* * * * *
Garret found it difficult to sleep that night. His thoughts were consumed with the mysterious Mrs. Griffin. He couldn’t discern if he simply felt an instinctive desire to protect her, or if he was attracted to her. He’d been acquainted with many women in his life—some better than others. But he wasn’t one to take advantage of women or indulge in a way of life that many men in this business did. And he’d never gotten too serious with any woman; he’d never found one that made him want to. Daisy was one of those women. He truly cared for her; they were friends, and he liked it that way. Knowing she felt the same way made it easier to spend time with her and not feel like he had any obligation after he left port.
Garret had put a great deal of effort into analyzing the women he knew with respect to his analogy of the sea. He knew that when he found a woman who made him feel the way the sea did, he needed to stop and take notice. Was that the way he felt about Mrs. Griffin—or whatever her name was? Could she be provocative? Breathtaking? Challenging? Perhaps. But only time would let him know for certain. He didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, Garret came to the conclusion that he had to see her again—before they set sail. And for whatever reason he felt compelled to pay her a visit, he hoped the outcome would be favorable.
The morning dragged as he took care of some necessary business aboard the Phoenix. Following lunch, he told Ritcherd, “I need to take care of something in town—alone.”
Ritcherd just scowled at him and walked away. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone to visit a woman, and Ritcherd would know he’d have been welcome to come along for any other matter of business. For a moment Garret considered taking Ritcherd with him, but he decided against it. He rationalized that he didn’t want to overwhelm the poor woman. But he had to wonder deep inside if he feared that Ritcherd Buchanan’s broken heart might prove to be competition for attention from the grieving Mrs. Griffin. He couldn’t recall now what Daisy had said about Mr. Griffin—or whatever his name was. But he knew the husband was out of the way.
Garret knew it was Daisy’s day off, and he knew from the way she’d talked that there was an excellent chance she’d be visiting Mrs. Griffin, who had become a very close friend. He wasn’t opposed to calling on Mrs. Griffin when she might be alone, but he hoped that Daisy might make her feel less uncomfortable. And perhaps she might consider a visit from him inappropriate. For whatever reason, he hoped Daisy would be there.
Kyrah heard a knock at the door and exchanged a glance with Daisy. No one had ever come to the house except Daisy in all the time she’d been here. Since Daisy had her hands busy stirring the soup they’d been preparing, Kyrah peeked carefully between the curtains to see who it might be. Her heart quickened to see Captain Garret. Had he come to tell her they would be sailing soon? She couldn’t help hoping. Eagerly she opened the door, but it took her a moment to gather her senses. She’d forgotten how penetrating his eyes could be.
“Mrs. Griffin,” he said. “Forgive me for intruding, but I—”
“Come in,” she said, opening the door wider. “Daisy is here and—”
“Yes, I know. I must confess that my visit has two purposes. I did wish to have a word with Daisy, but I also wanted to see that you’re well.”
“I’m fine, of course,” she said, feeling touched by his concern. “But thank you.” She tried to cover her disappointment when it became evident that they weren’t yet ready to sail. “Daisy’s a bit busy in the kitchen. Would you like to—”
“Who’s there?” Daisy called.
“It’s Captain Garret,” Kyrah called back.
“Well, bring him in here where I can give him a good talking-to.”
Kyrah led Garret into the kitchen. He laughed when he saw her, and she watched a different side of him emerge. “And what did you wish to talk to me about?” he asked, setting his gloved hands on his hips.
“You’ve been mighty neglectful of me,” Daisy said with a wink while she wiped her hands on her apron.
“I’m a busy man, Daisy.”
“What kind of busy?” she asked over her shoulder as she covered the pot on the stove.
“Business busy,” he said.
Kyrah sat by the table and motioned for him to join her. “Thank you,” he said, sitting down and crossing a booted ankle over his knee. She listened to the two of them banter for several minutes while she discreetly observed this man, wondering why he made her think of Ritcherd. Perhaps it was simply the presence of a man who obviously had character and integrity. The leather of his boots creaked when he moved. The muscles in his arms stood out as he rubbed the back of his neck. She suddenly missed Ritcherd so immensely that she absently put a hand over her heart and sighed.
“Are you all right?” Garret asked, startling her.
“Of course,” Kyrah said. “Why do you ask?”
“You look so . . . sad.”
“Just . . . missing someone,” she said, and Garret couldn’t help wondering if her broken heart could possibly help mend Ritcherd’s—and vice versa. But only if he could fathom being selfless enough not to woo her himself.
“Ah, well,” Daisy said, “women in port towns get to be pretty good at that.”
Garret smirked toward her and Kyrah felt inclined to say, “Forgive me if I’m being too presumptuous, or . . . well, perhaps I should ask Daisy such questions privately.”
“Go ahead and ask it, honey. I’ve got no secrets from the brute.”
Garret laughed, as if he thoroughly enjoyed being called a brute. Then he motioned toward Kyrah.
“Well,” she went on, “I was just wondering if the two of you are . . . you know . . . romantically involved.”
Daisy tossed Garret a saucy little smile before she said, “Nah, we’re just friends.”
“Friends?” he echoed, pretending to be insulted. His eyes made it evident he was teasing. “After all those kisses you’ve given me, you tell me we’re friends? Where does that leave all my hopes and dreams?”
“At sea, Captain,” Daisy said a little too seriously. “So, we’re kissing friends. What’s wrong with that?” She spoke more to Kyrah. “Although he’ll get nothing more than a kiss from me. A woman can’t afford to give more when a man’s coming and going all the time.”
“Some of them do,” Garret said.
“None that you’ve been visiting, I should hope.”
“Of course not, my love . . . Oh, forgive me. My friend. You should know me better than that.”
Daisy smiled at him. “I do, yes.” Then she said more to Kyrah, “That’s what makes Garret stand out in the crowd, you know. He’s keen on avoiding the diseases that many sailors are prone to catch while they’re in port.”
It took Kyrah a moment to perceive what she meant, then she felt herself turn warm. And to make it worse, Garret obviously noticed. He smirked again and said, “Now, Daisy. You’re making me blush. Mrs. Griffin here might be able to handle that kind of talk, but you’d do well to mind your mouth when I’m around.”
“You’re a scoundrel,” Daisy said.
“Perhaps,” he replied. “But just how many kissing friends do you have?” he asked, humor teasing the corners of his mouth.
Daisy shrugged her shoulders as she sat down and took his hand across the table. “Just two or three. And you?”
“Only you, Daisy. Only you—at least in this town. And maybe, just maybe, when this war is over . . .” He left the sentence unfinished.
“Don’t be talking that way to me, Captain. You’re just like the rest of them; the sea’s in your blood. And I’m not marrying again until I find a man who will stay in port for more than a month at a time.”
“Very wise,” Garret said. “And in the meantime . . . we’ll just be friends.” He kissed her hand, and Kyrah’s thoughts of Ritcherd drew her away once more.
Garret discreetly watched Mrs. Griffin’s eyes turn distant again. He felt his curio
sity growing over her, and had to ask, “So, Mrs. Griffin, what brings an English lady such as yourself to this part of the world during a war?”
Her eyes became so hard so fast that Garret was actually startled. She stood up and turned away, saying curtly, “It wasn’t by my choice; that’s for certain.” She glanced over her shoulder and added, “Forgive me, Captain. I think I should lie down. I’ll leave the two of you to visit.”
When he was alone with Daisy, she said, “You must understand that she’s been through a great deal.”
“Yes, that’s evident,” he said. “But . . . what?”
Daisy narrowed her eyes on him. “It’s not like you to be so curious. What’s on your mind?”
Garret shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just concerned.”
“Well, she’s going to be just fine. You get her back to England, and she’ll be fine.”
“I intend to,” he said.
Daisy invited him to stay and eat, but he declined in spite of how good it smelled. He returned to the ship to find Ritcherd fencing with Patrick, and working up a healthy sweat. At least he’d quit sulking. Better that he fight all that emotion into the open, rather than letting it simmer and stew.
That evening Ritcherd was writing furiously in his journal, and Garret figured that was good as well. He decided to do the same, hoping it would clear his head. But he fell asleep again with thoughts of Mrs. Griffin in his mind. He couldn’t help feeling that there was something significant about her. If only he knew what.