“She fell asleep. What did you expect me to do, leave her outside?”
“Wake her!” Margaret announced and crossed her arms over her chest.
“I have treated your sister with respect. I like her. We get along, which is better than it was. That is all there is to it.”
“That stinks,” Ellen complained and waved a hand in front of her face when he lifted the cookpot from the fire and carried it over to the boat.
“Then stay away.” But she was not wrong.
“I will help you paint. The smell does not bother me,” Margaret offered.
“Go back and sit over there.” He pointed to the log they had settled on. “This does not come out of clothing and I do not need you borrowing more of mine. And I do not want you to get burned. This is hot.”
She forced out a heavy sigh and returned to her seat as he set to coating the inside of the boat where the boards had been nailed in place and around the seam and then the outside where it had been patched with a liberal amount of tar. He covered the new wood, seams, and where nails had been hammered in, while letting the tar seep into the cracks, then adding more until he was certain that it was covered and that water couldn’t get in, then set the cookpot aside.
“Now what do we do?” Ellen asked.
“Wait for it to dry.”
“That is boring,” Ruth whined.
“Yes, it is, but there is not much else to do.”
They sat in silence, him lost in his thoughts and the girls staring at the boat as if they could actually see it dry.
Tempest, the bane of his existence and the woman whom he might just love, and certainly wanted to kiss, was who filled his thoughts.
She was beautiful, strong, stubborn, and everything a man could want in a wife.
Or, everything he wanted in a wife—someone whom he did not need to worry about offending her sensibilities, or tread carefully about because she might turn into a watering pot.
She hadn’t even cried when she was injured except for one tear that ran down her cheek when he stitched the gash in her hand. Not even a word of complaint, nor did she faint away.
They would either make a fabulous match and be happy to the end of their days or kill each other within a month of marriage because they were both stubborn and determined to have their way and that was what frightened him.
He needed to know how they were in ordinary circumstances. He was fairly sure that he already knew what he needed, but reminded himself again, this was not the time for a courtship.
“Is it dry yet?” Ellen asked.
“You can touch it and see,” he suggested.
She frowned and approached. He could tell from where he sat that it had at least begun to cool, whether it was dry was another matter.
“Quick, hide,” Nicoll said as she ran forward. “Under the boat.”
Right behind her was Tempest carrying the bag where they had stored the belongings that would prove that there were women in the hut.
“Where are they?” he asked quietly.
“Too close and headed here. Nicoll was approaching the stream when she saw them down the path and ran back to warn me.”
“Was she seen?” he demanded.
“She does not believe so.”
“Get under the boat and stay silent. I will get rid of them.”
He would hide too but if they were coming in this direction, he needed to be present. It wasn’t as if those who lived in Fort-de-France did not already know that he lived somewhere along the beach.
