Kit’s headache rushed back in full force and throbbed whenever he thought of that “sweet” girl. His hands tightened on the oars and his rowing sped up.
“Who’d have ever thought that awkward girl would grow into the flower she is?” Lee clucked his tongue a few times. “Those are some petals.”
“And that’s one flower you’re not to pollinate.” Kit dug the oars in the water, and the small boat lurched forward with a sudden burst of speed.
Lee pulled out a flask and toasted Kit. “I’ll leave that to you.” He took a swig, straddling the short bench that sheltered his murre eggs.
“Knock it off, Lee, or I’ll throw those damn eggs of yours overboard. The last thing I need right now is a damn woman—girl, whatever—and remember, she’s Jan’s daughter.”
“Unload your muzzle, Kit, I was only giving you a bit of lip. The way I feel about Jan extends to his family, too. You know that. Here,” he shoved the flask toward Kit, “have a swig. You need to lighten up. You were almost your old, fun-loving self a while ago. Drink up!”
Kit wouldn’t touch it. As it was, his head felt like it would explode any minute. “More of that rotgut?Sweet Jesus, Lee, how can you swill any more of that piss?”
“Hell, old buddy, this is great piss rum. Guaranteed to put hair on your chest!” Lee took one last chug and recapped the bottle with a drunken flourish. He leaned back with his eyes closed, resting his head on the side of the bow. It wasn’t too long before all Kit heard was a soft snore.
The last day or so Lee had helped clear Kit’s clogged mind, at least, about the Taber-Fredriksen contract. The rum had helped him forget about his aunt. Like Lee had said, “Why get so upset before she gets here? There’ll be plenty of opportunity for that after she arrives.”
But when he’d found thoughts of Hallie constantly creeping through his mind, he’d forced himself to relive every vicious moment of his marriage to Jo. The shattering memories of his wife screaming that she didn’t want or need his love. All she needed was for him to hop on that precious ship of his and sail off into the blue, then she wouldn’t have to suffer his touch or listen to his claims of love. She really couldn’t have cared less whether he loved her or not.
He had entered that marriage with the naive surety that his marriage would fulfill his dreams of a loving woman, one with whom he could share the fantasies of his heart. He’d had that heaven with Jo those first few years, until that one long, fateful voyage that kept him away from his wife. He had thought the separation was hell until he got home, then he really knew what hell was. Jo didn’t love him anymore; he’d been gone so long he had lost her.
Those remembrances provided a painful cure to the symptoms that had been plaguing him lately. Ever since Hallie backed into his office, flashes of her kept triggering his mind and his body. The only protection he could use to guard his cracked heart were the humiliating memories of his dichotomous marriage, and then, miserable, he’d stupidly try to cover his cold pain with a blanket of rum. The next thing he knew, he and Lee had left the warmth of Richardson’s supply shack and they were rowing toward Angel Island to get those stupid eggs.
As Kit neared the shoreline, a gust of frigid wind hit his damp back. His teeth started to chatter. He rowed harder, picturing warm, dry woolen blankets, picturing the melting glow of a blazing fire, and picturing the one thing he wanted to forget: a tall blond woman whose touch sent heat blistering through his skin.
The skiff slapped into the sandy shore. While Lee slept on, Kit tugged off his boots and damp coat and flung them onto the beach. He turned and dove into the icy swell, surfacing a few feet from shore. As he bobbed in the freezing water, he justified his impulse with the rationalization that he needed to think about something other than Hallie Fredriksen.
Early Saturday morning Kitsat across from Lee, watching him consume the last two eggs.
“Ummmm... perfect.” Lee shoveled another heaping forkful of the red delicacy onto a thick slab of bread. His red-whiskered cheeks bulged when he stuffed enough for three men into his mouth.
Kit shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone who can put it away like you. The way you’ve been hunched over plates of food lately, it’s a wonder you’re not the size of a whale.”
“I’ve been doing other things besides eating. And it doesn’t matter how much I ‘put away,’ I work it off.” Lee wiggled his eyebrows. “Remember last night?”
Kit groaned. “I’d like to forget it.”
“You probably would, since you weren’t exactly what I’d call lively. I haven’t seen you look that bored since you lost that bet and had to spend three hours at Pastor Treadwell’s prayer meeting.” Lee set down his fork and added, “You know what you need?”
“Yes. But no doubt you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“You need to relax a little. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Lee put a heaping forkful of his precious eggs under Kit’s nose. “Here, try some.”
The smell of eggs and onions, mixed with some bloody-looking thing called a tomato, was enough to make Kit ill. He pushed Lee’s hand away. “God no, you couldn’t pay me to taste that foul-smelling concoction.”
Lee shrugged. “It’s your loss, old friend.” He took a couple more bites and then set the fork down. “What was wrong with you last night?”
“Just tired,” Kit lied. He wished he knew what was bothering him. Last night he’d sat there, in a room full of people, half of whom were friends, and he was suddenly overcome with the feeling that he didn’t belong there. He felt conspicuous, and of all things, lonely. It was the oddest feeling. But then, he’d been antsy and itchy since they’d arrived at Richardson’s Landing.
He drained his coffee mug. The crowd in the small wooden shack was getting to him, along with the smell. He stood up abruptly. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll meet you outside when you’re finished.” Lee gave an egg-muffled reply, but Kit had already made his way to the door.
It was a relief to taste the wind, even though it blew so hard along this stretch of Rancho Sausalito that the locals called it Hurricane Gulch. Kit shoved his hands into the deep pockets of his coat and walked away from the clustered shacks toward the solitary shelter of a group of willow trees. He leaned against a gnarled trunk and watched the activity below.
Water from a wooden cistern gurgled down a trestle pipe that angled past the trees, a respite from the noisy ruckus of the supply tents and bedding shanties. The discordant creak of an unoiled pump sounded as men tapped water from the trestle’s basin into large barrels and loaded them into a water junket docked pierside.
Another ship sailed in to anchor in the deep water beyond the short pier.Kit stood there, trying to make out the ship. Could it be?The sails dropped, Kit straightened, straining to see if the ship was indeed theSea Haven.
Lee walked toward him, pointing at the newly moored ship. “Do you see that?”
