galley, where Jordy worked beside a short, stout sailor with thick gray hair.
“This is Grandison Aimes,” Morgan said. “We call him Cookie. And you know Jordan Little.”
“Yes.”
“Mornin’, ma’am,” Cookie said a little gruffly, barely nodding in her direction.
“He’s just as tough as he looks,” Morgan said, then went on to tell her he had met the weathered little seaman at a noisy cantina in Spain. It seemed he was quite a scrapper, siding with Morgan when the odds were against him.
“We made a good team then,” Cookie said a bit wistfully.
“We still do,” Morgan agreed, and the older man seemed pleased.
Whistling a sea shantie all three men seemed to find amusing, Cookie turned back to the wooden counter where he worked, picked up a heavy steel meat cleaver, and brought it down on a leg of mutton with a ringing blow. On the big iron stove nearby, a huge black kettle boiled, and steam rolled upward, filling the room with the delicious smell of the small white beans that simmered away.
Jordy’s attention swung from Cookie to Silver. “You kin—can—sure swim, Miss Jones,” Jordy said, and this time it was Silver who flushed. “I thought for a while there you was—were—gonna make it.”
Silver smiled forlornly. “For a while I thought so, too.” She felt Morgan’s hand on her arm, his grip a little tighter than necessary.
“That’ll do, Jordy,” he warned. “Let’s go back up on deck,” he said to Silver, turning her firmly toward the ladder and leaving her no other choice. Silver climbed the stairs, and Morgan followed.
“Jordy’s young and easily influenced,” he said when they reached the deck. “I hope to hell your behavior doesn’t give him any ideas.”
Silver bristled. “My behavior, Major, is neither his business nor yours.”
“As long as you’re aboard this ship, everything you do is my business.”
Silver’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t argue. She had to win the major over, and arguing with him hadn’t worked so far. When Morgan released her arm, she moved closer to the rail, using the moments before he joined her to bring her temper under control.
Overhead, the sun came out from behind a cloud, and both sky and sea appeared an azure shade of blue. Sea gulls winged and screeched, and the mast creaked pleasingly, soothing her a little. Silver forced a smile. “Jordy says he’s known you five years.”
“More or less.”
“He thinks a lot of you.”
Morgan’s stiff posture relaxed a little. He leaned indolently against the rail, looking down at her through eyes as bright as her mother’s emerald necklace she had worn once back home.
“Five years ago he stowed away aboard my ship
Sea Gypsy
. He was an eight-year-old orphan with no place to go and nobody who gave a damn one way or the other.”
“So you helped raise him?”
“Life aboard ship is hard. Jordy pretty much raised himself.”
“He seems like a good boy.”
“Jordy’s had his problems,” Morgan told her, “but I think he’s finally growing up.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that for a while I was worried about him. He got involved with a couple of unsavory characters off the docks in New Orleans. Men in the crew who were setting him some pretty bad examples. He started fighting whenever we were in port, started thieving, picking on people who couldn’t defend themselves.”
“What happened?”
“We … came to an understanding.”
This time Silver’s smile was genuine. “I believe he may have mentioned that.”
Morgan smiled, too. “Sometimes being a captain takes a lot more than sailing a ship.”
She liked it when his mouth curved up that way. It softened his features though he would never have the too-handsome face some women found attractive. Her eyes fixed on the dark blond chest hair that curled above the open front of his white linen shirt, and her fingers tingled at the memory of how the stiff strands had felt against her skin.
“Are you the
“This is Grandison Aimes,” Morgan said. “We call him Cookie. And you know Jordan Little.”
“Yes.”
“Mornin’, ma’am,” Cookie said a little gruffly, barely nodding in her direction.
“He’s just as tough as he looks,” Morgan said, then went on to tell her he had met the weathered little seaman at a noisy cantina in Spain. It seemed he was quite a scrapper, siding with Morgan when the odds were against him.
“We made a good team then,” Cookie said a bit wistfully.
“We still do,” Morgan agreed, and the older man seemed pleased.
Whistling a sea shantie all three men seemed to find amusing, Cookie turned back to the wooden counter where he worked, picked up a heavy steel meat cleaver, and brought it down on a leg of mutton with a ringing blow. On the big iron stove nearby, a huge black kettle boiled, and steam rolled upward, filling the room with the delicious smell of the small white beans that simmered away.
Jordy’s attention swung from Cookie to Silver. “You kin—can—sure swim, Miss Jones,” Jordy said, and this time it was Silver who flushed. “I thought for a while there you was—were—gonna make it.”
Silver smiled forlornly. “For a while I thought so, too.” She felt Morgan’s hand on her arm, his grip a little tighter than necessary.
“That’ll do, Jordy,” he warned. “Let’s go back up on deck,” he said to Silver, turning her firmly toward the ladder and leaving her no other choice. Silver climbed the stairs, and Morgan followed.
“Jordy’s young and easily influenced,” he said when they reached the deck. “I hope to hell your behavior doesn’t give him any ideas.”
Silver bristled. “My behavior, Major, is neither his business nor yours.”
“As long as you’re aboard this ship, everything you do is my business.”
Silver’s mouth tightened, but she didn’t argue. She had to win the major over, and arguing with him hadn’t worked so far. When Morgan released her arm, she moved closer to the rail, using the moments before he joined her to bring her temper under control.
Overhead, the sun came out from behind a cloud, and both sky and sea appeared an azure shade of blue. Sea gulls winged and screeched, and the mast creaked pleasingly, soothing her a little. Silver forced a smile. “Jordy says he’s known you five years.”
“More or less.”
“He thinks a lot of you.”
Morgan’s stiff posture relaxed a little. He leaned indolently against the rail, looking down at her through eyes as bright as her mother’s emerald necklace she had worn once back home.
“Five years ago he stowed away aboard my ship
Sea Gypsy
. He was an eight-year-old orphan with no place to go and nobody who gave a damn one way or the other.”
“So you helped raise him?”
“Life aboard ship is hard. Jordy pretty much raised himself.”
“He seems like a good boy.”
“Jordy’s had his problems,” Morgan told her, “but I think he’s finally growing up.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that for a while I was worried about him. He got involved with a couple of unsavory characters off the docks in New Orleans. Men in the crew who were setting him some pretty bad examples. He started fighting whenever we were in port, started thieving, picking on people who couldn’t defend themselves.”
“What happened?”
“We … came to an understanding.”
This time Silver’s smile was genuine. “I believe he may have mentioned that.”
Morgan smiled, too. “Sometimes being a captain takes a lot more than sailing a ship.”
She liked it when his mouth curved up that way. It softened his features though he would never have the too-handsome face some women found attractive. Her eyes fixed on the dark blond chest hair that curled above the open front of his white linen shirt, and her fingers tingled at the memory of how the stiff strands had felt against her skin.
“Are you the
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