* * *
The Captain sat at his desk filling in the ship’s log, trying to concentrate, one question going round in his brain. Did he want to wring the vixen’s pretty little neck, or would he rather stroke it?
He didn’t bother to look up when the door to his cabin opened and shut; Shane came in and out all day. But, eventually, the lengthy silence called for him to raise his gaze.
Hands on hips, Shane waited patiently for permission to give voice to that which seemed heavy on his mind.
“Are you here as my brother or my first mate?” Grant asked.
Shane squared his shoulders. “Your brother.”
Grant nodded. “Sit down. Have some port, and tell me what’s bothering you.”
“Actually, Grant, you are.”
Grant took a sip of his drink and sat back. “The red-headed witch told you what I said.”
Shane smiled. “Does that make you mad?”
“Hell yes.” Grant slammed his quill on the table and stood to pace. Enough was enough. “That woman’s the worst nuisance I’ve had to deal with in my entire thirty-two years. She’s . . .conniving, aggravating and mark my words, she’s trouble.” He threw his hands in the air. “She’s autocratic and demanding and so damned haughty, I’d like to . . .to . . .bring her down a peg or . . .ten.”
Shane chuckled. “And she’s beautiful.”
“Yes, damnation. But that’s not the point.”
“And she’s desirable. And that makes you maddest of all, big brother.”
“If you weren’t my brother, Shane, I’d hit you.”
Shane touched his brother’s chest with the tip of his forefinger. “Stay away from her, Grant. So you won’t get hurt.”
Grant laughed, the irony in Shane’s order not lost on him. Except that he was not smitten with Patience, like his brother was with Rose. He was aggravated as all hell with her—there was, perhaps, some lust involved, but no stronger attraction than that. He, at least, remained alert to the danger in the possibility.
Not so his brother. Looking at Shane’s earnest, enamored expression right now, Grant knew problems were brewing. Big ones.
Shane’s smile turned slumberous. “There’s something about Rose, Grant. She needs me, and I think maybe I need her. I’d like the chance to find out.” He grinned. “Same as you’d like the chance to find out if your Fireball will singe your eyebrows if you get too close.”
The Captain laughed. “Appropriately put. But I have enough sense to step back if it gets too hot.”
“More fool you. But I want the opportunity to allow my relationship with Rose to come to its natural conclusion . . .without interference from you.”
Grant nodded reluctantly, and winced at his notion of what a natural conclusion entailed. “You know what I told the men.”
“There’ll be friendships, Grant, and you said that was fine. We’re going to be out here a long time. Maybe, there’ll be a couple of problems. But you’ll handle it. You’re a good captain.”
“You’re a pain in the ass.”
“The old man told you that before you took me on. Come to think of it, that was nothing to what he said about you. I seem to remember something along the lines of, “ungrateful, arrogant son of a—””
“That’s enough. I have a very good memory where our father is concerned, and I always took that particular taunt as a direct slur on our mother.”
“Do you doubt he meant it exactly that way?”
“Not for a minute.”
“She was a bitch, Grant, you must admit. A beautiful, spoiled bitch.”
“Yes, but one of her smiles and I would forget completely.” Grant hated when he remembered his mother. She’d been gone twenty-five years. How in hell could he still feel like a desperate little boy who’d do anything if she would just love him? Love. Hah. He scowled into his port and downed it.
Shane watched him. “Do you ever miss it, Grant?”
“You mean the dissipated, worthless hell of a life we dragged ourselves up from?” He sighed and smiled in resignation. “The older I get, the stronger the pull. But I’m very good at ignoring sentiment. I wanted my independence more than anything. And I got it, by God. Our sire said we were no better than our roots and never would be. We showed him, did we not?”
Shane raised his glass. “Our father.”
Grant did the same. “The bastard.”