by Heather B. Moore, Kaylee Baldwin, Annette Lyon, Jennifer Moore, Shannon Guymon, Sarah M. Eden
“I’m looking for Brig Bryson,” Claire called, keeping her distance.
The man glanced up then stared at her for a long time before he nodded to the side. “He’s in the office.”
She took a deep breath, gathered every bit of adventurous spirit she’d ever had, and stepped closer. The sport fishing yacht was much bigger than the pontoon she’d imagined. She tamped down the feelings of pride that her dad owned this. For as long as she could remember, he’d talked of his dreams of having adventures at sea. Together, they read Treasure Island, Robinson Crusoe, and The Swiss Family Robinson. As a teenager, even after Mom and Dad were divorced, she sneaked library copies of romances at sea past her disapproving mother and used the light on her phone to read them under the dome of her blankets after Jade fell asleep.
Then Dad shocked everyone by quitting his mechanical engineering job of twenty years and moving to California to start up a deep-sea fishing tourist business. Claire had been in her third year of business school and couldn’t have come with him even if he’d invited her, which he hadn’t. Somewhere along the way, his dreams had become her own, and she always thought that if he ever went to sea, he’d take her with him. But Dad’s only goodbye had been a hurried voice message with a promise to make her proud. After he left, the novels about reformed pirates, stowaways, and life or death on the high seas lost their appeal.
“Let me get the ramp for you,” the man said as she reached the edge of the dock. Close up, he looked even more intimidating. He wore a full beard, and though she’d guessed him to be her dad’s age, this close, she could tell he was probably only a few years older than she was— a far cry from Everett Pickford, that was for sure.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’ve got it.”
“It’s too slippery. Take my hand, at least.” He swiped his raw-fish palms across the front of his apron and held them out to her. Scars, both pencil thin and jagged, lined his knuckles and met up with the dark ink of loopy, unreadable cursive. Fish guts still glistened between his fingers and oozed out of his nails.
Claire grimaced. “Uh, no thanks. I’ve got it.”
He folded his arms and stood right in front of the opening as if he hadn’t heard her.
“I’m good,” she repeated.
He offered her a lazy smile through his voluminous beard but didn’t move. She huffed out a breath, resigned to the fact she would have to do this in front of him. Gingerly, and once again cursing both her shoes and the genetics that bestowed her with such short legs, she stepped one foot onto the boat. Easy.
She lifted her suitcase and her other foot at the same time. “See, I’ve got it—” Her bag got caught on the edge of the dock, throwing off her balance, and with an embarrassing squeal, she realized she was falling backward into the ocean she’d been straddling moments ago.
Two strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and yanked her into the boat. Her bag banged against her leg before she dropped it to the deck. She stood in front of him, lopsided, panting. One of her shoes— from her most expensive pair— had fallen off.
“I heard a splash,” the man said, indicating her bare foot. He still held her, as though he doubted her ability to walk without assistance. “You okay?”
“Fine.” Claire kicked off the other shoe, which lowered her forehead close to his collarbone. He let go and stepped back. Her arms felt sticky with substances she didn’t even want to think about.
“Miguel Rodriguez,” he said. “I own Double B’s with Brig.” He went back to the table with the fish and picked up a huge knife. For a moment, when he’d held her, she thought she’d been wrong about how scary he looked. But holding the knife like that? She shivered. Yep, this guy had gang member written all over him. More proof Dad had completely lost it and needed to come back home with her.
“Brig’s back there?” she asked, avoiding eye contact.
“Down that hall. Door on the left,” he said. She left her bag on the deck and started walking, but jumped when Miguel banged on the wall and yelled, “Brig, someone’s here to see you!”
The door opened as she reached it, and behind it, she saw emotion wash over her dad’s always expressive face. First shock, then excitement, before he pulled her into the tightest hug she’d had in over four years. Despite her lingering anger, she wrapped her arms around his chest and breathed in his familiar scent, now overlaid with salt and fish. Still, even after all this time, he used the same soap, something that made her eyes fill.
“Claire-bear!” His voice caught in his throat as he rocked her back and forth, still not letting her go.
“Hey, Dad.”
He pulled back but kept a hand on her shoulder, as if he was afraid to let her go. Only then did she realize his arm was in a sling.
“Jade mentioned you got hurt.”
“Just a small fracture.” He waved his good arm as if it weren’t worth talking about then pulled Claire into his office. “I had no idea you were coming.”
“It was kind of a whim.” Claire sat in the chair he’d motioned her towards, and he lowered himself across from her. His desk was in complete disarray, filled with papers and forms, pictures and pens. The edge of a laptop peaked out from under a tower of stuff. Claire’s eyes caught on a picture hanging on the wall behind his desk. A photo taken almost ten years ago of Claire, Jade, and their dad, arms slung across each other’s shoulders, standing in front of the first sail boat Claire had ever been on. The print used to sit on Dad’s desk, first in his home office, then in his apartment after the divorce.
Dad’s gaze followed hers, and he smiled at the picture. “One of my favorites. How long are you in town? Do you have time to go on a tour with us?”
His words snapped her out of her warm memories. She was here on a mission. “I’m only here for the night.” She crossed her legs, trying to ignore the fact that her feet were bare.
“So quick? Well, at least we have a few hours together. I’ve missed my girl.”
“Then why haven’t you come home?” The moment the words left her mouth, Claire wished she could take them back. Especially since they’d come out sounding broken and needy. She was twenty-four, not a little girl anymore.
He sighed and ran a hand over his mouth. “I’ve wanted to come see you for years. But opening this business took more out of me than I thought it would. I work every single day of the year, and haven’t had a break since we opened.”
“You can’t keep up this pace forever.”
“Maybe not, but sometimes you do what you gotta do.”
“But you don’t have to do it. Can’t you see that?”
“Claire,” he began, but her phone rang before he could finish.
She pulled it from her purse. Mom. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Time to set emotion aside and salvage what she could of this meeting. She didn’t know whether Dad would listen to reason, but he’d never said no to her when she needed him. And right then, she needed him more than ever.
“Dad, you need to give this up and move home. I know we always talked about coming out here and doing something like this, but you’re an adult with adult responsibilities. You’ve lived this fantasy life for a few years now, and all it’s done is hurt you— and us. Jade is even wilder since you left; she can’t settle on a job for longer than a few weeks. Mom is trying to run our lives, and there isn’t anyone to stop her. And now you’re getting hurt. This time, it was only an arm, but next time, it could be your neck.”
The words sounded good as they rolled from her mouth, but Dad only stared at her with a half-amused smile. Where was the look of shame? The dawning realization that Double B’s had been an irresponsible, unrealistic midlife crisis, and not the actions of a father with responsibilities?
“You sound so much like your mom.”
Claire recoiled. She wasn’t anything like her mom, a woman who took pleasure in controlling her daughters’ lives. Claire wasn’t trying to control anyone; she just wanted her dad to see the error of his ways.
> “Thank you for worrying about me. You’ve always had a sensitive heart.” He stood, and she knew that in his mind, the matter was resolved.
Coming here had been one of the most spontaneous things she’d ever done, and she couldn’t go home without him. Not without a fight.
“Why don’t we grab some dinner and I’ll take you to your hotel?” Dad rifled through the mess on his desk until he found his billfold.
Her phone rang again, only this time Everett’s picture flashed across the screen. Her stomach twisted at his fake, golden-boy smile. “Please, Dad,” she said, not above begging. “Come home.”
“What’s going on?”
“It’s Mom.” She rubbed the ever-present ache at the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know how to make her listen to me. You’re the only one who can stand up to her.”
He pulled her into a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Hold your ground, baby. Don’t let her bully you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“Easier said than done,” she muttered.
Her mom employed a sort of psychological warfare that left no survivors. Claire needed her dad on her side for any chance of getting through the Everett debacle. She’d left out one thing from her earlier argument— the biggest reason she wanted him to come home, and the one that left her most vulnerable.
She held her breath then let the words out. “Dad, I miss you. I want you to come home.”
Dad’s gaze softened. “I’ve missed you too, Claire. Your being here means the world to me.” Emotion choked his voice, and he cleared his throat. She waited for him to agree to leave the business to his partner and come home, but the promise never came.
“Where are you staying?” her dad asked instead as he led her outside. When they emerged, the fish guts were gone and the pebbled deck was hosed off.
“All the hotels I’ve tried so far were booked, so I don’t have anything yet.”
“Stay here. We’ve only got small rooms with cots, but nothing can beat the waves rocking you to sleep.”
She nodded, thrilled at the idea of sleeping on the water despite her disappointment with how their conversation had gone. She’d never slept on a boat before, never been on one longer than it took to get a few pictures and touch a rope. It had been years— four, to be exact— since she’d read or watched or even talked about anything boat related, but it turned out that her old fascination hadn’t died.
“Miguel, come meet my daughter!”
He came over and held out his hand. Claire hesitated only a moment before putting her hand into his larger one. It was warm but damp with his grip firm against her soft palm. The fish-gut apron was gone, and he wore an unbuttoned black shirt over his undershirt. His hair dripped water onto his collar, and he smelled fresh, like the ocean.
“Your daughter?” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve met Jade. You must be Claire.”
Her heart raced in her chest, so she only nodded before pulling her hand from his.
Miguel folded his arms, emphasizing the toned muscles in his arms and chest, as he turned to her dad. “There’s fish frying in the galley. I’m going to run into town for a few hours. Need me to grab you anything?”
Her dad shook his head then watched as Miguel jumped over the side of the boat and onto the dock like it was nothing. He held his hand up in a wave and jogged away.
“He seems…” She searched her mind for a word other than intimidating or criminal, but came up blank.
“Rough?” her dad supplied with a smile.
“Yes,” she said, relieved. “Why did you hire him?”
“I didn’t. I found him.” He smiled in the mysterious way he always did when he knew more than he’d tell her. Curiosity tugged at Claire, but she ignored it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that his co-owner intrigued her.
Dad squeezed her into another side hug as if he couldn’t bear to let go. “Now go grab your things and take them to room one while I check on the fish.”
Claire shook her head, still not confident in her dad’s sanity. She had only until tomorrow morning to convince him to come back to Colorado with her, and it would take more than begging to be successful.
She picked up her bag to take it to the room, but paused. Because there, sitting on the deck beside her suitcase, were both of her shoes. One dripping wet.
Chapter Two
Miguel stretched his neck from one side to the other before flipping the sizzling egg in the frying pan. He hadn’t slept well after spending hours in town to give Brig time alone with his daughter. But Miguel lasted only a couple of hours before winding up at the beach, where he played ukulele for the dolphins and a few tourists camping there.
Feet shuffled behind him then stopped abruptly. He turned, accidentally poking the egg yolk with his spatula.
Claire Bryson. Miguel had heard plenty about her over the years. Few things existed that Brig liked talking about more than his dreams of sailing and his daughters. Jade had been out a few times and seemed to have a free spirit like Brig. She stayed only long enough to have an adventure before moving on to the next great thing in her life. Claire was different. More reserved. Cautious.
He recognized the ridiculous shoes from the night before, one of which he’d had to dive into the ocean to retrieve, but she also wore a muted pink skirt and a white, ironed shirt buttoned all the way to the top. Some people had school-marm fantasies, but this look crossed straight from fantasy to grandma. Except for those shoes, which he could only scowl at.
“You look very… corporate this morning,” he said.
“And you look very homeless.” She tucked some light-brown hair behind her ear and looked everywhere but at him or his chest. He wore no shirt, only his board shorts and flip flops— one of the perks of living on the ocean. “Have you seen my dad?”
“Had to go talk to the fishing and licensing office this morning.”
“He’s gone?”
Miguel nodded. “Told him I’d show you around.”
She glanced at the clock over his head, obviously stressed. “My flight leaves at four.”
“He’ll be back long before that. We have a tour at two.”
She still looked disappointed, but what had she expected? She showed up without telling anyone, and they already had business commitments. He lifted the ruined egg from the pan and added it to his plate.
“I’ve got some bacon and eggs here, if you’re hungry. There’s bread by the toaster.”
He stepped toward her with the plate, and she stumbled back. Catching his reflection in the microwave door, he could see where she got the homeless thing from. His face hadn’t seen a razor in weeks, and without a shirt, all of the tattoos from his old life were on display. He made her nervous, that much was for sure. It shouldn’t have amused him that she looked ready to jump out of her skin every time they got close, but it did.
He held out her plate, but when she tried to tug it away, he held on to it, showing extra teeth with his grin. “I know I look wild, but I don’t bite.”
“That’s what they all say— right before they bite you.” She snatched the plate, amusement lighting up her eyes.
“They? So you’ve been bit before?”
“Many times. I may not work in the ocean, but I work with plenty of sharks.”
He laughed, glad to see a small showing of spunk. Someone who wore bright-yellow heels on a boat had to have at least a little bit of spunk— or maybe she just lacked common sense. He ran a hand over his hair and beard. “I think I’m more lion than shark. Guess you’ll have to risk it.” He grabbed the filled plate and a loaf of bread for good measure. “There’s not much room in here. I usually take my food outside. Want to grab some cups and the orange juice?”
He wasn’t sure she’d follow, but a moment later, she came onto the deck, slipping with every step across the wet floor on those awful shoes.
He swallowed a mouthful of food then said, “So Brig says you work with your mom.”
“
He’s told you about me?”
Nonstop. So much that Miguel was surprised he hadn’t recognized her the moment she stepped onto the boat last night. He’d heard about how she graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in only three years, how magical her performance in Oliver had been in the high school play, how she was a genius with computers, as beautiful on the outside as she was on the inside, and a million other little details that amounted into the making of the perfect girl.
Brig worried over her more than anyone else. Worried that working with her mother at the design firm was draining her spirit, over how much the divorce had changed her, and how she’d stopped being a carefree romantic and had turned into a forced mold of her mom. Brig suspected that his ex was so afraid of Claire slipping away that she kept their daughter in a stranglehold.
After Brig took Miguel in, they’d spent many days and nights side by side, building this business, learning about each other, unloading their pasts and cares. Wary at first, Miguel had mostly listened, but over time, he’d come to learn something. Brig Bryson loved his daughters in the fierce sort of way Miguel had never experienced from anyone in his life.
“Did he tell me about you?” He raised his eyebrows. “I could probably recite from memory the poem you wrote in eighth grade better than you could.”
She choked on her bacon, but when he stood to pat her back, she held up a hand. She drank some juice until her eyes watered, and when she finally spoke, her voice was raspy. “He did not tell you about that!”
“‘On the sea, I wend my way, Past the fears of yesterday—’”
“Stop!” Her face was completely aflame now. “You seriously have that memorized?”
He grinned. “It’s catchy. Brig and I even wrote music for it.”
She groaned. “Don’t you guys have a business to run?”