Chapter Two

From where I kneel on the beach gathering sea kelp, I hear the slap of waves against wood, and I freeze. Through the foggy pre-dawn mists sails a ship with tall masts. Tattered sails flap in the mild breeze, and the small black flag with crossed bones proclaims the ship’s pirate owners. Sitting low in the water, the sloop eases into the inlet, bobbing on the high tide.

Should I remain quiet and hope to escape detection? Or should I dash back to the manor house and raise an alarm? Before I make my decision, I hear the metallic clunk of an unspooling chain and the loud splash of a heavy object, probably an anchor. Against all reason, I lift my gaze to the upper deck.

Moonlight bathes the ship with pearly light, showing a dozen shadowy figures at the rails. At the helm stands a commanding figure with legs braced wide apart. An open buccaneer’s shirt exposes his muscled chest and a string of white objects hangs from his neck. The breeze teases wavy strands from his queue that caress his cheeks and neck like a squid’s tentacles.

Through the span of a single heartbeat, or an entire lifetime, our gazes tangle and warmth spreads through my chest. With a slow movement, I rise. My hands relax and drop stringy clumps to the wet sand. The man with the wavy blond hair moves from the helm, his hands gripping tight to the railing. His features are known and beloved, as if I’ve been waiting for his return.

HIM.

Aleen sat bolt upright, breathing in short gasps, her nightshirt clinging to her damp shoulders. Why is that guy in my dream? The bedside clock displayed a time twenty minutes earlier than her alarm. She lay back with a groan, then flipped her pillow so she could nestle into a cool spot. This was what came of reading historical romances before falling asleep. That must be the explanation.

As she drifted between dozing and waking, Aleen couldn’t help but think of the dream and how realistic the sensations had been. Normally, she only remembered fragments, like a few blurry slides that flashed for a nanosecond. Never had she dreamt in colors, or at least, not that she remembered. The more she thought about the ship, the clearer the details became. The tall masts, billowy sails, and ports for cannons on a low-slung schooner all pointed to one thing—pirates.

Inexplicably, she shivered. So totally weird.

After she’d showered and dressed for her workday, Aleen walked into the small, but efficient, kitchen. Sunlight streamed through the mullioned windows and highlighted the yellow rosebud wallpaper. Beams bounced off the white wainscoting, giving the room a cheery look. She stepped to the corner of the room and pulled the cover from her bird cage. “Morning, Captain. Morning, Tennille.” She made kissy sounds at her pair of parakeets. “How’re my favorite birdies?” With a click, she unhooked the water dispenser and crossed the polished plank floor to the sink.

The green-and-yellow parakeets fluttered from perch to perch within the antique wrought-iron cage. Happy chirps filled the air. “Gimme kiss.”

“Hey, I understood that. Congrats, guys, you’re learning.” Moments later, she’d re-attached the water dispenser, poured seed mix into the feeder, and leaned a hip against the counter, waiting for her coffee to finish dripping. Coffeemakers with programmable timers were her Monday morning salvation.

Her phone trilled with Mitzi’s special tone. “Hey girl, how are you feeling?”

“As fat as a hippo, that’s how.”

“Aw, sweetie. Think of the big picture. You’re nurturing new life.”

“Right.” Mitzi gagged. “And you never called to give me the details when we were interrupted yesterday.”

Cradling her phone on her shoulder, Aleen poured the fragrant coffee into her mug and added a splash of creamer. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah, the guy. The one who stole your coherency.”

Images of the blond guy on the scooter and on the ferry intermixed with her dream guy at the helm of the pirate ship. Too similar to be a coincidence? “Just a hunky guy who was probably on vacation. Someone I may never see again.”

“Really? Damn, I heard real interest in your voice and hoped he was a local you could connect with.”

Before replying, she took a gulp of coffee. “Might be a local. He was in the captain’s—”

The garden gate clanged shut.

Aleen jerked around toward the window and set down her coffee on the tiled counter.

“In where? Why did you stop talking?”

“Hey, today’s Monday, right?” Lifting onto her tip-toes, she stretched over the sink to get a better angle on the garden space between her cottage and the big house.

“All day. Why?”

“Because no one from the Master Gardeners scheduled time to work on the gardens today.” She hurried across the floor to peer out another window.

“You do live on the grounds of a historic manor house in Easton’s Point. There are bound to be—”

“The grounds are closed on Mondays. Hey, gotta go. Someone is traipsing through the yard…” Movement caught her eye, and she spotted a tall guy with wavy blond hair walking the edge of the gardens. A gasp escaped and her fingers tightened, pressing the phone harder against her ear. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what? Why’d you say that?”

With her cheek smashed against the window, Aleen watched the interloper.

The tall man stopped and now stood with hands on hips, moving in a slow circle and scanning the garden and walkways.

Although she had her suspicions, Aleen waited until he turned to face her cottage. Then instant recognition hit. The golden-haired guy from the moped…and the ferry…and her dream last night. In flashes, like a slide show, she remembered her muddled dream of windswept seas, a sloop with tattered sails, and a long-haired pirate at the helm. Her mouth dried, but she forced herself to come up with a response to satisfy Mitzi. “I need to chase away this guy.”

He pulled a tape measure from one of his cargo shorts’ pockets, hooked it on the clapboard of the main house, then walked slowly backward.

“What guy?” A big sigh sounded through the phone. “I absolutely hate missing out on all the good stuff. Are you okay?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Talk soon. Bye.” She punched end call and slid the phone onto the counter on her way out the side door. “Hold down the fort, Captain.” Once outside, the chilled air made her rethink her choice of a short-sleeved blouse.

The guy had disappeared from the immediate area.

Aleen walked to the front of her cottage and glanced toward the driveway. An older model pickup was parked close to the restraining chain, blocking her carport. Another strike against this trespasser.

Footsteps sounded on the crushed shell walkway, and she spun. “The grounds of Bayside Manor are closed today.” She aimed for a commanding tone but failed miserably. Up close, this guy was even more handsome than she remembered. At least, she wasn’t drooling.

“Hey, it’s Daisy Girl.” The guy stopped about ten feet away and jammed his hands in his pockets.

“Huh?” Aleen clamped her lips tight to keep in any more stupid sounds. The guy was more roguish, if that was even possible, dressed in Topsiders, cargo pants, and a black skull-and-crossbones T-shirt. She noticed the crinkle lines at the edges of his brilliant blue eyes.

The tanned man stepped closer and grinned. “From the island. And I spotted you on the ferry too, but you got lost in the crowd.”

Ah, the story of her life—practically invisible. The reminder that his first sighting had been of her bikini-clad backside made her blush. Still didn’t change the facts. Aleen squared her shoulders. “I remember, but the Manor grounds are still closed.” Should she be nervous about being alone with this stranger, especially one who had no trouble ignoring posted rules?

“Sorry for the intrusion. Let me start over.” Smiling, he approached and extended his right hand. “My name’s Braden Williams.”

Aleen bit her lower lip, but accepted his hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Aleen MacRae.” At the moment their hands clasped, she felt warmth flooding her fingers. With a jerk, she released her grip, tingling sensations running along her skin. Immediately, the scent of fresh air and summer breezes wafted her way. Definitely a man of the sea. Just where I foretold your future lies. Whispers of her great-aunt Zsofika’s prophecy trickled through Aleen’s thoughts. The memory flamed heat into her cheeks.

“Wow.” Frowning, Braden flexed his hand and narrowed his gaze, then dropped it to his flexing fingers. “That was bizarre.”

“Static electricity, from all that wind yesterday.” A reasonable explanation. In the back of her mind, Aleen could hear Zsofika scoff, “Static schmatic. A connection like that is destiny.”

“Well…” His gaze searched her face. “Aleen—hey, that’s pretty, like the direction alee.” A wide smile exposed even teeth.

Her own smile dimmed. Like I’ve never heard that before. “Thanks.” This guy was not charming his way around the rules. “Sorry, but you’ll need to come back when the gardens are open for visitors. That’s Wednesdays through—”

“Yeah, I read the sign.” He gave a dismissive wave then turned to gaze back at the main house. “But I just needed five minutes to check out some dimensions and the lot layout.”

“So, you woke up this morning and just decided to start out your week by trespassing?” Before she could stop herself, she’d planted both hands on her hips. Maybe that sounded a bit too rude.

He flashed a smile, and his gaze skittered over her stance. “Minor detail. Besides, this is a public place.” He arced a hand between the structures. “Did you know this land was once owned by a pirate?”

Great, another treasure hunter. How many times had she heard a similar story? An entire mini-tourist trade flourished in downtown Newport, claiming ties to all things pirate. “Don’t tell me you’re working off one of those tourist maps.”

“Wrong, Daisy Girl. I’m not referring to any of those over-hyped locations.”

One point in his favor, even if he had used that horrible nickname. Her gaze narrowed. “The name’s Aleen.” If a pirate had once owned the land, then the Preservation Society would have commissioned a plaque with that proclamation and erected it on the front lawn.

Besides, she should know about that historical tidbit if it were true…and she didn’t.

“The famous pirate Thomas Tew was born right here in Newport. When he returned from one of his raids in the early 1690s, he was treated like a well-respected member of society.” Braden smoothed a hand over his hair that danced in the light breeze. “I’ve been studying some old family journals, and I’ve calculated this is the place where his house once stood.”

“You’re claiming to be related to Thomas Tew?” She cocked her head to one side and crossed her arms. Was this guy a phony, or had he even taken the time to check his facts? One way to find out. “Related through a son, or a daughter?”

A wide grin crinkled the skin at his eyes. “Trying to trip me up? Never said which family journals I’m studying. Actually, I’m a descendant of Paulsgrave Williams.”

The family name was one she recognized as being prominent on Block Island. The same place her Scottish ancestors had been offloaded from prison ships, meant to live in exile. The island was small, only seventeen square miles—maybe their ancestors had been acquainted. As a child she’d heard a slew of pirate stories, and since joining the museum staff, she’d glanced at most of the documents while performing her tasks. Now, she believed a good portion of the stories were greatly exaggerated to enhance the tourist trade that fed the local economy. “Although I wasn’t born here, I’m well aware of the area’s history. I happen to work at a local museum.”

“Then you of all people should know.” Shaking his head, he spread out his hands, palms up.

You of all people? Her backbone stiffened. “About treasure, gold coins, gems, doubloons…” She shrugged. “After all these years, not much hidden treasure has been uncovered. Does that mean those precious treasure maps must have gone down with the ships?”

His eyes lit and his grin widened. “Maps are overrated. Journals are better, sturdier than a single sheet of paper. Matching them with ocean charts of the area presents a whole new picture.” He tapped a finger on his temple. “That’s my advantage—I’ve cross-referenced the sources and I aim to locate the treasure.”

Worse than a treasure hunter. The guy was an adventurer, and those types were just not grounded in reality. This conversation was going nowhere. “Sorry, Mr. Williams, but I have to get to work. You’ll need to leave.”

“Name’s Braden.” He saluted her before sauntering toward the gate. “I promise to prove these are the facts, Aleen. See you later.”

If only that were true. She held in a sigh as she watched him saunter away, enjoying the sight of his easy-rolling gait. Remembering the zinging touch of their handshake, she recalled her great-aunt’s description of Fate’s Touch, a MacRae family legend that prophesized forces of nature came into play when a couple who were fated to be together touched. Executing a crisp turn, Aleen squared her shoulders and strode back to the house…she refused to get tangled up in Zsofika’s wild predictions.