A Light For My Love (24 page)

China's hand halted in mid-reach for the
sugar bowl. Despite her zombielike fatigue, she felt a heat scorch
her face that had nothing to do with the stove. She wasn't likely
to forget that scene anytime soon, or how it made her feel. That
woman had thrown herself into his arms and kissed him right there
in front of God and the nation. Nor was China likely to forget the
morning she made the mistake of bringing it up to him.

"I remember," she replied into her cup.

"I grew up with Belinda's husband, Roddy
McGowen, on Tenth Street."

"Oh?" she replied faintly. She looked up at
him again, the information causing a sudden flush of guilt that she
was positive must show on her face. But, if Belinda had a husband,
what was that China had seen between her and Jake? The embrace and
the money?

Jake put his elbows on either side of his cup
and hunched his shoulders. "She told me Roddy was shanghaied last
summer. He was on his way home from his job at the cannery."

He had her full attention now, and she waited
expectantly—for what she wasn't sure.

He lifted his cup and took a sip of the
unadorned bitter brew he'd made. "I gave her money because she and
her baby were sick and they needed medicine and food. She doesn't
have any family here, but she wants to stay in Astoria so that
Roddy will be able to find her when he comes back." He took a quick
glance at Willie again, and closed one hand into a fist on the
tabletop. "Look, I know shanghaiing isn't a good system, China. I
never said it was. I'm not blind to this problem, or to what
Williams is trying to do. I just wish you weren't taking the
risks—oh, damn it, what's the use?" He ran his hands through his
hair, his exasperation plain.

But she wasn't thinking about shanghaiing at
that moment or about the Sailors Protective League. She was
wrestling with the very guilty

feeling that she'd been wrong to assume the
worst about Jake and Belinda. It wasn't an easy thing to admit to
herself, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to admit it to him.
She cast a sidelong glance at him.

“I didn't mean to, well, uh, you know after
that dreadful scandal with poor Althea Lambert—"

Jake leaned back in his chair. "Oh, yes," he
smiled without a trace of humor, "poor Althea, the ship chandler's
daughter. Let me tell you the story about Althea Lambert." He
hooked one arm over the back of his chair and began speaking with
the voice of an impartial storyteller. The flame from the oil lamp
highlighted the blond and red bristles in the beard that was
beginning to shadow his face. China realized it had probably been
almost a whole day since he last shaved.

"I'd been going into Lambert Brothers for
years. Pop would send me there to buy equipment for the boat. When
she was young, Althea used to sit at a desk behind the counter,
doing her schoolwork. Later she started keeping the books, and
sometimes, when her father and uncle were busy in the back or at
the wharf, she'd wait on customers. It seemed every time I went in
there and Althea was alone, she needed help with something—a jar
lid, a box on a high shelf, a heavy package. She used all her
wiles, and she wasn't too clever about it. It was pretty obvious
she was looking for a husband. Me, I guess. There might have been
other men she tried to land, but I never heard about them."

Jake looked out the window into the yard, as
if he were watching the scene play out against the moonlit
landscape. "Well, I wasn't an idiot. I didn't jump at the bait she
kept throwing in my face. She didn't give up, though. It got so
bad, I hated going in there."

China couldn't help but raise her brows. This
story didn't fit his reputation at all, but she tried to remain
neutral as she listened. He went on.

"Finally, one day a couple of months before
Quinn and I left, I went into Lambert's to buy rope. Althea was the
only one there. She told me her father and her uncle would be gone
for hours, and she asked me to go into the storeroom with her to,
um, well— She said she loved me and wanted to marry me. Most of the
men I knew would have gone with her, whether they liked her or not.
But I told her no, there was someone else I cared about. That was
probably my mistake. She flew into a rage. She said if I didn't
marry her, she'd tell everyone that I'd taken advantage of her and
that she was going to have a baby." He turned his eyes back to
China and shrugged. "And that's what she did. Not too many people
believed my side of the story. And for all I knew, she might have
been pregnant by someone else, so hanging around to prove myself
innocent may not have worked. It would have been a hell of a
mess."

China remembered how she'd flinched the first
time he'd said the word "pregnant," that day in the alcove. Now it
seemed like a silly thing to be upset about. He was beginning to
look tired, she thought, studying his well-formed face. Maybe Aunt
Gert was right. Jake had never been an angel, but China realized
that of all the qualities attributed to him over the years, she'd
never heard him called a liar. She hadn't known Althea Lambert, but
she'd known Jake.

"She left town, you know, three months after
you did. She went to Portland. The rumor was that there had never
been a baby." China refrained from adding that she'd believed the
worst.

Jake nodded. "Pug Jennings told me. She isn't
why I left Astoria. I'd planned to do that for a long time. But I
guess it's a good thing I did. I might have found myself shackled
to her." He shuddered. "That would have been hell on earth."

She believed what he told her, although she
couldn't say why. And it felt good to sit here with him. She
propped her chin on her hand, thinking of something he'd said
earlier. China had never paid much attention, but she didn't
remember Jake's name ever being linked to any one woman. Except
Althea, of course. Sudden curiosity forced her tongue. "When you
told Althea that you cared for someone else—did you make that
up?"

He leaned forward slightly, his forearms
crossed in front of him on the tabletop, and stared at her with a
blank expression that revealed nothing. But China knew she'd been
chastened for her nosiness just the same, and she dropped her gaze
to the floor, her cheeks scorching.

Jake remained silent for a seemingly endless
moment, then shifted in his chair and took out his watch. "It's
almost four-thirty, China. I'd better walk you back to the house so
you can get some rest."

"I can't leave Willie out here by himself,"
she protested, looking up again. "I'll have to give him more
quinine in another hour or so."

"I'll stay with him. It would give Aunt Gert
a real turn if you weren't in the house by breakfast time. She
won't think it's so odd if I'm not there."

Reluctantly, China's opinion of Jake
Chastaine crept up yet another notch. It was a tempting offer.
She'd been up nearly twenty-four hours. "Well, if you're sure you
want to—"

He stood and held his hand out to her again.
"I'm sure." He smiled then. "Don't forget, I had a two-hour
nap."

She let him help her to her feet. Her body
felt like lead and her eyes burned. Even her clothes felt heavy.
Standing so close to his tall, broad frame, she wished she could
lean against him for just a moment, feel his arm around her,
offering support. But of course that was an improper, fanciful
desire. Exhaustion was addling her thoughts. She didn't know what
excuse to use for having similar thoughts when she'd been well
rested.

She walked to the bed to check on Willie
again. He slept on and was still feverish under her touch, but not
quite so much. "The quinine is helping," she said, turning back to
Jake. "You only have to stay until seven o'clock. Dalton will be
here then."

She thought a dour look crossed his face, but
it happened so quickly she couldn't be sure.

"Well, come on, then," he said and steered
her toward the door. "Everything is under control."

They walked across the back yard under a full
moon that hung low in the western sky, its face veiled by gauzy
clouds. At the back porch, he took her key from her and unlocked
the door. The kitchen light fell across his hair and face. Yes,
China thought, he was very handsome.

"Thank you, Jake, for everything," she
whispered. "I couldn't have managed Willie without your help. I
think he'll be all right."

Jake nodded. "You get some sleep." He looked
into her eyes, then leaned forward and pressed a long kiss to her
forehead. The very tenderness of it made her suck in her breath.
She could feel the scratch of his beard on her skin, she could
smell the wool in his sweater. It took all the willpower she had to
keep from stepping closer and putting her arms around his
waist.

When he straightened, she saw the dull wink
of the little medallion he wore, and she reached for it.

"What is this, anyway?" she asked, trying to
see it in the low light.

He looked down at it, then back up at her.
His tired eyes crinkled at the corners. "It's a Saint Nicholas
medal. Every sailor needs protection against drowning, you
know."

He smiled at her again, briefly touched her
cheek in a kind of salute, and went back down the porch stairs and
across the yard.

China watched until his shape disappeared
under the trees, then she closed the back door. As she put out the
light, she wondered if there was a charm to protect her heart from
a blond, jade-eyed sailor.

CHAPTER NINE

The cramp in the back of Jake's neck brought
him out of his doze. He'd been dreaming about China as she had
looked that autumn morning seven years ago, standing on the dock as
the Pacific Star was towed downriver. She was waving and calling,
but the wind didn't carry her words to him.

"I can't hear you!" he shouted. Dodging
crewmen, he ran to the stern and leaned out over the taffrail,
fighting a rising panic as she and the dock were left behind. The
wind was icy and damp on his face, but sweat drenched his shirt. He
knew he had to learn what she was saying; it could change the rest
of his life.

Then her voice was inside his head, soft,
beseeching. "Jake, please come back. I love—"

His eyes snapped open and he looked around
the room. A dream, it was a dream, he reminded himself. It had
never happened.

He slumped in the same chair he'd occupied
for hours, his feet propped on the end of Willie's bed, his arms
crossed over his chest. The late-coming winter dawn was just
beginning to reveal shapes in the yard beyond the window. Willie
had been asleep most of the time, waking only briefly when Captain
Chastaine held up his head and again ordered him to take his dose
of quinine. The youth

had asked about his mother, but he seemed
satisfied when Jake told him she was just in the next room. He was
doing better, Jake thought. He expected his fever to break this
morning.

Jake rubbed his face. Then he slowly took
down his feet and straightened his back—every muscle in his legs
and shoulders was stiff. Standing, he looked at his mariner's
watch. It chimed four bells as he opened it—just six o'clock. He
put it back in his pocket and went to the stove to pour himself
some more coffee, though it had acquired an acrid aroma from
sitting on the heat for three hours.

Suddenly he heard a key in the lock. Damn it
all, he smoldered, he'd told China to get some rest. Now she was
back, less than two hours after he'd sent her inside. He strode
toward the door as it swung open, prepared to deliver a short,
effective lecture, and found himself face to face with Dalton
Williams.

The atmosphere was immediately charged with
bristling tension as the two men assessed each other.

Jake spoke first. "You're early." He stood
out of the way to let Williams in. "China said you'd be here at
seven."

He brought the cold morning in on his big pea
coat. "What are you doing here, Chastaine?" Walking to the narrow
bed, he looked at the sleeping Willie. "Hunting for crewmen?"

Jake tightened the muscles in his back, no
longer feeling the ache. He already stood a head taller than
Williams; the flexion pulled him up a bit more.

"You've got a hell of a nerve to ask me that,
Williams, when you came here on Saturday night, uninvited, to get
handouts from my guests. That was quite a performance you gave
them—I thought the ladies were going to swoon from it." He couldn't
keep the derision out of his voice.

"China invited me to her home. I didn't need
your permission," he reminded Jake, then sent him a look of cold
blue suspicion. "You seem to know why I'm here, but I haven't heard
your explanation yet."

Goddamn the high-handed son of a bitch, Jake
swore to himself. "After you dumped the responsibility for this
sick boy on China, she needed help. And at two this morning, I was
the one she asked, since there was no one else. He was delirious
and flopping around like a tuna on a gaff. I sent her inside a
while ago because she's worn out."

Williams face reflected surprise before he
apparently conquered it. "I asked her if she wanted me to stay, but
she didn't. She said she could manage."

"Don't apologize to me," Jake snapped. He
pulled his chair back to the table and sat down. "Save it for her.
She has no business being involved with this, anyway." He gestured
at Willie. "If you want to risk your own neck, that's fine, but
letting a woman take that same risk isn't what I'd call noble."

Williams walked to the table and sat across
from him, tipping the chair back against the wall. He regarded Jake
speculatively, then shrugged, shifting his coat. "The way I see it,
there wasn't much honor in accusing that same woman of sharing a
berth with me."

Jake felt the veins stand out in his neck.
God, China had told Williams about that? Apparently she felt close
enough to this man to confide in him. That same knife-edged pain,
swift and keen, whipped through him, the pain he felt whenever he
considered China and Williams in the same thought. He hoped his
face didn't look as red as it felt. "You're right. It was a damned
lousy thing to say to her, and I'm the first one to admit that I
was wrong to do it." He leaned toward the former seaman. "But it
didn't put her life in danger."