Hope Reborn Read Online Free PDF Page A

beard though. Maybe she should insist that any suitor not shave. What would kissing a man with a mustache be like? Certainly, she wouldn’t be finding out with the Captain.
    Within a perfectly good sleep vision, she doubled over in pain. An awful cramp racked her abdomen so badly she couldn’t straighten. The dream’s storyline fractured, and she curled in a fetal position.
    A knock drew her toward consciousness; she snuggled deeper into her pillows. A louder rap echoed through her room and settled right between her eyes.
    “Go away.”
    Her bedroom door opened. “May, are you sick?”
    She rolled over, scooted up in the bed, and pulled her knees up. Wrapping her arms around them, she glared at him. “Yes, get your pistol and put me out of my misery.”
    “I didn’t bring it. Want coffee?”
    A tear rolled down her cheek. “No.” A sob escaped. “He’s not the one.”
    “I could have told you that.”
    She held her hand out. He took it. “I love you, Chester.”
    “I know.”
    Coffee and breakfast in bed helped some, but the indisputable fact that she wasn’t pregnant and had no prospects weighed heavy on her soul. Was her fate to never know true romantic love, never wake up with a lawfully wedded husband curled beside her?
    A light rap sounded at her door. “Ma’am?”
    “What Chester? Did you find a gun? Surely the purser has one.”
    “No, I have something better. Can we come in?”
    We? Who did the scoundrel have with him? “No! Go away.”
    The door opened a bit. “Cover yourself, we’re coming in.”
    She pulled the satin spread to her neck. If he was going to act like this, she needed her own pistol. He stepped in then pointed at a spot in front of her bed. “Put it there.”
    Two stewards dressed in all white carried in a metal bath. The pair of burly men set it down then retreated without looking her direction. Right behind them, maids hurried in carrying pitchers of lovely hot water.
    Once they filled the tub with steamy liquid gold and the small army he had mustered vanished, she smiled. “Oh, Chester, you spoil me so.”
    He draped two fluffy towels over her bedside chair, nodded then backed out. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Though she really didn’t care to play with Orr that evening, she decided it wouldn’t be sporting not to give the man a chance to win his money back. Then again, his bossy behavior the night before had taken the fun out of it.
    She’d known all along he wasn’t the one, but giving him the opportunity to change her mind had been somewhat intriguing, even pleasurable. Now she only wanted to punish him, teach him that he had no business telling her what she could and could not do.
    Insist indeed. Who did the man think he was anyway?
    Certainly not the captain of her ship.
    Each night’s victories invigorated the next day’s ink slinging. Her story took on an edge that it had lacked. Then another problem raised its ugly head. Should she stop there and go back?
    The first half of the manuscript probably needed to be reworked. After a lovely breakfast in her room with Chester on the morning of her last full day at sea, she broached the subject.
    “Well, what do you think?”
    He refilled her coffee cup. “I think the ladies who read your stories will love it.”
    “You’re just saying that. What do you really think? Don’t try to spare my feelings.”
    “When have I ever done such?”
    “Tell me, chowderhead! What do you think?”
    He tapped the table several times then shrugged. “The last two chapters are far superior to the first twenty-four, but we’re docking tomorrow morning, and well, it would be nice to post this before we leave New Orleans.”
    “Well, you can forget that. I can’t wrap it up that quickly, and I do want this one to be –” She stopped herself. While she’d love to be done with it, not have the deadline hanging over her head, she would once again be without a contract, and that remained the only thing worse than having one.
    “Better?