The Man Must Marry

by Janet Chapman

  “Don’t you dare start making excuses for him,” she muttered, crawling off the bunk. “Remember what he has at stake here. You’re only a means to an end.”

  “Willa?” Sam called down. “You might want to get up here sooner rather than later.”

  What was wrong? “I’m coming!” she called back, pulling on jeans and slipping a baggy sweatshirt over her head as she ran to the stairs, barefoot.

  “What does that look like to you?” he asked the moment she stepped on deck and looked at where he was pointing.

  “It’s a water spout.” She pointed to the east of it. “And there’s another one.” She studied them for several seconds to discern their direction of travel, a bit surprised to see the natural phenomenon this far north this early in the season. She smiled at the ocean’s version of a tornado, then headed below to find her socks and shoes.

  “Wait!” Sam said. “What are we supposed to do?”

  She held on to the sides of the hatchway and stared at him. “I thought you and your brothers sailed with Abram all the time.”

  “In the sound,” he growled, glancing over his shoulder at the spouts, which were a good fifteen miles away. “And only in fair weather. The RoseWind was Bram’s and Grammy’s passion, not ours.”

  She nodded. “Then I suggest you keep a close eye on them. That thunderstorm is traveling faster than we are, and if it suddenly decides to turn north, we just might find ourselves on some yellow brick road in Kansas.”

  His eyes narrowed, but at the sound of distant thunder, he turned to face the squall heading out to sea to their south.

  Willa backed down the steps and went hunting for her shoes with a giggle. Man, oh, man, was this going to be a fun four days or what?

  Chapter Twelve

  As impromptu voyages went, Willa supposed this one had no more problems than could be expected; the nights were absolutely heaven, and her hormones definitely were getting plenty of exercise. But during the daylight hours…Well, for her sailing-challenged stowaway, this was probably the voyage from hell.

  To begin with, Sam was always either eating or looking for something to eat. He was burning an awful lot of calories—both during the day and well into the night. But he’d already gone through the small supply of food she’d brought, as well as what little food he’d packed in his dry sack. They were still at least a day from home, and Willa figured she would have to start fishing.

  When he wasn’t eating, Sam was tripping over the rigging, slamming into the boom, or nearly falling overboard. He just couldn’t seem to find his sea legs. He had a small cut on his left cheek and a knot the size of an egg on his temple, and three of his fingers were taped together because he’d caught them in the mainsail winch yesterday.

  If this trip ended up killing Sam, Ben and Jesse would be forced to draw straws to see which of them would have to marry her, and then she’d have to find a way to ditch each of them. Though she could claim it wasn’t her fault that Sam couldn’t sail his way out of a wet paper bag, she didn’t think she could explain three unexplained deaths. Four if she included Abram. After all, the old man had died while in her employ.

  They’d all be buried in really nice caskets, though.

  “How did you find that can of sardines?” she asked when Sam plopped down with a groan beside the wheel. “I hid it in the oven because I knew you’d already checked there. Did you think the food fairy had paid a visit since the last time you looked?”

  He popped the top off the can and held it up with a smile. “She obviously did.”

  “I was saving those sardines to use for bait.”

  He snorted. “You can use the dead flesh hanging off me instead. I haven’t been this sore since Andy Simmons beat me up in kindergarten.”

  “I hope you’ve noticed that I’ve refrained from laughing at your klutziness,” she said, working hard not to smile. He looked positively pathetic.

  When he finally finished draining the last drop of oil from the can, he eyed her speculatively. “I just figured out why you’re always tripping over yourself. If the floor’s not moving, you can’t function. You grew up on a swaying deck.”

  “The floor of my factory doesn’t move, and I’m not a klutz at work. I’ve never met anyone with such a huge appetite.”

  “For food or…” His gaze dropped to her chest.

  Willa immediately reached for her jacket. “We’re definitely in the Gulf of Maine. It’s getting downright cold.”

  “We could put the RoseWind on autopilot and go below,” he suggested, his deep blue eyes snagging her gaze. “And share our body heat.”

  “The deal is we sail by day and share our body heat only at night.” Not that she wouldn’t love to see him naked in daylight. But that would mean Sam could also see her, and her mama always told Willa that a smart woman kept the mystery alive in a relationship.

  Not that she and Sam had a relationship.

  He sighed and actually started licking the empty sardine can clean, a drop of oil glistening on his four-day growth of beard. “How far are we from Keelstone Cove?” he asked, eyeing the tin forlornly.

  “We’ll be there this time tomorrow, if the wind holds.”

  “Who were you talking to on the radio a few minutes ago?”

  “Clark Kent.”

  Sam blinked. “As in Superman?”

  “He’s my cousin.” Willa smiled. “And when he’s not out saving the world, you’ll find him on his boat, the Lois Lane, hauling lobster traps.” She nodded at the expanse of ocean off their starboard side. “He’s fishing about seventy miles northeast of us.”

  “What sort of twisted parents name their kid Clark with the last name Kent? Your cousin must have spent his childhood having to live up to his namesake.”

  “Not many people challenge Clark. He was always big for his age and didn’t stop growing until his mid-twenties. He finally topped out at six-foot-three and two hundred and fifty pounds.” She shot Sam a smile. “He was a year ahead of me in school, and I had to go to his senior prom with him because the girls wouldn’t date him.”

  “I thought high school girls liked big, strong boys.”

  “They like jocks. Clark was like the fictional Clark Kent, only more so. He was shy, geeky, and, um…a bit of a klutz.”

  “It runs in the family?” Sam drawled.

  Willa shot him a glare. “Clark finally grew into his size his junior year of college and came home that summer a completely new man. That was also the summer his father died. He was forced to quit school when he inherited his dad’s federal lobster license and had to support his three younger sisters and his mother.”

  “Did he ever finish college?”

  “No. He decided he actually prefers fishing to veterinary work. He says lobster bites aren’t nearly as painful as getting kicked by a horse.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting your cousin.”

  Willa shrugged. “You probably won’t get the chance. He heads out before dawn and doesn’t get back until real late. He’s busy this week moving his traps to deeper water, and you’ll be heading back to New York once we drop anchor.”

  Sam shook his head, eyeing her speculatively. “This little trip has shown me that I’m long overdue for a vacation. I thought I’d take over Bram’s remaining two weeks of rent on your cottage. From what I saw of it on the video tape, the place looks downright peaceful.”

  Willa’s hormones immediately started doing a happy dance. He was planning on hanging around two more weeks? How in heck was she going to stop herself from walking over to that cottage in the middle of the night and crawling into bed with him?

  “Oh, no you don’t. There’s only a few days of rent left, and the lease is nontransferable.”

  “Then I’ll find another place in Keelstone Cove to stay. Maybe a bed and breakfast—that way I won’t have to do my own cooking.”

  Dammit dammit dammit. “You will not! We had a deal. Five days of fun, then we both get on with our separate lives.”

&n
bsp; “We didn’t have a deal, Willa. You set the rules for this trip, and I followed your orders. But once we dock, you’re no longer the captain.” He shrugged. “I was just hoping to see why Bram thought Keelstone Cove was a good place to die.” His gaze locked on hers again. “I don’t understand why my staying for a couple of weeks would be a problem for you.”

  “You don’t understa—” She took a calming breath. No need to get excited; she just had to explain the situation to him. “We just spent the last four nights making love like monkeys, and you expect to live next door for two weeks and…and…” She threw up her hands when he gave her a blank look. “Dammit,” she growled. “You can’t turn hormones on and off like a water faucet!”

  “Then let’s keep them turned on for two more weeks.”

  “No! We can’t sleep together once I reach home!”

  He frowned at her obvious alarm. “Why not? Is there a local ordinance that says two consenting adults can’t share a bed?” He shook his head. “You Mainers have some really weird notions about lovemaking, you know that?” He gave her his infamous Sam Sinclair smile, which started her hormones dancing again. “We just have to be discreet, Willa.”

  “In Keelstone Cove?” She snorted and plopped down onto the bench beside him. She never should have fished him out of the ocean in the first place.

  Sam immediately threw his arm around her, hauled her up against his side, and kissed her hair. Willa cringed. She was going to smell like sardines all day.

  “Since Peg will be staying with you,” he said, “you’ll have to sneak over to my cottage after she turns in for the night.” He kissed her on her cheek this time, his beard catching her hair. “I promise to kick you out before daylight, so you can sneak back home.”

  Willa straightened away when she heard the amusement in his voice. “Keelstone Cove has a population of twelve hundred and forty-six people, and everyone knows everyone’s business. And if they don’t, they’re just as liable to make up something.”

  She leaned forward and turned the wheel slightly to adjust their course, then pivoted on the bench to face him. “Just last year, the coffee-shop club decided Mary-Jane Simpson had a thing for Rory Peterson, even though Mary-Jane had just married Chad six months earlier. Rumors of their affair spread all over town within a week.”

  “And Mary-Jane didn’t have a thing for Rory?”

  “He was old enough to be her father!”

  “So the town gossips hurt her new marriage?”

  “It turned out that a week after the rumors began, Mary-Jane and Rory ran off together,” she muttered. She grabbed the front of his jacket and gave it a tug. “The coffee clubbers are notoriously good, Sam. They can sniff out a scandal before the participants themselves even know they’re involved.”

  “And my renting your cottage is scandalous?”

  “For me—a single, eligible woman—to have an equally eligible man living in my dooryard is going to start a tidal wave of rumors.”

  “So what?” He peeled her hand off his jacket and held it in his. “You’re how old?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  “Okay. You’re a twenty-nine-year-old, totally independent woman who has the right to rent to anyone she chooses, as well as the right to sleep with whoever she chooses. You can’t stop the rumors, but you can rise above them. So don’t even try to be discreet. What can they possibly do to you?”

  She stood up, glaring at him. “Since my parents died, the entire town has felt it’s their duty to take over parenting me. I have endured everyone in town trying to marry me off for the last five years. I swear, they didn’t even wait until the ink was dry on my divorce. I can’t tell you the men they’ve thrown at me—even tourists! Some poor unsuspecting guy will walk into the coffee shop, and if he’s not wearing a ring, he’s fair game. Before he knows it, they’re persuading him that Keelstone Cove is a great place to live—especially if he were to fall in love with a wonderful woman who just happens to own a thriving business. Then they drag the poor schmuck out to Kent Caskets, because every perverse tourist wants to see a casket factory, and then they suggest wouldn’t it be nice if the two of us had dinner together.”

  Sam was laughing so hard he was holding his belly. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not! Sam, if you spend even one night in Keelstone Cove, you’re going to find yourself facing down the marriage posse. And I’m only one of five eligible women in town they might decide you’re perfect for.” She scrunched up her nose. “Although I am considered the spinster in the group, so they’re trying to get me married off first. Only they keep telling me to sell my business, because no one wants to be married to a casket maker!” she finished loudly, since Sam was laughing so hard he actually fell off the bench.

  “It’s not one stinking bit funny, Sinclair! How would you like to have a bunch of busybodies butting into your love life?”

  He leaned against the bench and grinned up at her. “I already have, Willa. Bram could have given lessons to your marriage posse.” His eyes suddenly widened. “Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been leading your posse for the last six weeks. Your coffee clubbers probably helped him draft that bequest.”

  Willa was so horrified by that possibility that her knees buckled, and she landed on the deck beside Sam. “Come to think of it, Abram never showed up at Kent Caskets until after ten every morning,” she said, staring off at the horizon. “And he did smell of coffee and bacon. He must have been going to the diner before he came to my factory.” She turned to Sam. “What are we going to do? If we show up in Keelstone Cove together, they’re going to make my life hell. I probably can’t even go home now! If anyone knows about Abram’s will, I’m toast.”

  He pulled her against his side again and leaned back against the bench. “We could get married. That would shut them up.”

  She shuddered.

  He chuckled and gave her a squeeze. “Then stand up to the bastards, Willa. Sail straight into Keelstone Cove as if you own the damn town—which you probably could if you wanted, considering your new net worth.” He used his finger to lift her chin to look at him. “Nobody can make you do anything you don’t want to, Willa. Not your neighbors, not Bram, and not me.”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “So you’ll stop bugging me to marry you and help me break Abram’s will?”

  “I only said I can’t make you marry me. I didn’t say I wouldn’t keep asking.”

  “But why?” she cried, pulling away. “Why would you even consider marrying me?”

  “Because I love you.”

  She gaped at him for several seconds, then scrambled to her feet. “You can’t fall in love with someone in only a week! You’re just saying that because you don’t want Warren Cobb to get those shares.”

  He stood up and faced her, his feet planted against the sway of the deck, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “There isn’t a damn thing I can do or say that will make you believe I couldn’t care less what happens to Tidewater International. But I swear, Willa, my heart hasn’t been in that business for years.”

  “Then why were you so hot to be the new CEO?”

  “I told you, and so did Ben and Jesse, that we all wanted it because Bram was still alive. But Ben is the only one who has any genuine interest in Tidewater. So even if you and I do get married and you turn your shares over to me, I will use them to vote Ben in as CEO.”

  “Then why didn’t Ben offer to marry me?”

  “Because he doesn’t love you.”

  Willa drew in a shaky breath. This was getting them exactly nowhere. She turned her back to him and silently walked to the bow of the boat. Nobody fell in love in eight days, and nobody as handsome and rich and self-assured as Sam Sinclair was going to fall in love with her.

  Which was perfectly fine, because she sure as heck wasn’t ever falling in love with anyone ever again. It was bad enough that she loved Shelby and Jennifer and Cody with all her heart.

  Not for the first time since the
accident, Willa was tempted to sail into the sunset and find a deserted island. She could drop Sam off on the town dock, go home to pack some clothes and supplies, and point the RoseWind toward the southern horizon. Shelby and Jennifer and Cody would miss her at first, but they’d eventually get over it. And Sam could clean up the mess Abram had made and eventually find someone he could really love and get on with his own life.

  She stared out at the ocean and sighed, wondering why that was such a depressing thought.

  Since he’d grown accustomed to going to bed and making love to Willa for half the night, Sam was unable to sleep despite being utterly exhausted. He was back up in the front bunk, alone, and thoroughly at odds with himself.

  He’d been more surprised than Willa that morning when he’d told her that he loved her. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen in love with her, but he’d said the words out loud, by God, and he wasn’t taking them back. Hell, why else would he have volunteered to be the one to marry her? He wasn’t into self-sacrifice, so it must be love—or something real close to it. And considering the position his grandfather had put her in, the truth was the best he could offer Willa and the least she deserved.

  Abram Sinclair had been able to accomplish what the marriage posse hadn’t in just six short weeks, proving that money and power were amazing tools in the hands of someone who knew how to use them.

  Dammit, he was a successful, intelligent businessman in his own right—so why couldn’t he find a solution to this mess? Willa had asked him to help her break Bram’s will, but he’d dismissed the idea because…because…

  Probably because he didn’t want to. Because if he found a loophole, where would that leave him with Willa?

  He snorted. “Exactly where you are right now, you idiot—sleeping alone.”

  But breaking the will would solve one major problem: without the Tidewater shares hanging over their heads, Willa couldn’t accuse him of wanting to marry her only to get them.

  “Then find the loophole,” he muttered. “Secure Tidewater, then go after the woman with everything you’ve got, Mr. Badass Businessman.”