The Angel and the Outlaw. Kathryn Albright

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      He swiped his hand across his face. Lord, he was tired. Hannah had been moody and difficult about everything until Miss Houston had come and given her that doll. Then she had disappeared into her room to play.

      Miss Houston. Now there was an interesting woman. Outspoken to be sure, but then, words meant only so much. Actions told a lot more about the character of a person—man or woman. And she had character to spare. She sure didn’t back down. First, at the mercantile when she stood up to Terrance and then today, when he was her problem.

      His head started to nod and he jerked. What the heck were people saying about him in town? He wanted to keep a quiet existence here, not have people talking about him. He’d had little experience with such things before moving here, finding it easier to hide out in more populated areas. He was getting a fast introduction to small-town nosiness.

      His head nodded. The pen fell from his hand. He lowered his head to the desk and closed his eyes. Just for a minute….

      

      Stuart pushed open the heavy oak door to the captain’s cabin. A soft light from the whale-oil lantern illuminated the nooks and crannies of the small room, spilling a rich golden hue on the wooden beams overhead. Linnea sat at the end of his bunk and leaned over a makeshift bed, singing in a low chant to her daughter.

      “Linnea?” he whispered.

      She placed her finger against her lips. “Hush. She’s nearly asleep.” She smiled at him briefly, then continued her song. The dark bruising along her chin had healed to a yellow color but the shadows beneath her eyes confirmed his worry that this voyage had not healed her spirit. She wasn’t sleeping. But she hadn’t complained. She never complained anymore.

      A thrill rippled through him at the scene in the small cabin. Three-year-old Hannah lay curled on her side, a white cotton nightgown covering her chubby limbs and a matching sleeping bonnet taming her fine blond wisps of hair. Wet spiked lashes quieted against pale cheeks. So there had been another battle of wills about bedtime. He smiled to himself.

      Assured that all was well, he returned to the deck. The last pink rays of sunlight sparkled across the water as he barked out orders to adjust the sails and take full account of the northern winds. On the ship’s port side the purple outline of California’s southern coast rose above the sea, the hazy mountains familiar sentinels on his journey to San Pedro.

      Linnea came to his side, pulling her shawl tighter around her for warmth. The breeze whipped golden tendrils of her hair across her neck and cheeks.

      “She’s asleep now.”

      He nodded his acknowledgment.

      “Do you think John’s family will come after us?”

      “Yes,” he said quietly.

      “My father, too?”

      “Especially your father. We left a mess in San Francisco. They will want to set it right.”

      “By condemning you.”

      He kept silent a moment, looking at but not seeing the water. “I killed him. John’s family will want revenge, or payment in some way. So will the law.”

      “Oh, Matthew. I’m sorry to have dragged you into this. I just didn’t know where to turn.”

      Stuart pulled her close, his arm around her shoulder. “You did the right thing. Never doubt that.” He felt the rise and fall of her shoulders as she took a deep breath.

      “Yet there is one more favor I must ask of you.”

      He waited.

      “Promise me you’ll take care of Hannah if anything happens to me.”

      “Lin—”

      “No. I mean it. I’ve thought about this a lot. We don’t know what will happen. John’s family and my father have the law on their side. They have all the resources. Our running away looks like we planned John’s death. They’ll think we are lovers. John accused me of that so many times—I think to rationalize his own lack of fidelity.”

      “He didn’t deserve you.”

      Her chin trembled. “I should have waited for you, Matthew. I was weak and lonely at that school. I ruined everything.”

      He squeezed her arm. “We’re together now. And don’t worry about Hannah. I’ll stand by both of you.” He looked over the water, subconsciously noting the increase in whitecaps while he tried to figure out what they should do after delivering the cargo to San Pedro. The voyage had given him time, but a reckoning was swiftly catching up.

      First Shipmate Saunders approached with a worried look on his face. “Captain, I don’t like the looks o’ that horizon.” He raised his thick wiry brows toward the stern of the vessel indicating billowing clouds in the distance. A line of dark gray in their belly foretold of the rain within.

      “I see it,” Stuart said grimly. “If it heads this way we won’t be able to use the stars tonight to guide us. We may have a swift race to port. Make sure the crew is prepared.”

      “Aye, sir.” Saunders hesitated.

      “What is it?”

      “Touhy stands watch tonight.”

      Stuart considered the level of experience of the younger man. “Have him wake me if the wind changes course.”

      “Aye, sir. Can’t help thinkin’ one of Mr. Lansing’s steamers would have been a better choice for this trip.”

      “Only our ten-year friendship makes it possible for you to say that, Saunders,” Stuart said with a sternness he knew his first shipmate would see right through. “The Maiden is old, but fit. Rather like you,” he teased lightly. “And she’s mine, not Dorian’s. That makes all the difference on this particular voyage.”

      With a salute—and a wink—Saunders left.

      That night Stuart awoke from his makeshift pallet on the floor. He sensed a change, a creaking of the ship as though forced on a new course. In the bed, Linnea slept fitfully, her soft breath puffing against the sheets. He rose and dressed quickly.

      Above deck the light breeze of the evening before had transformed into a bitter gale. Stuart searched the black skies for any sign of lightness, anything to mark his bearings. The darkness was so thick he could only guess at the horizon, where sky dissolved into ocean without a trace. It would be time for the third watch—Touhy should be in charge. Why hadn’t the man woken him?

      He grabbed the rail to steady himself and walked aft. When he neared the binnacle that housed the compass, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky. In that instant he recognized the familiar peaks of Santa Catalina Island rising not five hundred yards off the port bow. In the few moments the wind had grabbed control of their ship it had blown them far south of their plotted course.

      “Bear away before the wind!” he shouted above the gale. Shipmen raced to obey his commands. “One thirty-five on a broad reach! Touhy! Get Saunders! Then take position in the stern!”

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