Chapter Eleven
Soadsuds and Duckies and Change
Jordan smiled to herself as she watched Garret and Nigel carry the last of her trunks down the plank and onto a waiting flatbed. She only had three, as her worldly possessions weren't many.
But the memories of that old steamboat…ah, those…they were so numerous she would need a dozen flatbeds to carry them if they had to be packed in trunks.
Jordan was selling the Delta Marker. She never thought she would, but the past two years had brought so many changes to the Mississippi and her that now it just seemed like the most logical choice.
And not nearly as painful as she thought it would be.
She had clung to that boat and the memory of what Woody had given her for two years. He had given her so much more than one night of pleasure…he had shown her that she had options for her life and had the right to exercise those options on her own…not because she owed anybody anything.
So when the riverboat enterprise began slowing down as railroad travel became faster and more convenient, she re-thought her conviction that she would never sell the boat. And as business kept falling off, it became clear to her and the rest of the crew that it was only a matter of time before life as they had known it would have to change.
Jordan's smile kicked up a little more as she thought about those changes. After years of playing around with each other, Bug and Lily had finally connected. Jordan had had the joy of letting the two get married on her boat a week ago. The first…and last … wedding she would host on the Marker. They had settled down at the last stop, Bug purchasing a general store. They would run it and begin a family there in that small town.
Nigel had decided to give up his long-running career as a sharp. The tenor of the times was changing and sharps were beginning to take on a more nefarious role on the river, not that Nigel himself was fulfilling one of those roles. But he was finding himself out of a job…in more than one way. As her encounter with Woody had given Jordan more and more self-confidence, Nigel discovered his role as her protector was becoming nonexistent.
However, his role as her friend was more important than ever. He would be disembarking on the boat with her, hoping to find a job that required his stellar memorization skills. Jordan was sure he'd be fine. And a lot safer away from a deck of cards.
Garret….Garret was the one she was most surprised at. After his arrest under the suspicion of killing Natalie, he had sobered up. Immediately and cold-turkey. For the next two years, he was a diligent and clear-headed employee.
And one that evidently saved his money. When Jordan announced she was going to sell the boat, he wanted to buy it and had the cash to back up his offer. Garret and a man who called himself Samuel Langhorne Clemmons were in cahoots on several business deals, one of which included her boat. Jordan shook her head. She liked Mr. Clemmons well enough, he was an amusing man that could spin a great story…but a man that looked like he needed a good haircut.
"Is that it?" Garret asked, bringing her back into reality, brushing his hands down the sides of his pants.
"That's it." She extended her hand to him, but Garret caught her up in a tight hug. "You be good," she whispered in a choked voice over his shoulder. "And take damn good care of my boat…or I'll come back and take it."
"I will. You just…go find your life, Jordan. Go live it. Enjoy it. The Marker will always dock in New Orleans. If you need to talk, or need to get back on the river…"
"I know. And thanks." One more hug and she slipped from his embrace and walked down the plank herself, taking Nigel's arm. "New Orleans on land…I can't remember the last time I was actually on land here…"
"I believe it was at Jim's funeral…"
"I believe it was."
"You started over then…and you will now, love. You were a success then and you will be a success now."
"I sure hope so."
"You will be. Forgive me," he slipped away from her, "I need to stop in the post office and see if I can establish a box for us…"
"That's fine, Nige…I'll wait right here for you."
"Stay out of trouble," he warned.
"I will.." her voice trailed off as Nigel went into the post office to rent a box for the both of them. She stood on the wooden sidewalk and watched the citizens of New Orleans go by for a second when something caught her unawares.
"That seems highly doubtful," a voice said from behind her.
And she froze. She never thought she'd hear that teasing accent again. It had been two years.
"Woody…" she breathed, slowly turning to face him.
"It seems highly doubtful because if I remember correctly, Miss Cavanaugh, trouble seemingly has a way of following you right down this river." He smiled at her and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the side of the post office.
Two years. It had been two long years since he had left her that hot Mississippi morning.
And discreetly followed her from a distance ever since. Allan had thought Woody had totally lost his mind when he had asked to be in charge of the Pinkerton's New Orleans field office. Completely and totally lost his mind to the heat and mosquitoes… gone totally loco.
But Woody had persisted and Allan finally gave in. Woody had known each and every time The Marker had docked in New Orleans. However, he discreetly kept his distance, contacting only Nigel when the boat came to the city to see how Jordan was doing…if she was safe…if she needed anything. Nigel had kept him informed of the changes going on in Jordan's life and the changes in her…how she was craving stability and somewhere to call home other than the boat.
Woody wanted those decisions to be all her own, with no influence from anyone, including him. Despite the fact he missed her so badly he could feel her in his veins.
So when Jordan had decided to sell the Marker and find a place to put down roots, it had been Nigel that suggested New Orleans. She had agreed. Nigel had immediately telegraphed Woody.
Woody had a feeling, if Lady Luck continued to run his way, he and Jordan would be naming their first born after the Brit.
"Trouble does not follow me, Mr. Hoyt," she replied with as much dignity as she could muster over her sheer joy of seeing him again. "But," she continued with her eyes narrowing, "I have this distinct feeling that you have been."
"Maybe. Maybe I have. So?" he challenged.
Jordan could contain her happiness no longer. "So…" she responded, reaching out to take his arm, "suddenly I have this intense desire to play poker…with a very interesting wager you may want to hear about."
Nigel's voice trailed off, the dark and quiet of the Boston night swallowing up his last words as he came to the end of his story and his listeners slowly found their way back to the twenty-first century.
"The end?" asked Brandeau.
"The end," Nigel responded firmly.
"But you never told us if the hero and heroine really get together," Jordan protested, speaking for the first time in hours. Truthfully, Nigel had her imagination so wrapped up in the story that she didn't want it to end. Did the two get married? Settle down? Start a family? "I want my 'and they lived happily ever after'," she said, pouting just a little.
"Ah love…but there's the beauty of the ending. You can write your own. Whatever you want to happen to them…will happen," Nigel concluded, standing and stretching. "And I see I finished my story just in time. We're back at the docks."
Everyone stood then and Jordan noticed that it was Nigel and not Woody that extended his hand to Lu and helped her from the boat. A few minutes later, she also noticed that Nigel had a passenger on the back of his motorcycle and Woody was walking her back to her El Camino.
"That Nigel…that was a great story, huh?" he asked, taking the keys out of her hand and opening the truck door for her.
"It was. I think he missed his calling…he should have been a novelist," she answered, reluctant to get in her vehicle and leave him. "But I'm sorry he left with your date…"
Woody startled. "Date? Lu? Oh, it wasn't a date. She's still kind of new in town and didn't know exactly where this place was. I just offered her a ride. That's all, Jordan."
His blue eyes were telling her the truth. Ruefully she remembered the heroine of the story…the one that had the guts to plan her own future without worrying about what others wanted her to do. Screwing on her courage and taking a deep breath, she asked, "Hey…it's still kind of early. Want to come over for a drink or a cup of coffee? I mean we can't exactly go anywhere else dressed like…this." She ran her hands down her hoop skirt, not quite hating it as much as she had earlier this evening.
"Coffee sounds good." He helped her and her skirts into the truck. "Can I ask you a kind of personal question, Jordan?"
Jordan narrowed her eyes. "How personal?"
Woody cleared his throat and tried to ignore the blush creeping into his cheeks. "That skirt…I've been wondering all night…although I've tried not to…what exactly do you wear under those things?"
Grinning, Jordan held up her skirts to her waist.
"Soapsuds and duckies?" he asked in an incredulous voice.
"You were expecting Fredrick's of Hollywood?"
"No…" The blush had taken over his cheeks. "Not at all…I was just…wondering…I mean…that dress…"
Jordan chuckled. "Tell you what, Farm Boy. You spring for the Guinness on the way to my place and I'll rummage up my deck of cards. I have a sudden urge to play poker…"
