West Wind

by Madeline Sloane

  * * *

  Naked and nestled in the sheets of his bed, Sabrina slept. As the sky lightened, Jay watched her sleep, savoring the fine bones of her face, the soft curve of her neck. Exotic, with long lashes and dark, rich hair, she didn't look like a Windham. He had seen photos of both Don and Rose, yet he couldn't see either of them in Sabrina.

  She hadn't said anything to him about the sailboat; hadn't once tried to convince him to restore the Zephyrus. The cynic in him reminded him to be patient. She would.

  Sabrina stretched, opening her eyes slowly. When she saw him, she smiled, her lush, swollen lips parting. She scooted into the curve of his body and sighed. She traced his jaw, tickling his beard and lips. She rubbed a finger in the crease between his eyebrows.

  "Don't frown."

  Jay closed his eyes slowly.

  "Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be," she whispered against his neck.

  "Now you sound like Brett."

  "Maybe he's right."

  "What did he tell you," Jay said, rolling onto his back.

  "Nothing I didn't already know," Sabrina said, laying her head on his chest. She listened to the sound of his heart, heard it speed up as his anxiety mounted.

  "You knew? From the beginning, you knew?"

  "I knew about our grandparents. I didn't know you existed, didn't know who you were when we met. When we …" she faltered. "I didn't know the connection until this afternoon when Brett told me."

  "What the hell does he know?" Jay eased his grip, sliding a hand to caress her naked back.

  "Well," she said, snuggling into his embrace, "he says he knows 'everything,' whatever that means. That everyone knows. Does that mean the whole town?"

  Jay nodded. "Yeah, I'm afraid it does. My grandmother went nuts. She made sure that everybody knew Rose Windham was an adulterer. She blamed the fire on Rose, said she killed them."

  "It's true," Sabrina said, sighing. "Rose told me about it two weeks ago after I found some letters and a newspaper clipping. It was horrible. So tragic."

  "You don't look anything like her, do you?"

  "No; I look like my mother. She's Brazilian. She and my father met in college."

  "She must be very beautiful," he said, stroking her cheek. "You are."

  Sabrina turned her head and kissed his palm. "When I first saw you, I thought you were scary. Dark and brooding and dangerous."

  "But not anymore?"

  "No. I guess I've developed a taste for danger. And all these hard muscles," she said, squeezing his arm.

  "I've been too rough with you," he said, contrite. "I've hurt you, haven't I?"

  He held her against the pillows and studied her, noting the bites and bruises, the scratches and swollen lips. "What have I done to you?"

  Sabrina chuckled and cuddled him to her breasts. "Don't be silly. I'm not made of glass. You haven't done anything that I haven't asked for."

  "No, it's not right. A man doesn't hurt a woman."

  "I'm fine," she said. "Look, if you're going to be a crybaby every time we have sex …" she teased.

  "You want a 'tough guy' to have sex with, is that it?" He took advantage of his position and rubbed his beard against her hardening nipples.

  "Well, I've never had one before and it is kind of fun," she reasoned, arching an eyebrow.

  "Posh girl comes to town, trolling for trouble."

  "No, rich girl comes to town to find boat. I don't troll for men," she said, stiffening. "Does it really bother you? The money?"

  "Sabrina, it's never a problem for those who have it."

  She pushed him away. "Maybe I better go." She lifted gracefully from the bed, and sorted through clothing and sheets, looking for her underwear.

  He rolled on his back and watched her with distrust. "They're in the living room," he offered.

  She glared at him, then stomped into the living room. She returned a minute later, clad in her bra and panties, her coat slung over her arm. "What is the matter with you? Why do you want to pick a fight?"

  When he didn't answer, she dropped her coat and slithered up the bed, crawling on her hands and knees until she covered him. Straddling him, she picked up his hands and placed them on her hips. Slowly she moved against him. "Is this the only way we can get along?"

  He tugged at her hair until her lips were an inch from his. "Make love, not war," she murmured as he gently kissed her.

  He proceeded to do just that: caressing her weary body, whispering endearments against the soft skin of her neck. His deep, drugging kisses put her in a stupor. For the next hour, he made love to her with an aching tenderness, caressing her until her soft sighs became breathless pants.

  Sabrina felt adored as he held her, stroking and kissing her to sweet abandon. She saw the sun's glow reflected in his eyes and moaned his name softly, before his mouth covered hers again. She wanted this, and more. Maybe this wild sexual attraction could be love, she briefly wondered, then his body covered her and he entered her slowly, deliberately. His steady, measured strokes set the rhythm and, despite her attempts to quicken the pace, he controlled their lovemaking. Tension building steadily, she urged him deeper and yet deeper insider her.

  Sabrina clung to him, begging for release, covering his neck and chest with frantic kisses, but he refused her pleas to accelerate. Her climax came in a quaking rush, tearing through her with might that forced his release.

  He feels it too, she thought, as they floated to earth, their mouths fused, their trembling arms wrapped around each other. Will he tell me? She wondered.

  * * *

  With supreme effort, Sabrina opened her eyes. Jay's alarm clock buzzed insistently. She pulled a pillow over her head as he reached for the off button. She felt the bed sag as he sat up, heard his feet thump against the floor.

  She lifted the pillow. "Lover boy …" she began in a soft, wheedling voice.

  Jay looked at her amused. "Yes?"

  "Will you get my bag of clothes?"

  "Where is it?"

  She stretched luxuriously. "Ummm. It's in my car," she said, exhaling deeply. She licked her swollen lips then burrowed into his pillow and closed her eyes.

  She reminded Jay of a contented cat and he stroked her rounded bottom. She sighed again and mumbled something unintelligible.

  "What?" he asked, leaning in.

  "Sabes que eu te amo," she whispered, her eyes closed, her breathing deep. She was on the verge of sleep.

  "I don't understand. What did you say?"

  When Sabrina didn't answer, Jay shrugged and pulled on a pair of jeans. He went into the great room, making coffee at the kitchenette. Lifting one of his sail curtains, he saw Sabrina's massive Cadillac parked on the street next to the boatyard's padlocked front gate.

  As the coffee brewed, Jay padded down the steps to the boatyard. He hadn't bothered with shoes, and the dew was cold against his bare feet. When he reached the Cadillac, he saw that she had left it unlocked, but she also had left the keys in ignition. Just in case she needed a quick getaway, he mused. On the passenger seat was her purse and a small bag he imagined contained clothes. He slid in, turned the key, and the massive engine purred to life. Shifting it into drive, he steered the car down to the alley, to the back of the boatyard where his own pickup truck rested. He parked it, collected her bags and exited the car, tucking her car keys in his jeans pocket.

  As he made his way to the stairs, he heard tires crunching on gravel. Brett maneuvered his truck into the empty space beside Sabrina's car. Catching sight of Jay, he wolf whistled through the open window.

  Jay grinned, barefoot and bare-chested on the stairs, and lifted Sabrina's purse and bag as way of explanation.

  Brett nodded. "Guess you're going to be late again," he joked. "Man; must be nice to be the boss." He chuckled, watching Jay bound up the steps.

  Back upstairs, Jay deposited Sabrina's purse and bag at the foot of the bed. He took a cup of steaming coffee into the shower with him, and in fifteen minutes was dressed and ready
for work.

  He knelt at the bed and stroked Sabrina's glossy hair.

  "Wake up, honey," he urged.

  Sabrina stirred, opening her eyes. Confused at first, when she recognized him, they softened.

  Jay's heart sped up and he caught his breath at her serene beauty. "I brought your bag up. I have to go to work. You stay this time. Understand?"

  She nodded, blinking slowly. As she stretched and yawned, the sheet slid to her waist. Her breasts mounded as she raised her arms over head. She brought her arms down around his neck and pulled him to her lips. With her hands stroking the back of his neck, she gazed into his face trustingly.

  "Oh, baby, you're wicked," he moaned. He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, inhaling her scent, muted by and mingled with his own. With superhuman effort, he lifted his head.

  "I've got to go. Please let me go," he implored, clenching his jaw.

  Sabrina luxuriated in her power for a few seconds, and then let her arms drop. She wiggled deeper into his pillows, her lips curving into a satisfied, mysterious smile. She listened as Jay moved through the apartment, pulling on his work boots, gathering his wallet and keys, and then closing the door softly. She heard his muffled footsteps as he raced down the stairs.

  * * *

  When she opened her eyes again, the clock read 10:20. She heard machines buzzing in the distance and the occasional clang as a tool dropped. A radio played loud rock 'n' roll. Jay was at work in the boatyard below.

  She saw her overnight bag and purse at the foot of the bed and decided she needed a shower. She took her time, first exploring the small cabinets and closets in the bathroom. Even this room looks like a sailboat, she thought, peeking behind the teak doors and noting the sparse contents. She opened her bag and withdrew her toiletries.

  Thank goodness I brought my toothbrush, she thought, squeezing the tube of paste. Her bathroom ritual took considerable more time than Jay's, and by 11:30 she was showered, her hair dried and styled. She had to make do with wrinkled clothes. She couldn't find an iron anywhere. How can some people not own one? All of her life she had fastidiously ironed her clothes before wearing them. She hung her jeans and shirt over the shower bar and ran the hot water, hoping to steam some of the wrinkles free.

  Once dressed, she realized she was famished. She poked in the cabinets in the kitchenette. The coffee was cold, and there was no creamer. The refrigerator was nearly empty, also.

  "How does this man survive?" she spoke aloud.

  Sabrina decided to head for the coffee shop where she'd lunched her first day in town. She couldn't find her car keys, though. She frowned, trying to recall where she had left them.

  She stuffed her clothes and toiletries in her bag and walked barefoot down the stairs. She saw he moved her car, so she opened the driver's door. Tossing her bags on the seat, she looked in the ignition, under the floor mat, even the visor.

  "Looking for these?"

  She jumped, bumping her head on the liner. "Ouch," she said, rubbing her forehead and turning slowly. Jay leaned against the fender, her keys in his outstretched hand. She slid out of the car and when she reached for her keys, he tucked them in the front pocket of his jeans.

  "Thought I told you to stay put," he said.

  Sabrina rolled her eyes. "Maybe if you had some food, a girl would stick around." She sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, lifting her head to nuzzle his chin. "I'll be back," she murmured. "I'm starved." She wiggled her fingers into his pocket and withdrew her keys.

  "Besides," she said as she slid in the car, "I need you. You've got my boat."

  Jay leaned in before she could close the door. "Is that why you need me?"

  Sabrina grinned. "You want me to stroke your ego?"

  "Among other things," he said.

  She whispered in his ear and kissed him goodbye, but since Jay didn't speak Portuguese, he couldn't know that she described, in explicit detail, what she needed.

  "I hope that was a compliment," he said.

  "Oh, it was, me amo."

  He grimaced as she fought the wheel of the large car, and drove inexpertly down the alley and into the on-coming, honking traffic.

  "City girls."

  Back in the shop, Brett was putting a tarp over a wooden hull he had been sanding.

  "Hey, you took Spanish in high school, didn't you?"

  "That was a long time ago, bud."

  "What does 'me amo' mean?"

  "Run like hell," Brett replied.

  * * *

  Jay and Brett usually worked in companionable silence. Each had various projects going at the same time. They staggered chores, varnishing teak, then repairing engines while the woodwork dried.

  Jay ignored the Zephyrus, installing an autopilot on a new sloop.

  At one o'clock, Brett turned off the radio. "Lunch time. Maude's?"

  "Sure," Jay said, wiping his hands on a rag. He shoved the red flannel into his back pocket. "Why don't you head over? I'll be along shortly."

  "Sure. Want me to order you anything?"

  "Yeah, I'll take a hoagie, no onions."

  After Brett left, Jay walked over to the Zephyrus. He touched the crack he made in the gel coat the day before. He ran his hand along the hull, stroking the swollen belly above the waterline. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine how Derek West must have felt when the finished boat came out of the shop. Did he feel pride in his workmanship?

  As a student, he had studied naval design, including the Zephyrus. Now, he looked beyond the dull finish, the pitted propeller, the broken keel, and chipped rudder. He closed his eyes and leaned against the boat, waiting for it to speak to him, a silent communion.

  In his mind's eye, he could see her as she once had been, with foamy waves splashing against the gleaming white hull as she slid across the deep blue Massachusetts Bay. The sleek double-ender sailboat with its salty cabin and proud bow designed by Don Windham and built by Derek West had been a classic beauty. She would be again, he vowed.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, sitting cross-legged on her hotel bed, Sabrina called Rose.

  "Well, Grandmother, you're not going to believe this, but I've met someone, and I know it's crazy, but I think it could be serious."

  "Why wouldn't I believe it? I fell in love in an afternoon. Maybe crazy runs in the family."

  "It must. His name is Jay West."

  Sabrina heard a gasp on the end of the line. Seconds passed in silence. "Grandmother, are you there?"

  "Jay West? As in the West family?"

  "Yes; he's the son of Margaret West. Not only that, he owns the boatyard where I have the Zephyrus."

  "What?"

  "I met him my first night in town, but I didn't know who he was. Then, when I found out, it was too late."

  "Too late? As in …"

  "Um hmmm."

  "My goodness. Well, what next?"

  "I'm not sure. I need to convince him to restore the boat."

  "I thought you said they picked up the boat. Didn't you give him a deposit?"

  "Actually, I gave the deposit to his assistant manager, Brett Story. He's the one I talked to on the telephone, and he picked up the boat. I had no idea Jay was involved until after the boat was delivered. Brett told me that Jay was furious when he saw the Zephyrus. He wanted to destroy it when he saw it."

  "Why would he want to do that?"

  "Brett told me that Jay's mother was an alcoholic and took drugs, and that she died of an overdose when he was twelve."

  "How tragic!"

  "He went to live with his grandmother, who apparently had gone off the deep end. She poisoned him with stories of the Windhams, and how we ruined her life. He left home for a while, went to college in Maine and studied naval architecture. When he returned, he started the boatyard."

  "Sabrina, do you believe in destiny?"

  "I'm beginning to."

  Chapter Five

  Jay finished his sandwich, wadded his napkin and tossed it in
the empty basket. "I needed that."

  Brett spooned mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth and groaned. "Ahh man, why can't Shawna cook like this? What's so hard about meatloaf?"

  Jay shrugged. "Can't have it all, I guess."

  Brett saw his opening. "Worked it out yet?"

  "What?" Jay finished his root beer, stalling.

  "You know damn well, 'what.' Are you going to work on the Zephyrus?"

  Jay nodded. "Whatever she wants."

  "Well, that was easy. Sounds like you got it bad," Brett teased. "What did she say to change your mind?"

  "Nothing. I'm not going to talk about her. You keep your fat mouth shut, too."

  Brett raised his hands is surrender. "What'd I say?"

  "Don't tell me you didn't spill your guts yesterday."

  "You should be thanking me; you finally got a love life."

  Jay shook his head resignedly. "I don't need help."

  "What about Faye?" Brett prodded.

  "What about her?"

  "What are you going to do when she meets Sabrina."

  "That won't happen."

  "Are you kidding?"

  "She's not going near her," Jay bristled. "She's not going to ruin this."

  * * *

  Faye West clumped through her kitchen, still dressed in her bathrobe and slippers. It was after two o'clock and she had just watched a "shock" talk show episode titled "Are You My Baby's Daddy?" It featured a young, overweight woman, her infant, and three men, similarly dressed in oversized T-shirts, baggy pants with crotches that hung down to their knees, and baseball caps turned sideways. The men had submitted to DNA testing and, surprise, surprise, none of them were the "baby's daddy."