by Hope Ramsay
“How many of those boats are charters?” she asked.
“Most of them.”
“Wow. You have a lot of competition.”
“Yup.”
They sailed on for several minutes, lazily tacking as they sailed under the bridge that connected Jonquil Island to the mainland. “I have an impertinent question,” she said after a long moment.
“I usually don’t answer impertinent questions,” he said, “but go ahead.”
“Why a fishing charter, when you’re a sailor?” she asked.
He laughed. “I was a fisherman before I was a sailor. And I come from a long line of fishermen. Barrier Island Charters was started by my granddaddy back when there weren’t as many tourists or as much competition. My ancestors have been fishing this bay for hundreds of years.”
She nodded. “Yes, and you hold that history sacred. I can see that about you. But…”
“But what?” he snapped.
“But near as I can see, there aren’t any sailing charters on Jonquil Island. What if you bought a big sailboat—you know, with more than one mast—and took people out to where Captain Bill ran aground or whatever happened to him.”
A stony silence wafted from the back of the boat, and she looked over her shoulder. The winds were so light this morning that neither of them hiked out, and the sailboat moved on a flat bottom. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.
“No. I’m just annoyed at you for suggesting that I buy into the prevailing myth, that’s all.”
“You mean Captain Bill is a myth?”
“No. He was real. But he was an idiot. He brought his sloop through the inlet right before a hurricane hit. The Bonney Rose was overloaded with pirate treasure and should have stayed out to sea until the hurricane moved northeast. The sloop was so heavy it was riding low in the water, and that’s why it ran aground near where the jetty is today. And I bet you don’t know that the only survivor of the wreck was Henri St. Pierre, my six-times-great-grandfather or something like that. So no, I don’t have any desire to take tourists out to see the jetty.”
She blinked at him. “Your ancestors were pirates?”
“One of them. He was also a runaway slave. But unlike the rest of the guys on that ship, he could swim.”
“Did he end up back in captivity?” she asked.
Jude shook his head. “No. He teamed up with Rose Howland and helped her plant the jonquils.”
Jenna sat there for a long moment, stunned. She’d read the chamber-of-commerce booklet about Rose Howland and her love for the dashing pirate Bill Teel. That unrequited love affair had produced a bastard, John Howland, who was Ashley’s six-times-great-grandfather or whatever. John Howland had gone on to become a wealthy rice planter whose plantation was now a museum up on the Black River. But nowhere had she heard the story of Henri St. Pierre or the fact that someone had helped the grief-stricken Rose to plant the daffodils. It was as if the man had been written out of history altogether.
“I’m sorry about that. But isn’t that what Harry was talking about the other day? The fact that Magnolia Harbor needs to tell the entire history, not just one side?”
“Sure. He was talking about Henri St. Pierre. But that’s different from preserving the African roots of Gullah culture. A museum would be a positive step for correcting the island’s biggest myths, but it won’t preserve the sweetgrass.”
“No. But aside from the museum, it might still be fun to run sailing charters and set everyone straight on the foolishness of Bill Teel and the bravery and wisdom of Henri St. Pierre. And you’d have a business with almost no competition. Not to mention that you’re a descendant of the man in question. In business school, we’d call that an intangible asset.”
“Are you telling me how to run my business now? Weren’t you the one who said that I have more experience than you do?”
She laughed. “You’re right. I’m not telling you anything. I’m just in one of my looking-for-a-good-business-idea modes.”
“Well, just to be clear, there is a sailboat for sale like the one you’re talking about down in Hilton Head. It’s a 1981 LaFitte. That’s pretty old for a boat, but she’s in good shape and she’s almost affordable. She’d require some refitting.”
“So you’ve been looking, huh?” she said with a grin.
He nodded. “Yeah, and they just dropped the price. The truth is I’ve dreamed of owning a sailboat big enough to charter. And I could probably find financing, but that would require leaving the family business. And that’s complicated.”
“You couldn’t add sailing charters to your services?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. If Barrier Island Charters were my company. But it’s not. It’s my father’s, and he’s not a sailor. He’s also got views about debt financing.”
“Oh.” She turned her attention to the jib and adjusted it. She should shut up now. She might have an MBA, but she didn’t have a family. She had no idea how complicated it might be for Jude to walk away from his father’s business. Or to convince his father to expand into sailing charters.
She had no idea at all. And in a weird way, she envied him for his connections. Sure, they might constrain his decisions, but in the end he had all those connections in his life. She had none, and wasn’t that why she’d come out here in the first place—searching for connections that had never been and would never be?
They continued to tack in a northerly direction, and when they reached the channel markers, Jude dropped anchor, directed Jenna to furl the jib, and allowed Bonney Rose to go nose to wind. The current and tides tugged at the small boat, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
“So this is it?” she asked in a hushed tone.
“The spot’s up there.” He pointed toward the mouth of the inlet. “See the lighthouse?”
She nodded.
“They found the boat capsized there. But we’ll never know if that’s where the problem occurred. He could have broached in a wind shift, or gotten swamped by a rogue wave, and the currents and tides could have taken the boat to that spot. His body was found way down by the mouth of the inlet, almost a mile from the boat.
“The weather that day was calm, like today. There were no storms or chop. So it’s a mystery. The accident that put him in the water could have happened anywhere.”
Jenna stared at the spot where her father’s boat had been found, mast down in the water. Her iWear polarizing sunglasses cut the glare and showed the ripples and swirls that disturbed the water’s seemingly placid surface.
“So now you know. There’s nothing to see here. We should go before the wind fills in,” Jude said.
She shook her head. “No. Give me a moment more.” She closed her eyes and started the deep-breathing regimen she’d learned years ago as an anxious college freshman looking for ways to deal with her angst. When she’d centered her being, she asked the silent question: Where are you?
Something tugged at her heart like the tide, and the current tugged the boat. She opened her eyes and searched the shoreline. The tops of the pine trees, live oaks, and cypress waved in the breeze, the motion revealing divine beauty and something more. She could almost hear it in the quiet, punctuated by the sound of the water against the hull and the distant cry of an egret. There was a message here.
She thought about the bright bunch of out-of-season daffodils on her father’s grave. They memorialized the wrong thing. He was gone in body, but a part of him was still here, like the current and the wind and the silence. Her father had invested in love, and she was the treasure he’d reaped.
Without even knowing it.
And for that she owed him more than anger and more than resistance. She had to let his unsaid and unknown love in. She had to welcome him into her life, across all these years and all these miles.
Her eyes teared up. “I love you,” she whispered. His love raced through her with the wind.
“What?” Jude asked from the back of the boat. She almost repeated the words but thought better of it. T
hey might be true in more ways than one.
Instead, she wiped the tears from her cheeks before she turned to look over her shoulder. She managed a smile as the pieces of her broken heart finally knit themselves back together. “I’m ready now,” she said.
He cocked his head. “Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Better than ever. Thank you so much for bringing me here.”
They weighed anchor and headed south, back toward Magnolia Harbor on a run, with the wind behind them the whole way. When they’d left the currents of the river delta behind, they furled the jib, and Jude launched the big spinnaker.
It was Home Depot orange with a big black skull and crossbones on it. It billowed out in front of Bonney Rose like a giant pirate flag.
“Oh yeah, I can see that you’re too proud to play the pirate card,” she said, giving him a glance.
“I didn’t say I was too proud. I said that I was committed to the family business. And, of course, I can’t afford a sailboat that big.”
“But if you could?”
He gave her a sober stare from behind his sunglasses. “Don’t even think about it, trust fund girl. I have no desire to become a kept man.”
She snorted a laugh. “No? I’ve heard the gigolo life has merit.”
“And you want a gigolo?”
“If he looked like you it wouldn’t be all bad.” She gave him her best come-hither smile.
He shook his head. “No. I’d love to have a sailboat big enough to take charters all the way to the Caribbean in the winter, and maybe even pirate tours during the summers, but the family business comes first.”
Of course that’s the way he thought. He was, first and foremost, a preservationist. He wanted to save things. The business, the seagrass, the buildings, the culture.
He had so much to preserve. He was knitted into his community and his family and his way of life. God. She envied him. He wasn’t independent, but he wasn’t alone either.
“Okay, Harvard girl, it’s time for you to learn how to jibe a spinnaker,” Jude said from the back of the boat, pulling her away from her thoughts.
She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was grinning at her like he was enjoying every moment of this sail now that they’d left dangerous waters behind them.
But had they? She wanted him. But even more startling was the fact that she wanted to become like him—connected, interdependent. And she wanted to be in his life and, yes, to make him happy.
If only that last part wasn’t so complicated.
Jenna was a natural when it came to trimming the spinnaker, and when the breeze filled in on the way back, she was utterly fearless as she jibed the big sail from one side to the other. They had so much fun out on the water that they stayed out for almost three hours, just sailing around the bay practicing various sail sets.
So they were both ravenous by the time they got Bonney Rose back on her trailer with her mast stepped, sails dried and folded, lines coiled, and canvas cover buttoned up tight.
“I could go for some spinach queso and a glass of wine,” she said once they’d tied the cover down with bungee cords.
“I think maybe a burger and a Coke for me,” Jude said, watching the twinkle in her big brown eyes. No question about it. If he followed this breeze, he’d end up back at Rose Cottage with her, spending an afternoon wrapped in her arms.
Did he want that?
Hell yes. But there were complications. Always complications. He was a little uneasy about the way she’d asked him about sailboat charters. As if she were ready to swoop in and buy him the world. And that comment about being a gigolo. She must know that he wasn’t that kind of guy.
Had it been a joke, or…?
Damn. She was so confusing.
“We need to get our stuff out of the truck,” he said, turning his back on her as he crossed the parking lot. As he approached the vehicle, he realized that someone had put a second slip of paper under his wiper blade.
“What the hell?” he asked as he pulled the note away from the windshield.
“What is it?” Jenna asked.
He shook his head. “It’s Daddy.”
“What about him?”
“He took Reel Therapy out on a last-minute charter late this morning.”
“Isn’t that good?”
He turned around. “No. Not single-handed. And look out there.” He nodded toward the bay, and she followed his gaze. “Wind’s picking up. It’s probably going to rain this afternoon.”
“So he should have said no?”
Jude nodded, trying to hide his misgivings. If Daddy went out alone, he might do something stupid, like take a cooler full of beer with him. He crumpled the paper. “I should be out there with him. Two is better than one.” Guilt sounded in his voice like an alarm bell.
Jenna cocked her head, her eyes soft with understanding. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No. It’s not your fault.” He yanked open the truck’s door and started hunting for his wallet and her purse. “It’s just this crazy season. It’s like all of a sudden we’ve got more business than we can reasonably handle. I mean, Wednesday charters are practically unheard of this time of year.”
“You’re worried about him, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“Can we call the Coast Guard or something?”
He pulled her purse from the front seat and handed it to her. Her face had paled with worry. Wow. She really cared. “Unfortunately, no. He has to screw up before the Coast Guard gets involved.”
“So, can we hire a boat and go looking for them?”
He shook his head. “We don’t know where they went. It would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.” Which was true. With the weather setting in, Daddy was probably on his way back by now.
And when he got back, Daddy would probably give him a big load of crap for being out in the sailboat this morning, sailing out to the inlet in a small boat. So it wasn’t as if either one of them had been responsible today.
Chapter Eighteen
Jenna clamped her mouth shut as guilt swamped her. What would Jude say when he found out that she’d taken out an ad for Barrier Island Charters in the Harbor Times’ Last Gasp of Summer edition? She’d called the local paper on Monday morning, the same day Colton St. Pierre showed up to fix Ashley’s roof. She’d asked about advertising opportunities only to discover that, if she moved fast, she could get a spot in the special supplement that would be available all over town for the next couple of weeks.
Her stomach roiled a little with the uncomfortable thought that one of her acts of kindness might backfire. It was supposed to be good karma to do something nice for someone without seeking any personal benefit or credit for the good deed.
And yet this situation had trouble written all over it.
Jude reached out then, sending her thoughts in another direction entirely as his hand curled around her neck and shoulder. He reeled her in as if for a hot, salty kiss. “Don’t look so worried. It will be okay,” he said in a manly way that made her want to believe it.
She rested her head on his shoulder for a moment. He was so sturdy. And he smelled so good, like salt spray and suntan lotion and something else utterly delicious. She could rest here forever.
But he didn’t stay still. He pulled her alongside, and they headed, arm in arm, down the boardwalk toward Rafferty’s. Her insides hummed as they walked.
Had they reached a new point in this on-again, off-again relationship where public displays of affection were allowed?
They took a table inside, out of the wind and sun. After they ordered food, the conversation didn’t turn personal. Instead, Jude used the salt and pepper shakers to explain the right-of-way rules during sailboat races, but all that stuff about port and starboard tacks, boat overlap, and lay lines confused her.
“So, does this mean you’ll let me crew for you in a sailboat race?” she finally asked.
“Well, Tim is my usual crew. But I’m sur
e we can find you someone to crew with during next Saturday’s regatta. It’s the Last Gasp of Summer regatta. We get boats from all over the state.”
“I’m not sure I want to sail with anyone but you.”
That got her a smoky look out of his tawny eyes. “Um, why don’t I get the check?” he asked in a gruff voice.
She had just finished off the last drop of her wine when Harry came through the restaurant’s front doors, a heavy frown riding his brow like a thundercloud. He set a course toward them and stopped to give her only the most cursory of greetings before he turned toward Jude.
“We gotta go, son.”
“What?”
“I just heard it on the Georgetown Coast Guard working channel. The Reel Therapy’s run aground on the jetty past the Howland Bridge. Your daddy put in a distress call on channel sixteen. Said they’re taking on water fast. I’ve got the yacht club’s Boston Whaler ready at the dock. Come on. Let’s go.”
Jenna stood up, her heart pounding. She was to blame for this. “I’m coming too,” she said.
Jude took her by the shoulders, staring her right in the eye, and shook his head. “You’ve had a glass of wine, and you’ve got no business out there during a rescue. I’ll call you when I know more.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for offering though.”
Jenna stood in the middle of Rafferty’s dining room, her whole body trembling as Harry and Jude disappeared through the restaurant’s front door.
Now what? Should she go down to Barrier Island Charters and camp out? Should she go back to the cottage? Should she stay here?
She’d set this disaster in motion, proving that no act of kindness goes unpunished. The only thing was, she hadn’t reaped the punishment directly. Her throat closed up. What if she started investing in the people living here only to have every dollar turn into a disaster?
She picked up her purse and headed to Harbor Drive. She walked, head down against the wind, which tossed her hair, turning it into tiny whips that stung her face. She stopped and savagely gathered it all back in a ponytail before she continued, trying to breathe through the lump in her throat and the pressure in her chest.
