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boots and stockings. He handed them to her. “Go, Laurel. Now! ” he ordered as he looked up at the billowed sails and whipping flag.
    “You will be careful!” she cried, hugging his boots to her chest, struggling to keep her balance as the pitch and roll grew worse. She glanced up at the crewmen who had hopped the rigging. The first mate was shouting orders.
    “Hurry! Go!” Jack gave her a gentle shove in the direction of their quarters, watching for only a moment to be sure she minded.
    The captain stood at the wheel, issuing orders to the first mate, who then bellowed them to pilot and crew. Jack made his way toward them to offer his services.
    By the time he traversed the distance, waves were visible, rising higher than the rails, sloshing over the deck.
    Laurel must be terrified. He hoped she had made it inside before getting soaked. Sharp needles of rain increased in density, nearly blinding him. He was wet to the skin. And back within his element.
    They were in for it all right. He put Laurel out of mind and leaped into the fray against his oldest enemy, the weather at sea.
    The mate had him helping to secure cannon when Jack heard the shout of man overboard not ten feet away. His first thought was Laurel. What if she had come back on deck and a wave had swept her over?
    He grasped the end of a coil, deftly securing it around his waist with the proper knot. Already halfway over the rail, he shouted to the two men working beside him to man the rope. He saw something white bob in the water, then disappear when a heavy swell rocked the ship.
    “There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.
    Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.
    Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.
    Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.
    As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”
    “Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.
    Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and sat up. “Where—?”
    “Just there, sir, pukin’ up enough brine to fill a bucket, but he’ll do,” someone said with a hearty laugh. “We’d ha’ lost pore Timmy, weren’t for you!”
    Jack fell back onto the wildly rocking deck and closed his eyes. Not Laurel. He began to laugh. Would he have gone in after the boy had he known? Probably, he thought, but he would have kept his bloody head while doing it.
    This preoccupation with a wife might be the death of him. He laughed harder as the rain pounded and the wind raged.
    “You all right, sir?” One of the crew who pulled him in began untying the rope from around his waist.
    “Aye,” Jack said, rolling over, sitting up again and slicking his hair back with both hands. He had a job to do yet. Moments later he was busy again, tying down the brights while dodging the monstrous wheels with his bare feet.
    The storm abated at last and the damage proved minimal. No one had been lost and only a few sustained injuries. Weary to the bone, Jack headed for his cabin to dry off and rest. He encountered the captain on the way.
    “Join me for dinner, you and your wife,” Captain Pollack said. The invitation sounded like an order, but Jack knew it for an honor.
    “Very well,