Read Online By the Bay by Barbara Bartholomew - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Barbara Bartholomew
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Roy.”
Bile burned in her throat. His just saying the words made her own fears into reality. Roy Ezell was the little town’s chief of the small police force and a longtime good friend.
She nodded. “I’ll get one of the girls over here to stay with Christine right away,” she said. “Then well go looking for him.”
He got up and came over, his movements surprisingly graceful for such a heavily built man. He bent over to press his lips against the top of her graying hair. “Jillian would sure laugh at us for sending the police after her for finally taking our advice and finding herself a young man .”
Florence nodded again, tears coming to her eyes. “No doubt she and Philippe are having the adventure of their lives and will soon come back to tell us about it.”
Chapter Ten
By her second day on board Jillian had fairly well memorized the contents of Philippe’s cabin. He had half a dozen books of what looked like history, but since they were written in French they offered her little in the way of entertainment. Oddly enough he did have one copy of Jane Austin’s Sense and Sensibility , in English of course, and she had just finished reading it for the second time since yesterday morning.
Otherwise, the little cabin, while it offered basic amenities like a basin, pitcher , soap and a chamber pot, as well as a bed with comfortable bedding, and one painting, a portrait of what looked like a painting of five people, hung securely on the wall and a trunk in one corner that she’d inspected to find it contained an assortment of clothing of good quality, unfortunately designed for a man and of little use to her though she had selected one of his shirts as last night’s sleeping garment.
A boy who looked like he couldn’t be more than twelve at the most had knocked on her door last night and again this morning, bringing fresh water and food. After hearing his timid voice, she let him in in spite of Philippe’s instructions to the contrary. Evidently her new husband had forgotten her existence and if left to himself would have let her starve.
The one luxury the cabin did provide was a small porthole that allowed fresh air to enter and allowed her a glimpse of the boiling sea outside.
She only wished it were a little larger so she could try to squeeze through and out onto the deck of the sailing vessel. After more than twenty four hours locked in this little cabin, facing a crew of woman -h ungry pirates did not seem all that intimidating.
Of course she didn’t entirely m e an that or she could have unlocked the door and stepped outside, free to face what lay beyond. She thought of Bloody Mac’s scarred face and decided to give Philippe a little more time to come back.
Her tiny view on the world was showing her the darkness of a starless night by the time the knock came again at her door and instead of the thin piping of a pre-pubescent lad, she heard Philippe’s mellow tones.
Though tempted to leave him cooling his heels outside, she was too bored to run the risk that he might leave and hurried to unlock the door.
And there he stood, looking delicious and awful at the same time. Awful because his eyes were bloodshot and his face drawn with exhaustion. Delicious because in spite of fatigue and strain, he was still the most gorgeous male she’d seen short of a motion picture screen. And everybody knew those guys wore makeup.
She sniffed as he walked past her, discerning the rich scent of spirits hovering about his person.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accused, then listened with interest as he indulged in a lengthy string of French words that she was fairly sure involved some very colorful swearing.
“Of course I’ve been drinking. Everybody has been drinking. We have celebrated the wedding.”
“Everybody but the bride,” she pointed out, letting some of the steam that had been building up inside her for the past long hours escape into words . “She’s just been sitting around staring
Bile burned in her throat. His just saying the words made her own fears into reality. Roy Ezell was the little town’s chief of the small police force and a longtime good friend.
She nodded. “I’ll get one of the girls over here to stay with Christine right away,” she said. “Then well go looking for him.”
He got up and came over, his movements surprisingly graceful for such a heavily built man. He bent over to press his lips against the top of her graying hair. “Jillian would sure laugh at us for sending the police after her for finally taking our advice and finding herself a young man .”
Florence nodded again, tears coming to her eyes. “No doubt she and Philippe are having the adventure of their lives and will soon come back to tell us about it.”
Chapter Ten
By her second day on board Jillian had fairly well memorized the contents of Philippe’s cabin. He had half a dozen books of what looked like history, but since they were written in French they offered her little in the way of entertainment. Oddly enough he did have one copy of Jane Austin’s Sense and Sensibility , in English of course, and she had just finished reading it for the second time since yesterday morning.
Otherwise, the little cabin, while it offered basic amenities like a basin, pitcher , soap and a chamber pot, as well as a bed with comfortable bedding, and one painting, a portrait of what looked like a painting of five people, hung securely on the wall and a trunk in one corner that she’d inspected to find it contained an assortment of clothing of good quality, unfortunately designed for a man and of little use to her though she had selected one of his shirts as last night’s sleeping garment.
A boy who looked like he couldn’t be more than twelve at the most had knocked on her door last night and again this morning, bringing fresh water and food. After hearing his timid voice, she let him in in spite of Philippe’s instructions to the contrary. Evidently her new husband had forgotten her existence and if left to himself would have let her starve.
The one luxury the cabin did provide was a small porthole that allowed fresh air to enter and allowed her a glimpse of the boiling sea outside.
She only wished it were a little larger so she could try to squeeze through and out onto the deck of the sailing vessel. After more than twenty four hours locked in this little cabin, facing a crew of woman -h ungry pirates did not seem all that intimidating.
Of course she didn’t entirely m e an that or she could have unlocked the door and stepped outside, free to face what lay beyond. She thought of Bloody Mac’s scarred face and decided to give Philippe a little more time to come back.
Her tiny view on the world was showing her the darkness of a starless night by the time the knock came again at her door and instead of the thin piping of a pre-pubescent lad, she heard Philippe’s mellow tones.
Though tempted to leave him cooling his heels outside, she was too bored to run the risk that he might leave and hurried to unlock the door.
And there he stood, looking delicious and awful at the same time. Awful because his eyes were bloodshot and his face drawn with exhaustion. Delicious because in spite of fatigue and strain, he was still the most gorgeous male she’d seen short of a motion picture screen. And everybody knew those guys wore makeup.
She sniffed as he walked past her, discerning the rich scent of spirits hovering about his person.
“You’ve been drinking,” she accused, then listened with interest as he indulged in a lengthy string of French words that she was fairly sure involved some very colorful swearing.
“Of course I’ve been drinking. Everybody has been drinking. We have celebrated the wedding.”
“Everybody but the bride,” she pointed out, letting some of the steam that had been building up inside her for the past long hours escape into words . “She’s just been sitting around staring
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