The Best Way to Lose (21 page)

For the time being, Pilar stayed at her vantage point to observe the proceedings and left
the exploring for another time. She listened to the orders shouted and the acknowledgments made in answering yells.

It didn’t seem to take long, and the towboat was maneuvering into the channel, pushing the heavily loaded barges ahead of it. The deck vibrated with the hard throb of the engines. Atop the pilothouse the radar disc began to make its slow, never-ending circle.

A scorching sun was high overhead, sending Pilar in search of the shady side to escape its direct heat. As they chugged steadily upstream, the signs of the city gradually faded from view and Pilar saw levee banks and the cotton, cane, and rice fields beyond.

“Hey, Pilar!” a voice shouted to her. She looked over the railing to see Trace standing on the lower deck, his hand cupped to his mouth. “Lunch’s ready! Are you hungry?”

“Yes!” She nodded emphatically to be sure he understood and hurried down the ladder to join him.

The meal was served in a common room off the galley. Between meals it was a gathering place to play cards or watch television or talk. At this mealtime it was filled with hungry men and one woman, Pilar.

After Trace’s comment about the cook’s flavoring his dishes with cigar smoke, he took a lot of ribbing from the crew. It was a hearty meal, the simple meat, potato, and vegetable kind with a fruit pie for dessert.

When she was finished, Pilar carried her dirty dishes into the galley like all the others
had. Evers was grumbling sourly under his breath at the sink, the cigar wigwagging from his mouth.

“Don’t pay any attention to them, Mr. Evers,” Pilar said quietly as she set her dishes with the rest. “The food was very good and none of it tasted of cigar.” But she suspected it wouldn’t be long before the galley stank with its smoke.

“They gotta have somethin’ to complain about, ma’am. If it ain’t me and my cookin’, it’ll be somethin’ else.” He shrugged his disinterest in their jibes at him, but the cigar settled into one place in his mouth, proving to Pilar that her compliment had slightly mollified his ego.

When she returned to the common room, Trace was standing. He stretched taller, his flexing shoulders pulling the shirt tautly across his chest as he rubbed a hand absently across his stomach. He smiled faintly at her.

“Ready to go for a walk?”

“After that meal I need it,” she agreed and moved in front of him to step through the doorway first.

“Well, what do you think of it so far?” He wrapped an arm around her waist, keeping her close despite the sultry blast of outside heat.

“Everything’s so new to me. I feel like a child, always wanting to ask ‘What’s that?’” She laughed.

“Such as?” Trace wanted to know.

“Such as…” Pausing, Pilar looked around
and spied one of the deckhands heading for the steps by the tall bumpers that led down to the barges. “What’s he doing?”

“I imagine he’s going to check the cables and make sure they’re all tight. They tend to work loose, especially in turbulent currents like this.” The response was barely given before a black look spread across his features. Pilar suddenly felt herself being shoved aside as Trace pushed by her. “Stay here,” he ordered and appeared to forget her instantly. “Tucker!” he shouted to the deckhand. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

The man stopped and looked at him blankly, a half-smoked cigarette drooping from one side of his mouth. In two strides Trace was there and snatching the cigarette from his mouth to throw it into the river.

“Dammit all, Tucker! You know better!” he snapped. “Have you forgotten we’re carrying sulfur in the holds of those barges? It’s carelessness that gets people killed.”

“Sorry, I … forgot.” The man went almost white.

“See that you don’t forget again,” Trace ordered. “And when you’ve checked those lines, make sure ‘No Smoking’ signs get posted.”

There was still a dark scowl on his face when he returned to Pilar. She didn’t have to ask what that was all about, since it was impossible not to overhear.

“The barges are loaded with sulfur? Is that explosive?” she asked curiously.

His glance was brief and his response was briefer. “It’s what they use on match heads.” No further explanation was required. “Come on.” That displeasure lingered in his eyes despite his attempt to push it aside. “I’ll show you around the
Lady
”

“All right.” Pilar preferred a guided tour to exploring on her own.

He took her through the crew’s quarters, then below to the engine room, where the whining throb of the engines was so loud that he had to shout to make himself heard. Since this was a shakedown trip, a lot of checks were being made of the systems. Trace took time to speak with the engineer before escorting Pilar out of the room.

From the engine room they went topside to the pilothouse. A breeze, at least, moved the air around even though the sun kept it sticky and hot. Trace relieved Morgan at the wheel, then explained all the sophisticated equipment to her. When they came to a straight stretch of river, he let her steer, with some instructions and occasional assistance.

When he came up behind her and nibbled on her neck, Pilar wasn’t surprised. Sooner or later she had expected him to take advantage of the fact that she had both hands on the wheel.

“Pay attention to where you’re going,” he warned when she tried to twist away from him. “You have to stay inside the channel markers unless you want to run us aground.”

“Isn’t there some law against interfering
with the pilot?” She protested and tried to shrug a shoulder into her neck to stop that exciting nibbling of her skin.

“Probably,” he agreed and lifted his head, but he continued to stand directly behind her, his hands rubbing her with disturbing interest.

Now that he had stopped that sensual nibbling, Pilar leaned back against him, contentment sighing through her at the hard, solid warmth of his body, whipped lean and rugged. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself so much,” she declared.

“Then don’t try,” Trace replied.

It was an idyllic afternoon she spent with him. Sometimes it was fun and playful; other times it was simply quiet and companionable, talking about little things or events in their respective lives or watching the wildlife along the banks.

Sundown brought a lowering of temperature, aided by the water-cooled breeze coming off the river. Trace’s arm was draped around her shoulders as they took a late-night stroll, leaving behind the lighted decks of the towboat to venture onto the shadowed barges. The vibrating throb of the powerful engines ceased to dominate the night and faded into the background, the breeze blowing the sound away from them.

When they reached the bow of the lead barge on the port side, they paused to look out into the black silhouettes of the night and listen to the rush of water against the sides. It
was like being totally alone, only the two of them in the world. The slight pressure of his arm urged her downward as Trace lowered himself onto the barge deck and leaned against an idle ratchet. Pilar readily joined him, nestling herself in the crook of his arm and resting her head against his shoulder.

A fat, lopsided moon grinned down from a night sky jam-packed with stars. The midnight blackness was virtually littered with the tinsel-bright glitter of them. There was a magic about the night that vaguely dazzled her.

“I’ve never seen so many stars,” she murmured.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he agreed.

Turning her head against his shoulder, Pilar gazed up at him. “You miss this, don’t you?” She noticed the ease in his features.

Here there were no walls and no desks to confine him, no expensive silk tie around his neck or tailored suit jacket constricting his shoulders. He had on a pair of worn jeans and a dark windbreaker over a plain cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the throat, and that slightly battered captain’s hat was on his head. That had been his attire since they’d come aboard.

“Yes,” Trace admitted. “I’m not sure I make a good corporate executive, but I enjoy the challenge of running things even if I can’t stand all the paperwork and meetings. Whenever I get the urge to chuck it all, I spend a couple of days on the river and come back.” One corner of his mouth lifted in the
suggestion of a smile as his lazy glance roamed her upturned face. “A couple of times I’ve been tempted to buy myself a boat and run the company from it.”

“Would that make you happy?” she wondered, because there was a lurking quality of sadness about him despite the occasional bravado.

“Pilar.” He breathed heavily with patient exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you—you would make me happy.”

This sudden turn of the conversation, where she became the subject matter, made her uneasy. It was that subtle pressuring again, trying to force a decision from her. She lowered her chin to break away from his gaze and looked at the swallowing blackness of the river.

“Maybe I haven’t been patient, but you’ve lived inside me a long time. It’s already to the point where there’s no getting over you.” His warm lips nuzzled her temple, the need in his voice closing her eyes and shutting off her breath. “After waiting so long, I thought I could wait another day, another week or month, if that’s what it would take. But it isn’t working out that way. I can’t hold you and kiss you without wanting all of you. I want to read the end of the book, Pilar, and find out if they lived happily ever after.”

“Trace, you’re asking the impossible,” she protested achingly.

“Am I?” He cupped her cheek in his hand and turned her face up. “All I know is the
longer I have to wait, the worse the odds get. As corny as it sounds, Natchez isn’t big enough for the both of us. If you haven’t decided yet, then your answer is going to be no. If that’s the way it’s going to be, then you’ve seen the last of me. If it’s over with us, the best thing is to end it all—move the company, lock, stock, and barrel, to another port and never come near you again.” He watched her lips, the strain showing as he resisted their closeness. “We should reach Natchez tomorrow afternoon. If you can’t give me your answer by then, it’s all over.”

“That’s not fair.” She protested the placing of a deadline.

“This isn’t fair,” Trace countered and released her, taking his arm from around her shoulders and rolling to his feet.

Pilar was too stunned by his unexpected desertion so soon after his ultimatum that she couldn’t react. He stood for an instant, looking down at her. All expression seemed wiped from his features, yet there was something poignant and lonely about him.

“Think on it, Pilar,” he said and moved away to leave her sitting alone on the barge.

H
er fingers curled tightly around the railing as she felt the glare of the afternoon sun striking her face. Pilar felt trapped by the loud drone of the engines, steadily pushing them upstream. She wanted them to slow down or stop, anything to postpone their arrival in Natchez and give her more time. Her nerves screamed with the tension of knowing that she had a little over an hour at best.

Trace emerged from the pilothouse, his glance running over her before he approached. Pilar turned her face into the breeze, making a show of shaking aside black strands of hair from her cheek. Her body was rigid with the strain of these last hours.

“Want a cold drink? I’m going below to get something for Dan and me.” In all their
conversation since last night, Trace had skirted the issue between them.

“No.” Her answer was stiff and to the point, mostly because she couldn’t keep up the casual pretense anymore. The situation was too serious for idle chatter.

After hesitating an instant longer, Trace headed for the ladder, and she listened to the easy run of his footsteps as he descended it. She blinked at the tears that smarted in her eyes, aware that she was feeling sorry for herself because she didn’t know what to do.

When Dan Morgan suddenly stepped out of the pilothouse, she avoided looking at him so he wouldn’t see the distress in her expression. But he paid no attention to her, hurrying by to the forward railing.

“Hey, Trace!” There was an urgency in his shout. “We’ve got trouble! Three runaway barges are coming downstream! It just came over the radio!”

Hard on the heels of his call of alarm came the clanging noise of Trace racing up the ladder. Pilar turned from the railing, not fully understanding what kind of trouble this represented but silently hoping that it would bring about some kind of delay. Morgan hovered by the steps until Trace appeared. Together they walked swiftly toward the pilothouse while Morgan gave him the details of the situation.

“A towboat lost power upstream and hit the highway bridge at Natchez. He was pushing all empty oil barges. Three of them broke loose,”
Morgan explained as they went inside and Pilar followed to listen. There was a tenseness in Morgan’s glance when he paused. “Trace, one of those barges has a fire in the hold.”

Swearing under his breath, Trace moved to look at the river charts. “When did it happen?”

“Ten, fifteen minutes at the most.”

“Damn,” Trace muttered, pausing only a second in his study of the charts. “Alert the crew. Have them start looking for the smoke. In this current, and empty besides, those barges will be on top of us before we know it. We’re going to have to get out of the channel.” He glanced out the window, checking their present position.

“You know this river better than I do,” Morgan conceded after he’d warned the crew of the impending trouble via the loudspeaker intercom aboard. “You just tell me where you want her to go and I’ll take her there.”

“Start turning starboard,” Trace advised and stepped to the door. “With the river this high, we should be able to hug that section of bank coming up and still have water under us.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Pilar murmured.

He threw her a short glance. “Then we’re in a lot more trouble.”

Everything seemed to be happening on the other side of the boat, so Pilar shifted to the starboard deck. All the crew, everyone, seemed to be holding their breath as the tow
boat and its barges eased toward the bank under Trace’s directions. The rolling water was the color of pale milk chocolate, thick and churning next to the bank. They drew close enough for Pilar to make out the striated bark on the trees growing at the river’s edge.