Taking another sip of coffee, she stared out at the graying sky set over a choppy green sea.
“Her name is Sandra Harris,” she overheard one of the men say.
“Yeah, that’s right, she’s taken over her old man’s shop. I hear Luke Caldwell, up in Pensacola is seeing the little lady. Guess he’s really desperate for that docking space he’s been looking for.”
“I don’t know, what does she look like? She could be a pretty enjoyable to negotiate with.”
As the men laughed knowingly, Sandra’s stomach churned into a knot. The only thing that could make this day worse would have been if her mother had overheard the conversation too.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Standing in the Pensacola Regional Airport terminal, Sandra waved goodbye to her mother. She told herself, she should feel relieved. After all, she’d passed the official Carolyn Daniels’ inspection. The ache in her chest she felt each time she thought of Luke, however, over shadowed her small triumph.
She hated to admit it, but Luke could be the note writer. He clearly had a motive. Worse yet, even if he wasn’t the prankster, he could still be using her to get her property. Her heart told her no. Luke wouldn’t stoop so low. She knew better than to put much stock in her feelings, though. She’d believed all her mother’s lies about her father and she’d lived with the woman almost her entire life. Her mother had even had the nerve to try and talk Sandra out of attending her father’s funeral. He had gone to the party with her that night, but he could have snuck away.
Sandra bit down on her lower lip. Thank goodness, the phantom caller had only rung her phone three times during her mother’s stay. If the calls had been as persistent as normal, she’d probably have never been able to get her mother on the plane. Sandra couldn’t help but wonder, however, what prompted the change? Perhaps the caller thought he’d have to answer to her mother, she thought wryly and grinned.
Forcing one mechanical step after another, she walked to the jeep. As Sandra thought of all the wasted years she could have had with her father, a heart wrenching sadness fell over her. If she’d only known that he’d sent her one letter, she’d searched him out herself.
Before getting into the jeep, she stared back at her mother’s plane. It had taxied down the runway. A cloud of self-doubt hung in the back of her mind. Was it a coincidence that all her friends had landed prestigious jobs after college, while she had gone to work at a department store selling clothes? She’d made it up the ranks to sales manager in record time. It helped a lot though when you were the only employee with a degree in the entire store. The only exception was the company accountant.
Sandra ran her hand through her bangs and climbed in behind the wheel. Maybe she should have gone home with her mother like a good little girl? No, she thought slamming the door shut. She wouldn’t be going home, no matter what happened. It didn’t matter whether Luke turned out to be the note writer. It didn’t matter if the situation became worse. She wasn’t leaving. She would make the Sea Breeze a success even if it meant putting Luke out of her life, out of business or behind bars.
Once out on the highway, Sandra drove mindlessly towards her home, unwilling to think about the situation anymore. She let the brisk morning breeze blow through her hair, caressing her face. It was a perfect morning. The sunshine warmed her body but not her spirits. The fact that she’d let Luke Caldwell affect her this way made her as mad as the thought that he could be trying to manipulate her into selling the shop. She’d simply have to shake it off and get tough. She shouldn’t allow him or anyone else for that matter to spoil a perfectly good day.
Cresting the Pensacola Bridge, her attention wandered off the road to the sailboats gliding along the clear waters. Past the mouth of the bay and headed out to sea, she saw a white catamaran in the distance and a lump formed in her throat. Could the boat be Luke’s? she wondered. It would be a perfect day for sailing.
There she’d gone and done it again. Every time she turned around, she found herself obsessed with the man, she thought in irritation. What did she really know about Luke? He wore spicy cologne and his kisses tasted of fresh sunshine. Hardly the stuff sound judgements were made of. Even if he wasn’t the note writer, she didn’t have time in her life for a man, especially when the man was a competitor.
The shrill sound of a compact car horn brought Sandra’s thoughts back to driving. Looking into her rear view mirror, she saw an angry motorist, who’s fashionable BMW was riding nearly under her bumper. She glanced down at the speedometer. To her astonishment, she was going ten miles under the speed limit. She increased her speed and addressed the road with irritation. Yes, she would have to keep Luke Caldwell at arm’s length. He was entirely too distracting for her purposes.
Coming to the end of the bridge, Sandra slowed her car to a stop at the traffic light. As the light turned green, she realized for the first time how good it felt to be heading to the shop. When she arrived in Florida, she had thought the now familiar beach houses and tall gangly palm trees were odd. Now, they served as a source of welcome. She tried to imagine herself back in Oklahoma, living in her mother’s oversized house, working at the department store. It seemed like someone else’s life that she’d read about, not hers.
Barely two miles away from the Sea Breeze, she began to plan her chores for the day. First, she’d cleanup two of the smaller sailboats which she had rented out last week. They both could use a good coat of polish and their sail lines washed. After she’d finished, she would tidy up the shop and plan her schedule for Monday, she thought.
Turning into the Sea Breeze’s driveway, she immediately noticed an unfamiliar car sitting in the parking lot. Her heart pounded erratically against her chest as she saw a tall stranger standing at her door with pen and paper in hand. Had she caught the note writer in the act? She wondered as she parked the jeep and cautiously opened her door.
“May I help you?” she yelled out as she walked onto the boardwalk toward the man.
“Sandra?” the unknown man asked in a startled tone. There was something familiar about him. However, from where Sandra stood she couldn’t tell if she knew him or not.
The man strode towards her before she could reply. As the distance between them lessened, she recognized his broad grin. “Hank, what on earth are you up to?”
He didn’t reply, but stood silently eyeing her from head to toe. Then seemingly having collected his thoughts, he spoke. “I came by to see if you wanted to go out on my boat, the Crusader, today,” he told her, lifting a sun bleached eyebrow up into a question.
“I’d like to, however, I need to clean two of my boats before tomorrow,” she told him, glad to have an excuse.
“What do you have to do?”
“Wash and wax the hulls and clean up the ratchets and lines,” Sandra said, suspecting too late that she’d already given out more information than was wise.
“I’d be happy to help. I’ve swabbed quit a few decks over the years.”
“I can manage fine, thank you. In fact, I’m rather looking forward to it.”
“You realize you’re destroying my fragile male ego. I may not ask again,” he warned, cocking his head to one side as though he thought she would change her mind.
“I imagine your ego will recuperate. And, I suspect that you’ll find another eligible party,” she replied, knowing it was the truth. From what she’d seen the other night at the party, half the women in town had their eye on Hank MacFabish, the other half on Luke.
“Very well. I’m not going to quit trying to be neighborly, though,” he said and grimaced showing creases around his mouth she’d never noticed before. “See you around.”
Sandra stared at the notebook paper hanging out his shirt pocket as he turned to leave.
“Were you leaving me a note?” she asked.
“Yeah, why?” Hank stopped in his tracks and challenged Sandra. “Did you think I was the author of the note pinned to your door the other night?”
A chill ran up her s
pine. Good Lord, was it Hank? “How did you know about the note?”
“The same way I knew about your being stranded in the bay. It’s a small town and people talk.”
“How come I never hear any of this small town gossip?”
“You don’t hang around much, that’s why. Try the post office or the diner,” Hank replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.
Sandra searched Hank’s face for a clue to his innocence or guilt. His brown eyes narrowed into a challenge while his expression remained relaxed, refusing to give way to any particular emotion. Though Sandra had no trouble believing that he could be capable of harassment, she had a hard time understanding where he’d get the funds to buy her out. According to Bernice, Hank struggled keeping the aquarium operational during the off season. If he couldn’t afford the maintenance now, she didn’t see how he could expand the operation. Hank himself, however, had told her that if she wanted to sell the shop, he’d make her an offer. He’d seemed serious enough.
I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to im . . . ply,” Sandra stammered after an uncomfortable silence.
“Yes, you were. You think I did it. Only, you can’t figure out why,” he retorted. “The reason you can’t figure it out is, I didn’t do it. My only sin is asking you out.”
“Well then, I will bid you a good day,” Sandra said, clinching her fist in irritation. She hated to be talked down to and she hated it even more when they were obviously right.
“Very well, good day.” Hank nodded to her in apparent satisfaction at having the last word as he walked past her to get into his truck. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t trust him. He was good looking, perhaps too good looking and too smooth for her taste. Talking to Hank MacFabish reminded her of what it must’ve been like talking to the serpent in the Garden of Eden. He always appeared to be waiting for her one moment of vulnerability. The other night, she hadn’t noticed Dana sharing the same misgivings about Hank or about Luke for that matter, she thought wryly. Dana flirted with both of them. Though, that by itself didn’t mean anything. Maybe they left big tips? Sandra shook her head. She suspected Dana didn’t find fault with anyone who wore the right cut of trousers and close to her age.
Hank opened his car door and glanced back in Sandra’s direction. Not wanting him to know she’d been watching him, Sandra looked away with a start and began walking to the shop.
Just as Sandra stepped onto the porch and unlocked the door, she heard her private telephone ring. Freezing in place, she waited to count the number of rings. When the phone continued past the sixth ring, she hurriedly dropped her purse on the floor and ran to the phone in the living room. As she grasped the receiver and listened, she heard a dial tone. The other party had already hung up.
Leaning back against the counter, Sandra stared at the contraption. Her heart sped. Had it been Luke? Damn it, if she hadn’t let this stupid note writer get to her, she would have answered the phone in time. This had to stop, she vowed silently. First thing tomorrow, she would have an unlisted line put in. She couldn’t change the shop’s number, however she could change her private line.
For the rest of the afternoon, Sandra tried to force her fears and apprehensions from her mind by throwing herself into preparing the shop for the following week. She managed to keep her thoughts from the prankster and Hank’s unusual visit. Thoughts of her handsome sailor, however continued to haunt her even into her dreams.
* * *
The next morning, Sandra dressed in one of her casual pant suits then hurried downstairs and created a job application for Chris Emenacker to fill out. She’d finished printing out the form and was enjoying her second cup of coffee when she heard the cowbell on the front door jingle. A tall young man with dark hair and fair skin, dressed in blue jeans and a pastel yellow golf shirt entered the shop. His eyes were large and round and set in close together. He reminded her of Eustice.
“You must be Chris.” Sandra flashed her warmest smile to make him feel at ease.
“Yes, Ma’am. I understand from my father you need someone to help out around the shop here.”
“That’s right. Are you familiar with sailing equipment?”
“Sure, it’s hard not to be and live around these parts.”
“I know your dad is a fisherman,” she said, walking around the counter to face him. A motor boat requires a totally different type of maintenance than a sailing vessel.”
“Miss Harris, I don’t know if my father told you or not, but I’m much more at ease on a sailboat than on a fishing trawler. Plus, I’m handy with boats. Why, I can rig up just about anything you need to put a sailboat together,” he told her, moving a step closer. “When I was no bigger than a tadpole, I’d sail any old piece of junk that would float. Of course, I had a few that sunk.” A shy smile lit his boyish features. “That’s what got me interested in engineering.”
“Why didn’t you pursue your studies in nautical engineering then?”
“I guess you might say it was a decision based on necessity and inclination.” He cocked his head thoughtfully to the side and pursed his lips. “I like chemistry a lot, plus there isn’t much of a job market for nautical engineers. It’s not like someone is going to commission me to build a cruiser for the America’s Cup. You’ve got to have a lot of connections to get started in that field.”
“I’m afraid that you may not find this job much more gratifying than working on a fishing boat,” she told him truthfully. She felt Chris’ eyes on her and she realized he was waiting for her to continue. “Do you mind doing charters and cleanup afterwards?”
“I’m not afraid to get my hands good and soapy.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. There’s a lot of scrubbing to be done on those boats.”
“It couldn’t be any worse than washing up a trawler after being out all day.”
She had to admit, he had a point. She hated to think about what those boats smelled like after a day of fishing with a dozen or so men aboard and dead fish.
“And, I don’t mind taking people out,” Chris told her, filling in the silence. “That is as long as they’re aware of safety rules. I took a few drunk tourists fishing on the trawler one weekend and had to pull one of the guys out of the water myself, leaving the helm unattended on a choppy day.”
“I can assure you, Chris, I follow the strictest of safety guidelines. I’m not about to lose the Sea Breeze to a liability lawsuit.”
“Yeah, my father says, there’s always someone out there ready to relieve you of your money no matter what you do.”
“Has he had problems in the past?”
“Yes, but they’ve been with employees not charter clients. He’d skin me if I landed him in court over my little weekend outings.”
“Sounds like you know the boating business all right, Sandra said with a laugh. She could already tell that she and Chris were going to work well together. “I think you could be a real asset to me around her,” she told him as she handed Chris the blank employment application. “Fill this out and we’ll talk about when you can start.”
Sandra knew she should check his references before she offered him the job. Any smart business woman would, however, she liked Chris and she needed the help. Besides, Bernice wouldn’t have recommended Chris to her if he couldn’t do the job.
Deciding that she’d put him right to work on the Alliance, Sandra left him to finish filling out the application and tax forms while she gathered together cleaning supplies. The twenty-two foot yacht had sat idly neglected tied to the pier since her arrival. Sandra felt unqualified to sail her and she was far too valuable to charter out to someone else without proven seamanship skills. Perhaps Chris could teach her to sail her. If not, he could take the charters out once spring arrived and the tourist season began to bloom. Assuming he hadn’t landed a better job by then.
Sandra plunked hull wax into the large bucket next to the stain remover, polish and soap then went back to find Chris. As she approached, he smiled up at her and handed her all th
e forms she’d asked him to fill out. “Are you ready to start now?” she asked, holding the bucket up.
“Why not?” He accepted the bucket from her. “Where shall I begin?”
“I’ve got a 22 footer on the pier that needs to be gone over with a fine tooth comb,” she told him, leading the way out the front door and down the boardwalk.
Sandra watched as Chris boarded the yacht with ease and began looking over gadgets and winches. “She’s in great shape,” he finally pronounced. “All she needs is a little primping to get her out to sea.”
Sandra left him scrubbing the deck and returned to her office to call the phone company. To her surprise, they agreed to have someone there to install a second phone line for her residence that afternoon. She knew it wouldn’t be a permanent solution to her problem, but at least she could close the shop door at night and know no one would be calling to awaken her.
Eyeing the neat piles of papers which required her attention, she wondered what she should do next. There were stacks of invoices, receipts and regatta information.
Absently, she picked up her notes on the sailboat race. She needed to touch base with the two local papers and the radio station to make certain they still planned to advertise the event. She had convinced the Fort Walton Herald and the Pensacola Post to write articles on the event. KRYZ had even agreed to broadcast live from the race site. She was still disappointed the regatta wouldn’t be held on her own beach front property. However, she agreed with Luke, she wouldn’t have enough space if a lot of boats turned out. And too, it would be difficult for the cats to get out of the bay. As a second choice, she had managed to talk the Holiday Inn into allowing them to use their beach in return for being the designated hotel for the gala event.
Sandra smiled to herself as she stared down at the brochure she had created. A slender cat sailed across an ivory page making a diagonal line for the words, Fall Fest Regatta. It was an eye catcher. Luke Caldwell would definitely be impressed, she thought and then scowled. Luke. Why was it that everything in this town reminded her of Luke? To make things worse, she hadn’t heard from him since he’d left her Saturday morning. He said he would call. Even if their relationship meant nothing to him, she would have thought he’d have phoned just to remain on good terms. They would be working on the regatta together, after all.
Sea Star Legacy Page 19
