Looking for a Hero (12 page)

“Perhaps they wanted you to have both.”

“I got more love than anything else from Evalena. She didn't have any children of her own, but she knew what I needed. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up, and I wanted to give that same kind of love and attention to a bunch of my own kids.”

“Is that why you take care of other people's children?”

“They brighten my day. I need the money, too,” she admitted. “I don't need a lot of material things, but I need to make a living, and taking care of children is what I do best.”

Kate pulled into the parking lot near Castillo de San Marcos and stopped so the car was facing the lighted fortress. “I used to come here for picnics with my aunt, or to play pirates with Joe and his sister. He was fascinated with pirates—good ones, bad ones, it didn't really matter. I guess he found them romantic.”

“And you?” he asked, smiling his warm and dangerous smile.

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she contemplated his question. “I liked anything Joe liked, but I'd never really understood his fascination—until now.”

Morgan's smile deepened, and without saying a word, he climbed from the car, then came around to the driver's side, opened Kate's door,
and took hold of her hand. “Walk with me,” he said, his voice low, almost hypnotic.

She slid out of the car and strolled at his side across the sweeping lawn that surrounded the centuries-old fort. “St. Augustine was much different in my time,” he said, walking slowly, his hands folded behind his back. “There were houses, of course. Many lined the streets as they do now. I remember wandering around the city at night, staying out of sight of the Spanish soldiers, and looking through windows to see and hear families laughing together over the evening meal. 'Twas the life I longed for but could not have.”

“Why?”

“I was a wanted man. My mother, father, and sister had died, and my family in England had disowned me. 'Twas not surprising. My grandfather had raised honorable sons, and my uncle could not abide what I had become.”

“Why did you become a pirate?”

He laughed, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it tightly, even when she tried to pull away. “You believe me, then?”

“It's hard not to.”

“Then believe me when I tell you I had good reason to become a pirate.”

“That's all you're going to tell me?”

“'Tis all you need to know.”

They stood near one of the swaying palms that lined the bank between the fortress and the bay. “The sea never changes,” Morgan said, as they looked at the moonlight shining on the waves lapping
against the shore. “I sailed many times from Dover to Calais, but I was in my early twenties when I first crossed the Atlantic. I had never been at the helm of a ship before. I'd always been a passenger, but the first time I raised a sail and felt my hands around the wheel, I knew I'd found my home.”

His hand slid around her waist, and he pulled her close to his side, but his eyes didn't leave the dark line of the ocean on the horizon. “I must find a way to go back, Kate. 'Tis where I belong.”

H
e'd wanted to kiss her. All the way home, as she'd driven the car and stared straight ahead, speaking nary a word, he'd wanted to kiss her. When they'd stood outside her bedroom door, he'd wanted to sweep his fingers over her creamy-smooth cheek and wind them through her hair. He'd wanted to draw her face close to his and capture her velvety lips.

But Kate was not a barroom wench whose affections could easily be trifled with. She was a lady of the first order, a woman of compassion, who stirred his senses as none other had ever done.

And he'd hardly touched her.

Morgan folded his arms behind his head and stared at the dark ceiling. In the room next door he could hear Kate stir, could hear the faint crackle of a wooden bed frame and the creak of a floorboard as she walked across the room.

Rising from the small bed that barely fit his body, he went to the window and looked to the balcony where he'd seen her sitting the night he'd arrived at her home.

She was curled up in a chair, her knees drawn up to her chest. He leaned against the wall and watched her in silence.

The moon shone on her honey-colored hair, where it hung about her shoulders and curled at the crest of her soft, lush breasts. A thin white gown edged in lace scarcely skimmed her body. Her legs were bare, and he wanted to touch them, to draw his fingers up their silky length and drive her to madness.

His loins ached at the thought.

But he would not touch her. Nay. He could not take her to his bed, love her thoroughly, and then walk away. 'Twould be too difficult to leave this woman—a woman who warmed his heart and enflamed his soul—were he to taste everything she could give him. 'Twould be wrong to ask her to give herself completely, to make her think he would stay.

A true gentlemen—even one who had turned to piracy—would not tamper with a woman's heart, especially if it would shatter his own.

 

Kate watched the sway of the pines silhouetted against the dark clouds floating across a blue-black sky. She wished that sleep had come, but her thoughts had been too full of Morgan Farrell, and she'd tossed and turned trying to drive him from her mind.

She didn't want someone taking Joe's place. She didn't like the idea of comparing a confessed thief, murderer, and scoundrel with her beloved Joe.

Resting her forehead on her knees, she closed her eyes and concentrated on thoughts of her husband, but the pictures that came to her mind were of a young boy playing pirate and making her walk the gangplank he'd rigged up in the backyard, a teenager giving her her first chaste kiss, and a young man with a childlike face asking her to be his wife, telling her about all the fun they could have.

And then Morgan's face came into her mind. Worldly. Rugged. Scarred by a cruel life that she imagined had been anything but fun. An older face. A wiser face.

With lips that she'd wanted to kiss.

Behind her, she heard the whine of a floorboard and turned. Morgan was standing in her doorway, the breeze wafting through his hair. His shirt was loose, hanging over his gray trousers. His feet were bare. His eyes were warm, and they searched hers, as if trying to know what she was thinking at this very moment.

But she didn't even know herself. Confusion was all she felt.

“I could not sleep,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I saw you sitting alone. I hope you don't mind me joining you.”

She shook her head. “I often sit out here at night. Sometimes I read, sometimes I just wait till everything's quiet so I can hear the waves hitting the beach.”

“If I were in my own time, I would stand at the helm of
Satan's Revenge
, watch the stars, and plan my course for another voyage.”

“Was planning your next voyage what kept you from sleeping tonight?”

“Aye.” He walked to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing. He looked across the street at Evalena's darkened house, and farther still, toward the Atlantic. “I long to be on the ocean again, back in a time that is familiar to me. But try as I might, I do not know how to go home.”

“I've thought a lot about it.”

He turned, a slight frown narrowing his eyes. “Do you know something I am not aware of?”

“I wish I did know something, but I don't. It just seems that if you could go back, you'd have to do it the same way you came.”

He laughed. “I would rather forgo another hurricane, and I do not believe even my hard head could weather another blow from a falling mast.” He turned again to the railing. “Besides, I no longer have a ship to take me back out on the ocean.”

“You could take my sailboat.”

She'd allowed the words to slip quickly from her lips. If she'd given herself time to think, she never would have offered. Doing so made it much too easy for him to leave, and she wasn't sure that was what she wanted.

“You are most generous, Kate.” He spoke without looking at her, and for one moment she wondered if he was as torn about returning to his own time as she was about him going. He was silent for far too long, and then he slowly faced her. A warm smile shone in his eyes and on his lips. “I will sleep on your offer.” He bowed his head in his ever-so-proper manner. “Good night, Kate.”

And then he was gone—far, far too soon.

 

Kate yawned. Morning had come too early, awakening her from sweet dreams of sailing on placid waters, beneath a bright full moon. She wandered down the hallway and peeked into Morgan's room. It was empty, and her heart sank. She stepped through the door and looked around for any hint that he might return, but his coat was no longer draped over the chair, and the bed was made. There were no outward signs that he'd ever been in her home.

If it weren't for the strange loneliness she now felt, she might have believed she'd dreamed the past few days. They'd been real, though—very, very real—and Morgan's smile, his scar, the intensity of his eyes overwhelmed her every thought.

“Good morning, madam.”

She jerked around at the sound of his voice.

“I have startled you. I apologize.”

“I thought you'd gone.”

“On the contrary. I have been downstairs, eating breakfast with Casey and your aunt. Something quite tasty called Mickey Mouse pancakes.”

Kate pushed her hair behind her ears and tried not to look as relieved as she felt. “Casey should have woken me up. I've got kids coming any minute.”

“You were sleeping soundly. We did not have the heart to disturb you.”

“You came into my bedroom again?”

“Aye, madam. With your daughter.” He smiled. “You are quite beautiful—awake and asleep.”

She ignored his comment, tilting her head to look at the toes of his boots rather than meet his eyes. Then she changed the subject. “Did you think any more about taking my boat?”

“Aye.”

She raised her head slowly and met his smile. She swallowed the lump of dread that had formed in her throat. “So, are you going to leave?”

“Nay. Not on your boat. 'Tis a vessel I would be proud to sail, but in my heart I do not believe it will take me home.”

“Why?”

“As you suggested last night, I imagine I will be able to go home only if the circumstances that brought me here are repeated.”

“Then you're going to stay?”

“Casey talked of making breakfast for me tomorrow
morning, and the next day, too. 'Twould be hard to break her heart.”

Kate couldn't help but smile. “There's so much to think about if you're going to stay. You'll need a job. You'll need identification. You'll need—”

“I'll need to search for a ship,” he interrupted. “I'll need to do everything in my power to recreate the events that brought me here.”

The finality of his words slammed against her chest. She didn't want him to leave, but…but maybe his leaving would be for the best, she rationalized. He was a pirate, after all, a man not suited to the kind of life she led, a man who'd never be happy tied to one place. A man with a past that would be far too hard to ignore.

“I would appreciate your assistance, Kate.”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Sure,” she said, not knowing what else she could possibly say. “What would you like me to help you with?”

“I need books to read. I need to know everything that happened between my time and yours.”

The doorbell rang downstairs, helping her to forget about him leaving, pulling her back to reality. “That's Bubba and his mom. I've got to go.”

Morgan's fingers circled her arm and kept her from rushing away. “I need a place where I can be alone. A place where I can think—and plan.”

“You can use my husband's office,” she said, surprised at her own words. Everything in that room was personal, private. That room had been Joe's own special place, yet she hadn't hesitated a
moment in allowing Morgan to use it.

She moved quickly down the hall and opened the door. She'd expected to see the image of Joe looking up at her from behind his desk. She'd expected to see his smile. But Joe was gone, and when Morgan walked into the room lined with bookshelves filled with volumes about the history of his time, and glass display cabinets holding artifacts that seemed old and unfamiliar to her but were so much a part of his life, it seemed as if he belonged there.

The doorbell rang again.

“I've got to go,” she said, quickly scanning the length of him from the scar on his face to his boots, and back again to the rings in his ears. “You'd better stay up here all day.” She smiled faintly when he raised a questioning brow. “You might frighten the children.”

He laughed. “Run along, Kate. There is much here to occupy my time,” he said, looking about the room. “I give you my word that I will stay away from the children—and you, at least until this evening.”

A nervous smile touched her lips. For a moment he thought he saw them quiver. God, but he wanted to kiss them.

He watched her run down the stairs when the bell rang at the door yet again. He watched the way she lovingly slipped her arm around a little boy and took him from his mother's arms, and saw the look of delight on the child's face as his fingers wound through Kate's hair.

He longed to touch her hair, too, to bury his face in her mass of honey-colored waves, to hold her close.

He took a deep, calming breath.

You have to go home, he reminded himself. Far away from Kate and this life that you were never meant to be a part of.

Slowly he closed the door, and concentrated on his need to return to 1702.

He wandered about the room, a chamber paneled in dark wood that reminded him of his cabin on board
Satan's Revenge
. He swept his hand over the large desk, studying the picture of a man in uniform that sat off to one side. Handsome, young. A broad smile brightened his face. He looked to be the kind of man anyone would be proud to call friend.

Several worn but inviting chairs were scattered about the room. Glass cases sat against one wall, filled with sabers, muskets, daggers, and pistols, weapons that looked as if they'd weathered the storms of many centuries. Resting on one shelf was his own jewel-hilted cutlass, his dagger, and his pistol, locked away for safekeeping.

But it was the books that interested him most. Volume upon volume stood upright on the shelves lining two walls, and he scanned the titles, pulling down one on the history of North America, one on piracy in the Caribbean, another chronicling maritime activities in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.

Taking them to the desk, he sat down and
opened the history book, and immediately began skimming pages. The Revolutionary War intrigued him. More than likely he would have been long dead by the time that conflict took place, but he imagined he would have sided with the Colonies. Freedom was something he cherished, and he longed for the days when he could again walk the streets without hiding from soldiers or those who wanted the bounty on his head.

As he browsed, he realized that war was the turning point for most everything that had occurred in this country, not unlike the history of any other land.

He read about the development of the railroads, the motorcar, and the airplane, an invention that captured his imagination. 'Twould be a marvel to fly through the clouds, far above the earth, and look down at the vast and beautiful oceans and land.

There was space travel, too, and he thought about putting his foot down in the dust on the moon, exploring a place far different from an uncharted tropical island, and gazing thousands of miles away at the small planet known as earth.

These were things that he could never do. They were unheard of, almost undreamed of, in his own time, a time he must return to. 'Twould be enough, though, to know of the future, to tell others of what was to be, although they would think him mad.

He laughed, and his voice echoed through the room.

Rising from the chair, he stretched, then went to the window and looked out to the grassy lawn where Kate played with Casey, the boy he'd seen earlier, and four other little ones.

As a young man, before his life had taken its disastrous turn, he'd thought of having a wife and children, and he'd pictured scenes such as this taking place on the grounds of his own home.

A woman like Kate would have made the perfect wife for him, but he'd never looked for anyone like her because a woman in his life—a good woman—would only complicate his existence.

Watching Kate and the children was the closest he would ever come to the life he'd once longed for.

The littlest boy crawled toward Kate, and she swept him up into her arms. She held him close and kissed the top of his head.

A woman like Kate should have a dozen children of her own. He imagined he should have had that many, too, but life had sent them both on different courses.

As if she knew he was there, Kate tilted her head and looked up to the window. She smiled softly, then turned her attention back to the children, and his heart ached for all that he had missed, and would continue to miss, in his life.