His Last Defense

by Karen Rock

  Not one bit.

  He made her wonder if she was the island she’d always tried to be, complete and happily solitary...especially when he’d just highlighted the hole in her heart.

  5

  DYLAN LEAPED ABOARD Easy Rider and strode past the wire crab pots stacked twenty feet high in preparation for next week’s launch. A light morning fog rolled in from the harbor, shrouding the view. Above, gulls wheeled and dived, their cries muffled by the mist.

  Despite having the entire preseason to ready the boat, Uncle Bill’s deck buzzed with last-minute activity. Deckhands tested lines, repaired equipment and brought bait aboard, the headless cod carcasses dangling to their knees, the strong, briny smell curdling the air. Nervous anticipation hung like sea mist over the docks.

  How was Nolee faring? He tried shoving his concern aside but it lodged as deep as the feelings for Nolee that’d been clamoring since their kiss. Getting her out of his mind, his thoughts—hell, his fantasies—was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes since their hot hookup two nights ago, he saw her flushed, passionate face. The wicked, teasing smile she had bestowed on him in the truck. Her hungry eyes that had reflected his own pounding need for her. The soft, lush feel of her against him.

  And she’d accused him of not knowing her when he’d asked about Craig...

  Him? Not know her?

  He knew every part...at least he had...right up until she’d cheated on him with Craig.

  “Hey, Dylan,” a voice called through the boat’s PA system.

  He wheeled around, then peered up at the pilothouse. Behind the glass his uncle waved. “Permission to come aboard, sir?” he called, only half joking. Captain Bill ran a tight ship.

  “Too late for that,” his uncle boomed. “Get your ass up here before I put it to work.”

  The crew joined in a collective laugh as Dylan pulled open the wheelhouse door and jogged upstairs. Inside, Uncle Bill swiveled around in a cracked, black leather captain’s chair. On three sides of him blinked electronic gadgets that reminded Dylan of a Jayhawk cockpit. The stale scent of cigarettes rose from an overflowing ashtray next to the throttle.

  Dylan tossed a grease-stained paper bag at his uncle and threw himself into another seat. “Just fried.”

  Uncle Bill’s face lit up. “Ah, you shouldn’t have.” He pulled out a handful of fries then offered some to Dylan.

  Dylan shook his head. “So. Why’d you ask me over?”

  “Sure as hell wasn’t to see that ugly mug of yours,” guffawed Bill, his phlegmatic laugh ending in a short coughing fit, his belly jumping beneath an oversize Seahawks T-shirt. Chomping, he pulled down a gooseneck mic and spoke into it.

  “Sullivan! I ain’t paying you to sleep. Break’s over!” he barked, then leaned back in his seat. “Should’ve never agreed to take a greenhorn this year. Nothing but a liability. Those guys don’t know how to work.”

  “He’ll learn,” Dylan assured him, thinking of himself and Nolee. They’d been just sixteen when they’d met aboard his uncle’s ship as newbies. He pictured her small, ferocious face as she’d crawled inside pots to bait them. Her lightning speed at sorting crab. Her daring, won’t-quit attitude that had dragged him from the dark place he’d inhabited back then. He couldn’t have gotten through any of it without her.

  “Or he won’t, and I’ll have to toss him overboard,” Uncle Bill growled with the grumpy good humor that kept his jumping crew seesawing between laughter and terror. “Anyways,” his uncle continued, pointing a limp fry at him before shoving it into his mouth. “Ran into your mother in town. Mentioned you were here. She wants to see you.”

  Dylan stiffened. “Why?”

  Bill chewed slowly and studied Dylan. “She misses you.”

  A short laugh escaped Dylan. “That’d be a first.”

  “Your parents did their best.”

  “Well, their best sucked.”

  “Maybe she wants a chance to make it up to you.”

  Dylan frowned. If so, then it was too little too late. “They made their priorities clear, and I wasn’t one of them.”

  “People can change, Dylan.”

  “Not that much.”

  His mind leapfrogged back to his rigid, oppressive childhood, the survivalist drills his hypercritical father forced them through, day after day after day, the competitions where he’d pit Dylan against his much-bigger brother, every piece of their lives held tight in his ruthless grip.

  What are you? A little girl? he could hear his father taunt from outside a dirt-drawn wrestling circle. Competition makes you tough.

  Then, Jesus, don’t cry, Dylan. He’s your older brother. Did you think he’d just let you win?

  Or, Take it like a man. Cementing for Dylan that he’d never be the kind of man his father wanted him to be.

  Later, his mother. Sweetheart. Your father means well. Can’t you try a little harder to get along? He’s only doing this to make you stronger. You have to be tough to live here in Alaska.

  That’s when Dylan had vowed to leave Kodiak one day and never look back.

  There was no point in reconnecting with people who’d only made him feel lousy about himself.

  “Just consider seeing her before you leave Kodiak.”

  “I don’t—”

  Uncle Bill cut him off with a swat of one of his massive hands. “I said think about it. That’s all.”

  Dylan blew out a long breath. “Fine. I’ll consider it.” Which he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t argue outright with the only person who’d ever cared about him, growing up.

  A tall, redheaded man on deck caught his eye. “Hey. Isn’t that Everett? Nolee’s deck boss?”

  The pop-fizz of a soda tab opening sounded. “Yeah,” his uncle answered after a long gulp. “Good man. Came here looking for a job after she lost her boat.”

  “Well, she’s got another one.” A growl had entered Dylan’s voice and his stomach muscles clenched.

  “Which one?”

  “The Pacific Dawn. Guess it needs repairs.”

  Uncle Bill choked on his drink and set it down. “The damn thing hasn’t been at sea in over fifteen years. She’ll need months of work.”

  “Tell that to Nolee. She’s planning on fishing with it in a week.”

  The squealing grind of metal on metal sounded below, and Dylan glanced out the window. A shower of red sparks colored the gray day as a welder crouched beside the launcher. Had Nolee scheduled her inspection yet? Once she had a full evaluation, would she finally see sense?

  “Nuts.”

  “Yeah. And you’ve got to tell her so.”

  Uncle Bill laughed in a grunt and shook his head. “Son, haven’t you figured out that you don’t tell that gal what to do? She’s got a hard head.”

  “You’re the only one she’ll listen to. Who can talk her out of it.”

  “Nah. I trust her.” Captain Bill took a long swig of his soda, and then he continued, “Nolee won’t take her out unless she thinks she’s worthy.”

  “We’re talking about the same Nolee, right?” She’d always been reckless. Impulsive. Had that prompted her kiss last night? She’d gone from passionate to stone-cold when he’d stopped to verify her status with Craig. It was clear she was no longer seeing the dude, so why had she gotten offended about his question? Was it guilt over past actions? He shoved his balled hands into his pockets.

  “She’s changed,” Uncle Bill mumbled around another bite of fries.

  “Not from what I’ve seen,” Dylan grumbled, thinking of her refusal to abandon a sinking ship.

  “She’s a hell of a captain,” avowed his uncle with a finality that shook some of Dylan’s convictions. “Wouldn’t have taken her under my wing if I’d thought she didn’t have what it takes. It’s a certain kind of person that can captai
n a ship. Not everyone can do it, but Nolee...she’s a natural. She deserves this chance.”

  “To kill herself and her crew? The weather this season...”

  “Looks like a bear.” Uncle Bill tossed out his empty bag and stuck an unlit cigarette in his mouth. “Seen the predictions but it ain’t gonna stop me or any of the rest of us, including Nolee.” He held a lighter against it until the end glowed red. After a couple of quick puffs, he said, “And I ain’t about to try and stop her. In fact, I’ll help her out when I can.”

  “She won’t take it.”

  “Nope.” A long stream of acrid smoke accompanied the word. “She never does. Still, I’ll offer. She’s spent these past nine years laboring harder than any man I’ve ever worked with.” Captain Bill waved the cigarette clamped between his thick fingers. “For a girl with her humble beginnings, it’s damn impressive what she’s achieved. She worked her way up the ranks, proved herself to the crew and even our bosses. You should respect that, son. I sure as hell do.”

  At a shout from below, Uncle Bill turned to his mic and began a rapid-fire exchange full of cussing and directions. Then more swearing. Dylan stared out the window at the veiled world and pictured Nolee somewhere in it, laboring, striving to make her way.

  Uncle Bill had a point. Nolee’s humble beginnings made her deserving. Stubborn. She’d never back down. Not when she had legit reasons to want this and not a lot to lose. Her life, he realized, wasn’t half as precious to her as it was to him.

  Again he recalled their childhood struggles, how they’d confided in each other, vowed not to let their upbringings define them. This was Nolee’s dream just as much as the Coast Guard was his.

  He shoved himself to his feet and pulled on his wool cap. “I’m heading out. Good luck out there.”

  A red-faced Uncle Bill slid him a sideways glance, his blue eyes barely visible beneath the heavy hang of his brow. “Luck ain’t any part of it. It’s all skill.”

  Dylan pointed at the horseshoe nailed above the exit door. “Keep telling yourself that.”

  His uncle’s deep chuckle followed him out the door. He strode across the deck, leaped onto the dock and headed out in search of Nolee’s slip. Deep down, they all knew luck had a lot more to do with it than anything else. Skill and sound equipment couldn’t always save your ass. Especially in a catastrophe.

  But it paid to hedge your bets. Be prepared. Like the Coast Guard’s motto, Semper Paratus. Always Ready. That was something Nolee couldn’t achieve on her own when she was short on crew and time. He could help her with the equipment part of things. Size up the Pacific Dawn. Determine the extent of the repairs for himself. Now that he’d gotten the newbie rescue swimmer up to speed, he had time off coming—one month leave.

  It was the least he could do. His duty. His time in the Coast Guard had taught him never to turn his back on those in need of help. It was a mindset too ingrained for him to deny. Yes, he should keep his distance, but he wanted to ensure she had a viable boat before she embarked in the growingly rough winter seas. Besides, those sizzling moments in his truck had ignited old feelings he needed resolved.

  He’d missed some things about Kodiak after all, and spending the day on a boat beside Nolee was one of them. He hoped he could uncover her mysterious response to him. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. It didn’t affect his plans to leave Kodiak. He wouldn’t get emotionally involved with her again, but at least he’d get closure on the events that had changed the whole course of his life.

  He passed small and large fishing boats, the freezing temperature turning his breath into white exclamations of air. Seagulls hovered on invisible currents overhead in the clearing sky. A pair of pelicans, farther out to sea, folded their wings and dove into the gray chop. In the distance, the white-capped mountains loomed over the dramatic landscape that drummed a beat inside him he hadn’t heard in a long while. It spurred his feet. Lengthened his stride so that in minutes he’d reached a tall black boat.

  Pacific Dawn, he mouthed, reading the gold script lettered on the side. He craned his neck and appraised the large vessel. About a hundred and twenty feet or so, he assessed, bigger than Nolee’s last. Older, too, considering the dated equipment. He spied Nolee, sprawled on top of a twenty-five-foot crab pot stack wearing her bulky fleece over fitted jeans, doggedly repairing a hole in its netting, her beautiful face flushed beet red, from what he could tell at a distance.

  He stomped up the gangway and her head snapped up; thick dark hair hung in her beautiful face. His body tightened as his gaze dropped to her full mouth.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Good question. One he didn’t have an easy answer for, so he went with the truth. Or as much as he’d admit.

  “Saving your ass.”

  “My ass is just fine, thanks.”

  He eyed the sexy curve visible from her prone position.

  “Indeed, it is,” he drawled and gave in to a full-on, appreciative smile that lifted the corners of his lips and made her almond eyes narrow.

  He clambered onto another pot and set to work when she pointed her chin at a stack and returned to tying up loose netting.

  Would he be able to work close to her and resist the attraction? It would be hard, but he wanted her to succeed. Maybe if he helped her with this, he’d feel satisfied she’d be okay, and then he’d be able to walk away again...this time without regrets.

  His gaze slid over her sexy shape and his pulse pounded along with the hammering crew on deck.

  Yeah.

  Well.

  Good luck with that.

  6

  NOLEE PEERED DOWN at the paper in her hand late the following afternoon and her gut twisted. The dock’s pounding mix of sound, the muffled clang of metal against metal, the whine of a cutting instrument, receded, giving way to the rush of blood in her ears. “All of these safety modifications need to be made?”

  “At a minimum.” Dylan loomed huge and solid beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder. She breathed deep and strove to settle her jumping heartbeat. Working beside Dylan for the past day and a half had kept her on high alert, her body humming with sexual tension, her eyes drawn to his long, lithe form as he effortlessly scaled masts, leaped atop pot stacks and muscled through lifting and positioning equipment, working tirelessly to help her.

  Should she have accepted his offer?

  She’d been determined to banish Dylan from her mind, and then he’d suddenly shown up to help as if their devastating kiss had never happened. With her challenges mounting, she’d had to agree.

  She released a ragged breath and focused. Or tried to, with so much lean muscle in close proximity.

  “On top of repairs...” Her gaze drifted over the boat and stopped on Tyler, her gangly greenhorn, as he repaired broken decking. At the snail’s pace he worked, she’d be lucky if he finished even one of his assignments in the nine days before their departure date. He slammed down a hammer, then screamed and held his thumb to his mouth.

  “Want your mommy?” catcalled Flint, her other returned crewmember. The garrulous, elderly seaman worked faster than Tyler. She needed four more of him, and she’d had only three responses to the ads she’d posted around town. She stifled a groan.

  “Back to work!” Nolee called, refusing to give in to the impulse to baby Tyler. Who hadn’t worked through a bruised finger...or a broken one? Crew needed toughness. Not mothering.

  Dylan’s thick-lashed green eyes bored into hers. Behind his left shoulder, the sun was setting. It sank toward the horizon, orange bleeding into gray-blue. A cargo ship was silhouetted black against the dramatic sky.

  “The Coast Guard will board you at some point. They’ll force you to return to port and disrupt your fishing.” He wore an off-white cable-knit sweater that accentuated his defined chest and slim waist, and jeans that hugged his powerful thighs an
d tight ass, making it impossible for Nolee to stop her eyes from drifting over him. Sticking to him like wallpaper.

  “Do you accept bribes?” On impulse, she trailed a finger down the shifting musculature of his abdomen and felt his stomach muscles contract beneath the wool. Damn, he felt good.

  He sucked in a fast breath. His large hand closed around hers and rubbed it against his iron chest. Beneath her palm, his heart thudded. His eyes burned into hers.

  “Don’t play with me, Nolee,” he growled, his voice deepening to a whole other level of sexy.

  “Who’s playing?” she joked, her voice catching slightly at the end, her knees weakening at the hot expression in his eyes that made them glitter and darken. He could turn her to liquid caramel with just one look.

  “Captain?” called Flint. She forced herself to tug her hand loose and turn to her crew. “Tyler here says it’s time for his animal crackers. Can he knock off?”

  She studied a woebegone Tyler. He thrust his gloved hands inside a large Carhartt jacket that hung on his thin frame, and shifted on his feet. “Only if you say so, Captain,” he mumbled.

  How long had they been working straight? She peered up at the faint glimmer of a star in the darkening periwinkle sky. They’d arrived at dawn and hadn’t stopped, working at a blistering pace that hadn’t made much of a dent in her list. Despair rose and she squashed it fast. Somehow she had to make this work. She eyed the mostly vanished sun and let out a breath. “Go ahead and knock off.”

  The men raised and lowered their chins as they ambled off the Pacific Dawn, calling good-night, joining other fishermen hustling to The Outboard. The smell of something frying drifted up on the arctic air, sharp and gingery. Trout, she thought. The bar’s Friday-night special.

  Dylan stepped close once they were alone. In an instant, Nolee became acutely conscious of the sexy stubble he’d let grow on his square jaw, that heady clean, male scent of his that got her pulse picking up speed. “Ready to quit?”

  Understanding the double meaning in his question, she raised her chin. Met him square in the eye. “Hardly. I’m interviewing possible crew members tonight.”