“Seven to one scope.”
I could feel Dalton’s eyes on me.
“All right,” the man said. “If two sailboats on the same tack are approaching one another, which is the give-way vessel?”
“The windward vessel,” I said. “It should alter course to pass astern of the stand-on vessel.”
He stared at me for a moment, then turned to Dalton. “It’s late in the season to be out on the water.”
“We came to see the whales,” I said.
“You’re going to pay the balance up front?”
We nodded.
“Have a good time,” he said with a dismissive wave and went back into his shed.
Off to the grocery store we headed to fill our stocks. We had no idea how long we’d be on board, what amount of supplies we’d need, so I loaded the cart to the brim with canned vegetables and boxes of crackers while Dalton wandered around the store picking up packages of mystery foods.
“What was that back there? You’ve been on a sailboat?” Dalton asked as we crossed in front of the frozen food section.
Does he think I was born yesterday? “Nah, I learned all that from an episode of the Brady Bunch. Greg and Marsha wanted to sail to India and—”
He crinkled up his brow.
Fine. “I spent a summer on one once. With my dad.” It was the best summer of my life. Just me and my dad and the sea. No one telling us what to do, how to live. If I could go back to one time in my life… “I was twelve. Four months we sailed the Pacific coast, from Vancouver to Alaska. My dad had made some deal with a Navy buddy and voilà, we were living on a boat.”
“You remembered the anchor scope and right-of-way rules from when you were twelve?”
I shrugged. “That summer is etched in my memory.”
He waited.
I looked up at him. “It was my last summer with my dad.”
He nodded in understanding. “Before he was killed.”
I nodded. “The irony is, when he was planning it, my mother never shut up about it, going on and on about how dangerous it would be.” I paused. If only we’d stayed on that boat. He never would have—I couldn’t go there. Not right now with Dalton. I laughed, keeping it light. “I admit, I wasn’t sure it would float at first, but once my dad and I were on the water, it was like I’d gone home. The serenity of the sea, the simplicity of a single-minded focus, going where the wind took us. I learned so much that summer.”
“I bet,” he said.
“I didn’t exactly have a typical childhood.”
“No kidding?” He shrugged. “They’re overrated anyway.”
I grinned. “I sailed the high seas, swimming with dolphins and singing in the wind.”
“Explains a lot.”
I elbowed him in the gut. “What about you?” I asked. “You know how to handle a sailboat?”
He raised one eyebrow.
“Oh right, you were a SEAL. You’ve done everything.”
“Not everything,” he said with a sly grin. “On a sailboat, that is.”
He held my gaze until I turned away with a huff. “Oh, you are incorrigible.”
The next morning, still no sign of the Forseti. We were lounging in the cockpit with cups of coffee and, though I’d done my morning yoga, I was feeling restless. The surrounding peaks beckoned. I must have been gazing up at them, my ankles twitching, because Dalton asked, “You up for a hike?”
“We can’t leave the marina. What if—”
“If the Forseti arrives, he’s going to stay at least one night to resupply.”
“I don’t think we should risk missing him.”
“You’re probably right,” he said. “Unless…” He gestured toward the mountain peaks. “I bet, from up there, we could see any boat coming or going for miles.”
I grinned. “I like the way you think.” I pointed to the highest peak. “How about we try that one?”
“Is there even a trail, do you think?” he asked.
“Why? Do you need one?”
With a curt shake of his head, he said, “Just to keep track of you, McVie.” He tossed the magazine he’d been reading aside and rose from the seat. “Let’s go.”
He offered to pack our lunch while I walked the docks one more time to be sure we hadn’t missed the arrival of the Forseti while we’d slept. Within fifteen minutes, we were on our way.
There was indeed a trail, we found out. At the end of a short road, an arrow had been painted on the concrete, pointing to the trailhead.
We ducked into the foliage, single-file, and started an easy ascent.
The air was crisp, the piney scent of the forest refreshing. The morning sun warmed my back. For the first five hundred yards or more we walked on a solid plate of rock, then the hillside sloped upward and the trail turned to a rich, dark soil cut through thick grasses and low bushes. The path switched back and forth through a forest of alders and birches, the ground covered in a blanket of ferns and dotted with the occasional purple of bluebells. The rich aroma of fresh moss infused the air even though it hadn’t rained for a few days, luckily. Otherwise, the trail would be slick with mud.
I came to a halt. On the edge of the trail, two enormous toadstools sprouted from the moss. They looked like tiny Smurf houses. One even had a mark on the stem that looked like a door. “Look,” I said. “Three apples high.”
“What?”
“Three apples high.”
Dalton's blank stare made it clear he had no idea what I was talking about.
“The Smurfs. You know, little blue elves that live in the forest in tiny mushroom houses.” When I was a kid, my dad would send me in search of Smurfs in the forest. Kinda like a snipe hunt, I suppose.
“Smurfs?” he said as if checking to be sure I wasn’t delusional.
“It was a cartoon,” I said, suddenly feeling silly. “Forget it.”
About twenty minutes later, we emerged from the birches and the trail took a sudden turn upwards. I heard a strange sound, so out of place it made me stop and look around, trying to get my bearings. Then I heard it again: a metallic jangle from the trail above us. Clank-clank-clank. A billy goat.
He stopped when he saw us, tilted his head to the side, then continued toward us in that silly hoppity bounce, all four hooves springing in unison, like a toddler who’s found a mud puddle. Another followed, then another, bouncy-bouncy-bouncing down the hill, braying at us.
Within moments, we were surrounded by a whole gaggle of goats, swarming, nudging, maneuvering in their skittish way. I held out my hand and five pushed and shoved to check it out. I didn’t have food, but that didn’t stop them. One brave goat with nubbins for horns gummed my fingers. He pulled away with a look of disappointment. Sorry, bub.
Another chewed at my shoelaces. I shooed him away. Goats will eat anything.
“Let’s get some pictures,” I said to Dalton and leaned down and put my arm around a goat. It nuzzled my cheek.
Dalton started to laugh.
“Get the shot. Get the shot,” I said.
He snapped a few and bent over, cracking up. “You’re a nut, you know that?”
“Yep,” I said. “Deal with it.”
Once the goats realized we had no food, they lost interest and meandered away, munching on grasses.
Dalton swept his arm upward with a flourish, gesturing toward the trail. “Shall we continue?”
“We shall,” I said and led the way.
I had to grab hold of rock edges and small tree trunks to crawl up the steep incline. I glanced back at Dalton. He kept pace with me without any sign of complaint, as though we were taking an easy stroll on the docks. He made it look effortless. I, on the other hand, tried not to huff and puff too loudly. He’d never let me live it down.
Then all trees and bushes were behind us and the hillside was a jumble of rocks, mud, and grass. Our hike turned into genuine rock-scrambling as we clambered over boulders using hands and feet. In some of the steeper spots, rope lay across the rocks, s
trung there by some local trail angel. I took hold of one to help keep me steady on all fours as I climbed upward.
“Don’t load it with your entire weight,” Dalton said.
I nodded. I knew. We couldn’t be sure how securely fastened it was at the top.
Dalton stayed right behind me, giving me the sensation that he was patiently waiting, following at my pace like you would a toddler taking her first steps. It made me want to take out his left kneecap.
Finally, I crawled over the rounded edge of the summit and could finally walk upright once again. I spun around, a full three-sixty. I could see for miles. The landscape looked like a photograph, it was so perfectly stunning. Above, blue sky stretched into forever with wisps of fluffy clouds. Below, a dark blue sea shimmered in the sunlight. The two were separated by spikes of gray blanketed in lush green.
I found a boulder, plopped down, and leaned back to take in the warm sun on my face.
Dalton sat down beside me, tipped up his water bottle, chugged down a few swallows, then offered it to me.
“I admit,” he said. “I never really gave Norway much thought, but it’s stunning. Just look at that.”
I wiped sweat from my forehead. “Yeah, takes your breath away, doesn’t it? So pristine.”
“It’s nice to know they appreciate it here. So many places I’ve been, the citizens are too busy trying to survive to think about the environment.” His expression turned gray, his mind off in one of those places.
“Afghanistan, you mean?” I guzzled down some water.
“In the mornings, a mist would linger in the mountains. It made everything look soft and peaceful.” He turned away as though he didn’t want me to see his eyes. He absently traced his shoelaces with his fingers. “But it was more like a shroud, hanging over all the death and despair.”
I looked out over the ocean, giving him space and feeling like a heel for all the times I’d given him crap about being a SEAL. He’d served his country. Honorably. I respected that. Sometime I’d drum up the nerve to tell him. Not now, though. Now wasn’t the right time.
I picked up a dry leaf from the ground and rolled it between my fingers, crackling it into dry bits that fluttered to the ground. Then, hoping it had been a respectful length of time, I raised the binoculars and scanned the surface of the ocean. “I don’t see any boats. Do you think we could see whales from this far away?”
“I don’t know,” he said, slowly coming back to me. “But we’ve got all afternoon.”
We sat together, under the sun, taking in the magnificent view. It was easy. Comfortable. I felt a little closer to him. He’d let me in. A tiny opening, but he’d shared something of himself with me.
“Dalton, what if she was wrong? What if he doesn’t show up here? What if we can’t find him?”
He gave me a warm smile. The dimple appeared again. “We’ll find him.”
“Yeah, but the odds—”
“We’ll find him.”
“How do you figure?”
He flashed a lopsided grin. “With your brains and my stunning good looks? How can we lose?”
I smiled, a full, contented smile. His optimism was contagious. And the sun was shining. And the air was fresh and clean.
“You hungry?” he asked and slipped off his daypack.
I had no idea what he’d packed and it made me a little nervous. I’m not a fan of mystery food.
He unzipped the pack and took out a tiny tarp and laid it on the ground. Then he set out a plate of grapes and cheeses, then another plate with mini-sandwiches—some with peanut butter, some bologna—another with crackers, and olives. Then another plate with hummus and veggies.
“Wow,” I said, genuinely impressed. “That’s quite the spread. You found all that in that tiny grocery store? How’d you even know what it was?” And he’d remembered I’m a vegetarian. Nice.
“Ah, but that’s not all.” He pulled from the pack a water bottle filled with red wine and two plastic stemmed glasses. He handed them to me to hold while he poured. He set down the bottle, took his glass in hand, raised it, and said, “To our new partnership.”
Warmth rushed to my cheeks. Don’t turn pink. Don’t turn pink.
His eyes locked with mine, his expression serious. “I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time in Costa Rica. It wasn’t fair of me.”
I nodded. I didn’t know what to say. He’d already apologized.
“Onward,” he said. “You and I are going to make a great team.”
His eyes held mine and I was speechless under his gaze. Just don’t blush. Please don’t blush.
“I’m a lucky man.”
A tingling rippled at the back of my throat and I felt the heat in my cheeks, marring my face with splotchy patches. Damn.
He raised his glass to his lips.
“Yes, I…me too,” I stuttered, then tipped back the glass and drank down a warming swallow.
He picked up the plate with the sandwiches and held it for me to take one.
“Thank you,” I said and stuffed one into my mouth, thankful for the excuse to say nothing.
He watched as I chewed, making me feel all squirmy and self-conscious. “Good?” he asked.
I nodded, then swallowed. “Yum.”
Then I reached for another and in minutes we’d devoured the meal.
Dalton popped the last mini-sandwich into his mouth and licked the tips of his fingers with a flourish, then wiped them dry on his pants. “Not too bad if I do say so myself,” he said with a grin. He leaned back on his elbows to relax, then sat back up with a jerk. “I almost forgot. I brought dessert.”
From the pack, he offered a chocolate bar. Chocolate!
“Oh,” I drooled. “I could kiss you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Yeah?”
“Well, you know what I mean.” I snatched the bar from his hand, ripped the paper wrapper open, snapped off a square with my teeth, and mashed it around in my mouth, all the chocolaty goodness caressing my taste buds and soothing my soul. “Nom, nom, nom,” I said, grinning with pleasure.
“My, my,” he said. “I’d always heard chocolate was an aphrodisiac, but wow, you look like you’re about to…” He let the sentence hang unfinished.
I froze, my teeth clamped together. “What?”
“Nothing.” He was staring at my lips. “You’ve got a little…” He raised his hand as if to wipe the side of my mouth, but paused, then wiped at the corner of his own mouth. “A little chocolate.” His expression seemed almost embarrassment.
I stuck out my tongue and licked the corner of my mouth.
His eyes grew wide and I burst out laughing.
He shook his head and chuckled. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
“You really are something.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“It means…” He turned away from me, looking out at the landscape. “It means I have no idea what to do with you.”
“You should trust me, that’s what. If you would have trusted me in Costa Rica—”
His head jerked back in my direction, his eyes gone dark. “I said I was sorry.”
I was quiet a moment. “I didn’t mean…” Dammit! Why’d I go and say that? The silence lengthened. Finally, I got up and stretched. “We should probably head back,” I said.
“Yeah.”
CHAPTER FIVE
After a quiet dinner where Dalton pushed food around on his plate and stared into space for long bouts, I retreated to the cockpit to watch the evening sun turn the gray peaks into shades of pink and try once again to get interested in the paperback I had brought, some dime-store mystery I’d picked up in the airport. After that hike, I should have felt relaxed, but a nagging restlessness persisted. I hadn’t meant to insult Dalton. He just…dammit. I swear, we’re like oil and water.
I stared at the open page of the book—page 46—for about an hour.
Around eight o’clock, in the pitch dark,
a fishing vessel puttered into the marina. She turned to dock and under the halogen lights, I was able to clearly see the name painted on the transom—Forseti.
“It’s him,” I whispered down the companionway to Dalton. “Ray Goldman is here.”
“I’ll be damned. Dr. Parker came through,” he said as he climbed out of the cabin and stood beside me.
“The boat’s much smaller than I’d imagined. I thought we were looking for a whaling vessel.”
Dalton frowned. “I’m sure that’s what the informant said, the Forseti.”
“Could there be two?”
“Unlikely. Usually the name has to be registered.”
“How will he bring an orca aboard such a small boat? Either he’s an idiot or we’re missing something.”
Dalton combed his fingers through his hair. “Or we’ve been sent on a wild goose chase.”
I didn’t like this revelation. I didn’t like it one bit. I tried to call Dr. Parker, but there was no answer. “We need to get a look at that boat.”
Dalton shook his head.
“I’m going to go see what I can find out,” I said and moved to step off the boat and onto the dock.
He blocked my way. “We shouldn’t be so obvious.”
“What? You can’t trust me to take an evening stroll on the docks?”
“That’s not—” Dalton said to the back of my head as I stepped off the boat.
I halted in my tracks. Dammit. I’d done it again. I turned around but Dalton had already turned his back and was headed down the companionway.
I meandered toward the fuel dock where the Forseti had tied up. As I approached, I snuck glances at the three men who stood near the bow, talking in low whispers. One nodded over his shoulder as I walked by and said, “Well, hello there.”
He was about my age, maybe a bit older. Not bad looking. His hair separated at his forehead in a perfectly placed cowlick, giving him an irresistible look of boyish-sophistication. The kind of guy I’d give a chance if he hit on me in a bar. Maybe let him talk for a while, see if there was anything worthwhile going on upstairs. His jeans fit nicely, that was sure. Snug, but not too tight. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his fleece jacket. He smiled at me and I felt all tingly. Yep. I admit. He was damn yummy.
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 23
