The Last Honest Seamstress (6 page)

"Because I'm not interested in any of the men who’ve proposed to me.” Was it her imagination or did his eyes just leap with hope? She didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. She continued before she lost the last shred of her nerve. “Those men want more out of marriage than I want to give."

He frowned, looking truly puzzled. "What is it you don't want to give, Miss Sheridan?"
 

"Myself, my heart."

The light left his eyes. "Then why marry?" His tone turned suddenly stony.

"This is a wild town, Captain, with far too many men. To be quite honest, I'm tired of their advances." That came out wrong again, sounding too selfish. She had to show the advantages to him, explain the arrangement—

"You need a husband to chase them off? Hire a bodyguard. They're a lot less trouble."

Fayth thought his tone unnecessarily harsh, but she had already gone too far to draw back from her plan. "I'm not in any fear for my physical safety. It’s just . . .” Why couldn’t she frame her thoughts? “You've never shown any interest in me—"

He shook his head and looked stunned. "And you assume that means I'm the kind of man who wouldn't require a wife's love and affection?"

"You've never struck me as a man who’s passionate about women."

He cocked a brow. "I hope you're not implying that I prefer men?"

Flustered, she couldn't tell whether he was teasing or not. She felt the heat of embarrassment all the way to her toes. This was going from bad to worse. She couldn’t seem to say anything right. "No, of course not. I simply meant that it seems to me that the sea is your first love. A woman would always be secondary. That's why I think the relationship I envision could work so wonderfully. Let me explain."
 

To her surprise, he didn't make any move to interrupt her. But his calm stare only served to fluster her further and she was rattled enough as it was. She’d made a mess of everything so far. She swallowed hard.

"I’m proposing a business arrangement, of a sort. I need a husband to cast votes favoring my business interests. To advise me on repairs and hire contractors. I need the financial clout of marriage. I don't mean I want my husband's money. I intend to support myself. But the banks won’t lend to a single woman. I need a husband to get the loan I need to stay in business."
 

Spoken aloud, her list sounded manufactured and self-serving. She should have stated the advantages to him first. A man would know how to act with more finesse. How did men do it, convince women to marry them? Turned out, she needed a man just to make the proposal.

"And what would I get out of such an arrangement?" The amusement had left his voice.

"A very competent business manager."

"I have Mr. Tetch."

"You'd be foolish to trust Mr. Tetch, or any employee, implicitly. You need someone whose fortune is vested with yours. Mr. Tetch just about cost you a customer today. Would the man I met in your office earlier have stayed with you if you hadn't been in town to intervene?"

"You don't hold back your opinions, do you?"

She ignored him, concentrating on the carefully rehearsed arguments that came back to her a bit at a time. "You need a home to come home to, homemade meals, stability, the respectable stature that marriage brings to a man in the community."

"Love? Children?"

"I'm talking about a business marriage here, Captain. A marriage of convenience."

"You don't believe you could ever love me?"

What did he want her to say? She didn’t believe she could love any man ever again.

"No offense intended, Captain O'Neill. You
are
an attractive man. But I wouldn't want to love my husband, no matter who he was. I don't believe in romantic love anymore. The most I hope for is that I can respect him." She thought she’d said that rather well.

"I've been all over the world, seen more hideous cruelty than you could imagine, Miss Sheridan, and even I am not that jaded." He pushed back from the table as if their interview were over.
 

She set her jaw and lifted her chin. "You're going to refuse me?" She couldn’t believe what she was saying.

He nodded.
 

She was stunned, shocked. Yes, her proposal was unconventional, but it was eminently logical and mutually advantageous. Surely he could see that?

"I'm sorry, Captain. I mistakenly believed you were a man of reason. If I'd known you were such a romantic, I would have withheld my offer. You're making a mistake, in my opinion. Women are few enough here, at least women worth having as one's life mate. Companionship is priceless compared to love. And I did intend to give you the very best of myself in that regard."
 

She shook her head in a deliberately chastising fashion, trying to cover her own embarrassment with a judgmental attitude. "I didn't realize men could be so sentimental. We could have made a very equitable arrangement and both prospered because of it. Thank you for the wonderful meal."

She rose to leave. "Stop by the shop. I'd be very happy to make your suit for you at cost. A man deserves something for enduring such embarrassment."
 

She walked from the table with her chin out and back straight, leaving the Captain before he could reply. She had to escape, get out of the restaurant before she lost her composure completely. As she tried not to cry, she had new respect for all the men she’d turned down. Not one of them had broken down in tears. Wretched, womanly emotions.

Con watched the door close behind her. A woman with less class would have slammed it. He couldn't help leaning toward the window to gawk at her as she retreated. At any other time her regal posture would have caused him to break into an appreciative grin.

Miss Sheridan was unlike any woman he'd ever met—utterly delightful. Who of his acquaintance, even those he counted most brazen, had the confidence to propose to a man? And to support such a brash proposal with logical rationale?

Mrs. Wong rushed over and spoke in hushed Chinese. "The lady no like my food?"

"I believe it's the man she has a distaste for."

"Shame on you." Mrs. Wong shook a finger at him. "You scare off only girl I ever see you with."

He couldn't defend himself, but what choice did he have? Despite what she must think of him and how she must now view him, he wanted Fayth Sheridan in the worst way a man could. He wanted her body. He wanted her love. He wanted to possess her and be her husband in every sense. And he’d settle for nothing less. She'd just offered him up a challenge—he had to make a romantic out of her, too.

Chapter 3

Con walked into Finley's craving a drink like his life depended upon downing a beer. Tobacco smoke fogged the room, giving him a hazy protection from scrutiny. Con was not a man who wore his emotions for all to see, but after his surprising and upsetting meal with Miss Sheridan, he was having a hard time maintaining his usual calm facade.

"It's the Con!" A voice boomed from the bar.

"Bailey!" Con wound his way through the room and slapped the small, dark man on the back as he pulled up a stool and signaled for a beer.

"What's the Con doing back in Seattle so soon?"

Con shook his head. "Having a hell of a time of it."

"The city didn't welcome you home? You need to find yourself a pretty whore. They’re always good for a welcome."

Con shook his head. The last thing he needed was a whore. "Seattle's always beautiful to come back to. It's the people who inhabit her that are giving me fits."

Con had known Bailey for more than fifteen years, since they first had crewed together as boys and Con acquired his nickname, the Con, for his ability to steer vessels safely through narrow straits and fog. Con's a nautical term for the station of the person steering a ship and Con was a natural born navigator. Even as a boy, he’d saved Bailey’s tail more than once.
 

"Someone in particular?" Bailey asked.

"Tetch almost lost me a valuable client. Scheduled two ships to wharf at the same time. Left my man with his goods spoiling in the Sound. If I hadn't been in the office because we docked three days early, I'd have lost him."

"So fire Tetch. The man's a slimy bastard."

"I can't. Not over this."

"He's more than likely robbing you blind. Hell, Con, you're never in town to watch him."

Bailey was right, of course. Not that Con would admit it. "You know I don't give a damn about money. I do care about my reputation."

Bailey shrugged. "So do something about it. Speaking of money, you may not care much about it, but some of us do. I'm celebrating tonight. Just got word our mail subsidy's been renewed. Thirty-six thousand a year."

Con whistled. Thirty-six thousand a year was a small fortune. “That deserves a drink.” He signaled to the bartender. “One for my friend here, too.”

 
Bailey was the captain of a crotchety old girl, a steamer he sailed between Seattle and Victoria, British Columbia. The bartender set two beers in front of them.

Con raised his glass to Bailey's. "To my good friend's success. One of these days I'm going to give you a run for that route. I might as well extend my subsidy from San Francisco all the way to B.C."

"You're going to have to tune up that old boat of yours, Con. You know the
Eliza
can outpace 'em all now that we swapped out her engine. I went head to head with Bigby last week and left him sitting like a lame duck."

"Watch yourself, Bailey. Someday you're going to tip that boat of yours over, or overstoke her and blow her up. In either case, the government won't be happy. People don't like wet mail."

Bailey laughed. "I never pass up a good race, Con. You ought to know that by now." His eye was caught by something over Con's shoulder. "Smile. Here comes your man Tetch."

Silas Tetch had spotted him and walked toward where he sat talking with Bailey. Con was in no mood for fraternizing with Tetch. But what did he expect when he chose to hang out in a bar on the wharf?

"Boss, what are you doing here?” Tetch said as he approached. “I thought you were out courting a lady over lunch?"

Bailey's ears perked up. He shot Con a look that said,
So that's what's bothering you
. Bailey knew Con wasn't one to share his personal life.

"It was business, Silas," Con said.

"I've never seen you take any of our male customers out for a meal," Tetch said. "And linger so long that you don't come back to the office at all."

"I had errands to run, too." Why was he making excuses to Tetch?

"A lady, Con?" Bailey asked. "Is that what your foul mood is all about? A woman finally penetrated your thick skin?"

"Looks like our captain didn’t have much luck with this one," Tetch said. "And it's a pity because she's real pretty, too." Tetch's attention was diverted as a group of his drinking buddies arrived. He slapped Con on the back. "Me and the boys are heading over to Lou's to visit some of the girls. Why don't you come console yourself with us? Lila's always asking to meet my boss. She thinks a rich man like you will leave her a big tip."

Con shook his head. "I never pay for pleasure, Tetch."

"Your loss, Captain. The girls know how to entertain." Tetch winked and walked off.

Bailey leaned over and whispered in Con's ear. "Lila's probably hoping for a bigger pecker."
 

Con didn't laugh. He chugged down his beer instead and ordered another.

"Hey, what's the matter? Is this really about a woman?" Bailey asked.
 

Con sighed. "A woman came to me with a very interesting proposal, Bailey. But I couldn't take her up on it. Not today." He took a sip of his second beer. "And as Tetch said, she's a pretty little thing. But, hell, I don't even think she likes me; although, she did imply she
respected
me." He grunted.
 

Bailey was giving him a quizzical look, but Con didn't care to elaborate. Fayth unsettled him. In one meal she’d upset the careful plan he’d been concocting these past months to woo her. There must have been a reason she selected him. Would a woman propose to a man she felt no affinity for? He raised his glass and downed the rest of his beer.

Fayth sat at her sewing machine, her feet pumping the treadle in time to her stitching. She had sewn with a fury these past two days. Usually the sight of a needle piercing cloth, of perfectly straight seams stretching before her, calmed her and gave her a sense of satisfaction.
 

She pumped and watched the needle—in and out. In and out.
 

The motion of the ever-pounding needle, usually so soothing, made her muscles tense and her frustration build. She felt tight and wound up, as if her body longed for something. And she had a pretty good idea what. As if it longed for Con O’Neill.
 

She watched the needle, pumping furiously as thoughts came to her. She stopped, backed the needle out, flipped the half-finished pair of pants around and backstitched around the fly.
 

Proposing to Captain O'Neill had been sheer lunacy.