A Candle in the Dark (5 page)

For the first time, Ana noticed that there were
only
men. Men outfitted in every imaginable way: topcoats, pea jackets, mining outfits, Mexican sombreros… All taut with anticipation, all carrying heavy trunks and valises.

She tried to remember if she’d seen another woman board. She hadn’t, she was sure of it. Ana stiffened, searching the crowd again. No women. This was a man’s journey; she knew from the papers that most of them thought of it as a temporary absence, a way to bring back riches to support their families for years. Of course no women were on this ship. No respectable women, anyway.

Thank God she’d thought to hire a husband. At last, the dream she’d hoped for every second of the last five years—and before that, even—was coming true. She wanted to run her own house. A place where she could work for a few short months—long enough to make enough money to get out of whoring and live her life her way. In California, there were no memories, no Rosalies, nothing but a past she could invent for herself—and a future heavy with the bright lure of gold dust. This time, no man would stop her.

Especially a man like Cain D’Alessandro.

She glanced up, finding him easily in the crowd. He had made his way to the front and was already handing over their tickets. When the steward smiled at her, she nodded back what she hoped was an appropriately demure acknowledgment, then stiffened at the slight frown that crossed his face. He spoke a few low, hurried words to D’Alessandro, and her partner looked over his shoulder at her quickly, shrugging his answer.

She forced herself to remain smiling. There was no way to tell what they were saying; she could only hope D’Alessandro could handle the steward’s questions. Apparently he had, because D’Alessandro turned, shoving the tickets back into his pocket, looking as if he hadn’t a care in the world. But when he reached her, she noticed that his pallor had increased, and his hands were trembling slightly.

“What was wrong?” she asked.

“He was a bit concerned about our accommodations.”

Ana frowned. “Our accommodations? Why?”

He looked down at her and smiled weakly. “He’s afraid the trip might be too rough for a woman as delicate as my lady wife.”

“Too rough?” Ana snorted. “I’ve faced far rougher than this.”

Her raised one dark brow. “I told him I thought you could handle it easily.”

His words made her hesitate for only a second. Regardless of what he thought, there was nothing worse than the tiny room she’d had at Rosalie’s, nothing rougher than the shanty where she and her mother had lived. She followed Cain down the narrow, dimly lit companionways, trying to ignore the men hurrying by them, talking and laughing. The hum of the engines increased, the floors vibrated.

She struggled to keep her footing, running her hand along the warm, smooth walls for balance as they went deeper into the bowels of the ship. She pulled at the heavy collar at her throat. It was hotter down here. Hot enough so that the rose wool dress itched uncomfortably. The smell of oil and damp wood made her slightly ill.

D’Alessandro stopped at the end of the hallway. Ana nearly bumped into him in the dimness. He stepped down. His foot slipped, he fell clumsily against the wall. “Be careful,” he said hoarsely. “It’s a bit trickier now.”

Ana glanced beyond him, to the narrow flight of steps that descended at a steep angle, disappearing into a dim gloominess.

“This way.” He stood back, motioning for her to go in front of him, and Ana stepped forward unsteadily. In the dim light it was hard to see the slats before her.

“Ummph!” Her foot slipped from the deck toward the narrow stairwell. She flailed for balance, the doctor’s kit flew through the air, and Ana fell backward, with nothing but darkness below her.

Cain dropped the bags and grabbed for her. Before he could brace himself, she crashed into him. The force of her weight slammed him backward down the stairs.

His shoulder cracked against the stairwell, and he grunted in pain. But it was nothing compared to the pain he felt when they thudded to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, and Ana’s full weight landed on him, knocking his breath away.

From some part of his mind, he heard the steady tap of footsteps on the stairs and the gasps of concern. But he lay there, unable to move, the press of Ana’s body making it hard to breathe. Pain ricocheted through his shoulder, joining the headache he’d been nursing all day.

Cain opened his eyes in time to see Ana lift her head. He wanted to laugh at the way her hat had twisted around so the ostrich feather drooped on her shoulder, but his ribs hurt too badly. He groaned as she shifted her weight and pulled away.

“Señorita!”

The footsteps grew more rapid, Cain turned to see a blur of motion as a young, thin man dressed in a flashy bottle-green frock coat hurried forward. Cain found himself staring at a pair of shiny black boots.

“Ah,
señorita
, are you hurt?” The Panamanian knelt, offering Ana his hand.

She took it with a dignity that belied her unsteady rise. She shoved at the hat, the feather limped to the other side of her head.

“No,” she breathed. “I’m fine, thank you.”

“Pardon my saying so, but you do not look fine.” The Panamanian looked her over, his eyes dark with concern. “That fall, it was terrible. Terrible!”

“No, really, I’m—”

“Who was it who did this to you? Him?”

Cain found himself staring at an accusing finger. He cleared his throat and rose to one elbow. “Now, wait just a—”

“Shall I hurt him for you,
mi amiga hermosa
?”

Ana’s laugh was strangled. She threw Cain a glance. “You’re very kind. But he—”

“I will even kill him, if you wish it.”

Christ, Cain thought, the man hadn’t let either of them complete a sentence. He rose a little farther. His head ached in protest, and he put a finger to his temple to ease it. “She’s with me.”

“No!” The Panamanian’s tone was incredulous, his dark mustache twitched as he stared at Cain. “You cannot be serious. It is a lie.”

Irritation stabbed into his headache. Cain did his best to stare coldly at the man. “I am—”

“I assure you, it’s no lie, sir,” Ana said quickly.

Cain felt even more irritation at the slight smile on her lips. It was obvious she found the whole thing amusing.

“Perhaps it is time to find a new protector, then,
cariña
.” The man bent low over Ana’s hand. “Allow me to take over.”

Ana went rigid, the amusement in her face died. “I don’t think you understand—”

Cain heard the ice in her tone. This was trouble, and he was damned if he wanted trouble—especially when it was undoubtedly going to fall to him to fix it. Groaning, he sat up, swiveled around until he faced the man glaring at Ana.

“Wait a minute,” Cain said, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the pain of his shoulder and the throbbing of his head as he climbed to his feet.

The Panamanian ignored him. “How much does he pay you? Whatever it is, I offer more.”

Any hope Cain had of ending this peacefully died. There was no way he could let the insult lie, much as he wanted to. If he ignored it, every man on the ship would then know how to treat her, and she had hired him to prevent that very thing. He swallowed and stepped in front of her protectively. A shaft of pain went through him at the movement.

“You have just insulted my wife,
señor
,” he said quietly. “Apologize now, or I will have to force you to do so.” Christ, his head was pounding.
Don’t let there be a fight
, he prayed silently.
Let the hothead apologize and beg for mercy
. He was in no shape for it. The rough jouncing he’d taken on the stairs had only increased the effects of his hangover.

But then he saw the Panamanian’s mouth lift in a sneer. “I see no ring,
señor
. You are a liar.”

Cain froze. “You will wish you had apologized when I am finished with you.”

“
¡Cochon
!” The Panamanian lunged forward, his fist connecting evenly with Cain’s jaw. Pain exploded through his head. He reeled back, slamming into Ana and crashing back with her against the wall.

“My God.” She gasped into his ear. “Watch—”

“
Bastardo
,” the man hissed, charging again. “This time you will be sorry,
hijo de la puta
!”

Cain shoved Ana to the side, twisting so the Panamanian’s fist collided with the wall. His scream of rage echoed through the passageway as he lunged again. Cain doubled over, losing his balance before his opponent could strike, falling to the ground.

The man smiled and drew back his hand. He leaned forward, his face only a few feet from Cain’s. “Are you scared,
señor? ¿Tomes las de Villadiego
?”

Cain launched forward, grasping the Panamanian by the throat and throwing him back until he thudded against the stairs.

Gripping his side, battling nausea, Cain bent over him the man and smiled grimly. His jaw ached with the effort. “
Vas su a huir
?”

The Panamanian groaned, rubbing his neck. “
Sí. Si
. You have it.”

“To the lady.”

The man turned his head slowly. He smiled, charmingly, sheepishly, as if embarrassed by the last few moments and hoping they were forgotten. “I most humbly apologize,
señorita
—”

“
Señora
,” Cain corrected.

“
Señora
. I am a fool. It is obvious you are a lady.”

Ana smiled thinly. “There was no harm done.”

The ship’s gong sounded, and the Panamanian rose, wincing at the sound. “For my sake,
señora
, I hope I do not see you again this voyage. Your beauty is too much a temptation.” He smiled again. With a small bow of farewell, he left them, still rubbing his neck.

Ana brushed off her skirt, reaching for the abandoned doctor’s kit as if the last minutes had been nothing more than a mild diversion. “What was it he said to you?”

Cain rubbed his knuckles. He had the uncomfortable feeling that what had just happened was going to be happening a lot more often. “Something no lady should hear.”

“I am no lady,” she reminded him.

“For this trip,
querida
, you are,” he said gently, holding out his hand to help her to her feet. “He needed a damn good lesson in manners, that’s all. I was happy to give it to him.”

“I hope you don’t feel the need to do so often,” she said. “Now, where’s our room?”

She stared at him expectantly, and Cain swallowed his response. There was no gratitude in her voice or her bearing, no relief, no “thank you.” In fact, he got the odd impression that his effort was not only unappreciated, but unwelcome. He smiled wryly. “I imagine you’re used to being fought over.”

Her tawny eyes darkened, he saw the flash of something that looked like sadness—or regret—cross her face. But it was gone quickly, and she gave him a tight smile. “Of course,” she said coldly. “Where’s our room?”

So much for being a hero. Here he was, with bruised ribs and a head that felt as if a sledgehammer were bouncing off his skull, and all she could say was “Where’s our room?”

He glanced at her again, at her stiff body and emotionless face. Could it be she honestly didn’t know? A trickle of mean-spirited amusement made him smile. He picked up the valise and started around the corner, slowing until she was beside him.

The moment the room opened before them, she froze. Cain stopped, steeling himself for her anger, but when she was silent, he turned to see why. Her lips were compressed in a tight line as she surveyed the long, wide hold before them.

Cain tried to see it the way she would. It was dimly lit, even though metal ship’s lanterns hung gimbeled every few feet. There were no windows, and the press of smoke and sweat was already almost nauseating. But he’d been in such places before; his money situation had rarely been good enough for him to buy more than steerage.

But she was a woman. He glanced over at her, watching her gaze travel the room, taking in the berths that stretched three tiers high and three wide, with two feet between. Actually, to call them berths was a compliment. They were nothing but rough canvas hammocks slung on undressed lumber.

The makeshift beds stretched on either side. Down the narrow center corridor ran a long plank table covered with oilcloth. Already men were crowding the room, hunting for their assigned berths—sitting, lying, and spitting on the table that was supposedly going to hold their food.

She shook her head briefly. “I didn’t expect this,” she said.

Her voice was even, unemotional, but Cain felt a rise of compassion all the same. He should have warned her.

He felt a momentary regret that he hadn’t and then brushed away the feeling. He had the feeling that any sympathy—like his heroism—would be disdained.

“Look at it this way.” He leaned close, injecting a teasing tone into his voice. “Now you won’t have to share a bed with me.”

Her eyes were overbright. “That was my first thought,” she snapped. She motioned to the bunks. “Well? Which ones are ours?”

Cain smiled, feeling a strange relief at the rapidness of her recovery. He pulled the tickets from his pocket and glanced at them before making his way down the narrow aisle between the table and the bunks. Behind him, her boots rapped sharply on the deck and Cain slowed when he realized that they were drawing the interested stares of the other men.

His stomach clenched, sudden tension made his shoulders tight. Not for the first time, he wished he had his hands on one of the bottles in her valise. She attracted attention like honey attracted bees—it was going to take a hell of a lot of concentration to keep incidents like the one he’d just dispelled from happening again. And damn, it was concentration he didn’t want to maintain. It took every ounce he had just to keep himself alive.

But it was what he’d agreed to, and he wasn’t the kind of man who backed out on a deal—especially when there was a bottle of bourbon on the other end of it.

He stopped, and when she was even with him, he twined her arm through his, smiling at the cynical lift of her brows.