James closed the distance before Meg could properly pretend she hadn’t noticed him.

The sun hung high overhead, baking the docks until the tar between the planks softened beneath every step. Out in the shallows, gulls picked through scraps left behind where the careening crews had dragged the last hull ashore for scraping.

"Plannin’ to steal her, or just admirin’ the view?"

Meg snorted, still watching the Rose, "If I wanted a ship, I’d choose one that wasn’t held together by rope and stubbornness."

"Fair."

He came to a stop beside her.

"She’s grown on me anyway."

With her attention elsewhere, James took the chance to look her over properly.

The borrowed shirt was gone. So was the dead Frenchman’s coat.

She’d found clothes of her own.

Dark fabric, cut into a modest gown that fit her well without advertising it. The neckline was respectable, the skirts modest, and the overall effect understated rather than plain. It wasn’t the sort of dress a lady would wear, nor the sort meant to catch every eye in a room. It sat comfortably between the two.

In the last two days she’d decided what kind of woman she intended to be here, and she’d dressed accordingly.

Then he noticed a straight line beneath the cloth at her hip.

Too rigid to be part of the skirt.

A knife.

Hidden where most men would never think to check.

Smart. If Nassau taught a lesson quickly, it was that anyone worth respecting came prepared.

"Done looking?" Meg asked.

"Just gettin’ started."

"You’re staring."

"I’m admirin’. I’d happily explain the distinction if ye’ve got time."

That earned him a flat look.

From Meg, that was close enough to encouragement.

"What’s got you glarin’ at my ship like she owes you money?"

Meg let out a short breath. Not quite a laugh. Closer to a snicker.

"It’s not the ship."

She left it there.

James let the silence stand. If there was a problem, she’d get to it eventually.

"That place I went to check. I was told it attracted better clientele."

That sounded promising.

Her expression suggested otherwise.

"And?"

"And it’s a rotting building. The roof leaks onto the beds, half the shutters are falling off. The whole place smells of mildew and old tallow smoke."

She spoke evenly, as though she’d already spent her anger. "The man running it treats the women there worse than your crew treats rope they’re about to throw away. They don’t control who comes upstairs, he withholds their pay. If one of them gets hurt, nothing is set aside to help her, despite the fact that he’s the one profiting from the work."

She shook her head.

"I won’t work somewhere like that. I’d rather go hungry for a week and find something better."

James clicked his tongue.

Unfortunately, the explanation was simple.

"That’s Nassau. Plenty of places like that. Plenty of men happy to run them."

"I know what Nassau is."

"Then you walked in knowin’ the risks. Consider it one more place to avoid."

Meg stared out across the harbor. Her face tightened slightly.

Meg continued staring out across the harbor.

James waited.

She said nothing.

A gull shrieked somewhere overhead.

Still nothing.

"So that’s all then?"

James asked. "You came down to admire the Rose and insult her construction?"

"I didn’t insult her construction."

"Called her a pile of rope and stubbornness."

"I was being charitable."

"If that’s charitable, imagine when you are stingy with praise."

Another pause.

Meg folded her arms.

James nodded to himself.

"Well. Glad we’ve cleared that up."

He made a show of turning toward the ship.

Meg didn’t move.

Neither did he.

The silence stretched.

Finally, James glanced back at her.

"You still here?"

Meg’s lips twitched.

"I can leave if you’d prefer."

"Never said that."

"Good."

She remained exactly where she was.

James waited.

Meg waited.

A deckhand carrying lumber passed between them, looked from one to the other, then wisely kept walking.

"Remarkable," James said at last.

"What is?"

"The amount of effort ye’re puttin’ into not askin’ me somethin’."

Meg turned to glare at him.

"I am not."

"Ah. Then this is just a social visit."

"It could be."

"Of course."

James nodded solemnly.

"We’ll stand here another hour and discuss ships."

"We don’t have to discuss ships."

"Excellent. That narrows the possibilities."

Meg’s glare sharpened.

James smiled pleasantly.

"Any moment now."

"Oh, for God’s sake."

"There she is."

Meg threw her hands up.

"Fine. I need help."

"A terrible shock."

"And you knew that already."

"I had my suspicions."

"And you were going to make me say it anyway."

"Well, I couldn’t very well rob you of the satisfaction."

For a moment she looked as though she might stab him.

Then she groaned and rubbed a hand over her face.

"You’re insufferable."

"So I’ve been told."

She turned toward him.

"Can you help or not?"

"Aye. I can."

James had decided on the answer before she’d even finished asking.

"The Drowned Rat. Go there and ask for Anne. Tell her Calloway sent ye."

Meg looked at him.

"Who’s Anne?"

He shrugged, "Red hair like a house fire, Irish enough to start one. Temper sharp enough to keep half a room in line without raisin’ her voice."

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Owes a piece to me, if I’m bein’ discreet about it. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t repeat that part."

That seemed to give Meg enough to work with.

"She’ll put me to work?"

He nodded, "She’ll find a way. Behind the bar if that’s what suits, your own trade if that’s what you prefer. Either way, she’ll find a place for you inside a week. Better roof than the last place. Better people too."

Meg raised an eyebrow but let that pass.

"And she’ll do this because you asked?"

"Partly."

"And?"

"And what and."

Meg watched him for a moment.

"How well do you know her?"

"Well enough."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the one ye’re gettin’."

She weighed that.

"Will she be fine with me?"

That was a harder question.

"I ain’t her paw. She’ll decide that herself."

James grinned and left it there.

Meg kept staring at him.

Long enough that the question no longer seemed to be about Anne.

At last she nodded.

"Fine. The Drowned Rat."

He laughed, "Ye’ll probably like her. Or hate her immediately and then like her by week’s end."

Meg ignored that.

Instead she looked toward the Rose, then back at him.

The tension in her posture eased. Not completely. Just enough.

A problem was one thing. A possible solution was another.

"Thank you."

The words came quickly and without decoration.

Which was usually how Meg spoke when she meant them.

Then she glanced toward the docks.

"You’ve got work waiting, I imagine."

"I do. Cudjoe’ll have my hide if I stay away much longer."

"Then go be a captain."

She turned and headed back toward town without waiting to see whether he watched her leave.

He did anyway.

Then James turned toward the Rose.

The problem with Meg was likely solved. Anne had a talent for finding opportunities where other people saw complications. If there was a place for Meg in Nassau, Anne would find it quickly.

That left the less interesting problems.

Supplies still needed buying.

The ship still needed repairs.

No amount of glaring at the thing had created results so far.

Bloody mast.

Cudjoe was handling most of the recruiting while James spent his time teasing women and collecting debts or bruises across Nassau.

That could only last so long.

A captain who left every difficult task to his quartermaster eventually discovered the crew had suggestions about leadership.

And on a pirate ship, those suggestions came with votes.

Best get back to work before the lads decided to start counting them.