The Reef

game was in progress. Voices, a laugh, a curse, drifted out to her over the monotonous patter of rain. Tate cleaned the corrosion from a crudely made silver cross, and knew she’d never been happier in her life.
    With a mug of coffee in each hand, Matthew ducked under the tarp. “Want some help?”
    “Sure.” Just looking at him had her heart cartwheeling into her throat. “Is the poker game breaking up?”
    “No, but my luck is.” He sat beside her, offered a mug. “Buck just blew down my full house with a straight flush.”
    “I can never keep straight what beats what. I’m better at gin.” She held up the cross. “Maybe the ship’s cookwore this, Matthew. It would have banged against his chest when he beat batter for biscuits.”
    “Yeah.” He fingered the silver. It was an ugly piece, more likely fashioned by a blacksmith than a jeweler. Neither did it have weight. Matthew dismissed it as little value. “What else you got here?”
    “These rigging hasps. See, they’ve still got traces of rope in them. Imagine.” She handled the black metal reverently. “How they would have fought to save the ship. The wind would have been screaming, the sails in tatters.”
    She looked beyond into the mist and saw what had been. “Men clinging to lines and masts as the ship heeled. Passengers terrified. Mothers holding their children while the ship pitched and heeled. And we’re finding what’s left of them.”
    She set the fitting down and lifted a clay pipe with both hands. “A seaman kept this tucked in his pocket, stood on deck after his watch to light it and enjoy a quiet smoke. And this tankard would have been filled with ale.”
    “Too bad it’s missing the handle.” He plucked it up, turned it over. He didn’t want to admit her vision had moved him. “Devaluates it.”
    “You can’t just think about the money.”
    He grinned. “Sure I can, Red. You take the drama, I’ll take the dough.”
    “But—” He cut off her objection with a quick, sneaky kiss.
    “You look so cute when you’re indignant.”
    “Really?” She was young enough, and in love enough, to be flattered. Picking up her coffee, she sipped, watching him over the rim. “I don’t believe you’re nearly as mercenary as you pretend.”
    “Believe it. History’s fine if you can make something from it. Otherwise, it’s just dead guys.” He glanced up, barely noticing her frown. “Rain’s slowing down. We’ll dive tomorrow.”
    “Restless?”
    “Some. The trouble is hanging out here, having your mother put a plate under my nose every time I blink. Icould get used to it.” He lifted a hand, ran it over her hair. “It’s a different world. You’re a different world.”
    “Not so different, Matthew,” she murmured and turned her lips to his. “Maybe just different enough.”
    His fingers tensed, relaxed slowly. She hadn’t seen enough of the world, his world, he thought, to know the difference. If he were a good man, a kind one, he knew he wouldn’t be touching her now, tempting them both toward a step that could only be a mistake.
    “Tate—” He was riding the wire between pushing her away or bringing her closer, when Buck stuck his head under the tarp.
    “Hey, Matthew, you—” Buck’s jaw dropped open as they broke apart. His unshaven cheeks bloomed with color. “Ah, ’scuze me. Ah, Matthew . . .” While Buck searched for what to say, Tate calmly picked up her pen and catalogued the clay pipe.
    “Hi, Buck.” Tate sent him a bright, easy smile while the two men eyed each other uncertainly. “I heard you were having a run of luck at the poker table.”
    “Yeah. Yeah, I, ah . . .” He jammed his hands into his pockets, shifted his feet. “Rain’s slacking off,” he announced. “Me and Matthew, we’ll load this stuff up, store it on the Sea Devil. ”
    “I’m just finishing cataloguing.” Meticulously, Tate capped the pen. “I’ll give you a hand.”
    “No, no, we’ll do her.” Buck dragged his hand out of his pocket long enough to shove his glasses back up his nose. “Me and Matthew, we’ve got to do some tinkering with the engine over there anyhow. Your mama said something about you being on kitchen duty tonight.”
    “She’s right,” Tate said with a sigh. “I guess I’ll get started.” She unfolded her legs and rose before tucking her notebook under her arm. “I’ll see you at dinner.”
    The men said little as they wrapped and loaded the booty. Matthew’s