kept a close eye on the comings and goings of the boardinghouse on the hill, visible as it was from the sleek vessel that came with his new position as captain of the Fairweather Key Militia. He’d even begun entertaining the idea of selling the house on the bluff that never quite felt like home to him.

A boat was no place for a family, however, and should Ruby O’Shea ever take him up on his offer, he’d need a decent home for the trio who came along with her. To go from a family of one to a family of five would stretch the confines of the vessel for sure, so keeping the house would be the wiser choice.

The thought of what he’d said—what he’d promised—weighed heavily on Micah. He spent a decent amount of time pacing the deck, wondering if he’d made a promise to Ruby he couldn’t keep.

Yet the Frenchman’s possible return didn’t frighten him one whit; he welcomed it. Another opportunity to show Ruby O’Shea he could take care of those whom the Lord had assigned him.

With each day that passed, he was more certain Ruby was his second chance at doing things right. This he knew he wouldn’t mention as he headed to the courthouse to meet with Caleb Spencer. On his list were the names of those men he deemed fit for duty should the island need to muster up a militia.

He’d heard that Viola Dumont’s brother had arrived on the island and made a note to contact him to see how long he planned to stay. To his mind, any man fit and worthy would serve.

As he turned to climb the courthouse stairs, Micah glanced up at the boardinghouse. About now, Ruby was likely helping the girls with their schoolwork or perhaps starting the preparations for the boarders’ dinner. More important than this was the knowledge that she did these things while under his distant but watchful care. For where he could not be, his militia could.

Micah opened the door of the courthouse and stepped inside, then greeted Caleb. “I’ve got the list if you’re of a mind to look at it.”

“Bring it over,” he called as he shifted aside piles of documents to make room for the paper. “And while I’m at it, we should discuss your duties while I’m away.”

Micah settled in across from Caleb. “How soon?”

“A few weeks at most.” He leaned back in his chair. “Emilie is still sorting through applicants to replace her. I never anticipated it would be so difficult to find a teacher.”

“The place is somewhat remote,” Micah offered.

Caleb shrugged then gestured to his desktop, filled with several neat stacks of papers situated among a landslide of others. “Anyway, I’ll expect you to handle all this and present me with a clean desk upon my return.”

Micah swallowed hard. What had he gotten himself into?

As serious as the judge appeared, his jaw began to twitch. A moment later he chuckled. “That’s wishful thinking on my part, Tate. You’re familiar with the paperwork required when we have an auction.”

Something he’d done a dozen times or more since injuries from the sinking of his wrecking boat forced him to take a job as the judge’s warehouseman. “I am,” he said as he flexed the arm that still plagued him on occasion.

“I pray you won’t have to use that knowledge, but I am comforted that you won’t be caught by surprise if you need to act on it.” Caleb paused. “The next auction should clear the warehouse by the middle of next week.”

Another detail Micah was glad not to have to handle. “What about that fellow I told you about? The one who opened his mouth at the boardinghouse table?”

Another shrug. “He and I had an interesting conversation yesterday morning. After being presented with the option of spending some time in jail or producing identification, he admitted and proved he was an insurance man. Peterson Life and Trust out of New York City.”

Micah shook his head. “Why not come out and say so? He claimed to be here looking for an object of sentimental value.”