A Light For My Love, page 3
“That's just it. He’s not a stranger and he paid me, three months in advance. Now how do you like that?” Gert folded her arms over her chest, her smile smug.
“Who is it?” China asked, her misgivings continuing to grow.
Aunt Gert only gave her that same pleased grin. “Go see for yourself.”
“Oh, God,” China moaned as she pushed past her aunt, rolling down her sleeves. Certain that no good could possibly come from this, she hurried toward the front door, trying to tuck up her straying hair, her stride purposeful. She couldn't imagine who Aunt Gert had dragged home—not one of their acquaintances needed a room in a boardinghouse. “We'll just have to return the money.”
“China, wait a minute—”
China rounded the corner and saw a tall, wide-shouldered figure standing in the entry, his back to her. He wore a pea coat and faded dungarees. A sea bag was on the floor next to him, propped against his long leg. Just as she suspected, this was no one she knew.
“Good afternoon, I'm China Sullivan,” she said, fumbling with her cuff buttons. “I own this house and I understand—”
The man turned to face her, and every word she was about to say left her brain. She could only stare at him.
“Hello, China.” His voice was rich and seasoned, like polished mahogany. He considered her for a long moment, his gaze appreciative, his smile tentative.
No, it couldn’t be him, her stunned mind insisted. Not after all these years. Every emotion she’d ever felt crowded together, electrified by a sense of shock.
He was bronzed and blonded by seven years of punishing storms, equatorial suns, and wind-whipped saltwater. His sea green eyes were more vivid than ever, and even his brows and lashes were tipped with golden frost. He was so stunningly handsome, even if he’d been a stranger, his, face alone would have made China pause but—
“Jake?” she managed in a bare whisper, her hand at her throat. “Jake Chastain?” She’d supposed he must be dead. As much as she’d disliked him, she’d found no pleasure in the idea, after all. But now here he stood, not ten feet from her, a full grown man. And a memory of that afternoon in the alcove, including the kiss, came rushing back as though it were yesterday.
“Isn't this a happy coincidence?” Aunt Gert chirped, joining them. “You see? I told you we knew him. I was just going into A. V. Allen’s when we ran into each other. He had a room at the Occident, but we can hardly let him stay there, not when he has us.” She turned to China and gripped her wrist. “Heavens above, child. You look like you've seen a spirit. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” China breathed unsteadily, trying to comprehend the reality of the big man standing in her entry hall. His eyes swept over her, taking in her faded skirt, wet at the knees, and her plain blouse, unbuttoned at the neck. She knew she looked like a scullery maid. “I'm fine.”
Studying China, Jake swallowed and tried to decide if he agreed. The pampered, baby-doll prettiness that had made her name so fitting was gone. She was a woman now. She was thinner than he remembered, the hollow in her throat more noticeable, her jaw a bit sharper, her cheekbones better defined.
At the same time he couldn't help but recognize how the curves of her body had ripened, giving her fuller breasts and rounding her hips. Her skin looked creamy white and marble smooth in contrast with her black hair, and her blue eyes glimmered like dark sapphires. Even dressed like a scrub woman, in that old skirt and blouse, the grace of her upbringing shone through. And she fixed him with a look that could have crumbled stone.
“You didn't say what brings you back to town, Jake,” Gert went on.
He dragged his eyes away from China. “I decided to come home for a while. I'm doing some business here, and I had to bring my ship into dry dock.”
“Why, Jake,” Aunt Gert exclaimed, beaming, “are you a captain now?”
He looked at China again, nodding. “I own the Katherine Kirkland. Her home port is San Francisco.” His gaze lingered on China's face. “She's beautiful.”
China closed her collar, feeling uneasy. His scent, an evocative combination of salt and fresh air, drifted to her. It was a scent she remembered very well. Why was he here now, after all this time? she fretted. Over the years she’d tried so hard to temper the fury she felt toward him for taking Quinn away with him. Now it was back with a vengeance.
“It's interesting that you still think of Astoria as home,” China sniped, regaining her voice. She made a fussy show of adjusting her cuffs. “Let's see, how long has it been since you left?” She knew that it had been precisely seven years and three months.
Barely conscious of it, Jake leaned backward a bit. China's voice and words were as sharp as obsidian. Although he ignored her barb, his tone acquired a slightly defensive edge. “Mrs. Farrell told me you're renting rooms now.”
China heard the question buried under his remark. How had the wealthy Sullivan family been reduced to taking in boarders? She glared at the older woman.
“When was I ever ‘Mrs. Farrell’ to you, Jake?” Gert scolded affectionately, obviously missing the tension of the conversation. “I was your Aunt Gert as much as my niece’s children’s. You might be all grown up now, but haven't I known you since you were just a pup? Before you were Captain Chastaine?”
China nearly scowled at her aunt.
Jake's frown relaxed into a sheepish smile, and tipping his blond head, he looked at the oval rug under his feet. “Yes, Aunt Gert.”
China barely refrained from rolling her eyes.
“All right, then. I'll let you two work out the details. I need to put a couple of chickens in the oven for dinner.”
“One chicken, Aunt Gert. There is nothing to work out,” China jumped in, anxious to put an end to this right now. “We don’t have a room available.”
“China,” Gert murmured. “Where are your manners?”
“I’m sure Jake understands,” she replied, directing a cold glare at him. “Give him back his money, Aunt Gert.”
In turn, Jake gave China a hard, intimidating look that almost made her back down. He still had a sense of reckless danger that made a person think twice about crossing him. Finally he released her from his gaze. His frown returning, he bent to lift his heavy bag to his shoulder. “I'd better go back to the hotel, Aunt Gert.”
Panic crossed the woman's face.
“What's the matter?” China asked.
“Jake, please—don’t go,” Gert urged. “Just excuse us a moment.” She gave China a meaningful look.
Jake straightened and put down the bag. He nodded, turning to look out the window in the front door, as China and Aunt Gert retired to the kitchen. He had navigated ships through furious storms, confronted men who would have slashed his throat for the gold in his back molars, and worked in gale-blown rigging a hundred feet above a rolling deck. But he'd never been as scared as he was just now, facing China Sullivan in the foyer after all this time. His stomach in knots, it had taken every ounce of courage he had to climb those front steps.
As it turned out, his fear had been justified.
But he’d be damned if he was going to let her see it.
*~*~*
When China and Aunt Gert reached the kitchen, China closed the door.
“What's wrong?” she whispered.
Aunt Gert clasped her hands together, lacing and unlacing her fingers. “China, we have to let Jake stay, at least for two months.”
China shrugged irritably. “Why? Let him go to a hotel—let him worry about it. We don't owe him a thing.”
“Yes we do. Nearly all the money he gave me is gone. I paid our bill at Allen's Grocery. Mr. Allen was going to cut off our credit.”
China gaped at her aunt. This situation was growing worse by the minute. She massaged her temples as she looked at the rain snaking down the windows in thin rivulets. “But—but Jake can't stay here. He just can't!”
“I don't know what else we can do,” Aunt Gert said. “Anyway, that little spat between you two happened years ago. I'd think you'd have put it behind you by now.”
It was all China could do to keep her voice down. “Little spat? You know I never liked him. That nasty business with Althea Lambert was a terrible scandal. And what about Quinn? Am I supposed to forget that Jake coaxed him to desert the family? Quinn wouldn't have left if Jake hadn't talked him into it, and we wouldn't be in this fix.”
“Your brother was a stubborn mule. Jake couldn't have talked him into or out of anything. As for Althea, I never believed her story for a minute. I don't think she was even expecting. As soon as Jake was gone, so was the baby.”
“Well, she had a miscarriage. Aunt Gert, why on earth would a girl make up something like that? Her reputation was ruined, and she had to move to Portland. All because of Jake Chastaine.” China would never understand Gert's blind loyalty to him.
“Althea was jealous and determined to marry him. When all her coquetry didn't work, she tried to trap him. There are women like that, you know,” Aunt Gert replied.
“I suppose Jake told you that?” China demanded.
“Yes, and I believed him. He was no angel, but he was never a liar. Anyway, at least we know Jake. He paid in advance, and we can use the money. The boy from Allen’s is going to be here any minute with our order.” She opened the bread box and looked inside. “I can't understand why our food doesn’t go farther—sometimes it seems like we’re feeding an army instead of four people. I could have sworn there were two loaves left after dinner last night. This morning I only found one.” She closed the box again.
“I wish we could have discussed this first,” China complained, sidestepping Gert’s remark about the bread. Her aunt was right about one thing. There was nothing else they could do now that most of Jake’s money had been spent. China would have to let him stay, for a while anyhow. But she didn't have to make it pleasant for him. And despite whatever saintly notions Gert might have of him, China certainly wasn't going to put him in easy proximity of her own bedroom. She wouldn't rest a minute.
“All right, we'll rent a room to him,” China huffed, lifting a key from a row of hooks next to the back door. “But we’re going to put the rest of his money away and not spend it. I want him out of here as soon as possible.”
China walked back to the foyer where Jake waited. At her approach he turned to face her. She swore he was taller than when he'd left and he'd definitely filled out. He blocked out most of the light coming through the front door window. He was still slender, but his shoulders were bigger and there was just more of him. Not much of the rowdy boy she'd known remained in this man's muscular form. But in his eyes—those green eyes—she saw a fleeting expression so familiar, she had to look away for an instant.
“This isn't a good idea, China,” he said, his words cool. “I don't want to cause you any trouble, so I'll be on my way.”
“No, it isn't a good idea,” she agreed. “The day before you left Astoria I told you not to come back to this house again. But Aunt Gert acted in my stead, so I’ll honor the agreement she made with you. Now, come on. I’ll show you your room.” She turned on her heel and marched back down the hall, not bothering to see if he followed.
She finally heard his tread behind her as she led him through the butler's pantry to the back stairs. She was very aware of him then, as though he generated heat and light, and she strove to stay far ahead of him as they climbed the circular staircase. She stopped a moment at the linen closet on the second floor to collect bedding and towels. Then, never once looking at Jake, she continued to the third story, where the attic and two servants' rooms were located. Thin gray daylight from the small windows revealed a couple of battered chairs, picture frames, a birdcage, toys, and assorted boxes and trunks. She continued down a narrow passageway, finally stopping at a pair of doors.
She pushed open the door to one of the little bedrooms and let Jake go in first. It was a wood-walled enclosure, as plain as a monk's cell, painted white and sparsely furnished with a bed, a washstand, a spindle-back chair, and a four-drawer chest, all made of pine. An oil lamp was set on the chest. The window had no curtain and not even a rag rug decorated the painted floor. Being directly under the eaves, the ceiling angled down sharply. The room had the smell of an old closet, long ignored.
“This is what I have,” China said, waiting for him to object. They stopped just inside the door, and she could see this was the only place in the small room where he'd be able to stand completely upright. "The other room is just like this, but it doesn't have a window."
He dropped his sea bag on the floor and looked around the stark quarters, then at her. "China, does the captain know you've had to turn this place into a boardinghouse?"
"I'm surprised Aunt Gert didn't tell you," she said coldly, struggling against rising humiliation. "Three months after you left, I learned my father was washed overboard in the North Atlantic. He'd made several bad investments and he died without a dime." She gained a measure of satisfaction from his stunned expression, and deliberately paused a beat before adding, "We've done our best to get by, but of course, it would have helped if my brother was here."
He hunched his shoulders, jamming his hands into his pockets as he glanced at the dark floor. With that single mannerism, one that he'd had since childhood and one which had always annoyed China, she felt propelled back in time.
He looked up at her again. "I'm sorry to hear about it." He started to reach for her elbow. "Can I help with—"
To cut off his question, and before he could touch her, she pulled away. She didn't want his hand on her arm, and she certainly didn't want his hypocritical sympathy. Taking a step back, she recited the rules of the house. "Meals are at eight, one, and six. If you're not on time for them, we won't wait and you'll go without. You get clean bed linen and towels once a week." She dumped the sheets and blankets into his arms. "You're responsible for making your own bed, and you can use the bathroom on the second floor. We have two other guests in the house—you'll meet them at dinner."
"Are you sure you want me in the house? Maybe you'd rather give me a stall in the carriage house," he fired back, his expression stony.
The carriage house. China froze, a flutter of caution rippling through her. "Do you want this room or not? It doesn't make any difference to me. I can rent it to anyone."
After an uncomfortable moment he grumbled, "Yeah, I'll take it."
China quietly released the breath she held. "Then you'll follow the rules. Here's a key to the back door, but at ten thirty I latch the night locks. If you're out past that time, you'll sleep somewhere else. All right?"
"I suppose I can remember all that," he snapped. He took the key she held out to him while trying to keep his grip on the bedding.
"Fine, then." She turned to leave, then stopped, her hand on the doorknob. Keeping her back to him, she asked, more quietly, "Do you know where Quinn is?"
"Not for sure," Jake replied, plainly surprised that she didn't know either. "I lost track of him a couple of years ago. I thought he must have written to you."
She looked at him over her shoulder. "He never has." She nearly ran from the room to get away from the questions lurking behind his eyes.
*~*~*
Jake listened to the sound of China's footsteps hurrying down the back stairs. He made his way to the bed, careful to duck as he went, and sat heavily on the bare mattress. The bedsprings screeched under his weight and he sighed, resting his chin on the bundle in his arms.
He felt like a dog trapped on the wrong side of a fence. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here, and China hadn't forgotten that either. Of course, she'd been shocked to see him, but he'd hoped she might not be so mad about it. After all, they were adults now. But she was still as high and mighty and stuck up as she'd been when he left. That intense rush of emotion he'd felt when he first caught sight of her in the hallway, that was just a reasonable reaction to seeing a familiar face after so long.
He shifted on the bed and looked out the small window to the street below. What, he wondered, had transpired between China and her aunt that made her change her mind about renting a room to him? And such a room, he thought, looking around again. The door, apparently not hung correctly, began to close. Why had he agreed to stay here and pay to be treated like gutter slime? Okay, maybe he felt a little guilty, and goddamn it, guilt was a bad reason to do anything.
He'd paid his best crewmen two months' wages to stay around Astoria until the ship was ready to sail again. They were probably getting drunk in the saloons, Jake assumed a bit wistfully, and visiting the girls who worked upstairs. He shifted to move away from a bedspring that was poking him through the thin mattress. He knew they were having more fun than he was.
The Occident was beginning to seem like paradise compared to this. Better still, he wished he was back aboard the Katherine Kirkland in his own quarters, somewhere on the ocean. They were no bigger, but they were captain's quarters, not servants'.
He thought about what he'd found, coming back to this house. The captain was dead? The family broke? He didn't see Quinn as often as he would have liked—they'd been on opposite sides of the world since their voyage to Canton—and now he realized that China's brother was as ignorant about all this as he'd been. He didn't know his father had died, or that his sister was renting out rooms. What else had happened to China, to the rest of the family? She hadn't let him ask, and he supposed he had no right to.
He knew time could change a lot of things, but China was the most changed of all. Her soft girlishness was completely gone. She'd grown more beautiful than he'd ever envisioned, but in a cold, untouchable way.
He put the sheets down and flopped back on the too-soft mattress, feeling morose. As a youngster, the only sense of family he'd ever known he'd found here. He hadn't expected to come back and find everything to be the same after all these years.
But he hadn't expected everything to be different, either.
