by Unknown
Drew's voice rose above the din created by the birds and wind. "Better view on the top. Keep going."
"Okay." But at the foot of the second set of stairs, Stacy paused to scan the scene below. "How can you tell where all these ships are from?"
Stopping behind her, Drew leaned one hand against the pine banister and looked out over Stacy's shoulder. "Each ship flies her country's flag. There's a chart with pictures of the flags and the countries they represent. Let's go on up and I'll show you."
She regarded the steep steps and grimaced.
"It's not that bad," Drew teased as he caught her expression. "You'll find the view worth the effort." He gave her a light push.
"Okay… okay. I'm going… I'm going." She trudged upward until she reached the flat planks forming the upper story, went to the railing, and leaned forward with her hands braced against the weathered beam. Drew followed and stood beside her.
From her vantage point she observed the wharves directly in front of the platform. A ship with a black hull was berthed a few hundred feet away in the murky water and she saw the crewmen cleaning her. Farther away a crane worked, lifting freight out of a ship's hold, and over to her right she noticed a wide, almost circular, body of water.
Raising a hand to point, she asked, "What's that?"
Drew traced the direction of her gesture with his eyes. "That is the ship basin. The channel is too narrow for most of the ships to turn around, so they head up here to make their U-turn."
Laughing, Stacy said, "I hope they don't have too many traffic jams. It would be a little difficult to get those ships untangled."
With a twinkle in his eyes, he responded, "That's why the port authority controls the traffic." He directed her attention eastward. "If you look out there you can see some of the ships waiting for a berth."
After watching silently for several more minutes, Drew took her arm and led her over to the flag chart.
"My gosh! I didn't know there were so many!"
"Houston is the third largest port in the United States, and ships sail here from all over the world. Some are too large for the Panama Canal, so they have to travel all the way around Cape Horn in South America. Those oil tankers can carry loads up to half a million tons. We've even had Russian ships tie up here to take on cargoes of grain." They strolled back to the railing, Stacy constantly aware of the man beside her, her skin sensitive to every casual touch.
"This is fascinating." She smiled up at Drew. "Thanks for bringing me."
"My pleasure." The look he gave her was so warm her breath caught in her throat and she swiftly turned back toward the channel.
She heard his voice continue: "I enjoy coming here. There's something mystical about watching ships."
"It's very exciting," Stacy murmured. Then in a stronger voice, she added, "Those men roam the oceans of the world, pitting themselves against the elements of nature."
"Right. Of course, it's not as dangerous as it was in the days of clipper ships or marauding pirates. Sailing ships have a certain aura, but life on them was harsh. If a ship was becalmed for several days, it could have resulted in starvation or dying of thirst."
"I guess you're right, but it must have been thrilling to watch the sails filled with wind, billowing like small white clouds."
"Would you have liked to live back then?" Drew asked as he saw the wistful expression in her eyes.
Stacy laughed lightly at her foolishness. "Not really. I enjoy living with the discoveries of modern science too much, although man does not seem able to cope with all of his technological advances."
"I understand. For instance, man has discovered cures for deadly diseases but can't eliminate smog."
Forcing her eyes away from this enigmatic man, Stacy swept back strands of hair from her eyes and gazed once more at the ships. She remembered reading somewhere that they could be as high as a ten-story building and as long as three football fields. From this distance, she could believe it!
"The wind seems to be getting stronger," observed Stacy, grasping her burnished locks at the nape of her neck to keep them from blowing around her face.
Drew agreed, smoothing back his own blond hair with his fingers. It did not stay in place for more than the time it took him to do it.
"If you're ready we'll head for the car."
"Okay." Still holding her hair with one hand, she held the banister with the other. The steep descent was more precarious than the ascent. Just as she neared the bottom of the last flight, the gusting breeze blew tendrils of hair across her eyes. Momentarily blinded, her foot missed the next tread and though she tried to regain her balance, gripping onto the railing, the pull of gravity was too strong and she stumbled across the remaining steps, landing on her hands and knees.
In an instant, Drew was crouched at her side, his face bent close to hers. Even in her distress she felt his warm breath caress her cheek.
"Stacy! Are you all right?" She could only nod her head. Tears of pain and frustration blurred her eyes and choked her throat. As she struggled to her feet, his hands reached out, supporting her arms. Once she was standing he let go and dusted off her knees. She flinched.
"I must have grazed my knees." She checked her palms, and she was relieved to see that they were only red and puffy from the impact.
"She's all right, folks. If you'll let us pass I'll take her to the car." He spoke authoritatively to the cluster of curious onlookers. They moved aside, and Stacy began her painful progress, unable to avoid limping.
With a muttered oath, Drew picked her up in his arms. "Put your arms around my neck," he commanded. She obeyed, but her body was rigid. "Relax. It'll be easier on both of us."
"I'm sorry, but I'm not accustomed to this mode of transportation," she gulped before leaning her head on his woolly shoulder.
He chuckled. "You can't be hurt too badly if you're making silly jokes."
"I can walk!"
"Sure you can—that's why you hobbled like a little old lady."
"Oh, you!" She thumped his chest with her palm. "You always have to be right. Male superiority and all that!"
"Calm down. I could dump you in the water. That would cool you off fast."
Stacy allowed herself an exaggerated sigh before biting her tongue on another caustic remark. Then, as he strode back down the walkway, she couldn't resist exploring his sun-weathered features through the concealment of her thick, dark lashes: the tan column of his throat; the firmly clenched jaw; the sensual curve of his mouth; the flaring nostrils; and the deep blue eyes lightened by pinpoints of color. She assumed her observations went undetected until she reached the quirked eyebrows. Hastily, she shifted her glance away, thankfully noting that his long strides had almost carried them to the Corvette.
He set her down on the shining black hood and unlocked the door. Stacy wriggled to the edge, preparing to stand up, when she heard Drew tell her, "Wait where you are."
"I'm not helpless."
He glanced pointedly at her knees and raised a mocking brow. "Oh, no? I have a first-aid kit in the car. Do something useful. Roll up your pants."
Stacy acquiesced, relieved that she was not wearing pantyhose. Heaven knew what he would have demanded then!
He levered himself into the car and found the small box marked with a bright red cross. Setting it next to her, he inspected her knees. "You're lucky your slacks protected you. You'll have bruises on both knees, but the skin's only broken on one."
"I'm glad the mini-skirt isn't in style."
"Oh, but you have such great legs." He ran his fingers lightly over her calf muscle, triggering impulses up her nerves. She stiffened.
"Hurry up! People are staring." Her haughty voice disguised her agitation.
"Let them. It doesn't bother me." He finished treating her grazed knee and she quickly unrolled her pants legs. Then, as she began to slide off the hood, he scooped her up and deposited her on the leather cushion.
"Stretch out your legs," he ordered. "That way they won't sti
ffen up."
"Yes, sir," she returned demurely.
He cast her a swift glance, sensing her mild tone held more to it.
Delighted in seeing him somewhat baffled, Stacy was unprepared for his gentle kiss. Then he explained, "That's for being a 'good' little girl."
Her eyes round with surprise, all she could utter was a soft exclamation. If he heard her, he took no notice as he folded his long frame into the car and replaced the first-aid box under her seat, his arm brushing her thigh. Flustered by this further contact, Stacy looked steadily out the window, mentally reciting the alphabet in an effort to suppress her inflamed senses.
When they were on the road, Drew asked, "Should I take you straight home, or would you care to join me for an early dinner?"
"I'd like to have dinner," answered Stacy, unable to resist his invitation. Rationally, she knew it would be better not to spend too much time in Drew's company, but found she could not behave wisely in his presence.
"Good. I'm hungry."
Before long he was pulling up before an unimpressive downtown restaurant. "How are your legs?" he asked, switching off the engine.
"I can walk," she told him. During the drive she had flexed her legs several times as the pain subsided and now felt perfectly capable of managing the short distance from the curb to the entrance.
She read the sign. "I've never been here before."
"Get ready for pure delight. I discovered this place during my college days when money was tight. Señora Garcia never lets anyone leave hungry."
Once Stacy's eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, she saw a large Mexican-American woman approaching. With an enthusiastic hug for Drew, she said, "Drew Pitman! It's so good to see you! Where have you been keeping yourself?"
He returned her embrace. "Señora, you remember me!"
"It hasn't been that long, nor am I so old that I wouldn't remember a man who ate so many of my tamales." The señora glanced at both of their lean figures. "Come, I need to fatten you up."
They both chuckled. Then Drew raised Stacy's left hand as he introduced her to the older woman. "Señora Garcia, this is my fiancée, Señorita Davidson."
"Oh, ho. So you are to be married." Her face was wreathed in smiles. "That is nice. Come, come." She gestured them to leather chairs set at a heavy wooden table next to the far wall. Beautifully woven rugs decorated the plaster walls. "You have come early. I have not too many customers right now. I will serve you myself. What would you like?"
"We'll start with nachos, and then how 'bout some enchiladas and refritos." He glanced at Stacy, who indicated her agreement. "And we'll both take a beer."
"Of course. Anything else? No tamales?"
Before Drew could answer, Stacy spoke up. "Stop, please. That's enough. I want to be able to walk away from the table!" she chided laughingly.
"Just wait until you taste the señora's food. You will not be able to resist eating everything in sight." The señora hurried off to the kitchen, her face beaming from Drew's praise.
He looked after the woman fondly. Then, resting his elbows on the table, he turned his attention to Stacy, who said, "She's very nice."
"Yes, she is," he agreed. "She treats everyone like that. Her daughters and even some of her grandchildren work for her."
"A real family business."
His eyes took on a distant expression, his mouth a grim line. Señora Garcia brought the nachos and beer. Drew mumbled his thanks and she left, saying, "The rest of your dinner will be ready soon."
Perceiving by his remoteness that something was amiss, Stacy said, "You've never told me—do you have a large family?"
"What…? Oh… no. Just my mother's left. Dad died when I was in grade school."
"No brothers or sisters?" she probed.
"No… my mother had a miscarriage three years after I was born, and she was told then that she would never have any others."
Stacy sensed a common bond; they were both only children, forever missing the closeness of a brother or sister. But she had been lucky. She had a good relationship with her father and, before she had died, with her mother.
"That's too bad," she said aloud, her voice deep with inexpressible sympathy.
"It was soon after that when my mother took up painting. It seemed to fill the void in her life," he said baldly, his voice devoid of any emotion, but the muscles of his face had tightened.
"What about you?" She sat with her hands clasped on the table in front of her.
"She was always around, but I was an independent kid. There were neighborhood children to play with and it wasn't long before I started school."
Stacy yearned to reach out to this formidable man who had built a wall around his inner soul. In her mind's eye she saw a lonely little boy, fiercely proud.
Rousing himself, Drew sank back in his chair, a corner of his mouth lifted self-derisively. "Enough of my childhood. Here comes our dinner. And from the smell of it, I'd say Señora Garcia has outdone herself."
One by one the señora set out plates and bowls. "Enjoy! It is my pleasure," she told them.
They ate slowly, savoring the hot spicy food and the cool brew which eased their burning mouths. Conversation was centered around their feast. Finally, with a groan, Stacy protested as Drew offered her more. "No!" She put out her hand to stop his.
Chuckling, he looked down at her restraining fingers and, self-consciously, she jerked them back. Meanwhile, he was saying smoothly, "All right. You needn't eat anymore." He rubbed a hand across his taut mid-section. "I'd better quit, too."
Minutes later, with warm words of affection ringing in their ears, Drew took her home.
Hesitating in front of her door, Stacy asked, "Do you have time to come in?"
"Sure. It's still early."
They found Bob in the living room, still going over business papers. His daughter regarded him reproachfully. "I thought you were going to take it easy today."
Bob glanced ruefully at the incriminating evidence. "I went for a walk this afternoon." He put the papers with some others on a side table and went to his daughter, sliding his arm around her shoulders. "Don't fuss… I'm done for the day." With a glance in Drew's direction, he changed the subject by asking, "Can I offer you something to drink?"
"I'll have a beer. My mouth is still burning from our Mexican dinner."
Before Bob could move, Stacy had ducked out from under his arm and headed for the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder. "I'll get it. Same for you, Dad?" He nodded his head in agreement and then motioned Drew over to an easy chair. "Come sit down."
When Stacy returned with a Lucite tray loaded with frosty beer mugs and a soda for herself, the men were seated, discussing business matters. After serving them, she set the tray on the coffee table and relaxed against the sofa cushions, slowly sipping her drink, the bubbles of carbonation tickling the roof of her mouth and quenching her thirst.
Several minutes passed and Drew sent her an inquiring glance. Puzzled, she looked back at him, her brow wrinkling in a frown.
"Are we boring you?" he asked.
"Not at all."
But her father checked his watch. "My, look at the time." He paused to stretch and stifled an obvious yawn. "If you'll excuse me, I'll be saying good night." Bob kissed his daughter on the forehead and with a twinkle in his eye reminded her not to stay up too late.
As his retreating form disappeared down the hallway, Drew moved next to Stacy, his arm resting across the sofa back.
"Your father is a very understanding man." His tone held a hint of laughter.
"He probably thought we'd like to be… alone." Stacy floundered over the last word. Why is it, she wondered, that as soon as he's close to me I lose my head? I'm not a teen-ager, flustered by the mere presence of the opposite sex.
Drew's knee nudged her thigh. She looked up, caught in his spell as he moved in closer. "Thoughtful of him."
She was disturbed by his actions, but before she could evade him, he possessed her lips, leanin
g his weight against her sensitive breasts, pinning her against the sofa, capturing her between his arms. Her first reaction was to resist, her hands pushing ineffectively against his shoulders, but his touch destroyed her defenses, igniting something deep within her soul, and she responded to her natural needs, giving him back kiss for kiss. Drew paused momentarily to look into her eyes and Stacy felt mesmerized by his smoldering gaze; he murmured softly, his lips gently caressing her cheek, and then they traveled down to the hollow of her throat. Her heart pounded against his chest. All coherent thoughts were wiped away, all resistance gone when she slid her arms around his neck, her fingers twining in his hair just as he moved to invade her throbbing mouth once more with his own.
He released her, shifted his body away. "It's time for me to go," he said briefly, somewhat breathless.
Stacy straightened up and watched as he sprang to his feet and moved toward the hallway, reminded indefinably of a strutting rooster.
"Good night, Stacy—I'll phone you soon." His words rang in her ears… a sop to her self-respect.
Resentful, she wanted to chastise him for exploiting his status as her fiancé, but when she found her voice the front door was closed. Drew was gone. She smashed her curled fingers down into a pillow, frustrated with him… but, most of all, with herself.
Disconsolate, she pushed herself up, switched off the lights, and crept off to her room.
Chapter Five
The golden glow from sunbeams sparkling through the panes of stained glass and reflecting off the mosaic-tiled wall illuminated the church with a radiant light.
Stacy felt an upsurge of strength and energy as her tensions and concerns for the future eased under the calming influence of this holy place. She had not slept well the night before and had awakened early, feeling dispirited and listless. After breakfast, her father had assumed that they were going to follow their usual Sunday morning routine and Stacy could not disappoint him. So she had changed into a long-sleeved russet dress and had accompanied him to church, although she only wanted to crawl back under the covers and try to sink into the forgetfulness of sleep. During the early morning hours she had been plagued with dreams of Drew Pitman. No matter how hard she tried to remain aloof, her resistance was destroyed each time he touched her.