Wings of the Morning (Kensington Chronicles) Read online

  Buck's house was as much a surprise as the man himself.

  He did not live on the ocean, but in a wooded area that would

  rival any ocean view for beauty. His house was a rustic one-story

  that at first glance did not seem to fit what Smokey knew

  of Buck.

  Buck, who seemed to be watching for them, led them

  immediately into a large, pleasant room that was lined with

  J&Qokshelves. Ever the gentleman, Buck helped the ladies with

  ' sweaters, but Smokey took little notice. Her eyes were

  ftin the room with near astonishment; it was so unlike *&te$ rough wood exterior.

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  The room was lovely. There were bookshelves everywhere;

  they literally lined the walls in tasteful elegance. The

  furniture was very ornate and colorful, and although many

  pieces didn't match, it was all artfully arranged. The effect was

  sophisticated, yet warm. The windows, nearly reaching the

  ceiling and gleaming with clean glass, were positioned in

  such a way that everyone had a beautiful view of the woods.

  "Do you like books?" Buck broke into her inspection.

  "I do, although I've never taken much time for reading."

  "Well," Buck seemed delighted, "read anything you like.

  Pick some out and take them home."

  Smokey, not used to such generosity, hesitated, but Buck's

  look of genuine warmth soon put her at ease.

  "Thank you, Buck," Smokey finally said graciously as she

  moved toward the shelves. She immediately pulled a large

  volume on American history, then she spotted a slim blue-bound

  book that made her heart thunder. The title was Kohls'

  Book of Etiquette. Still holding the history book, she took it

  down and turned to the first chapter.

  "What every young lady should know concerning afternoon

  tea."

  "What was that, Smokey?" Jenny asked from across the

  room. Smokey realized she had spoken aloud

  "I was just looking at this book." She nearly stuttered at

  being discovered, but Buck rescued her.

  "Take it with you. Here," he approached and without

  seeming to notice the titles, swept both books from her hands.

  "I'll put them here under your sweater where you won't

  forget them. And here," Buck stopped and selected one more

  book. "This is a classic, lots of adventure on the high seas. I

  know you'll love it."

  Something in Buck's voice made Smokey's eyes fly to his

  face, but she saw nothing to hint at his knowing about her

  sailing. The urge to tell Jenny and Buck all about herself

  pressed in strongly upon her at that point, but she didn't know

  how to begin, and it wouldn't have mattered anyway. Buck no

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  51

  more set the books with her sweater than one of his servants

  announced that lunch was waiting^

  Smokey asked herself how many times she was going to

  make a fool of herself in front of this family. The meal had

  been a disaster. Buck had bowed his head to thank God for

  their meal, but before he could pray, Dallas walked in. Suddenly

  Smokey's mouth went completely dry as he sat opposite

  her and bowed his head for the prayer. Smokey didn't hear a

  word of it. She stared at the top of Dallas' head like a woman

  who'd taken leave of her senses. And that was only the beginning.

  She spilled her water twice, once into her lap and once

  across the table. She poked herself in the cheek with her fork

  when Dallas was talking because she was giving more attention

  to his wonderful smile than to what she was doing.

  Questions were directed to her throughout the meal as

  the family attempted to include her, but beyond monosyllabic

  replies, accompanied by a rather bewildered expression, she

  was mute. The meal seemed to last forever.

  Over dessert Smokey berated herself without mercy. Why

  in the world did it never occur to you that Dallas would be

  here today? He probably lives here when he's in port. He also

  probably thinks you belong in an asylum.

  "Well, I've got to be off," Dallas suddenly spoke into

  Smokey's riotous thoughts. "Thanks for lunch, Buck I'll see

  you tonight." Dallas bid everyone goodbye, but beyond a

  strange little smile, Smokey didn't seem to notice.

  Dallas made his way out of the house and shut the door,

  but paused on the front step and looked back at the closed

  portal.

  ^fcwiy's new friend is certainly an odd little thing, he

  ~ ". in confusion. His mind moved backward over lunch,

  checking to see if he had said or done anything that might

  have explained her nervousness. He couldn't think of a thing.

  As he walked up the street, his mind lingered on Smokey

  for just an instant more. She wasn't like any of Jenny's other

  friends, but Dallas mistakenly thought he understood the

  attraction. Smokey Simmons was a rather pathetic woman,

  and his entire family had always had a soft spot for abandoned

  pets.

  "Do you really have to leave?"

  "It's been wonderful, Jenny, but I need to get home. I can't

  thank you enough for the lovely time I've had, and please

  thank Buck too."

  It was the afternoon of the next day and Smokey knew she

  had been rather abrupt.

  "You'll come again, won't you, Smokey?" Tate put in when

  he saw his wife's crestfallen look. Smokey had announced at

  lunch that she would be leaving that day, and even though Tate

  was very busy, he knew that Jenny would need his support.

  "Of course I will," Smokey said with a chuckle. "I'll be

  back so often that you'll be sick of the sight of me."

  Jenny's hands came to Smokey's upper arms in a gesture

  that was almost fierce. "That's not going to happen, Smokey,"

  she told her seriously. "I wish you could stay for the rest of the

  summer."

  "Oh, Jenny, thank you." Smokey spoke with her heart in

  her eyes. "That means so much to me. I don't make friends

  easily, and I know there's a lot about me that I haven't shared,

  but--"

  "None of that matters," Jenny cut in. "We'll be here, and

  you'll be welcome at any time."

  The women hugged for a long moment before Smokey

  boarded the stage. Tate had offered to take her home that

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  evening, but Smokey had wanted to leave that afternoon.

  They all parted on the best of terms, but Smokey felt something

  like an ache around her heart as the stage pulled away.

  She didn't say much once she was back at Wiila's, and

  neither Willa nor Darsey pressed her. In fact, she was quiet for

  the next two days. Not until she was aboard her ship and out to

  sea did she face all the hurts she was experiencing. Her men

  left her alone while she had a long, hard cry in her cabin, and

  when she finally emerged she felt a little more like herself, the

  captain of the Aramis.

  seven weeks later

  the london port was abuzz with activity, but Dallas took

  little notice from his place on theZeja&yr. He had an appointment

  with a friend, and for the moment all he cared about was

  gett
ing his ship unloaded so he could be on his way.

  Dallas stood on the deck as his men, all stripped to the

  waist, carried crates to the docks. For the most part the

  operation was going smoothly, but a sudden crowd of sailors

  sauntering their way through his men and toward another

  ship suddenly made Dallas feel as if he should be on the dock

  himself; fights could break out so swiftly.

  He'd no more gained his footing on the quay than a small

  sailor walking past him with the others and wearing a knit hat

  caught his eye. The sailor didn't look at him, but Dallas studied

  the smaller man's profile as he passed and pondered as to

  where he might know him.

  He did a double take when he realized how closely the

  sailor resembled his sister's friend Dallas figured she must

  have a brother. A huge fellow was with the small man, and just

  steps down the quay he had stepped between them so that the

  smaller man was lost to view. Dallas shrugged at his own

  imagination. He saw so many people in his work that after a

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  while they all looked the same. He put the entire incident

  from his mind in order to finish the task at hand

  Two hours later, clean and pressed, a carriage was dropping

  him at the door of White's Club. He was resplendent in all

  black, save for a snow-white shirt and cravat, for his luncheon

  engagement with Brandon Hawkesbury, Duke of Briscoe.

  "Well, Hawk, I understand that congratulations are in

  order."

  "Indeed," Brandon inclined his dark, handsome head, his

  eyes sparkling with pleasure. "My son, Sterling, is three weeks

  old today, and Sunny is doing fine."

  "Please give her my best and this," Dallas paused and

  brought a small box from his pocket. "It's for your son."

  Brandon opened the box and laughed. A small gold loop,

  much like the one Dallas usually wore in his ear, winked at

  him from a bed of satin.

  "I'm not sure his mother will appreciate the gesture, but I

  thank you."

  Dallas grinned in reply, but Brandon's next words to him

  brought the conversation to a serious note.

  "How is business?"

  Dallas grimaced. "It could be better."

  "You haven't been hit by Haamich Wynn, have you?"

  "The pirate? No. In fact, I'm not sure I believe he exists."

  "I felt the same way," Brandon admitted, "until a month

  ago when he hit one of my own ships. No one was killed, but I

  lost valuable cargo. Rumor has it that he's a peer of the realm."

  Dallas whistled low. "I'll keep my eyes open in the future."

  "I'd appreciate that for your sake, as well as my own. Now,

  you haven't really answered my question."

  Dallas sighed and sat quietly before admitting, "In truth,

  ga bit discouraged My long-range plan should have had me

  "^in Maine right now, building my first ship."

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  Brandon took in his friend's grief and then spoke softly,

  "Dallas, if you'd only let me help you, I'd--"

  Dallas forestalled him with a raised hand "Thank you,

  Hawk, but I want to keep trying on my own. If things don't turn

  around by the first of next year, March at the latest, I may be in

  touch."

  Brandon agreed with a nod and then said, "You're a fine

  captain, Dallas. What exactly is going on?"

  "Smoke," he stated simply. "He's into port like a thief in the

  night, moving like mist on the water. I never get word of goods

  before he does, and he's come and gone before I can get the Zephyr moving." Dallas stopped talking when an odd look

  passed over Brandon's face.

  "You haven't heard the latest rumor, have you, Dallas?"

  "I guess not," he said quietly and waited

  "Smoke is a woman."

  Dallas waited for his friend to thump him on the chest and

  laugh at his own joke--he did neither.

  'You can't be serious," Dallas finally said

  "I'm very serious. She's been sailing for a few years now,

  but until quite recently she's kept her identity very low key.

  She sails theAramis, and the talk I've heard is that there's no

  finer or swifter craft on the Atlantic"

  Dallas' heart began to thunder in his chest. Images of

  Jenny's small friend Smokey, the sailor he had seen just hours

  ago on the dock, and the ship they had been moving toward all

  rushed through his mind

  "Hawk, what does the Aramis look like?" Dallas' voice was

  just over a whisper.

  "I haven't seen her, but I can tell you what I've heard She

  looks as new as the day she set sail. Clean lines. Ebony with a

  single gold stripe. No figurehead, but she flies a large American

  flag at the top of the mainmast, and another smaller one

  from the mizzenmast."

  Dallas' eyes slid shut when Brandon was through. Upon

  Brandon's question, he shared the entire story, starting with

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  his sister's friend and ending with the sailor and ship he'd

  seen at the dock.

  "If the rumor mill can be trusted, she's an American and

  lives in Maine, so what you've said makes perfect sense. Look,

  Dallas," Brandon went on. "I can see that you're ready to hop

  your ship and follow the Aramis as quickly as you can.

  'You haven't seen Sunny in ages or met Sterling," he

  added "Why not come out to Bracken for a few days? It

  wouldn't be your original intent, but if you go chasing after the Aramis, you're only going to antagonize her captain."

  Dallas nodded slowly in agreement and then shook his

  head in disbelief. It was all too ridiculous for words. The

  woman he had met at Tate and Jenny's and then again at Buck's

  couldn't possibly be one of the finest sailors to grace Atlantic

  waters.

  Brandon was right, he did need to stop and think about his

  next move. Especially since this was almost certainly a case of

  mistaken identity. In just moments Dallas convinced himself

  that there was really no need to hurry.

  "There's someone here to see you, Mr. Pemberton," Tate's

  secretary told him as he stepped into the private office of

  Pemberton Shipping. Tate looked up from his desk to thank

  the man, but could see that he was distressed

  "What is it, Scott? Something James can't handle?"

  "Well, sir, they want to see you, and I--"

  "If someone is upset," Tate cut him off, "just send him in.

  I'm sure we can work it out."

  "It's the captain of the Aramis" Scott said Although he

  stilnooked upset, Tate's face cleared

  "Smoke," he said with relief. "I've never worked with him

  re, but his reputation is flawless. Whatever the trouble is,

  toork it out. Send him in."

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  The secretary hesitated, but Tate ignored him and went

  back to his paperwork. A moment later the door opened and

  two people entered, closing the door behind them. Tate finished

  the entry in his ledger before looking up. He rose with a

  congenial smile on his face. When he spied Smokey standing

  just inside his office door, however, the smile became rather

  fixed, and his look turned to one of confusion. Beside her
was

  a bear of a man. Both of them looked quite serious.

  "I've been asking myself for weeks," she began softly, "if I

  was lying by not telling you what I do for a living. I'm afraid I

  never came to a solid conclusion one way or the other. I never

  dreamed that my shipment from London on this trip would be

  coming to one Tate Pemberton. I assure you, Tate, it was never

  my intention to be deceitful to you or Jenny."

  Tate was so stunned he didn't know what to say, but not for

  the reason Smokey imagined She would have been shocked

  to learn that his surprise was due almost solely to her manner,

  and not to what she did for a living. The Smokey he knew was

  endearing, but she was also quite shy and rather clumsy. This

  Smokey, the owner and captain of the Aramis, was in complete

  control of herself and the situation.

  "Sit down, Smokey," Tate said, finally recalling his manners.

  Smokey took the chair in front of the desk while Darsey sat

  in a chair under the window. Without further word, Smokey

  placed some papers on Tate's desk.

  He reached for them and studied them carefully, taking a

  little longer than usual in an attempt to gather his wits.

  "This is your price, the one written here at the bottom?"

  "Yes."

  "It's a bit steep," he said without hesitation.

  "I believe it's more than fair," Smokey interjected with

  confident ease.

  Tate's eyes came to hers then, and again he was struck by

  the change in her. Unsmiling, Smokey held his eyes without

  blinking. A slow smile began to spread across Tate's mouth.

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  Smokey then smiled in return, and Tate finally had to laugh

  with relief.

  "I'm just so surprised," he admitted. "I mean, you obviously

  know what you're doing and I--" He seemed to run out

  of words so Smokey rescued him.

  "What you're trying to say is that when I'm in your home,

  I'm a woman with a speech impediment and two left feet, and

  now you find I really do know how to walk and talk." She

  shrugged ruefully, her grin still in place. "I'm sure Jenny

  would feel as I have if ever she were to board my ship."

  "I'm sure you're right," he agreed, his smile even larger at

  the thought of his wife doing Smokey's job.

  "Now, Mr. Pemberton," Smokey brought him back to earth

  in a no-nonsense way. "Are you interested in my cargo, or do I

  travel farther up the coast?"

  "You mean at this price?"

  "Indeed, I do." There was a note of steel in Smokey's voice