by Eve Gaddy
While she did this she thought about her meeting earlier that morning. Dr. Long—Jared—had been much as she’d expected from her phone conversations with him, and she knew she was going to really enjoy working at the Institute.
She’d be spending a lot more time with Jack Williams, though, than the director. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, given her instant attraction to the man. She hoped he was married. That would make it easier to resist any unwelcome sparks. Which she fully intended to do.
Late that afternoon she went to find Jack and discuss their schedule for the next few days. She really wanted a chance to take a preliminary tour of the bay, become more familiar with it. Although she’d lived in Texas as a child, she’d never been near the Texas coast.
Looking for Jack, Ava headed out to the dock where the Heart of Texas was moored. Sure enough, he was there, with the engine compartment open, a tool in hand and cussing a blue streak.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, among other things.
“Captain?”
He didn’t look up but continued fooling with the motor. Ava was given ample opportunity to study his backside, encased in old, tight, faded jeans and a T-shirt that proclaimed, Don’t Worry, Go Fishing. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Jack,” she said, louder and more firmly. “I need to talk to you.”
He looked up then. He’d tied a red bandana around his forehead to keep his hair out of his face. A face now liberally streaked with grease and dirt.
His eyes snapped with impatience. “What about?”
“Our schedule. Remember?”
He muttered something, then went back to the engine. It didn’t seem to dawn on him that she was technically his boss. Or at least, his superior.
“I need to talk to you about our schedule,” she repeated.
“Schedule? We don’t have one.” He spoke to the engine, not to her.
Annoyed by now, she said with what she considered admirable restraint, “What do you mean, we don’t have one? Isn’t it part of your job description to take me out on the bay? And if it’s not your job, whose is it?”
He grunted as he wrestled some more with the motor. “Yeah, yeah. But nobody’s going anywhere if I can’t get this sucker fixed,” he said, his back still to her. “Do something useful and hand me that crescent wrench.”
Instead of irritating her, the command amused her. Clearly, here was a man who didn’t cater to anyone. She climbed down into the boat and looked at the assortment of tools in the chest. Since she didn’t have a clue what a crescent wrench was, she picked up a tool at random and slapped it into his open palm, hard.
He grunted something that might have been thanks, started to use the tool, then glanced over his shoulder at her, pinning her with a sharp look. “This isn’t a crescent wrench. It’s not even a wrench.”
“And I’m not your assistant,” she said, her tone deliberately mild.
He stared at her a minute before a reluctant grin transformed his face. The smile made him look younger, even more handsome and…oh, hell, hot.
He turned all the way around and leaned back against the engine, wiping his arm across his forehead as he did so. “Sorry. I’m a little frustrated. I’ve been trying to fix this for most of the day and getting nowhere. There’s not much point in talking about a schedule until the engine is fixed.”
“I had hoped we could have taken a preliminary circuit of the bay, but I guess that’s out of the question today. I didn’t realize the boat was out of commission. I thought it was new.”
“Not hardly,” he said with a laugh. “Our budget doesn’t run to a brand-new research vessel.”
She supposed that wasn’t a shock. After all, she’d been amazed at the depth of funding as it was. According to Jared, much of it had come through private donations. Unfortunately, a good research vessel was a requirement, not a luxury. “Do you have any idea how long it will take to fix it?” Because until she had access to the boat she couldn’t begin to identify the dolphins.
“A friend of mine’s coming to help me in the morning. With luck, by tomorrow afternoon we’ll have it working. I hope.” He pulled another bandana out of his pocket and wiped his face, then looked at her closely, frowning. “Have we met before?”
“No. Why?”
“You look familiar. Are you sure we’ve never met?”
Ava laughed. “Can’t you do better than that?”
“It’s not a line. You really do look familiar. I think it’s your eyes.”
“They’re blue,” she said drily. “Lots of people have blue eyes.”
He rubbed his nose, spreading more grease. “Not like yours, they don’t. But if you say we’ve never met I guess I have to believe you.” He turned back to the engine, did something with another tool. “Hot tamale with chile con queso on top, I think I’ve done it—”
Ava stepped forward just in time to receive a chestful of motor oil. At the same time, Jack jumped backward, crashing into her. Her feet slipped out from under her and she grabbed his arm for balance. They both went down in a tangle of arms, legs and heavy-duty motor oil.
She could barely breathe. He weighed a ton. “Get off me!” she managed to squeeze out. She shoved at him ineffectually until a moment later he lifted himself off her and rolled onto his back.
Ava sat up, grateful that at least the oil had stopped spewing. Viscous, black liquid lay in small pools on the once-white deck. Arm flung across his eyes, Jack laughed, a deep, male sound of pure amusement.
She wanted to kill him. “There’s nothing funny about this.”
He sat up and grinned at her. “Oh, that’s where you’re wrong. If you could see your face—”
Touching a hand to her cheek, she realized the oil had splattered her face as well as covered her clothes. “What did you think you were doing?” She looked down at her shirt, now liberally streaked with black and gray. Totally shot. No dry cleaner in the universe would be able to get out that kind of stain. “I had to wear my favorite shirt,” she muttered.
“I was trying to fix the engine.” He got to his feet and held out a hand. “Come on, let me help you up.”
“Ha. Forget it.” She scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster.
Which wasn’t much because she slipped again and had to grab hold of the side of the boat to keep from falling. Looking down at her feet, she realized her shoes, a brand-new pair of air-soled running shoes, were a lost cause as well.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Jack said. “It was an accident.” His lips quivered but he controlled the smile, luckily for him. He was just about on her last nerve.
“How about I—” He broke off as the cell phone clipped to his belt rang.
Or at least, she assumed the sound of the Stones’ Satisfaction was a ring tone and not a radio or CD player suddenly gone berserk.
Frowning at the phone display, he said, “Sorry, I have to take this.” He flipped it open. “Yeah, Williams here.” He listened intently for a moment. “Are you sure he’s— He can’t— No. No, I understand. I’ll be right there.”
After he hung up he cussed under his breath, then stood for a moment, looking grim and staring out at the water. Then he shook his head, closed the engine compartment and started gathering all the tools together and tossing them into the open tool box.
It dawned on her he was leaving. “Are you crazy? You can’t just go off and leave the boat in this shape. It’s a disaster.”
He glanced at her as he chucked the last tool in and closed the lid. “It’ll keep until I can get back to clean up. I’ll talk to you later. Right now, I have to go.”
She parked her hands on her hips and stared at him incredulously. “What can possibly be so important that you’d leave the boat in a mess like this?”
He’d climbed out of the boat by now and stood on the dock looking down at her. A wry smile twisted his mouth. “My son. That was his school calling to tell me he’s sick. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?” Moments later, he was gone.
His son? So he was married. Be careful what you wish for, she thought. To be honest, she was a tiny bit disappointed. Which was absurd, since it was Jack Williams’s fault she was standing on the deck of a nasty, dirty boat in the ruins of what was once her favorite white shirt and her newest pair of running shoes.
She looked around, spying a mop and bucket in the corner of the deck. The man had rushed off to pick up his sick son. Though she tried to keep it under wraps, Ava had a soft spot for a man who’d drop everything to take care of his child. She sighed and removed her shoes, setting them on the dock. She couldn’t make the boat spotless, but she could clean up the worst of the mess. Jack could do the rest tomorrow.
And, she thought philosophically, Jack Williams would definitely owe her for this. Which could only help, all things considered.
IT DIDN’T TAKE LONG to reach the high school, but by the time Jack arrived there he was seething. He didn’t for a minute believe Cole was sick. This was his son’s passive-aggressive way of getting out of work. But the nurse had been adamant that Jack needed to pick Cole up, so here he was.
Once Jack had heard the words no fever he hadn’t paid close attention to what else the nurse had said. He had to admit, Cole was playing it for all he was worth, clutching his stomach and moaning in pain as he lay on the cot in the nurse’s office. If Jack didn’t know better he might have bought the act as much as the nurse appeared to.
But he did know better. Still, he didn’t say anything on the way home, preferring to wait and give his full attention to reading his son the riot act. Not that Jack expected a lecture to do much good, but he had to try.
They pulled into the drive and Cole sprang out to rush inside. Jack caught up to him before he could bound up the stairs and disappear into his room. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Cole stopped with his hand on the banister and stared at him. “To my room.”
“No, you’re not. You’re going out and pull weeds until it’s time to go to work. You may have fooled the school nurse but it’s not working with me.”
“Dad, I’m not lying. I feel like I’m gonna barf.”
“Yeah? Well, you can barf outside.”
Jack felt a momentary qualm at the sight of his son’s woebegone face. But he squelched it quickly. Cole had taken advantage of Jack’s soft heart too many times to count.
“Please don’t make me, Dad. I feel really sick.” He curved his arm over his stomach and looked pitiful.
So pitiful Jack nearly relented. Instead he walked over to Cole and put his hand on his shoulder. “Outside, Cole, now. The weeds are waiting.”
Cole let go of the banister, took a step forward and threw up all over Jack’s shoes.
Oh, shit, Jack thought as he helped him to the bathroom. Wouldn’t you know he’d be telling the truth the day I decided to get tough?
CHAPTER THREE
IT TOOK JACK A WHILE to get Cole settled in bed. He left the phone within easy reach and a bucket beside the bed in case of emergency. After he cleaned up the mess downstairs, there was another one waiting for him at the Institute. He didn’t like leaving his son, but he hoped the boy would sleep most of the time he was gone. Besides, if he didn’t clean up the boat tonight it would be almost impossible to clean by the next day.
And, though he didn’t like imposing on her, he called Mark’s wife, Cat, to ask if Cole could call her if he needed to. She said she’d be happy to check on Cole. Jack hated to ask her since she had her hands full with two young kids and another due in a few months, but he didn’t have much choice.
At the Institute, Jack walked up to the boat and did a double take. While not gleaming and spotless, all traces of the oil were gone. The only person he could imagine cleaning it was Milton, the janitor. That seemed odd, though, since Milton had already stated that his job didn’t extend to cleaning the boat. Jack did the rest of the cleanup quickly, then went in search of the janitor to thank him.
“I didn’t do it,” Milton said. “I didn’t even know there was a problem. The boat’s not my responsibility, you know.” He glared at Jack as if expecting him to give him a hard time.
“I know it’s not,” Jack assured him hastily. “That’s why—” He broke off and ran a hand through his hair. “If you didn’t do it, who did?”
“Beats me.” Milton shrugged and went back to work.
There was only one person who could have done it. Dr. Vincent. Oh, man, he felt bad enough that he’d ruined her clothes. Then he’d laughed. The fact that she’d cleaned the boat made him feel that much worse. He wondered if that’s why she’d done it, or was she simply that nice?
Tomorrow he’d offer to pay to have her clothes cleaned, or replaced, more likely. In the meantime, he was simply grateful she’d done it, whatever her reasons.
By the time he got back home, Cole was awake and hungry, so he fed him soup and crackers that thankfully stayed down. Cole went back to bed and Jack sat down to watch a baseball game. He was trying to decide what he wanted for dinner when his doorbell rang.
“Hey,” Mark said, handing him a large pot. “Cat sent this over. She said Cole was sick.”
“Thanks. Come on in.” He took the pot to the kitchen and set it on the stove. “Cole’s eaten. I fed him early. But I’m hungry.” He took the lid off and sniffed. He nearly moaned as the mouth-watering aroma of homemade chicken noodle soup hit his nostrils. “That smells incredible. Cat didn’t have to cook for us.”
Mark shrugged. “She loves to cook. Just eat it and be grateful.”
“Trust me, I am. Help yourself to a beer,” he said, getting out a bowl and spoon for the soup.
“Sounds good.” Mark went to the refrigerator and pulled out a can. “Want one?”
“I better not. I think Cole’s okay now but you never can tell with kids and viruses.”
“Tell me about it,” Mark said, popping the top of his beer can and taking a seat at the table. “One of my worst memories was the time both the kids and Cat had it. It nearly killed me taking care of them. If one wasn’t throwing up the other was. And little kids never make it to the bathroom.”
Jack laughed, thinking of that afternoon. “Neither do big kids sometimes.” He ate some soup, then put his spoon down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Cole told me he was sick, but I didn’t believe him. I feel like a jerk. Poor kid.”
“Why didn’t you believe him? Has he faked being sick before?”
Picking up his spoon again, Jack nodded. “All the time when we lived in Galveston. He doesn’t much like school.”
“Then it shouldn’t have surprised him if you didn’t believe him this time.”
True, but Jack still felt bad about the whole thing. He started eating again. Homemade chicken noodle soup tasted nothing like the canned stuff. Jack’s wife used to make soup from scratch, but honesty made him admit hers wasn’t as good as what he was eating now. “This soup is amazing. Thank Cat for me.”
“I will. She’s a great cook, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she is. Is that why you married her?”
Mark laughed. “No, but it’s a nice bonus.” He took a sip of beer, then said, “We’re having a barbecue Sunday afternoon. Why don’t you come, bring Cole? There’ll be a lot of kids, probably some close to his age.”
“Thanks. We will.”
“And if you want to bring a date, that’s fine too.”
Jack laughed and set down his spoon. “That’s not happening. I haven’t had a date in—” He broke off because Ava Vincent’s face popped into his mind. He didn’t know why, though, since after this morning she wasn’t likely to go out with him even if he did ask her.
“What?”
Jack looked at Mark. “Nothing. It’s just— I met a woman today. The new research scientist.”
“So spill. Is she hot?”
“Oh, yeah. She’s awesome.” He nodded. Dark hair. Deep blue eyes, like the ocean. He glanced at Mark again. Eyes that looked like… “But that’s not it. I kept thin
king I’d met her before.” Then it dawned on him. “The weird thing is, she looks like you.”
“Right.” Mark laughed and set down his beer.
“No, I’m telling you, that’s why she seemed so familiar to me. She could be your sister.”
Mark’s expression went from amused to grim in the space of seconds. “Not funny.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny. I’m not kidding, Mark. She looks enough like you to be your sister.”
Mark stared at him for a long moment, then closed his eyes and cursed.
“What’s wrong?” Mark looked sick but Jack couldn’t understand why. He’d known Mark for years, had met his two younger brothers, Jay and Brian, whom he knew Mark had raised. In fact, Jay lived in Aransas City now, too, and was married to Mark’s sister-in-law. In all the years he’d known Mark, Jack had never heard anything about…a sister? But there was only one reason Mark would be looking as upset as he was.
“Oh, my God, you have a sister?”
He opened his eyes and gave Jack a look brimming with pain. “Had. She ran away from home when she was fifteen. No one’s seen her since.”
Jack gazed at him, open-mouthed. “God, I’m sorry, Mark. I had no idea.”
“There’s no way you could have known. It’s not something I talk about. I looked for her for years, had private investigators looking, too. So did my mother. Nothing. No one ever turned up even a hint of what happened to her.”
“What was her name?”
“Miranda.”
The name of Mark’s youngest child. “You named your daughter after her.”
Mark gave a jerky nod.
“Do you think…maybe you should see this woman. Her name is Ava Vincent, but she could have changed it. I’m telling you, the resemblance is so strong—”
“I don’t need to see her,” Mark said harshly. “I’m not going down that road again. Hoping, praying, getting disappointed again and again, wishing for anything, just a tiny crumb of information.”
