their course north to Alaska.
His mind was always on his job, and his heart was right along with it. The day was perfect for sailing, and the women—he figured due to the hour of which they must have crawled from their beds—had settled into the hull as soon as they’d boarded, and with any luck, they’d sleep away most of the day.
The deckhands whispered amongst themselves, but no one made mention of the unusual cargo. To do so would have angered Trig, and no one angered the captain. Cole liked that, too, because it promised a smooth and uneventful trip.
Hopefully.
He still had his doubts.
Late that night, while taking his turn at the wheel, his doubts were confirmed. Cole pinched the bridge of his nose at the commotion coming from the hull. The ruckus had been going on for some time and he’d hoped it would stop all on its own, but evidently that wasn’t to be. Since no one else seemed willing to go see what was happening he had no choice. Glancing toward Chester, the other mate assigned to the night shift, Cole nodded toward the wheel. They were in open water, but still needed to be alert. While walking toward the hull, he also glared down the narrow hallway running between the cabins. Uncle Trig or Robbie, who should have been dealing with such rumpus, hadn’t stepped out of their doors.
He’d known they wouldn’t; it was his job to take care of anything that came about during his watch. With frustration burning his lungs, Cole started down the slope. Women and boats didn’t mix. To his way of thinking, women didn’t mix with much. They always needed something and whined until they got it. They were clinging, too, as if they couldn’t take a step without assistance. Women had their purpose, but he sure didn’t have that purpose in his life. That was why sailing fit him so well. Mining would, too.
A man who wanted freedom and peace stayed far away from women.
Cole stopped at the bottom of the ramp. Robbie’s cargo looked and acted like a pen of clucking hens. Half of them had scarves made of feathers around their shoulders, which they were flipping and flapping about, leaving an array of red, black, white and pink fluff floating in the air. He couldn’t see much beyond that, nor could he hear anything above their squawks.
Sticking a thumb and finger against the sides of his tongue, he let loose a squealing whistle.
Silence filled the hull. He could once again hear the water sloshing against the sides. Praise be. Batting aside a few feathers floating before his face, Cole attempted to release the tension from his jaw before growling, “What’s all the commotion about?”
A buxom woman with ash-colored hair streaked with red—a horrible combination—stepped forward. “Where’s Mr. DuMont?”
“You’re looking at him.”
The obvious leader of the pack slapped her hands on her hips and marched forward. As she did so, she exposed a red corset, tasked with the unenviable role of keeping everything in place.
“I mean Captain DuMont,” she retorted, stepping close enough to fill his nostrils with the scent of enough rose water to drown a rat. “I demand to speak with him this moment.”
“Demand all you want,” Cole answered. “He’s sleeping.” Lord knows how. “I’m in charge right now.”
“Well, then,” the old hen said, “I demand to know if that woman paid the same price we did to sail upon this ship.” Waving a hand toward the group, she continued, “Or if she is a stowaway as I suspect.”
Cole stopped shy of saying all the woman had paid when the leader added, “I put out a fortune to have me and my girls transported safely to Alaska and will not abide by others getting a free ride. Put her overboard immediately.”
“Overboard?” Did she think the Mary Jane was an historic pirate ship, making people walk the plank in shark-infested waters? Proof all women’s heads were filled with fantasy and fluff. Just as he’d always suspected.
An eerie sensation and the glare still coming from the woman had him leaning slightly to see around her feathers and hair. His heart dang near dropped to his feet. The rest of the brood had parted, and right there in the middle, chin up and eyeing him with a hint of haughty determination, stood the black-haired beauty he’d been thinking about since she’d walked off the ship. “Maddie?”
“Hello, Lucky.”
The way she said his nickname had his knees growing a touch weak. He locked them in place. No woman made him weak, not any part of his body.
“What are you doing down here?”
Rather than answering him, Maddie turned to the pack leader. “I told you I know the boat’s owner.”
“That doesn’t mean you aren’t a stowaway,” the woman snapped.
Cole had half a mind to wait it out, see how Maddie got herself out of this one, but he couldn’t do that. The buxom woman had her claws exposed and looked as if she wanted to tear someone to shreds. He’d learned what was causing the commotion, and it didn’t help his mood in the least. Grasping Maddie’s arm, he tugged her forward. “What are you doing down here?”
“I—”
Not wanting to spend any more time below deck, he interrupted, “Come on. I’ll kick Robbie out of our cabin for you.”
Her eyes grew as round as silver dollars. So did the dozen other pairs staring at him. Robbie should be the one dealing with this, not him, but leaving Maddie down here wasn’t an option, not even for a few minutes. Waking up his brother would suit Cole just fine, and he wouldn’t be gentle about it, either. He and Robbie now shared the cabin, and his brother deserved to be put out considering the cargo he’d mustered up. Spinning around, Cole pulled Maddie along beside him.
She flashed a smile over her shoulder, toward the momentarily silent brood, and though he didn’t mind the quiet, Cole warned, “Don’t get too smug there, darling. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”
Maddie closed her eyes briefly, just to get her insides back in order. Everything had gone remarkably well until one of the women had noticed her sneaking toward the ramp. If she hadn’t had to relieve herself—which she still did—this would not have happened.
“I know,” she answered, barely glancing toward Lucky. “But can it wait a few minutes?”
“A few minutes?” he asked, forcing her to march up the ramp.
The urge had her bladder on fire. “Yes, there’s something I need to do.”
“What? Jump overboard?”
“No.” Flustered, she admitted, “I need to use the facilities.” There was an area at the back of the boat she’d used before and assumed it was still there. At least she hoped. It had been all day and she was about to burst.
“Go,” he said, gesturing toward the back of the boat once they’d reached the top of the ramp. She didn’t take the time to thank him—couldn’t.
When she emerged from behind the little wall, Lucky was leaning against the high side of the ship a few feet away. His eyes were sparkling like the stars overhead, but the scowl on his face had her throat swelling.
Maddie had been
