Gwyneth Atlee by Against the Odds

curiously. “What the hell was that about?”
Gabe nodded. “I sort of hit him, sir.”
Seth shook his head disapprovingly. “Don’t give me that ‘sir’
routine. We’re way past that, Gabe. So, did you hit the pretentious bastard
on purpose?”
“I did.”
Seth stared at him, considering. “I thought you’d given up trying to
prove yourself against every jackass that has it coming.”
“It was more than that, Seth. He was troubling a lady passenger
who’d just done me a good turn.”
Seth’s eyebrows rose. “Not that little beauty you were admiring earlier?
That Rebel gal?”
Gabe shrugged the answer, ignoring the objection in his
friend’s tone.
“I’m not happy with it, Gabe, but I suppose that’s better than what
I’d imagined,” the captain said. “I figured you’d maybe run into those
Ohio boys.”
“I did. And I’m likely to again if I don’t get back upstairs.”
“Then by all means let’s go. You can tell me about it up there.”
“I want to check on her first. I think he may have hurt her,” Gabe
said. “I’ll explain what happened later.”
“Stay out of this, Gabe. You need to concentrate on keeping out of
trouble, getting home. Think logically. Or if you can’t do that, think
about that beefsteak you keep dreaming on and not some girl with
every reason in the world to hate you. Let’s go back upstairs.”
“Is that an order?”
Irritation flashed across Seth’s features. He shook his head. “Just
good advice. Why don’t you take it?”
“You’ve got this wrong. I’m not looking for trouble. I just need
to see her for a moment. I have to.” He wanted to explain what
she’d done tonight to prevent him from being pitched overboard
unconscious, but he had to keep it to himself. Otherwise, Seth’s
“good advice” would definitely become an order.
“You want me to go with you?” the captain finally offered.
“Three’s a crowd,” Gabe said.
Seth frowned. “Sometimes I think you’re hell-bent on getting
yourself killed. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been in another
fight, especially not over her. Use your head. Remember this girl’s a
Southerner. Expect little; trust less.”
As Seth headed for the boat’s stern and, presumably, the stairway,
Gabriel thought on his last statement: “Expect little; trust less.” Seth had told him those same words after he’d arrived at
Andersonville. As long as Gabe had remained there, that advice
made sense, maybe even helped keep him alive. But now he deliberately
cast aside the notion, the same way he’d discarded the vermininfested rags of his imprisonment.
He was a free man now, and the hellish war was over. Despite what
he had done before, what he had suffered, Gabe intended to start
expecting more. Maybe he could even risk a little trust.
But not on this Yvette. In the wake of everything that had happened,
he didn’t have trust enough to squander on a woman who had lied
about her name.
* * *
    Yvette sat quivering against the outer door. Before her, Lafitte tumbled
and leapt, as if trying to distract her from her frantic breathing and her
pulsebeats, which hammered like woodpeckers at both temples.
Instead of succeeding, the kitten’s antics annoyed her. Couldn’t the
rascal settle down and let her think of what to do?
    It was no use, anyway, she realized. She rubbed at her arms,
where Russell had exerted bruising pressure. How could she
concentrate when his furious face kept flashing in her vision?
How could she plan what to do while she worried that at any
moment he might find her?
    Still, snatches of ideas raced around her mind, most too swift to
capture and examine. She might abandon her room and hide somewhere, perhaps among the cargo she’d seen loaded in New Orleans
and Vicksburg. Or she could jump overboard with some piece of
wood to float her out of danger. Perhaps, instead, she ought to find
another Union officer and tell what she knew about Darien Russell
and his ring of Yankee thieves. But each idea