A Good Man Walks In

by Ginna Gray

  A sputter, followed by a labored mechanical whine, broke the peaceful silence when Travis pressed the starter, but the engine did not start. Rebecca glanced at him, but he appeared unconcerned. He tried the starter again, several more times, but the result was the same.

  Worriedly, she watched him check dials and gauges. "What's wrong?" she ventured.

  "Who knows." He pushed the button again with no luck. "She was running like a top all morning." He looked at Rebecca and patted her cheek. "Don't fret, sweetheart. We're not marooned yet. There's not an engine made that I can't fix. I'll go below and check it out."

  Surprisingly, Rebecca wasn't worried. Somehow—she wasn't quite sure why—she had complete confidence in Travis. Maybe because he always seemed to have such complete confidence in himself. Also, she remembered the countless hours that he and his brothers, Ryan and Reilly, and his cousin David had spent working on cars back in Crockett. They'd spent half their teenage years covered with grease.

  Curious, Rebecca followed Travis down the ladder to the main deck. When he removed the cover from the engine well and lowered himself into the dark compartment, she knelt beside the opening. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

  "Yeah. See if you can find me a flashlight."

  She scrambled to her feet and ran below. A quick search of the storage cabinets turned up a high-powered battery-operated lantern. She raced back up on deck and handed it down to him. "Anything else you need?"

  "Get David's tool kit, will ya. It's in the locked cabinet beside the live-bait well. The key's in the drawer of the nightstand beside the bed."

  Rebecca darted below deck again and returned in less than a minute with the key. She quickly unlocked the cabinet and dragged the heavy tool kit over to the engine well.

  For the next hour she sat cross-legged beside the opening, handing tools down to Travis whenever he asked for them. Amidst the banging and pounding and occasional grunts emerging from the engine well, they carried on a sporadic but amiable conversation.

  Once, a loud "Ow!" erupted from below and was immediately followed by a string of colorful curses. Rebecca peered over the edge of the opening and saw Travis sucking on the knuckles of his right hand. She opened her eyes wide and fought back a grin. "Is there a problem?"

  His eyes narrowed on her innocent expression. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he accused, but he couldn't hold on to the gruff demeanor, and a reluctant smile twitched his mouth.

  "Of course. Why not? I'm having a great time."

  He stood up and traded one wrench for another. Wiping it with a cloth, he tipped his head to one side and studied her curiously. "You're a surprising woman, Rebecca Quinn," he said softly. Smiling, he touched the tip of her nose with a greasy finger, then quickly squatted back down, chuckling at her sputtering outrage as she scrubbed the spot with a rag.

  Less than a half hour later, the wind kicked up suddenly and rocked the boat. Standing up, Travis poked his head and shoulders through the opening and squinted at the sky. "Those clouds are rolling in fast. Soon it'll be too dark to work." He switched his attention to Rebecca, his gaze steady on her face, gauging her reaction. "This lantern isn't enough. I need natural light, too."

  She looked up. Livid thunderheads were beginning to boil over them. Already an unnatural, greenish purple darkness had begun to descend. "What do we do now?"

  "Well..." He braced his forearms flat on the deck along the edge of the opening and surveyed the sky again. "We've got two options. I can radio the Mexican Coast Guard for help or..." His gaze sought and held hers. "... we can stay here and I'll finish the repairs in the morning. I'll leave it up to you."

  "Can you fix whatever is wrong?"

  "Yeah, I can fix it. Given time,"

  She glanced at the angry sky.' 'Do you think it's going to storm?"

  "Probably. But we're sheltered here. We'll be safe." He cocked one eyebrow. "So what's it gonna be? Do I radio for help, or do we stay?"

  "What would you do if you were alone?"

  "I'd stay."

  "That settles it then," she stated with emphatic matter-of-factness. "We stay."

  Tipping his head to one side, Travis studied her, his expression bemused. "You sure are taking this calmly. You're not scared, or even a little upset?"

  "Why should I be upset? I have complete faith in you. If you say we'll be safe, then I know we will be. We have plenty of food and water and a comfortable shelter from the storm. And after all, there's really no urgent reason why either of us has to return to Rincon Island tonight."

  Actually, Rebecca wasn't at all disturbed about the turn of events. Today was the first time she'd been happy in years, the first time she'd laughed in years, and she had been dreading it ending. The delay would simply extend the pleasant interlude for a few more hours.

  "That's true. But before you make a final decision, there is one thing that you may have overlooked that I feel I should point out to you."

  "What is that?"

  Travis's mouth twitched. "There's only one bed on this boat."

  Chapter Seven

  Rebecca experienced a flash of alarm, like a tiny explosion in her chest. It stole all the oxygen from her lungs and sent aftershocks quivering through her. Somehow, though, except for the tiniest of starts, she managed to control her reaction.

  She had overlooked that particular detail, but she wasn't about to let Travis see how much it unnerved her. Ignoring his twinkling eyes and twitching mouth, she pursed her lips and stared into the distance. "Mmm. You're right, I had forgotten about that. But I still think we should stay."

  "You do, huh? Then you don't have a problem with sharing the bed with me? Because I warn you right now, no way am I sleeping on the deck."

  Rebecca could not control the blush that crept up her neck, but she strove to ignore it. "I didn't say that, exactly. It will be awkward, of course, but I'm sure we can manage. It's a big bed. And we're both adults. After all, it's not as though I have to be concerned about my virtue with you."

  "Hey!" Travis barked, giving her an affronted look. "What kind of crack is that?"

  "Oh, for heaven's sake, Travis! I'm not attacking your virility. I simply meant that I know you aren't interested in me that way. YOu said yourself, you've detested me for years. I'm certainly not worried that you'll be overcome with lust."

  Anxious to end the uncomfortable conversation, Rebecca clambered to her feet and brushed off the seat of her shorts. "Now that we've settled that, I think I'll go start dinner."

  Before Travis could reply, a gust of wind rocked the boat, bringing with it the smell of rain. Lightning arced across the sky, followed seconds later by a deafening clap of thunder. Rebecca's hair whipped around her head. She swiped away the strands stuck to her face and grabbed the rioting mane with both hands and, like Travis, squinted up at the boiling clouds.

  "It's about to hit," he yelled over the howling wind. "You go on below. I'll be down as soon as I secure the hatch and put the tools away."

  Still holding her hair, Rebecca nodded and scurried down the steps.

  Travis watched her go, his expression nonplussed. Did she honestly believe what she'd just said?

  He shook his head, and with a sigh hoisted himself up out of the engine well. He wished he could be as certain. A couple of days before—hell, twenty-four hours before—she would have been right. Things were different now, though. Didn't she realize that?

  Rebecca had surprised him from the beginning of this outing. She was cooperative, restful, easy to get along with, and open to whatever he suggested. Hell, he might as well admit it; she was damned good company.

  Then at lunch she'd let her guard down and given him a glimpse of what her life had really been, and of the lonely, vulnerable child who had been made to feel unloved and unlovable. He realized now that she had masked her pain and loneliness with that controlled facade all those years. He suspected that that hurt child was still there, behind that beautiful, calm face.

  Travis was barely awa
re of the buffeting wind that whipped his hair or the lightning that forked through the sky, or even the drunken pitch and roll of the Freewind. Kneeling on the deck, he paused in the act of returning a wrench to the tool kit and looked toward the cabin. He thought about the things she had revealed over lunch, and his face contorted. Listening to her, he had experienced a confusing welter of emotions, one on top of the other: shock, sympathy, anger at Richard Quinn. Most of all, he had felt rotten. Guilt, remorse and shame had hit him like a blow from a set of brass knuckles when he thought of how he had treated her.

  He hadn't wanted to believe her. He'd fought against it all afternoon, even though he'd known in his heart that she had told the truth. Only an idiot or a blind man could have missed the desolation in her eyes when she'd talked of her childhood. He might be the first—at least where Rebecca was concerned—but there was nothing wrong with his eyesight.

  It was funny how a little bit of knowledge could change your image of a person. He had always been aware of Rebecca's beauty. Travis snorted and dropped a fist full of sockets and screwdrivers into the box and slammed the lid shut. Hell, even as an obnoxious seven-year-old he'd known she was a knockout. With her dark hair and milky skin and those soulful blue eyes, he'd secretly thought she looked like the pictures of Sleeping Beauty in his little sister's book of fairytales.

  Looking back, he could see now that his cousins had been right; he had never bothered to get to know Rebecca. He had seen her quiet composure and shyness as nothing more than the snooty aloofness of a spoiled rich girl. Over the years, those misconceptions had kept him from liking her. Travis frowned. Or maybe he'd clung to them because he'd been determined not to like her. Hell, he didn't know.

  One way or the other, those obstacles were gone now and, no matter how uncomfortable it made him, he had to admit that he was attracted to Rebecca, physically as well as emotionally.

  Travis slung the heavy toolbox into the storage compartment and slammed the door shut. Thunder cracked overhead. He looked up at the sky and felt the first fat raindrops splatter against his face and bare chest. Grinning, he loped down the steps. Apparently, he mused with ironic humor, that possibility hadn't yet occurred to Rebecca. If it had, she wouldn't so blithely assume that they could share a bed 'without sex becoming an issue.

  Rebecca stood at the counter in the galley, her feet braced against the roll of the boat, slicing tomatoes into a salad. He turned from shutting the cabin door, and she looked at him ^over her shoulder. "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes."

  "Great. I'll go wash up."

  Minutes later, he stepped from the head into the galley to find the table set, the microwave humming and Rebecca bent over the broiler. His offer to help met with a polite refusal and the assurance that everything would be ready soon. Travis slid into the dining booth to get out of her way.

  Turning sideways, he leaned back against the bulkhead, propped one foot on the vinyl bench seat, draped his wrist over his updrawn knee, and watched her.

  She worked with an economy of movement that was both graceful and competent. She had pulled her heavy hair back in a banana clip, and it cascaded down the center of her back in a froth of rich mahogany curls. Totally absorbed in her task, she stood with her back to him, turned slightly in one quarter profile. Travis's gaze was drawn to the tender curve of her neck, to her ear, the delicate skin behind it, the soft baby curls along her hairline that clung to her nape.

  His chest tightened. He drew a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. The urge to run his lips over that fragile flesh tormented him. He could almost taste her.

  Cool it, McCall, he cautioned. Think of something else, before you lose it and pounce on the poor woman.

  The image that thought created caused his grin to flicker. Rebecca would be shocked. No lust, huh? Yeah, right.

  He forced his gaze lower, but the bareness of her shoulders and back was no less tempting. Mesmerized, he watched the supple movements of her shoulder blades above the camisole top, the stretch and shift of feminine muscles beneath peach-tinted flesh. She was slender, her body well toned and firm but softly curved in all the right places. His palms itched to touch her.

  She turned with a smite and set the salads on the table. "I think everything is ready," she said, and as if on cue, the microwave dinged. Immediately, she drew on oven mits and bent from the waist to open the broiler, unwittingly presenting Travis with an eye-level view of her bottom.

  He stared at that firm, rounded flesh for a full ten seconds, not daring to breathe. Then his gaze traveled down the backs of gorgeous, impossibly long legs. Travis closed his eyes and groaned.

  Rebecca straightened with the broiler pan in her hands, and sent him a worried look. "Is something wrong?"

  Hell yes, something's wrong. If you don't park that cute tittle rear I'm going to go quietly out of my mind. "No." He managed a half-hearted grin. "I'm just hungry, is all."

  "Well, you don't have to wait any longer. Everything is ready.''

  Dinner turned out to be broiled redfish with a lemon/dill sauce, baked potatoes and salad. "It's not very fancy, I'm afraid." She set the plates on the table and slid onto the bench seat opposite him. "But under these conditions, it's the best I can do."

  "Are you kidding? This is delicious."

  The boat was rocking so much they dared not fill their wine glasses more than a quarter full. Travis had seen seasoned sailors get sick from less, but Rebecca didn't appear to notice the constant motion. He watched her dig into her meal with obvious enjoyment, his expression amused and curious.

  "The boat rocking doesn't seem to bother you," he commented idly, and she looked up with a hesitant smile.

  "No. I've never had a problem with motion sickness. When we were kids and a carnival came to town, the twins and I used to love to ride all the rides. The wilder the better. Elise, poor thing, could barely make it through one round of rides without turning green, and even Erin succumbed once in a while, but I never did." Amusement sparkled in her eyes. "That used to annoy Erin no end."

  "I can imagine. She was always such a tough little nut. That you could weather punishment like that better than she could, probably drove her crazy."

  Travis gazed at Rebecca's serene face, trying to imagine her screaming her lungs out on a roller coaster, but he couldn't picture it, not that quiet little girl he remembered.

  He and his two brothers and David had attended all the carnivals and fairs that had come to Crockett. Where had he been when Rebecca and his cousins had been running around the carnival grounds like little hellions? Probably doing his best to hide out from them, he admitted ruefully.

  Conversation flowed during dinner and over coffee afterward. They reminisced about their childhood in Crockett, about how different life was in the sleepy east Texas town compared to places like Dallas and Houston, about the high jinks that the Blaine and McCall kids had gotten into.

  If anyone were listening they'd think we were the best of friends, Travis thought, as Rebecca related a tale about when she and the twins had been in the tenth grade, and Erin had persuaded her and Elise to help her smuggle a cow into the principal's office one night.

  They talked about the town's characters, and wondered what had become of old friends neither had seen in years. They talked about their college days and the places they'd been, about some of Travis's more colorful cases with the FBI. They talked about everything, he noticed, but Rebecca's marriage.

  Travis made several attempts to work the conversation around to the subject, but Rebecca neatly side-stepped it each time.

  Because it took only a couple of sips to drain the wine from the partially filled glasses, it was difficult to keep up with how much you were consuming. Travis noticed that the more Rebecca drank, the more relaxed she became, and he made a point to replenish her glass each time she emptied it. By the time they reached the coffee stage she seemed completely at ease, and he decided to abandon subtlety in favor of the direct approach.

  "While we're on the sub
ject of the past," he said casually, watching her over the rim of his cup. "You never did say what went wrong in your marriage."

  Whatever lassitude the wine had induced vanished. Rebecca's gaze flew to his face, and he saw the wariness enter her eyes like shields snapping into place. Exasperated, she shook her head.

  "I swear, Travis. You haven't changed a bit. Even when we were kids, whenever your curiosity was aroused you were just like a badger. No matter how much a person tried to divert you, you just kept right on digging. You're still doing it. But then, I guess that's what makes you so good at your job."

  Travis grinned. "So what happened?"

  She rolled her eyes and groaned: Travis's grin grew wider.

  "I really don't want to talk about it."

  "C'mon, gimme a break. You can't expect me to ignore the most obvious topic of conversation. Besides, I've told you all about my life since I left Crockett. Now it's your turn."

  Her droll look said she seriously doubted that. It also hid the panic she felt. Travis was going to keep right on probing and picking until he got an answer. To shut him up, she was going to have to tell him at least part of the truth.

  With a sigh, she spread her hands wide. "We just didn't get along. So I decided to end it."

  "You're the one who wanted the divorce?"

  "Yes."

  "Was there another woman?" he asked gently.

  Surprised, Rebecca looked up. She expected derision but there was only kindness in his eyes. Smiling faintly, she shook her head. "No, nothing like that. As far as I know, Evan was faithful to me."