The Runaway

by Jennifer Bernard

  “Are you okay? Are you freezing? Want me to grab a towel?”

  He ignored her questions and staggered to his feet. Come to think of it, he looked a little under the weather.

  “Have you been drinking? You never drink.”

  “I drink sometimes.”

  “Really? Then why do the fishermen call you BOF, for Boring Old Fart?”

  He glanced down at her, then stripped his t-shirt off. “I could have continued life just fine without knowing they call me that.” He wrung the water out of his shirt. She tried to focus on the droplets spraying every which way rather than on his chest. His smooth, rippling muscles were hard to ignore, though.

  “Well, you’ll probably forget. Since you’re drunk.”

  “No. I was a little drunk, but then that howling beast came flying at me, and now I’m a lot more sober.”

  “You shouldn’t blame Mellow. He was trying to protect me. I think he has a problem with men, to tell you the truth.”

  “Mellow needs a new name. That thing was not mellow.” He shivered as the night breeze hit his naked chest.

  “Why don’t you come on board and have a hot shower? The water takes a little while to heat up—”

  “I know. I installed the damn system.”

  “But I can make you some tea in the meantime,” she finished, ignoring his interruption. Obviously, he was not himself—even grouchier than usual. But she might be grumpy, too, if she’d just fallen into the ocean in the middle of the night. Which brought up another point. “What are you doing out here so late?”

  “Pity party,” he admitted as he followed her across the ramp toward the Buttercup. “Sophie dumped me.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re gloating because you were right.”

  She glared over her shoulder at him as she stepped onto the deck of the Buttercup. “That is so unfair. I tried to help you stay together! Oh, watch the gunwales, by the way. They get slippery at night.”

  “The gunwales?”

  “Yes, I’ve been learning all the parts of this boat. I found one of your maritime dictionaries, and I’ve been studying it.”

  “It’s not pronounced that way. It’s pronounced ‘gunnels.’” All the irritation had disappeared from his voice, and now he just sounded amused. Probably laughing his ass off at her lack of boat knowledge.

  “I’ll revise my notes,” she said with dignity.

  “I’m not making fun of you. I think it’s great that you’re educating yourself about boats, especially considering you work at a marina.”

  “Exactly.” He followed her into the cabin, where his smile disappeared. “I’m going to turn the water heater on, then I have a question for you.” He opened the door to the tiny shower stall and flicked the switch to the propane on-demand heater.

  She used the time to gather all his papers and stuff them back into the box, then put it back where she’d found it. Maybe she’d get lucky, and he wouldn’t notice that she’d been spying on him.

  But it was no use. As soon as he left the shower, he came to the table and stood over her, arms folded across his chest. His muscular, bare, powerful chest, which looked even more magnificent gleaming in the light from the oil lamp. Inked designs adorned one of his forearms.

  “Why were you going through my papers?”

  “I…what…” Her mouth fell open, then closed up tight again.

  “I saw you, before I fell in the water. You found my box of papers and decided to go through it. Why?”

  “Why? Because…” Shit. She needed a logical explanation, something that didn’t give everything away. “I like to know everything I can about the people whose boats I stay on.”

  His eyebrows drew together and his dark eyes drilled into her. “That might make sense if you hadn’t been staying on my boat for weeks now.”

  “Better late than never.”

  “Okay, let’s say just for a minute that I believe you. Did you find anything helpful in there?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said eagerly, thinking of the family photos she’d barely had a chance to look at. Then she caught herself. Better not give him any reason for suspicion. Any more reason. “I mean, I feel comfortable staying here now. So yes, it was very helpful.”

  He reached across her and plucked a photo from the table. She’d missed it in her hurried sweep-up. The nearness of his bare arm made her breath go fluttery. “And this photo? What did it tell you?”

  “Just that…you know. You were a very cute kid. And that I can safely stay on board your magnificent boat without worry.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her with an expression she couldn’t read. Unconvinced, maybe? “Why didn’t you ask me before you poked around in my things?”

  “I saw the box and opened it. I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

  “Were you looking for something specific?”

  A direct question was going to be difficult, because she didn’t want to keep lying. Maybe it was time to deflect. “What happened with you and Sophie?”

  “I told you. She dumped me. What were you hoping to find in that box?”

  If he thought she was going to be tricked into answering, he didn’t know what it was like to grow up as the youngest of five. “Why did she dump you?”

  His jaw flexed. “I think you were looking for something, and I think you should tell me what it is.”

  “Well, I think you and Sophie were never right for each other, and I’m not at all surprised you broke up.”

  His shoulders tensed. Not that she was looking at those firm muscles and that broad chest, with those chiseled working-man’s abs. Not at all.

  He pointed a finger at her. “You’re gloating.”

  “No, I swear I’m not. Breakups are the worst. I’ve been through a few myself, and they’re never fun, even if you wanted to break up.”

  He snorted. “How many breakups has a kid like you been through?”

  Stung, she surged to her feet. “I’m not a kid! How many times do I have to—”

  “What were you looking for?”

  “Proof!” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God. You tricked me! You know that’s my soft spot, that I’m sensitive about looking young. You goaded me into blurting it out—”

  “Proof of what?”

  “No. You’re not tricking me again.” Shaking her head, she brushed past him and dove for her backpack. “I don’t talk to wily tricksters. I’ll go stay somewhere else. This conversation is over.”

  “The hell it is.” He snagged her arm as she passed him. “You searched through my private papers. I deserve an explanation.”

  “Or what? You’ll fire me?”

  He gave a dry laugh. “Yes. I actually will fire you. I’m sorry, Gracie, but you crossed a line. I can tolerate a lot of quirky behavior, and I do, from every lost soul who stumbles across this place looking for work. But prying into my private business is different.”

  The propane heater clicked off, which was the signal that the water was hot enough for a shower. They stared at each other in the quiet that followed.

  “Go take your shower. When you get out, I’ll tell you everything.”

  He hesitated, probably wondering if she was going to flee in the meantime. But after a moment, he shrugged. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right out.” He stepped into the minuscule shower stall—she was surprised he even fit—then stuck his head out. “By the way, if you leave town, you’re definitely fired.”

  She made a face at him. He closed the door. Various bumps and bangs told her he was getting undressed in the tiny space. Then the water came on—and she sprang into action.

  Grabbed her backpack. Stuffed her clothes into it. Took the photo he’d put back on the table. Remembered that her toothbrush was in the shower and decided to abandon it.

  She hurried to the outside deck and found Mellow perched on a coil of rope, watching her alertly.

  What was she doing?

  Spying, she reminded herse
lf. With the photo and the information she’d found in his box of files—the current address of his mother, for instance—she had more leads to pursue. Maybe his mother could tell her more about the incident at the gas station. Maybe she remembered something about the Mercedes SUV and where it came from.

  She didn’t need Mark to solve this mystery. And based on what she knew about him by now, he would be of no help because he never talked about his past. The last thing he wanted to hear from her was a bunch of questions about something that had happened in his childhood.

  Of course, she didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave the marina, or Mellow, or the sunshine, or…okay, face it. Mark. She didn’t want to leave Mark. But if she told him that she’d been spying on him, he’d hate her anyway. So what was the point of staying?

  She stood on the deck of Mark’s boat and closed her eyes. Until recently, she’d always trusted her intuition. What was it telling her now?

  The wind was coming off the ocean, soft night air against her face, beguiling her with a promise of adventure and far horizons. Under her feet, the boat rocked ever so gently as a swell rolled through the harbor. Mellow gave a tiny mew and jumped down from the coil, then paced toward the cabin.

  Oh no. She couldn’t let Mellow attack Mark again.

  Decision made, she spun around.

  Only to find Mark two feet from her, freshly showered, smelling of her lemongrass soap and wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.

  “You’re leaving.”

  He didn’t sound angry or accusing, just…a little sad.

  “No. I mean, I was going to, but I’m not. I have to protect you from Mellow.” She looked past him to see that Mellow had curled up on the pillow that had been covering up Mark’s papers. He seemed completely oblivious to Mark this time, even though Mark was even more obviously a man than before. Was the cat bipolar or something?

  “I can handle Mellow. But I…don’t want you to leave.” He lowered his voice when he said that last part, and such a thrill went through her that her lower belly clenched.

  She didn’t say anything, mostly because she couldn’t.

  “I know I’ve been giving you a hard time. But I like having you around.”

  She screwed up her face at the way he phrased that, as if she were some kind of mascot or pet—another Mellow.

  He ran a hand through his dark hair. “I’m sorry, I didn’t put that right. What I mean is, I like you. I like talking to you. I like being with you. I don’t want you to leave.”

  He came a step closer. She was still rooted to the deck.

  “Am I making you uncomfortable? I can stop talking if you want.”

  She shook her head, eyes wide. Getting dunked in the ocean was good for his communication skills. He didn’t normally talk in this way, so intimate and…exposed.

  “I can’t make you stay, you’re free to go if you want. I can forward your last paycheck. I promise to take care of Mellow for you. But if there’s anything I can do to talk you into staying longer…say, a raise, or a vacation day, or…”

  He came closer, and there was something in his eyes that set the butterflies in her stomach fluttering madly.

  Oh my God. Was he going to kiss her?

  He was. He was only a few inches away from her, and his intent gaze was scouring her face for her reaction. Tension vibrated between them. Her heart was pounding, and he smelled so good with his clean-washed skin, and he looked so good with his deep brown-on-black eyes and his delicious new beard, and she wanted nothing more than to feel his firm lips against hers and to press her body against the rippling muscles displayed before her.

  But he couldn’t kiss her! What if he was related to her?

  But she wanted him to kiss her! Her gaze dropped to his lips as they lowered to hers. She had to tell him—once she knew for sure they weren’t related, they could kiss.

  Of course, once he knew she was spying on him, he probably wouldn’t want to kiss.

  At the last minute, she ducked away from him, making him stagger as he lost his balance.

  “You can’t do that,” she told him.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” He stepped back and sucked in a long breath. “My bad.”

  “No, no! It’s not that I don’t want to. I do.”

  “Is it Sophie?”

  “No. I mean, right. Sophie.” Jeez, she’d completely forgotten about Sophie and the breakup. “That’s another reason.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” He scrubbed a hand across his forehead. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Still a little buzzed, I guess. Sophie wouldn’t care. She has someone else already.”

  “She does?” Upon further thought, Gracie didn’t find that surprising. Men loved Sophie. She had her pick anywhere she went. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Like you said, we’re not right for each other. It’s pretty obvious. I’m happy sitting on the dock with a fishing rod and a book. She’s not happy unless she’s surrounded by people.” He gave her a tired smile. “It’s been a long night. I should let you be. Thanks for the shower.”

  “Wait. If you broke up with Sophie, where are you going to sleep?”

  One corner of his mouth turned up. “Stockroom.”

  “No way. This is your boat! You should sleep here tonight. I’ll move out right away.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ll be fine.”

  “Mark!” She scurried around to stand in front of him. “You’re staying here tonight. In your own bed. I’ll sleep on the guest berth. It’s just my size.”

  He stared down at her with those dark eyes that always made her pulse thump. “You trust me? I just tried to kiss you, and you slipped away like an eel.”

  “Yes, but I had a good reason, and you shouldn’t take it personally.”

  His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Do you know something, Gracie Rockwell? I’ve dated quite a few women in my time. Different ages, races, backgrounds, levels of education, all that shit. Out of all of them, you are hands down the most confusing woman I’ve ever known.”

  Out of all that flow of information, she plucked one shiny tidbit. “You called me a woman,” she said softly.

  “Of course I did. A confusing one.”

  “But not a girl. Not an annoying kid. A woman.”

  He leaned forward and cupped her face in his hand. Her cheek tingled as if her skin had turned to champagne. “I’ve never seen you as a kid. I just didn’t want to admit I was attracted to you.”

  Shit, shit, shit! This was everything she’d wanted but also such a total disaster. What now? Her heart’s desire was so close—his kiss, right there, ready for the taking—and yet it couldn’t be further away. She had to tell him. Now! Before things moved too fast. Already her head was spinning and she was leaning toward him as if she was going to kiss him and…

  “I need to make sure we’re not related,” she blurted. “Then I can kiss you.”

  13

  “What?” Mark reeled backward, nearly catching his heel on a cooler. Going overboard twice in one night—sure, why not? What else could go wrong? “What are you talking about?”

  Eyes wide, Gracie folded her lips together, as if she was already regretting those words. Didn’t matter. By now, he was determined not to let her off the hook.

  “We’re doing this. Here and now. I don’t care how cold or wet or not-drunk-anymore I am.”

  “Okay. Okay, you’re right. Let’s go inside. You’re shivering.”

  “I’m not shivering.” Okay, maybe he was. But the hell if he was going to wait one more minute to find out what was going on. Him and Gracie, related? What the fuck? She should have said something long ago, before he started noticing her legs and her eyes and the way he felt around her, light and happy. “Now, Gracie.”

  She wet her lips again with her tongue, then wiped her hands on her cotton pajama pants. Damn, she really was nervous. “I recently discovered that I’m not who I thought I was. My mother, Amanda Rockwell, didn’t give birth to me, as o
f course I’d assumed, since that’s the normal way that children appear in their parents’ lives. I mean, there’s adoption, too. And I guess that’s what I was. I was adopted after she found me. In the woods.”

  Her big eyes were watching him so closely that they made him dizzy.

  “In a bassinet. A very unique bassinet with a handle made from twisted vines. I have it in my car, if you’d like to—”

  “No,” he said harshly. His ears were ringing, and she seemed very far away all of a sudden. She reached toward him, and he jerked backward.

  This was insane. Impossible. My God.

  “I had a kind of…flashback, I guess it was. A memory. Even that’s fuzzy, but I was a baby, and there was a boy with me in the woods. He was protecting me. We were running from something. Two little runaways. The boy carried me in the bassinet, even though it must have been heavy for him.”

  She paused, giving him time to chime in, but something seemed to have coiled around his throat and he couldn’t speak.

  “Anyway, even though my mother is dead, she kept the bassinet, and I was able to trace it to San Francisco. From there, I followed some clues that led me to you. I don’t know if that boy was you. I don’t know who he was or how I’m connected to him. For all I know, he was my brother, or my cousin, which means if you were him, you could be my—”

  “I’m not,” he said through the chokehold on his throat. “Not your brother. Not related.”

  “Oh! That’s good. I mean, I didn’t really think so because we look nothing alike, and in my memory, it didn’t seem like you were my brother. I just wanted to make sure. But how do you know—” It finally seemed to hit her. “So it was you. You were the boy.”

  For a moment, they just looked at each other, and all the extraneous details of the world around them completely vanished. No more harbor. No more boats. No more lights. They could have been standing on the ocean, surrounded by nothing but primal forces like the night and the wind and time and distance.