Wings of the Morning (Kensington Chronicles) (13 page)

would be only too glad to make repairs on this one if needed

What he saw when he turned, however, stopped the words in

his throat.

Darsey and Smokey had come down on the deck, and

Dallas watched in horror as Smokey clamped a knife between

her teeth, jumped up onto the mainmast, and began to climb.

Dallas swiftly tied off the line he'd been holding and ran

toward the mast. With one foot on the base he reached to haul

himself upward, but Darsey's huge hand stopped him.

"Don't do it, lad," he shouted over the wind

'You can't be serious," Dallas shouted back, knowing he

would never get past Darsey if he prevented him.

"YouVe misjudged her, Dallas," Darsey returned, speaking his name for the first time. "She is the captain of this ship,

and she's been climbing the rigging since she was three years

old If you interfere, I can promise that she'll land you in the

next port and leave you to make your own way home."

Dallas could do nothing but step back and look up, just as

the rest of the crew had done.

Smokey had removed her tunic, and the wind now plastered

her white blouse to her slim form. She had tangled her

small-booted feet in the ropes and balanced herself, much

like a circus performer, in order to free up both hands for the

work.

Dallas didn't think he could breathe as he watched her

swaying dozens of feet above the deck, but her face, although

determined, was almost tranquil. Her hands, he also noticed,

moved with skill and dexterity until the job was done.

She came down as swiftly as she had gone up, and Darsey,

catching her around the waist, swung her onto the deck where

she joined her own hands to the men's as they brought the sail

under control.

There was no pomp or ceremony. To the rest of the crew it

was routine. For Dallas, however, it was like a blow. All his

notions concerning her abilities as a captain were falling into

a heap about him. As he worked, he stole glances at her.

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Some of her crew had been sailing for more years than she

had been alive, but she made them seem almost clumsy. There

were no hesitations or mistakes in her movements, no shirking

of any job. Her eyes missed nothing, and with a minimum

of effort, all was put right for the storm.

Not ten minutes later, as the clouds broke loose above

them and the rain began to pour, Dallas realized that his bias

had colored his every thought. Smokey had behaved no differently

since they left Maine than he had on dozens of voyages.

The crew was extremely capable in their performance, leaving

Smokey free to comport herself as she should--as the

captain of the Aramis. Dallas knew he had a lot of soul-searching

to do.

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Two days later, dallas stood at the stern of the ship,

swabbing the deck, checking lines, and coiling rope with Pete.

Save the cleanup, all signs of the storm were over. Although it

had not been the worst storm he'd ever seen, neither had it

been the mildest. The wind and waves had actually moved

them ahead of schedule, so the Aramis was not in a hurry but

moving along at a steady clip.

In the time that had passed Dallas had prayed during his

every waking moment. He had come to the conclusion that

while he did not need to verbally apologize to Smokey,

he must by his actions show her his respect. She certainly

deserved it.

Contrary to what he had thought, there was nothing or no

one aboard the ship over which she was not in complete

command. Dallas found that the Aramis was only an extension

of the woman herself. There was nothing showy or bossy

about her, but with a gesture or softly spoken word, her every

wish was obeyed. Dallas found that he wanted to laugh when

he thought about how full circle his thoughts had come. He

had moved from nearly despising her to being slightly in awe.

He realized now that he had experienced a taste of her

authority when they'd talked on the beach. She had said more

to him than ever before, and there had been no hesitation or

shyness. It was almost impossible to relate the woman he saw

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at the helm of the Aramis to the woman who had spilled her

water glass twice during lunch at home.

"Dallas," Darsey called to him from the helm. "Run to the

captain's cabin and bring the large glass."

Dallas trotted down the stairs to do as Darsey bid. When

he returned to the helm, Smokey put her hand out for the

instrument.

"Thank you," she spoke almost absently. Dallas followed

her eyes and spotted the ship in the distance. He watched as

Smokey placed the glass to her eye, and then again as a huge

smile broke across her face.

"It's the Clausen," she told Darsey, who was right beside

her. She handed him the glass.

Dallas felt more than saw that the other men had become

almost tense. All had stopped their duties and were watching

the captain and her first mate intently.

Smokey took the telescope from Darsey and had one more

look. When she lowered it again, she sported a look that Dallas

had never seen before but would come to love.

"Let's catch him." The words were almost whispered, but

the crew went into action as though on strings. Dallas felt the

blood pump in his veins as Darsey tacked off and headed due

south and he and Mic ran down to man the lines.

The sails whipped and cracked as they let loose, and the

entire vessel seemed to lift out of the water for the chase.

Dallas looked up at one point to see Smokey behind the

wheel. For a moment he was distracted in his duties, thinking

how well the position suited her.

They were some three miles away when the crew of the Clausen realized their ship was under pursuit. The crew of the Aramis watched with glee as Clausen's canvas blew to full sail

and the other ship tried to outrun them. The Clausen stood no

chance.

Dallas was amazed at how quickly they pulled alongside of

the other ship. Smokey stood on top of the wheelhouse, the

glass again to her eye as they sailed past. The crew heard her

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shout of laughter when the captain of the Clausen stood high

and waved his handkerchief as a white flag.

Smokey waved to him in obvious friendship as they pulled

easily ahead. Dallas could not wipe the grin from his face; he

didn't know when he'd had such fun. Like a diamond in the

rough, there seemed to be more to Smokey Simmons than he

ever considered possible. In fact, that very evening he was to

see yet one more facet.

"Dallas," Darsey approached him on the deck where he

was repairing some line, "Smokey wants to see you in her

cabin."

"Right." Dallas put his work aside and went directly below.

He knocked on her door and waited for her to acknowledge

him before going inside.

Smokey was at her desk when he stepped in. She motioned

him to a chair.

"How is everything?" she wanted to know as soon as he

was seated

"Fine"

"Good," Smokey said, taking him at his word. "The rest of

the crew has known me for some time, and they would never

hesitate to voice a complaint or concern. I wanted to be

certain you felt the same."

Smokey paused long enough to pick up a sheaf of rolled

papers from her desk

"I found these in my files, and I thought you might like to

study them. You can't have them, but as long as you're on

board you can look at them. They're the plans for theAramis"

Dallas took the pages she offered to hfm and slowly unrolled

them. His eyes drank in the lines and measurements

with the ease of an experienced builder.

"These are excellent," Dallas spoke, almost to himself.

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"It's a fine vessel," Smokey agreed, causing Dallas to look

up. He studied her across the small space for a long moment.

She was as relaxed and confident as she could be behind

I the desk. She smiled easily, transforming her entire face

whenever she did, and there was nothing forced about her

voice or movements.

"I hope I'm not out of line to say that you're different on

your ship than when you're at Jenny's."

"Or at Buck's, when I'm dumping water on myself?"

Smokey said dryly and laughed, freeing Dallas to join her.

"How long have you been sailing?" Dallas was suddenly

overcome with curiosity about this unique woman.

"My father was a sailor, so I've been at sea all my life, but as

an actual captain, just a few years."

"How old are you--19, 20?"

Smokey laughed again, and Dallas found he liked the

sound "I'm 25, and I've been the captain of the Aramis since I

was 23."

"Twenty-five?" Dallas face showed his shock. "You look

younger," he admitted softly, and even though he knew he was

a crewman under her authority, he allowed his gaze to become

rather warm.

Smokey, still so attracted to him she had to work at keeping

her composure, wanted very much to ask him what he was

thinking, but Darsey knocked and entered His stern gaze

pinned Dallas to the seat for a moment, making him feel

closer to 15 than 28.

"Here's your supper, lass--and yours is waiting in the

galley, lad" Darsey stood expectantly on these words until

Dallas stood and moved toward the door.

"Thank you, Smokey," he told her before exiting.

He stowed the papers in his bunk and then made his way

topside, wishing for the first time that he was in command of

this vessel, a position that would allow him to sit and talk with

the fascinating Smokey Simmons for hours if he so desired.

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Scully, Darsey, Mic, Dallas, and Robby were crowded into

the galley having supper and swapping stories when Smokey

entered Dallas watched in amazement as she slammed her

plate on the table, slopping some of its contents onto the

wood surface.

"This has spinach in it, Scully," Smokey spoke between

clenched teeth, her face bright pink with anger. "I told you in Florida to get some decent food"

"Now, missy," he tried to placate her. "You need spinach.

Remember what your father used to say, he--"

"You have got exactly 15 minutes to get a decent supper to

my cabin," she cut him off ruthlessly. "Or I'll have you keelhauled"

She slammed out in a fury to match the storm they

had just been through, and Dallas spoke.

"What was that all about?"

"She hates green vegetables, always has. And Scully always

tries to get her to eat them. You shouldn't have tried it, Scully,"

Darsey now said to the old cook. "She can always tell."

"She doesn't eat right," he insisted "I don't know how she

tasted them. If only she would--"

"Oh, stow it, Scully," Mic told him. "Just make her something

and take it down."