Rapture's Tempest by Bobbi Smith

had to admit that there had been nothing else she could do. She was caught in a role from which there was no escape. To Jim she would always be Murphy, the cabin boy.
    Moving to the bed, she picked up his hastily discarded clothes and mechanically began to hang them up. He had looked so attractive in his evening attire. What womanwouldn’t want him? And Annabelle Morgan…Delight wondered if the woman really appreciated the man she was going to marry. Jealousy flared as Delight thought of Jim in a heated embrace with his fiancée.
    She finished straightening up his cabin without conscious thought and then stood looking helplessly around for something more to do. Jim had told her to take the night off, but there was nowhere else she wanted to be…nothing else she wanted to do than to be near him. The knock at the cabin door made her jump, and she turned guiltily as it opened.
    “Jim?” Ollie stuck his head inside. “Oh, Murphy, is he gone already?”
    “He just left about five minutes ago.” Her tone was less than enthusiastic.
    “Damn.” Ollie frowned and came into the room, closing the door behind him.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing…” He shrugged. “Listen, why don’t you come on up to my cabin and we can talk for a while?”
    She brightened at the thought of Ollie’s company. “I’d like that.” Being with him might just keep her mind off of Jim.
    “Well, get your coat. I’ll wait for you.”
    Delight hurried into her own room to grab her jacket and soon was following Ollie down the cold, windswept deck to his room. Once inside, they shed their coats and sat down in relaxed comfort. Delight had come to admire and respect this older man who was her friend, and she gave him a friendly grin as he produced a bottle of bourbon from his trunk of belongings.
    “Ever had a drink, Murphy?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
    “No…” Her eyes widened at the thought.
    “Well, it’s time you did. How old are you now?”
    “I’ll be fifteen in July,” she told the half truth easily.
    “That sounds old enough to me. Want to try?”
    She looked startled for a minute and then smiled broadly. “Why not?”
    Chuckling, he poured them both a liberal amount into two tumblers that he produced as if by magic, and then, handing her one, said, “Here you go. Drink up.” Ollie tilted his head back and downed his whiskey in one swallow. Then, leveling Murphy with a serious look, he encouraged him, saying, “Your turn.”
    Delight looked from the glass to her friend and then aped his method of drinking. She was rewarded by a violent coughing spasm, followed by tears and choking.
    “You should have warned me!” she protested when she could finally speak.
    “Every man has to learn his own way. If I had told you it’d burn all the way to the pit of your stomach, you probably wouldn’t have wanted to try. Right?”
    “I sure would have given it a second thought,” she grinned, holding out her glass for more. The burning had turned to a comforting warmth and she felt no fear of trying again. This new boldness she was discovering about herself pleased her, and she watched with interest as Ollie filled her glass another time with the golden liquid.
    “You’re sure about this refill?”
    “Why not? The worst is over, right?”
    “I like your style, boy. You’re not afraid of anything,” Ollie complimented.
    “Not anymore,” she bragged, the mellow effects of the whiskey making her feel confident.
    Forgetting herself for a moment, she sipped at the drink, her thoughts miles away with Jim and his soon-to-be fiancée.
    “Murphy, sometimes you’re too damned pretty to be a boy,” Ollie remarked sagely.
    His statement jerked her back to the present and she gave him a vicious frown.
    “Don’t worry. There’s nothing girlish about you.” Ollie laughed heartily at the youth’s reaction.
    “Thanks,” she growled in her best imitation of youthful embarrassment, not knowing whether to be upset or glad