Looking for a Hero (14 page)

Polishing his new ring on the sleeve of his just acquired shirt, he stared further up the beach to the place where he'd seen his old enemy hide.

Well, well, Black Heart. Our paths have crossed again. But this time, you will not see me. You will not know I am near. I'll be watching you, though. Baiting you, and when you least expect it, 'tis then I will strike
.

The thrill is in the hunt, Mr. Farrell
.

So let the chase begin
.

 

Kate had slept fitfully—once she'd gone to bed. She'd spent part of the night rocking in the wicker chair on her balcony, listening to Perry Como, watching the silhouettes of Casey and Evalena dancing in the parlor. When they'd retired for the night, she had, too.

But she'd tossed and turned, and finally gone back to her rocker.

Morgan Farrell had given her a headache. She supposed she deserved it for letting him inch under her skin. She'd sworn she'd never allow another man to do that, but he'd accomplished the impossible.

Not only had he traveled through time, but he'd brought havoc to her peaceful if lonely existence.

And then he'd walked away.

Damn him!

Leaning back into the rocker, she closed her eyes and massaged her temples, hoping most of the pain would go away before Mrs. Ash dropped Bubba off at 6:45, before the other children dribbled in.

Somehow she'd go through the motions of greeting each parent, of sweeping each child up into her arms for their first hug of the day. Somehow she'd serve milk, juice, and cereal, play games, read stories, and change half a dozen diapers. If she was lucky, she might get all five children, not counting one of her own, down for a
nap at the same time, then maybe she'd be so exhausted she'd drop off to sleep.

This wasn't her usual routine. Normally she looked forward to having her house filled with the sweet voices of children. But her organized life had been thrown completely off balance.

And it was all Morgan Farrell's fault.

Damn him!

“Yoo-hoo. Katharine.”

Popping open one eye and allowing the other to open a little more slowly, she peered over the balcony to the porch across the street. Evalena stood there in her fuzzy slippers and old flowered houserobe, an immense glass bowl clasped between an arm and her breasts, a wooden spoon waving right along with her hand.

“Hi, Mommy!” Casey cried out. “We're making Mickey Mouse pancakes and there's going to be enough for everyone.”

At least she didn't have to deal with cereal this morning, Kate thought with relief.

“Sounds yummy,” she answered back, standing finally, pressing her hands against the curve of her back as she stretched her spine. “Make an extra for Bubba, okay? And stick a few extra chocolate chips on one for me.”

“What about Mr. Farrell?” Casey asked. “How many do you think he's going to want?”

Kate pushed her fingers through her hair, wishing she had an easy answer, but knowing she had to come right out and tell her daughter the truth.

“He's gone, Case.”

Even from this distance she could see Casey's smile fade away. “Did you tell him to go?” she asked.

Kate shook her head slowly. “He had to go home.”

“But it's too far away. He won't be able to come and see me.”

“He asked me to tell you good-bye. He wanted to do it himself, Case, but he was in a hurry.”

“I thought he was my friend,” Casey said, her lower lip jutting out. “I wanted him to stay. I wanted him to be my daddy.”

Kate could feel the tremble of her lips, the tightness in her throat, as Casey rushed into Evalena's house and let the screen door slam behind her. She hadn't known Casey wanted another father. She thought the memory of Joe was enough, just as she'd wanted it to be enough for her.

But she was wrong. So very wrong.

“Don't let her words upset you,” Evalena said, shuffling down the steps, across the lawn to the narrow strip of road.

“You look awful, Katharine. Nothing a good night's sleep or a good man can't cure. Tell you what: why don't you let me watch the children again today?”

Kate looked down at her aunt, laughing lightly. “I'd rather have the distraction.”

“The best distraction is a man, but it appears you've run another one off.”

“That's not true. I halfway asked him to stay.”

“Next time, ask all the way.”

“There isn't going to be a next time. Is that understood?”

“Well, of course,” Evalena answered, but Kate knew Evie would never let her out of her matchmaking clutches, and she even imagined Evalena had someone in mind when she scuffled across the street, right underneath the balcony, and looked up at Kate.

“I almost forgot,” Evie said, as her hand rapidly beat the wooden spoon through the bowl of batter she held against her chest. “You've heard the news, haven't you? The town's all abuzz with it.”

“You mean about the ship that turned up on the beach?”

“Oh, no, Katharine. That's old news. I'm talking about the dead body they found in an alleyway downtown.”

Kate thought for sure her heart would stop. She had no details, but she couldn't help but imagine the worst. “What body?”

“Well, they didn't give too many details on TV, but they said he was a big guy.”

Kate's trembling fingers gripped the balcony rail. “Is that all they said?”

“Seems to me they said someone sliced his throat. Can you imagine? And not only that, but they stripped him naked. It's terrible. Just terrible.”

“Do the police know who it was?”

“No one seemed to recognize him. Of course, this time of year there are tourists everywhere.”

Evalena stopped stirring, and frowned. “Are
you okay, Katharine? You're white as a ghost.”

“The man that they found—he didn't have dark hair, did he?”

“Why, yes, as a matter of fact. It
was
dark and…and.…oh dear. It was long.” Worry pinched Evalena's face, but she quickly forced a smile.

“It couldn't possibly be Mr. Farrell, Katharine. It's impossible. Don't even think it.”

Whatever Evalena said after that swept right past Kate. She barely saw the VW bug pull up to the curb, or Bubba's mother climbing out of the car.

Somehow she stumbled into the house and down the stairs to begin her day. But something tight and terrible had twisted around her heart, something that wouldn't go away, not until she knew the truth.

Morgan Farrell couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

S
tanding at the window, Kate slid a finger along her temple to wipe away the beads of perspiration that even the air conditioning couldn't keep from forming. She'd lived in St. Augustine her entire life. She'd spent twenty-six summers in the heat and stifling humidity, but it seemed more oppressive today.

Outside, the gray sky rolled and pitched, like smoke billowing out of a burning building. The almost steady thunder shook the hardwood floor beneath her feet, and lightning crackled as it slashed through the late afternoon clouds.

It seemed a fitting day for her desolate mood.

For two long hours she'd made phone calls, trying to learn more about the dead man, hoping to
alleviate her fears. But no one at the police station had wanted to talk, until she'd gotten in touch with Nikki.

“Good God, Kate! You don't know the guy, do you?” Nikki had asked over the phone.

“I don't know,” Kate had said almost frantically. “That's what I'm trying to find out. All I know is, he's tall, with long dark hair.”

And then Nikki had laughed. “Where'd you hear that?”

“From Evalena. From TV. Damn it, Nikki, tell me if the guy had a scar on his face.”

“Big? Little? What?”

“Forget the one on his face. Did he have scars all over his back?”

“No, Kate. He didn't have long dark hair, either. It was short and red. Damn reporters.”

She'd almost cried, but there hadn't been time. The kids were making her life hell, and in the brief moments of calm, like now, she thought of Morgan, wondering if he was somewhere out there in the storm. Or if he'd made it home—to the year 1702.…

To a place where she could never go.

To a place where she'd never see him again.

Oh, hell! He wasn't dead. Nothing else mattered.

But the fear lingered. What if he hadn't made it back? What if something awful had happened to him somewhere between the present and the past?

She would never know.

And she'd always wonder and worry.

Behind her she heard the triplets giggling almost identically, the crash of toy trucks into toy trains, the topple of building blocks, and Sara singing something from
The Little Mermaid
to the big floppy doll that rarely left her side. It was free-for-all time, one hour of controlled mayhem that Kate lived through every afternoon from 3 o'clock until 4, even today, when her head felt as if cannons were exploding inside.

At 4 they'd have quiet time, she'd read to them, and by 5:30 they'd all be gone. Then she'd curl up somewhere cool, someplace where the breeze would flit across her cheeks, and go to sleep.

And dream pleasant dreams—if she could.

Chubby fingers clasped her leg, inching their way up to the hem of her shorts. Without even looking, she knew it was Bubba, begging to be held. In a movement that seemed second nature to her, she swept the toddler up into her arms and cradled him on her hip. At eighteen months he still preferred crawling to walking, he weighed nearly as much as the three-year-old triplets, and if she could have another child, she'd want one exactly like him.

Pressing a kiss to his pudgy pink cheek, she raised her eyes and caught the flash of anger on Casey's face. “She'll get over the jealousy,” the doctor had told her. “Give her time. She's lost her father, she's not used to sharing you with other children, and don't forget, Kate, she has the same temperament you had as a child. She'll grow out of it. Trust me on this.”

When she was Casey's age her own mother and father gave her up to the county because they had too many other mouths to feed, and because they couldn't put up with her tantrums. She'd never seen them again after they'd stuck her, kicking and screaming, into the social worker's arms. She hadn't cared—at least, that's what she'd proclaimed. But she
had
cared, and she'd hurt—until Evalena and Joe had come into her life.

It had taken her twelve long hours to fall in love with Evalena, but it had taken less than a minute to fall in love with Joe. He'd knocked on Evalena's door about two minutes after the baseball had burst through the plate glass window, apologized profusely, looked down at her, the scrubby little girl who'd just moved in with Evalena the day before, and asked her if she wanted to play ball with the rest of the kids on the street.

She'd been hooked. He was twelve, she was eight, and from that day forth, she'd followed him everywhere, whether he wanted her to or not. Her jealousy had flared every time she'd seen Joe with another girl, just as Casey's flared now, when she was with the other children. But Joe had rightfully deserved, and needed, someone closer to his own age at the time, just as she'd needed to care for these children now. It was her job. It was the only thing she really knew how to do, and it was the only thing she'd wanted to do for a living.

She only hoped that someday Casey would understand.

But now—she didn't. She'd come out of hiding
nearly an hour ago, and had sat glumly on the stairs ever since, tossing a small rubber ball from one hand to the other. Kate had hoped Casey's frustration with her would melt away after spending most of the day in the dark closet beneath the staircase, but it hadn't.

Now probably wasn't the time to talk to her, but she couldn't stand to spend the entire evening looking at a pouting face. The doctor told her to ignore the tantrums, but she herself had been ignored far too much before Evalena had come into the picture. No, she wouldn't ignore the daughter who meant more to her than anything else in the entire world.

She walked across the room, with Bubba still in her arms, and sat beside her daughter, scooting her bottom as close as possible to Casey's. “Something troubling you?” she asked nonchalantly, even though she already knew the answers she'd receive.

“Yeah. You.”

“I see. Does this have anything to do with Mr. Farrell?”

“You made him leave, didn't you?”

“He went of his own free will, Case. He had to go home, and I don't think I could have kept him from leaving even if I'd wanted to.”

“But you told him to drop dead. Now he probably has.”

“He's not dead. He's just gone.”

“Then he has to come back,” Casey said, her eyes reddening as tears threatened to spill. “He
has
to. I want a daddy like everyone else.”

Bubba began to wail, and Kate hugged him against her, rocking him back and forth, wishing Casey was little again so she could carry her around on her hip and hug her this way, calming her fears, her anxiety, with nothing more than a tender squeeze.

She stroked away a tear from Casey's cheek. “You have a daddy, Case. A daddy who loved you very much.”

“He's dead!” she yelled, running down the stairs, stopping only when she reached the circle where the other four children were playing. “
They
have daddies,” she said, pointing to the triplets. “Sara has a daddy, and so does he,” she said, throwing the ball toward Bubba.

In one swift move, Kate reached up and caught the ball, her heart aching for her daughter, wishing there were something she could do or say to make Casey understand that she had to hold onto Joe's memory, because he was the only father she'd ever have.

“It's not fair that everyone else has a daddy when my daddy's dead.” Tears poured down her cheeks, and her lips trembled as Kate stood with Bubba pressing his little head to her neck. “And it's not fair that you're kissing and holding
him
.”

Bubba wailed louder, Sara began to sob, and so did the triplets, as Kate rushed down the stairs and through the chaos and tried to reach Casey, who was running for the door.

She tromped on a tiny metal car, and nearly lost
her balance when Casey threw open the front door, and ran smack into a pair of black leather boots.

“It sounds as if you have a mutiny on your hands, madam.”

Morgan scooped Casey up into the strongest, most needed pair of arms Kate had ever seen. He ran a soothing palm over Casey's cheek and through her mop of curly hair, all the while looking at Kate with warm blue eyes that sparked with a mixture of humor and concern.

“I thought you were gone—maybe dead,” she said, wishing she'd muttered something nice like, “I'm glad you're back,” or, “I've missed you.” But the words she'd wanted to say were trapped inside, eating away at her heart, churning in her stomach.

“I only look dead,” he said, drawing her attention to his rumpled and stained clothing, the dull black boots, that had looked neat and well cared for yesterday morning. “A few obstacles got in the way of my returning home, like a hole in my ship. It might be awhile before I leave again.”

Casey pushed back in his arms, alarm in her frowning eyes. “You can't go. Ever.”

“Ah, Casey,” he said, drying her tears with the pad of his thumb. “'Tis not a decision I make lightly. My home is far from here, and I long to return. 'Tis the same as you would feel if you were to be separated from your mother for too long a time.”

When Casey twisted in Morgan's arms, Kate
could see the first trace of a smile, and she knew everything would be okay—until he left again.

“I guess this means you'll want to stay with us a little longer?” Kate asked.

“Aye.”

Morgan slid Casey gently from his arms, and for the first time she noticed the black and white bag he held in his hand.

“Have you been shopping?”

“A change of clothes. I have noticed, madam, that I do not fit in with St. Augustine society.” Holding the bag out to Casey, he slipped it into her outstretched hand. “Would you take this upstairs for me? I have something to give your mother.”

Casey skipped across the room and dashed up the stairs, running past the triplets, who sat wide-eyed and open-mouthed in the middle of a scatter of toys, staring up at Morgan. During the commotion, Sara had dropped her doll and now cowered behind Kate's legs, peeking out every now and then to look at the pirate in their midst. And Bubba, sweet, precious Bubba, ceased his crying and sucked his thumb.

“I have no need of these at the moment,” Morgan said, drawing his pistol from under his belt.

Sara screamed, loud and piercing, and another cannon went off in Kate's aching head. On instinct, Kate shifted Bubba back to her hip and in an easy, fluid motion, she lifted two-year-old Sara to her other hip.

“Hush, now,” she whispered, carrying both
children across the room, rocking them gently as she walked, humming softly to calm Sara's fears.

Over Sara's head, she watched Morgan remove his weapons and hide them away, high atop a china-filled buffet. Slowly he came toward her, mesmerizing her with the warmth of azure eyes she suddenly realized she'd been afraid she'd never see again.

With the same tenderness he'd shown Casey, he caressed away a damp strand of pale brown hair from Sara's face, sweeping his fingers lightly over her cheek and chin, before cupping her tiny face in a hand as gentle as a whisper.

“May I hold her?” he asked, directing his question to Kate, although his gaze never left Sara's spellbound eyes.

“If she'll go to you.” Kate loosened her hold as Sara squirmed from her arms and snuggled comfortably against Morgan's chest, her little hand finding its way into his hair, twisting it about her fingers.

“I had a sister once,” he said softly to the child as he carried her to the window. “When she was not much older than you, storms like this one frightened her in much the same way my pistol—and my presence—frightened you. When she was scared like that, I'd take her in my arms and sing the song my dear mother sang to me when I was a wee one. Would you like to hear it?”

Sara nodded, and Morgan looked out at the blackened sky. In the glass Kate could see the reflection of his face and his smile when he began
to sing, his voice the purest of tenors, telling, in song, the story of a butterfly spreading its wings for the very first time, and even though it was frightened, how it flew away from its cocoon.

Casey had crept down the stairs, and she wrapped her arms around Morgan's waist, her head tilted upward as she listened to his words. Bubba no longer squirmed. Instead, his eyes closed peacefully in sleep, and the triplets never moved a muscle. They just watched and listened. How could they do anything else when Morgan had hypnotized them—and her—with his voice?

Slipping from playtime to quiet time had never happened so easily, and by the time Morgan finished his song, Kate's headache had gone, and only sore, tense muscles remained.

He turned slowly, looking at ease with Sara in his arms, and in his wonderful English accent, he whispered, “What would you have me do now, madam?”

“Do you tell stories as well as you sing?”

“Aye. And I know many.”

Smiling came easily. Liking him was even easier, but knowing he was going to leave again cast a whole new light on her feelings. She couldn't allow herself to fall in love with him. She'd hurt far too much when he'd left last night. She didn't want to hurt even more the next time.

“Should he sit in the storyteller's chair, Mommy?” Casey asked, interrupting her thoughts as she dragged Morgan across the room.

Kate nodded, and Casey looked at the man who
towered high above her. “You have to sit in this chair, and the rest of us sit around you.”

“And what of your mother?”

“That's easy. She sits in my usual spot.”

Oh, no. Kate didn't like the sound of that at all, but Casey took her hand and tugged her across the room, between the triplets, who'd already taken their place facing the storyteller's chair that Morgan had eased himself into.

“Sit there,” Casey ordered, pointing to the empty space on the floor between Morgan's widespread boots.

“But where will you sit?” Kate asked.