The little kitten purred as he scratched behind its ears.
Maybe he really thought there was nothing wrong with it. Maybe he thought whales were like cats and dogs, easily domesticated. Or maybe he was one of those who think all animals are better off being cared for by humans. Maybe he actually believed what he was doing was a good thing. Back in the 80s, his father had made the claim that what he did was for the greater good, that his work was changing public perception of the killer whale, that they were not to be feared, but admired. He’d claimed that showing them to the world in their special amphitheater-style aquariums did more to further the interest of killer whales than any scientist ever could.
I admit, times were different then. Some of his claims might even have been true. My grandma had taken me to an aquarium when I was a child and no doubt that experience contributed to my life-long love for animals. But that doesn’t justify putting the whales through that hell. Not then and not now.
Sure, an argument could be made that back then, Ray, like everyone else, didn’t know any better, but the difference was, he’d made a fortune in the process. And now, all these years later, there was no excuse. Pure greed brought him out of retirement—greed for that one-million-dollar price tag.
But what was it for Michael?
Maybe his father had some hold over him, some deep-seated psychological pull. What do they call it? The father complex? Always seeking his father’s approval? Had his dad done a number on his confidence? I suppose I was lucky. My dad had always told me I could do anything I wanted, I could accomplish anything I set my mind to. But what had Ray told Michael? To shut up and follow orders? What a different experience of life. Was that why he was here with him, following like a faithful servant, instead of somewhere living his own life, building his own career?
I’d always been a little baffled by my friends from high school who’d bounced around in different sales clerk jobs or fast food places with no apparent direction. Not me. There’d been no question in my mind where I was headed. At eighteen, I’d enrolled in college, got my bachelor’s degree in three and a half years, all the while doing every extracurricular activity I could to make my application to Fish & Wildlife shine. I was on a mission. Every detail planned out and scheduled right down to the minute.
I looked at the man standing beside me. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who’d blindly follow in his father’s footsteps. He had a confidence about him that didn’t fit that persona. And I couldn’t believe he really wanted to be a whale hunter, either. He had a gentle side, a chivalrous side.
Unless this was all an act to get me to sleep with him.
It didn’t matter. Maybe I’d never be sure. Right now, I needed him to get me on that boat.
I looked into his eyes. “You’re sweet, you know that?”
He put the kitten back in the box. “Another drink?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, handing him one of my kittens and setting the other one down with its mewling fur-ball siblings.
He held the kitten I’d given him, cuddling it to his neck. Then, as he pulled away, he said to me, “You’re beautiful, you know that.”
“I…” My cheeks flushed pink. “Thank you.”
He leaned forward and I leaned forward. And we kissed.
Maybe I’m just a sucker for a man with a kitten, but—wow—was that a kiss. I staggered backward, my insides all squishy.
His eyes held mine and—dammit—I wanted him to kiss me again. Crap. I needed to be extra careful with this one.
“Shall we?” he said.
My mouth parted ever so slightly. “Shall we…?”
“Get another drink?”
“Um, yeah, sure,” I said.
He set down the kitten, took me by the hand, and led me back into the crowded pub. We took our stools back at the bar and he ordered a couple of drinks. Then he turned to me and said, “The night is still young. What shall we do now?”
I blushed. “Well, I thought maybe—”
The front door swung open and Michael’s head swiveled toward the man who walked in. It was Ray, lumbering in like he owned the place. Ray saw Michael right away and scowled.
Michael tensed up, as if fighting an impulse, battling some decision. He seemed more annoyed than intimidated. He chugged down his beer and set the empty bottle on the bar. “I’ll catch you later.”
Ray certainly had something over him. “I’ll be here,” I muttered, feeling like a fool. I had been so sure I’d had him on the hook.
Michael sauntered over to the table and eased into a chair with his father and the crew. Ray signaled to the bartender and moments later a round of drinks arrived. Ray held up his mug. “Boys, let’s catch us a big fish!”
I wanted to march over there and shove the glass mug down his throat, but I quickly put a smile on my face when I caught Michael looking at me. Then Ray said something to him and he was drawn away.
That boy’s got a short leash. This was going to be harder than I thought.
I tried to act bored, like I had all the time in the world. But the clock was ticking.
I sipped my beer.
The men chuckled, slapped each other on the back, the usual men-in-a-pub stuff.
Maybe I needed a different tactic to get Michael’s attention back. The man on the bar stool next to me wasn’t too old, wasn’t too bad looking. In the dark pub. And in desperate times. I turned to him. “What brings you in?”
He looked at me like I’d gone mad, his bushy eyebrows crinkled together into one. “Beer.”
“I mean, you know, how was your day?”
The unibrow shot up. “Why? Are you a prostitute?”
My jaw dropped open. That conversation’s not going anywhere.
Behind me, someone rubbed against my back as he eased onto the bar stool. I swung around. It was Dalton.
“How’s it going?” he whispered into my ear.
“Actually, it was going well until Ray arrived. That man is a—”
“Careful,” Dalton warned.
“I’m glad you’re here. I was just resorting to the make-him-jealous-by-flirting-with-someone-else tactic and, well—” I nodded toward the grump next to me “—this guy wasn’t cutting it.” I put my hand on Dalton’s chest and giggled, a flirtatious gesture. “But you, my dear, might bring him running.”
Dalton curled up his lip. “Women and their games.” He glanced around the bar. “I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”
“Of course it is. What else have we got?”
“I mean, I’m not sure it’s worth it. C’mon back to the boat. We’ll figure out something else.”
“Let’s just see how this plays out. I’ve got a good shot here. I think he’s got a chivalrous side. I told him you were my ex-boyfriend, that you’d turned out to be a jerk.” I gave him a confident nod and leaned in and whispered, “He took me out back to see some abandoned kittens. You should have seen him.”
“Kittens? Really?” He leaned back with an eye roll. “I knew a guy once who borrowed puppies from the pound and walked them in the park to attract single women. He said they were chick magnets.”
“Exactly. He’s—”
“He’s heading back out on a fishing boat for weeks. Trust me. He’s just trying to get in your pants.”
I shrugged. “Exactly.”
“Don’t tell me,” Dalton said, going on as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said. “He told you you’re beautiful.”
“What is wrong with—” I drew in a breath. “You’re jealous.”
“Jealous? Pff.” He shook his head. “Be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. You don’t like that he’s really into me.”
“What I don’t like is this whole approach. You’re not thinking of the full picture here. Of course he’s into you. Maybe you’re blinded a little by this guy’s attention.”
I sat back. “I beg your pardon.”
“This guy could be—” He paused, realizing he’d been raising his voice. He
glanced around, then leaned in close. “If you go down this road—”
“I can handle it.” I was getting irritated now. Why couldn’t Dalton support me? I knew this would work. “Just go with it.”
Dalton shook his head. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Something’s not right.” He patted me on the arm and rose to go. “C’mon, let’s just go.”
“No. You go if you want. I’m not giving up on this,” I said in a loud whisper. “You need to trust me for once.”
“Is there a problem here?”
Our heads snapped to the speaker. Michael stood there, his hands on his hips.
I glared at Dalton. Ha! Told you it would work.
Dalton looked from Michael to me, then back to Michael. A shadow passed over his eyes. A surrender. A decision. “No problem,” he said to Michael and put his arm around me, pulling me snug up against him.
“I’d like to hear it from the lady,” Michael said.
“Well, I—”
“Buzz off,” Dalton said. “Mind your own business.”
Michael didn’t budge. “I’m making this my business. Now get your hands off the lady.”
Dalton huffed and turned on the bar stool to face Michael. “What’s your problem?”
Michael looked at me, then back to Dalton and I swear he thrust his chest forward. “You’re my problem.”
“Oh yeah?” said Dalton. He swung high and punched Michael square in the jaw.
CHAPTER TEN
Michael staggered backward, his eyes wide. Then, in a flash, his expression changed to rage. He charged forward, fists in front of him, jabbing at Dalton.
Dalton swung wide, missing Michael’s jaw.
Michael grabbed hold of Dalton’s shirt and pulled him from the stool and slammed him into a table. Dalton caught his balance and managed to stay on his feet.
Michael stepped back and shoved up his sleeves. Dalton lunged at him, all bluff and no force. This wasn’t the Dalton I knew. He was faking. But why? Why had he thrown that punch to begin with? What the hell is going on?
The other men in the bar were on their feet, roaring amid the ruckus, shouting, “Hit ‘em again! Knock ‘em down!”
Michael managed to land a punch, then another, in the jaw, then in the stomach. He was beating the crap out of him. Dalton doubled over but didn’t fight back.
I stepped between them. “Stop! Stop it!”
Dalton snarled at me, his lip puffy and bleeding. “Stay out of it.”
“That’s no way to treat a lady,” Michael spat and slammed Dalton with a right hook. Dalton fell back into the table.
“Knock it off, boys!” hollered the bartender.
Michael ignored him and grabbed Dalton by the collar, dragging him to his feet. Dalton yanked free and head-butted him in the stomach and the two slammed to the floor.
The men in the bar roared.
They rolled, one on top of the other, fists flying. Michael got up on one knee, then to his feet and landed a kick in Dalton’s side.
Why wasn’t Ray breaking it up? I glanced around the bar, but he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Michael had waited for Ray to leave and that’s when he saw Dalton with me?
I grabbed Michael by the arm. “Stop! Please stop!” I wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp myself, right then and there. Michael stepped back, huffing, his eyes on Dalton.
Dalton got to his feet, grabbed me by the wrist, spun me around, and planted a big kiss on my lips. “Now step back, sweetheart.” In his eyes I could see he meant it.
He went after Michael again, arms flailing with no measured target. It must have been hard for Dalton, a Navy SEAL, to pull his punches and take the fall. Why it was necessary was beyond me. What the hell was this going to prove? Men!
Michael on the other hand wasn’t holding back. He’d obviously been in a few bar brawls in his time and he was a heavyweight. He went after Dalton with a hook, then a jab to the kidney. Dalton doubled over and Michael caught him in the jaw.
The bartender had finally had enough. He shouted to a couple of the regulars, “Get ‘em outta here.”
“Let ‘em fight it out,” one said.
Dalton hadn’t had enough. He charged Michael again and they slammed into another table.
Bjørn, the old man on the boat, the helmsman Michael had said, grabbed Michael by the arm. “That’s enough, now. A broken arm won’t do on a fishing boat.” He gave him a stern look. “You’ve made your point. Now leave him be.”
Michael shoved the man away.
Someone grabbed hold of my arm. I spun around. It was the bartender. “You’re leaving,” he said.
“What?”
“You’re the cause of it.” He dragged me toward the door. “Now get out and don’t come back.”
I looked back toward Dalton. A hefty man, a six-foot-something-mountain-of-muscle was hauling him to his feet.
“You, too,” the bartender told him, waving his wet rag at him. “Out!”
Dalton stumbled out the front door after me, holding his side.
Right behind him was Michael, Bjørn ushering him along. Michael brushed Bjørn off. “Hey, babe,” he said when he saw me. “You all right?”
I nodded.
Bjørn whispered something in his ear and urged him toward the docks. Michael nodded to Bjørn and went with him.
I stood there like a dope, watching him go, not knowing what to do. Follow? Tell him thanks for saving me? Then what? I had no reference for dealing with this neanderthal behavior. If he’d have been a real-life date, I’d have already been out of there without looking back.
Dalton was limping toward our boat. I caught up to him. “What the hell was all that for?” I asked him. “You couldn’t let it go. Now you’ve ruined my only chance to get on that boat. What the hell is your problem? Why can’t you trust me?”
He shook his head and didn’t answer.
“Men!” I planted my feet and watched him hobble toward the Sea Mist.
I spun on my heel and marched to the same bench and called back my friend Chris.
He answered right away. “Dr. Chris.”
“Very funny.”
“What’s happened now?”
“What? I don’t just call when I have problems.”
Silence.
“Okay. You’re not going to believe this.” As I paced in front of the bench, I told him about my plan, how, for some reason, Dalton didn’t like it and wouldn’t support me. “And now this. He goes and picks a fight with the guy. In a bar. Ruining my only chance for a shot at him. I mean, what the hell?”
“Well, Poppy, I’m not sure—”
“What’s his problem anyway? I bet he’s pissed because I came up with an idea, a brilliant idea I might add, and he didn’t think of it. Men, I swear. He couldn’t stand having to play second fiddle, on the sidelines, backing me up for once.”
“Poppy, maybe he’s—”
“This guy’s got it in for me. He doesn’t want me for a partner, so this is his way of getting rid of me. Making me look bad. Sure, he wants to act like Mr. Nice Guy, all apologetic about Costa Rica, then this. You should have seen him, Chris. I had that guy eating out of the palm of my hand. He was frothing at the mouth. He was going to tell me everything I wanted to know and then some.” I took a breath. “Dammit!” I plopped down on the bench.
“Are you done yet?”
“No!” I got back up.
Silence.
“You know what, I’m going to march over there and tell him what a jerk he is.”
“Poppy?”
“What!”
“Did you call me to rant all night or for my advice? Because I’ve got a long flight in the morning and—”
“Your advice.”
He waited.
“Okay, to rant, and I thank you, my very best friend, master listener, knower-of-all-the-right-things-to-say.” I huffed. “All right, go ahead with the advice.”
“Ask him why he did it.”
“That’s your advi
ce? He’s not going to tell me—”
“Poppy. Ask him.”
I slumped down on the bench. “Fine.”
When I got back to the boat, I found he had managed to get down the ladder on his own. I got some ice and held it to his cheek. His left eye was swollen shut, his cheek bloody.
“What were you thinking? Why in the world did you throw that first punch? I had him. Dammit, Dalton. I had him. I had him on the hook.”
He took hold of the bag of ice and winced as he held it to his eye. “You wanted to do it your way.”
“What?” He must have gotten his brain scrambled in the melee.
He looked at me with innocent eyes. “So we did it your way.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He did get his brain scrambled.
“Seriously?” He grinned and started to snicker, then held his stomach. “Where’d you grow up, anyway?”
I sat back and looked at him. “Why does that sound like an insult?”
“Guys like that—” He wiped blood from his lip and looked at it on his finger. “It’s all about conquering, about possession. You were dangling the hook. I set it.”
I stared at him. What could I say?
“Don’t you watch National Geographic? Those big horn rams bucking their heads together. Polar bears wrestling. Even the whales ram each other for a female. The narrator always says they are fighting to continue their bloodline.” He smirked. “They just want to get laid.”
I clamped my teeth together. “So you…this whole thing was…all about testosterone?”
“Listen to me. You be careful. You’re playing with fire.”
I turned away from him. He was right. But I could handle it.
I opened the equipment locker, found the first aid kit, and sorted through the bandages and ointment. “Look at you,” I said. “You’re bleeding and you’re—”
“I’m fine. I got it,” Dalton said, waving me off. “What are you still doing here? You going to let me get the crap beat out of me for nothing? You wanted on that boat. Now go get on it.”
Poppy McVie Mysteries: Books 1-3 (The Poppy McVie Box Set Series) Page 28
