“Hang on to your women tonight, gents!”
Noah, along with three other lumberjacks manually trying to pull a stump out of the ground, looked up at the speaker, sweat dripping from their brows even in the spring’s cool, morning air. The distant yells of fallers high up in the neighboring trees punctuated the otherwise quiet forest surroundings, along with the clip-clop of double-bit axes whittling away at the woodland giants’ bodies.
The men’s puzzled faces looked comical; women were the farthest subject from the loggers’ minds at the moment, except for the occasional “The bitch won’t budge!” reference to the reluctant bell of the felled tree. This was one of those moments when sometimes brute strength worked faster than calling a team over to remove the base and roots. Bent over, breathing heavy, with hands resting on denim-clad knees while staring at the fecund ground, Noah shook his head ever-so-slightly to clear it before meeting Chester’s sparklingly amused expression.
The wrangler liked the blood, sweat, and tears of the hard work; required it at this current time. With baby Rebecca now two weeks old, his wife professing her love for him, and he so in love with her, Noah craved the manual labor to assuage the growing physical desire he longed to consummate with Emmaline. He wanted to be a true husband to Emmie, in every sense of the word, and the wait for that occurrence loomed interminable to a husband living in constant arousal for nine months and counting. And he didn’t need this senseless interruption right at this moment, not when at long last bone-weary fatigue was finally taking over his body.
“I don’t have a woman to hang onto, Chester!” One of the men said. “But if I did, I know right where I’d be hangin’ on!”
“We all know, Joshua, and so do the women. That’s why you don’t have one!”
The deep guffaws and hyena laughs drew an answering grin from the horse wrangler, though he wisely stayed out of the good-natured mud-slinging. Noah swiped at his forehead again, at last standing upright, smiling at the unmarried loggers’ banter and thankful he no longer counted himself amongst their numbers. He had a woman, one that loved him; but that immediate thought brought an instant memory of the morning, where he’d left said woman suckling their baby in their shadowed, cozy bed, and he realized the arousal he’d beaten down with hard labor hadn’t actually ever died. The wrangler inwardly sighed, finally paying attention to the other men’s conversation in a last ditch effort to avoid an afternoon-long erection. He could only hope there would be more tree stumps to dislodge.
“I mean it, boys. That fancy-pants sea captain is back in St. Helens.” Like a dog with a favorite bone, Chester veered unerringly back to the subject he’d first broached. In the process of stripping his gloves off his hands, Noah’s head shot up at Chester’s description. There was only one dandified sea captain that he knew of, he thought with a sinking sensation. Lancelot Fairchild. The seed donator of Emmie’s and Noah’s baby. The man Emmaline Townsend Lawson had once believed she’d loved. If he was back, would her love for him also return? Noah’s stomach churned at just the thought. After all, though they’d played in the marriage bed, performing many lovemaking acts true husbands and wives participate in regularly, Noah and Emmie still hadn’t actually consummated their marriage. They hadn’t physically become one.
That fact scared Noah, added to the knowledge that his wife’s first lover was now back in town. Emmie professed to love Noah; clung to him; sighed for him. But she’d yet to give herself bodily to him. Physical limitations of new motherhood still precluded that act. And it rankled that she had done so with Fairchild. Calm, patient Noah Lawson, tolerant of his wife’s singular predicament up to now, suddenly found himself jealous of Emmie’s previous involvement with the dandified sea captain. Resentful and fearful.
Now that he was back, would Fairchild’s very presence remind Emmaline of what she’d once had? After all, it was often said women fell in love with the man they gave their maidenhead to. Or, now that she and Noah had started to forge a tenuous bond, would she realize that what she had with her wrangler husband was everlasting? Noah couldn’t sit back and wait and see. His life, his love, his sanity hung in the balance of this dilemma.
So, stuffing into his hip pocket the gloves Emmie had so lovingly made months ago, Noah grabbed his hat off his head and wiped his face one more time, announcing shortly, “Gotta get back, gents. I forgot; one of the teams is comin’ back at lunch an’ I’ll be the only one there to check ‘em in. Good luck diggin’ her out!” And without any more by-your-leave, Noah strode away down the hill, ignoring the jibes about mutiny and laziness with a negligent wave of his hat over his head. He was a man on a mission; a life-or-death mission for love.
Sliding down the steep hill in his well-worn boots, bypassing the skid road for a short cut through nature’s towering wonderland, Noah quickly decided to just drop by the cabin first; confirm that his true love remained at home, tending his hearth. Then he’d be able to sneak a lunch, and maybe a cuddle or two, before returning to the mountain and the back-breaking work he’d abruptly quit.
Noah’s downhill trek took only minutes, hitting the hillside with his backend a few times in his haste to return home, but soon he caught glimpses of their cabin, and felt his pulse begin to race. Of course she’d be home! There would be no reason for her to leave their humble little abode. It was a day just like any other day.
And then he reached the clearing, the little cabin in plain view. The door was shut. That by itself wasn’t remarkable, Noah admonished himself, even as his chest inexplicably tightened. The weather remained unpredictable, and perhaps Emmie felt chilled. But the smokeless chimney, the air of absent owners coupled with the closed front door, had the wrangler running for the porch, breath hitching in his throat.
He gained the steps with long bounds. Reaching out to pinch open the latch, Noah burst into the cabin, skidding to a stop and leaving mud marks streaked with leaves on Emmaline’s spotless floor.
“Emmie!” He shouted, though he stood in the center of the silent little cabin, all corners of the space visible. “Em?” Only silence met his ears. All evidence to the contrary, Noah still refused what his eyes showed him, though he lurched over and sank onto the pink-quilted bed he called his love nest. His worst fears had materialized. She was gone. And she’d taken little Rebecca with her.
Wild-eyed now, his breath a tight fist clogging his throat, Noah stared about the room, taking in the neatly folded laundry stacked on the bureau, waiting to be sifted away amongst dried lavender. Next, his gaze lit upon the kitchen table, where checkered, cloth place mats awaited steaming bowls of stew or chili for their midday repast. A loaf of bread sat covered upon the table in hopes of rising, though its maker remained conspicuously absent. Noah’s heart plummeted at the evidence. It lay at the floor of his stomach, as empty as this cabin and all because his light, the light of his life, had run away from this dreary, tiny existence being shackled to him promised her. She hadn’t even waited to finish her chores before her exodus.
Hot tears pricked the corners of Noah’s eyes as he stared at the tiny cradle he’d fashioned with his own two hands; upon the infant-sized blankets and gowns folded on top of Emmaline’s nightgowns and his undershirts. Noah violently blinked the sting away. This was their home; their bed; their love nest, where his lips, his touch, wrung whimpers of need and desire from Emmie’s mouth. Where her cautious, tentative touch brought him close to exploding. Where their whispered hopes and dreams susurrated long into the night, staving off his war nightmares. Yet now he sat, alone; forsaken. The drudgery of being a lumberjack’s wife must have finally proved to be too much. Emmaline was gone; gone back to the arms of the man who’d promised her everything, moonlight and parties, diamonds and evening gowns…
But then he’d dumped her, hadn’t he, leaving Emmaline only empty promises and his seed for company, scared and abandoned and easily maneuvered into a marriage of convenience with him, Noah Lawson. And up until this very moment, the wrangler had thought he’d been victorious in winning his wife’s heart. Had even thought to thank the slimy sea captain whenever he’d seen him again.
That thought took hold in Noah’s brain, freezing his emotional response to Emmie’s and Rebecca’s absence. Could Emmaline really have forgotten Fairchild’s treachery? Forgiven it? Chosen him over her husband of convenience? Noah hadn’t imagined her responses to his touch these last few months; hadn’t imagined those three little words breathed from between her lips, not only in intense passion but in every day interaction as well.
Glancing around the one room cabin again, Noah surged to his feet. Emmaline may have run off to see Fairchild in a spur-of-the-moment weakness, but he, Noah Lawson, would be damned if he let her leave without explaining why she was doing so! Not only was she devastating him with her defection, she was taking his daughter, and that he could not—would not—accept! There was only so much heartache a man could stand, and Noah had reached his limit. Emmaline Townsend Lawson was not leaving without a fight upon her hands.
The wrangler slammed out of his lonely cabin, letting the door bang shut behind him as he once more jammed his hat upon his head and began jogging down the haul road toward the St. Helens’ dock. The exercise would only warm him up for the confrontation.
##
It could not be. This couldn’t be happening. After nine long months of heartache, denial, acceptance, and budding love, Captain Lancelot Fairchild could not be standing before Emmaline as handsome and debonair as he’d looked all those months ago, russet hair ruffling in the wind and officer’s coat fluttering about his masculine form. All those months ago when she’d been just a girl, with a girl’s fantasies stoked by love words spoken in the heat of passion. Now she was a woman; a woman mired in reality. A reality he’d foisted upon her.
Their eyes met; held; a near-tangible thread snaring their gazes and imprisoning them in their shared recollections. His countenance warmed; grin widening in anticipation and recognition. Her face fell, mouth dropping open in dismayed consternation, turning to righteous anger as little Rebecca stirred in her mother’s tightening grasp. Before she thought; before she considered any outcomes from her behavior, Emmaline responded to the anger bubbling up from deep within and marched up the gangway, blue eyes spitting fire and skirts billowing about her furiously pumping legs like the outer edges of a tornado. But still his welcoming smile didn’t lessen, though his greedy eyes raked over her and her burden.
“Emmaline? Emmaline Townsend? After all this time?” He held out an arm, hand beckoning her to walk into his embrace as a conciliatory gleam stole through his gaze and his voice dropped to a seductive timbre. As she stiffly came to an abrupt stop before him, anger and long-felt indignation broiling off her in thick waves, the sea captain seemed impervious to the charged atmosphere around them, instead grabbing hold of Emmaline’s elbow and drawing her into the shadow of the wheelhouse and away from the lingering passengers and visitors.
“Emmaline! Thank God you’re here! I was going to come find you tonight! I have been all over the Orient these past months; else I would have stopped sooner! I’ve missed you so,” and, suiting actions to words, Captain Fairchild attempted to lure Emmaline into his embrace, up against his lean body, but Emmie stepped backwards quickly, brow furrowing. He sounded so sincere; worried; remorseful, words chipping away at Emmie’s seething anger till she stared into his chocolate eyes, her own brimming with betrayal, a young girl’s hurt.
“You left me!” Emmaline suddenly hissed, the whisper barely audible over the shipboard racket. “You promised to marry me and take me away, and I believed you. But you left me waiting at the dock!” Unbidden tears welled up in Emmie’s eyes and she irritably swiped them away with the back of one hand, the other still clutching Rebecca, who remained unnoticed and forgotten. For the moment. “Do you know how that made me feel?” Emmaline’s voice cracked, irritating her even more.
Once more the captain’s arm came out, attempting to enfold Emmaline into his embrace while simultaneously herding her out of eavesdroppers’ hearing. He began nodding appreciatively, attempting a commiseration he just didn’t feel.
“I felt awful about it, Emmie, really I did! I was totally gut-wrenched, but I had no choice, love! I had so many stops to make; you know the company keeps me on a strict schedule. I’ve told you that! And then they added the Orient passage, and chose me for my experience and dedication, so this is the first time I’ve been able to get back. I’m so sorry, Em. Can I make it up to you? Meet me at the boathouse tonight; I swear I’ll make it all right!”
With impeccable timing, little baby Rebecca chose that moment to wake up, squirming against her mother’s chest and beginning to mewl her protest of Emmaline’s tight hold, and the lack of nourishment she now sought. Her repeated complaints gained volume, drawing Fairchild’s attention to her, where he cocked his head in puzzlement at the sight of a baby at Emmaline’s breast. Dropping his outstretched arm, Lancelot’s curious brown eyes met Emmie’s suddenly defiant ones as he asked off-handedly, “A nanny, Em? That seems so unlike you.”
A slow burn rose within Emmaline in reaction to the sea captain’s condescending tone, melting away the tears of a moment ago. Was the supercilious dolt of a man that oblivious about what they’d done last summer and the baby she now held in her arms? He couldn’t make the connection? Well, then, Emmie inwardly seethed, it remained up to her to set him straight.
Hefting little Rebecca around so that the squirming bundle now faced Lancelot, Emmie’s flashing blue eyes drilled into his as she snapped, “I’m not a nanny, you idiot! This is your baby! You made her with me last summer in the boathouse you want to meet me in tonight! Well, I’m sorry I won’t be able to make that secret assignation this evening, love, seeing as I’ll be otherwise occupied taking care of her at home!”
White hot anger propelled Emmaline forward till she stood toe-to-toe with the flabbergasted sea captain, who stared down at the fussing, wiggling baby as if she were a rattlesnake. Emmaline continued her advantage. “Or, maybe you should come on over tonight and help take care of her. You could change her diaper, or bathe her, or wash all her clothes outside while it’s raining! And then you could nap and get up in three hours and do it all over again! I think that would be a much better way to spend our time then whiling it away rolling around in each other’s arms. Besides, I wouldn’t lay with you now if you were the last man on Earth and made of pure gold!”
A muffled applause from somewhere behind Emmaline sent a dull flush of red pulsing over Lancelot’s handsome visage, and the sea captain quickly grabbed one of Emmie’s arms to pull her roughly forward, away from whatever onlookers her loud voice had managed to gather. Chasing after that crimson tide of embarrassment washed a nasty, calculating gleam, and Fairchild drew himself to his full height, looked down his nose at the harried young woman facing him and replied, “You’d love to hang that brat on me, wouldn’t you, Emmaline? It would be much easier for you around here if you could blame your indiscretion on me, the absent sea captain, wouldn’t it?”
Emmaline blinked up at Lancelot, taken aback by the spiteful tone creeping into his voice. But he was sailing under full color now, puffed up with self-righteous anger, and she could no more stop him than she could a runaway logging sled. All Emmie could do is cradle Rebecca tighter and maintain the proud tilt of her head, no matter how ugly her former lover turned. She had no idea the depths of his vitriol.
Fairchild cocked a hip in insolent disdain and continued his disparagement of her character, gathering confidence with his accusations and her silence. “I might have been your first, Emmaline Townsend, but I seem to remember I didn’t force you to lay with me. If my memory serves me right, you were begging me to take you, again and again--”
“Shshsh!” Mortified, Emmie suddenly came to life, glancing around at the blurred figures witnessing her ignominious, burning fall from the sun, but Lancelot wasn’t done with her ruination. He leaned forward and pretended to whisper, still loud enough for their rapt audience to hear, “In fact, you spread your legs willingly for me all last summer, so what says you didn’t keep doing it for the rest of the men in this town? You got a taste for lovemaking and couldn’t stop, and now you’re blaming me--”
“That's enough.” The quiet directive, coupled with the no-nonsense click of a gun hammering back halted the poison vomiting from Fairchild’s lips, and brought Emmie’s flaming, tear-streaked face around in shocked dismay. To face the mysterious man from the bow of the ship, the man with the gleaming, hypnotic eyes. Those eyes weren’t directed at her, however; that glacial, blue gaze speared the sea captain like the sharpest icicle, freezing his mouth while fusing Emmie in place like an ice sculpture. Even her tears of mortification froze their downward trek as she gaped at the stranger in western garb. His black hat shadowed his face, making that steely blue stare even more vivid. The gun barrel never wavered.
“The woman speaks the truth, Captain; don’t bother denying. I’ve been on this ship watching you these past few weeks, and I’ve got you pretty well figured out—”
“Yeah, right—hey!”
The sharp report of the gun and subsequent splinters flying up from the deck at Fairchild’s feet silenced the sea captain, who’d jumped like a scalded cat at the gunshot. The stranger continued in that mild, conversational tone as if he’d never been interrupted.
“As I was saying, we’ve dropped anchor overnight at every city and two-bit settlement from here to San Francisco, and I’ve been mulling over the reasons for all those unnecessary stops. And I finally figured it out.” The man with the gun shifted, standing hip-shot, jacket spreading wide over his broad chest, though the Colt never faltered as it pointed toward Lancelot’s heart. That man swallowed loudly, convulsively, and Emmie, who remained close before the blackguard, heard the nervous sound. Her heart lightened fractionally.
“Now, an’ I sincerely do beg your pardon, miss, for my language,” the man’s icy blue eyes flicked over Emmie momentarily while he unbelievably apologized. “I’m willing to bet, Captain, that you’ve been dropping your own anchor with a girl in every port, and have been all along. I’m also bettin’ you’ve got a string of young’uns from here to ‘Frisco that you don’t even know about, and don’t care to.” His gaze had returned to Fairchild, and Emmie could practically feel her ex-lover’s frightened shivers as he faced the indomitable gunman and his unwavering weapon.
“But blamin’ an innocent young woman an’ accusing her of trapping you is just too much hogwash for me to stand by and swallow.” Here the menacing stranger took his gun barrel and calmly pushed his cowboy hat off his forehead, revealing a tanned and handsome face marred only by white-lined crow’s feet at the corners of those brilliant blue eyes, before returning his Colt to its former position and continuing. “Now, I can’t stop you from continuing your on-shore plundering, an’ that’s a fact. But I can put a halt to your blatant attempts to blacken this young woman’s reputation, when, in fact, it’s your character, amongst other things, that has come up short.”
Emmie’s eyes flew between the two men, unsure why a trace of humor glinted in the gunman’s gaze, while Lancelot’s lips thinned as though he’d eaten a lemon. And the pert, blonde woman’s snort of amusement beside the stranger puzzled Emmaline further, though she found herself transfixed by the tableau playing forth in front of her, as well as feeling a sinking sensation as to who these people were exactly.
Lancelot, though subdued by the gun pointing at him as well as by the gunman’s ominous presence, still made one more attempt at slander by blustering, “But it’s been almost a year! She could have--”
“Don’t go there again if you know what’s good for you,” snapped the stranger, putting paid to Fairchild’s protests. Lancelot settled back into a disgruntled silence.
“Now, Ma’am, do you have anything left to say to this rat-tailed hombre, or is that chapter closed?”
Emmaline stared first at the gunman, amazed at how warm and summer-sky blue his eyes had become as he turned them on her, and then she veered her attention to Lancelot, feeling her stomach knots loosen as she realized that, no, she didn’t have anything more to say to the man who had almost ruined her life, but instead had given her what she wanted most: Noah Lawson and his baby. She had a man who loved her, imperfections and all, and, even though she didn’t feel any warmth toward the wayward sea captain, she also realized the anxiety over this meeting had fled, replaced by contentment.
So she simply faced Fairchild and said quietly, “Lancelot, I don’t want anything from you, so you needn’t be afraid of responsibility. I already have what I need: the love of a good man, and the perfect papa to my little girl. I just wanted you to know that all your actions have results, but I definitely don’t want you in my life, or hers, so don’t worry. You don’t have to grow up yet.”
With that said Emmaline turned her back on the surly sea captain and noted for the first time that, besides the western couple in attendance of this demoralizing scene, her brother had arrived at some point, standing just behind the gunman but looking ready to spit nails. After smiling tremulously at Edward, Emmaline finally met the woman’s kind eyes and stammered, “M--Mr. and Mrs. McQuade, I presume?” Seizing the opportunity, Captain Fairchild faded away to his cabin while he had the chance, eager to put as much distance between him and the gunman, as well as Emmaline, quickly.
The blonde immediately held out her arms and folded both Rebecca and Emmie into her embrace, saying gaily, “We’re Sonny and Callie to you. Aren’t you both the two most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen?” And just like that, Emmie saw where Noah got his boundless love, his infinite patience, and moral values. This woman welcomed her without hesitation, without censure, while her husband defended Emmie sight unseen. It was just one more reason for Emmaline to count her lucky stars for choosing to marry the quiet, lonely horse wrangler.
While Emmie and Callie immediately began to bond, Edward stepped aside as Sonny McQuade turned from the women, brought up short by the banker’s presence. The former gunfighter slid his hand unobtrusively to his gun where it once more rested at his side while he asked shortly, “Who are you?”
Edward reared back his head at Sonny’s abrupt tone, but responded easily enough, “I think I’m your host for the next few weeks. Edward Townsend; Emmie’s brother. How do you do?” He held out his hand, watching as Sonny’s intent gaze studied him for long seconds before he finally extended his own hand. The gunman had a strong grip, but so did Edward, and after they shook Sonny remarked, “Hope you brought a wagon, Edward, ‘cause my wife bought up half of Texas to bring here with us. Where’s Noah?” His blue eyes swept the dock and adjoining streets, looking for the man he couldn’t call son, but who remained much closer than simply friend.
Hefting one of the smaller bags left in the jumble at the end of the gangway, Edward replied with a grin, “I did indeed bring a wagon, Mr. McQuade, so we’re all good. An’ as for Noah, he’s up on the mountain tending the horse teams. He probably won’t get any message till he comes back down this evening. By then you should all be settled in, an’ all the hard work’ll be done!”
Edward grinned up at the cowboy, who flashed a white-toothed grin of his own and replied laconically, “Sounds like Noah, all right! Well, let’s get this dog an’ pony show goin’. Callie here has been just itching to hold a baby, and mother Noah and his wife. There’s no holding her back when she gets it into her head, either. “
“I heard my name! What did you say, love?” Already carrying Rebecca, Callie McQuade interrupted her maudlin cooing as she came abreast of her smiling, but still forbidding-looking, husband, momentarily leaving Emmaline to sidle up to Edward. The siblings watched the western couple with their easy banter, once more recognizing the warmth and kindness Noah seemed to effortlessly exude. Whatever hell these two strangers had once experienced, they’d now come out the other side as better people. Emmie chanced a light-hearted smile at Edward, who crooked a grin as he led their little group toward Jack and the wagon.
Falling behind the brother and sister, Callie McQuade narrowed her eyes over the baby’s fuzzy head onto her husband’s face with a smile, whispering, “Hombre? Really? Since when do you use Spanish? You don’t even know how to speak it!”
Sonny grinned back sheepishly. “I thought it made me sound more dangerous. I think it worked; don’t you?”
Tilting her head back on a giggle to invite a kiss from her gunfighter husband, who willingly obliged, Callie answered soothingly, “Most definitely, Sonny. You were positively fierce.”
His skeptical grunt only brought forth more throaty chortles, and a familiar spear of desire deep inside the gunfighter. It would always be that way between them.
##
By the time Noah reached the St. Helens dock the crowds had dispersed, and he breathed a sigh of relief that the tall ship, the Portland Princess, still towered over the river area. As he cast his eyes frantically about, hoping against hope to see his wife and daughter perhaps at the mercantile, or strolling down the road with Muriel on her lunch hour, his heart sank even more at the deserted streets before him. Emmie remained nowhere to be found.
Heart thudding painfully in his chest, Noah glanced once more over the ship at the dock, realizing with a plummeting feeling that his wife, his daughter, most likely even now occupied some space upon that sailing vessel, probably hoping he wouldn’t discover their absence until after dark. Was she even now locked in Lancelot’s arms?
No! Noah hadn’t imagined those three little words Emmaline spoke to him! She’d said “I love you” numerous times, and the wrangler was smart enough to tell they weren’t just lip service. But, and here he paused in the middle of the main street like a man who’d lost his way, had she ever said those words outside of their bed, when his mouth and hands weren’t stoking the passionate fire within her? Or were they only verbal signals of a woman in the throes of desire? Perhaps she loved what he did to her; probably so, he inwardly preened. But did she love the life style marriage to him had lowered her to? Most likely not. Their entire marriage hinged on the fact she’d slept with the sea captain in order to buy passage out of this dreary existence, and gotten pregnant for her trouble. Emmaline may no longer trust Fairchild, but he still provided a means of escaping her desolate life.
She had to be here, Noah grudgingly surmised. It was the only reason for her absence that made sense. And so the wrangler, visibly squaring his shoulders under the flannel shirt and wiping his forehead before replacing his battered hat, strode up the gangway to the quietly rocking Portland Princess.
“’Ey, you there! No boarding till the morrow! This ain’t no hostelry where you kin flop your arse down for free!”
Noah drew up sharply at the top of the gangway as one of the crew approached on rolling sailor legs.
“I need to speak with Fairchild.” Usually patient, Noah found himself wanting to thrust the crewman aside roughly, but instead forced himself to mentally count to ten while the little, scruffy man before him blustered, “Cap’n’s in his cabin, an’ don’ wanna be disturbed, bloke. You’ll jest have to wait till t’morrow, likes I already said!”
The number ten barely flashed through Noah’s mind before he simply reached out and roughly shoved the bantam rooster aside, growling, “I don’t want to wait. I’m here for my wife and child!” With the path cleared to Fairchild’s cabin, Noah’s long legs covered the distance before the crewman recovered. Throwing his fist against the appropriate wooden door in the semblance of a knock, Noah lifted the latch and shoved in shoulder first.
Sitting behind an ornate desk obviously nailed into the floor, Captain Lancelot Fairchild’s head popped up at Noah’s noisy entrance, and he half rose out of his chair. Immediate fear bloomed across his face at the sight of the tall, Norse giant looming in the doorway, and his eyes widened as he watched this stranger slam the wood door shut and shove the cabin’s extra chair under the latch to keep it from being opened. Then the man turned his full attention on Lancelot and the sea captain shivered, right down to his lace cuffs and jabot. The intruder advanced on Lancelot with a lowering brow and the slighter man began to protest.
“Now, s—see here! You can’t just come waltzing into my quarters! There are rules to follow!”
Noah stopped directly in front of Lancelot’s desk, crossing his arms over his chest with a widened stance and snapped, “Where is she?”
Fairchild frowned, believably confused. “Who?”
Noah leaned both hands on the captain’s desk, pressing his face close to Fairchild, close enough to see that man’s eyes widen, barely stifle a squeal.
“My wife! Emmaline Lawson! She came here, didn’t she? Where is she?” Noah took a moment to study the man before him while he crowded that man’s personal space, swallowing his disbelief that Emmie had actually liked him well enough to give her virginity to him last summer. The man was a coward! An effeminate one, to boot, in his brass buttons and lacy shirt.
He actually appeared ready to faint, even as his eyes met Noah’s. And then recognition flared in their depths, along with a crafty gleam Noah didn’t trust for a moment. The dandy seemed to pull out some reserve of bravado, for he pushed back his desk chair and stood, replying in a clipped, boarding school voice while he pulled at his lace cuffs, “She was here. She came and picked up some unfortunate riff-raff I’d brought up here and left. If you think she’s cuckolding you, don’t come sniffing around me. She’s off lifting her skirts with someone else…”
As soon as the words left his mouth Lancelot realized just how stupid he’d been. The man dwarfed him both in height and breadth, and the apoplectic color now infusing the giant’s countenance did not bode well for Fairchild. He raised a defensive hand, but it was no match for the deep-chested growl emanating from the tall, fair-haired titan, who simply reached out, grasped the lapels of the sea captain’s blue, wool jacket and lifted him off his feet as if he weighed no more than a sack of sugar. Now nose to nose, Lancelot’s body draped over his own desk like a rag doll, the intruder rasped, “Don’t disrespect my wife!”
He paused a moment, as if digging deep for self-control, and Lancelot sincerely hoped he’d find some. For his sake. It seemed that, at least for now, the sea captain’s prayers were granted. Emmaline’s husband did nothing more but ask, “You’re telling me all she did was collect some passengers?”
Noah’s heart had stopped at the information, though it juddered alive again at Lancelot’s nasty innuendo. Emmie hadn’t come down to the dock to escape? She’d only come here to pick up Sonny and Callie? His family had arrived? His wife still loved him? He could still hold his daughter in his arms?
The wrangler nearly dropped the slimy sea captain onto his desk in a quivering heap, so great was his relief. But the man’s filthy implication demanded to be addressed first, so Noah hauled Fairchild on over his desk, scattering its contents onto the plank floor. Drawing the slighter man up to his eye level, with the captain’s feet actually dangling bare inches off the floor, Noah waited impatiently for that man’s reply, hoping Lancelot wouldn’t soil himself in the interim, so greatly did he shake with fear in the wrangler’s grip.
“Th—that’s all! She tr—ied to say that br—baby she carried was mine; that I got her pregnant and left her last summer! I didn’t believe her; still don’t, but that—that dangerous criminal she picked up shot his gun at me, so I just went along with what she said! I feared for my life!”
Noah maintained his grip on the slimy snake, glaring into Lancelot’s limpid eyes over a chin quivering like a jar of jelly while he assimilated the information the coward had imparted. Apparently Emmaline had confronted Fairchild, Fairchild tried to defame her, and Sonny, God bless him! Had pulled his gun and maintained western justice. And then they’d all left. Emmie had never intended to abandon him, Noah Lawson, for this effeminate loser and poor excuse of mankind. Her love remained true and strong. He almost sagged again at the realization that what he’d secretly dreaded all these months he’d never had to worry over at all. Emmaline Townsend Lawson loved Noah Lawson, and only him!
Buoyed by the joy this realization brought him, plus the fact his family had finally arrived, Noah nevertheless decided to deliver his own sense of justice, petty though it probably was. He needed it for closure, and for his own self-satisfaction. The man before him had been lurking in the back of the wrangler’s mind for months, lending a sense of unease to an otherwise heavenly existence. Noah owed it to himself to deliver the happy ending he’d been fantasizing over all this time.
So, with this shaky rationale governing his thoughts, Noah once more glared into Lancelot Fairchild’s eyes mere inches from his own and growled, “You made that baby with Emmie; don’t bother to deny it, Captain. Emmie only ever lay with you, and that’s because you tempted her with a ring and marriage. Just like you probably say to every woman you bed. But don’t worry; that baby is mine, now; just as Emmie is my wife. An’ I’ll not have you spreading any slanderous words about what is mine out here in public, or even in private!” Here Noah shook the spindly sea captain till his teeth chattered, and only then did Noah continue.
“Now, you’re gonna forget about Emmaline, and our baby, and you’re never going to stay any longer than necessary here in St. Helens again! An’ if I hear one word, one whisper, of malicious gossip surrounding me and mine, what you suffered today at the hands of Sonny McQuade will be child’s play compared to what I’ll do to you.
“Do we have an understanding, Captain?”
Noah shifted his hold on the dear captain’s lapels; truth was, his dead weight was beginning to stiffen the wrangler’s fingers a bit, and that was a fact. He wanted to drop this cretin to the floor and get on with catching up with his family, whom he guessed had gone to Edward’s townhouse. But he also needed to make sure he’d scared the bejesus out of Fairchild as well. Apparently he had. Lancelot began nodding his head like a Punch and Judy doll, promises spilling from his mouth nearly incoherently in his haste to acquiesce.
“Yes, yes! Of course! No problem! I’ll be the soul of discretion, Mr…Mr. Lawson! You won’t hear another word from my lips! I will never; never speak another word about this business! But,” and here the oily trickster made one last attempt at deal-making, “you also mustn’t speak of me and this whole business, and the child, either! I have a certain reputation to uphold, as captain of this vessel, and--”
Here Noah grew weary of Lancelot’s maneuvers, and simply tossed the man against the wall, where he hit his head smartly against the planks and slid down the boards till his bottom hit the floor. Standing over him, fisting and unfisting his hands, Noah interrupted, “Don’t worry, Fairchild; your reputation will be maintained. It’s up to you to uphold it or not. Remember what I said: not one disparaging word.”
Without waiting for a response, Noah strode to the door, flung away the chair blocking it to crash into kindling pieces, and slammed out of the captain’s quarters, past the crew who huddled outside the door, shamelessly eavesdropping. On a satisfied snort, as he loped down the gangway with a light heart and determined stride, Noah admitted that, though he’d remain mum on the subject of the captain’s perfidy, the crew would perhaps not be so silent. What a shame.
A/N/N: Okay, so the photo doesn't quite match the time period; I still figured it showed the gist of what was happening at the end, with the actor I chose for Lancelot, no less :) Also, this chapter is dedicated to Jadewood92, because of her continually upbeat, positive comments that make me smile! Thank you!