CHAPTER ONE
CAT SIDRAN CAME to a halt and admired dozens of sailboats bobbing in the water around her, one of which would be her home for the next week. The Florida sun warmed her shoulders. A stiff wind clanged rigging against tall aluminum masts, the sound a mysterious promise of adventure. She closed her eyes to listen.
An adventure was exactly what she wanted, what she needed to pry herself out of a boring rut where she never did anything but work.
Although she was safe inside her rut. And she did love her work.
A siren—an ambulance or the police—drowned out the sounds of the rigging.
“Hurry up, Cat. It’s hot out here.”
Opening her eyes, Cat glared at the back of her friend Debbie McMillan, who hurried ahead down the long concrete dock. Deb had done nothing but complain since the start of this trip. When had she become such a whiner?
“What’s the rush?” Cat asked. “We’re on vacation.”
Debbie turned, shading her sunglass-covered eyes with a brochure. “I need to get out of the sun, and so does our food.”
Joan Pastorini stepped beside Cat. “I got the extra sunscreen,” she said, holding up a plastic bag. “SPF fifty.”
“Great. Now can we find Spree?” Deb used the brochure to fan her face. “I’m melting.”
“Are you trying to depress me, Deb?” Cat asked.
Debbie shrugged. “I’m depressed enough for all three of us.”
“But you won’t be much longer,” Joan said. “We’re all going to chill and have fun for the next week.”
“So you keep telling me,” Debbie said. “But I’m not sure there’s enough tequila in all the Keys for that.”
Cat shook her head as Deb hurried down the dock. This adventure wouldn’t be a whole lot of fun if Deb’s attitude didn’t change.
“What’s the slip number for Spree again?” Deb yelled back.
“Was she always like this and I don’t remember?” Cat murmured to Joan.
“I told you she’s changed since the divorce,” Joan whispered back.
Cat watched her friend read the slip numbers. Or maybe this is why Brad left her.
“Slip twenty-eight,” Joan called, catching up to Deb.
“Here she is,” Deb said.
Cat admired the elegant lines of a white-hulled boat floating with its stern toward the dock, allowing her to confirm the name Spree in flowing black script. Two aluminum masts sprouted from the deck, the one in the rear much shorter. To provide shade, the owner had suspended a blue tarp over the opening that led below deck.
“She’s even prettier than the photos,” Joan said.
Cat silently agreed, her spirits lifting, for the first time actually believing Joan’s plan for this sailing charter might work. For the next week, she and her old college roommates planned to relax, catch up and reminisce on board this fifty-foot ketch. More importantly, she and Joan would try to coax Debbie out of the funk she’d been in since her divorce.
“Wow,” Deb said. “Look at the size of the steering wheel.”
The huge stainless-steel wheel in question stood in the center of the cockpit behind the largest mast, where people sat while under way. Cat smiled at her vision of standing behind that wheel with Spree skimming along aqua water beneath billowed white sails.
She’d always wanted to learn to sail, which is how Joan had finally convinced her to participate in this voyage.
“And damn,” Joan muttered. “Will you look at that.”
A muscled male body, glistening with sweat, emerged into the cockpit from below. An almost naked muscled male body. Ragged denim cutoffs rode low on the man’s ripped abs and hips. Very low. If they were any lower... She jerked her gaze to the man’s face.
He was tanned. Swarthy, like a pirate. High cheekbones, longish dark hair, dark eyes. Dark beard, as if he hadn’t shaved in weeks. Even a small gold hoop in one ear.
A delicious pull of attraction made her imagine something even more sensual than sailing a boat.
The man turned and stood with his back to her, staring up the mast, the rear view as spectacular as the front. Clasping his hands, he stretched his arms high overhead, rippling the muscles in his amazing shoulders, completely unaware of her ogling.
And here, likely, was Spree’s captain. Funny; she’d pictured their captain as an old salt with a British accent. She didn’t know where the accent came from, but the photo in the brochure had definitely been of such an older gentleman. Not this dangerous-looking buccaneer with a body that only came from spending a lot of time in the gym.
Not that he’d worked his muscles to where they were too obscenely bulky and huge. No question this man was strong, but also wonderfully flexible.
Flexible? Where is this coming from? Get a grip, Cat.
“Ahoy there,” Joan shouted.
Cat cringed. The man turned. Piercing dark eyes openly checked them out. He smiled, displaying perfect white teeth.
“Can I help you, ladies?”
“I hope so,” Joan said. “We’re your charterers for the next week.”
The pirate’s expression morphed into a scowl. He moved closer to them. “You’re not due until tomorrow,” he said.
“Well, I know,” Joan said, using what Cat recognized as her most wheedling tone. “But we hoped we could put our food aboard tonight.”
“You bought your own provisions? I thought you were using the concierge service.”
“We changed our minds,” Deb said. “And saved a ton of money.”
Still frowning, the man placed a hand on a metal wire connected to the deck. “I hope you used the suggested list.”
“Of course,” Joan said. “Are you the captain?”
“Yes. And according to your contract, you don’t have the boat until noon tomorrow.”
“But some of our food needs refrigeration,” Debbie said.
Mesmerized by a bead of sweat sliding down the captain’s chiseled chest toward his low-slung cutoffs, Cat forced herself to listen to the discussion.
“What would it matter if we just stored our food in the coolers overnight?” Deb asked.
“Please,” Joan added hopefully.
Appearing none too pleased, the captain hesitated, but shrugged. “Sure. How can I resist three such lovely ladies?”
“Thank you,” Cat said, and was rewarded with another smile.
The captain jumped from the deck of Spree to the dock. “I’m Javi Rivas, your captain.”
“Joan Pastorini. What happened to Captain Bree?” Joan asked.
“He had an emergency. Sorry about my appearance, but I wasn’t expecting you.” The captain shook Joan’s hand and turned to Deb.
“I’m Debbie McMillan,” she said.
“Cat Sidran.”
When the captain shook Cat’s hand, he winked, and heat warmed her cheeks. Damn. He must have noticed her drooling.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s grab a dock cart to transport your provisions.”
Telling herself to quit leering at the captain, Cat and her friends followed him down the dock toward land where he helped them transfer their grocery bags from the car into a wooden cart and wheeled the cart back to Spree, where they passed their provisions to the captain on deck. The process took three trips.
Maybe they’d bought too much food.
“Come aboard and I’ll show you where to stow your food,” the captain said with a glance at Debbie’s feet. “Tell me you brought deck shoes.”
Deb looked down at her stilettos. “They’re in my suitcase.”
“You have to put them on before you come aboard.”
“Seriously?” Deb asked.
“Didn’t you read the preboarding instructions?” Javi said.
“Don’t worry about it, Deb,” Joan said. “We’ll put away the groceries. Go wait in the shade.” To Javi, she said, “She burns easily because of her fair skin.”
“Then I hope she brought sunscreen. You, too,” Javi said to Cat, holding out his arm to help her aboard. “Redheads burn quicker than blondes.”
Landing on deck, Cat silently moaned when she couldn’t stop heat from flooding her face again. The curse of a redhead. What was she, thirteen? He helped Joan onto the boat, then said to Cat, “Come with me.”
She followed him into the cockpit, through the opening and down four steps to a cooler shaded area below deck. Wow. Spree was gorgeous, all varnished wood and neatly arranged pastel cushions.
“This is the main saloon,” Javi said.
“It’s lovely,” Cat said. Light flooded the area through an open hatch overhead and porthole windows on the side.
“I’ll give you the grand tour once your food is stowed, but this is the galley,” he said with a sweep of his arm.
“That’s the kitchen, right?” Cat asked.
“Right. This is a top-loading cooler, which runs off the ship’s generator. Freezer is one side, refrigerator on the other.” He removed a hatch that cleverly folded to cover one side or both, and then moved to the front of the boat where there was another opening to the deck.
A hatch, Cat reminded herself.
“Start passing the bags through,” he yelled up to Joan.
“Pack items you’ll use first last,” he instructed.
After the perishables, he helped Cat and Joan store dry goods into overhead cabinets. Despite being out of the April sun, they were all sweating by the time they finished.
Fanning herself, Joan plopped onto the sofa. “Is it always this hot down here?”
“There’s not much air circulation in the marina, but under way, it stays fairly cool below deck,” Javi said. “When we’re at anchor, I’ll put up wind scoops on the hatches to help ventilate below.”
“No air-conditioning?” Cat asked with a glance at Joan.
“Just the wind,” the captain said.
“Right. Let’s go find Debbie,” Joan said, avoiding Cat’s gaze.
The captain nodded, and Cat followed him into the cockpit where they discovered Debbie waiting on the dock with her luggage.
“What the hell is that?” Javi demanded.
Cat followed his gaze to Debbie’s large, hard-sided suitcase.
“What does it look like?” Deb asked.
“Something that’s not coming on this boat,” the captain said.
* * *
“DID YOU EVEN bother to read your contract?” Javi demanded. Maybe he sounded sharp, but his thigh ached. He’d been on his leg too long helping the charterers load their provisions, something definitely not in the captain’s job description, but he’d wanted to smooth over the rough start.
“The contract specifies soft-sided luggage only, preferably duffel bags,” Javi said.
“But this isn’t any bigger than Cat’s duffel,” the blonde on shore protested.
“A cloth bag can be stuffed into a small space, but not that thing,” Javi stated. “And it can’t stay out. If we hit weather, it’ll go flying and damage the boat.”
“Is there any solution?” Cat asked softly. “Maybe lash it to the deck somehow?”
Javi turned to the stunning redhead beside him on deck. She was trying to be reasonable, but he wasn’t in the mood. “For safety reasons, the less on deck, the better.”
He watched Cat exchange a look with Joan, an equally beautiful dark-haired woman. Just what he needed. Three gorgeous and spoiled women to cater to for a week. Marlin, the boat’s owner, couldn’t afford to turn down any booking, but family charters were so much easier.
“We bought a lot of large garbage bags,” Cat said. “Maybe Deb could stuff everything inside a couple and leave the suitcase ashore.”
Javi nodded. “That would work.”
“Where?” Deb asked, looking around the dock.
“I’ll ask the marina office if they can store it for a week,” Javi said. And then he realized something else. The blonde—Deb was her name—had obviously planned on putting that ridiculous suitcase on board. “Where are you ladies staying the night?” he asked. “The Marathon Motel?”
Cat and Joan exchanged another look. Deb sat on her suitcase.
“Well, since our food is already on board,” Joan said hesitantly, “we thought maybe we could stay with it.”
Did you, now? “That’s an option if you arrange it ahead of time,” Javi said, struggling to hold on to his temper. “But I didn’t see that in your contract.”
“But what would it matter?” Joan said. “We won’t be any trouble. The boat isn’t being used by anybody else.”
Javi glared at Joan. No one but me. So this was his reward for accommodating these women. If he allowed them to sleep aboard tonight, he’d have to stay with Spree. Forget about going to the gym for one last rehab session for his leg. Why had he agreed to help Marlin?
Because his friend was laid up in the hospital and would lose Spree—his home and livelihood—without the income from the already-booked charters. The old fool didn’t even have enough cash on hand to repay the deposits.
“We won’t cook in the boat,” Cat said. “We’ll go out to dinner, return our rental car and be ready to leave when you are. We couldn’t get a reservation at any motel close by.”
“Maybe we should forget the whole thing,” Debbie said, standing.
“No. Come on, Debbie,” Joan said. “Besides, we’d lose our money.”
“Couldn’t you bend the rules just this once?” Cat asked in her soft voice.
Javi shot her a look, but bit back a comment, again caught by her flawless fair skin. Damn, and her eyes were a mesmerizing green. Red hair, green eyes. Must be Irish. She flushed again under his scrutiny, something she did a lot. What’s up with that?
But the brunette was right. What did one night matter? If Marlin were here, he’d definitely give in to these three sirens.
At least they didn’t have any special requests. Marlin claimed all they wanted was a week of R & R in paradise where they didn’t have to worry about driving home after too much drinking—and from the amount of tequila they’d brought on board they intended to do plenty of that. They planned some snorkeling, paddle boarding and quiet nights anchored in protected coves.
Javi nodded at the blonde. “All right. Transfer your possessions into garbage bags and welcome aboard.”
* * *
“‘WELCOME ABOARD’?” DEBBIE MIMICKED, lifting her tequila shot off the scarred wooden table in a toast. “Captain Bligh actually said ‘Welcome aboard’ after being such a jerk.”
“He did help us with our food,” Joan said.
“Here’s to that,” Cat said, raising her own small glass. Following tradition, she licked salt off her hand, swallowed the liquor and bit into a tart lime. Her eyes watered, then the whole mess settled in her stomach and burned. She grinned at her friends, triumphant.
“Whoo-hoo, Cat!” Debbie said, whirling her arm in the air. “I knew you had it in you.”
“Anyway, we’re sleeping on board tonight,” Joan said, settling back in her hammock suspended from the high wooden ceiling. “It all worked out.”
“I didn’t think he’d agree,” Cat said. Using her foot, she pushed her own hammock into motion, relaxing into the gentle sway.
After transferring their luggage to Spree, Cat and her friends had returned their rental car and grabbed a taxi to Hattie’s Hammock, a restaurant with a popular bar on the water within walking distance of Spree’s marina. They planned to have dinner, a few drinks, and then make their way back to the boat.
“He damn sure wasn’t happy,” Deb said. “I hope he’s not like that the whole week.”
“I suspect he’ll stay as far away from us as possible,” Joan said.
“And here’s to that,” Deb said, again raising her glass and taking the third of the three shots they’d each ordered. With a flourish, she turned the glass upside down on the table beside the other two. “We need more. I’ll get our waitress.”
Worried Deb was imbibing too much tequila, Cat followed her friend’s progress to the crowded bar where she was immediately approached by a tanned, good-looking dude of around thirty. Cat sighed. Maybe now she was the one being a jerk. She wasn’t Deb’s mother. Inside her head she could hear Joanie telling her to loosen up already, that bad things didn’t always happen.
Anyway, Deb appeared to be enjoying herself—the whole point of this trip.
Deb’s new friend had brown hair, a great smile and must have had a good line, because she actually smiled back at the guy. She leaned on the bar, and they began to talk.
“Look at that.” Cat nudged Joan, who appeared to be lost in thought as she dreamily looked out over the calm water.
Refocusing on Deb and the guy at the bar, Joan said, “Now that’s a very good sign.”
“Has she said anything to you about Brad?” Cat asked.
“Just that he’s marrying the old bat this week.”
“The filthy-rich old bat,” Cat muttered.
“He apparently had to sign a prenup,” Joan said, “but still gets a ton of cash in case of divorce.”
“Yeah, well, he’s good at divorce.”
The dude at the bar bought Debbie a drink, and she perched on a stool beside him. Cat frowned, wondering if that was such a good idea. They were in a strange town and didn’t know a soul.
But maybe a little attention from an interested male was exactly the medicine her friend needed to restore her shaky confidence, which was likely why Deb was being such a pain. This was the first night of their vacation, a getaway they all three needed. They didn’t have to drive anywhere, so why not cut loose?
Hadn’t every man she’d ever dated told her she was uptight, nervous, always worried about the future, seeing disaster around every corner? Some had used less flattering descriptions. Okay. So she was a cautious person, but that was for good reason. Bad things did happen sometimes. She had firsthand proof of that.
Still, she ought to learn from Deb. Hurting from the betrayal of a husband she’d dearly loved, yet here she was bravely meeting new people.
Am I too cautious to ever have a good time? Too frightened to ever take a chance?
Well, not this trip.
Cat took a deep breath and upended her second shot. A little loopy, she was glad to see the waitress arrive with her nachos. Steam billowed into the air from the plate before her, and the tantalizing fragrance of melting cheese and spicy chilies reminded Cat she was starving.
Joan caught Debbie’s eye and motioned for her to return to their table. She did, with the barfly in tow.
As she took her seat she said, “Jeff, this is Joan and Cat, the best friends a gal ever had.”
Cat scrutinized Deb. How much more tequila had she downed at the bar?
“Will you join us, Jeff?” Joan invited, removing her purse from the empty fourth hammock at their table.
“Thanks,” Jeff said.
“Have you eaten?” Cat asked to be polite as she used her fork to detach a tortilla chip from a mound of cheese and salsa.
“You ladies go ahead,” Jeff said, placing his drink on the table. “I’m waiting for some buddies.”
“Jeff crews on a private sailboat and knows these waters well,” Deb said as she squeezed mayo on top of the lettuce and tomato on her mahimahi sandwich.
“How big is the boat?” Joan asked before taking a bite of a giant hamburger.
“Eighty feet. She’s in dry dock for a week, so I’ve got some free time.”
“He was telling me about a fabulous anchorage in the Biminis where we need to go,” Deb said. “Tell them, Jeff.”
“Yeah, I highly recommend Gun Cay if you have enough draft.”
“Draft?” Deb asked.
“How deep your keel goes down in the water,” Jeff explained. “You don’t want to run aground. The water depth in Gun Cay is about ten feet, so it’s dicey at low tide for the Ocean Watch.”
“Ocean Watch is the boat you work on?” Cat asked.
“Right. Do you know your draft?”
“Six feet,” Joan said.
“Then you’ll have no problem. There’s seldom another boat to interfere with your serenity. At least, now that the busy winter season is over.”
“I like that idea,” Cat said.
“Crowded anchorages can ruin a vacation,” Jeff said with a nod. “And with no one else around, you ladies can enjoy the sun au naturel, one of the best things about cruising.”
“I don’t know about that,” Joan said. “We have a male captain.”
“I doubt if he’d mind,” Jeff said with a laugh. “Anyway, the water is so clear in Gun Cay, you can see every detail on the bottom from the deck of Ocean Watch. There’s plenty of conch, interesting fish, great snorkeling. The interior of the island is like a jungle with tons of birds if you’re a birder, and there’s a fabulous sandy beach. You can take the dinghy ashore and have a bonfire and barbecue at night. Killer sunsets are another plus.”
“Doesn’t it sound like heaven, guys?” Deb asked.
“Is it far away?” Cat asked, surprised by Debbie’s enthusiasm, more like the old Deb she remembered from their college days. If this pristine anchorage was doable, why not?
“It’s an easy half day or so sail from here, the perfect shakedown cruise to learn about your temporary home.”
“But I thought we decided to stay in the Keys,” Joan said before biting into a French fry.
“Jeff says we won’t find a peaceful anchorage in the Keys,” Debbie said.
“Not like this one, anyway,” Jeff added. “It’s our favorite spot to drop a hook in the Bahamas.”
“It does sound awesome,” Cat said with a glance at Joan, who appeared to have doubts about the new idea.
“There are my friends now.” Jeff stood and waved his arm to catch the attention of two other men who threaded their way through the crowded bar toward him.
“What do you think about Gun Cay, Joanie?” Cat asked.
“I think our captain will object to a change in plans.” Joan eyed the two newcomers, and then grinned. “And I think we’re about to have a party.”
Copyright © 2017 by Sharon S. Hartley