California Caress

“Davis did say the ship was booked,” she ventured, still leery. “Why? Do you know where I could buy a ticket?”

“Heavens no.” The old woman chuckled, a high, cackling sound, and Hope wondered what she’d said that had struck her so funny. “I do know where you’ll find an extra bed, though.” The watery eyes grew suddenly serious. “If you’re interested, that is.”

Interested? Right now she was obsessed with the idea of ridding herself of Boston once and for all, losing herself once again in the rolling foothills of Virginia. Only there at home could she ever hope to forget her time with Drake Frazier.

On instinct, Hope threw caution to the wind. After all, this was her chance—it might not come around again. “Yes,” she said, her voice breathless with excitement, “I’m very interested, Mrs.—”

The woman’s eyes twinkled with satisfaction as she leaned heavily on her cane. “Bentley,” she huffed, as though the explanation had been perfected years ago, and was purposely sarcastic. “First name, not last. No Mrs! You can ask me about that later. For now you can call me Bentley.”

“Bentley.” Hope nodded, testing the name. Unusual though it was, it fit the crooked old woman to a T.

The flesh that should have been lips pursed as she glanced at Hope’s feet, and the bare planks. “Got any bags?”

Hope shook her head.

“Didn’t think so.” One corner of the nonexistent mouth lifted with distaste. “You don’t snore, do you? I like company, but I don’t like snoring.”

“Company?” she gulped. So much for a quiet, secluded cabin to herself! Had she really thought the old woman intended to sell her a ticket? Only now did she realize how foolish that idea had been. “You mean I’d be sharing a cabin with—”

“Me,” the old woman huffed. “Of course. Who else would you be sharing it with?”

“I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about it.” Hope paused,

a scowl furrowed her brow as she met the watery gaze. “Why are you offering to let me share your cabin?” she asked, suddenly suspicious. Didn’t she have every right to be? It wasn’t every day that a stranger offered her a favor for no apparent reason. Logic told her that a bit of caution was definitely in order. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, understand, but your generosity is out of place. Everyone else I talked to looked at me like I had two heads. They weren’t willing to help me, so I guess it’s only normal that I’m wondering why you are.”

“I respect honesty,” she said dryly, “in small doses. Do try to keep it to yourself, though, dearie.” The spot above her chin cracked into a smile. The expression, not overly sincere, set a whole new variety of wrinkles to crinkle her liver-spotted face. In a way, she reminded Hope of Old Joe. A pain of remorse stabbed at her heart with the unbidden comparison.

“I still want to know why you offered to share your cabin,” Hope insisted when the woman again started to hobble away.

She turned back, her cane tapping on the weathered planks. “I already told you,” she answered impatiently from over a hunched shoulder, “I like company. I’ve got a stateroom for two, and now there’s only me to keep in it. You need to get to Virginia, exactly where I’m heading.” She scowled, and for a second Hope lost sight of her eyes amidst the wrinkles of sagging flesh. “You ask an awful lot of questions, dearie. Most would just thank me for my generosity and take the bed.”

“I am thankful,” she was quick to assure her. Now that a bed on the clipper was within her grasp, Hope was reluctant to throw the opportunity away. She’d kowtow to the old woman if she had to, if it meant getting home.

It took only three steps to catch up to the slow, stooped form. And as Hope shortened her own strides to accommodate the older woman’s hobble, she noticed that the top of the salt-gray head barely reached her own shoulder.

The woman named, oddly enough, Bentley, had obviously noticed the difference as well. “Making ‘em tall in Virginia nowadays,” she quipped, with a devilish smile. She spared Hope only a passing glance as she maneuvered herself around a large crate of spicy smelling tea.

“I’m taller than most.”

“And prettier.” The observation was said with a frank sort of candor that made it neither compliment nor insult, just a statement of fact. “Could have used you twenty years ago when George put those dern cupboards in the kitchen. Six feet high, they stood—and me only five!” She cackled with the memory. “Never did use the top ones. Couldn’t reach ‘em!”

“Is George your husband?” Hope asked absently, slipping a hand beneath the woman’s bony arm as she helped her to step over a stray banana peel. A waft of the woman’s faded rose scent engulfed her, bringing back bittersweet memories of her childhood and mother.

“One of ‘em,” Bentley shrugged. She stopped long enough to hold up a hand. Four crooked fingers stood at proud attention from the base of painfully swollen knuckles. “George was the first. George was the best. The rest couldn’t compare, although they tried like the dickens. You married—er—?”

“Hope.”

“You hope what?”

She smiled despite her resolve to be cautious of this stranger. There was something about the crooked old woman that spurred easy compatibility. “Hope,” she corrected. “First name, not last. No Mrs! You can ask me about that whenever you like. But for now you can call me Hope.” She smiled devilishly. “And no, to answer your question, I’m not married.”

“Oh, Lordy, a woman with a tongue in her head, and who knows how to use it. Heaven help us.” She sighed heavily, then ogled the girl head to toe. “Hope, huh?” she said, seeming to weigh the name on her dry tongue before nodding her head in approval. The brittle wisps of hair tumbling from her bun rustled in the salty breeze. “Not married, eh? Pity. Girl your age needs a man.”

“I don’t,” she countered quickly, her voice sounding hollow even to her own ears. Lord, but she was sick of feeling so damn independent. Her lips automatically continued the well-rehearsed phrase. “I don’t need anyone.”

Again those sharp green eyes raked her, and this time there was a glint of speculation shining in their depths. “Everyone needs someone. It’s human nature. No shame in it.”

Hope didn’t reply as they veered left from the docks, onto a warehouse-flanked side street. Instead, she eyed a group of well-dressed boys gathering around a lamp post. Their youthful laughter sang through the air as they playfully shoved each other around. The moonlight caught on the side of the bottle being passed. Hope tensed, waiting for a confrontation. The boys eyed the two women curiously as they approached, but, thankfully, left them alone.