Love for Sail

by Charles Dougherty

  She hadn't meant to tease him, but at the same time, she was happy that he found her attractive, even if he was too much of a gentleman to make a move. She didn't know how Paul felt about their agreement to keep their relationship platonic, but she was ready to move beyond that. What she had seen in his eyes and his overall reaction led her to believe that he had the same need, whether he'd realized it or not. She had to find a way to talk this over with him, if not immediately, then certainly before their guests arrived in two weeks. She didn't want to rush Paul; she might scare him away. On the other hand, she sensed that if she didn't take the risk, she might end up as a frustrated old-maid skipper with a good-looking, celibate cook.

  Remembering the bikini, she reached into the locker for her shorty wetsuit. Besides providing for modesty, it would keep the sun off her shoulders and back while they explored the reefs in the cove. She managed to contort herself enough to get into the suit in spite of some residual stiffness from yesterday's experience. She had just reached over her shoulder and zipped the wetsuit when Paul came up into the cockpit. She saw the relief on his face as he saw that she was covered.

  "Hey," she said. "It was thoughtless of me to rush you out here. Do you want something to eat first?"

  He smiled and shook his head. "I'm okay. I'll do us up a brunch after we swim."

  "You sure? I don't mind waiting."

  "I'm fine, really. You got a wetsuit that'll fit me, by any chance?"

  "Yes. I bought two of each size from medium through extra-large. What do you think?"

  "Probably an extra-large."

  She handed him the suit and watched from the corner of her eye as he peeled off his T-shirt. He was nicely muscled -- fit looking without the overdeveloped muscles of a gym-rat. She wondered about the long, ragged scar up the left side of his ribcage.

  Apparently her examination wasn't as subtle as she thought, because he volunteered, "Knife."

  Flustered, she felt the color rise in her cheeks. "Sorry to stare," she stammered.

  He smiled. "It was when I was a rookie patrolman. Domestic disturbance, both of 'em high as kites."

  "He cut you?"

  "She. It's the women who do unpredictable things. She'd called because he was beating her. He had a gun, and my partner got the drop on him -- made him drop the gun and stand facing the wall. When I put the cuffs on him, she cut me."

  "Wow! Then what?"

  "My partner shot her; it didn't do much damage, but I got the knife away from her." He pulled up the zipper on his wetsuit. "Want to take the dinghy over to the reef? Or swim from here?"

  "Let's swim," she said. "It'll help work the kinks out of my shoulders."

  ****

  Connie was entranced by the schools of tiny, colorful fish that flitted around the reef. They were ignored by a three-foot-long barracuda that hovered just off her shoulder. The barracuda darted out of sight just moments before she felt a tap on her leg. Frightened, thinking the barracuda was attacking her, she whirled to see Paul charging away in pursuit of a large hawksbill turtle.

  They had noticed the turtles surfacing while they were sitting in the cockpit, but this was their first encounter with one in the water. Her fear forgotten, she took off in Paul's wake. The turtle seemed oblivious to their presence, although it was swimming fast enough that they could barely keep up with it. As they approached the middle of the cove, the turtle plummeted to the bottom, where it began foraging on the grass. They watched the turtle until Connie reached out and squeezed Paul's hand. They both popped their heads out of the water.

  Taking her mouthpiece out, Connie said, "I'm kind of chilly. Think I've had enough for now."

  "Let's go back to the boat. I've worked up an appetite," Paul agreed.

  * * *

  Chapter 29

  After their swim and brunch, Connie and Paul had both confessed to being tired, so they slung hammocks in the shade of the cockpit awning and napped away the better part of the afternoon. When Paul woke up, he saw that Connie's hammock was empty. Rolling to his feet, he stepped to the companionway and found her below, studying a chart spread out on the chart table.

  "Going somewhere?" he asked.

  "Thinking about it. I've had a lot of fun being a tourist with you."

  "Me, too. What're you thinking?"

  "We've got two weeks before we have to be in Antigua. It's five miles to Great Bay on Jost van Dyke. Looks like we could get in there and anchor in the dark okay."

  "If we leave now, we'll make it before dark."

  "Well, I was remembering Sharktooth's comment about the sunset last night."

  "Yeah?"

  "I was thinking we could leave now and sail about halfway and heave to. We could have sundowners with a clear view of the horizon, and then sail on in."

  "You're the captain."

  "We need to learn to think of stuff like this. It's the kind of thing that we should do to surprise our guests."

  "Sounds good to me. There's mango salsa left from last night, and I can open a fresh bag of chips."

  An hour later, they were sitting in the cockpit, sipping rum punch; Diamantista was hove to about two miles northwest of Francis Bay. They enjoyed a comfortable silence as they munched on chips and watched the sun drop toward the horizon. Paul, thinking there would never be a better time, cleared his throat. "Connie?"

  "Mm-hmm?"

  "I've been struggling with this for a while. We need to have a serious talk about where we're going with our relationship."

  "You're right, we do. But there's something that I have to do first. Indulge me, okay?"

  Paul nodded grudgingly, his frustration clear in the frown on his brow. Connie rose slightly and shifted to her left, settling herself squarely in his lap. Before he could react, she put her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and kissed him. His response was immediate, and more ardent than she could have imagined. Within seconds, both were lost, oblivious to the sunset, the green flash, and everything except each other. Connie did notice at some point that there were fragments of chips in Paul's hair, and he was vaguely aware that one of her nipples tasted like mango salsa.

  "We'd better get dressed before we have that talk," Connie said later, after her pulse had settled into a normal rhythm. "Even though it's getting dark, there are other boats around, and we aren't showing any lights."

  Paul stepped below and turned on the running lights. When he returned to the cockpit, Connie handed him his clothes.

  "Now," she asked, "what about this talk?"

  "Um, I think maybe we just had it."

  "Man of few words. I like that about you."

  "Mm," he said. "You okay with this?"

  "Well, no. I mean yes, but some things need to change."

  "Uh-oh. Like what?"

  "We need to move my stuff into the forward cabin."

  "But my stuff's already in there."

  "Right. No point in us settling into the aft cabin. Those widows are going to be here before we're ready."

  She snuggled up to him, and he put his arm around her shoulders.

  "That feels right," she said.

  "It does, but I guess we'd better get under way."

  "In a hurry to get to the anchorage?" she teased.

  "Yes."

  "Are you worn out, old man?"

  "No."

  "Good. Let's hurry up and get there," she said, with a throaty chuckle.

  "You take the helm; I'll get the headsails," Paul said, his blood racing from that laugh of hers.

  "It's easiest if we jibe. Ease the main and we'll let the bow fall off. Once we get some way on, I'll swing the stern through the wind and you can sheet it in."

  "Aye-aye. You're the boss."

  "Remember that later, okay?"

  "Uh-oh," Paul said a moment later. "The staysail sheet's fouled on something. I'll go free it."

  "All right. Careful, please."

  Paul went forward, and a few seconds later, the sail was drawing. He came back to the cockpit as Conni
e was trimming the sails.

  "What've you got?" she asked.

  "A duffle bag. The sheet was fouled on the life raft canister; it ripped the top open when it came free. This was inside." He unzipped the bag and they peered into it in the rapidly waning light.

  "So that's where they hid it. Nobody looked; the canister was sealed."

  "It was just sealed with some kind of tape. I'll bet he brought some with him to replace what he tore off."

  "He threw away my brand new life raft."

  "We'll get another one. There's bound to be a dealer in St. Thomas."

  Paul settled in beside her behind the helm and she reached over and took his hand. She looked over at him. "How about you?"

  "What about me?"

  "You asked if I was okay with this. I most definitely am, but I want it all to be right. If you're not ready, I'll wait."

  "I'm so ready. That's exactly what I wanted to say to you."

  "You said it. I just wanted to hear it vocalized as well as acted out."

  They sailed for several minutes, enjoying the sounds of the boat as she sliced through the nearly calm sea, driven by the steady evening breeze.

  "Connie?"

  What?"

  "What about the money?"

  "You found it; I guess it's yours."

  "Then I'd like to put it into Diamantista; buy a share in the business."

  "I've got a different idea, if you're serious."

  "I'm serious."

  "We'll sell Diamantista and go in together on another boat. There's a Herreshoff 59 for sale in Maine. I almost bought it."

  "Like Vengeance?"

  "Right."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "It's only got two double staterooms."

  "So?"

  "I needed more sleeping accommodations."

  "Then why ..."

  "I wasn't sleeping with my crew when I bought Diamantista."

  "Would we call her Diamantista II?"

  "No. I've got some bad associations now with Diamantista. I've got another name in mind, if it's all right with you, partner."

  "What's that?"

  She pointed at the red glow on the western horizon and prompted, "Red sky at night …"

  "Sailor's Delight? Done," Paul said.

  Read an excerpt from Sailor's Delight – A Connie Barrera Thriller (Book 2)

  * * *

  Chapter 1

  Connie had a smile on her face as she pushed the cart down the dock to Diamantista. Before she lifted the first bundle of laundry from the cart, she glanced at her wristwatch. She had hours before Paul's flight arrived — plenty of time to stow the laundry and make up the berths for their guests who would arrive tomorrow. She set both bundles in the cockpit and opened them, separating the sheets and towels from the clothing. She put her things in one pile and Paul's in another, feeling quite wife-like as she took their clothes below and started putting them away in the stateroom that she and Paul shared. She was excited that he'd be back tonight; this was the first time they had been apart since they became a couple, and the three days since he left had seemed to drag on forever. As she stowed a stack of Paul's folded boxer shorts, she felt a small wad of cloth in the back of his top drawer. Curious, she extracted it and shook it out to see what it was. Her heart sank as she recognized the orange thong bathing suit bottom that was the principal garment Karen Gilbert had worn during their last charter.

  Besides the crushing pain in her chest, she felt a flush of anger as she recalled her sappy conversation with the woman in the marina office a few minutes ago.

  "Where’s Paul? He not been aroun’ for a while. You send him Packin’?" The receptionist had teased Connie as she had entered the office.

  Connie had laughed. "He’ll be back tonight, Helen. He's been in Miami for the last few days. He had to take care of a bunch of stuff; his condo sold last week."

  "Wow! Look like you really got him for good, huh?" Helen had smiled. "Guess there’s no hope for the res’ of us, now."

  "Well, we’re committed at this point. Once I sell Diamantista, we’ll make it official."

  "How come you wait for that?" The woman had frowned, puzzled. "Better you hook him solid befo' somebody else decide to." She grinned, pretending to primp for an imaginary man.

  "He’s hooked solid. Don’t you worry. We’re buying another boat together; we'll have the wedding aboard, once we take delivery."

  "I see. When you gon’ get the new boat?" Helen had hefted the two big bundles of freshly laundered linens onto the counter.

  "We’ve already bought her; we’re having a refit done up in Maine. It’ll be a few months, yet."

  "You gon’ name her Diamantista II?"

  "Sailor’s Delight," Connie said. "From when we made the decision."

  "You mean like, ‘red sky at night, sailor’s delight’ — that ol’ sayin’?"

  "Right. Or maybe Red Sky. I like that one better, but Paul likes Sailor's Delight. We were sitting in the cockpit watching a gorgeous sunset when we decided to go for it."

  "Tha's a nice story, Connie. You are two lucky people; I'm happy fo' you."

  "Thanks, Helen. Guess I'd better go get this stuff put away. Our next guests arrive tomorrow."

  "Don' work too hard, Connie. I jus' put this washin' on the bill, all right?"

  "Sure. That'll be great. Thanks, Helen." Connie had shifted the bundled laundry from the counter to the dock cart and walked out of the office with a spring in her step.

  That was then. This thong was now. Blinking back tears, she crushed the thong into a ball and shoved it into the back of the drawer where she'd found it. She was in a daze as she put the rest of the laundry away, remembering every minute of the charter with Karen and the other young widow, searching for some explanation. Finished with her chore, she collapsed on the bed and gave in to the urge to cry — something she hadn't done since childhood.

  ****

  Paul Russo was savoring a colada with his old friend, Mario Espinosa, in Mario's favorite Cuban restaurant on Calle Ocho in Miami's Little Havana. He sipped at the thimble-sized cup of thick, sweet Cuban coffee, thinking it was the perfect finish for their late lunch of roast pork with black beans and rice.

  "So, you're really giving up the bachelor life?" Mario asked.

  Paul grinned. "It's not a tough choice, Mario."

  "Well, I've been married all my life, but I had you figured for a confirmed bachelor. That Connie must be some gal."

  "I've never been struck by lightning before, but it's gotta be something like what happened to me the first time I kissed her. Damnedest experience I've ever had — blinding flash of light, ears ringing ... "

  Mario chuckled, shaking his head. "The two of you gonna keep running charters? You said you were getting another boat."

  "Yeah. We've bought one together; it'll be a few months yet before it's ready. Connie wants to make a go of the business; it's a challenge for her."

  "Sounds like a good life," Mario said.

  "I don't know. Based on the first charter, I'm not so sure."

  "Bad experience?"

  "That's putting it mildly. These two widows booked us for a month. We had visions of little old blue-haired ladies, but they were both in their twenties. Knockouts, too," Paul mused, shaking his head and scratching behind his right ear with his index finger.

  "That doesn't sound bad — you had a month in the sun with three beautiful young girls. Tough job, amigo."

  "One beautiful young girl, Mario. Those widows were like poison. Well ... I guess the one was okay ... or would have been, by herself. The other one, though ... she treated Connie like dirt. And she kept trying to grope me, every time she thought she could get away with it."

  "Sounds like a young man's fantasy, Paul. You gettin' old?"

  "It was disgusting, Mario. She was looped on rum most of the time. Besides, I'm a one-woman man. I never went for the loose, trashy type."

  "I know that. Just teasing you, 'migo. I hope Connie knows what
a lucky woman she is."

  "I don't know about that, but I'm one lucky guy. Not sure about the charter thing, though."

  "You got any more guests lined up?"

  "Yeah. There's a couple with a teenaged daughter joining us tomorrow."

  "A family, huh? That ought to be better," Mario said.

  "I sure hope so. Speaking of that, I'd better get to the airport."

  "Glad we got to have lunch. Too bad the rest of the guys couldn't make it; they all send their best."

  "Thanks, Mario. It's good to see you; tell the others I'm counting on them to come to the wedding."

  "We wouldn't miss it. Everybody wants to meet the bride."

  ****

  Connie stood in the waiting area outside Customs and Immigration at Maurice Bishop International Airport in Grenada. It was early evening, and the air was refreshingly cool, but she didn't notice. She was determined to suppress her instinct to confront Paul. There was only this evening; their guests would arrive early tomorrow. She didn't want to start something that they couldn't finish. An ongoing quarrel between the two of them was certain to spoil the carefree atmosphere that people had a right to expect when they were on holiday.

  She had a lifetime of experience at hiding her emotions, but she couldn't recall ever feeling this distraught. She'd never risked letting herself fall so selflessly in love with a man before Paul came along. Until the last couple of years, she'd been focused on achieving and maintaining financial stability. Falling in love had been a luxury that she could never afford, so this kind of heartbreak was a new experience for her.

  She still couldn't believe that Paul would have dallied with that vixen; it seemed out of character for the man she had trusted so implicitly. But, she reminded herself, she really hadn't known Paul for very long. While their romance hadn't been love at first sight, it still fell into the whirlwind category. Both of them had plunged headlong into this relationship while protesting that neither wanted to rush things. Reflecting on the joy of their first unguarded encounter, she momentarily forgot the pain and anger that she had felt earlier this afternoon. She felt a smile forming on her still tear-swollen face, and then a wave of grief washed over her as she remembered the thong. How could he have done that to her? How could he have fallen for such an obvious piece of trash as Karen Gilbert?