Heart's Passage

by Cate Swannell

  "Well, whose fault is that, Cadie?" The senator leaned in, lowering her voice. "You're the one who decided you were too good for my friends. It's not my fault if none of your buddies showed an interest in coming along. "

  "I'm sure if they'd known there was such an open invitation on offer they would have jumped at it, " she had muttered. Christ. She looked around the group and groaned inwardly.

  Therese and Sarah, a couple of corporate attorneys from Chicago who shared Naomi's bad taste in modern art. Jason and Toby, the senator's PR team, whom Cadie had long ago silently dubbed the "Queens of Spin." Larissa McNeil, Naomi's former college roommate, and... Cadie winced. Larissa had a tall redhead hanging off her arm. A very familiar, tall redhead.

  Cadie pulled herself back to the present. The redhead's name had turned out to be Kelli and, mercifully, she had utterly no memory of her New Year's Eve encounter with Cadie. Or if she had, she'd so far had the sense to stay quiet about it.

  A sense of dread balled up in the pit of Cadie's stomach for about the millionth time since they'd left Chicago. All she had wanted was a few weeks to themselves so she could come to some kind of conclusion about where the relationship was going. Not to mention getting some badly needed rest and relaxation for them both. Instead, she had nightmare visions of one long intoxicated party, with no prospect of getting any sense out of her partner. At least they'd had the sense not to try and bring a stash into the country with them. Or she assumed they hadn't. She shuddered at the thought of what those cute little drug-sniffing beagles at Sydney International would have made of that.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, we have started our descent into Hamilton Island. In preparation for landing the captain has switched on the seatbelt sign. Please fasten your seatbelts, make sure your tray table is properly stowed, and that your seat back is upright."

  Cadie smiled at the gentle Australian accent of the flight attendant coming through the loudspeaker. Some things were so similar to home, but the accent was an enchanting reminder that she was in another world.

  The thought restored some of her excitement about the trip.

  Damn it, she decided. I'm going to enjoy myself regardless. There's so much to see that's new and different and beautiful. I'm not going to let other people spoil this for me. Including Naomi.

  She looked down at the senator and nudged her awake none too gently.

  "Ww-wwhat, whassa matter?" Naomi mumbled.

  "We're almost there, Nay," Cadie said. "It's time to wake up and get organized."

  "Jesus, it's about time," she grumbled.

  Cadie sighed.

  Yeah. Including Naomi.

  Jo was running late. She roughly tucked her dark blue company polo shirt into her khaki shorts and dove down onto the floor to see if her deck shoes were under the bed.

  Yep. She pulled them on, grabbed her overnight bag, and ran to answer the front door. A personable young man greeted her with a grin.

  "Josh, hi! Thanks for coming over."

  "No worries, Jo. You know I'm never gonna turn down the chance for time away from the wrinklies, unlimited Internet access and cable television." He grinned again.

  Jo laughed. "Yeah, I figured you'd jump at it." She smiled back at the good-looking 18-year-old. Josh was the son of her nearest neighbors and he had been her regular house and cat-sitter since he'd been old enough to drive. She watched as he made himself at home, making for his regular berth. "How are your folks?"

  "They're good, thanks," he replied from the second bedroom where he was stowing his belongings. He re-emerged with Mephisto sitting on his shoulder. "He was lying on the bed waiting for me. God, cats are scary sometimes." He laughed.

  Jo grinned. "You're not wrong. Sometimes I swear he lives about 10 minutes in the future and just comes back to freak me out every now and then. Don't ya, big fella?" She scratched the large cat's chin as he perched on Josh's shoulder, purring like a Mack truck. "Do me a favor, Joshy? Feed him his breakfast for me. I've still got a few things missing that I need to find before we go."

  "Sure."

  Josh took Mephisto to the kitchen and proceeded to have a long conversation with the feline over a bowl of kibble. Jo smiled and began the search for her sunglasses, sunscreen, cap, and cell phone. Finally she rescued them all from their various hiding places and she was ready.

  "Come on, Josh. Come with me down to the dock and then you can drive the Jeep back for me."

  "Cool beans."

  "No hooning around in it this time, okay?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I mean, no ma'am."

  Jo chuckled. "Mephisto!" she called. The cat leapt up onto the kitchen counter and sat on his haunches. Jo leaned in and butted heads with him. "Be good, boycat." He purred his reply loudly. "Okay, let's go." She followed Josh out of the house and locked the door behind her, resetting the security system. "You remember the code, Josh?"

  "Yep, no worries. 3-2-2-1 right?"

  Jo nodded as she climbed into her red Wrangler and fired it up. Josh clambered in beside her and she reversed till she could maneuver around his beat-up jalopy. They bounced down the dirt track that served as Jo's driveway and she took a moment to collect her somewhat scrambled thoughts.

  It was a gorgeous day; not a cloud in the sky and, although it wasn't yet 8am, the temperature was already climbing into the high 90s, with the usual high humidity for the time of year. Jo couldn't wait to get out on the water and feel a bit of a breeze. For now she just took a deep breath and appreciated the cool patches generated by the canopy of trees meeting across the track.

  Her first appointment was a meeting with her boss, Ron Cheswick, the owner of Cheswick Marine. He would fill her in on the details of the boatload of tourists she would be responsible for over the next— "How long you gonna be gone this time, Jo?" Josh interrupted her thoughts with just the right question.

  "To be honest I don't know yet, mate," she replied. "I'll give you a call as soon as I know what's what, okay? You don't have any big plans do you?"

  "Nope," he said jovially. "I was just wondering which Saturday night to have the party." He grinned from ear to ear.

  "You little bugger." She laughed, slapping him across the shoulder.

  "Just kidding. Just kidding," the teenager said.

  They slid off the last of the dirt at the bottom of Jo's hill and onto the paved surface of Shute Harbor Road, winding around the coastline till they rounded one last corner and came upon the port. Although it was early, the dock was already a hive of activity. Jo dodged other cars vying for a spot in the parking lot and headed straight for the secondary pier which housed the Cheswick Marine office and those of its competitors.

  Shute Harbor was the major access port for the Whitsunday Islands and as such was a big focus for tourists. The main pier was a square concrete building with a large kiosk, the Coast Guard office above it on the land side, and a series of moorings around the outside ring. All the large catamarans and motor cruisers from the major resorts on the islands called in twice daily, picking up and depositing passengers, mail, and stores. In addition it was the starting point for most of the day-trippers going out on the smaller yachts, cats, and game-fishing boats.

  The north end of the parking lot led to the secondary pier, a long, narrow pontoon that snaked out into the bay. It was dotted with offices, dinghy moorings, and piles of provisions. Not many tourists came out here, just the boaties and office staff. Most of the time the tourists who wanted to do a bareboat charter were picked up from their island resort, as was the case with Jo's group today.

  Jo pulled up just shy of the pontoon and hopped out of the Jeep, grabbing her bag from the back seat. She flipped the keys to Josh.

  "Take it easy Joshy," she said. "And listen," she pointed a finger at him with mock severity, "any party is okay, you know that, right? Just don't traumatize the cat, do clean up afterwards—and you know my rules about booze and drugs." She walked around the back of the car and headed for the pontoon.

  "You got it, Skipper," he cal
led after her.

  "I'll call and give you some warning when I'm coming back in—just so you can get it habitable in time," she shouted back with a wave.

  He grinned and revved the engine, peeling out as he accelerated out of the lot.

  "You bugger," she muttered. "There goes another set of tires." She found it pretty hard to get mad with Josh, though. He was a good kid and despite all his big talk of parties she'd always come home to an immaculate house, a happy cat, and no signs whatever of anything untoward.

  Jo strode along the pontoon, happy at last to feel the sea breeze taking the edge off the humidity. She noted that it was the prevailing southeast breeze, normal for this part of the world most of the time. It would make the trip to Hamilton Island, which lay away to the southeast of Shute, a little longer and busier, but she could handle that.

  She brushed her long black hair out of her eyes as she looked away to the right and spotted her yacht in the distance. Well, technically it wasn't "her" yacht, but for the time she was skippering it, it might as well be. She could see her two crewmembers, Paul and Jenny, already on board, readying the long boat for its three-week assignment. She waved and gestured towards the office when she got a response from Jenny.

  "Hiya, Jo!" Doris, Cheswick's indispensable and long-suffering receptionist, greeted her warmly as she stepped through the door of the small floating office.

  "Hey, Doris, how are you?" Jo returned with a smile. "Is the boss in yet?"

  "Surely is. Go on in."

  "Thanks." Jo left her gear stowed behind Doris' desk and walked through into Ron Cheswick's tiny office, knocking softly on the door as she did so.

  "Hi, Jo, come on in. Take a seat." Ron waved her over and Jo slid into the seat on the other side of his desk. He looks particularly harried this morning, she thought. Running this kind of business had its fair of share of stress, she knew. And at 50-some-thing and not exactly at his fighting weight, Ron looked like it was all catching up with him. She watched as he rooted around in a drawer for the file on the tourists she would be guiding around.

  "How's business, Ronny? We making money for ya?"

  "Oh that's funny, Jo. No, really," he snorted. "That group of Germans Frank took out last week? They ploughed into the jetty at South Molle yesterday. Can you believe it? The boat's going to be in dry dock at least a week."

  Jo winced. Most of the business the company did was true bareboat charters in which the clients sailed the boat themselves after as little as a few hours' tuition from the company's skipper. Just how much tuition they received depended on how much sailing experience the client had. Of course, there was no way to make the client tell the absolute truth about how much experience they'd had. And there was no accounting for stupidity and the influence of alcohol. The company's insurance premiums were astronomical as a result.

  Not to mention the clients who would arrive expecting to spend their dream holiday on their dream yacht, only to find their dream yacht in dry dock being repaired, and a smaller, less luxurious yacht waiting for them. The holidays were expensive and clients rightly expected the best for their money.

  Nope, Jo wouldn't have Ron's job for quids. At least, Jo smiled, at least not the way this one was set up. If it were her business she'd make it all crewed charters, very exclusive, very small. And she'd specialize in the gay and lesbian market. There was a huge niche there that was going largely untapped.

  Ron interrupted her daydream by slapping a file down on the desk in front of her.

  "There you go. Thank God, this mob you're picking up today is the exception to the rule; rich as stink, and not in the least bit interested in sailing their own boat. At least I know the Seawolf's in good hands this trip." He sat down heavily and folded his hands across his belly, watching as the blue-eyed woman across from him thumbed through the file.

  Damn she's gorgeous, he thought for about the zillionth time since he'd first met her.

  "How many?" she asked without looking up.

  "Four couples, so it's gonna be a bit crowded. Make Paul sleep on deck." He grinned.

  "Three weeks? Damn, they're keen," Jo said.

  "And rich, don't forget that," Ron reminded her happily. "They won't spend all that time on the yacht. But Jo," he leaned forward to make his point, "they're paying premium dollar for full-time service. You and the crew are on call for the full three weeks. If they want to sail, sail. If they want to dive, organize the dive-master. If they want to party, show them the hot spots. If they want to stay at a resort, make the booking and stay close at hand."

  Jo nodded. And then her eyes fell on the passenger list. "A US senator? Jesus, Ron, that's some circle we're sailing around in, huh?"

  "Oh yeah. And what's more it's not just any senator. It's the first openly lesbian senator, her partner, and six of their rich gay friends. That boutique market you're so keen on cornering just landed in your lap, mate." He leaned forward again. "Do me a favor?"

  Blue eyes held his own as an eyebrow rose in inquiry.

  "Don't blow it. Make nice, give 'em everything they want and hopefully they'll go running home to tell their little queer buddies all about faaaaaaaabulous Australia."

  Jo closed the file and looked at him sardonically. "Y'know Ron, for a straight bloke, you sure talk a good game."

  "Yeah, yeah. Flattery'll get you nowhere, Jo-Jo. You know that deep down you're just pining for a good-looking guy like me." He grinned. It was an old and familiar routine with them.

  Jo stood, leaned across the desk, and chucked him under the chin. "In your dreams, Ronny boy. In your dreams." And with that she strode out of the room.

  "You have no idea, gorgeous," her boss muttered under his breath.

  Jo picked up her gear, said goodbye to Doris, and walked back out onto the pontoon. She flicked her cell phone on and speed-dialed Paul onboard the Seawolf.

  "That you, Skipper?" his gruff baritone answered.

  "Sure is. Did you guys take the dinghy out?"

  "Nope, we left it for you. Ron dropped us off."

  "We fully loaded?"

  "Yes, boss. Except for one case of champagne which we left for you. Wouldn't want you to think we'd robbed you of the warm and fuzzy feeling of doing some manual labor." She could hear his grin through the phone.

  "Smartarse. Anything else we need before we disappear for three weeks?"

  A female voice yelled in the background. "Tell her to bring chocolate!"

  Jo laughed. "Tell her it's all taken care of, Paul. I'll see you shortly."

  "Aye aye, Captain," he said flippantly.

  "Oh shut up." She hung up and went in search of the Sea-wolf's dinghy, finding it not far from the end of the pontoon, hitched to a spare mooring. The case of champagne was already in the bottom of the small tinny, so she tossed her bag in. She took a moment to fish in her pocket for a hair-band and pulled her long locks into a loose ponytail before she donned her cap and stepped into the boat.

  Jo reached back and yanked the string on the small outboard motor, casting off before putting the motor in gear and swinging the dinghy in the direction of the Seawolf, some 100 yards away in deep water.

  God, it's a glorious day. She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun for a brief moment, reveling in the feeling of the heat and wind and small splashes of salt spray on her face. A whole other planet from King's Cross, she thought. As she opened her eyes again she tucked away that dark part of herself once more. Every now and then she had to pull it out, just as a reminder of how good life was now.

  "Hey Jo!" Jenny's happy voice floated across the water to her as she pulled alongside the stern of the boat.

  "G'day Jen. Here, catch hold." Jo flicked the dinghy's tethering rope up to the deckhand. She tossed her gear bag up onto the deck and carefully walked to the bow of the dinghy. She gingerly held her balance as she lifted up the case of champagne.

  "Hang on, Jo, let me give you a hand," Jenny said hastily, tying off the rope and starting to climb over onto the yacht's flat tr
ansom.

  "No, she's right, I've got it," Jo said casually, as with one fluid motion she stepped from the bobbing dinghy onto the transom without so much as looking like she was going to tip over.

  "Geez, Jo. I'm beginning to believe the rumors. You really can walk on water," Jenny joked as she leaned over and took the case from her skipper.

  Jo laughed as she climbed up over the rail. "I wish," she said. "How are you, Jen?" The athletic brunette grinned back at her.

  "Couldn't be better, Skip. And we're just about ready to go. Provisions are stowed, except for this one case. I'm gonna break that open now and put a few bottles on ice, so we've got something to appease the masses with when they arrive. Other than that we're all set. Paul's down in the sail hold, sorting that out."

  "He's not anymore." Jo's tall, blond deckhand appeared on deck and made his way aft towards the two women. "We're ready to go, boss."

  Jo smiled at her two crewmembers. Paul was the stereotypical bronzed Aussie—tall, buff, brown, blond-haired, and laidback. He was also a damn good deckhand, fast and sure on his feet, and strong with it. Jenny was younger and less experienced. She'd come to the Whitsundays a couple of Christmases ago for a working summer holiday, and liked the life so much she had decided to stay. Apart from working on deck when required, she was also the best cook in the company and would be responsible for keeping their guests fed and watered. She and Paul worked with Jo as often as they could and the threesome formed a formidable team and usually picked up the best assignments.

  "Okay then. Let's get the paperwork done and we can get moving here." Jo dropped down into the cockpit and slid down the companionway to the main cabin. She pulled the charts out from their drawer and flicked to the relevant page. "Any chance of some coffee, Jen?"

  "Yep." The cook passed Jo and moved around the galley, stowing the last of the provisions and firing up the coffee pot. Paul flopped down onto the small sofa and put his feet up for probably the first and only time this trip.

  "Did Ron fill you guys in?" Jo asked as she plotted their basic course to Hamilton Island on the chart in front of her and got it ready to relay to the Coast Guard office back on the pier.