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comparison with any other man’s performance.
    She fought the bitter knowledge of his attraction and refused to allow the picture of the two of them standing toe-to-toe, only a breath between them, to feed her jealousy. A cool mind was what was needed now to fight this new impediment to her happiness. For Martha knew Cantor’s strong hands, battle-hardened body, and mule-stubborn disposition held the key to her contentment. Any man who could resist commitment so passionately had a strong sense of honor, and would embrace love, when he found it, until the day he died.
    The tall, blond Adonis would be hers—if only she could find a way to steal his heart.
    Thief that she was, she slipped closer to the small group encircling the woman, hoping to overhear their conversation and find some nugget of information she could use.
    Near enough now to hear Cantor’s sigh of resignation, her heart thudded when she heard him say, “She’ll stay in my cabin.”
    Anger shook her, tightening her belly. Her throat closed on bile that threatened to choke her. The witch had been here only minutes and already she would share his home. Think! The rigid set of Cantor’s jaw betrayed how tightly he held his attraction in check. Martha could have wept, but her tears wouldn’t solve a thing.
    She came to a quick decision. Like it or not, the new girl held the key.
    She slipped between Darak and Mary. “Hi, Cantor, Mary.” She turned expectantly to the dark-haired girl who gave her a shyly inquisitive glance. “You’re not from the New Attica.”
    “No, I am from Arturia.” Her voice was soft and girlish, with a lilt that made her words sound like a song.
    Martha gritted her teeth against a little pain that pressed inside her chest. “Can I help you get unpacked?”
    “I have only these clothes,” she said indicating her skimpy outfit. “Nothing to unpack.”
    “Oh, well we need to find you some extra clothing. It gets cool here at night.” Martha forced a friendly smile. “I’m Martha.”
    The girl nodded. “I am called…Little Flower.”
    Martha heard the hesitation and wondered about it. She’d soon learn all the girl’s secrets, but first she needed to get her away from Cantor. Turning to him, she said, “Would you like me to take her to the storeroom and get her a few things?”
    Cantor’s smile was a little grim as he dragged his stare to her. “I’d appreciate that, Martha.” He immediately turned to Darak and his face grew surly. “Now, where are the bloody, goddamned mattresses?”
    Darak’s eyebrows shot up. “Aft.”
    “Yeah, I’d say he’s daft,” Mary muttered.
    Cantor leveled a blazing stare on the black woman. “Don’t you have someone else to annoy?”
    “Nope. I can see my work here’s done.” With a quick flash of her large white teeth she leaned toward Darak and gave him a loud, smacking kiss. “Don’t make me hunt you down.”
    “Never, my love.” Darak blushed under Cantor’s searing gaze. “I’ll go see about those mattresses.” He turned and quickly disappeared into the crowd.
    Martha summoned another smile. “If you’ll excuse us.”
    “Wait a minute, Martha.”
    Cantor’s deep voice slid silkily down her spine, and she couldn’t repress a shiver. “Yes?”
    “You’re to stay with…Little Flower. Get her clothing, introduce her around, and take her to the galley for dinner. She’s staying with me, so make sure you show her the path.”
    “Oh, I know the way,” she replied, proud she’d kept her expression guileless.
    Cantor rocked back on his heels, appearing to want to say something.
    “Is there anything else?” Martha asked.
    He frowned and shook his head. “No, I’ve work to do.” His glance swept the girl from head to foot, then he walked off, his shoulders stiff.
    Martha turned to her new charge. “Little Flower. Is that really your name?”
    The girl blushed and looked at the ground, sifting the blades of grass with her bare toes. “No. Darak calls me