Celine (32 page)

Cameron sat at his desk. “Did you sleep in those clothes?”

Wolf sat in the chair across from Cameron. “How did Celine take the news?”

“I didn't tell her.”

Wolf shot out of the chair and leaned, stiff-armed, on the desk. “Well, you have about thirty-six goddamn hours to do so before Trevor arrives,
mon sewer,
or she's going to get the surprise of her life.”

“Three hours is more like it.”

“Ah, Christ.” Wolf rolled his bloodshot eyes. “You damn, stupid N'awlins French. Do you know where Celine probably is right now? Having breakfast with Dianah and deciding on last-minute arrangements for the wedding. For
tomorrow's
wedding in case you forgot the date.”

Cameron drummed his fingers on the desk, his eyes sparkling. “I didn't manage much sleep either. But my restlessness was from excitement, not worry. It seems my dear cousin may have spent a few weeks lying beside a dead Indian, monsieur, but it has not dampened his competitive spirit in the least. One of our other ships, the
Felicité,
arrived a little bit ago. According to the captain, the
Serenity
left Boston two weeks after the
Felicité
and has been trying to catch up and pass her for the last three days.”

Wolf shoved his hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. “Yet you still haven't bothered to inform Celine?”

Cameron thumped a fist on his desk, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Think on it, Wolf. Trevor managed to survive!”

“And is due here any goddamn minute.” Wolf jumped to his feet and stormed around the office. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“I do not expect you to understand this, Wolf. But Celine has already run off once. And even though she might be more mature than she was back then, I am not about to take any chances—”

Wolf paused in midstep. “Don't tell me you're about to pull the same stupid bullshit that ran her off last time?”

“Stop.” Cameron raised his hand between them. “I have a plan. And you, sir, will not have the opportunity to call me an ignorant French Creole again.”

“Oh, brilliant. You have a plan. Why are my toes curling in my boots?”

Cameron laughed. “This is one I am handling personally. And I guarantee results. So I suggest you find someplace to sleep off that infernal hangover. I don't want you around when Trevor walks in, not with the way your salty tongue would give him news that Celine is alive.”

He leaned back in his chair and took inventory of Wolf. “I'll wager you can't last another three hours in your state. If you remain here, you'll end up curled in the corner sleeping off your stupor when the man who hired you to find Celine walks in. Wouldn't that make you a bloody impressive employee?”

A snide remark danced over Wolf's tongue.

Cameron chuckled. “Don't bother. In your condition, you don't have a chance of exchanging barbs with me.
Au revoir.
”

Wolf walked out, closed the door, then opened it again and stuck in his head. “You have no idea just how big this country is, my friend. Not until you cross it a few times in a sitting position. As for me, I'm getting pretty damn sick of it.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Trevor maneuvered the sleek and powerful
Serenity
into San Francisco Bay under full sail and blue skies. His first mate stood beside him pointing to a wharf lined with wooden buildings. “When we dock, sir, you'll find the Andrews Shipping Company offices starboard. As you said, I'll see to the clipper's moorings, and you can be on your way. Nothing to concern yourself with.”

Trevor's jaw twitched, the only outward sign of his nervousness—something he couldn't keep in check. A band around his chest tightened, and he struggled to breathe. “Thank you, Grogan. Go ahead and take the wheel from here.”

Stepping aside, Trevor moved to the bow. Was it too much to think someone might be on the docks waiting to greet him? Grogan barked orders as a clang of the harbormaster's bells signaled the clipper to moor. Seagulls wheeled through the air, their shrill calls piercing the sky.

“That's Telegraph Hill up ahead, Captain,” Grogan called out. “The tall tower with those strange metal arms waving about are signals we're arriving and what goods we carry. An odd piece of equipment, but it works. Mail won't get sorted until tomorrow, but they'll be lining up at the postal office tonight.”

Trevor, standing on the foredeck with his feet braced wide and his hands clasped behind his back, merely nodded, but someplace deep inside, his emotions ran hot and cold.

The idea of stepping onto land only to receive bad news soured his stomach.

The clipper moved gracefully—and agonizingly slowly—to a dock rapidly filling with people. Tomorrow, after the ship was emptied and cleaned, he would allow curious onlookers a tour of the clipper's interior. The air smelled different now, a common waterfront mixture of fish and human life replacing the fresh scent of the open seas.

He spied the company sign above a large gray clapboard building and nodded to onlookers as he headed down the gangplank. No one familiar was there to greet him. What did he expect, a parade? Damn it, he wished the pounding of his heart would quiet. Cameron was most likely in his office since the
Serenity
wasn't expected for another three days, and God only knew if Wolf was alive and had received Trevor's message.

But Wolf
was
alive. He sat on the front steps of the Andrews Shipping Company Limited, looking exactly the same as when Trevor had first seen him in the St. Joseph saloon, complete with dirty buckskins, bedraggled hair and beard. As he approached, he grinned at Wolf. “
Mon Dieu,
but you never change, do you?”

Wolf stood. “About time you got here.”

They regarded one another for a long moment. Trevor's heart gripped in his chest when Wolf offered nothing about Celine—which meant there wasn't anything Trevor wanted to hear. His gut clenched and then dropped to his feet. He offered Wolf a handshake. “Good to see you.”

Wolf stepped forward. And in an act completely unlike him, he shook Trevor's outstretched hand, and then pulled him in for a hard and fast hug, ending with a slap on the back. Were his eyes moist? Knowing Wolf, he'd have to find some excuse to walk away. If emotions were high, he would hide them by exiting.

“Gotta go,” Wolf said.

Trevor snorted.

Wolf took a couple of steps and paused to glance over his shoulder. “Cameron's inside and expecting you, said we should meet at the Morgan Hotel for dinner around eight. Guess that's where you'll be staying as well, so see you there.”

“Right, yes.” Trevor took a breath past the pain in his chest and blew it out
.. Go, damn it. Get out of here before I ask something I don't want to hear
. Not yet, anyway.

Cameron was at his desk when Trevor walked in. His cousin clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair. “I say, old boy, you are one hour late.”

Trevor chuckled and stood before Cameron, fists on hips. And he smiled. From the very depths of his soul, he grinned. God, it felt good to see family.

With a hoot and a slap on his desk, Cameron stood and made his way over to Trevor. He, too, only shook hands at first, but then the pat on the back became another hug. “I hear you have a penchant for Indian burial grounds, old boy.”

“Which I hope never to see again.” No mention of Celine. Nothing
.
He'd expected as much after Wolf had neglected to say anything. Christ, there went that damn sledgehammer to his gut again.

“Did you run into that miserable Wolf out front? I saw him lurking about despite my orders he find a bath.”

About to jump out of his skin, Trevor managed a smile. “I see you and Wolf get on well.”

A corner of Cameron's lips lifted. “He'll do. He only got in yesterday after a long ride from St. Joseph. He'd just arrived there, got your telegraph from Cummings, and then turned right around and headed back here.” Cameron grunted. “I have to hand it to the man, he's loyal.”

“It's the money,” Trevor responded, not meaning it.

“As I thought.”

Abbott brought in lunch, greeted Trevor as though he'd only been on holiday, and then discreetly excused himself for the remainder of the day. Over lunch, Cameron gave Trevor a cursory company report. Afterward, he settled back to listen to Trevor's tale.

Cameron glanced over at the time. “There's a place I'd like to show you before the afternoon gets away from us.”

Trevor shrugged. “I don't have anything to do until the dinner hour.” As the depth of his misery took another notch downward, he felt oddly removed from the scene.

On the way out, Cameron grabbed a small spyglass from the top of the credenza. Trevor raised a quizzical eyebrow but paid no further attention. He wasn't eager to ask questions. He'd have to settle for being relieved to be in his cousin's company again.

They climbed into the open carriage, and Cameron took the reins, guiding the horses south, out beyond the city and along the cliffs overlooking the ocean.

“The view is phenomenal,” Trevor said. “Do you like it here?” Damn, couldn't someone mention Celine before he had to ask? His stomach did another couple of turns.

Cameron gave the reins a shake, clicked his tongue, and the horse sped up. “I've grown comfortable enough, made a few friends. I had a trip to China planned. Been feeling an urge to sail.”

“
Had
planned?”

Cameron didn't respond, but turned off the highway and traveled a narrow road that climbed higher along the cliffs overlooking the sea, where the view was even more spectacular. He pulled the carriage up behind another that had been unhitched, the horse nowhere in sight. He placed a finger to his lips and spoke in a hushed voice. “You are about to have quite a remarkable experience. Trust me when I ask you to give me your word you will not utter a sound, nor make yourself known.”

Curiosity piqued, Trevor nodded.

Cameron led him up a small footpath between an outcropping of large boulders. The path opened to a rolling, grassy vale that led down to the sand and the sea. Cameron motioned for Trevor to sit next to him on a seat nature had carved in the large boulder. Then he pointed west.

A black horse grazing on the grass reminded Trevor of Panther—lost to the Indians. A small, clapboard home caught his eye. In front of it, what appeared to be an Indian was sitting on a blanket holding a babe. He looked at Cameron and shrugged. “You brought me here for this?”

Cameron handed Trevor the spyglass and pointed toward the horse. Trevor lifted the glass to his eye. What? A jolt shot through him. He looked at Cameron. “Is that—”

Cameron grinned and slowly nodded.

Trevor brought the spyglass to his eye again and went back to studying the horse. “
Mon Dieu,
Panther. I suppose Wolf expects a bonus.”

Cameron chuckled. “Shh.”

Trevor swallowed a lump of emotion that felt like grief releasing. “That black devil of mine, he'll survive anything.” He used the spyglass and his naked eye to gain different perspectives, intently scrutinizing the horse. He studied the woman in native dress and then the small house. “Is that someone Wolf met along the way? Their house?”

Cameron waited, wordlessly.

Thought cleaved a path to understanding. Trevor's breath escaped his lungs with a loud whoosh. He snapped the spyglass from his eye just long enough to gain a full view and then brought it up again, aiming at the woman. His senses went reeling.

“Christ!”

He started to stand.

Cameron grabbed him by the arm and held him back. “Celine doesn't know about you yet, and we don't want her reacting badly. Pull yourself together, and let's do things right this time.”

Trevor's head dropped to his trembling hands. Months of hell without her. He'd spent his entire trip from Boston getting used to the idea that she was likely gone. That she couldn't possibly be here. His grief had been so great, so consuming, he couldn't put it behind him instantly. A great jumble of questions filled his head, but he couldn't put any thoughts into words. Only her name.

“Celine.”

He studied her, savored the sweet agony of having found her. He kept the glass to his eye for a long while, drinking her in. “What's that child doing with her?”

Cameron did not answer.

When Trevor lowered the glass and turned to Cameron, he saw glittering eyes, and a wild grin. “His name is Brandon. He was born last December, and Celine is his mother.”

“But Celine cannot—” It took Trevor less than a minute to count backward. He shook visibly now, and it took all his strength not to make a mad dash toward mother and child. “My God, I have a family!”

Cameron was right. In Trevor's current state, to rush down to the beach and reveal himself could be a terrible blunder. And he wasn't about to make any more mistakes, not if he could help it. She had run off once, and knowing Celine, she would be protective of her child. “Good Lord, what a story she must have to tell!”

He rubbed a hand over his face and then left it over his eyes as he tried to control his trembling body.

Cameron placed a hand on Trevor's shoulder. “We should go. I'll tell you everything on the drive back.”

A light breeze caught Celine's hair, and she tucked a loose tendril behind her ear as she stood beside Dianah on the deck of the clipper
Felicité.
The chef from the Morgan Hotel scurried about, barking orders to those festooning the long tables. Tall vases filled with flowers lined one side of the ship like colorful soldiers awaiting orders, reminding Celine of another morning of preparation—her Carlton Oaks ball. At the memory of her time with Trevor in the hayloft, her heart pinched. It wasn't right thinking of him on her wedding day. She should be ashamed.

She turned from the scene before her, only to spy an elaborate wrought iron altar at the opposite end of the ship, a red velvet prie-dieu for the bride and groom placed before it. Judge Morgan would soon stand in front of her and Cameron, and unite them in holy matrimony. Her ears filled with an odd, high buzz. What was wrong with her? Today was to become the foundation for the family she would build. Her son needed a father. And siblings. She shut her eyes, swallowing hard.

“Oh my, Celine, would you look at that?”

She turned at Dianah's breathless words. “At what?”

“I should have said at
him.
” Dianah raised a fan to her face until just her catlike eyes peered over its feathered edges. She nodded toward the gangplank.

Wolf sauntered aboard. His lean, muscled hips rolled with an easy grace beneath a pair of snug, gray flannel trousers. The span of his shoulders seemed wider beneath a finely cut black jacket. His hair, tied neatly at his nape, glistened tawny gold in the sun. His chiseled, cleanly shaven face was cast bronze by his crisp white shirt and stock tie. He headed straight for Celine and Dianah, his assessing blue eyes magnetic as he approached, the garnet earring in his left ear winking in the sunlight.

“Oh, my word,” Celine gasped. “Who would've guessed there was such beauty beneath all that ... that dishevelment?”

A throaty chuckle swept around the edges of Dianah's fan. “Could that possibly be the same dirty, dusty man who charged into my elegant dining room a few months back, carrying Brandon and dragging you along, while he announced he was hungry as a bear after hibernation?”

Tears stung the backs of Celine's eyes. He'd dressed like this for her. He'd asked if he could walk her down the aisle, and she'd assumed he would do so in a pair of buckskins. But she hadn't cared what he wore. He was stepping in for a father she did not have. “He's family now, isn't he?”