by Kara Lennox
“What could I do to change your mind?” She could hear the desperation creeping into her voice. “What if I brought a neutral party on board to keep tabs on me? Or…or…” The gears in her brain turned. She had an even better idea. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
He looked at her like she was crazy, but she knew she was on to something. “No, listen,” she said excitedly. “This will work. You get that injunction lifted, let me continue with the charters, and any time the boat leaves port, you or one of your cousins can be on board. You said yourself that you’ll need training-and I won’t charge you for that. We can even split the proceeds.” Half the income would be better than none. At least she could pay something to the most immediate of her creditors.
To her surprise, he actually seemed to think it over. Probably trying to work the angles, figure out how he could turn her idea to his benefit.
“A fifty-fifty split?”
“After expenses, of course. You can draw up the contract if you like.” Of course he would want a contract. But if she could avoid canceling any trips, she would do it.
“I could reacquaint myself with the business that way,” he said, thinking out loud.
“Exactly. See, a win-win situation. I know you lawyers generally prefer a win-lose option, but even you can see this is a sensible choice for us both.” Especially if she could find a way to convince Cooper he didn’t really want to run a fishing charter, that it wasn’t the glamorous margarita party he thought it was.
Suddenly he smiled, and his face transformed. Her heart gave a little lurch. Oh, Lord, he was ten times more good-looking when he smiled.
“I guess that would make us partners,” he said with an unexpected twinkle in his eye that made Allie’s stomach swoop.
Maybe she should have thought this over first.
Chapter Three
Cooper was surprised at how swiftly he’d agreed to Allie’s counter-proposal. At Remington Industries he was known for taking a hard line, showing no mercy. No one would ever have accused him of being soft.
But before he could even think through all the ramifications or at least discuss matters with Reece and Max, he’d said okay. Maybe it was because he was itching to get back on board the Dragonfly; maybe it was the way Allie’s chin had wobbled. But somehow he’d quickly convinced himself her idea had merit.
Partners? Where had that come from?
“I have to get back to the boat,” Allie said. “I’ve got customers arriving in about thirty minutes. You call off the judge and draw up whatever papers you feel are necessary, but we depart at ten-thirty sharp. And, Cooper, you might want to change into shorts and deck shoes and…I don’t know, maybe a shirt with some color in it? The clients expect Jimmy Buffet, not Warren Buffet.”
Without giving him a chance to sputter any reply, she turned and jogged down the sidewalk to where she’d parked her old car. If she hadn’t departed so abruptly, he’d have told her the wheels of justice don’t turn that quickly. He couldn’t simply undo the injunction and produce a contract out of thin air.
But surely no one would try to stop her from sailing, particularly if he, the complainant, were there to reassure any trigger-happy law-enforcement types that it was okay. As for the contract, he could draw it up tonight, provided Reece and Max agreed. Allie had actually made some good points about protecting the Remington Charters reputation by not canceling any excursions or turning away loyal customers, and Reece would approve of employing their asset to produce income, rather than letting it lie idle.
Cooper could use the sailing experience while they waited to take full ownership.
Surely his cousins would see the sense in such an argument.
But there was no time to worry about that now. He had to dig through his suitcase and come up with something that made him look less like a corporate lawyer and more like a happy-go-lucky beach bum.
At precisely 10:25, Cooper pulled his rental car into the marina parking lot and hurried to the Dragonfly’s slip. He wasn’t worried that Allie would sail without him. But he didn’t want to delay the cruise and have his customers believe their captain was a slow-moving slacker.
Yeah, Captain Cooper Remington. He liked that. And the customers would like it, too, having a man in charge. Not that he didn’t believe Allie was competent. But she wasn’t very big, probably not real strong, and fishing was a manly sport. If he were paying a bundle for a fishing charter, he would want someone who looked like he knew what he was doing to be giving advice.
He would avoid mentioning the word captain in front of Allie, though. First he would ease her into the idea that he was the one in charge.
As he approached the slip, he saw a group of men in shorts and golf shirts on deck. Some were milling around, others had already found deck chairs. Given their pale complexions, he guessed they were corporate execs on vacation.
Poor stiffs. He felt a bit smug, knowing he’d escaped the hallowed halls of corporate America to live his dream.
These were guys he understood.
“Good morning,” he greeted them. “I’m Cooper Remington, your c-” He stopped himself just in time. “Your co-host. What’s it going to be today, black drum? Maybe some Spanish mackerel?”
“Wrong season for mackerel,” the oldest man in the group said, coming forward to peer critically at Cooper. “Allie says snapper are running thick in the bay. Remington, you said?”
“Yes, sir,” Cooper responded, a tad less sure of himself now. Of course, mackerel season was later in the summer. He knew that. He thrust out his hand. “I’m the new owner of Remington Charters. Johnny was my uncle.”
“Wait a minute,” the older man said, holding up one finger. “Are you the nephew who puked on my fish?”
Cooper winced inwardly. A very long-time client, apparently. No wonder Allie hadn’t wanted to disappoint him. “That was my cousin, Reece. I’m the one who cleaned the fish afterward.” He’d been the only one capable. Reece couldn’t stand to look at fish guts, and Max had been too young-and too easily distracted-to be trusted with a sharp knife.
“Well, okay then,” the man said, backing off. “I’m sorry for your loss. Johnny was a heckuva boat captain. I understood his gal was taking over.”
“We have some legal technicalities to work through,” Cooper said smoothly, “but for now she’s helping me out. Can I get anyone a beverage?”
“Allie already showed us to the coffee,” another of the men said. He had a thick Texas drawl, and Cooper already didn’t like the way he said Allie’s name or the sly smile that briefly crossed his face.
Allie shouldn’t be running this business by herself. Captaining a boat the size of the Dragonfly was no easy task. Uncle Johnny had said that often enough. Storms, rocks and reefs, other boats piloted by people who didn’t know what they were doing-hazards were everywhere, just waiting to waylay an inexperienced sailor. And then there were the predators-the two-legged variety. Allie’s reaction to him and his cousins during their first encounter meant that she was at least aware of the threat.
But did she have any way to deal with it? Did she really have a gun, or was that a bluff? Would she even know how to shoot a firearm?
“We’ll be under way soon,” Cooper said. Soon as he found Allie and let her know he was on board and they could get started.
He went below, getting a first impression. The decor hadn’t changed much in fifteen years. Still those same nautical-themed curtains at the windows; still the same blue carpeting. Everything was just more faded now. It did look as if someone had given the place a fresh coat of paint in recent history, and the seating area in the salon had new upholstery.
“Allie?”
“Down here.”
That was when he spotted the open hatch. She was in the bowels of the boat. Cooper remembered that Johnny had spent a lot of time messing with the temperamental engines, which hadn’t been new even back then.
Cooper moved closer, until he could see Allie, a wrench in her hand,
a smear of grease across her face.
“Engine two won’t start. You know anything about diesel engines?”
“Um, no.” This wasn’t good. His first time on a Remington Charters cruise as the owner, and the boat can’t leave the dock? Made him look like an idiot. “I can call a mechanic.”
“Only if you can pay for it out of your pocket. I can’t use the operating account.”
“We have to call-”
“Just give me a few more minutes,” she said crossly. “I think I know what the problem is. Are the troops growing restless?”
“They seemed happy enough when I greeted them. And why is there no money in the operating account?” He couldn’t help the sharp note of suspicion in his question. Just because Allie had big green eyes and a really cute turned-up nose was no reason to believe she was too innocent to wipe out the company coffers. She could have done it Friday, after kicking Cooper and his cousins off the boat.
She looked at him as if he were the stupidest person in the world. “You froze the account.”
“Right.” He’d forgotten about that.
“But even if you hadn’t, the business isn’t exactly rolling in money. I had to make some very expensive repairs to the engines a couple of weeks ago, repairs which were supposed to prevent this-” she pointed an accusing finger at the ailing engine “-from happening. The insurance rates have gone up again. Then there’s the price of fuel and…Why am I telling you this? Just look at the damn books.”
She leaned over the engine again, applying her wrench to a rusty bolt with no success. By propping one shapely leg against the boat’s hull as leverage, she finally cracked the nut loose. She unscrewed it and lifted a metal plate, revealing a spaghetti bowl of multicolored wires.
“Ah-hah,” she said with a note of triumph. “Just as I thought, another short. Would you look at this wire? It could have caused a fire. When I get hold of Mickey…” She busied herself yanking the charred wire from the spaghetti, then reached into a tool box for a length of replacement wire. She deftly stripped the rubber casing off the ends and reconnected…whatever it was that had become disconnected.
“Who’s Mickey?” Cooper asked.
“Worst mechanic in Port Clara, that’s who. Could you go turn the ignition and see if the thing starts?”
“Won’t it just short out again?”
“Maybe. But I have lots of wire. I’ll just have to jerry-rig it well enough to get through the day. Then I’ll call Mickey and have him fix it right this time.”
“Shouldn’t you call someone else?”
She pointed the wrench at him. “Ignition? Please?”
Cooper didn’t like being ordered around. But the fact was, she obviously knew more about boat engines than him. If there was one thing corporate law had taught him, it was that knowledge is power.
He would have to learn. Meanwhile, maybe allowing Allie to stick around awhile-just till he got his sea legs-wasn’t such a bad idea. And speaking of legs, he needed to stop looking at hers, even if she insisted on showing them off in those Daisy Dukes.
He was baffled by the fact she’d refused to even entertain a settlement. She was going to lose everything.
He climbed up to the bridge. A set of well-worn keys dangled from the ignition. He turned the key, and both engines sputtered to life. He whispered a prayer of thanks that he didn’t have to disappoint loyal customers.
As he took the ship’s wheel in his hands, a wave of nostalgia washed over Cooper. One of the proudest moments in his youth had come when Uncle Johnny let him drive this boat for the first time. He’d secretly pretended to be a pirate, scanning the murky waters for telltale turbulence that meant an obstacle below the surface-then scanning the horizon for merchant ships to plunder.
He heard a noise behind him and turned. Allie had joined him at the bridge, a pleased smile on her face. It was the first time he’d seen her smile, and even his jaded, suspicious heart wasn’t immune to the effects.
Oh, she was a heartbreaker, all right. Uncle Johnny, an aging, alcoholic widower, must have been putty in her hands.
“Do you know how to cast off?” she asked.
“You can do that,” he said smoothly, gripping the wheel more tightly. “My place is here.”
“Like hell. Get off my bridge.”
“Our bridge. We’re partners, remember?”
“Have you ever piloted a boat in your life?”
“Yes. Uncle Johnny taught me.”
“How long ago?”
All right, so it had been more than twenty years ago. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”
“Have you even looked at a nautical chart in the last ten years? Sandbars have moved. Reefs have changed. So if you even remember where all the hazards were umpteen years ago, they’re different now. We have a new sonar system since you were here. Do you know how to use it?”
She gave him a derisive up-and-down visual exam, taking in his choice of sailing clothes, no doubt. Khaki shorts, a golf shirt and Top Sider moccasins with white soles-perfectly sensible, weekend-casual clothing-in fact, very similar to what the passengers wore. But he felt almost too formal. She wore only those faded cutoffs and a white tank shirt with an embroidered Remington Charters logo over her left breast. And a nice breast it was.
She also had the tanned skin and gold sun streaks in her hair to prove her authenticity.
A wave of heat washed over him. Funny, he’d never found the outdoorsy girls to be his type before. Most of the women he’d dated were professionals-with a few idle heiresses thrown in. But even though Allie was out to fleece him, he found her lack of pretense refreshing and appealing. No makeup, no long lacquered nails, no five-hundred-dollar shoes or salon highlights. Just five-foot-three of pure woman.
Gradually he loosened his grip on the wheel. He hated to admit it, but she was right. He was acting like a macho jerk.
“Do you know where to find snapper?” she asked.
He backed away from the controls, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, fine. Today you’re the captain and I’m the first mate. But tomorrow we’ll trade.” He would watch everything she did and reassure himself he was perfectly capable. How hard could it be?
ALLIE STEAMED AS SHE GUIDED the Dragonfly out of its slip and across the no-wake area around the marina. Did Cooper Remington honestly think he could just waltz in here and start running charter excursions on childhood memories?
It was tempting to let him have the Dragonfly. Let him sink the business, if not the boat, before his first season closed.
But she couldn’t walk away. Everything she had, everything she’d built over the years, was tied up in this business. All the money she’d saved to buy her own boat, she’d sunk into the Dragonfly to keep her afloat since Johnny’s illness set in. She couldn’t face starting from scratch.
She could probably get a job with one of the other charter services. Yeah, they were all competitors, but friendly ones. Everybody in Port Clara-and up and down the Texas coast, for that matter-knew she had the experience, not to mention an uncanny sixth sense for finding the fish. Her boat might be humble, but her customers always left with full coolers.
Once she got into open water she set a course for the most likely place to find schools of snapper. It would take more than an hour to get there. During that time she needed to make sure all the men had the correct equipment and bait, and she had to serve them up a snack.
This group was easy. They’d all fished with her before and they knew their stuff. Mr. Cox, who’d been fishing for forty years-most of those with Johnny-could answer any questions. Her only real challenge was to avoid Mr. Nelson’s roaming hands.
She looked down at the deck and spotted Cooper. He’d found a deck chair and a soft drink and was in an animated conversation with one of the passengers. She was going to have to watch him every minute-the guy was used to being waited on, not the other way around. And God knew what he was telling her customers.
“Cooper!” sh
e called down. “Come take over the helm.” All he had to do was go in a straight line and avoid hitting any other boats. Surely he could handle that.
He looked up at her and grinned. “Aye-aye, cap’n.”
Once she had him safely ensconced in the captain’s chair, she set to work with the rods and reels, making sure each man had equipment he was happy with, untangling line, figuring out who would be positioned where.
“Is it true, what that Remington boy said?” Mr. Cox asked in a low voice. “Is he taking over the business?”
“He’s going to try.” Allie made it sound like she wasn’t concerned. “Johnny’s family isn’t happy about the status quo, and Cooper is going to try to break the will.”
“Think he can do it?”
“The Remingtons have large coffers of discretionary cash to fight a legal battle. Obviously I don’t. So we’ll have to see.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
Allie patted Mr. Cox on the arm. “Life’s never fair.” So far, that had been her experience. But she kept thinking that sooner or later she’d get an even shake. She’d already had her father’s boat stolen out from under her by her conniving uncle. She deserved a break.
“I just want you to know,” Mr. Cox said, “that I’ll take my business wherever you land. You know your stuff.”
His loyalty touched her. She had so many good friends in Port Clara, but she also knew people from all over the country and the world. Johnny’s customers had hailed from as far away as Vancouver and Buffalo-even Japan. Many of them had booked again this season, even after learning of Johnny’s death. They were willing to give her a try. If all of them were as loyal as Mr. Cox, she could bring a valuable client list to any other boat she signed on with.
But that thought didn’t cheer her much. She loved this boat. She’d put so much care into it-painting, sewing new cushion covers for the salon, scrubbing the hull. She’d even designed the Remington Charters logo, with Jane’s help.
All so the rich Remington boys could trash it.
Okay, she didn’t know for sure they would, but it wasn’t their lifeblood or they wouldn’t have spent all those years in New York pursuing landlocked jobs. This was a lark for them. If they sank the boat or trashed the business, they would just move on to their next entertainment.
