Mystic Memories (6 page)

“Sir, she was washed clean of most everything that wasn’t nailed down,” answered Mr. Bellows. “She’s busted up real good. The tide’s taken quite a toll through the hole in her starboard quarter. Here’s the captain’s papers, though.”

Blake had already learned from a conversation with Captain Johnson that the Mystic had arrived from Boston only four months earlier with dry goods to trade with the cattle owners on the ranchos. Unlike the
Valiant
, which was nearing the end of its two years on the California coast, the small brig had a long way to go to fill its hold with hides before it could return to the East.

“Thank you, Mr. Bellows. Did you find the leather bag?”

“No, sir. Sorry, sir.”

He noticed the way the sailors eyed the widow Edwards, sitting at a small fire Keoni had built to warm her and the two other survivors.

“That will be all,” he stated firmly, dismissing the men to make ready for the return trip to the ship. They had finished their work here in San Pedro on the previous evening, so no hides would be collected today. Had it not been for the storm, they would already have been halfway to San Diego by now.

He clutched the scrolled papers in his left hand, lightly tapping them against his thigh. Turning toward the driftwood fire, he approached Mrs. Edwards, who sat with her back to him, still huddled in the woolen blanket. Her head hung forward between her shoulders with the posture of someone who was exhausted.

In the bright afternoon sun, he saw the color of her short hair was not black, as he had assumed during the storm, but actually a rich, deep brown. So were her eyes, he recalled. She appeared to be close to his own age of thirty, perhaps a bit younger, but no woman of his acquaintance had ever looked quite so physically strong and as able as any young sailor. Yet she certainly did not possess any other masculine qualities.

He felt a resurgence of his own wanton desire for her.

Chapter
4

B
lake quelled his lascivious thoughts and addressed Mrs. Edwards. “May I speak with you privately, ma’am?”

The widow woman brought her bowed head up suddenly, as if startled. “Wha—? Where—?”

She craned her neck around, squinting up at him through sleepy eyes that made him think of waking up next to her in the early morning. What insanity to think such things! He dismissed the wild notion and held out his palm to help her to her feet.

“I would like to talk to you for a moment.”

Taking his hand, she struggled to stand but faltered, her knees buckling. Instinctively, his arms went around her, pulling her up against him. Despite the layers of garments covering her feminine curves, she elicited an instant response in the lower regions of his own body. He was attracted to her, of that there was no doubt.

“I’m so sorry. My right foot went to sleep.” With her palms resting on his chest, she looked up with an apologetic shrug.

A man could lose himself in the dark depths of her velvet-brown eyes. A weaker man than himself, he thought, determined to keep a level head while around her.

“It should be okay in a minute.”

“It is better to walk it off.” He shifted her to his side, supporting her weight with his left arm bracketed around her waist. When she hobbled unsteadily, he tightened his grip, damning the blood warming in his veins. This was not a wench who was teasing his body with her caresses.

Little by little, she straightened her spine and her step grew surer. “I think I can go it alone now.”

Must you?
Surprised and relieved that he had not asked the question aloud, he lowered his hand to his side. “Yes, of course. How is that?”

“Fine, thank you.” She gathered the wool blanket around her shoulders, pinning it together at her chest with one fist. “You said you wanted to talk? Your men didn’t find my bag, did they?’ ’

“No, but that is not why I asked to speak to you. It is a matter of your company aboard the
Valiant
.” He felt obligated to see to her safety, perhaps now more than ever. Even his own men could not be trusted. Could
he
? In the twenty-four months they had been away from their home port, the only females available to the sailors were Indian women whose husbands brought them down to the beaches and shared in their profits.

His long pause drew a soft “Ahem” from the widow, reminding him he was not alone with his thoughts.

Realizing she had been patiently waiting for him to continue, he grew uncomfortable in the awareness that this strange woman had caused all kinds of addled thinking in the brief time he had known her. What effect would she have on him as more time passed?

“I must warn you,” he began again, “your presence on board may be awkward, at best. Some sailors believe it is bad luck to have a female on their ship. When they learn you were a stowaway on the
Mystic
, they may blame you for its disastrous end.”

“Do
you
believe such nonsense?” she asked, locking his eyes in her straightforward gaze.

“I believe,” he said gruffly, “there is no such thing as bad luck where a lady is concerned. However, my opinion hardly changes the fact that it would be better if you did not show yourself on deck during the voyage.”

“Do you mean I must hide in the hull?”

“No.” He smiled faintly at the idea of locking her away as if in a dungeon. “You will be given suitable accommodations, comfortable for the short duration of two days and nights.”

“Before I am confined to my quarters, would it be asking too much if I could interview—that is, talk to—the two crewmen of the
Mystic
?”

“Regarding your son, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“I will talk to them.”

“I’d rather do it myself, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, Mrs. Edwards. Those men would not trust you enough to speak one word to you. It would be best if you leave the questions to me.”

“It looks like I’m expected to leave
everything
to you,” she muttered.

“Precisely. I’m glad you see my point.”

“The only thing I see is that I’m pretty much at your mercy.”

“Or the mercy of this beautiful but brutal foreign wasteland.” He gestured with a sweep of his arm at the desolate scenery. “The nearest civilized town—if it could be called civilized—is
Pueblo de los Angeles
, which is thirty miles distant. You may take your chances here, madam, or come with me and follow my orders. Which do you choose?”

The woman narrowed her eyes as she gazed eastward from the hill on which they stood. The gentle sea breeze lifted the short layers of her dark hair, combing it in a manner that tempted him to raise his hand and touch it, touch her.

Finally, after a long and silent pause, she spoke directly to him, challenging him with a defiant gaze. “I want to be with you when you talk to those men about Andrew.” He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up her palm. “I won’t speak. I will only listen. I promise.”

“On your honor?”

“Cross my heart and hope to—” She stopped. “Never mind.”

“You have changed your mind?”

“No,” she quickly answered. “I swear I’ll keep my mouth shut. How soon can you speak to them?”

“We must do so now. They’re not coming with us.”

“Why not? There’s nothing here for them. You said so yourself. Isn’t San Diego a better place for them to find work?”

“They have decided to remain behind and take their chances that the owner of the
Mystic
will have sent another ship, though I doubt it.”

“Then tell them to come with us. There’s no food or medical help here to keep them alive, especially for the one who needs at least a couple more weeks of care and attention.”

“Aside from leaving behind a fair amount of food, I am afraid it is out of my hands.”

“But you’re the captain.”

“Of the
Valiant
, my dear. Not the
Mystic
. They have no allegiance to me.”

“So? Those men might die if they stay here.”

“They would rather take the risk.”

“Over what? Sailing with you?” After a momentary pause, she continued with an amazingly accurate appraisal of the situation at hand. “It’s me, isn’t it?”

He reluctantly nodded. “So it appears.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Be that as it may, they’ve made their decision. Now, as for you, do you still wish to listen when I question them?”

“Yes, of course.”

“No talking?”

“No talking.”

When asked about a blond boy they might have seen three months earlier, the sailors described a mischievous little liar with wild stories and a mean streak. He had somehow slipped aboard ship in San Diego. Found in the captain’s quarters, the boy had been accused of thievery, though he’d had no coin on him. The captain had beaten the lad. Not surprisingly, the boy had fled the next day.

The story jogged Blake’s memory. He recalled the latter weeks in December, when the
Valiant
had been anchored off the beach of San Diego to deliver a cargo of cattle hides to the hide houses on shore. He had witnessed the return of a young cabin boy to the
Mystic
. Captain Johnson had offered a ten-dollar reward for the lad, half the price of an able-bodied sailor who deserts his ship. Blake had seen enough of these runaways to harden his heart to their plight. Still, he’d felt sympathy for the scrappy young blond boy. But he’d forced it out of his mind. He could not save every frightened green hand who had yet to double the Horn. Time and work toughened the stronger ones and turned the weaker ones away from any notion of further adventures at sea. Such was the way of a nautical life, and he had no authority to intervene.

Blake listened as Mrs. Edwards learned that the boy, quite likely her own son, had endured unspeakable punishment from the captain. He stepped closer to her when the tears trailed down her cheeks. But she bravely insisted on hearing everything. The boy had managed a successful escape with the help of two shipmates. They had hidden him on one of the boats when they rowed ashore at San Juan Capistrano for hides. The mission priest had agreed to take the boy in.

When the sailors finished their despondent tale, Mrs. Edwards turned to Blake. “I need to go to Capistrano.”

“San Juan,” he corrected. Although he would agree to make an unscheduled stop, he had no intentions of leaving her there alone and on her own.

On board the
Valiant
, Blake escorted the widow to his cabin at the stern of the ship. Followed closely by his dog, he was certain his guest would find the spacious captain’s quarters to be more than suitable accommodations. Mullioned windows allowed an abundance of natural light and a picturesque view of seascape from port to starboard.

Blake opened the door to his private sanctuary and stepped back to allow Mrs. Edwards to enter first, then ordered Bud to stay outside. The dog gave him a doleful look and dropped to the wood planks with a bone-jarring thump.

After closing the door, Blake retrieved a set of clean trousers and shirt for himself and his guest. “You will have to make do with my own wardrobe, though I imagine you will be swimming in my clothes.”

Now that she was his guest aboard the
Valiant
, it was too late for him to be feeling uneasy with his decision. Yet something was amiss. He could feel it in his bones. Despite the softness in her eyes, he wondered whether he could trust her. The mysterious woman had claimed to be at his mercy.

Perhaps she had misled him.

Perhaps it was best to keep an eye on her. A close eye.

Cara stared for a long moment at the clothing he held out to her. His masculine hands gripped the material with a tension that permeated the close space between them. Her gaze moved from his long fingers to the back of his hand, from the wide cuff of his sleeve to the collar of his soiled shirt. Dark whiskers shadowed his neck and lower face. His unkempt appearance gave him an aura of an uncivilized pirate rather than a respectable sea captain. In his deep-aquamarine eyes, she saw distrust.

Could she blame him?

He had a right to be suspicious of her, even though he could not possibly know about her second sight or her life in the future. It was enough that she was a woman on a ship of superstitious sailors.

The floor of the cabin tilted beneath her, gently rolling with a low wave. She shifted her weight to balance herself, unaccustomed to the constant movement, unaccustomed to anything about this time or place.

Confusing thoughts and speculation muddled her mind. She mentally shook off the discomfort and accepted the clothing from the captain. “Thank you . . . for everything.”

He acknowledged her appreciation with a silent nod. “Now if you will allow me a moment to gather a few personal articles to take with me—”

“I don’t expect you to give up your room.”

“Cabin,” corrected Blake. “And I do not mind doing so for a few nights.”

“I can sleep somewhere else. It’s no problem. Really! Surely there’s another cabin for me to use.”