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“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Great. Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”
Harry grinned. “Hey, I kind of like the idea of you owing me one.”
“Just don’t get too fancy with the payback list.”
“I’ll keep it simple. Few bottles of Dom Pérignon. A blonde or two.”
“At least you’re predictable,” Cole said, heading down the pier.
“Do I get to bring along a girl?” he called out.
“No!”
“How ’bout the blow-up kind?”
“As long as she doesn’t bother the other passengers.”
“She’s the quiet type.”
“I’ll bet.”
“You can borrow her one night if you’d like,” he added, laughing outright when Cole ignored him. Harry watched for a moment until he disappeared around the end of the pier, still surprised that Cole had asked him to take Jim’s place.
In another world, he was fully aware that he and Cole would never have become friends. They were opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to life philosophy. Harry believed in wringing out every last drop of pleasure, happiness or satisfaction there was to be found in a given day. Cole was too busy letting life wring him to reverse the process.
The way he saw it, Cole Hunter needed to get back to the business of living. Granted, he got dealt a crappy hand with the ex-wife, but there was nothing like bitterness to turn a man into someone he didn’t recognize when he looked in the mirror.
He ought to know. He’d nearly taken that road himself. Being left at the altar by a woman who admitted she’d only agreed to marry you for your money could do that.
A fresh-faced blonde with legs that ought to be illegal appeared at the end of the pier, waving. “Hey, Harry!”
“Stella,” he said, recognizing her from a club in South Beach where they’d met two nights ago. She was just his type. Pretty as a peach. And young enough not to be anxious about plotting a future for the two of them. “Come aboard.”
“I was hoping I could find you,” she said, walking along the dock to his boat with the willowy sway of a Ford model. “Was that your friend Cole I just passed?”
“Yeah. He didn’t try to pick you up, did he?” Harry asked, smiling.
“I don’t think he noticed I was female,” she said, giving him a hug.
“The shame of it. Did I mention he has a few issues?”
“You mean he’s not girl crazy like you?” she teased.
“Is that what you call it?”
“Your reputation precedes you.”
“Cool,” he said, perking up.
She shook her head. “I’ve been warned. And here I am, anyway.”
“Here you are,” he said.
She lifted a shoulder and smiled. “You did offer me a tour of your boat, didn’t you?”
He struggled to place the memory, found it well-hidden in the haze left by the multiple Mojitas he’d consumed on the night they met. “’Course I did,” he said.
She glanced behind him, her gaze widening, impressed. “Wow, this is like a yacht or something.”
“Or something,” he said.
“You live on here full-time?”
He shrugged. “I try not to get too hung up on the rich boy guilt thing.”
“Such a waste of time,” she said.
“I’m glad we agree.”
“So, how about that tour?” she said, smiling in a way that made him wonder how he’d make it over to Cole’s boat by five o’clock.
“I was raised in the South,” he said. “And we don’t believe in disappointing ladies.”
“How convenient for me,” she said.
He held out a hand to lead her aboard. “Where would you like to start?”
“I think I’ll leave that up to you.”
“You are accommodating, aren’t you?”
“I try,” she said.
Cole might be right about fruit not lasting. But Harry would argue that it sure was sweet while it did.
FROM THE DECK of the Ginny, Kate’s cell phone blinked No Service. She decided to make a quick run for the pay phone she’d seen earlier by the marina office.
Once there, she dialed in her credit card number, then waited for voice mail to pick up. She considered the fact that Karl might be able to have someone track her through the card she’d just used, then brushed away the worry. Within a couple of hours, she’d be long gone from here.
At the first blast, she held the phone away from her ear.
“Kate, where the hell are you?”
Karl. Back earlier than she’d anticipated and not pleased. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as he continued. “How dare you break into my house? I found one of your little security code notes. I want that bag back with every dollar that was in it, and I mean now!”
The receiver slammed in her ear. Over her dead body he’d be getting it back.
A second message played. Karl again. This time, a little less hostile. More like his old persuasive self. “Come on, Kate. This is ridiculous. I need that suitcase, or something very bad is going to happen. Let’s meet and talk, okay?”
Right. He could sit there and wait for her to show up.
Three more messages from her ex-husband played, the next two still pleading, the final one vintage Karl. She’d never heard him so angry. Or desperate. Perfect. She liked that combination. It sounded good on him.
The last message was from Tyler. Who sounded worried. “Kate, Karl has called here four times in the last hour. He wanted to know where you were. He threatened to call the police. Maybe you could give him a ring.”
The machine beeped, sounding the end of the calls. She hung up. If Karl wanted to call the police, fine. She’d be happy to hear him offer up an explanation as to where the cash hidden in his closet had come from.
She turned then and headed back to the Ginny. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait for the boat to leave. Even if it was a faded second cousin to her original expectations, all the right ingredients were there. Sun, blue sky, nothing but open water. How bad could it be?
THE SETTING SUN trailed pink fingers of light across the water as they headed away from Miami.
Harry had arrived at the Ginny in the wildest Hawaiian print shirt Cole had ever seen. He was an immediate hit with the passengers, especially the Granger sisters who tittered—if that was still a word—their appreciation when he complimented their matching sundresses.
One thing was for sure. With Harry around, boredom would not be an issue.
A half hour out, Cole handed the wheel over to him, and headed to the galley with a string of red snapper he had removed from an on-deck cooler. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned the corner and narrowly avoided a head-on with Kate Winthrop.
At the sight of the fish in his hand, she let out a startled yelp and flattened herself against the wall behind her.
“Sorry,” he said, unable to resist dangling the line in front of her. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She drew in a deep breath. “You didn’t.”
He held the fish a little higher, putting them directly in her line of vision. “Harry could use an assistant in the kitchen. You can cook, can’t you?”
“Of course,” she said a little too quickly.
“Good. You can start in the morning. Harry will show you where everything is.” He tossed the words out like a lure on the end of a fishing pole. A challenge of sorts.
She took it, hook, line and sinker. “I’ll be glad to start with those if you’d like. Snapper’s one of my specialties. Those are snapper, aren’t they?” she asked, giving them a sideways perusal.
“Yes, they are,” he said, surprised. He glanced at her well-manicured nails. “You spend a lot of time in the kitchen, huh?”
She shoved her hands in her pockets. “Gloves. They work wonders.”
“I’ll certainly try to remember that,” he said, backing away.
“Sure you don’t want me to fry those up for you?” she asked, confident now.
“We’ve got it covered for tonight. I’ll tell Harry to count on you in the morning.”
“Great,” she said and headed up the stairs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Between the wish and the thing, life lies waiting.
—Proverb
WHAT WAS SHE thinking?
Standing on deck with the breeze brushing her cheeks, Kate had a sudden, ridiculous urge to laugh. Here she was with her feathers ruffled because Cole Hunter had assumed she couldn’t cook. Unfortunately, he was right. And she really hoped the other people on this boat were big fans of cereal.
She found a chair, deciding to take in the sunset getting ready to drop into the ocean. A stiff breeze blew across the open water, and the boat swayed gently from left to right like a child’s cradle.
Her stomach tipped slightly, but the sensation was fleeting. She was probably just tired from the trip. She’d driven straight through from Virginia to Florida with little more than stops for the ladies’ room and a gallon of coffee to keep her awake. That and the thought that Karl might be somewhere behind her kept her foot on the gas pedal.
Margo Sheldon came over and offered Kate a bottle of mineral water, her smile less than certain.
“Thought you might be thirsty,” she said.
“Thanks.” Kate waved a hand at the chair beside her. “Sit down, please.”
Margo sat on the edge, smoothing a hand across the Bermuda shorts that had replaced the dark skirt and stockings she’d had on earlier. The tweed jacket was also gone, but she still wore the white cotton blouse buttoned all the way to her neck. She pushed her thick-lens glasses up on her nose. Two seconds later, they slid back to their original position, forcing her to look over them more than through them.
“It’ll be interesting to see what comes of that,” Margo said, nodding in the direction of the grill and the string of fish now waiting to be cooked.
Her voice was at odds with her looks. It had a nice husky quality to it. Kate twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip. “Yes, it will.”
Margo sent a covert glance at the two men huddled over the grill like two cowpokes over a campfire. “Interesting duo, don’t you think?”
Kate rubbed her thumb across the side of her water bottle. “That word would apply, yes.”
“My father arranged this trip, so I really had no idea what to expect, but—”
“It’s not exactly what you thought it would be?” Kate finished for her. “Me, either.”
They were silent for a minute or so, neither of them elaborating on what it was they had expected.
Margo’s gaze rested on Harry’s shoulders, and Kate wondered at the hint of longing on the woman’s face. There was no ring on her left hand, so Kate assumed she wasn’t married. She was on vacation with her father, who from all appearances, might fail to be the life of the party in most social settings. She had smooth, pretty skin, and her eyes, now and then visible above her glasses, were a soft blue. Her clothes and hairstyle made her look older than she probably was. Kate sensed a loneliness in her that made her want to reach out to her, even though she didn’t know her. “Tell me about your work,” she said.
Margo looked up in surprise, as if it wasn’t often that anyone wanted to hear her talk about herself. But she began to speak. And Kate listened.
IT WAS AN unusual turn of events. Margo was much more accustomed to being the listener than the one listened to.
She could not recall the last time she’d felt comfortable enough with a stranger to pass along personal information more relevant than “Yes, the bus stop is a quarter block away.” She once overheard one of her physics students say that she would have made a perfect Jane Austen character, buttoned-up as she was. She was fairly certain there was no compliment to be found in the assessment, although she didn’t mind the reference. She loved Pride and Prejudice and would have switched places with Elizabeth Bennet in a heartbeat.
But her life was in the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth, and therein lay the difficulty. She was an odd fit.
This was something that could not be said of Kate Winthrop.
She fit. In this century. This Caribbean movie set backdrop. The cover of InStyle magazine would not be a stretch.
It was this that made her wonder then why they’d spent the past forty-five minutes talking as if they had a bevy of shared interests to unearth. Most amazing was the fact that she really listened. Margo was far more used to the glazed-eye response she normally got from strangers. Admittedly, the finer points of quantum physics didn’t exactly make for mainstream conversation. But it was what she knew.
When she began to get a little too detailed about the specifics of what she did every day, Kate—unlike most people who simply looked at their watches, announced they had some to that point forgotten emergency and flew off to take care of it—steered her toward the personal. What was it like to be a woman in a field once monopolized by men? Did she ever want to do something different? Were there any cute guys who taught at Harvard?
