Old Man River

by WhatAvery

Summary:

Following stormy weather, Kehoe sets out to resume his work. It's dull, but it's what he knows. His work is a constant, as reliable as the river it takes place on. However, a little bit of excitement just might be headed his way, like a storm to turn his world upside down. And on his way, rolling on the river, who knows what Kehoe might find...

Notes:

Yup, you already know what time it is. Some of y'all might have already heard me bringing this story up, but now that I have the first cover art, I decided to start posting the chapters. This story in particular is going to be shorter than Ordained Defiance, but I wanted to do something similar - that being make a ship with an unappreciated character. I suppose that's sort of my thing now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this first chapter!

And this lovely cover art was made by the amazing BlueCoffeeDog!

Chapter 1: Headwaters

 

Although the spring air still had a certain sharpness to it, the winds were far calmer than they had been just one day prior. The Mississippi was no longer a frothing torrent as it had been. The river still flowed, but at a far slower pace now. Trudging along the pier, Kehoe eyed the water wearily.

He had seen the river overflowing many a time in his life, so the stormy weather of the past few days wasn’t new to him. Regardless, he still hated having had to wait on land for things to calm down. Damages had been dealt by the river’s onslaught during the storm, yet it seemed the St. Paul port had remained mostly unscathed.

More fortunate still, it seemed the Crust Bucket hadn't been tossed about too badly. The big paddle wheeler was right where he and his crew had left it. But of course, the storm meant they were behind schedule, and who knew what state the barges they were meant to transport were in.

The large puddles on the pier were a telltale sign of just how badly the river’s waters had overflowed, though Kehoe had seen worse in his time. On the river, stormy weather and torrential downpour could do far more damage than most people even realized. He had known many a sailor who would call the sea a cruel mistress, and they would often times underestimate the Mississippi.

But Kehoe knew a raging river could be just as deadly and unforgiving as the wildest ocean. Kehoe had seen the river swallow up whole sections of land and uproot trees; he'd seen it rip boats from their tethers and flip them over; he'd seen men fall overboard and be claimed by the river, never to be seen again.

But the river was still his livelihood and more importantly his home. More or less. Barges needed towing and Kehoe just wanted to get back to work as soon as he could.

Though he wasn't all too pleased to see that none of his crew had turned up just yet, Kehoe didn’t waste time waiting for them. He boarded the large white vessel on the port side near the large letters spelling out its name. The big, black letters were rather faded, and the hull overall could do with a new paint job. All in its time. For now, he set about inspecting the boat himself.

Even if he was getting a head start without his crew, Kehoe wasn't going to sail away – no matter how late they turned up. A big diesel boat like this required a full crew to man it.

Moving around on the deck, Kehoe was pleased to find that nothing serious seemed to have happened. The most remarkable thing he found was a rope that had come undone and as a result had its end dipping into the river. The large metallic knees by the bow were fine, as expected. The metallic, triangular structures being used to shove and push barges were among the most vital parts of a towboat. Without them, the Crust Bucket wouldn't be very useful at all.

Kehoe did his rounds, albeit rather casually. He'd make his crew do it properly later. Making his way past the knees where the stairs to the upper deck were, Kehoe climbed the steps, grunting with each one. It was no secret that Kehoe was getting up there in the years.

He'd been sailing on the river for over half his life – for over twenty years, he had called the Mississippi his home. The manual labor hadn’t allowed him to age as gracefully as a man leading a less physically demanding life.

In the years he'd spent on the river, he'd started out as deckhands, doing small menial tasks as part of a bigger crew. He had never strayed far from St. Louis, but he had been up and down the river, even as far north as Lake Michigan.

He hadn't spent much time on the lake itself, especially not in recent years. No, these days, he didn’t go much further, though the Crust Bucket had carried him to many corners of the network of rivers all around. From the Ohio River to the Missouri River, Kehoe had been to many river ports and done countless jobs over the years.

Occasionally, he'd settled down somewhere, but for the most part, he had probably spent more of his life on a boat, rather than on land. Though he did own a small house, the Crust Bucket was where he spent most of his days and nights. In fact, Kehoe could say quite confidently that he had developed a bad case of sea legs. He didn’t like being on land. The river’s calming motions helped him sleep at night and although the river wasn't ideal for fishing, it still provided for him.

St. Paul was the furthest from St. Louis that Kehoe had been in a while, which certainly wasn't a bad thing. Even if most of the Crust Bucket’s towing jobs these days weren't too far from St. Louis, going further away meant more opportunities.

When Kehoe's crew finally did show up, it was at a time that he considered rather late to set off. It was a small crew proportionate to how large the Crust Bucket was, but everyone knew their place and as such, they were an efficient little team. Kehoe captained the boat that he had owned for about a decade, and he was usually the one in charge. Even if he let someone else make decisions, he still had the final say.

Steve, Dale, Carly, and Mac were perhaps not the finest crew on the river, but Kehoe knew they were all dependable and perfectly capable.

“Mornin’, cap’n,” Steve said brightly as he stepped onto the deck below. Kehoe watched from up top near the pilothouse, giving a nod before he slipped his old hat onto his head.

Being the first-mate, Steve Langley was most often the one Kehoe put in charge of smaller tasks and the one who reported back to him. The orange tabby wasn't the oldest crewmember, but he had been one of the longest serving on the Crust Bucket. He had barely made it onto the deck before he also set about assessing any damages, though Kehoe knew there were none to be found.

The oldest crew member was Mackenzie Taylor, although even he was a few decades younger than Kehoe. Mac, as they usually called him, put his previous work experience as an engineer to good use. In addition to the more standard fare of work on the boat, Mac's main expertise was used to keep the mechanical inner workings of the Crust Bucket in perfect working order. Though Kehoe had many years’ experience, Mac's knowledge on machinery was still invaluable.

Dale was a curious case. The young tuxedo cat was perhaps ever so slightly overqualified for a job as deckhands, but much like Mac, he put his other qualifications to use in addition to working on deck. With a background in mathematics and economics, Dale was their bookkeeper, and Kehoe had him be in charge of the money side of things.

There were few people Kehoe would trust to manage his money, but Dale had proven himself quite good at both managing money and securing jobs for them. Dale was the only person on the boat besides Kehoe who had any say in what types of jobs they took on.

And finally… Carlyle O'Connell – or Carly, as they called him. Carly was the latest hire, having joined the crew not even half a year ago. He was also the youngest and least experienced. Steve had more or less taken him under his wing and taught him the ropes and even now they spent most of their time together. They were like two brothers that way, Kehoe supposed.

“Well, better late than never,” he grumbled from above as he watched them boarding the large paddle wheeler. “Get ready to set off, you lazy dogs.”

“Great to see you too, cap’n!” Dale greeted him back in a sarcastically cheerful manner. “Top o’ the morning to you!”

Kehoe just snorted as he moved into the pilothouse to make sure everything was as it ought to be. A few of his belongings there had seemingly been tossed around, just as the Crust Bucket had during the storm and the flood, but besides that, nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.

The pilothouse itself was rather sparse on interior, though Kehoe liked to keep the clutter out of there. The small structure had windows all around, offering a clear view of the port- and starboard side of the vessel, as well as the bow and the stern. He circled the small space and made sure everything was as it should be. The last thing he needed was damage that needed repairs.

Up by the bow-facing windows that looked out past the large smokestacks was the pilot wheel. An immensely wide fixture made of dark wood, it was so large that a third of it had to be situated below the floor. The wheel had a diameter that was comparable to Kehoe's height.

He made sure to check that nothing had fallen into the hole or somehow lodged itself in the space between. Grunting, Kehoe got on his knees and peered down to check. The floorboards were very flush with the pilot wheel, leaving just enough room for the big contraption to turn, but without such a big gap that it was unsightly. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anything had gotten stuck in the empty space.

The Crust Bucket’s pilothouse was considerably more elegant than some of the older riverboats Kehoe had sailed in his time.

Not that appearances mattered all that much to Kehoe.

“What you see is what you're getting,” was how Kehoe usually liked to describe himself. He liked to think he was very straightforward that way. Just the kind of man who got the job done with no bells and whistles. Besides, there was really no need to overcomplicate the work they did here. Not that Kehoe could think of a way to do that…

Once the engine roared to life and dark puffs erupted from the smokestacks, they were ready to depart. They had a ways to go before they got back on track. The storm had set them back massively, but Kehoe was also well aware that the same was the case for everything and everyone else who worked on or around the Mississippi.

And once they were all set, Kehoe spun the massive wheel, and they were off. With the steady rumbling of the engine and the familiar splashing of the stern wheel, the Crust Bucket left the St. Paul riverport, setting out for the first time in days.

Hand on the wheel, Kehoe stood on the starboard side of the pilothouse, watching as the boat steadily rolled along the river. Even after decades of working this job, he still enjoyed sailing; the feeling of controlling a machine this big and powerful with the turn of a wooden wheel; the gentle motions of the water; the noises the Crust Bucket made.

Even the light creaking the floorboards in the pilothouse made, when he shifted his weight from foot to foot, was strangely calming. By now the harsh, burnt smell of the sternwheeler’s smoke was familiar, almost comforting.

Many things had changed in the past decade for the country, but very little of it had actually affected Kehoe and the crew. The political climate hardly seemed to impact the river, just as the Mississippi couldn’t truly be tamed. New laws came and went, and still Kehoe simply did what he'd been doing for half his life. Although a great many people’s lives had been changed by the nationwide prohibition, Kehoe hardly paid it any mind.

That wasn't entirely true, actually.

The main thing it had brought Kehoe was more business. Not anywhere near legal, nor was it particularly profitable, but Kehoe had been getting away with it since the earliest days of prohibition. As it turned out, by making something illegal, it only made people want it all the more. Funny how that worked…

Of course, Kehoe was no different. But no one but the Crust Bucket crew knew of the personal stash of liquor they had stored in the cargo hold – the one that never traded hands. He and the crew enjoyed it sparingly, but they often times did sail moonshine up and down the river as a side hustle. None of the men questioned it or had any objections to it and Kehoe liked the arrangement enough.

He had never been one to follow rules anyway. It was part of the reason he worked on the river till this day.

In a way, smuggling had added a sense of excitement to his job, even if it came with an equal amount of risk. Kehoe wasn't the kind of man to get overly giddy over the prospect of silently and covertly breaking the law, but he couldn’t help but at times feel rebellious just doing it. But he tried to treat their illegal dealings like any other business. And of course, they weren't foolish enough to sail around with large caches of alcohol sitting on the deck for all to see. These dealings usually took place in the dead of night, and Kehoe knew places where it could be safely hidden from the boys in blue.

A knock on the pilothouse door made Kehoe turn his head. Dale stood in the doorway, a pleasant sort of smile on his face. “Hiya, cap’n. Just wanted to let you take a look at the deals we still have left. I was phoning ahead before boarding, and everyone but the McIntyre Company and some of the corn farmers are still in.”

As the tuxedo cat handed Kehoe a list of their clients, he grunted and read the list. The ones that had pulled out had been crossed out with reasons listed beside them in Dale's barely legible writing. Not that Kehoe's penmanship was much better.

Silently, he read the list over twice, before handing it back to Dale with a scoff. “I suppose we’ve got to make up for that. I expect you to keep an eye out for any other jobs next time we dock. Damned storm.”

Kehoe nor the crew were picky about what jobs they took on. They could hardly afford to turn their nose up at any work they could get, especially now. Barges needed towing to and fro, and it hardly mattered what they held. They had towed more than a few rather suspect barges in their time, but at the end of the day, business was business.

Their first stop wasn't far from St. Paul. In fact, Kehoe was confident they'd make it there within the hour. It was one of their unofficial ones, given the lack of piers and docks along this particularly lonely stretch of river. But nevertheless, Kehoe's eyes scanned the riverbanks on the port side of the ship. Even though it seemed mostly deserted, one could never be too careful.

Luckily, the Crust Bucket’s crew hadn’t had a close call in quite some time. They were always careful, although doing business in broad daylight wasn’t very covert.

Even with a large vessel like the Crust Bucket, they could still get quite close to the shore, given the very shallow hull. Unlike the massive ships that sailed the seas, a vessel like this had a rather flat build and so stood less of a chance of properly running aground. Not to say that it was entirely impossible, however.

Kehoe had both seen – and been responsible for towboats running aground. It was many years ago, and for a while, the fear of running aground had been on his mind. These days, however, he could manipulate the Crust Bucket with a turn of the wheel as easily as he could any part of his own body. The boat at times felt like an extension of himself that way.

Some moonshiners had more unique methods for selling their liquor; one group in particular would trade directions for money, leading to where they had hidden stashes of alcohol, like the pirates of old. Kehoe had brought the ship as close to shore as he could. The one meeting them was the son of a farmer, who was the brains behind their small operation.

The young man helped load the crates up onto the deck before Steve and Carly brought it inside and out of sight. Though his view of the lower deck was limited, Kehoe observed from the pilothouse as Dale managed the transaction. He trusted that Dale wouldn't let the farmer boy upsell them.

Finally, they were off once more with more illegal stock on board. Kehoe knew that homemade liquor like this was far from the finest stuff out there, but in today’s alcohol market he also knew most people were willing to lower their standards for the sake of acquiring alcohol altogether. He supposed that was a fact he should be thankful for, otherwise he might not get any business.

The Crust Bucket continued on its way, picking up one more delivery of illegal liquor for the hidden cache, before they eventually arrived in Red Wing. It was a town Kehoe had visited many times. He knew its river port well by now and as they approached it, he could already hear and see trains shunting goods towards and away from the port. One hand on the wheel, Kehoe safely brought them in towards the port, bringing them close enough to properly dock.

Kehoe stepped out of the pilothouse, the smell of the smoke from not only the Crust Bucket, but also the nearby trains hitting his nostrils almost immediately, mixing in with the fresh riverside air. Despite the recent storm, it was shaping up to be quite a beautiful spring day. The sky was clearer than it had been in a while, a bright, vibrant blue canvas stretching as far as the eye could see, only speckled with small banks of clouds rolling past here and there. The sun was shining brightly down upon the world, its light reflected off the ripples on the water, glittering like sequins.

Drawing a deep breath, Kehoe descended the steps facing the bow and the knees till he made it onto the lower deck. Stepping off the boat, Kehoe walked with his hands in his pockets along the pier, followed by Steve and Mac. Up ahead they could see a large barge being loaded up with what seemed to be many sacks of grain. Most likely it still came from quite far away via the trains.

Kehoe asked around and was indeed directed to the first barge he'd come across. It was large, even wider than the Crust Bucket itself, but it shouldn’t be an issue. The boat could tow it as far as they needed to go, and in fact, they usually took on several barges at the same time. Hopefully, the river remained as calm as it had been on their way here.

Taking payment up front, Kehoe sent his crew back to the Crust Bucket and had them prepare to tow the barges, since they agreed to take on two of them. It wouldn't be everything; Kehoe knew from Dale's paper that they'd be picking up yet more shipments along the way; more things to transport down the Mississippi.

“That’s one,” Mac noted dryly, the apricot-furred cat’s fluffy fur swaying in the breeze. He stretched his arms and looked towards Kehoe. In a rather tired drawl, he added, “Let’s hope we make quota on our way down this time, Crusty Bugger.”

Adjusting his hat, Kehoe drew in another deep breath, letting it out as a long sigh before he made his way back to the boat alongside Steve and Mac. Though Kehoe said nothing of it, Mac's concerns weren't unfounded. The storm had set them back quite a bit by land locking them. Transporting barges up and down the river was very much a job where time was quite literally money. Even just the relatively brief period of time in which the storm turned the river into a raging, frothing death trap had cost them days’ worth of time and money.

They wasted little time hanging around Red Wing and left as soon as they were back on the Crust Bucket. Kehoe knew he was rushing them more than normal, but it was warranted, because of how behind schedule they were. Only a fool would have risked sailing in the weather they had had recently, but being landlocked was frustrating. Kehoe had people who depended on him – namely the crew – and living wasn’t free, or even cheap.

To Kehoe's frustration, however, Dale continued asking around for more barges that needed transporting. By the time he got back to the Crust Bucket, Kehoe had been ready to chew him out for it, but lucky for him, the tuxedo cat brought good news with him.

But as luck would have it, when the Crust Bucket left Red Wing, they were towing three barges in front. One was the one loaded with grain, one was loaded with coal, another with timber, all of which were safely tied down to the large, floating platforms.

With the engine loudly rumbling again, Kehoe steered them away from the port and further downriver. From the pilothouse, he watched the barges up ahead as they pushed them along. Even three barges weren’t much of anything for the Crust Bucket to push along, certainly nowhere near full capacity. There had certainly been days when their haul was extensive enough to prove a challenge for the old boat.

Watching Carly leaning on the port-side railing, Kehoe found himself remembering his own time being that young. How old was he again? Early twenties or something? He seemed quite young; Kehoe had worked on the docks of a river port when he was that age. Somehow, although he had worked different jobs in his life, the river seemed to be a constant Kehoe had been unable to escape, for better and worse. Over the course of the five decades he'd been alive, he'd seen the river and the ports along its banks changing. Towns had grown larger; businesses had capitalized on the river, and the waters had paid the price.

These days, it was highly unlikely to catch any fish in most of the Mississippi, but decades ago, it had been quite different. Though the river was the lifeblood of many people – those who relied on it for resources and transport – it didn’t seem mutually beneficial. Kehoe remembered the days when people would fall sick from drinking the water from the river. Having seen the methods for purifying and sanitizing the river’s water had been a change, Kehoe only remembered too well; many people had lost their lives to low quality drinking water.

Whatever the reason, however, he had survived. Kehoe liked to think he was just too full of spite to be killed by something like water. But in a changing world, the Mississippi had remained mostly a constant for him. Save for a very brief period in his life…

Kehoe scoffed under his own breath. He didn’t want to think about those days. His life had never had any goals. In many ways, he'd simply let the river take him wherever he needed to go, life simply guiding him along, despite no aims, or greater aspirations.

It was times like this when he thought of a man like Dale, who seemed like he should be working a higher profile job. He seemed like a man who would be more at home in a big company in the city. He had the credentials, brains, and talent for so much more, and yet here he was, working as a simple deckhand. Granted, Kehoe had never been one with that kind of potential, perhaps this was somehow what Dale wanted. He couldn’t pretend to understand. Despite how closely they worked together, he didn’t know much about his crew. No, the Crusty Bugger mostly just sailed them around; he'd never gotten personal enough with them to truly understand them as people. But wasn't that how a typical boss’ relationship with his employees should be?

The entire rest of the day was spent sailing the river, only to be broken up by the occasional stop to drop off or take on a new barge, as well as the less savory business along the river’s banks. Kehoe was admittedly being a bit less forgiving than usual. Their stops in Wabasha and Buffalo later that day had seen them exchanging a few barges, bringing along new ones that carried things such as produce and minerals. Dale had jotted down a list of said minerals, but Kehoe hadn't the faintest idea what they actually were or what they were used for. He didn’t care to find out either; all that mattered was getting them where they needed to go.

Although it felt like they were covering a lot of ground, they still had a long way to go before they got back to St. Louis. By the time they arrived in Winona, it was getting dark. The sky had turned a pinkish orange, and the river’s surface looked almost black already now the sun had set past the point of its rays hitting the water.

Once the Crust Bucket was safely docked, Kehoe made his way down to the upper deck. It was here on the upper floor where not only the cabins, but also the gallery with its small dining hall was located. The gallery was closest to the pilothouse, but Kehoe moved towards the stern end of the deck. Leaning out over the railing, he cast his gaze out towards the horizon past the large wheel of the boat. He could hear the sound of other river boats with their melodic paddling as they sailed nearby, and as he pulled out his pipe, he could hear people shouting at each other from the docks.

The river here seemed healthier than other parts of it. Kehoe knew long stretches where the people’s impact on the river was far more apparent, but here he could see nighttime insects in the air, and on the other side of the river, fireflies were coming out, bobbing lazily in the air as they glowed. It was a peaceful little scene. As the sky darkened, Kehoe even saw a few bats swooping down to drink from the river, though their dark silhouettes were easier to spot against the darkening sky when they flew overhead.

Kehoe made his way inside soon after he finished smoking. The wide corridor inside had deep brown wooden floorboards and the walls were white, much like the exterior of the Crust Bucket. On Kehoe's left, closer to the pilothouse, was a door leading to the washroom, while the right side was where the gallery with its kitchen and dining area could be found. The bulbs hanging from the ceiling had no lampshades or the like, simply shining their warm, yellowish light down into the room.

The gallery hadn't much real estate. There was a simple small kitchen on the starboard side of the room furthest from the door. There was a stove, a small oven and cupboards holding cutlery, plates, and cups. They'd even acquired a refrigerator recently. As it turned out, some of the plates and cups had been broken after the ship had been jostled around by the turmoil of the raging river. Luckily, there were plenty of completely intact ones for them to use. Kehoe was pleased to see someone had already placed the shards into a wooden box.

The other side of the joint kitchen and dining room wasn't much to speak of with its simple interior and sparse décor, but the crew had been allowed to decorate a bit, however they saw fit. The dining table wasn't particularly large, but they had chairs to seat six people. Windows on either side of the gallery offered them a port and starboard view around them and the wall opposite the kitchen towards the bow held a few small pictures and a calendar. Some of the pictures were of the crew’s families, others simply postcards or pictures of ports they had visited along the river.

Sitting down with a grunt on the chair at the end of the table, Kehoe removed his hat, running a hand through his bluish gray fur, before he rubbed his face. He didn’t need to ask Dale to know they were still behind. But that was something to worry about in the morning. In that moment, he felt more tired than he had in years.

The rest of the crew soon joined him, with all but Carly taking a seat by the table. As was usually the case, the young black cat was the one doing the cooking. Before they hired him, it had been a job that rotated between the rest of them. Although Kehoe could cook well enough, he couldn’t say he exactly enjoyed it, nor did he cook with any finesse. To him, as long as it was edible and didn’t make him want to spit it out, it was good enough.

Carly, however, was surprisingly good at cooking, even if he pretended not to be. Kehoe had a sneaking suspicion he might have a background in culinary arts, but the boy had never confirmed it. Granted, he also didn’t care enough to ask. The scent of the boy’s cooking was enough to confirm it in Kehoe's mind and that night was no different as the smells of cooked meat and grits filled the gallery.

Kehoe didn’t pay much attention to their conversations, but he liked just having the crew around for a bit of background noise. Incidentally, they all did share some Irish heritage, which made itself especially apparent in the way Steve and Mac sometimes spoke – when either of them got particularly loud, that Irish accent came creeping in.

Kehoe himself had a tenuous tie to his Irish ancestry at best. Though he'd grown up in a small Irish community in St. Louis, it wasn't something he thought of as a large part of his identity. It was just one of those things that helped form the bigger picture that was his life.

As was often the case, dinner was a quiet time, at least for Kehoe. He let the others have their talks while they ate, only ever participating if he was asked, though most often all he had to contribute was telling them how little he cared. It seemed to amuse them, for better and for worse, even if he couldn’t give less of a damn about what they were actually talking about.

Though Kehoe didn’t fancy himself much of a food critic, he did appreciate Carly's cooking. Meals had certainly improved a great deal since they hired him. It wasn't award-winning food, but it was better than anything Kehoe found himself capable of producing.

Kehoe did find himself slightly more engaged when dinner came to an end, and they all started playing cards. They didn’t have much to wage, so usually they didn’t exchange money, but rather insults.

Of course, it was done with the understanding that it was all in good fun. No one ever got rowdy or into any actual shouting matches; every insult Kehoe lobbed at them and each one he got in return was met with laughter around the table. On rare occasions, however, Kehoe might put a bottle of particularly good liquor up for grabs. But not tonight.

At the end of the night, Kehoe retreated to his cabin. It was the biggest and arguably the best one – just one of the privileges being captain afforded him. By no means was it luxurious. Kehoe wasn't a man for those kinds of things, but it was spacious enough for what little he owned. His cabin held his bed, pressed up against the wall near the window where makeshift curtains afforded him a bit of privacy. A shelf above his bed held books, many of which had fallen onto his mattress.

Generally, his cabin hadn't seen too much damage, though he did need to pick the pieces of broken glass from lantern off the floor and dispose of the shards. A small desk stood opposite his bed and beside it a small chest that held various belongings of his. A box that had slid out from under his bed served as a replacement for a dresser. It was where he kept his clean clothes, folded up as neatly as he could manage.

Removing his boots and leaving his jacket and hat on his desk chair, Kehoe sat down upon his steel-frame bed, the frame creaking ever so slightly as he did. He grunted softly and stretched. His back was a bit crooked – he'd developed quite a hunched posture over the past decade. In his fifty-three years of living, Kehoe had spent most of that time working some kind of manual labor, most of it on a ship or around the docks. That sort of lifestyle would have started showing itself sooner than later.

Although he was by no means frail, Kehoe was glad the position as captain brought him less of the harder work these days. It was ironic, really. He had only become a captain because he acquired his own boat. It was less about ascending up the ranks and more about the fact that he could sail and had the means to hire people to work for him. At least that was what it felt like to him.

By the time he climbed into bed and turned the lights off, Kehoe could hear footsteps moving past his door. He wasn't exactly surprised, knowing his crew sometimes liked to sneak off the boat at night. They were demonstrably less sneaky than they thought, but Kehoe didn’t mind – as long as they were back by the time they set off and still willing and able to pull their own weight.

The last thing Kehoe thought of as he drifted off was how thin they would have to stretch themselves to meet quota for the week.

Sleep was easily induced by the very gentle rocking of the large boat. It was subtle, so much so that it was easy to miss it, but Kehoe knew the feeling by now, and it was one that he had a harder time falling asleep without. It was but one of many things he'd disliked about being land-locked for days.

Morning saw the crew prepping the Crust Bucket earlier than the previous day. They all shrugged off the grogginess easily enough, and they even took on two new barges before setting off. Kehoe had a good feeling in his gut by the time they left Winona.

It was another bright spring day and the storm that had rocked the river and made its banks overflow, hardly seemed like it had actually happened. It almost felt like a dream, even as the effects of it were evident as they sailed. Here, the banks engulfed plant life that most definitely didn’t normally grow in water. About half an hour after leaving, Kehoe also did spot an uprooted tree, its branches dipping into the river as small birds perched on the ones that hadn't been submerged.

Later in the day, another boat was coming towards them closer to the opposite riverbank. One hand still on the immensely large wheel, Kehoe let the large, horn sound as they approached. The other tow boat slowed down quite noticeably, and Kehoe likewise made the Crust Bucket slow till it almost just drifted in the water. He could see the name ‘the Lilypad’ written on the side of the ship in large, bold letters. He recognized the name and, looking out the windows, he saw Steve and Carly moving to the very edge of the deck down below.

Kehoe knew this was a tricky and somewhat dangerous maneuver, especially when they were towing barges, but he had been sailing for so many years that the fears that once made him sweat were but a distant memory. He calmly and confidently brought the Crust Bucket in as close to the other boat as he could. From above, he watched the swift transaction. Out here, away from the busier stretches of river, they needn’t be quite as careful. As the two boats passed each other, bottles and cash were exchanged, along with small talk.

Once the illicit business was done with, the two boats separated and sped up once again, both sounding their horns to each other. Although it might seem risky or even reckless to do business in this manner, Kehoe and the Crust Bucket’s crew had yet to get caught. And Kehoe very much intended on keeping it that way until the day he either retired or departed the world of the living.

Along the river, Kehoe’s crew made a few more little sales. It wasn’t much compared to what they made sailing barges, but it brought Kehoe more peace of mind, knowing they were at least making more money. Along the way to the next port, they did manage to get a few more bottles sold. They had picked up quite a nice amount of moonshine, so they had plenty they could sell in a more casual manner. Indeed, they ended up spending too much time doing this.

When they arrived in Dubuque, they ended up leaving the majority of their barges there. That only left them with two that needed to be towed to further south to Davenport. Leaving Dubuque with no additional barges didn’t bode well, however, but Kehoe knew not to dwell on it too much. With any luck, Davenport could provide them with more work. Once the transactions were handled, they set off yet again.

The alcohol trade wasn’t glamorous, fun, or particularly easy to navigate. But it was a small, exploitable niche that Kehoe had discovered years ago. Even before prohibition, homemade liquor was something that could be peddled along the river, and Kehoe sure as hell wasn’t going to stop because some puffed up lawmakers far away said so. With the money being off the books, it also helped to keep the crew and the Crust Bucket going. And these days, they needed every penny they could scrape in.

The stretch between Dubuque and Davenport was a lengthy one, comparable to the stretch they had just sailed between La Crosse and Dubuque. Along the way, they picked up yet more moonshine, though Kehoe also felt every single dollar they handed over in exchange for the liquor. Not that they were about to hit zero anytime soon – Kehoe had saved up plenty to keep them supplied with cash for a while. But when accounting for the money they had made since leaving St. Paul, it still hurt him to let that money go.

But he knew there was a chance he’d make it all back once they made it further down the river, closer to home. Just as it was written on the sign on the Crust Bucket’s stern, although he sailed up and down the river for a living, St. Louis would always be home.

When they eventually did make it to Davenport, Kehoe was starting to get a sinking feeling at the sight of how few barges they could potentially tow. The only barges Kehoe saw were ones that were either being unloaded or sailed out of port by someone else. This didn’t bode well.

“Looks like we may have to sail back up the river,” Kehoe grunted in annoyance as he and Dale stepped off the Crust Bucket. “No damn barges here.”

“Just give me half an hour to ask around, I’m sure I’ll find something,” the tuxedo cat insisted, stretching each of his legs.

But perhaps despite his better judgment, Kehoe allowed Dale to try asking for work. He didn’t stick around himself, though on the way back to the Crust Bucket, Kehoe did look around the Davenport docks himself, though there really didn’t seem to be much for them to do.

A large excursion boat had pulled into the port. Kehoe had seen them at a distance, large, luxurious, obnoxiously lavish things. He hardly paid them any mind, although he did think they were odd. People wanted to sail in boats so big that they had foregone having a wheel of their own. Even now, Kehoe could see the smaller towboat pushing it along.

What a strange concept for a vessel, though he supposed it was comparable to a large barge carrying people. Still, he was perfectly happy with the Crust Bucket, he felt far more at home on that than he knew he would on a big riverboat like that. But perhaps whenever he inevitably retired, he'd take a trip on one of those…

But that was something for the future, not anything he cared to even think about now. Passing the large vessel, he watched people getting off and on, mainly people who seemed to have more money than they knew what to do with. They were all dressed so formally, as if they were going to important meetings or events, which Kehoe realized they probably were. They hardly paid much attention to anyone around them, and Kehoe likewise didn’t give them a second glance.

Returning to the Crust Bucket, he decided to procure himself a single bottle of liquor from the lower deck’s storage. Drinking in broad daylight was risky indeed, but as he brought it up to the pilothouse, he knew no one was around to catch him in the act.

Kehoe shot the harsh liquor back, hardly even noticing the burn. He crudely wiped his mouth with his sleeve after finishing what had been left in the bottle. It wasn’t good liquor, Kehoe knew as much, but he didn’t care. For one, he didn’t feel inclined to go ashore just to buy more expensive alcohol. And for another, in today’s climate, he could hardly afford to be fussy about what liquor he drank. Not like those people he could see getting on and off the excursion boat.

He snorted to himself. He'd eat his old hat if all those rich folks didn’t attend those underground drinking establishments like the ones Kehoe had done small-time business with. It was no secret that those places were quite lucrative.

“Cap’n! Good news!” Kehoe gave a jump and nearly dropped the empty bottle. He saw Dale coming around the pilothouse and moving to stand in the doorway near Kehoe. “Got some good news for ya’.”

“Bloody hell, Dale! You scared the living daylight out’a me! What is it?” he snapped in annoyance as he composed himself. He put the bottle on the floor near the corner under the windows.

“I got us a job – a good one,” Dale said, seemingly completely ignoring the greeting he got. “Just gotta tow that thing right there to Burlington.”

When Kehoe followed Dale's gesturing, he saw that he was referring to the large excursion boat that had pulled into port earlier. He furrowed his brow.

“That one? The hell do they need towing for? They came with another boat,” he grumbled as he looked at it, grimacing. Kehoe scoffed. “You realize we can’t tow barges with that big, damned eyesore in front, don’t you?”

“Well, we ain't towing anything anyway. No one else needed a towboat, and besides, they said they’d pay us well since it was on such short notice,” the tuxedo cat insisted calmly, giving a shrug. He gave a small smirk when Kehoe raised an eyebrow. “Their other towboat had business elsewhere. And don’t worry, cap’n, I got it in writing.”

“Let me see it then,” he growled at Dale, before being handed the paper they used to keep track of their jobs. Seeing the jobs they'd completed being ticked off was satisfying in its own right. But he didn’t exactly take the time to appreciate it.

The listing Dale had made read ‘River Queen’, which Kehoe guessed was the name of the big, gawdy boat. However, he could hardly argue with the commission pricing listed. It was over half of what they'd already made off barges since leaving St. Paul.

It was… not bad. It wasn’t great, but it was good enough for now. With any luck, they'd be able to find work when they arrived at their destination.

“Fine, guess we’re pushing that ugly thing to Burlington then,” Kehoe scoffed when he finally relented. He handed the paper back to Dale. Although getting paid for the transport job was nice, Kehoe knew jobs that saw the barges being taken further downriver would pay substantially better. This was hardly worth their time. “But ask next time before you sign us up for anything like that.”

And so it was with some reluctance that Kehoe steered the Crust Bucket into position behind the River Queen. The names contrasted so violently that Kehoe found it oddly ironic, but he supposed both names fit their vessels quite well. The Crust Bucket wasn’t poorly maintained by any means, but it wasn’t anywhere near as pristine as the River Queen was.

Kehoe watched from above as Steve and Dale got the River Queen properly tethered and secure. For an apparent pencil pusher, Dale always did work quite well. He pulled double duty, in a way, and he knew how to pull his own weight. He was an admittedly valuable asset and Kehoe couldn’t complain.

Before they set off, however, the crew ended up doing some shopping. He let Steve and Carly take care of that, while he took to walking around near the boat. Dale had settled on the upper deck, apparently going over some paperwork as he and Mac smoked some cigarettes in silence. The dock wasn’t quite as busy as St. Paul had been, but he saw things being brought in by other towboats. Kehoe supposed the upside was that no barges were being picked up and sailed away at least.

As he paced beside the Crust Bucket, Kehoe's eyes settled on the River Queen nearby, just as a passing breeze ruffled his long, bluish gray cheek fur. Up on the top deck, standing by the railing, he spotted a woman.

It was hard to properly gauge from a distance, but she seemed fairly young. She was clad in a red dress with white accents, an apron around her waist. A waitress, perhaps. Of course, big boats like that would have a wait staff.

She had dark bluish gray fur, like Kehoe, but even at a distance what really stood out was her bright blonde hair. Its color initially reminded Kehoe of hay, though it might be even brighter than that. She had her hair up in a bun, and just like Kehoe she was looking around rather aimlessly. Their eyes met for the briefest moment when she caught Kehoe watching her, at which point he politely averted his gaze. He didn’t want to get accused of ogling a young woman like her.

When the River Queen sounded its horn, Kehoe knew it was time to leave. He grunted under his breath about having to tow a bunch of rich snobs around like a personal driver as he climbed the steps up to the pilothouse. Regardless of his personal feelings, however, he was going to get the job done.

He always did.

And so, the River Queen left Davenport with the Crust Bucket towing it. It wasn’t so different from towing barges, though it was Kehoe's first time towing a big boat like this. Still, it seemed so silly to him that they'd make big boats like that without the means to sail by themselves, but he supposed if they didn’t, he wouldn’t be here towing them for money.

Thankfully, the River Queen wasn’t so tall that it completely obstructed Kehoe's view. It was what Kehoe imagined towing a very tall barge would be like.

His interactions with the River Queen’s staff were mercifully very minimal, essentially nonexistent. He liked that; all they did was signal for him when to either slow or pull into passing ports with their horn.

From the pilothouse, Kehoe happened to spot the woman he'd seen earlier. He saw her a few times throughout the day, in fact. She appeared by the railing of the upper deck of the River Queen, casting glances backwards. The blonde-haired, blue cat didn’t seem to look at him specifically, but just the Crust Bucket in general.

Although he couldn’t care less what she thought of his boat, Kehoe still had to wonder what she was thinking about when she looked back towards them. Though he wasn’t very self-conscious about his vessel’s appearance, Kehoe did realize just how much it stood out compared to the fine paint work and ornate craftmanship of the River Queen.

The woman’s appearances were brief, yet numerous throughout the day. Kehoe stopped paying much attention to her eventually. What did he care? She did happen to be the person he spotted the most. Other passengers would occasionally cast glances back towards them, but she was the only one he recognized on sight, owing to that pale blonde hair of hers. He couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with hair like that.

Given the distance to Burlington, Kehoe ended up sailing the ship well into the night, though when he was signaled to, he did bring the vessels to a halt. The idea of stopping in the middle of nowhere like this was a bit strange to him, but he supposed the rich passengers got some novelty out of being able to see the stretches of uninhabited riverside land. Even though the landscapes and sights around the river were indeed very beautiful, they had somewhat lost their luster for Kehoe.

Yawning, he lit a lantern, descended the steps from the pilothouse, and moved along the darkened upper deck. As he moved towards the door leading to his cabin, Kehoe caught what he thought might be one last glance of the young woman, before he retreated for the night. Her blonde hair had practically glowed in the dark, though perhaps he was imagining it. As Kehoe stepped into his cabin, he could already hear noise from the River Queen’s deck, no doubt from its passengers.

Thankfully, they weren’t so loud that Kehoe couldn’t sleep.

Chapter 2: Marina

Summary:

While docked at a port, Kehoe is approached by a familiar-looking stranger...

Notes:

Not much to say here, really, just another chapter! I've pre-written most of the story, so new chapters will drop as the final batch gets finished, hopefully I can keep up the pace!
Anyhow, hopefully y'all enjoy the chapter!

Midday saw the River Queen finally arriving near Burlington, courtesy of the Crust Bucket pushing it. Once the big excursion boat was where it needed to be, Kehoe grumbled to himself. He yawned and stretched. Finally, it was done. Kehoe couldn’t say it had been a particularly long or arduous journey down the river, but the sooner he and the crew could get back to some more proper work like towing barges the better.

Accompanied by Steve and Dale, Kehoe moved off the Crust Bucket to board the River Queen with them. It was hard not to feel out of place on a vessel like this. Everything about the large, white riverboat screamed excess to Kehoe; it was all form over function; the thing couldn’t even sail by itself.

Admittedly, Kehoe found himself appreciating the craftsmanship from the deck railing to the hull itself. The planks on the deck looked as though they had been cleaned just minutes ago.

The transaction took place inside the dining hall, which added to the almost sickening feeling of excess and luxury. It was all so incredibly over the top; the floorboards were shiny and polished, the tables set with white, clean tablecloths and Kehoe noticed a large stage towards the far end of the room. It housed a piano, which Kehoe caught a glimpse of through the parted, red curtains.

The ceiling above looked intricate, the wood carved with patterns around the light fixtures. It was nothing like the plain, utilitarian ceiling of the Crust Bucket and Kehoe had to wonder how much a ceiling like that had to cost.

“Ah, Mr. McMillan, a pleasure to see you again,” an almost silky voice spoke to them. Kehoe turned and saw a tall, gray tabby in a black three-piece suit approaching.

He had a lanky build, his hair was slicked back and his clothes looked like they cost more than what some people paid in rent, being as shiny and iridescent as raven feathers.

“Pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Dale greeted the taller man, Kehoe noticing that he put on a bit of a voice to sound more proper. He resisted the urge to snort. “This is my boss, Captain Kehoe and this is first-mate Steve Langley.”

“Ah, it’s a pleasure, gentlemen. My name is Carl Gavaghan,” the tall man introduced himself as he shook Kehoe's hand, then Steve’s. Mr. Gavaghan had a smile on his face as he gestured to his side. “Well, I would like to thank you once more for towing us along on such short notice. Can I offer you anything to eat or drink?”

“Oh, that would be a pleasure, wouldn’t it, cap'n?” Dale asked, his tone quite insistent. Kehoe frowned. He could think of about a hundred different things he'd rather do than prolong his stay on this vessel. He sighed inwardly and just gave a nod, however.

Although Mr. Gavaghan seemed somewhat hesitant, he guided the trio to the nearest table. The cutlery almost looked more expensive than most of the things Kehoe owned. He tried his best not to snort as he and the others sat down. In a place like this, he truly stuck out like a sore thumb, but what could he really do about it at this moment in time?

“Ah, Ms. Winslow, there you are. What would you like gentlemen?” Kehoe glanced up, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

There was no mistaking it; the waitress with her bluish gray fur and the bright, blonde hair that contrasted so much with it… it was her for certain; it was the woman he had spotted on the River Queen’s deck the previous day.

Being closer now, Kehoe noticed the Russian Blue had a small, heart-shaped nose, rounded, dark-tipped ears, and emerald-green eyes. He also noticed that she had had a rather disinterested expression on her face, but her face had immediately broken into a smile the moment she realized she had eyes on her.

“Gentlemen?” Kehoe realized none of the three had said a word when Mr. Gavaghan spoke up.

Composing himself, Kehoe grunted, “Some water will be fine for me.”

He kicked both Steve and Dale's legs under the table when he noticed how they were gawking at Ms. Winslow, as if they'd never seen a woman before. Both of them gave a light start at this, before ordering for themselves.

“So, what is it you do around here?” Kehoe asked Mr. Gavaghan once Ms. Winslow left their table. He wasn’t exactly in the mood for… well, really any of this, but he figured he ought to at least try to make some amount of polite conversation. Just enough to be acceptable.

“Oh, I suppose you could consider me the captain here – well, really I'm the manager, Captain Kehoe.” It took every last shred of willpower for Kehoe to not laugh at Mr. Gavaghan’s own way of describing himself.

The captain of a ship that couldn’t even sail, what an utterly pathetic and borderline insulting idea, Kehoe thought contemptuously. But despite his personal opinion, Kehoe refrained from saying anything about it, biting his tongue.

By the time Ms. Winslow returned with their drinks, Kehoe noticed that Dale and Steve began to stare again. Steve in particular had straightened up, as if to look as tall as possible.

It took Kehoe a moment to realize that it made him feel second-hand embarrassment. Surely, if those two could see themselves, they would also realize how absolutely foolish they looked.

He shot them each a look when their eyes met, but they hardly seemed to realize what could possibly make Kehoe so annoyed.

Lunch on the River Queen didn’t get much better by the time their food was served. Kehoe was, quite frankly, not even entirely sure what they were being served either, at least not until Mr. Gavaghan explained what it was.

And even so, it was such a far cry from the usual kind of lunch they ate back on the Crust Bucket, Kehoe hardly felt like he was eating real food. But regardless of his reservations, Kehoe indulged in the needlessly fancy dishes they were served.

“So, how come your ship is called the Crust Bucket?” Kehoe looked up from his food when Mr. Gavaghan spoke up. Although he had a smile on his face, Kehoe didn’t miss the somewhat condescending tone.

“Barnacles,” Kehoe simply grunted, not feeling particularly talkative. It was a lie, but he was also curious about how Mr. Gavaghan was going to react to hearing this.

“Ah, get a lot of those on the hull, do you?” Kehoe gave a noncommittal grunt, before he resumed eating. He knew now that Mr. Gavaghan was as much a captain as Kehoe was a doctor.

Anyone who actually knew anything would know that there were no barnacles in the waters of the Mississippi River or in any body of freshwater for that matter. Kehoe knew everything he needed to know about Mr. Gavaghan now.

Despite how admittedly nice the food tasted it was hardly a very filling meal. By the time the three of them were ready to leave the River Queen, Kehoe knew they'd likely be joining the rest of the crew for a more proper lunch. On the way out of the dining room, he caught one last glimpse of Ms. Winslow who seemed to watch the three of them with… some amount of interest. There was just the slightest hint of a smile on her face.

If he were to assume, his first guess would be that she had her eye on either of the two men with him. He supposed he couldn’t blame her.

Kehoe didn’t give the young woman a second glance, as they headed for the deck below.

Kehoe had barely stepped off the ramp, however before a voice called out from behind. “Captain Kehoe? Can we talk?”

Turning around, Kehoe raised his bushy eyebrows as Ms. Winslow stood on the upper deck. The bluish gray cat looked down towards the trio from above, her hands on the railing.

“What about, missy?” Kehoe asked her skeptically, looking up at her.

“Hm… Well, I might need to hire you for a job is all.” Kehoe raised an eyebrow and scoffed in disbelief. What exactly would a waitress need to hire him for? She seemed to notice the skeptical look on his face as she gave a snort. “Let’s at least talk about it before you say no, Captain.”

“Fine, we can talk…” Kehoe turned to look at Steve and Dale who both looked as though they wanted to stick around. He snorted. “Just head on back to the ship, you two. I’ll get this sorted out.”

Although both of them seemed reluctant, they eventually complied.

Idiots. All it took was a pretty face for them to start acting like teenagers again.

Although he still had his doubts about the younger woman’s intent, Kehoe stayed by the boarding ramp and waited for the Russian Blue. Even if it weren’t anything worth his while, he'd at least hear her out. He personally doubted it was anything substantial, but he had been wrong before. Granted, if there had been talk about a serious transaction here, he most likely would have let Dale stay to discuss it with Ms. Winslow.

When she finally stepped onto the pier beside him, Ms. Winslow turned out to be a bit taller than him, though not as tall as Steve, Dale, or the other crew members. She looked quite casual despite the rather plain red and white dress that was clearly her uniform.

“Alright, what is it you want from me, missy?” Kehoe grunted once she came to a halt beside him.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, one hand fiddling with an old compass. It had long since stopped working and Kehoe only kept it for sentimental reasons now. After all, he'd had it for many years at this point.

“I wanted to know if you could sail me down south,” Ms. Winslow replied calmly, putting her hands behind her back. Her bright blonde hair was still up in a bun and only added to the contrast between her casual demeanor and her formal state of dress.

Kehoe couldn’t help but give an indignant scoff. “South? How far ya’ goin’? I ain't a water taxi, missy.”

“Just south…” she replied vaguely, giving a shrug as she turned to look past him. “Hm…”

“Well, that tells me just about nothing. Where are you getting off?” Kehoe could feel himself growing annoyed. He gave a snort, before following her gaze, which he soon realized was aimed at the nearby Crust Bucket. Scoffing again, Kehoe shot her an almost suspicious look. “What? Having second thoughts? The accommodation not good enough for you, missy?”

“It’ll be fine,” she replied, not giving an actual answer to Kehoe's question. Ms. Winslow looked back at him again. “Well, New Orleans would do.”

Upon hearing this, Kehoe raised an eyebrow.

“New Orleans? That’s quite a trip, you know… and fuel ain't free,” he almost muttered at her. A waitress surely didn’t make a lot of money. She wasn’t looking for a free ride, was she? If she were, perhaps she was better off staying on the River Queen.

“Oh, I've got money, don’t you worry about that, captain,” Ms. Winslow shot back in an almost superior tone. The smallest hint of a smile made itself home on her face for the first time, if just for a moment. “Name your price.”

“Hm…” Kehoe still didn’t buy it. If she had money, what exactly prevented her from bartering for passage down south with someone else? Why would she want a random towboat that had a number of other priorities to sail her? “Point is, li’l missy, I ain't got time to play chaperone. This here crew’s got quotas to meet. We can’t just put everything on hold for you.”

“You don’t have to put anything on hold for me,” Ms. Winslow scoffed, turning her nose up slightly. “If you're headed downriver anyway, I’ll stay out of your way. Won’t even notice I'm there. And besides, I’ll pay you as well. Handsome pay…”

“Excuse me?” Kehoe asked, perhaps thinking he might have misheard her.

She chuckled coyly. “I just said that I'd pay handsomely.”

“Hm… Will you now?” Kehoe asked her skeptically, watching her with an equal amount of skepticism showing on his face. “Try me.”

“How’s ten dollars sound?” Kehoe stared at her. Considering the amount of money she was putting on the table, he still couldn’t grasp why she’d be willing to pay a crew of their standing to bring her along. Surely, she was better off paying for more proper accommodation.

“You’re something else, ain't you?” he grumbled, still trying to figure out what her motive was, if she had any at all. He turned the compass in his pocket over once, twice. “Fine, if you're really crazy enough, you can sail with us, missy.”

“Excellent.” She gave a small, almost self-satisfied smile before turning on her heel and boarding the River Queen immediately. “Give me a little bit – I need to go and get my stuff.”

Watching the Russian Blue leaving, Kehoe sighed and shook his head, before he turned to make his way back to the Crust Bucket nearby. He still didn’t understand what her deal was, but there was something strange about it. Still, today hadn’t been a complete waste at least.

Lunch on the River Queen notwithstanding, Kehoe felt somewhat pleased to have gotten to where they were now. Having Ms. Winslow around shouldn’t be too bad either, though he just hoped, more than anything, that she wouldn’t get in the way.

Kehoe waited on the lower deck near the knees of the Crust Bucket for Ms. Winslow, who appeared soon enough, carrying a large suitcase. Had Kehoe been a more chivalrous type, he probably would have waited by the River Queen and offered to carry it for her.

“Alright everything’s sorted, I'm ready to leave whenever you are,” she said pleasantly once she’d stepped onto the boat.

Once again, Kehoe found himself watching Ms. Winslow rather suspiciously. Although he had a multitude of questions, he wasn’t sure if he should ask. He had his suspicions about her, and he found the circumstances very strange, but Kehoe also knew that ten dollars was ten dollars at the end of the day.

“Very well, missy…” Kehoe turned back and noticed that the crew on deck had all stopped what they were doing and were staring at her. He snorted. “This here’s the crew. Dale, Mackenzie, Steve, and Carlyle. Now get back to work, we’re leaving soon.”

The four had looked like they were ready to introduce themselves personally until Kehoe had shot that down beforehand. Though he could tell they were disappointed, no one argued and instead resumed what they were doing. Hopefully, this wasn’t a sign of things to come…

Kehoe showed her the way up to the upper deck. He paused. The only available place to sleep was… He frowned. He didn’t care much about chivalry, but in this case, he knew he had to do the responsible thing.

“Alright, missy, this here’s my cabin. You’re going to be staying here for the duration of your little voyage,” he grunted, opening the door to show her inside.

“You want me to stay with you in your cabin? That’s bold…” she snorted derisively as she put her suitcase down in front of the door.

“I'm not staying in here with you!” he snapped at her. “You’ll be taking my cabin, unless you'd rather want to stay with those meatheads.”

Kehoe had gestured towards the lower deck as he spoke. Ms. Winslow seemed to understand, and she gave a nod. “Right, I'm sorry. I appreciate that, Captain.”

Ms. Winslow heaved her suitcase inside, the cabin thankfully left orderly and neat – as neat as Kehoe could manage to keep it anyway. The smell of tobacco smoke lingered, but Kehoe never smoked without the window open. He wasn’t feeling self-conscious about it, though as he shimmied his way past Ms. Winslow, he did open the singular window there.

“It ain't much, but you already knew that,” he grunted at her. From under the bed, Kehoe retrieved the box he used to store his clothes in. “I’ll be sharing a cabin with the boys for now. You may go wherever you please, just stay out og their way, missy.”

“Oh, I’ll try my very hardest not to get in the way.” Ms. Winslow nodded slowly, and her tone was dripping with sarcasm. Kehoe snorted and turned to leave. However, once he reached the doorway, he paused and turned back towards the blonde-haired cat.

“So, how come your boss just let you abandon ship like that?” he found himself asking, though he wasn’t sure why. He stared at her as she leaned on his desk, hands on the smooth, wooden surface.

“Oh, I just quit,” she replied casually, before she reached a hand up behind her head.

She undid the bun that her hair had been in, and soon her shoulder-length, bright blonde hair fell down, hanging like curtains on either side of her face. He truly couldn’t recall ever seeing anyone with hair as bright as hers. The way it caught the dim light in the cabin was… unique.

However, her words were what made Kehoe stare at her in surprise.

Had she really just quit her job, just to go on a makeshift river cruise of her own? As she ran a bluish-gray hand through her messy hair, Ms. Winslow caught sight of the confused look on his face and gave a small smile.

“It’s easier than asking for a vacation in this business,” she explained with an indifferent shrug. Tugging on the red and white dress, she said, “Alright, I’ll be out in a few – I need to get out of this awful thing.”

“Right,” Kehoe half-muttered, before making his leave to afford Ms. Winslow some privacy. “It’s time we set off as well.”

Leaving the young woman inside his cabin, Kehoe made his way to the lower deck to make sure everything was as it should be. The deck was kept orderly and with no clutter, nothing placed in haphazard ways that could lead to things or people falling overboard. Although no one asked, Kehoe could tell they were all curious about Ms. Winslow and he felt himself growing irritated. He barked at the crew to get ready to set off, and so they did, while Kehoe made his way up to the pilothouse again.

Once the Crust Bucket left Burlington port, Kehoe was still trying to figure out what to make of their situation. He'd already made up his mind and instead of continuing south, Kehoe turned them around to sail back up north. He wanted to make absolutely certain there weren’t any other barges to be towed. Granted, they wouldn’t be going far upriver, just up to Davenport.

They hadn’t been sailing for long before there was a knock upon the pilothouse’s door. Looking over, Kehoe spotted Ms. Winslow, who was now dressed far more casually than she had been at work. Gone was the red and white waitress dress, replaced by a white dress shirt and a pair of dark grayish blue knickers, the ends tucked into white knee-high socks. She wore a crimson necktie, although the way she had tied it was rather sloppy. Not that Kehoe was one to judge.

Still, he found it curious the way women dressed these days, especially the younger generations. Hell, with that outfit, she was almost dressed like a man. But he supposed she looked like she fit in better. What wouldn’t it look like having a woman waltzing around in a dress on his deck?

“Sorry, I forgot to pack a dress,” Ms. Winslow sneered sarcastically, having apparently read Kehoe's mind.

“What do you need, missy?” Eyes back on the river up ahead, Kehoe ignored her comment as he held onto the massive wheel.

“Oh, I just couldn’t help but notice we were sailing north…” Kehoe glanced on over to the Russian Blue, whose dark-tipped ear gave a small flicker as she leaned on the doorframe. “You do know what way New Orleans is, right?”

“Of course I do! But we've got business that needs doing before we head south,” he snapped at her indignantly. “And there's another thing, I ain't going further south than St. Louis, li’l missy.”

Ms. Winslow didn’t respond, just giving another shrug. She cast a glance towards the bow as she remained in the doorway, a stray breeze catching those blonde locks of hair, making them billow in the wind. Kehoe really couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with hair that bright. Was it natural? Kehoe hadn’t a clue about all the strange things young people did to their hair these days, nor did he understand why. Even so… he really hadn’t ever seen hair like that.

Not wanting to stare, Kehoe turned to look through windows facing the bow. The sky was still clear and the sun shining brightly onto the water, its light shimmering off the surface.

“Why are you even wanting to go to down south, missy?” Kehoe found himself wondering aloud, despite himself. Considering where they were, it seemed like an awfully long journey to make. He figured Ms. Winslow had her own reasons for it.

“It’s been a while since I was there. I just want to go back,” the Russian Blue replied casually as she turned back towards Kehoe. He turned to shoot her a skeptical look.

“Quitting your job just to take a vacation?” he snorted skeptically, looking suspiciously at the younger cat. When she shrugged, Kehoe scoffed at her. “Well, that’s vague, but it’s your own business, missy. Don’t think–”

“Oh, right. No need to be so formal.” Ms. Winslow asked, cutting in as he spoke. He looked at her, feeling somewhat annoyed by how she cut him off. She stepped into the pilothouse, the floorboards gently creaking as she did. Holding out her hand, she offered a strangely smug smile. “Marina.”

Kehoe frowned at her in confusion. “Marina? What marina?”

“No, my name is Marina,” she explained, as if it were the most common name in the world

Marina? Someone actually named their child that? The only marinas Kehoe had ever come across were the ones where people docked their boats. He'd never heard a person going by that name.

“Is it now?” Kehoe grumbled as he hesitantly shook her hand, which was considerably smaller, daintier, and softer than his own. In what almost constituted a murmur, he added, “Well, I'm Captain Kehoe, but you already knew that.”

She looked intrigued as she let go of his hand, her gaze eventually settling on the wheel. “Hm…”

“What?” Kehoe almost spat as he turned to look at the wheel, then back at her. He didn’t like her tone.

“Nothing, nothing… just never seen a boat like this on the inside.” The blonde cat’s tone was still neutral, but there was a strange kind of superiority to her voice Kehoe didn’t like.

What was she, some kind of boat elitist? He should expect as much; she worked at a big, luxurious riverboat. Or at least she had. Kehoe was already mentally preparing himself to tell her off if she tried to exert her unfounded superiority.

“Well, if it ain't to your liking, you're welcome to swim down south, li’l missy,” he grunted, turning back to face the bow, feeling annoyed. Looking over at Ms. Winslow after a while, she didn’t say anything, just running a hand through her thick, messy, blonde hair, claws combing through it.

“Your boat’s perfectly fine, captain. Now then… I'm going to have a little look around.” Kehoe didn’t get a chance to say anything before she left him be, the creaking floorboards announcing her exit. He saw her stepping out of the doorway and turned to watch as she made her way out of sight.

Kehoe grumbled. He didn’t like the sound of that. If she were to start snooping around, there was a chance she might see something she shouldn’t. But Kehoe trusted that the boys below wouldn’t let her. Well, somewhat anyway; he had certain concerns regarding where their heads were at as of late.

Throughout the day, those fears didn’t seem to be unfounded.

Sometime after she left him, Kehoe spotted Ms. Winslow making her way onto the lower deck towards the bow. She had barely set foot there before Steve, Carly and Mac approached her. Though Kehoe couldn’t hear what they were saying, he watched in annoyance as they all stopped what they were doing to talk to Ms. Winslow in a most animated way.

And of course, they had to do this right where Kehoe had the best view of it via the stairwell leading from the lower deck to the upper one. Lucky him…

He gave a snort. Stupid horndogs. He knew why they were all over her like that. To think all it took was a pretty face for those fools to completely forget what they were doing…

Kehoe saw Steve doing a casual lean against one of the Crust Bucket’s knees and halfway wished the orange tabby would fall overboard. That’d teach him. He scoffed. The quartet was barely visible past the upper deck, but Ms. Winslow was easy to spot with her gray fur and blonde hair.

This went on for several minutes. Even from a distance, Kehoe didn’t think Ms. Winslow appeared as interested in talking as either of the three men were. She was distinctly leaning away, her arms crossed, while all three were taking turns talking to her, their deck duties left abandoned. It reached a point where a very annoyed Kehoe had to sound the Crust Bucket’s horn.

All four of them jumped, casting startled looks up towards the pilothouse. Kehoe kept his face neutral despite the grim satisfaction he got from almost seeing Steve fall into the water. He shot his men a single scowl and they seemed to get the message. Though they appeared reluctant, the three dispersed, leaving Ms. Winslow up by the bow.

She shot Kehoe a small smile before she turned away, facing the water. She too leaned on one of the knees of the boat, her slim tail giving a swish. Now that she was alone, Kehoe watched Ms. Winslow for a moment. He really hoped she wouldn’t be too disruptive to the crew’s productivity. However, the way Steve, Carly and Dale had completely lost their heads around her didn’t bode well.

And unfortunately, Kehoe was proven right several times.

It seemed the rest of the crew kept stopping by to talk to Ms. Winslow over and over. They appeared to take any excuse to do it too. The only one who only seemed to offer polite, brief conversation was Mac whenever he passed.

At least he had some amount of sense in him, or he just wasn’t as easily swayed as the others. Whatever the case, Kehoe was glad he had at least one crewmember who wouldn’t shirk his work just because they had Ms. Winslow onboard. At least Kehoe hoped it would stay that way.

When they eventually arrived in Davenport, Kehoe spotted Ms. Winslow settling in by the railing on the starboard side of the upper deck. Leaning on it, when she turned her head to face the bow, Kehoe spotted a distinctly displeased look on her face. He wasn’t sure what could be the cause – not that he really cared. But as he caught more glimpses of her face, he did wonder if perhaps any of the crew had acted inappropriately towards her.

He supposed that as a captain that would be his responsibility to deal with, as little as he wanted to. It was bad enough that the boys were losing their heads over having a woman onboard.

Once the Crust Bucket was docked by Davenport, Kehoe made his way out to the upper deck where Ms. Winslow was. Being alone for once, she appeared more relaxed as she leaned on the railing with both her hands. The look on her face was one that looked displeased, almost disgusted, however.

Kehoe again found himself wondering if her crew had said or done anything out of line. She was looking towards the stern of the boat, but when she spotted Kehoe out of the corner of her eye, Ms. Winslow turned to look at him. “So, Davenport, huh?”

“Just a short detour, missy,” he grunted at her. From within his jacket pocket, Kehoe produced his old, wooden pipe, proceeding to start filling it. “So, what’s the matter? I noticed you sulking around out here.”

Ms. Winslow gave a shrug and turned back to look out at the river. “Oh, nothing. Just can’t say I like the river much.”

“Yeah?” Kehoe grunted as he lit his pipe and gave a few puffs, the breeze carrying the smoke away from the two of them.

“Yeah. It’s disgusting,” she replied, her voice almost shaky with dislike and her nose wrinkled.

Kehoe gave a snort. “The Mississippi ain't pretty, but it’s the only river we got here.”

Ms. Winslow turned to give Kehoe a look, then looked out over the water again as another towboat approached the port. “I know that. But it’s also why I want to go back home. I'm tired of this disgusting, smelly water.”

He raised a single, bushy eyebrow. “Home?”

“I grew up down south by the sea. I can’t stand this dead water… I wouldn’t go swimming in the Mississippi if you paid me,” she huffed, turning her nose up slightly. He watched her curiously for a moment. Was she really quitting her job and traveling all that way just to get back to the sea?

“Well, I'm not much for the sea myself. I like it here on the river,” Kehoe grunted back, not at all sure why he was having this conversation with her. He blew some more smoke into the air. “Must be real desperate for the sea, if you're willing to go sailing with strange old men to get there.”

Ms. Winslow looked over, a rather furtive look on her face. “Well, you seem harmless enough. At least you haven’t started hitting on me yet.”

“Are the boys bothering you?” Kehoe immediately asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. Ms. Winslow gave an indistinct noise in response as she ran her fingers through her hair again. “If they are, I’ll kick ‘em around some. You would’ve thought they’d never seen a lady before.”

Ms. Winslow let out a soft chuckle at this, a smile finally showing on her face. She turned and Kehoe did as well, both of them watching as the crew started to unload and load a few crates between the Crust Bucket and the docks.

When Kehoe looked towards her again, Ms. Winslow gave him another small smile, before she chuckled again. “So… barnacles, huh?”

 

---

 

Having spent the night in the same cabin as Mac and Dale, Kehoe had realized just how pleasant things had been for him up until this point. He wasn’t used to sharing his sleeping space with other people, and although the cabin was in fact bigger than his own, the other men’s presence was hard to ignore. Thankfully, Kehoe had at least had a bunkbed to himself.

Even so, hearing not only the other bunk squeaking whenever Dale or Mac turned in their sleep, but also their snoring was enough to make sleep less pleasant than usual for him.

The Crust Bucket cabins were all built equally in terms of space, save for Kehoe's, which was also the only one that wasn’t shared with anyone else. The Crust Bucket wasn’t as large as some other towboats, so they were limited as far as space went. The lower deck held the engine room, rudder room and storage, which meant the upper deck was all they had in terms of living space.

The crew didn’t seem to mind sharing, however. Although he didn’t know what their cabins actually looked like, Kehoe had largely let them have free reign in how they took to decorating their living space. Thankfully, Dale and Mac's cabin was kept orderly with minimal clutter.

But once everyone was gathered around the table for breakfast, Kehoe made sure to enjoy as much coffee as he could. They did need to pick up more soon from the looks of it. Everything seemed quite similar to a normal morning. That was until Ms. Winslow showed up.

Steve had scooted his chair to the left to make room for her and hit Kehoe's with so much vigor it had almost knocked the cup out of Kehoe's hand. Steve gave him a halfway apologetic look as Kehoe glared at him.

Once Carly had made her eggs and bacon, Ms. Winslow took a seat with the rest of them, deciding to sit on Kehoe's left side instead. Even as she sat down, all eyes were on her, save for Kehoe's. almost immediately, the young woman leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms to close herself off.

He glanced around the table, trying to silently tell them to pull themselves together. It had been the same thing the previous night during dinner, and Kehoe quite frankly found their behavior infuriatingly secondhand embarrassing. What would Ms. Winslow not think, being ogled day in and day out like that?

She must think I'm running a crew of dimwits, Kehoe thought bitterly before he turned to look at the young woman. Ms. Winslow was clad in the same outfit she had changed into once she got onboard the previous day.

At least breakfast proceeded normally despite the new distraction at the table. Smalltalk was fairly minimal, though Kehoe once more couldn’t help but notice how eager everyone seemed to talk to Ms. Winslow. Though he would have probably felt very overwhelmed in a situation like that, she seemed to handle having three men so eagerly trying to get her attention.

Mac was still the only one who didn’t seem to be head over heels for her, and the only one capable of normal smalltalk. Whenever he spoke to her, Kehoe did notice how the apricot-furred cat appeared rather calm and casual. It was a stark contrast to the other three who almost seemed to be fighting to get Ms. Winslow's attention.

By the time Kehoe had had enough, he rose to his feet. “Alright, whenever you're all done trying to kiss up to the lady, could I interest you all in some actual work?”

Thankfully, it didn’t fall on deaf ears. Although it was slightly later than Kehoe would’ve liked, eventually the crew left the kitchen and set about preparing to set off. While the rest of the crew got ready, Kehoe stayed up in the pilothouse. He had sent Dale off to see what business they might be able to get.

In the early morning light, Kehoe spotted Ms. Winslow wandering around the upper deck before she settled close to the smokestacks towards the bow. By the time Dale appeared, it was clear that he wanted to stop and talk to Ms. Winslow on the way up to the pilothouse. Thankfully, he didn’t, and he also had his head focused enough to actually tell Kehoe that they did indeed have barges to tow.

With smoke erupting from the smokestacks, Kehoe steered the Crust Bucket along to where their barges would be. It was still early, but perhaps slightly later than they would normally set off. But once they arrived by the first barge, he could hardly complain.

Watching from above, he saw Ms. Winslow staying up by the knees of the boat. Though he wasn’t about to go down and tell her off, he hoped the Russian Blue would stay out of the way. He watched as the crew got into position to tether the barge while their blue-furred guest stood by and watched near the knees.

Though the boys were as fast and efficient as ever, most of them did seem a bit too eager to get back to talking to Ms. Winslow. Meeting his eyes for a moment, Mac just shook his head in a resigned way. Kehoe did derive some grim satisfaction from seeing how disinterested Ms. Winslow seemed, however.

Arriving to tow another barge, the crew got into position, though to Kehoe's surprise, he saw Ms. Winslow also moving onto the first barge with them. Dale seemed to ask her what she was doing, but Kehoe hadn’t a clue what she was telling them. He watched from up high as the boys set about tethering the new barge, but to his surprise, Ms. Winslow also grabbed a thick, heavy rope, before she did an admittedly decent job of tying it down.

Raising an eyebrow, he watched, though it seemed like no one else had noticed what she did. Surprising, given how she had become the center of attention overnight, Kehoe thought with a snort. He didn’t know what she was playing at, but he hoped someone would check the knot to make sure the tether would hold. He couldn’t exactly say he trusted some waitress to know what she was doing.

By the third barge, the crew seemed to notice Ms. Winslow coming along to tether the platform. She was the first there and to everyone’s surprise, she tied down two ropes. From the looks of it, she was tightening them quite well, putting much of her weight into being able to tighten the thick ropes.

From the pilothouse, Kehoe curiously did his best to watch her as Mac moved over to check her knots, which seemed to be approved. Though the rest of the crew resumed work and tethered the rest of the ropes, they still seemed to have their attention fixed on the Russian Blue, talking to her in an animated way. Kehoe snorted, easily able to imagine what they were saying.

Leaving Davenport with four barges gave Kehoe a good feeling. They could finally get back on track and at least attempt to meet their quota. As usual, thanks to Dale’s planning, they had the barges that would be going on the longest trip tethered first, and the ones they would need to drop off earlier in the front.

Around midday, Ms. Winslow made her way up to the pilothouse, looking particularly smug, and Kehoe could already imagine what she was there for. Her giving the crew help with the tethering of the barges wasn’t random. He hadn’t forgotten their conversation from the previous day.

“Hello, captain,” she greeted him pleasantly as she stepped into the pilothouse.

“Hello, missy,” he grunted back. He didn’t say anything for a while just kept on sailing quietly, while the young woman stood there in the doorway. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I just wanted to talk to you about something,” Ms. Winslow told him in a would-be casual tone. Kehoe was no fool, he could tell she was trying to seem impressive. “You know, I grew up on a big boat.”

He knew now for sure what she was getting at, even if it had been obvious from the beginning. Kehoe turned to look at her and gave a skeptical snort. “Am I supposed to be impressed or something?”

“I don’t know, are you?” she retorted sarcastically. Ms. Winslow gave a small smile after this. “All I'm saying is that I know how boats are run. And if you'd let me, I could help out on our way. I know my way around.”

Kehoe snorted again. He wasn’t sure she actually did. Hadn’t she just told him yesterday that she had never seen the inside of a towboat pilothouse? However, he did suppose that if Ms. Winslow had grown up by the sea, she was used to other types of boats. “You think so? Or are You just trying to find an excuse to pay me less?”

“No trickery with me, captain,” Ms. Winslow said almost cheerfully as she turned, her back resting against the railing as she looked at him. “It’s part of why I left. I want to do some work I actually enjoy.”

“Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves there, li’l missy,” Kehoe grumbled, before taking another couple of puffs from his pipe. He scowled down at the crew when they looked up at them. Or rather, looked up at Ms. Winslow, Kehoe assumed. “Have you ever actually worked on a boat or did you just coast by?”

“I grew up on my dad’s fishing boat. He taught me everything; how to tie different knots, how to sail, everything.” Kehoe wasn’t sure if it was the conviction in her voice, but she certainly seemed to exude a kind of confidence he thought would be difficult to manufacture. “I bet I could run circles around these boys.”

He gave a snort in response to her rather cocky remark. Partially, Kehoe believed her, but that was mainly due to the fact that three quarters of his crew were infatuated with her, and clearly didn’t have their priorities in order.

“Well, li’l missy… I’ll think about it,” he told her after a moment’s silence. He caught her looking curiously at the wheel before their eyes met. “And you sure you'd be fine working with those dogs?”

“Positive,” the bluish gray cat said with a firm nod. She turned to look out the windows at the barges in front. “I know what I'm doing.”

“Hm, we’ll see about that,” Kehoe grumbled to himself. He still wasn’t entirely convinced.

Sure, she could tie down ropes, which he at least approved of, but she was carrying herself with a cockiness that bordered on arrogance. If he were to put her to the test, Kehoe hoped she could back up all the talk. With any luck, she wasn’t full of hot air.

Looking over at Ms. Winslow again, he couldn’t help but still have his doubts about her. In all honesty, as he scanned her from head to toe and back, Kehoe certainly thought she seemed more suited to the waitress job, based off looks alone.

But if she was so insistent on working the deck, perhaps he would give her what she wanted. In a way, Kehoe was genuinely curious about her. She wasn’t like any woman he'd met before, but then again, he also didn’t spend much time in the company of women.

Ms. Winslow didn’t seem satisfied with just sailing with them. In a way, he respected that she wanted to pull her own weight. The question left unanswered now was whether she actually could or not. Putting her to work would surely show if she would sink or swim.

Chapter 3: Uncharted

Summary:

Kehoe starts putting Marina to work around the Crust Bucket, albeit reluctantly. The young woman's presence proves to be a bit of a disruption to the daily work on the boat...

Catching yet more glimpses of Ms. Winslow meddling throughout the day did bring Kehoe a mixture of emotions. On the one hand, whenever he saw her talking to the boys on the deck, he somewhat hoped they would have the decency to tell her off, though he knew they didn’t. On the other, it also showed that she wasn’t kidding around.

He caught the blonde cat sweeping and cleaning the deck several times, saw her checking the tethers for the barges and saw her wandering up and down along the platforms like she was right at home. He even caught her undoing and redoing a tether for a barge.

Kehoe was no fool; he knew she was showing off, all in hopes that he would take her seriously enough to let her work. Peering down at her from the pilothouse as her long, messy hair billowed in the wind, he scoffed. She was looking right at him, no doubt hoping to get noticed.

In a way, it was almost humorous how she was clearly trying to get noticed by him, while the rest of the crew was trying to get her attention. But even though he was doubting her less and less, Kehoe still found himself uncertain about the idea of letting Ms. Winslow work by the time they docked for the night.

They all gathered in the gallery, seated by the table as Carly set about cooking. As it turned out, this was one job Ms. Winslow didn’t seem keen on helping out with. Instead, she had taken to sitting at the table across from Kehoe with Steve on her right and Dale on her right. Both the ginger tabby and the tuxedo cat had all their attention focused on her to the point where Kehoe didn’t doubt that they'd remain seated if a fire broke out in the gallery.

When Ms. Winslow's eyes met his, she gave Kehoe a meaningful look that made him inwardly sigh. He knew what was on her mind. She had been so insistent on it, after all.

Once the food was done, the chatter mostly died down, save for Mac who calmly talked about what the working conditions could be like during winter. It was at Ms. Winslow's own behest, seeing as she kept on asking about work-related things.

“But besides that, it isn’t so bad, really,” Mac finished off, before he started to eat his food as well. “I mean, except when it gets slippery. Steve had a nasty fall last winter.”

“It wasn’t that bad…” Steve insisted, the orange tabby straightening up indignantly. “Didn’t even hurt any.”

“Right… So, is that why you kept asking us to do your tasks?” Mac remarked shrewdly, garnering a soft chuckle from Ms. Winslow. Kehoe was barely paying attention, however.

While he couldn’t say grits were his favorite food, it wasn’t bad when cooked properly. It wasn’t even something he had eaten much throughout his life, but when they sailed up and down the river as much as they did, getting a chance to try new things was certainly a perk of the job. Granted, if they didn’t have Carly onboard, they likely wouldn’t be quite as experimental with their meals.

“I know my way around boats,” Ms. Winslow suddenly said, all eyes back on her. Though everyone was watching her, she was only looking at Kehoe. Her green eyes were staring straight into his.

“Really? Been sailing a lot?” Steve immediately asked, the fastest and most forthcoming.

“You were working on that big, fancy boat, right?” Carly asked eagerly before Dale also joined in.

Watching them was getting more and more unbearable for Kehoe. He wanted to get up and smack them around the head, but he also knew it was pointless. And so, he simply sighed deeply and put down his fork.

“Right… Listen here, you muddle-headed cads,” Kehoe growled to get his crew’s attention. With all eyes on him, Kehoe continued, “Missy here…”

“Ms. Winslow…” she cut in ever so calmly.

“Ms. Winslow,” Kehoe corrected himself, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered. “She’s been asking me to let her work with you as a deckhand. And this ain't an excuse to slack off and get cozy with her, you dogs.”

The crew had momentarily looked excited in a way Kehoe didn’t like, as if the idea of having Ms. Winslow working with them was a treat; a kind of reward for them.

With how they'd been eyeing up the young woman since before she even boarded the Crust Bucket, Kehoe realized he had his work cut out for him. It was unfortunately very likely that he would indeed catch them trying to talk her up.

Kehoe couldn’t be around to babysit his crew all day, however; he simply had to trust that they’d be doing things properly. And more so, he would have to trust that they'd keep their heads on their shoulders. As he looked around, Kehoe made sure to give each and every one of them a look that implied “or else…”

Already he felt secondhand embarrassment for them as they all soon resumed talking to Ms. Winslow, even talking over one another in their haste. Kehoe inwardly sighed, wishing they'd show some more dignity. It was hard to watch, but what could he really do at the end of the day?

But thankfully it started to die down when they all remembered that they had food on their plates.

Kehoe was still not entirely certain about Ms. Winslow. She seemed so eager to prove herself, but why? Why couldn’t she just be happy traveling with them as a passenger? Sure, Kehoe didn’t actually think a passenger was something they ought to have in the first place, but he had agreed to take her to St. Louis at least. However, it was still strange that she couldn’t simply be along for the ride. Whatever her reasons were, he supposed he really shouldn’t be complaining.

After all, having her work with the crew meant that there would be an additional set of hands available. At least she didn’t ask for pay either, although that in itself was strange, almost suspicious. But if this was what she wanted, Kehoe would let her have it. Something felt off about it, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

A young woman named Marina who claimed to have an affinity for boats… It almost felt like someone was playing a prank on him. Her name almost seemed to fit her too perfectly. It felt oddly suspicious in a way.

Turning to look at Ms. Winslow as they finished dinner, he wondered how she felt about this. Was she having second thoughts? In truth, he probably would have. She had asked for work and as it turned out, this work would unfortunately include being around those featherheads.

Kehoe didn’t feel the greatest need to stick around once dinner was over, but at the same time he also didn’t know if he wanted to leave Ms. Winslow alone in the company of the crew. It wasn’t because he feared they might do something unsavory, but perhaps he simply felt as though they would end up overwhelming her.

In the end, Kehoe ended up sticking around for a single game of cards after dinner was done. It was mostly uneventful, though when Ms. Winslow retreated, it almost seemed like the crew was ready to end the game prematurely. They did manage to finish a single game, however.

When he made his way to the cabin he now shared with Mac and Dale, Kehoe tried to get a head start on sleeping, hoping he wouldn’t have to listen to Mac's snoring again.

By the time the lot of them finished breakfast the next morning, Kehoe sent Dale and Mac off to see if there were any other potential towing jobs they could take on. Although he knew it was unlikely, he figured it would at least be worth a shot. Any penny they could scrape up would be good.

“So, what’re you going to have me do first, captain?” It was Ms. Winslow who had come up to Kehoe. He had settled by the Crust Bucket’s knees towards the bow. Glancing over, he couldn’t help but at least appreciate her attire at this moment in time.

Had she actually been wearing a dress, she wouldn’t have been very well-equipped for this particular sort of work. The knickers and utilitarian dress shirt did her some favors this time around. Today she even wore a dark gray cap.

After looking her up and down momentarily, Kehoe glanced up at her face. As little as he wanted to admit it, she fit right in. “Hmph, just let the boys show you the ropes. They’ll explain how things are run around here. And if they give you any grief, let me know.”

“I can handle a couple of boys,” Ms. Winslow told him rather dismissively, seemingly not at all worried. She brushed her blonde hair out of her face. Kehoe was surprised she hadn’t put her hair up again – surely it just might get in the way with how long it was, reaching down past her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Well, if you say so, missy. I just won’t stand for them shirking their duties because of a pretty face,” he grumbled at her, scowling.

“That’s nice,” she noted, tone vaguely pleasant. She even gave a light chuckle.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked over at her again. “What is?”

“Oh, I just think it’s nice of you to call my face pretty,” Ms. Winslow said shrewdly, though she did fix Kehoe with a look that told him that she was very much waiting or hoping for a reaction.

He snorted loudly. “Don’t get it twisted, missy. I ain't complimenting you – I'm just telling it how it is.”

Ms. Winslow gave a shrug. “Still, it’s a nice thing to say.”

“Just stick to Mac; he’s the only one who isn’t acting a fool. He’ll show you what to do,” Kehoe continued, ignoring Ms. Winslow’s comment. He vaguely gestured towards the deck. “I'm sure you’re going to figure it all out, if you're as savvy as you say, missy.”

Once Dale returned, Kehoe wasn’t disappointed to find they had two barges lined up. Sure, it wasn’t much, but for the moment, it was better than nothing. Hopefully once they got back to Burlington, they'd be able to seal a few additional deals.

Though he knew contracted work was far more reliable, Kehoe much preferred independence, even if it wasn’t always ideal. He had worked both kinds of jobs, though independence usually won out in the end for Kehoe. Being able to decide where to go and when was one of the few luxuries this lifestyle afforded him, even if it was more or less all for work.

Kehoe watched as Dale moved towards the deck where the rest of the crew had gathered. Ms. Winslow was there as well, her arms crossed as she leaned against the external wall of the boat. Although they hadn’t swarmed around her, Kehoe gave a snort as he noticed that Steve and Carly were both still trying to talk to her. Steve seemed the keenest on talking to her. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, Kehoe watched from a distance as the ginger tabby spoke to Ms. Winslow in a quite animated way. She seemed disinterested, which in itself was quite an amusing sight. As Dale joined them, the tuxedo cat seemingly explained to the group that they had more work to do.

From where he stood, Kehoe could tell that Dale was struggling to keep Steve's attention in particular. Nevertheless, Kehoe left the crew be and made his way up to the pilothouse where he belonged. It wasn’t always Kehoe who took on the job of steering, but he much preferred it these days.

His bones and his back in particular weren’t what they once were, so he wasn’t exactly able to help out with the heavy lifting in the literal sense. He did occasionally allow Mac to sail, though both Steve and Dale had taken the wheel here and there.

But today was not one of those days. As the Crust Bucket’s engine roared to life and smoke erupted from the large cylindrical smokestacks, Kehoe steered the boat along the docks to where the barges they'd be bringing further south were. He stayed up on his perch in the pilothouse and watched as his crew, which now included Ms. Winslow, moved up to tether each barge with the massive, heavy ropes.

Watching from above, Kehoe saw Ms. Winslow watching nearby as the boys unnecessarily showed her how to do it. He still had his doubts about whether she’d be much help with this particular job, even despite what he had seen the day before. Kehoe hadn’t come across many women who worked on towboats like the Crust Bucket, but the few he had seen had appeared considerably more built for this manual labor than Ms. Winslow. Kehoe privately thought she was better off with the waitress job she had left in order to come with them.

He didn’t even know what kind of boat Ms. Winslow had supposedly grown up on. Working on a boat was all fine and good, but not all boats were created equally, nor was the work required to keep them going. However, from the pilothouse, Kehoe was pleased to see that once Ms. Winslow had been shown how to do the work, she didn’t seem to hesitate to chip in whenever he managed to spot her. Though she didn’t look very strong at a glance, when he had seen her the previous day, she hadn’t seemed to be struggling as much as Kehoe had admittedly expected.

Still, this wasn’t a bad thing. He supposed it was a bit of a pleasant surprise.

When the crew set about tethering the second barge they'd be towing, Ms. Winslow already appeared rather confident as she helped them out. Kehoe still had his personal doubts about her, but at this point, he was just glad she didn’t seem like she would be a burden on the crew. Although he made a mental note to ask her later what sort of boat, she did have experience with, he decided that for the time being, it might be best to leave her in the crew’s (mostly) capable hands.

It wasn’t until around noon that another thought struck Kehoe – one he hadn’t considered before.

With Ms. Winslow on board, they would need to make sure she didn’t go anywhere near their cache of illegal liquor. He had to trust his crew to keep their heads on straight and not let the Russian Blue see.

Kehoe frowned when he realized something else: how were they supposed to do business along the river with her onboard?

The idea of attempting to do it while she wasn’t looking was quite foolish, and far too risky. Kehoe didn’t know what Ms. Winslow's stance on bootlegging was, and he wasn’t in the mood to find out by her snitching on them. Telling her and explaining it wouldn’t be prudent either. He didn’t trust her; didn’t even know the first thing about her. No, they were far better off dropping her off in St. Louis and then going about business as usual.

Luckily, Kehoe knew they had at least one client in the area. They knew of more caches of alcohol hidden along the river in makeshift springhouses, and it was when they stayed in the area around St. Louis that they did the most illicit business.

In the dead of night, they often found themselves peddling moonshine along the less deserted parts of the river. Conversely, it was out here that they might conduct business in broad daylight with no one else around; the lonely stretches of water were far less likely to have anyone catch them in the act.

Thankfully, the only time Kehoe had gotten caught in the act was far from home. Ironically it had been a considerable distance south of St. Louis.

It was fortunately easy enough to ignore his crew and their incessant flirting with Ms. Winslow when they did so towards the stern of the ship. Kehoe didn’t need to look back to know for a fact that it was still happening. He didn’t know the first thing about his crew members’ love lives, but, as far as he knew, none of them were married or in any kind of relationship. He supposed that played a factor in how eager they were for Ms. Winslow's attention.

That didn’t make it any less pathetic, however.

Still, Mac was the only one who still conducted himself with some dignity as far as Kehoe could tell. He was also the oldest, so perhaps he didn’t think it appropriate to pursue Ms. Winslow. That or he just had a better grasp of how he should be acting on the job. The least Kehoe could hope for was that he'd keep the others in check. Steve especially seemed quite taken with her.

Sparing a moment of his attention, Kehoe glanced down towards the knees as Ms. Winslow settled there, looking out over the water past the barges. Unsurprisingly, he soon saw Steve coming up to her. The orange tabby immediately started talking to her, speaking to her very excitedly. Kehoe gave a snort, feeling rather annoyed, but he also realized there wasn’t much he could do from where he was.

However, seeing Mac coming up to the two and pulling Ms. Winslow away did wipe the smile off Steve's face in a hurry. Kehoe, on the other hand, found himself smiling about it, seeing as Steve soon followed, hopefully getting back to work.

When the Crust Bucket arrived in Fort Madison, Kehoe saw Dale leading Ms. Winslow off the boat, no doubt to show her how they conducted business. Kehoe chose to stay onboard, but as they docked, he did make his way down to the lower deck towards the stern where he found Mac smoking.

Fort Madison was significant for the fact that here, the river was considerably wider than it was in most places. It was certainly quite noticeable, especially with all the traffic around Fort Madison’s riverport. Many boats were coming and going, bringing people and goods in and out of town. Of all the ports along the Mississippi, Fort Madison was among Kehoe's favorites for its size. However, even so, he still did prefer his home turf St. Louis.

“How’s the lass doing?” Kehoe asked gruffly, glancing out over the river as he pulled out his pipe and filled it.

“Quite well, actually… She’s got grit,” the apricot-colored cat replied as he blew smoke out over the river. “She seems like she knows what she’s doing.”

Kehoe said nothing and just nodded as he lit his pipe. He took a few puffs of smoke, before he was ready to talk. “Color me surprised. What do you have her doing then?”

“Not a lot, yet. But I'm sure we can put her to work more,” the fluffy cat said as the wind ruffled his fur. Mac stretched his neck and grunted.

Kehoe glanced sideways, squinting slightly at the other man in an almost suspicious manner. “How about the boys? Are they still ogling her like dogs?”

“Steve is… Carly and Dale keep their focus on work… Well, mostly.” Their eyes met for a moment and Mac gave a shrug. “Can’t blame them… I can see why they'd be interested in her.”

“They'd be interested in any woman setting foot on this here boat,” Kehoe insisted contemptuously. He blew more smoke out over the water, as did Mac. “I'm not asking for much, just that they do what I pay them to do.”

Mac offered an indifferent shrug once more as he took another drag of his cigarette. He gave a slight grunt as he stretched his back. “And that they are doing. Hell, I don’t think she’s interested in any of them.”

“Good.” Mac gave Kehoe a strange look when he said this. He growled, “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t want no one to go smooching on my deck. I need the boys focused, or I might as well lay them off!”

The other cat raised both eyebrows at this. “That’s a bit harsh… but you're the captain.”

Neither of the two said much after that, they just stayed on the deck, smoking in silence. Kehoe was just glad he could at least rely on Mac to keep the others in check when he was unable to. He didn’t like the idea of his crew being as interested in Ms. Winslow as they were. For one, it was just plain embarrassing to behold, and for another, Kehoe didn’t like the idea of his boat turning into a place where people would be kissing in the corners or anything of that nature.

When Dale and Ms. Winslow eventually returned, they did so with good news: three more barges were added to their haul. Kehoe made sure to sail them into position for each barge, watching from the pilothouse as the crew and Ms. Winslow set about tethering each of them. However, he quickly came to realize that Steve, Carly and Dale were indeed doing their job – and perhaps a little too well at that.

From his vantage point, Ms. Winslow didn’t seem to be doing much. Not out of laziness, but rather, it looked as though the boys were not letting her. Kehoe watched as she picked up a thick rope to tether the barges when Steve came sweeping in and took it from her to do it himself. He was still speaking in that obnoxiously animated manner too.

Although Kehoe found this curious, he also wasn’t too surprised. But what was the point of letting her join them if she didn’t get a chance to do anything? Kehoe moved to the door of the pilothouse and irritably called Mac over.

“Do me a favor and keep Steve away from Ms. Winslow,” he growled irritably once the orange-brown cat had moved up to the upper deck. “That featherhead isn’t letting her do anything.”

When the second barge came up, Kehoe noticed Mac leading Steve to the end of the barge opposite to the one Ms. Winslow and Dale stepped onto. He watched from a distance as Dale set about securing the left side of the new barge, while the Russian Blue helped. Kehoe gave a nod of approval to himself. Steve was nowhere near her and for the moment that was what he wanted to see.

However, the moment of approval wasn’t meant to last, apparently, as Carly swiftly approached Ms. Winslow's side. A twinge of annoyance shot through Kehoe when he saw the black cat moved in and seized the rope from her and proceeded to tether the barge. Dale moved over soon after and checked that it was tied securely.

Kehoe sighed and rubbed his face. How could Ms. Winslow be put to work this way? He couldn’t just go and tell them all to leave her alone, could he?

“O’Connell, get up here!” Kehoe roared out of the pilothouse window.

And just like he'd told Mac to keep Steve away from Ms. Winslow, he had to explain to Carly not to do everything for her, but rather to simply keep an eye on her. The young cat seemed startled, but he agreed and went back to work without an issue.

Not that he'd need to be told to keep his eyes on her, Kehoe privately thought as he steered them along to the final barge they had to tow. When they got there and Kehoe knew it was time, he watched from above as Ms. Winslow moved onto the barges. Just as he had seen the previous day, the Russian Blue definitely seemed to know how to move on a floating platform as she didn’t appear to be in any danger of falling overboard. She, Steve and Mac moved in to get the final barge tethered, and Kehoe was quite pleased to see that Mac seemed to just instruct them. This meant that Ms. Winslow got to take the right side, whilst they handled the left.

However, when Steve abandoned Mac and moved to do the tethering for Ms. Winslow, Kehoe felt annoyance starting to build up inside him. That fool… Before he could do anything about it, however, Kehoe saw Ms. Winslow standing up straight and apparently yelling at Steve. She looked quite angry, even from a distance.

Whatever she had yelled, it hadn’t quite traveled all the way up to the pilothouse, but it left Steve seemingly stunned, alongside Mac. From the deck below near the knees, Kehoe could see Dale and Carly, who had apparently been checking on the tethers there. They too stared over at the Russian Blue and the ginger tabby.

Ms. Winslow turned back to the heavy ropes and with surprising speed and efficiency, she managed to tether the final barge mostly by herself. With that, she turned around and left, making her way back to the Crust Bucket. When Mac moved to check the tethering, it seemed to be in perfect condition. At the very least, he didn’t seem to think they needed to be redone.

Kehoe had to admit that he did derive some mild satisfaction from seeing Ms. Winslow snapping at Steve like that. In all honesty, he really couldn’t blame her at this point.

Still, as they sailed along the river, Kehoe kept his distance for the time being. Once it became time for lunch, however, Kehoe was surprised to find that the crew, even Steve, still seemed quite smitten with Ms. Winslow. The way they constantly tried to talk to her during lunch and barely touched their food was irritable to say the least, but realistically, what could Kehoe do? He wasn’t their father, so they were free to do as they pleased, being grown adults. Even if they didn’t act like it.

Ms. Winslow still appeared to be passively listening at best and completely disinterested at worst. The kind of mental resilience she needed to put up with those dogs, Kehoe thought to himself. It was almost admirable in a way. Still, he didn’t envy her.

When lunch came to an end, however, he held Mac back after Ms. Winslow and the rest of the crew left the gallery. Still feeling disgruntled with the rest of the crew’s behavior, Kehoe knew he ought to do something about this little predicament involving Ms. Winslow. Well, one of them. Mac truly was his only hope of keeping things running smoothly.

“Alright, listen here, Mac. I want you to take the lass into the engine room and the piston room.” The fluffier, taller cat raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Explain to her how it all works, if you must. Steve, Carly and Dale ain't getting any work done.”

“Really? You want me to keep her away from them?” The other cat didn’t seem anywhere close to convinced that this was a good idea. He sighed and crossed his arms. “The girl clearly knows her way around. She even told Steve off earlier.”

“I saw…” Kehoe grunted in response. He snorted and gave a shrug. “In any case, I don’t like how it’s turning out so far. Better yet, send the boys there, if there's anything for them to do. Let’s just focus on letting her do some work…”

Mac didn’t seem to think highly of the idea, and by the time he and Kehoe left the gallery, Kehoe didn’t either. Instead of going straight for the pilothouse, he followed the taller cat down to the deck below. As soon as he set foot there, Kehoe changed his mind.

“Steve, you go and steer,” Kehoe barked once he spotted the remaining crewmembers down near the bow.

It wasn’t too often that Kehoe let any of the others steer the boat, but Steve was still his first mate. Even if he had been a bit… unreliable as of late, Kehoe still trusted him enough to do this. The ginger tabby didn’t seem as excited about it as he normally was, and Kehoe fully well knew why.

However, with him out of the way, Kehoe could actually oversee what Ms. Winslow was tasked with. Despite it being his job as a captain to delegate, he hung back and decided to let Mac take the lead.

Thankfully, Steve was steering the Crust Bucket as well as he always did. Without Ms. Winslow nearby to unintentionally serve as a distraction, the tabby seemed to be performing as well as he could. And at the end of the day, Kehoe could hardly ask for more. At least they had cleared one minor hurdle.

As the large boat pushed its barges along the river, Kehoe took up a spot near the stern, standing on the upper deck. Much like his boat’s massive smokestack, a trail of smoke emanated from him as he continuously puffed his pipe. Down below, he could hear Mac giving Ms. Winslow a few jobs to do, while initiating some conversations with her, though Kehoe paid those no mind. At least he was glad Mac wasn’t being as disruptive as Steve had been.

Though things were running smoothly, things started to prove a bit more complicated by the time another boat approached. The signaling with its horn told Kehoe all he needed to know. He moved down to the lower deck. When he found them, Kehoe looked towards Dale, Carly and Mac. From behind Ms. Winslow's back, Kehoe gestured to the blonde cat as she swept the lower deck, then gestured towards the engine room, before giving Mac a look of intent.

“Listen here, missy. You ever got to see the engine room?” Kehoe grunted at her, managing to hide his urgency, but failing to sound enthusiastic about it whatsoever. Not that he really tried.

The boat up ahead was drawing nearer and nearer still.

“Hm, I can’t say I have,” Ms. Winslow replied casually. Kehoe gave Mac a look. As the engineer of the crew, he trusted that he'd be able to talk her ear off and keep her away from the main deck.

“Well, come along, Ms. Winslow. I’ll give you the tour,” the apricot-furred cat told her in a considerably more pleasant tone than the one Kehoe had used.

And so, the golden-brown cat led the way into the engine room with Ms. Winslow behind him and Kehoe bringing up the rear.

Kehoe didn’t really need to be present for the transaction, but at the same time, he usually did prefer to oversee it to make sure everything was as it should be. But for today, Kehoe had no choice but to trust that Carly and Dale would take care of everything.

Kehoe didn’t go into the engine room often. The large diesel engine emitted what Kehoe would consider a horrid noise – a loud, constant humming while the boat was running. In truth, Kehoe didn’t know much about engines, including how to properly maintain and run the Crust Bucket’s. He was aware Mac was having thoughts of leaving the river life behind, but as of yet it wasn’t something to worry about. Kehoe knew they'd be short of a proper engineer when that day came.

The engine room had large consoles, big parts and components everywhere, tubes, dials, valves and other things Kehoe didn’t know the name of. It was all very complicated, but in his years of sailing, he had at least learned enough to mostly understand what the Crust Bucket needed.

Still, Mac was the one who knew his way around the engine room better than anyone else.

While Mac explained some of the intricacies of the engine to Ms. Winslow, Kehoe followed along. He wasn’t paying much attention, and he wasn’t sure if Ms. Winslow was either. All that really mattered was the fact that she was in here and not out on the deck while the illicit trade took place. He was glad to see that Mac knew how to stall her sufficiently, and by the time the three of them moved back out onto the deck, Kehoe was pleased to see that the transaction had clearly come to an end.

How were they supposed to make ends meet if they had to usher Ms. Winslow away whenever they were to sell illegal liquor? It would prove an issue, but with any luck, they wouldn’t have to do too many transactions with Ms. Winslow onboard. Kehoe could at least hope that they'd find some sufficient distractions for her when the time was right.

In any case, they'd let her off the boat when they got to St. Louis and that would be that.

However, even between ports, Ms. Winslow got her chance to prove that she was apparently quite serious about everything she had been talking about. Every task given to her was one she took in stride; whether it was cleaning the deck or helping keep track of their storage and supplies, she seemed willing to do everything that was asked of her.

Kehoe let Steve steer them along, wanting to keep him away from Ms. Winslow. And as it turned out, this was seemingly the right call. Although he didn’t want to give her too much responsibility, he couldn’t deny that the results were showing.

“Say, captain… I can’t help but notice that we’re going back and forth… either that or I'm, losing it.” Kehoe glanced over at Ms. Winslow who had joined him up on the upper deck. The grayish blue cat gave him a small smile.

“Well, we need to get these barges where they need to go, missy,” he grunted before taking yet another puff of his pipe. “I've been watching you working, though. Maybe you really do know what you're doing.”

“I like to think I do,” she replied in a somewhat superior tone as she leaned on the railing. As she gazed out over the river, Kehoe remembered what she had said about her disdain for the Mississippi.

Looking out over the water and the wilderness on the riverbanks, he supposed he could agree that the river had seen better days. He could recall the days when the river’s waters consistently flowed clearer and cleaner. Granted, out here it wasn’t as egregiously polluted as it got closer to the ports and the more populated areas.

“Hm, so how come you ain't going further than St. Louis?” Ms. Winslow suddenly asked. Glancing over at her, their eyes met again, and Kehoe noticed the look of curiosity in hers. “I mean, if I had a big boat like this, I'd go wherever I'd like.”

“Got nowhere I want to go these days,” he simply said, giving her a shrug. It wasn’t a lie; Kehoe hadn’t had a particularly strong sense of wanderlust most of his life. Well, not since his teens when he'd been as naïve as Ms. Winslow. He shrugged again. “But if you're really wanting to go that far south, be my guest, li’l missy.”

Chapter 4: Upstream

Summary:

With tensions rising on the Crust Bucket, Kehoe's patience with their newest crewmember starts to wear thin, little by little...

“Alright, which of you featherheads did this?” Kehoe tapped the big tether with his boot. He cast a glance over the crew present. Mac, Dale, and Carly just stood there and said nothing. He felt himself growing angry. “Well?”

Seeing the three of them awkwardly exchanging looks like that didn’t make things any better. Why were they skirting around this like guilty children?

By the time Kehoe was about to start shouting at them, they all spoke up, all denying accountability. He squinted at the three. Steve was still up in the pilothouse. He hadn’t let the ginger tabby leave that spot for nearly a full day. After assigning him to steering duty had proven effective the previous day, Kehoe had sent him up there again as soon as breakfast was done. He didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon.

He sighed inwardly as the answer became apparent to him right away. The fact that the remaining crew all claimed that they hadn’t done the tethers meant that there could only be one possible culprit. Despite his frustrations, Kehoe would rather just leave it be.

Before he left the barge behind and made his way back to the Crust Bucket, he pulled Mac aside. “Please show Ms. Winslow how we do it around here. I don’t think these knots are going to last. And make her redo them too!”

It still felt strange to have Mac be the one to delegate the others. Steve was the first mate, but he had proven to be less reliable as of late. Kehoe wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe try to let him work with the crew again. Hopefully being stuck up there in the pilothouse would make him more eager to do some proper work, rather than focusing so much on Ms. Winslow.

The ginger tabby had always been a sound minded one, but recently he really hadn’t done as well as he could have. The rest of the crew, save for Mac, had been doing similarly, but Steve was the worst offender. Whatever spell their temporary crewmember had them under was remarkable. Either that or they were really that easily swayed.

Despite being the captain, Kehoe chose to leave it to Mac to tell the Russian Blue how they did things around these parts. It wasn’t that the knots she had tied on the tethering ropes were inherently bad – in fact, they were well-done – but they were not the strong kinds of knots they usually did. No, with enough force, they'd come undone; Kehoe didn’t even need to test them to know it.

From a distance, he watched as Mac explained to Ms. Winslow how they did it. Kehoe could have done it, but with everything going on, he really wasn’t in the mood. The young woman didn’t seem all too happy about it, but he hoped Mac could get through to her. She was so stubborn…

Later in the day, when they docked, Kehoe found himself mildly frustrated as he watched Steve emerge from the pilothouse above before making his way straight to the barge where Ms. Winslow and Mac were talking. Kehoe had mostly been observing from a distance for the day, keeping to the upper deck.

He sighed and spat into the water below once he descended the steps to the lower deck. What could he really do about it? Perhaps he was better off trusting Mac to keep an eye on Steve. And considering the way Ms. Winslow seemed to insist on doing the tethers, perhaps they were better off letting Steve do everything for her anyway.

As much as it annoyed him, Kehoe also wasn’t entirely sure how much of this was worth delegating his mental energy towards. After all, if Mac could keep Ms. Winslow in line, and Steve stayed up by the wheel, things would be fine, would they not?

The day hadn’t been a complete waste at least. Kehoe supposed that was all he could really ask for. Still, the day wasn’t over just yet; there was still plenty of time left to be disappointed, he reminded himself.

When Kehoe mentioned that he himself would be taking over the sailing from then on, Steve in particular seemed quite pleased. It wasn’t hard to guess why, but Kehoe couldn’t be bothered to give it too much thought at this point. The best he could do was try to stay up on his perch and ignore everything going on between his crew and Ms. Winslow.

Everyone seemed to have calmed down around the Russian Blue. At the very least that was the impression Kehoe got as they ate lunch together. However, the eagerness with which the ginger tabby in particular rejoined the others did concern Kehoe as they set off yet again.

But he tried his best to ignore it.

Unfortunately for Ms. Winslow, they still had yet more work that would take them up and down the river. They weren’t going too far north, and soon they would be going south, closer to St. Louis.

“Sure you ain't having second thoughts, missy?” Kehoe called to her from the upper deck. The Russian Blue had been standing down below, arms crossed as she looked out over the waters.

She turned to look up at him, a small smile on her face. “Why, are you hoping to get rid of me this soon?”

“Hm…” Kehoe was surprised by the playful tone with which she responded. She hardly seemed to take much of anything seriously. He didn’t let it deter him, however. It was still serious business to him, even if it was a simple southward voyage. “Well, we ain't exactly in a hurry to get back down to St. Louis. So, if you want to try to catch a ride with someone else…”

“It'll be fine,” she insisted with a shrug, before looking back out at the water. Her tail gave a light swish, before she stepped back and away from the edge of the deck.

Kehoe once more remembered that she supposedly didn’t like the Mississippi much. On top of that, her apparent indifference made it seem like she didn’t actually want to be along for the ride. Even despite that, she had still insisted on going with them. The young woman did seem to like working on the boat, taking everything in stride, and never complaining… Even if she did do things her own way.

It was probably down to the fact that she already had secured herself a boat ride; perhaps she didn’t want to pay double of what she had promised to pay Kehoe once they arrived in St. Louis. The jury was still out on whether she was serious or not. But even if she was, what did it matter? She hadn’t been a particularly disruptive presence – at least not on purpose.

He supposed she couldn’t help the effect she had on his crew.

When they all set off again, Kehoe felt slightly better. Another barge was added to their tow, and with five in total, things were finally starting to feel normal. The Crust Bucket wasn’t the most powerful vessel the Mississippi had ever seen, but she was a reliable one. From above, Kehoe's view of the crew was limited, but he liked pretending like they were being efficient and serious, even when he couldn’t see them. But in truth, he knew Steve was likely following Ms. Winslow around like a puppy.

Keokuk was an interesting riverside city. Kehoe had been by it many a time, and it stood out to him with its large industrial port and of course the large powerplant and dam. The dam itself was but one of the few ways people had successfully beaten the river into submission. Mostly. It was impressive either way, and there didn’t seem to be any aftermath from the recent stormy weather.

The dam itself was immense, stretching quite far across the river, though it didn’t quite reach the other side. Kehoe remembered the time before it had been built. Back then, the waters had been wild and flowing much faster. These days, the dam helped control the waters, and although Kehoe knew just how strong and turbulent the waters could get, he hadn’t yet seen signs that the river would one day break through the dam. But one could never be too certain.

As they approached the structure, the effect it had was immediately noticeable. Even if the waters didn’t immediately feel different in the way the vessel reacted to it, it was certainly visible to the eye. At a glance, certain parts of the river’s waters were smooth as a mirror, while in other parts, ripples formed large, moving shapes among the smoothness. In the sunlight, it was especially apparent. The ripples had distinct shapes and patterns, all corresponding to the gates of the damn and how much water was being let through at any given time.

The Crust Bucket was headed for the blank, apparently still waters. And unfortunately, this meant they had to go past the gate.

Kehoe had always hated this, especially with barges in front. It wasn’t a particularly complicated process; it was just tedious. Not to mention…

And there it was, as expected: the smaller tow boat that would help guide them into the comparatively narrow lock built right by the riverbanks. The industrial port looked so far removed from the wilderness the river had taken them past during those long, lonely stretches. A railroad lined the river, a train running past as they approached. Hearing the whistle of the large tank engine, Kehoe signaled back with his horn.

Although it had only happened once back when the dam was still new, Kehoe still hadn’t forgotten that disastrous day when an assist tow boat had made the barges scrape horribly against the side of the narrow lock. Granted, no one had gotten hurt, and the barges were ultimately fine, but Kehoe hadn’t trusted them much after that. He knew it was an isolated incident, but even so…

But at the very least, the one helping out today appeared competent. Even with their five barges, the guidance was begrudgingly helpful. Once they were lined up, Kehoe slowly and carefully brought them in towards the gate.

A bright flash off to his right caught him by surprise and he turned to look. He had to do a double take when he realized Ms. Winslow had dismounted a barge and now stood on the pier by the railing, looking particularly pleased.

In the sunlight, the sun’s rays practically made her blonde locks of hair look like strands of gold as they billowed in the wind. When their eyes met, Kehoe wasn’t sure what the Russian Blue was getting up to, but she offered him a rather unserious salute and started walking along the Crust Bucket as it slowly made its way towards the gate at the end of the narrow passage.

She had better get back on before they were lowered too far down, Kehoe privately thought. He watched from afar as Ms. Winslow passed a few dock workers, who seemed to follow her with their eyes as she passed them, though they went back to work soon enough.

Were men really that easily swayed these days? Kehoe might be willing to admit that she had a pretty face, but why was every man she came across acting like she was some sort of siren? It was bordering on being ridiculous at this point.

The Crust Bucket came to a halt soon enough, stopping before the gate of the lock. Now they just had to wait for the water to be lowered within the lock. Kehoe still hadn’t the faintest idea how this all worked, nor did he care. As long as it worked, he didn’t feel as though he needed to know much else.

Ms. Winslow made her way back onto one of the barges soon enough. Not that he was all too concerned about that – after all, if she decided to leave, she would be doing so while leaving her belongings in Kehoe's cabin. Once back on the right barge towards the front, Ms. Winslow casually walked along the large tarp keeping the goods there strapped down.

She walked along the floating platform with a casual familiarity that really did make the idea that she had spent a lot of time working on a boat seem plausible. At the very least, she seemed comfortable enough, even if Kehoe still had his doubts about her.

Hannibal, Quincy, and Alton were the last ports where they needed to drop off barges.

Thankfully, the remainder of the day was quite uneventful after they left Keokuk, although Kehoe did spot Steve practically chasing Ms. Winslow around the boat and the barges. At the very least, he was following her around like he had nothing better to do. It was quite frankly pathetic in Kehoe's opinion. Although she didn’t seem to do anything about it, he caught the young woman looking quite annoyed from time to time.

It was fortunate that Mac seemed aware of the situation as he appeared to try to pull Ms. Winslow away by apparently assigning her more jobs. Even despite this, Kehoe had enough before they even made it to the small port town that was Lewis.

Once Steve was back in the pilothouse, Kehoe made his way to the deck below where he paused by the knees of the Crust Bucket. He could feel a twinge of annoyance stirring inside him. “Missy! Get over here.”

When the grayish blue cat made an appearance, she looked at Kehoe curiously. She approached him slowly, apparently uncertain. “Yes, Captain…?”

“What do you call this?” he practically barked at her, gesturing towards the nearest barge. It had been fastened with the tethers in those odd knots he knew her to have tied. And that was without even mentioning that a box had been left by the starboard side of the boat very close to the edge…

“… knots?” she asked, as if this should be obvious. The blonde cat looked like she couldn’t tell if he was joking or not, the corner of her mouth constantly tugging itself upwards, but never quite becoming a full smile. Apparently, she couldn’t decide if she should smile or not.

“These ain't the types of knots we do around here, missy.” Kehoe squinted at her slightly, regarding her with some suspicion. “Didn’t Mac tell you how you're supposed to do ‘em?”

“He did…” That came as a surprise to Kehoe as he glanced at her. He looked at the knots, then back at the younger cat again. “But my knots are just as good.”

Hearing her speak with such certainty made Kehoe pause. Ms. Winslow was something else. Disagreements amongst the Crust Bucket’s crew weren’t all too uncommon, though for the most part, they worked together very efficiently. However, Kehoe hadn’t yet been spoken to like that. He scowled at the young woman.

“It’s how we always did it anyway,” Ms. Winslow added with a shrug. “You know, on my dad’s boat.”

“Listen here, li’l missy: this ain't your daddy’s boat!” Kehoe growled angrily.

He was starting to get the feeling that her previous experiences – no matter how major or minor – had given her a sense of arrogance. And an unwarranted sense of arrogance at that. At the very least the impression he got was that she thought she knew better than them. this was exactly the kind of attitude that led to crucial mistakes during work, someone young and dumb thinking they knew better than a captain…

The Russian Blue looked for a moment like she was going to argue, but apparently, she had the good sense to bite her tongue. “Fine, I’ll redo ‘em next time we dock. If it’s that much of an issue…”

Based on the casual tone with which she still spoke, it was clear to Kehoe that she wouldn’t have changed anything unless he told her to. That being said, he hoped it wouldn’t set the standard for how she did things. The young cat seemed annoyingly stubborn, and Kehoe was displeased to find that she only redid the one barge. A few other tethers still had her subpar knots and out of pure frustration, he instead sent Steve down to redo Ms. Winslow's work.

For the remainder of the day, Kehoe took over steering, perhaps using Steve's presence as a sort of subtle penalty for Ms. Winslow. She seemed about as displeased about it as he was with her tether work. That did seem to put a dampener on her cockiness for a while at least.

When they came to dock in Quincy, Ms. Winslow was somewhat more subdued. Kehoe felt good, however. Well, that was until he stepped down onto the lower deck. His eye gave a twitch of annoyance and already Kehoe could feel himself getting fired up.

“Alright, who left this box here?” he snapped, immediately garnering the attention of the boys and Ms. Winslow. The latter had been riding on one of the barges. She also happened to be the one to speak up.

“Oh, right – that was me,” she replied casually. She moved towards the boxes, apparently not at all bothered. As much as it annoyed Kehoe that she had just left them there, at least the young cat made an effort to clean up after herself.

However, when she crouched and picked up the box, Kehoe immediately heard the clinking of glass from within it. It was faint, but it was enough to make Kehoe whip back around. Once she was standing with the box in her arms, she gave him a funny look. He tensed, his jaw clenching up slightly. Had his pipe been in his mouth, he most likely would have managed to chomp through the wood.

“What? Am I picking it up wrong too?” she asked sarcastically as she casually carried it right past Kehoe. He had to walk back up the bottom steps of the stairs leading to the upper deck to allow her to pass.

He said nothing, however. What could he say? Whatever he could think up would seem suspect at best and implicating at worst. Stepping back down to the lower deck, he watched Ms. Winslow as she moved around the bend and back towards the storage. But where did she plan to put those bottles?

More importantly, why had she moved them out there? Who had told her to do that?! Which of those dogs did he feel compelled to kick into the water? Something was wrong… but Kehoe didn’t know what it was.

When Ms. Winslow turned the corner, the Russian Blue looked over at him with her bright green eyes, a strange smile on her face Kehoe didn’t like. It was certainly subtle, but that smile told Kehoe plenty – and plenty he didn’t like at that. Unfortunately, Ms. Winslow had never struck him as being particularly dim, so most likely, she wasn’t ignorant to what was in that crate that she had brought out onto the deck.

He tried not to think about it, however.

During dinner, the boys were a bit calmer than they had been the previous night, although not by much. They still seemed far more eager to talk to Ms. Winslow than she seemingly wanted to talk to them. Kehoe still wanted to know who exactly had told the Russian Blue to move boxes of their liquor around. But unfortunately, he couldn’t exactly ask them about that at the dinner table with Ms. Winslow there.

Additionally, his lack of patience for watching Steve, Carly and Dale practically drool over the woman meant that Kehoe retreated soon after he finished his meal. He could only stomach that pathetic display for so long.

The next day, he wasn’t at all sure what to do with his crew and Ms. Winslow. He didn’t feel as though he could completely trust her to properly do any job he gave her. In the end, however, he ended up delegating tasks early in the morning, once more letting Steve steer the Crust Bucket. Carly and Ms. Winslow would be going with him, while Kehoe would be staying in Quincy with Dale and Mac.

The Crust Bucket wouldn’t be going far, however – just across the river to Marion. It was where the very last barge they had was going. Once that had been dropped off, they would need to go and look for more to tow with them. With any luck, they'd manage to find some that needed to go south.

Although Kehoe had… reservations about leaving Ms. Winslow with Steve and Carly, he wasn’t too worried. The worst that could happen would be that they would annoy her, he supposed. And so, he, Dale and Mac set off to restock on food. One of the advantages of things being brought into the port was that occasionally farmers arriving with fresh produce were willing to sell some of it. Other times, there were shops a short walk away from the docks.

With Quincy, it was a bit of both. It was a decently sized river-side city, and it didn’t take them long to find a place to purchase food. Being in charge of finances, Dale managed the transactions, while Kehoe hung back. He did purchase tobacco and matches for himself, however.

They did have to wait by the docks for a while, though it didn’t take long before the familiar silhouette of the Crust Bucket appeared. The paddle-wheeler was going slightly faster than normal as it approached the port. With no more barges, Kehoe figured it might be down to that fact, or perhaps he was tricking himself into thinking it was going faster.

The tow boat did come to a halt by the pier soon enough, allowing the trio to board it. Once he was aboard, Carly came to greet the three, and helped carry some of the groceries along.

Kehoe squinted at the black cat. Carly had looked strangely anxious, almost guilty. “What’s the matter?”

“What? Oh, nothing, Captain,” the youngest crewmember replied hurriedly, before he walked very quickly to the stairs leading to the upper deck. Carly was clearly moving faster than what seemed natural, at least to Kehoe. His tail gave a few nervous swishes as he walked as well.

Even once the black cat was out of sight, Kehoe couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He followed the others to the upper deck, though as Carly, Mac and Dale moved to the gallery, he hung back.

Had something happened between Ms. Winslow and Steve? Had he tried anything? Kehoe didn’t think it likely that anything had happened, though the thought alone made him grimace. However, given his behavior as of late, Kehoe wouldn’t put it past Steve to try something with their temporary crew member. Even if she didn’t seem interested, Steve was practically mesmerized by her looks.

Before he could even consider entering the pilothouse to ask, Kehoe was surprised to see Ms. Winslow exit it, almost colliding with him on the way.

“Ah, welcome back,” she said pleasantly, a bluish gray hand brushing blonde strands of hair out of her face as a cool breeze followed her.

Kehoe stared at her with a searching look. She seemed fine… Although it was rather strange that she had been in the pilothouse. When Steve emerged, he seemed particularly pleased, walking with an extra pep in his step, chest somewhat pushed out. He probably felt awfully impressive like that, but in Kehoe's opinion he looked like a particularly puffed up, orange seagull.

Although Kehoe had questions, he decided he was better off not knowing, in case something unsavory had taken place in the pilothouse. When he went inside to check a short while later, he was pleased that even if something had happened, there was no… evidence of it.

The very thought of stumbling across that was enough to make him scowl more than his sagging face normally did.

They were ready to leave soon enough. There were no barges to be towed from Quincy, so it was finally time to make their way further south. Kehoe settled in on the upper deck, sighing to himself. With Steve back up in the pilothouse, he still felt more at ease. He leaned against the railing and reached into his coat pocket for his pipe.

However, before he could pull it out and light it, the Crust Bucket gave a horrible lurch to the starboard side. Had the railing not been there, Kehoe would have been in real danger of being thrown into the murky waters of the Mississippi.

Down below, Carly wasn’t so lucky.

Kehoe saw the young cat going overboard with a mighty splash, the dark water turning white as it frothing around him. He broke through the surface with a gasp and quickly swam to the boat, the poor boy completely soaked.

While Mac and Dale helped him back onto the lower deck, Kehoe turned to the pilot house as the boat gave another lurch in the other direction, though it wasn’t as strong as the first one.

Stumbling slightly, Kehoe used the nearby railing to support himself as he made his way over towards the pilothouse.

“Steve, what in the bloody–?!” Kehoe stopped mid-shout when he saw that Steve wasn’t standing by the wheel – he wasn’t even touching it.

The orange tabby was by the window opposite the door, hand leaning on the windowsill below it for support. Kehoe didn’t even have time to start wondering why he wasn’t steering when he noticed that Ms. Winslow had both hands on the wheel.

“What in the hell do you think you're doing, missy?!” he practically roared at her, his voice climbing to an octave it wouldn’t usually reach. Kehoe could feel his face burning and his heart racing from how angry he was.

“I just wanted to steer a bit,” she said, as though this was a perfectly reasonable thing to suddenly do. The Russian Blue didn’t seem at all bothered by the fact that she had just made the boat jolt from side to side as they left the port.

“And what makes you think you're at all qualified to steer my boat?” he growled angrily. Kehoe knew the answer already and just thinking about it made his blood boil. “Let me guess: you thought steering your daddy’s boat meant you knew how to steer every kind of boat, didn’t it? Well, missy, let me tell you: it don’t! And Steve!”

The tabby looked startled when he was addressed. He straightened up, steeling himself. “Yes, Captain…?”

“Who gave you permission to let the girl steer?!” he growled at the taller man, whose face was likely redder than his fur. He looked like a scared dog the way he cowered like that. “I should have the boys throw you over board…! Just… You get back to steering! And as for you, missy…!”

Kehoe had to take a moment to catch his breath, having gotten quite worked up over the young cat’s steering mishap. He couldn’t believe Steve could be so stupid. How had he lost his head like that? It was beyond obvious that he was deeply smitten with Ms. Winslow, but Kehoe had thought he'd had just a bit more dignity or self-respect than that. Kehoe's respect for the man had certainly taken quite the hit.

“As for you…!” he continued angrily, pointing at her. Ms. Winslow moved away from the wheel and Steve quickly took her place. She straightened herself up, tilting her head upwards. Her face was hard to read, though if Kehoe had to guess, he would say she looked annoyed more than anything. “If I catch you doing that again…! Listen, I ain't having you run around my boat and act like you're some world-class captain, just because your dad let you steer his boat!”

The young cat looked somewhere between embarrassed and angry, a surprisingly hard look on her usually soft-looking face. The fact that she, in her arrogance, thought she was at all qualified to steer the Crust Bucket was insulting to Kehoe. Based on how big the lurch had been when she was steering, she really didn’t know what she was doing at all.

If anything, he was glad she looked embarrassed.

Had anyone ever told her off, or were they all as eager for her attention as his crew?

Ms. Winslow looked like she wanted to argue, but Kehoe didn’t give her the chance to. “Now get out’a here and do something useful, before I change my mind and drop you off back in Quincy!”

 

---

 

In a way, having yelled at Ms. Winslow made Kehoe feel better. He supposed it came down to having gotten the chance to verbally air out his grievances and frustrations. He supposed it had all been building up over the past few days…

The arrogance of that young woman was astounding to him. She really thought she was cut out to steer the Crust Bucket, and on top of that, she had tried to do so with so much confidence… He couldn’t even begin to imagine what sort of vessel her father had let her sail, but based on how poorly mere seconds at the wheel had gone, Kehoe would wager that she was used to much smaller crafts.

The way she had made the boat lurch was the giveaway that told him that she was used to smaller boats with smaller wheels that reacted differently to how the Crust Bucket did. He himself had sailed many smaller crafts – he even owned a few, though he rarely used them himself. The Crust Bucket was his home away from home, but he had been known to take short leaves of absence. These days, however, the smaller crafts he owned were ones he rented out.

Even his actual home stood vacant for most of the time when he was away for work. Even when he was taking leaves, he essentially lived on boats anyway.

Kehoe had taken some time to himself in the pilothouse after the crew had had dinner. He wasn’t exactly holding a grudge against Ms. Winslow, but he would rather not be around her. Part of it was down to the fact that he simply wasn’t in the mood to listen to the boys vying for her attention. Carly was alright, though; the young man had taken a very brief dip in the river, and although the smell of the waters had lingered for most of the day, he had come out unscathed.

With a window cracked open, Kehoe looked out at the stern as he smoked. The current plan was to continue straight towards St. Louis from here. They'd be there soon enough, and Ms. Winslow would be out of their hands. Having her onboard brought its own complications along, Kehoe realized, even if an extra set of hands seemed to do them good.

After the steering fiasco that day, however, Kehoe had to admit he was looking forward to things returning to normal. Intentional or not, the chokehold she had on his crew was uncanny and he couldn’t say he exactly liked the way they all acted – especially Steve.

If only the experiences of the day had humbled her a bit. That was all Kehoe could hope for.

“Knock, knock.” Kehoe turned around, seeing Ms. Winslow standing in the doorway.

Despite everything, he tried not to scowl too much at the sight of her. “How can I help you, missy?”

“Can we talk for a moment?” she asked, her tone pleasant. She looked at him intently with those bright green eyes, which almost seemed to glow in the dimming light.

Kehoe looked at her skeptically, before he took a puff of his pipe, taking care to blow the smoke away from her and towards the window. “What about, missy?”

“Well…” She paused, looking somewhat embarrassed, but the bluish gray cat soon straightened up some. For a moment, Kehoe caught Ms. Winslow's eyes flitting towards the wheel, then back to him. The young woman drew in a deep breath and let off a quick sigh. “Alright, well, I really just wanted to apologize. You know, for the whole steering situation…”

Kehoe raised his eyebrows at this. It was a surprise – a pleasant one – but a surprise, nevertheless. Ms. Winslow had really struck him as a rather unapologetic type in the way she conducted herself. She certainly hadn’t been very apologetic when it had come to correcting her on her knots… or at least trying to.

And she certainly hadn’t seemed very apologetic when Kehoe had shouted at her. Perhaps some time to think about it had made her realize just how badly she had messed up. But all the same, Kehoe didn’t know if she was being completely genuine. Maybe she was just trying to make sure the mood on the boat was less tense, rather than admitting that she really made a mistake. He watched her closely as she continued speaking.

“How about we get some air?” Ms. Winslow gestured towards the port of Louisiana, offering a somewhat cautious smile.

In the end, Kehoe wasn’t entirely sure what made him agree to leave the Crust Bucket with her, a lantern in his hand. He was at least willing to hear her out, but he easily could have done so back in the pilothouse. Still, getting to walk around a bit wasn’t the worst, even if he didn’t like solid ground as much. Kehoe had been told many a time that he had severe a case of sea legs, and he didn’t deny it. He felt much more at home on a boat anyway.

Stepping onto the pier, Kehoe turned to look at Ms. Winslow. Though he didn’t consider himself to be at all chivalrous, he extended his hand to help her off the boat.

The younger cat looked bemused by this. She reached for his hand, took it and to Kehoe's surprise, she simply shook his hand for a moment. He stared at her. Ms. Winslow let go and grinned at him before she stepped onto the dock by herself. Kehoe shrugged. He supposed he should have seen that coming – the gap between the Crust Bucket and the dock was miniscule.

However, she had barely moved to stand by him before a familiar voice called out to them. “Hey, Cap’n! Where are you two going?”

Resisting the urge to groan at Steve's question, Kehoe turned to look back towards the Crust Bucket. It was hard to decide which was more obnoxious; the question, or seeing Steve and Dale both standing there, looking almost expectant.

He felt his eye give a slight twitch in annoyance. Finally, he simply replied, “Just heading out for a walk. Ms. Winslow wanted a word – in private.”

Pathetic as it was, Kehoe derived some form of grim satisfaction from seeing the disappointed looks on their faces. He couldn’t help but think those men ought to get their priorities straight – either that or actually find a wife for themselves.

The pier was more or less deserted at this time, the sun having gone down and as such leaving the two of them in darkness. Thankfully, the lantern helped light their way. As usual, Kehoe wore his heavy, gray coat, keeping him warm, although the night wasn’t particularly cold. Ms. Winslow had likewise taken to wearing a similarly heavy-looking, black jacket, one Kehoe would wager to be older than her, if he had to guess – at least based on its rather ragged state. It looked like it had been put through the ringer.

“Right… apologizing,” he heard Ms. Winslow muttering to his right. The lantern’s yellowish glow made her bluish fur look a dark shade of greenish navy in the dark. Her blonde hair, however, almost looked like fire in the way the light bounced off those bright locks. “Sorry about the steering – I really messed up. I wanted to steer, and Steve let me–”

“Of course he did,” Kehoe snarled under his breath, garnering a curious, almost amused look from Ms. Winslow. He cleared his throat. “Well, your apology’s accepted – just don’t go doing it again, missy. If you don’t know how to steer–”

“But that’s the thing – I do know how to steer.” She sounded mildly frustrated, and he noticed how she straightened up. Ms. Winslow turned to look at him. “I just figured it wouldn’t be that different from the boats I'm used to.”

“Well, what sort of boats are you used to, missy?” he asked her with a sigh. He had figured this had been why she had gone and done it – a false sense of confidence. “Not all boats are the same. Are they as big as the Crust Bucket?”

“… well, no – no they aren’t,” she told him somewhat reluctantly. She seemed uncomfortable, perhaps even embarrassed, which was certainly new to see. “My dad’s old boat was a fishing boat. It was big, but… not this big. And my own boat isn’t even–”

“You own a boat?” Kehoe asked as he found himself cutting in. He stared at her in disbelief. “What on Earth did you need us for, if you own a boat of your own?”

Ms. Winslow gave a smile in the dark and shrugged. She kicked a pebble into the river. “Right now, all I've got is a Runabout, and I'm not dumb enough to sail all the way down to Louisiana in that. The other Louisiana – the state, not the–”

“I know,” he grunted at her. Kehoe sighed inwardly again as the two of them passed another large, docked boat. The windows were open and from the sounds of it, the crew was having a fun time there. “Needless to say, li’l missy, all boats are different, and a big tow boat ain't meant to have the wheel swung around wildly.”

“I know… Well, now I do,” Ms. Winslow replied with a somewhat stiff tone. She did seem prideful and stubborn, so the fact that she didn’t enjoy acknowledging her mistakes wasn’t a surprise to Kehoe. “I really did grow up on a boat, though.”

“I believe you already mentioned that,” Kehoe sighed, starting to feel exhausted. He caught her casting a glance towards the water beside them, the lantern’s light bouncing off the black surface. The shimmering of the surface was strangely mesmerizing to look at. “Down by the sea, yeah?”

“Yeah… My dad was a fisherman when I was a kid – spent more of my childhood at sea than on land,” she said with a smile, sounding proud of that fact. She looked out at the water and her smile faded slightly. “My dad taught me how to sail, fish, everything. But that was before I finished school, and we moved up here.”

“So, that’s why you miss the sea that much, is it?” It was less of a question and more of a statement, seeing as it was obvious. Kehoe's experience with the open seas was quite limited and most of it wasn’t stuff he looked back on fondly. Kehoe looked the young woman over suspiciously. “Tell me, li’l missy, is Marina even your real name?”

The Russian Blue looked at him funny, apparently amused by his question. She let out a short chuckle. “Oh, it’s my real name, alright. Why do you ask?”

“Just seems… odd,” he grunted at her with a shrug. Kehoe came to a halt when a bunch of stacked crates on the pier blocked their path. “Did your parents name you that way because your dad’s a fisherman?”

“Was a fisherman… and yeah, I do believe that’s why – our house used to be right by the sea too,” Ms. Winslow explained pleasantly as they walked around the crates. “Our back garden was just the beach, more or less, and the sea was my personal playground.”

“I see. Well, I suppose that makes sense…” The two of them continued in silence for a bit, until they left the docks behind. Kehoe stopped and looked towards the dark road up ahead. “I was never one for the sea. I used to be out at sea… many years ago.”

Ms. Winslow looked at him curiously when he looked at her. She had an almost expectant look on her face, as though she were hoping for him to elaborate. Kehoe glanced back at the road leading away from Louisiana’s port, then turned away.

“We’d best head back, missy,” he grunted before they started making their way back towards the Crust Bucket.

The port was deserted and dark, Kehoe's lantern being the only thing that pierced the dark all around the two of them. For a while, neither of them spoke as they just walked together. The night was quiet with only the faint buzz of nighttime insects and the soft noise of the river flowing to accompany the sound of their footsteps. Though it was too dark to see, Kehoe knew bats were both flying overhead and likely also swooping down to drink from the river.

As the two of them approached the Crust Bucket, Kehoe looked at her again. Ms. Winslow still had that very same look in her eyes as before. He sighed inwardly. “I was in the navy, missy. And I ain't going into details. It was the only time I've spent out at sea, and I can safely say that it’s not for me.”

“Hm… Didn’t you like being out on the open oceans?” Ms. Winslow's tone made it clear that she very much enjoyed the idea of being out there. He shook his head. “Really? The waves, the fresh air… You didn’t enjoy any of that?”

“No. We didn’t stray too far from shore, missy,” he told her with a shrug. Kehoe shifted the lantern over to his left hand. “I didn’t fancy being out there – especially with the waves.”

“Really?” The younger cat raised her eyebrows at him, looking as if she couldn’t possibly believe he had such an aversion to the sea. Ms. Winslow's expression turned more furtive. “I could properly show you the sea, Captain. You're welcome to come down south with me. If you'd like…”

He shook his head and snorted. “No thank you, missy. I’ll stick with the bloody river.”

Kehoe watched the younger woman boarding the boat before he joined her. Being back on the lightly shifting craft felt more natural and familiar to him. Just being back on the boat immediately made him more comfortable.

“Suit yourself, Captain,” she told him pleasantly. Even in the relative dark, Kehoe watched as a stray nighttime breeze caught her hair. She smiled at him before she ascended the stairs.

While he followed her, he made sure to respectfully keep his eyes on the steps. Once the two of them, were on the upper deck, Kehoe walked Ms. Winslow to the door leading into his cabin. She turned her gaze towards him and smiled again.

“Well, if you change your mind, please let me know. Travel with company is pleasant,” she said in a perfectly mild tone, before opening the cabin door. “Have a good night, Captain.”

“Hm, ‘night, missy,” he told her, letting her close the door, before he turned to make his way along the upper deck.

As he approached the cabin he now shared with Dale and Mac, Kehoe was surprised to find Steve, Carly and Dale out on the deck. How had he not noticed them when he got back? He squinted at them in the lantern’s glow. What were they waiting for?

Kehoe didn’t even want to know. He made his way past them and entered the cabin where he found Mac sitting on his bed, reading. At this point, Kehoe didn’t even have it in him to feel annoyed. All he wanted to think about was getting back to St. Louis. Sooner than later, Ms. Winslow would be out of their hands, and hopefully that would mean that things would return to normal. And more importantly, with any luck, his crew would start to act respectable again.

Chapter 5: Turbulence

Summary:

Kehoe and the crew eventually arrive in St. Louis safe and sound, but their arrival also means that it's time for them to part ways with Ms. Winslow...

Talking about himself like he had to Ms. Winslow wasn’t something that came naturally to Kehoe. It certainly wasn’t something he partook in with his crew very often, if ever. He wasn’t at all sure what had come over him and compelled him to talk to the stranger about his time in the navy. He hadn’t divulged a lot of details – a lot of the stuff about his short tenure with the navy was stuff he wanted to take to the grave – but still, he had told her.

He didn’t recall if he had ever told any of the crew that he used to serve in the navy. If he hadn’t, Kehoe wasn’t going to now, certainly.

Ms. Winslow had asked him, hadn’t she? Hadn’t he just been courteous and answered her question? But then again, Kehoe wasn’t a very courteous type… It didn’t matter at the end of the day. It was just a brief conversation.

The fact that he had relived his navy days in his dreams, however, was another matter entirely. How pathetic, Kehoe thought as he looked out across the river. It truly was pitiful that just one conversation had made those memories resurface in his dreams. He had never been one to put much thought or stock into his dreams. They were just strange fabrications of the mind, after all.

Still, some of the situations he had found himself in once again had left him feeling… quite unpleasant when he woke up. Almost drowning arguably felt even worse in his dream. It wasn’t something he ever wanted to let anyone else in on, crew or otherwise. Certainly not Ms. Winslow. It would be straight-up humiliating to tell her. And besides, she would be leaving them soon; no sense in letting her leave the Crust Bucket with that as her last impression of him.

It was all just stupid dreams that meant nothing – recollections of things he would rather forget. Even so, it was admittedly mildly disturbing that just mentioning it in passing to her had stirred his memories enough to shape his dreams.

That morning, they had set off immediately after breakfast. Kehoe wasn’t entirely sure how to interpret the mood in the gallery. Steve in particular seemed a bit louder than usual, and very eager to talk to Ms. Winslow – so much so that he rudely cut in, while the others were talking to her. It was just another embarrassment on top of everything else. Though he couldn’t be bothered at all, Kehoe felt an urge to do or say something.

But the closer they got to St. Louis, the more hopeful Kehoe felt.

Of course, it wasn’t at all Ms. Winslow's fault that she had that effect on his crew. It was quite obvious that she wasn’t reciprocating the attention she got, and she most certainly wasn’t trying to distract them. He really couldn’t blame her. That said, the sooner things returned to normal, the better. Kehoe was steering the boat this time around, doing so with a great sense of urgency. Granted, he couldn’t exactly make the Crust Bucket go any faster than it already was.

Kehoe supposed it really hadn’t been all bad, even if the girl had tested his patience at times. He supposed she was just being overzealous, which was arguably better than showing disinterest or disdain for working with them.

Though he knew it to be silly, Kehoe was acutely aware of the fact that every minute that passed brought him closer to St. Louis. The surroundings were becoming more familiar the further they went. Even something as innocuous as the landscape lining the riverbanks stood out to him as becoming more recognizable. Landmarks such as small river basins on the way there, even something like rock formations or certain longstanding trees were familiar sights to Kehoe.

A lone oak tree on the banks had stood there for as long as Kehoe remembered, strangely cut off from other vegetation. Seeing it was a strangely relieving sight, knowing the recent rough weather hadn’t managed to uproot it. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

Casting a glance down at the small bit of the lower deck he could see from the pilothouse, Kehoe spotted Ms. Winslow ascending the stairs. His eyes followed her as she approached. She showed a small smirk as she got closer, and already Kehoe wasn’t sure he would like what was coming.

“Hello, Captain,” she said pleasantly once she was inside the pilothouse. He turned to look at her as she came to stand beside him, leaning against the starboard side of the room. “We’re almost in St. Louis now, right?”

“Right,” he grunted at her. Kehoe was trying his best not to let the sour taste in his mouth linger – the one her steering mishap had left him with.

He gripped the wheel firmly and looked straight ahead, as if to show her how to properly steer a boat like the Crust Bucket. Casting a sideways glance at the Russian Blue cat, Kehoe momentarily wondered if she was up in the pilothouse because she had had enough of the crew. Not that he could blame her exactly.

“How about I steer the boat the rest of the way there?” Kehoe immediately turned to look at the younger woman, who smirked at him. In a less deadpan tone, she added, “Hey, I'm just kidding.”

“Hm…” He wasn’t so sure she was, but he didn’t even want to humor the very idea of it. “So, how’re you planning on getting down south, missy?”

Ms. Winslow didn’t answer right away, just quietly standing by the wall. For a moment she didn’t look at him, one of her black-tipped ears giving a twitch. When she finally did answer, she sounded uncertain. “I don’t know yet. I’ll probably hop on another boat.”

Kehoe wasn’t sure it was the best way to go about it. She could end up sailing with unsavory types. Granted, he supposed he should count himself as one, given his occupation and all. She was lucky he and Mac were around to keep Steve in check too. The orange tabby was easily the most head over heels out of the entire crew, and the idea that she might end up on a boat full of easily swayed types like that…

Kehoe tried to imagine how things would turn out if she got onto a boat with an entire crew who would act that way with her… And he didn’t like the conclusion his mind came to.

Turning his head, he saw her looking at him intently. She gave the smallest hint of a smile as her tail gave a swish. “It’ll be fine – maybe I’ll find another nice crew to sail with.”

“Or maybe you're going to get yourself in trouble, li’l missy,” he grumbled, unconvinced. He gave a snort and looked ahead. “How come you're not traveling there with your parents anyway?”

She gave a somewhat hollow laugh. “Oh, they're perfectly happy here on the river. I don’t think they miss the sea at all.”

“Really? They work on the river?” Kehoe felt begrudgingly curious, though he also wasn’t entirely sure why he asked. When he looked towards Ms. Winslow and saw her nodding, he found himself asking, “And what is it they do?”

“They both work on a big boat like me – not always the same one, but it’s what we’ve been doing since we moved up here,” the other cat explained with a shrug. She seemed put off, but Kehoe wasn’t sure what she’d be displeased by exactly. Ms. Winslow shrugged. “At first, I liked it a lot, but it’s… dull. Putting up with patrons, who think…”

When she stopped, Kehoe looked at Ms. Winslow. She had crossed her arms and looked annoyed more than anything. When their eyes met, Kehoe raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Sorry, it’s just a frustrating job, to be honest.” Ms. Winslow put her hands behind her back, resting them against the wall she was leaning on. “Many of our patrons are either rich men with their heads in the clouds, who spend all their time ogling me.”

Kehoe looked sideways at her again. He felt compelled to comment on the last statement, but he also didn’t know what to say – his crew wasn’t much better. Their behavior over the past few days had been quite hard to defend, no matter how he looked at it. Granted, it wasn’t his job to defend the honor of his crew, even if their actions did somewhat reflect poorly on him by association.

“That happen a lot at work, missy?” he asked, thinking it too rude to completely change the subject just yet. It wasn’t something Kehoe himself could relate to. After all, he certainly didn’t have to deal with any of that himself, at least as far as he knew.

“Plenty, but…” She gave an indifferent shrug. When she continued, her tone was indifferent, almost bored. “Well, it is what it is. At least the more I get ogled, the bigger my tip usually is, I suppose.”

Kehoe couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not, but the thought itself did make him scowl slightly. What a way to live, he thought. Though he privately wondered why she hadn’t gone and found another job, he supposed the pay might play a role. Living wasn’t cheap, and he most certainly knew that. Even his small, humble abode away from the river had cost a pretty penny, though maintaining the Crust Bucket was the bigger expense.

“Just don’t go sailing with any unsavory types,” Kehoe grunted, though the irony of him saying that wasn’t lost on him. She was quite literally sailing with bootleggers, after all.

Ms. Winslow showed a small smile, before glancing out towards the bow. “I’ll try to find another reputable captain of your caliber, Cap’n.”

Unable to tell if she was being sarcastic or not, Kehoe responded with a vague grunt. Ms. Winslow stayed in the cabin for the remainder of the stretch that would take them to St. Louis, though neither of them said much. He liked it, just being able to sail in silence. The scenic, wild surroundings soon gave way to more barren stretches of land flanking the river.

The closer they got to St. Louis, the less wilderness and the more developed areas became visible. Though he knew it was none of his business, Kehoe also couldn’t help but feel somewhat worried about Ms. Winslow's safety. She had been lucky to have gone with them, and though Kehoe couldn’t say he had encountered many sailors he would think might pose a threat to her, he also knew that hitching rides with strangers could be dangerous regardless. He knew that you only knew someone until you didn’t. And the idea of a little woman with a bunch of sailors… something about it simply didn’t sit right with him.

If he were closer to her, he certainly wouldn’t let her do something like that; he'd advise her to go for more proper passage. He'd advise her like any friend would… if they were that close, or closer than even that.

Why couldn’t she take a train? Surely that would be safer. Or maybe she should get on one of those big, stupid boats she had worked on – those went south, didn’t they? Granted, Kehoe didn’t know how far south, and he certainly didn’t know how expensive they were either.

Still, it really wasn’t his problem to deal with. He knew he ought to leave her to it and let her deal with whatever consequences came her way. Just like with his crew, he wasn’t her dad. She could do whatever she wanted for all he cared. She was a grown woman, as far as Kehoe could tell.

And there it was.

As always, seeing the familiar river port of St. Louis was a welcomed sight to Kehoe. Even from a distance past Eads Bridge, it was as recognizable as ever. As they approached the tall bridge that stretched across the river, Kehoe felt a kind of urgency to get there as fast as he could. The familiarity was beckoning him, the allure of normalcy.

The bridge itself was just a fixture to Kehoe. He didn’t find it particularly aesthetically pleasing; it was just a constant in his life on the river. It served its purpose for the people to get across the water and that was it. That being said, it also added the feeling of this being a homecoming of sorts. Whether he liked it or not, it almost served as a makeshift finish line.

Looking to his side, he noticed Ms. Winslow leaning out of the pilothouse door to look up as they approached the bridge. The large structure wasn’t particularly offensive to the eye, but also nothing worth hanging out of the window for, at least not in Kehoe’s opinion.

As they drew nearer to the port, the river’s waters got busier too. Already, Kehoe had spotted four other towboats pushing barges to and fro. A large, centralized hub on the river, Kehoe knew they were more likely to have more work there. and not just towing barges either. Having access to better pickup points around here, Kehoe knew that peddling liquor would be easier. There were stashes hidden nearby that they had set up, and he knew where to find buyers along the river at night.

By the time they docked, Kehoe had Steve carry Ms. Winslow's stuff from the cabin she stayed in onto the pier. The orange tabby seemed eager to do it, and even if he hadn’t been asked to, Kehoe was willing to bet all the good liquor onboard that he would have done it anyway. He supposed that wasn’t so bad; Ms. Winslow didn’t seem to complain at least.

Steve carried himself as if being made to carry Ms. Winslow's suitcase was the highest honor – Kehoe thought the orange tabby looked like a pompous fool, the way he strutted down the steps to the lower deck and onto the pier.

And just as she had promised, the Russian Blue paid for her fare down south; all ten dollars were accounted for. Admittedly, Kehoe had been curious about whether she would or not. A small part of him had halfway expected her to take off the second they stepped onto the paved port, though this wasn’t such an unpleasant surprise to him. Kehoe supposed he ought to be grateful that it wasn’t the case.

“Well, here we are, missy,” he grunted at her, pocketing the money, as Steve put down her suitcase on the cobbled pier. The blonde cat smiled and nodded. Kehoe hated how Steve kept looking at her, as if he were ready to quit his job to follow her. Feeling obligated to say something, Kehoe added, “Good luck with that trip down south.”

Steve made a small movement by Kehoe's side, and he elbowed the tabby in the side. He was not in the mood to listen to that man offer to sail her there himself.

“Thank you, Captain. And thank all of you – it’s been fun,” the Russian Blue said pleasantly. She gripped the strap of her suitcase. “Well, I'd best be going. Y’all take care, alright?”

“Will do, missy, will do,” Kehoe replied, barely louder than a grunt as the rest of the crew likewise bade her farewell.

And there she went. As she turned, Kehoe got to see those long, messy locks of blonde hair swaying in the wind like a curtain of gold. As she left, something met Kehoe's nose, a scent he didn’t recall having caught before. It wasn’t quite floral, perhaps closer to herbal… was it her? Did she wear a perfume he had never noticed?

Whatever the case, as much as Kehoe hated to admit it, having her onboard had added a strange sort of energy to daily life on the water. Perhaps it was simply down to the fact that someone new was on the boat, or perhaps it was all down to how eagerly these cads all wanted to impress her. That was one thing Kehoe wasn’t going to miss. A small part of him was tempted to give Steve's status as first mate to Mac – the crewmember who had conducted himself with the most dignity while they were hosting Ms. Winslow.

But she was out of their hands now, at last, and Kehoe wouldn’t have to worry about her. He could go about his business, and she could travel all the way to the south pole for all he cared.

Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, the crew seemed to have had the wind taken out of their sails – particularly Steve – as they resumed their usual work. There was little Kehoe could do about it; he wasn’t about to sit down and have a talk about women with his crew. They just needed to get their act together and get back to work properly. And with any luck, it wouldn’t take too long.

It was still hard for Kehoe to wrap his head around the way Ms. Winslow had so effortlessly charmed all of them, save for Mac.

He frowned behind the wheel as they left the port, now towing several barges. He shook his head – he shouldn’t be thinking about her – she was gone now, and they should all be able to carry on. Kehoe was certainly carrying on.

Casting a glance out the starboard side window, however, he did manage to spot the familiar figure in the distance, her long, messy, hair billowing in the wind.

Kehoe watched her for a moment, begrudgingly wondering about how things would turn out for her. But as he turned away, he told himself that it would be the last time he thought of her.

It turned out to be a productive day for them, however. Not only did things seem to still run like a well-oiled machine despite being back to a smaller crew size, but there were plenty of tow jobs for them to do between St. Louis and the nearby ports.

The day saw them going up and down the river. And now that Ms. Winslow wasn’t around, nothing stopped them from stopping by Mosenthein Island – it was but one of the places where they hit stashes of liquor. It really wasn’t so unlike the stories Kehoe had heard about the pirates of old, how they would supposedly bury treasure.

Granted, it wasn’t much of a treasure. This liquor was by no means high grade, like the stuff that was more common to come by before prohibition, but it was good enough. Mostly. Kehoe definitely wouldn’t categorize it as worthy of being considered buried treasure, but at the end of the day, it hardly mattered.

And even despite how well the day’s work went, Kehoe still caught his crew (particularly Steve) with those woeful looks on their faces from time to time. It wasn’t as bad as, say, catching them using Ms. Winslow's subpar knots, but it was still annoying to Kehoe. Each time he saw it, it progressively became more unbearable.

“Alright, will you stop it already?!” he finally barked at them over dinner. It was less of a question and more of an order. “I've been watching you boys looking like someone died all day…!”

Steve straightened up and tried to make his face neutral, the ginger tabby seemingly caught off-guard. He cleared his throat. “Sorry, captain, but you have to admit Ms. Winslow was good company…”

“It was nice to have a woman– I mean a lady onboard,” Carly agreed with a firm nod. “Ms. Winslow was a real cut-up…”

Kehoe's eye gave a twitch.

“If you're that eager for a girl, maybe go look for one next time we dock up north; we’ll come get you after the honeymoon,” Kehoe growled back at the black cat. He pointed at the ginger tabby next to Carly. “Same for you, Steve. You’ve been acting like a teenager ever since that lass set foot on the boat.”

The younger man looked highly offended, scandalized even. He straightened up in his seat, which only made him look bloated rather than dignified, at least in Kehoe's opinion. “Can you really blame me? That dame was…”

“A doll… Very pretty,” Carly chimed in.

“She was! I think she liked me too…”

“A bit of a bearcat as well, right, Steve?”

Kehoe's eye twitched again.

He didn’t want to partake in this conversation. He turned to see Mac and Dale, both watching. Though Dale had had his… moments of weakness around Ms. Winslow, this seemed to be one instance where the tuxedo cat wasn’t in the mood to partake. Either that, or he was over it already. Perhaps he had more sense in him than Steve and Carly.

Try as he might, focusing on his dinner with Steve and Carly talking about Ms. Winslow nearby was unbearable. But Kehoe got through it.

He excused himself from the gallery quickly enough. The workday wasn’t over for them yet; they had a few extra stops to make along the river before they could turn in for the night. Finding rumrunners by the riverbanks in the dark wasn’t always easy. The ones that did tend to come out at night liked to stay hidden, and only a few of them knew of Kehoe and the Crust Bucket’s more… illicit cargo.

Most of them were individuals who were brave enough to purchase alcohol for themselves, and a few of them had establishments of their own where it would be resold. Not that it mattered to Kehoe.

That night, a few people by the river purchased a couple of bottles; a few boats sailed up close for a swift exchange as their vessels passed each other. In the dim light, it was even riskier than it was during the day, but with Steve behind the wheel – with his focus on sailing rather than Ms. Winslow – things turned out fine. Though they used the projector at the front of the Crust Bucket for visibility, it could only do so much, the cone of warm light leading the way across the black water of the Mississippi.

Once they were ready to retire for the night, however, Kehoe spotted a familiar figure in an equally familiar spot that immediately drained his energy. It was a small clearing that used to be a small basin that had since dried up, the ground still left smooth and free of vegetation. A single figure made his way down along the sloping indent in the earth between lush trees and bushes.

Not that the vegetation would have done much to hide someone in such a garishly bright blue suit, Kehoe thought to himself. The young man approaching Kehoe, quite frankly, looked ridiculous in that getup.

“Captain Kehoe! How’s old, muddy Miss’ treating you this fine day?” The gray tabby in the blue suit tipped his large, wide-brimmed, blue hat in greeting, a wide, toothy grin on his face.

Kehoe simply knew him as Rocky, a rumrunner, who radiated trouble. And that was why he kept him at a healthy distance at all times, and never directly conducted business with him on the river, let alone the Crust Bucket. He wasn’t letting that young man onto his vessel – ever.

“Ducky,” he grunted in response from the Crust Bucket’s lower deck. Kehoe had come to stand by the knees, watching the cat in his obnoxiously brightly colored outfit.

Even in the low light, Kehoe could tell that in daylight the outfit would be visible from a mile away with its varying shades of blues and oranges. Hands in his pockets, Kehoe's right one gently rubbed his broken compass’ smooth cover.

Thankfully, Rocky knew how these things went. Given that he always purchased alcohol in bulk for whatever speakeasy he worked for, pickup points were usually the way to go. “Glad to hear it. Ah, concerning your cargo – if I could have the where and when…”

“Tomorrow. After midnight. Entrance to English Cave.” Kehoe hoped his short, disinterested responses might help cut his interactions with Rocky short.

English Cave wasn’t such an unusual spot to pick for these things. In fact, Kehoe knew several other people who peddled booze that used the very same cave system. Keeping a stash hidden and safe was one of the challenges; the biggest hurdle, however, was navigating the unmarked caves.

Kehoe scowled when he spotted three large figures approaching from behind Rocky, their silhouettes barely visible in the night. With Rocky, it was a surefire sign of trouble – trouble that Kehoe wanted nothing to do with. Feeling utterly exhausted, he pointed behind the gray tabby. “And whatever quarrel you have, settle it here. I don’t want it on my hands.”

By the time he gestured for Steve to sail the Crust Bucket away, Kehoe could tell that an altercation was taking place there between the woods. And although he momentarily wondered if he'd even be seeing the gray tabby the following night, he also didn’t care about his business with others. Whatever trouble that obnoxious young man had gotten himself into, it was all his own problem.

“Uh, this doesn’t mean I won’t be making that pickup!” was the last thing Kehoe heard Rocky calling as the paddle-wheeler sailed away.

He vaguely recognized the three big men at a distance, though he didn’t know their names. The only way reason he recognized them had to be because they had purchased liquor from him.

Kehoe couldn’t be bothered to answer and simply offered the young man a thumbs up as his three assailants restrained him with his own sleeves. Or maybe the thumbs up was for the three men; he didn’t doubt for a moment that the young tabby deserved whatever was coming to him.

Overall, Kehoe wasn’t a very excitable man – especially not now during his later years – but doing business with that Rocky was exhausting. Even just talking to him felt like a chore that sapped out all of Kehoe's energy. He only ever did it for whatever profit the younger man and the business he worked for could provide, even if it wasn’t much.

 

---

 

As they set off the next day, Kehoe swore under his breath. He wasn’t sure what it was, but even he was feeling Ms. Winslow's absence. During breakfast, he had found himself seated across from a very noticeably empty seat. Somehow, the sight of the unoccupied chair was an immediate reminder that she was gone.

He wasn’t about to go moping and talking about her, like Steve and Carly had done the previous night, but for some reason, it had been a reminder that she wasn’t with them anymore.

Kehoe gave a snort and spat into the river from the upper deck. It was probably Steve and Carly's obnoxious ramblings the previous night that had made him take note of the young woman’s absence. It felt nice to talk to someone. He didn’t indulge much in his crew’s personal matters, but he had found himself listening to what Ms. Winslow had to say. Although he wasn’t much for conversations, it had been… almost nice. It somehow felt easier to talk to her than the crew; with them it was usually just work and business.

He had more pressing matters, however.

Work was one such matter that mercifully took his mind off it all. Having the chance to start earlier than the previous day, they got to take on more jobs than the previous one. For instance, they took a few jobs that saw them sailing back up north again, and it was a very acceptable turnout for them. Even if Ms. Winslow had left an unintentionally palpable absence behind, the work kept them busy enough to ignore it.

All things considered, it felt great to be back on his home turf, and Kehoe felt like things finally made sense again. It was just him, the Crust Bucket and the crew, the way things used to be, and the way they were supposed to be.

Here on the waters around St. Louis, he recognized many of the vessels all around, and even spotted familiar faces on the docks. Throughout the day, however, he didn’t spot Ms. Winslow whenever they returned to the St. Louis port. Not that he was looking for her…

There was no reason to. After all, she was probably already sailing down the river with someone else by now. There was no point in looking for her, trying to spot her when they made port or passed it…

By the time they made it back to the docks in the evening, they had more than met their expected quota, and Kehoe felt decidedly better about their efficiency than he had just one day ago. It was encouraging to say the least, and even somewhat validating; Ms. Winslow hadn’t exactly been a hinderance, but with their normal interpersonal dynamics back to normal, everything just felt right again.

Everyone seemed to be in high spirits in the gallery as Carly prepared dinner. It was… unusual, but not necessarily in a bad way. Steve and Dale had managed to convince Mac to recount some old anecdotes he had had with women, much to their amusement.

It wasn’t quite Kehoe's cup of tea, but he also sat by and listened as the longhair recounted tales of past flames he had had. Being the second oldest of the crew, he had quite a number of stories to tell, many of which had taken place before Kehoe knew him. The most Kehoe gave in terms of a reaction was an occasional snort or a raised eyebrow. Especially the latter; evidently, Mac had had quite a wild youth, certainly more than Kehoe had had… mostly.

As he took a sip of his water, Kehoe grimaced to himself. He most certainly was no saint, not by a long shot, but the way Mac spoke of his past almost made him feel like one.

The good mood seemed to have extended to Carly's cooking, which seemed even better than normal, although Kehoe wasn’t sure if he just imagined it. The meat and vegetables served up tasted great, as far as Kehoe could tell anyway. His sense of taste had grown considerably weak over the years, but nothing some salt wouldn’t temporarily fix.

The mood around the gallery was in fact so good that Kehoe sent Dale to get a bottle of their good alcohol. They still had a few hours to go before the meetup at English Cave, although Kehoe had his doubts about that turning out well.

Given that the last he had seen of Rocky had been him having a confrontation with three men who were considerably more physically imposing than him. Kehoe hoped he would turn up, however. Mostly so he could get some business done. He couldn’t care less about the young man getting hurt. In fact, whatever trouble he was in was most likely his own fault. Given his personality, Kehoe wasn’t surprised that tabby made some enemies for himself.

After what Kehoe considered long enough in the others’ company, he stepped out onto the upper deck, while they continued drinking and playing cards. He did make sure to remind them that they had a job to do later, however.

It was getting dark outside, and it was so quiet. He could hear the tranquil sound of the river flowing, though in the distance he could very faintly hear voices conversing.

Every minute, the sky grew darker, but in the dim light, Kehoe immediately recognized the familiar figure wandering the docks. Even in the diminishing light, her hair almost appeared to glow. He gripped the railing a little tighter as he watched her approaching.

He squinted. What was she doing here?

When Ms. Winslow spotted him, she walked closer to the Crust Bucket, a small smile on her face. Kehoe's grip on the railing loosened. The Russian Blue wore that thick, black coat Kehoe recalled seeing her with, the thing still looking like it had seen better days.

“Ahoy, Captain!” she called to him as she approached, apparently in a good mood. She wore a dark cap over her long hair, which she had put up into a rather sloppily tied ponytail.

“What're you doing out here, missy?” he immediately asked, not wanting to beat around the bush. Kehoe couldn’t keep the suspicion out of his voice.

It seemed strange for her to be wandering the docks all alone this late. At the very least he didn’t like that she was. And the fact that she had brought her suitcase, as well as an additional one, with her seemed even more strange to Kehoe.

“Oh, just went for a small sailing trip downriver,” Ms. Winslow told him casually as he descended the stairs to stand on the lower deck. He settled near the knees before she continued. “I made a fair wage too – I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea before I go south. How was business for you tonight?”

Kehoe looked at her with mounting suspicion. What did she mean exactly? He had his immediate assumptions about it, but Kehoe didn’t want to show too much of his own hand in case he somehow managed to misunderstand. He gave a scoff.

“Been a busy day, missy. A lot of work around here. I'm surprised to see you, though,” he grunted at her, attempting to change the subject. He tried to do so naturally, as to not seem suspicious himself. “No luck finding someone willing to sail you?”

“Well, like I said, I just got done doing a bit of work,” she insisted. There was a strange gleam in her green eyes Kehoe didn’t like. It was as if she were daring him to ask what she’d really been doing.

He cast a glance up towards the upper deck.

Thankfully, the crew was apparently still preoccupied with their card game. He could only begin to imagine how they'd react to seeing Ms. Winslow again. Kehoe wasn’t going to worry about that, however.

Turning back to the young cat, he sighed. He was starting to think she really wanted him to ask. “And what sort of work is a lass like you doing out in the middle of the night exactly?”

“Oh, sometimes there are these people who need to get across the river:” Ms. Winslow's tone was… hard to figure out. It was similarly casual, but also had a sort of sarcasm to it that bordered on condescending, at least to Kehoe. “Funny, you got people running around late at night – sometimes they have crates with them too.”

“Right…” he grunted at her. Kehoe was starting to get the feeling she was baiting him, but he wasn’t going to take said bait. He cast a suspicious glance at her two suitcases. Who knew what they might hold, especially given the conversation they had almost just had.

Even if she was somehow linked to bootlegging, he wasn’t quite in the mood to talk about that sort of business with her. It wasn’t the kind of thing to talk about out in the open. Kehoe cast another glance at the suitcases she had brought with her.

“So, what’s the plan, missy? Just going to wander around here and see if anyone’s willing to take you south?” He wasn’t sure why he bothered asking. Kehoe already knew that was indeed her plan, give or take, though he wasn’t privy to the intricacies of it.

“More or less.” The blonde-haired cat gave a nod. “It’s quieting down a bit now, but with any luck, I’ll find someone.”

“Hm…” Casting a glance along the pier, Kehoe could only agree. There were still people out and about, but the docks were nowhere near as busy as they usually got during the day. “I still think you're crazy, lass. It’s a dangerous game you're playing. You can’t just go hitching a ride with strangers.”

“It worked out fine when I did with you and your crew,” she pointed out with a shrug. Ms. Winslow cast a curious glance up towards the windows of the Crust Bucket and gave a smirk. “Are the boys managing without me?”

“Just about,” he snorted sarcastically. Kehoe glanced around the more or less empty harbor and gave a sigh. “You sure you'll be fine, missy?”

“Positive,” she replied ever so pleasantly. She gave Kehoe a funny look, her tail giving a short swish.

It was obvious she was curious about why he was asking, but she didn’t outright inquire about it. Scowling, Kehoe sighed again.

“Well, if you ain't going anywhere, I can sail you… tomorrow. Don’t get the wrong idea!” he snapped at her when she raised an eyebrow. “It just doesn’t sit right with me that you're going around and asking strange men to sail you!”

“That’s sweet,” Ms. Winslow said, though surprisingly her voice wasn’t very sarcastic, if at all. As the Russian Blue looked up and down the pier, Kehoe sighed yet again. He wasn’t going to rescind his offer, but she also hadn’t accepted it just yet. “It doesn’t seem like there's anyone else to ask right now, so… if you insist, I'd like to sail with you guys again.”

“Right. Well, you're welcome to use my cabin for the night, if you'd like. Steve, Dale, and I have something to attend to first, however.” Already, Kehoe didn’t like the look on Ms. Winslow's face. Clearing his throat, he added, “We’re just going for a short, little drive… That’s all, missy.”

By the time Kehoe left with Steve and Dale, he wasn’t sure whether he had made the right decision or not. The way the boys had all reacted when Kehoe stepped into the gallery with Ms. Winslow was something he'd rather forget. Steve especially looked like all his dreams had come true at that moment, and Kehoe wanted nothing more than to smack the look off his face.

Driving along the unevenly paved road taking them towards the pickup point didn’t make him feel any better and the prospect of dealing with Rocky again only helped to further sour Kehoe's mood. And so, he felt a somewhat faint sense of foreboding in the back of his mind all the while.

Thankfully, cars to rent weren’t too hard to come by, even at night. at least for those knowing where to go looking for one.

The entrance to English Cave that they used was located in a less than glamorous part of town. The building resting atop the entrance was rundown, its windows barred, the bricks overrun by climbing vines. In truth, Kehoe hadn’t a clue who owned the building or what it was used for, if anything. If he had to guess, it was abandoned. It had been in a similar state for as long as he could remember.

Rocky wasn’t alone, however, much to Kehoe's surprise. He was accompanied by an older man, who seemed to be around Mac's age, clad in overalls, a sweater, and a cap. He also wore an eyepatch and didn’t seem very friendly.

In truth, Kehoe was somewhat surprised to see Rocky altogether, but judging by his companion perhaps he had managed to find some muscle. In the bootlegging business, muscle was good to have. Kehoe supposed his crew would do, even if they weren’t particularly intimidating. He hadn’t a clue who Rocky's companion was, nor did he care. He had stopped questioning anything revolving the gray tabby a while ago.

Waiting up by the entrance, Kehoe left it to Steve and Dale to retrieve the liquor from English Cave. The tall, fluffy, dark orange cat’s one-eyed gaze followed them as they loaded the liquor into the back of an apparently unassuming truck. Kehoe too stood by and watched, overseeing the transaction himself.

That said, he chose not to humor Rocky. The annoying, young cat’s overly wordy monologuing was tiring. It was enough to make Kehoe long for the cold, dark, muddy bottom of the Mississippi River. Even smoking while the gray tabby droned on and on hardly made it more bearable.

By the time Rocky and his companion left, Kehoe still felt deflated and exhausted by the verbal onslaught of the younger man. The drive back was decidedly faster, and Kehoe knew why: Steve wanted to get back to the Crust Bucket – to Ms. Winslow.

When they arrived, the young lady was nowhere to be found. She wasn’t waiting on the docks, nor was she in the gallery, which also stood empty with both Carly and Mac standing on the lower deck when Kehoe and the others arrived.

Steve and Carly immediately started talking about Ms. Winslow and Kehoe felt a strong urge to tell them to shut up, though he ultimately refrained. Casting a last contemptuous look at them, he sighed and made his way up to his cabin.

Pushing the door open, he found Ms. Winslow there. She had removed her heavy coat and was dressed in just her white, short-sleeved shirt and those knickers Kehoe had seen her in before. For a moment, he almost ducked out of his cabin, afraid he might have caught her in an indecent state. Luckily, she was very much decently dressed, if perhaps more casual than he was used to seeing her.

“Ah, hello, Captain,” she greeted him pleasantly. She ran her fingers through her hair. “How did the drive go?”

“It went well,” he grunted, knowing it was a loaded question. He sighed. “Well, just let me grab some clothes for tomorrow and I’ll be on my way.”

“So is the crew alright with you changing the plans?” she asked him as he retrieved clothes from the box he used for a dresser. Glancing up, he met her green eyes. “Or are they just going along with it because the captain said so?”

“I’ll explain it all tomorrow, missy,” he told her, feeling too exhausted to go into detail. Every minute he had spent in Rocky’s company had left him feeling utterly drained. Clothes in hand, he made for the cabin door. “Have a good rest. We’ll take off after breakfast.”

Stepping out onto the upper deck, Kehoe started to reconsider.

His behavior was irrational. He wasn’t going to put everything on hold for her, but he had volunteered to sail her south. Why? Why couldn’t he just turn a blind eye to what was clearly a fool-hearted decision on her part? If she wanted to do something as dangerous as sailing with strangers, shouldn’t he just let her?

Stopping by the railing, Kehoe looked out over the dark water, the stars above reflected by the smooth surface, like small, rippling dots. This was ridiculous. He supposed he didn’t like the idea of her being put in risky situations like that, but even then… even then…

Was she getting to him after all?

Surely not. He wasn’t a fool like Steve or Carly; he wasn’t acting like a horned-up teenager. The river was full of dangers both in and on the water, as well as the water itself. He still had both feet planted firmly on the ground and his head on his shoulders. He was just being unreasonably charitable – that was all.

Chapter 6: Confluence

Summary:

Kehoe and Marina embark on their trip downriver together. Despite his reservations, they end up getting to know each other more, and he gets a better understanding of her.

Notes:

The final chapter has been completed, so these will be up weekly from now on.

Come morning, Kehoe didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to face the consequences of his actions. It wasn’t that he regretted offering to sail Ms. Winslow, exactly, but he also didn’t look forward to breakfast. He would be surprised if things had changed at all.

His dreams had been peaceful that night, and he felt rested. So at least there was that, Kehoe thought to himself. That was really all he could ask for when going to bed. If only the day ahead was anywhere near as promising. In any case, the crew wasn’t going with them, so that meant that Kehoe got to have a break, and Ms. Winslow wouldn’t have to put up with Steve in particular.

Nevertheless, despite his reservations, Kehoe managed to drag himself out of bed, being the last to leave the cabin after Mac and Dale. Kehoe never did much to smart himself up in the morning – he just made sure to clean himself as that was what mattered. He got dressed in a plain white shirt and dark gray pants before he made his way to the gallery.

He wasn’t surprised to see that the gallery was considerably livelier than the day before. With Ms. Winslow present, both Steve and Carly seemed particularly talkative, while Dale appeared mildly interested and Mac hardly paid them any mind from the looks of it. Kehoe took a seat opposite Mac and sighed.

He figured he may as well break the news to them quickly.

“Alright, listen up, you feather heads,” he growled to get Steve and Carly's attention. The tabby and the black cat looked away from Ms. Winslow, who seemed thankful to have the attention averted from her. “I’ll be taking a short leave… for a few days.”

“A leave? What for?” Mac asked, sounding halfway suspicious. The apricot-furred cat raised an eyebrow and leaned over the table slightly, as if to get a better look at Kehoe.

Ms. Winslow smiled at Kehoe from the other side of the table, and he sighed inwardly. There was no getting around it at this point. He grumbled to himself before he continued, “I’ll be sailing missy here south.”

The reaction was immediate and unsurprisingly, Steve was the first to speak up. “Captain, if you'd let me, I would gladly–”

“I'm sure you would, but I ain't letting you,” Kehoe snapped at him, which seemed to immediately shut up the ginger tabby. “I ain't going to be gone for long, but until I get back, I trust that you'll keep working as per usual.”

“So, what’s gotten you in the mood for a trip like that?” Dale asked curiously, though he sounded less suspicious than Mac. He turned to look at Ms. Winslow. “Finally going home, huh, Ms. Winslow?”

“Money,” Kehoe growled for a reply, getting a curious look from the Russian Blue. “And besides, missy couldn’t find anyone else to sail her southward.”

This seemed to be good enough for Dale, though Steve still appeared quite displeased by the idea of not being the one to personally escort Ms. Winslow where she wanted to go. In a strange way, Kehoe thought he deserved to feel that way. In truth, he didn’t like the idea of Ms. Winslow being alone on a small boat with Steve. If nothing else, he imagined she’d rather swim all the way.

“I've been looking forward to it. I'm glad Captain Kehoe wanted to sail me,” the Russian Blue said, getting his attention.

It felt somewhat strange to be called that, seeing as the younger woman had just referred to him as ‘captain’ like the rest of the crew. It shouldn’t feel odd, yet it somehow did…

When Steve and Carly joined the conversation while they ate, Kehoe was surprised by how much they apparently knew. Had Ms. Winslow been telling them all this? Granted, he hadn’t been around for everything while she worked, so he supposed there might have been some friendly smalltalk between them. It certainly seemed within the realm of possibility.

Kehoe stopped paying attention and instead just focused on his less than interesting breakfast. He barely even noticed how good it did or didn’t taste. Ms. Winslow seemed more willing to humor the crew, perhaps because she knew she wouldn’t be sticking around for long this time around.

“The beaches are so nice down there,” Ms. Winslow said, making Kehoe glance up from his oatmeal. “The sand is white and the water is so clear. Crystal. Like glass.”

“Really?” Steve was speaking with a kind of bewilderment that made Kehoe's eye twitch in annoyance. It was so exaggerated, but if Ms. Winslow realized or noticed, she didn’t seem to show it. “I've seen pictures of the sea; the water looks dark and murky like the Mississippi.”

“Oh, it really does get that clear. It’s bright blue and it’s lovely. At least down south it’s a lot more blue and clear,” she continued, before she resumed eating.

Kehoe eventually finished his own food and leaned back in his chair, while Ms. Winslow continued on about the water. He personally didn’t care. Water was water, regardless of its color. Granted, the waters of the Mississippi River did appear murky and dirty. It wasn’t something Kehoe had really considered; to him, the river was just the way it was and that was that – that was the way it had always been.

However, as he stepped out onto the upper deck after breakfast, he glanced down at the dark water. Ms. Winslow just might have a point about the water quality. He had been in parts of the Mississippi where the water ran cleaner than it did in a big river port like St. Louis’. Still, he was curious about what the trip south might bring, besides stranger waters.

Kehoe didn’t waste much time before he retrieved his belongings from his cabin. He brought it outside, carrying it in the crate he kept his clothes in. He left most of his stuff behind in the cabin Ms. Winslow had occupied; all he really needed was extra clothes, a few smaller items and most importantly a stash of money he had locked away in a small chest. Their paths briefly crossed on the way before he settled in to wait for her by the knees of the boat. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait for long.

Whether it was the prospect of getting back to her childhood home or getting away from the crew, Kehoe didn’t know, but Ms. Winslow didn’t take long. He had barely had time to settle by the large metal structures before she made a reappearance. The Russian Blue had put her ragged jacket on and wore a brown cap, her hair put up in a rather sloppily done ponytail again.

“Ready when you are, Captain,” she said pleasantly and stepped right off the boat. She turned around and waved. “Don’t miss me too much, boys! Good luck.”

Following her off the Crust Bucket, Kehoe glanced back to see the crew all gathered up on the upper deck. He snorted. They were all watching her, and Steve in particular looked as if someone had just cast a treasure chest into the river’s depths. “Don’t sink her while I'm gone, you cads. Steve, I trust you to do your job properly this time.”

And that was all Kehoe gave them when it came to goodbyes. Kehoe wasn’t going to give the crew a lengthy one, especially since they knew perfectly well how he wanted things to be run. Even if his faith in him had been shaken recently, Steve straightened up in a most dignified manner and nodded, even saluting Kehoe, which was perhaps a tad much…

Leading the way away from the Crust Bucket, which did depart soon after they left, Kehoe showed Ms. Winslow the way. It still felt somewhat strange to be walking away from the Crust Bucket, but it wasn’t the first time.

“So, how’re we getting south then?” Ms. Winslow asked. Walking side by side with her, Kehoe for the first time took note of the fact that she was slightly taller than him. Granted, he didn’t exactly have the best posture…

“I've got a smaller boat we can use.” Once again, Kehoe found himself reconsidering. This was all a lot of trouble to go through for someone he had known for barely a week. What was there even to gain from it? Altruism wasn’t something Kehoe cared about. “And I'm sailing it, missy.”

“Wait, really? I was sure you were going to let me sail,” she sneered sarcastically, smirking sideways at Kehoe. “Color me surprised, cap’n!”

He gave her a scoff in return. At least she appeared to be in a good mood. Or whatever mood sarcasm indicated.

The remainder of the walk was mostly in silence as he guided her away from the more industrial parts of the harbor and closer to where smaller vessels were docked. The specific vessel they would use was a boat Kehoe had to himself, unlike the others he rented out on occasion. So thankfully, he wouldn’t have to worry about whether it was available or not.

“Right, well, here she is, li’l missy. She ain't fancy, but you already knew that.” The vessel was quite old, having been constructed over half a century ago.

Even when Kehoe acquired it, it was rather dated.

The boat itself was decently sized, but far smaller than the Crust Bucket. The hull was constructed of dark grayish brown wood, the bow of the boat sloping upwards in a hydrodynamic way. It was large enough to house two, maybe three people in the short term. Kehoe hadn’t let his crew onto it before, usually doing just fine sailing it to and fro by himself whenever he used it.

The pilothouse up front was considerably smaller than the one on the Crust Bucket and behind it was where the cargo hold was. Kehoe had made sure the interior had been made to be somewhat hospitable, although it wasn’t anything like the Crust Bucket with its sizable gallery and numerous cabins.

“It’s a cute, little boat,” Ms. Winslow said pleasantly as she stepped onto the deck. She put down her suitcases as Kehoe joined her. “How fast does it go?”

“To hell if I know,” he grunted, though she seemed to find this amusing as she gave a chuckle. “I've had her for a long time and never bothered finding out. She goes wherever I need her to – she's reliable.”

Making his way past Ms. Winslow, Kehoe realized he didn’t know the state the boat had been left in. He made for the bow past the bell hanging below the two front facing windows of the pilothouse. Below the bell were bold, white, rather faded letters spelling out the name Breanne.

Just like the stern facing deck, the bow was clear of clutter, save for some ropes and a singular bucket that had been knocked over.

Turning, Kehoe saw Ms. Winslow making for the small cabin and moved to cut her off. “Hold it, missy, we need to figure out the sleeping arrangements.”

The Russian Blue raised an eyebrow at this, putting down her suitcases again. For the first time, Kehoe took note of how heavy they looked, especially one of them, which made a metallic clunk against the wooden deck.

What was in there? What was the young woman bringing along? Hopefully, it wasn’t anything illegal, though one could never be certain these days with all those rumrunners scurrying around in the night…

“Alright,” she said, somewhat hesitantly. “So, what did you have in mind?”

“Let me just see if I can’t figure that out, missy,” he grunted and made his way past her and down the three steps inside the doorway. The cabin inside was mostly dark, the starboard and port facing windows not letting in a lot of light.

The space itself was small, although not too much smaller than the cabin he had shared with Dale and Mac the previous night. The cabin was admittedly a bit of a mess, and to Kehoe's chagrin that mess also included a few empty bottles. He swore under his breath as he bent down to scoop them up off the floor. He didn’t have an ideal place to stash them for the time being.

The cabin held just a single bed by the wall opposite the door and above it was a small shelf that usually held assorted items, though currently it was mostly barren. A large, wooden chest stood by the foot of the bed, and the cabin’s stern-facing end was used for storage, holding a few crates and other containers, like the chest. Had it not been for the storage, there would have been considerably more room for the two of them.

As he moved to the chest to see if there was room to hide the bottles inside, he heard a knock behind him. When he turned, he noticed that Ms. Winslow had stuck her head inside. “It’s not very spacious in here, is it?”

“It ain't…” he halfway muttered, realizing the gig was up. There was no point in hiding the bottles now, though he still checked the chest.

It held a few items he had stashed in there, thankfully including a bedroll, blankets and some pillows. At least that meant they'd both have a way to sleep somewhat comfortably.

“But there's enough room for us both and that’s what matters,” Kehoe told her as he turned to face her. He felt a twinge of annoyance when he saw her pick one of the empty bottles off the floor. He tried not to show more of a reaction to it, however – even as she started looking the label over. Kehoe felt a strong urge to snatch the bottle out of Ms. Winslow's hand, but he refrained…

“I figured as much.” Kehoe wasn’t at all sure what to make of her casual tone as she spoke. The Russian Blue looked up, her face similarly blank, though her green eyes seemed to be boring into his.

He shrugged and gave a scoff. Kehoe was doing his best to mask the annoyance he felt, the embarrassment of being caught so red-handed. “So, I ain't a law-abiding citizen. I'm sure you'll have a hard time finding a saint sailing this here river, missy.”

She gave a short, hollow laugh. “Oh, you're not getting rid of me that easily, Captain. And besides, if I played by the rules…”

When the young woman trailed off, Kehoe raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue, though she never did. Was that an admission of guilt on her part? It seemed like it, what else could she mean?

He shrugged and turned back towards the chest, pulling out the bed roll. “Well, if you could dispose of those bottles, I’ll just prepare the cabin – you'll be taking the bed, and I’ll be taking the floor.”

“Oh, please, I can sleep on the floor,” she sighed in an exasperated way, even giving a dismissive wave of her hand. “You don’t think I've done that before?”

“I don’t know what you have and haven’t done, missy” Kehoe grunted back, for the first time finding himself genuinely curious about Ms. Winslow. It was all because of that comment she hadn’t finished… “But this here's my boat, missy and I make the rules – I’ll take the bedroll.”

She didn’t argue, simply giving an indifferent shrug, before she picked the bottles up and left the cabin before Kehoe could stop her.

He sighed, before turning back to the matter at hand. Already, he knew it wouldn’t be the most comfortable sleep. It wasn’t horrible, but certainly less comfortable than the bed – there was no way he'd let her sleep that way.

Chivalry or not, Kehoe felt that this was right.

With the bedroll and spare blanket set up on the floor, Kehoe did make sure the bed was fit to be slept in. There were no bugs under the pillow or blanket and the sheets were clean. Moving out onto the deck, he noticed that Ms. Winslow had left her luggage there by the door to the cabin.

He could see her in the distance, returning to the Breanne. Kehoe bent down to grab both her suitcases, though he was caught by surprise by how heavy one of them was, though given its metal casing, he supposed he should have expected it. When he briefly lifted it off the deck and put it down, he could hear metal rattling around within – a telltale sign that it most likely housed some sort of equipment. Whatever that might be…

Though he was curious, a part of Kehoe also didn’t want to know – he didn’t think he should know.

Nevertheless, Kehoe brought both suitcases inside, placing them near the chest. Kehoe adjusted his hat and left the cabin. When he returned to the deck, Ms. Winslow had already stepped onto the boat again. “Ah, there you are, missy. Are you ready to set off?”

“Do we have our heading, captain?” He looked at her curiously, she just gave a playful smile, before she nodded. “I'm ready. It’s a nice boat… It sort of reminds me of what I'm more used to.”

“Don’t you be getting any ideas, missy,” he warned her before moving to the pilothouse. “Just undo the tethers and we’ll be off.”

It was such a stark contrast from the Crust Bucket; the Breanne’s pilothouse was situated much lower and it was far smaller. The wheel was likewise much smaller, and as Kehoe set about getting the small vessel started, the big engine stored in the lower half of the boat sputtered to life before it began to hum loudly, rumbling to signify that it was ready to go.

It took a few tries, but it usually did. Even if the Breanne was reliable, the dark brown vessel still had what most people would call personality to it. But they got there in the end as smoke soon flowed from the smokestack behind the pilothouse.

Kehoe cast a glance out the door to make sure Ms. Winslow had untethered the boat. He saw her neatly stacking the ropes towards the stern, giving him a nod.

And they were off.

It had admittedly been a while since the last time Kehoe had taken the Breanne for a trip himself, but the engine sounded powerful as ever. At least that wouldn’t be an issue, or so he told himself. Given the much smaller space inside the pilothouse, Ms. Winslow settled outside next to the door as he sailed them. Perhaps she thought having the two of them in there would prove a bit… intimate.

As much as most of his life was spent on the Crust Bucket, it was liberating to sail a much smaller vessel. No crew here that needed to help run it – just him… and Ms. Winslow. He caught her stealing glances at him and the wheel a few times as he brought them out of the St. Louis riverport, and he didn’t even need to ask to know what was on her mind. He was sure the younger cat wanted nothing more than to take the wheel to show that she was better at sailing something smaller than a large towboat.

Regardless, he wasn’t going to let her steer the Breanne anytime soon.

Though it wasn’t his first time sailing further south, Kehoe had to admit that the waters ahead would be less familiar to him. And as much as he disliked the idea of it, he also knew he would have to swallow his pride and possibly let Ms. Winslow be his guide. That was if she were any more familiar with those strange waters. From the way she had talked about her want to head south, Kehoe had gotten the distinct impression that she hadn’t made the journey there in quite some time.

The Breanne casually cruised along the river, passing larger vessels, many of them large towboats similar to the Crust Bucket, pushing barges this way and that. They even spotted a single large excursion boat similar to the River Queen as it slowly made its way north.

However much Kehoe detested those opulent boats, at least this one was able to sail without being pushed. He supposed that did make it qualify as a real boat.

As they left St. Louis’ familiar port behind, Kehoe caught himself stealing glances at Ms. Winslow as well as she moved about on the deck. Though she initially stayed next to the pilothouse, she eventually moved towards the bow, standing right in the center of Kehoe's sight line.

The young woman had removed her jacket and hat, letting her hair down, leaving it to billow in the wind. It was still such an unusual feature of hers. Kehoe couldn’t recall ever meeting anyone with hair that bright in his life.

The sky was clear and as the sun continuously beamed down upon them, it was a tossup whether the ripples upon the river or Ms. Winslow's hair reflected the sunlight more.

A few hours later, Kehoe watched as the younger woman turned to face the pilothouse. She had been seated out on the deck, legs to the side, one arm resting against the wooden surface. She got to her feet, brushed herself off and made her way over.

“So, I was wondering… What's the real reason you decided to sail me south personally?” she asked, her tone playful, if not a tad suspicious. Ms. Winslow leaned on the doorframe leading into the pilothouse as she looked at him.

The smile on her face wasn’t particularly snide or anything of the sort. Knowing she wasn’t attempting to poke and prod him at least made Kehoe more willing to answer. He shrugged, gripping the wheel firmly before he responded. “There's nothing much to it, missy. I just figured this was much safer.”

“I can take care of myself,” she replied somewhat defiantly, straightening up and looking mildly disgruntled. Her smile returned soon enough, however. “But I suppose that’s fair… I do appreciate it, Captain.”

Kehoe gave her a nod. He did appreciate the earnest tone coming from her. It was a nice change. Though it was perhaps a tad theatrical, he did tip his hat towards her with one hand. “You're welcome, missy.”

“Please, just call me Marina – whenever you call me ‘missy’, it just makes me think of the river,” she told him, to which he simply gave a rather ambiguous grunt in response.

He remembered her name, odd as it was. She was most certainly the first Marina he had ever met.

Although her tone had been pleasant, Ms. Winslow's dislike for the river had made itself apparent once again as she spoke. He supposed with the disdain she had shown for the river, and its dirty water, it wasn’t a very flattering association to her. To Kehoe, however, the Mississippi River was his home, polluted waters and all.

“We’re going to have to make a few stops for food,” Kehoe told her after they had sailed in silence for a small while. Admittedly, it was nice, just sailing in silence with the Breanne’s motor providing ambient noise as the wooden hull cut through the water.

“Sounds good. I'm not a picky eater…” Ms. Winslow paused and turned to look out at the water, then turned back to face him again. “See, if we were out at sea, I could probably catch us something nice to eat.”

“I'm sure you could,” he told her, feeling slightly annoyed. There were stretches of the river where they could fish, if they had to, surely.

Kehoe knew for a fact that it was the case, but he also supposed they would need to get further away from the populated and industrial areas. Along the Mississippi, there were indeed small oases where fish were… Well, not plentiful, but certainly present. It felt like she was making a fuss over nothing, but Kehoe knew she had a point. He wasn’t going to tell her, however.

“How come we didn’t get food and water back in St. Louis?” Ms. Winslow asked after another brief moment of silence.

“Because I know a better spot a little further south,” he told her simply. “Not far from the big port. I ain't made of money, and I ain't looking to get upsold.”

“I thought bootlegging was lucrative,” the Russian Blue noted casually. Kehoe turned his eyes on her and she offered a shrewd smile. “It is for me at least.”

“Is it now?” Kehoe wasn’t sure he wanted to have this talk with her. “And what makes you think I'm in that business, missy?”

“Oh, please!” she scoffed giving a wave of her hand. “How stupid do you think I am? I just helped get rid of your empty bottles back there – or should I say evidence? And last night you just so happened to be going for a drive? It’s beyond obvious…”

“Yeah? I don’t recall you being along for the drive, missy,” Kehoe retorted calmly. She really had hit the nail on the head, but he wasn’t going to tell her that.

Although he hadn’t ever taken her for being particularly dim, he also didn’t like where this was going. Glancing over at her again, Kehoe noticed that she didn’t seem particularly judgmental. Perhaps she didn’t care. Or perhaps…

“But you just said it’s lucrative for you, missy? You a bootlegger?” he asked her skeptically.

Just looking at her, he had a hard time imagining her in that business. But then again, the business did have oddballs like that Rocky, Kehoe thought to himself.

Ms. Winslow looked back at him, the same grin on her face.

“Well, all the real criminals that run around in the middle of the night just so happen to need ferrying across or up and down the river sometimes,” she explained, sounding about as smug as she looked. “I don’t really do anything wrong – I just sail them. I'm a good girl.”

Kehoe gave a loud snort in disbelief at this. Somehow, he didn’t think that was enough of a defense if she ever were to get caught red-handed. Though he didn’t know the law, Kehoe suspected that getting caught with alcohol on her boat in any way would be enough to get her jailed, or at least heavily fined.

She was either really bold or careless.

“So, is that a side-venture or is the waitress job the real side-business?” Kehoe wondered aloud, finding himself begrudgingly intrigued by what he was learning about his passenger.

Ms. Winslow smiled, apparently pleased by the questions. It was… curious, given that Kehoe would likely not have answered had the younger woman posed those same questions to him. She on the other hand seemed to enjoy talking about it. Perhaps it was the social taboo of something illegal like that; perhaps she just didn’t have anyone else to talk to about.

Did her parents know? Surely not…

“I guess the jury’s still out on that, but I do make easier money sailing people around,” she told him casually. She turned away and let the breeze grace her face.

“Hm, ducky,” Kehoe halfway muttered. She was a strange one. Although Kehoe couldn’t get a perfect read on her, Ms. Winslow seemed to have a lot of quirks to her.

The two continued on their way in a bit of silence after that. Kehoe remained in the pilothouse, while Ms. Winslow wandered around the deck, even settling at the very front of the ship’s bow, practically hanging off the edge.

It was a calm day, the Breanne casually cruising downriver. There wasn’t too much dense traffic on the river, though they did come across boats going this way and that. It was quite relaxing too. Kehoe had almost forgotten how nice it could be to just sail a smaller vessel without the boys around. Of course, he wasn’t completely alone, but so far Ms. Winslow was proving to be decent company. Who knew if that might change or not.

Her headstrong and stubborn attitude was a force to be reckoned with, Kehoe found…

Later in the day, when the Breanne arrived in Ste. Genevive, Kehoe felt more at peace than he had in a while. Although his life wasn’t quite active as it once was, he still spent all his time working. As little as Kehoe wanted to admit it, he was getting up there in the years. Perhaps slowing down like this, every once in a while, wasn’t so bad.

This sort of peace and calmness was a luxury with his line of work. It was… nice. But Kehoe knew he couldn’t get used to it; as soon as he had sailed Ms. Winslow south, he knew he had to get back to the busy life he had been living for decades. This was just a small excursion.

Ste. Genevive was a nice city. Not quite as big as St. Louis, as far as Kehoe could tell, but he also hadn’t seen much of it past the harbor. The riverport was certainly smaller, not quite as large and grandiose as the one in St. Louis, and at a glance it didn’t appear quite as busy with several boats sailing right past it. Perhaps it was the lack of boats and ships that were docked and coming and going that made the port seem less busy than it really was. Regardless, it had a certain sense of tranquility that St. Louis lacked at the best of times.

“Alright, missy, we’ll need to go and buy us some provisions for the trip,” he told her as they both disembarked the Breanne and stepped onto the paved dock. It really seemed so much smaller than what Kehoe was used to, but it wasn’t bad – just a little different.

“Suits me fine – not going for the scenic route then?” Ms. Winslow asked playfully as she walked with him along the cobbled pier. A few workers were out and about, though it was nothing like the bustling hub that was St. Louis. “I wouldn’t mind some stops along the way…”

“Well, we can make a few of those, if you really want… Besides, our storage capacity is limited,” Kehoe grunted. As much as Kehoe wanted to get this foolish errand over with, he also couldn’t exactly contest with the Breanne's size.

It wasn’t Kehoe's first time in Ste. Genevive, so he knew where they could go to buy food. From experience, he knew it was best to come away with food that wouldn’t spoil too soon. Granted, they would have plenty of opportunities to buy more food along the river. The fewer stops they made, however, the faster they'd get to Ms. Winslow's home.

Although Kehoe wasn’t at all sure how long the journey might be, he didn’t imagine it would take more than a handful of days. It would likely somewhat depend on how many stops they made along the way as well.

Fortunately, the walk from the riverport to someplace where they could buy food wasn’t long. Kehoe had been around plenty of times before. The grocery store was small, but well-lit with large windows facing the street. Inside, Kehoe first opted to gather canned goods. They weren’t as good as fresh stuff, but they could keep for longer. Kehoe hardly cared, however. And besides, convenience would win out in this case.

He hadn’t written a list, but he always liked to buy the safe options whenever he was by himself, including canned corn and canned meat. He also brought along dried meats. Not having Carly around would prove slightly disadvantageous, seeing as his food was considerably better than anything he could cook up.

The walk back to the Breanne saw Kehoe carrying the majority of the wares. They still had to procure water as well, but they could do that closer to the boat.

“You know… You sort of look like a duck when you walk,” Ms. Winslow suddenly said. He glanced over and snorted indignantly. She chuckled. “Hey, I'm not judging – I get sea legs sometimes too.”

 

---

 

Ms. Winslow turned out to be full of surprises. Or rather, her luggage did. After stopping the Breanne at the bank of Brown’s Bar, the younger cat surprised Kehoe by showing what she had brought along. Namely, a portable gas stove in a form factor not unlike a metallic suitcase. Once she had placed it on the deck in the center of the deck, Ms. Winslow set about getting it ready.

Although he had a few small gas burners onboard, Kehoe had to admit that Ms. Winslow's contraption was nice. It looked new, and unlike what Kehoe had, it wasn’t just a simple burner, but it looked more like a proper stove one might find in a kitchen. It had two cooktops, which would make cooking easier, and a grate could be used to place pots and the like on it.

And so, as the sun was setting, painting the sky pinkish orange above, the two of them had settled down on the deck, seated by the portable stove, while their dinner was cooking in pots Kehoe had onboard. Canned meat and vegetables hardly made for an impressive meal, but out here on the river, it would do. Ms. Winslow didn’t seem to complain about the arrangements at least. If anything, she appeared to like sitting by the stove as the air turned cooler around them.

They were quite alone out there on the dark water. What little daylight remained wouldn’t last much longer, and so Kehoe had brought out a kerosene lantern. He hadn’t thought to buy more fuel for it when they had been in Ste. Genevive; he would need to do that next time they made port.

It was quite peaceful where they had come to settle. The banks of the river were quiet and in the diminishing light, Kehoe could see fireflies flying around further from the water’s edge. Despite the river’s lack of life, it seemed the insects were still plentiful. The air was fresh and clean out there, away from the city, and the sounds of nature served as ambiance now that the boat’s engine was off. Kehoe could even hear the distant chirping of birds, the sound of what he thought might be crickets and rustling of foliage here and there.

Brown’s Bar was a small island covered in nothing but trees and not much else. Ms. Winslow had already talked about walking the perimeter of the island, though Kehoe would rather stay by the boat. The Breanne gently rocked, despite being by the shore of the small island, which only added to the tranquility. Once their food was done cooking, Ms. Winslow and Kehoe set about eating quietly. It was honestly quite pleasant, just enjoying the peace and quiet with the younger cat’s company.

Being away from the crew seemed to have changed her a bit – the Russian blue appeared much more relaxed. Then again, it could also very well be the fact that Ms. Winslow didn’t have to put up a façade; he had seen the way she threw her weight around with the crew. Like she had something to prove. Out in the quiet of the evening onboard the Breanne, however, there was no one around to prove anything to. Well, save for Kehoe.

“So, how come you never moved back down south yourself?” Kehoe found himself inquiring after lighting the lantern. He placed it on the deck between the two of them and the portable stove.

Both of them had moved to sit on the deck, using the front of the pilothouse as a makeshift backrest while they ate.

Ms. Winslow on his right looked over at him, a mildly surprised look on her face. “I don’t know… I've wanted to. Every year, I tell myself I’ll do it… but I never get around to it.”

“Hm… indecisive?” Kehoe grunted at her, before he resumed eating.

The blonde cat gave a shrug as she also ate. Canned corn and canned meat weren’t exactly fine dining, but it was better than nothing certainly. Cooking the food did help, however.

After she finished chewing, she said, “I guess it’s just been one of those things… You ever have one of them?”

He raised an eyebrow, giving her a curious look. “One of what?”

“Things you keep wanting to do, but you just never get to it for one reason or another…” Ms. Winslow offered him a small smile. “Or places you want to go to…”

“Can’t say I have anything like that,” he replied. He didn’t even need to think about it. Over the past couple of decades, Kehoe hadn’t had anything of the sort. His life more or less revolved around the Crust Bucket, for better or worse. “I'm perfectly content with my life and where I am, missy.”

When he looked at her, Ms. Winslow didn’t look convinced, but she just nodded. “I think… I might stay this time. I did pack all my stuff.”

“If that’s what you want…” he replied indifferently. Looking the Russian Blue over, Kehoe raised an eyebrow again. “So, you packed all your belongings and ran off with an older man. Do your parents even know what you're up to?”

His almost mocking tone seemed to amuse Ms. Winslow as she gave a short chuckle. “I left them a note, I'm sure it'll be fine.”

“A note?” Kehoe snorted raising an eyebrow. Somehow, a note to explain such a big change didn’t seem sufficient to him, although he also didn’t know what kind of relationship she had with her parents. Perhaps they were perfectly fine with that. Kehoe frowned. “I can’t tell if you're joking or not, missy…”

“I'm very serious,” she said, though her tone was anything but. She sounded jovial, if nothing else, as if she expected him to find the idea of a note funny. “And please, do just call me Marina; it’s just you and me out here – no need to be so formal.”

“Hm, I think I’ll stick with calling you ‘missy’, missy,” Kehoe grunted back before he resumed eating. With every passing minute, their surroundings got darker and darker.

Even though the sky wasn’t all completely pitch-black yet, when Kehoe glanced up, he saw the first stars starting to speckle the darkening firmament high above the two of them. The shades of green were fading, and the eastern horizon was already ushering in the night.

“Your old home must be real special if you're willing to just get up and leave everything for it,” Kehoe noted dryly after a brief silence between them. “Either that or you're crazy…”

“You'll understand when we get there,” she replied casually before she resumed eating.

Kehoe didn’t respond. Did she really think he was going to sail her to the sea? As far as he was concerned, he didn’t plan on taking Ms. Winslow any further south than the river would take the Breanne. Surely, if he could get her there, she could find some kind of safe passage for herself to get home, and Kehoe could sail back north.

“I’ll show you around when we get there,” Ms. Winslow continued when he didn’t say anything else.

Although he had already heard her describing the supposedly crystal-clear waters and the bright, white beaches of her home earlier that day, Kehoe sat by and let her do so once more. She also described some of the fish and other aquatic creatures she was used to swimming with.

He supposed he could see why she might enjoy living by the sea. The mere fact that she could give several reasons why she liked it so much was certainly a clear indication that she was being truthful.

It did make him wonder, did he feel that way about his own home? Kehoe wasn’t entirely sure he did.

Although he didn’t dislike his own home, he most certainly couldn’t say he felt as many positive emotions about it as Ms. Winslow did hers. Most of her fond words also came with a comparison to area surrounding the Mississippi. He supposed if the comparison was between a place with clean waters teeming with life and a dark, dirty river with barely anything scuttling through the mud, the choice was rather clear.

Well, at least to a swimmer, he thought. Looking over at the younger woman to his right, he supposed she seemed to have a bit of a swimmer’s frame. At a glance, one might mistake her wide shoulders as being due to the ragged, black jacket she wore, but he had seen her in tighter clothes, and he also knew her build to generally be on the leaner side – streamlined.

“So, what’s your name again?” When she changed the subject, Kehoe raised an eyebrow. She had put down her empty plate and smiled at him. “I don’t think I ever caught your first name… I'm curious.”

“You didn’t miss it, because I never told you to begin with.” Looking at her expectant face for a moment, Kehoe snorted, before he finished his own food and put his plate down next to hers. “Well, I ain't telling you, missy. Haven’t told anyone in decades.”

“In decades?” She looked at him skeptically, the lantern light practically making her green eyes glow, as well as her bright hair. “I find that hard to believe… You're telling me no one knows?”

He gave her a firm nod in response. “That I am.”

It was indeed true, whether she believed him or not. Kehoe hadn’t told anyone for the longest time, and he wasn’t planning on changing that. He liked just being the captain. That was what he was, and it was how he liked things to be.

“Not even the boys back on the Bucket?” Kehoe shook his head in response. Ms. Winslow looked like she believed him less and less. “Well, I take it your wife knows, surely…”

“Don’t got a wife, missy,” he snorted. “You think I would be sailing a young lass like you down the river all alone if I did?”

This seemed to amuse her as she chuckled. Ms. Winslow leaned in towards the stove where another can of corn stood waiting. As she opened it, she looked at him in a strangely furtive manner. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. So, what’s one got to do to earn that name?”

“Nothing, because I ain't telling. Just call me Captain… or Kehoe, if you must,” he grunted back at her as she stood to drain the water from the can over the side of the boat. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of them being on a more personal basis, but he supposed she had a point about them being all alone.

“Alright then, Kehoe,” Ms. Winslow replied in a pleasant tone as she came back. Once she sat by his side again, she ate the corn straight from the can, using her fork.

Neither of them said much after that as they simply sat in the darkness and enjoyed the peace, and quiet. They didn’t get up until the gentle rocking of the Breanne nearly made Kehoe fall asleep against the outside of the pilothouse. Rubbing his face, he rose to his feet and stretched his back and his legs before he and Ms. Winslow set about cleaning up. There wasn’t much to do. Gathering up the empty tin cans, cleaning their plates and utensils was easy enough. As Kehoe cleaned, Ms. Winslow took care of the portable stove she had brought along.

“Be mindful of our water supply,” Kehoe grunted to Ms. Winslow before he moved to the small cabin they would be sharing, while she cleaned one of the pots. A secondary lantern inside illuminated the small space and Kehoe decided to properly make the bed for the younger cat.

Once that was done, he prepared the bedroll for himself. It wasn’t going to be the most pleasant sleep, he already knew that, but it would do. He still wasn’t going to even humor the idea of letting Ms. Winslow sleep on the floor of the boat. Two blankets would do – one to cover him, another to serve as extra cushioning under him. Exiting the door to the cabin, Kehoe almost bumped into Ms. Winslow on the way.

“Right… Well, you can head in and… prepare for bed,” he grumbled awkwardly. There was really no better way to say it. “I’ll give you some privacy, missy.”

The bluish gray cat grinned and looked like she might hit him with a snide remark, but surprisingly the younger woman said nothing. Ms. Winslow made her way past him on the somewhat narrow passage by the door as he stepped aside to let her enter. Even with the pilothouse in the way, Kehoe had his back facing towards the stern of the ship. If there was one thing he wasn’t in the mood for, it was being accused of trying to watch her undress.

“Alright, you can come in – it’s safe!” he heard Ms. Winslow calling shortly after. Her playful tone didn’t make Kehoe eager to enter, and so he grabbed the lantern that had been sitting out on the deck, and cautiously made his way to the cabin door.

The light was still on inside, but as Kehoe closed the door and moved to put his lantern by the chest, something occurred to him then and there – and based on the smirk on Ms. Winslow's face, it seemed to have occurred to her as well.

“Alright, turn around, li’l missy,” he grunted at her, crossing his arms. “This ain't a show.”

“I know – if it were, there’d be music,” the blonde cat shot back playfully, before she did turn around to face the wall.

Before he even started undressing, Kehoe noticed her clothes neatly folded on top of her suitcase by the foot of the bed. However, he didn’t waste much time, removing his jacket first, then his boots. He wasn’t used to undressing in someone else’s presence – or at least not a woman’s presence – and as such, he watched her closely as he removed his clothes.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her… well, maybe he didn’t, but whenever Ms. Winslow shifted in the bed, it drew Kehoe's attention and made him hesitate. Once he was down to his underwear and undershirt, however, he folded his clothes and moved to lay on the bedroll.

“Can I look now?” came Ms. Winslow's sarcastic tone once Kehoe had made himself as comfortable as he could… which wasn’t much.

“You may,” he grunted from the floor. When she turned around, she smirked down at him again. “… what?”

“I didn’t think you'd be so shy, Kehoe.” She draped a bare, grayish blue arm over the edge of the bed, her dainty fingers tapping the floor.

He scowled at her. “Don’t get it twisted, missy. And besides, you ought to reserve that kind of talk to someone your own age.”

“Like the boys on the Bucket?” She looked down at him inquisitively. Ms. Winslow gave a chuckle when he scowled at her. “I'm just teasing you. Must have been a while since you had a lady in your bed…”

“Alright, goodnight, missy…!” he snarled up at her, starting to feel annoyed with her. She seemed to finally take the hint and leaned over him to turn the lantern off. Kehoe averted his gaze, just in case. A second later, the two of them were cast into complete darkness.

As he laid there, however, Kehoe realized something: for as much as he usually enjoyed the peace and quiet, something felt off. Indeed, after spending the afternoon talking to Ms. Winslow as much as he had, the silence of the cabin felt surprisingly heavy…

Chapter 7: Flood

With just the two of them onboard and with no work to do while they sailed, they practically flew across the water. The Breanne cut through the water like a sharp knife, and Kehoe had to admit that he really had missed this. Not necessarily traveling, since he did enough of that with his job, but rather just being in a small boat and going somewhere. He supposed this was his first vacation in… years, if not decades. It wasn’t for him, granted, but he supposed it still counted.

After they passed Cairo, they had made it to the Kentucky Bend and New Madrid quickly. The Bend was a peculiar part of the river that Kehoe hadn’t traversed in some time, but he recognized the densely forested area all around the river. Out here, it was hard to believe that it was the same body of water they had been sailing on all along. Nature appeared uninterrupted and far healthier as they approached the Bend. It wasn’t so unlike the double bend they had sailed after leaving the small island where they had settled for the night. That bend didn’t have a name as far as Kehoe knew, however.

Trees lined the river, all of them so densely packed that it was hard to look beyond. Although he had no way of knowing, he wondered if the river held any fish around these parts. The Kentucky Bend was so strange because of the way the bend curved so they would be sailing north briefly, before coming around and continuing south. On maps, Kehoe had always thought it reminded him of a large, curvy N.

Although Ms. Winslow didn’t do much, since she really was just a passenger at this point, her presence wasn’t unwanted. If anything, it was almost pleasant the way she seemed excited about every mile they had put behind the rudder at this point. No doubt because she knew the river would take her right where she wanted to go.

Kehoe on the other hand wasn’t too preoccupied with any of that. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t enjoying the journey, however. It was quite liberating to be cruising downriver. When Ms. Winslow approached the pilothouse again, he grunted, “That there’s the Kentucky Bend, missy. If you look real close, you can see the river past the land in between.”

He didn’t fancy himself much of a tour guide, but he could at least tell the younger woman about some of the remarkable landmarks on the way. And to him, the Bend certainly did qualify as rather remarkable.

“Ah, I've been here once,” she said pleasantly, smiling at him. The Russian Blue glanced towards the bit of land coming up on their starboard side. The land there was covered in thick, dense forest, thick, strong trees blocking their view. The young woman gave a chuckle. “Not the best view, I suppose…”

The two of them came in towards the bend at a decent speed, though Kehoe did slow down the Breanne as they did. He brought the boat around slowly and steadily, the vessel facing north for a short while as they continued on their way. It had its own kind of novelty, though it wasn’t anything that made him smile – not that many things did.

The Breanne slowly cleared the first bend, coming up on a bit of land where the land had been turned into farmland. With no major vegetation in the way, it was decidedly easier to spot the river on the other side past the second bend.

“That’s a better view,” the other cat noted as they sailed along the winding bit of the river. “I can’t wait to show you around when we get closer to my home.”

“Bold of you to assume I ain't just dropping you off and leaving, li’l missy,” he noted calmly as he brought the two of them around the first bend in the river.

Since they had set off that morning, traffic on the river had apparently been quite sparse. They had passed barges and other ships on the way, but here by the Kentucky Bend, there weren’t any other boats to be seen. Steering the boat along till it came time to turn back south, Kehoe found himself speeding up.

He wasn’t sure what prompted it, but perhaps it was a strange sense of nostalgia. Indeed, he remembered coming around bends like this at high speed in smaller boats even back before he was captain. Granted, some of those boats weren’t nearly as fast as the Breanne.

As he leaned out the side of the pilothouse, his right hand on the wheel, Kehoe felt the wind against his face picking up as the small boat also picked up speed. The breeze ruffled the fur on Kehoe's face in a pleasant way. It was the little things like this that made him enjoy being on the water as much as he did.

The Breanne wasn’t anywhere near as fast as some of the newer crafts Kehoe had seen on the river these days, but it still managed to pick up considerable speed as they came around the second bend.

“Feeling adventurous, aren’t we?” Ms. Winslow asked playfully as she moved over to stand by the pilothouse near him.

The boat lurched as they turned, and the momentum pulled the younger cat towards the port side edge of the boat. She grabbed onto Kehoe's left arm and held on tightly to prevent herself from falling into the water. He glanced sideways, initially worried, but when he looked at her, he saw that she was smiling, even laughing.

“Very adventurous,” she mused, answering her own question, a playful glimmer in those bright green eyes of hers. She looped her arm around his, and took hold of it with her hand, her grip firm. “Can this thing go faster?”

He turned to look at her, seeing her face up close for the first time. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked how close she was to him – he could practically feel her breath. The young woman was looking at him in an almost expectant manner with her big, green eyes that reminded Kehoe of algae.

A small part of him wanted to tell her to stop. What wouldn’t it look like if someone were to spot them like this? But of course, she just held on for support. He would rather not tell her to let go and risk her taking a tumble into the Mississippi’s murky, smelly water. She simply held on because she expected him to comply and speed up.

Sighing to himself, Kehoe instead chose to crank up the steam to accelerate as they came around the bend. It wasn’t as fast as some of the new, modern, little boats Kehoe had seen, but the small steamboat picked up speed. The wind graced both their faces. He felt his hat being knocked askew by a particularly strong gust of headwind, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ms. Winslow’s hair billowing in the wind.

They approached the end of the second bend soon, the bow of the Breanne once more pointing south. Coming out of the bend, they could once more see more farmland around them, and they even encountered a large towboat on the way. The larger vessel signaled with its whistle as it approached, and Kehoe signaled back with the Breanne’s.

Strange… In a way, seeing the larger vessel towing its barges north made Kehoe miss the Crust Bucket. It was his primary vessel – his home away from home – it was only natural that he might miss it ever so slightly. Still, being on the boat wasn’t bad at all, and so far, the company certainly wasn’t bad either.

Ms. Winslow moved away from him eventually, leaving his arm feeling rather cold. Once more, the young woman settled on the deck, sitting in its center, her tail giving a few pleasant swishes as she gazed ahead. When Kehoe caught himself staring, he likewise looked ahead at what was coming. For the time being, it didn’t seem like there would be much to see aside from more river and farmland.

As the two of them sailed together, Kehoe caught himself watching Ms. Winslow out on the deck. She occasionally got up and walked around, a lot of the time, however, she just sat around wearing her knickers and her shirt.

Her presence wasn’t particularly distracting, but despite this, Kehoe kept an eye on her. For what reason, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Once they were out of the Kentucky Bend, he saw the river ahead wasn’t very straight. It would seem their way south would see the two of them sailing sideways for a while…

It was hard to deny how nice it was to be surrounded by nature while they were sailing. It wasn’t a rarity for Kehoe exactly, but perhaps it was the knowledge that the crew wasn’t anywhere to be found. Out here, it was just him and the Breanne. Well, Ms. Winslow was there, too.

Still, he felt very relaxed as they sailed on – he didn’t mind her company. Admittedly, it was especially nice during the night. When they stopped the Breanne, the two of them could enjoy more peace and quiet in the diminishing light, while eating out on the deck. Kehoe wasn’t one for conversations, and she knew as much. But it felt nice just sitting together and eating in mostly silence.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down from a mostly cloudless sky, though there were a few scattered banks of clouds rolling past above them. The weather had been noticeably clear since they left St. Louis and that didn’t seem like it was going to end anytime soon. It was good, though – it meant they wouldn’t have to brave waters that were too turbulent or even have to wait out stormy weather.

The weather did have the unfortunate side-effect of making Ms. Winslow's hair appear to glow as the sun beamed down on her. It was… distracting.

“Oh, hey, can we dock here?” she had moved over to the pilothouse door, leaning on the doorway as she looked at him, a smile on her face. Looking over, Kehoe saw a riverside city as they came out of a large bend.

The river had been winding this way and that for a while, which had significantly slowed down their progress as they made their way south. In fact, the Breanne sailed eastward and westward more than southward.

Kehoe didn’t recognize the place on sight – it had been a while since he had been this far south. He raised an eyebrow. “What for, missy? Need something?”

The younger woman smiled and tossed her hair to the left with her hand. “Oh, I figured we could head back on land for a bit. Maybe get something nice to eat.”

Furrowing his bushy brows, he wondered what she meant by that. They hadn’t even been sailing for long; they had barely even made a dent into the rations they had bought during their first stop. Did something bring this on? He looked at her somewhat suspiciously, trying to figure out what she wanted.

“Hm… I suppose we could stock up a bit,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

The city approaching on the eastern side of the river didn’t look like much. The port seemed decently busy with boats both coming and leaving. Not as much as St. Louis, but none of the other ports they had visited could compare to that packed, bustling port.

Kehoe still wasn’t at all certain about the younger cat’s intentions as they brought the Breanne in towards the docks. They sailed past the busier, more industrial area before coming to a quiet, cobbled pier. Once they were there, Kehoe turned to look at her inquisitively.

“So, why in such a hurry to buy more food?” he wondered aloud, suspicion starting to creep in. So far, she really hadn’t complained much about the food, if at all. Ms. Winslow had appeared to eat it all, no problem, even if it wasn’t even close to fine dining.

“Oh, it’s not that I’m looking to bring anything along,” she told him as she got up onto the pier to help tether the Breanne. Kehoe found himself watching her knot-tying closely, though he said nothing. “I just wanted to stretch my legs and go eat something.”

“Hm…” Kehoe wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. He supposed stretching their legs wouldn’t be so bad, but he couldn’t say he cared much for the latter since they already had food onboard. It seemed somewhat wasteful.

When the harbor master came by, Kehoe paid to let them be docked for an hour. The gray tabby also let them know that they had docked in Caruthersville. Kehoe had never been there, he might have sailed past it, but he wasn’t sure. He most certainly didn’t recall the name.

The harbor master also gave Ms. Winslow a look Kehoe didn’t like. He gave the gray tabby a mild glare, as if to dissuade any intrusive thoughts he might have about the Russian Blue. What was it with her and every man she came across?

Sure, she did indeed have a pretty face, but were men so easily swayed? Were they all just a bunch of lonely bachelors who never spent time around women? It made Kehoe grit his teeth irritably until the docking fee had been paid for and the other man left them be. Stepping back onto the Breanne’s deck, he turned to Ms. Winslow.

“You sure it’s really something to think about right now?” When she heard his skeptical tone, the bluish gray cat turned to look at him, raising both eyebrows inquisitively. “I just don’t see the point, missy…”

“Well, I'd like to go, but if you don’t want to come, you can wait here,” the younger cat said ever so pleasantly. She stepped away from the Breanne before Kehoe could respond.

The blonde-haired woman had barely set off down the cobbled pier before Kehoe noticed heads turning to watch her.

And that was enough.

He didn’t like the idea of someone like her being alone. Not with so many strangers around. Who knew what foul thoughts were swirling around inside their heads. He stepped onto the pier again and hurried after her. When he caught up to her, he put a hand on her shoulder to let her know he was there.

And besides, wasn’t he meant to look after her as her escort southwards? At least he felt like he shouldn’t just let her go alone. Or at least Kehoe felt that way after noticing the attention she attracted without even trying…

Kehoe sighed and swore under his breath.

“Ah, so you changed your mind,” she mused when she turned to look at him. He said nothing. “I'm sure we can find somewhere nice around here.”

Begrudgingly, Kehoe let her guide the way. He really didn’t want to go, but what option did he have? He wasn’t going to let Ms. Winslow wander around by her lonesome, and he hated how readily he'd followed her, but he couldn’t easily turn back now. Eventually, he let go of her shoulder as they walked together.

“So, what sort’a place are we looking for, li’l missy?” he asked as he walked with her. Seeing other men on their way, watching Ms. Winslow like she was carrying a large sack of money with her or some such.

“Nowhere in particular, just… ah, perfect.” Kehoe raised an eyebrow before following her gaze. A small restaurant stood at the end of the pier, looking quite small. He didn’t think it would be able to hold more than thirty people at most.

He had seen many places like it before. The façade wasn’t much to look at, though through the windows, Kehoe could see several patrons within, already eating. He scowled a bit, but nevertheless he followed Ms. Winslow into the small, unassuming restaurant. Above the door hung a small wooden sign with a fish on it and the restaurant’s name, the Mud Bug on it. It was… charming, he supposed.

The inside smelled like cigarette smoke, which Kehoe recognized immediately. He even thought he smelled some pipe smoke if he had to guess. And as expected, unfortunately, all eyes turned on them. The men present at the other tables all appeared to be about the same age as Mac and Dale and somewhere in between as well. A similarly worn and weathered appearance was a thing they all had in common, much like Kehoe and his crew. He was well aware that he hadn’t exactly aged gracefully.

Ms. Winslow wasn’t dressed particularly fancily or in anything revealing, but one would think so, given how all those men stared at her.

She wore her worn out, almost ragged black coat over her white shirt and blue vest. She still wore a pair of knickers – never once had Kehoe seen Ms. Winslow in a dress or even a skirt after they left the River Queen. And Kehoe himself wore what he usually did, long, gray coat, black sweater, and brown pants.

Walking with her to a table in the far-right corner, Kehoe slipped into booth across from Ms. Winslow. The place itself was dimly lit, the floor, walls, and ceiling rather dark, just like the furniture. Chatter had been filling the space, but it had gotten noticeably quieter since the two of them entered…

There were small booths dotted around the interior and the counter, behind which food was being cooked, had several men seated around it, no doubt dock workers.

And they all looked their way.

When a waiter arrived, some young man, who hardly looked older than twenty, he similarly gawked at Ms. Winslow, until Kehoe glared at him. He cleared his throat and straightened up. “Good day, what will it be?”

“What would you like then, missy?” Kehoe grunted at her, ignoring the many other gazes turned their way.

It was starting to irritate him, but he was doing his best not to dwell on it. He likewise tried to ignore the young tuxedo cat who waited for their order.

Ms. Winslow didn’t respond immediately, removing her black coat and putting it down on the booth seat beside her. Kehoe found the way she handled it curious, treating the black coat like it was made of glass. However, based on how battered it looked, he supposed it wasn’t too surprising.

“I don’t know, I'm not very picky,” Ms. Winslow finally replied casually, running her fingers through her messy hair.

The young waiter cleared his throat, and in an uncertain tone, he said, “We have minced chicken with mushrooms in­–”

“That’ll do, we’ll take two,” Kehoe grunted at him. “And some water.”

Once the young waiter left them be, he turned his attention back on Ms. Winslow. He glanced towards her side, but he couldn’t see the black coat under the counter.

Unable to hold in his own curiosity, he asked, “What’re you keeping that ragged, old thing around for, missy?”

“You don’t like my coat?” she asked with a straight face, her green eyes looking into his. Ms. Winslow hoisted the coat up and placed it on the table between them.

Kehoe said nothing and just watched the thing. It looked old and worn, even more so than the gray coat he wore most of the time. “It’s not that I don’t like it… It just looks like it might fall to pieces at any minute, missy.”

He looked back up at the younger woman and saw that she was smiling at him. “It used to be my father’s – that’s why I'm keeping it. He wore it when he captained his old boat.”

“Right… Down south.” Kehoe realized she hadn’t ever said much about what kind of boat her father sailed, other than the fact that it was smaller than the Crust Bucket. “What sort of boat was it again, hm?”

Apparently surprised by the question, Ms. Winslow raised both eyebrows and gave a smile. “Well, I forget the exact model and all, but it isn’t so different from your boat. The one we’re sailing now, I mean – the Breanne.”

He nodded slowly. Kehoe supposed she probably felt quite at home on the Breanne, especially if the way she seemed to enjoy just sitting and laying around on the deck was any indication. It was certainly better than her being a nervous wreck on a boat. Kehoe had luckily only ever heard horror stories from other sailors about what they called landlubbers panicking over mildly fast-moving water.

If anything, Kehoe had a feeling Ms. Winslow would revel in sailing on frothy, fast-flowing water. If she had been what one might assume based on looks, Kehoe would never have let her sail with him and the boys, let alone volunteered to sail her south himself.

“And he let you steer regularly, did he?” he asked her as he looked at the Russian Blue cat across the table. He still had a tough time picturing Ms. Winslow at the helm. All the same, he wasn’t sure if it was simply the mishap on the Crust Bucket that had tainted his impression of the young woman or not.

“All the time – he let me take the wheel while he took care of the nets and all,” Ms. Winslow told him. The voice with which she spoke made their booth feel warmer. Those memories clearly meant a lot to her, based on the fondness in her tone. Ms. Winslow put the coat back on the seat beside her before she proudly straightened up. “I’ve sailed in all kinds of weather too. It gets very stormy out at sea, you know…”

“Uh-huh…” He knew what she was doing, it was obvious she was talking herself up to him. Kehoe supposed he couldn’t blame her – he supposed she also thought she might have ruined her own credibility. “I still want to know…”

“Yes?” Ms. Winslow prompted when he paused. From across the table, she looked intently at him.

“Well, I wanted to know how come your family moved away if you loved it so much.” Kehoe looked into those deep, algae green eyes of hers and she looked back at him.

The Russian Blue didn’t answer right away, apparently not quite prepared for such a question. For a moment she didn’t look at Kehoe, and he wondered if she was trying to think up an answer. “You see, it was mostly because my parents wanted something more reliable.”

Kehoe raised an eyebrow at this. “Fishing is unreliable?”

The blonde cat gave a short nod. She lowered her gaze to the table where she had put her hands together. “Fishing seasons fluctuated a lot. Some seasons were far better than others. And not to mention that sometimes sharks could ruin my father’s nets.”

“Sharks?” Kehoe had heard of sharks, of course. He had seen them in drawings, depicting them with their sharp teeth, dead, black, unfeeling eyes, and their streamlined bodies. “I never thought they'd be trouble for fishermen.”

“Oh, they can be,” Ms. Winslow replied nonchalantly. She shrugged. “My father had at least ten nets shredded by them – their teeth can cut right through. They get real big, but they’re not as scary as they look. They're like big puppies with knives for teeth.”

Staring across the table at her in disbelief, Kehoe didn’t say a word. What he'd heard of sharks was, they were blood-thirsty monsters that would bite people in half and eat just about anything they came across. Hell, he had even heard some people describe them as swimming mouths. He had a tough time imagining them as anything less, especially given how he'd never seen one in person.

His stunned silence appeared to amuse Ms. Winslow, who smiled at him. “Really, they aren’t that bad if you don’t bother them. I used to swim with them sometimes when I was little.”

Kehoe couldn’t help himself. Before he could even think to stop, he gave a loud snort in disbelief. The Russian Blue raised an eyebrow at this, and he cleared his throat. “Somehow, I have a real hard time believing that one, missy.”

A furtive smirk soon splayed itself across her face. She gave a shrug. “That’s fine, maybe I’ll prove it to you when we arrive.”

Kehoe doubted she actually would. What was she going to do, jump into the sea when a shark appeared? He could buy her knowing how to sail a boat, but the idea of Ms. Winslow swimming with sharks somehow struck him as rather unbelievable.

Before long, the waiter from earlier appeared with water for them and soon after, two steaming bowls were placed before them. Even with his somewhat stunted sense of smell, Kehoe had to admit that it smelled nice. The minced chicken and sliced mushrooms came served in a light golden brown, creamy sauce.

The two of them ate in silence for a few minutes, which didn’t feel so unlike how meals were on the Breanne. Kehoe rather liked it. He felt at peace, a sort of peace he usually only felt when he was alone. The Crust Bucket didn’t afford him much privacy outside the time spent in his cabin, and with Ms. Winslow onboard, he had been sharing a cabin with Mac and Dale, which, while not unpleasant, hadn’t been quite as nice.

And the sense of tranquility he felt was especially odd given that he wasn’t alone by any stretch of the imagination. Not only did he have Ms. Winslow sitting across from him, but the small restaurant also had several other patrons in it. However, the feeling was so nice that Kehoe almost completely ignored the many glances their table received.

“So…” Kehoe glanced up from his lunch, noticing that Ms. Winslow was watching him closely. “How long have you captained the Crust Bucket?”

Kehoe blinked as he just looked at her. He hadn’t expected to be hit by a question out of the blue like that. To say he didn’t like the question was an understatement. He had purposefully been vague with Ms. Winslow whenever she asked such things. He didn’t enjoy sharing.

“Nearly… Uh… Some twenty, twenty-five years or something,” he grunted uncertainly. He actually had to think about it. He had been sailing for so many years, but he rarely thought about how long it really had been. “Been sailing almost as long…”

Asking Ms. Winslow questions had come far easier… why was it so hard to talk about himself?

Ms. Winslow also seemed to notice as she didn’t ask anything else for a while. Kehoe liked the silence, but he had a feeling his younger companion had more questions.

“The Breanne, how long have you had her?” she asked after a short while. She was smiling at him again…

“Uhm… Coming up on ten years soon, I think,” he halfway grunted at her. He cleared her throat. “It’s been a while; she’s an older model as well. But she still sails about as well as the day I got her.”

Once they finished, Ms. Winslow seemed pleased as she leaned back in her seat. Kehoe likewise remained silent as they relaxed, but once the admittedly tasty meal came to an end, the intrusive looks once more caught Kehoe's attention. He could feel his eye twitching by the time he and Ms. Winslow, who had put her black coat on, made their way up to the bar.

“Oh, I've got it, captain.” Ms. Winslow was faster than he was and paid for their meal. He scowled over at her, but she just smiled at him, almost looking as though she were daring him to say something.

However, Kehoe chose not to. He let Ms. Winslow pay, even if it didn’t feel right. Once she had been handed her change, he turned to leave with her on his left. And once again, Kehoe could feel many eyes on them, though he was certain Ms. Winslow was the true subject of the stares. Maybe he was just imagining it, but regardless, he didn’t think any of the looking was done with honorable intentions.

Before Kehoe would even reconsider his actions, he put his arm around Ms. Winslow, hand resting on her left shoulder. He could see her turning her head out of the corner of his eye, but he kept staring straight ahead, not looking at her as he guided her out of the restaurant, grip firm, but not forceful. If she wished to move away or push his hand away, she very much could.

But she didn’t.

And so, as they made their way to the door, Kehoe held on, as if to dissuade those unsavory glances. He held onto her, as if to protect her from whatever thoughts those sailors and dock workers might have.

 

---

 

“Kehoe? I'd like to show you something,” Ms. Winslow said as she got to her feet. He glanced towards her as she stood up, offering a somewhat furtive smile as she left the deck.

Kehoe remained where he sat. He didn’t know what she might have in mind, but he just patiently waited. From within the cabin, he could hear the young woman rummaging around. He didn’t think she’d be going through any of his stuff. She was more than likely just going through her own.

The two of them had come to settle further down the river, having sailed all day. It had been rather late when they decided to sail into a small incline of an island. It was a nook, almost like a small bay. Kehoe hadn’t a clue where they were exactly, but having kept track of the curvature of the river and comparing it to a map he had onboard, he knew for certain they had passed the state border of Missouri earlier in the day.

The island they had settled by for the night wasn’t anything particularly interesting to speak of, at least not to Kehoe. It seemed about as ordinary as every other stretch of river they came across.

When Ms. Winslow reappeared, she carried a small box made of wood. It seemed to have been light wood that had since faded and darkened over the years. It wasn’t exceptionally large, rather comparable to a brick in size and proportions. Sitting down across from Kehoe with the kerosene lantern beside her in the low light, the Russian blue opened the box. The metallic hinge creaked slightly, cutting through the quiet of the night.

His back against the pilothouse, Kehoe just watched her as she reached into the small box. “Here, this one’s one of the first ones I found.”

She held out her hand and presented Kehoe with a mostly flat, triangular object, its surface about as big as a couple of coins. He reached out to gently take it into his hand, feeling how smooth its wide sides were. When he looked down, he saw one edge of the triangle was smoother and bulkier than the others, which had serrated edges, almost like a saw. He gently ran a finger along the ridges. They weren’t as sharp as they looked, but he could still feel every tiny edge dragging against his finger.

“What is it?” he asked. In the low light, the lantern’s light gave it a sort of golden, warm coloration, almost like pale wood.

“A shark tooth,” Ms. Winslow explained pleasantly, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to possess. Seeing the surprised look on Kehoe's face, she smiled. “When you spend as much time around the sea as I used to, you’re bound to find some interesting things.”

Reaching into the box again, she presented Kehoe with more shark teeth, all a comparable size, the size of coins. Taking note of the serrated edges, he was starting to understand how sharks could tear through fishing nets with ease. A mouth full of saw-like teeth should be able to make short work of that. Furthermore, the idea that Ms. Winslow willingly swam with a big monster like that…

When she passed the box to Kehoe, he saw the inside was lined with a dark, blue fabric and it was filled with more shark teeth of differing sizes. It was… an odd thing to collect, but Kehoe supposed it was something she found interesting. He could hardly judge her for that, although he had never in his life found himself to be much of a collector of trinkets or teeth for that matter.

And it turned out she had more to show. Once they had gone through the box together, Ms. Winslow retrieved two more from her luggage.

The second box was hexagonal and bigger than the first one. It was made of metal and inside, it held a collection of seashells. Ms. Winslow detailed what creatures they came from. Clams, oysters, snails, Ms. Winslow seemed to know each one. Some of the shells were flat with smooth insides and textured, rough outsides, some were curled and round, others had long, spiny protrusions.

Perhaps the most curious thing was what turned out to be the skeleton of a sea urchin – a strange dome with a pattern of small bumps running from top to bottom in neat rows all the way around.

Kehoe wasn’t much for seashells or the like, but he supposed they were nice, to those who were. He had admittedly never seen some of the shells she presented to him, but he also hadn’t spent his time looking for seashells when he was out at sea.

Finally, the younger woman pulled over the last box.

“Here, this one’s got my special things in it…” Ms. Winslow said coyly, as if the prospect of seeing her belongings was particularly enticing. Admittedly, the shells and teeth had been… informative. Kehoe didn’t think shark teeth were a thing one could just come across like that.

Moving to sit by Kehoe's side instead, Ms. Winslow leaned towards him and opened the box. It was wooden, like the first, but a bit bigger and made from much darker wood. Inside, Kehoe saw a small collection of colorful objects and a lumpy thing wrapped up in fabric.

“Here, you know what this is?” she asked when she picked up a small handful of colorful things.

At first Kehoe thought they were particularly flat pebbles, but they felt exceptionally light, and they had a sort of texture that felt both smooth and rough. They had no sharp edges to them, but they had a strangely rough feel to their flat sides. The little objects were cloudy and came in green and white, even black.

“Alright, I’ll bite, missy… What are they?” he finally asked, knowing the younger woman was probably aching for him to ask. He looked them over again in his hand, before he turned to his right and looked at Ms. Winslow, who was leaning against him, her head against his shoulder.

“It’s called sea glass,” she explained with a smile. Ms. Winslow reached for his hand and held up a particularly large piece, around the size of one of Kehoe's fingers. When she saw the puzzled look on his face, she gave a soft chuckle. “It’s just regular, old glass, except it’s been in the sea for years.”

“So how come it ain’t sharp then?” Kehoe wondered aloud as he brushed his thumb over some of the stamp-sized shards in his hand.

“Well, I think it’s the sea water that makes them all rough. But it’s also them tumbling around in the water from waves and things,” Ms. Winslow explained before handing the large shard back to Kehoe. “This one came from a big bottle, I think. Think of it like… a knife being dulled over time.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” he grunted, before he handed all the sea glass back to Ms. Winslow, who soon put them into the box, then showed him little orange lumps after that.

They were certainly different from the sea glass, looking much more like rocks, but Kehoe noticed one had what distinctly looked like bitemarks on it. He furrowed his brows in confusion.

“It’s amber – it’s tree sap that’s been buried underground for many, many years. That’s why it’s so soft…” Kehoe turned to look at Ms. Winslow.

She sounded tired and she was practically snuggled up against his side. The younger woman placed the box in his lap as she bent her knees and stayed close by, head resting against Kehoe's shoulder.

“I see…” That would certainly explain the bitemark on one of them.

He supposed he could imagine it was being some sort of tree sap turned solid. Privately, he wondered just how long it took for sap to turn into amber. Holding up one piece with the lantern light behind it, he could see small dark speckles within. He supposed it was debris from whenever this particular amber ended up in the ground. No doubt its smooth, round shape had to do with being jostled around in the sea for years, just like the sea glass.

Kehoe's eyes landed on the lumpy package in the box. “And what’s this there, missy?”

Ms. Winslow shifted by his side, before she sat up, apparently roused by the small package. “Ah, but I'm so happy you asked, Kehoe!”

It still felt odd to be addressed that way, but Kehoe didn’t linger on it for the moment. Ms. Winslow leaned over his lap, grabbed the lumpy package, and began to gingerly unwrap it. Kehoe watched closely. The package was oddly shaped and larger than her hand. He couldn’t even begin to guess what it held. And when he saw, he certainly caught himself staring.

The thing in Ms. Winslow's hand was dark blackish gray and indeed larger than her hand. It was triangular and its silhouette was immediately familiar to Kehoe. His mouth fell open for a moment when his mind started to picture the size of the creature this tooth belonged to. “Is that…?”

When his eyes met Ms. Winslow's again, she smiled and nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s another shark tooth. It’s big, ain't it?”

Kehoe nodded slowly, trying to picture what kind of shark it came from. He could somewhat picture how big normal sharks were. But this tooth? It boggled his mind to think about. “But why is it black?”

Ms. Winslow gave a shrug before she made herself comfortable at his side once more. “Couldn’t tell you… I just guessed it was due to age. I think it’s from sharks that have died out. I was surprised when I found it, though.”

Kehoe considered her words as he carefully wrapped the massive, black tooth back up and slipped it into the box, alongside the amber and sea glass. He supposed he hadn’t ever given much thought to the kinds of animals that may or may not have once inhabited the sea. To be frank, Kehoe realized he knew very little of sea life. Who knew what was splashing around out there…

Glancing sideways, he saw just how comfortable Ms. Winslow had made herself against his side. She was holding his arm and resting her head against his shoulder. Being this up close to her was… unusual. She seemed so at peace, though. It almost felt cruel to tell her to get up.

But eventually, Kehoe gently nudged her. When she looked up at him, he gently said, “I think you'd best be getting to bed before you fall asleep here, missy.”

“Mm, I suppose you're right,” she said, stifling a yawn before she got to her feet. Ms. Winslow gathered up her boxes and carried them inside into the cabin.

Kehoe followed closely behind her where he found her putting her stuff away into her luggage. Turning the lantern on in there, Kehoe returned to the deck to give the young woman some privacy.

“Don’t let her get to you,” Kehoe muttered under his breath. He sighed and rubbed his face.

Picking up the lantern that sat on the deck, Kehoe brought it to the bow. Holding the lantern out in front of himself, he glanced down at the still water where he could see the reflection of the light as well as his own face.

As nice as it admittedly was to have Ms. Winslow around, as much as he begrudgingly didn’t mind her cozying up to him, he also knew he shouldn’t. He was… what, twice her age? He couldn’t go chasing young women like her. Besides, there was no way she would…

He shook his head, momentarily wishing he could dunk his head under the water to clear his head.

The way she had snuggled up by his side didn’t mean anything – it was just her getting comfortable. If nothing else, Kehoe guessed she might just see him in a fatherly light, which was arguably even more laughable.

Kehoe had never fathered any children (as far as he knew) and he certainly hadn’t raised any children. He had grown up as an only child and as soon as he had turned thirteen, he had started working. That was just how things had been.

When he made his way into the cabin at last, he wordlessly undressed and lay down on his bedroll. Once the lights were out, Kehoe rolled onto his side, trying his best not to think about everything that was on his mind.

Chapter 8: Delta

Summary:

At last, the journey has taken Kehoe and Marina to New Orleans and by extension, the delta, the last barrier that keeps them from their destination. Despite everything, Kehoe allows for a bit of a sidetrack before they continue. Perhaps he even enjoys it...

As it turned out, Ms. Winslow seemed to enjoy talking a lot. In addition to talking about her strange collection of teeth and shells, she also talked about corals. And Kehoe had to admit that he hadn’t a clue what those were. The way she described them, they sounded like they were just underwater flowers, colorful and ornate with fish swimming around them. Even during his time out at sea, he hadn’t exactly been spending that time swimming or exploring the shallows, like the ones around where Ms. Winslow grew up.

Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst thing to listen to her talking about her home. Ms. Winslow spent a lot more time in the pilothouse, much like that day. They had left Memphis a day prior after stocking up. It was by far the largest city they had passed on their trip, and the riverport was very impressive.

It had been a bit of a shock to the system to be there after traveling through mostly rural areas for days. The towns they passed and stopped by were so much smaller. Just finding a place to dock had been a minor ordeal.

They had spent a bit of time on the pier, watching the boats sailing. Many big excursion boats, not unlike the River Queen, had passed and Ms. Winslow had amused herself by making fun of the types of passengers who usually sailed on them. Kehoe didn’t mind just listening, even if he could hardly care what kinds of people they were.

Turning to his left, Kehoe looked at her. The blonde-haired cat was inside the pilothouse with him, Kehoe somewhat leaning on the right-side wall as he steered. The quieter stretches of river didn’t require much actual steering, just enough to bring them around the many curves and bends.

“So…” Kehoe glanced over when Ms. Winslow spoke. Her eyes met his and he saw a small smirk on her face. Bracing himself for whatever might come next, Kehoe gave her a grunt to show he was paying attention.

But Ms. Winslow said nothing. Instead, the young woman put her left hand on the wheel, grabbing hold of one of the smooth, wooden spokes. He looked at her hand for a moment, then looked back at her, raising an eyebrow, but she still said nothing.

And Kehoe didn’t either.

He knew what she wanted, but just letting her hold onto the wheel wasn’t so bad in itself. Kehoe certainly wouldn’t have let her do even that just a few days ago. Ms. Winslow had been admittedly pleasant company, and so Kehoe let her hold the wheel. He was expecting to feel a few tugs in her direction or perhaps a few pushes in his, but she held the Breanne steady as he did.

Stepping closer to him and closer to the center of the wheel, the Russian Blue still held on. It felt silly to be steering together, but Kehoe wasn’t about to let go and give her free reign. He eventually lowered his left hand, keeping just his right on the right side of the wheel, firmly gripping one of the spokes.

When they came up on another bend in the river, Kehoe felt her start to turn the wheel in his direction. He raised his left hand and used both hands to turn the Breanne to starboard. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ms. Winslow doing the same, turning the wheel with him.

“You really want to steer that badly, missy?” he grunted at her almost an hour later. Looking over at her, he noticed the surprised look on her face right away. Kehoe sighed and very reluctantly let go of the wheel, turning and leaning his back against the port-side wall of the pilothouse.

“Hm, I don’t know, but if you insist…” The young woman’s voice came out as a slow, almost bored drawl, but when she looked at Kehoe, she gave him one of her playful smiles. Her eyes seemed a more vibrant green than normal, but Kehoe couldn’t quite decide if he were imagining it.

Once she took over, Ms. Winslow straightened her back and held the spokes firmly. She had good posture, her hands in the ten and two positions. Looking at her, Kehoe didn’t doubt she actually knew what she was doing – at the very least, Ms. Winslow looked comfortable behind the wheel.

“See, this is the stuff I live for,” the young woman almost sighed as she brought the Breanne around a bend. “There’s nothing like sailing a boat…”

Although Kehoe initially thought she was being rather dramatic with her word use, he supposed he could somewhat relate. When the two had set out from St. Louis, he supposed he had felt some of what Ms. Winslow spoke of. Maybe it was down to the fact that it was a small boat without the rest of the crew around. But as a sailor, he supposed he could respect how much she seemed to enjoy sailing.

Just looking at Ms. Winslow, it became easier and easier to imagine her at the helm of her father’s boat. And it made him wonder… “How come you never got any work on some other boat like your father’s, missy?”

It felt like a question that was long overdue, given what he had learned about her since meeting her. The younger cat glanced over and gave Kehoe a rather condescending smile. In a snide tone, she asked, “Have you ever met a female sailor before, Kehoe?”

He stared at her for a moment, and she gave a short, almost hollow chuckle. He recovered quickly enough and cleared his throat. “Well, I've seen a few crews with womenfolk working…”

“Ever met one who was a first mate? Or a captain?” she asked him, which made him fall silent once more. She inclined her head slightly as she shrugged. “I thought not.”

“So, you're wanting to be a captain, missy?” he asked her skeptically. She was quite young to be a captain, he thought. At least she looked it. Still, Kehoe couldn’t fault her for being ambitious. “But did you never even try working on a crew?”

“Oh, I did. I tried and I even worked for a crew for a while,” she explained calmly. Kehoe noticed her right hand was gripping the spoke harder, almost as if she were trying to crack the wooden handle. “But at a certain point, you get tired of being sidelined and put on cooking duty all the time.”

“They put you on cooking duty? Why?” When Ms. Winslow turned her head and gave him a look of incredulity, he understood. “Oh. Right…”

Looking back on it, Kehoe really hadn’t ever worked with women or hired them. Ms. Winslow had been the first time, and even he hadn’t taken her seriously when she proposed working with the crew. Was that how it usually went for her when she had tried seeking out work for boating crews?

Kehoe certainly didn’t doubt the difficulties she had faced. He even found himself wondering if he had ever turned down women who sought work with him. Had he? Kehoe didn’t recall any such instances. Looking at Ms. Winslow again, he wondered how long she had been working with the crew she had spoken of. No doubt it had been a brief stint, at least based on her young age.

He had to wonder, had they really not given her any real work to do? Had that been why she was overly eager to show what she could do when he hired her? The Crust Bucket crew probably hadn’t helped at all. Steve in particular probably hadn’t been too unlike the people she had worked with in the past. And hadn’t he himself also not taken her seriously? Hadn’t he thought her to just be some young girl who was way out of her depth?

Kehoe scowled and turned away from Ms. Winslow and looked out the window.

“So, how am I doing so far, cap’n?” she asked after almost an hour. As if she even needed to ask.

“You're doing well, missy.” He paused and looked over at her, her expression furtive. “But I'm sure you didn’t need me to tell you that.”

“I didn’t, but I still wanted to hear it,” Ms. Winslow shot back playfully. Feeling a need to roll his eyes, Kehoe just snorted and adjusted his collar. “Hey, a little validation never hurt no one.”

Reaching into his jacket pocket, Kehoe found his pipe, gripping the wooden object firmly. “Alright, missy, I think it’s time we switched places. I need a smoke.”

“How gentlemanly,” she practically crooned at him, though she still had that playful look on her face. “I appreciate it, Kehoe.”

He said nothing as he moved behind her, sidestepping to get around the younger woman. Feeling his front sliding against her back, Kehoe hesitated for a moment. Ms. Winslow hardly made an effort to move forward and allow him more space, which initially confused him, but regardless, Kehoe made it past her. Although he was letting her steer, he didn’t leave her to it exactly, moving to stand right by the doorway of the pilothouse.

As he smoked, Ms. Winslow sailed the two of them along the lonely stretch of river. They had seen a surprisingly low amount of traffic on the river since they left Memphis. Kehoe had done his best to keep track of their position on the map he kept in the pilothouse. It wasn’t too easy, but a big city like Memphis served as an excellent landmark.

If Kehoe had to guess, they probably had a week’s travel left, maybe more. As he puffed smoke from his pipe, it was immediately swept away by the headwind. He had already noticed the weather getting noticeably warmer than it had been when they set off, although Kehoe wasn’t quite sure if it was down to summer’s approach or them going south, or perhaps a mix of the two.

By the time the sun had set, the Breanne came to rest by the riverbanks. The sky still remained bright, despite the sun having long since disappeared past the western horizon. The two had settled down on the deck as they usually did, Ms. Winslow's fancy stovetop turned on with some of their rather humble food cooking. The food they had stocked up on wasn’t much to speak of – that much hadn’t changed. Kehoe preferred the simple food they made out there on the river.

As the sky slowly darkened, Ms. Winslow spoke calmly to Kehoe. It had become a nightly thing by now with the two of them quietly conversing while cooking their dinner. Or rather, it was mostly Ms. Winslow talking with Kehoe listening in. It was nice, just sitting and listening to her, which had taken Kehoe by surprise. It had taken a little while before he realized that he enjoyed it.

All the same, Kehoe had never been much for conversations, and he knew he likely never would be. He was getting up there in the years, and he didn’t think he'd easily change his ways. And certainly not for something as trivial as conversing. But even so…

“Here.” Ms. Winslow looked up in surprise after stirring the humble portions of soup being heated on the stove. Kehoe had reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his old compass he always carried around.

Ms. Winslow took it into her hand, examining it. The front glass was cracked, and the once shiny brass body had turned into a weathered, dull brown. The compass face showed the four directions of the world and the directions in between alongside degrees written on the outer rim of the compass. The needle didn’t point to north, however. In fact, it hadn’t moved altogether in years. It used to have a fully detachable lid, but Kehoe had lost that many years ago.

“I don’t think your compass works, Kehoe,” Ms. Winslow told him, her tone playful as she sat there. With the lantern light behind her, her hair almost looked like it was aflame. She ran a finger over the smooth, but scuffed glass.

“It don’t, missy,” he grunted at her. Kehoe cleared his throat and sighed. “I've had it for many years. Decades, really.”

“Yeah?” she prompted when he didn’t continue. Kehoe felt his whiskers twitch. Why was it so difficult to just talk about himself?

“Yeah… It stopped working many years ago too…” Once more, Kehoe found himself pausing, but this time, he didn’t hesitate for too long. He cleared his throat again. “So, it was a long time ago now. Back in my navy days.”

The Russian Blue raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You were in the navy…? The Navy? When was this exactly?”

“Yeah, that Navy, missy. I ain't telling you what year, use your imagination.” Kehoe paused. He had been trying to get through the story as quickly as he could, but when she spoke up, it caught him by surprise. So much so that he hesitated. Kehoe sighed and cleared his throat. He wasn’t particularly good at this. “Anyway… Me and some of the boys were on leave. We rented a boat and sailed it out to an island down in the Gulf. Stocked up on drinks and everything. I suppose that was our idea of a good time.”

Before he continued, Kehoe very briefly considered the idea that he might not have been too far from Ms. Winslow's home at the time. He chose not to linger on the idea. Even if he had indeed been in the Gulf of Mexico, the gulf in question was large. There was no reason to assume he had been anywhere near her home.

Kehoe wasn’t even sure why he had launched into a story he wouldn’t normally have wanted to tell her or anyone else for that matter.

“I was the youngest, so they sent me back out to the boat to get drinks, like some errand boy,” Kehoe continued after the two had gotten some of the food that had been cooking. Seeing Ms. Winslow sit there across from him, their lantern between them as it cast orange light on her made Kehoe hesitate once more. But eventually, he found his voice again. “It was a nice, sunny day, but… The waves were big, and being the little featherhead I was, I didn’t hesitate to sail back out in a small dinghy. Wasn’t my smartest choice, I’ll tell you that, missy. Guess I was just happy to be included.”

The younger woman had all her attention focused on him as he spoke. Kehoe didn’t think himself much of a storyteller, but she seemed almost enraptured by his every word. Even if he didn’t think he was doing a good job, this was at least encouraging. This also had to be the quietest he had seen her.

“I'd barely gotten out past the drop off before the waves got even worse. They were several feet high; started tossing my boat around like nothing.” Once more Kehoe stopped and this time, he didn’t hesitate because he felt uncertain.

No, reliving the experience through his words made him remember what it had been like back then when he was younger.

When he continued, Kehoe's voice was slightly unsteady, and he was surprised by how fearful he sounded. “I was… I was scared, but I never once thought to turn back. Didn’t matter none how bad the waves were; I was young and stupid, what can I say?”

Taking a moment, Kehoe looked at Ms. Winslow, focusing on her face. She had started eating. It was almost like dinner and a show. Kehoe gave a small grunt before he ate some of his food as well. A break might not be bad. He had already spoken more than he otherwise would have.

He gave a small sigh and shook his head. “When I was getting back into the dinghy, a big wave flipped it over and knocked me overboard. Never been a good swimmer, and the waves didn’t make it any easier. I was panicking; the water was colder than ya’ might think, and I was sinking. At some point, I did pass out. Ain't sure what happened, but it was probably the boat or something hitting me in the head.”

And then came the part Kehoe felt the most uncertain about. It was the very reason he had never spoken of it or even told anyone. He sighed and shook his head. Ms. Winslow was going to think he was insane. Kehoe looked away before he continued.

“I remember seeing a large shape, and I felt something grabbing me.” After a moment’s silence, he turned to look at her, and he saw the skeptical look on her face. He felt his ears laying back against his head. “Yeah, I know it sounds insane, but it’s what I remember!”

“I didn’t say anything,” she replied mildly, though she still had a rather playful look on her face. Kehoe didn’t even need to ask to know she didn’t believe him whatsoever.

He gave a sigh. Calming himself, Kehoe continued. “Regardless, I woke up on a mainland beach. Ain't sure how I got there, but I was way past the surf. There were no footprints around me either. It was like the sea itself spat me up past the surf.”

“So, did you ever really figure out what happened? Wasn’t it just one of your buddies who pulled you out…?” Ms. Winslow asked, her tone considerably less snide. When Kehoe looked at the younger woman, he noticed she seemed genuinely curious.

He shook his head. “No, I never found out what happened. And I don’t care either. I'm just glad to still be here…”

Once again, he fell silent. Ms. Winslow gave a vague shrug, but also a small nod before the two of them ate without speaking for a short, little while.

Even after all this time, Kehoe didn’t know what it had been or if he'd imagined it. He thought it most likely that his mind had imagined some benevolent presence saving him when he nearly drowned. Granted, he had never been a religious sort, even if his family had been. Kehoe had never put much stock in faith whatsoever.

After a few mouthfuls, Kehoe shuddered.

“Can’t say I'm eager to go back to the sea after that,” he told her, his voice calm and steady. He scowled slightly, then barked, “I prefer the Mississippi – I’ll take my chances with her, thank you very much.”

Ms. Winslow seemed to find this somewhat amusing. When he raised an eyebrow at her, the younger woman apparently had to calm herself. She looked like she might have a giggle fit. “So, the big, handsome captain can’t swim?”

… Handsome? Kehoe knew she was joking, but that particular word still caught him by surprise. He snorted at her. “Well, I never learned. My Navy days were the first – and only – time I got to be out at sea.”

Ms. Winslow nodded silently, before eating some more food. She looked intently at him over the top of her cup when she drank. “Did you ever learn…?”

He didn’t answer her right away. Wouldn’t she make fun of him if he answered her honestly? However, he figured it was best to be honest. “Not really. I can swim, missy. I just choose not to.”

“So that’s a no,” the young woman noted in a strangely self-satisfied way. She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you when we get there.”

“If you think I’ll willingly jump in the sea with you, you’ve got another thing coming, missy,” he scoffed at her indignantly. “The sea and I don’t mix.”

Although she didn’t seem convinced, Ms. Winslow just ate in silence for a bit. Kehoe joined her, once again enjoying the peace and quiet that ushered in the night. Dusk turned to twilight and twilight soon gave way to the dark of the night sky. Stars speckled the sky above, but down on the deck, the lantern kept the two of them illuminated.

“No, but really, I could teach you to swim, if you'd like,” Ms. Winslow said after she finished her food and moved back to the stovetop for more. Once she returned, she moved to sit beside Kehoe instead of across from him.

“I think I’ll pass on that, missy,” he grunted at her, feeling her left arm pressing against his own. He gave a small snort. “I much prefer being on the water and not in the water.”

The two of them remained quiet for a while as they resumed eating. As it got completely dark around them, the sounds of nighttime insects by the riverbanks got louder. Crickets and the like had become a constant every night, and the sight of fireflies had likewise become such a familiar sight. He had seen those things before, but it had been a long time since he had been out in the wilderness like this.

In a way, it was very liberating, and just being in the company of Ms. Winslow somehow made it easier to notice these things.

“Oh, I don’t mean to come off as pushy, by the way,” Ms. Winslow suddenly said, as Kehoe felt the young woman leaning on him. She had started doing that a lot more as of late, but he didn’t mind. It was just a byproduct of her viewing him as a faux father figure, Kehoe told himself. “It’s not like I'd ever force you in the water…”

He turned his head and looked down at her, for the first time realizing how close she was to him. Ms. Winslow smiled at him, her face unusually close to his. “I doubt you could, if you tried, missy. I ain't the strongest man out there, but I'm stubborn. That’s one thing we've got in common, I suppose.”

In the dark, he heard her soft chuckling, which seemed to pleasantly blend in with the ambiance of the night. Kehoe gave off a soft sigh and settled against the wall of the pilothouse, letting Ms. Winslow get cozy. He gave a short, derisive chuckle to himself.

“What?” came Ms. Winslow's voice almost immediately.

“Nothing, missy…” In truth, it was something. But even then, he wasn’t initially planning on telling her, though when he saw her curiously looking up at him, he gave in almost immediately. He sighed. “Alright, well, I can’t help but think of how the boys back on the Crust Bucket would give an arm and a leg to be sailing you south alone.”

“Ah.” He glanced sideways at Ms. Winslow again, trying to read her reaction. “I'm sure they would. They really seemed to like me, didn’t they?”

It wasn’t exactly a topic Kehoe was in the mood for, but he supposed he had brought it up himself. “Yeah… Steve in particular…”

“Oh, yeah, Steve,” Ms. Winslow said, her tone sounding almost surprised, as if she had forgotten he existed. Kehoe certainly hadn’t. Unfortunately, he could still vividly recall the orange tabby’s behavior. “He was trying so hard too.”

“Yeah? I hardly noticed,” he grunted sarcastically.

“Yeah… a little too hard, actually,” the bluish gray cat clarified casually. Kehoe felt her resting her head on his shoulder again. “A shame too, he was fairly good-looking.”

Kehoe turned to look at her, and he was surprised to see her looking up at him with those bright, green eyes of hers. “Good-looking? Well, I ain't exactly the authority on good looks…”

The Russian Blue gave a small chuckle and even smirked at him. Why were they even having this conversation? Kehoe didn’t know why he humored her on her thoughts about the Crust Bucket crew, or Steve in particular.

“Bet he wish he were the one cuddling me right now,” she muttered under her breath, though it was loud enough for Kehoe to hear. He stared at her still, even as she shifted against him slightly.

“I'm not…” Kehoe paused when he realized they were somewhat cuddling. He cleared his throat. “Listen, missy… I don’t know if we’re on the same page here…”

The young woman raised an eyebrow at him. “We aren’t?”

Kehoe found himself hesitating and eventually fell silent. He looked away and cleared his throat. “Do you really think it’s appropriate, missy? I ain't your… man. I'm just here to sail you home.”

“Appropriate? It’s not that complicated.” Ms. Winslow rose to her feet and smiled at Kehoe in a strangely furtive way. “But if I'm making you uncomfortable…”

“No… Not exactly,” he grunted at her. Kehoe ran a hand through the fur on top of his head. “I'm just saying that you probably shouldn’t be getting too comfortable with me…”

“And why’s that?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious as she set about packing up her portable stove.

Rising to his feet, Kehoe walked over to her, getting their garbage sorted. She glanced up at him, sitting on her knees as he stood beside her. “Well, for starters, I don’t know that I want people to get the wrong idea…”

“People? What people?” Ms. Winslow asked skeptically. She made an exaggerated head turn in both directions. “We’re all alone out here…”

Kehoe sighed and shook his head. With a grunt, he sat down next to her, gathering up the utensils they had used in order to clean them. “That ain't the point, missy. It already looks… a certain way when it’s just you and me on a boat alone.”

Once more, the younger woman looked at Kehoe, raising an eyebrow. She gave a shrug. “It doesn’t really bother me at all. Does the idea of people thinking we’re together bother you that much?”

“It doesn’t bother me, missy,” he grunted in response as he looked at her. The younger cat folded up the portable stovetop and Kehoe moved off to the side of the Breanne to clean the forks and spoons they had used. “All I'm saying is that it looks like we’re together…”

Ms. Winslow didn’t say anything for a while, sitting on the deck near the lantern as she watched him curiously for a moment. When Kehoe finished the cleanup off the side of the boat with bits of the precious water they had, he turned back towards her. He could tell by the look on her face that Ms. Winslow had things she wanted to say.

“It rather sounds like it’s bothering you,” she noted with another shrug. “I haven’t cared what people think about me for most of my life. And if people think I've found me an older man? I don’t care.”

Kehoe looked at her in stunned silence for a moment. She really hadn’t a care in the world… But hadn’t he also been the one who started it? That time in Caruthersville when they had had lunch in that small restaurant and Kehoe had put his arm around her…

“Look, missy, I think you got the wrong idea,” he told her earnestly. The Russian Blue said nothing, she just crossed her arms and waited for Kehoe to continue. He didn’t leave her waiting for long. “When I put my arm around you, it was to discourage all those cads eyeing you in that restaurant.”

Ms. Winslow furrowed her brow, looking truly and utterly confused. Her look of bewilderment quickly gave way to a look of realization. “Oh, you meant that time… Hm, well, I thought maybe you were interested in me and wanted to plant your flag as it were.”

“Excuse me?” Kehoe asked sharply, looking across at her. Her choice of word was certainly… interesting.

The young woman gave a hint of a smirk. “I mean, maybe you wanted to take a shot, show that I was spoken for or something along those lines.”

“Well, we ain't together, missy. I'm too old for you, and I ain't really the sort of man you'd want to be with,” he grunted at her. This time, Kehoe was the one who crossed his arms.

“I just find it curious that you'd pretend that we were together by putting an arm around me,” Ms. Winslow noted, her tone still as pleasant as ever. She shrugged. “Maybe that’s just me, it just felt like you might be interested in me that way when you did it. Surely you could’ve thought of a better way to discourage those men.”

He didn’t understand why they were having this conversation. Did she not understand that he wasn’t interested in her that way? Had he given her that impression? How? He stared at her incredulously.

Much to Kehoe's surprise, the look Ms. Winslow gave him was a rather amused one, as if he had said something funny. The young woman stepped into the cabin and Kehoe followed, stopping in the doorway.

When he gave her a look of puzzlement, she gave him a slight smirk. “How do you explain the cuddling then?”

“The…” Kehoe paused and furrowed his brows. “If anything, that’s you getting cozy with me, missy. I thought at first you might just see me in a fatherly sort of way…”

The young cat grimaced at this, and Kehoe immediately knew he had severely misinterpreted the younger woman’s intent. However, instead of getting mad about it, Ms. Winslow started laughing, leaving Kehoe in stunned silence.

“Sorry, but that’s really funny,” she said once she was done laughing. She sat down on the bed in the cabin before she beckoned Kehoe closer, even patting a spot on the bed beside herself, though he remained standing in the doorway. “You're sort of oblivious, aren’t you?”

Kehoe's ears shot back and he scowled at her. “Look, missy, I think it would’ve been stranger for me to assume that you might…”

The younger woman’s ears perked up. “Yes?”

“Nothing. I’m going to have a smoke before bed,” he grunted at her and stepped away from the cabin door.

While he walked away, Kehoe heard Ms. Winslow calling after him, “Suit yourself, Kehoe.”

Kehoe came to settle by the bow of the Breanne, standing by the very tip of the boat. Pulling his pipe from his pocket, he filled it silently and lit it. Once the smoke coursed through his system, Kehoe closed his eyes, deeply exhaling.

Although he felt better, he was trying to get his mind back on track. Was this somehow what Ms. Winslow did to other men? Why was she getting to him? She was clearly coming onto him, wasn’t she? Despite himself, Kehoe found himself pacing across the boat from starboard to port.

He didn’t like this.

If she were interested in him, wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest? He wasn’t interested in her; he hadn’t been interested in her when he offered to take her south. Was that obvious? Had it not been obvious? Had she misinterpreted his actions from the beginning?

Quite frankly, it was… Actually, Kehoe wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He wasn’t jumping to conclusions, was he? Was he in the midst of misinterpreting the way she behaved around him? Wasn’t it all just a huge misunderstanding?

He ought to go and speak to her… But Kehoe didn’t think he could. For the first time in a long time, he felt… scared. Turning to look towards the pilothouse, the glow from the lantern that still rested on the Breanne’s deck somehow made it seem more foreboding than it was. Kehoe stepped closer, but stopped by the lantern on the deck.

With a grunt, he bent down to pick it up, but he remained out on the deck, smoking in the dark. The flavor of the smoke hardly even registered, the warmth filling his lungs barely made him feel warmer out in the cool night air. Swatting a few nighttime insects away, Kehoe proceeded towards the cabin at last.

Within, he found Ms. Winslow waiting for him, though she had turned the lights off. Hesitating, Kehoe brought the lantern inside and got ready for bed in silence.

Once he laid on the bedroll on the floor, Kehoe had a hard time falling asleep. For better and worse, his talks with Ms. Winslow had left him with too much to think about. For what felt like at least an hour, he just lay there, looking up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t his fault Ms. Winslow had gotten the wrong idea. Was it? No. No, it wasn’t. He couldn’t help it if she had strange tastes. It would be strange for her to have any kind of interest in a man like him. He wasn’t desirable to most, and he never had been. It hadn’t ever bothered Kehoe; he'd never pursued anyone romantically anyway. It didn’t matter to him what people thought of him, but the idea that Ms. Winslow had some vague positive feelings towards him that way threw him for a loop.

How was he even supposed to handle that? People showing disdain or indifference towards him, that was all easy to handle and figure out.

Come morning, Kehoe still felt uncertain, but he did what he always did, simply carrying on with life. There was really no reason to dwell on it. If it were as simple as some form of misguided infatuation, there was hardly a need to worry. He was sure it would wear off.

It felt strange to think about, and Kehoe tried his best not to.

Mornings were warm and Kehoe found that the sun apparently rose earlier and earlier. Ms. Winslow wasn’t an early riser and he often times ended up waking her up when he turned the engine on. They really couldn’t just sit around and get too cozy. They had already made too many unnecessary stops in Kehoe's opinion. As much as he could tell that she was enjoying the journey, he also had his own life to get back to.

And that was even despite how relaxing it was for him as well. Being away from the crew was in itself a pleasant respite, but all the same, he knew he had to get back. He'd end up going stir-crazy if he had nothing to do with his time.

A couple of days later, Kehoe had started to notice that Ms. Winslow had a strange furtiveness in the way she spoke and looked at him. He had his suspicions, but he didn’t want to humor them.

The young woman had been inside the cabin since they set off. Kehoe knew she was awake, though she hadn’t made many reappearances.

As of late, she had dressed herself down to just a pair of knickers and a white shirt. Though she was dressed considerably more lightly than most would consider appropriate, Kehoe didn’t blame her with the almost choking heat. With the many days with clear, blue skies, the sun had beamed down on the river without mercy. Kehoe had likewise taken to only wearing shirts with the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. It was far too hot for multiple layers. When he wore button-up shirts, he also left an extra button undone, even if it didn’t seem proper with Ms. Winslow around.

When the blue-furred cat did make an appearance, she passed by the open door to the pilothouse, Ms. Winslow flashed him a smile, strutting along with a cup in her hand, and wearing a black sweater with a high collar – his black sweater with a high collar!

Kehoe stared after her as she moved to stand towards the very front of the bow. Her blonde hair appeared messier than usual, that thick mane of blonde hair billowing in the wind as she sipped from the cup she had brought.

It was a somewhat overcast day, the air gloomy and thick. Somehow the dark water and the gray clouds seemed to somehow make her hair appear brighter and more vibrant. Strange, really. The rest of the world looked so cold and dull, and yet…

Catching himself staring, Kehoe wondered why she had taken to wearing his sweater. It hung somewhat loosely off her, though it admittedly suited her. The pants she wore Kehoe didn’t recognize to be his own, so they had to be hers. She really wasn’t one for dresses and skirts, he noted privately.

Just looking at Ms. Winslow when she turned to face towards the pilothouse, he had an exceedingly hard time picturing her in one. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, however. She had the body for it, Kehoe couldn’t help but notice. Did she do it because she didn’t like them?

He had seen her wearing a dress once, though, Kehoe reminded himself. But even knowing that, he had a hard time remembering what she had looked like in it. He was just so used to seeing the Russian Blue wearing pants, knickers, and shirts.

Realizing he was staring at her again, Kehoe shook his head.

“Alright, missy… Get up here,” he called from the pilothouse. Once she made her way to the door, Ms. Winslow looked curious.

“Yes? What can I do for you, captain?” she asked, her tone playful. When she spoke like that, Kehoe almost preemptively regretted what he was about to do.

He sighed inwardly. “Here, you wanted to steer, didn’t you?”

She raised both eyebrows as she looked at him, apparently genuinely surprised. She then looked more suspicious as she squinted slightly at him. “I did… How come you're letting me steer, captain?”

“Well, would you like to or not?” he growled at her, ignoring her question. He took a step back and kept just one hand on the wheel as he looked at her.

The younger woman stepped closer, putting the cup down on the helm and moved closer. Ms. Winslow took hold of the wheel with her left hand and turned to face Kehoe, who still hadn’t let go. She smiled at him. “I'm honored. No, really, I'm flattered that you trust me enough. You can go take a nap or something while I steer.”

“I don’t think so, missy. I’ll stay here and make sure you don’t somehow run us aground,” he grunted back, which only made her chuckle. Ms. Winslow's right hand came up to take hold of the wheel as she turned to face the bow.

Kehoe finally let go and shuffled around to stand on her left, his front brushing her back as he shimmied behind her. Settling by the door, he watched how well she was doing, though it was hardly needed. The river was winding this way and that, and Ms. Winslow admittedly did well as she steered.

Little by little, however, Kehoe felt… frustrated with himself. He had stayed close by and let Ms. Winslow steer and yet… he had hardly taken notice of her steering.

“So, how come you're wearing my sweater, missy?” he finally asked, trying to ignore that he was watching her more than anything. He looked her over again. His sweater was slightly baggy on her, but he hated to admit that it looked good on her. “The smell of smoke didn’t clue you in, or is this some sort of joke…?”

“Hm? Oh, I thought you'd never ask,” Ms. Winslow replied casually as she brought the two of them around a rather narrow bend. Her small, rather delicate-looking hands turned the wheel with confidence. She was definitely used to steering. “I just figured it suited the weather more. I didn’t pack anything warm to wear.”

“Your daddy’s jacket didn’t make the cut?” he snorted sarcastically, crossing his arms. He looked away from her hands and met her eyes.

Ms. Winslow shrugged, but still smiled. “I could be wearing my daddy’s sweater. Take it as a compliment – means I feel comfortable around you.”

It wasn’t much in the way of an explanation – the explanation Kehoe wanted anyway. He paused, but against his better judgment, he simply told her, “Well, ask before you borrow my stuff, missy.”

She gave him a funny look, before turning back to face the bow. “Will do, captain.”

It felt strange to let her steer, but Kehoe remained close by, hardly ever leaving the younger cat’s side. Day after day, they sailed on down the winding river. Kehoe did his best to keep track of their progress, but thankfully they did keep a good pace. They stopped to refuel and buy food and water when they had to, but for the most part, it was apparently endless sailing.

“So, tell me a story.” Kehoe looked at Ms. Winslow in surprise. It was a somewhat cooler morning, and the younger cat had taken to wearing her father’s old, black coat.

It had been a while since he had seen her with it on, and although it was a bit too big for her, she wore it well. Much to Kehoe's chagrin, it actually made her look more like a proper sailor, more so than he'd ever seen her before. When she got behind the wheel, he simultaneously respected and disliked how it made her look. She wasn’t a sailor. She was just some captain’s daughter. Former captain even.

“A story?” he scoffed at her. Kehoe had settled by the door as he so often did, leaning on the doorframe. He was once more wearing his coat on top of his clothes, though he had omitted his hat, which hung on a hook in the pilothouse.

“Yeah, I'm sure you’ve got some to share,” Ms. Winslow replied, turning to look at him. She had a look on her face as if she were aware how impressive she looked. “Besides, when it’s just us out here, we need to entertain ourselves somehow.”

Kehoe sighed inwardly. “I'm not a very good storyteller, missy…”

“You’ll be fine,” she reassured him lightly, though it didn’t instill a lot of confidence in him regardless.

Kehoe had to think about what sort of story he wanted to tell her. He had told her about his time in the navy exactly once, and it wasn’t a time in his life he remembered very fondly. It wasn’t something he was in a hurry to relive. He sighed.

“Right… Well, one of the worst storms I lived through was a decade ago,” Kehoe grunted as he recalled the day. As he spoke to her, he tried to be descriptive, even if he didn’t think he did a good job of it. But he was trying.

He and the crew had sailed quite far north. The storm had broken out while they were still up on Lake Michigan. The weather that day had been windy and cold. The season had been rather cold to begin with, but Kehoe remembered the sharpness in the air that day, each gust of wind feeling like a razorblade cutting right through fur and skin, chilling him to the bone.

They had been in the middle of the lake when the storm hit its peak. Waters frothed and waves started to crash against the hull, washing over the deck of the Crust Bucket. It had been a proper tripping hazard, and they had quickly retreated to the gallery. Despite towing a couple of barges, they had still felt the boat being shaken and tossed about by the storm.

“We hankered up in the gallery, tried to wait out the storm. It was safe and warm in there, but we also knew it wasn’t going to be pretty the day after.” Kehoe paused and glanced out the pilothouse window as Ms. Winslow brought them around another bend. He had noticed they were sailing more eastward as of late. “Lost a lot of goods to the lake. The barges were still afloat, but a lot of things were knocked overboard, even though we tied it all down.”

Kehoe had no idea how much time had passed, he felt like it might have been hours. He paused to clear his throat. Ms. Winslow looked at him curiously as she had through most of it. She had done a respectable job of both watching him and watching where they were going, Kehoe was willing to admit as much.

“I think for me… the worst I got was back when we still lived down south. I must have been… ten, maybe,” she started, looking out the window. This time, Kehoe was the one whose attention was fixed on her as she spoke. “It was during winter, the waves got bigger and bigger. Dad asked me if we should sail back to shore – I told him no.”

“Hm, so you were always looking for trouble then,” he noted dryly when she paused. Ms. Winslow turned and smirked at him. “I take that as a yes… So, your parents really named you for the sea then?”

“They did – at least that’s what they tell me,” she replied mildly, before she continued. “So, I stayed on the boat when the storm hit. When I tell you them waves were two stories tall, I mean it.”

“Two stories…?” Kehoe had a tough time picturing that in his mind. Sure, the waves had been bad that day when he fell into the sea during his naval days. But two stories tall? Hardly…

Ms. Winslow nodded firmly. “Two stories, probably even taller than that. It’s honestly a wonder my dad’s boat never capsized at all. But we did get thrown around. Hell, if he hadn’t held onto me for some of it, I probably wouldn’t even be standing here today.”

That night after they had eaten their dinner, instead of sitting out on the deck, the two of them settled down in the cabin. Seated on the bed together, Ms. Winslow insisted that he tell her another story. Though he would much rather listen to hers, he had given in. Seated on his bed felt strange with her by his side. The doors to the outside closed, lantern on, it at least felt cozy.

Kehoe really didn’t have a list of particularly interesting anecdotes. At the very least, he didn’t think them very interesting. But when he spoke of one particularly harsh winter where they got stuck in ice, Ms. Winslow seemed just as interested as earlier in the day.

In the lantern’s warm light, Ms. Winslow fiddled with some of the little trinkets from her boxes, while he recounted his stories. When the young woman moved in to lean against him, he didn’t stop her. He faltered momentarily, but Kehoe continued on as he had before.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated having her get so close to him. But all the same, he couldn’t help himself as he put an arm around her. His hand on her shoulder made her shift, and for a moment, Kehoe thought she might move away. On the contrary, this seemed to only urge her to move closer to him.

Being this up close with her made him tense up initially. He couldn’t recall the last time he had let anyone get this close to him. Ms. Winslow was so soft, warm and… despite wearing his sweater, she smelled nice. Having her this close to him took him aback and he faltered once more.

By the time he finished his anecdote about a barge getting dislodged while being towed, Kehoe's throat was quite dry, and he was ready to sleep. After taking a cup of water for himself from the barrel they kept in the back of the cabin, he made his way back to Ms. Winslow. They didn’t say much as they each got ready for bed, and Kehoe was thankful for it. He already felt as though he'd spoken more to her that entire day than he had the entire time he had known her.

 

---

 

Being on land wasn’t one of Kehoe's favorite things. Much less so when Ms. Winslow seemed hellbent on taking them further and further from the harbor. While he wasn’t worried about the Breanne being stolen perse, he still had his reservations about leaving it and everything on it for long. And yet, he still followed the young woman along the cobbled streets of New Orleans.

Still, he tried his best to remind himself that she was a local, somewhat. The way she had explained it when they docked, she had spent much of her life in that city, even if they had lived further away.

As far as cities went, it wasn’t all too remarkable to Kehoe, though he had noticed that it reminded him a lot of St. Louis. People were dressed differently, owing to the warm weather, and he had likewise dressed lightly. Against his better judgment, he had taken to wearing an older jacket he had from his navy days. It was a wonder it still fit him, but the dark blue jacket was light and thin compared to his usual clothes.

Ms. Winslow had taken to wearing a more colorful outfit than normal. She wore dark blue, wide, almost baggy pants that billowed in the wind, and a red button-up shirt with short sleeves. It was unusual, but Kehoe supposed it was to fit the warm temperatures outside. The sun was beaming down upon the world, and the further they got from the water, the harsher it seemed.

“Oh, lighten up, it won’t kill you.” Kehoe turned to look at Ms. Winslow at his side, her hair once more billowing in the wind. How she had ever managed to get him into a streetcar, Kehoe didn’t know. “It’ll be a short, little ride.”

It was his first time riding one, though he had been on a train before. For decades, the river had been his only mode of transportation, he had hardly needed to come ashore for more, other than the occasional car ride.

The two of them were seated in the back near where they had gotten on. It felt strange to see a city this way with buildings, streets, crowds and even cars slowly rolling past them. The constant rumble and light shaking of the car they rode in wasn’t like how it felt to sail, and it reminded Kehoe more of a car, though even that wasn’t a complete match. It fell into a strange state of being unlike any other vehicle he was somewhat used to.

When they got off, Kehoe hadn’t a clue where they were, but Ms. Winslow guided him along. The city was large and with the many people around, all wearing far nicer and more colorful clothes, Kehoe definitely felt out of place. He hadn’t a clue where they were going, but by the time Ms. Winslow got him into a cab, Kehoe had to look at her.

“Listen here, missy… It’s not that I don’t mind spending time with you…” He paused when she gave him a funny look, but he quickly recovered. “… but I wasn’t really going to stick around. I told you I was going to sail you home, and now that we’re here…”

“But we aren’t here,” Ms. Winslow simply replied. In the dark of the cab, her eyes appeared brighter. “We have a ways to go still. I just wanted to visit New Orleans again – and I wanted to share it with you.”

Taken aback by this, Kehoe just stared at her. He couldn’t help but feel bad for her. Clearly, she wanted to spend time with him, wanted to get close to him. But he wasn’t worth getting close to.

He sighed. “Missy… I appreciate that, but you really don’t gotta go out of your way for me. I ain't worth all this.”

“Oh, but of course you are.” When Ms. Winslow took ahold of his arm, Kehoe tensed up slightly, eyes immediately darting forward. The driver didn’t appear to have noticed. “Besides, would you just sit back on the Breanne while I go eat at my favorite restaurant?”

When they did arrive at their destination, Kehoe got to see the restaurant in question. From the outside, it didn’t appear to be particularly extraordinary. The façade of the building was mostly beige, almost golden, but not quite. The restaurant’s front was darker brown, matching the wooden doors. Above one hung a sign reading ‘Antonie’s Restaurant, Since 1840’. On the second floor above, large, elaborate, and intricate, metallic railing fenced in a balcony, much like the neighboring building.

Kehoe didn’t even get a chance to decline before Ms. Winslow took a hold of his right arm and guided him along. He noticed the looks they received, but the young woman either didn’t see, or she didn’t care.

“I figured it was fitting, since we’re on St. Louis Street right now,” the Russian Blue chuckled as she pulled him along. She pushed the door open and guided him inside. “You know, since that’s where we started.”

“I got it, missy,” he grunted to her before looking around.

Antonie’s Restaurant was rather large with many tables. At a glance, Kehoe guessed that there had to be at least fifteen. Most of them seemed to be occupied as well, but once Ms. Winslow asked, the two were guided to a table in the back close to a corner. She held onto Kehoe's arm again and guided him to the table.

He tried his best to straighten up, even if age and life had blessed him with a rather hunched posture. But he was trying for her. What wouldn’t she look like dining with a decrepit-looking man?

Once the two of them were seated at the table, which didn’t seem so unlike the River Queen. The first time they had been face to face… Looking across the table at Marina Winslow, Kehoe suddenly didn’t have trouble picturing her in the red dress she had worn that day. Her hair had been up, but he hadn’t seen her do much with those long, wild locks of blonde hair since they had taken off together.

“Something on your mind?” she asked him as she peered over the top of the menu at him.

Kehoe shook his head and opened his own menu as well. Glancing down, Kehoe was surprised to see that the menu appeared to be bilingual. Glancing at the words, Kehoe didn’t immediately recognize what language most of them were in, but hearing someone at the table nearby speaking, he managed to deduce it: French.

“Well, actually…” Ms. Winslow looked up again when he spoke up. “I just thought about that time. You know, on that big, ugly boat you worked on.”

“Oh that,” she said mildly, chuckling. Ms. Winslow's gaze momentarily returned to her menu before she looked back at him. “It’s been a while since then… See anything you like?”

“I think so, actually.” For some reason, Ms. Winslow gave him a strange look, an almost amused one. “I'm not sure what half the stuff on here is, though.”

The young woman seemed taken aback by that, until she glanced down at her menu again. “Ah! Well, I mostly just know them by name… We could order a couple of things and see what you like?”

“Hm, I suppose. I’ll trust your judgment on that, missy…” Kehoe grunted by the time a waiter appeared.

The young man shot Kehoe a strange look, which he assumed had to be because of how he addressed Ms. Winslow. He shifted in his seat as she ordered for him, trying to straighten up. The Russian Blue looked towards him with a smile, before turning her attention on the waiter, who thankfully did speak English.

“So, you don’t speak French, missy?” he asked her once they were alone again. Well, as alone as they could be in a packed dining room. With all those people around, Kehoe had to raise his voice to make himself heard.

“No, not much. I can speak a little bit, but I'm better at English,” she replied playfully. The younger woman put her hands together on top of the table and straightened up.

Kehoe wasn’t sure how to feel while they ate lunch. Their conversing was kept at a minimum, but what made him pause was something else… As he looked at her sitting there in the warm light, dressed in red, he started to understand, for the first time…

When they left the restaurant a few hours later, Kehoe had all kinds of thoughts running through his mind. He hardly even minded Ms. Winslow holding onto his arm as they walked away. He didn’t even pay much attention as she explained about the French Quarter, the part of town they were in. Though Kehoe caught a few words, he was more so wondering if he was pleasant company.

He didn’t talk as much as Ms. Winslow did. Did she mind? Kehoe hadn’t let her pay for lunch that time. The idea that he was bad company and just freeloading was one he couldn’t stand. He didn’t know why he was feeling self-conscious about it, especially now. Had he and Ms. Winslow not spent enough time together for him not to worry about that? Wasn’t it obvious that she seemed to like his company for whatever reason?

When they got off the streetcar, however, Ms. Winslow took him by surprise yet again when she grabbed his hand. Holding onto his arm was one thing, but holding his hand was… a bit more intimate – at least it felt like it should be. It was perhaps a bit much.

And yet he didn’t stop her.

Taken aback, Kehoe just followed her as she guided him back towards the port where they had docked. In a way he felt… oddly detached at times.

“Oh, wait here.” Kehoe gave a light start when Ms. Winslow spoke for the first time in a while.

He didn’t get to answer, just turned to look at her when she let go of his hand. Glancing down at his left hand, Kehoe couldn’t help but notice how it suddenly felt so much colder without hers to hold. He followed her with his eyes. Every step she took, he watched her until she stopped by the same harbormaster, whom they had paid to dock.

From a distance, he didn’t pick up on what they talked about, but when Ms. Winslow reappeared, she seemed pleased with the outcome. “Alright, so, there’s a place over there where we can dock the Breanne for a few days.”

“Days?” Kehoe furrowed his bushy brows and looked at her in confusion. “Missy, I was just going to sail you south, I ain't staying…”

Ms. Winslow held up her finger to stop him, a rather smug look on her face. “But you said you'd sail me home – and my home’s further south.”

“But if we’re leaving my boat here, how am I supposed to sail you south, missy?” he inquired, trying to figure it out himself. When the Russian Blue smiled, Kehoe wasn’t sure he would like the answer.

“It’s simple really,” she said matter-of-factly, a gust of wind rustling her hair and her loose-fitting clothes. “We dock the Breanne for a few days; I rent a boat and sail us through the river delta.”

“You…?” Kehoe regretted saying it immediately when he saw the disapproving look on her face.

She sneered at him when she spoke next. “What, you still don’t think I can’t sail us there safely?”

“It ain't that, missy…” he grunted at her, but he could tell she wasn’t convinced. Kehoe failed to meet her eyes for a moment.

“Then what? Are you embarrassed to be sailed around by a woman?” Ms. Winslow asked, her tone sounding progressively more annoyed. When Kehoe didn’t answer, she snorted derisively. “Well, I'm sorry if I'm making you feel embarrassed then…”

“No, you can sail us, missy,” he told her, cheeks burning under his fur. “I'm sorry. You know the delta, don’t you? You can sail us. I trust you.”

She raised both her eyebrows at him, looking skeptical. “Do you really? You're not just saying it to spare my feelings?”

“I do trust you…” Kehoe found himself pausing. He sighed and cleared his throat. “I completely trust you to sail us south…”

She tutted skeptically. “How do I know you're serious, though…?”

Staring into her bright green eyes, Kehoe even straightened up. “I really do trust you, Marina.”

When he used her proper name for the first time, she smiled, and she looked so–

Kehoe caught himself, clearing his throat again. He held his hand towards her, palm upturned. Marina barely hesitated before she took it, placing her soft, warm hand in his. He moved onto the Breanne, while still holding her hand, knowing fully well she didn’t need support as she too boarded the dark-brown vessel.

Kehoe only let go to let her untether them, while he moved to start up the Breanne’s engine. He closed his eyes for a moment, considering his actions, wanting to make sure he was completely alright with what he was about to do. Instead of moving behind the wheel and immediately setting off, Kehoe beckoned Marina over.

If she was going to be the one sailing them through the river delta when they got there, he supposed he may as well let her steer already. The young woman took to the task with gusto, and she enthusiastically spun the wheel as they left the docks.

Knowing she wouldn’t mind at this point, Kehoe stood by her left side, watching her as she worked the boat with surprising finesse and skill. She really did know what she was doing. If there was any lingering doubt about it in Kehoe's mind, this would have proven how unwarranted it was.

As they sailed along New Orleans, Kehoe cast glances out the pilothouse door, watching people and buildings they passed. It actually was a beautiful city. The buildings further from the docks were pleasant to behold, the architecture not too dissimilar to St. Louis, though Kehoe did notice a significantly higher number of buildings with balconies. The buildings seemed more colorful too, not just the plain red bricks or concrete he was used to seeing back up north.

When they arrived by the docks Marina had been referred to, Kehoe moved out of the pilothouse. For once, he did the tethers while taking the time to look around. It didn’t appear very remarkable, but it also appeared to be a more industrial part of the city with part of the harbor fenced off.

He turned to Marina when she appeared from the pilothouse. “And you're sure this is it, mis– Marina?”

“I'm confident,” she said firmly before she moved onto the docks. Kehoe hesitated, but followed her.

Nearby there was a small building that almost looked like a small post office or similar. Without even waiting for him, Marina entered by herself. He followed her into the small, somewhat dingy building. Inside, it appeared to be a bait shop, owing to the fishing rods, lures and hooks adorning the walls. Large tubs held what appeared to be live bait.

Kehoe took a moment to glance around curiously, but Marina made right for the counter.

“Hey, you're Mr. McLaren, right?” Marina asked the middle-aged Ragdoll Cat seated there. He glanced up from his newspaper and the look he gave Marina was enough to make Kehoe stand just a little closer to her.

“Uh… Yes, that’d be me, miss,” he replied, his voice calm, his speech slow. The white and brown-furred cat rose to his feet. “What can I do for you two?”

“I'm Marina – Marina Winslow.” When she introduced herself, her tone of voice was very confident, almost proud. Judging by the look of recognition on Mr. McLaren’s face, it had the intended effect.

Both white eyebrows raised in surprise, Mr. Mclaren asked, “Winslow? You're Kent Winslow's daughter…?”

“That I am,” she replied in that same tone, even giving a firm nod. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor – for old time’s sake. Do you still rent out boats?”

“Occasionally… Why?” the older cat behind the counter asked her, suddenly sounding suspicious.

“Well, the two of us are headed back home,” Marina told him casually, gesturing towards Kehoe. He just stood by and watched, though he gave Mr. Mclaren a nod of acknowledgement. “So, I'd like to rent a boat – we need us a proper one that can get us there.”

A proper one? Kehoe furrowed his brows and almost spoke up, but he refrained. In his opinion, the Breanne was a proper, damned boat! He kept that to himself, however, as the Ragdoll considered it. He reached a grizzled and scarred hand up to scratch his cheek, the fur there striped with golden brown.

“Sounds reasonable, Ms. Winslow, but what's this about a favor?” He still seemed to regard her with some uncertainty or suspicion.

“Oh, we came here in another boat – I was just wondering if we could let it stay with you while we head south.” Marina’s voice was so business-like, Kehoe was taken aback.

She sounded like she often bartered with people, and it was at that moment he remembered what she had said about sailing bootleggers around on the river. Mr. McLaren didn’t appear impressed, but in the end, he relented. Whatever his relation to this Kent Winslow was, Kehoe guessed they were either close, or Mr. McLaren owed a debt to her father.

“Uh-huh…” He regarded Kehoe curiously for a moment as he seemed to think it all over. “And you are…?”

“Kehoe. I've sailed her here from St. Louis,” he told the shopkeeper, using a proper tone, though he didn’t want to prolong the conversation longer than it needed to. Attempting to hold conversations with Marina was one thing, but doing so with a stranger wasn’t something he even wanted to humor.

Mr. McLaren regarded him with some amount of suspicion, not unlike how he had previously looked at Marina. “And you two are…?”

“Something like that,” Kehoe promptly grunted, wanting to end the conversation quickly. Even if it wasn’t entirely accurate – he could tell what the Ragdoll was thinking, but he didn’t even care to shut down his assumptions.

Thankfully, Kehoe didn’t have to worry about that as Marina took over the conversation again. She put out a downpayment for the boat they would be renting. Mr. McLaren still appeared somewhat skeptical, but he accepted the money, nevertheless, pocketing the bills the Russian Blue had slid across the counter. As the middle-aged cat told them where to find the boat they'd be taking, Kehoe hardly paid attention. The only part he caught were the instructions to simply tether the Breanne where the other one was docked.

“Will that be all then…?” The Ragdoll’s tone sounded like he'd rather be left alone.

Kehoe too was eager to leave, but apparently Marina wasn’t. To his surprise, she also purchased a fishing rod – and quite a nice one at that. In place of live bait, Marina instead opted for lures.

As it turned out, the boat in question was docked nearby. They didn’t have to sail the Breanne far to get there and once they did, they started to move everything onto the other boat. This new craft was quite different from the Breanne overall, its wooden hull white and black. It was considerably bigger than the Breanne, longer and taller. Though it had a pilothouse that looked bigger than that of the Breanne, Kehoe couldn’t help but notice that the helm was on the outside. Was this the norm for seafaring vessels?

There didn’t seem to be any obvious cabin at a glance. Most curiously of all, he noticed that the boat appeared to have both controls for an engine as well as a sail. At least the big rig near the helm looked like it was made for a sail.

They moved the food and water they had bought into the storage below deck where there were already a few crates and items stashed. In general, the new boat was kept rather neat, which Kehoe appreciated, though he did notice that one porthole had a large crack in it.

Kehoe was surprised to see that the boat had a proper helm inside the pilothouse, but Marina explained its purpose. The helm inside the pilothouse was for rougher weather, while the one on the outside offered better visibility. He supposed he couldn’t argue with that, though he would prefer to stay inside.

While moving all of their things from the Breanne and onto the new boat, Marina appeared rather giddy. Kehoe noticed the change in how she moved; how she even hummed to herself when she didn’t think he could hear her; the way she seemed to smile all the time. He was sure it was the knowledge that she would soon be by her childhood home.

“Getting excited, are we?” he couldn’t help but ask once they got the new boat untethered.

“Oh, you have no idea,” she replied with a smile. Marina showed him around as if she were quite familiar with these types of boats. The cabin was below deck, though much to Kehoe's trepidation, it seemed there was only one single bed once again. As if she read his mind, Marina chuckled as she turned to him. “Oh, we’ll figure that out later.”

After retrieving it amongst his belongings, Kehoe placed his white cap upon her head, the one he normally wore whilst captaining the Crust Bucket. Marina seemed surprised, but she smiled at him.

Making their way up to the helm outside, Kehoe sighed as he watched Marina get behind the helm. There was still a part of him that found it difficult to be the passenger, but he tried to think of it as the same way he let Steve steer the Crust Bucket.

“Alright, I think we’re ready. Are you ready?” Marina asked pleasantly as she ignited the boat’s engine. It sounded different from the Breanne, a lower, deeper, and steadier hum. Clearly a newer or better maintained motor.

Though her clothes weren’t exactly what Kehoe would consider captain-worthy, he nodded. He even gave her the slightest of smiles. “Yes, Captain Winslow. I'm ready.”

And so, he settled in beside the wheel as she beamed at him, looking immensely proud. Kehoe cast a last glance at the Breanne before Marina steered them away from the docks. Nothing of real value was left on the Breanne, but Kehoe just hoped she would still be there when he returned.

The deck of the new boat didn’t appear as easy to traverse while sailing. Though they had a metallic railing lining the roof of the pilothouse, Kehoe didn’t think it seemed as safe. The Breanne's deck was considerably flatter and with a high wooden railing. And as such, he was happy staying close by the pilothouse door below as Marina sailed them along the river, following the city.

Before long, however, they were sailing away from the city. As they turned away from New Orleans, the change in scenery was almost instantaneous; just like that, they were surrounded by wilderness and greenery once again. Compared to where they had come from, it wasn’t too dissimilar, trees lining the river, flanking them on both sides.

Seeing Marina steering above him, Kehoe caught himself admiring her and he also caught himself doing it in a way he had observed others do many times before him. While he wasn’t all too pleased with himself for doing something he disliked watching so much, he also knew she didn’t mind. It was… different when it was him, was it not?

They sailed in mostly silence with the two of them outside the pilothouse. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Kehoe wasn’t very keen on stepping up onto the boat’s very stern deck. It just didn’t seem very inviting or easy to walk on, at least to him.

Seeing Marina wearing his hat made it hard not to smile, hard not to be amused. It oddly suited her, even if it did clash violently with the rest of her attire. Gazing out the pilothouse window, Kehoe took a moment to observe the greenery all around them. It was nice to be away from the hustle and bustle of a big city like New Orleans again. While he certainly didn’t mind, being at home in St. Louis, it wasn’t the same as the peace and quiet offered by these more rural areas.

As they sailed further downriver, Kehoe quickly noticed the landscape around them changing. Where there had been trees and foliage, it eventually gave way to more open spaces. Marshy land surrounded the river, basins, and wetland everywhere he looked. Watching from his spot beside the pilothouse door, Kehoe couldn’t help but notice how different it was. Even during the times of them having sailed past flat fields and farmland, or even just open spaces, it was still different. The thing that stood out was the amount of water everywhere.

It seemed like there was a specific path Marina was following where the water was deepest, but all around them there were reeds and other plants sticking out of the water. It almost felt like they were sailing across a field somehow. The air was fresh out there, though Kehoe also picked up on a strange smell, like stagnant water, hints of ocean breeze as well. He remembered that smell, vaguely.

“We’re entering the delta,” Marina said, as if she had somehow read his mind, despite him saying nothing. “It’s where river and ocean meet.”

With the sun high in the sky, it was quite a sight, unlike anything Kehoe had ever seen before. The humming of the boat’s engine somehow managed to make the scenery before them appear even more tranquil and peaceful. It was… nice.

“So, you traveled the delta a lot, Marina?” He had to admit, it still felt somewhat strange to use her first name, but he also thought it was about time. And besides, it was how he had shown her that he trusted her. Which he most certainly did.

“Not a lot no… It’s not as safe as the ocean with all the gators and what not,” she explained nonchalantly.

Kehoe raised an eyebrow and looked at her skeptically. He didn’t quite know if he would ever refer to the ocean as being safe, though the idea of being in a place with lots of gators did unsettle him. He glanced out the portside window, as if expecting to immediately spot one. In all his time sailing up and down the river, Kehoe couldn’t recall ever seeing one firsthand, though he had seen images of them and heard of how dangerous they could be. But then again, according to Marina, sharks weren’t nearly as dangerous as he thought them to be, so what did he really know?

They were practically flying, sailing much faster than they had on the Breanne. Kehoe wasn’t sure how much of it was down to this boat specifically or down to Marina wanting to get home as soon as possible. In any case, the speed they sailed at was astounding. It was impressive how she still managed to steer so masterfully and effortlessly, like it was nothing. Kehoe certainly would have sailed with far more caution in waters like these – and certainly never sail as fast as she did. But as long as she didn’t run them aground, Kehoe supposed there was no reason to worry.

Glancing past Marina, he looked at the mast on the ship, though he noticed the lack of sails on it. He couldn’t tell what else it was for.

“Oh, that’s a rig for nets – this here’s a fishing boat,” Marina told him once he swallowed enough of his pride to ask.

Kehoe was trying – really trying – his best to let go of his pride, but it was still a very tough pill to swallow. He had to ask her things now, and he didn’t like doing it. He was trying not to let it bother him, however, even if it wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t until later in the day that Kehoe decided to move up to stand beside Marina. It really looked uninviting to him, but eventually he made his way onto the smooth-looking part of the deck towards the stern. He clutched the pilothouse roof tightly as he moved, each step feeling especially precarious when Marina was driving the boat as fast as she was.

He settled there, right beside her, enjoying the feeling of the warm summer breeze gracing his face as he stood there. It was… nice – letting someone else sail and all. It wasn’t something he was used to, even if he probably should be. After all, these days, it wasn’t so unusual for him to let Steve take the wheel back on the Crust Bucket. So why did it feel different?

Turning to look at Marina, she smiled at him, and he nodded approvingly. No, it really shouldn’t feel different. He really did trust her enough to let her sail him anywhere…

When they stopped next, it was in a small town right where the river parted into what appeared to be a manmade canal. The township where they cast the anchor was apparently called Empire, and from the looks of it, there wasn’t much to come looking for. The best they could find was water and a single store that sold canned goods.

But as the sun started to set, Marina surprised Kehoe yet again. The two settled up on the deck, Kehoe's lantern and Marina’s stovetop standing at the ready. But instead of retrieving any of their canned goods, Marina instead retrieved the fishing rod she had bought and settled on the front deck, legs crossed as she cast the line.

“To think, the sea is just right over there…” Marina mused as she gestured towards the canal. “We’ll get to my home tomorrow, hopefully.”

“I know, I can tell you're excited…” Kehoe had settled next to Marina, looking over the side of the boat. “You confident you'll catch anything here?”

“I'm very excited. The water’s already cleaner here,” she told him confidently. Kehoe glanced sideways when he felt her tail brushing his. “I’ll catch us a nice dinner, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Marina…” he told her genuinely as he looked her in the eyes. “More than you'd think, and more than I would’ve thought. But I mean it… Missy.”

The Russian Blue smiled at him and nodded. “I know. I appreciate it. Enough to finally tell me your name…?”

“Alright, not that much,” he grunted in response, though this made Marina chuckle.

It wasn’t long until Marina got her first bite. Kehoe had seen the surprisingly graceful way she had cast the line, watching her stand up and reel in her catch. The fish in question was putting up a fair fight, but Marina put her foot on the railing for leverage as she pulled.

Kehoe got up as well. Naturally, he wanted to help her with it, seeing the way the fish fought back, but before he could even offer to help, she declined it. “It’s alright, I've got it…!”

Despite himself, Kehoe hung back and watched her as she reeled it in. It wasn’t too big, seemingly, and little by little, the line got closer and closer to the boat. Kehoe could see the fishing rod bending and flexing, the entire thing accompanied by the metallic whirring noise as Marina reeled hard.

“Ah, a Black Drum!” When she raised the fish out of the water, Kehoe stared in surprise.

It wasn’t a particularly appealing fish in terms of looks, its body a dark, dull gray with slightly darker stripes and its fins a dark, bluish gray. At a glance, Kehoe guessed it to be about fifteen inches, maybe a little longer. Once it was on the deck, Marina dispatched it swiftly and humanely. She was starting to impress Kehoe more and more – she very clearly knew what she was doing.

Furthermore, she effortlessly gutted and cleaned the fish over the side of the boat, before she set about preparing it to be cooked. Marina momentarily disappeared below deck, before she reappeared, bringing a thin metal grate with her.

“I'm starting to think you were being modest when you were showing off back on the Crust Bucket,” Kehoe told her, a slight smirk on his face as he looked at her skewering the fish. There truly was something admirable about how self-sufficient Marina was.

“I have my moments,” she told him playfully as she placed the metallic grid over her stovetop and placing the fish on it. Marina looked towards him as she took a seat with her back against the pilothouse.

Kehoe settled in beside her as the fish cooked over the fire, draping his coat over her shoulders. For once, he felt perfectly content when she moved in to press herself against his side. He only hesitated for a moment before he put his arm around her. “Well, consider me very impressed, Missy.”

Chapter 9: Ocean

Summary:

Arriving at sea, Marina sails Kehoe to her home and shows him the place that shaped her...

Notes:

Alright, so I decided to post the two final chapters together, because why not! I hope those who have been following the story enjoy the two-part finale of this fun, little project!

When Kehoe awoke, he felt the rocking of the boat quite a bit more noticeably than when he had gone to bed the previous night. Having slept on a bedroll since they had set off from St. Louis, he'd almost forgotten how much better a bed was to sleep on. It had been a perfectly pleasant sleep, and surprisingly, the hum of the engine hadn’t been what woke him up. He hadn’t a clue what time it was.

The cabin was dark, the low ceiling almost right above his face. This was quite unlike the cabin aboard the Breanne where the ceiling was higher. In the cabin below deck here, at least Kehoe could stand up and sit up in bed rather comfortably.

Turning his head to the side, he saw that Marina had gotten up, the portside facing half of the bed left empty. Had she gotten up early to get them going? Her pillow and blanket had been left there, though it hardly looked like she had been there at all with how neatly both of them were placed.

Despite himself, Kehoe had agreed to share the bed the previous night, whilst making sure to sleep as far to the starboard side of the bed as he could. He wanted there to be some… respectable space between the two of them, and luckily, he had woken up to find everything to be quite alright. Marina hadn’t been cozying up to him in her sleep, at least as far as he knew.

Scooting out from under the low ceiling, he yawned and stretched as he sat up. Sitting on the bed, Kehoe took a moment to himself. What time was it? Where had Marina gone off to? When he'd gone to bed, she had stayed up on the deck alone.

Getting properly dressed, he couldn’t help but wonder what exactly the day might bring. After all, they were getting close to their destination – it was likely that they'd reach it that day.

And then what?

It had always been the plan to just drop Marina off before sailing back north, but that had been before he had gotten to know her. Now, it almost felt like he'd be turning his back on her if he just upped and left. Kehoe didn’t want to change his plans just for her, but all the same, he didn’t think his crew would find much of a difference in whether he left immediately or a day later.

Ascending the short ladder leading up to the pilothouse, Kehoe found it to be empty. Moving out onto the deck, he found her already behind wheel. Just like when he had gone to bed, she was wearing his coat over her shoulders, the light gray fabric billowing in the wind. He noticed she also wore his cap.

“Good morning,” Marina told him when she spotted him, her slim tail giving a swish behind her.

Settling by the door, he watched her for a moment. From below, she looked truly impressive, very much like a proper captain.

After watching her for a moment, Kehoe climbed the short steps up to where she was piloting the boat. It wasn’t until he looked around that he realized he could see nothing but deep, blue water as far as his eyes could see on the portside. The blue vastness was only broken up by the flashes of white that came from the waves. Even seeing it right before his eyes, he had to take a moment to fully process the fact that they were out at sea – he was out at sea for the first time in decades.

Turning to the starboard side, he could see more blue waves, but also land. It only took Kehoe a moment to deduce that they were sailing westward. When he heard Marina chuckling, he turned to look at her again.

“Welcome to the ocean, Kehoe.” When she kissed his cheek, Kehoe hardly even noticed. He was too busy processing the fact that they had made it out to see while he was out. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did, yeah…” Taking but a moment to recover, Kehoe did find his voice, fortunately. Being up close to Marina again, he noticed that while her hair was messy as ever, she still wore the same clothes as yesterday under Kehoe's coat. “Did you?”

She turned her head and smiled at him and for the first time he properly took notice of how tired she looked. Initially, he had thought it might be from waking up recently, but the longer he looked at her, the more Kehoe started to think it might be from a lack of sleep altogether.

“Well, to tell you the truth, after you went to bed, I was just too excited and… I started up the boat and sailed us out through the canal,” she admitted. Kehoe stared at her, but she still smiled at him. She even shrugged. “Hey, it’s fine. It means we’ll be there sooner, and you'll be able to get back north sooner, right?”

“Right…” he grumbled in response. Kehoe set his sights on the water up ahead, not wanting to divulge the thoughts he had had when he woke up.

The boat was still rocking from the waves, though they were mercifully much smaller than the waves Kehoe had experienced the last time he was out at sea. It was still different from the river, however. The waters he knew so well could become quite turbulent and rough due to weather conditions and other external factors. And still, it was nothing like the way the ocean’s waves made the small boat move.

“You really ought to sleep,” he told her as he looked at her. He wasn’t entirely sure if he were imagining it, but Kehoe thought he could see bags under Marina’s eyes. “Have you really been sailing all night…?”

“I’ll nap later… we’re almost there,” the Russian Blue insisted stubbornly. Kehoe knew how persistent and headstrong she could be. He had seen it all firsthand.

Marina cast a glance towards land on the starboard side. There wasn’t much to look at, at least not as far as he could tell, but Kehoe momentarily wondered if she was looking for landmarks. Did she remember it all that vividly? Once again, he found himself impressed with her.

“So, you really are more of a sailor than I ever gave you credit for,” Kehoe muttered to himself as he turned back to look at her. The smile on her face told him that the praise was appreciated.

The way the boat moved was certainly different, considerably more so than as they skimmed over the waves. He wasn’t sure they really ought to be going that fast, but he also knew they were on Marina’s turf now – Kehoe had to remind himself that he was the newbie out here and she was the expert. He had to trust her judgment.

To his surprise, Marina put an arm around him and pulled him to her side. “See, the sea isn’t that bad, is it?”

He gave a light grunt, but stayed close to her. He even looped an arm around her in turn. “Well, so far it isn’t… I’ll admit that much.”

Still, he cast a cautious glance over the edge of the boat.

For the first time, a thought occurred to Kehoe, however; he would have to sail back by himself. He turned to look out over the deep, blue. He wasn’t too worried about finding his way back, although the prospect of sailing the ocean alone was one, he admittedly didn’t like. They were decently far from shore, obviously as not to run the boat aground.

He wasn’t worried, though – he trusted her to be able to sail them to her home safely, though he hadn’t a clue how long it would be before they arrived.

“Hey, Kehoe?” He looked over when she called his name and when she stepped aside, she let go of the wheel with one hand. When he took a hold of the wheel as well, Marina smiled at him. “Here, you want to steer a bit?”

Although Kehoe wasn’t sure he did, he still held on, taking the helm. Steering while being outside was so unusual to him, being used to an enclosed pilothouse. Momentarily, he considered asking if they could go inside and steer from there. But he was nothing if not almost as stubborn as her, and so he stayed by her side as he steered.

The wheel itself was quite different from the Breanne’s. The way it reacted to him was noticeable, it seemed less responsive to him, though it was easy enough to keep the vessel steadily on course.

Despite the rockiness that came from the boat sailing over the waves, it wasn’t too unusual for him. There was something familiar about it all, perhaps subconscious memories of his navy days. Still, having the wind blowing in his face was a feeling he wasn’t used to, nor was he sure he wanted to get used to it. Still, having her by his side was a pleasant feeling that made it all the more bearable, almost enjoyable.

However, he only gave her about two hours before he thought it was enough. Thankfully, her tiredness made it easier to convince her to take a nap.

“Fine, but I'm keeping your jacket on,” she told him playfully. This time, when Marina kissed his cheek, he felt the spot her lips had touched tingling.

And it wasn’t the only part of him. Kehoe could feel his insides shifting in a way that was quite distinct from how the rolling waves made him feel. He stared after her as she made for the bow of the ship, climbing the steps up onto the deck. Left by the helm, he held the wheel and watched her from a distance.

But not for long.

Shutting the engine off, he made his way to her, never once giving much thought to how they might end up drifting. All he could really think about was her. She had settled in on the deck and Kehoe quickly joined her, sitting by her side. For once, he hardly hesitated to put an arm around her and pull her close.

As he rested beside her, he almost fell asleep as well. For the first time, he got to hear her light snoring, which was positively adorable. With her head on his shoulder, Kehoe held her close. He wasn’t at all sure how long they rested there, but as the sun rose higher in the sky, the heat grew steadily. He gently pulled his coat off Marina the best he could, hoping to do so without waking her up.

“Hm, well this is a surprise,” she said, looking up at him with bleary eyes. Seeing the smirk on her face, Kehoe went red in the face under his fur.

“It ain't nothing like that, Marina, I just figured you might be getting a bit hot… with the sun and all,” he told her defensively, feeling quite baffled that she could make such an assumption. She gave a soft laugh and kissed his cheek again. “Uhm… listen, missy…”

“Marina,” she corrected him, though she didn’t sound annoyed at all. She just looked up at him with those big, green eyes.

He sighed. “Marina… Well, just don’t get too comfortable, please…”

The younger woman gave him a funny look, almost one of disbelief. She reached for his white cap resting on the deck before putting it on his head. “Hm…”

“Hm?” he asked, looking at her in confusion.

“Well, weren’t you the one with an arm around me?” came the Russian Blue’s shrewd comment as she looked at him in a rather smug way. “I didn’t tell you to come and cuddle me while I slept…”

Falling silent, he knew she was right. He had come over to sit with her on the deck out of his own volition. Kehoe averted his gaze and sighed. “As much as I'd like to, Marina, I can’t… I ain't the sort of man you should go for, trust me.”

“Who do you recommend then? Someone like Steve?” He instantly turned back to look at her, feeling his fur standing on end. The mere insinuation made him feel a strange burning sensation inside he wasn’t sure how to describe. And still, she just looked at him, her pretty face neutral.

He didn’t know how to answer – much less what to answer with. On paper, the answer was yes. A young man closer to her own age, someone who would probably be considered more handsome than him. But all the same, however, the idea of Marina with Steve made Kehoe almost sick to his stomach.

He looked away, unable to keep looking at her. He felt her leaning back in to rest her head on his shoulder, and he just let her.

“I don’t know if you’ve caught on yet, but I usually don’t do what I should be doing,” the young woman noted playfully before she rose to her feet. She smiled down at him before he got up and followed her up to the helm, leaving his jacket and cap on the deck.

Even minutes later, once the boat was back on course, Kehoe still didn’t know what to tell her. He knew he ought to say something, ought to contradict her. Or agree with her. He wasn’t even sure at this point. He wanted to agree that she ought to be interested in someone like Steve, but the thought of using him as an example was a pill that was far too tough to swallow. And he wanted to contradict her; tell her she shouldn’t be flirting with a man like him.

It wasn’t proper – he was so much older than her.

But since when did he care about what was and wasn’t proper? Kehoe sighed inwardly, knowing he hadn’t cared much for any of that for years, if ever. Without a shadow of a doubt, if he had met a woman exactly like Marina when he was her age. Or rather, had he currently been her age…

He shook the thought off immediately. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he was equally interested in the younger woman. And even worse, he also knew it was impossible to believably deny it to her face. He was in too deep – they both were.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Kehoe turned his head and gave a start. Next to the boat in the water, a massive dark shape passed them, a single fin sticking out of the water like a sharp, thin rock. Freezing in place, he stared as the massive creature turned away from the boat, before circling around, keeping pace.

“Oh, a shark!” To his astonishment, Marina sounded positively delighted. When she turned the boat’s engine off, he turned and looked over at her to give her a look of incredulity, but to his horror, she was disrobing.

“What in–? Marina, what are you doing?!” He quickly covered his eyes with his hand for her sake, but he could still hear the sound of her clothes hitting the deck, he could even feel the fabric against his leg.

He didn’t get an answer from her, only heard something that made his heart stop: a loud splash. Despite his better judgment, Kehoe lowered his hand and turned to look. Marina’s clothes lay on the deck and despite some trepidation, he picked them up into a bundle in his arms. But that wasn’t his main concern.

Hurrying to the side of the boat, he could see her blue-furred form in the water, though her blonde, flowing hair was more easy to spot underneath the waves, given the way it contrasted with the deep, blue water, though it did appear darker underwater.

The shark swam around her, the great beast at least ten feet long, dwarfing her easily. Its coloration was a dark gray, like its hydrodynamic body had been carved out of stone. Kehoe could feel his palms sweating while he watched the thing circling her, but to his surprise, it hardly seemed to mind. She was still underwater, and apparently just floating there next to it. When it made a sharper turn and swam towards her, she finally moved. He could practically feel his heart in his throat as he watched, but to his surprise, she appeared to grab onto its dorsal fin.

What kind of person swam with sharks, let alone ones that big? Even through the water, it looked to Kehoe like it could easily swallow her in one bite, and yet Marina swam with it, cruising through the water like nothing. How long had she been under? He certainly couldn’t hold his breath for as long…

Anxiously, he watched from the safety of the deck before Marina made her way back to the boat and the shark swam off. Even as he helped her out of the water, his eyes searched for the creature, wanting to know where it was. A thing like that wouldn’t jump out of the water and attack them, would it?

“Could you go see if there's a towel or something below deck, please?” He gave a light start when she addressed him. He had been trying to spot the large fish, but it had seemingly disappeared underneath the waves.

“What? Oh–! Oh, uh… Right…” He had looked back at her and immediately averted his gaze. She really wasn’t very modest around him. The feeling most men would feel from seeing her in her current state was overridden by the astonishment from what she had done.

Even as he made his way down below deck, the fact that she had so eagerly jumped into the water with a creature like that was still settling in. It was… disturbing, quite honestly. Never in a million years would he have done something like that. How come it hadn’t attacked her? Marina had proudly shown him shark teeth, and there was no way they didn’t use those to maul their prey. So why not her?

He was glad it hadn’t, but the fact that it could have was unsettling him. Even by the time he made his way back up to her and wrapped the towel around her, the entire thing still hadn’t properly sunken in. He wasn’t sure what was more unsettling; the shark’s appearance or her very carefree attitude.

For a moment, he just held her, a towel wrapped around her wet form. As he held her, he could feel her cold, wet form warming up. He eventually let her go so she could put some clean clothes on. Kehoe remained up on the deck. He didn’t know why it had been so unnerving to see her swimming with that… that thing. Even by the time she returned and started up the engine, Kehoe couldn’t shake that horrid feeling it had given him to see her throwing herself into what could have been a dangerous situation.

“Alright, I’ll bite. What's wrong?” Marina finally asked, turning to look at him.

Little as he wanted to admit that something was indeed wrong, he also didn’t see a point in denying it. “You, uh… used to do that often?”

The Russian Blue raised an eyebrow as she apparently tried to figure out what he meant. “You mean swimming with sharks?”

He gave a nod, but said nothing. When Marina leaned in and kissed his cheek, he was taken by surprise, staring at her. When Kehoe found his voice, he asked, “What was that for…?”

“It’s very sweet that you’re that concerned about me,” she told him as if this were obvious. The wind made her mostly dry hair billow in the wind as they sailed, and he couldn’t find it in himself to contradict her. But what he could do was stand behind her as she sailed, slipping his arms around her.

A small part of him knew he shouldn’t, but she was so soft, and he just couldn’t help himself. Maybe, if she were really wanting it, he should just allow it to happen…

What was the worst that could happen?

 

---

 

The sun was still high in the sky when Marina excitedly pointed out a particular rock formation near the coast. It didn’t look very remarkable at a glance, but apparently the reef sticking out of the water and almost looked like a natural pier was a landmark of sorts. They were still sailing quite far from the coast and with the waves crashing against the rocks, Kehoe wasn’t sure he would’ve spotted them as easily as she did from this distance.

He had taken to smoking his pipe down below near the door to the pilothouse. As little as he liked to admit it, he felt safer down there.

“It won’t be long now! We’re very nearly there!” she called before Kehoe begrudgingly made his way up to stand by her again. The smile on her face made it hard not to smile back. Hard, but not impossible. “Are you hungry? I could catch us some lunch, or we can wait till we get there.”

As impressive as her fishing skills were, he turned her down in the end. Settling in next to her by the helm, Kehoe kept an eye on the coast nearby. Similarly, Marina kept looking over, apparently looking for landmarks. All he could see, however, was beaches with sandy dunes. The sand was very bright, almost white and it reflected the sunlight so harshly it was almost hard to look at it.

And from a distance, the water closer to shore looked very much clearer than the murky, muddy waters of the river they had spent the past weeks sailing. As the water washed onto the beach in slow, constant waves, he just watched in silence. He supposed he could understand why she liked this place so much, it seemed considerably more inviting than anywhere on the Mississippi.

“I used to visit these beaches a lot as a child,” Marina said, catching his attention again. He turned to look at her before she continued. “Before I could even swim, my parents used to take me to Holly Beach. They taught me how to swim there too. You know how to swim too, right?”

Kehoe didn’t say a word as images of sunlight shining through water and the dark shape of a boat above him flashed before his mind’s eye. She seemed to understand when she looked at him, but thankfully she didn’t say anything about it.

“So, while you're here, I’ll have to show you all the good fishing spots and things like that,” she continued pleasantly after a momentary silence. He gave a noncommittal grunt in response.

In truth, he hadn’t the slightest idea how long he was actually going to stay with her. But all the same, he also didn’t know what she was expecting of him. She was so affectionate as of late, and it was clear that she was infatuated with him. Was she expecting this to be some romantic getaway for the two of them?

Kehoe was many things, but romantic was not one of them. He sighed. The poor woman was sure to be disappointed, and he considered just getting it over with early, maybe telling her it wasn’t going to work out or play out the way she probably wanted it to.

Somehow the idea of disappointing Marina was scarier than anything the sea had to offer.

Before long, they approached a lighthouse situated amongst the dunes, the red and white tower standing out like a sore thumb. After how long they had been sailing without seeing anything but nature, it was a strange sight to behold, it almost felt like it shouldn’t be there. Marina brought the boat closer to the shallows, which Kehoe was surprised to see expanded quite far along the beach, the sandy ocean floor apparently quite flat thanks to the low tide.

After she dropped the anchor, she turned to him, smiling. “We’re here.”

“Don’t tell me you grew up in a lighthouse,” he scoffed in disbelief, turning back to look at the tall building. The bay seemed protected from the large waves, the water quite still.

“Of course, not – I used to come here all the time, though!” The way she answered him was so matter-of-factly, as if this should’ve been obvious. She kissed his cheek and Kehoe for a moment thought something was wrong – it felt as though some kind of creature was wiggling around inside his chest cavity. “Let’s go get our stuff, shall we?”

Feeling uncertain, Kehoe looked towards the shallows and the beach beyond it. Did she expect them to wade all the way there while carrying their belongings?

He heard Marina chuckling. Apparently, she had read his mind. “Tell you what, if you start carrying it up onto the deck, I’ll go find us a dingy.”

The Russian Blue didn’t even wait for an answer before she moved to the side of the boat and elegantly dove into the water, clothes on and all. Astounded, he stood there and watched as the young woman swam effortlessly towards the shallows, kicking her feet and moving her arms in horizontal outwards strokes. She moved so elegantly, it was almost strangely mesmerizing.

Eventually the sound of her movements in the water faded, blending in with the sounds of the ocean’s waves. Once she was closer to the shore, she got up and waded through the crystal-clear water.

Catching himself, he got to work quickly enough, however. Moving below deck, Kehoe wasn’t at all sure where he even ought to start. Was this the best place for them to do this? Were there no piers or jetties around? Regardless of his own worries, he chose to trust that Marina knew what she was doing. He brought her belongings up first, starting with her suitcase. Her portable stove followed soon enough along with the precious boxes that held her many trinkets.

He paused. Should he…? Kehoe figured it would be best to stick with her, at least for a day or two. And so, he carried his own suitcase up as well, and by the time he started bringing their provisions up on deck, he saw her returning to him.

The dingy was small and wooden and to his surprise, the young woman wasn’t rowing it across the shallows, but rather pushing it. The oars laid unused on the dingy, and judging by its size, they would have to make a second trip.

Seeing her approaching him with the sun gleaming off her still wet hair and fur was a strangely comforting sight. Her wet clothes clung to her form in a rather unflattering manner, but he hardly paid any attention to that. Just knowing she was returning to him made him feel strangely at peace.

“So, where’d you get this thing?” he asked skeptically while he helped load her things into the dingy. With her suitcase and stovetop placed safely into the small wooden vessel, it became clear that they would need to make several trips.

“By the lighthouse,” she told him calmly, while he handed her the smaller boxes that also belonged to her. “There's always a dingy there, in case it’s needed.”

“Right…” He supposed that made sense. Setting his sights on the white building again, he shielded his eyes from the sun shining down on them.

Kehoe was properly sweating – he hadn’t brought more breathable clothes, but he wished he had. Marina on the other hand wore more of those thin clothes he had already seen her in, though they were currently drenched from her swim to the shallows.

Did anyone still occupy the lighthouse, he wondered to himself. By the time the dingy was rowed towards the shore, Kehoe made his way into the pilothouse. There were small compartments by the helm and after some rummaging, he found a telescope. Bringing the small instrument out to the deck where he extended the brass body to look through it.

The lighthouse didn’t seem to be in bad shape at all. It seemed well maintained and the area around it looked like the grass of the dunes had been cut. He didn’t have much experience with lighthouses, having merely seen them from a distance. The idea that Marian could have lived inside one was equal parts ridiculous and believable. With her strong affinity for the sea, he wouldn’t have put it past her.

Speaking of…

Turning with the telescope still up to his eye, he found her, spotted her rowing her way towards the shore, her back turned towards him. A small part of him wanted to have sailed her belongings there for her, but he also knew she likely would have insisted on doing it herself in any case. He thought he knew her well enough to make an educated guess like that. Though he didn’t think the younger cat would rudely turn him down, he also had a feeling that a part of her wanted to be the one to do it.

Despite himself, Kehoe caught himself watching her all the way there. And he likewise watched her pull the dingy out of the water and safely put her belongings on the dry sand closer to the lighthouse. And finally, he watched her as she sailed back to the boat – back to him.

“Enjoying the view?” she asked playfully once the dingy came to a halt next to the boat. He simply pocketed the telescope and didn’t answer her as he helped get his own belongings into the dingy, followed by their food and water.

It was a tight fit, but he managed to join her. Swallowing his pride, he allowed the younger woman across from him to row them from the boat. He cast a last glance at the bigger vessel before turning back to face Marina. Neither of them said anything, but each look they exchanged felt strangely meaningful. No words were needed, at least he hoped so.

Once they got into the shallows, Kehoe glanced over the edge of the tiny, wooden vessel. The water really was just like she had described it. He had noticed from a distance, but being close to it and being able to see the sand below the crystal-clear water was something else. It really had seemed as though she had been exaggerated back when she had talked about her home – back on the Crust Bucket with the crew listening in. That felt like it was so long ago now.

It truly was remarkable how he could so easily see the bottom – he even spotted a few small fish flitting around below them. The only thing that obscured his view was every ripple made from the oars and the dingy.

“You should’ve probably changed into something thinner,” Marina noted suddenly, catching his attention. When he turned back to her, he noticed her smiling at him, looking almost amused as she kept rowing. “It gets fairly hot here – in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“We’ll see…” was all he had to say, though he did roll up his sleeves to free up his lower arms. “I thought you might have been playing up this place, but…”

“But it’s nice, ain't it?” she asked pleasantly, still looking pleased. The Russian Blue was happier than he had ever seen her, though it wasn’t all too surprising. After all, this was what she had wanted for years, as she had told him.

He simply replied with a grunt.

When they arrived on the beach, Kehoe got out and helped pull the dingy up onto the sand. Marina’s belongings stood on the dry sand, waiting for them.

“Alright, let’s get the food up there first – best not to leave all that stuff out in the sun,” the young woman immediately said, sounding strangely serious.

“Right. Where are we going anyway?” he asked her as the two started gathering up the various canned goods and bundles of packaged food.

“Not far – just over the dunes!” Marina guided the way, and he followed behind her. The dunes in question weren’t too steep, but the sand made it feel more dangerous to traverse than it probably was.

The hills of sand had tough, fibrous grasses growing from them, the blades rather unpleasant as the wind made them whip against their legs. At least Kehoe wasn’t fond of the feeling. Much to his surprise, there was a house almost right behind the tall dunes. It was situated among grassier land, much of the ground seemingly covered by mosses as well, though the grass further from the dunes was shorter.

“Is this your home…?” Making their way down the gently sloping hill, he noticed that there was a path there. It wasn’t all too obvious, but it was definitely there.

The grassy area was also home to a few brambly bushes. Insects were flying all around them, but none of them quite bothered them. It was as if summer had come sooner than it otherwise would have, but Kehoe reminded himself that he had gone quite far south.

“It is! Doesn’t look like anyone’s been here for a while, we might need to tidy up.” She sounded so unbothered, as if this were the ideal outcome.

The house in question was small and made of stone as well as a very dark wood. It was quaint and it looked like it had been there for a long time, probably since before Marina was born. It had two floors and looked fairly spacious from the outside. A wooden porch stretched around the entire perimeter of the house and as they stepped onto it, Kehoe could still see the lighthouse in the distance.

Marina put what she carried on the porch before she went searching around by the left side of the house where there seemed to be yet more sand rather than soil. “Ah, looks like mom and dad forgot!”

At first, he wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but when she turned around, the Russian Blue had a small key in her hand. He just stared at her, which apparently made her chuckle as she moved to unlock the door.

“We always buried a spare key around here – just in case,” she said pleasantly, as if this were perfectly normal.

When the door swung open, a wave of stale air met them immediately. Inside, it wasn’t much better. The house had been left alone for long, but somehow, it was in better shape than Kehoe would have assumed. There seemingly hadn’t been any leaks, but there was lots of dust everywhere.

The first floor had a large living room and a kitchen past the foyer, though from the looks of it, they would need to do quite a bit of cleaning up. After making another trip to bring everything else into the house, they opened all the windows to air out. Up on the second floor there were bedrooms. Much of the furniture in the house was still left behind, beds, tables, chairs, and dressers standing like the house had never been left.

Sweeping the wooden floors and dusting off every surface they could took hours. Admittedly, cleaning up the house wasn’t in Kehoe's plans, but he also thought it cruel to leave it all to Marina. Being two, at least it went by easier that way.

Later in the afternoon, they had gotten the house as clean as they could, and though they had no electricity for the time being, they managed. They had sailed back out to the boat to retrieve as many lanterns as possible, and so, as they ate dinner together, they did so at the old dinner table with lanterns casting a warm glow over them and the living room.

Though they talked, Kehoe was mostly just focused on her, rather than her words. He found himself wondering if this was what she wanted; the two of them having dinner, low lighting, a welcoming, warm feeling. Whenever he looked at her, that strange feeling in his chest persisted, like something living was shifting around in there, a swelling, a warmth…

“You want to go outside for a bit?” Marina asked as they cleaned up after dinner. It wasn’t so unlike everything else they had been eating since setting off so long ago.

Casting a quick glance out the window, he saw that there was still daylight outside, though the sun was setting. He hesitated for only a moment, but eventually nodded. “We can go outside, if you'd like…”

Earlier in the day, he had changed into a thinner, white dress shirt, which was considerably more comfortable in the warmer climate.

Marina turned to kiss his cheek, which only made the feeling in his chest worse. “You look really handsome in that shirt, by the way.”

“Thank you…” It wasn’t the first time she had told him that day, but he wasn’t going to point that out. He shifted nervously. “And you look really pretty.”

His tone came out as more deadpan than he meant, though not as gravely as normal – at least he tried to sound more personable. She smiled at him regardless, which he at least took to be a good sign.

Each of them carried a lantern as they left the house, and they had barely stepped off the porch before Marina took him by the hand. Knowing they were all alone there, Kehoe didn’t mind. He held her hand firmly as they walked in the dark. She was still dressed the same as earlier in the day, thin, flowy pants, and a fine, red shirt.

The lanterns were off, owing to the light outside. The sun wasn’t visible from their vantage point, though the sky had turned a pale bluish pink. The nearby ocean appeared to be closer to the dunes. It wasn’t going to swallow up the dunes, was it…?

“High tide,” Marina chuckled by his side when he asked, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Ah, right…” He should’ve figured that out. He knew the sea changed based on the moon’s position and the time of day. At least he vaguely recalled something about that from his navy days.

Sitting down on the dunes among the tall blades of grass, he glanced out at the ocean, watching the waves as they crashed up on the beach in a slow, steady rhythm. The sound was one he still had to get used to, but it was somewhat calming.

“So, is it everything you had hoped for?” He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

“It’s actually more, because you're here with me,” she said as she rested her head against his shoulder. “You'll stay a couple of days, won’t you?”

Kehoe didn’t answer immediately. He wanted to say yes, but he also knew that if he did, he'd be spending even more time away from his crew and the Crust Bucket. He gave a sigh and held her. “I’d like to…”

She seemed amused by his reply. “Are you going to…?”

He hesitated again. His crew could take care of the Crust Bucket without him for a few days longer, couldn’t they? “… I am.”

The ocean breeze smelled peculiar, but it was also a smell Kehoe vaguely recognized. The windiness around the dunes mercifully carried the smoke from his pipe away from them, though as it got dark, he also used his matches to light their lanterns. Sitting there in the dark with Marina against his side was somehow even better than when they had been sitting together on the deck of a boat.

A small part of him still felt awkward and out of place on land, but with her there, he felt better. The freshly clean and newly made bed was comfortable, considerably more so than the bedroll and even the bed on the boat. Marina had let him take her parents’ old bedroom by himself, though the large bed felt lonely. Even with his arms and legs splayed out, there was so much room…

Looking up at the ceiling, he just listened to the sound of the waves in the distance. It was strangely comforting, almost soothing. He could now see why she enjoyed living by the sea. Even with his past experiences with the sea being less than pleasant, he liked this. But maybe his past maritime experiences appeared more pleasant because he thought of her…

The next couple of days appeared to fly by like nothing. Every day, they got up and ate breakfast together. Marina took him around on walks in the nearby area. She showed him the lighthouse, which she claimed to have visited many times, though they didn’t go in. It was built right on the beach between the dunes, and it looked so out of place.

As it turned out, the lighthouse did have a caretaker, an old cat, whose brown fur was speckled with silver streaks. They met him the day when Marina took him up to look at it close by. Though apparently, the lighthouse was rendered redundant nowadays, the old cat still took care to keep it in operation as he had his entire life.

Kehoe and Marina spent many hours on the beach in front of her home, which he had to admit was quite pleasant. The warmth of the sun felt a lot more bearable with the constant cool breeze coming from the ocean, and although she kept asking, he never went further than wading around in the shallows with her. She often held his hands while they did this. The water was pleasant and didn’t reach higher than their knees for the most part.

One day, the two walked quite far out, closer to what Marina called the drop-off than normal. Though he wasn’t very keen on doing so, he watched for a moment as the younger cat got down into the water and swam around the shallow water. Despite the lack of depth, she still managed to skillfully cruise around above the sand rather elegantly.

Casting a glance towards the drop-off, he could see the reef that made up the clear separation between the shallows and the open ocean. The much darker water was a reminder of the creatures that inhabited the sea, including that shark they had met. The thought of a monstrous beast that big getting close to Marina still made him uneasy and so, Kehoe waded back closer to land.

When he turned around to look for her, he couldn’t see the younger cat anywhere. He paused.

Had she swum out into the open ocean? Would she even do something like that? He glanced around, but he seemed quite alone. He squinted against the sun, even shielding his eyes a bit. The water was so crystal clear and shallow, it was impossible to miss her blue-furred silhouette – or at least it should be.

A great splash sounded by his side and Kehoe barely had time to turn before the Russian Blue pounced at him from the water. He yelled in surprise before she grabbed onto him, and they both tumbled back into the warm water. It was the first time Kehoe had been fully submerged since they arrived and he was momentarily blinded, the saltwater harshly stinging his eyes. His arms splashed uselessly about before he managed to sit up, spluttering from the seawater. He spat into the water and wiped his eyes.

“What in the hell was that for?!” he growled at her. Kehoe could feel his wet fur clinging to him, and he was well-aware that he was likely even less attractive wet than he was dry. He heard her giggling by the time he wiped water away from his brow and looked at her.

“Oh, come now… It’s just a bit of water,” the young woman said, moving up to where he was sitting, his head just barely above water. She was on her knees right in front of him and her face was so close to his as she smiled at him. “Would you like to come with me? There’s a small bay over yonder where I can teach you how to swim properly.”

“I think I’ll pass,” he spat before he rose to his feet and headed for the beach.

The water in his fur and his clothes made it feel like someone had strapped bags of sand to his entire body. He felt so much heavier than normal, and he couldn’t understand how she seemed unbothered whenever she submerged herself while fully dressed. But as he waded towards the shore, he couldn’t actually find it in his heart to be mad at Marina. While he walked, she swam by his side, floating on her back and keeping pace by kicking her legs and stroking with her arms, still smiling.

“You're not mad at me, are you?” Her tone was more sincere, and she looked somewhat concerned as she cruised along beside him, looking up at him. “I just thought it’d be funny.”

“I ain't, missy… but the sea and I don’t agree with each other…” He could still feel the lingering sting of the saltwater in his eyes. How she managed to effortlessly swim around underwater with her eyes open was a mystery to him.

The feeling of salt being left in his fur was one he wasn’t too fond of either nor was the smell that oceanwater left behind, although it was easier to tolerate when it made him think of Marina. He also didn’t like the feeling of the sand clinging to his feet, but the warm air helped dry them off quickly.

His expression softened when he saw the look on her face. “But how about you show me where you wanted us to go tomorrow…?”

Marina had barely had time to get to her feet, and she looked surprised by his sudden change of heart, but she smiled. “Oh, it’s right over there past the lighthouse.”

And so, the next day, they walked there, hand in hand.

When they stepped up towards the dunes, however, she left him for a moment to run back to the house. He hadn’t a clue what she could need, but he simply waited, allowing the air to dry him off more. After she rejoined him, it was a short walk past the lighthouse until they arrived at what was more of a lagoon, almost entirely cut off from the sea. The water was mostly still with very few ripples or waves. Even at a glance, Kehoe could tell it was deeper than the shallows towards the center.

“Alright, well…” When Marina giggled, he looked at her somewhat suspiciously. Did she find the idea of teaching him to swim funny? “This might be easier if you take off your cloth–”

“Absolutely not,” he grunted, going red in the face. The idea of disrobing in front of her out in the middle of the open was something Kehoe didn’t even want to humor for the time being. Or ever.

The less he thought about what they were doing, the better. The idea that she was going to teach him, a man over twice her age, how to swim was… humiliating. He felt pathetic, having to learn something she had evidently been good at her entire life. But despite the sinking feeling as he followed Marina into the water, he tried to be receptive.

Learning how to float was weird enough and wasn’t at all helped by the fact that he wore clothes that weighed him down. But in the shallow water, she showed him how to take advantage of his body’s natural buoyancy, even if it felt unnatural to him.

It felt even more strange when she began to teach him how to move his arms and legs, holding onto him as she instructed him on how to tread water and how to propel himself. The slight panic he felt whenever he started to sink was almost too much for him to stomach, but he forced himself to keep at it. If she could do it, why couldn’t he?

After what felt like hours, she finally showed him what she had retrieved from the house, a pair of goggles for him to wear. He felt silly putting them on, but once he did, he was pleased to see that the dark, tinted goggles managed to keep the saltwater out of his eyes, even if they weren’t very comfortable to wear.

Taking him by the hand, Marina guided him out into the large basin until his head was barely above water. She smiled at him. “Take a deep breath.”

Still holding his hand, she inhaled deeply before lowering herself till she vanished under the water. He faltered, his grip on her hand loosening, but finally he held his breath and tentatively lowered himself until his face was underwater.

Marina was looking at him, smiling underwater, her long, blonde hair flowing around her like a veil. Feeling her tugging on his arm, Kehoe hesitated considerably before he kicked off from the wet sand.

Being able to see underwater was such a new experience. The goggles kept everything from being blurry and he could see shells on the bottom of the basin and even small fish here and there. He let Marina guide him towards the center where it was deepest, almost ten feet, if he had to guess. She swam slowly, probably to allow him to keep pace with her. He wasn’t as strong a swimmer as her, but he did his best to keep up, though he also had to come up for air before she did.

Returning to the shallow depths, he let her be his guide as they swam together, doing a couple of laps around the small basin. At one point, Marina let go of his hand and swam to the bottom of the basin quite effortlessly. The sunlight shining through the water made her appear to shimmer and sparkle like a gemstone. The way the dancing lights hit her blue fur and her clothes was almost captivating to watch. He watched from above as she seemed to be looking for something. Had she buried something there years and years ago? It wouldn’t surprise him at this point…

When she returned, she cupped something in her hands. Taking a breath above the water, Kehoe dove a foot or two down to meet her when she showed him a small, round shell in her palms along with grains of sand. It was a pretty shell, its yellowish white body a softly curving spiral that came to a sharp point. For a moment, he didn’t think much of it, but when several sets of legs suddenly protruded from it, he was somewhat startled to see some kind of crab partially emerging.

Kehoe stared in surprise as the tiny critter scuttled across the younger cat’s hands, carrying the shell with it, part of its body still inside it. The small crustacean then leapt off her palm, slowly descending back into the water. Looking down, he watched it land before it wandered off.

Coming up for air again, Marina joined him this time. Her hair stuck to her wet form, looking like she had combed it back. She grinned at him. “See, you're doing great. Need a rest?”

“Yeah… I think I do…” For the first time, Kehoe did notice how sore he felt from all the swimming.

“Tell you what,” she started playfully. She turned to look towards where the basin connected to the ocean. “If you walk back around to the shallows, I’ll swim around that way and meet you there.”

Kehoe didn’t know if he liked that idea. She would have to swim in the open ocean, wouldn’t she? Should he go with her? Could he even keep her safe if he tried? With a great amount of hesitation, he nodded. “Alright, I’ll meet you there, Marina…”

Getting out of the water, he still felt apprehensive as he watched her swimming away. In a strange way, it was the furthest they had been from each other for weeks at this point. He walked alone through the sand once more being dried off by the warm air.

When he arrived back on the beach, Kehoe sat down on the dry sand, despite how much he disliked the feeling of the tiny grains sticking to his wet form. He sat and waited, though he didn’t have to wait for too long. The distance around the lighthouse was either shorter than he thought, or the young cat was a far stronger swimmer than he thought, because she appeared soon enough.

Swimming up to him, Marina settled right in front of him, but remained in the water, partially submerged. Her upper body rested against the wet sand of the surf, her legs in the water. Each time a wave crashed up on the beach, it washed along her back.

Seeing her that way, she truly did remind him of a mermaid. He felt that strange feeling in his chest and before he could stop himself, he muttered words like he had never done before.

The bluish gray cat’s ears perked up. She smiled, but still asked, “Come again, Kehoe? I didn’t catch that…”

He didn’t repeat himself right away, hesitating. She looked so expectantly at him with those big, green eyes. And so, he cleared his throat, before repeating, “You look beautiful…”

Kehoe was vaguely aware of his body getting up and walking to where she lay. He sat down in front of her on the wet sand and looked into her eyes. She didn’t say a word and he didn’t either. There was no need for it. Even despite the lingering taste of the salty seawater, Marina’s lips tasted even sweeter than he could have ever imagined.

Chapter 10: Kehoe

Summary:

All good things must come to an end...

It had been a nice week with Marina by her home. It had arguably been the best week of his life, seeing as there weren’t any other weeks Kehoe could recall that even came close. Waking up with her in his arms certainly made it even harder for him to leave her. But he knew he had to go back sooner than later, he had people who depended on him, people who were waiting for him. A job, an obligation, he had to go back.

But it was immensely difficult to even say. Over breakfast, he just looked at Marina, trying to take in her appearance. He wanted to stay, wanted to leave it all behind for her, but he also knew how unreasonable it was. How could he be so head over heels for someone he hadn’t even known for a month? How could be possibly break it to her when she looked so happy?

The day saw the two of them wading out close to the drop-off to fish together. Kehoe had the honor of using her father’s old fishing rod, which certainly had seen better days. Regardless, they both came away with an impressive catch, though Kehoe hadn’t a clue what the fishes they caught were even named.

Every time he wanted to say something, either of them seemed to get a bite, or the words were stuck in his throat. Marina was as talkative as ever, and at the very least that helped him feel more relaxed. And yet, seeing her smile, listening to her talking, it also made it so much harder to want to part with her.

The swelling in his chest had nearly been constant since the previous day, but the feeling of his insides being squeezed was far worse. As the two of them walked back towards the beach with the caught fish in a floating bucket, he cleared his throat. “Listen, Marina…”

“Yes, darling?” Hearing her call him that made every thought in Kehoe's mind ebb away like the low tide as he just stared at her. Why did she have to make it so difficult?

“Uhm…” He had completely lost track of where he was going or what he was trying to say. “I was going to say, I will have to go home soon…”

The Russian Blue didn’t look at all surprised by this as she just smiled, though he did notice a very slight falter in the way she smiled. She gave a shrug. “I figured as much. When are you leaving? I could sail you back…”

“And then what?” Kehoe asked, feeling slightly frustrated. He hadn’t a clue why it annoyed him. He shook his head and sighed. “We came all this way for you to live here again, didn’t we? You should stay.”

“Or maybe you should,” the young cat interjected before he could continue. “What if you just lived here with me?”

“I…” He couldn’t look at her. The two of them stepped up onto the wet sand together and he stopped. “As much as I'd like to, the crew’s waiting for me. They’ve already been waiting for weeks now.”

The Russian Blue looked unconvinced, but simply rolled her shoulders once more. As they climbed the small dunes in front of the house, neither of them spoke. He said nothing, though he knew he should. But what could he say exactly? He wanted to stay with her, the past few days had flown by so fast he hadn’t even realized he had spent a week with her, swimming, cleaning the house and…

When the two of them stepped onto the house’s porch, Marina stopped, but instead of unlocking the door, she turned to look at him. She had a somewhat stern look on her face that didn’t suit her, but he said nothing to her.

“So, say you leave. Will I ever see you again?” Her tone carried a sharpness he also didn’t like. It was something he had thought of.

The journey north was one that had taken them weeks, and it wasn’t one he could very easily make whenever he was in the mood. Work back on the river required him to be there. He grunted and gave a scoff.

“Of course you will,” he told her firmly. Finally, he looked her in the eyes, matching the solemn expression on her beautiful round face. “I need to get back to work, Marina. Wasn’t it always the plan that I'd only sail you south? I already stayed longer than I thought I could.”

“I know.” Just as her voice sounded considerably softer, her expression also softened quite noticeably. She put the newly purchased fishing rod down by the door before she unlocked it. “And I'm glad you did…”

Kehoe likewise put the one he had used down by hers, before placing the bucket between them. Pulling her close made him feel both better and worse about the prospect of leaving her. There was comfort to be had in just how soft and warm she was, but at the same time, how could he ever let her go?

As he held her, he heard her soft voice close to his ear as she asked, “Won’t you at least let me sail you back to get your boat? The Breanne?”

“Fine, you may sail me there at least,” he promised her, though Kehoe feared that it would only make it all the more difficult to go. “But perhaps it can wait until tomorrow…”

Those words seemed to have an immediate effect on her. Marina barely left his side all day, constantly holding his arm or his hand as they walked together, stuck to his side all throughout. And he wouldn’t want it any other way. He got to experience more of her sweet, lovely kisses, which he could already tell he'd miss dearly. Though he still didn’t feel certain about what they were doing or even what they were, Kehoe responded in kind. Or at the very least, he tried his best to do so.

The fish they had caught made for a lovely dinner, though Kehoe was considerably more apprehensive when Marina prepared something he'd never experienced before. To him, he had always thought of seaweed and kelp as just any other plant, but according to her, there were edible sorts.

Saying he was eager to try it was a lie, but once he saw her eating it over dinner, he felt particularly more open to the idea. The fact that the greens from the ocean were surprisingly sweet certainly caught him off guard. Having washed the long, flowy leaves properly, they thankfully carried no hints of seawater in the flavor.

After cleaning up, they made their way out to the dunes where Marina settled herself in his lap. It was a new feeling, but once he put his arms around her, he knew for certain that he liked having her close in this manner.

The sun was setting towards the west, though it wasn’t quite visible from their vantage point. Was this romantic? Kehoe thought it might be, but he didn’t care too much about whether it was or not. All he genuinely cared about was just having her, knowing she was his and knowing he was hers. Despite his reservations, he didn’t feel a need to sugarcoat it.

“Marina?” he asked in a low voice. “You do know that I’ll be coming back for you, don’t you?”

She looked at him in surprise, but she smiled before pressing a kiss to his lips again. “I know. But I’ll miss you.”

He nodded slowly, before giving her a gentle squeeze. He sighed. “I don’t know what you see in me… but I'm glad you see something.”

When he heard her soft chuckle, he looked at her in surprise. She pecked his cheek. “What I see is a man after my own heart. Sailors are just my type.”

“Hm, I suppose that ain't a surprise…” he admitted with a shrug. Kehoe shook his head. He knew now was the time to voice something he had been concerned about over the past few days. “I just want to be clear, miss– uh… Marina. If you want me, just know that I ain't exactly young.”

“I noticed,” she told him nonchalantly with a shrug of her own. “But you know, if I had an issue with that, I wouldn’t be interested in you to begin with.”

“I know…” He felt strangely anxious, though he also knew he likely had no reason to. “But you know we won’t exactly be… the usual sort of couple, don’t you?”

The Russian Blue raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. She was clearly waiting for him to continue, and Kehoe wasn’t sure how to phrase what he was worried about.

“I don’t know how many years I've got left in me, Marina.” His voice was calm, sober, and as they looked at each other, her youthful features only made him feel even older. “We couldn’t have kids. ‘Least we shouldn’t.”

“Well, someone’s moving fast,” Marina snorted, apparently amused based on the look on her face. He felt his cheeks flushing under his fur.

Kehoe shook his head. “I ain't. I'm just making sure you understand…”

Whatever he had been about to say, he never got to as her lips met his own again. Her lips were so soft and as he pulled her close, he felt her arms curling around him as well. She had a way of making him forget everything he wanted to say, a way of making every worry vanish. She made him feel… safe. Secure.

They decided to pack up and bring Kehoe's stuff along with food onto the boat that still waited for them. It had been Marina’s idea to spend the night on it, and he hadn’t seen a reason not to. When the younger cat brought her portable stove as well as her father’s fishing rod along, she smiled at him. “These two are rentals – I expect it back next time I see you.”

Her playful tone made it hard to do anything but smile. But of course, he did indeed promise her that he would bring it back. It was a promise he intended to honor. And on top of that, he knew for a fact that he wanted to spend more time with her.

Spending another night in Marina’s arms didn’t make it any easier to leave. They were alone for a considerable chunk of it, spending the time wrapped up in each other, enjoying the closeness and affection. It was something he didn’t even realize he missed until he got it. Come morning, they both spent more time cuddling, and although they were both trying their best to prolong the time before they had to set off, they couldn’t put it off forever.

With Marina at the helm, the two of them set off together around noon. It had been the intention to set off in the morning, but they had both tried their best to prolong their last time together. It felt silly in a way, but all the same, Kehoe was just as guilty as she was.

He did his best to take in her appearance as they sailed; her green eyes that now reminded him of kelp; her bright, blonde hair that now reminded him of the beach; her blue fur that now reminded him of the sea.

They weren’t sailing as fast as they could have, and it wasn’t a mystery as to why. Beyond just missing her presence and everything that came with it, he knew he would miss sailing with her. It had taken him time to accept that she could be the one sailing them around, but now he was going to miss it, he just knew it.

The delta was an equally beautiful and foreboding sight. He knew the area that connected river and ocean was a landmark that signified that he was all the closer to the point where he would have to part ways with her. But he did his best to take it all in stride, even if the sinking feeling in his chest was harder and harder to ignore.

They reached New Orleans, the place where they would separate towards the afternoon. Kehoe wasn’t exactly keen on setting off this late, and so, there was only one thing to do. He let Marina stay with him on the Breanne after they returned the rental boat to where they had gotten it from Mr. McLaren.

The two of them ate dinner out on the deck, something that now felt positively nostalgic to him. Though Marina did suggest the idea of eating dinner at a restaurant, he ultimately declined. This felt right, more intimate, and it reminded him of the journey to get to where they were.

Kehoe was determined to make sure there was not a shred of doubt in her heart as to whether he would come back or not. He made sure to be as attentive as he could, made sure to show her how he felt about her in every way he could. When he finally drifted off with her in his arms, he wished the night would last forever, wished the sun would never rise again. He wanted this moment to be stretched out.

But morning did come eventually. As little as he wanted to, Kehoe didn’t stall for time. Once the Breanne was ready to go, however, he found himself hesitating. What if he did stay? What if he chose to send a letter back up north to his crew? What would he tell them? A formal resignation? The Crust Bucket still belonged to him, though. He would need to get his affairs in order if he were to…

“How will you get home, missy?” he asked her, using the nickname more affectionately than he initially had. She held his hand firmly, their fingers interlaced, while his other rested on the helm inside the pilothouse.

“I’ll think of something,” Marina replied casually, giving his hand a squeeze. She stepped towards him, and he let go of the wheel to pull her close. “Maybe I’ll hitch a ride with some stranger…”

Admittedly, he didn’t like the sound of that, letting off a disapproving grunt. He took his white cap off and placed it on her head. “Just be careful… Keep this for… good luck or something.”

The Russian Blue let off a short laugh. “Don’t worry – if I end up sailing with anyone, I’ll be sure to let them know that I have a man now.”

After a last moment of hesitation, he pulled her close once again. He kissed each of her cheeks, and then her lips. Taking a moment to stare into her eyes, he smiled at her, though he could restrained sadness in her eyes that mirrored his own. Finally, he leaned in to whisper in her ear. She looked at him in surprise, but her smile grew as she kissed him once more.

When he finally set off, he looked back at her. To hell with sailing responsibly, he tried to look at her for as long as he could as her figure became smaller and smaller. Finally, he had to turn away and focus on sailing, but he felt hollow, empty, as if he had left a large part of him back on that pier.

He missed her already, and he hadn’t thought he ever would have. At least he hadn’t thought so when they had left St. Louis. And yet, here he was, wishing he had stayed, or wishing she had come with him. Kehoe was struck by the fact that he felt deflated and empty, but even more so by the fact that he realized this was how he had felt every day before he met Marina.

It was an awful feeling he didn’t like. The only comfort for him as he sailed the lonely river alone was that he would see her again. But leaving her with his hat and his real name ought to be enough to ensure that she knew he would come back.

 

---

 

“Alright, settle down, you dogs,” Kehoe groveled to garner some amount of attention. They had been playing a game of cards around the dinner table, though even after he and Mac had opted out, Steve, Dale and Carly had kept going.

“A charmer as always, cap’n,” the ginger tabby on his left chortled, before shuffling the deck. It had taken some time to readjust to work after spending weeks away.

It had been particularly hard to get back to it with the void inside him. But just like the river’s flow, life moved on – he had no choice but to follow the flow or drown. He hadn’t taken a swim since he had left the river delta. In fact, he fully understood Marina’s distaste for the river now – it was nothing like the warm, clean ocean.

Oh, how he missed the beaches, missed the dunes and how plentiful the sea was. But above all, he missed Marina.

“What’s the matter?” Carly asked, the black cat’s big eyes looking rather curious, almost worried.

He cleared his throat and picked up his glass, taking a swig from it. “Nothing’s wrong. But I do have an announcement to make.”

“That sounds serious,” Mac noted dryly from the left side of the table. The golden-brown cat looked at him in a rather suspicious manner. “New work?”

“No.” There was no need to prolong this conversation. Kehoe knew he just had to cut to the chase. He snorted. “I’ll be retiring real soon. I'm getting too old to keep hammering away.”

An almost palpable silence filled the gallery, almost enough to override the lingering smell of the chicken Carly had cooked for dinner. Leaning back in his seat, he saw the men who worked for him exchanging looks between one another. Skepticism and confusion were written upon their faces, clear as day.

“Oh, you're serious?” The ginger tabby on his left was the first to speak up, looking quite surprised. “What brought this on? Finally feeling your age, you old bugger?”

Kehoe gave a dismissive wave of his hand and snorted. “Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t think I can keep up with this anymore.”

The tuxedo cat next to Mac stroked his chin curiously. “Did something bring this on?”

“No,” he firmly lied, crossing his arms. When none of the four men before him looked surprised, he gave a snort and sat up properly. “Fine, I'm getting old. That what you cads wanted to hear?”

“There's nothing wrong with that,” Mac said rather loudly, looking around as if to silently tell the others to agree. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, smoke soon wafting off him, which set off a chain reaction, leading the rest of them to do the same.

Kehoe was no different as he also pulled out his pipe and started to stuff it. As he did, the young, black cat next to Steve asked, “What will you do when you retire?”

He shot the young man a look. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to discuss his plans with them for a multitude of reasons. He lit his pipe and took a few puffs from it. “I’ll be going away.”

“Where to?” Steve prodded curiously, which made him feel a twinge of annoyance.

“Down south,” he grunted back, not wanting to discuss the matter any further. “I need to figure everything out. Like which of you four lobsters get to take the helm. And how to get my things there.”

“Down south…” Dale repeated, sounding curious. “Did the south really make that much of an impression? Well, if you're going down there, you might just run into Ms. Winslow again.”

Hearing her name brought up made Kehoe do a doubletake as he looked at the tuxedo cat, who looked somewhat confused. He didn’t reply, however. He didn’t want to discuss her, but much to his dismay, the four men started talking about her. For every, single thing they said about her, the more he wanted to tell them to just stop it. Hearing them speak of her – his woman – made him angry beyond measure. But he also couldn’t tell them that she was his. Or rather, he didn’t want to.

Unable to take any more, Kehoe got to his feet and made to leave amidst their loud talking and laughing. If they knew what he and Marina had been up to, they wouldn’t be laughing or talking about how they could each get with her. It would almost be worth it to tell them just to see the looks on their faces.

However, before he reached the door, it swung open and silence immediately fell over the gallery. Fresh, cool night air poured inside and when the light from the lamps hit those blonde locks, he felt his heart immediately start to swell.

As if a bomb had gone off, Steve, Dale and Carly immediately got up to greet her, and he quickly had to turn to step between them. The three men hesitated, while Mac who still sat at the table looked amused.

“Marina, what are you–?” But before he could finish his sentence, she kissed him on the lips. Complete silence fell over the gallery once more as the young woman embraced him.

He nearly dropped his pipe when he wrapped his arms around her as well, listening to her purring. Kehoe hadn’t a clue what she was doing there – she hadn’t written a letter or the like to announce her arrival at all. But in truth, he didn’t care at all. All that mattered was that she was there.

“Right, looks like my retirement’s here.” Turning to look at the stunned faces made it hard not to feel rather smug. But for the moment, all that mattered was that Marina was there with him.

He silently guided her out of the gallery and onto the deck outside. Putting out his pipe, he pocketed it and embraced her properly and gave her a kiss much deeper than the last one. The summer night felt more pleasant, the breeze was gentler and the world felt right.

“What're you doing here?” he whispered gently when their lips parted, staring into those eyes he had missed so much.

Marina rubbed her nose against his, her tail curling around his leg. She beamed at him. “You were taking too long, so I came to take you home. What's this about retirement…?”

He gave a short, harsh laugh and gave her a squeeze. The void inside him was gone, and as he held her, it felt as though he had come up for air after a long dive into the deep.