A Light For My Love by Alexis Harrington Page A

"Damn."
    China shared Dalton's regret. Somewhere, at
this moment, or perhaps tomorrow, a woman—his mother, his sister,
maybe a sweetheart or a wife—would be watching the road for that
young man. They wouldn't know what had happened to him, only that
he didn't come home. It might be years before he could make his way
back. It might be never.
    "I know you did your best," she said.
"There's only you doing this work. You can't be everywhere at
once."
    He looked at the wall, as though reliving the
scene at the Salty Dog. Frustration laced his words. "Except I was
there. Right there. I could have saved him." He held out an open
hand, then closed it into a fist. "He just slipped away from
me."
    "But Dalton, if you could have saved him, you
would have," she reasoned. "It wasn't possible this time. It's not
as though you didn't try."
    He glanced back at her and finally nodded
with weary acceptance. "I know you're right. But, God, it gets to
me sometimes. If people would just listen, if the captains would
stop doing business with those scurvy sons of bi— I mean those
devils—" Dalton often struggled with his colorful vocabulary when
he talked to China—"crimping would end next week." He let out a
sigh, then almost magically his moment of discouragement
disappeared and he was all business again. "Well, I know you didn't
send for me to listen to this. What's the matter?"
    China folded her hands in her lap so tightly
her knuckles turned white. She took a deep breath and confessed
what she'd revealed to Jake.
    "I'm sorry, Dalton," China said. "I know I
shouldn't have told Jake about this, but he saw us out here and,
well, he insinuated that you and I—that we—" She came to an
embarrassed halt, unable to repeat what Jake had meant. Glancing at
the window shade, she let her forefinger run along the sill. "He
thought you and I were meeting for a rendezvous." Her face burned
with a blush. She hoped he wouldn't realize how easily she'd given
away their secret. She lifted her eyes to meet his. "I know I
should have let him believe whatever he wanted and kept quiet about
this."
    Dalton tipped his chair back against the
plain pine wall and stared at her, saying nothing, his expression
deadly serious. She saw the effect of her words written on his
face, and she quailed. A crease formed between his brows.
    If only he'd speak, she thought.
    "Myself, I've never cared what people say
about me," he said slowly. "I guess I can't expect you to let
someone insult your reputation for the league. But then, Chastaine
must not be much of a man if he talks to a lady that way,
especially when he's sleeping under her roof." He let the chair
drop to the floor. "I take it he's not a friend to our cause."
    China released the breath she'd held.
Tightening her wool shawl against the damp chill in the unheated
room, she shook her head. "Not really. He admits that crimping
isn't a good practice, but he says it's necessary."
    "If he's not a friend, then he's an enemy."
Dalton saw everything as black or white. With him there were no
gray areas, no vacillation. He drummed his fingers on the table,
apparently pondering the possible consequences of the situation.
"He could make trouble for us. This," he said, gesturing at the
apartment, "isn't safe to use anymore. But I suppose it had to end
sometime."
    "Are you any closer to finding a good spot
for a boardinghouse?"
    "Maybe. About seven blocks over, there's a
big, run-down place. The old man who owned it died years ago, and
it's been standing empty all this time. The owner's son would
rather have sold the house—it needs more work than he wants to pay
for. But he said he'd let us have it for cheap rent if we'll fix it
up. So I signed the lease." Dalton shrugged. "The tricky part is
raising enough money for the repairs. It's in pretty bad
shape."
    Money, China thought. Everything, it seemed,
always came back to money. "I wish I could spare something, but I
just don't have it."
    He waved away the suggestion and