The Drifter

The fact was, they were already lost. She could see that clearly. She wondered if they knew.

She hesitated on the dock. She did need to speak with Mr. Underhill. Her patient was agitated. She knew no easy way to tell him what Carrie said during her lucid moments. Perhaps she could ease into it.

There was a danger, too, of being alone with him. He was, after all, a man who had tried to abduct her. The harbormaster would be of little help if Jackson attacked her. But why would he? He needed her. From the first moment, even holding a gun to her head, he’d needed her.

Steadying herself by grasping a ratline, she stepped onto the boat. A gentle listing motion welcomed her. Moving across the cockpit, she went up a small ladder to the midships. The deck glittered with glass prisms set into the planks to provide daylight for the rooms below. In the middle of the deck was a skylight hatch angled open to the morning.

Bending, she leaned down to see inside.

“G’damned chafer,” said a furious male voice. “Chicken-bred bastard from hell—”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “Mr. Underhill!”

The hatch swung open and his head popped up. His face was flushed a dark red, brow and temples damp with sweat. “Hey, Doc.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m sure whoever you’re speaking to below would prefer that you keep a civil tongue in your head.”

To her surprise, he gave her a crooked grin. “I’m alone, Doc. Just having a little argument with this repair.”

To her further surprise, she felt her mouth quirk in amusement. “And is it working?”

“What?”

“Cursing. Is it helping to fix the boat?”

“No, but I feel better.”

She eyed a part of the rudder lying across the main deck. Ropes and pulleys lay scattered about. She had never done a destructive thing in her life until she’d sabotaged his boat, and despite the circumstances, she felt guilty.

“I’ll help you.” Without further ado, she clambered down the hatch. The heel of her boot caught the bottom rung of the ladder, and she lurched forward.

“Careful there.” Strong hands gripped her waist, thumbs catching just below her breasts.

He held her only a second, but it seemed like forever. Leah stopped breathing. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. His handling was impersonal, yet she couldn’t help acknowledging that no one had ever held her this way before.

She saw his eyes widen.

“No corset, Doc?” he observed. His frankness embarrassed her.

“Binding is terrible for one’s health.”

He lifted his hands, palm out, in a conciliatory gesture. “You won’t hear me objecting to a ban on ladies’ corsets.”

Self-consciously, she straightened her shirtwaist.

“Watch your step.” He indicated a tub of pitch and masses of coiled rope on the floor. He moved back and regarded her. His attention had an odd effect on her composure. Her face grew warm, her pulse quickened, and she felt completely foolish.

“So,” he said, his grin slightly off center. “You’ve come to help.”

“You look as if you could use it.”

“You’re not too busy?”

“I’ve already made one call today. If no emergency comes up, I’m free for the time being.”

“Well, thanks. That’s real nice of you, Doc.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was the least I could do, since…” She let her voice trail off.

“Since you’re the one who broke the steering,” he finished for her.

“You’re the one who tried to kidnap me,” she shot back.

He nodded. “You’re not one to own up to things, are you?” He handed her a wood spanner.

She snatched the tool from him. “And you’re not one to apologize for your actions.”

“Here, hold this steady. Yeah. Just like that.” He put a peg into a freshly drilled hole and tamped it tight with a mallet. “Some landlubber used iron bolts on this mast stepping and they rusted. I have to replace them with wood fastenings or the aft mast could come down.” He repeated the procedure several more times, but each time he tamped down a peg, the opposite one came up. He cursed fluently and unsparingly through gritted teeth.

She watched him for a while, holding the pegs and holding her tongue until she could stand it no more.

“May I make a suggestion?”

The mallet came down squarely on his thumb. He shut his eyes, jaw bulging as he clenched it. “Shoot.”

“Why don’t you cut the pegs a longer length, then after they’re all in, trim the wood flush with the deck?”

He stared at her for a long moment. She thought he was going to argue with her or ridicule her. That was what men always did when a woman dared to comment on their work. Instead, he said, “Good idea. We’ll do it your way.”

She still had to hold the pegs for him, and he had to lie on his side to reach all the fittings, but his mood lightened as the work progressed. He had a long frame, lean and sinewed, and appeared to be remarkably healthy. The human body was her calling, her obsession, and it pleased her to watch him.

More than it should have.

“So,” he said at length, and she started guiltily, certain he knew she’d been studying him. “How is it you came to be a female doctor?”

She let out a relieved breath. “How I came to be a female is by accident of birth.”

He laughed. “I guess I deserved that.”

“How I came to be a doctor is by reading, hard work, a rigorous apprenticeship, and ward study in a hospital.” And how did you become an outlaw? she wanted to ask—but she didn’t dare.

His eyes narrowed as he sealed one of the pegs with glue. “You sure talk a lot and say nothing.”

His observation startled her. “I suppose you’re right.”

“So what’s the real story?” He stood and brushed off his leather carpenter’s apron. She liked it better than the gun belt.

“Why do you want to know?” Why on earth would it matter to you? she wondered.