Tattered Innocence

by Ann Lee Miller

  “Not a problem. He’s in love with his ex-fiancé.”

  After she gave him a tour of the main cabin, they climbed onto the deck.

  Jake stood on the fore cabin, twist-locking the cover on the mainsail.

  Hall strode across the deck to Jake. “Nice barge.”

  Jake glanced at Hall and back at the sail cover. “Ketch.”

  “I told you not to call her a barge,” Rachel said under her breath. “Let’s go.”

  Hall didn’t budge. “I can’t imagine how you get a lick of work out of my sister.”

  Jake’s eyebrows shot up. His mouth dropped open like he was going to say something, but he shut it.

  Hall stared at Jake like he’d just one-upped him. “When she finally gets her lazy tail out of bed, she’s crabby as all get-out. How do you stand her?”

  Oooh. Hall is so going to hear about this.

  Jake returned Hall’s level stare, the corners of his mouth curling. “Good help is hard to find. You take what you can get.”

  Jake’s tongue-in-cheek tone matched Hall’s.

  Hall pinned Jake with an unsmiling gaze for another second—wordless guy-speak zinging between them.

  Rachel glared at them. She didn’t know which annoyed her more—their trash talking her or the silent communication she couldn’t decipher.

  Jake twisted the last lock into place. “Come on, I’ll give you the topside tour.”

  The guys moved off toward the bow as if they’d achieved some mini détente.

  Rachel shook her head. If Hall acted weird, at least Jake had switched gears into politeness.

  She dug her grocery list and phone out of her pocket and checked the time. “Hall, you promised to change my oil for my birthday gift. We better go soon.”

  Hall waved her off.

  She ducked into the cabin to check her e-mail on Jake’s laptop. Her grade for Early Childhood Development would post today.

  Her fingers drummed on Jake’s desk waiting for his computer to load her account. There it was—Daytona State College. Not bothering to decipher the subject line, she held her breath and clicked open the e-mail. Her eyes skimmed through, looking for a letter grade. No need to read every word when all she wanted to know was whether she passed.

  “Yes!” She jogged topside and sprinted up the deck to Hall. “I passed! I passed my first college class!” She hugged her brother. “Can you believe it?”

  Hall laughed. “You mean I passed.”

  She spun to Jake and threw her arms around him. “Congratulate me. I just passed Early Childhood Development.”

  Jake stumbled back a step. “Congratulations. I didn’t know you were taking a class.”

  She released him, her cheeks taut from her grin, and faced Hall. “Let’s go. I have to tell everyone.”

  Maybe she wasn’t so stupid after all.

  Hall held out his hand to Jake. They shook. “Take care of my sister.”

  September sun radiated through her skin all the way inside. She blinked up at Hall. “Thanks—and for all those hours of reading.”

  Clouds scuttled across the sky dousing them in shadow.

  Jake watched Hall push the dock gate open for Rachel. The guy was built like a linebacker and he’d nailed Jake’s annoyance in thirty seconds. What was up with that? Jake couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt fire flash through his gut like it did when Rachel walked up the pier with her arm hooked through—her brother’s.

  He shook his head. He’d been an idiot. Of course Rachel wouldn’t date another guy when she’d barely exed Bret. Rachel’s affections flowed ocean deep—not just with Bret. It was one of the things that kept him from kissing her. The last thing she needed was another guy looking for friendship with benefits. Kissing would have to mean something.

  Jake went below for pliers.

  Hall couldn’t have been clearer if he’d said it in words—hurt my sister and I’ll hurt you. Message received. The kid had four inches and thirty pounds of muscle on him.

  Hall obviously saw Jake as a guy who was into Rachel. Had Rachel said something? Had he figured it out from Jake’s bad attitude when they met? Jake hadn’t seen himself as a guy with feelings for Rachel until twenty minutes ago.

  From his workbench, he noticed Rachel had left his computer powered up. He glanced at the e-mail she’d left open.

  C minus

  She did cartwheels over a C minus? Did Rachel have a below average IQ? He shut the computer down. He thought about her rapid-fire comebacks, her instant mastery of anything he taught her on the Queen. Maybe she was a poor student, had test anxiety. He shook his head, mystified.

  Rachel’s mentioning her birthday to Hall stuck in his head. He needed to come up with a gift. His gut tensed, old anxiety surfacing like a whale lumbering up for air.

  He’d been in seventh grade at Gilford Prep when he went to Justin Healey’s birthday party. He hadn’t given a second thought to the super soaker water rifle Mom bought at a garage sale and handed to him as he slid out of the car in front of Justin’s house. He’d deposited the gift in the re-used birthday bag on the dining room table, on its side because the bag wouldn’t stand up under the weight of the rifle—details he wouldn’t have remembered if they hadn’t embedded in him an hour later.

  No dummy, Justin opened the envelopes first—twenty-five dollar gift card to Target, fifty to Game Zone, thirty to the arcade at the mall. Then, he tore into the packages—electronics. At last, he yanked the super soaker out of Jake’s rumpled gift bag. “Cool,” he said, the kind of cool you said when you got underwear for Christmas.

  Shopping for gifts for Gabs had been grueling. The fear of disappointing her made him second-guess himself. He always ended up with too-expensive jewelry that he never knew if she liked. Even the engagement ring she chose didn’t seem to make her happy. Had she picked one of the cheapest in the store because she knew Jake funneled his money into restoring the Queen?

  He thought of his sister, Nikki, the year she got her chocolate Lab-Weimaraner puppy, Sadie. Nikki’s mouth had flown open in a silent scream. Then, she scooped Sadie out of her basket and danced around the house planting kisses on the puppy’s face until the dog peed on her. Nikki laughed and kissed Sadie again. Someday, Jake wanted to give a gift that delighted like that.

  He sighed. What would wow Rachel?

  Rachel plodded up the pier toward the Queen. October eleventh. The gray sky spit drops of water, matching her mood. Nobody had even said happy birthday to her. True, Hall changed her oil on Saturday. Her family and Cat had celebrated last night. But today was her birthday, and her parents left for work before she saw them.

  At least Hall could have mentioned it when he dropped her off on the way to Daytona State College. But he kept up a one-sided conversation about Jusinia, his new girlfriend, how beautiful she was, yada, yada.

  And why had Jake borrowed her car yesterday afternoon? She’d been so startled to see him on the doorstep that she’d forgotten to ask.

  When he spotted her walking up the dock, Jake lowered himself from the bowsprit to the dock like a gymnast. He walked full-tilt toward her, plunked her car keys into her hand. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

  She trudged after Jake back the way she’d come, not even trying to keep up.

  He pushed through the gate at the end of the pier and waited for her to walk through.

  She halted. “What happened to my car? It’s shiny… sky blue.” Her baby blue Escort had faded to a chalky almost-white before she bought it.

  Jake shot her a grin as they approached the car. “Stuff’s called wax. You ought to try it sometime.” He swung open the driver’s door and the back door.

  New, dark blue floor mats covered the floorboards. The colorless, worn carpet bordering the mats looked scrubbed and the seat fabric had lightened several shades. Gone were the fingerprints around the door handles and the furry coat of dust on the dash. The windows sparkled. A car deodorizer the shape of a wave hung from the rearview mi
rror, Sea Mist stamped at the bottom.

  “Happy Birthday.”

  She threw her arms around the unfamiliar muscle and bone of Jake’s shoulders for the second time in two days.

  Irish Spring from his neck tickled her nose.

  His hands settled on her waist.

  She jerked back, embarrassed, and ran her palm over the shiny finish on the roof. “Thanks.” Tears collected in her eyes and she blinked them back.

  “You like your gift?”

  “It’s like Cinderella’s coach. I love it.”

  “What day is your birthday?”

  “Today.” The tears spilled onto her cheeks, but she dashed them away. Jake would think she was a PMS psycho case.

  Rachel scanned the horizon for signs of the approaching hurricane. A crisp wind drummed the rigging against the masts. They had monitored weather reports all day. The cockpit radio blared the most recent forecast—twenty-four hours until Kendra was due to hit the coast. The hazy sun burned through gray clouds like any other October day.

  Rachel tied her sweatshirt hood tighter around her face. Jake had already alerted the guests scheduled for this week to stand by. If and when the hurricane bypassed Florida’s east coast, the cruise would resume.

  Across the cockpit, Jake squinted at the skyline. “We’ve got to take the Queen to shelter.” His lips thinned into a grim line. “I know you don’t like sailing her two-manned, but I can’t risk riding out a hurricane in the marina.”

  Rachel frowned. Of course, Jake had the skill to guide them to a safe location. But if a summer squall melted her into a soppy mess, could she hold it together long enough to assist him? She glanced toward the Escape. If Leaf were riding out the storm at the marina, maybe Jake was overreacting. “What’s Leaf doing?”

  Jake’s brow creased. “He’s probably got enough weed stashed in his bilge to see him through a direct hit.”

  Rachel laughed in spite of herself. “You know about his smoking? He told me not to tell you. He wants to keep your high opinion.”

  Jake sighed. “Doesn’t matter. As much as I’d like him to replace my Gramps, he can’t.” He rubbed his hands together and jammed them into his jeans pockets. “At the hurricane hole, we’ll have trees for a wind-block on all four sides. At worst, we’ll be thrown against a muddy bank—a lot less dangerous than landing on Riverside Drive.”

  “Okay already.”

  Jake faced the whitecaps kicking up beyond the pier. “We’ll go under sail.”

  Rachel opened her mouth to protest. Motoring two-manned would be easier than sailing.

  “We’ll get there twice as fast. By the time we poke along the shore at four knots under motor, the hurricane could blow us half way to Grand Bahama.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I’ll secure things below.”

  Jake caught her hand. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He wrapped her in a bear hug. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  The combination of Jake’s words and touch bolstered her.

  He released her.

  She smiled. “Thanks.” She almost believed their relationship would be okay, too.

  Chapter 17

  Stiff wind hurtled the Queen across the choppy water.

  Rachel gripped the wheel, nerves stretched taut as the sheet line.

  Jake crouched on the deck nearby, one hand gripping the lifeline, the other shielding his eyes as he scanned the shore.

  Drop some sail! Slow us down! “Jake,” Rachel yelled into the wind. “What are you looking for?”

  “Buoy Number Eight, red. I’m going below for the binoculars.”

  Rachel scanned the water for a buoy, any buoy. Blowing sea spray and low slung clouds nearly obscured the pine-dotted shoreline. She glanced at the compass, keeping to the course Jake had set. Where was the gap into Jake’s mystery cove?

  A dark speck bobbed in the distant whitecaps.

  Rachel pointed as Jake emerged from the cabin. “Try there.”

  Jake pressed the glasses against his face. “It’s a red nun all right. I can’t make out the number.”

  Rachel altered course toward the buoy. Saltwater sprayed her face, and she swiped at it with the arm of her sweatshirt. God, guide us to Jake’s cove.

  She reached for the binoculars. “Let me look.”

  Jake handed her the glasses and grabbed the wheel.

  She gazed south, beyond the marker. Nothing. If there were any more buoys, they were beyond her range. A thin mist wet her face before it clouded the lenses. She licked her lips—fresh water. Purple rain lines slashed between the clouds and waves to the south. She handed over the binoculars. “I’ll get our slickers and life jackets,” she shouted.

  Jake grunted, intent on peering through the binoculars, the knuckles of his left hand white on the wheel. He glanced past her at the sails and adjusted to a shift in the damp wind.

  Rachel slipped into the main cabin and closed the hatch over her head. Don’t panic. She lifted the bench locker and snagged their gear. She hadn’t sailed in wind this strong. Still, it wasn’t a full-fledged storm. Yet. Hurricanes veered off course. They fizzled. She could panic later—if it actually hit. She gulped in a breath, let it out. I can do this.

  Topside, Rachel took the wheel from Jake. Pelting rain stung her face and hands.

  Jake stabbed his arms into a slicker and life jacket. Anchoring the binoculars under his arm, he headed for the bow. After a minute he ran back down the deck. “That’s it! Pass on the port side of the buoy!”

  Rachel blinked rain out of her eyes, her focus riveted to the floating nun. Passing on the wrong side of the buoy could run them aground.

  Waves knocked the buoy horizontal.

  Her fingers ached from gripping the wheel as she threaded the Queen past the first channel marker.

  Rachel dredged up words she’d memorized as a child from Isaiah, Chapter Forty-three. “‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.’”

  A surreal tranquility blanketed her. She let out her breath.

  “Reducing sail,” Jake yelled from atop the fore cabin.

  Rachel nosed the Queen into the wind, and their forward progress ceased.

  All around her, sails flapped violently in the gale.

  Jake reefed the mainsail. He heaved the genoa down onto the cabin.

  Rachel lashed the wheel and vaulted onto the aft cabin to drop the mizzen sail. She glanced at the staysail, the only remaining sail, and back at the buoy. The wind had nearly blown them out of the channel. “Jake!” She pointed at the buoy.

  He sprinted down the deck and dropped into the cockpit. He yanked on the choke, wrenched the key in the engine’s ignition, twisted the key a second time.

  The engine turned over, but didn’t start.

  He pumped the choke and tried again.

  The engine sputtered.

  Rachel bundled the sail into its bag, keeping an eye on the buoy.

  The Queen drifted south of the buoy.

  She braced her legs for the thump of the ocean floor on the boat’s keel. Even if the engine sprang to life, the propellers could get stuck in the mud or tangled in the seaweed if they lolled into shallow water.

  Rachel ran to the pitching foredeck to take a depth sounding, but the Queen drifted north—back into the channel. Thank You, God.

  Jake cranked the engine again.

  Nothing.

  The wind swept his words away, but judging by his expression, they hadn’t been pretty.

  He untied the wheel and headed the Queen into the narrow channel on a tack.

  Rachel searched for the next channel marker. On a clear day, several buoys would be visible. Today, she could only make out the dark tree line of the shore. The bow rose up on a swell and she grabbed the forestay, bracing her knees for the impact. The bow dropped like a carnival ride and smacked against the water, clattering her teeth together. She crab-walked hand-over-hand on the cabin rails to the cockpit where Jake gripped the wheel and peered th
rough the binoculars.

  “Bingo!” He brought the ship about. “There it is at ten o’clock.” He motioned for Rachel to take the helm. “Keep the green can on our port.”

  They threaded through two more buoys, four tacks.

  Jake bracketed himself between the fore cabin and the gunwale. He raised the binoculars once more.

  Land loomed dark and immobile off their bow.

  Jake waved his arm for Rachel to ease into the wind to slow their speed.

  The ship lunged in the rough surf as they inched along.

  Seconds later, he ran down the deck toward Rachel. “The waterway must cut in at an angle. Head for two o’clock. See the tallest tree?” He stepped behind her and gripped her shoulders, his face beside hers, and pointed.

  “It looks like there might be a break south of that tree.”

  Jake’s voice rumbled beside her ear, tumbling desire into her fear.

  Rachel glanced at the water dripping off his chin.

  Heat flared in his eyes. He sprinted forward, a hand skimming the rails. “Hard to port,” Jake shouted from the bow.

  She whipped the wheel around, imagining the Queen’s bow crunching against the seawall. Even after the Queen swung, she couldn’t find the slot they needed to penetrate.

  Through the rain and gray light a quarter of a mile into the narrow waterway, Rachel recognized a condominium in her aunt’s neighborhood and pinpointed their location. Trees hedged them in from the worst of the wind.

  Another half-mile and Jake yelled, “Cut hard to port.”

  The boom swung over her head and, at last, Rachel saw the narrow break in the tree line.

  Wind filled the sails, and they shot through the gap as Jake barked directions from the bow.

  The Queen arced into the cove, a biker-chick spinning a one-eighty.

  Jake sliced his arm through the air, and Rachel jerked the Queen’s nose into the wind. He yanked down the main and the staysail. “Keep her in the center of the cove if you can.” He ran forward, and a minute later, the anchor chain whizzed through the chock on the bow.

  Amidships, she sounded for the bottom. “Ten and a half feet!”