Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (2 page)

Chapter Two

If he hadn’t introduced himself, Dell wouldn’t have recognized him. Her childhood memories came in spurts and flickers like sparks drifting up from a burning log, to vanish into the void of a black sky. She recalled how big everything had seemed—her mama’s dressing room, the nice bed where she slept the day away, and the giant paddle wheels as the steamboats came into port. How the kids would come running from the city streets to gather around each arriving ship like a swarm of giddy flies, and the older girls would wave at her friend—her playmate, Rory.

“Gory Rory. You ate a pollywog catfish? Ew!” She’d once teased. Gory Rory? Had she really called him that?

Presently, the captain’s strong arms went around her as he lifted her over the rail. His hands lingered on her sides a moment past propriety.

Flushing, she stepped aside. “Thank you.”

He winked at her and helped hoist the rest of the party up from the keelboat onto the packet’s leaning deck. Standing behind her cousins, Dell could still feel the branding on her ribs where his hands had touched her. She willed herself not to panic, but her pulse fluttered wildly at the base of her throat. She couldn’t hide, nor could she return to the riverbank, though every second she stood under his nose was another second he might recognize her.

She couldn’t allow that to happen.

The steamboat’s whistle rattled to life, and she jerked as if she’d been shot, grabbing the rail. The deafening roars and metallic tones sounded overhead as she gritted her teeth. She vaguely recalled standing too near as a babe, and now fought the instinct to cover her ears like the wailing brat she’d been back then.

For whatever reason, her mama had moved her hundreds of miles away, leaving their home and her husband, Quintus Moreaux. Now here was his former ward, Rory Campbell, standing more than six foot tall with wide shoulders and a rogue’s grin, less than eight feet away.

He and the freedman gave the final visitor, Mr. Gaskin, a boost onto the boat. The lumber mill owner joked that he’d gladly salvage the boards of the vessel, to which Rory declined with rich laughter and clapped a hand on his back.

The shy Rory that Dell remembered had soft, boyish round cheeks, and wasn’t able to put together more than two words around her pretty mother.

The confident man standing before them now wore a shadow of golden whiskers on a rigid jaw, but he had the same eyes, the color of green bottle glass lit by sunlight. While the others headed for the bow, her former friend singled her out, sharing his infectious smile. He bowed slightly, gesturing with his hat. “Ladies first.”

Dell ran unsteady hands down the pleats of her dusty clothes to chase away the twinges of her stomach. She mustn’t call attention to herself. If she lost her composure, he would surely figure out she was Eleanor’s bastard daughter, fathered by one of Moreaux’s black workers. One word from him about her mixed blood, and the town would turn on her.

“Thank you,” she murmured again and glided past, keeping her head down. She felt his measuring gaze, and her chest heated in response.

Sarah and Nathaniel were just steps ahead with the preacher, weaving from the rail, straining to see as much of the vessel as possible. Dell hurried to catch up. Rory’s tread creaked ominously on the deck behind her.

“Cousin, come on!” Sarah glanced over her shoulder, beckoning to her.

“I’m coming.”

He was right on her heels. She touched the back of her head. Covered. She sighed, relieved her thick, dark curls were hidden. At least the ride on the keelboat hadn’t dislodged her bonnet.

“Isn’t she a beauty?” Rory spoke at her back. “And hard as stone to take a landing like this.”

She kept her gaze lowered as his snappy, polished shoes caught up beside her. She perused him from the corner of her eyes. Dressed in dashing white from his pants to his neatly folded cravat, he’d grown leaner and his shoulders had filled out. His pressed shirt stretched across his arms and chest, barely containing him in his movements.

Had she altered so very much to be unrecognizable? He wouldn’t expect to see her here, but they had been nearly inseparable once.

“It’s…she’s…um—” Lies, her dearest friends for years, suddenly abandoned her.

Sarah halted, causing them both to stop. Her cousin turned around with a toss of her braids. “She said she thinks your boat ain’t worth our time. She’s not impressed at all.”

Rory’s lips parted, stricken, and he glanced between them. Then a slow grin spread across his face. “And has the lady seen many others to compare?”

Dell fiddled with the top button of her dress.

“Oh yes.” Sarah boldly touched the pilot’s sleeve, seemingly excited to have something to share. “She’s from Memphis.”

Rory’s gaze riveted to Dell’s face. Why, oh why, hadn’t she just stayed on the bank with the others?

His eyes sifted over her as if counting the faded freckles on her nose. She compressed her lips to keep from saying anything else that might identify her. “Have I had the pleasure of meeting you before, miss?”

Someone shouted across the water on the bank. People were moving, crowding together on the river’s edge.

Ahead on the packet’s deck, Mr. Gaskin and Billy Smith turned back, heading their way. “Excuse us, Captain. There’s a scuffle going on at the riverbank. We’ll be back for the women and children.”

“Certainly.” Frowning, Rory stepped aside to let them pass to the keelboat.

“What is it?” Dell tried to pinpoint the problem, while avoiding Rory’s probing stare.

“Looks like some darky. They have him, though,” Gaskin said.

Ephraim’s slave. Dell recognized his form struggling amidst the group. It had been less than a month since her patron had returned from California where he’d acquired the slave. The locals wouldn’t know or trust the black man if he’d come to town alone. Dell’s stomach felt queer again.

Coaxing money out of the captain was a lost cause. She couldn’t risk him recognizing her, and his crew would have to wait.

“I have to go back. I know his master.”

“Naw. We’ll handle this. You enjoy the tour.” Gaskin patted her shoulder as Smith dropped into the keelboat.

“No.” She bundled her petticoats around her knees and swung one leg over the rail. “The man’s owner will be very upset if this isn’t resolved.”

She felt Rory’s heat-filled gaze on her and prayed the other two men wouldn’t call her name as she hopped into Smith’s waiting arms on the smaller boat. Sarah and Nathaniel would be fine without her. Besides, if she tried to convince them to leave the boat now, there’d be hell to pay—a real whining fit from the bratty pair.

Once the second man boarded, they rowed against the current toward the riverbank. She watched her cousins follow the rest of the party along the packet’s deck, while Rory Campbell stood with Reverend Miller staring at her across the water.

Only when her feet touched the sandy bank did she feel safe again, as if she’d narrowly escaped some dark, unfathomable misfortune.

Rory waited until the preacher walked away and then sighed. Poker face be damned. It had taken every ounce of his strength to hide his excitement while the woman was on his ship. After a week of desperate searching in the saloons along the White River, mingling with settlers and traders, he’d finally found her. Deliberately beaching the boat in the middle of the river made an excellent excuse to stay awhile, bringing him a reward worth more than the wounds his pride suffered.

Quintus Moreaux’s long-lost stepdaughter, Philadelphia.

If what the preacher said was true, the minx was a fortuneteller like her mama. She could read tells in the faces of stone-faced gamblers—the signs they were bluffing. Moreaux would want her. He needed her. Now more than ever, as the gambler fought for control of the Mississippi. A girl with skills like Eleanor’s…hell, she could help a con man rake in a fortune.

Or break him.

Rory hoped for the latter.

If she agreed to come back to the Mississippi with him, he’d not allow any harm to come to her. He packed steel at his side, and he knew Moreaux’s patterns—his predilections. The lady would be safe in Rory’s care until her services were no longer needed, and then she could go wherever she wished. Hell, as beautiful as Philadelphia was, she might prefer to stay, becoming as successful as her mother before Moreaux—becoming some rich man’s mistress.

Beauty such as hers was wasted on the dirt farmers who lived in a place like the river port before him.

Philadelphia. Creamy skin and flashing dark eyes. He’d love to see what crinoline and a red satin dress would look like wrapped around her lovely body. Or red satin sheets for that matter. Or perhaps in nothing at all.

A little polish, a little private tutelage, and she could be the envy of every cardsharp on the Mississippi.

Exactly what Rory wanted.

Chapter Three

Strolling through Sharpe’s Mercantile, Dell felt more eyes on her than usual. This time the town’s gossipmonger, Violet Sharpe, and her customers weren’t actually watching her, but Ephraim’s man, Jeremiah, following ten feet behind. The incident earlier at the river had left them leery.

Someone had seen him making his way through the reeds of the riverbank and thought he was a runaway slave headed north. Dell had arrived in time to straighten out the misunderstanding, but as she’d turned away to leave, he’d put a hand on her sleeve and asked if she would help him purchase some items in town for his owner.

Jeremiah couldn’t read.

Uncle Reuben and Aunt Ida would be mad as hell, but she was already late. Ephraim and his groping hands could wait.

Jeremiah was silent as death, and she couldn’t blame him. Perhaps the men had thrown a few punches before she’d arrived. He favored his side a bit, holding his arm protectively across his stomach. When she paused by a stack of flour sacks, he stopped too.

Dell leaned against the towering goods to address him. “The store has started selling self-rising flour. If Ephraim asks you to get his flour, this is what he wants. If he doesn’t specify, you can trust he wants self-rising. He’ll tell you when he wants regular flour.” She gestured at the sacks, pointing out the difference in the words. “For pancakes, he’ll want buckwheat over there. Don’t get it mixed up with the cornmeal beside it. See how it starts with the letter C?”

“I know the alphabet,” Jeremiah mumbled, latching his hands around his suspenders.

Dell suppressed a grin and patted his hand. “Excellent.” Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, “You know I have to put on a good show, right?”

His frown smoothed and he rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb, not quite hiding the new stain of pink high in his cheeks. “As do I, Miss Dell.”

She spun away from him in a swish of her skirt before he could catch the grin he’d caused. They’d only met a few times the past few weeks, but sometimes he looked at her a little too long. The mercantile owners, especially Mrs. Sharpe, would note the impropriety of a man exchanging friendly looks with a woman. More so, a slave speaking freely with an unmarried, supposedly white woman.

Jeremiah’s tall height and flashes of anger failed to intimidate Dell. Once she’d noted the wit and sense of humor behind his dark, sensitive eyes, she’d immediately liked him. With time, she hoped he wouldn’t blame her for Ephraim striking gold and becoming his new master.

However, she hadn’t stopped blaming herself.

Two years ago, Ephraim kept trying to have his way with her whenever he drank—which was often around her uncle’s still—so she gave him a card reading meant to get rid of him. She’d predicted if he went with the rest of the Forty-niners to California, he would find gold. Unfortunately for Jeremiah, the fortune came true.

Now guilt festered in her gut as she led Jeremiah behind the rack of hanging frocks away from Mrs. Sharpe’s prying gaze.

“Are you injured?” she whispered.

“No. They just knocked the wind out of me.” He dropped his hand from his ribs and fiddled with a bolt of fabric hanging from the rack.

Dell frowned at his lie, but there was nothing she could do to help him heal any faster. Tamping down her frustration, she wound through the maze of garments, followed by her new friend.

Back at the dry goods, Jeremiah selected a bag of cornmeal.

“Is that one of the steamboat’s crew?” He nodded at the window.

Dell leaned over a barrel of cinnamon penny-candy to see, biting her lip as a group of men passed the storefront, deep in conversation. She recognized the preacher, the blacksmith, and a few more faces in the crowd, along with Rory Campbell wearing a white hat atop his waving golden hair. A parade of children bobbed in their wake, struggling to keep up and gain the handsome captain’s attention. Sarah and Nathaniel were among them.

Behind the counter, Mrs. Sharpe chuckled. She raised her voice to Dell. “That Sarah sure looks smitten on the newcomer.”

Dell groaned inwardly. She had meant to warn Sarah that riverboat hands weren’t savory characters. But then sassy Sarah would’ve probably asked what that made Dell’s mama, being a former riverboat lady.

She should feel relieved they’d barely spoken when she’d climbed on board his boat. If he ever identified her as his employer’s stepdaughter, he could also expose her to the town as a fake and a fraud, especially since everyone in Posey Hollow had always assumed she was white.

So why did she suddenly feel as if someone had put one of those sacks of buckwheat on her chest?

Sarah glanced in the store window as she passed. Spotting Dell, she beamed and waved vigorously, tapping her little brother’s shoulder. Leaving him, she ran into the mercantile.

“Philadelphia! Where’ve you been? I’ve got so much to tell you!”

“Shh. We’re shopping.” Dell inhaled, feeling all the eyes on her again. She took Sarah’s hand and led her behind the hanging racks of frocks. She whispered, “Hadn’t you better go home and see what your ma wants you to do?”

Sarah giggled and clamped a hand over her mouth, sending her braid-loops swinging. “I will, I will. But first let me tell you the news.” She grabbed Dell’s arms dramatically. “There. Is. To. Be. A. Dance.”

Dell rolled her eyes. “Charming. I didn’t think you cared for dancing.”

“I didn’t until
The Dark Enchantress
arrived. The captain has arranged it all to take place while their boat is stranded. He’s ordered Father to supply several gallons of brew. He also told Mr. Abernathy to kill a hog, Mrs. Kelly to make her blackberry cobblers, and the Temple tent to be raised for the music. It will be even better than the log rollin’ last year.”

How could it not? Dell pretended to admire a gingham frock as a customer passed them.

“I don’t think the captain intends to invite us, Sarah.”

Compared to the excitement of bustling Memphis, Posey Hollow was no doubt the end of the earth for Rory and his crew. Not in the outpost three hours and they were bored already, probably praying for rain.

She’d been searching the sky for a flood herself ever since the moment she’d recognized Rory.

“He’s already invited us! He’s invited the whole town, but especially the girls. ’Cause he says the boys on the boat don’t see many women as they travel, and they enjoy dancin’ whenever they can.”

Footsteps caught Dell’s ear. She glanced around the clothing to see Jeremiah slowly circling the barrels of goods, his hands twisting together behind his back while he watched two farmers warily.

Time to go.

“We’ll talk about it later, Sarah.” Signaling her friend with a wave, she then looped her arm through her cousin’s to guide her toward the door. “We need to get back before Ephraim arrives for supper.”

“I hope you decide to go,” Sarah chirped, grinning ear to ear, “’cause Captain Campbell said to be sure and bring you too.”

Dell faltered before managing to hide her surprise. She wondered who’d brought her up in conversation—mouthy Sarah or Rory. Perhaps he’d suddenly remembered her.

If only she had enough money to run away and go to the Cumberland School now. Rosemary Hughes, a schoolmistress who’d passed through Posey Hollow last year, had done just that. She’d said she’d taken everything she owned and got on a stage and rode north. If Rosemary Hughes could do it, why couldn’t she?

Thinking of the new threat to her peace, she left the store, completely forgetting Jeremiah who’d stayed to pay for Ephraim’s goods. He followed them several yards down the woodsy path toward their house unnoticed until he called out.

“Will you make it home all right, Miss Dell?”

“Yes. Of course.” Smiling, she waved goodbye to her friend.

Doubt clouded his expression as he reluctantly turned away.

Did she appear so frightened by Sarah’s news? Was it so obvious?

This was unacceptable. She couldn’t turn-tail and run, quaking in her boots like some silly chit who’d just wandered into the middle of a bull’s pasture. This was her town, her patrons, and she shouldn’t allow a foolhardy man’s poor navigational skills to spoil her hard-won peace.

She shouldn’t and she wouldn’t.

She would reason with him, asking him to honor their past friendship with his silence. Hadn’t he protected her in the past?

Yes. A memory resurfaced of Rory and her running through the riverboat dining room and Quintus’s china breaking. The boy took the blame then, as well as the whipping, but growing up in that den of gamblers and sin, he wouldn’t likely be so kind now.

If he wouldn’t respect her wishes, she must make him be silent.