Hours to Cherish

by Heather Graham

  “And who the hell does he think he is?” she muttered aloud suddenly, remembering that he had cunningly taken her in the boat race, forced her hand with a ridiculous debt, picked her bedroom door lock, made her appear a wanton fool before Jules, and to top all else, had hurled her to the floor.

  “The hell if I will jump at any of your commands, Clay Miller!” she muttered again in a hiss, drying and stowing away the last dish. He might be a different man, she thought irritably, but certain things about him hadn’t changed a bit!

  The sound of activity from the deck alerted her to company from the starboard side. Cat dropped her dish towel and hurried out the cabin doors.

  Freshly filled air tanks for the day lined both port and starboard sides of the Sea Witch II. Their flippers, masks, weights, and regulators were also ready and waiting. Clay had been busy. Cat noted all this quickly, then turned her eyes toward the Sea Enchantress pulled alongside them. Sam was in the process of leaping back to the Sea Witch II and Clay was taking his place aboard the Sea Enchantress.

  “Mornin’, Mrs. Miller!” Luke called out from the helm of his craft.

  “Good morning,” Cat called back, attempting a smile but frowning instead, her eyes narrowed on her husband’s departing form.

  Clay must have sensed her scrutiny. “I’ll be right back, Cat We’ve sonar equipment on the Enchantress. Peter picked up something large last night and I want to check it out.”

  The Sea Enchantress roared into full motor before Cat could reply, her eyes on the bow until she lost sight of the occupants. The mysterious Ariel had appeared on deck. And Cat had had a view of the boat’s bow long enough to see her softly smiled greeting to Clay and the tender light in Clay’s eyes as he gently replied.

  “You listening to me, Cat?”

  “What?” Cat started as she realized Sam had been talking to her.

  Sam eyed her suspiciously, but decided against questioning her distraction. “They weren’t expecting the sonar to be much help, not with all the wrecks that are down there. But you should have seen it, Cat, a blip as big as the sun.”

  Despite herself, Cat felt a surge of adrenaline through her system. “So they think we’ve found it?” she demanded. “Really, Sam?”

  A wide white grin broke out across Sam’s leathered face. “The way Peter sees it, missy, we just might have. That galleon was a mighty big ship when she sailed the seas. And that husband of yours has a lot of faith in your theory about the Santa Anita being out here.”

  Cat lightly lifted a brow at Sam’s tone. It was reproachful. Cat knew that Sam had fully accepted Clay’s return. Sam had always thought that the sun rose and set on Clay. He didn’t say anything to her, but Cat was aware that Sam thought she should have welcomed Clay back from the beginning with open arms and no holds barred. She couldn’t help feeling a marked resentment. Sam had been her teacher, friend, and mentor since childhood, yet it seemed as if he were cheerfully willing to hand her over to the devil and expected her to appreciate it!

  Cat was tempted to tell Sam exactly what she thought of his loyalty—or lack thereof—but thought better of the idea. “If anyone should have faith in me,” she said with a smile, :it’s you, Sam. We’ve been together long enough.”

  Sam cast her a wary eye. “Sure, Cat, I know you know what you’re doing. But I couldn’t have helped you any. You needed that man to come back.”

  You’re right, Cat thought bitterly, but I needed him to come back years before he did.

  Cat idly pretended to check the gear on deck. “Did you have a nice night, Sam?”

  “Sure did,” Sam replied evenly. “Did you?”

  Cat flushed slightly and grimaced. Sam had known her a hell of a long time.

  “What do you think of Clay’s crew?” she asked.

  “They’re good people, and he’s trained them well. They know exactly what they’re doing.”

  “How about Ariel?” Cat asked, attempting to sound entirely casual. “Peter’s wife. I haven’t had a chance to meet her.”

  Sam crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the cabin wall. “You know, missy, you could just about melt any heart and connive information from a stone except that I know you, and it seems to me you’re after something. Ariel seems just about as sweet as she can be. She’s no concern of yours. You’re going to like her very much.”

  Cat was about to respond when she heard the roar of the Sea Enchantress returning. She and Sam both watched expectantly as the sister-boat pulled alongside and Clay hopped lithely to the rim of the hull to jump back to the Sea Witch II.

  “This may be it, Cat!” Clay called enthusiastically, gathering her gear and stuffing mask and flippers into her hands. “Sam, turn her about. We need to backtrack almost a mile. We were there—right where we should have been—just a few days ago. What a stupid oversight!” He sat, leaning overside to wet his flippers before sliding his feet into them, then waving at Luke as the Sea Enchantress pulled away.

  Cat also waved to Luke, noticing that he alone sat at the hull, then turned back to Clay. “What stupid oversight? What are you talking about?”

  “Drop-offs, Cat. We were looking right on the reef. I think we missed some type of a drop-off—maybe a blue hole or cave in miniature, and probably just ten feet deeper. …”

  His positive excitement infused Cat. While Sam sped along in the wake of the other boat, Cat busied herself wetting flippers and mask and donning her weights and tank with Clay’s help. For the moment, problems were forgotten. She could think only of the Santa Anita. Was she down there? Would today be the discovery, the ultimate triumph?

  As Sam brought the Sea Witch II to a stop, the Sea Enchantress continued onward to put the distance of a half mile between the two cruisers. Cat was able to see that Peter Gruuten and Ariel were also preparing to dive. For a moment the pretty, fragile blonde looked up and caught Cat’s eyes. Ariel smiled. Her smile was as gentle and soft as her delicate heart-shaped face.

  Cat smiled in return, puzzled with her reaction to the other woman. She kept feeling that Clay was hiding something from her, and yet she couldn’t look into Ariel Gruuten’s eyes and believe that she was anything other than what she appeared—genuinely sweet … offering a shy friendship.

  “Dive flag up, Sam!” Clay called cheerfully. Cat jerked around as she felt Clay’s arms around her, securing the sixty feet of nylon line that was their communication and safety bind.

  “Let’s go,” he said, his eyes incredibly tense in the depths of his mask. “We’re going to work toward the Sea Enchantress,” Clay said crisply, “We’ll go to seventy-five feet, and watch for ridges and caverns. When we meet Peter and Ariel, we surface. Got it?”

  “Oh, yes, sir,” Cat murmured with a trace of sarcasm. He did have the capacity to sound like a whip-cracking headmaster of a military academy. He caught the acid in her tone and was about to reply, but Cat floundered by him—graceless on deck with her unwieldy flippers and tank—to take position to enter the water. What a stupid time to be petty, she thought remorsefully. We just might be reaching out to touch a dream.

  It’s Ariel, she thought sadly. I can’t pinpoint what’s wrong, but something is. …

  Her thoughts left her abruptly and she almost careened unprepared into the water as she glanced northeastward to notice a third cruiser moving into the area. She caught herself, and turned curiously to Clay, who was preparing to jump beside her.

  “Clay, are you expecting a third boat?”

  “No, why?”

  Cat pointed toward the newcomer, still too far away for the name to be read.

  Clay twisted his lower lip and bit it thoughtfully. Then shrugged. “I’m not expecting anyone, but then these are open waters. Probably another group of pleasure-seeking tourists.” Still, he glanced back to Sam, who was raising their dive flag. “Keep an eye on that craft, eh, Sam?”

  Sam nodded, giving Clay a solemn thumbs-up sign.

  Clay switched back to face the sea, securing his mask to his
eyes with the practiced touch of a finger. “Ready?”

  Cat nodded and they entered the world of the sea with dual splashes. As she followed Clay into the crystalline world, she quickly noted that he had been right. They had totally ignored the possibility of the Santa Anita being off the reef. Excitement grew within her until she felt giddy. They had been here before. They were passing a sandy ledge where several of small nurse sharks—docile fish, generally harmless to man unless unduly aroused—seemed to find a comfortable refuge. Cat could easily recognize a sector of stunning elkhorn coral, the remains of a small sailboat snagged beside it. But what she didn’t recognize, and hadn’t noticed before, was the drop-off. Just as Clay had suggested, the reef suddenly seemed to disappear. They began to descend deeper than they had ever been before.

  It wasn’t a blue hole—not in essence. But for a fair patch of space the ocean offered something very close. The coral they had previously traversed was a mock covering of the ocean floor, actually far below and darkened by the shadowy ledge of the coral.

  Clay was tapping her shoulder. Cat turned to see him place both his hands upon his own upper arms. Be careful. She saw the message as clearly in his eyes as in their prearranged pantomime. She nodded, pointing to the left. Clay nodded in return and proceeded to the right to explore.

  Alone, Cat could hear only the sound of her own air bubbles. She had a strange feeling. The water was much dimmer than it had been before, and they were too deep to encounter the brilliant little fish that abounded in the shallower, close-knit coral. Sea fans and algae did cling to the walls of the little pocket in the reef, and occasionally a larger fish swam by. Something startlingly larger than she bumped against her as she surveyed her immediate surroundings. Hoping she wasn’t being tested for edibileness by a member of one of the nastier shark species, Cat tensed, holding her underwater flashlight close to her and feeling the race of adrenaline but ready to butt the creature into disinterest. She had encountered many sharks while diving, and she knew she was much safer as one among them than a swimmer thrashing on the surface, and that nine out of ten of the creatures could be easily discouraged from attacking. Sharks preferred their meals to be natural prey from the sea, smaller than man, who appeared tremendously large in the water. Still, any shark could attack.

  Cat expelled another burst of air with mammoth relief as she realized the creature butting curiously against her was nothing more than a grouper—an old fellow, she decided with an inward chuckle, to have reached such a size. Cat reached out a gloved hand to touch the side of the inquisitive fish, then reminded herself she was down here for a purpose, and that her time would be limited because today they would have to pause during their ascent to the surface for decompression time.

  Swimming in an opposite direction from Clay, Cat scanned ledges and crevices and searched the sandy bottom. Occasionally some piece of encrusted timber or rock would attract her attention, but upon closer inspection Cat would realize that she had discovered only a bit of more modern wreckage.

  Her mind began to wander. Even here, in the haunted world beneath the sea, her body responded with tremors when she thought of the night she had just shared with her husband. So many passions had lain dormant so long and had been so thoroughly reawakened. In his arms, Cat knew, she was willing—no, eager—to forget everything and promise anything. But could things change? Had their marriage stood a chance when it had been so disastrously interrupted?

  If only I could believe that he loves me, she thought miserably. If only I could understand the years he waited … if only I weren’t so pathetically jealous! she added ruefully. But had she ever had cause? They really hadn’t discussed their past problems, they had just admitted that they had existed. And Clay, too, had acknowledged his own steaming jealousy.

  And it all came back to a question that had supposedly been answered: Who was Ariel?

  Until she had a legitimate answer, Cat decided sadly, she preferred that Clay think her a little heartless. She wanted him to believe that she still harbored feelings for Jules. Of course, she did still have feelings for the man she had been about to marry, but those were of gentle remorse and apology. Clay had to be very wrong about Jules; he had never been anything but courteous and protective. He had offered everything while demanding nothing.

  They’re definitely opposites! Cat thought of the two men she had cared for in her life.

  And then, once again, she wasn’t thinking. She was staring. Rising with chameleon coloring from the sandy flooring was a ledge that didn’t belong. Cat suddenly realized that she had been swimming alongside it for several feet and that it extended ahead of her for several feet more. She stretched out a hand to touch it and a thrill of excitement ran through her. Timbers. Eroded by sea and time … but she touched timbers.

  Cat swam back a few feet swiftly to gain perspective on her find. She tried to control her rampaging heartbeat with stem warnings: They had come across many wrecks; she could not count on this being the Santa Anita.

  But damn! It looked like the structure of a bow, and if her estimates were at all correct, it was a bow that must have once been a proud thirty feet in width, a bow with a fo’c’sle built low and square, set back from the stem where it would catch less wind, take less chance of tilting the bow. A bow that could well belong to a long-lost galleon of the heyday of the Spanish Main.

  Fascinated, Cat moved back in once more to touch the encrusted timbers. It was easy to see how they had missed the structure—even with its size so obvious! Coral extended over the wreck, creating a false bottom, and ocean life had thrived upon the ghost ship. Her planking had been covered by algae in the dim recesses of the cavelike formation; she had literally become one with the sea and silt, coral and sand, and thriving molecular life.

  Cat was tempted—oh, so tempted—to prowl her discovery on her own, explore the eerie shell that remained. But Clay would, she knew, literally break her neck. Wrecks with their rotting timbers were very dangerous but oh, so compelling. A little like Clay, she thought wryly. She couldn’t stay away from him, he was magnetic, but probably more dangerous than any menace in the sea.

  Cat pulled sharply three times on her end of the nylon cord. The lure to explore further was strong. After all, she had called him. Cat propelled herself upward, shimmying carefully between planking and the living growth of coral that housed over it protectively. She found the rim of the ghost structure and paused, bubbles from her regulator silent as she held her breath.

  The wreck was in a sad state of corrosion, and she would never be brought to the surface intact. But she was the Santa Anita, she had to be. Her full structure could only be that of a galleon, and just as they had lain for that lost battle centuries ago, her cannons lined the deck, proud armaments that never had a chance to fire.

  A rude shake of her shoulder informed her that Clay had reached her. She knew he was angry that she had taken the first step alone. But as she turned to him, her eyes brilliant behind the glass of her mask, his anger faded. She saw a smile form on his lips and his deep jet eyes gentle as they recognized the extent of her thrill. His arms came around her and he hugged her, swirling her in delirious circles beneath the sea.

  Cat was absurdly tempted to rip out her mouthpiece and meet his lips. His touch, even in the sea, was a wild stimulant, coupled with the exuberance of triumph, and the effect upon Cat was devastating. The Santa Anita was more than the find of the century. It was something very personal. They had found her together, and in those moments Cat admitted to herself that Clay would always be able to call the shots, beat her at her own game, as he said. He was more than her match, he was a power she would always bend to because the power he wielded was that which controlled not only her senses but her heart, and her every reason for being.

  His hand slid tenderly and yet erotically down her bare shoulder to her gloved hand. Fingers entwined, they moved over the decking of the galleon.

  Her flooring was littered with holes, and it was easy access to reach the
innards of the ship. As never before, Cat felt a wonder and sadness grip her. The oak chairs and dining tables had withstood the ravages of time, as had swatches of fabric, bits and pieces of cutlery. It was eerie in the darkness of the graveyard ship with only the power of their flashlights to illuminate the fragments of a culture long past.

  Cat held tightly to Clay’s hand as he led her along. She had never known fear before, but here she was afraid. Her ray of light caught upon the evil grin of a moray eel that had found a home in the cave of a barnacle-covered desk. Probably the captain’s desk, a place where the riches of the Aztecs would be counted and prized. Those riches, Cat knew, would be deep, deep within the bowels of the Santa Anita.

  Clay came upon a hatch to the deck below. He set upon it with the strength of his hands only, and Cat was suddenly overwhelmed with panic. She touched his shoulder to stop him, but with a strange creak the rusty mechanism gave. He was slipping through the hatch, and she had no choice but to follow.

  A scream rose in her throat as their light illuminated a scene preserved in this watery prison. They had come to a bedchamber, sealed with the sinking of the ship until their appearance now. A chamber where passengers had come for safety from the impending battle. The skeletons dressed in decayed remnants greeted them in various stages of decomposition and posture. It almost appeared that one of the skeletons beckoned them with an eerie smile to join him as he wavered in a drunken dance by the porthole.

  Cat was ready to bolt in panic, heedless of decompression, heedless of breathing period. Clay caught her hand, forcing her to precede him slowly out of the hatchway.

  With dim light filtering through their coral blanket, and the vision of macabre skeletons no longer facing her, Cat ridiculed herself for her panic and determined that Clay not think her too squeamishly female for the task ahead. The Santa Anita was her dream come true, she couldn’t turn it over to him.