TO HOLD AN EAGLE

by Justine Davis

  She didn't know what else to say. Her tiny size had always seemed to prompt people to take care of her, even before the blossoming of her body had changed the kind of care men, at least, wanted to give her. Yet this seemed different somehow, as did everything with this man.

  She supposed it was natural for him to feel concern over the woman he'd plucked from the sea, but Chandra couldn't quite rid herself of the notion that there was something much more elemental than that involved. Some deep, ingrained, inherent part of this man was at the core of his concern for the hapless waif he'd rescued. Perhaps he just made a habit of rescuing damsels in distress, she thought caustically. Perhaps the ego boost of their gratitude was his price.

  "That was a sour thought," Linc commented.

  Chandra blinked, startled. Daniel had always told her she was as transparent as glass to him, but she didn't realize she was to others as well. But Linc wasn't looking at her as Daniel did, with that air of tolerant amusement barely concealing derision. Linc was just looking at her with a gentle concern that did nothing to detract from the strength that practically radiated from him.

  "Yes, it was," she admitted. "And uncalled for, I think."

  "Trying to figure me out, Channie?"

  "I think I just did," she said, shaken; Daniel had never been so accurate in his guesses. "You're a mind reader."

  "Nah." He shrugged. "It's just that I'd be doing the same thing, in your situation."

  "You'd never let yourself get into this situation to begin with," Chandra said before she thought. The bitter note in her voice seemed to hang in the air; Linc just looked at her with that oddly gentle expression.

  "Maybe," he said after a moment. "But I have a feeling I've had a lot more practice than you have at avoiding getting into situations like … whatever your situation is."

  "Sometimes," she muttered as she sat down once more on the banquette that wrapped around the main table, "all the practice in the world won't make any difference."

  Like in my case, she added silently. She could practice until this ocean dried up, and she'd be no more competent at handling a crisis than she'd ever been.

  "Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself?" Linc said, and once more Chandra blinked in surprise at his accurate assessment of her thoughts.

  "Perhaps I'm just aware of my own limitations," she said, recalling Daniel's frequent words.

  As he sat down across from her, Linc watched her with an intentness that made Chandra uneasy. The gold flecks in his hazel eyes seemed brighter as he studied her, as if his concentration centered there.

  "You know," he said at last, "setting your limitations too low can be just as damaging as setting them too high."

  "You say that like they're alterable."

  "Limitations? Perhaps not. But our perception of them? Absolutely."

  Chandra let out a short, harsh breath that was an attempt at a laugh. "So, are you a shrink, too, Mr. Reese? In addition to whatever else you are?"

  "No. But I've seen what happens when someone tries to uphold a set of unrealistic limitations."

  "What makes you think mine are unrealistic? Maybe they're genuine."

  "Your low ones are as unrealistic as Shy's high ones were."

  "Shy?" Chandra said, with a startled glance at the picture hanging above them. "Your sister?"

  Linc nodded. "She had this crazy idea that if she didn't prove she could deal with any and everything, handle any situation without a stumble, she was just like…" He stopped, and when he went on, Chandra knew it wasn't what he'd been going to say. "Anyway, she felt she had to prove she could handle any crisis, any pressure. So she took up skydiving, hang gliding, jumping horses over fences, flying helicopters—"

  "My God," Chandra said with a tiny gasp. The very idea of any one of those terrified her; all of them together were beyond her comprehension.

  "Yeah," Linc said with a wry grin. "You name it, if it could break your neck, Shy would try it." He shook his head. "Used to drive me crazy. And all to prove something we all knew to begin with."

  Chandra pondered this for a moment, then asked quietly, "But she did them all? All those things?"

  "Every last one. Pretty damn well, too, I have to admit."

  Chandra didn't miss the pride in his voice, and a tiny sigh escaped her. "Then she wasn't setting her limitations too high, was she?"

  Linc's brow furrowed. "When any one of them could have gotten her killed? Just to prove something she never had to prove in the first place?"

  "Maybe she had to prove it to herself. If you don't believe it yourself, what does it matter what anyone else believes?"

  Linc stared at her. He leaned back against the cushion of the bench seat. He looked down at the table. And at last the crease between his brows smoothed out.

  "Maybe," he agreed grudgingly. "But I wish she hadn't gone so overboard about it."

  "Maybe she had no choice. For herself."

  Linc sighed. His mouth quirked as he looked at Chandra. "Quit making it sound so reasonable. Every time she took up some crazy, new thing, it about put me in the booby hatch."

  His last words, spoken so wryly, made her smile inwardly. He was truly a navy man, she thought; everything, it seemed, could be referred to in nautical terms.

  "Is 'booby hatch' official navy terminology?" she asked, unable to suppress the teasing note in her voice.

  He looked startled at her tone and tried to smother a smile. Then he drew himself upright as if offended, but Chandra saw the answering glint of humor in his eyes.

  "It most certainly is. It refers to the compartment in the bow of a ship," he said in exaggeratedly instructional tones. "In the old days, it was the only place on board ship that could be closed off completely, so it was where they locked up anybody who went loony at sea."

  "I see," Chandra said, unable to stop the inward smile from escaping.

  "I'll have you know that the English language has been forever enriched by naval tradition," he said so pompously that Chandra almost laughed out loud. His eyes were fairly twinkling now, and she was startled at how carefree she suddenly felt, as if he had somehow managed to take all her burdens and throw them, as he said, overboard.

  "Take for example, 'First-rate,'" he went on. "That's from the old British navy system of rating their ships. The biggest, best armed were first-rate, then on down through sixth-rate."

  "Oh, my," Chandra said, trying her best to look suitably impressed.

  "And then there's standoff. A ship that's just tacking side to side, in its own tracks, always the same distance from the coast, or another ship, is standing off. Not really going anywhere."

  Chandra genuinely smiled that time; she liked that one. Linc smiled back. And again, her heart took that little leap that made her wonder if it would start beating again.

  "Well, if you like that, how about this? Admirals in the British navy used to show how they rated their individual ship captains by the order in which the captain's colors were flown on the Admiral's mast. The higher the position of the captain's flag, the higher the honor."

  Linc paused, looking at her expectantly. She found she couldn't deny him. "So?" she prompted. He grinned, and her heart took another tumble.

  "So, the colors were flown from movable pegs. If the Admiral was ticked at somebody—" he paused with dramatic flair "—he took him down a peg or two."

  Chandra couldn't help it; a full-throated chuckle burst from her. It was so absurd, this strong, powerful, sometimes severe man working so hard to make her smile … abruptly her throat tightened up, and her eyes began to sting.

  "Thanks," Linc said softly. "I needed to hear that."

  "What?" she asked, startled out of her sudden rush of tears.

  "That laugh. I've been wondering what it would sound like." Chandra stared at him, speechless. Linc shrugged. "If you can still laugh, then you haven't given up. Not completely."

  "So you … put on this little show? Just to make me laugh?"

  "Hey," Linc pr
otested in mockingly affronted tones, "that's my best routine. I studied all that stuff in the academy." He grinned; it lost none of its impact for coming more frequently. "Your tax dollars at work."

  She actually laughed this time; she couldn't seem to help it. He was making her feel like she hadn't given up, even though mere hours ago she would have sworn she'd reached the end of her limited endurance.

  Later, she even managed to maintain her lighter mood as she watched him repair the damage she'd done to the lock on the main hatch. He said nothing about it, merely set about fixing it with the items he'd picked up from a hardware store they'd passed on the way back from purchasing the promised toothbrush and razor, along with a hairbrush, another pair of shorts, a pair of jeans, and a couple of T-shirts for her. He'd said nothing about that, either, except to tell her to pick out a pair of tennis shoes to add to the pile. She'd done so reluctantly, already feeling horribly guilty about the money he was spending … and worrying about the debt she was piling up.

  When he'd begun to work on replacing the hasp of the lock, she'd begun once more to apologize for the damage, but he cut her off.

  "I know you're not a chronic burglar, Channie, so hush. Besides," he added, "I've been meaning to do this ever since I bought the boat, I just never got around to it."

  As she watched, she saw what he intended. He had purchased two flat, wide pieces of aluminum bent into U-shapes, a new hasp, and several nuts and bolts. The aluminum pieces slid over the teak edges of both the sliding hatch and the upright hatch, the bottom of the U resting on the edge of the wood, the sides covering the splintering damage she'd done. He had gotten a drill from one of the storage lockers, and plugged it into an electrical supply cord that ran to the boat from an outlet on the dock at the head of the slip. He drilled several holes through the sandwich of aluminum, teak and aluminum, then ran the bolts through all the layers and fastened them. He did the same to attach the hasp, and the hatch was no longer the easy prey she had found it, with the wood screws simply pulling out of the teak. No one would pry this open easily.

  "That should stop any more … unwanted guests," she said, wondering yet again about who he was, what he was. And why he'd been "meaning to do this" since he'd bought the boat.

  "Through here, anyway," he agreed as he tightened the last of the bolts. Then he lifted his head and looked at her steadily. "And if you wanted to be a guest, all you had to do was ask."

  Chandra lowered her eyes. "I didn't know that … then."

  "You mean you didn't trust me."

  "No," she said simply. "I didn't."

  "Do you now?"

  She met his gaze. She wanted to say yes, that she trusted him, believed he was just what he seemed, a good and honorable man. But it had been so very long since she'd believed that kind of man even existed.

  "As much as I can," she said softly.

  His mouth twisted wryly. "Well, that's something, I guess."

  Much later, as she lay tossing and turning on the bunk in the small cabin, listening to Linc's steady breathing from the main cabin where he'd converted the settee and adjustable table into the only bunk comfortably large enough for him, she realized just how much she was trusting him. She was trusting him not to hurt her. She was trusting him not to give her away. She was trusting him not to immediately demand payment for all he'd done for her, the only kind of payment she could give.

  It would be easy enough for him. He was so much bigger, so much stronger, he could force her easily. But then, even Daniel was that, and he was several inches shorter, and much, much softer than Linc. Besides, she wasn't altogether certain she'd fight him. Not only did she owe him so very much, so much she could never repay it, she still found herself reacting to him in that new, strange way. When he looked at her with concern lighting his eyes, she felt an odd warmth deep inside her. And when she watched him unawares, when he moved a certain way, when he stood with his weight on one foot and one thumb hooked in his front jeans pocket, she found that warmth changing to heat and spreading to someplace deeper and lower inside her.

  She didn't know what it meant, she only knew no man had ever made her feel this way. She supposed it had to do with the fact that he made her feel safe. She'd never really felt safe before. The irony of feeling it for the first time with a total stranger was lost on her as she drifted off to sleep.

  When she awoke the next morning, he was already up. Up, dressed, his bunk already converted back to the table, and he was fixing breakfast out of the food they'd bought yesterday. She slipped quickly into her new jeans and a T-shirt, ran the brush through the still odd-feeling shortness of her hair, then padded quietly into the galley.

  "Good morning," she said tentatively.

  "Mmm," he mumbled as he set the coffeepot on a burner.

  "You didn't … sleep well?"

  His head snapped around then, and he looked her up and down. When he saw how she was dressed, he seemed to relax a little. What did he expect? she wondered. That she would wander out in the nude and embarrass him?

  "No," he said gruffly. "I didn't sleep particularly well."

  "I'm sorry. I know I was restless last night. Did I keep you awake?"

  "Your restlessness had nothing to do with it," he said, rather shortly, before turning back to adjust the flame under the pot.

  Made wary by his manner, she said little until they were nearly through with the omelets he'd fixed.

  "I won't be putting you out much longer, I promise," she began.

  He looked at her over the rim of his cup of coffee; his eyes were red rimmed, bloodshot, and tired-looking. "You have someplace to go now?"

  "No, but—"

  "Then don't worry about it."

  "But I can't just … go on taking advantage of you like this."

  He laughed; it wasn't a very amused sound. "Just tell me what the hell's going on, and I'll consider us even."

  She sighed. "I—"

  "—can't. I know. You're like an abalone, Chandra, stuck on that one rock so solid it'd take a strong man and a crowbar to get you to budge."

  "It wouldn't do any good if I told you. It wouldn't change anything."

  "Except maybe I'd get some si—"

  Someone whistled, loud and sharp and close. Chandra jumped as Linc's head snapped around. A grin spread across his face, and he got quickly to his feet. Chandra didn't know what to do, so she didn't move. She just sat there, watching him move toward the main hatchway, feeling the old fear building up inside her again. Only with its return did she realize how fierce its grip had been on her, and how much she had relaxed in Linc's presence.

  Linc reached up and slid back the teak hatch.

  "Hey, Cap'n!" The voice that echoed from down the dock was light, cheerful, and decidedly feminine. "Permission to come aboard?"

  Chandra didn't think she'd made a sound, but Linc looked back at her as sharply as if she had. "It's okay," he said quickly. "It's Shy. And Con, probably." At Chandra's look, he added, "Her husband. Don't worry."

  The words sounded sincere, but Chandra noticed that he pulled the hatchway nearly shut after he stepped out into the cockpit.

  So his sister was married, Chandra thought, glancing up at the picture of the auburn-haired beauty. What kind of man would it take to hold the kind of woman Linc had told her about? The kind of woman whose energy and dash was impossible to disguise, even in the flat dimensions of a photograph?

  Her curiosity was fierce, although she didn't quite understand why. She got up and pulled aside the curtains on one of the side ports, just enough to see. The couple was almost to the steps. Shiloh was as she'd expected, tall, slim and graceful, her deep auburn hair cut in a smooth sweep just above her shoulders. She was wearing a green sweater of that large cut that was so fashionable, over tight, matching leggings. The outfit looked wonderful on her; on Chandra those outfits made her look like a child wearing her mother's clothes. As for Shiloh's husband…

  The man was frightening, Chandra decided immediately. And no matte
r how severely she told herself that that was her first reaction to most men, she couldn't rid herself of the impression. He was as big as Linc, but his hair was dark, almost black, and his expression was as forbidding as Linc's at his most fierce. Yet there was something exquisitely tender in the way, with that same smooth, powerful, athletic stride she had noticed in Linc, Con walked so close to Shiloh's side, and in the gentle way he put a hand at her back as she climbed the steps, there for her in case she slipped.

  Which, of course, she didn't. That's more your style, Chandra said mockingly to herself as she drew back from the port and straightened the curtains.

  What you should be doing, she reminded herself as the boat dipped slightly while the two visitors boarded, is getting out of sight. Who knows what Linc might decide to do? She turned, ready to head for the bow berth, and the escape hatch she'd used before.

  Then she stopped in her tracks as, once more, Shiloh's voice came clearly through the slightly open hatchway.

  "Well, brother mine, I think we've solved your mystery. We know who your mermaid is."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  Linc watched as Shy and Con came aboard, Shy with the ease of long experience aboard boats, Con with the more careful step of one not yet fully at ease afloat. Con had been an utter and total landlubber before Shy had changed his life, but he was learning fast.

  "Well, good morning to you," Shy said as Linc yawned and stretched.

  He muttered something unintelligible. He'd spent the greater part of the night awake, listening to Chandra moving around. Yet he hadn't lied, it hadn't been her movements that had kept him awake; they'd only fueled a wakefulness that already had him well in its grasp.

  It had been images of her that had taunted him, rendering him sleepless. Images not of the frightened woman who had earlier haunted his dreams, but of the woman he'd only seen tantalizing glimpses of, the woman with the teasing voice he'd heard so briefly, the woman who had assessed Shy's need to prove herself with such quiet perception, the woman who had laughed at his ridiculous lecture on nautical terminology.