Carolina had hoped she was through needing so much sleep; instead, it seemed that she needed more. Once sleep had been a welcome escape from pain, from boredom, from the sameness of her illness. But this sleep was different. It came in gentle contentment. It was late afternoon when she opened her eyes and saw him standing just out of range in the doorway.
“You’re always in the shadows,” she said quietly. “Where you don’t look quite real.”
“I am not real, lass. I fear none of this is. I should not be able to converse with you.”
“You’re not Rogan, are you?”
“No. I’m—I’m not quite sure who I am.”
“Does Rogan see you?”
“No. I think not—not yet.”
“Well, you’re very real to me.”
“I know, and I don’t like it, lass. This is all wrong—your presence here—alone—now. You’re part of a future to which I do not belong. And I will not watch you suffer again. Go back where you belong.”
“Do you really want me to go?”
“Do I want? I want—no, in truth I don’t wish you to go, but it’s best. There can be no purpose served by any of this. It was all settled long ago. Raising the schooner was a mistake. Trust me, Carolina. This isn’t right.”
“But you love the Scarlet Butterfly.”
“Yes—that, and more.”
And then he was gone, and she couldn’t be sure that she hadn’t dreamed him. Was the man Rogan? Something about him was different—his speech pattern, the way he kept his distance. He moved so softly. The stairs hadn’t even creaked as he’d left.
Trust him, he’d asked. He didn’t have to ask. For she knew that she already did. But he wanted her to go, and that was something she couldn’t do—not yet.
His shirt was still damp from the rain, so when she dressed she donned her own clothes. The tailored skirt and blouse hung loose on her body. She looked at them and frowned, trying to imagine why she’d ever bought anything so tacky. The answer was that she hadn’t. Her father had bought all her clothes, or he’d had someone else do it.
It hadn’t always been that way. There’d been a time, once, when she’d been able to do her own choosing—her last two years of college. She’d reveled in the freedom. After two years of attending a small nearby college while she’d lived at home, she’d transferred to a university in Dallas. For two years she’d lived in the dorm like an ordinary student, taking art classes from a renowned instructor. She’d even met someone, someone who had seemed content with her.
But that was as long as the dream lasted. Just before graduation she’d come down with a headache that wouldn’t go away. She’d thought it was the flu, or that maybe she was simply overworked, but it had intensified, until one day she had a seizure and awoke in the hospital. The rest was a blur of pain and disappointment.
After she’d been released from the hospital, Carolina had continued to live at home so that her doctors could monitor her condition on an outpatient basis. Void of energy and inspiration, she’d given up her art. She hadn’t picked up a sketch pad in over a year. She’d been sick and so very tired for so long. Who wanted to sketch hospitals and sick people?
But suddenly, on the Butterfly, she could feel a spark of creative yearning come to life again. The huge live oak trees with their branches curtsying to the ground, the cypress knees, the river, the birds. She knew there’d be birds when the rain stopped, for she’d heard them calling to one another. Yes, her fingers itched for a piece of charcoal and a sketch pad.
The weather had cleared while she’d slept. But clear weather was a mixed blessing. It meant she had to leave.
Bully was squawking loudly when she entered the empty galley. A pot of something that smelled wonderful was simmering on the gas stove. The sun was shining brightly, and the air smelled fresh and clean. Carolina stepped out on the deck and looked around. The setting sun cast pink and purple shadows across the marsh as the huge orange ball slid out of sight behind the trees. As if on command, a white egret rose from the marsh and swept regally across the river to the other side, disappearing into the tall grass.
Yes, there was something peaceful about this place, something welcoming. She wished she didn’t have to go.
Then she saw him, at the back of the boat, squatting down as he studied something intently. His body, caught by the sun’s rays, glowed in a golden hue. He was so sleek and strong, with the graceful moves of some jungle savage. The sight of him brought an odd quiver to her body, and she caught her breath. The tendons in her knees weakened and her blood seemed to stop, refusing to move through her veins. If she hadn’t leaned against the galley, she would have swayed.
She must have made a sound, because suddenly he looked up. Their gazes met, and she felt that same powerful feeling arc between them.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not as strong as I look.”
“You don’t look very strong.”
“I know. I look dreadful.”
He decided she was wrong. She didn’t look dreadful. She looked ethereal, delicate. Even in the stiff little skirt and simple blouse, she seemed wrapped in a dreamlike quality that prickled his nerve endings.
She returned his stare for a moment, then said, “It’s stopped raining.”
“Yes. The water has already started to recede.”
“I’ll be able to leave tomorrow.”
“Perhaps, but not in your car.”
“Why?”
“You won’t be able to drive it out of the mire. It was too light to withstand the current and it got washed off the road. The same thing might have happened to my truck, if you hadn’t forced me to leave it so far back.”
Sean knew he probably could have hooked a rope to the car and pulled it back on the road with his truck. But the wet ground might not provide enough traction, and for some reason he was reluctant to try.
“There’s more bad news,” he went on.
“Oh?” She didn’t tell him, but the news that she probably couldn’t leave yet didn’t dismay her.
“You left your windows open. The flood swept right through the car and took your suitcase with it.”
“And probably my purse as well. I must have left it behind.” Carolina looked down at her skirt and blouse and frowned. “I suppose it could have been worse. At least I still have this suit.”
“I think I liked you better in my shirt.”
Sean hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true. The skirt made her a real person, not his private dream. Now there was an awkward moment of silence, of awareness, of confusion.
“So did I,” she said softly, then added more hurriedly, “What are you doing?”
“I’m preparing my bed for tonight.” He lifted the end of a heavy white corded object that looked like some giant crocheted doily. “It’s a hammock.”
“You’re going to sleep out here? Won’t the mosquitoes eat you alive?”
“Nope, I have a mosquito net.” He attached the hammock to the far mast and walked it forward to hang it on a nail on the back wall of the galley. Next he took a fine, gauzy net and set it up. Suddenly the hammock was covered by a waterfall-like tent of webbing.
“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Carolina said. “May I try it?”
“Sure, come inside.” He lifted the net and made room for her as she slipped inside. “You pull the edge of the hammock out and sit in the middle.”
But Carolina was too light and the hemp was too strong. Every time she tried to lie down, the edges simply closed over her as if she were a fish caught inside a net.
“Here, let me sit beside you and hold it open.”
Sean sat. That was a mistake. He so outweighed her that she tumbled into his waiting arms as if it had all been planned.
“Whoa!”
They were both snarled in the swinging net.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to separate herself by twisting in Sean’s arms. But the more they struggled, the more entangled they became. Sean’s fingers inadvertently found Carolina’s ticklish spot. She jerked and began to laugh. It was as if her earlier dream of swinging in a hammock with a lover had come true. Sean was silent for a moment; then, as she began tickling him back, his laughter joined hers.
“All right, already,” she heard him say. “You’ve got me at your mercy. What is this, death by tickling?”
“You started it.”
Hands touched, legs grazed. The hammock turned, finally dumping them unceremoniously to the deck, his strong body landing first, cushioning the blow as she landed on top.
“Are you all right?” he asked from his position beneath her, his smile quickly replaced by a scowl.
“I think so. You don’t have to be ashamed of having fun. You have a nice laugh, Sean Rogan. I don’t think you laugh much.”
There was a breathlessness in her voice.
“I don’t have much to laugh about.”
“But of course you do. You have this wonderful boat, and the freedom to live any way you choose, to be—to be here. You can’t know what that means.”
Freedom was important to her. He didn’t yet know why, but he could understand. And she was right—the boat was important, not because it was his, but because it had been wounded and he’d given it life again. There was something wounded about Carolina Evans too.
“You’re here too,” he said, his eyes searching for something that he couldn’t name.
“Yes, I am. What happened to your face?” She couldn’t stop her fingertips from tracing the scar that ran from his hairline to his eyebrow and to the corner of his frowning eyes.
“I slipped through a hole on deck and caught a splinter as I fell.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Like hell.”
“You curse a lot, don’t you?”
“I guess you’re not used to hearing such language from the men you know.”
“No, the men I know are more … refined, they’d say. I’d call it more controlled. They don’t allow their emotions to show quite so strongly as you do.”
“What makes you think I let my emotions show?”
She allowed a playful smile to part her lips. He could see her small pink tongue and white teeth.
“Don’t you?” she asked, and gave a wiggle to her body, the body that was pressing against the part of his anatomy that continued to defy his control. “I’d say your emotions are very strong, and very obvious.”
With a growl, he came to his feet, bringing her with him. “Stop it, witch, or you’re liable to find out how strong I really am.”
“I think, Captain Rogan, that I might like discovering the extent of your strength.”
He held her arms, pushing her away as he took a deep, calming breath. “No, Carolina. And you’d do well not to tempt me. You don’t even know me. I’m not what you think. I“m not some safe haven in the storm. I hurt people; that’s why I prefer inanimate objects that don’t resist my control.”
“ ‘Hurt people’? I think you’re the one who’s been hurt. Now you’re a recluse, Rogan, a rough, quiet man who avoids people. But you’re not violent. Ida, the woman at the inn, told me how kind you are, how you contribute money to the town, how much they depend on you.”
“I’m just buying my privacy. That’s self-defense, not kindness. I can’t imagine why Ida told you anything. She knows better.” His moment of lightness was gone. “Let’s eat, before the stew burns.” He deftly turned her around and pushed her toward the galley.
Carolina didn’t think she was hungry, but after she tasted the first sip she realized how wrong she was. For the first time in a long time, she relished the food she was eating.
“You know I can’t take your bed,” she said.
“Well, I suppose you could share it with me.”
She studied him carefully. “I think I would, but I don’t believe you really mean that.”
“You’re right, Carolina Evans. So I’m going to sleep on deck. But meanwhile we’re going to talk. You know that I’m an honorable hermit with money. I think it’s time I knew about you. Tell me your story.”
He was right. She owed him the truth. If, after hearing it, he dumped her in the river, it was probably what she deserved. Lord knew she’d thought about jumping in enough times herself.
“All right. As you already know, I’ve been ill. I was always small, frail, but they never found anything wrong. If I had a cold, it turned into pneumonia. If I skinned my knee, it got infected. I missed a lot of school as a child.”
“So, you weren’t strong. That happens. Your mother must have worried about you.”
“My mother died when I was six. Afterward my father kept me pretty close. If I didn’t come in contact with sick children, I might stay healthy, was his philosophy. There were nurses, housekeepers, tutors. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I began to seriously question my isolation.”
“What was wrong with you?”
“There was nothing wrong. I finally figured it out and forced my father to agree. At last he relented and said that I could attend college, so long as it was the local one and I lived at home. And I did, for over two years. Then I turned rebel. I ran away.”
“I can understand that. Nobody wants to be totally controlled. But even I can tell that you aren’t very strong.”
“No, you don’t understand. I rebelled because I didn’t believe that I was really sick when I was growing up, no more than any other child. He’d lied to me—out of fear, I think. My mother was a weak woman with many problems, and after she died he thought I should be protected.”
“So you grew up and ran away. Why?”
“I wanted to find my own way, make a life for myself. He refused to let me go. But I had my own money, the interest on a trust fund from my mother. I applied to Southern Methodist University, and when I was accepted, I simply packed my bags, wrote a note for my father, and left. The next day he was in Dallas trying to take me home.”
“What is your father, a tyrant?”
“No, not really. He’s just convinced that he’s right, like most attorneys who always win.”
“An attorney? Damn! I’m convinced that the worst people on the face of the earth are lawyers.”
“Oh? Do you have someone in your family who’s an attorney?”
“Yes, me.”
It was Carolina’s turn to groan. Of all the professions in the world, her sea captain would have to be an attorney, like her father. But that was where the similarities ended. Her father would never be caught dead in a pair of worn shorts on a boat moored in the middle of a marsh. No, their professions might be the same, but that was all.
“Go on,” Rogan said, filling their glasses with more ice and sweet tea. “You ran away from home and went to college. What was wrong with that? Did you run off with a guy?”
“No.”
“It was toward the end of my senior year when I got into trouble. I passed out, and my friend called my father, who accused him of not taking care of me—as he’d been paid to do. This time I had to go home.”
“Your father paid someone to look after you, and he got you in trouble? No wonder you didn’t want to marry him.”
Carolina took a big sip of tea as she considered his question. Then she began to laugh. “Marry him? You thought—?” She laughed again, then turned serious. “No, Rogan, this time I really was sick. My passing out started with a seizure. All those years, when Father told me I was too sick to live a normal life, I wasn’t. Then, when I finally broke away, all his predictions came true.”
“How? What happened?”
He looked at her closely, touching the feathery ends of her short hair, and lifted his eyebrows. “Your head really has been shaved.” His fingertips found the scar at the base of her skull and paused.
“No—well, yes, I had surgery. But that wasn’t the only reason I lost my hair. They finally found out that I had a kind of tumor, a cyst on my pituitary gland that messed up my thyroid, my hormones, all my controls. First they operated. Then came the radiation therapy.”
“And? Are you all right now?” He knew his voice was harsh, that he was ordering her to say she was all right. As he waited, he realized that he had no right to be angry or to care. But he did, and that shocked him.
“They think so, with medication,” she whispered. “I’ll probably never be more than five feet two inches tall. And if I weigh more than a hundred pounds, I’ll be overweight. But otherwise, I’ll probably be fine.”
“Damn!”
“Damn!” the parrot repeated. Somewhere in the cabin below there was a loud thump, and the ship rocked as if a barrel had rolled from one side of it to the other.
“There it goes again,” Sean said, striding out of the galley and into the cabin below. “Poltergeists.”
Carolina sat in the galley, the small lamp casting long shadows across the small room. She imagined her great-grandmother six times removed, sitting in the same galley with Jacob. She didn’t know how Sean would feel when he learned that over a hundred years earlier, their ancestors must have been lovers. Did that mean she and Rogan were related? Then she decided it didn’t matter.
Carolina knew little about the first Carolina because she’d died shortly after her child was born. To their child, Jacob had been a stern, unbending man. The journals had clearly shown him to be dictatorial and possessive—something, she’d decided, like her own father.
“Nothing down there. There never is,” Rogan said as he entered the galley once more. “Sounds, movement, tobacco smoke—I don’t know.”
“Tobacco smoke? Have you given any thought to the possibility that there might be somebody here, watching?”
Everything went still. The ship seemed to pause in mid-rock. Bully hushed. For a moment neither Sean nor Carolina could hear the other breathe.
“There’s nobody along this river for ten miles, other than Harry upstream who brings me fish and old Lucy who sends me fried pies. Nobody is watching us, I’m certain!”
This time the boat rocked, and Bully cried out in alarm.
“And furthermore, I think it’s time that you told me the real truth. Why are you here?”
“There is no other reason, at least not one I’m sure of, Rogan. During the time I was sick I discovered the journal in my father’s library. I became fascinated with it. My father explained that my mother had read the journal and that after learning Carolina was an ancestor, she’d named me for her. I can’t explain why I came, but I think maybe it was because I really was sent for.”
Sean couldn’t conceal his amazement. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” When she nodded, he asked, “By whom and for what reason?”
“I don’t know. Why did you come here? Why did you raise the ship? How did we come to be together, here, in this time? Almost a hundred and fifty years later, Rogan and Carolina together again?”
“I’m not buying that, Goldilocks. You’re here, but not for long. I don’t know anything about Jacob Rogan and don’t want to. The Rogans have spent the best parts of their lives reliving past glories and trying to capture new ones. I put that behind me two years ago. I’m here, and I’m living my life in this minute. I don’t have much use for fate. I don’t believe in the Ouija board, and fortune-tellers are only for the fanciful who want an excuse for failure. I’ll take care of me and my future, and I’ll do it alone.”
He looked so pained, so desperate. She understood his need for freedom. “I know; I’ll be leaving soon. I’m sorry I intruded.”
“You’re not the complication, Goldilocks. The bad guys are my loving family; and the power players, the politicians, the crooks are the complications. Now I’ve got the State of Georgia breathing down my back, claiming the Butterfly. And you didn’t have a thing to do with that.”
“I heard you tell Harry about their claim. How can they do that?”
“It seems there is a law about antiquities belonging to the state.”
“But the Scarlet Butterfly is yours.”
“I know, but without a bill of sale I really can’t prove it, and there’s a law that says any object found in navigable waters legally belongs to the state. And the St. Marys River is navigable.”
“But you said this is a lake.”
“A saltwater lake, fed by both the river and the Atlantic, which makes it part of Georgia.”
“Can’t you fight it?”
“Oh, I intend to, but I’m told that I’m not likely to win.”
“Oh, Rogan, I’m so sorry. I wish I could help. You’re welcome to my records. Carolina’s daughter’s journal refers to her father, Jacob, and the Butterfly.”
“You really have a journal that says Jacob Rogan owned the Scarlet Butterfly?”
“Not exactly. It just refers to the boat and the captain sailing the Butterfly. That ought to mean something.” Carolina thought about the journal for a moment and began to smile. “Hey, that has to be the answer—why I’m here. It really is fate. I was meant to come here, to bring you the journal.”
Rogan shook his head. He didn’t believe in fate. A man made his own choices and set his own course of action. Like his brother had said, the woman was a fruitcake. Well, not a fruitcake, maybe just a disillusioned child who needed magic in her life. And, he decided, she was leaving the next day. He had to stop her fantasy before it became contagious.
“Oh, Rogan. I just remembered. The journal was in my suitcase.”
“And your suitcase is gone. So much for your being my angel of mercy.”
“But we can find it. It’s red, and it ought to be easily seen.”
“That suitcase could be caught in the swamp, the marsh, or have already washed out into the Atlantic. Thanks, but I doubt it would have helped anyway.”
“Oh, Rogan, I’m so sorry.”
He was sorry too. And if he didn’t get his mind on something else, they’d be comforting each other in a way that would not be smart. She was too trusting, and his newly discovered spot of compassion was still clinging desperately to life.
“There is a shower on the side of the galley, if you’d like to take a bath, Carolina. I’ll get you something to sleep in. Then I suggest you turn in. Tomorrow we’ll go into town and make arrangements to have your car towed.”
His voice was gruff again. She’d come to realize that this stern manner appeared anytime his emotions were touched. She understood. She’d found a way or two to hide her own over the years.
“A shower? A real shower?”
“Yes. It’s a crude affair, nothing more than a tub of rainwater with a pully release system, but it works. You clear the table, and I’ll set up the tub for you to stand in.”
It was a shower, and it was crude. But Carolina washed her hair and her underclothes. Later, dressed in one of Rogan’s oversized T-shirts, she felt better than she had in two days.
Rogan was busy in the galley when she came to say good night. He appeared determined not to look at her, and she was glad. The boat seemed small and the space confining. He didn’t have to say so for her to know that he was feeling the constriction too.
“Are you sure about the hammock?” she asked.
“I’m sure. I often sleep on deck. It’s cooler.”
She didn’t know how he’d react, but she padded barefoot to his side, instinctively stretched up and kissed him on the cheek.
“Then I won’t argue, Captain. I’ll just say good night. And thank you for everything. I don’t want to be a burden to you. I like you—even if you are a lawyer.”
“Carolina?” His voice stopped her at the cabin door. “What did you study in school?”
“Art. I wanted to paint all the beautiful things in the world. Then I found out the world wasn’t so beautiful.”
“I should have known.”
“And, Rogan, I think you ought to know that the first Carolina was an artist too. I realize this will sound unimportant to you, but Jacob didn’t want her on board either.”
“That’s the trouble, Carolina,” he said, just under his breath. “I think I do.”
• • •
The next morning the dock and the bank beyond were exposed by the receding water. After breakfast, Rogan offered to drive Carolina into town. He seemed preoccupied and cross. Of course she had to go; she’d never called her father. But she didn’t want to leave. As if in agreement with her, the soggy ground sucked at her sandals as she walked along behind Rogan.
“We’ll stop at Ida’s and have a real breakfast,” Rogan said. “Then you can pick up something more practical to wear.”
“Clothes?” Carolina started.
“You’ll need a swimsuit, some shorts, and maybe a bright-colored dress, for a special occasion.”
“A special occasion?”
“Well, you never know what fate might have arranged for you, Goldilocks.”
It wasn’t what fate had arranged that interested her so much as what Rogan was arranging.
The marsh was alive with sound. Birds and insects were in constant movement through the grasses and tree limbs. Here and there, caught in the brush, were the ugly signs of civilization; paper cups, soft-drink cans, and wrappers. Those within reaching distance Rogan retrieved. He’d brought along a plastic bag for that purpose.
“The trappings of civilization,” Carolina commented. “I think I like the jungle better. Natural, without refinement.”
“Sure, I can tell you’d enjoy living out here without hot water, without restaurants, without a cook.”
“Please don’t remind me of those eggs,” she said brightly. “But I really love it.” She did. There was something so free and easy about the boat and the river, though she couldn’t expect him to believe she felt this way. “Oh, there’s a path. Where does it go?” “To the house.”
“There’s a real house out here?”
“What’s left of it. Old Jacob must have gotten tired of living on board at some time, or maybe it was his descendants. At any rate, one of the Rogans built a very grand house overlooking the water.”
“Can I see it?”
“Not now. It’s falling down,” he snapped, pressing on down the road. “Besides, we need to get into town.”
“Oh, I see.” He didn’t want to share the house with her, even for a moment. She didn’t understand, but she could accept that. So far she’d inserted herself into his life freely, with little regard for his privacy. She’d done more than she’d ever expected to do when she left Texas. She’d found the Scarlet Butterfly. And she’d found her Rogan.
My Rogan. There was a nice sound to the words. She hurried to catch up with him. This morning he was wearing crisp khaki trousers and a blue shirt with only a few wrinkles. On his feet were a pair of scruffy running shoes. Once again his hair was pulled neatly back and caught with a rubber band.
With a little imagination she could see him in a captain’s navy pea coat, dark-colored trousers, and shoes. He’d be wearing a beard, or possibly just a mustache. He would have—in another life. And her? She couldn’t quite get a picture of what she might be wearing; then she realized with a start that it might be because she wasn’t there at all.
“There. You can see the problem.” His voice broke through her thoughts. She struggled to focus on what he was saying, then caught sight of the red car. It was resting at a crazy angle against a tree in a swampy area about ten feet off the road. “Yes, I can see. It’s a good thing that I took insurance on the rental.”
“Did you pay for it with a credit card?”
“Yes, it’s paid in advance.”
“Then you didn’t need insurance. That’s covered by your card.”
“Oh, well, I don’t suppose it matters.” I’m not paying for it, she could have said. All the cards were in her father’s name. “At least your truck isn’t hurt.”
“No, thank goodness for big tires.”
They reached the battered black truck farther up the road, and Rogan opened the door. She could see where the waterline fell, just under the edge of the fender. The engine cranked easily, and with great skill Rogan backed up the vehicle until he came to a place where he could turn around and head toward town.
“I wish we could travel on the river,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”
“So do I. But I like the marsh, too, and the moss. It’s so lush and green, so different from Houston where I grew up. Is St. Marys very old?”
“Dating back to Oglethorpe and the first settlers, somewhere around 1733.”
“Did a Rogan come along with Oglethorpe?”
“Probably not. They claim to have migrated to Georgia from Charleston, but my guess is that they were residing in some English prison when they accepted the invitation to come here.”
Maybe it was Sean’s imagination, but Carolina’s face seemed to have more color in it this morning. Or maybe it was just the light of interest in her eyes. If he could get her out of that prim white blouse, he reflected, and into some bright clothes, she’d look … beautiful and alive.
That thought sent a jab of sensation down his leg from the point where they touched, and he inadvertently gave the truck a spurt of gas before he turned his mind to the question she was asking.
“What on earth did the early settlers do here? I can’t see them growing cotton on this land, and I thought cotton was king.”
“They grew cotton farther inland. Along the river it was rice. And timber. There were plenty of vessels sailing upriver from the town of St. Marys then. But St. Marys is the only one of the river towns to survive.”
Sean drove slowly as they came into town, following the main street until it dead-ended into the docks by the river.
There were shrimp boats and pleasure craft anchored at the docks. She could see warehouses and, farther down, a small ferryboat.
“That’s the Cumberland Queen,” Sean said. “It takes visitors over to Cumberland Island. Shall we shop first, or go to Ida’s for breakfast?”
“Shop,” she said, “if you’re not too hungry. Then maybe an early lunch. Oh! Oh, dear!”
“What’s wrong?”
When they’d started out, Carolina hadn’t considered precisely what buying new clothes would mean. Now it occurred to her that not only had her suitcase washed away, but so had her purse, with her credit cards and her money.
“I’m afraid that I have a small problem, Rogan: I have no money. Remember, my purse was in the car.” What she had chosen to ignore was that her medication was also in the purse. Having the prescription refilled would mean contacting her doctor, and that would give her location away. Going without medication for a few days would probably do her no great damage, for the thyroid replacement lasted for as long as thirty days. Still, she’d have to make arrangements to get more medication soon or run a real risk of unpleasant side effects.
But not yet. She’d take a chance. Staying with Rogan for a few days was worth it.
Rogan drummed his fingers against the center of the steering wheel. “Tell you what: I’ll be glad to make you a loan. Where would you like to go to shop?”
“Well, Ida told me there was a warehouse that has been converted into small shops and boutiques. Have you been there?”
“Nope. The hardware store and the grocery store are the extent of my shopping excursions here. But I think I know the building.”
It soon became apparent that while Rogan professed to no great knowledge of shopping, he had a keen eye for women’s clothing. She’d never been shopping with anyone who let her make her own choices. Still, his enthusiasm was hard to resist, and when they were done she’d followed his wishes almost completely.
Finally, Rogan left Carolina as she was changing in to one of her new dresses. He returned shortly carrying a parcel of his own. Carolina was wearing a bright blue sundress with matching shoes. She looked like sunshine, and a smile of approval replaced Rogan’s customary frown.
They walked back along the docks, listening to the squawking gulls, watching the tourists snapping pictures, and buying souvenirs. Rogan bought her a pair of funky earrings that clamped on the side of her ear and sounded like musical bells when she moved her head. Time passed so pleasantly that she protested when Rogan said that it was lunchtime and she needed to rest. They headed back to the truck and Ridgeway Inn, where Ida welcomed them warmly.
“Come inside. Carolina, I was worried about you when that storm blew in and you didn’t come back. Then Harry turned up and said you were with Rogan. And you”—she hugged Rogan and gave him a sharp look—“are you behaving yourself?”
“After the glowing lies you gave Carolina about my character, why would you ask such a question, Ida?”
“Because I’ve seen the wild beast hidden in those eyes, and you weren’t expecting Beauty here to drop in. I’m glad to see you’re getting along. I wasn’t sure that the sheriff hadn’t arrested you.”
“Oh, you heard about the boat?”
“Boat? No. I heard about Carolina’s father. He’s burning up the telephone lines between here and Texas.”
“Father? How did he find me? I intended to call him, but the storm isolated us and Mr. Rogan didn’t have a phone. He didn’t know where I was going. I even bought my ticket under an assumed name.”
Rogan thought for a minute, then turned his gaze to face Carolina. “How’d you pay for the ticket, Goldilocks?”
“With cash. I didn’t want him to trace me too quickly.”
“And the rental car?”
“Oh, no. The charge card. They wouldn’t let me take it without a charge card number. Now he’ll come after me.”
“So? You’re old enough to make your own decisions. If you don’t want to go home, tell him.”
“I will. Right after lunch,” she added with more confidence. “I’ll call him. Right now, I’m starved.”
Ida showed them to a table overlooking the river. “Just sit right here and enjoy the sunshine. You look like you could use some, and some good food too. I’ll bring it.”
They sat for a long time, just watching the dark water flowing by the open veranda. Between the porch and the water was a gentle slope that showed the evidence of a rising river’s ravages.
“It’s so peaceful here, Rogan. I can understand why Jacob and Carolina came here.”
“You’re such a romantic, Goldilocks, such an optimist.”
“And you, Rogan, what are you? Why’d you turn your back on your family?”
“Who told you about my family?”
“Nobody, at least nobody but you. Your brother refused to tell me anything more than what was in the article. It said that your family has been in south Georgia for a hundred years. They once owned most of this corner of the state. Before the War Between the States they were into farming and shipping. Do you really own newspapers and television stations?”
“Not anymore. All I own is one 1850’s schooner and a hundred acres on the river. The rest belongs to two brothers and three sisters.”
“But the article said your family is worth millions.”
“Yep. Although we’ve tried our damnedest to lose it over the years, it kept on expanding.”
“You were the chairman of the board. And you just walked away?”
“Wrong. I didn’t walk. I ran, as hard as I could.”
“Why would you do that? Don’t you care about your family?”
“Let’s just say that it’s better if I leave them all alone. They like it that way, and so do I.”
“But what will you do with the rest of your life?”
“Just what I’ve been doing—nothing. Why does a person have to do something? I’m restoring my boat. When I’m finished, I’ll start on the house. I like working with my hands, by myself, without anybody to answer to or have to explain to.”
Carolina was surprised at his honesty, and touched. His show of indifference was convincing, but not totally. What had happened to make this strong man walk away from his responsibilities? Why did he hurt? And why was she so tuned in to his pain?
“But don’t you get lonely?”
“Sure. That’s why I bought the bird.”
“A bird isn’t exactly what I meant.”
“Oh, you mean a woman. That hasn’t been a problem. Up to now.” He paused as their food arrived. “Up to now, Ida has satisfied all my physical needs, haven’t you, darling?” He took the plate she held and gave her a big wink.
“Watch it, Sean. If Harry hears you say that, you’re liable to be in big trouble. You know how jealous he gets.”
Carolina recalled the frail-looking old man in the boat and looked at Rogan. She remembered an old musical with Frank Sinatra. He’d sung a song about an ant who had high hopes about felling a huge rubber tree plant. She smiled.
“That isn’t exactly what I meant, Rogan. I’ve been by myself, and it’s lonely. There’s a whole world out there. Don’t you even want to see it?”
“One hotel room is pretty much like another. I guess I’ve never spent much time looking. I gave up on new places—and I like it here. I like knowing that tomorrow morning I’ll wake up on my boat, look out and see the same shoreline, hear the same sounds, and do whatever I choose. There’s a whole world out there all right, and you’re welcome to it. The world will swallow you up if you’re not careful.”
“Sometimes staying in one place can destroy you too.”
“I hope not, because I don’t ever intend to leave.”
“I suppose everyone has different needs,” Carolina said softly. “I’m sorry that you’ve been treated badly.”
“Me? Hell, I’m not the one running around with a shaved head and hiding from her father.”
“No, your hair is very long, but you’re hiding from your family. Maybe we’re not so different.”
They didn’t talk for a while as they concentrated on their food. There were bowls of thick homemade vegetable soup and buttered corn bread, followed by a crusty little square pastry filled with shrimp and smothered in a piquant sauce. They drank more sweet iced tea with the meal. Piping chicory coffee and apple pie came afterward.
“Wow. If Ida feeds you like that all the time, I can see why you’re so big.” Carolina pushed the dessert plate back and laid her fork across the edge.
Rogan simply looked at her, all pretense at conversation eliminated by the intensity of his gaze. With his napkin, he reached out to wipe a sliver of pie crust from her upper lip. But the napkin fell to the table, and it was his finger that rimmed her lip, setting off a shiver that traveled from her mouth to his hand and up his arm.
“What—what are you going to do now, Goldilocks?”
“I don’t know. I’m not going back to Houston. I’ve spent as much time being sick as I intend to. I have to find a place where I can decide what I want to do with the rest of my life.”
“What about St. Marys? The people here are wonderful. They’ll take you in and make you one of them and not ask a thing in return. My brother the doctor has an office here. I don’t much like him as a relative, but as a doctor, he’s top of the line.”
“I do like it here. I may look around. But first I ought to call a garage to pull the car out of the marsh. I don’t even know if it can still be driven.”
“I doubt that it can. There’s a branch of that rental company here in town. We’ll call them before we go back.”
She thought she nodded her agreement, but she couldn’t be sure. His fingertips were still resting on her face, cupping her chin possessively, as if he intended to lean forward and whisper in her ear.
“Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t impose on your hospitality any longer. I mean I wanted to see the Butterfly, and I have. But I think I’ll see about finding a place in town to stay.”
“I don’t make an offer unless I mean it, Goldilocks. I’d like to you to stay.”
She gazed at him, stunned. “You would? Then I’ll accept. Thank you.”
He hadn’t intended to say that. He’d been trying to come up with ways to get her off the boat and out of his life. But the invitation had just popped out, and he realized with surprise that he meant it. Having Carolina on the Butterfly might not be fate, as she believed, but it was nice, very nice.
There was a commotion inside the inn, and voices; then loud steps across the polished wood floor. “There you are, Carolina. Are you all right?”
A tall, foreboding man reached the table, caught Sean’s hand, and jerked it away from Carolina’s face.
“Father,” she said with a gasp, feeling her heart shrivel up inside. “What are you doing here?”