Scarlet Butterfly (2 page)

Carolina knew he was wrong. And when she saw the newspaper story about the newly discovered schooner called the
Scarlet Butterfly
, she’d made up her mind. Like the first Carolina, she would strike out on her own, escape to a place where she could take control of her life. She was as well now as she was going to get. All she needed was time. What she did with the rest of her life was up to her.

It might not be the same schooner as the one the first Carolina had run away on, but it could be. She’d had to find out. And so she’d come here.

Carolina resolutely crawled out of the car and started down the road. Overhead she could see a sliver of light now and then, but the trees were so thick that the sky was hidden. She was hot and unbelievably weary. Her trek quickly turned into agony when she was attacked by hordes of mosquitoes and enveloped by an absolute stillness in which not a breath of air moved.

In the hospital she would have taken a nap to recoup her strength. Now, forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, she kept going. Gradually she became adjusted to the sounds of the birds and swamp creatures and settled down into a kind of peaceful acceptance. The biting insects seemed to lose interest, and her fear changed into a curious kind of waiting. Somewhere ahead of her was sanctuary.
She felt its pull. She’d get there. She was too close to fail.

She didn’t know how far she’d walked when it happened. Suddenly she became dizzy, disoriented. Carolina didn’t see anyone ahead in the road. She didn’t hear anyone. She might even have dreamed the strange man who suddenly appeared beside her. One minute he wasn’t there, the next he was standing in the shadows with a scowl on his face. She saw his strong profile clearly as she crumpled in his arms.

“
What the
 …?
Who are you, lass
?
How’d you get here
?
How the bloody hell did you find me
?”

The captain, wearing an old-fashioned navy pea coat, held the frail, half-conscious young woman and continued to swear. He was speaking aloud, he thought in amazement, though his voice was rusty and the girl didn’t seem to hear. What was happening made no sense. Finally he looked around and, as if resolved to play out the familiar role of protector again, stomped off down the road carrying the girl.

He didn’t know what she was doing on the road, but maybe he’d been given a second chance to fulfill his vow. Promises were sacred trusts that forever bound a person. But this woman? No, it couldn’t be.

A colorful string of complaints followed by a long silence and finally by the smell of pipe tobacco intruded on the peaceful afternoon.

Sean was sweating. He’d been forced to abandon his car and walk. Now his imported Italian shoes were rubbing blisters on feet that had worn nothing more close-fitting than running shoes or moccasins
for longer than he could remember. And his temper was stretched to the breaking point when he finally reached the schooner.

“Who’s there?” he demanded, climbing the ramp to the boat.

There was no answer.

Sean stepped on board and stopped, listening carefully. No human sound broke the silence. There was only the lap of the water against the hull and the gentle movement of the deck beneath his feet. Even the river creatures were silent. Still, there was something, some presence. He felt a curious prickling sensation, as if everything had stopped to wait, as if he were being watched.

That sensation caught and held him. Normally he would have charged across the deck and below, but now he paused. If someone was hiding, it would hardly be a smart move for him to announce his actions. He didn’t even have a weapon. Though he doubted seriously that a criminal would rent a car and drive into the swamp to commit mayhem, he’d long ago accepted that he’d lost touch with the way people think.

Patiently he forced himself to reconnoiter the deck. Though it was still light, beneath the trees the shadows cast a secretive green haze that concealed and changed the shape of the ship, turning familiar structures into ghostly objects.

Even the air seemed different. There was a suggestion of fragrance that he couldn’t quite identify at first. Then it came to him. Pipe tobacco. The smell confirmed his suspicion. Someone had either come and gone or was still waiting below. Quietly Sean
slipped his feet out of his shoes and let his jacket and shirt fall to the deck.

A weapon. He needed something with which to defend himself. He hadn’t spent the last year painstakingly floating and restoring the schooner to have some burglar invade his privacy. Lord knew his condo in the city had been broken into. His car had been stolen. Once he’d even had his pocket picked. But this was different. This was personal, and his pulse throbbed with fury at the thought that someone had violated his sanctuary.

He withdrew a hammer from the toolbox which he’d been using to work on the planking. On cat’s feet he crept across the quarterdeck and down the steps, his heart catching painfully in his throat at every creak. With any luck, whoever was waiting below wouldn’t be able to distinguish his presence from the normal groans of the old ship.

Then a shrill screech cut through the air, almost causing Sean to drop his hammer. Bully. The contrary parrot who shared the ship with Sean suddenly came to life. “Ahoy there, matey. Furl t’gallant!”

The thought crossed Sean’s mind that if there was an outside presence on board, Bully, who’d been left in the galley, should have been protesting like crazy. But he hadn’t until now. Was the bird responding to Sean’s presence, or had the intruder made a move?

Just as quickly as he’d come to life, the bird hushed. Even spookier, Sean thought. Bully had a mind of his own. He was a foul-mouthed renegade who insisted on doing his thing, much like Sean. There was no love between the two, merely the tolerance of two adversaries who recognized in each other a kindred spirit.

Sean moved down the steps, bypassing the galley, reasoning that Bully wouldn’t have hushed if the intruder were there. The door to the captain’s quarters was closed. Sean was certain he’d left it open. He’d found his thief. But how to proceed? By opening the door he would expose himself to whoever waited beyond. Yet there was no other way.

Holding his breath, Sean pressed his ear against the door. Nothing. The thickness of the wood protected the intruder, and, he decided, himself as well. Surprise was his best offense. He’d simply rush the man and take his chances. Taking a deep breath, he raised the hammer and opened the door.

To silence.

To a cabin that smelled, not of tobacco as he’d expected, but of … wildflowers? Sean allowed his eyes to grow accustomed to the shadows and waited, ready to meet the intruder.

There was a creak in the floor, as if someone had shifted his weight. Sean immediately turned toward the sound. But, other than a curious shadow, there was nothing. The cabin was empty. He took a step deeper inside the room. There was no place for a person to hide, except perhaps beneath the bed.

The floor creaked again.

Then the sheet moved, and he heard a sound of shallow breathing that seemed to come from the bed. Sean closed his eyes and opened them. Yes, there was a shape beneath the covers. What kind of burglar took time to take a nap? he wondered.

“Shades of
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
!” he whispered, and moved closer. With the hammer still raised, he clasped the sheet and slowly lowered it.

It was a woman. No, a pale, fairylike creature,
some mythical spirit who had wandered onto his ship and was sleeping in his bed.

Her skin resembled fine porcelain, faintly tinted, but clearly too fragile to be touched. Short, light-colored hair like wisps of silk lay across his pillow. Her eyes were closed in sleep, eyes with long, delicate, golden lashes that made the fantasy complete.

One slender arm was extended toward him, her hand placed in such a way that she almost seemed to be pleading. She was wearing something silk, a slip perhaps, cream-colored and so sheer that he could see the outline of her small breasts faintly rising and falling with each breath.

Sean felt a rush of disorientation, déjà vu almost. He blinked, then lowered his arms as he realized how he would look if the woman opened her eyes.

Not Goldilocks, he decided, but Sleeping Beauty, waiting to be awakened with a kiss. But what the hell was she doing in his bed? And since when did mythical fairy princesses drive red rental cars?

Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe he’d suffered heat stroke on his way back to the river. Maybe this was all a bad dream and he’d wake up and find that nobody had written about his restoring the schooner. All this was just another mystery.

Sean blamed the unexplained sounds and smells on age, on natural shrinkage and expansion, even on the ship’s name. If the captain had only called her something reasonable—“not,” he whispered, “the
Scarlet Butterfly
.”

The
Scarlet Butterfly
. Carolina smiled in her sleep. She was dreaming about the fierce-looking man who’d brought her there and put her to bed. She’d
known even as he growled at her that he was concealing his kindness with his curses.

Now, without opening her eyes, she knew that he was back. She had to thank him, apologize for fainting in his arms. With great determination she forced open her eyes and smiled.

“Thank you, Captain. Even if you are a dream, you’re just what I expected you to be.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you.” Sean’s voice thundered across the small confines of the cabin. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m Carolina,” she whispered softly, “I was looking for the
Butterfly
, and you brought me here.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed, and he could tell from the sound of her breathing that she was sleeping again. He’d brought her? The woman was some kind of nut. A regular fruitcake. Then he remembered his brother’s words.

A woman who claimed that one of her ancestors had disappeared on the
Scarlet Butterfly
.

Well, he’d just take care of that, and quickly. No woman was going to intrude on his life, not when he already had the courts and the historians to fend off. He’d just take her back to town and—

How? He’d had to leave his truck a good mile back. He’d have to carry her. To make matters worse, a predicted advancing storm now seemed to manifest its presence with a rumble of thunder in the distance. As if on cue, the wind picked up and the ship began to dip and sway as the air currents announced the impending storm.

Perspiration began to roll down Sean’s face as the humidity grew more intense. He’d turned the ship’s forecastle into his living quarters, complete with a
window fan that wasn’t operating and would only have circulated hot air if it were on. At least a good rain shower would cool the air. He glanced over at his unwelcome guest again and felt his pulse quicken. The storm might help bring down the temperature, but something about this woman was raising his.

She wasn’t the kind of statuesque beauty he was normally attracted to. Yet even as he warred with himself over what to do, a flicker of heat blazed to life somewhere above his knees and spread upward, forcing his attention to a part of his body that welcomed the visitor in spite of his strong misgivings.

Physical manifestations were new to Sean. Always before, when frustrating moods of despair swept over him, he’d wrestle the demons of discord by pacing the deck. He’d think of Beth, his beautiful sister who’d died because he’d been too busy to see what was happening. He’d focused his anger on the family, most directly on his brother Ryan, who’d been closest to Beth and should have known. But those kinds of bad moments had occurred less and less often in the last year.

Until now.

The girl in his cabin wasn’t Beth, though she was small like his sister had been. And this night the air smelled of flowers. There was no hint of the tobacco scent that periodically permeated the air around the ship. He’d decided that long ago the
Butterfly
must have carried tobacco in its hull and that its fragrance had permeated the timbers. There was no other logical explanation, except for intruders.

Sean turned and climbed the companionway steps to the deck, just as the clouds opened and the rain
began to fall. It was a cooling rain, but a brisk wind slapped the drops against his bare chest like stinging sand. Sean peeled off his trousers and underwear and stood completely nude, his head thrown back, letting the water wash over him until he was calm again.

All right. So there was a woman in his bed. She wasn’t after him or his body, or she wouldn’t have gone back to sleep. Because she was thin and pale, he wondered if she’d been ill or in prison. Perhaps she was still sick. He couldn’t take her back in a storm. And he couldn’t stay on deck in the rain.

Striding into the galley, he pulled on a shirt he’d left hanging on the back of a chair. He’d have to go below for pants. Suppose he woke her? He hesitated, finally deciding that this was his ship; the shirt was enough. He uncovered Bully, who cocked his head and made a crude comment about what he would like Sean to do with himself.

“Watch it, old boy. I didn’t think I left you covered. But you do remember the story about the blackbirds, don’t you? I don’t know much about making bird pies, but I could turn you into parrot stew.”

Bully seemed unusually subdued. As if he knew about the woman, he remained quiet.

Sean made a pot of coffee, grilled a cheese sandwich, and listened to the radio as the storm intensified. Hurricane Circe—appropriate name, he thought—wouldn’t hit land, but the weather system would kick up enough rain to make the river rise.

He’d already checked the moorings, extending the linkage to allow for the rising water. Though he was anchored to a dock on a small saltwater lake, the lake was fed by the St. Marys River, which joined the
Atlantic a few miles south. Because the ocean was so close, the lake and the river were subject to the ocean’s tides. Often a storm swept in from the sea and played havoc with the river and its inhabitants, as it did now with the
Butterfly
.