by Karen Rock
Her actions weren’t selfless when she’d let him think the worst of her and Craig. In fact, looking back, she’d been protecting herself, trying to bring about what she thought was inevitable so it wouldn’t take her by surprise—being hurt when he left her, just like her father had.
If she’d let go of her fear, they might have had a long-distance relationship. He wasn’t like her father and she should have opened up to him.
Maybe it wasn’t too late.
The biggest risks she’d taken were the ones involving her heart, she now saw...and falling...well...it wasn’t the worst thing.
Not even close.
She couldn’t lose everything when she still had herself.
* * *
“I’M SORRY, DYLAN.”
Dylan stared at his mother, listened to her voice, but couldn’t quite see or hear her. Somewhere far away, he thought he heard himself say, “Water under the bridge.”
Wiry gray strands now threaded her frizzy brown hair. The lines around her eyes now furrowed deeply into her weathered skin. Years of squinting at the sun, at a summit, down a white-capped river, time leaving its mark.
But not him. Had he disappeared from her life without a ripple? He’d believed it for ten years, but now he wasn’t so sure.
When she reached across the table for him, he dropped his hands and clenched them in his lap.
A sigh escaped her lips. “I made a lot of mistakes. Your father, too.”
“No one’s perfect,” muttered the stranger who’d hijacked his mouth.
She raked a hand through her hair. The familiar gesture tugged at his heart—or it would, he guessed, if he could actually feel anything right now. Which he couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
“Please give me more time to explain. Come home for a meal. It’d mean a lot to Robbie.” She paused, then continued in a thickened voice, “Your father, too.”
A bitter laugh escaped Dylan as the war zone of his childhood closed in. Rapid-fire memories peppered him. His sixteenth birthday.
* * *
EIGHT AT NIGHT. Infield. Bone-tired after losing in two extra innings. No going home. No cake. Not until he’d fielded fifty ground balls hit by his father.
“Your error cost the team the game,” he hollered. “We’re working on your fielding, so you don’t let others down.”
“You’re a bastard!” Dylan yelled, contemptuous, then ripped off his glove and stormed away.
* * *
HE SHOULD HAVE been happy when his parents accepted his uncle’s offer of a place to stay on his boat.
Shouldn’t have been surprised when they’d stopped attending his games, swim meets...even his graduation.
He’d never spoken to his old man again.
He lifted a water glass and drank, giving his memories time to recede before saying, “That’s doubtful.”
“Honey. It’s true.” A tissue fell apart in her twisting hands, the white snowing on the blue table linen. “I wish your dad were here to tell you this, too.”
Old resentment rose. “So why isn’t he here to yell at me himself?”
Seemed logical to him. No one relished telling Dylan how he fell short more than his father. He’d rammed it down Dylan’s throat every day of his life.
She squeezed her eyes shut and said, “He can’t.”
Dylan tore off a chunk of bread from the basket and popped it into his mouth. “Why’s that?” he asked after he’d finished chewing. “Is he climbing the Himalayas? Blindfolded? Barefoot?”
She opened glistening eyes. “Will you please come? You’re his son.”
“I was his recruit,” Dylan spat. “Not his son.”
“Whatever else you believe about him, he’s always loved you,” his mother said, face pale. “Please. Please come. If for no other reason, do this one thing for me. It’s all I’ll ever ask of you. I promise.”
He took a ragged breath. Then another. And another. Unfurled the hands clenched in his lap.
“I’ll think about it.” He nearly whipped his head around to see who the hell had said that. Not him. Not in a million years. Though given the beaming look on his mother’s face it appeared he had.
“When will you let me know?”
“Soon,” he hedged, wanting to delay, cancel. Take it back. Shit. What the hell had Nolee gotten him into? Another evening applauding his brother’s achievements and getting his ass handed to him by his father. “I’ll call you next week.”
“Thank you, sweetheart,” she said later when she gave him a goodbye hug out in the parking lot.
Several hours later, Dylan strode down the hall of the USCG Kodiak air station to check in on his transfer request and swap his clothes for fresh laundry. A couple of servicemen scuttled out of his way and snapped to attention as he barreled down the hall. His boots rang on the polished floor and the familiar aroma of military wafted through the space: polish, disinfectant, freshly laundered uniforms. Compared to the salty, fish-scented Bering Sea air, it smelled sterile and stale. Life on half power.
No denying he wanted to get back to the crab boat and Nolee.
How would she react when he told her the news?
And why hadn’t he shot down his mother’s invitation? Sure, he hadn’t wanted to hurt her feelings. But that wasn’t the whole truth.
You want to go.
He slung his repacked duffel higher on his shoulder and picked up his pace.
No. Yes. Maybe.
He hadn’t a fucking clue.
Glutton for punishment.
And curiosity.
Nolee had raised too many questions—he couldn’t leave Kodiak without having them answered.
Had he been wrong about his family all this time? If so, what did that mean about everything else he’d assumed about his life...himself?
“Sorry,” he muttered as he sidestepped a clerk bearing a foam tray laden with sandwiches.
No doubt about it, Nolee had a point. After talking to his mother, he saw that he did push people away. Turned his back rather than faced his problems.
As a rescue swimmer, he didn’t hesitate to fling himself physically into treacherous situations. But emotionally, Nolee was right, he backed off.
Detachment was a necessary evil in his profession. It got you through a mission. A day. A crisis.
But life?
No.
It was a damned bad policy to follow personally.
“Holt!”
He whirled and saluted. “Captain Barrie.”
“At ease, son. Haven’t seen much of you lately.”
“Leave, sir. Crab fishing.”
His commander scrunched his grooved forehead. “Thought you couldn’t stand Alaska. Would have figured you for Turks and Caicos.”
Dylan bit back a smile. “Maybe next time, Commander.”
“Yes. Well,” his superior harrumphed, ever awkward in conversations that lasted more than a couple of sentences. “Just finishing up our audit. Your rotation request is next on my list. Heard there may be an opening in Cape Cod. If it’s true, they’ll need a replacement.”
A curious locking sensation snapped through Dylan’s joints. “Good to hear, sir,” he said through tight lips. His heart thumped sluggishly. A funeral march.
His commander stared at him curiously for a moment, inclined his bald head and turned on his heel.
“Dismissed, Petty Officer,” he barked over his shoulder, then pushed through the opaque glass door to his office suite.
Dylan stared at it long after it’d swung shut.
Move your ass.
He resumed his trek.
Walk. Don’t think. Walk.
Because suddenly he didn’t know what to think. Or didn’t know what to think of
his thoughts.
Right then, when his superior had mentioned his transfer being delayed because of the audit, he’d been happy.
He’d wanted to call it off.
For Nolee.
The way she’d called him out about his own family hang-ups had made his feelings for her run deeper than ever. She knew him better than anyone. Better than he knew himself. Suddenly he wondered if he could survive without her.
He shoved through the side doors and the immensity of the dark, snow-filled sky seemed to press on his head. A throbbing flared behind his right eye. The beginning of a headache. After pulling on his knit cap, he headed back down to the ferry that would take him to Dutch Harbor.
The Pacific Dawn cast off tomorrow morning. Their last run of the opilio season. Just one more week with Nolee. Would it be enough?
No. He wouldn’t leave her easily.
But what was the alternative?
Beneath the overhang in the passenger waiting area, he dropped his duffel and leaned against the particleboard wall. A ray of electric light zoomed in a semicircle over the rippling black harbor. The crying of the gulls was drowned out by a foghorn’s blare. His chest fell as he exhaled a plume of white.
Should he consider staying in Alaska after all? He wouldn’t be happy here, but he wouldn’t be happy without Nolee, either. Perhaps he should rescind his rotation request.
He cared about Nolee, but were those feelings strong enough to settle his restless nature? He wondered if he could lay his head down in the same town every night. Stop wandering. Have that hearth and home and family he’d never believed he could have before because of his dangerous, demanding career.
Because you grew up thinking you weren’t good enough.
Didn’t believe you deserved them...
With Nolee, it suddenly seemed possible.
Then again, even if he was willing to settle, would Nolee want him?
After she’d opened up about her missing father, he’d understood why she didn’t want to depend on a man. Even if he stayed, she wouldn’t want a serious relationship.
And that was for the best.
Wasn’t it?
14
“ICE SALE. ICE sale today. Everything must go,” bellowed Dylan in a ballpark barker voice.
He winked and Nolee’s heart tripped over itself at the warmth in his teasing eyes. Then he hefted a large sledgehammer and smashed it against the frozen launchpad.
Bam!
Crystal sparks glittered in the morning’s arctic air and an ice chunk crashed to the slick deck. Over the rail, the frigid Bering Sea roiled and gulls wafted atop a harsh northerly blow.
Nolee stabbed at the crane’s foot-long icicles with her pick, flexing her knees to keep from pitching with the ship, and rolled her eyes at his antics. “The weather forecast today? Pain,” she announced in a huff of white air.
“No pain, no gain,” Dylan interjected.
Despite temperatures hovering in the midtwenties, and the growing ice floe they’d battled for the past couple of days, Dylan looked unruffled. In fact, the high color in his cheeks and the sparkle in his eyes made it seem like he relished this extreme weather. A born and bred Bering Sea badass...
Like all of them, she thought, eyeing her mostly rookie crew. They’d labored around the clock, setting and hauling pots while chipping at the unrelenting ice. Veterans didn’t work any harder and she couldn’t be prouder.
Or more grateful.
They were the reason she now hovered within striking distance of reaching her quota.
Not long ago, she would have resisted feeling dependent on others, but her first venture as captain had taught her how dangerous that line of thinking could be. Pride and insecurity never steered you in the right direction.
Once, those hang-ups drove her away from Dylan. She slid a sideways glance at the laughing, handsome man as he joked and labored beside the crew.
Could she—should she—seize this second chance to do things differently?
Her emotions for him delved deeper than physical. They even eclipsed her old feelings. Did she dare call them what she suspected...love? Dylan had broken through every last one of her defenses and now, with their time together about to end, she hadn’t a clue what to do about it.
“It’s stupid cold out here.” Tyler bounced on the balls of his feet and shook his hands. He powered up the chisel again with an ear-splitting whine and raked it over the frozen railing.
“Not fit for man nor beast,” Flint shouted. He blasted blue-red-orange flames with his blowtorch, melting the clear coating encasing the winch gears. “Ice a-comin’!”
Wesley and Jo exchanged a silent, tense look and Nolee rushed to reassure them about the worsening weather. “We’ve got time for one more hit. We’ll bang that last tank out and put a lid on it.”
She forced a confident grin, despite her reservations. According to this morning’s ice report, the leading edge of a seven-hundred-and-fifty-mile-wide, two-foot-thick ice pack was descending on their fishing ground. The race was on to load the boat before the area froze over. And she sure as hell didn’t want to be caught in it. Ice was like a great white shark swimming out on the horizon, just beyond your view. Unpredictable and deadly if you weren’t watching.
She stared at the ice chunks bobbing on the swelling ocean. As long as the weather held, they’d have just enough time for this final haul. If the numbers remained steady, she’d make the quota she needed to secure her captain status with Dunham Seafoods, her future...everything she’d dreamed of.
With Dylan on board, however, assailing her body and her heart, battering down her defenses, she’d begun questioning if that was all she really wanted anymore.
But what else could she have?
Dylan?
He’d been noncommittal about going through with his family’s invitation to dinner. If he avoided them, he’d never resolve his past bitterness and would leave Kodiak. On the other hand, he hadn’t mentioned his transfer when he’d returned from his air station last week. Seemed like he should’ve heard something by now; he’d put in for it over a month ago. Perhaps, after reconnecting with Kodiak, and her, he’d had second thoughts and considered staying after all.
Maybe she just needed to give him a very good reason to stay.
Her lips curled as she thought of every steamy, naughty act she’d commit to persuade him the next time they were alone...
A few hours later, the group crowded in the warm galley, stacking their lunch dishes in the sink.
“All right, crew!” Nolee snapped off the faucet and turned around. “You’ll be down a hand, since I’m relieving Stu so he can take a nap. Let’s make this last string our best. Everyone stay safe. No accidents. Big money.”
“Let’s do this!” Tyler led the charge to their water gear and back out into the elements.
“Captain Bill’s on the radio asking for you, Captain,” Stu said through a yawn as he tromped down the pilothouse stairs. “Asked for Dylan, too,” he added, then disappeared into his stateroom.
The portal shut behind the group with a wet gust, and Nolee and Dylan jogged upstairs.
On the landing, he pulled her into his arms and lowered his mouth. “Nolee.” He breathed her name like an invocation. “I can’t keep my hands off you.”
“Good.”
He stopped her laughing response with his mouth. The brush of his lips electrified her, sending her pulse into a skidding frenzy. She savored the sweet point of contact as he kissed her thoroughly, deeply, passionately, the way she’d been wanting him to all day. He threaded his fingers through her hair, tilting her head back as his lips caressed hers.
He tasted like peppermint, smelled like fresh winter sea air. She couldn’t get enough, she thought, burrowing into his unyielding chest. His T-shirt grazed hers, br
oadcasting his taut body’s heat and making her thoughts scatter as her hands slid around his waist.
The radio squawked and they froze. Dylan’s ragged breath mingled with her shallow gasps as they eased apart.
“Captain Bill for Captain Nolee. Come in, Nolee.”
With a groan, she flung herself into the chair, flustered, and snatched up her handset.
“Nolee for Captain Bill. Can you hear me? Over.”
She stared at the icy spray that coated her salt-streaked windows and tamped down the jittering, pulsing heat Dylan had ignited.
“Yeah. I’ve got you fine.” Captain Bill’s voice boomed through the airwaves. “Have you seen the latest ice picture? NOAA’s got an update.”
Her eyes flicked to Dylan. He’d joined her at the controls, and his rugged profile seemed turned to stone as he stared at the GPS screen. “Uhhhh. Noooooo. I’ve been working on deck. Not sure if Stu would have thought to phone NOAA again since we got their morning report.”
Dylan dropped his hands to her shoulders and squeezed, his warm touch easing the concern now forking inside her.
“It’s pretty much gonna be right across the 58 line from 172–173.”
She frowned at her GPS map, and her heart sped up a beat. “So it’ll be hitting where we are tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah,” affirmed Captain Bill. “Friggin’ scary.”
Bill...afraid?
“That’s a good pot!” she heard the crew exclaim outside and she watched, her gut twisting as they brought in another tank-busting haul. They couldn’t leave now with the fishing this good.
Yet if Bill was right, she’d risk everything by staying.
“It was so far away.” She passed a worried hand over her brow.
Dylan moved close and spoke into the handset. “Didn’t think we’d have to worry about it for another couple of days.”
“Yeah, the game is changing, bud. As we speak, we’re worming our way down south back to port, so...”
Captain Bill had pulled up stakes and left this lucrative streak? As the toughest seadog in the fleet, that said a hell of a lot. None of it good.
Nolee blew out a long breath. “All right, Bill. Catch you later.”