CHAPTER THREE
“I can’t believe you’re escorting a genuine lady to supper.”
“I can’t either.”
Hayden glanced over at his friend, mentor, and partner, Robert Stone. Hayden was thirty and Robert fifty-two so Robert was definitely the older and wiser man in their dismal duo.
He was British too and a father figure of sorts. Hayden wasn’t adept at heeding advice or listening to others, but Robert was steady, loyal, patient, and pragmatic in all the ways Hayden was not.
Robert had fled England when he was twenty, with an empty purse and broken heart after a failed love affair that had been quashed by the girl’s father. Then the girl had tossed him over and immediately married the fiancé her father had picked for her. Her fickle conduct had left him permanently jaded.
He’d been conscripted into the merchant marines, but hadn’t really minded going to sea. He loved sailing the ocean, but his route around the globe had never been easy or particularly safe.
Over the decades, he’d worked for smugglers and pirates and other nefarious characters, and he never apologized for his dubious choices. He’d had grand adventures, but had also suffered enormous loss and peril. He was tired now and ready to return to Britain.
He’d met Hayden during a desperate period in Hayden’s life. Hayden had been at his lowest ebb, had begun to assume he’d never make it home. His ordeal had started at age twenty too, when he’d been on a ship in the Mediterranean. It had sunk in a storm, and he’d floated for days, holding onto a log, only to be captured by slavers. He’d been taken to Africa, had been sold and resold to toil away on sailings ships.
He’d spent years fighting his fate and plotting to escape it, but he’d been trapped in dangerous circumstances with murderous brigands. In the foreign lands where they’d journeyed, he’d never stumbled on any Brits or even people who spoke English, so there had been no opportunity to beg for help or to get word to his family that he hadn’t perished.
Any pleas for release had been ignored. Attempts to run away had been painfully punished. Robert had crossed his path when he’d just been flogged nearly to death for insubordination. They’d been on a crew of dicey bandits who’d patrolled the coast of South America, plundering plantations and harassing respectable citizens.
Hayden had barely survived the thrashing, and once his condition had improved, Robert had been there to mold his behavior and his attitude. He’d counseled Hayden to stay alive so he could move when the time was right. And that moment had finally arrived. They were rich and free and heading home, and there was no one to prevent them from charting any course they selected.
“Will you introduce me to this odd specimen of female?” Robert inquired about Miss Barnes.
“No. She’s terrified of me, and you’d scare her away.”
“You’re not so frightening.”
Hayden snorted with disgust. He was armed to the teeth, pistols on his hips, a sword strapped to his back, knives in his boots and up his sleeves. He’d learned to brawl and to win. He’d never be taken unaware ever again.
“Don’t crush my ego and pretend I look harmless,” Hayden said.
“To me, you’re an annoying pup. You’ll never be more than that.”
“Your opinion leaves me doubly certain that you shouldn’t meet Miss Barnes. I intend that she view me as dashing and extraordinary. I can’t have you telling her any irritating truths about me.”
“Why is she here anyway? I realize she’s searching for her father, but honestly! He’s a vicar frequenting the taverns.”
“We’ve encountered plenty of drunken preachers during our travels. The situation doesn’t surprise me.”
“Yes, but she’s come an awful distance merely to hook up with a sot.”
Hayden shrugged. “He’s her father. She must like him despite his dubious habits.”
He and Robert no longer had fathers. Robert’s had been an explorer killed by raiding Bedouins in Arabia. Hayden’s had drowned when their ship had foundered during that storm in the Mediterranean. Paternal woes did not plague them.
“Will you offer to convey her to England?” Robert asked.
Hayden shuddered at the very idea. “No.”
“We could. There’s no reason why not.”
“There’s every reason.”
“Name one.”
“First off, it’s bad luck to have a female on board.”
“It’s only bad luck if you’re superstitious,” Robert said.
“Which I am. And second, she’s not a woman any man should help.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a flighty menace who doesn’t have the sense God gave a gnat. She can’t even cross the street on her own. A fellow who became entangled in her troubles would never escape.”
“You could be her knight in shining armor.”
“I’d rather jump off a cliff,” Hayden sternly said, “and I have no desire to be anybody’s savior.”
“Then why send her a basket of food? Why invite her to supper?”
“I sent her the food because I think she’s out of money and not eating regularly.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“And I’m taking her to supper because…because…”
He couldn’t explain why, and Robert snickered. “Let me guess. She’s very pretty.”
“Yes,” Hayden agreed, “she’s incredibly pretty.”
“Plus, she speaks English, and she’s from home,” Robert added.
“Yes.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“I never would, you pathetic Romeo.”
“You’d have more fun if you tried.”
Robert was a notorious scoundrel. He had a paramour in every foreign port, and he’d had a wife, a French woman named Marguerite, on Tenerife. They’d had two sons together—Will and Tom—who were sixteen and twelve. Marguerite had died the prior year, which was why they’d stopped in the Canaries on their way to England. He’d had to fetch his boys.
“I’d never be interested in a lowly vicar’s daughter,” Hayden said.
“Snob.”
“Damn straight. I’m saving myself for a princess, remember?”
“Princesses are snooty and boring.”
“How would you know?” Hayden scoffed. “Have you met many?”
“No, but I’m betting a vicar’s daughter would be nicer to you than any princess would ever be.”
“Who wants nice in a bride? I want a huge dowry to deposit in my bank account, massive acreages of property that pass to me after the wedding, and a wife with rank. I want the other lords in the country to be green with envy.”
“As a man who’s had a bit of experience with matrimony, I can sincerely state that a bride’s temperament makes all the difference.”
“Not to me. I’m planning on an old-fashioned aristocratic union that’s arranged for wealth, land, and position. The temperament of the bride is irrelevant, but the bigger the status, the better.”
“You suppose a princess will give you what you’ve been yearning to find?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“You’re too messed up in the head from your ordeal. You have more problems than a princess can fix.”
“Ask me in a few years if my choice was the right one,” Hayden said. “I’ll tell you how it’s going.”
He was determined to wed very high. Once in his life—in his other life that had happened so long ago it seemed like a dream—he absolutely could have married that high. With his looks, title, and family name, his father could have picked his fiancée from the loftiest circles in the world.
When Hayden returned home, he would walk the same path. He would obtain all that had been denied him during his tortured decade away. He would reclaim all that was his, and a royal wife was the first in a lengthy line of boons he intended to seize for his own after he was restored to his correct place.
“I’ll be at the tavern at eleven,” Hayden said.
They were camped on the beach outside of town. They were amassing supplies, hiring sailors, and repairing their ship so they could sail it on the final leg of their journey to England.
“Eleven? You’re meeting your sweetheart at eight,” Robert needled. “Will you waste three hours with her?”
“She’s not my sweetheart.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“Three hours would be grueling, wouldn’t it? I can’t imagine what we’d talk about. I’ll be there sooner than that, whenever I’m shed of her. Wait for me.”
They tried to never go anywhere alone, and Santa Cruz was dangerous, especially after dark. They were prepared for any attack and would guard each other’s backs to the death if it became necessary.
“Have a good time, would you?” Robert said. “Let that beautiful girl soothe the beast that’s raging in you.”
“If I require any soothing,” Hayden retorted, “I doubt it’s the type of comfort a vicar’s daughter would agree to render.”
“There are plenty of whores at the tavern. I’ll select the prettiest one for you. It will give you something to anticipate while you’re chatting with your innocent maiden.”
They were near the harbor, strolling down the street that meandered along the bay. It was the spot where he’d stumbled on Miss Barnes a few hours earlier.
He halted and filled his eyes with the sight so he’d never forget. He was anxious to return to England, and he would never leave again, but he’d spent ten years in ports just like Santa Cruz. They were wild and hazardous, brimming with crime, intrigue, danger, and fascinating characters. After he departed, he’d never see a town like it.
“Will you miss it?” Robert asked, as if reading his mind.
“Some of it,” Hayden admitted.
“I’ll always wonder if I shouldn’t have settled here. What if it’s too tame for me in England? What if the cold, rainy weather chills me to the bone?”
“You don’t have to stay there, and you have money to go wherever you want.”
“Yes, but to go somewhere, I’d have to sail on a ship. We’ve both decided that we’re never getting out on the ocean again.”
Hayden grinned. “Unless we grow bored and need some excitement.”
It was a common worry for them. They’d witnessed too much and had endured so many obstacles. How did a man shuck off the life they’d led? They were used to action, constant toil, and exhaustion. How could they be content after that?
Down the boardwalk, a ruckus ensued in one of the taverns. They pulled up short as sharp words were shouted and curses were hurled in Portuguese. If a brawl was about to commence, they weren’t eager to bluster into the middle of it.
Two men stepped into the doorway, and they tossed someone out of the establishment. As Hayden realized who it was, he sighed. He might have known.
Miss Barnes wobbled, then straightened and whipped around. She shot such a derisive glare that the men who’d evicted her were completely cowed and slinked inside. She was still attired all in black—black dress, shoes, stockings, bonnet, and jacket—and she looked so dour she might have been a widow in full mourning.
“Friend of yours?” Robert asked.
“It’s Miss Barnes.”
Robert barked out a laugh. “Why the hell was she in that tavern?”
“She’s a female,” Hayden replied. “Who can guess why she does anything?”
“I believe you can handle this on your own.”
“Don’t you dare leave me alone with her.”
But Robert was already hurrying off in the other direction. “You’re good with women,” he called over his shoulder. “You always brag about it.”
“Coward,” Hayden fumed as Robert disappeared.
There were sailors everywhere, and several of them had locked their attention on her, so she was in need of his protection. He marched over to her, and she was incredibly angry. Her overt fury had heightened the emerald color of her eyes, the rosy hue of her cheeks.
Really, the men in her family should have locked her in a convent so she couldn’t beguile mere mortals like Hayden.
“Hello, Miss Barnes.”
“Oh, it’s you.”
She wasn’t happy to see him, and her lack of enthusiasm set a spark to his temper.
“What are you up to now?” he asked.
“The same thing I was up to before.”
“What was that? I paid so little heed to your blathering that I can’t recollect what you told me.”
“I’m searching for my father.”
“I’m certain he’ll stagger to your hotel room once he’s run out of money.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m searching for him.”
Hayden scowled. “Meaning what?”
“Meaning I can’t find him. What would you suppose?”
“He’s vanished? How long ago?”
“I have no idea.”
“Are you afraid for his safety? Are you afraid he’s met with foul play? What?”
“I’m not concerned about a horrid end. I simply can’t figure out where he is.”
She strutted over to the door of the tavern as if she’d stroll in again, but he grabbed her and yanked her away.
“What is wrong with you?”
“With me? Nothing.”
“You couldn’t prove it by me. Were you raised in a cave by wolves? You act as if you’ve never been out in public before. You can’t waltz into a tavern and expect to be welcomed. Women aren’t allowed.”
“I know that.” She gaped at him as if he was the thickest oaf ever.
“So you went in anyway?”
“I thought I saw him in there. Could you check for me? Just so I can be sure?”
Hayden dithered, and alarm bells were ringing in his head. This was precisely the reason he should have avoided her. Calamity practically oozed from her person. A fellow who stood too close would get ensnared in her web. How would he ever escape in one piece?
He should have stomped off, but she was gazing up at him as if he was her champion and could fix all her problems. He couldn’t bear to disappoint her.
“What does he look like?” he muttered, chastising himself for being an idiot.
“He’s British and forty-five, but he could pass for thirty. Medium height, slender stature, dark hair. Green eyes like mine. He’ll be wearing a black coat and his preacher’s collar.”
“Since he’ll be dressed like a vicar,” Hayden facetiously said, “I won’t be able to miss him.”
“No, he’ll be easy to spot. He’s charming and gregarious. If he’s there, he’ll be surrounded by a crowd who will be hanging on his every word.”
“His name?”
“Simon. Simon Barnes.”
“You wait right here,” he told her. “Don’t move a muscle.”
“I won’t.”
“Swear it.”
“I never swear.”
He rolled his eyes, then cast a dangerous glower to the sailors who were lurking and furtively watching her. Silently, he apprised them that she was his, that they had better not bother her. His message was impossible to disregard, but just in case, he slipped a knife from a holster on his wrist and placed it in her hand.
“What’s this for?” she asked.
“I will be in there for a few minutes. If any man approaches you, stab him.”
“I most certainly will not!”
She tried to give it back, but he wouldn’t take it. “I’m serious, Miss Barnes. Keep the knife, and if you have to, stab like you mean it. Don’t fool around.”
He wouldn’t argue further, wouldn’t debate the issue. She never listened, so why waste his breath?
He marched in and quickly ascertained that there was no British vicar among the customers. There were sailors from a dozen countries, babbling in a dozen languages. Still though, he questioned the bartender about Vicar Barnes, but the pastor had never visited.
Hayden walked out, and for once, Miss Barnes had behaved exactly as she’d been commanded. She was leaned against the wall of the building, her haughty glare preventing any rogues from talking to her. When he emerged, her expression was so optimistic that he could hardly stand to tell her the truth.
“He’s not there, Miss Barnes.”
“Oh,” she glumly mumbled as she returned his knife.
“I conferred with the bartender, and he’s never been there.”
“All right. Thank you.”
She was crestfallen, like a child who’d been informed her puppy had been run over by a carriage. He wanted to hug her and insist it would all work out, but he never acted like a dunce, and he wouldn’t start over her.
“Let’s get you to your hotel,” he said.
“I can’t hide myself away. I’m too busy.”
“With what? Looking for your father?”
“Yes.”
She made a shooing motion with her hand. “You don’t have to tarry. I’m fine on my own.”
“Miss Barnes, we have already established that you’re not fine on your own.”
“I’m not your responsibility, am I?”
“No, you’re not,” he agreed.
Yet in an odd manner, it was beginning to seem like he had a duty to her. Until one of them left Santa Cruz—hopefully he’d escape first—he suspected he’d always fret about her condition.
“Why can’t you find your father?” he asked. “I’m confused about what’s driving you.”
“He sent for us. He was assigned to a church in Santa Cruz, and he was provided with a small house to use as a rectory. He paid our way.”
“But you’ve arrived, and he’s not here.”
“Yes.”
Hayden nodded. Now he understood. “Have you notified the authorities?”
“Yes, but they were no help, and with the language barrier, I’m not sure they grasped my problem.”
“You don’t speak any Spanish?”
“No.”
And she wouldn’t have learned the local dialect either, which would be more of a benefit. If a British vicar was in the area, the locals would know.
Hayden immediately pondered how he could investigate for her. Just as swiftly, he realized he was being sucked into her life, and he pushed away the notion of assistance. If Vicar Barnes was as foolish as his daughter, there was no predicting what might have happened to him, and Hayden wouldn’t engage in the futile endeavor.
“What is your plan if you don’t ever find him?” he asked.
“I don’t have a plan.”
The comment alarmed him. She couldn’t dawdle in Santa Cruz with no money and no friends. There was plenty of employment for a female in the squalid port town, but it wasn’t the sort of work a decent woman would ever consider.
He steered her away from the tavern. For a bit, they strolled in silence. The tide had turned, and fishing boats were coming in, the hulls riding low from the weight of the morning’s catch. Their colorful sails flapped in the breeze. She stopped to watch them. He stopped too.
“It’s so pretty here,” she murmured. “Different, but pretty.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful.” There was a scraggly park over by the water with a bench and a few palm trees to shade it. He gestured to the bench. “Would you like to sit?”
“I would actually.”
They walked over and plopped down, and they were silent again, and it gave him the chance to wonder why he’d prolonged the encounter.
Apparently, he wasn’t finished with her. With how she’d practically fallen into his lap, he felt as if they’d been destined to cross paths. If that was so, then there was something he needed from her, something she could supply or that he had to have. What might it be?
“Thank you for the basket of food you sent,” she said.
“You’re welcome.”
“The boy who delivered it? William? He claims your name is Nine Lives.”
“It is.”
She turned toward him, and he turned too. Their arms and thighs were pressed together, and he could see the freckles on her nose, the flecks of gold in her green eyes. If he’d wanted to—which he definitely didn’t!—he could have dipped in and kissed her. She was that close.
“What’s your real name?” she asked.
“Nine Lives.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not about to call you Nine Lives.”
“Why not? It’s been my name forever. I can’t remember what it used to be.”
For a year or two after his accident, he’d tried to tell people who he was: Hayden Henley, Viscount Henley, son and heir to John Henley, Earl of Middlebury. But his announcements had been met with guffaws and derision.
Whoever heard of a British viscount sailing with pirates? Whoever heard of a British lord wallowing with the dregs of society out on the edge of the world?
He’d ceased his struggles to convince others of his identity. When he sauntered in the front doors at Middlebury Manor, then everyone would know. He wouldn’t have to beg to be believed.
“It’s not your name,” she said. “It’s your nickname.”
“Yes.”
“It indicates that you’ve suffered many catastrophes in your life.”
“And I survived all of them.”
“Have you been in Santa Cruz long?”
“A few weeks.”
“You don’t live here?”
“I’m passing through.”
“Passing through to where?”
He nearly blurted out London, but he swallowed it down. He would not rescue her. He would not offer her free passage.
“I haven’t decided where I’m off to next,” he lied.
“You’re from London?” she asked.
He shrugged. “England, anyway.”
“How did you wind up so far from home?”
“I was on a ship that sank.”
“My goodness!”
He waved away her concern. “It was a long time ago, and I never managed to head in the right direction after that.”
He wouldn’t talk about that interval that had been so perilous. He never talked about it, and there was no point really. It was ancient history, and he couldn’t change the past. Things had been better since he’d met Robert. Hayden was smarter now, shrewder, still driven but much more focused on getting what he desired.
“Do you miss England?” she inquired.
“Mostly not.”
Suddenly, the oddest burst of affection swirled between them, and he was anxious to unburden himself. He wanted to confess how desperate his tribulations had been. She would understand and empathize, but he never confided his troubles to anyone. Especially not a woman.
“How should I assist you, Miss Barnes?” He was eager to end the conversation as quickly as he could. Why linger? “How can I help you out of your predicament?”
“You don’t need to help me.”
“I can’t bear to think of you being trapped on Tenerife.”
“Might you have a fortune to share with me?”
Yes. “No.”
“If you could shower me with money, it would solve all my problems.”
“An infusion of money would solve everybody’s problems.”
“That’s true in my case.”
“If you could guess your father’s location at the moment, where would it be?”
She hesitated, a thousand replies obviously winging in her head, and ultimately she said, “I have no idea.”
“Liar.”
“Why would you assume I’m lying?”
“Because your face is an open book to me, and I can read every detail that’s written there.”
“When I’m around you, maybe I should shield my expressions.”
He nudged her thigh with his own. “Tell me.”
She pondered, then admitted, “My father is a wastrel.”
“Isn’t he a vicar?”
“Yes, but he has some…well…attributes you wouldn’t expect in a man of the cloth.”
“What kind of attributes?”
“He likes the ladies a bit more than he should.”
“He’s a cad?”
“It’s probably accurate to describe him that way.”
“And he’s still in the ministry?”
“He’s sort of in the ministry.”
“Isn’t a fellow either a preacher or not? Is there an in-between state?”
“It’s complicated,” she claimed.
“It certainly must be.” She was blushing in a pretty manner that tantalized his male sensibilities. “So he’s likely off with a doxy when he shouldn’t be.”
“Perhaps.”
“Will he surface when he’s weary of her?”
“I hope so.”
“What if he doesn’t? What if you never run him to ground?”
“I’ll figure something out,” she wearily said. “I always do.”
The comment hinted at a hard life, at difficult choices. It would have been draining to stumble along in the wake of such a reprobate, and now, he’d left her in the worst jam ever.
Hayden felt sympathy bubbling up, felt compassion stirring. He let it take hold. It was all right to feel sorry for her. Compassion was a fine emotion. It didn’t have to lead anywhere.
“How old is your sister again?” he asked.
“Sixteen.”
“You believe you’re responsible for her.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you?”
“I suppose,” he said, although that wasn’t necessarily true.
Over the years, he’d learned not to worry about others. He’d barely had the energy to keep himself alive. There had been no extra energy to expend on anyone else. Usually, he assumed he’d forgotten how to care, but he might have been wrong.
Evidently, he cared about her. But why would he? He’d only unraveled a few facts, and he didn’t like them. It was a peculiar and interesting development.
“Would you like me to make inquiries among the locals?” he asked almost against his will. “I could.”
“Actually, we received a note this afternoon that he might have been spotted on the other side of the island.”
“Might he have been?”
“Who knows? We’re traveling there tomorrow to check.”
“Should you?”
“I’ve been in Santa Cruz for a month, and I’ve exhausted every other avenue. It’s entirely possible that he’s over there.”
She didn’t look all that convinced, and he thought she was very brave. He also thought it would be better for her to visit a less populated part of the island. If she was stranded over there, at least she’d be away from the sordid elements that were so common in Santa Cruz.
“So…Mr. Nine Lives,” she said, “I’ll be leaving in the morning.”
He couldn’t comprehend the rush of disappointment that swept through him, but he shoved it away and quickly regrouped. “Is this goodbye?”
“Yes. I can’t have supper with you. We have to pack and get to bed early.”
“I understand.”
In a way, he was relieved that their supper was cancelled. He shouldn’t have extended the invitation in the first place. It had been a spur of the moment decision, arrived at because she was fetching and British.
“I should be going,” she said.
He might have insisted she dawdle, but he couldn’t conceive of a valid reason for it. “Yes, you should.”
“Will you walk me to my hotel?”
He grinned. “Aren’t you a woman who can take care of herself?”
“Yes, I am, but I’d still like you to walk me.”
“You enjoy my company. Admit it.”
“Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. I’ll never tell. You’re too vain by half, and I won’t stroke your ego.”
Yet she didn’t move, and neither did he. They were staring, cataloguing features. She seemed so familiar to him, as if she might be someone from the past he ought to recall.
“Have we met before?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? Perhaps when we were children in England?”
“No,” she repeated. “I’d definitely remember you.”
“You are so…so…”
He couldn’t finish his sentence. It was too maudlin, and she finished it for him.
“Familiar?”
“I guess.”
“I was thinking the same,” she said, “but I’ve persuaded myself it’s merely the odd circumstance of our encounter that’s driving us to see what’s not really there.”
“Yes, that’s probably it.”
They tarried for another minute, not able to pull away. Then she stood, so he stood too. They strolled down the bay, but much too soon they were at the alley where her hotel was located. They proceeded to the door, and the building was just as decrepit as it had been initially.
“I’m giving you a gift,” he said, “and I want you to take it. Don’t argue with me.”
“That depends on what it is.”
He had a purse of coins in his shirt. It wasn’t much, but it would erase some of the immediate peril she was facing. He jerked it out and handed it to her.
She frowned warily, then she opened it and glanced inside.
“If I was overly proud or prudent, I’d refuse it,” she told him.
“In my view, you’re incredibly proud and totally imprudent, but take it anyway.”
She peered into the small sack, weighing the coins in her palm. “Are you certain you can afford it?”
“Very certain. I have plenty.”
Suddenly, she flung herself into his arms and hugged him as tightly as she could. Though he warned himself not to react, his own arms—practically of their own volition—folded around her, and he hugged her back.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she murmured against his chest.
“You’re welcome, welcome, welcome.”
“I mean it a thousand times. It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
Then she drew away, and she had tears in her eyes. The sight of her woe was intoxicating and dangerous. It made him eager to spew all sorts of promises he would never keep.
“Goodbye, Miss Barnes.”
“Goodbye. Before you depart, will you tell me your real name?”
“No.”
He laid a finger on her pert nose, and he traced it down, across her lips, her chin, her neck, only stopping when his finger reached the collar of her dress. He was a hairsbreadth from dragging her back into his arms, which would be madness in the extreme.
“Will we ever see each other again?” she asked.
“No, I don’t think we ever will. You be careful.”
“I will be.”
“Good luck in your search for your father.”
“I’m an optimist. I’m positive I’ll find him on the other side of the island.”
Hayden had once been an optimist too, but not anymore. Still though, he concurred with her assessment. “I’m positive he’ll be there too.”
“Goodbye,” she said again.
“Stay out of the taverns.”
“I will.”
She grinned an impish grin, slyly apprising him that she had no intention of heeding his wise advice.
He could feel himself falling into that grin. He wanted to loaf with her forever. He wanted to laugh and chat and learn every paltry detail about her, but she was saving him from wasting energy, wasting effort. She was rescuing him from any need to fuss with her in the future.
For an eternity, he studied her, then he spun and marched away. Behind him, he sensed her watching him, and he was desperate to turn and sneak a final glimpse of her. Why would he?
He stared straight ahead and continued on.
* * * *
Helen staggered into her dark, quiet room. She removed her jacket and bonnet and hung them on the hook by the door.
For once, Becky wasn’t lounging on the bed, and Helen peeked out into the hotel’s courtyard. Becky was there, seated on a blanket in the shade and fanning herself with a branch from a palm tree. Helen went out and plopped down next to her.
“Where were you?” Becky asked.
“I was hunting for Father.”
“I thought we were going later.”
“We can go later too.”
“Any news?”
“No, but look at this.”
She held out the pouch of coins from Mr. Nine Lives. She dumped them on the blanket. Becky gasped with astonishment, but she was shrewder than Helen. She peered about to be sure no one was spying on them, that no one had seen the windfall.
She slipped her skirt over the pile to hide it.
“What did you do? Rob a bank?”
“I ran into Mr. Nine Lives. He feels sorry for us.”
Becky was stunned. “He gave you a purse full of money?”
“Yes.”
“You should chase him down and beg him to marry you.”
Helen chuckled. “I doubt he’s the marrying kind.”
“What kind is he then?”
“A brigand? A pirate?”
“Why would you think so?”
“He’s tall and tough and manly. He struts about armed to the teeth, and he has a…a…gold earring in his ear.”
“An earring?”
“Yes.”
“How absolutely extraordinary. If I can’t goad you into it, perhaps I should marry him.”
“He’d never be interested in women like us.”
“What sort would interest him?”
“Not the sort we should discuss aloud.”
“Brazen doxies, you mean? Trollops?”
“Yes, I’m certain that’s the type he prefers. He’s so…so…” She scoffed at her inability to explain. “He’s not like anyone I’ve ever met.”
She thought of how he’d stepped in to protect her when she’d been tossed out of the tavern. She thought of how he’d guided her away from the squalid spot. He’d been very determined with her, very adamant about having his way.
Having grown up the daughter of Simon Barnes, who was flamboyant and silly, but never resolute, it had been a heady experience to clash with a man who was obstinate and in charge.
They’d sat together on that bench over by the bay, and he’d gazed at her with those magnificent blue eyes of his. With the sun shining down on his golden blond hair, he’d looked like a Greek god, like an ancient warrior from an old legend.
Just from pondering him, her tummy tickled with butterflies. When he was near, there was the strangest force in the air, as if their proximity generated sparks.
How could two people produce such a strident reaction? It appeared as if the universe was telling her something important about him, that they were destined to cross paths, to be friends, but that couldn’t be right. She was leaving in the morning, and she suspected he would leave Santa Cruz very soon too.
He didn’t seem like a fellow who stayed in one place for long.
“I’m so grateful to him,” she said.
“As you should be.”
“It’s taken off some of the financial edge.”
“Yes, it has.” Becky furtively counted the coins. “Is he still coming at eight to fetch you for supper?”
“We decided he wouldn’t.”
“Oh, you idiotic ninny. Why would you decide that?”
“You and I have to get up in the morning.”
“Yes, but that’s in the morning. This evening, you could have dined with a pirate!”
“I guess it’s an adventure I’ll simply have to have missed.”
“I wish you’d warned me you weren’t going. I’d have gone instead.”
Helen suffered an amusing rush of jealousy, as if Mr. Nine Lives was hers, as if she had a possessive connection to him.
“I told you he’d never notice women like us.”
“I bet he would have noticed me,” Becky glumly stated, then she brightened. “Since we have this money, can we eat supper? He declined to dine with you, but I’m available. And I’m starving.”
“Yes, let’s do exactly that,” Helen said.
She scooped the coins into the pouch and stuffed them into her pocket.
Long after they’d spent it all, she would always keep the bag. It would remind her of Mr. Nine Lives. It would make her smile to recall that there was one kind and generous man in the world.