Jake searched the pier for Rachel. She’d left five minutes ago for the weekend, and it felt… wrong.
Rachel stood in the gazebo watching Hall flow out of the camp dining hall with the tide of campers. She wanted to see him and dreaded it. The cacophony of two hundred voices mingled with the clink of silverware and scrape of chair legs across the wood floor.
She hadn’t contacted Hall since they spoke last week. Bret’s reappearance had knocked everything out of her head for five days. But as soon as she stowed the hibachi, she couldn’t mow through her chores fast enough to track down her brother.
Even signing up for Early Childhood Development at Daytona State College would have to wait. The six-week, all-day Saturday classes worked perfectly with her schedule. She was hardly in a position to ask Hall to read her textbook onto her iPod, but she’d enroll anyway.
She waved and Hall jerked his chin toward her in recognition. He hollered to a counselor with a sleeve tattoo running from shoulder to elbow and motioned Rachel toward the snack bar. Her stomach quivered. She and Hall had never been so disconnected.
She ducked behind the building into the grassy parking lot, away from the noise. She darted a glance at Hall, trying to measure his mood.
Please, let him forgive me.
Foreignness pinged between them. She swallowed hard. “What went on last semester?”
Hall stopped, facing an ancient, souped-up VW Beetle. The afternoon sun beat on biceps thicker than she remembered. Hall was a man now. She needed to quit seeing him as a child.
He turned toward her, anger and hurt warring in his eyes. “I got into a yell-fest in the locker room. Coach Putnam threatened me with in-school suspension. People talked about you all semester. It was humiliating.”
“You didn’t punch anybody did you?”
“Should have.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“One look at your face when Coach Rustin walked across the gym during pep rally told me the truth—and anybody else watching.”
Rachel’s head drooped. “I promise you, I will never do anything this stupid again.” She lifted her chin.
Hall pulled out his phone to check the time. “I have to cover for Cody so he can teach his class.”
He would leave just like that with nothing resolved? The weirdness made her want to scream. She wanted to grab him in a fierce hug, but a hardness she’d never seen in Hall stared back at her.
“I gotta go.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she didn’t care. He’d become a man all right—one who didn’t need or want her in his life.
He turned and jogged between the hedge and the snack bar. He strode alongside the softball diamond and turned in at the first cabin.
Her heart lay like road kill in her chest.
Rachel fanned herself with the clipboard, a useless gesture in the ninety-two degree end-of-August morning. The Queen rolled in the wake of a passing boat and seemed to moan her discomfort, too.
A woman in white Capri’s and a periwinkle silk blouse eyed the Queen from the dock, probably the first of this week’s guests. She marched down the finger pier, over the gangplank, and into the cockpit, her eyes honed onto Jake. The strap from her overnight bag slipped from her shoulder, and slid to her feet beside a burgundy leather laptop case. Had the woman even noticed her sitting five feet away on the main cabin?
“Quill Broadbeck, Southeast Coastal Magazine.” A delicate gold chain dangled from the wrist she held out to Jake. When she leaned over to connect with his outstretched hand, the back of her blouse slid up revealing a tattoo that might be the top third of the Harley Davidson eagle emblem.
“Captain Jake Murray, at your service, Ma’am.”
Ma’am? The girl had to be Jake’s age or younger.
Jake nodded toward Rachel. “This is Rachel Martin, first mate.”
The woman slid her fingers from Jake’s and faced her.
Rachel’s lips stretched into a smile and she shook the stubby, pink-lacquered fingers. “Quill. Cute. And you write for a magazine.”
Quill narrowed her eyes at Rachel. “My full name is Quillan.”
Rachel bit her tongue to keep from mimicking the woman’s drawl. “Welcome aboard.”
Jake pointed with his chin toward her laptop. “Business or pleasure?”
Quill hooked short, straight hair the color of dirty sand behind her ears. “Vacation, but I’m writing a feature on the Smyrna Queen to pitch to my editor.” She quirked her head to one side, giving Jake the once-over. “And I’d say it’s definitely going to be a pleasure.”
Chapter 14
The boiling pot of spaghetti steamed Rachel’s face and slimed her armpits. She fished out a noodle. Too stiff—four more minutes of torture, at least. And two more days of Miss Southeast Coastal.
Rachel glanced through the companionway at Quill, in her neon orange bikini, curled up in a shady corner of the cockpit with her laptop, as cool as if she’d stayed in her air conditioned office. No wonder the woman’s suitcase was an overnight bag—how much room did five bikinis take?
The first three days had crawled by like the first three chapters of Early Childhood Development. It had come down to a choice between sleeping and reading. Thankfully, Quill had kept Jake too preoccupied to notice Rachel’s exhaustion. No way could she pass this class without Hall reading for her. And she’d be delusional to think she’d get a yes now.
Quill’s laugh grated Rachel’s last nerve as she shoved the garlic bread into the oven.
Jake and Quill’s conversation spilled down the companionway.
Rachel tore lettuce into a bowl.
“So, you sailed on the team at the University of South Florida?”
“Right.” Jake’s tone said he’d rather scrape barnacles off the Queen’s hull than talk about himself.
“Sorry, I want to make sure I’ve got the facts right. Your life has been so different from mine. You fascinate me.”
Quill had dropped ocean liner-sized hints on Jake all week. Either Jake was stupid as a horseshoe crab or he had honed fending off women to an art. Rachel hefted the Dutch oven and dumped the steaming noodles into the colander in the sink.
“You refitted The Smyrna Queen by yourself?” Quill prodded.
Rachel blew the hair out of her eyes and reached for the plastic carton of tomatoes.
Jake’s voice filtered through the hatch. “Enough. You’ve picked me dry. What’s your story?”
A breath blew across Rachel’s damp skin. Jake must have switched on the fan for her.
“Coming about!” Jake brought the Queen around. The boat righted, sails flapped, the boom squeaked as it swung over the cockpit.
Rachel braced her feet as the sails caught the wind and the Queen listed to starboard.
“I come from Atlanta white trash. Two sisters and their babies on welfare. Mama’s still cleaning rooms down at the Hyatt, like she always has. Daddy took off. I saw a picture of him once.... Anyway, I starved through community college, won a journalism scholarship to the University of Georgia, paid my dues at Atlanta Journal Constitution for a year. And I’m going to win a Pulitzer.” Steel laced her voice.
Ambition. Something Rachel never seemed to scratch together.
“At Southeast Coastal?” Jake asked the question on the tip of Rachel’s tongue.
“Cutting my chops on features. Look for my byline in the Times in a few years. So, be nice to me and—”
“How nice?” Jake asked.
Was he flirting? Oh please. Rachel rolled her eyes.
“Did I mention I could probably pull down some half-price advertising?”
Jake chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Rachel climbed the steps into the cockpit. “Dinner time!”
As Quill and the other guests filed through the companionway into the cabin,
Rachel mumbled, “Man whore,” under her breath and coughed.
Jake’s eyes widened, then he laughed. He hook
ed his elbow around her neck. “Yeah, what do I have to do to get you to work Saturday? I booked an anniversary party for the day.”
She glanced through the companionway and saw Quill studying them. Rachel ducked out of his grasp. “You don’t have to do anything because there’s no way I’m working Saturday. Lucky you.”
Bret’s smile danced across the page of Rachel’s textbook. She batted it away like a dragonfly buzzing her head. The all-day Saturday classes were killers, but at least they only lasted six weeks.
She lay still on the bowsprit, clicked off the flashlight, and waited for the familiar longing for him. But it didn’t come. She let out her breath. Thank God.
The passengers had long turned in for the night. Jake slept in the aft cabin, snoring softly on his right side. She could have poked him with her foot. He’d roll over and quit like he had a half dozen times before. But she had to study, and late night was her favorite part of the day to spend with the Queen—when deepest blue ocean washed everything away.
Judging from the eagle tattoo on her lower back Quill tried to hide under make-up, she had her own things she’d like to wash away. Rachel might even like the woman if she hadn’t set her compass on Jake.
Rachel scooted further out on the bowsprit, enjoying the sensation of gliding like a gull over the water. The Queen’s gentle bounce soothed her. The generator hummed in the night air, driving the fore cabin’s electric fans. Her eyes drifted shut. She’d read in a minute.
Something warm clamped on her foot, shooting adrenalin like man-o-war venom up her leg.
“Rae, what’re you doing out here?” Jake’s sleepy voice croaked.
She jerked her foot free and sat up.
Jake, still befuddled with sleep, sat back on his heels while she climbed on deck.
“Why did you grab my foot?”
“I didn’t want you to fall overboard.”
Rachel rubbed her arch where his fingers had been. “I always come out here when I can’t sleep.”
She settled on the gunwale, clutching the book in her lap, her gaze skimming over Jake’s gym shorts to the light atop the mizzen mast, back to the fine hair curling on his chest. She’d seen his chest countless times. Why did she feel magnetized by the sight tonight?
Jake scratched his head. “I wonder why I never woke up before.”
“Probably because you sleep like someone who’s been dead for a week.”
Jake smiled. “Like you sleep in the mornings, you mean?” He grabbed the stay behind her head and leaned back to peer at the stars dotting the sky. “Beautiful.” He inhaled the humid, salty air. “I’m never up at this hour to enjoy it.”
Rachel studied his Adam’s apple, the moonlight pouring over his night-whiskered chin and sleep-tussled hair. What would his face feel like against the palm of her hand?
Jake caught her gaze, and held it. The tiniest smile played at the corners of his mouth. His eyebrows arched a centimeter.
What would Jake’s kiss be like? If she let her gaze drift to his mouth like she wanted, he’d know what she was thinking. Maybe he did anyway.
A gust of air knocked a halyard against the mast and broke the connection.
They soft-soled to the aft deck, careful not to disturb the guests.
“What are you going to do about Quill’s Southeast Coastal advertising offer?” Rachel asked.
Jake shook his head and chuckled. “Man whore.” He leaned against the aft cabin. “What do you think I should do?”
“It’s your life.”
“Don’t you have an opinion?”
Rachel chewed on her lip. “I’m just curious.”
“Nosey, you mean.” Jake rubbed his chin. “She mentioned a feature article, four-color ads at half price. So, suggestions?”
Rachel huffed. “Guys never hit on me. What would I know?”
“Except Bret.”
“Yeah.” Her gaze dropped to the cabin.
Jake chuckled. “There’s a word for women like you.”
Rachel turned toward him. “Oh?”
“Oblivious.”
The champagne of the word fizzed through her. Oblivious. She wanted to fall asleep saying the word over and over. She’d never noticed how it rolled off the tongue and arced gracefully over the ocean like a gull. Oblivious.
“You don’t believe me.” Jake shook his head. “For the whole sea campers’ cruise, ten pairs of eyes moved when you moved.”
“Pete pinched me.”
“And you—”
“Made sure he’d never do it again.”
“You didn’t see it as the most sincere compliment a sixteen-year-old could give you?”
“No.”
“Oblivious.” Jake pushed himself off the cabin with a shake of his head. “About Quill—”
“You do rude well. Try that.”
“And if I want a five-page feature article with glossy photo layout?”
“Give her a backrub.” Rachel slipped into the cabin. Jake’s soft laugh floated down on top of her as she hid the textbook in her bin.
Out of habit, she rolled over on her bunk and grabbed her phone from between the mattress and the hull to check her messages. 1Text Message Hall glowed from the screen.
The steps creaked as Jake climbed into the cabin.
She waited for Hall’s words to load, her stomach clenching.
Need to talk.
Her skin prickled. Even when they were at odds, he kept his text short in deference to her dyslexia…. Would he ex her out of his life permanently? She couldn’t exist without Hall.
Jake nestled onto his sheet, and she wished she could ask him to hold her like he did after the storm. But Bret had killed her naivety.
She flopped her head back against the pillow. Fear’s acid sloshed in her stomach and a prayer whispered from her lips. She couldn’t wait another three days till they docked and she could track Hall down at the camp.
She grabbed her phone, leaned up on one elbow, and texted back. About?
I let it go.
Let what go?
Hall’s letters swam across the screen in a jumble. Hurt, embarrassment.
I’m so sorry.
We’re good.
Her thumbs danced across the keypad. Thank you. She fell back on the bed. Relief, like an anti-adrenaline, ran through her limbs.
Rachel positioned the ball of her left foot on the smooth wood of the bowsprit. A barrel-shaped guest hoisted her body over the transom ladder, grinning from ear to ear. Her husband slid over the side, dragging a life jacket.
Rachel twisted her right foot into position, her knees bending and straightening with the Queen’s sway. Her gaze skimmed across Quill in the port corner of the cockpit—where she’d been planted like a barnacle all week—to Jake.
His warm eyes fixed on Rachel.
Guess I’m not oblivious today.
She balanced with her arms stretched out in front of her, flexed her knees, and arced into her personal-best, back dive.
Later, Rachel stood amidships, water running from her body toward the scuppers in the gunwales. Nearby, Quill gripped the coaming. Make-up smudged one wing of her eagle, tramp-stamp tattoo.
Quill’s eyes followed Jake as he spun a one-and-a-half off the bowsprit, then drifted to the rest of the Queen’s occupants swimming in the ocean. Her wistful expression evaporated when she felt Rachel’s scrutiny.
“You don’t swim, do you?” Rachel clamped her mouth shut. Where had that come from? But she was sure, now that she’d said it.
Quill’s eyes flicked to the water and back to Rachel. She crossed her arms over her chest without answering.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Lots of people never learned to swim.”
The air seemed to go out of Quill. She sunk to the edge of the coaming.
Rachel settled on the coaming beside Quill. “I taught a Terrified of Water class after I graduated from high school. Go down to the Y and take the class.”
“Maybe I should. Working at So
utheast Coastal, I’ll be around water a lot.” Quill stared at Rachel as if she were weighing whether to speak. “You got something going with Jake?”
If only. “He’s in love with his ex-fiancé.”
Quill sighed. “That explains a lot. Hey, sorry if I’ve been cold. I have a competitive streak—”
“Really?”
They both laughed.
Quill shot her a sheepish look. “The guy’s too good-looking for his own good.”
Rachel’s eyes connected with Quill’s. “For anybody’s good.”
Jake faced Quill from the Queen’s deck.
She stood on the finger pier, laptop clutched under one arm, bag strung over her shoulder. “Rachel says you’re still in love with your ex.”
Did Rachel believe that piece of fiction? Or did she just do him a favor by getting Quill off his back? “Rachel said that?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Jake shrugged.
“You’ll get your story. And the advertising.”
“And I’ll watch for that byline of yours.”
Thanks, Rachel.
Quill sashayed down the pier, and his brain flitted to her blue bikini with the palm trees on it. Then, a picture of Rachel standing on deck in her black Speedo, ocean water sluicing over her curves, replaced it. The image winded him all over again. Quill wielded her sexuality like a cast net that would capture what she wanted. Rachel’s was all the more potent because she didn’t even try to fish.
Leaf whistled under his breath. “There’s some nice scenery for a week’s sail.”
Jake looked up from adjusting the fender between the dock and the Queen and moved down the deck, uncoiling the hose looped over his shoulder as he went. “Nice scenery every week.”
“Rachel.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Leaf stepped onto the finger pier. “Makin’ any progress on that little project?”
Jake darted a glance through the main hatch as he unfurled the hose. Hopefully, Rachel had gone forward, out of earshot, to strip the bunks.
“Lay off, man.” He squeezed the hose trigger, and water beat against the deck, blocking out Leaf’s reply.
Tattered Innocence Page 12
