by Gerry O'Hara
“Why the turnaround? Did I say something to disturb you?”
Christie became aware that he was standing too close, but she could not dredge up the strength to back away. He reached to touch her shoulders and his breath whispered across her face. She was on dangerous ground.
“If you don’t take me home immediately, I won’t have the energy to record the Parker documents for your friends tomorrow.”
Cash’s smile was thin, his smoky gaze indefinable. “You’re right, I should get you home.”
At her apartment door, Cash’s farewell did not hold the slightest suggestion of his earlier flirtation.
Christie put a kettle of water on the stove before slipping off her clothes and wrapping herself in a bathrobe. Tosha had been sleeping on the bed and she lifted her head for only a moment. It was obviously past the cat’s bedtime, and she merely gave a soft meow to acknowledge her human roommate.
Christie’s bristling tension indicated that sleep would be elusive, so, settling on the couch, she attempted to relax, but thoughts of Cash disrupted her concentration. It was impossible to bring a semblance of calm to her mind and body.
A piercing whistle made her leap to her feet and race into the kitchen. She fixed a cup of hot chocolate and returned to the living room, where she sank onto the couch and tucked her legs underneath her. While she sipped the hot chocolate, her thoughts returned to Cash.
Why was she attracted to him? She admired his courtroom skills, that was true, but there were other talented men in her circle, good-looking ones, too. None had stirred her emotions. Why was Cash different? Perhaps part of the draw was the mix of sensitivity she perceived when he spoke of his family and friends, and his go-get-’em assertiveness. And his easy compliments made her feel good about herself.
She did not have any compunction about dating within her profession. Being in business for herself put her and Cash on equal footing. Still, if things got heavy and then went wrong, it would be uncomfortable for them to work together. And she needed all the clients she could get.
Sighing over unresolved conflicts, she set the empty cup and saucer in the kitchen sink and went to bed. She turned out the light and Tosha roused herself long enough to snuggle against the backs of Christie’s knees.
At the office the following morning, she printed copies of Elliot Parker’s letters, which she had scanned into the computer and enlarged the day before. She spread the papers across the desk and marked each one to indicate similarities in the writing. The notations corresponded to documentation in her report.
A little before noon she arrived at Cash’s office. He was on the phone, and he signaled her to sit down. She placed the report on her lap and pretended to study it so that it would not appear that she was eavesdropping.
Cash was arguing about a client’s rights being violated and his commanding tone of voice indicated that someone in the district attorney’s office was probably on the other end of the line.
“You know the rules, Russ. If we agree to have my client take a lie-detector test, it will be administered in my office, not downtown with your boys. I’m not fool enough to toss him into a lion’s den with an intimidating police polygraph technician!” Cash ran a finger inside his shirt collar, loosening his tie into lopsided disarray. “You’re darn right you’ll probably never see the results. I’m not on your team. My only concern is my client’s welfare. Nothing more to talk about, Russ. Good-bye.”
Returning the receiver to its cradle, Cash turned his attention to Christie, then self-consciously tried to repair the alignment of his tie.
“You don’t have to tidy up for me.” She smiled. “I’m only going to be a minute. I brought the report on Elliot Parker’s handwriting.”
She leaned across the desk to give Cash the folder, and he made a quick move to receive it. Their foreheads almost collided, and Christie was jolted by the zesty aroma of Chaps or Stetson, or some such scent that accompanied boots and cowboy hats. She jerked away and the edge of the seat jabbed the backs of her knees. Tottering precariously, she tilted forward to regain her balance. Reaching for the desktop in an effort to gain purchase, her fingers splayed across the oak. Her hands rested on the flat surface while she caught her breath, and then tried to reseat herself with aplomb.
“What was that all about?” Cash asked. His grin was a concession to an obvious struggle to repress laughter.
“My heel caught in the rug.”
Cash looked down at the floor and Christie understood the transparency of her white lie: the Berber carpet was so tightly woven it would accommodate even the worst klutz’s misstep.
“Aren’t you going to at least scan the report? You appeared anxious to receive it as soon as possible.”
“Hey, take it easy. I didn’t trip you.”
“I told you…”
“Your heel, yes, of course.”
“I’m sticking to my story.” She smiled, acknowledging the humor in the mishap.
Cash sat down, removed the papers from the folder and quietly read them. When he was finished, he formed a steeple with his fingers. He studied the structure before addressing Christie.
“I don’t know how Hal and Margo are going to receive this information. I’m going to phone them, wind up a few other things, and then call it a day. Why don’t you join me in a sail? I’ll even throw in dinner.”
An instant replay of the previous night’s electric current flashed through Christie’s mind. She could not underestimate the emotional risk she would face on board Cash’s boat, even if he was busy hauling sails and manning the wheel. But she wanted to be with him, so why refuse?
“It sounds like fun,” she said, knowing that was an understatement. “I’ll wait for you downstairs in the coffee shop. I could use an afternoon shot of caffeine.”
Thirty minutes later they were on the road to the marina.
“This vehicle does suit you, Cash,” Christie said.
“What brings you to that conclusion?”
“The interior is so masculine. A sports car would be almost feminine in comparison to the steel and saddle leather of this baby. You drive like you’re riding herd on cattle. A cowboy belt with a silver trophy buckle would make the picture complete.”
“If it would enhance my image, I’m sure I can find just the thing tucked away in the dark recesses of a footlocker on Serenade.”
“I have no doubt.”
Traffic was stalled on the Golden Gate Bridge. The cars inched along at a snail’s pace and Cash impatiently drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
“Would you consider it rude if I make a business call while we’re trapped in this bottleneck?”
“Not at all.”
“Whenever my schedule allows, I take the ferry into the city. It’s better than getting caught up in this mess.”
He spoke some numbers into his cell phone and in a few seconds a man’s voice answered. Christie turned toward the side window, attempting to look disinterested in the conversation. When she heard him ask, “Where did you locate him?” she assumed he was talking to a private investigator. The call ended a couple of minutes later.
“You could teach time management, Cash. Most drivers would have switched on the radio or inserted a CD for diversion. You weren’t kidding when you said you were a workaholic. You’re going to have an ulcer before you reach forty.” Or a heart attack, she thought glumly.
“Don’t worry. I thrive on work.”
They reached Sausalito and Cash swung the SUV into the marina’s parking lot. Christie noticed a transformation take place. His shoulders loosened and his grip on the steering wheel was no longer white-knuckle tight. He was home, and true to his word, water was his element.
On board Serenade he hurled directions at her, and she was pleased to be able to follow them with a minimum of bungling. Working together, it didn’t take much time to raise the mainsail and ready the jib.
“We make a good team,” Cash remarked as he fired the diesel engine and motored the
boat out of the harbor. “You’ll find a couple of jackets inside the cabin. Slip one on. The wind is coming up; it’s going to be cold on the bay.”
Christie shrugged into a bright-yellow windbreaker, much too large to fit attractively, but she was not going to ignore his warning about the cold air. When they passed the buoy marker, Cash switched off the engine and raised the jib sail. The boat responded to the urging of the wind and heeled sharply.
“We’re going to tip over!” she screamed.
Cash reached for her and slipped his free arm around her waist. “This baby can lean even more without taking on a drop of water, but if you’re nervous, I can adjust the sails so she’ll flatten out. It will slow us down, though.”
“And you prefer speed. I don’t want to be a spoilsport.”
“That’s the proper attitude. Anyway, I’ll protect you.” He squeezed her more tightly into the curve of his arm until her head rested on his chest, and he leaned so that his chin grazed the top of her head.
She squirmed out of his grip. “I think I’ll be safer taking my chances with the pitch of the boat.”
He grinned. “What are you worried about?”
“Nothing. I think I may be better off watching out for myself.”
“Ouch! That smarts. I only want to hold onto you until you get your sea legs.”
He pulled her to him, and this time she did not resist. The outspoken way they were discussing the developing tension simply heightened it for her. A tremor whipped through her; his grip was not protective, not in the sense she needed. He might prevent her from taking a tumble as the boat shot through the water, but the greater risk was in falling headlong into a heated infatuation with him.
“We’re coming about.” Cash released her and simultaneously navigated the mainsail and wheel. The bow cut a smooth arc in response to the maneuver and they headed toward the other side of the bay.
He was completely at ease at Serenade’s helm. He shed the role of high-powered attorney and became a casual sailor enjoying an afternoon cruise. His mouth curved into a contented smile and the earlier dynamic attitude was absent from his posture.
A flight of pelicans swooped overhead and Christie watched the leader dive-bomb into the water. She kept her gaze on the ripples that fanned into a myriad of circles where the bird shattered the water’s surface. But concentrating on seabirds did not distract her from Cash’s proximity.
The sail began luffing vigorously and Cash cranked the winch a half turn to correct the flapping. His jacket was unzipped and she could see the muscles on his chest expand like a weight lifter’s.
Serenade ran before the wind, picking up speed and leaving the pelicans behind. The wake spilled into a frothy V.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“It’s great.”
“Now do you trust me?”
A shiver crept along her spine. “What do you mean?”
“About the boat not capsizing.”
She nodded. Trusting him as an accomplished skipper was one thing. Trusting him not to scramble her emotions was another.
Cash tipped his head to the side. “That’s not what you’re concerned with right now, is it?”
“Answering that question could get me into trouble.”
“If you won’t talk, there are other means of communication.”
His mouth brushed the side of her face. Startled, she stepped away. He reached for the lapels on her jacket and brought her back to him. The air whipped her hair and the taste of salt was on her tongue. The heat of his hand tracing the outline of her face was like a dynamite charge, and her earlier chill flew away. She was prepared for the kiss that was sure to come.
The boat suddenly rocked precariously. The sails snapped like rifle shots and the boom shuddered. Serenade lurched and Christie lost her footing. Cash held her arm to prevent her from falling against the gunwale.
“We’ve lost the wind.” His voice was husky. “If I don’t concentrate on skippering this baby, we’ll end up on the rocks. Hold the wheel steady while I trim the sails.”
He cranked the winches until the jib and mainsail had the proper alignment and the boat slipped into the breeze once more. After he took over the helm, Serenade gathered speed. Christie gripped the deck railing, more to steady her nerves than her body.
Approaching the harbor, Cash dropped the jib, pulled in the mainsail, and switched to diesel. Serenade coasted until it neared the dock. Cash maneuvered the boat into its slip, then jumped onto the dock and wrapped the lines around cleats.
Back on board, he lashed the boom to the stern cleats. Christie helped haul the sails and sheath them in blue-canvas covers. She responded to his instructions slowly, dexterity gone; her fingers were cold and her nerve endings raw.
“I told you I’d include dinner in the evening cruise,” he reminded her. “How about Houlihan’s?”
“You mean you’re not going to play chef and demonstrate the efficiency of that copper galley?” she teased.
“If you’d rather…”
“I’m kidding. Houlihan’s sounds great.”
“And provides neutral ground?” He chucked her under the chin and a mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes.
“I thought you were an attorney, not a psychic.” A restaurant was definitely safer than the privacy of a small cabin and the intimacy of candlelight.
“I’d prefer a cozy scene on Serenade, but I don’t want to spook you.”
“You don’t want to spook me? Or the cupboard is bare?”
A flush crossed his face.
“You’re terrible.” Christie shook her head. “Trying to soften me up with a pretense of considering my feelings, when in reality you don’t have the wherewithal for a love tryst.”
“Guilty as charged. Let’s get a table at Houlihan’s before I change my mind and make a quick stop at a Speedy Mart.”
They walked across the wharf to the restaurant. The hostess’s effusive greeting intimated that Cash was a regular customer. Without delay she led them to a booth overlooking the water and the San Francisco skyline on the far side of the bay.
The decor was nostalgic. Decades-old photographs of movie stars, athletes, and advertising slogans covered the walls. A hand-carved carousel horse, its paint chipped and faded, was perched on a brick divider surrounded by cascades of greenery. The room vaguely resembled a cluster of garden gazebos.
“The size of this menu is staggering,” Christie said.
“The Polynesian kabob is always a good choice.”
“You saved my life! I thought I’d die of starvation before I could decide what to have.”
Cash shook his head. “You are one crazy lady.”
Christie was determined to keep the conversation light. They ordered dinner and a carafe of wine. Ten minutes later, the waitress brought the wine and salads.
“How long have you been sailing, Cash?”
“Since I was a kid. We lived near a lake, and my dad was an avid sailor. On vacations we trailered our boat to the coast. You know how ranchers put their kids on a horse before they can walk? My dad had me hauling sails while I was still in diapers. At least, that’s the story my mother tells.
“Besides recreational sailing, my dad and I raced together. Later I became interested in solo competition. I still race occasionally. I maintain a membership at the St. Francis Yacht Club and that gives me an opportunity to crew now and then.”
“I’ll bet you picked up a good share of trophies over the years.”
“If I admit you’re right, I’ll sound conceited.”
“If you don’t I’ll consider it false modesty.”
“Either way, I lose.”
“You can’t tell me that you’re not able to come up with a bright remark that will make you sound modest, competitive, and…”
“A winner?”
“Yes.”
“I only care if I’m a winner with you.”
“Darn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been trying to keep the conversation impersonal, and I walked right into that. Set myself up.”
“You seem frightened of me. Or rather, of us. Why?”
She considered the question before answering. “The situation is quixotic. We’re professional associates. I’ve worked on two cases for you, and I hope you’ll throw more business my way in the future. Intermingling business with…” She groped for the right word.
“Pleasure?” he said.
“That wasn’t quite how I was going to express it, but, yes, pleasure—it can become a destructive combination. If our relationship crashes and burns, it will be awkward working together. It would be prudent to keep business in the forefront to avoid complications.”
“Is that what you want?”
“No. And that’s the problem. I enjoy being with you, and I had a great time on Serenade today.”
“I enjoy your company, too. Why fight it? I’m not the type to kiss and tell. Besides, we haven’t gotten that far…yet.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. He angled his head forward.
“We’re both mature enough to handle this. The attraction between us is undeniable. Why not allow it to evolve without putting barricades in the way?”
The waitress’s arrival with their entrées interrupted the conversation. Christie was relieved to have the topic temporarily suspended. She did not want to explore her feelings further right now. It was too risky. While casually dating an associate was socially benign, her attraction to Cash involved more than chemistry. His presence in her life had been swift as an arrow shot from an archer’s bow. If her emotions continued to catch fire and his did not, it could be disastrous.
Later, after the dessert dishes were cleared, they dawdled over coffee.
“I spoke to Hal about your report on Elliot’s signature. He isn’t completely convinced. He doesn’t want to be, of course. He can’t fathom Elliot selling family stock. I’m going to Arizona tomorrow to meet with him. I’d like you to come along and deliver your findings in person. I know I’m putting you on the spot, but if Hal meets you, he’ll be more positive about your ability. Until now he never knew that questioned document examiners existed, much less that he would employ one.”
