Riveted by Meljean Brook Page A

didn’t truly mind. The more they spoke about him—or anything else—the more she wanted their conversation to extend beyond the minutes they had left. “I’m enjoying your company.
Very
much. If I’m not on duty, I intend to monopolize your time until you leave the ship.”
    That seemed to stun him. His gaze searched her face, as if he suspected a joke. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “I’d like that, too.”
    “Good. Now, tell me more about Dooley. At the port gates, when we passed by him, he was laughing at you. Why?”
    “Because I don’t often run to a woman’s rescue.”
    “Why did you?”
    “Why did
you
need to be rescued? Why were you at the gates?”
    “I’m looking for my sister, Källa. I use the personal advertisements in the newssheets to search for her. I was in Navarra paying for another season and checking for replies.”
    He paused, as if surprised that she’d shared that information. There was no reason not to, however. Everyone on board knew it.
    “Why did she leave?”
    “Because I lit a fire when I shouldn’t have.” And nearly exposed their village. But that memory shamed her too much; she didn’t want to share any more of it. “Dooley?”
    His mouth compressed with disappointment before he said, “He’s fond of dogs, but on our first expedition to the Yellow Rock Mountains, a bear killed his wolfhound. He hasn’t owned one since. Not a live one, at least.”
    “What other sort is there?”
    “Clockwork. They’re in the cargo hold now.”
    Incredible.
“Will you show me?”
    “I will.” His quick smile said that he was as pleased by her request as she was by his reply. “Now?”
    Regretfully, she shook her head. “I’m on watch soon.”
    “Tomorrow, then.” He leaned back and looked to the game table, his gaze thoughtful on Dooley. “He has a slow temper, but it’s something to see when it fires.”
    “Has it fired at you?”
    “A few times. Not often.”
    “What sparks it?”
    “Stupidity. He doesn’t mind the company of fools, except when they put others in danger. An abusive word against a fellow countryman will also do it, though if he’s of the same opinion of that person, it takes a miracle for him to admit that person was Irish. He’ll suggest misbreeding or claim it’s the fault of the Brits—those from Manhattan City, not England.”
    Some old hatred lingered there, begun when the English tried to flee the Horde centuries ago. Annika didn’t know the story of it, but Mary Chandler often blamed the Irish in the same way. “Does he really believe it?”
    “No. He just hates to be disappointed by the people he wants to like.”
    “Who doesn’t hate that?”
    “A cynic. They’d enjoy being right.” He met her eyes again, matched her smile. “Dooley isn’t a cynic by any stretch. And he’s honest, but not to a fault. If the truth hurts someone, he won’t say it unless necessary. I don’t know if he’d save himself with a lie—but I think he would save someone else with one.”
    “You haven’t had reason to find out?”
    “Luckily, no.”
    “Would you lie?” Annika would in a heartbeat. She didn’t enjoy lying, but she did it all the time. Lives depended on it.
    “Yes.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather be ashamed of a lie than ashamed for not helping someone. So would he. He can’t stomach it when the strong take advantage of the weak. I think it’s why he prefers expeditions to life in a city.”
    So that he wasn’t surrounded by people taking advantage of each other? “Animals do the same,” Annika pointed out. “Dogs, especially. They single out the weak prey and tear it apart.”
    “But he doesn’t expect animals to feel compassion, so he’s not disappointed by them.”
    Ah. That made more sense. And Kentewess had been quick to defend him. Since Dooley seemed like a good sort of man, that spoke well of Kentewess, too.
    “You like him very much, don’t you?”
    “I do.” He glanced toward the game table