I pulled my hand from his. “Yeah,” I said and escaped to the cabin below.
When I got back topside, Dalton was at the helm, one arm draped over the top of the wheel, the other holding his cup of coffee, his hair ruffled in the wind. He seemed at ease, content. I couldn’t help but stare a moment. If he wasn’t so damn aggravating, I might have found him attractive. He was an adrenaline junkie like me. Bold and confident. And he had the looks—that strong jaw line, the way he held his shoulders, how every muscle formed to create a body that Michelangelo’s David would envy.
Yeah, no. He was so damn aggravating.
I forced my eyes forward, to the edge of the sea, and my mind somewhere else.
Around lunch time, the Forseti overtook us.
“I hope this all happens and is done quickly,” I said. “I don’t think they’ll tolerate us for long.”
Dalton said nothing but I could tell by his expression that he had the same concern.
In the galley, I flipped some lunchmeat and mustard on a slice of bread for Dalton, some peanut butter for me and we kept moving.
When I handed him his sandwich, he asked, “So after that summer, sailing with your dad, that’s when he was killed, by poachers, right?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What happened?”
I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about it. This time every year, the date of my dad’s death, always refueled my anger and frustration. I didn’t like the conclusions of the authorities. Never would. They’d dismissed it too easily. They didn’t know my dad like I did. Someday. Someday I’d track down the culprits and justice would be done.
“I’m sorry,” Dalton said. I wasn’t sure if he meant for losing my dad or for bringing it up.
I shrugged again. “How’s the sandwich?”
“Great, thank you,” he said, taking the hint.
Sometime in the late afternoon, the Forseti slowed and turned into a small inlet. It looked like they meant to anchor.
“I figured they’d press on through the night,” Dalton said. “Didn’t you say Dr. Parker’s last text said that the whales are still quite far out?”
“Maybe they know something we don’t?”
Dalton continued another mile to a nice, secluded cove and we dropped anchor. We had to assume they’d continue in the morning. “I don’t like this,” I said. “Do you suppose they got word there are other killer whales close by? A pod Dr. Parker doesn’t have tagged? And they’re going after them instead?”
He scanned the ocean with the binoculars. “We should get some rest while we can. We’ll take shifts.”
“You’ve been at the helm all day. You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll wake you in four hours.”
“You’ll wake me if anything else comes up though, right?” he said. “You’re not going to take off in the dingy on your own for some clandestine nighttime assault, right?”
I crossed my arms.
“Right,” he said and grabbed the handrails and swung into the companionway.
I shook my head. That man.
The cockpit wasn’t the most comfortable for lounging, but I managed to prop up a cushion and face the open sea. I once again opened my book, but I wasn’t in the mood. It wasn’t very often I got to watch the sunset on a sailboat anchored at sea. In fact, a glass of wine seemed appropriate. I slipped down below, found a plastic mug, and filled it with Cabernet from a box. (On a boat, it would do.) Ah.
I settled into the cushions and thought of calling Chris back, but I didn’t want Dalton to hear my conversation. I’d been snippy with him and he was just trying to be my friend. It was the mention of my mom. Always put me on edge. I sighed. He’d understand.
The sea was calm as glass, the reflections of the surrounding peaks a perfect mirror image. The kak-kak of sea birds mingled with the babble of distant waterfalls. I sipped my wine. Sure beats lying in the mud in a blind swatting mosquitoes and hoping the poachers don’t have itchy trigger fingers.
A faint soothing sound broke the quiet. I grabbed the binoculars and as I lifted them to see, I heard it again—the distinctive whoosh of a humpback whale exhaling as it broke the surface. I stood up. There were three, no four. Maybe five. About a half mile out. And they were headed toward us.
I stood in awe, watching as the group surfaced for air three more times, their warm breath held aloft in tiny clouds of mist. Then on the fifth exhalation, each arched its back and as it dove, showed its distinctive fluke.
I zinged down the ladder. “Dalton, wake up. Wake up.”
He sat up with a jolt. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, sitting on the edge of the bunk, shirtless and wearing only his boxer shorts. For a moment, I forgot what I’d come down for. “Nothing,” I said and forced my eyes to the floor. His shoes had been placed next to the bunk in perfect alignment atop his shirt and jeans, folded with perfect corners and stacked one atop the other. “Come see,” I said, louder than I intended to as I backed out of his cabin.
We got top side as one of the whales surfaced again, this time within two hundred yards. It exhaled and water sprayed into the air with a resounding whoosh, the wistful whisper of a giant.
In moments, another surfaced, then another, their exhalations without hurry, a peaceful yogic breath, and I was reminded of the pranayama. I drew in a long breath and exhaled, concentrating on an easy, constant letting go. Just me and the water and the sky and the whales. Nothing else mattered. Then the first arched his back and as he dove, his fluke broke the surface and water poured off, separating into countless tiny streams as the tail flattened then tipped upward and slowly disappeared below the water.
As though choreographed by some ancient force, each followed in the same manner, showing us their wide tail flukes.
I turned to Dalton. “I thought you’d want to see.”
He nodded, his smile wide. “Yes, thanks. And keep an eye out. Orcas often travel with humpbacks. Or the other way around. Both take advantage of the others’ fishing techniques.”
A whale surfaced right next to the boat, its exhalation so loud I fell back on my butt with a start. Dalton let out a whoop and I giggled. I couldn’t help myself. I giggled with delight as I ran to the bow. The whale passed below in the crystal clear water, then came up on the other side and blew out a breath. The mist sprayed me in the face. “That’s amazing!” My whole body tingled with joy. “Fish breath!” I said to Dalton and giggled some more.
Dalton’s smile said it all.
The other humpbacks surfaced about fifty yards off the starboard bow, circling back.
“How could anyone want to harm such beautiful creatures?” I whispered.
He shook his head.
“They’re just so beautiful,” I said.
Dalton turned to face me. I could feel his eyes on me.
I met his gaze and his eyes held mine. Whoosh, came another watery breath. “We should take some pictures,” I said and hurried down below for the camera, escaping from Dalton’s gaze. I stopped and drew in a deep breath. Don’t go there, McVie. It’s dangerous territory. I got the camera and headed back topside.
I managed to snap a few frames but the whales were quickly getting further and further away. “It’s amazing how much distance they cover and it feels like they’re moving so slowly.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. “I should hit the sack again.” I could tell his mind was elsewhere. “Wake me in four.” He headed down below without looking at me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On Dalton’s watch, sometime around three a.m., an easterly wind brought waves rolling into our cove. I awoke to the rhythmic rocking of our boat. Then the rain came. First a patter on the deck, then the angry pounding of a thousand tiny hammers.
I donned my boots and jacket and started to head up the companionway to ask Dalton if he was all right, but thought better of it. He’d just give me that I-was-a-SEAL frown.
Neither of us were going to get a
ny sleep anyway, so I fired up the stove and set the coffee pot to brew. I filled it only half full as the boat bobbed and rocked in the sea. Otherwise, I’d have a black mess to clean up.
A decent breakfast wasn’t going to happen. Yogurt and a banana would have to do.
As I managed to get steaming hot coffee into the mugs without splashing it all over the place, the boat rose upward on a swell and the anchor broke loose. Dalton fired up the engine immediately. I secured the coffee mugs, flipped on the navigation lights, and clipped on my life jacket before I ran up top.
“I’ve got the helm!” I shouted over the thunderous rain as I took the wheel.
Dalton didn’t hesitate. He headed for the foredeck, hand over hand along the rail, trying to stay upright as the bow rose and fell on the waves. He started hauling in the anchor.
“You’re not clipped onto the jackline!” I yelled but he couldn’t hear me. If he fell overboard right now, in the pitch dark, I didn’t know how I’d find him. But he had to get the anchor up as soon as possible. We’d be in serious danger if it wrapped around the prop. And he had to pull it up without letting it slam into the side of the hull.
I kept her steady as best I could, aiming into the growing swells.
Finally, he had the anchor on board and secured on the bow roller. He headed back to the mainsail, walking with the wide stance of a seasoned sailor to keep his balance while the deck moved below his feet. He pulled off the sail ties and tossed them in the cockpit, put a reef in the sail, then went right to the halyard to hoist the mainsail to stabilize the boat so we’d stop bobbing around like a lost cork. “Head to wind!” he shouted. “Head to wind!”
“I’m trying!” I needed to keep her bow into the wind, so the sail wouldn’t fill as he was raising it, but the waves were too big for the 45-horsepower engine to keep her steady.
The bow swung to starboard. I forced the wheel around and pushed the throttle down, managing to get her headed into the wind. The bow pointed up on the crest of a wave, then slammed down into the trough. As she tilted upward again, water crashed over the bow and sprayed me smack in the face, the cold a shocking jolt.
My feet were braced and I held her steady into the wind as Dalton cranked the winch double-time, hoisting the sail. The moment he cleated the halyard, I turned the wheel, bearing away. The sail filled with wind, and the side-to-side bobbing subsided. The boat eased into the rhythm of her design, pitching fore and aft as she cut through the waves.
Dalton plopped down on the cockpit seat. He was soaking wet, his hair sticking to his forehead.
“That was hairy for a moment,” I said.
He nodded, wiping the back of his hand across his brow.
“We should get into our harnesses before raising the headsail. This looks like it might pick up,” I said.
“I’ll get ‘em,” he said and headed down the ladder, shaking his head, mumbling, “There was nothing forecasted.”
“There’s coffee,” I hollered after him. “I already poured it. Mugs are cinched in the sink.”
He poked his head back up and grinned. “You make a great wife, you know that.”
If I’d had something to throw at him, I would have.
I licked sea salt from my lips.
The halyard rattled against the mast, a metallic bang bang bang. I wanted to tighten it down, but it wasn’t worth risking a walk on the deck.
Dalton appeared with coffee and our harnesses. I got into mine and clipped the tether to the jackline.
“I feel like a dog on a leash,” I said.
“Maybe it will tame you,” he said with a smirk.
A gust came up and the boat lifted, heeling to port. “Never!” I said to Dalton as I tightened my grip on the wheel, holding her steady.
He shook his head. “I say we use the stormsail up front. What do you think?”
I nodded. “It’s really going to blow.” The steel-wire stays that held the mast in place hummed, vibrating in the wind. “I’m setting a course for Reine. Back to the harbor.” I adjusted the mainsail angle by easing out the mainsheet. “We’re going to be rocking and rolling.”
Dalton made no response as he went to work unfurling the headsail while I managed the helm. The boat picked up speed right away.
I took a quick sip of the coffee. Warmth filled my chest.
There was nothing ahead but an inky-black sea with only a hint of white lace at the tip of a wave as it curled and ran alongside the boat. Ideally, sailing at night, I’d have a lookout on the bow, but it was too dangerous in these waves.
Another gust slammed into the sails. I shifted my weight to keep my balance. The wind was picking up and we had miles to go to get back to safe harbor.
“Make sure the companionway’s sealed tight,” I said to Dalton. He grabbed hold of the sliding hatch and gave it a tug.
The boat rocked to starboard as a roller wave lifted, then we rocked to port as we slid into the trough. The next roller was even bigger and crashed over the starboard side sending a wave of water down the deck and splashing into the cockpit. My right boot filled with icy-cold water. Every muscle in my body tensed with the chill.
“With these gusts, I need you to mind the mainsheet,” I said to Dalton.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said and took hold of the line.
The wind blew so hard, the rain swept horizontally, whipping at my face under the bimini top.
The bow slammed into a wave and I lost my balance. I grabbed for the lifeline and managed to keep upright as the bow broke through and we rode up the wave.
Another wall of water rolled over the deck and poured into the cockpit, over the top of my boots.
Up then down, up and down, she rolled right, then left.
“I see light ahead,” said Dalton. “Off the starboard bow, at two o’clock. Could be the Forseti.”
“I see it.” If we could keep up with him, at least he’d be close by if we needed to radio for help.
Lightning zig-zagged across the sky, an instant of illumination, a contrast to the black, ominous waves that churned the surface of the sea.
Take ‘em one at a time, Poppy. One at a time.
The size and duration of the waves was getting dangerous. With each crest, the bow dipped and slammed into the trough. The mast rattled and shook. The stays flexed, then pulled taut with each wave. I was starting to wonder if the Sea Mist could take it.
“We might want to have our satellite beacon at the ready,” I shouted to Dalton.
“Where is it?” he said.
“Take the helm.” I knew where it was stashed.
Dalton and I managed to move past each other, sloshing through the cockpit, always one hand on a rail. He grabbed the wheel and I headed down the ladder, a puddle of water forming before I could get the companionway hatch closed.
The cabin looked as though a tornado had thundered through. Cabinets doors had flung open, boxes of cereal, bags of pasta and chips scattered all over the floor. I managed to hobble to the equipment locker, moving from one handhold to another as the floor lifted and dropped. With the lid clipped open and my hip wedged against the bulkhead, I rummaged through and found the beacon. I pinned it to my life vest.
I really had to pee, but I wasn’t sure I could get into the head. The door had come unlatched and was slamming open and shut with every rocking back and forth of the boat. I tried to get it latched again and decided I might as well go while I was down here. Climbing up and down the ladder wasn’t exactly a safe endeavor in a storm like this.
One might think a twenty-four-year old woman could handle a potty break without incident, but on a sailboat in the high seas, well, let’s just say that accidentally peeing in your own boot isn’t exactly something to be criticized. Once you let loose, there’s no turning back.
I braced myself against the bulkhead to get my pants buttoned back up, then tackled the ladder.
When I got back top side, the eastern sky had patches of pink light amid dark clouds. The sea looked as dark as e
ver. I glanced forward. The lights of the Forseti appeared, then disappeared behind the crest of a wave, then appeared again.
“They’re gaining distance from us,” Dalton said. “We can’t keep up with them.”
“We need a bigger boat.”
For the first time, I saw an expression of worry cross Dalton’s face. There and gone. A ghost passing through, then banished.
“I don’t suppose you brewed some more coffee while you were down there?” Before I could answer, he grinned and said, “I’m kidding. I think this blow is just getting started.”
I nodded as I took the helm. I was afraid of the same thing.
Each wave seemed larger than the last. The swells were increasing and the Sea Mist rolled and rocked, tossed on the sea like a bath toy of the gods. Dalton and I held on in a constant deluge. The cockpit drain could barely keep up and soon we stood in knee deep water.
With a jolt, an exceptionally large roller crashed over the bow, surged across the deck and slammed into the cockpit, drenching us. “Whew!” shouted Dalton. “Makes you feel alive, don’t it!”
“Absolutely!” I shouted back, gripping the wheel.
I glanced at the chart plotter. We’d been steadily blowing in toward shore. We needed to turn and head out, away from shore. “We need to tack,” I said.
Dalton immediately got on the jib sheet.
“Ready about?” I shouted. “Helms-a-lee.” I turned into the wind and released the port jibsheet. The headsail flapped and fluttered, then bent against the forestay. Dalton cranked on the winch in a frenzied hurry, tightening down the sheet as we bobbed to and fro. The mainsail boom came around, both sails filled with wind, and the boat heeled over to starboard. “We’ll stay close-hauled to get away from the shore,” I told him. “So hang on!”
The boat leaned so far over I had to grab hold of the rail.
With the force of the waves and the angle of heel, our forward momentum stalled.
“We need to reef the sail again,” he said.
I shook my head. Not a good idea.
“We need to reef. We’ve got too much sail.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 26
