19. Nineteen
Camilla forced her thudding heart to quiet. There was more to this plot than lost family treasure. Much more. Bootleggers and river gangsters weren’t supposed to be part of this. But then, neither were sinister threats against Daniel’s family.
Unless he had a plan much better than sneaking around looking for a lost steamer they would likely never find through bootlegger-infested oxbows, this mission teetered on the brink of failure. Creeping through the vegetation-choked woods without drawing the bootleggers’ suspicion throttled her nerves as briars snagged her trousers.
“Let’s get back to the Alma May,” she whispered. “Then we can regroup and come up with a plan.”
“I think we can keep looking.” Daniel cast a glance back at the woods. “As long as we stay out of their way, they might not notice us.”
Was he serious? “It’s too dangerous. We don’t even know who’s mixed up in this.”
His emerald gaze searched hers. Resignation, desperation, and worry mingled in a brackish mire.
She swallowed, her heart lurching into a gallop. This kind of thing had gotten their fathers killed. He knew that. No treasure was worth their lives.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, resignation winning the battle in the emerald depths. “You’re right. I just wanted to—”
A gunshot cracked through the air, scattering the birds. Daniel wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her to the ground, covering her body with his own. Her cheek pressed into the damp earth as her pulse drummed in her ears.
Where had the shot come from?
She expected another shot. Shouts. Or the sound of men crashing through the woods, intent on causing them harm. Only eerie silence tickled through her ears.
“Maybe the bootleggers are shooting at each other.” Daniel’s warm breath scurried across her neck. “Let’s go before anyone comes this way.”
He shifted his weight from her back and crouched low, scanning the area around them. Then he grasped her elbow and helped her rise. Keeping a firm grip on her hand, he eased through the underbrush.
She should have been looking for bad men or watching the woods or…well, something. Instead, all she could think about was the feel of his palm against hers. How his presence provided a steady anchor in tumultuous waters. The way his fingers wrapped around her hand, offering more comfort than such a simple touch should.
She worked to put moisture back into her mouth. Weren’t adventures supposed to be thrilling? Sending spikes of energy through her body? She felt none of that. Only radiating fear and the uncanny fixation on the wide shoulders in front of her. He’d remained calm, put her protection above his own, and taken charge of their situation. For once, she didn’t feel like she needed to make all the decisions.
If they weren’t running for their lives, she’d stop and kiss him.
They rounded the knobby pine and struck out toward her steamer, backs hunched as though that might stop a bullet. But no one followed. At least not that she could see.
Solomon waited at the rail, mouth tight. He thrust his chin toward the woods and gave the sign for a gun. Daniel kept his grip on her hand until they made it up the plank before releasing her.
“We are pulling out.” Daniel spoke the order as though such a thing were natural, and her engineer never hesitated.
Solomon pivoted back to the engine room to stoke the coals. Buck appeared from the stairway leading to the upper deck, took one look at her face, and rushed to follow Solomon.
Camilla darted up the ladder to the pilothouse. They’d need to maneuver with only the bells. She wouldn’t risk the whistle.
Lord, let the waters be quiet so we can turn downstream.
Daniel stuck close behind her, his footsteps mirroring her own. He slipped into the corner of the steering chamber, keeping close but out of the way.
As soon as the engine hum vibrated underneath her feet, she tilted the wheel, trusting Solomon to adjust their speed to make the turn across the river. Hopefully no one would be coming around the bend behind them.
They just needed to drift into the deeper waters and then—
A sharp whistle pierced the air.
Her heart jumped into her throat.
Daniel spun and braced his hands on the doorframe, gaze fixed behind them. “There’s another boat!”
The whistle shrilled again.
Solomon increased the steam, pushing them out into the water. They could make it.
“What are you doing?” Daniel pointed out the window. “There’s another boat coming.”
“Too late.” She bit the words and held fast to the wheel. If she slowed now, they would collide for sure. Her only hope was to beat the other boat deeper into the channel. And pray the others had time to maneuver their larger vessel out of the way.
“Camilla!” Daniel’s shout snatched her eyes to the looming steamer.
Too close!
She spun the wheel hard, yanking the Alma May back toward the shore. She dared a glance behind.
The massive paddle wheeler plowed toward them. The whistle blasted again. The big boat lurched toward the center of the river to avoid the smaller packet hugging the inside of the meander. Puffs of smoke churned from the twin smokestacks. But they were coming much too fast.
She pulled twice on the rope to the bell below.
Full stop.
The engine rumbled, but they’d gathered too much steam. She adjusted the wheel. Could she squeeze between the other boat and the danger ahead?
“We aren’t going to make it!” Daniel anchored himself to the doorframe, his body leaning out.
The other boat swayed close enough to hear the angry shouts. They had the right. She’d moved into the water without warning. In a blind bend.
She ground her teeth, her knuckles white on the spokes. Only two options, neither good. She could only pray the sands had shifted.
“Hold on!” She jerked the wheel.
“Are you going to ram us into—” Daniel stumbled as the packet snatched back toward the bank.
The paddle steamer let out another shrill whistle as they propelled past. The other boat slid by close enough to touch. A miracle they didn’t collide.
“Wow. That was close.” Daniel’s voice hitched with a relieved laugh. “I could see their captain screaming at us from his pilothouse.” He blew out a sharp breath. “That could have been disastrous.”
“Brace yourself!” Camilla gripped the wheel hard, muscles tensing in preparation.
Despite Solomon cutting the engine, they’d gained too much momentum. No time to avoid what lay ahead and no way to make the turn without capsizing.
The bow crashed into the hidden sandbar with a sickening crack. Her chest slammed against the wheel, knocking the air from her lungs. Daniel shouted, and then a weight hit her back.
Alma May moaned as they tumbled to the floor in a heap. The planks beneath Camilla shuddered, then grew still.
Daniel scrambled off and knelt beside her. “Are you all right?”
She flopped to her back and gasped for air.
“You’re hurt. Where?” His fingers probed along her scalp and nape. “Did you hit your head? I’m sorry I fell on you.”
Her sore chest heaved, pulling in blessed air. She coughed and shook her head. “Just…lost…my breath.”
He scooped her shoulders from the ground and settled her upper body against his chest. Concern radiated in his gaze. “Are you sure?”
She blinked up at him.
“Captain! I—oh.” Finn scrambled to a halt at the pilothouse door, his gaze flicking between them. “Is she injured?”
Camilla pushed herself out of Daniel’s embrace, even though part of her wanted to rest in the offered comfort longer. “I’m fine.”
She brushed herself off and peered out the open front windows. The sandbar rose higher than she’d realized. So much for wishing it had washed away in the years since Papa mapped it.
“Tell Solomon we’ve run aground. Engines half steam, rudder right. Let’s see if we can tip her back in the current.”
“Yes, Captain.” Finn cut another look at Daniel before scurrying away.
She spun the wheel all the way to the left, hoping to angle them off the bar and into the deeper waters.
“Will we be able to move?” Daniel stood behind her, focused on the swirling water below.
“Depends on if we can get her tipped or not.”
The engines sputtered, and the paddle wheel at their rear began to chug.
If she could point the bow into the current and keep the paddles out of the sand, then they might tip the boat into the current. They’d float backward, but as long as another boat didn’t come around the bend, they could push the engines and get turned around.
Alma May strained forward, sides quivering. A sickening screech lanced through Camilla’s ears. She sounded the bell twice. Cut engines. The hull would rip apart if she forced the old gal too hard. Maybe if the water surged just enough…
Her grandfather’s steamer rocked and shuddered, then settled into her prison with a groan.
Camilla closed her eyes. No good.
They were stuck.