Chapter 13

Athena dug her fingers into the bench seat’s canvas-covered cushion and held tight as the boat rode the waves. Russ’s probing into the painful past had ripped off a scab and resurrected the old hurt and anguish. He didn’t believe her claims. She wasn’t surprised. No one believed her—not the police, not the private investigator her aunt had hired, not even Aunt Clara.

She’d agreed to go sailing with Russ so she could convince him to accept her offer and maybe find out why Angus had left her so much. Her plan had flopped. Russ hadn’t given her a chance to explain. That look in his eyes said he didn’t believe her. What was wrong with him? She was offering him a fortune. Why wouldn’t he take the damn money and be happy? Why all the questions?

A wave smashed the side of the sailboat, and a spray of icy seawater cascaded over the deck. The Minerva rose high in the air and plunged with a resounding thump into a deep trough.

Thrown off-balance, she lost her grip and fell, landing with a painful thud on the unforgiving deck. Before she could scramble up, Russ grasped her by the arms and hauled her to her feet.

“Are you all right?”

She stared into his golden eyes. Her skin tingled where his large, warm hands held her. “Ye…yes, I’m fine.” She tugged her arms free and stumbled back a step. “Thank you.”

A frown furrowed his brow. “The weather’s turned, and we’re in for a bit of a blow. We should head back.”

She scanned the sky. “Look at those dark clouds.” Absorbed in her thoughts, she’d failed to notice the approaching storm. “They look pretty menacing.”

Loud slapping split the air as the mainsail halyard broke loose.

“Do you need help?” she shouted over the rising wind. At his hesitation, she planted her hands on her hips. “I haven’t sailed for years, but if you tell me what needs doing, I’ll do it. It’s like riding a bike, right?”

He hefted open the lid under the bench seat and held out a vibrant yellow lifejacket. “Put this on. You can take the wheel while I adjust the sails.”

She struggled into the musty-smelling life preserver, adjusted the straps, and zipped up the front closure.

He slipped into a matching lifejacket. Clasping her hand in a firm grip, he supported her as they staggered across the heaving deck toward the cockpit.

The wind howled, and salt spray blinded her as waves pounded the small vessel. She stumbled again, and he steadied her, pressing her close, shielding her with his body from the worst of the storm. Heat from his hands seeped into her chilled skin, but all too soon they lurched into the cockpit, and he relinquished his hold. The walls of the small enclosure blocked the gale-force winds and kept out the worst of the raging storm. She wiped her streaming face with the back of her hand.

He guided her to the wheel. “Hold on tight, and keep the bow pointed into the wind.”

The boat bucked and swayed like a wild animal fighting to break free. The wind shrieked as it blasted the small sailboat.

Two-meter-high waves crashed over the bow, drenching her with icy spray and mixing with the freezing rain pelting down from the sodden sky. She fought to keep her balance and hold on to the resisting wheel.

Russ, hair dripping, water streaming down his face, his clothes drenched, scrambled with sure-footed grace across the rocking deck, battening hatches, trimming the sails, and tightening ropes.

The boat plummeted into a cavernous trough, and the wheel jerked from her hands. She yelped as she tumbled to the deck and smashed into a metal storage box. Fighting for breath, she sprawled on the heaving deck until her lungs expanded, and she inhaled fresh sea air. Lurching to her knees and then her feet, she grabbed the wheel and hung on.

The wheel spun wildly, and the boat altered course, running crosswind. Waves struck the hull broadside, threatening to capsize the small vessel.

Her muscles cramped as she yanked and wrenched the wheel, but it wouldn’t budge. Saltwater sprayed her face and dripped from her hair, mixing with her sweat and rain, blinding her. She shoved again, grunting with the effort. The wheel gave an inch and then another. Slowly, but inexorably, the boat swung around until the bow faced the oncoming waves.

Thanking whatever gods were watching over her, she tightened her grip and fought the resisting wheel, straining to keep the vessel on course. The sea and rain drenched her, plastering her hair to her head and soaking her clothes. Goose bumps prickled her skin. Her hands cramped, and pain shot up her arms, but she clung to the wheel, refusing to let go.

Russ materialized out of the storm and seized the wheel.

Gratefully, she released her grip and rubbed her aching hands.

Placing his mouth close to her ear, he shouted, “We can’t make it back to the marina. Not in this storm. Let’s try for a nearby island and wait it out there.”

The brush of his warm breath across her face and neck, and the heat from his body, drew her like a moth to a flame. She inched closer until her shoulder and hip bumped his. Clinging to the side of the cockpit, she leaned into him, reveling in his warmth.

The wind raged, rain poured down in buckets, and waves crashed over the gunnels, threatening to swamp the sturdy boat.

Russ’s knuckles were white, and his face grim, as he braced his body against the wild rocking and steered the boat into the face of the storm.

A dark smudge appeared on the horizon, barely visible through the fog and driving rain. The vessel dropped into a trough and careened up the other side. The smudge grew larger, revealing a rocky shoreline and thick forest of tall coniferous trees.

He guided the Minerva into a small, protected bay. The storm continued to rage, but inside the safety of the cove, the waters were relatively calm. “You okay?” He waited for her nod before he flicked a switch, and the engine rumbled to life. He grasped her hand and led her to the throttle. “You’re doing great. We’re almost there. Follow my directions while we get anchored. Can you do that?”

She was soaked through, and her teeth chattered, but she nodded.

“Good girl.” He patted her hand. “Hold onto the throttle and be ready to reverse the engine when I tell you.” Moving with lithe, athletic grace, he lowered the furl of the mainsail, scampered forward, and let down the jib sail. Moving to the bow, he hefted the anchor and dropped the rope over the side. “Okay, Athena. Reverse her at idle speed.”

She’d done this task a dozen times when she was a child, and the familiar motions returned.

The engine rumbled, spewing blue clouds of diesel into the air.

She pulled the throttle toward her, inch by inexorable inch.

He played out the braided nylon rope and cinched it to a cleat. The boat straightened, tugging on the rope, and he set the anchor. “That’s good, but keep it coming.” He tied the anchor rope around a bow cleat and gave the rope a tug. “Okay. Now we have to snub the anchor. Reverse hard until the rope straightens out. Then kill the engine.”

The second the anchor rope tightened and the anchor dug into the sea bottom, she shifted the throttle into neutral and switched off the engine.

After the loud rumble of the inboard diesel engine, silence descended, broken by the crash of waves rolling onto the distant shore and the raucous cries of seagulls swooping and diving in the low tide. Freezing rain poured down, and the wind drove in gusts out of the northeast. Protected in the little bay, the boat rocked gently at its mooring.

Teeth chattering, she wiped her wet face. “That was some sailing.”

“You’re a great first mate. I couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.” She saluted and chuckled.

His warm laughter washed over her like liquid honey.

Their gazes locked, and something intangible sparked.

The slight widening of his eyes indicated he too felt the connection.

Heat rose along her neck and settled on her cheeks. Her heart raced so loud the pounding overpowered the roar of waves crashing on the distant, rocky shore. She tore her gaze from his and peered through the rain at the rugged bay’s shoreline.

Jagged fingers of black volcanic rock jutted into the sea. The small crescent of pebbled beach was littered with graying, washed-up logs and mounds of tangled seaweed. A tree-covered ridge on one end and a headland of large boulders on the other sheltered the beach. The foamy crests of crashing waves surged over the barnacle-covered rocks.

A trill of unease washed over her. “Where are we?”

His gaze bore into hers. “I thought you might recognize the place. We’re just off the shores of Shelter Island.”

“What?” The strength fled her knees, and the world spun. A wave of blackness engulfed her, and she grabbed onto the wheel, but it slipped from her fingers, and she fell.

Shelter Island.

The name howled through her brain, echoing in a haunting refrain.

Shelter Island.

The one place she swore she’d never visit again.

“Athena! What’s wrong?”

His voice grew fainter as she slipped into oblivion.