Читать книгу Stranded With The Captain - Sharon Hartley - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

STANDING ON THE bow of Spree, Cat waited for instructions from the captain. The fiberglass beneath her feet rumbled with the vibration of Spree’s engine. The smell of diesel fuel floated on the steady north wind, which tossed her ponytail, tickling her neck.

It was almost 5:00 p.m. and they were finally beginning their journey.

Her job was to release the dock line and throw it onto the dock. Joan stood on the back of the boat ready to cast off the stern line.

Debbie, hungover and tipsy from a second bottle of champagne, sat in the cockpit. Her task was to stay out of everyone’s way. During the safety instructions, she’d complained about queasiness, so the captain sent her up on deck for fresh air. Instead, she went to her cabin and fell asleep. Joan didn’t have the heart to wake her, so they never went out for that sailing lesson.

Cat refused to let Debbie’s resentment of the entire known world spoil her excitement. She was about to embark on an adventure, something that even sounded a little daunting. Who’d have thought that she, Cattleya Sidran, the biggest coward in the known world, would actually look forward to something scary? For sure her mom and dad wouldn’t believe it.

“Release the stern line,” Javi yelled to Joan.

When Javi instructed her to release the bow line, Cat heaved the rope onto the dock. He gave Spree some fuel, motored out of their slip toward the channel that led out of the marina.

“That noisy motor isn’t helping my headache,” Deb muttered when Cat scrambled back to the cockpit and sat beside her.

Cat shrugged. She didn’t much like the motor, either, but they couldn’t raise the sails until they were out in the ocean and had room to maneuver.

His jaw set, the captain alternated his focus between the water ahead and a depth finder mounted on the cockpit. Spree had to stay dead in the center of the channel that led out of the marina. The instrument “pinged” every so often, indicating they were close to running out of water beneath the keel—running aground, Javi called it, quite obviously not a good thing.

He was fully dressed now, wearing khaki shorts, a blue T-shirt and matching visor. Polarized sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but the shirt couldn’t hide the biceps in the arms that gripped the wheel. The earring glinted in the setting sun, again reminding her of a pirate.

But he wasn’t a pirate. Just a sail bum she found mysteriously attractive.

The depth finder pinged several times. Javi cursed, then muttered, “Pardon me, ladies.”

“Have you ever run aground?” Cat asked.

He grinned. “More times than I care to remember.”

“Well, that’s reassuring,” Debbie said, one hand holding a huge straw hat in place on her head.

Joan caught Cat’s eye and shook her head. Even Joanie was running out of patience with Debbie’s negativity.

Other marinas and businesses concerned with boating interests streamed by Spree on the right—or starboard, Javi said it was called at sea. On the left, or port, was a natural area full of mangroves, their long spidery trunks covered with roosting pelicans and a nasty odor. The narrow channel widened into a harbor, and Spree passed a large group of sailboats, their bows all pointed the same direction.

“Are those boats anchored?” Joan asked.

“They’ve picked up a mooring, which is more permanent, but there’s a fee,” Javi said. “Dropping an anchor is free.”

The wind steadily increased the farther they got from the marina. The commercial area gradually turned residential and some amazing homes appeared.

Javi nodded at Deb. “We’re about to clear the shelter of land. Trust me, you’re going to lose that hat.”

Debbie removed her hat and tossed it through the opening into the cabin below.

When they got offshore, the wind plastered Cat’s T-shirt against her body. The stiff breeze also chopped up the ocean, causing Spree to wallow through the waves.

Cat glanced at Deb, but she didn’t complain about the rough ride.

“Ready for your first lesson, Cat?” Javi asked.

She jumped to her feet. “Sure.”

“Take the wheel.”

When Cat placed her hands on the smooth metal, it was warm, either from Javi’s body heat or the sun, and she felt the rumble of the engine in her fingers. He stayed behind her, his tanned arms around her and his hands also on the wheel. She took a deep breath, got a whiff of his spicy aftershave and forced herself to concentrate on the captain’s instructions.

“Turn the wheel to starboard, like you’re driving a car, and get the feel of how the helm reacts,” he said.

“Easy enough,” Cat said, and within a few minutes got the hang of how the boat maneuvered. Not hard at all.

Then Javi stepped away, leaving her to steer alone. After a brief moment of panic, she enjoyed the sensation of being in command of the sleek boat. It was like driving a car. Sort of. She swallowed and stared at the whitecaps in the ocean.

Joan gave her a thumbs-up.

“You’re doing great, Cat,” Debbie said.

“You okay?” Javi asked.

“I’m fine,” Cat said.

“So are you ladies ready to go sailing?” Javi asked.

“Definitely,” Joan said.

“Anything to stop that noise,” Debbie said.

“I’m going to raise the mainsail,” Javi said, and moved the engine lever to Neutral. “Cat, steer the boat to port and put the bow directly into the wind.”

“How do I know when I’m directly into the wind?” Cat asked.

“See these ribbons?” Javi flicked a ribbon attached to a wire supporting the mast. “These are called telltales. When they’re streaming directly to stern, you’re in the eye of the wind.”

“Got it.”

She turned the wheel to the left until the telltales flowed toward the back of the boat where the dinghy hung off davits. Javi went forward on the deck, did some magic with lines, and a huge white sail rose on the mast, flapping so loudly she could barely hear the engine.

“Now slowly fall off the wind,” Javi yelled.

Cat steered to the right. The wind caught the sail, which billowed and quieted. Javi returned to the cockpit and pulled the huge metal pole attached to the bottom of the sail—the boom, she remembered—toward the center.

The sail grew taut, and Spree darted forward like a racehorse released from the starting gate. She felt a tug on the wheel and overcorrected, which made the sail snap crazily again, so she turned the wheel until the sail became taut again.

Javi grinned at her and shut down the engine. The vibrations abruptly ceased. Without the engine noise, the only sounds were the rush of wind on the sail and the ocean flowing over Spree’s hull. She hadn’t realized how intrusive the sound of the diesel engine had been until the natural sounds took over, a huge relief to her ears.

But with the wind pushing on the huge mainsail, Spree definitely tipped to that side, what the captain called heeling. She spread her legs for better balance.

Javi pointed to a compass, which floated inside some kind of liquid, beneath the wheel.

“Try to hold a course of thirty degrees,” he told her. “A couple of degrees either way won’t matter. We’re a long way from Gun Cay.”

As Cat gazed at the compass, trying to focus on the number thirty—northeast—the sail began flapping again.

“That noise—it’s called luffing—will be one indication that you’re off course,” Javi told her. “You can also tell by the action of the ocean on your rudder. You’ll feel a difference in the wheel.”

Cat nodded, too engrossed in sailing to reply. Watching the telltales, she played with Spree’s direction, turning the wheel, figuring out how best to remain on course. The boat responded quickly, so the trick was to make gradual adjustments. Oversteering made the sail luff every time. She relaxed her grip, aware she clutched so tightly her fingers ached.

“You learn fast,” Javi said.

“Thanks. This is fun,” Cat said, thankful the captain remained at her side. She looked behind her. Key Marathon had receded in the distance, becoming smaller and smaller on the horizon. Facing forward again, she watched the bow cut through the waves, occasionally sending a cool spray back to the cockpit. She laughed in sheer delight.

This must be what it feels like to fly.

“I’m going to release the jib,” Javi said. “It’ll change the feel of the helm, so don’t let that throw you.”

Another white sail, hidden inside a blue cover, unfurled from the bow of the boat. When it caught the wind, Spree surged forward even faster. Cat intuitively made the adjustments. And now the whole deck really did tip to the right, although the sensation wasn’t too horrible. Just a little awkward.

No one spoke for what seemed like a long while as they skimmed across the water. Deb said, “You know this is really nice, guys. Thanks for making me come.”

“Told you,” Joan said.

Debbie shot her a bird, and everyone laughed.

“Do you want to take a turn at the wheel?” Cat asked.

Debbie shook her head. She placed a white boat cushion behind her, leaned against the back of the cockpit and extended her legs out on the white fiberglass. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“Joan?” Cat asked.

Already in a position similar to Deb’s, Joan waved a hand. “I’ve got all week.”

Secretly pleased, Cat returned her attention to steering the boat. Of course, there was no way she could stand behind this wheel for the fifteen hours it would take to sail to Gun Cay.

She experienced a moment of terror when Javi left her side and trotted forward on the deck to fiddle with lines on the mast. What if he fell out? Or what if one of her friends did? By now they were miles from land.

During the safety briefing, he’d cautioned them about the boom and jibing—where the boom swung around, potentially knocking people overboard. She stood safely behind the boom and suspected that was one reason Joan and Debbie stayed low. He’d instructed them on how to use the radio for emergencies, so they could call the coast guard if the captain went for an unplanned swim.

He’d also showed them where the life jackets were stowed and made them promise to wear them if things got rough. She nibbled on her lower lip. Actually, he’d said when things got rough.

Right now he was so far forward the boom couldn’t smack him. But footing was precarious, and the seas were getting choppier. The captain couldn’t fall over, could he?

“What’s he doing? Debbie asked.

“I don’t know,” Cat answered.

The sail luffed, and Javi glanced in her direction with a frown. She quickly made a course correction.

Cat released a breath when Javi returned to the cockpit.

“You need a break,” he said.

She stepped away from the wheel, stretching her arms overhead, her shoulders tight from holding the boat on course for over an hour.

“Unless one of you ladies wants a turn?” Javi called out.

“I’m too relaxed,” Joan said. “Maybe later.”

Debbie shook her head, placing her palm flat against her stomach.

“I think your friend is a little seasick,” Javi told Cat.

“Too much bubbly,” Cat said.

“You’ll feel better if you take command of the boat,” Javi yelled to Debbie. “That helps.”

She grimaced. “No thanks.”

Javi shrugged and refocused on the sails.

“What were you doing up there?” Cat asked.

“Double-checking a repair I made. Don’t worry. We’re safe.”

“It’s gotten rough,” she said.

“It’ll get worse.”

A tingle of alarm sliced down her spine at his ominous tone. How rough?

“I was thinking,” she said. “What if one of us falls into the water?”

Javi focused on far distant land to their left and nodded. “You’re right, Irish. It’s time to put on our life jackets.”

* * *

FIVE HOURS LATER, with the jib refurled and the main reefed, Javi stood behind the wheel and evaluated the status of his vessel. It was full-on dark, the moon not yet up. The bow rose as it crested a trough, and then crashed back into the Gulf Stream, making him release a pleased laugh. Nothing like pitching a man and a well-designed boat against the elements to make that man feel alive. Almost as good as catching criminals.

On a thirty-degree heel, Spree raced toward Bimini like a champion thoroughbred. He could put up more sail, but why take a chance? NOAA weather predicted a storm behind this north wind, although they’d be safely across before it hit. Still, no sense in beating the hell out of his boat with novices on board. With the two-to three-knot push from the Gulf Stream, they’d make good time to Gun Cay even without the jib.

If they continued on to Gun Cay.

Satisfied that Spree was operating perfectly, Javi turned his focus to the condition of his charterers. Matters weren’t so rosy on that front.

Debbie had been violently ill over the side of the boat even before they hit the worst of the conditions. Definitely too much “bubbly.” Joan, the purported sailor, held out a little longer, but had insisted on going below to pee and as a result had also puked her guts out.

Wearing their bulky life jackets, the two of them lay curled up in misery on opposite sides of the cockpit. Debbie, on the low side, had the best of it. Joan, on the high side, clutched a winch to keep from rolling into the floor.

Irish, because she took his advice and kept control of the helm most of the time, had so far remained upright. She’d even managed to go below to relieve herself without getting sick. Since he’d taken control, she’d developed a worried crease between her green eyes, and he suspected she’d gotten a little queasy herself. But she needed a break, and he wanted to get the feel of the helm in these conditions.

No worries there. Spree was going to be fine.

So would the women once they got back on dry land.

Maybe it was time to offer to take them back to the Keys. Their decision. He bet he knew what they were going to want.

“You want to take over?” he asked Irish, who sat beside Joan, eyeing her with sympathy.

Cat jumped up. “Yes. For some reason I feel better when I have the wheel.”

“That’s the way it always works. The wind is strong and the rudder will fight you, but you can manage.”

Irish squeezed in front of him, placed her hands on the wheel and spread her legs wide. Nothing about her motions should be sexy, but damned if they weren’t, even in a life jacket. And the woman felt good pressed against him.

Inappropriate, Rivas. Javi stepped away, giving her the helm. “You got it?”

She nodded, a small smile playing with her lips, which intrigued him. Irish was one of those natural sailors who just “got” how to handle a boat. It would be fun to race against her when she got a little more experience.

“Do you think your friends would like to go back to the Keys?” he asked.

She glanced at him in surprise, but quickly refocused on the main, her gaze worriedly assessing the telltales flowing over the sail.

Good girl. She really does learn fast.

“Is that an option?” she asked.

“Totally up to the three of you, but I don’t think Joan or Debbie are having much fun right now.”

She bit her bottom lip, he suspected to stifle a laugh.

“Maybe not,” she agreed.

While Irish concentrated on getting the feel of the boat, and probably thinking about a return to Florida, Javi took the opportunity to check her out. She wore shorts and T-shirt. Before she’d put on the life preserver, he’d tried, without success, not to notice how her shirt strained against her generous breasts. The wind had pulled much of her long auburn hair loose from the ponytail, and she constantly tucked a stray lock behind an ear.

“Ask them,” she said.

“What?”

She shot him a quick look, and a slight smile told him she’d caught him eyeing her. No harm in looking.

“Ask them if they want to go back,” she said.

“Do you?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Not really, but this vacation was all about Debbie. We wanted to cheer her up.”

“Is she the recent divorcée?”

“Yes.”

“I figured.”

Irish’s cheeks, already flushed from the wind, reddened. “You heard us, huh?”

“Hard not to.”

“So,” Cat said, “I’ll do whatever Deb wants.”

Javi turned to ask the question, and found Debbie sitting up.

“I have to pee,” she said.

“I don’t recommend going below,” Javi said. “Remember what happened to Joan. You’ll really feel the motion of the ocean down there.”

“Sorry,” Deb said. “No choice.”

“Wait. Do you want to turn around?” Javi asked.

“What?” Deb halted her awkward progress toward the companionway. “You mean, go back to Marathon?”

“Only if you want to,” Irish said.

“But aren’t we closer to Bimini than Florida by now?”

“No,” Javi said. “Not really.”

He watched Debbie raise her chin, a surprisingly stubborn look in her eyes. Still, he was surprised when she shook her head.

“I’m not giving up.”

“We wouldn’t be giving up, Debbie,” Irish said. “We’re getting you back to dry land where you won’t be sick.”

“No,” Debbie insisted. “I want to go to Gun Cay.”

“You’re sure?” Irish asked.

“Yeah.”

When Debbie descended into the cabin below, Javi said, “We won’t see her again until we arrive at shore.”

Irish shrugged. “Part of the trouble between her and Brad was he said she was a quitter.”

“Doesn’t appear that way to me,” Javi said.

“So we keep going?” Irish asked.

Javi glanced to Joan, who had also sat up. “Unless you and Joan want to outvote her.”

Joan looked to port, but there was no longer any land visible. She sighed in a way that told Javi she’d go back in a flash. “Like Debbie said.”

“Your decision,” Javi said, his opinion of the women rising. They certainly weren’t wimps. “On to Gun Cay.”

Joan came to her feet. “I’m miserable no matter where I am, so I’m going to my soft bed.”

When Joan disappeared, Javi said, “I hope they don’t puke all over the cabin.”