The Pirate's Legacy

by Sarita Leone

  “Smart move, but I don’t have time to wait.” She angled her head beneath the cool water, scrubbing her scalp to rid the tangles of as much Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific as possible. The water grew cold too fast for her liking, so she turned the faucet off and grabbed the towel hanging over the chrome shower curtain rod.

  The pipes clanged in protest. Two rapid bumps, then a bigger bang.

  “That doesn’t sound good.” Reva moved aside a small step and leaned further over the sink when Chloe stepped out of the shower. The fluorescent light fixture shone down on her, so she lifted her face to it and plucked her eyebrows with a tiny pair of tweezers.

  “It’s not good.” She patted herself dry, taking care not to be too rough with her side. The road rash was already healing, so she had discontinued keeping it bandaged. The air, she thought, would do it some good. And her fingers were better, too. The blisters had subsided, and it wasn’t horrible to pick things up anymore. “I don’t know what the banging noises are, just that they can’t be any good for the system. Neil says it’s probably air in the lines, and he could come over and maybe do something about it, but I passed.”

  “What? Why not take the help?” She scrunched her nose up and targeted a hair between her brows.

  “What’s up with that tweezer? It’s so little—how can you even grab anything with that thing?”

  Reva looked from her reflection to the instrument in her hand. “I know, it’s not good for much of anything. I had a better pair, but I lost them last week at the pier. I went down with a book to read and got a splinter in my foot. So I pulled it out with the tweezer I had in my backpack—and promptly dropped the stupid thing. The tweezer, not the splinter. It slipped between the dock boards on the pier—right into the water.”

  “Ugh, that stinks.” She opened her cosmetic bag and took out her own tweezer. “Here. Use mine—just not on the dock.”

  Reva heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks. These are my back-up pair, but I see now they’re pretty useless.”

  She tossed them into the wicker wastebasket. “Am I in your way?”

  “Nope. Just going to dry off, comb out this mess, and slap some mascara on.”

  Ted had his own bathroom on the first floor, so the others were used to sharing the facilities. It was almost like being in the college dorm again. Everyone shared pretty much everything, but no one abused the share-and-share-alike atmosphere. When the Tampax was getting empty, whoever was using them picked up another of the all-important blue boxes. Same thing for shampoo, cream rinse, and even everyone’s favorite, “touchably soft” Rave hairspray. They had two blow dryers, a basket filled with curling irons, and Gabby’s hair diffuser. The round thing fit on the nozzle of an ordinary hair dryer, and almost magically created a headful of waves—or in Gabby’s case, lush curls.

  Chloe’s hair fell naturally into the Farrah-inspired cut she’d been wearing recently. As long as she brushed the wings into place and didn’t do anything that required a lot of hair flipping while it dried, she was ready to go. And the occasional embroidery scissor trim kept her tidy. Now, she parted her hair in the middle, standing behind Reva and using the same mirror. She combed the layers into place, smoothing a bit of Dippity-Do along the roots to give it some lift and called it good.

  “I wish mine would do that.” Reva met her gaze in the mirror. “So pretty, the way it curls around your face. And the color—honey with streaks of gold—I don’t think you realize how stunning you are.”

  Chloe had always figured she was on the ordinary side. Average, not unfortunate looking but not drop-dead gorgeous, either. She’d had her share of male attention, but she’d never really considered herself anything spectacular. Certainly not stunning.

  “You’re sweet, but I don’t agree.” She gave herself a critical assessment. Hair was good, Reva was right about that. Eyes, a pretty shade of hazel. She would have preferred brown, or blue, but hazel worked. One was redder than the other right now, courtesy of the bad water heater and flowery shampoo. She shrugged. “I see someone who could fade into a crowd. I’m nothing special. But you, our dear brain child, are another matter entirely. What I wouldn’t give for that gorgeous, straight, black-as-night hair.”

  Reva’s Asian ancestry gifted her with flawless alabaster skin, wide brown eyes, and hair that fell to her waist in a gleaming black drape. She was petite, exotic, and definitely more stunning than anyone else in the house.

  “No, not wise. If I tried to do the Farrah Fawcett look with this unending black mess? Oh, it would be a droop-in-my-face disaster. No curl. No wave. Just straight—and no color. Black is not a color, you realize that, don’t you?” Reva pulled a face at herself in the mirror. Then, she smiled. “Never going to be one of Charlie’s Angels this way, am I?”

  “That makes two of us. And who wants to be an angel, anyway? I’d rather be a little devil any day of the week.”

  Gabby showed up just then, pushing open the door that had been only half closed. She looked from one to the other. “What’s so funny?”

  Reva waved the tweezer in the air. “Just deciding it’s more fun to be devilish than angelic. I bet the good doctor will think that’s groovy tonight, having Ms. Wild Thing on his hands instead of Miss Prim and Proper.”

  “Stop. I haven’t been a wild thing in a long time.” She twisted the cap off her Maybelline mascara and began to work on her lashes. “And I’m not going to be wild tonight, either…I don’t think…”

  “Ha! I love it—you’re considering playing doctor with the doctor.” Gabby crossed the small space, reached onto the wicker shelf above the toilet, and retrieved her cosmetic bag. It was considerably larger than Chloe’s bag. “Well, sit over there. That’s right, put the lid down and park yourself on the throne. We’re not going to let you get out of here with just a bit of mascara and a spritz of Charlie, are we, Reva?”

  Accepting she had no option, Chloe did as she was told, even surrendering her mascara into Reva’s outstretched hand. The two women peered intently at her face, and for a long, silent minute she knew how an insect under a microscope must feel.

  “Eyes?” Reva asked.

  “Smoky, don’t you think?” Gabby pulled out an assortment of eye shadows. An eyeliner brush and cake of liner followed. She put the items on the toilet tank. Zipped her bag closed, put it back on the shelf, and brushed a finger along Chloe’s brows. “Good, they’re fine the way they are. Nice arch, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Don’t make me look too funky, okay? I don’t want to scare the guy.”

  “Relax. We’re going to bring out the sexy in you, in such a big way the doc is going to need CPR.”

  Reva nodded her agreement. “That’s right. CPR—and you’re going to give it to him. Oh! Lips?”

  “Close your eyes.” Gabby began to apply shadow, using soft, feathery strokes. She relaxed under the competent touch. She hadn’t wanted to seem overly eager to impress her date, but he had already seen her in a hospital gown so making a decent impression wouldn’t hurt.

  “I’m thinking red.” She heard the sound of a cap sliding off a tube. “What do you think? This is my favorite—I keep it for special occasions.”

  “Hot damn, that’s fabulous! What’s it called? I want one of those.” Gabby began to work on the second eye.

  “‘Moonlight Madness’—but it’s discontinued. A Revlon shade that was replaced by something more sedate, I think.”

  “Probably because it set the shelves on fire.”

  When she tried to open her eyes to see the fiery lipstick, Gabby said, “Keep ’em closed, sister. We’ve got you on this one. And you’re going to be so hot by the time we’re done, Doctor Hunk is going to need more than CPR. He’s going to need a fire extinguisher—for his pants. You’re going to set that man aflame with desire tonight—and we’re going to want a full report in the morning.”

  “That’s right.” Reva giggled. “A full report—and don’t leave out the juicy bits, either. We’ve got them coming, don’t we, Ga
bby?”

  “We do.”

  “That’s right, we do. After all, it’s not every day I share my Moonlight Madness!”

  Chapter 9

  She had to hand it to him. The doctor was slick. He’d pulled up to the house in a vintage red Mustang. On time. Wearing gray slacks, black loafers, and a brightly-patterned shirt that looked both silky and expensive. He carried a huge cluster of white-and-pink peonies that smelled like heaven—and handed them to her when she opened the door. A quick peck on the cheek was enough to let her know that he not only looked hot, but smelled delicious.

  When he’d suggested they head to the Mingo Grill, halfway between Lobster Cove and Bar Harbor, she’d agreed. Chloe had wanted to see the inside of the place for a long time. It was, as were so many other things, more than her wallet could afford.

  The way a man handles a car is a good indication of how he loves a woman. She’d been watching him drive, taking the curves in the coast-hugging road with confidence and control. Most of the time he just used his left hand, resting the right either on his thigh or the shift stick.

  “Did you really grow those flowers?” The first lull in conversation; it gave her too much time to consider how the man “drove” in bed, so she said the first decent thing that popped into her head.

  A low chuckle. “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. A little bit. I mean, it’s not every day you meet a guy who knows his way around a garden.”

  There was a small vegetable patch at the house, in the only corner the huge oak didn’t shadow. It produced enough tomatoes, lettuce, and cucumbers for salads in the summer. And, an occasional watermelon. But she’d always been the one to tend it. Uncle Ted kept far from it; his only comment had been that he’d help with it when she grew something he could smoke. So far, that hadn’t happened.

  “Ah, so it’s the old flower power stereotype, is it? You think I’m a girly man for stopping to smell the roses?”

  Teasing felt natural, so she gave it right back.

  “I should’ve known.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Should’ve known what?”

  “That you have a thing for roses, too.” A long, dramatic sigh. “That’s it. I’m out. Now that I know there’re roses to be competed against, I’m pitching the white towel in.”

  Kyle slowed. Ahead, traffic had come to a near-crawl.

  “Ah, so that’s the way you work, is it? A non-competition clause?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He glanced over and his smile made her mouth water; she was so hungry to feel his lips on hers. A current buzzed in the air between them, similar to the jolt she’d gotten from the house wiring but without the blistering and pain.

  “Explain, please.” He took his hand off the wheel and waved it toward the line of cars ahead of them. “Doesn’t look like we’re going anywhere fast.”

  “It’s just that a woman wonders when—and if—a guy will make that big show—flower-wise. Roses? They’re the big guns of flowers. Everyone knows that.”

  He had been staring at the cars in front of them. They’d reached another bend in the road, so seeing past the four cars directly ahead wasn’t an option. There was no telling how long the line stretched, or why they were idling.

  “Yeah, we guys get that. Roses mean something, and the colors make the meaning even more intense. So what does that have to do with my having flowers in my garden? Or being a joker who cuts his own flowers to take to a pretty woman on their first of what he hopes to be many dates?”

  Hopes to be many. Wow, the guy didn’t let any grass grow under his feet.

  “Not a joker. You misunderstand entirely.” She grinned when he turned and met her gaze.

  “Make me understand, please. I’m not sure I would’ve confessed to the peonies being homegrown if I knew it would’ve unsettled you. The last thing I want to do is…” His gaze dropped and lingered on her lips, before he met her eyes again. “Unsettle you, Chloe.”

  “It’s not that big a deal. I was teasing you, is all.” Her hands had been folded on her lap, but she lifted the left one and held it palm up. Kyle caught it. Gently pulled it down until it rested on the shift beneath his. He did not crush her healing fingertips, but his touch warmed her and sent a fresh wave of tingles along her nerve endings.

  “And I’m teasing you right back.” He gave her hand a tiny squeeze. “But I’m still curious about the flower thing. Help a guy out. That way I don’t step in something and embarrass myself.”

  She doubted he knew how to embarrass himself. The other men she’d dated, and there had been a good number of them, were amateurs by comparison. Granted, the evening had just barely begun, but if it continued in this vein, it was sure to be one of those once-in-a-lifetime, unforgettable nights.

  “It’s just that we wonder if a guy will bring roses. Make the big decision to go buy them, choose a color, show up at the door. It’s not an everyday bouquet of carnations or daisies. Are you with me so far?”

  He nodded, a small smile playing around the corners of his oh, so-tempting lips. She ignored the urge to kiss him and went on.

  “So if a man has a flower garden at his disposal, he can conceivably bring roses any time. No thought. No intention. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zero. Zilch. He might just want to impress, maybe make it the home-run night, if you get my drift.”

  He raised an eyebrow, sending it hiding beneath the wave that fell onto his forehead.

  “I get your drift, all right.”

  “So, you see…a guy with flowers in his back pocket, so to speak? Awful hard to figure out. Get it?”

  He looked through the windshield, so she checked as well. The cars ahead had not budged. The guy in front of them had shut his engine off.

  He turned toward her with a puzzled expression in his eyes.

  “This traffic…anyhow, I do get it. But in my defense, I chose peonies because they are one of my favorite flowers. They smell like what I imagine heaven must smell like, and they remind me of you…all ruffled, wavy, sexy layers that make a man want to lean in close and inhale their beauty.”

  He paused, gave her hand another tender squeeze. Chloe was at an absolute loss for words, so she kept her mouth shut. Better, sometimes, to keep a lid on it rather than make a fool of oneself, which was surely what she’d do now, given that no man had ever spoken to her so sweetly before. Never.

  “I bought the house with its gardens already there. All I have to do is keep them up, and I admit I have a bit of help with that. But I promise, I won’t bring roses—any color roses—until we’re at the rose-bearing stage.” He shook his head. “And I’m not the kind of guy who plies a woman with flowers to score a ‘home run’—damn, are there really men who do things like that? If I become intimate with a woman, it’s because we both want to share something special, not because I’ve won her over with roses. Or anything else, for that matter.”

  He was sexy before the flower speech. Now, he sent her hormones into overdrive. And, he tugged her heartstrings.

  A shout came through the rolled-down windows. They looked up as a man rounded the curve, running on the yellow center line. He called to every car he passed.

  “A doctor! Anyone a doctor? Please—we need a doctor!”

  Kyle opened his door and stepped out. “I’m a doctor.”

  The man grabbed his arm. “Please—you gotta come. There’s a kid—he’s hurt real bad!”

  Without looking back, her date sprinted down the street.

  Chloe followed, not even considering they’d left the keys in the Mustang, her handbag on the passenger side floorboards, and the doors wide open.

  Chapter 10

  A cluster partially obscured the figure on the pavement in the right lane. A blue Ford pick-up truck pointed nose-down into the ditch at the side of the road. Beyond it, a guard wire separating macadam from rocky shoreline.

  “Outta the way—we’ve got a doctor here!”

  The shouts of the guy who’d found them got people’s attention, a
nd the crowd opened up. Kyle went right through the bodies as if they weren’t there, and when he reached the victim, he fell to his knees.

  Chloe kept tight on his heels, but when she saw the child lying on the street, she froze. Her hand, the one still warm from Kyle’s touch, rose to cover her mouth.

  The boy couldn’t be more than eleven. Twelve, tops. He wore a striped t-shirt, jeans and black Converse sneakers. A baseball cap lay in the gravel. Further on, a green bicycle, its front tire mangled.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d think he slept. With one leg twisted at a horrible angle beneath him, the boy was completely motionless. Two women knelt beside him. One had tears streaming down her cheeks. A man stood near the kid’s bike, his face buried in his hands. The sound of his anguish made gooseflesh appear on Chloe’s arms.

  Kyle took the boy’s wrist in his hand. Then, he put his fingers on the slender neck. Covering the center of the t-shirt with one hand, he looked at the woman nearest him.

  “Has he moved at all?”

  She shook her head. “No. And, I don’t think he’s breathing. I can’t-it isn’t-there’s no—”

  The crying man wailed louder. “I didn’t see him! Oh, God—I didn’t mean to hit the kid. He slid—shit, he slid on the damn gravel—one minute he was on the side—then, oh God—”

  Kyle looked around. When he spotted her, he motioned her forward with a nod. He was already reaching into his pants pocket when she knelt beside him.

  “I need a lighter. And a pen. A Bic, one of the ones with the hard plastic on the outside.”

  He pulled out a pocketknife and flipped it open. His gaze held hers, forcing her to forget the child beside them. “Fast, Chloe. His life depends on it.”

  She stood, and turned to the crowd.

  “A pen. Anyone, a pen? And I need a lighter. Who smokes?”

  He spoke loudly. “Someone find a phone. Call 911.”