Making Waves (21 page)

Harry sauntered in, whistling a tune, and immediately set to work putting a finish on the mast.

“Well?”

“What?”

“Did you get Marguerite home okay?”

Harry dipped a brush in the varnish and then laid a thin strip of it along the length of the mast. “Of course I did. Stubborn woman made me stop two camps away, though, and let her walk the rest of the way.”

“You let her walk?”

“It was that or carry her. I figured she had her maid and Mark to help her.” He looked up from his work and grinned. “Thought you were done with her.”

Trip crossed his arms over his chest. “I am.”

“Good, because I’d enjoy getting to know a spirited girl like her. I like a little spunk in my ladies. Even sopping wet, she sure was something to look at.”

“Stay away from her, Harry.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.” Trip turned back to the workbench and sighed. Why did Marguerite always make him sound like his father?

That was one good thing – she wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

After sleeping all afternoon and into the evening, Marguerite found herself wide awake when everyone else had long since gone to bed. Lilly must not have wanted to wake her to change into her bed clothes. She snored softly from her cot in the corner.

Marguerite checked the alarm clock on the nightstand but couldn’t make out the hands in the dark. She scooted out of bed and stuffed her feet into her boys’ boots. Some fresh air would clear the cobwebs taking residence in her throbbing head. Easing from the tent, she gathered her skirt in one hand. In the stillness of the night, the skirt whispered against the grass as she crossed to the wicker table at the heart of their camp.

Stars speckled the ebony sky, and she lowered herself into a chair to bask in their glory. It felt silly, but she spoke the childhood poem all the same. “Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight . . .”

Only her wish wasn’t one made by little girls.

Muffled voices rose from her parents’ tent. She froze. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized her mother’s angry voice all too well. In a tone usually reserved for Marguerite, she spat something at her father.

“Stay out of it, Camille!” Her father threw back the tent flap. “What I do is none of your business.”

“It is when you risk everything.”

Everything? What did she mean? Did this have something to do with Roger? Marguerite held her breath and watched her father head for the packed dirt road on which Harry had brought her home this morning. Questions filled her mind. Where was he going at night, and what had upset her mother so? She could count on one hand the number of times she’d heard the two of them argue. Generally, if her father actually put his foot down, her mother would reluctantly give in, but this wasn’t like either of them.

Marguerite shouldn’t be surprised. Her father hadn’t been himself lately, and she suspected the answers she sought could be found at the end of that road. Biting her lip, she made a decision to follow him.

Moonlight filtered through the trees, casting ethereal shadows on the road. Heart pounding, Marguerite followed her father, keeping to the side, cloaked beneath the canopy. Her father must have known the path well, because he traveled fast and soon was only a dark blotch in the distance.

Marguerite, on the other hand, strained to see the ruts in the road. Twice she nearly tumbled when she misstepped. An owl hooted and she jumped. Maybe she should go back. Her father could take care of himself.

But something was wrong. She had to know what was going on.

She lost sight of her father as he continued on the path toward the only well-lit building set beyond the Yacht Club – the one Trip warned her wasn’t a place for boys. She gathered that went for women as well. Still, she needed to know if her father was at risk. He might be in some kind of trouble, and if he was, he needed her help.

Glancing at the boat shop, she noticed a light still burned in the workshop. Maybe Trip couldn’t sleep either. Pious, self-righteous, unforgiving man.

Good. It served him right.

Ever since Harry had suffered with gambling problems last year, Trip made it a practice of checking things out one last time after everyone else retired for the evening. Tonight he knew sleep would be a long time in coming, so he took his time latching all the doors of the boat shop.

He stopped short when a lone figure walking along the road caught his eye. Harry? No, he was asleep upstairs. He’d already checked. Besides, Harry didn’t wear a skirt. Perhaps she was some lost lady or sleepwalker.

Twisting the key in the lock, he opened the door and stepped into the night. Jogging down the path, he slowed before he could startle the woman. He’d heard a sleepwalker could die if you startled them, and he’d had enough near-death experiences for one day.

She looked young from the back, her waist and hips narrow. Light hair, hanging loose, was gilded by the moonlight. Where had she come from? The hotel was across the lake, and the only other place to stay was the camps. She seemed intent on something down the road.

With whisper-soft steps, he drew close. “Ma’am, do you need some help?”

The lady whirled and let out a strangled cry. He caught her by the arms before she could strike him.

Wait. He knew that face.

“Marguerite Westing, what on earth are you doing out here?”

14

“Unhand me.” Marguerite twisted from the viselike grip wrapped around her arm.

Trip released her and crossed his arms over his chest. “Now, tell me what you’re up to. Going to sneak in the Yacht Club and steal a boat? Take a little midnight dip in the lake?”

Her eyes darted toward the building down the road, and he followed the direction of her gaze. Even in the dark, she saw his nostrils flare.

“You were going there?”

“No . . . I . . . What is that place?”

He shook his head. “It isn’t something you need to worry about. Come on. I’ll see you back to your camp.”

When he took hold of her elbow, Marguerite refused to budge. “I can’t leave. I have to know what goes on in that place.”

Trip’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m making it my business. What’s going on?”

Her heart thundered, but she didn’t answer.

“So? Why do you want to go there?” He paused and then tossed his head back. “I know why. It’s because it’s off limits. That’s the kind of girl you are. You have to push boundaries and make waves. Draw a line and you just itch to stick a toe over it every time.”

“No . . . yes . . . ooooh, you’ve got me making as much sense as a mynah bird. I’m following my father. He keeps sneaking off in the night to go there.”

His brows shot up. “And you decided to take it upon yourself to follow him to Lord knows where without a second thought as to the danger involved?”

“I thought about it. I just decided the risk happened to be worth it. And if you aren’t going to tell me what that building is . . .” She turned on her heel and started down the road.

Trip caught her arm. “Over my dead body are you going there.”

She turned and raised an eyebrow. “I could arrange that.”

“Marguerite, that’s a gambling hall, a den of iniquity. The only women there are
working
.”

“Working? Oh.” Her cheeks burned as the meaning of his words registered, and she prayed the darkness hid them. The throbbing in her head intensified and she rubbed her forehead. “I have to know if my father is . . . well, you know.”

“Let’s go sit down, and you can tell me the whole story.” His voice softened, and he led her to a bench outside the Yacht Club. “How’s your head?”

“We’re talking about my father, not me. My mother said he was at risk.”

He tipped her chin toward him and studied her face. She blinked as the moon’s light reached her eyes, and he frowned. “Your head hurts, doesn’t it?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“I don’t doubt it. Still, you should be resting, not wandering the road alone at night.”

“I’m not alone, now am I? And you said we could talk about my father.”

He sighed. “Your mother told you he’s in trouble?”

“No, I overheard them arguing.”

Trip frowned. “You never learn.”

“Now, don’t go judging me. I accidentally overheard them. I had too much on my mind and couldn’t sleep, so I went outside. They were fighting in their tent. My father has never acted like this before, and I just know something is wrong. Maybe someone is forcing him to go to that awful place, and he’s in some kind of trouble.”

“I doubt it, but anything is possible.”

“Trip, my daddy is the most wonderful man on earth. He’s good and kind and tolerant.”

“To put up with your shenanigans he’d have to be.”

She frowned. “I’m serious. I can’t imagine any reason he’d do this other than him being forced into something against his nature. Now do you understand why I have to go check it out?”

Trip could. When Clyde Stone’s Gambling Den lured Harry into its clutches, he’d watched the damage a few innocent games of chance could do to someone in a remarkably short time. But he didn’t want to share those suspicions with Marguerite. “Why don’t you just ask him what he’s up to?”

“I don’t think he’d tell me the truth.”

“So lying runs in the family.” He wished the words back immediately.

She stiffened and rose to her feet. “I’m going to find my father.”

Trip stepped into her path. “No, you’re not.”

He expected her to argue, fight him – anything but cry. She seemed as angry about the tear that slithered down her cheek as she was about being stopped by him.

“Don’t you understand?” She swiped the tear away. “I have to know what’s going on.”

“I do understand.” He placed his hand on her forearm. "That’s why I’ll go after I take you home.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

He held up his hand. “You wouldn’t find out what you wanted to know if you were to go there anyway. Your father would see you and promptly tan your hide. I’ll go. No one will notice me.”

“How will I know what you found out?”

“Well, seeing as I don’t have a student in the morning . . .” He paused to gauge her reaction. She frowned and looked away. “I’ll meet you for breakfast at the pavilion and tell you all about what I’ve found out.”

Blinking, she stared at him. “The whole truth? You won’t try to sugarcoat it?”

“Unlike some people, I always tell the truth.”

She winced at his words and lowered her chin.

Good. You should feel guilty
.

Kicking a stone with the toe of her boot, she turned to him. “Trip, I said I’m sorry.”

“I know you did.” He drew his hand through his rumpled hair. “But that doesn’t make it all right. Don’t you realize how close you came to dying today? You scared ten years off my life.”

“Only ten?”

A throaty chuckle escaped his mouth. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

When he offered her his arm, she tentatively accepted, and they started to retrace her earlier steps. He heard her sniff and spotted her dabbing her eyes with her free hand.

Compassion shook him, but he wanted to stay angry. After this morning, she certainly deserved it. And if what she did hadn’t been foolhardy and irresponsible enough, she had honestly planned on going to the gambling hall.

He looked at her again – strong yet vulnerable – and his heart softened. He considered the horrible day she’d endured, and this situation concerning her father could only get worse.

He was no stranger to the feelings she stirred in him, but he didn’t plan to act on them, especially with the race only a few days away. Besides, he couldn’t trust her. He’d help her out because it was the Christian thing to do, but he’d guard his heart.

“So, Marguerite, what did you name your camp?” he finally asked.

“Camp Andromeda.”

“Isn’t that the maiden who was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to a sea monster because of her mother’s bragging? Your mother let you name your camp that?”

“You know mythology?” Marguerite laughed. “Suffice it to say my mother doesn’t.”

“And are you chained to a rock with a sea monster hovering at your door?”