More Than Anything

by Kimberly Lang

  As if he knew she was not in the mood, Declan didn’t try to make conversation while she worked. Thankfully, the problem was easy to find—and would be easy to fix. “It’s just a bad wire. Won’t take me but a minute,” she told him.

  Declan was quite large and the space was not, so his head was right over her shoulder. Contrary to what his hair and clothing said, he wasn’t doing the unwashed hippie thing. He actually smelled nice, kind of woodsy. “You’re very capable,” he said after a minute or two of watching her.

  She snorted. “We are a full-service marina.”

  “I think this situation is a little above and beyond the usual offered services.”

  He sounded sincere, which took the edge off. A little. “It’s a first, that’s for sure.”

  “I’m sorry I had to wake you up. I honestly have no idea how the boat got loose. I worked until after midnight, then went to bed. I don’t know what woke me up, but I realized it was a lot darker than normal and there was a lot more movement. I was rather surprised to find myself out here.”

  It would be disconcerting, to say the least. “Well, I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “You know how this happened?” He sounded surprised.

  “I have my theories, but I also have video surveillance of the entire marina. It won’t be hard to find out.” She reached for the electrical tape, thumping Declan in the chest with her elbow in the process. He grunted. “Sorry. I’m not used to working with an assistant.”

  It wasn’t the cleanest of repairs, but it wasn’t terribly bad, either, for three-something in the morning. Declan moved aside as she stood and tried again to start the boat. This time, the engine came to life easily.

  “I’m impressed.”

  He was obviously easily impressed then, but since it wasn’t often that she was able to impress people, she took the ego boost happily. “It’s holding together with tape and a prayer, but it’ll get us back to shore. I’ll fix it properly tomorrow—I mean, later today.”

  “There’s no real rush. I don’t exactly have plans to take her out or anything.”

  The smile on his face told her he thought he was being funny, but she didn’t see the humor this time either. She stowed the flashlight and closed the engine door. “It’s a safety hazard, though. Any particular time you’d prefer I come?”

  He finally took the hint and quit trying to be cute about it. “At your convenience.”

  That would be a nice change. Yawning widely, she turned the boat toward shore.

  * * *

  Shelby Tanner was not happy with him, that much was very clear. Declan couldn’t exactly blame her, though. No one liked being dragged out of bed in the small hours of the morning, but what else could he have done? Thomas had loaned him the Lady Jane with a laugh simply because he didn’t know anything about boats. He’d have plenty of time to study and catch up on all those books he said he wanted to read and all the movies he’d missed—and he’d get to catch up on all the sleep he’d lost in the last few years, too.

  And, Thomas had added, he needed to start finding his sea legs. Miami was a boat culture. A few months in Magnolia Beach would be an easy introduction.

  Shelby, though, obviously knew a hell of a lot about boats. It was to be expected, of course, since she worked at the marina, but there was an ease and confidence to her movements that told him this was second nature to her. Even the matter-of-fact way she’d fixed the problem with the engine spoke to a level of competence unusual in someone so young.

  And she was young—maybe early or mid-twenties—which seemed very young to be in charge, yet she was the one answering the marina’s phone in the middle of the night. She must have some level of responsibility. Interesting.

  The same ease with which she handled the boat was almost a rebuke to his lack of skills. It wasn’t a slap to his ego or anything—he was well aware of his skill set and had no need to get into a pissing contest over it—and he could see her side of things. In a broader sense, yes, someone living on a boat should at least know how to start the engine.

  And he’d had every intention of learning.

  He just hadn’t found the time, yet. The movies and books and sleep—and the amazing antebellum architecture in this part of the country—had proven far more attractive.

  She would have still had to come and get him—the engine had been broken, after all—but the event wouldn’t have had that farcical overlay, adding insult to injury.

  It wasn’t going to be a long trip back to shore—he hadn’t drifted that far—but he wasn’t sure what he should do during that time. He had nothing to offer in the way of helping—not that Shelby seemed to need it—but it seemed rude to go below into the cabin as if Shelby were some kind of chauffeur. At the same time, it seemed rude to stand here and hover like he needed to supervise her.

  He settled for leaning back against the console, out of the way but still nearby, and scanning the shoreline. Magnolia Beach was a poor substitute for Miami. It was just a tiny Southern town, smaller than even one of Miami’s minor suburbs, and without any of the culture or excitement. Yes, both towns were on the water, but he wasn’t sure this interlude was going to transition him from life in Chicago to life in Miami in any meaningful way.

  But he couldn’t take possession of his apartment in Miami until January second, and Suzanne had been very clear that he couldn’t continue to live in their apartment in Chicago. He had too much pride to couch surf at his friends’ places for the next couple of months, and with winter setting in, leaving Chicago seemed to be a good idea anyway. Even a born-and-bred Midwesterner could be sick of snow.

  So one drunken night, two weeks after he’d lost his job and Suzanne had kicked him out, he’d let Thomas convince him that living on his family’s boat in Backwater, Alabama, was an excellent idea. To someone who hadn’t had an actual vacation in more than five years, four months on a boat had sounded like paradise.

  And while the last six weeks had been restorative, he wasn’t sure he would make it all the way through December.

  Shelby wasn’t one for small talk, it seemed—whether it was her personality or the fact she was peeved at being pulled out of bed, he didn’t know. If it was her personality, that trait put her in the minority of people he’d met down here. He’d never had so many small-talk conversations with strangers in his entire life as he’d had recently. But even if that was her preference, he felt he needed to say something. He settled for, “How long have you worked at the marina?”

  “My whole life,” she answered. “My parents own it.”

  That explained her familiarity not only with boats, but also with the dock area, as she maneuvered around buoys and navigated without so much as crinkling her forehead with the effort. So while he doubted she needed full concentration to work, he took her lapse back into silence as a hint.

  After killing the engine, Shelby quickly jumped to the dock and the Lady Jane slid back into her spot with a gentle bump. Within moments, the boat was secured in place and Shelby was plugging it back into the main power, bringing the lights on the boat back to full strength. The whole adventure had taken less than an hour from start to finish. A mere “thanks” didn’t seem like enough, but Shelby merely shrugged when he said so.

  “You’re safely back, and that’s what matters. We’ll sort everything else out in daylight. Try to get some sleep.” Then, without even waiting for him to respond, she was untying her little dinghy from the Lady Jane and puttering over to the main dock, where the large shaggy dog that roamed the property came out to meet her.

  Shelby stopped to pet it briefly, then the dog followed her back to the main building. A moment later, the light downstairs went out.

  No other lights came on, meaning Shelby was doing exactly what she’d told him to do: getting some sleep. But he was awake now, the adrenaline in his system not quite flushed out yet. Back in the cabin, he sh
ot a long look at the bed visible through the open bedroom door and sighed.

  Another episode of Breaking Bad, coming right up. It wasn’t like he had to get up in the morning or anything.

  He opened his laptop and took it over to the couch.

  Out of habit, he opened his e-mail client first, but only a few e-mails had landed in his in-box since he’d last checked a little before midnight. Most of it was spam, so he started tagging it for deletion.

  One subject line caught his attention, though:

  NO BETTER WAY TO SAY “THANK YOU!” THEN WITH FLOWER’S!!

  Unnecessary exclamation points and poor grammar notwithstanding, the message did ping his conscience. Hadn’t he just been thinking that a simple “thanks” wasn’t really adequate enough for Shelby’s assistance tonight? Flowers would be a nice gesture, and might help smooth over her irritation with him. Hell, it had always worked with Suzanne. If he irritated her and didn’t send flowers, he’d be asking for the silent treatment.

  Suzanne had required large flower arrangements, sized in relation to the magnitude of the transgression committed. Waking her up in the middle of the night to come get him? He snorted. He didn’t know if they made arrangements that large.

  A small bouquet for Shelby, though, should be enough; just a token of his appreciation for going above and beyond in customer service.

  It took less than ten minutes to find a local florist with an online order function and arrange for delivery to the marina office tomorrow—or later today, actually.

  Oddly pleased with himself, he shut down the computer, grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge, and stepped out onto the deck of the Lady Jane to stretch. This wasn’t a small boat, but he was a tall guy, and there was something weird about always brushing the ceiling when stretched full-length. The sky was still completely dark, and sunrise was probably another hour or more away. It was quiet and peaceful out here, though, and the view would be beautiful as the sun came up.

  When was the last time he’d watched the sun rise?

  So instead of staying inside with his laptop, he sat on one of the benches, propped his feet up on the rail, and relaxed back with a sigh.

  Soon enough, he’d be back in civilization and all that entailed. He should enjoy the peace and quiet while he could.

  Chapter 2

  “Dumbass.”

  Shelby muttered under her breath as she watched the black-and-white surveillance footage of the marina from last night. Based on Declan’s reported bedtime, she’d started reviewing the video from a little after midnight to see what had caused the Lady Jane’s adventure. At the 12:45 timestamp, she had her answer.

  The dumbass was Kirby Peterson. While she couldn’t make out his face clearly, the idiot had worn his football practice jersey, and the huge number 18 showed up perfectly on the video. The other five with him weren’t so easily and immediately identifiable, but Kirby had a posse, and that knowledge narrowed down the pool of possible culprits to a manageable few.

  A huge yawn caused her jaw to crack under the strain, and she paused the video while she went to refill her coffee. Getting up this morning had hurt. After getting back last night, she’d done nothing more than slip off her shoes before crashing face-first back into bed. She’d said some very ugly things about Declan when her alarm went off at its usual time, most of which he deserved.

  There was always a steady run early in the mornings, mostly from fishermen stocking up on bait, fuel, and ice for the day. This time of year, though, rentals for the Jet Skis and smaller day-sailers dropped off to nearly nothing, so at least she hadn’t had to smile and deal with tourists in her sleep-deprived state.

  But she was running strictly on caffeine this morning, and there was no nap for her in sight.

  Sliding back into the battered leather office chair that had been her grandfather’s, she cuddled the cup close, letting the aroma cut through the fog in her brain as she hit the play button.

  Kirby and his gang—one of whom, from this angle, looked like Daryl James—were none too steady on their feet as they tripped through the yard. It was a wonder she hadn’t heard them.

  Shelby cut her eyes over at Cupid, sprawled belly up and snoring on her cushion beside the desk. “Some guard dog you are.”

  Cupid opened one eye, saw no reason to get up, and promptly went back to sleep. Next time Cupid went to the vet, Shelby was going to have Tate check her hearing. She was an old dog, but not that old.

  One of the kids with Kirby grabbed the three-foot-long ponytail of another as she started to fall over her own feet. That ponytail almost definitely belonged to Mary Beth Carson, Kirby’s girlfriend. Three down, three to go.

  The suspicions she had just by the appearance of drunk-looking teenagers stumbling across her property were proven true as the footage played out as expected. Kirby and three others untied the boat, pushing it out of its slip, using one of the lines to pull it into the wider area past the dock before releasing it. If the tide hadn’t been going out, the Lady Jane probably would have simply drifted over to the other side of the marina, running aground in the shallow water. Instead, dumb luck had the timing and positioning perfect to pull it straight out of the marina into the bay.

  While she was angry at the kids, she didn’t believe they truly meant any harm. They’d sprinted off—clumsily—as soon as the Lady Jane was floating free, probably never guessing they’d hit the jackpot of perfect conditions to put Declan or the boat at real risk. Kirby and company might be dumb and mischievous, but they weren’t evil.

  It also wouldn’t have occurred to them that the person on the boat wouldn’t know how to get back—because that just beggared belief. At worst, it was a prank, meant to inconvenience and startle.

  Popping a disc into the drive, she burned a copy of the relevant footage. She’d take it over to the police station later and give it to Rusty. He could call a Come-to-Jesus meeting with the culprits and their parents and decide the best way to handle this to ensure it didn’t happen again.

  Bored kids, a small town, and alcohol . . . that was always a bad mix. Hell, that combo had led her to her share of stupid stunts, too. Granted, she’d never set a boat adrift, but Daddy would’ve had her hide mounted on the wall for even thinking about it.

  She stood and stretched, very glad she didn’t have a ton of stuff on her to-do list. She just wasn’t one of those people who could bounce back after an interrupted night’s sleep. But she did have stuff to do. High season might be officially over, but stragglers would stick around for a couple more weeks, making the most of the last warm days and smaller crowds. While the snowbirds were starting to arrive from their northern climes, they were more a boon for the town businesses and had little impact on the marina. South Alabama didn’t get so cold as to completely shut down all water activities, but things were always very slow from November to February.

  But November was still three weeks away, and things never came to a complete standstill, so tired or not, grumpy or not, she had to get to work. And at some point, she still had to go out and replace that wire on the Lady Jane.

  She was going for her fifth cup of coffee when the door opened and Charlotte backed in, a decent-sized flower arrangement in her hands. While Charlotte’s sister, Lannie, owned a flower shop and it was common for Charlotte to be carrying flowers around town for one reason or another, helping with deliveries, it wasn’t common for her to be carrying flowers around here.

  “Shelby?” Charlotte called, peeking out from behind the flowers.

  “Over here,” she answered. “What’s all that about?”

  “That’s exactly what I was about to ask you. What aren’t you telling me, and why haven’t you?”

  In the twenty-five years they’d been friends, Shelby could think of approximately two things she hadn’t told Charlotte. And Charlotte had found out about those easily enough. “I have no idea what you’r
e talking about,” she said honestly.

  Charlotte set the bouquet on the desk. “These are for you.”

  Shelby blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had sent her flowers. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Lannie called me this morning when she saw the order was for you. She figured you’d rather I deliver them than Marshall. You know how he gossips.” Cupid came over, tail wagging, to greet Charlotte, who petted her absently. “Now, I need details. All the details.”

  “I have zero idea what you’re talking about. Are you positive they’re for me?”

  Charlotte plucked the card out of the arrangement. “‘Shelby Tanner, Bay Breeze Marina,’” she read smugly.

  She still couldn’t believe they weren’t some kind of mistake. “Well, who are they from?”

  “Oh, don’t play dumb.”

  “I’m not playing. What does the card say?”

  Charlotte unfolded the paper. As if she hadn’t read it already. “‘Thanks for last night. Declan.’” She grinned. “So who’s Declan, what happened last night, and why oh why did my sister know about it before I did?”

  Shelby wanted to kiss Lannie for calling Charlotte to make the delivery. Then she wanted to kick Declan for making such a provocative when-taken-out-of-context statement. Thank God Marshall hadn’t read it—and he would have. And then he would have told people about it, putting a spin on it guaranteed to ensure that the whole town would be thinking . . . She looked over at Charlotte. Well, they’d be thinking exactly what Charlotte was thinking right now. “I’m afraid it’s not nearly as exciting as it sounds. Declan Hyde is a customer whose boat got loose last night. I had to go get him sometime after three this morning and bring him back to shore.”

  Charlotte’s face fell. “Well, that’s not interesting at all.”