Chapter 4

Watch That First Step

Woody plumped the pillows behind his shoulders and reached for the book on the night stand. Jordan slid into bed beside him as he was opening to the last dog-eared page. Ask him two weeks ago if he'd spend an unnaturally large portion of his days looking forward to these quiet moments and he would have laughed and said that tall tales were best served over Guinness and darts. Not in the bedroom. What a difference a fortnight could make. Then again it wasn't all that long ago he would have laughed at the idea of Jordan being in his bed in first place.

"Let's see, we left Young Cavanaugh up to her "arse" in trouble and asking Hoyt to help her out..."

"You mean blackmailing him because he force her hand when he couldn't keep his to himself, the letch."

"Letch...?"

"Philanderer, pervert, debaucher...pedophiliac..."

"Don't you think you're being a little harsh?"

"Okay, a little, but for all Hoyt knew he was putting the moves on a kid with a shapely... arse."

"Putting the moves on her?" Woody argued. "He slapped her on the butt as an investigative tool. If he ended up missing a tooth or two he'd know Cavanaugh was indeed hiding something. But she slapped him like a girl...and he had his answer."

"Leaving her vulnerable enough to blackmail him...the letch."

Woody smiled warmly and set the book down between them. In gesture both absent and intimate, he trailed his fingers over the tips of her hair wrapping one of the long curls around his index finger. "He liked what he saw very much. She was gorgeous, one of those beautiful women that could have the choice of any man she wanted and probably did. He'd be a liar or a eunuch to say he was immune, even through her...disguise."

His hand didn't stop there and soon his fingers tangled around the back of her neck. He was going to kiss her, but before he could, Jordan treated him to her sexist smile. "If you keep that up and the chapter's going to be a short one tonight..."

"Then maybe we ought to save it for next time..." he purred against the corner of her jaw.

With him distracted, Jordan snatched the book and flipped open the pages. "Yeah ...right," she countered wickedly.

"Wait. Give that back."

"It's my turn to read," Jordan smiled. "Why should you get to have all the fun?"

"You have fun too," he said, tracing the collar of her camisole top with his finger tip. "...and more than once if I can hit that right spot."

"Hmmm," She rolled her eyes, slapping his hand away. "Well, you left Young Cavanaugh compromised, resorting to blackmail, and if I'm not mistaken, very empty handed too."

"Face the facts, Jordan, Woody said flopping back on his pillows. "She's in over her head and needs help to find Garret."

"That's your version. Let ME see if I can put my own twist on the story of the dread pirate Townsend."

"Why do I have a feeling Hoyt's not going to like this?" he conceded with a sigh.

"O' ye of little faith. Now where we? Oh, yeah..."


June the tenth, year of our Lord 1720.

We have requested all hands on deck and all sheets to be raised. Praise be on The Highest that favorable winds are guiding us to our port-of-call, for they are also ushering in what looks to be a formidable weather system to our aft. The Bullet 'tis living up to her glorious name by flying through the seas as if she had wings. 'Tis as if the bloody barnacles themselves be sucking in their bellies in effort to secure safe port before the coming blow. O' the exhilaration reminds us of why we answered the seductive siren's call of the sea in the first place!


"Look alive mateys!" Nigel called to his crew. "Mr. Winslow! Fetch Master Cavanaugh. We need him aloft. Tortuga should be within our sights by midday. We need the lad's keen eyes to navigate us around Neptune's bloody reefs before they can cut The Bullet the shreds."

"Jordan!" Peter yelled. "The captain wants you on lookout!"

"Aye-aye," she shouted back.

Woody looked up from his position manning the starboard rigging to hear Jordan heed the call. He stopped her before she could get two steps past him.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed. "It's too dangerous up there for a woma..."

"Shut-up before you get the both of us in trouble," she snapped before the word could escape his mouth. "Besides, I've been climbing that mast for weeks now."

"But not at full sail," Woody said looking around the deck. "The lines, the cloth, the speed...you're not equipped to handle it."

"When you say the word equipped I'm assuming you mean because I don't have a dick." she shot back.

"If you want to put it that crudely, yes," he bit out, his grip on her wrist still firm. "Just go back to the bow; I'll be the skipper's lookout."

"Mister Hoyt!" Nigel bellowed irritably from his spot on deck. "Would you please unhand our Young Master Cavanaugh so he can get on with it?"

"Cap'n, I'll take his watch...sir." Woody called back. "Mr. Cavanaugh isn't experienced enough in these conditions."

"Nonsense. Master Cavanaugh is highly adaptable and has our finest eyes."

Woody looked in to Jordan honey warm eyes. They were the finest on this Godforsaken ship, but not for the reasons the captain was referring. The wind pressed her veil close to her skin, outlining the shape of her jaw, reminding him of the soft flawless skin underneath it. He felt a kick of apprehension in his gut.

"Let me go," she hissed.

Woody smiled tightly, torn between disregarding the captain's orders and facing whatever consequences later and unmasking her for the whole ship to see. It was the kind of smile you gave when you were anything but pleased. He muttered something undistinguishable under his breath and let her go.

"Aye, Cap'n," he shouted.

"Make haste, Master Cavanaugh," Nigel said as Jordan scrambled up the line of the main mast, "before Mr. Hoyt forgets his place again."

Woody held his breath as Jordan climbed the rigging. He knew one false snap of the sails and she could be thrown down onto the deck like a child's rag doll. He said a little prayer to a God he'd given up on for having overlooked him the last few years.


Meanwhile, Jordan was saying a few prayers of her own. She's never been a fan of heights. She'd persuaded herself to tolerant of the crow's nest because of the freedoms it afforded her. The distance between the perch and the decks gave her a marginal amount of privacy and space from the crew. After awhile, even the climb became easier.

On the other hand, this particular climb bordered on the ridiculous. The winds being kicked up by the approaching storm were whipped through the extra sheets producing gusts that almost took her breath away. Maybe she should have let Hoyt take the watch after all. She glanced down at the deck and saw him watching her very move.

Hoyt. Woody. What a name? She'd heard her father's friends refer to a certain part of their anatomy as a "woody". After a liter or two of his famous rum, of course. But she'd never met a man who openly called himself by the moniker before. Or at least in front of polite company.

"But since when have pirates been considered proper company?" she laughed to herself. "And that certainly goes for Hoyt."

Hand over hand, foot over foot. She slid across the cross bar of the mast to climb the last section to the crow's nest.

"Why couldn't he have just left me alone?" She muttered into the wind. And why did he have to have eyes the color of the Caribbean at sunrise?

"You do not need to be thinking about his eyes, Jordan," she all but yelled at herself.

Her voice must have carried for Nigel called up. "You'll have to speak up Master Cavanaugh. We are not lip readers."

"Nothing to report Cap'n!" She shouted back down.

"Then let's not dilly-dally. On with it, young man. These waters have taken more then its fair share of ships."

"Aye."

"Aye." she mumbled looking back down at the bane of her existence. He was still there, watching her, like he was willing her to fall. "I bet you'd just like that won't you, you...pirate."

It would make his life easier if she did fall. At least until his bond was worked off. Hoyt made sure everyone with in the sound of his voice knew he was disembarking in a matter of days...along with his inane chatter about fat plantations and sugar babies.

Or was that sugar plantations and fat babies? After awhile she developed the knack of shutting him out.

That was until they found themselves locked in the closet. Jordan shook her head at her own stupidity. She'd been so distracted and so discouraged by Garret's absence that she let her guard down and her secret was found out.

Extortion wasn't her first choice. If they'd been on deck she would have simply pushed him overboard and been done with. Jordan wasn't blood-thirsty by nature, but this was a pirate ship after all. She had much more to lose than Hoyt.

Granted, she him by the balls while they where on board The Bloody Bullet, but the second the walked off, he'd have her at his mercy.

The less people who knew about this adventure of hers the better off she'd be. As a widow she was granted a certain amount of personal freedom...but talking herself onto a pirate's ship was something even her marital status couldn't overcome.

All Jordan wanted to do was find her friend, bring him home where he belonged, and settle into her role as proprietress of one of the largest distilleries in the Caribbean. She didn't want some tall, blue-eyed reminder come back and haunt her later.

"Well, I won't give you the satisfaction of dieing today, Mister Hoyt. You will help me find Garret and then..."

A sudden snap of the sails knocked Jordan against the rigging, tearing her hat off, sending it, and her veil, tumbling to the decks below.

"Jordan!"

She heard his yell even as it was being carried away with the wind.

"Woody!" she screamed as her grip on the line began to fail.

The sail struck her one last time and all she was holding on to was air.


"It says here that 'Commock, er, Cavanaugh left the mortal binds of this world when he hit the rail on the way down.'"

"...oh."

Jordan stared at the page for a full minute before she spoke. "It must be a typo..."

"It's the only explanation," Woody nodded.


Jordan hit the water with a scream and plunged deeper and deeper. The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her totally disoriented.

She failed. She took a chance and failed. Lost at sea. Just like JD. Would there be anyone who would mourn her passing?

"Well, damn," Nigel said, looking over the rail. He swept his hat off in respect and said, "We shall miss Mr. Cavanaugh. He did have a way with our socks. Somebody please tell us that the spyglass was saved."

A second call of 'man overboard' echoed of the decks. Nigel muttered something about making sure his next crew was a little more nibble footed.

"Cap'n! Cap'n! Mr. Hoyt just jumped in after Cavanaugh!" Seeley yelled pointing at the water. "Broad on the quarter...There! I see them!"

"Oh. Bloody. Hell. All hands look lively. Hard to port, Mr. Vijay. Cut the main sail! Keep your eyes sharp! With all this bloody sheeting in the wind we need every available set of hands and some. We can ill afford to lose TWO able bodies. Mr. Seeley, remind us to keel haul Mr. Hoyt and his impertinence at our earliest convenience, but 'til then we need to fish them out of the drink so we have enough hands to see us to port."


Jordan opened her eyes one last time and saw JD's ghost swimming within her view. He was coming to take her to the same watery grave that claimed him. There was no need to fight it. Death would be an escape from a life that suddenly seemed too lonely and dark. She made peace with her fate as his arm wrapped around her waist