Callie's Cowboy (24 page)

“So how's the writing going, Theo?” he asked, trying to think about something else.

Theo set his book down. “Not as well as I'd like,” he admitted. “I'm having trouble getting started on my next project.”

“Lower your standards,” Cole joked.

“Never.” Theo shook his head. “I just wish I could find some real inspiration.”

“It's everywhere, all around you,” Val said sagely. He was right. Seb himself could draw inspiration for one of his entrées from anything—a smell, a color, or even an interesting texture. Val didn't talk much. Never had. But when he said something, it was worth it to listen. Val had been his rock—everyone's rock, really—since their father had died. And after their mother had passed away twelve years ago, taken from them by a stroke, Val was the closest thing they had to a parent.

He looked at his oldest brother. Calm. Resolute. His face bracketed by a square jaw and steely blue eyes. Their mother's eyes. He'd trust Val with anything. He trusted Theo and Cole, too, of course, but Val was the most solid of them all. The younger Grayson boys had gone wild when their dad had died. But somehow, despite the fact that he was only a few years older than Cole, Val had brought them back to Earth. Grounded them. Without him, they would have stayed adrift. Val hadn't supported most of their rowdy adventures, but he had always stepped in to keep things under control. It was Val who'd suggested Seb travel to pursue his passion. He had taken that advice, and now he was at the top of his culinary game.

“Maybe you should come back to Star Harbor for a while. Get some good ideas for your new book,” Cole suggested.

“Maybe,” Theo responded ambiguously and went back to reading. Though not as soft-spoken as Val, Theo was quieter than either Cole or himself. They'd called him “the Professor” growing up because he'd always had his nose in a book or his pen to paper, meticulously plotting their escapades. Cole had been their logistics guy, so it had come as no surprise to anyone when he joined the military. And Seb? He'd been the charmer, able to sweet-talk anyone into anything. Just like their father.

Seb had loved his mom, but like most boys, he'd worshipped his dad—his slow but easy smile. The way the corners of his eyes would crinkle up when he found something funny. The old pirate stories he used to tell the boys before bedtime. Seb thought about him every day. It was hard not to. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at himself in a mirror he was reminded of his father. But most of all, he missed his dad's laughter echoing off the sides of his fishing boat as he hauled in the day's catch.

“Hey, you guys talk to James Bishop lately?” Seb asked, trying to snap himself out of his funk. Jimmy had been a part of their high school crowd and Seb felt a brief twinge of regret that he hadn't kept in better touch.

“I haven't talked to Jimmy in years,” Theo said as he broke down his rod and reel.

Val nodded. “Yep. Owns his own tour boat and sailing company now. He's getting married in a few weeks. Asked me and Cole to be in his wedding party.”

“Really?” Seb couldn't imagine Jimmy—a huge bear of a man with an outsized voice and a nose for trouble—tying the knot.

“To Emma Newbridge, Kate Everhart's niece,” Cole said, as if he were reading Seb's mind. “Emma's been helping run the Star Harbor Inn since Kate was diagnosed with cancer a few months ago. Jimmy's a changed man. Or so he says.” Cole chuckled as he reeled in his line and started packing up his gear.

“I've met Emma,” Seb said. “Can't imagine how Jimmy snagged someone so … so …”

“Sweet?” Theo interjected.

“Yeah.” Emma was appealing and engaging, the exact opposite of Jimmy. Or at least how Jimmy used to be.

“Well, you can ask him yourself. He's at the Rusty Nail most nights after work,” Val said. “We can join him later for a beer.”

“Beer sounds good,” Seb said, reminded of his aching body, “but coffee sounds better. Any idea where I can grab a decent cup of joe around here?”

Val smiled and closed his tackle box. “I know just the place.”

        
A warrior walks, swishing the dew aside with the ends of his bow
.

—Y
OSA
B
USON (1716–1783)

“Y
ou're certain this is where he can be found?”

“I've been followin' Cap'n Talbert, jes' like you asked me to, fer the last three days. He's been comin' to this place every evening at the same time. That's how I knew to send you a message to come.”

Meghan McLowry looked up at the Oriental script over the door of the small building. The white lettering glowed with the last rays of the setting sun, bold strokes against the dark, weathered wood. She clutched the hood of her cloak beneath her chin, as much to conceal her face and hair as to protect herself from the brisk wind blowing in from the bay.

“What kind of place is this, Mr. Boone?”

“Don't know, rightly. All I can tell you is the cap'n has a powerful hankerin' fer heathen things from the East. Ain't enough for him that we make port in Malaysia, Japan, the Philippines, the Sandwich Islands, takin' on cargo … he heads straight fer this little Japanese corner of San Francisco soon as we drop anchor.”

So this was Japanese writing. Meg examined the characters with interest, noting the differences from the Chinese script she'd seen since 1852, when her parents first brought her to this booming city.

“Why does Captain Talbert come here?”

Boone rubbed his short brown beard and took a step forward. He offered snidely, “Maybe it's a whorehouse.”

She looked at him sharply. “A bit small and out of the usual style, wouldn't you say?”

Shrugging, he shifted forward again, coming closer in a way that Meg immediately recognized as encroaching. “Like I said, the man has a yen fer the mysteries of the Orient, including them dark-haired, slanty-eyed women. The only thing more important to him is his collection of swords and daggers.” His grin showed teeth marred by a career at sea and several bouts with scurvy. “Now me, I prefer my women white, blond, and fully fleshed out.”

His hand suddenly appeared at her cheek. Meg caught a glimpse of dirt-stained fingernails just before he caressed a wayward lock of her hair. Damn her unruly curls, forever escaping their bonds.

She refused to flinch or back away, drawing confidence from the cold, familiar companionship of the pistol hidden beneath her cloak. Eighteen years in this city, since the age of nine, had taught her that although the most rough-hewn miner could treat a lady with the same deference afforded the shiny metal of his dreams, there was the occasional scum who considered women easy prey. In this case, however, she didn't need to use the gun for defense.

Two hulking figures, identical in height and breadth of shoulder, stepped from the shadow of the building behind her.

“Don't touch,” warned one of the young men in a voice that rumbled from the depths of a barrel chest. They both strode forward on legs like tree trunks, their blond hair and beards glittering in the light of the setting sun.

“Understand?” the other growled, jabbing Boone in the chest. The seaman staggered back, nodding vigorously.

Meg struggled not to laugh at the expression on the man's face. “Meet the Richter twins, Mr. Boone, newly emigrated from Germany. Their mastery of English is minimal, yet effective. I'm not so foolish as to venture into this part of town alone. Now, I believe we have a business transaction to complete.”

He straightened and jerked his coat into place, then spat in the dirt at Peter's feet. Quickly, she reached out and touched Peter's thick forearm. His beefy fists unclenched slowly.

“What I can't figure,” Boone said sourly, “is why you're interested in the cap'n because he got hisself into trouble on the Barb'ry Coast the night we made port.”

“What interests me is the fact he managed to extricate himself from that trouble, and the manner in which he accomplished the feat.”

“Eh?”

“The fight, sir.” His knitted brow cleared now that she was talking down on his vocabulary level. Meg slipped the pistol into the deep pocket of her gown, then pulled out a small velvet bag, communicating in a language he could understand even better. The distinctive clink of coins caused Boone to lick his lips.

“Gold?” he rasped.

“That was our agreement.”

“Let me see.”

His hand shot out. Meg caught the dangling bag firmly in her fist, jerking it beyond his grasping fingers.

Boone backed off with a wary glance at the glowering twins.

Annoyed by his transparent greed, she snapped. “Not yet. First, I need to confirm some things. The newspaper article was true, wasn't it? Four men, armed with knives and cudgels, attacked Captain Talbert on the waterfront?”

Boone snorted. “Four men as dumb as miners' mules, you mean.”

“You were there? You saw the fight?”

“It were hard to miss, when that first fella' came flying through the window of The Golden Mermaid, where me and my crew mates were liftin' a mug o' ale. He's the one ended up with cuts and a cracked skull. Everyone in the tavern rushed out to watch the fight. Yep, another paid fer his trouble with a broken wrist, the third with cracked ribs,” Boone stated, drawing himself up as if he'd played a role in the outcome. “Don't know why Talbert let the last one get away. Guess those boys were new to San Francisco. Didn't know any better, poor dumb bastards.”

So Jacob Augustus Talbert did have a reputation. Better and better. Meg could only hope word of that reputation had made its way to Chinatown.

She tugged open the string of the bag and poured the coins onto her palm. Boone's fingers twitched. His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed.

“One last thing. The newspaper article mentioned that Captain Talbert struck blows with his feet in the fight, as well as his fists. Is this true? I don't want to base my decisions on secondhand information.”

“I can give you a guar-un-tee on that one. I watch the cap'n practice them heathen eastern moves on the ship every day. It's like some kinda' religion with him.”

Relief washed through Meg, leaving a tingle of anticipation in its wake. She wasn't wasting her time here. “Thank you, Mr. Boone.” She replaced the coins and tossed the bag his way.

He caught it deftly. “Jes' one word of advice, missie. Don't let on to the cap'n that you learned about him from that story in the paper.”

“Why not?”

“He's real partic'lar about having his privacy cut up,” he said ominously. “That's why I ain't stupid enough to return to the
Shinjiro
.” With one last glare at the twins, Boone turned and disappeared into the gathering darkness.

Well, that didn't bode well, for Meg was about to cut up Talbert's privacy in a way that went beyond the machinations of a nosy newspaper reporter.

For both our sakes, Captain Talbert, I hope you accept my first offer
.

Meg took a deep, fortifying breath and pressed her palm against the rough, weathered wood. She now had the captain on neutral ground, where she needn't suffer the indignity, the disadvantage, of seeking him out on his ship. Time for the next step in her plan.

She pushed open the door.

Meg came to an abrupt halt inside, surprised by the constricted, dimly lit entryway. A partition rose almost to the ceiling, not much more than an arm's length away.

The smell of wet wood permeated the place. How odd. Just as Meg's natural curiosity peaked, a stoop-shouldered Asian man no taller than her chin rushed at her from the shadows. He jabbered indignantly in what she could only assume was Japanese. The shooing motion of his hands was universal—he wanted her to leave. Now He ignored the twins. Whatever the nature of this place, women apparently weren't welcome.

Meg stood her ground. Captain Talbert had proven too elusive to allow this opportunity to slip away. When she didn't move, the gray-haired doorkeeper grabbed her upper arm and turned her toward the exit.

“Don't touch!” Phillip Richter snapped. He grabbed the man's collar and lifted him as if he were no bigger than a week old puppy.

“Aiyeee!” the little man cried. The whites of his eyes glowed in the dim light. His legs flailed.

“It's all right, Phillip. Put him down,” Meg said wearily. She cherished the twins' loyalty and their protection, but high drama always trailed in their wake. They were just too intimidating … to all except a certain breed of men who had brought danger into her family's sheltered world.

As soon as the old man's feet touched the floor, he bolted out the front door.