Scarlet Butterfly (9 page)

“Watch it, Sean. If Harry hears you say that, you’re liable to be in big trouble. You know how jealous he gets.”

Carolina recalled the frail-looking old man in the boat and looked at Rogan. She remembered an old musical with Frank Sinatra. He’d sung a song about an ant who had high hopes about felling a huge rubber tree plant. She smiled.

“That isn’t exactly what I meant, Rogan. I’ve been by myself, and it’s lonely. There’s a whole world out there. Don’t you even want to see it?”

“One hotel room is pretty much like another. I guess I’ve never spent much time looking. I gave up on new places—and I like it here. I like knowing that tomorrow morning I’ll wake up on my boat, look out and see the same shoreline, hear the same sounds, and do whatever I choose. There’s a whole world out there all right, and you’re welcome to it. The world will swallow you up if you’re not careful.”

“Sometimes staying in one place can destroy you too.”

“I hope not, because I don’t ever intend to leave.”

“I suppose everyone has different needs,” Carolina said softly. “I’m sorry that you’ve been treated badly.”

“Me? Hell, I’m not the one running around with a shaved head and hiding from her father.”

“No, your hair is very long, but you’re hiding from your family. Maybe we’re not so different.”

They didn’t talk for a while as they concentrated on their food. There were bowls of thick homemade vegetable soup and buttered corn bread, followed by a crusty little square pastry filled with shrimp and smothered in a piquant sauce. They drank more sweet iced tea with the meal. Piping chicory coffee and apple pie came afterward.

“Wow. If Ida feeds you like that all the time, I can
see why you’re so big.” Carolina pushed the dessert plate back and laid her fork across the edge.

Rogan simply looked at her, all pretense at conversation eliminated by the intensity of his gaze. With his napkin, he reached out to wipe a sliver of pie crust from her upper lip. But the napkin fell to the table, and it was his finger that rimmed her lip, setting off a shiver that traveled from her mouth to his hand and up his arm.

“What—what are you going to do now, Goldilocks?”

“I don’t know. I’m not going back to Houston. I’ve spent as much time being sick as I intend to. I have to find a place where I can decide what I want to do with the rest of my life.”

“What about St. Marys? The people here are wonderful. They’ll take you in and make you one of them and not ask a thing in return. My brother the doctor has an office here. I don’t much like him as a relative, but as a doctor, he’s top of the line.”

“I do like it here. I may look around. But first I ought to call a garage to pull the car out of the marsh. I don’t even know if it can still be driven.”

“I doubt that it can. There’s a branch of that rental company here in town. We’ll call them before we go back.”

She thought she nodded her agreement, but she couldn’t be sure. His fingertips were still resting on her face, cupping her chin possessively, as if he intended to lean forward and whisper in her ear.

“Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t impose on your hospitality any longer. I mean I wanted to see the
Butterfly
, and I have. But I think I’ll see about finding a place in town to stay.”

“I don’t make an offer unless I mean it, Goldilocks. I’d like to you to stay.”

She gazed at him, stunned. “You would? Then I’ll accept. Thank you.”

He hadn’t intended to say that. He’d been trying to come up with ways to get her off the boat and out of his life. But the invitation had just popped out, and he realized with surprise that he meant it. Having Carolina on the
Butterfly
might not be fate, as she believed, but it was nice, very nice.

There was a commotion inside the inn, and voices; then loud steps across the polished wood floor. “There you are, Carolina. Are you all right?”

A tall, foreboding man reached the table, caught Sean’s hand, and jerked it away from Carolina’s face.

“Father,” she said with a gasp, feeling her heart shrivel up inside. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home, Carolina.”

“Why?”

“What did you expect me to do, child? After nearly dying, you check yourself out of your doctor’s care, pack up your clothes, and run away—just like—”

He didn’t complete the sentence, but Carolina knew what he was thinking. Just like her mother.

“I was worried.” His face was drawn into a mask of fury that covered his great pain, the mask that served him so well in court. Carolina had a moment of doubt, until he turned toward Sean.

“I’m Angus Evans. Are you responsible for this
stupidity
?”

Under other circumstances, Sean might have tried to explain the situation to the man. He might even have understood how worry could be misinterpreted as anger—until he caught sight of the anguish on Carolina’s face.
Stupidity
? What kind of father called his daughter stupid?

“No,” she whispered woodenly, “he isn’t.”

“Yes,” Rogan said sharply at the same time, “I am.”

“Well, it seems we have a difference of opinion here.”

“Carolina is here, with me, and she’s fine … Mr. Evans, is it? I’m Sean Rogan. Would you care to sit down and talk about this calmly?”

Carolina stared at Rogan in amazement. What was the man doing? He didn’t understand the risk. Her father had been known to ruin an enemy without blinking an eye. He had powerful friends not only in Texas, but all over the world.

“No, Sean.” She shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t want you hurt.”

“I don’t intend to get hurt.”

“Smart move, Rogan,” Angus Evans said. “Now, Carolina. I don’t approve of what you did, but I can understand your need to get away. I have a car waiting outside. If you’re determined to go away, I’ll arrange a trip for you that will be safe. Please?”

Carolina felt her resolve begin to crumble as it had so many times before. She might not have been able to stand up to her father for herself, but she couldn’t allow Rogan to be treated this way. She rose, leaning on the table for support.

“I appreciate your concern, Father, but Mr. Rogan is only trying to be kind to me. I won’t have you punish him on my account—not if you ever expect me to come home again.”

Angus Evans’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I do have some money of my own, and I intend to work.”

“But, Carolina, you aren’t ready. The doctor said that it would take months of monitoring before he
can be certain of your condition. Please, let me take you home.”

“No. I’m sure there are doctors here, Father.”

“There is at least one very fine doctor, Mr. Evans,” Rogan said quietly. “Carolina isn’t going anywhere, except with me. I’ll take care of her.” Rogan moved around the table. “Are you finished here, darling?”

Carolina couldn’t believe it when Rogan pulled her close and slid his arm around her. “I appreciate your concern for Carolina,” he said, “but you don’t need to worry. She’ll be fine. Now, you’ll have to excuse us. We have to be getting back.”

Before Carolina knew what was happening, she and Rogan were leaving. Ida held open the front door and said under her breath, “Quick, you two, before he comes out of shock.”

They hadn’t reached the truck before he caught up. “All right, Carolina. But you tell this long-haired renegade here that I’m not financing the two of you. What your mother left is in trust. So if he’s determined to keep you, he’s responsible for you and all your future medical bills. My plane is at the St. Marys airport. I’ll wait until four o’clock.”

Rogan lifted her into the truck and closed the door. “Thank you, Mr. Evans, but she won’t be coming.”

Angus Evans stared at Rogan for a long, puzzled moment, then reached inside his coat pocket. “Rogan, take my card. If she needs me, let me know.”

Sean took the card and put it in his wallet. He started the engine and drove away, one hand on the wheel, the other a clenched fist.

“How can he talk to you like that?”

“He doesn’t mean to sound so cold, Rogan. You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. You’re his child. Doesn’t he care?”

Carolina felt a stirring of pain. “No, I’m not his child. And he knows it. I’m his responsibility, but not his child.”

“Not his child? What do you mean?”

“My mother made his life hell. There were times when she was all right—sober—and she’d be sorry. She’d promise never to be ‘
bad
’ again, and he’d forgive her. Then the next day she’d be gone once more. The last time he found her she was pregnant with me.”

“So why does he want you back?”

“I was my mother’s child. He could never stop her, but he’s spent his life protecting me, making certain that I don’t turn out—‘bad’.”

“So who is this man, the head of the Texas Mafia?”

“No—at least I don’t think so—but he’s got about as much power. He’s just a very lonely man. But he can ruin you, if he chooses.”

“Not me. I don’t have anything to lose, except my boat, and it looks as if I’m going to do that all by myself.”

Rogan drove, not speaking, lost in his thoughts, thoughts that swam and veered, just as they’d done so often when he’d dealt with
his
family. Why hadn’t he let Carolina and her father work out their differences? He didn’t want to take on her problems. He didn’t want to take on Carolina.

“Rogan? Rogan! I appreciate your playing my knight in shining armor, but the truth is, I’m no stray kitten to be adopted until you can find it a home.”

“What?” He was turning off the highway and onto the dirt road that led to the river.

“I think you’d better turn around and take me back.”

“I probably should. Do you want to go?”

“Of course not, Rogan. But what do you plan to do with me, now that you’ve slain my dragon?”

“ ‘Do’ with you?” He focused his attention on the woman sitting beside him, trying to stop the fierce need from igniting within him. Her eyes were wide. They’d turned that silvery color that announced her uncertainty, that reached out and fanned the little spot of heat in the pit of his stomach that seemed never to die completely.

“Yes. You’ve angered my father. He says he’s dumping me on you, and you’ve driven off into the sunset without thinking about what that could mean. What do you intend to do with me?” She tried not to reveal the depth of her turmoil as she waited for his answer.

“ ‘Do’? That’s simple. You’re going to help me finish restoring the schooner. You’re going to learn to cook. And you’re going to paint the
Butterfly
’s portrait before they take her away.”

“But—Rogan—” She was too stunned to think straight. “I’d be honored to paint the
Scarlet Butterfly
. I’d love to learn to cook, and I’m more than willing to become an apprentice carpenter, but I warn you, I’m a klutz. Oh, Rogan, I don’t have any paints.”

“Yes you do. I bought them.” From behind the seat he lifted the bag he’d put in the truck, and handed it to her. “I figured that you needed something to occupy your hands, so you’d keep them off me.”

Inside she found canvases, oil paints, charcoal, brushes. Everything she’d need. She was touched by
his thoughtfulness. She hadn’t expected it. First the earrings, now this.

Her father had cared for her, providing the things he thought she ought to have. But Sean was the first man she’d ever known who did something for her simply because he knew it would give her pleasure. This from a man who was a tough-talking bad guy.

She took in a light breath, tearing her gaze away from his strong face, now furrowed in a scowl. She was uncertain how to answer. “Are you really offering me a job?”

“A job?” He hadn’t thought of it quite that way, but it made some kind of sense. “Yes, I guess I am. The pay is lousy, but the room and board ought to be right up your alley.”

“And where do you expect me to live?”

“Right here, Goldilocks. Right here with me.”

“Oh, Rogan, thank you.” Impulsively, she slid across the seat, tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear, and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I very much want to be here with you.”

“Damn!” Rogan gulped in a breath of air, parked the truck, and pulled her into his arms with a growl of frustration. He’d fought the urge all day and he couldn’t stop himself any longer. He wanted just to hold her, nothing more. Just to give her a simple hug that signified their agreement.

She stiffened for a moment, then melted against him. “You know, I rather thought you wanted to hit me,” she said.

“Did your father ever do that?”

“Of course not. I know he loved me, but he never got that close. He pushed me away too.”

“Too?” Rogan pulled back and looked down at her.
“Does this look like I’m pushing? The Galahad half of me wants to let you go but the rogue wants to make love to you.”

“I don’t know much about Galahads,” she whispered, “but I think I like this rogue. Why is he holding back?”

“Because you aren’t ready. You’ve just escaped from your father, who was a tyrant, and you’ve mixed me up in your mind with some fantasy sea captain.”

“And aren’t you the captain of your ship?”

“I don’t know what I am, Carolina Evans, and I intend to go very slowly until we both know.”

“Will you kiss me, Rogan?”

“Dammit, I shouldn’t. I won’t.” But she looked up at him with such simple trust, such need, that he couldn’t resist.

“Where’d the river get its name?”

They were sitting on deck, drinking lemonade and watching the sun set as fireflies twinkled in the darkness. A strong spraying of insecticide kept unwanted night creatures away.

“According to Ida, it came from the sixteenth-century Spanish mission of Santa Maria de Guadeloupe. There’s still an old building called the Sugar House where the mission is supposed to have stood. I’ve never been there. But Santa Maria apparently became Americanized to St. Marys.

There was a stillness about the night that seemed to capture them in its magic. After sharing one kiss in the truck, they’d come on board and, in unspoken agreement, put the conflict with her father aside.