If I Wait For You (11 page)

By now, Sara knew the names of all the
sails and could even spot when one needed to be hauled in or
unfurled. She knew when the wind was off, or had shifted making the
ship’s progress a bit slower. And she knew which way the helmsman
should turn the wheel to get the best part of the wind.

“
But a whaler’s not a
clipper, Mrs. Mitchell. We don’t care how fast we go, just as long
as we find a spout along the way.”

Sara nodded. “I’ve noticed a certain
lack of urgency, Mr. Mason. I daresay, each time another boat
overtakes us, it’s of little concern. Now, I did note a bit of
temper from the captain when that man rowed by us the other
day…”

Oliver slapped his knee and laughed
heartily. Then he brought out his sextant as if presenting Sara a
golden, jewel-encrusted crown. Sara was appropriately
awed.

West watched the two with an emotion
that was disgustingly close to jealousy. He had no fear that the
old man would make an advance toward Sara—or that she would welcome
such a thing from the old coot—but he found himself strangely
bothered they were becoming such fast friends. Hell, he could
barely bring himself to bid her goodnight.

It was, of course, because he wanted
her. Because when he entered the cabin after a long and tiring day,
it was neat and clean and smelled sweetly of her. It was because
when he turned the oil lamp on to lighten the heavy darkness of the
cabin, he could look over at her and see her softly feminine form
curled up in the bunk, her braid, more often than not, hanging off
the edge. If he thought she was truly sleeping, he would have
touched that braid, run a thumb over its smooth and glossy surface.
But he knew she was awake, and her ready response to his halting
“Good night” proved it to him nightly. He went to bed each night
fighting the urge to touch her, talk to her. Drag her to his bed
and make love to her.

And every night, he would pray to be a
better man than he was, a stronger man. A man of honor. He hadn’t
realize just how difficult it would be to have her so close, how
difficult it would be, after only a few weeks, to recall precisely
what Elizabeth looked like.

It wasn’t just that she was beautiful.
That would have been quite enough. But she was charming, as well.
Each night, she held the officers rapt with tales that surely she
invented on the spot. Her uninhibited laughter was contagious, her
wit sharp. Like a sail catching the wind, it seemed as if Sara were
unfurling right before his eyes, showing more of herself, filling
everyone around her with joy. He would watch her, revealing little
of what he thought, and marvel at the fates that would throw him
together with her. The perfect wife, when he could have
none.

He was in danger, and he knew it, of
falling in love with her.

West turned forcefully away
from Mr. Mason laughing with his wife. It would not do to care too
much, for then he would have to send her away. He would
not—
would not
—put
someone he loved in harm’s way. He need only think of his brother
to know he could not bear losing those he loved when it was in his
power to keep them safe.

West heard her laugh and he smiled,
unable to stop himself. The two thought they were getting away with
something. He’d known two days after their plan was set in motion
what they’d been up to. He had the best-dressed crew on the sea.
Within weeks, there was nary a tear or hole in sight. Except, of
course, on his own clothing. Usually fastidious about his dress,
West was having his own secret game with Sara. He knew it was
driving her to distraction to see him walking about with a growing
tear in his waistcoat. He’d thought that night he’d poked his
finger through the hole would have been her undoing.

“
Will you look at that?”
Mr. Billings said, his eyes on Sara. West turned to see Oliver
holding his sextant to his eye, then handing the navigational
instrument to Sara.

“
Plan to make your wife the
navigator, sir?”

West ignored the humor in Mr.
Billings’ voice and instead walked over to where Oliver was giving
Sara a lesson in navigation.

“
I wouldn’t listen to him,
Mrs. Mitchell,” he said. “Mr. Mason once missed the Sandwich
Islands by two hundred miles.”

Oliver pushed out his lower lip and
squinted his eyes as if deep in thought. “If I remember correctly,
sir, I was using yer calculations.”

“
Liar,” West said
good-naturedly. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Mason, I can take over this
lesson.”

Sara stiffened. “Please don’t bother
yourself, Mr. Mitchell.”

Oliver gave the couple a sharp look
before making a hasty departure. Clearly he thought he was in the
middle of a marital tiff. West stifled an irritated sigh. He wasn’t
certain he was more irritated with Sara for her coolness, or at
himself, for caring.

“
Is my company so
objectionable, then?”

Sara’s gaze went to the sextant she
still held in her hands. “Of course not.”

West told himself he should let things
go, it was easier for him that she be wary of him, that she not
want his company. But it bothered him—more than he was willing to
admit—that she stopped smiling whenever he walked by. The only time
she was herself in his company was at the dining table, and she
always held herself slightly turned away, clearly directing her
stories to the officers and not to him. He frowned at the thought,
not knowing Sara was looking at him.

She handed him the sextant,
practically shoving it into his hands. “I was simply curious,” she
said.

And then, sounding like a dull
schoolroom professor, West explained how sightings were made in the
morning and at noon, and by that calculations were made to
determine longitude and latitude. By the time he was finished, West
had nearly put himself asleep with his dry explanation. He wished
more than anything that he’d let things be. Sara had been having
fun with Oliver, but she was silent standing next to him. Bored,
more than likely.

When he turned to her, she surprised
him with a smile that took his breath away. Literally, he could not
breathe for at least five heartbeats.

“
Thank you, Mr.
Mitchell.”

West felt as if he’d just handed her
the moon.

The doldrums came, and
after nearly two weeks of bobbing gently in calm seas, the
Julia’s
sails filled
once more, the air blessedly cool. And that night, seasickness
struck, cruelly for its unexpectedness. Sara didn’t even have time
to seek out her well-used bucket, soiling the teak floor and a bit
of the rug that covered most of the area. Sara moaned, knowing what
was ahead of her, as she carefully pushed down the railing of her
bunk and got out of bed. With shaking fingers, she lit an oil lamp,
grimacing when she saw the mess. The ship rolled sickeningly and
her stomach rolled right along with it as she gathered up a cloth
and bucket to clean. This time when she lost her battle with her
stomach, she at least had the bucket at her feet.

The door opened but she was too sick
to care who stood there.

“
I thought this might
happen,” West said rather too lightly for Sara’s mood. “Some of the
men are sick as well, if that makes you feel any
better.”

“
Why would someone else’s
misery make me feel better?” Sara asked grumpily.

“
At least you know you are
not alone. Misery loves company, so they say.” He knelt beside her
and grabbed the rag, which Sara gratefully gave up without even a
token resistance. “Here. Back in bed.” He grasped her upper arms
and helped her into her bunk, then pulled the covers over her as if
she were a child.

“
Thank you.” Then, “Oh,
God.” He got the bucket to her just in time.

“
It shouldn’t last as long
this time,” he said with a smile. “Two days at the
most.”

Sara let out a moan. Two days sounded
like an eternity when she knew how those two days would be spent.
“I thought I was over this.”

“
You’ll get sick each time
you go to sea after being on land. The doldrums tricked your
stomach into thinking it was ashore.”

Sara scowled. “Stupid
stomach.”

West chuckled and Sara felt just good
enough to appreciate the sound, as well as admire the way it made
him look even more handsome. Her heart picked up a beat, and she
suddenly felt overly warm lying there with him so close.

“
I didn’t know you knew how
to do that,” she said. West Mitchell, she’d realized weeks ago, was
not a man who smiled easily. Or angered or frightened
easily.

“
Do what, clean?” He
continued to smile at her and Sara thought she could lie in bed
forever staring at him.

“
Laugh.”

The smile immediately disappeared,
replaced by that odd look he got sometimes. Sara wished she knew
what he was thinking, for it seemed he was bothered by what she
said. Not irritated, as he seemed too often to be with her, but
moved or hurt that she’d noted he rarely laughed. West finished
cleaning, then stood.

“
Is it all right if I turn
off the lamp?” He avoided looking at her, and Sara saw that his jaw
was tense. As if he were angry with her. Again. Suddenly, she was
sick to tears of hearing in his voice, seeing in his eyes, how much
he wished her gone.

“
If you want, I can leave
this ship. I can leave at the next port.”

He turned and Sara knew with a
certainty he was indeed angry. “Why do you say such things? As if
you are some unwanted baggage that no one wants? As if you are
worth nothing to anyone on this ship?”

“
Because it is true. You
cannot deny that my presence on this ship is not
wanted.”

He actually looked as if he might
argue with her. Then his gaze softened. “Miss Dawes. These men
think you are their angel of mercy. Half of them think themselves
in love with you. If I were to send you off this ship now, I fear
I’d have a mutiny on my hands.”

The look she gave him was clearly
skeptical.

“
What would the men say of
me if I were to pack my wife up without a by your leave? You’ll
stay on board, Miss Dawes, whether you—or I—like it.”

Sara smiled at him, her grin widening
at his obvious discomfort. “I had no idea I wielded such power, Mr.
Mitchell. Perhaps I should make good use of it.” At this moment of
victory, the ship decided dip then rise, and her air of command
vanished as she threw her head into her bucket.

For the second time that night, she
heard West laugh.

Chapter SIX

West eyed the ship on the
horizon with curiosity. It appeared to be a barque lumbering slowly
toward them, perhaps a whaler, if her slow progress was a clue.
The
Julia
had
been out of the doldrums for a week now, and the men were due for
some recreation.

“
In the mood for a gamming,
Mr. Mason,” West said, his eyes still on the distant
ship.

“
Would do the men good,” he
said. “And that little wife of yours, too.”

West gave his first mate a sharp look.
“Why would you say that, Mr. Mason?”

The old man shrugged his bony
shoulders. “Seemed a little peaked lately.”

West turned to find Sara, his eyes
locking on her lithe form as she, too, looked to the horizon to the
ship. Even in her shapeless brown dresses, she was strikingly
feminine. Her hair was braided, but several long, waving strands
had escaped to whip behind her. “She’s seemed all right to
me.”

“
Has she now?”

West, his eyes still on Sara, nodded.
“She’s not one to complain,” he said uncertainly. In truth, he’d
not paid much attention to her in the last days and had felt
immensely better for his effort. It was a small ship and West had
made a fine art of keeping his eyes directed to the sea, the sails,
anywhere that would keep her from his line of sight.

“
No. Not Mrs. Mitchell.
She’d not complain if cook served her roach-filled
bread.”

West did his best not to roll his
eyes. Mr. Mason was clearly one of the men who had fallen under the
charms of his “wife.”

“
She’s a hearty girl, yes,”
West said, barely able to keep the obvious pride from his
voice.

“
Hearty, ye say.
Hmph.”

West’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know
something I should know? Is there something wrong with her?” He
heard the hint of panic in his voice and told himself he was simply
acting the concerned husband. He was frankly beginning to get a bit
worried. What the devil was Oliver so obscurely hinting
at?

“
P’haps ye should talk to
yer wife yerself. P’haps ye should ask her about a certain blessed
event.”

“
You think she’s
with
child
?” he
asked, unable to keep the utter amazement from his
voice.

“
I’d say it was obvious.
She’s been eating salty foods, complaining of boredom. Walking
around the deck restless as a cat looking for cream one minute,
looking ready to cry the next. Holding her stomach.”