Saving Sarah

by Nan Reinhardt

  She smiled. “The bow.”

  “Excellent. And what do we call this?” He indicated the kitchen and she couldn’t help but notice how big his hands were.

  “The galley,” she declared. “And the living room is the main salon and my bathroom is a head.”

  “You’ve learned well, grasshopper.” Tony chuckled. “Here’s one for you to research. What do we call the space below deck where we store extra supplies?”

  “Ah-ha,” Sarah said, triumphantly. “I don’t need to research—it’s called the hold.”

  “That’s right. How’d you know?”

  “I have to confess I heard Liam refer to it when I got on the boat yesterday.”

  “Um, you mean when you came aboard ship?” His lips quirked as he corrected her.

  “Oh sorry, Captain, but I’m just a little ol’ country girl from Georgia.” She played along, allowing her Southern drawl to show. “One day I’ll master all these fancy yachtin’ terms.” Good God, was she flirting? She didn’t flirt. Well, maybe she was a little bit—it had been years since she’d used those rusty skills.

  As they laughed together, Sarah was surprised to realize her tension had eased somewhat as she sipped her coffee. Tony no longer frightened her. For that matter, none of the men she’d spent the last day with had given her any reason to worry. Will and Liam, whom she already knew, had been kind as always and Henry Dugan was a quiet, intelligent man who’d engaged her in a discussion about shipwrecks here in Lake Michigan. He was new to the area too and still discovering the fascinating history of the Great Lakes.

  And then there was Tony, who’d welcomed her aboard and somehow managed to be present even though he’d also been cooking and piloting the boat. She couldn’t help being curious about this man whose list of talents seemed endless.

  “Do you ever have a crew?” she asked.

  “It depends.” He shrugged and a lock of hair fell over his forehead. “If we’re going out for longer than a couple of days, I might round up a couple of college kids to help me keep things running smoothly. Liam can pilot us, too, and Carrie loves to cook, so we all pitch in on trips like this one.”

  “Sophie told me you came with the Allegro. Have you always been a boat pilot?”

  “Nope. I was an engineer for a lot of years. In Chicago. I was a partner with Franklin Electric.”

  “I know them,” Sarah exclaimed. “I used to see their red-and-white trucks all over the city. How’d you make the leap from engineer to boat captain? I mean, the engineer to handyman makes sense, but…boat captain? Oh, and deputy sheriff? And then there’s the whole chef thing.”

  “A couple of years after my divorce, I just sorta realized my life was pretty boring. My wife was gone, my daughter was away at college, and I lived in a very…sterile apartment not far from the office.”

  “You have a daughter?” She clutched as she always did when someone mentioned their children. Even though Macy had died almost ten years ago, Sarah’s heart ached over her daughter every single day.

  “Yup.” His expression filled with pride. “And a granddaughter, Emma, who just turned four.”

  “Are they in Chicago?”

  “Yeah, they live in Evanston. Olivia is an ER nurse and Brian, her husband, is a physics professor at Northwestern.”

  She pictured a tall young woman with her father’s dark hair and amber-brown eyes and wondered about her own daughter. Macy would have been twenty-five. Sarah could’ve been a grandmother by now. The possibility made the ache in her heart throb even deeper, and her voice quavered ever so slightly when she prodded, “So you were tired of the rat race and you left your engineering job?”

  “I did.” He gave her such a concerned look that she hurried on to another question before he began asking his own.

  “But you still had to make a living, right?” God, had she really just asked a guy she barely knew about his financial situation? Heat rose from her neck to her cheeks. But Tony didn’t seem to notice…or mind the question.

  He rose and brought the coffee carafe over, refilling first her cup and then his as he resumed his story. “I’d met Will several years before through another partner at the company and put our investments in his hands—”

  “Ah, the Sorcerer of LaSalle Street strikes again.” Sarah chuckled, grateful for a chance to release painful memories. “So not to pry, but could you conceivably be the owner of this tub?” Crap! She did it again! Her social skills had deteriorated worse than she thought. “Sorry, that was prying. Ignore me.”

  “Madam, kindly never refer to the Allegro as a tub.” Tony replied in feigned horror. “She is a state-of-the-art motor yacht.” His deep laugh sent a flutter through her.

  “I beg your pardon, captain.” She kept her grave expression with difficulty.

  “As well you should.” His eyes twinkled and Sarah was struck by the way the lights overhead made them appear almost honey-colored. “And I don’t mind answering your question at all. Yes, Will did well by us, so both Shannon, my ex, and I are comfortable. Thankfully, Olivia left school debt-free. When I retired early, I needed something to do, so I decided to buy a small boat like my dad had when I was a teenager. We spent every summer cruising the Great Lakes until”—his expression sobered—“until we lost him to cancer not long after Shannon and I got married.” He took a long drag on his coffee, then said, “I love boating. Always have. That’s how I met the previous owner of this magnificent vessel.”

  “Obviously he wasn’t at the yacht store looking for a small boat.” Sarah smirked.

  Tony snickered. “Nope, he was at the marina looking for someone to pilot his brand-new, very large, very expensive party barge.”

  “So instead of spending money on your own boat…”

  “Exactly.” He nodded. “I applied for my license and suddenly I was Cap’n Tony—pilot, cook, and chief babysitter to a kid who became a millionaire overnight because he knew how to run with a football.”

  * * * *

  Embarrassed that he couldn’t keep the note of disdain from his tone as he told the story of how he ended up on the Allegro, Tony hurried the rest, “After five years of partying and snorting money up his nose, he finally sold the boat to Liam.” The football player’s story wasn’t all that uncommon—talented kid gets recruited right out of college, signs a huge contract with an NFL franchise, and can’t handle the wealth and fame, but he’d had a front-row seat to the whole debacle and hadn’t been able to do a thing about it.

  “Why’d you stay?” Sarah asked the question he’d asked himself for four of the five years, but the answer was complicated.

  Tony would’ve liked to have said his intentions were entirely altruistic, that he hung in there and tried to help because he saw how much the kid wanted to play football and how hard he worked to stay clean during the season. Although the desire to keep the athlete on the straight-and-narrow had played into it, the simple truth was that he loved the Allegro and he loved being on the lake. It still rankled that he’d had to protect the boat from the drunken groupies who trashed it every summer.

  “I dunno.” He shrugged, reluctant to confess how relieved he’d been when the kid ended up in rehab and the yacht was sold. “But I’m happy to report that he finally got his act together.”

  “And happy that you got to stay and continue taking care of the Allegro,” she said, and he had the feeling she’d seen right through him. Clearly, she was smart as well as beautiful, and those blue eyes held such sadness and such wisdom he knew she’d seen too much of the ugliness in the world.

  A longing to show her the beautiful parts welled up in him. He grappled with the urge to simply take her in his arms as he nodded. “Thanks to Will, who steered Liam to the old girl when I told him she was up for sale. The rest is easy—I stayed with the Allegro, became good friends with Liam, and ended up moving to Willow Bay when he and Carrie got married. I’ve always been handy with tools, so when I’m not being Cap’n Tony, I do odd jobs around town.”

&
nbsp; “And the sheriff thing?” The longer they talked—well, he talked while she listened—the less nervous Sarah seemed, although she was still fidgeting with a tiny pillbox she’d pulled out of her pocket. It was obvious she had no intention of bringing the conversation around to herself, so he kept answering her questions without asking any of his own, even though they swirled in his brain.

  “Yeah, that just happened a couple of years ago. The other deputy left for greener pastures and I’d done some work on Sheriff Gibson’s kitchen. It’s not a very interesting story.”

  “And you’re a chef? You really are quite the renaissance man, Cap’n Tony.” She gave him a hint of a smile.

  “Oh yeah, that’s me. And I’m no chef. I just like to cook.” Tony watched a bit longer as she opened and closed the little green box before he finally asked, “Do you need a bottle of water, Sarah?”

  Her fingers closed around the little container and she looked away. Tony could almost see her shut down and he cursed inwardly. He shouldn’t have asked about it; he’d taken a step too close. He backtracked, casting around in his head for something casual and impersonal to say. “So I can either do a taco bar or make salmon on cedar planks tonight for supper. What sounds good?”

  “I’ve got water, thanks.” She rose, shoved the pillbox in her jeans pocket, and wrapped the small stack of crackers in a napkin. “They both sound great, Tony.” She headed for the door. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Dammit, he couldn’t just let her bolt. They’d made some real progress and he sensed a couple of minutes ago that he might have had a shot at a date when they got back to dry land. “Sarah?”

  Wordlessly, she stopped, one brow quirked in an expectant gaze, but her expression was cool. Shuttered.

  “I…um…I’m thinking taco bar.” He sounded like an idiot, but he pushed on, determined to reach her at some level. “It’s kind of work intensive though. Would you be interested in helping me chop vegetables and heat up tortillas?”

  Was that a flicker of interest in her eyes? Hard to tell, but finally she nodded briefly. “Okay.” She turned back toward the door, but spun around, almost catching his silent cheer. “Do you have sweet onions, jalapeńos, and roma tomatoes? I make a mean pico de gallo.”

  “I do.” Heat flushed his cheeks at the near-miss. Wouldn’t the sight of his mini fist-pump scare the crap right out of her? “I love pico de gallo. That sounds great!”

  “Okay.” The barest hint of a smile crossed her lips. “See you later.”

  SEVEN

  “Jules, I don’t know.” Sarah shivered in spite of the afternoon sun warming her bare arms as she lay in the chaise lounge on the upper deck of the Allegro.

  The day had been lovely—so enjoyable in fact that she’d managed to shove her fear to the very back of her mind. They were far enough out on the lake that they hadn’t passed another boat in hours. There was only the sun, the breeze, the hum of the engine, and the quiet whoosh of the water against the sides of the yacht as they cruised along. She’d even gotten comfortable enough around Liam, Will, and Henry that she didn’t clench every time she heard a deep male laugh.

  And then there was Tony. Although the captain had spent a good deal of time on the bridge, when he did appear all smiling and warm, she felt his presence right down to her core.

  “You’d be perfect.” Julie raised the back of her chaise another notch. “Don’t you think so, Caro?”

  “I do.” Carrie sat up also, shoving her sunglasses on top of her head and twisting in her chair to face Sarah. “You’re the one who inspired Jules in the first place, Sarah. She wouldn’t even have tried for the grant if hadn’t been for your work at the shelter.”

  “I haven’t said anything to you until now because I was waiting to hear if I got the money from the Conroy Foundation,” Julie said. “I asked for five hundred thousand, thinking we might possibly get a quarter million. You know better than anyone how these things work.” She reached for her book on the low table beside her, pulled out an envelope that was stuck between the pages, and tossed it on Sarah’s lap. “Look, Sarah! They’re giving us the whole half a mil! And now you’re here—it’s a sign that I should be doing this thing.”

  Sarah opened the envelope and scanned the contents as the knot in her stomach got tighter. Dammit anyway. For the first time since she left Chicago, she was almost relaxed. Sophie had been absolutely right—she’d needed this weekend to clear her head, to make the conscious choice to move on. But now, when her friends offered her what she knew in her heart was the perfect opportunity to do just that, her belly dropped at the mere thought. Not only because of her last encounter with Paul, although that was still raw, but it was also the thought of the shelter and all she’d left behind there. She’d literally run away from everything she’d worked so hard to accomplish for the last few years and was back to square one again. Physically, emotionally, and mentally.

  Now this? Julie wanted her to help open a shelter here in Willow Bay?

  Sarah folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope. “I’m not ready to help other women right now, you guys—I can barely leave my own apartment.”

  “But this is perfect, don’t you see?” Julie accepted the envelope. “It’s going to take months to get everything up and running. You’d have something to do every day, something to focus on…a mission that would take you away from the apartment.”

  “And out of yourself,” Sophie added, ascending the steps with a tray full of drinks in salt-rimmed glasses. “It’s five o’clock, ladies, and Henry’s below at the bar doing wonderful things with tequila and a blender. Sarah, this one’s yours—it’s a virgin, but trust me, still amazing. The man makes a genius margarita either way.” She served Sarah first and then passed a beverage to each of the others before settling into a chair and putting her feet up on the end of Julie’s chaise. “Please think about this, Sarah. Jules already has a house on the east side of the village all picked out. It’s a bit dilapidated, but it’s big and would be ideal for a shelter.”

  Sarah tasted the drink—the blend of salt and the sweet-tart of lime and sugar was indeed spectacular, even though it didn’t contain a drop of tequila. She didn’t mind Dr. Benton’s admonition about not mixing the antidepressants with alcohol—she wasn’t much of a drinker anyway. She learned many years ago that even though wine or tequila might dull pain, it also dulled her ability to think clearly. She gazed around at the women’s eager faces. “Why do you think this town needs a battered women’s shelter? I mean, I know abuse goes on everywhere, but surely there’s help in a bigger town nearby. Traverse City?”

  “I want us to be a part of the Violence Against Women Coalition—not only help victims of domestic abuse, but also girls caught up in sex trafficking. This is important…and so necessary. We can be a safe haven on the road to a new start.” Julie bounded out of her chair without spilling a drop of her drink. “Obviously, we wouldn’t be as big an operation as the shelter in Chicago; we’d be more of an emergency stop. But it’s perfect, don’t you see, because who’d look for a runaway in a town like this one?”

  “Do you really want to bring this crap to Willow Bay?” Sarah doubted Julie knew what she was undertaking. “Does your town council know what you’re planning? You’re never going to get zoned for it.”

  “The village board has already tentatively approved it. I had to have a letter from the board when I applied for the Conroy grant. Everything’s in place. I’m dying to show you what we’ve already gotten done.” Julie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Sarah, you’re the one who made me see how important this work is and, besides, you need a job, dammit.”

  “Actually, I don’t need a job.” Sarah set her glass down and hauled herself out of the lounge chair. Irritation snaked through her and she pushed it down with effort. Of course, Julie would bring this up here, now. This cruise couldn’t simply be a couple of days out on the water to relax. Everybody always had an agenda.

  Julie must’ve remembered a late-night
conversation they’d had when Sarah had gotten on her soapbox about how few places there were in the country where women could feel safe enough to regroup after fleeing domestic abuse. How ideally, an underground railroad–type network of shelters would extend into every city and town in America. At the time, she hadn’t been talking about opening and operating these places herself.

  But now the idea got her attention in spite of everything else roiling around in her head. Running an emergency shelter for victims of domestic violence touched her heart exactly the way Julie knew it would. And truth be told, they’d chosen the perfect moment to spring it on her—when she was halfway calm—because dammit, ideas, to-do lists, and mental pictures of bright, cheery rooms and a large family-style kitchen where women could gather were already shoving the doubts aside. Her back to the others, she stared out across the sparkling lake and took several deep, cleansing breaths.

  “It’s a chance to serve others here the same way you served all those years in Chicago.” Carrie appeared behind her and put a gentle hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “We’d all pitch in. You wouldn’t be doing this alone. Julie has a business plan full of costs and financial projections and all that stuff. She’s been working on this idea for over a year, and it’s because of you.”

  “Me?” Sarah stared at Carrie, whose open, loving expression didn’t hold even a hint of the shrewd coerciveness she’d expected to see.

  “Of course you.” Carrie’s smile grew. “We’re so unbelievably proud of you and your work in Chicago. You’re the one who can make this place a huge success. You’ve got the know-how and the connections and the experience and the heart, Sarah. We both saw you in action in Chicago.”

  “I ran a damn resale shop.” Sarah’s tone came out rougher than she intended. “Not the whole shelter.”

  “But you were on the board and you lived with the day-to-day operations.” Julie joined them at the rail, covering Sarah’s other side. “And those women trusted you.”