Moonlight on the Mississippi

1. One

This fella had lost his sunbaked mind beneath that striking mop of smoky-brown hair. Camilla Lockhart stifled a smirk as she propped her hip on the Alma May’s wheel. “You’ll need to explain why you think this”—she slapped one of the spokes—“old gal will help you find a boat at the bottom of the Mississippi.”

He opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together.

Why the confusion? If he couldn’t see the Alma May had sputtered ten years past her usable life and was being held together with a handful of prayers and buckets of tar, then she couldn’t help him. They did their best, but they could only do so much for a ramshackle packet boat.

And if he thought she would ever get involved with treasure seekers again, then her first estimation of the nature of his wits had been too generous.

The man—not much older than her own twenty-six years if she didn’t miss her guess—tipped his hat back in a roguish way that made her heart give a traitorous tremble.

By her boots, her dog, Lula, rumbled a growl. Exactly.This fella’s too handsome for anyone’s good.

“You run a scavenger boat, right?” He rubbed a day’s worth of dark scruff and then shoved his hands into the pockets of clean but worn britches.

Camilla snorted. “Who told you that?” She’d wallop them for sure for stirring up old rumors better left buried.

“Look, Miss—”

“Captain.”

He blinked. To his credit, the surprise vanished quickly. “Captain Lockhart. I promise this will be a venture worth your while.”

A sweltering May breeze poked through the windows and attempted to cool the sweat from her brow. What a mess she must look. Though to be fair, she hadn’t planned on receiving company when she’d docked in Natchez. Least of all the handsome sort. She ran a hand down her trousers and hoped there weren’t any grease stains.

Lula pawed at her knee, waiting to be picked up. When Camilla scooped up her furry companion and settled the black-and-white terrier on her hip, Lula swayed toward the man, sniffing.

The fellow’s face softened, and an endearing tip curved his lips.

Handsome and turned a kind eye on her pup? Something in her chest pinched. She needed to get this man off her boat before he could cause all sorts of trouble. Like muddling her senses.

She cocked an eyebrow at his near-threadbare shirt and put her mind back on topic. “I don’t indulge in fool’s errands.”

His cheeks tinged pink, and his broad shoulders straightened. “I don’t have the money yet, but as soon as we find that treasure—”

“You mean if. If we find this supposed treasure.” She blew out a breath and gestured toward the exit. Whoever had let this man into her pilothouse deserved three extra shifts mopping the deck where Lula did her personal business. Camilla turned sideways to squeeze past him and escape.

“Please. You’re my only hope.”

Maybe it was the desperate notes in his voice. Or perhaps it had something to do with the arresting quality of those emerald-green eyes that seemed to hold a century’s worth of life. A girl could get lost in eyes like those. Dangerous waters, that.

Whatever the reason, she and Lula paused at the door. “Mr. …” She twisted her lips. “What did you say your name was?”

“Gray.” He thrust out his hand, and she slid her palm against his calloused one. “Daniel Gray.”

His gaze latched onto hers. Snakes and saltwater. This man could convince a common field mouse she was a warhorse, and she’d follow him into battle.

Camilla extracted herself from his grip. “Sorry, Mr. Gray. I wish I could help you.”

She’d barely made it three steps from the pilothouse, that unnerving fellow on her heels, when a shout came from the deck.

“Trouble ho!”

Great. What else could go wrong today?

She peered over the pilothouse railing. Finn, one of her three crewmen, cupped his palms by his mouth, ready to shout at her again. He nodded to where two other men glared at one another on the portside.

She scrambled down the ladder.

Her engineer, Solomon, stood on the main deck, arms crossed over his barrel chest. Black eyebrows dove toward his nose, and his generous lips tipped toward a snarl. Oh no. She knew that look.

Sidling past a haphazard stack of crates from their latest job, she placed herself between Solomon and the object of his building fury. “Good morning. How may I help you?”

The stout man in a jacket too heavy for the weather snapped a book shut and angled his upturned nose her way. “Where is your captain?”

Spine straightening out of habit, she waited until she was certain he fully acknowledged her. “I am Captain Lockhart.”

His forehead crinkled toward a receding hairline, and he opened his book again to scan the contents. “Yes, Lockhart.” Beady eyes flashed toward her, then back to the page. “Where is your father?”

“Dead.” The word landed between them like an anchor. “I’m captain now. Licensed by the state of Mississippi.”

The man grunted. After a breath, he hiked a meaty thumb toward Solomon. “Your n—”

“Wait.” Camilla thrust out her palm. “Unless your next words are about to be nice engineer, you best rethink them.”

“Engineer?” He slapped the book shut again. “A woman captain and a Negro engineer?”

His laughter caused Solomon to take a step closer, eclipsing the short man in his shadow. The intruder’s snickering sputtered out. He cleared his throat. “This vessel is past due for the docking fees.” He scanned the page with his finger. “Bringing you to ten dollars. Either you pay now, or you pull out.”

Ten dollars? She barely had two nickels to rub together. “If I could get an extension until I get payment for this last job, then—”

He shook his head. “No extensions.” He sniffed toward Solomon, whose presence loomed closer, and then he took a step back. “I suggest you get your crew out of Natchez.”

He spat the word like a curse.

Pain twisted in her empty stomach. Why couldn’t he have waited until this afternoon to board their boat? That would have given her time to get some funds together and—

“If I may?” A masculine voice poked through her devolving thoughts.

Mr. Gray? He was still here?

The man strode forward, something extended from his hand. Money?

Not a chance. She plucked the bill from his fingers before the greedy dockmaster could snag it. “We don’t need charity, thank you.”

She waved the money back at Mr. Gray, but he stuffed both hands into his pockets. “Not charity. Consider it an advance payment.”

Her stomach flipped, but she did her best to keep her face passive. “I never agreed to take the job.”

They engaged in a battle of wills, her with a determined thrust of her chin and him with a frustrating calm until the dockmaster barked an annoyed cough.

“Whatever details you two want to work out isn’t my concern. Pay the fee or disembark. Simple as that.”

She couldn’t leave. Not until she met with Mr. Copeland and collected their fee for this month’s haul. She had a crew to pay and mouths to feed. They’d already stayed with her long after they’d all grown hungry. Mr. Copeland had promised her full payout today if she could meet him before he left for Jackson. They couldn’t wait until he returned next week.

If only Papa was here. He’d be able to charm the dockmaster into collecting the fee tomorrow. He’d possessed skills with people she’d never mastered. She pulled in a long breath to steady herself against the wave of grief and shored up her resolve. She could only do her best with the circumstances at hand.

“I’ll not be in any man’s debt, either.” She faced Mr. Gray, still ignoring the dockmaster. Best he knew where they stood.

What she assumed he meant to be a reassuring smile graced his lips. “Not a debt, either, Captain. Simply an advance on a job.”

She crossed her arms, whatever ground she’d gained in concealing her desperation slipping out from under her feet. “Nonrefundable, even if we don’t find what you are looking for.”

He thrust out a hand. “Deal.”

After only a brief hesitation, she slapped her palm against his, gave one pump, and then released him to whirl back to the dockmaster.

The bullish man had taken three steps away from Solomon and now had his back pressed against a particularly unstable section of railing. She’d better get him off her vessel before he ended up in the water. No doubt the nasty fella would blame her for his own clumsiness.

She thrust Mr. Gray’s money his way. “Here. Now we’re paid.”

The sweaty man puffed his chest in a poor attempt at pretending he wasn’t frightened of Solomon. He snatched the bill from her hand, stuffed it in his jacket pocket, and stroked a mark in his book. Then he snapped it closed and marched down the plank without another word.

Her shoulders deflated. “Always something, isn’t it?”

Solomon turned out his palms. Then, as though remembering the other intruder in their midst, he flashed a rapid series of hand gestures.

You want me to toss this one overboard?

A rueful shake of her head swished her braid against her back. “No. I reckon he saved our hides for the day. Best let him leave by his own two feet.”

Solomon grunted as his steely gaze swept over Mr. Gray.

“He’s harmless.” She faced Mr. Gray to judge his reaction. Some men recoiled like they were offended, which told her they took pride in violence. Some grinned too quickly, betraying their desire to be underestimated and thus alerting her to their propensity toward deceit.

Mr. Gray’s expression held nothing more than openness and maybe a touch of curiosity.

After a moment, Solomon must have come to the same conclusion she had about any nefarious intentions Mr. Gray might harbor and tapped his finger to his mouth with a nod.

Fine. Holler if you need me.

Grateful, she dismissed him and turned back to Mr. Gray. “I don’t appreciate being backed into a deal I didn’t want to make.”

He shifted his feet. “My apologies. I was only trying to help.” He scratched the back of his head. “You can repay the ten dollars if you don’t want the job. But you should hear me out first.”

Her pulse quickened, and she ground her teeth against the traitorous feeling. No. Hadn’t she learned better than to hop at the thrill of discovery? It never ended well. All treasure hunting did was drain resources and leave a person empty-handed. Papa’s misfortunes were all the evidence she needed in that regard.

“Please. I need to recover the inheritance to save my family.”

She withheld a groan. Now he had to play the knight-in-shining-armor angle? As though she wasn’t having a hard enough time turning him down. Against all the better judgment she’d thought she’d earned since she’d lost Papa, a question leaked from between her lips. “What inheritance?”

At the crack in her defenses, a charming smile lit his eyes. “How about I buy you lunch and tell you all about the secret clues we discovered hidden in the estate.”

Secret clues? A tingle jittered down her spine.

Snakes and saltwater. She was hooked.