Next, she called the hospital and talked to Shirley Piper, her grandmother's personal nurse.
"She's doing very well, Sabrina. In fact, we're beginning physical therapy today. We need to get her moving so her hip mends properly. The doctors say it was a small fracture and she's ready to try the walker."
"Thank you, Shirley. I really appreciate what you've done for her. May I speak with her?"
"She's having a sponge bath right now and then will eat breakfast. Can you call back in about an hour?"
"Sure. Well, actually, it will have to be a little later. I'm going to pick up my new boat."
"How nice! You bought a new boat?"
"Well, not really new. But she will be like new when she's finished."
Sabrina signed off and looked at the small clock on her cell phone. It was a little after nine; she called Mr. Blair and arranged to meet him again, this time with a mover.
"That'll be fine, missy. You might want to come over here a little sooner and get rid of the peeps. Unless you want some chickens."
"Mr. Blair; surely you will remove your property from my boat."
"I would if I could, girly, but I can't climb no ladder and my eyesight isn't what it used to be."
Sabrina gritted her teeth. Fine, she thought, you old crook.
* * *
Sabrina bailed many buckets of greasy, black water from the cabin, removed three hen's nests, and tossed eight bales of hay from the boat by the time Brett Story arrived. He efficiently maneuvered a tractor-trailer next to the barn then. He climbed onto the truck bed, removed chains from a forklift and drove it down the ramp, parking it by the sailboat. Then he hopped off to study the Zephyrus. Once Brett had weighed his options, he guided the long, padded blades of the forklift under the sailboat and lifted it, swinging it effortlessly onto the long tractor bed. Once again, Brett hopped off the forklift and then slung several webbed straps across the boat, cinching it to the trailer. Next he deposited the broken lead keel in front of the boat, then drove the little forklift back up the ramp and attached the chains, securing it to the tractor-trailer.
The process took less than twenty minutes. Looking at Sabrina, he shook his head. "You sure you want to do this?"
She handed him a check for $20,000. "I'm sure."
Now that he had the boat secure, Brett took a moment to study Sabrina. "Didn't I see you last night at Maude's? Weren't you … uh, didn't you and …"
He stammered, suddenly realizing the awkwardness of the situation.
Sabrina's cheeks reddened. "Maybe. I had dinner there last night," she said, looking away. "I'm Sabrina Windham and this boat was designed and built by my grandfather, Don Windham," she added, pride flushing her cheeks.
Brett stared open-mouthed.
Sabrina waited for another response but only Brett's silence filled the gap.
"Well, my grandfather and his partner, Derek West," she amended. "I'm determined this boat will be restored and like I said, I don't care what it costs. It's that important."
Brett exhaled. "Right. Well, guess I'll be off. I'm going to need you to come by the boatyard this afternoon to sign some paperwork. No matter what you say, the boss will insist on an estimate. He's particular about the paperwork." Brett eyed the Zephyrus warily. "I think he's going to want to deal with you, and your boat, personally."
"No problem. What time is best for you?"
Brett stepped up to the truck cab and opened the door. "I'd say after three. We've got to do a survey first. Then we can write up a list of priorities."
"Great; see you then," Sabrina said, rubbing her hand across the chalky, swollen belly of her boat. Without the keel, the boat sat close to the ground. She grinned once more at Brett. "Too late I'm afraid to 'run like hell.'"
"They do get under your skin. Kinda like a woman. Well, not in your case. Maybe. Ah, I better get a move on before I put my foot deeper in my mouth."
She winked at him. "Men; I prefer men. With one exception," she said, stroking the boat once more.
Sabrina stood beside Mr. Blair in the overgrown weeds in his front yard as Brett drove the 18-wheeler out of the barnyard and disappeared down the highway.
"Well, missy, you got yourself some project there."
Chapter Four
Jay was in the machine shop, the radio blasting loud rock music when Brett returned with the loaded truck. He didn't hear the engine or the air brakes over the music and the grinding wheel that he operated, shaping a new engine mount. A rag tossed at his head alerted him to Brett's presence.
"Where have you been?" he growled.
"Working; which is more than I can say for you," Brett countered. "Wish I could drag my lazy ass to work whenever I wanted."
"Yeah, well I misplaced something this morning."
"Wouldn't be a sexy brunette, would it?"
Jay tossed the rag at Brett. "Mind your own business. What's that?" he gestured to the laden truck.
"That, my friend, is our next project. I've got a cashier's check for $20,000 and I need a survey and estimate quick."
Jay stepped out of the attached shed and into the boatyard. He recognized the boat immediately, swiveling to glare at Brett.
"What the hell is this?"
"It's a Zephyrus, buddy."
"I can see that. What the hell is it doing here?"
"Picked it up this morning down on Route 136. Customer wants it restored to Bristol. Says she will pay whatever it takes. This here twenty grand deposit," he said, patting his shirt pocket, "is a down payment."
"Well, I don't want it. Get rid of it."
"Come on, Jay. Get real; we can use the work and you know it. Besides, this is a project boat. We restore this classic and we'll get some great publicity. Think what Shawna can do with the web site. We'll put photos of before and after. It'll be great."
"I don't want it here. I'm not going to touch this boat," Jay snarled. "Get it out of here."
"Well, Jay, here's the thing. This boat just happens to be Hull Number One of a design by Don Windham and his partner, Derek West. You are West's grandson and, here is the clincher, the new owner is the granddaughter of Don Windham."
Jay swore viciously and picked up a piece of two-by-four. In a rage, he swung at the boat. The dull gel coat cracked.
"Jay, calm down. Man, this is Karma. Don't you see?"
"No, I don't see."
"You will. It gets better. The granddaughter is a sexy brunette named Sabrina Windham."
This took the wind from Jay's sail and he stepped back, tripping over the dropped board and sitting hard on a box of old canvas sails.
"Knocked you on your ass, didn't I?"
Jay swore viciously, then stood up, wiped the sawdust from his jeans and walked to the back lot where seals littered the rocks. He dropped into the cockpit of his old wooden skiff and pulled the outboard cord. The well-maintained engine roared and within moments Jay careened down the Warren River, headed for Narragansett Bay.
Brett calmly released the cinched webbing around the Zephyrus and picked up the forklift's remote control. He had a survey to complete before three o'clock.
* * *
Sabrina arrived at the boatyard a little early, anxious and excited to get started.
"Hi Brett," she called out. The chubby man was bent under the hull, thumping it with a rubber mallet.
"Hey, Miss Windham. I'm almost finished with the survey."
"What exactly is a survey?"
"Well, I examine the boat, the way a physician would a patient, looking for problems. I make a list and, based upon the survey, you know how much the boat is worth."
"I already know how much she's worth," Sabrina said. Her confidence had given her an aura of serenity. "Every penny."
"Must be nice to have money to burn, because that's what you're going to do with this clunker. Now, it breaks my heart as a businessman, but I have to recommend that you forget restoring this boat. It's going to take at least six months of steady work and probably fifty thousand to
make this boat new again. Well, new and improved."
"You don't want the job?" Sabrina cocked her head and smiled gently.
"Oh, believe me, I want the job. My boss, now, he's a different story." Brett sighed. He didn't want to do it, but Jay was too stubborn for his own good. "Can I talk to you openly?"
"Certainly."
"Let's go to Maude's. We're going to need a quiet booth and I'm going to need a beer."
"But it's only three o'clock," she protested.
"It's time," he said, matter-of-factly. He escorted her to the gate and locked the boatyard. In the distance, Sabrina heard muted barking of seals. The fence looked familiar, too. An uneasy feeling came over her and she looked over her shoulder. Jay's apartment was near here. She opened her car door. "Shall I drive?"
"No; leave it. Maude's is just a couple of blocks away. Let's go," he replied.
Sabrina felt déjà vu and shivered. "Maybe I need a beer, after all."
They walked quickly and soon she recognized the weathered tavern. The parking lot still contained motorcycles and pickup trucks. "Don't these people ever go home?"
Brett chuckled. "Yes, but they come back the next day."
Inside, the tavern looked friendly and its cedar-planked walls glowed in the filtered sunlight. Brett pointed to an empty booth near the back of the building. An old, stocky woman with frizzled gray hair approached them, menus and a dishtowel in her hands.
"Afternoon, Maude."
"Hey Brett. Where's Shawna today?" She eyed Sabrina with mistrust.
"She's at home, as always. This here is a client of the boatyard, Maude. She's picked up a sailboat that needs some work."
Maude nodded. "You mean that piece of crap you hauled by here this morning?"
Sabrina grimaced.
"Ayuh, that's the one," Brett said. "Miss Windham here has bought herself the original Zephyrus."
"Windham, you say?" Maude looked closely at Sabrina. "Don Windham's daughter? Nah, you're too young. You his kin?"
"Yes," Sabrina said, leaning forward eagerly. "You knew my grandfather?"
"Used to," Maude said, wiping the table and dropping the menus without ceremony. "Went to school with him and Derek. Those two were best friends. Tragedy that was, the fire."
Maude cleared her throat. "Listen, the kitchen isn't too busy if you two want something special."
"Thanks, Maude," Brett said. "Can we start with a couple of lagers? Sabrina, are you hungry?"
Rattled, Sabrina picked up the menu and scanned it. "Umm, actually, I am. I forgot to have lunch today. I'll have, um, how about a bowl of chowder and a BLT?"
Maude nodded. "Brett?"
"Thanks; I'll just have a beer. Shawna's cooking pot roast tonight," he said, rubbing his large belly.
Maude peered at him over her glasses. "You tell her I said hey, and good luck with the new baby."
Brett nodded and the old woman shambled off to the kitchen. He grinned at Sabrina. "She's a bit protective. Shawna's her grandniece."
"It's a small town, isn't it? I mean, it's amazing to me that she knew my grandfather. I never met him. He died a long time ago."
Brett nodded. "Yes, I know. In fact, that's what I need to talk to you about."
Curious, Sabrina leaned forward. "What is it?"
"Well, this could be a bit touchy. I mean, I don't really know what happened last night when Jay left the bar after you, but …"
"Jay? What does this have to do with him?" Sabrina leaned back, frowning and blushing furiously.
Brett nodded again, heaving a deep sigh. The woman was an open book.
"It's like this, Sabrina, I like you, and I think you coming to Warren and finding this boat is something special. I mean it," he said, raising a hand when she tried to speak. "Don't stop me; I've got to get this out."
He paused long enough for Maude to plunk two frosty beers on the table. After she was out of earshot, he continued.
"Sabrina, I could tell something was happening last night. Jay never chases women, but he wouldn't take his eyes off of you. The way he ran out of here. Well, I've never seen him act that way."
Sabrina bit her lip and looked away, unwilling to comment.
"And I can see you got something going for him, too. Don't you?"
"Brett. If this is about my relationship with Jay, then you need to stop right now. I don't mean to be rude, but it's none of your business."
"See, that's the problem. It is my business," he said, gulping his beer. "Jay is my boss. He owns the boatyard."
She dropped her trembling hands in her lap. "That's bizarre," she said.
"Believe me; it's more bizarre than you think. Jay is the grandson of Derek West, your grandfather's partner."
"You're kidding me," she exclaimed. For the first time in her life, she understood the term "thunderstruck."
Brett nodded, satisfied that she understood, that she comprehended the uncanny situation.
"Sabrina; there's more. You see, Jay had a terrible childhood and his family, his grandmother, blame the Windhams for all their bad luck. He went berserk this morning when he saw the Zephyrus. He wanted to destroy it as soon as he saw it."
Sabrina's chin dropped and her eyes misted.
"When I told him who you are, pointed out that this is some kind of mystical connection, he got pissed off and left. Probably holed up in a bar downriver."
"I can't believe it. Oh my God," she said, hiding her face in her shaky hands.
Maude returned, shoving a steaming bowl of chowder and a toasted BLT towards Sabrina.
"What's the matter?" She looked accusingly at Brett who silently mouthed "Jay," pointed to Sabrina's bowed head, then rolled his eyes. Maude grunted, and returned to the kitchen, shaking her head. She owned a bar long enough to know love was a rocky road.
She stopped in her tracks, and turned slowly to look once more at Sabrina. Love? Between a Windham and a West? Now she'd seen it all.
Long, silent moments passed. Brett drank his beer and regretted not ordering anything to eat. The chowder smelled tempting, and who could resist toast and bacon? After a few minutes, he began to squirm.
"Sabrina. Eat your lunch."
She shook her head, still refusing to look up. Her heart ached and she felt on the verge of tears.
"Well," Brett said. "Do you mind if I eat the soup?"
That made her laugh and she sniffed, wiping her nose. She finally looked up and Brett saw sparkling tears in her eyes. She hiccupped, her breath hitching in her chest.
Oh, Grandmother Rose! She cringed at the memory of their talk.
"Brett. It's awful. You don't know, nobody knows, what happened."
He spooned the creamy soup into his mouth and swallowed.
"You're wrong, Sabrina. Everybody knows," he said, nodding sagely.
* * *
It was late when Jay motored to the dock, tying the skiff to a cleat along the seawall. His head down, he strode to the back of the boatyard. The motion-detector light came on as he neared the steps to his apartment.
"I've been waiting for you."
He stumbled at the sound of the soft voice, peered closely at the dark staircase. There, sitting on the second step, huddled in her long leather coat, was Sabrina.
"Go away," he muttered, searching his jeans for his house key.
Sabrina stood and leaned towards him, smelling smoke and bourbon. "Are you drunk? She stepped closer, her hands in her coat pocket.
"Unfortunately, no. At least not very. You should leave," he said, refusing to look her in the eye. Instead, he concentrated on her feet, bare for some reason.
"I should," she whispered. "But I can't."
He frowned. All afternoon he had cursed her and her family, drowning his anger at a bayside bar. Now all he wanted to do was sink into her, inhale her musky perfume, taste her fevered lips. He looked away instead. Years of anger, years of hurt had hardened him.
Sabrina understood his rage. It wasn't simple for her to confront Jay, this intimate
stranger, but she had to try to relieve his sorrow. "May I come upstairs? I'd like to speak with you," she said.
"I don't have anything to say to you."
She let her long, leather coat fall open. Beneath it, she wore only a bra and panties. "Well, may I come upstairs and not talk to you?"
With a growl, Jay crushed her against his chest and his mouth ravaged hers. Sabrina encircled his neck with her arms, melting into him, yielding to his fury. He released her long enough to pull her up the stairs. He fumbled with the key, unlocked the door clumsily. Inside, he slammed it shut and shoved her against it.
In the dark, against the wood barrier, he devastated her with his mouth, punished her with his hands. Unwilling to release her, he shoved her panties down with one hand and stroked her, sliding fingers into the wetness. With sharp teeth, he tugged at her bra until her breasts were free, then he sucked voraciously on her hardened nipples. Sabrina panted and squirmed against his questing touch. She arched her back, begging him to suckle one breast, then the other. She whimpered when he removed his fingers, then sighed when it was replaced with his long, hot, hard shaft. She wiggled her hips, slipping and sliding around him as he pushed against her velvety softness.
He cupped her bottom, lifting her feet off the floor, pinning her. His face buried in her soft, dark hair and, audacious and urgent, his hands slid her up and down his length. Suspended between the wall and his body, straining closer, needing him deeper, she wrapped her legs around his waist.
The soft sounds coming from deep in her throat and the impatient touch of her hands assured him that despite his ferocity, he pleased her. He rested against her for a moment, trembling and fighting for control. She wouldn't allow it, biting at his shoulders and plunging her tongue into his ear.
"Wait; don't move," he whispered against her neck.
"I can't help it," she moaned, shifting fluidly with an intuitive pace. The slow, swirl of her hips drove him insane and with a roar, he picked up his own rhythm. She cried out when she felt the crest, riding each wave of ecstasy. As she quivered with the joy that only he could provide she felt him plunge within her one final time. Then, they both sagged. In the dark, she listened to his labored breathing and felt him tremble as he held her.
West Wind Page 7
