filled her eyes as she stared up into the face of the man she loved. “Nothing will ever tear us apart.”
Chapter One
Two years later
T he coachman set the brake and shouted, “Easton, North Carolina.”
Alanna Patterson pushed back the stained coach curtain and stared at the meager collection of gray-black buildings made of sunbaked wood. The town’s main thoroughfare was little more than a path etched into the sandy mud by wagon wheels. The few fishermen and women standing alongside the street looked as tired and broken as the buildings. As if they too had weathered too many winter storms and too many hot, humid summers.
Why in God’s name would Caleb have chosen such a place to call home now?
Alanna had last seen Caleb on the deck of the Intrepid, his ship, as it headed out to sea. She’d been so proud of him. His blue sea captain’s jacket had been tailored perfectly to fit his tall frame and broad shoulders. His pants molded his muscular legs braced against the sway of the ship. He’d been smiling, waving toward her as he’d tried to shout her a few final words. The wind had drowned out his baritone voice, but she’d not worried. She’d gifted him with a vibrant smile and waved. She’d been so confident that their charmed future would be filled with many loving words that a few lost ones wouldn’t matter.
What a fool she’d been.
Unsettled, Alanna gathered her velvet skirts as the coachman opened the door. The tall, gaunt man took her elbow as she climbed down. Her soft gray leather boots sank into the mud up to the laces.
“My shoe!” Alanna said. “Couldn’t you have at least put down a plank?”
The coachman’s gap-tooth grated her nerves. “Everybody knows fancy duds don’t last in Easton.”
Alanna pulled her foot from the sucking mud. The shoe’s pale leather would forever be stained brown. “In your line of work as a coachman I would think you’d see many people who aren’t from Easton. And that you’d take the time to tell them about the streets.”
He shrugged as he took her bag from the coach. “Strangers don’t come to Easton unless they’s shipwrecked. Most folks who’ve been pulled from the sea is so happy to be alive they don’t care so much about their shoes.”
Most probably hadn’t paid as much for their shoes as she had hers.
Alanna reached for her bag. “Thank you for your help,” she said tersely. “But I can manage from here.”
He tugged the bag and brought her a step closer to him. This close, Alanna could see dirt coating his pockmarked face. She could smell the hint of cheap gin and stale fish on his worn clothes. “I notice there ain’t no one here to meet you.”
She remembered how hastily she’d packed her satchel. “My arrival is a bit of a surprise.”
The coachman’s lips twisted into a grin. “That so? I’d be happy to help in any way I can. Name’s Roy Smoots.”
Alanna didn’t miss the implied proposition woven between Smoots’s words. Another time, an other place she’d have reminded him of his place. But, as he’d said, she was alone. “No, thank you.”
She yanked her bag free, stumbling back in the slippery mud a step before she caught herself, her derby-style hat slipping over her right ear.
He laughed. “Sure I can’t help?”
Righting her hat, she said, “Just tell me where I can find Rosie’s Tavern.”
The coachman didn’t look offended, but more amused. “A half a block down the street. I’d be happy to show you.”
“Don’t trouble yourself, Mr. Smoots.” Alanna stepped through the thick mud, cursing her ruined shoes.
Mr. Smoots fell in step beside her. “No trouble at all.” Ignoring him as best she could, she stepped onto the boardwalk and stamped the mud from her shoes before she started down the sun-baked planks. Her bag thumped into her heavy skirts with each step.
The tavern was a two-story building marked by a faded wooden sign with black scripted letters that spelled Rosie’s below a faded red rose. The sign and building looked just as weary as the rest of town.
Alanna reached for the rusted handle. “Mr. Smoots, when does the next coach leave Easton?”
Mr. Smoots’s grin widened. “I leave at first light.”
“Book a seat for me. I’m leaving this town as quickly as I can.”
“Sure thing, miss.” He cackled. “So what you doing tonight?”
Alanna ignored the question as she shoved open the tavern door. She paused, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light. Sea spray and grime clouded the inn’s small windows and blocked out the noonday sunshine. Around the room, two dozen fishermen stared at her over their tankards. Most had full beards and skin as weathered as the boardwalk.
The seamen’s whispers buzzed around Alanna’s head and their gazes darkened with a dangerous hunger. Her palms began to sweat in her kid gloves and for the first time she realized just how truly alone she was.
These were the kind of men Caleb had sailed with. Though he’d respected his men as sailors, he’d always been careful to keep them away from Alanna. And now she understood why.
Mr. Smoots circled his fingertip on her shoulder. “Sure you don’t want ol’ Roy’s help?”
Alanna flinched and pulled away. “No, thank you.”
He leaned so close that she could feel his hot breath on her ear when he spoke. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Mr. Smoots brushed past her, knocking her shoulder with his as he moved toward a table in a darkened corner where three other sailors sat. He said something to the men and they all laughed as they stared at Alanna.
Alanna could feel her courage slipping. When she’d received Caleb’s terse message days ago the urge to right old wrongs had burned hot. Time and fear had cooled the fire in her.
The barkeep, a burly man with a belly that hung over his belt, looked up from the glass of gin he was pouring. Surprise flickered as the barman set down the bottle and moved from behind the bar toward her.
Lantern light flickered on the white strands of the barman’s red beard and a gold loop hung from his left ear, winking in the lantern light. His crooked nose looked as if it had been broken more than once. He grinned as he wiped his hands on his soiled apron. “Name’s Sloan. Can I help you?”
Alanna’s mouth felt as dry as cotton as Sloan’s gaze slid up and down her body. Her fingers clamped tighter around the handle of her valise. “I’m looking for Captain Pitt,” she said in a soft voice.
All traces of humor vanished from Sloan’s face. “Who’d you say?”
Just speaking Caleb’s name left her edgy and restless. “Caleb Pitt,” she said in a louder voice. “Do you know where I can find him?”
The tavern room went deadly quiet and the men who’d been staring at her looked away.
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. The innkeeper studied her and she had the sense that she was being tried and judged. She wondered briefly if Caleb had told him about her. The old Caleb was a man who’d always kept his own counsel, but the new Caleb was a stranger to her.
“He ain’t in town,” Mr. Sloan said.
The tension that had been knotting her muscles frizzled into anger. “I thought he lived here in town. He listed Easton as his address.”
“He lives here sometimes, but he ain’t here now.”
“Then where can I find him?”
Mr. Sloan nodded toward the