Renegade (10 page)

“Do you understand?”

He told the truth. “No.” He didn’t understand what she was trying to tell him.

Becks sighed. She didn’t look like she’d napped today at all. “Beckett is Pearl’s home as much as it is mine. But she doesn’t love it, not the way I do.” Mac raised an eyebrow, which caused her to swallow and look away. Of course Pearl wouldn’t love it. How could anyone, knowing what her father had done to her mother, love it here? “She’s not… secure. She doesn’t know what she wants from life. From her future. And here you are, threatening her future.”

His first instinct was to deny it, but he tamped down on it. If he decided to end his partnership with Eugenia, he had no idea how that would affect her daughter and Pearl. Finally, for lack of something better to do, he pulled down the towel from his shoulder and hung it over the rack by the stove. “We’re not here to threaten anyone’s future.” That, at least, was the truth. Any change that came from his visit was unintentional.

“Why are you here, Mac?” His back was to her, and he placed his palms on the wooden work surface. There was a window beside the stove, and the reflection of the setting sun on the river made him squint. Everything seemed wavy, but he didn’t know if it was the glass or the water that made it appear that way. He wished he could see the dock and the
Polaris
’s dinghy. And Robert.

After a long moment, she sighed, and he almost turned around. Almost. “You say you’re my mother’s business partner. Pearl says you’re a smuggler.” A little snort then. “Oh, and trust me, I got quite the earful from her this afternoon, instead of napping.” Another sigh that he felt more than heard. “I think you’re both right. Which terrifies me, because why would my mother partner with a smuggler?”

He didn’t deny it. Just said, “You should ask her.”

“Oh, I will. Believe me.”

He did turn then, bracing his hands on the table behind him and leaning back against it. He suspected that he didn’t feel nearly as at-ease as he looked. “You know, Becks, I think I do. I think I believe that you could do just about anything.”

Her cheeks pinked at his words… or maybe it was just the dim light down here. He’d always thought the kitchens at Baird’s Cove were uninviting, with their thick brick walls and small windows. But Beckett was built the same, and he felt downright cozy standing down here with her. Maybe it was just the company that made the difference.

They stood like that for several moments: him watching the way the shifting shadows spread across her shoulders, and her watching him watching her. When had he ever spent so much time in a lady’s company? He smothered a grin; he’d spent plenty of time in the company of women—and ladies—but not actually talking. The two conversations he’d had with Becks today probably constituted the longest time he’d been in a woman’s presence and just…
talked
. Oh, there’d been a moment earlier today, beside the grand staircase, when he’d wanted to do more than talk, and had been seriously thinking about kissing her again. But overall, he’d enjoyed the time just listening to her.

Becks Middleton was unlike any woman he’d ever met, and he hadn’t been lying when he said that he thought she could do anything. He felt like he’d only just met her, but he knew that she was strong and capable and… and
interesting
. Her plain features hid a fascinating mind, and he was finding that for the first time ever, he wanted to know what a woman was thinking.

And then she yawned, and it broke the spell. He chuckled, and crossed his arms again. “You should’ve napped today.”

“I know,” she said through another yawn, and his grin grew. She was the type of person who wouldn’t apologize for yawning, or bother trying to hide it, and he liked that about her. “But I should’ve. I’ll be up early tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Planting yams for fall. The other women and children usually help, but with Gretel keeping her little ones at home while Seelay recovers, there’s going to be more for us to do. I figured I’d start early, to be done before it gets too hot.”

He remembered his mother, and her friends, and Ramsey’s ladies, and tried to imagine
any
of them bent over a hoe and a furrow in the dirt. It was almost laughable. She surely wasn’t the only plantation owner to plant her own yams, but she was the first lady he’d ever met who was willing to get her hands dirty with such back-breaking labor.

“I’ll help.” Where had that come from? He didn’t know anything about planting; knowing that sort of thing had always fallen on Holt.

She cocked her head to one side, watching him with those serious eyes again. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I like to learn. I’d like you to teach me.”

After a moment, she nodded. “All right. If you’re serious. I’ll meet you on the front veranda at dawn.”

He smiled, and her return smile might have been slight, but it was there.

Later, lying in the bed in the guest room and wondering where Robert was hiding himself, Mac had to chuckle at himself. He, who’d always known he belonged on the water, was going to go stand in the dirt and drop seed yams into rows and hope plants sprouted. He’d actually
volunteered
to plant food, just so he could be with her. To laugh with her again, to see her smile. To make her smile. What was it about her that was so intriguing?

He closed his eyes, a smile still on his lips. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so damn attracted to her, but he’d find out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Becks was exhausted, but knew that if she’d be spending all morning tomorrow in the fields—with Mac, for Heaven’s sakes—she’d need her hat. Grandmama had drilled the need for wearing a hat into all of them, going on about creamy skin and the sun causing freckles. Becks had vague memories of the old woman chasing her down, waving a tiny child-sized hat at her. Now she forgot it as often as not, but knew Grandmama was looking down on her, disappointed. So she went to find her favorite broad-brimmed straw hat.

Yawning, she pushed open the door to the study. She tended to think of it as her mother’s study, or Pearl’s library, since those were the two who spent the most time here. Sure enough, Eugenia was stretched out in her favorite chair, the one they’d carted to Charleston and back again after the war. Her feet were propped up on the ottoman, and she read one of Pearl’s favorite novels. In complete disregard of the fact that they had guests, she’d removed her boots and let down her hair.

Becks rolled her eyes slightly as she crossed to the cabinet beside her mother’s desk. Not that Becks herself didn’t spend a good portion of her life barefoot, but what Eugenia had done was just a little too close to disrobing in public for Becks’ peace of mind. She was her mother, for Lord’s sakes! Becks didn’t need to think of her disrobing… not with Mac in the house. That suspicious “business partner” relationship was still fresh in Becks’ mind, which might explain the slight flare of completely unnecessary jealousy.

“Rebecca Becket! I thought you’d be asleep by now. You could barely keep your eyes open during dinner.”

Becks rifled through the cabinet, ignoring her mother.

“Did you finish clean-up?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“And did McKee help you?”

Becks narrowed her eyes slightly. “
Yes
, Mother.”

“Ah.” Eugenia closed the book on her finger to hold her spot. “I guess that explains why you’re not in bed yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only that he’s an attractive young man, Rebecca Beckett. I can see why you’d want to linger over the washing-up.”

There was no way that she was going to respond to that. Her mother thought Mac was handsome, and was practically encouraging her to dally with him? No, Becks wasn’t going to respond. Instead, she fell back on an old favorite grumble. “Why can’t you just say my name normally?”

“I am, dear. I named you Rebecca Beckett, and that’s what I’ll call you. If I wanted to call you just Rebecca, I would have named you that.”

“Why can’t you call me
Becks
like everyone else?”

Her mother cocked her head, staring thoughtfully at her. Becks knew that expression; she saw it often enough when she looked in the mirror. It was a vague curiosity, as if trying to figure out what she was looking at. It was a little uncanny to receive it from someone else, but Becks knew that she got most of her mannerisms from her mother. It’s not like her father had put any effort into raising her before his death.

“Because, Rebecca Beckett, I’m
not
everyone else.” Becks almost snorted. No, Eugenia Middleton was most definitely not like everyone else. “I’ve tried to teach you to be yourself, and love yourself. Love who you are, and not wish to be someone else. Did you forget?”

Becks sighed. “No, Mother. I didn’t forget.” Truthfully, she was glad for the lesson. She might not be as eccentric as her mother—Becks at least wore skirts, instead of the bloomers her mother still favored—but she appreciated knowing who she was, in her heart. Her mother never told her that she had to conform to what everyone else did or thought, and that had been… freeing. Becks wouldn’t have had the opportunity to love Beckett—love Edisto—or to work so hard to make it a success, if she was too busy worrying what
everyone else
thought or did.

Eugenia smiled then, and nodded slightly, as if satisfied her daughter had learned her lesson. “Goodnight, then, dear.” She opened her book again, and Becks crossed towards the door with her hat.

But she couldn’t help thinking of Mac’s words to her earlier that evening.
Ask your mother
. So she gripped the back of one of the wooden chairs facing Eugenia, and cleared her throat. “Mother?”

“Hmmm?”

“Is Mac a smuggler?”

“Yes, dear.”

The affirmative, so casually given, rocked Becks. She tightened her hold on the chair to keep from swaying. He
was
a smuggler? A criminal? A lawless renegade who snuck onto their land…?

Eugenia looked up then. “Whatever is the matter, Rebecca Beckett?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’s the matter?’ You just…” Becks took a deep breath. “You just admitted that we’ve got a criminal sleeping in our guest room. Two criminals, if Robert’s forgiven Pearl and comes back. Mother, they’re
smugglers
. The ones Major Creel has been huntin—Oh Lord! Major Creel!” Becks’ breathing was too fast to be comfortable, and she sunk down onto the chair she’d been holding. “Mother, tell me that Major Creel doesn’t know they’re here!”

“Why?” Eugenia closed the book once more, and arched one brown brow at her daughter, who thought she was being far too relaxed after her confession. “Are you concerned that the Major might find out Mac and his crew are here and arrest them? Are you
worried
for them—?”

“Mother!” Becks had to take a few deep breaths. “Why are they here?”

“They’re our guests.”

“
Why are they here?”

Eugenia sighed. “Major Creel wanted to know who they were. I thought that if McKee stayed with us for a few days, it would seem like he was a family friend who’d had a right to be on Beckett land back in April. McKee was the one who started that lie about courting you.”

But Becks hadn’t heard anything past
April
. “How did
you
know when he’d been here last? I didn’t tell you. Did Pearl?”

“No.” Eugenia tossed her hair the way she did to show that she wanted her audience to believe that whatever she was about to say was of no consequence. Becks never fell for it. “I saw him that night.”

Ah
. That little flame of unnecessary jealousy flared into a raging inferno of quite necessary jealousy, and Becks was angry at herself for it.

She told herself that she wasn’t going to ask. She promised herself that she wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing how badly she needed to know the answer… Her thigh ached where her fingers dug into it, just to stay focused. To keep breathing.

But Eugenia knew her. Her mother watched her for several heartbeats, and then
tsk
ed quietly. “Rebecca Beckett, I can’t begin to guess what you’re thinking, but it’s not worth having a conniption over. McKee Baird and I are… business partners.”

Becks swallowed. “Yes.” Her voice sounded hoarse, even to her ears. “That’s how he said it too. Complete with significant pause.”

Eugenia’s smile was slight, and almost embarrassed. “Well, I’m glad you asked him, and I’m glad he told you the truth.”

Becks lost her control then. “
Mother
! How could you possibly be ‘business partners’ with him? He’s a smuggler, for God’s sakes! How could you possibly be partners with a—Oh my Lord, you’re helping him, aren’t you?” The realization chilled Becks; she felt her blood drain from her cheeks fast enough to dizzy her. “You’re a smuggler.” The last came out a whisper so faint she barely heard it herself.

“Rebecca Beckett, really.” Eugenia pursed her lips like she’d tasted something tart, an expression she’d always made when she was being defensive, or thought someone was over-reacting. “I’m not a
smuggler
. I merely am partnered with one. I’m more of a… transporter.”

“I think…” Becks took another deep breath, and tried to unclench her jaw. “I think that you’d better explain everything.”

“Why?”

All at once, the enormity of her mother’s secret hit her, and Beck’s anger left her. Instead, tears came to her eyes, and her shoulders slumped. Eugenia didn’t understand why Becks could be upset about it—and didn’t think that Becks deserved to know the details—and that hurt her even more.

“Because,
Mother
, this is my home too. I deserve to know what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done to keep
my
home, you mean?” Eugenia swung her feet down off the ottoman, and suddenly didn’t look as at ease as she’d been trying to appear. “
My
home! I married your father to keep
my
home, Rebecca Beckett. I gave up a life in Charleston to keep
my
home. I’ve done any number of things to keep
my
home. Don’t you come in here all high and mighty judging me for something you don’t understand.”

Maybe it was her mother’s words. Maybe it was the fact that she’d been up since before dawn with Seelay and was exhausted. Maybe it was that she was emotionally wrung-out from her encounters with Mac, and her confusing reactions to him. Whatever the reason, Becks felt tears silently slip down her cheeks. “Make me understand, Mother. Why are you helping him break the law?”

“Because he pays me very well,” Eugenia snapped. And then she softened a bit. “You never seem to care where the money comes from, Rebecca Beckett. You help keep this place running, and I’m grateful for that… but we need some sort of outside income.”

“The cotton…”

“—is well and good, but our share of the profits is minimal.”

Before the war, when people like Zeb and Thomas and Lola and Ben and Jerome were slaves, the Middletons would have been able to keep all the money they got for selling their cotton off-island. Now that the people of Beckett were freedmen, and in many cases owned pieces of land that used to be part of Beckett, Eugenia and Becks paid wages and shares of the profits. It should have been enough. It could have been enough, if Becks had known. Pearl could do with less books, and Becks didn’t need to buy that new plow last season. They could have all made do.

Eugenia watched her for a moment longer, and then sighed. “It’s not that big of a concern, Rebecca Beckett. McKee brings his goods ashore here at Beckett, and I store them until Zeb goes to Charleston. He carries the barrels with him, and drops them off at Baird’s Cove on the Ashley. McKee sails on to Charleston, pays the tariffs on whatever’s on his ship, and then continues to his home to pick up the goods Zeb brought in.”

“The ones that he didn’t have to pay taxes on.” Becks’ voice was as flat as she felt.

“Exactly. He’s just by-passing the import taxes.”

Just by-passing taxes. It didn’t sound so bad. It’s not like Mac was doing something dangerous or disruptive, like the gun-runners during the war. It’s just that he wasn’t paying taxes. She’d grown up surrounded by people who were bitter about having to pay taxes to the US government… What Mac was doing wasn’t so different, was it?

But it was illegal. While Becks’ upbringing didn’t include the clearest definition of Right and Wrong—Eugenia herself had never been too clear on the subject—the Reverend Vincent always had plenty to say about that topic.

Becks swiped her palm across her cheeks, and then tried to straighten the hat’s brim from where she’d crumpled it by squeezing. “Last summer, when we went into the city for your cousin Marissa’s wedding, Zeb drove us.” She tried a deep breath, and it didn’t hurt this time. “We made a slight detour on the way in, and some men met us to unload some crates off the wagon.”

She met her mother’s eyes then, and Eugenia nodded as if discussing her illegal activities was the most natural thing in the world. “I actually expected you to ask me then about all of this, but I suppose you were too excited about the trip to question.”

“Also,” Becks voice was harsher than she’d intended, but perhaps she hadn’t let go of her anger after all, “I had
no
reason to expect my mother to be in cahoots with a criminal.”

“Cahoots? Oh, Rebecca Beckett.” Eugenia laughed. “You’ve been reading too many novels.” She waved the book she was still holding in Becks’ direction and moved her feet back up to the ottoman, relaxing in the chair once more. “McKee isn’t a criminal. He’s a hard-working, very desirable man who has built his import business out of nothing.” Becks managed not to roll her eyes in exasperation at that
very desirable
description. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to get ahead by skipping a visit to the tarriffmen. Why, that makes him practically a patriot.”