Mystic Memories (16 page)

“It doesn’t matter now. Your warning kept me alert. If it hadn’t been for you, I doubt McGinty would be alive. Everyone was too busy handling their own work to notice he was in trouble. I’m the one who spotted him because I kept looking up there, thanks to you.”

“Do you actually believe me?”

“That you have a gift of sight?”
No! It’s impossible. It’s merely a coincidence. I can’t possibly accept . . .
His mind screamed all the reasons to denounce her as a deranged female. Instead, he answered with a lie. “I suppose I haven’t much of a choice in the matter now, have I? Not when you throw something like that at me.”

“I didn’t
throw
anything at you.”

The ship pitched, flinging her to one side. Blake’s hip slammed against hers, nearly collapsing him atop her. Though he would rather have pursued his baser instincts, he righted himself, then offered his hand to pull her back up to a sitting position.

“Perhaps I should blame Mother Nature for doing the tossing and throwing.”

Another wave rocked the vessel in the opposite direction. Cara practically flopped into his lap like a rag doll. His hands gripped her shoulders, bringing her back to center. “Why don’t you lie down?”

When her eyes widened, he almost forgot his manners and kissed her right then. Instead, he vowed to behave as a gentleman. He knew he should. He felt guilty enough for saying he believed her stories so she would feel better. He certainly didn’t need to add to his guilt by taking advantage of her.

“I’m fine sitting here.” The muscles in her arms tightened as she held on to the rail during another shift of the ship.

“You’re wasting what little strength you have left in trying to battle the inevitable. This storm is going to last all night, perhaps longer. Best to get in bed.”

“
Staying
in bed—now there’s the problem.”

“Rolling out, are you?”

She nodded. “Rope would solve it. You could tie me down—uh, scratch that last suggestion, would you? Just forget I said it.”

“Consider it forgotten.” But try as he might, he could not quite erase the fascinating image created by her slip of the tongue.

“These rails aren’t much help, either,” she added, tapping the polished wood with a fingernail. He smiled at her nervous chatter. “They’re more like speed bumps. All I get are bruises from flying over them.”

“Speed bumps?” he asked, a curious frown creasing his forehead. “What the devil are speed bumps?”

“Uh . . . my mistake. Never mind.”

If it were possible for a hellacious southeaster to gain any more momentum, this one did, jerking them and jostling them. Waves battered the windows. Cara’s head snapped around.

“Is that glass strong enough to hold out?” Her body fell against him. Instinctively, his arms went around her.

“Don’t worry.”

To hell with the blasted windows
, Blake thought, feeling his body respond to her soft, womanly curves. The question he pondered was which would give way first—that glass or his own chivalry.

She felt good against him, her head tucked under his chin. His hand lightly rubbed her back.

“That’s . . . nice,” she murmured into his chest.

He had sworn to himself that he would not become romantically involved with this woman. Only this afternoon he’d realized she was probably insane. Now this evening, she demonstrated an uncanny ability to see into the future like a fortune-telling gypsy. Though he still preferred to dismiss the event as a coincidence. After all, she did not predict McGinty’s involvement. And any storm as severe as this one could snap a mast in two. So her expression of fears was not so far-fetched. She would have to perform something far more extraordinary to make a believer out of him.

Oddly, the more he learned about her, the more mysterious she seemed.

Yet his body still craved her.

Now more than ever.

His hand seemed to rise on its own accord, stroking the back of her head. She sighed, a soft feminine sound. God help him, he knew he should stop, but he couldn’t seem to manage.

Amid the noise and turmoil of the storm, he gently pressed her backward onto the bedcovers. She looked up at him with smoky eyes, her gaze flitting to his mouth. The tip of her tongue ran along the seam of her mouth, licking her lips.

“An invitation, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.” The word sounded like a feline purr.

He moved up onto the mattress, lying next to her, his arm draped over her waist. With another roll of the ship, he tightened his hold, keeping her from slipping out of the bed.

“Still want the rope?”

“This works much better.”

He lowered his mouth to the curve of her slender neck. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmured, kissing her soft skin.

She whispered, “Don’t you need to be on deck with your men?”

“I
need
to be down here with you.” His hand cupped her cheek, turning her head toward him. “Mr. Bellows knows his duties. He is the most reliable mate in foul weather.”

“Then what is your job?”

“Right now?” He gave a sly smile. “
This
is my job . . .”

He dropped his mouth to hers, gently seducing her to open to him. When her lips parted, he resisted the urge to take her too quickly. As the tempest raged outside, he intended to soothe their souls with the most tender of touches, making love to her with a slow, deliberate rhythm that would rock her to her very core.

With an inner smile, Cara read his thoughts through a dreamy haze of sexual arousal. Somewhere in the back of her mind she was relieved to learn that her psychic ability was beginning to emerge again. While there was never any complete predictability about her gift, it could be stronger at some times than at others.

And right now she relished the passionate imagery that Blake was unintentionally sending to her. The things he wanted to do to her! Lord, he possessed a vivid inventiveness for pleasuring her.

The kiss was no longer enough to satisfy her. His erotic thoughts had already stimulated her body to the point of readiness.

With a soft mew of need, she let him know her thoughts, her desire to be touched. He responded, skimming his hand over the outside of her clothes. He pressed his palm against the apex of her thighs. She arched against his hand, feeling the sensation through the rough cloth. The barrier added a forbidden element, escalating the hunger for the touch of his skin.

Quelling the urge to unbutton his damp shirt or unbuckle his belt, she held back, recalling his violent response to her aggression. Instead, she allowed him to lead at his own pace. But, Lord, it was costing her. Her restraint knotted every muscle. If Blake didn’t make love to her very soon, she was going to go crazy.

Crazy . . . mad . . . insane . . .

The words ricocheted off the inside of her skull. She realized the thoughts were not her own but his. His words echoed like a taunting chant. As he began to undress her, she read his mind, feeling his emotions battling one another. His disbelief in her stories waged war against his burning desire to claim her body.

Pressing her hands against his chest, she pulled away from his kiss and gazed up at him. His heavy lids lifted. His blue eyes expressed his bewilderment

“I’m
not
crazy, Blake,” she said, unable to hide the hurt in her voice. “I’m not mad or insane.”

“Did I say those words?” Uncertainty flickered across his face as his hand stilled. She knew he was wondering if he had, indeed, spoken his feelings aloud.

“That’s what you think of me, though. Isn’t it?”

“Cara, I—”

Her fingertips touched his lips. “I’m not angry with you, Blake. A little hurt, maybe. But I should’ve known better by now.”

The sexually charged current of electricity continued to hum so loud in her ears that she could barely hear the sound of the wind and rain. Physically, she still wanted him to make love to her. But at what emotional cost to herself? Knowing he doubted her “stories,” knowing he doubted her
sanity
, she couldn’t allow herself to go any further.

Slipping out from under his arm, she levered herself up to sit on the edge of the berth. The motion of the ship rocked her. She glanced back at the wave-washed windows.

“I
must
be crazy,” she muttered, turning her back to the glass. And to Blake. “Hopping into bed with you in the middle of this killer storm
is
insane. What was I thinking?”

“The same thing as I.” His husky voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket as his fingers trailed down her spine. Her eyes drifted shut. Her heightened sense of awareness received more of the erotic images in his mind.

“Don’t do that, Blake.”

His hand paused. “Do what? This?” His fingertips continued downward to the small of her back.

“No—”
Oh . . . but it feels sooooo good
. “I meant . . . I know what you’re thinking . . .”

He tugged her shirttail free. Then his hand slipped beneath the material and traveled upward again. Back rubs had always been one of her greatest weaknesses, turning her into a puddle of mush.

“What
am
I thinking?”

Relaxing more and more, she smiled to herself as his naughty thoughts poured into her head. His palm smoothed over her shoulders, swirling back and forth in a lazy-eight.

She began to describe his fantasy. “There is a quiet, secluded cove beneath the cliffs on the northern coast of Kaua'i.” The movement of his hand slowed. “I’m stretched out on a grass mat while you give me a back rub.” His hand stopped. “And we’re both naked—”

“That’s enough,” he commanded, yanking his hand from under her shirt. He pushed himself off the mattress, his boots landing with a loud thud. Bud jumped to his feet, alerted to his master’s mood.

“Was I right?” she asked, knowing she was. “Or am I crazy?”

“Goddammit, woman, you are making
me
crazy!”

“I know.”

She told herself that she should have felt guilty for scaring the bejeezus out of him. Instead she felt smug. Vindicated. He couldn’t deny it this time. He wanted proof that she had a gift. He got it. Right in his face. There was no way he could write this off as a coincidence.

He headed toward the door without calling Bud, expecting the dog to follow. When he didn’t, Blake whistled for him. Still no response. “Bud, get over here,” he ordered.

Cara spoke to the dog. “It’s okay, Bud. He won’t bite.”

The black Lab thumped his tail, his tongue hanging half out of his mouth in a happy pant. His big head swung back and forth, sizing up the two argumentative humans. Finally, he loped over to the wide berth, leaped up on the mattress, turned around, and flopped down, exhaling a whoosh of air from his canine lungs. Ready to call it a night, he rested his chin on his front paws.

“Traitor,” groused Blake, swinging the door open.

“Bodyguard,” corrected Cara in a syrupy-sweet tone. The dog didn’t budge, but his eyes rolled up to look at her with a soulful expression of adoration. His tail thumped again. She turned back to Blake and shrugged. His eyes rolled upward too. But his expression was one of resignation.

“Good night, Mrs. Edwards. I’ll send Jimmy with some rope, if you need it”

“I might, at that.”

Chapter 11

T
he Southeaster raged for three days. By the time it expended the last of its fury, it had blown the crippled
Valiant
more than one hundred miles off course. On Wednesday, the twentieth of March, the sun rose on a blue sky as crystal-clear as the water beneath the bow. All hands had already been called at daybreak and were fast at work with their daily chore of swabbing the deck, supervised by chief mate Mr. Bellows.

While his barefoot men toiled from stem to stern, Blake went forward with his first mug of hot coffee in his hands. Standing on the forecastle, he stared ahead at the tranquil ocean. He heard footsteps behind him.

“
Kaikaina
, you plenty quiet dis mornin’, eh?” teased Keoni, holding his own full mug of coffee as he stopped beside Blake. “Maybe you think of da lady sleepin’ in your bed instead of you. Or instead of with you. Maybe?”

“I am ‘plenty quiet’ because I have not slept well since the first night of the storm.”

“Naw, you not sleep well since the first night of the
wahine
.”

In a peculiar
Kānaka
sort of way, the words almost made sense to Blake. “Is it so obvious?”

“Only to me,” answered Keoni with a broad smile, his speech pattern shifting away from the Islander dialect.

“I’ve known you a long time. And I’ve never seen you this way.”

“It is not affecting my duties as the captain of this vessel.”

“Did I say it was? And I would have, if it had been necessary.”

“You are honest to a fault,
kaikua'ana
.” Blake glanced over his shoulder at McGinty and another man scrubbing the deck. “There is no damn privacy when I want it.”

“Your cabin . . .”

“
She
is there,” he groused. “And you know full well she is.”

“Aye, sir,” he mocked.

Christ, it was hard to have a friend as a subordinate on a vessel, thought Blake, though he was always happier for the companionship than regretful of the decision to sail with Keoni.

He turned and headed aft with his friend beside him, hoping to Find some distance from listening ears.

“I’m at my wit’s end with her,” he admitted reluctantly, finding it difficult to share his feelings even with his close friend.

“Dancing to her tune, are you?”

After a sip of coffee, Blake slowly lowered the mug. Part of him wanted to wipe the smug smile off Keoni’s face. Another part of him wanted to admit the truth and ask for some
Kānaka
insight into the situation.

“She is . . . different.”

“Yes, her appearance and her speech—”

“She knows my thoughts.”

“Women do those things.” Keoni glanced over the rim of his mug that didn’t hide his grin. “They also like to tell you what you are thinking even if you are not thinking it,” he quipped, then took a drink.

“Not Cara. She knew
exactly
what I was thinking.”

“Were you kissing her at the time?”

“As a matter of fact . . .”

“Then I imagine your two minds
would
be on the same path.”

“No, it was more than that.” Blake looked directly at his friend. “She described things in my head that she had no possible way of knowing. She has the gift of second sight.”

The big
Kanaka
fell silent. He was clearly as disturbed as Blake by this unsettling information. The two of them stood side by side, drinking their coffee, gazing at the horizon.

Several minutes later Keoni finally spoke, his voice low so as not to be heard. “The broken mast—is that what she was jabbering about when I took her below?”

“Yes, she knew it was going to go.”

“Is that how you spotted McGinty?”

Blake nodded.

“I assumed she was ranting because of her fear of going down in another shipwreck.”

“At the time, I thought so too.” He gazed at the bottom of his empty cup. “There is something else—the boy I promised to help her find is not her son, as she first said. She claims to have been hired by someone to search for the child.”

“Do you believe her?”

“No, and I am not even sure there is a child.” His thoughts drifted back to a comment made by Lupe. “However, there is a possibility she is
with
child.”

“Yours?”

With an adamant shake of his head, he speculated, “Perhaps her husband’s. Perhaps not.”

“Has she mentioned it?”

“No.” Blake felt a little guilty for insinuating that Cara would have a baby out of wedlock. Somehow he did not expect it of her, though he couldn’t say why, considering the element of mystery surrounding her. “The woman at the mission suggested the notion of a child, based upon Cara’s fainting spell and exhaustion.”

Keoni took the empty mug from Blake’s hands. “Now I understand why you have been so quiet,
kaikaina
. You have much to think about.”

Blake leaned on the low rail, his narrowed gaze focused on a whale breaching windward. “I’m leaving her in San Diego.”

“Alone?”

He nodded. His insides clenched.

“She might be pregnant.”

“She might not be.”

He heard Keoni let out a long breath. “It’s your decision,
Captain
.”

Blake briefly turned his head to the side to give his friend a quelling look, then turned back to the peaceful seascape of the migrating whales.

“I cannot take her with me,” he muttered.

“No, I don’t suppose it would sit well with the ship’s owners or the crew.”

He pivoted about, leaning against the rail, his arms folded across his chest. “She would be an unpaid female passenger using my quarters during the entire trip around the Horn. Not wise. Not wise at all.”

“I believe we’ve already established that,
aikane
.”

Blake looked up and blinked a few times. “Are you still here?”

“Last that I checked.”

“Don’t you have some duties? Such as breakfast to cook?’ ’

Keoni appeared unoffended by the short-tempered order. “Aye-aye, sir,” he answered in full voice. But before he turned to leave, he said quietly, “You will do what you must. No matter what happens, it will all work out for the best.”

Blake watched the dark-skinned
Kanaka
saunter off toward the galley, his arms swinging casually at his sides with a mug dangling from each hand.

“I hope to God you are right,
kaikua'ana
,” Blake murmured, turning back to view the big grays in the distance. He’d made his decision. He would not take Cara with him. Yet the thought of saying good-bye to her made his chest feel as though it had suddenly been bound with anchor chain.

Inhaling deeply of the salt air, he vowed to clear his head of any thoughts of Cara for the rest of the day.

Much to his discontent, he thought of nothing else throughout the entire morning and afternoon and long after the sun had set.

The loss of the fore topmast and the retrieval of the ship’s anchor off San Juan delayed the
Valiant
a full five days before she reached the wooded point of land protecting the bay of San Diego on March 25. Only a short distance from their destination, the wind had died, leaving the brig sitting in the water like a bobbing duck at sunset with nowhere to go.

Gazing out the starboard windows of the captain’s quarters, Cara sat on the berth with her legs drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her knees. Bud was curled up at her feet, snoring.

Even without the travelogue chats with Jimmy, Cara would have recognized the high ridge of land rising up north of the bay, having seen it many times from the deck of a small Capri 25 owned by a friend a long time ago. Or actually a long time ahead. She stared at the spot where the little white lighthouse would be built in about twenty years, remembering the visits with Mark.

Thinking of her dead husband brought a familiar wave of sadness, though not as strong as during those first months after losing him. She supposed there would always be a part of her that would hold him close to her heart, even if she found someone else to love as much as she had loved Mark.

Someone else . . . such as Blake.

She dropped her head back with a silent groan, wishing these thoughts would quit popping into her head. She couldn’t keep going back to this . . . fantasizing about him, dwelling on the feelings he’d stirred in her. If only he would have shown up in her life in the twentieth-first century.

Refusing to dwell on regretful if-onlys, Cara concentrated on the “what now?” By tomorrow, weather permitting, she could proceed with her much-interrupted search for Andrew. It was now the third week in March. He’d been missing since December 22. Three months on his own. She wondered how he was dealing with the confusion and nightmares of time-travel and abduction.

And where was he now? Could he be here in San Diego or was he halfway around the world? Unfortunately, she couldn’t just pick up a phone and call the port authorities to look out for a blond-headed, ten-year-old kid who looked entirely out of his element.

A knock at the door came as a welcome reprieve from her worrisome thoughts. “Come in, Jimmy.”

Instead of the young steward, the
Kanaka
cook walked into the cabin with her dinner. “
Aloha ahiahi, e
Cara.
Pe-hea ʽoe?
”

“
Aloha nō
,” answered Cara, her spirits lifting. Among the few bright moments the past few days had been learning a little Hawaiian from Keoni during his brief visits. So far she had learned a few easy phrases, including tonight’s question of “How are you?”

Attempting to respond with, “I’m fine, thank you,” she said to him, “
Maika nō au, mahalo
. “

“The word is
maika’i
, not
maika
,” corrected the cook, erupting into a roar of laughter.

This woke up Bud, who jumped down off the bed, allowing Cara to do the same. She padded over to the table and “accidentally” elbowed Keoni in the ribs as she lifted the cover from her supper.

“Ow—!”

“Then quit laughing at me. It couldn’t have been
that
funny.”

Through chuckles, he described to her the word she had used. Apparently, she had called herself an ancient Hawaiian term for a round stone used in some sort of game. She could hardly hold back her own giggle. Instead of “I’m fine,” she’d said, “I’m a shot put!”

Falling back on her tried-and-true English, she invited the
Kanaka
to stay for a while, then realized he probably needed to return to his duties in the galley.

“I can sit a few minutes.” When the dog bumped his huge black head under the cook’s hand, Keoni glanced down. “But not too long, eh, Bud, you hungry boy.”

As she ate, the cook taught her a few more words, and she practiced pronouncing yet another strange string of vowels. She was determined to learn the language, if for no other reason than her own enjoyment. God only knew when or where she would ever use it. Then again, if she didn’t make it out of the nineteenth century, she could always relocate to Kaua‘i, her favorite place on earth in the future days of Aloha Airlines and condos on the beach.

Slipping a chunk of beef to Bud, she glanced at Keoni apologetically. “Sorry, force of habit. I can’t stand to see a dog drool in my presence.”

“He likes you.”

“No kidding.” Her quip brought a perplexed look from him.

“Bud is a good judge of character.”

“Thanks. Would you mind telling that to Captain Masters?” Cara hadn’t seen the man once since the first night of the storm. During the short periods of time she’d been allowed on deck in fair weather, she noticed his conspicuous absence. “He’s avoiding me like the plague.”

“I’ve noticed.”