* * * *
Tripp boarded Betsy Ross later than normal on Monday morning. Jared was already there, the galley already stocked, the guest rooms bearing fresh bottled water and clean linens. He hung his clipboard just inside the stateroom he and Jared would share for the next week and sighed.
Sometimes the trawler seemed so small, and right now, Tripp felt suffocated by the idea of spending the next five days on the forty-foot vessel. He had nowhere to be alone, nowhere to go if he just needed a moment to clear his head, nowhere to escape Jared’s sure-to-be relentless questions.
“Did you change the sheets in here?” Jared asked, the first of the questions beginning already.
“Yes,” Tripp clipped out. He’d spent most of Sunday morning doing laundry and equipping the boat for their trip. “I guess it’s my turn on the air mattress.”
Jared slapped him on the shoulder. “Sure is, buddy.” He chuckled as he walked away, his footsteps on the stairs loud in Tripp’s ears. He checked the bathroom for soap and toilet paper, and then he joined Jared on the deck. The group coming today consisted of all men, a guys’ trip of brothers, brothers-in-law, and a patriarch. They were repeat customers, and Tripp didn’t expect any problems.
“Hey, so I wanted to talk to you before the Millers get here.” Tripp didn’t look at Jared, and Jared didn’t answer, but they’d often had conversations with less.
“I’d like to offer you a partnership with Newton’s Nautical Adventures.” He felt the weight of Jared’s gaze on the side of his face, and Tripp glanced toward him. “You deserve it. You work as hard as I do, and you take care of all of the finances.”
“It’s your business. You bought it when it was an empty, dilapidated warehouse and turned it into something worthwhile.”
Tripp nodded. “Yeah, I did. But it’s your dad’s place, and you do all the business stuff I hate.”
“What kind of partnership?”
Tripp shrugged. “Still need to look that part up. We could talk to Quinn. He might help us.”
“I’m a lawyer,” Jared said. “I can do anything Quinn can do.”
“Oh, right.” Tripp grinned. “Another reason you should be a partner. Your law background is useful.”
“It is? How?”
“Legal disclaimers.”
“Tripp—are you sure? I mean, are you really sure?”
Tripp turned toward Jared and leaned against the railing. “Do you want the partnership?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Then I’m sure.”
“Nothing more than forty percent for me,” he said. “And I’d be okay with less.”
Tripp thought about it. He’d remain the main owner with a sixty-forty split, and both he and Jared would make a good living. “Sixty-forty is fine with me.”
A grin split Jared’s face and he clapped Tripp’s back as they embraced. “Great. We’ll get it legal when we get back on land.”
“Right.” Tripp nodded toward the wharf. “They’re here.”
* * * *
Four days later, they’d seen numerous dolphins and whales. The Millers had caught their quota of rock cod and lingcod, and even four tuna. They were well fed and happy, and Tripp would be in another forty hours when he finally pulled Betsy Ross into the pier.
The group had just finished lunch when the sea chopped against the trawler’s stern and a loud cranking sound echoed throughout the sky.
Tripp didn’t hesitate as he made his way away from the poles and down the steps, Jared right behind him. “That didn’t sound good,” Jared said.
“It’ll be fine,” Tripp said, willing it to be true. An hour later, he knew it wasn’t going to be fine.
Jared hadn’t left his side for more than ten minutes, and only to reassure the Millers that they had everything under control. But with both of them covered in grease, Tripp had determined the fuel system, the timing belt, and the idling system to be fine.
“Can we get back on the port engine?” Jared asked.
“It’ll take days,” Tripp said. “That thing isn’t meant to power the whole boat.”
“I know, but it’s something.”
“We’re still using it right now.”
He studied the starboard engine, frustrated. “I think it’s the transmission.”
Jared groaned. “Should I call the Coast Guard?”
“Yep.” Tripp exhaled as he stood. “Tell ’em we have one working engine, but we need a transmission cable for a large starboard engine. Ours is shredded, and I can’t crank it open.”
Jared didn’t head up to do as Tripp asked, but instead glared at him.
“What?” Tripp asked.
“I’ve never been superstitious, but….”
It took Tripp a few seconds to catch on to what Jared was implying. “You think I cursed us because I kissed Hilary on the boat?”
Jared scoffed. “From what I saw, there was a lot more than kissing going on.”
Tripp refused to be embarrassed. He wasn’t. “You saw us on Sunday at lunch. This isn’t a fling.” Hilary had been charming and sweet at lunch, a completely different person than the first time she’d come.
“I didn’t say it was. Just because you’re in love doesn’t mean you didn’t kill the engine.”
Tripp rolled his eyes. “I’ll go call it in.”
“Tell them about the kissing!” Jared called after him, followed by a laugh that wormed its way under Tripp’s skin and annoyed him.
He’d already been counting down the hours until he could see Hilary again. He added at least another twenty-four, cursing his bad luck—and Betsy Ross for being so jealous.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hilary spent the week buying from other fishermen and selling her catch in town. She went through her black backpack and updated the wardrobe, counted the money, and made sure she had her alternate forms of ID. She had cash in the backpack, cash in three separate places in the house—including the bathroom—cash in the car.
Nothing had happened. The guy from Arcata never came back to town, and nothing seemed amiss. Still, she thought it better to be prepared, just in case.
Friday night came, and she parked on the street in front of Millie’s house even though the driveway only had one car in it. Since she’d been seeing so much of Tripp, and spending time at his family lunches, she and Millie had become fast friends. And tonight was girls’ night at Millie’s place.
At least Hilary thought it was. But only a dim light glowed in the front window, and Hilary recognized the sedan in the driveway as Millie’s. Maybe she was early.
Her phone rang while she contemplated if she should text Millie before going in. Maybe she’d misunderstood the date. She did find it a bit strange that Millie would have girls’ night on the Friday when Jared and Tripp were supposed to return from a week-long fishing trip.
Her phone pealed again, and she looked away from Millie’s house to see her name on the phone. “Hey, Millie. I’m out front.”
“Hey. Have you heard from Tripp?”
“No,” she said. “He said he’d call when he got back.”
“And he hasn’t called?” Millie’s front door opened and she appeared on the porch.
Hilary got out of the car and walked toward her. “He didn’t tell me what time he’d be back.” She stopped at the bottom of the steps, looking up at Millie. “Did Jared mention when they’d be back?”
“They’re always back by six.” Millie stared out at the ocean, but it looked inviting and sunny.
A river of foolishness flowed through Hilary. She didn’t even know what time Tripp was supposed to be back. Millie’s worry seemed to be a palpable being, standing there with them.
“They’re only an hour late,” Hilary said weakly, unsure if that was normal or not. And she hated that she didn’t know, that she hadn’t thought to ask, that Tripp hadn’t told her.
“I’m calling the Coast Guard.” She waved for Hilary to come inside with her, and by the time she entered Millie
’s house, she was saying, “Any reports from the Betsy Ross, Margot?”
She sucked in a breath, spun toward Hilary, and nodded. “Just the one engine? Oh, they’ve already made contact?” She listened, her eyes wide and afraid. Hilary didn’t know Millie well enough to understand her obviously deep-rooted anxiety.
“Yes,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon? All right, thanks, Margot.” She hung up and sank onto the couch. “The transmission in the port engine went out. They needed a cable, and the Coast Guard took it out to them.”
Hilary sat next to her. “So they’ll be home tomorrow afternoon?”
Millie nodded and leaned back, her eyes closed. “I hate it when Jared goes out on that boat.”
“Does it have a lot of problems?” Hilary had been out on Betsy Ross every day for weeks. She’d never experienced a single hiccup.
Millie shook her head and exhaled the word, “No.” She breathed in and out. In and out. “My first husband passed away in a cliff-diving incident. This is only the second time Jared hasn’t come back on time.” She opened her eyes and flashed Hilary a weak smile. “It just reminds me too much of that day when Brady was supposed to come home and didn’t.”
Hilary put her hand on Millie’s forearm. “I’m sorry.” The words seemed inadequate—and they were, Hilary had heard them hundreds of times—but she didn’t have any others.
“So, what brings you out this way?” Millie asked.
“I thought it was girls’ night.”
Millie blinked at her. “I never have girls’ night when Jared’s gone all week.”
Hilary managed a weak chuckle. “I realize that now. Sorry.”
“It’s next week,” she said. “And I’m glad you’re going to come.” She gave Hilary a genuine smile. “Want some ice cream?”
“Always.”
Millie laughed. “I keep tons on hand whenever Jared has a trip. I just get so nervous, even when I know I shouldn’t be.” She got up and went into the kitchen. As she pulled out ice cream and spoons, she said, “I’m going down to Arcata to see someone. I’m not dealing well with it, and well, I’m tired.” She handed Millie a personal container of Cherry Garcia and a spoon.
Hilary wasn’t sure what Millie meant by “I’m tired,” so she dug into her treat, her own thoughts spiraling out of control. She couldn’t wait until tomorrow afternoon to see Tripp, but she also needed to have a conversation with him. A serious conversation.
* * * *
Tripp called just after two o’clock. Hilary stood in the kitchen, the wooden spoon she’d been using to stir her organic quinoa paused in midair. Deliberately, she put down the spoon and swiped open the call.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hello.”
“Sorry we were late.”
“Where are you now?”
“Waiting for Jared to shower.”
She sighed, her emotions balled together in an impossible knot. “You can come shower here. I have great water pressure.”
“That sounds great.”
“I have chicken in the pressure cooker too,” she said. “And this roasted red pepper quinoa that’s delicious.”
“I’ll be right over.”
He showed up ten minutes later, smelling like sweat and fish and salt. She embraced him anyway, relief raging through her. Relief she hadn’t known she needed to feel. “I’m glad you’re back,” she whispered into his chest.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “How did you find out?”
“Millie called the Coast Guard.” Hilary stepped back and gazed up at him. “Which I didn’t even know someone could do, by the way.”
He looked away, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Well, now you know.”
“So that’s it?” She stirred the quinoa and wished she could check the chicken in the pressure cooker. “Now I know I can call the Coast Guard when you don’t come home? Great, thanks.”
“Hilary.” His warm voice dripped like golden honey. “I’m sorry. We should’ve had a conversation about something like this.”
“I’ve seen movies, you know,” she said, her emotions so raw, so close to the surface. “You know, the ones where the seamen don’t come home? Where the wives all line up at the wharf and wait for the bells to ring?” She slammed the wooden spoon on the counter and faced him. “I—you should’ve told me about the real dangers of going out on that boat for five straight days. Millie said this is the second time this season it’s broken down.”
Tripp gazed evenly back at her. “I’m sorry, Hil. I don’t know what else to say.”
“How often does Betsy Ross break down?”
“Not that often, I swear. She’s had some bad luck is all. The first time we broke down, we just ran over some lines in the ocean. This time, the transmission cable snapped. We have radios. We take extra food and water. We were fine.” He took a hesitant step forward. “She didn’t break down last year at all. Not even once. You’ve been out on her. She runs great.”
Hilary’s anger faded and she nodded to show Tripp she’d heard him and understood. “So when you don’t come home when you said you would—which also would’ve been nice to know—I can call the Coast Guard. Is that my only choice?”
“Yes,” Tripp said. “Short of keeping a radio in your car.”
She thought about the other strange things she kept in her car. How could she tell him about the backpack, the money?
“Can I kiss you now?” he asked.
She turned toward him just as the timer on the pressure cooker went off. “Ah, saved by the bell.” She grinned and released the pressure, the loud hissing sound filling the kitchen.
“That happens to you a lot,” he said, sliding his hands along her hips. She twisted in his arms, her hands snaking their way up his chest to his shoulders.
“We should probably talk about my escape plan,” she said.
“Escape plan?” His eyebrows lowered as he frowned.
“I keep a backpack in my car. Money in several places. Just in case.”
“Just in case of what?”
“In case I need to leave town in a hurry.”
“Hilary—”
“It could happen, Tripp. Dante’s in jail for now, and he doesn’t know where I am—for now.”
He exhaled, his eyes broadcasting that the wheels in his head were churning the way wheels did when stuck in mud. “Well, so…if you have to leave town in a hurry, where would you go?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know. I keep my gas tank half full at all times and when the time comes, I’ll get in the car and get out of town as fast as I can.”
“If the time comes.”
Hilary appreciated his optimism, and she conceded the point by remaining silent. She hoped he was right. Hoped it was an if and not a when. “We should make a plan, though,” she said. “A way for me to somehow communicate with you after I leave town.” Her father’s chain of hotels would work again, but she’d have to confess to Tripp about who she was, how she stood for everything from the big city that he disliked.
His grip on her waist tightened. “Any ideas?”
“The safest course of action is to sever all ties,” she said. “No contact. It’s too dangerous.”
“I refuse to accept that answer.” He peered down at her. “I love you, and if you have to leave town, I’ll….” He fell silent and swallowed. “I’ll find you.”
“Hotels,” she said. “Like I told you my parents did. They get a lot of packages, and hotel to hotel shipping is completely normal.”
“I don’t know how to do that.”
She swallowed, the time to tell him now. “I can show you. You’ll use a chain. A specific chain.” She busied herself with the food so she wouldn’t have to look at him. “My father’s chain.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Tripp remained silent as Hilary shredded chicken, added a handful of peas to the pot, and whisked together a mushroom cream sauce.
&
nbsp; “Your father’s chain?” He sat on a barstool. “You mean the hotel he manages belongs to a chain.”
She shook her head, her mouth pressed tightly together. He could only see half her face, because stirring suddenly required all her attention.
“No, I mean my father owns a chain of hotels.”
Surprise rendered Tripp mute. His fingers felt slightly numb, the way they did when he went fishing in the winter and pulled in the trawl from the ice-cold depths of the ocean.
Hilary sighed and faced him, the sauce now added to the chicken mixture. “It’s not Overnight Success,” she said. “But it’s a big hotel chain, and I saw the way you reacted when that hotel was coming into town, and well….” She let her words hang there. Her hazel eyes seemed to radiate electricity, but it was the nervous kind he’d seen before when she told him about her past, not the fiery, passionate kind he enjoyed when he kissed her.
“What chain?” he managed to ask. With a hotel being built in Redwood Bay already, it was unlikely another would try to come in right away.
She shuttered off her emotions. “I don’t want to tell you. Then you’ll know who I really am.”
“Does that matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Why?”
“Remember how you said I didn’t have to tell you? That I was Hilary Finnegan to you and you liked her?” She folded her arms.
Everything inside Tripp softened. He didn’t care who she was. She was Hilary Finnegan to him, and he didn’t just like her. He loved her. He stood and walked around the counter to where she stood in the kitchen.
“I remember.” He wrapped his arms around her. “And I love her.” His whispered words tumbled in the air between them. The nervous energy in her eyes extinguished and she relaxed into his embrace.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’ll know once I tell you the hotel name.”
The tantalizing smell of roasted chicken and vegetables was almost as intoxicating as Hilary’s skin. He rubbed slow circles on her back. “Well, what are you going to do? If the hotel system is the best way to communicate—”
Until Autumn Falls Page 15
