Troubled Waters

by Susan May Warren

  It thrashed on the deck, not at all subdued by the gaffs, ripping free of Hayes’s and sending Kelley into the side rail. Kelley backpedaled, hooked his foot around Dex’s leg, and ripped him off-balance.

  Dex, one arm still around Sierra, crashed onto the deck.

  Sierra fell on top of him.

  The tuna stilled, finally spent.

  And Sierra couldn’t help it. She laughed. Something full and high and freeing, so freeing. She pushed herself off Dex, sat in the brine of the sea now flooding the deck, and looked at the tuna.

  Tiny yellow spikes lined its tail on both sides, its body slick and silver. It was still breathing, barely.

  “I caught that,” she said as she looked at Kelley, then Hayes and Dex. “I caught that.”

  Dex had sat up, grinned. “Yes, yes you did.”

  Only then did she see Ian standing just a few feet away. He wore a sleeveless tank and a pair of sport shorts, his feet in flip-flops. And, on his head, a baseball cap.

  Still, it wasn’t enough to shade his eyes. Or the look of—well, she couldn’t place it. Not anger, really, but definitely shock. And maybe concern? Or . . .

  No. Because his mouth was clamped shut and he wasn’t exactly looking at her but at Dex. And something flashed through his eyes she’d never seen before.

  Envy.

  Her mouth dried. No, that couldn’t be right.

  “Look what I caught,” she said.

  Ian looked at her then, for the first time, really, and his mouth made a sort of tight smile. “Yep,” he said as he nodded. “Look what you caught.”

  Then he flashed one more cryptic look at Dex and walked away.

  “You did what, bro?”

  Pete nearly didn’t hear Gage over his own grunting as he lifted the bench press bar up, his arms burning, his muscles shaking. Thankfully, Sam reached out and helped him maneuver it back onto the rack.

  He needed a tough, bracing workout to escape the memory of Jess’s response to his proposal. “I proposed,” he said as he sat up and grabbed a towel. He ran it over his face, pushing back his long hair. He really needed a haircut.

  Maybe he’d add a shave and a stiff slap of reality. “It just happened. I went over to her house to see if she was okay after our rappel and . . . I don’t know, it just slipped out.”

  His shirt was sopping, so he pulled it off and threw it over a nearby rack. The Mercy Falls gym marinated a number of different odors this afternoon, from sweat to muscle rub to deodorant and steam from the nearby shower. Not his favorite thing to do on a Saturday, but he’d needed something to work off the haze of frustration.

  “Wait. ‘Will you marry me’ just slipped out?” Sam had stepped around to take Pete’s place on the bench. “How does that happen? I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask Willow to marry me for three months.”

  Pete took his place at the head of the bench to spot for his brother. “I was just trying to tell her how I felt.”

  “And ‘I love you’ wouldn’t have worked?” Sam reached for the bar.

  Gage bent over the glute-and-ham raise machine, his hands behind his head, doing a monster number of reps. “Exactly. But more importantly—what did she say?”

  Pete reached out and steadied the bar as Sam brought it up.

  Silence, and even Ty shut off the treadmill.

  “She didn’t say no.”

  Sam eyeballed him.

  “Fine. She asked if she’d been in a coma, had missed the dating part.”

  And even he had to grin when Gage collapsed laughing. “Dude—what did you expect her to say?”

  “She kissed me.”

  And that shut the laughing down. “Really? Jess kissed you?”

  Inhaled him, really, and had it not been for the fact that he was trying to be a different man . . .

  No. He was a different man now. Ever since . . .

  Well, ever since meeting Jess. But especially since he climbed out of the hole in the ground and decided not to waste one more minute being the old Pete, the one who left broken hearts in his wake.

  “I just want to do it right, you know? And . . . after what happened this summer in Dawson . . .”

  Ty, who had taken a drink from his water bottle, came over and leaned against the weight rack. “This summer?”

  Sam pushed up the bar and racked it. Sat up. Ran a towel over his dripping forehead and looked at Pete, waiting.

  “Fine. Okay. I nearly got killed in a cave-in after the Dawson city fire.”

  He knew that would elicit some response from Sam, who frowned.

  “It was a freak accident—nothing I did, but . . . when they dug me out, I realized the first person I wanted to see—sorry, bro—was Jess. And that sort of hit me upside the head, you know?”

  Gage nodded, probably thinking of his own come-to-Jesus moment when he realized he didn’t want to lose the one woman who believed in him, former congresswoman Ella Blair.

  “So you came home,” Ty said. “And proposed.”

  Gage climbed out of his machine. “What if Jess had been dating someone else? How did you know that she even still has feelings for you?”

  “Oh, she has feelings for me, all right. And sorry, but I’m not going to sit around anymore, waiting to be with Jess. If she’s not married, she’s fair game.”

  Sam got up and rolled his eyes. “Just because a girl kisses you doesn’t mean she loves you, Pete. Sheesh, of anyone, you should know that.”

  “Not Jess. She’s . . . different. She . . .”

  “Has reasons to be guarded,” Ty said quietly, meeting Pete’s gaze.

  Pete nodded.

  “So, what did you say in this eloquent romantic proposal?” Sam sat down at the sit-up bench.

  Pete walked over to an elliptical. “That she was the only one for me. That she was my future. I don’t know. Stuff.”

  “No pressure, then. Nothing epic or over the top,” Sam said between grunts.

  “This from the guy who can’t figure out what to say.”

  “Because you only get married once, hopefully, and you want to do it right,” Gage said. “If you don’t know what she’s going to say before you pop the question, you probably haven’t dated long enough. You don’t want to embarrass her.”

  Ty sat down on the bench press, and Gage took over as the spotter. “You need to consider what she wants and what she needs,” Gage said. “Love isn’t about how she makes you feel. It’s about giving of yourself to her. And doing what’s best for her. Did you think about that at all? Because it sort of feels like this whole proposal thing is all about you.”

  Pete expected that from Sam, maybe, but not Gage, the guy most likely to be mistaken for a surfer beach bum. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.”

  “Did she tell you that she loved you?” Ty said, ignoring Pete’s sarcasm.

  Ty’s question was a sucker punch that left him standing there unmoving.

  He didn’t know how he’d recovered from Jess’s less-than-enthusiastic response.

  “I told her that I wanted to . . .” Pete couldn’t say the word woo, so . . . “That I would wait. And propose right the next time.”

  Gage gave him an approving nod. “Good. Jess deserves that.”

  She did. And on further thought, maybe Pete had made it about himself.

  “I do love Jess. And not only am I going to prove that to her but yes, I’m going to do what’s right by her,” he said, glancing at Sam.

  Sam looked over at him, a small smile on his face, and winked.

  Pete didn’t exactly know why, but warmth rushed over him. Because of it, he couldn’t help but add, “I’ll help you write a proposal if you need some help there, bro.”

  Sam scooped up a towel and threw it at him.

  Pete grabbed the handles of the elliptical and increased his speed.

  He shot a glance at the news on the television screens attached to the walls of the gym. They were just finishing up sports, something about the Seahawks.

  “Any news from
Ian and Sierra and their trip?” Ty said as he maneuvered the bar back onto the rack, breathing hard.

  “That’s a tough callout, hanging out on a yacht for the weekend,” Gage said.

  “Be nice. Sierra has a lot riding on this. We all have other jobs—PEAK is her only gig.”

  Sam’s reprimand shut them down. True, because Gage was in training to take the winter off to rejoin the world of free-riding. Ty helped run his father’s ranch. And Pete had his job as an incident commander with the Red Cross.

  For now, at least. Because he was currently on leave and giving serious consideration to rejoining PEAK.

  After all, if Jess eventually said yes . . . and she would say yes . . .

  “Oh no.”

  Ty’s exclamation made Pete look at him. But Ty’s gaze was on the television. “Turn up the volume!” he said. He sprang for the television.

  They caught the tail end of the report, the words scrolling in a two-second delay.

  “Damien Taggert, author of the most devastating Ponzi scheme in history, suffered a heart attack today in federal prison. He’s undergoing triple bypass surgery at Duke Regional hospital later tonight.”

  Pete stepped off the elliptical and looked at Ty, who caught his gaze.

  Gage was frowning at them both.

  “Is that . . . ?” Pete started.

  Ty nodded.

  “I’ll go,” Pete said and headed for the locker room.

  8

  A MAN IN PARADISE should not be this miserable.

  Ian stood at the railing of the sun deck, watching through his sunglasses as Dex and Sierra along with Hayes and Vanessa pushed off from the back deck into the sun-kissed water, dressed in snorkeling gear.

  The Montana Rose was anchored off the very long and shallow coast of a tiny two-mile island near Mexico under a sky so blue it looked like a postcard. Now and again, fluffy thick clouds floated by, cottony and soft, shadowing the crystalline water. He’d never seen water so clear. Through the turquoise depths, he made out the coral shoals along the rippled sand.

  He didn’t have to go snorkeling to see the array of clown fish, the blue and yellow angelfish, the occasional eel. And just this morning, as he drank his coffee, he’d watched a sea turtle meander around the yacht.

  He should be relaxing. Breathing in the warm, salty air, getting a tan.

  Instead, he seemed hyperaware of everything Dex said to Sierra, and her sweet, intoxicating laughter at his jokes. The way, last night, Dex had pulled out her chair for her at dinner, inviting her into the group—something Ian had done with no success.

  But it gave him opportunity to watch her as she listened to Dex’s retelling of their mighty tuna catch—tuna they’d had for dinner in the form of fresh sushi and steaks. A sweet smile played on her expressive lips, and her nose was kissed red by the sun, her face tanned. She wore her hair back in a stubby ponytail, most of it falling out and tucked behind her ears, and a white sundress that only accentuated the tan on her shoulders.

  He could hardly believe it when he walked up onto the sun deck yesterday afternoon and spotted her on a lounger in a bikini top.

  The woman had curves, and of course he knew that, but most of the time she wore a PEAK T-shirt, baggy cargo pants, and a sweatshirt. Last time he’d seen her in anything that accentuated her figure was the dress he’d purchased for her over a year ago when they attended the bachelor auction in New York City. But he remembered that well, the way the dress slid over her, silky smooth. And now . . .

  He reached for a lemonade that Erica offered and downed it nearly in one gulp.

  At least Sierra had turned down Dex’s offer to put suntan oil on her back. Hello, Ian might have stepped in then.

  Then what—flexed his muscles, acted like she belonged to him? Which she most assuredly didn’t—never had. But especially not now.

  A fact Ian had begun to really hate over the past twenty-four hours. Because he didn’t know what game Dex was playing.

  Girlfriend or Girl Friday? Either way, Dex seemed to be closing in fast, and Ian’s gut had started to clench. “There’s only one guy for Sierra, right?”

  Apparently, neither Dex nor Sierra had gotten that memo. And now Dex had taken her on an excursion to see the ocean depths while Ian glued his feet to the ship like a landlubber. No, a full-out coward.

  He drew in a long breath and exhaled fast when he felt a hand on his back. He turned, and Noelly stood behind him. “C’mon. It’s a gorgeous day, and I want to try out those Jet Skis.”

  Jet Skis. The pair that came with the purchase of the yacht. He’d never ridden a Jet Ski and had sort of hoped to skip that part.

  Along with anything else that had to do with actual, well, swimming.

  “I don’t think so, Noelly. I’m not much of—”

  “Aw, c’mon. It’ll be fun.” Then she looped her arms around his neck, moving his sunglasses off his eyes. “Finally, a chance to get you all to myself.” She winked then, and her gaze moved down to his mouth. “You’ve been grumpy.”

  Grumpy? He frowned.

  “You hardly said anything at dinner last night. And then you went to bed early. Left me alone with Nessa and Hayes, and Dex and Sierra—I was a fifth wheel.” She ran a caressing finger down his cheek. “And it was such a beautiful sunset.”

  He caught her hand. “Noelly, I don’t think now is the right time—”

  “Of course it is. You’re about to move down to my neck of the woods, and . . .” She again looked at his lips, back to his eyes. “Don’t tell me that you don’t think we could be great together. Again.”

  He blew out a breath. “That was a long time ago, and I was . . . I wasn’t in a good place. I was lonely and grieving and . . . I probably took advantage of you.”

  “Hardly. I’m a big girl. And I knew you were a little broken. That’s why I let you walk away. But this time is different. You’re not that guy anymore. You’re past that, ready for something serious. Something permanent. Something you’ve been waiting for all your life, even if you won’t admit it.”

  Before he could respond, she leaned up and kissed him. Soft, sweet, a kiss that tasted of coffee and sunshine and something that could be so easy. Noelly loved him—he’d always known that. It felt good to be loved, pursued. Embraced.

  So, for a second—a long second—he let her kiss him, surrendered to her touch.

  He put his arms around her, pulled her tight against him, feeling the lean, toned curves of her body against his.

  But he felt nothing. No sparks, no zip in his spirit, no thundering race of his heart.

  Noelly was beautiful, but she wasn’t . . . well . . .

  Ian sighed, pulled away. She, however, clearly felt something else because her eyes widened. “So,” she said. “We could go jet-skiing, or . . . we do have the boat to ourselves . . .”

  “Jet-skiing,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly, because her smile fell. And he did care about her enough to fix it. “Jet-skiing,” he said again, this time with a smile. “Because you’re right. I’m not that guy anymore. But I promise, tonight I’ll stay up and watch the sunset with you, okay?”

  She smiled at that, but a tinge of disappointment lingered in her expression. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  She led him down the stairs, and now his heart began to twist at the fact that, a few years ago, he would have given her offer a long, desirous consideration.

  So maybe she was right. He wasn’t as broken as he used to be.

  “You’re past that, ready for something serious. Something permanent. Something you’ve been waiting for all your life, even if you won’t admit it.”

  Maybe.

  Kelley stood near the Jet Skis, probably directed by Sierra to make sure they were gassed up and ready for passengers.

  “One or two skis for you today, sir?” he asked as Ian and Noelly approached. Kelley handed them life jackets.

  “One,” Noelly said, just as Ian answered, “Two.”

  The last thing he needed
was Noelly snuggled up to him, her arms around his waist as he . . . well, he’d never driven a Jet Ski before, and he didn’t need any distractions. After all, he was still a guy, and Noelly wasn’t exactly taking no for an answer.

  “Two,” Noelly said then, sighing.

  Kelley dragged the first Jet Ski into the water, then handed Noelly the safety kill switch key fob, which she attached to her wrist by a bungee cord. She climbed aboard and, with what looked like familiarity, started up the motor.

  Maybe he should be riding behind her.

  But how hard could this be? He rode motocross, for Pete’s sake. This landing was a thousand times softer should the ski wipe out beneath him. Kelley handed him his key fob, and Ian velcroed the bracelet around his wrist.

  He helped Kelley wrestle the ski off the deck and into the water.

  “You got this, sir?”

  “No problem, Kelley,” he said and inserted the key fob under the kill switch.

  The motor started, spit out water. Not like a motorcycle, with the throttle in the hand grip; it ran more like a snowmobile with a lever he pulled back.

  He tried it, and the ski shot forward, jerking him hard. He nearly fell off the back and glanced behind him to see Kelley poised at the end of the deck, as if ready to jump in after him. “You all right, sir?”

  “She’s got a little kick, doesn’t she?”

  Kelley nodded. “All these racing models do. That’s a 300-horsepower, 1630 ACE engine—the most powerful engine they make. You can go from zero to sixty in 3.8 seconds. It’s a sick machine you’ve got there.”

  Nice to know. “Thanks.”

  “You can hunker down and lock your legs in the foot wells. And it’s got stabilizers in the back. The only danger you’re in is running into someone else.”

  “So, don’t do that, huh?” Ian said, adjusting onto the seat. It did have nice ergonomics. The machine’s engine hummed quietly as Ian steered it in a circle, giving it throttle, getting used to it. He’d have to allow for the fact that the water felt a little like skiing on a very pliable surface. But, “I got this, Kelley, no worries.”

  He searched for Noelly and spotted her fifty yards away. He squeezed the throttle.