Beloved Counterfeit (31 page)

Again he placed his hand atop hers. Her mind tumbled back to the soldier who’d brashly introduced himself, who’d gone to her papa for permission to court her then swiftly ignored the man’s refusal and come calling. How tempted she’d been to allow it.

“I’ll need to bind that,” she said as she slipped her fingers from beneath his.

Clay allowed her to finish her work before he reached for her hand. “Look, I know you’re surprised I’m here and likely not too happy to see me.”

Viola shook her head. “I haven’t decided that, Clay,” she said, “but I’m confused. I’ll admit that.” Their gazes met. “I didn’t murder anyone, and neither did Dan.”

“Then why’d he leave?”

Viola’s hand trembled, so she paused to wait it out then turned her back to begin putting away the instruments. “Maybe he didn’t want to marry me,” she tossed over her shoulder.

“I’ll find Dan Hill and bring him to justice.” His boots hit the floor heading away from her. “You’re thinking you’ll confess to shooting Gayarre and save your man, aren’t you? Well, forget it.”

“The truth is the truth, Clay, no matter who you work for.” She turned to find him at the door, his bandaged hand slipping into his jacket, the other holding his hat. “I’m not sure I believe any of this.”

He removed a paper from his pocket and stormed toward her, tossing it onto the table. “It’s a letter for you. Read it.”

She didn’t have to, for the handwriting told the tale. “Papa,” she said as her heart sank.

“Indeed.”

“But why? Who would be pressing these charges? Andre’s father is dead, and Emilie’s the only relative still living.”

“Isabelle’s the heir, Vivi, not Emilie,” he corrected. “You know that.”

She did, but it stunned her to realize he knew as well. “How did you—”

“Know about Emilie being born to a slave woman?” He paused. “It’s my business to know these things.”

Clay shook his head then slipped on his hat. “The truth is, old Monsieur Gayarre’s funeral stirred up quite a fuss. With a daughter off somewhere in Florida and a son killed under mysterious circumstances, an enterprising reporter decided to do some digging. That’s when the details of Andre Gayarre’s death came out.”

 
Another pause. “And with them, his engagement to you.”

Viola sighed. Of course her father and brother would be horrified that the family name had been associated with such an affair.

A tip of his hat, and then Clay snapped his finger as if he’d forgotten something important. “You should know, Vivi,” he said, “when I was last here, I contacted the good doctor.”

“You what?”

“I stayed at the boardinghouse.” He shrugged. “Figured I’d get the lay of the land before I decided what to do about you and Dr. Hill.”

Something akin to anger boiled to the surface. “What did you say to him?”

Clay’s grin spread as he reached for the latch. “That it might be healthier for him if he did his doctoring elsewhere. Guess he agreed with me.”

With that, Clay Drummond turned his back to her and walked out the door.

Viola caught up with him before his boots hit the sidewalk. “Come back here, Clay Drummond. I’m not done talking to you.”

He stopped short, and she almost slammed into his broad back. “You sure you want to make a scene right here in the middle of town?” he asked as he glanced over his shoulder.

“I’ve got nothing to hide,” she said even as she lowered her voice. Then she spied Micah Tate coming up the road toward them.

Clay looked past her. “Best smile, Vivi. I’d hate to end up in jail again because Micah Tate decided I was a threat.”

“He’d be right,” she said as she turned to wave at Ruby’s husband. “I got your prisoner patched up, Micah. You can go ahead and lock him up now.”

* * *

 
“Let’s take a walk, Drummond.” Micah waved off his men and waited for Clay to fall into step beside him.

“I thought I’d be meeting you at your office.”

He gestured to the clinic. “You’ll understand if my allegiance is to Vi. I needed to see for myself that she was all right.”

“She’s a strong woman, if that’s what you’re worried about. Viola might be missing a fiancé, but she’ll be fine.”

“The Gayarre case is closed,” he said. “And all vigilante justice will do is get you a stay in my jail.”

When Drummond had no response, Micah pressed on. “Leave Viola be, Drummond. She’s been through enough. If you want to go off chasing Doc Hill, I can’t stop you, but I’ll not have you bothering an innocent woman. So don’t try my patience. In addition to my concerns about Vi, you’ve gotten my daughter in a heap of trouble.”

“Look,” he said. “I never intended for that to happen, but I also never intended for them to catch me while I was working. I had to say something.”

Micah stared at the fool. “The truth would have been a handy thing to start with, seeing as you’re a lawman and all.”

Drummond ducked his head and gestured to his bound hand. “You’re right, and I’ll admit it. I figure that’s why the Lord let me fall over my own big feet and land in a mess of broken plate. I likely had it coming.”

“Likely.” Micah shouldered past a pile of barrels that narrowed the sidewalk, then waited for Drummond to catch up. “Tell what you know about Hawkins.”

“He’s put the word out that he’s looking for a woman he calls Ruby Red. Said she stole something from him and he wants it back.”

Micah digested the information. “Why the warning about keeping an eye on my family?”

“You tell me, Tate,” Drummond said. “And before you start thinking I’m one of them, realize the Dumonts aren’t paying me enough to rot in jail, but they are paying me enough to stay on the right side of the law. I’ll stand with you to keep Hawkins off this key if you’ll let me.”

He glanced at the man. “What do you get out of it?”

“I’m not stupid enough to think I’ll get Vivi off this island anytime soon.” Drummond paused. “What you don’t know is she once meant very much to me. Still does, actually.”

The statement surprised Micah. “Go on.”

“I know what a man like Hawkins is capable of, and I don’t think there’s a woman on this island who is safe until he finds whatever he’s looking for. Or should I say,
whom
he’s looking for.” He gestured up the hill. “Looks like we’re going to the boardinghouse.”

“That’s where I’m going.” Micah stopped short to allow a pair of ladies to cross the sidewalk ahead of him. “You’ll have to find another place, and it won’t be Emilie’s cottage. I’ve got men staked out there to be sure of it.”

A flash on the horizon caught Micah’s attention, and he turned toward the ocean. He saw it again and knew immediately what it was. Pressing past Drummond, he started toward the docks. Before he reached his destination, the cry of “Wreck ashore!” had sounded.

“What’s going on?”

He glanced back to see that Drummond had followed. “Ship on the reef. Looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”

Picking up his pace, Micah weaved through the passing wagons on Main Street to emerge on the other side. There he found lighter foot traffic and a downhill slope that let him break into a full-out run.

When he reached the docks, he made short work of reaching his vessel though the chaos of wreckers. As he yanked on the rope, inexplicably stuck, Drummond vaulted past and landed on the deck.

“Get out of here,” he said as he went back to his work.

“I’m one-armed, but I know my way around a deck. Back in ’31, I had the misfortune of being aboard the
Sabine
when Brown decided not to pay the Mexicans their export duty.” He reached behind Micah to give the rope a yank with his free hand. “Long as I don’t have to help you sail this thing from behind a cotton bale with cannons firing at us, I think I can handle it.”

Together they had the vessel free in a few seconds. “Thank you,” Micah said, “but I’ll not tell you again to leave my ship before I have to throw you off.”

“You don’t have that kind of time.” Drummond pointed to the now-flaming wreck. “And I guarantee I’d put up a fight, even without both hands. Now what say we head toward that wreck? You’ll do better to get this vessel under sail with me as your crew than with none at all.”

He was right, though Micah hated to admit it. “Stay out of the way and do as I say.”

With a mock salute, Drummond sprang into action. In short order, they’d joined the cluster of wreckers sailing against the tide toward the reef. It didn’t take Micah long to recognize the vessel now partially engulfed as the
Weatherly
, owned by a merchantman who regularly sailed the waters.

Micah eased the vessel alongside the others then called out to ask who the first on scene had been. “Neely’s the master on this one,” the wrecker nearest Micah responded.

“Duly noted,” he said. “What instructions has he given?” After listening and nodding, Micah turned to Drummond. “Lay anchor and stay put.”

He only looked back once to be sure the stranger had done as he’d been told. Jumping into the fray meant finding a way to salvage people and goods from a vessel listing to port and burning. As the wreck’s master called out that the ship was now emptied of its occupants, Micah surged forward with the other wreckers to search for any cargo that might be salvaged.

Staying low kept the smoke above him for the most part, but Micah still coughed even though he’d tied a length of cloth over his nose and mouth. One closed hold offered up a wealth of goods for the wreckers to offload and bring back into town, but two more were filled with smoke and flames.

“It’s no use,” he heard the man nearest him call. “The rest’ll burn before we can salvage it.”

But Micah thought otherwise. “I’m going to give it a go.” He gestured toward the end of the passageway. “Just some smoke right now. I think I can make it.”

“Suit yourself,” he heard from behind him. “But I doubt Neely’s going to want to risk you getting hurt again, Tate.”

Getting hurt again. Until now, he’d not thought of the last time he’d acted as wrecker with his own vessel. Losing the
Caroline
to the explosion had paled in comparison to the injuries Doc Hill had predicted would sideline him from wrecking altogether.

The doctor was wrong.

Micah shook his head as he turned away. “Neely’s got more important things to worry about than me.”

The only way to reach the fourth compartment was on his hands and knees, so Micah crawled down the passageway even as the smoke thickened and stung his eyes. As he reached the hold, flames teased the latch, and he knew his mission was over.

Micah felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Clay Drummond squatting behind him. “Neely’s called us off.”

Irritation rose like the flames overhead. “I told you to stay put.”

An all-too-familiar groaning noise drowned out Drummond’s response. Then came the darkness. No air, just water and stale smoke.

Coughing was as close to breathing as Micah could manage. Something wrenched at his arm, and then, mercifully, came the air.

He scrambled to his feet and found smoke again. This time when he fell, it was to land on knees that took him toward the light streaming through a break in the hull.

Emerging into fresh air and sunshine, he dove into the water and swam toward his vessel. He beat Drummond to the side and hoisted himself over as the stranger caught the anchor’s rope.

The lawman took Micah’s outstretched hand and tumbled over the rail to fall onto the deck. Micah slid backward on the wet deck and landed face up.

He could’ve stood, but lying there inhaling fresh air felt like the better choice. And inhale he did—deeply—ignoring the strangers who stomped around the deck, flailing water and hooting with what sounded like either joy or pain.

Closing his eyes, Micah let the sunshine dry his face. Still, the breaths came deep and clean. Then a shadow fell across his face.

“Still wish I’d stayed put?”

Micah leaned up on his elbows. “Drummond,” he said slowly, “didn’t your mama tell you when she was raising you that you should listen to your elders?”

“I’m sure she did,” he said slowly, “but I probably wasn’t listening.” He sank down beside Micah and leaned his back against the rail. “Oh, and for the record, I’m older than you by seven months and a day.”

“How do you know that?”

Clay Drummond glanced at him then offered a crooked smile. “It’s my job to know things, Tate. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“What I haven’t figured out,” he said as he rose, “is how you know them.”

“Like I said.” Drummond scrambled to his feet then flexed his injured hand. “It’s my job. Just like it’s your job to guard this pitiful island until Caleb Spencer comes back to claim it.”

Micah nodded, deciding the fewer words used in Drummond’s presence, the better. Then a thought occurred. “If you know so much, why don’t you know where Doc Hill is?”

Drummond reached for his hat and set it atop his wet hair. Taking his time as if considering his response, the stranger finally looked Micah’s way. “ ’Cause I told him I didn’t want to know.”

“So you—”

“Suggested he take an extended vacation until people stopped asking what happened to Andre Gayarre?” He nodded. “Yeah. Seemed the best choice for everyone.”

Understanding dawned. With Dan Hill’s mysterious disappearance, blame for Gayarre’s death would shift to the doctor. And away from the midwife.

“Especially Viola Dumont,” Micah said.

“Exactly,” was Drummond’s quick reply.

“So I guess you’ll be staying for a while, then?”

Another grin. “Exactly,” Drummond said. “Thought I might rent a room at the boardinghouse.”

Micah shook his head. “Might as well stay at the doc’s place until he returns, seeing as how you two are acquainted and all.”

Clay Drummond answered with a solid handshake. “I’ll take good care of her,” he said.

“And I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Chapter 37

Three weeks had passed since the wreck of the
Weatherly
, and soon Caleb would return to take the mantle of responsibility from Micah. The letter now sitting atop his Bible was proof his tenure as judge would end as soon as Caleb could extract his wife from his mother’s clutches.