The deep growl of the engines echoed in Effie’s ears and pulsated through her body like a mini earthquake as she studied the stairs. She tied the parka around her waist to use both hands and climb to the first landing. She looked down through the grating to the deck swaying below. She gripped tighter. It moved!
She wasn’t afraid of heights. She climbed roofs and opensided buildings ... except they stayed in one place and weren’t over the water. She sucked in a deep breath and ran up the next set of stairs, yanked open the door to the wheelhouse and jumped inside, closing the door behind her. She forced the water issue from her brain and gave Ryan a big toothy grin. “Hi there. Long time no see.”
Ryan’s brow furrowed, his forehead wrinkling. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Not the greeting she’d hoped for. Getting swept into his arms would have been great because that’s the real reason she was here and not on the plane back to San Diego. She hadn’t even made it to the airport.
For eighteen long, tedious, frustrating months she’d had the hots for this guy, and yesterday she’d realized he felt the same way, at least somewhat. Getting on a plane for San Diego without doing one darn thing about it—except for a heated kiss—was not the next step.
Well, it probably was the next logical step, but a horny woman was void of logic. And she was so void of logic she could barely function.
Ryan, however, didn’t seem to share her intention. He just seemed pissed and grumpy. Didn’t guys always think about sex? Maybe she could convince him, but for the moment she’d have to go with the other reason she’d come back. “I’m here because of Thelma.”
“What about her?”
“I couldn’t leave here knowing Conrad was up to no good.” Effie spread her hands wide. “I don’t trust the man as far as I can throw him. So, we—like in you and me— need a plan to figure him out. I don’t want Thelma in a Dearborn or Emmerson situation.”
His brow furrowed a little deeper. “Emmerson?”
“A guy who wanted to make partner in my dad’s accounting firm and decided the fastest way was through me. I know an opportunist when I see one.”
“You’ve dated some real assholes.” He picked up a baseball cap and put it on backward looking casual, but his stance suggesting a man very much in charge. “What happened to me staying here on the Landing and you going?”
“Thelma helped raise you. You owe her. We can’t let Conrad get away with whatever he’s got planned. When it all falls apart Thelma could go loopy like I did. She’s older than I was but not wiser at all.”
“Meaning?”
“I put on twenty pounds. I don’t want Thelma to have to deal with losing twenty pounds of ugly fat. I’d rather help her lose about a hundred and seventy pounds of it right now and ditch Conrad. We just have to figure out how to get her to do it. Any suggestions?”
He sighed. “Why couldn’t you just get on that damn plane?”
“Haven’t you been listening? Thelma!”
“I don’t have time to argue. I have work to do. The Annabelle Lee needs help getting barges off a sandbar.” He pointed to a tall chair that offered a great view out the windows on all sides. “Sit there.”
Yes, she was in! Off to a good start.
He thrust a long book open to a map of some kind at her. “Charts.” He pointed to a spot. “We’re here. Keep an eye out for sandbars as we go; not all are marked. We’ve got radar and depth sounders, but there’s nothing like your eyes on the road. We have about a five-hour run down to Rosedale.”
He looked at her. “Did you ever consider that Conrad has changed? That you’re in a panic and missed your plane for no reason?”
She took in Ryan’s good looks and great build. This was the really good reason!
“Conrad Hastings is way too slick, too cool with his songs of the Beach Boys. He’s into the Blues, told me so himself. Surfer Girl? Give me a break. He’s a lying, no-good blob of pond scum.”
“But there’s no motive for him being pond scum with Thelma. She’s just who she is.”
“That’s what we have to think about.” Among other things. Though obviously she was the only one with other things on her mind. “Did you bring food? I’m starved.”
He ran his hand over his face. “I got a feeling this is going to be the trip from hell.”
Her spine stiffened. “Excuse me. I’m trying to do the right thing here. A little cooperation and some suggestions would be appreciated.”
A horn blasted loud over their heads, and she jumped from the chair, dumping the book to the floor, and grabbed Ryan’s arm, “Are we going to drown? Did we hit something? Do we have lifeboats? Where are the personal flotation devices? Should we abandon ship? Women and children first? That’s me. Should I jump for it? Do you need help?” She gripped tighter and clenched her teeth.
Ryan gave her a long, steady look. “We haven’t left the dock. One long blast from the horn is the signal for leaving port so everyone knows to stand clear. Ever been on a large boat before?”
“Once and it wasn’t pretty. Wilsons are land people, members of the if God wanted man, or woman, in the water we’d have gills club.” She gave him another toothy grin. “I like planes.”
“Then why the hell aren’t you on one? And what are you doing on this boat if you hate water?”
Trying to get laid!
Chapter 6
Not only does a horny woman have no logic, she has no shame, Effie thought to herself as she gazed at Ryan. One by one he peeled her fingers from his arm; then his strong hands snagged her around the waist.
This was more like it. She could forget about water and concentrate on Ryan. Instead of thinking about charts she’d think about being in his arms, in his pants, him in her pants. This was her one chance to have him. Once they got back to San Diego it was all over. She looked into his eyes searching for signs of passion or romance or something. He lifted her back onto the chair. “Don’t move.”
“All right,” she purred.
“We have lower temperatures today, and the river isn’t a sauna like it usually is in July. Try and relax. You jumping around the wheelhouse or anyplace on this tow isn’t what we need, especially when we get near the Annabelle Lee and the grounded barges. Things could get a little hairy, a lot of bumping boats together and shoving. You can’t be in the way.”
In the way! Barges? What happened to a little romance? Sex! She narrowed her eyes in pure frustration. “You’re awfully damn irritable.”
“You shouldn’t be out here. This isn’t a pleasure boat. But if I threw you off, Dad would go ballistic, and getting called a dipshit son once today was enough.”
Effie bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“Glad you think it’s funny.”
“My parents never called me dipshit, but proletarian and blue collar crept into a conversation or two when I talked about being a park ranger.”
“Park ranger? You?”
“It was one of those fleeting ideas kids get.” He hadn’t tossed her overboard; that was a good start. They’d be together all day, and that was a good middle. It gave her plenty of time to come up with a plan that could make a great ending.
She watched him at the controls. “Where’s the wheel? The guy on the dock said this was the wheelhouse.”
The big—actually it was huge—boat pulled away from the dock and out into the muddy water. She gripped the sides of the chair, her heart pounding, her eyes blurring, and this time it had nothing to do with Ryan.
“Wheels went out with Mark Twain.” He nodded to the console. “This chrome handle in the middle controls the engines. These handles on either side are called sticks and work the rudders, left side and right side.”
“What’s that black button for?”
“Starts the engines. Screens are for the radar that shows other boats and for depth readings. If they start making squealing noises, something’s too close or too shallow or too something, and we have a problem.”
“Proble
ms? Oh, God!”
“You can talk to Him later. Since you got yourself on this tow you’ll have to pull your own weight and work like everyone else around here.”
“There isn’t anyone else around here.”
“That’s the point. Go down on the deck and see if you can calculate how much line we have coiled on the bow. We need it for pulling the barges off.”
“Down there?” She pointed outside and swallowed. “I’m watching for sandbars up here. Very important job, remember?”
“Do both. It’s just you and me, and stuff needs to be done.”
“What would you do if I wasn’t here?”
“Well, you are, so get busy.” He reached to the floor and retrieved an orange work vest. “Put this on so I can see you if you fall overboard. It has flotation so you won’t drown, least not right away.”
Did her eyes just bulge out of her head?
He took his hat off and slapped it on her head. “Keeps the sun out of your eyes. If you fall in the water, throw the hat back onboard; it’s my favorite.”
She folded her arms and looked defiant. “What if I don’t want to do any of this stuff?”
He let out a long sigh. “You’re right. It’s asking a lot of a woman. I’ll drop you off in Memphis. You can get your nails done and have a pedicure and get back on the plane to San Diego.”
She slammed the chart book against his chest.
“Ouch.” He grabbed it with his free hand.
She slid from the chair. “Look, Buster, I crawl over roofs and girders and through pipes and ductwork and over muddy fields and everyplace else architects go, and I never play the I’m-the-little-woman card. I can do this, too, even if you are behaving like a dictator.”
She jammed her arms into the vest. She didn’t know what pissed her off more, his attitude about her not being up to the challenge, the manicure crack—she could really use a manicure—or going back to San Diego without winding up in the sack with him. Though he was such a prick right now the sack part had lost some appeal, not all, of course, because he still looked damn good.
He handed her a walkie-talkie. “Green button is on.”
“Drop dead, O’Fallon.”
He gave her a smarmy smile. “Then who would steer the boat?”
“I’d figure it out. And I could use your corpse as fish bait and maybe catch something to eat. That looks like the only way I’m going to get fed around here. I’m starved.”
He snagged a bag from the console. “Food. Work first, eat later.”
She took the bag and stomped out of the wheelhouse and slammed the door closed behind her, rattling the windows.
“Zip up your jacket, Wilson,” barked the walkie-talkie in her hand, making her jump. As if she wasn’t jumpy enough. It was like that blasted baby monitor. She spun around and glared at Captain Bligh through the window. She considered mutiny but instead gave him the third-finger salute and turned for the stairs.
She stuffed the walkie-talkie in a mesh pocket on the vest, the food down the middle vee. She grabbed the railing and backed her way down, taking one step at a time, her stomach rolling with the sway of the tow. She felt sick, her head throbbed and she was dizzy. But she’d deal. If she didn’t, Ryan would needle her for the rest of her natural life. Well, screw Ryan O’Fallon and the horse he rode in on. She bit back a laugh. Isn’t that what had gotten her into this mess ... minus the horse.
She reached the deck and let her body feel the rhythm of the boat, getting her balance and losing some of the dizziness. This was all right. She could handle it. She put the bag by the stairs and shuffled her way to the coil of rope that was as thick as her arm. She considered the number of coils, the size of the reel, did some math and hit the green button.
“Yo, Bligh. You have about a hundred and ten or so feet of rope down here. Make a hell of a noose. Want me to show you? I could bring it up to the wheelhouse and demonstrate.”
“It’s called line,” the walkie-talkie garbled back. “Now do the same with the cable on the stern—that’s the back of the tug—and then if you’re not too afraid, sweep off all the decks so the deckhands don’t slip on loose gravel or whatever if they have to come aboard when we move the barges around. And then find all the work vests down there. The coast guard will want to check them out when they come aboard. And watch for leaks on the port and starboard side. The Miss is a really old tug. Think you can handle all that?”
Leaks! Her hair stood straight up on end, she was sure of it. What kind of boat was this? Not that she could do anything about it in the middle of the river. She’d gotten herself into this, and now she’d have to deal with it.
———
The sun sank toward the horizon as Ryan steered the tow, pushing the last barge into the twelve-barge tier that formed a cut of three across and four down. The Annabelle Lee was good to go. The crew quickly lashed the barge to the others, Effie watching, standing portside, hair flowing in a gentle breeze. She’d come a long way in eight hours. She’d gone from basic fear to fascination with the river and the work on it.
That had been his plan from the beginning, when he’d goaded her into doing a bunch of busy stuff that didn’t need to be done at all. Course, if she ever found out he’d manipulated her like that, she’d probably use that noose she mentioned earlier and hang him from the top deck.
He signed off to the Annabelle and brought the Miss hard to port. Effie waved to the deckhands, and they did the same. California girl meets Mississippi men. She turned away and crossed the deck. He heard the clatter of the steps, much faster than when she first went down those same steps. She opened the door and jumped inside. She gave him a salute, or was that the bird? “Okay, now what?”
“Now we go home.”
She held her hands out. “That’s it? We’re done?”
“Wasn’t that enough? It took us four hours to get those barges off and retied.”
“What if we go on down to New Orleans? I’ve never been to New Orleans. I hear it’s great.”
“We don’t have enough fuel on board, and the Miss isn’t really set up for that kind of run.” He gave her a sideways glance as he headed up river. “Why don’t you want to go back to the Landing? Haven’t we been out here working long enough to suit you?” He tapped the console. “A cable came loose on the depth sounder. I have to reconnect it. Can you just steer for a minute?”
“Me?”
He pointed out the front window to the green triangle on shore hanging from a pole. He put her hand on the brass stick that controlled the rudder. “Aim for that triangle there and just hold the tug steady in this direction. Don’t move the rudder or we’ll lose the channel and be trimming the bushes.”
“What bushes?”
“River talk for we’ll be too close to the shoreline and run aground, especially this time of year during the dry season. I’ve had my fill of sandbars and grounding for the day. Time to go home.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Uh, sure.”
There was a little glint in her eyes. What the hell was that? He didn’t care; he was too tired to care. Tedious work pushing barges around shallow water, men hopping on and off, making sure everyone was safe. “All I need is a minute here. I don’t want to run the river without the depth sounder working.”
He bent down and rooted around on the floor. “I got the cable; the plug’s worn. We need new wire. Actually we should get a new system. This one is outdated and—” Suddenly the tug slowed, slowed more, then came to a gravel-sliding stop, the tow listing slightly to starboard. “What the hell?”
He jumped up and cracked his head on the console as he tried to stand upright. He looked around, rubbing the sore spot. “We’re aground!”
He spun around, facing Effie. “What happened?” He pointed to the setting sun. “The green triangle’s over there. Why are we over here pointing east, heading in the opposite direction? Hope I can get us off.” He turned for the controls, but she blocked his way.
“I don’t want us to g
et off.” Her eyes were liquid green, her lips parted.
“Why the hell not? Are you out of your mind?”
Her eyebrows pinched together in determination, and she looked a little crazed. She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I got on this boat and I hate water. I swept it clean, got it ready for the coast guard, who never showed up, fixed life vests for deckhands who never came aboard, and I watched for leaks. I broke four nails, got blisters and took all kinds of grief from you because I was hell-bent on staying here.”
“Because of Thelma.”
“Thelma’s reason number two, and now I’m going to tell you reason number one.” She got closer still, the scent of fresh air and sun and the river mixing with her own special scent and driving him nuts.
“It was the kiss. I want more.”
“More?” He swallowed.
She took a step closer, her body touching his, her gym shoes touching his boat shoes. “I’ve wanted more for eighteen long, frustrating, maddening months, Ryan O’Fallon. Since the day I walked into your office and laid eyes on you.”
“Eighteen months?”
“I tried everything to not want more. Rivalry, smart-aleck cracks, taking bets on your love life. And then we kissed, you grabbed my ass and all my great plans fell apart.”
She brought her face to his, their noses nearly touching. “I’m not going to leave here and be frustrated for another eighteen months.”
“You want—”
“The cure.” Her lips touched his. “I want sex.”
Chapter 7
Conrad put down the living room phone as Arthur strolled in. “Well, how’s operation Gold Digger coming along?”
“Hell of a lot of work, I can tell you that.” Conrad nodded to the back of the house. “We better watch what we’re saying. I sure don’t need anyone knowing about our plan.”
“Not a problem. Denise isn’t here. I saw her leaving as I drove in.”
“Hell, I forgot I cut her back to half days. Told her I wanted to start taking care of the place myself.”
Til There Was U Page 7