Renegade (13 page)

“Are you giving me suggestions on how to be a better criminal? I had no idea your talents extended so far.” He didn’t bother hiding the teasing lilt to his question.

“It’s just common sense.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t get any volunteers closer to the port.”

“You shouldn’t have any here. I want you away from Beckett.”

The abruptness took him aback. Was that really how she felt?

She must have seen the surprise on his face, because she made a noise under her breath that sounded like a curse—she cursed?—and sat up. She started to say something, stopped, and then threw her apple after his with a sigh.

“I’m sorry, Mac. I didn’t mean you.” Although she should; she barely knew him. “I meant your operation. I don’t like it.”

“It makes Beckett money each month. You seem to care about that sort of thing.”

“I do. I just…” She rubbed the end of her braid between two fingers, and he wondered if she was nervous. “It’s dangerous, and I don’t like the risk.”

Mac shrugged, remembering the discussion with Robert in Nassau. “We haven’t been caught yet. Creel’s the only one who suspects anything, and he doesn’t seem likely to do much about it.”

“I don’t mean dangerous for
you.
” She stood up then, a flurry of what he had to assume was anger. “You row up here, drop off some barrels, row back to your boat, and go on your merry way.” Yeah, she was angry all right, judging from the way she was pacing. He recognized frustration and irritation in her movements, so he calmly took another bite of the thick bread and gave her his full attention.

It wasn’t that hard; she was… incredible. He’d thought her almost plain when they’d first met. Compared to her sister, she
was
. But now that he’d gotten to know her, he saw the passion that she barely controlled, saw the unbridled way she lived her life… well, she was anything but plain. She was magnificent.

“But what about
us
, Mac? You’re leavin’ illegal goods in our keeping. Things we haven’t paid for, haven’t paid tariff on. What would happen…?”

He tried to guess what she was so worried about. “If Creel found them?” He shrugged. “I don’t think he could do much about—”

“I’m not worried for my mother, or me. I’m worried for Zeb.”

That made him pause. Who was Zeb? His expression must have shown his confusion, because her eyes narrowed. She stopped, hands on her hips, and faced him boldly. “Zeb’s the man who Mother sends up the Ashley once a month with your barrels. He’s the man who has a long two-day journey in a rickety donkey cart
by himself
.” She leaned closer to him, which would have been more impressive had he not been sitting on the ground. “With
your
illegal goods.”

Ah. Mac took another bite. He was beginning to see where this was going. But Becks wasn’t finished. “What do you think would happen if the local law enforcement found a black man with a cart full of smuggled goods?”

He didn’t have to think about it; it was exactly what Robert had suggested last month. He wondered if Zeb was anything like the Moses he’d met that morning. “They’d hang him, no questions asked.”

His abruptness seemed to take her aback. She slowly straightened, her expression blank again. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Sure it does.” He swallowed, and gestured at her with the remaining bread. “But that’s your mother’s issue. Her part of this partnership is getting the barrels up to the Ashley. I didn’t tell her how to do it, or which of her people to put at risk.”

Becks just stood there, her hands on her hips, her head cocked, looking down at him for the longest time. Finally she sighed. Her shoulders slumped, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I guess I should’ve expected someone like
you
to not take responsibility.”

Someone like him?
Goddamn
but that rankled. He didn’t like the idea of
anyone
thinking so poorly of him… but he wanted her respect in particular, and didn’t understand why. He wanted her to like him.

“Becks, I…”

He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to her. Tell her that they were considering quitting, and that he understood the danger? Explain that he didn’t want anything to happen to Zeb either? Ask her what he should do?

But it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a chance to say whatever it was that he was trying to say, because she shot him a disappointed look and held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear your excuses, Mac. They’ll just irritate me.”

His brow rose, and that seemed to annoy her even more. The noise she made could only be described as a
huff
. “Thanks for your help this morning.” Her words weren’t quite sarcastic, as she nodded to the satchel beside him. “Enjoy your lunch.”

And then she scooped up her shoes and left. Any other lady would have flounced off, but Becks Middleton didn’t have a flouncing bone in her body. She strode
.
Determinedly. Angrily. Like the world was hers and would surround her when she needed it to. Like she was confident and sure of her place in it. Like she deserved and demanded respect.

He watched her until she disappeared towards the house and thought about her attitude. She wasn’t wrong; Eugenia had put this Zeb at a much greater risk than any of them took. But it wasn’t
his
fault, was it? Sure, if he quit the business, quit bringing smuggled goods to Edisto, then Zeb wouldn’t be at risk.
She
wouldn’t be at risk.

The thought of Becks at risk made his blood run cold for a moment. But then he started breathing again; she wasn’t at any risk. If their operation was discovered, Eugenia might be fined, but Becks would be safe.

…unless Eugenia couldn’t afford the fine, and they had to give up Beckett to pay it. The thought of Becks without her home was somehow just as disturbing to him as the thought of Becks in danger. Without Beckett, she wouldn’t
be
Becks Middleton. Her home was what made her who she was. What would happen to her—who would she become—if she had to leave Beckett?

Suddenly, protecting Beckett Plantation became incredibly important to Mac. Beckett had to remain safe, so that Becks herself would be.

But how was he going to ensure that the law never had reason to come down on the Middletons? He could drive the cart up to Baird’s Cove himself, but then Robert would be stuck dealing with the customs agents in Charleston. He wasn’t going to ask Robert to take the barrels up the Ashley; he was at the same risk Zeb was.

Mac sighed, and rubbed the side of his nose. He was going to have to quit the partnership with Eugenia; there wasn’t any other choice. If he wanted Beckett to stay safe, stay clean, then none of the people here could be involved anymore. He couldn’t bring destruction down on the Beckett people.

He had to keep her safe.

CHAPTER NINE

She avoided him for a day and a half, not entirely on purpose. That first night, Becks was just too irritated to join everyone else for dinner, so she told Pearl she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to go to sleep early. It wasn’t a lie; but once she was in bed, she couldn’t sleep. Just spent hours tossing and turning, thinking about her time with Mac that day.

In the field, working beside him, she’d felt… comfortable. She didn’t feel like she had to pretend with him; she didn’t have to be proper and ladylike. Why? Was it just because of how they met? Nothing had happened conventionally between them, certainly. Perhaps since Mac had seen her for who she really was when he met her—
caught
her—she didn’t bother pretending to be someone she wasn’t.

But having him beside her today, helping her make her home a better place, had been nice. She’d been content, secure almost. He’d asked her so many questions, and she’d been pleased that he was interested, and explained all about her mother’s family history on Beckett. But later, under the oak tree, she’d remembered her words to her mother and how angry she’d been to find out that Mac didn’t really value the people of Beckett like she did. And when she confronted him, he made excuses.

Oh, she was irritated all right. She’d known him such a short amount of time, and it really bothered her that he was apparently the sort to blame others for his faults. He was the captain of a ship, for God’s sakes; he couldn’t shirk his responsibility! If he weren’t a smuggler, then Zeb wouldn’t be in danger, and that’s all there was to it!

But then she’d remind herself that it wasn’t
his
choice who Eugenia put in danger by sending to Charleston. He was right about that. And that was when she’d groan and pull the pillow over her head, trying to ignore the conflicting voices and go the hell to sleep.

Of course, Pearl came into bother her that night, but she was glad for the interruption. By that point, she’d been trying to sleep for hours. Her sister knocked once and stuck her head in the door.

She looked surprised when she slipped the rest of the way in. “You really are sleeping?”

Becks considered not answering, and letting Pearl think she was asleep, but when her sister started towards the bed, Becks flopped over once more. “I
might
be, if you’d stop bugging me.”

“I just got here.” Pearl sat down on the quilt. “Lord, it’s hot enough to bake in here.” She was right. Usually the breeze off the river came in through the window, but tonight the air was thick and still.

They sat in silence. Becks didn’t want to ask why her sister was there, for fear that she wouldn’t like the answer. What had happened at dinner? Did Eugenia say anything about their discussion? Had Mac? Had Mac even been there? Oh God, what if Mac had left?

She’d worked herself into a panic and was just about to ask, when Pearl finally spoke. “Dinner was miserable tonight.”

“Why?”

“Are you really feelin’ poorly or just avoiding us?”

“Tell me why it was miserable, and I’ll tell you if that’s why I was avoiding y’all.”

She saw the gleam of Pearl’s teeth in the shadows. “Your Mac practically pouted the whole time.”

“So he was…?” She swallowed her sigh of relief, afraid of what it might reveal.

“Yep, he was feeling badly about whatever you did to him today.”

“What I did to him?”

Another smile, and she knew her sister had been teasing. Becks sighed. “So what made it so miserable?”

“Your Mac—”

“He’s not mine.” But Becks was remembering that conversation from April:
You wouldn’t mind it if he was, would you?

Maybe Pearl was too, because all she said to the interruption was, “Hmmm.” Then, “
Your
Mac wasn’t speaking, which left Eugenia to try to engage his friend.”

“Robert was there?” Becks didn’t hide her surprise. After that torturous meal the previous day—and whatever Pearl had said—she didn’t think Robert would join them again.

“He was glaring at Mac the whole time, so I’m thinkin’ he wasn’t there out of choice.”

Becks didn’t have anything to say to that, other than, “Well, they are friends.”

“Robert was…” Pearl’s expression changed, and Becks couldn’t pinpoint how. The shadows hid most of her expression, but her lovely little mouth pulled out of its habitual smirk for the briefest of moments. Like she was uncomfortable. Unsure.

“Robert was… what?”

And then the hesitance in Pearl’s expression turned to disgust. It was disconcerting to see her sister hate a man so much. “I swear, that man is more out of place than a hog in a skirt.”

Becks’ eyes widened at the insult. “What did he do?”

But Pearl just tossed her head and dismissed Robert and his attempts to fit in at Beckett. She’d made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with the dark man, and Becks sighed. She should’ve pushed Pearl, nagged her into finding out what Robert had said to Eugenia that night, but was interrupted by a yawn.

Pearl sighed. “Roll over.” Becks did, and Pearl began to stroke her hair, like they’d done when they were girls. It was soothing and a guaranteed way to make either one sleepy. Whenever one sister was feeling poorly, the other would often sit with her, rubbing her back or stroking her hair, until she fell asleep. It was a reminder of their childhood, of a simpler time.

A time before two handsome smugglers found Beckett.

Becks left her room the next morning only when she was sure that the rest of the house’s occupants had as well. There were only four bedrooms in the house, and with Pearl, Eugenia and herself each having their own rooms, that left Mac and Robert to share the guest room… which was next door to Becks’. How often over the last two days had she imagined him lying in bed, just on the other side of that wall? She’d washed and aired those linens just last week, and remembered the feel of them beneath her palm as she smoothed them across the bed. Did they feel the same to him? What would
he
feel like, against those linens?

Becks had done plenty of eye rolling at the ridiculous direction her thoughts were going.

She spent that first day in the study, going over Beckett’s books. And then again, just to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. It was utterly, utterly boring, but needed to be done, and hiding from Mac was a good excuse to get them done. And now that she did, she saw the monthly entry of money that she’d never noticed before. It wasn’t huge, but she’d never bothered to figure out where it came from; it was money Beckett could use to thrive, and that was all that mattered. Now, knowing it was illegally earned, at risk to Zeb, Becks didn’t know what to think about it.

She avoided dinner that night too, but Lola brought some up to her anyway. She was forced to admit to the old housekeeper that she wasn’t really ill, and then had to put up with the round woman’s
tsks
and disappointed looks. Apparently Lola—and Moses and even Zeb—liked Mac and Robert and didn’t like the mood she’d put him in. That
she’d
put him in a mood was news to her, of course, but she didn’t push Lola for details. She was afraid of what she’d learn.

In fact, she spent most of her self-imposed exile—or pouting, as Pearl called it—thinking about Mac. Wondering about his past, and how he felt about her home. He was the first man she’d ever felt so comfortable with, and she found that she wanted to share things with him she’d never considered sharing with a man. Another
person, really. Even Pearl didn’t truly understand Becks’ love of this land, or her thirst for excitement and desire for simplicity combined, or her pride in her abilities to provide for her family and her people. But she suspected that Mac did understand and would share those things with her.

And damned if that didn’t make her all… gooey inside, thinking of sharing her life with him. Sharing Beckett with him. No matter who he was, or what he did, or what situation he put her mother in, he was completely magnetizing, and she was drawn to him.

How many times had she thought about that kiss? How many times, just in the last few days, had she remembered the strength of those arms as he’d held her? The feel of his breath against her skin? And how many times had she felt that fluttering in her stomach—and lower—when those copper eyes raked her?

She knew what it meant. She refused to lie to herself; she wanted him and wanted him badly. That night, lying in the big bed with the thin cover kicked aside, Becks recognized the heat between her thighs and understood it. Grateful for having a mother who believed in explaining the facts of life, Becks’ right hand snuck down to touch herself. Even through the layers of her drawers and nightgown, that special spot felt hot. Her other hand rose to her lips, to touch and stroke and try to capture the feel of that long-ago kiss beneath the oak. She imagined him touching her
here
and
here
.

It wasn’t the same, but it was near enough. Her right palm pressed and stroked and rubbed and her legs stiffened with concentration, and when she came, she felt the spasms across her buttocks and into her belly. She clamped her hand down over the tiny nub of desire and pressed the fingers of her other hand against her lips and rode out the waves of pleasure.

Afterwards, she curled up on her side, breathing heavily. She’d never done
that
while thinking about a specific man. She’d definitely never done it while remembering a man’s touch or imagining his hands on her body. And while it should make her feel guilty, she instead felt exhilarated.

Just imagining his touch had brought her that much pleasure…what if she were to actually touch him? To have him touch her and kiss her and teach her everything about her body? It would be… It would be incredible. It would be perfect.

No matter his past and no matter his future, he was here now within her reach. All she had to do was reach.

So the next day, she quit avoiding him and decided to reach.

Besides, it was killing her to be stuck inside. The strawberries were probably almost ripe, and she hadn’t stepped foot in the water in days. Her garden needed to be picked over, and she just plain missed the sun. She lived for Beckett, and Beckett was her reason for living… and she couldn’t stay away too long.

So on Thursday morning she left her room at the normal time—she’d gotten more than enough sleep over the last few days—and went down to the kitchens. She was early; the usual group hadn’t gathered yet, and Lola was still humming over the big pot on the stove. She turned, though, when she heard the slap of Becks’ bare feet against the brick floor.

“’Bout time, chile. We was gettin’ worried about you.”

Becks just smiled and crossed to the basket where the older woman kept yesterday’s leftover bread. Lola had been Eugenia’s maid, back when they were both young, and had become a sort of friend. While Becks’ grandmama had been alive, she hadn’t allowed any sort of what she called “fraternization” between her family and the slaves… and had greatly disapproved of her son-in-law’s obvious “fraternization” with Pearl’s mother. But Grandmama had died during the war, shortly after Johnathan Middleton himself. And when it came time to return to Edisto, Eugenia and Lola were inseparable.

Lola’s family—the ones who survived, at least—had also come back to Edisto and some now owned parts of what used to be Beckett land. She’d been the one responsible for convincing those that returned that Eugenia would make a fair employer, and it was thanks to her that Beckett had grown into the tight-knit community that it was. In many ways, Lola was the one who kept them together and kept Beckett running. She was the one who taught them all to trust one another. Without her, the people who’d once been slaves would likely have refused to have anything to do with the Middletons.

So Becks trusted her implicitly and trusted her advice. In many ways, Lola had raised her and helped her become the woman she was. Grandmama had been insistent that Becks learn to be a lady, but Lola and her husband Moses had taught her more practical things. While Eugenia could be distant and vague at times, Lola was always there for Becks with a hug and advice.

But today, Becks wasn’t quite ready to admit that she’d been hiding. Instead, she just waved a roll in Lola’s direction and hopped up on the table to swing her bare feet in abandon. “Are the grits ready?”