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her?”
    Chase knew he was letting himself in for a big dose of envy and a bigger one of regret if he took Rossiter up on his offer. But he’d just defended the
Andromeda
with his fists, and even if the steamer wasn’t his, that gave him a proprietary interest.
    “Sure,” he answered.
    Boothe gestured them aboard and led them across what seemed like half an acre of satiny wooden planking to the front of the main deck. A battery of five boilers nearly twenty-four feet long and more than three feet in diameter lay horizontal to the hull. They were an impressive sight.
    “The boilers and engines were built by James Rees and Sons, in Pittsburgh,” Rossiter told them. “According to the engineers, they’ll use less wood and produce more steam than earlier models.”
    Chase had read about the new designs and was impressed by the iron sheathing above the firebox, the improved mud scupper, and the redesigned safety valves.
    Boothe showed them through the open cargo area and stalls amidships to the back of the steamer where the engines lay. Big cylinders with their long, brass reciprocating rods were connected to the central shaft of the paddle wheel.
    Chase nodded, recognizing several improvements that had been made to the engine’s design. “Very impressive,” he observed.
    “Now let me show you the rest.”
    With rising enthusiasm Boothe led them up the grand double staircase from where the engines and boilers lay on the main deck to the boiler deck above with its salon and cabins.
    Chase was immediately struck by the grace of the wide promenades and, as they entered, the beauty of the salon. A line of brass and glass chandeliers ran down the center of the room. Gleaming mahogany chairs and tables clustered beneath them on bright, flower-patterned carpets. The gilt-trimmed doors that led to the first-class cabins were each numbered with a hand-painted china plaque.
    Chase had never been a man who coveted things, but he wanted this. He longed to enjoy this beauty and opulence every day, to have something so unique and lovely under his command.
    “It’s all very grand,” Rue mumbled begrudgingly.
    Rossiter grinned. “Wait ’til you see the pilothouse.”
    Pausing to glance into one or two of the well-appointed staterooms and the spotless galleys, the three of them climbed past the Texas deck, where the crew and captain had their accommodations, to the most vital ten square feet on any steamer.
    No expense had been spared in furnishing the wheelhouse. The lazy bench that ran across the back of the cabin was upholstered in deep-maroon leather. In the left front corner a squat, potbellied stove radiated heat, while the pilot’s private water cooler sat on the right.
    But what drew Chase immediately was the huge semicircular wheel that rose through the floorboards. Set well forward in the alcove created by the side windows and the cabin’s open front, the steersman would enjoy a commanding view of the river.
    Chase stepped up before the chest-high wheel and curled his hands around the dark, burnished wood. As he did, a sensation he could never remember having radiated from the wheel into the palms of his hands. Warmth penetrated flesh and bone bringing with it a welcome so intense that his chest tightened and his eyes burned.
    He wrapped his hands around the broad curve of the wheel, absorbing purpose and resolution and serenity through the very whorls of his fingertips. The
Andromeda
was more than wood and paint and machinery. It was more than graceful galleries, gleaming chandeliers, and opulent cabins. It was the single place in the world where Chase belonged.
    “Quite a boat, isn’t she, Hardesty?”
    Boothe Rossiter’s words shattered Chase’s haze of wonder. He blinked the wheelhouse into focus around him, and with that clarity came the truth. No matter how right all this felt, the
Andromeda
wasn’t his.
    It belonged to Boothe Rossiter.
    Chase would never stand with his feet braced on this deck and guide