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Four angry red lines attested to the cat’s plight and helped ease Megan’s doubts. She rubbed soap into the wounds, rinsed them carefully, then splashed her face with cold water, pausing to look out the porthole beside the sink. The shoreline was turning from rural to city, which meant they must be close to the wharf.
Back in the cabin she was faced with the prospect of waiting to disembark in her underwear or donning the captain’s spare jacket. As she took it off the back of the chair, she wondered how, and if, she would have the nerve to face everyone. She buttoned all the black buttons. Seeing as she was just a touch over five-five, a good ten inches shorter than Captain Vermont, the jacket fell to below her knees and swamped her. She rolled up the cuffs. It was better than the dress. Anything was better than the dress.
Besides, the garment’s lining slipped easily against her bare skin while the collar was rough against her neck. It smelled of musk, as though aftershave had left its trail. It was like being wrapped in an embrace, comforting somehow. She turned up the collar and hugged the jacket close to her body.
She watched the docking process from the safety of the captain’s cabin, ignoring the repeated pleas that came from the passageway, pleas that begged her to come to her senses.
“I already have,” she whispered.
There was always a feeling of satisfaction when a voyage, no matter how small, was successfully completed, but this time the final docking of the Ruby Rose at the old wharf along the waterfront brought its captain a particularly gratifying wave of relief.
As John took off his gloves and opened the shallow drawer in which he kept them, he suffered the good-natured ribbing of his first mate, Danny Borel. Danny, aware of the wedding fracas, found it especially funny that John was out of a cabin.
As Danny left the bridge for a hot date with a leggy redhead he’d met on deck, John’s eyes fell on the extra set of keys in the drawer. Snapping them up, he tossed them into the air and caught them, chuckling to himself. Now we’ll see...
The first order of business was a post-voyage stroll around each of the three decks. Though he tried to avoid her, Colpepper was lurking by the stairs, waiting for him.
“I have half a mind to quit,” she sputtered.
He thought she had half a mind—period. He said, “It’s been a long day, Colpepper.”
“When I think of the hours I spent—”
Holding up his hand and darting down the stairs, he called, “Save it for tomorrow, will you?”
He snatched an extra bottle of champagne and a couple of spare lobsters off the ravaged buffet table and, thus armed, went back to his cabin and knocked on the door.
He heard music from within, but no one answered the knock. A muffled meow prompted him to use the spare key.
Foggy Dew sat in the middle of the small room, blinking her yellow eyes. John nudged the door closed with his elbow, set the tray on the round table, and picked the cat up, stroking her head.
“You caused a heap of trouble today,” he told the cat right before he spotted the mound of lacy white material in the corner, and in the next glance, Megan, asleep on his bunk, dressed in one of his jackets, her long bare legs crossed at the ankles, her hands resting on her flat stomach. The cat struggled to get down. John set her carefully on the rug, somewhat surprised to see her jump up on the bunk and curl into a ball by Megan’s hip.
For some time he stood off to the side, watching the peaceful—and tantalizing—rise and fall of Megan’s chest as she breathed, admiring the thick sweep of lashes that lay against her cheeks, the gentle repose of her mouth. And, once again, he imagined covering her succulent lips with his own. He imagined gathering her in his arms and kissing her awake. He imagined the look in her eyes....
He shook his head. Crazy thoughts! Ridiculous, inappropriate thoughts he had no business thinking. He made himself turn away from her and all the nebulous yearnings she seemed to inspire.
The sideboard produced silverware, napkins, water glasses. He opened the wine, poured himself a couple of inches and sat in one of the chairs, propping his feet up on another. Megan Morison was as easy on the eyes as she was stubborn, all right. He wanted her to wake up but he suspected when she did she’d start fussing, so he let her be.
The evening was wearing away when she finally stirred. She awoke slowly, and John watched, knowing all the while she was unaware of his presence, knowing he should announce himself. But he liked seeing her yawn and stretch, liked the way her lips curved when she saw the cat beside her. When she finally turned her head and saw him gazing at her, she sat up abruptly, tugging modestly on the jacket.
He poured her a hefty glass of champagne. “Are you thirsty?”
Getting to her feet, she said, “I haven’t eaten or slept in four days, so I guess what I am is hungry.”
He gestured at the lobsters but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I borrowed your jacket,” she told him as she brushed her hands down the front.
“It looks good on you.”
“I just had to change. I hope you don’t mind—”
“Not at all, Miss Morison. Fact is, I think it looks better on you than that fancy dress...”
He stopped talking because her eyes had suddenly filled with tears. Obviously he’d said the wrong thing.
“I—I’m sorry,” he said as he pushed the plate forward. “Here, I brought lobster, have some.”
“I hate lobster,” she said as she wiped tears off her cheeks with the cuff of her—his—jacket.
“But it’s from your wedding...well, almost wedding...”
His voice trailed off because what he’d said had brought forth more waterworks. He handed her a napkin, which she used to mop at her face, and then she sat opposite him.
“It was Robert’s idea to have it. I wanted chicken. Where is everybody?”
“They’re gone.”
“All of them?”
“I dropped them off at the loading pier before bringing the boat down here to her permanent berth. I’m afraid I took it upon myself to persuade your family to leave you alone. I guess you want to hear that your fiancе was very hard to convince—”
“No,” she interrupted.
John shrugged. “Your mother said to remind you that you don’t have an apartment anymore so to come to her house. I promised her you’d get home okay.”
More tears as Megan stared at the hated crustaceans. When she’d recovered from the new onslaught, she added, “I forgot...I gave up my place so that after the honeymoon I could...I could move in with...with...Robert.”
“Well, maybe you two will patch things up.”
She shook her head in a desultory fashion.
John fished a piece of lobster out of the shell and held it low to the ground. Foggy Dew stared at it for a second, apparently decided it was worth the effort of moving, and jumped down from the bunk. He set the morsel on the floor and turned his attention back to Megan, wondering how he could politely ask her to leave. The half-naked beauty was intended for another man, but she was starting to make him want things he had no business wanting.
He said, “Well, it’s getting late—”
She glanced at the clock that hung on a bulkhead next to the barometer, but said nothing.
“I sent a crew member down to the bridal dressing room and she retrieved the clothing you arrived in. It’s across the hall.” To himself he added that it was a damn shame she had to get out of his jacket. He liked the way the navy blue looked next to her cap of yellow hair, the way different parts of her anatomy filled out the cloth in ways the tailor hadn’t intended.
“That was very kind of you,” she said.
Looking into her eyes was like glimpsing two blue gems buried in the depths of a mountain spring. He had to make himself turn away and liberate more lobster for the cat. “I can call you a cab—”
“I have nowhere to go,” she said.
John delivered the lobster, took a long swallow of champagne and eyed her above the rim of the glass. Then he said, “But your mother—”
“You don’t understand,” she said as she pushed herself away from the table and began pacing. “My mother is crazy about Robert Winslow. She thinks the sun rises and sets on his bank account. All she ever talks about is how much he’s like my late father.”
“Is he?” John heard himself ask.
She shrugged. “Yes. Oh, I don’t know. Dad was strong-willed and blustery, but he was also kind. I can’t even imagine him attacking a harmless animal like that. Anyway, he died when I was just a little kid.” She blinked away the past and added, “Mom will spend the entire night trying to get me to see the stupidity of my ways. I can’t face her.”
John’s gaze had dropped to her smooth, shapely legs. Looking up, he said, “Then that uncle of yours—”
“If anything, he loves Robert even more than Mom does. Robert has given Uncle Adrian money for bailing out a sick business. My uncle’s first thought is going to be that I’m jeopardizing the business by jilting Robert. I can’t go to him, I just can’t.”
“Friends?”
“Don’t you see? Everyone likes Robert Winslow. He throws money around like there’s no tomorrow. He buys people’s affections.”
John surprised himself by asking, “Did he buy yours, too?”
She stopped pacing and stared at him. More tears filled her eyes as she said, “No, of course not.” But she ruined the validity of her denial by immediately adding, “At least I don’t think he did.”
Right... John thought. She kind of reminded him of Betsy, his first love, his ex-wife, who had married him on a whim, intrigued by his wealth. Within six months she’d grown bored with his work ethic and taken up extracurricular activities of her own. It had cost him a hefty one-time payment to rid his life of Betsy, and though she’d cheated and lied to him, he’d still felt like the world had been torn asunder when she closed the door behind her. That had been two years ago, and it was only within the past eight or nine months that he’d begun to see that her leaving was really him escaping. Who needed women? They were fickle and hard on the old heart—a man was better off without them.
“I wish you’d say something,” Megan said uneasily.
“I don’t know what to say,” he told her.
Grasping the back of a chair with both hands and leaning slightly forward, she fixed him with an intent stare. “Do you think I was silly today? Do you think I acted irrationally?”
He grinned. “Let’s just say that if you hadn’t pushed that idiot off my boat, I would have.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“Wait, did you say this was your boat? Does that mean you won’t lose your job because of me?” The relief in her voice touched John. She’d been worried about his fate in this mess—that was kind of sweet.
He laughed and said, “No such luck. Now, like I said, it’s getting late—”
“I don’t have a job,” she said suddenly, as though just realizing that even that part of her life was screwed up.
“You quit your job?”
Though her voice grew husky and her chin trembled, she held her head high, apparently straining for control. “I quit it as of two weeks ago. After all, I was marrying Robert Winslow, what did I need to work at a hospital for? I was going to work with him—at least, that was my plan. I found out this morning that that wasn’t his plan, however. He didn’t want me anywhere near his business or his precious money.”
John remained silent. He suspected her shattered life had derailed her tongue.
“I don’t know where to go or what to do,” she said softly.
John rubbed his jaw as he thought. Heck, where she went wasn’t his problem, was it? He was a skipper of a stern-wheeler, not director of a lonely heart’s club. What did she expect of him? He said, “Maybe a hotel?”
A brief look of hope was extinguished by a frown that tugged on the corners of her lips. Sighing heavily, she shook her head. “I might as well go to Mom’s house. I’ll have to face her sooner or later. Maybe she’ll take pity and let me be for one night.”
“I’m sure that’s the logical thing to do,” he told her, relieved she’d come to her senses. He’d been afraid of what might have happened if she’d insisted on staying the night.
“Is there a phone on board so I can call a cab?”
“Better than that,” he said, generosity filling his heart. “I’ll give you a lift on my way home.”
She looked startled. Gesturing at the table and the sideboard, the bed and the console that held a stereo and TV-VCR combination, she said, “Don’t you live here, in this room, on this boat?”
Standing, he looked down at her. “Sometimes I spend the night, but not often. I’m building a little house along the river, an hour or so from here, and that’s where I live. For now, until I find someone else to skipper this boat, I’m commuting back and forth every day.”
“Even on a Sunday?”
“Especially on a Sunday.”
The mention of work reminded him that Mrs. Colpepper had abandoned ship, supposedly for good. As much as she drove him crazy, he wasn’t prepared to lose her just weeks before a big media dinner-dance she’d booked.
Well, she’d made threats before and she’d always come back—whether it was because of her generous salary, dedication to her obligations or just plain love of driving him nuts, John didn’t know and didn’t much care.
“Your offer is very generous,” Megan murmured. “Thank you.”
“No problem. I know this day hasn’t exactly gone the way you’d planned...”
His voice petered out as Megan’s eyes grew soft with tears she seemed determined to curtail. He’d said the wrong thing again. Mumbling something about fetching her clothes, John got to his feet and crossed the cabin, enjoying the shot of cool river air that hit his face when he opened the door.
You should have just called her a cab, you blasted fool, he grumbled to himself.
Foggy Dew had followed him outside. She made an odd noise as she rubbed his ankles. To John, it sounded as though she was agreeing.
Chapter Three
“Over there,” Megan said, pointing to a hamburger stand visible through the rain as a blur of rainbow-colored lights. It had started drizzling as they’d left the stern-wheeler and had picked up gusto as they’d driven through town. Now it fell in relentless buckets. Megan imagined Captain Vermont was anxious to take her home and be rid of her, but there was no way she was going to face her mother on an empty stomach.
He stopped his truck in front of a smiling clown face and opened the window the old-fashioned way, with a handle. For an instant Megan flashed back to the steel cocoon of a cloud gray BMW, Robert beside her, lowering his window with a touch of a finger. This act never happened at a fast-food restaurant, banish the thought. Robert Winslow wouldn’t be caught dead at anything as “ordinary” as a fast-food place—which made the act of stopping at this one all the more appealing!
“What do you want?” the captain asked as rain came through the open window, pelting his shoulder with glistening drops.
Ah, to be asked. Robert had deplored her bad eating habits, endlessly pointing out what was good for her and what wasn’t, taking it upon himself to wean her from junk food. A fitness freak, he jogged and biked—in fact, the only sport he didn’t train in was swimming, a thought that brought an evil little smile to Megan’s lips. “I’ll have a hamburger. No, wait, make it a cheeseburger. And French fries. And a milk shake.”
Without comment on her choices, the captain repeated her order into the clown’s mouth and a disembodied voice told them to drive forward.
“Don’t you want anything?” she asked as she fished the last twenty-dollar bill from the depths of her wallet. “My treat.”
“Thanks, anyway, but I’m not hungry,” he said as he took the money and advanced to the drive-in window. She watched as he paid the attendant, handed Megan back the change and then accepted the food. He had a strong profile visible because of the restaurant lights. A good nose, chiseled jawline, interesting mouth. He was a big man, but not the least bit bulky. A man who exuded confidence and yet seemed strangely ill-at-ease when he was around her.
How could she blame him? She’d been hesitant and scared during the ceremony, mad as a hornet when Robert kicked that poor little kitty into the river, and an emotional wreck ever since. No wonder he was skittish!
He drove as the windshield wipers whacked back and forth and the rain increased. There was nothing like Oregon rain, she thought. She pushed aside the next thought, that if she hadn’t shoved Robert overboard, she’d now be on her way to Australia, where it was probably warm and dry. Wait, that wasn’t right. If Robert hadn’t kicked the little cat, they’d both be on their way to Australia.
And if that had happened, if the wedding had gone as planned, would she now be delirious with joy or facing the possibility she’d made the biggest mistake of her life? If the wedding had gone as planned, they wouldn’t have thrown accusations at each other, he wouldn’t have accused her of marrying him for his money.
