Page 49
“You sure you want to help? I can handle it myself.”
I pull my sweatshirt back on and rearrange my mussed-up ponytail. “Absolutely. Give me a sailor job.”
With a chuckle, he starts the engine and lets it idle. “I need you to step onto the dock and take the bow line off the cleat. Then I want you to coil it and toss it aboard. When you’re done, keep your hand on the stanchion and step aboard. Don’t jump.”
Frowning, I point toward the back. “That bow line?”
“That’s the stern line, sailor,” he chortles.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks, but a much-needed laugh springs from me. “I always get the two mixed up.”
“Well, you’re going to have to get them straight if you want to be my first mate.”
My hands perch on my hips in a sassy pose. “I thought I already was your first mate.”
His gray eyes twinkle with amusement. “Not if you can’t tell the stern from the bow. Besides, you’ve been demoted. Now let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll reinstate you.” He laughs, and the sound warms me to my toes wiggling in the boat shoes.
On the dock, I stare at the rope that’s wound around the heavy metal cleat.
Colby must notice my puzzled expression because he calls, “It’s not tied. Just lift the loop.”
Sheesh, I’ve got a lot to learn, but this new challenge serves its purpose as anxiety continues to drain from my body.
We cast off and motor toward the inlet. I plunk down on the cockpit bench across from Colby, one leg tucked under me, and turn my face forward and let the wind push the hair off my forehead. If something bad happened out there, could I get us to safety? Not in a million years.
The thought strikes momentary fear, and I warn, “Don’t fall overboard.”
He smiles, though confusion is clearly etched in his features. “Not planning on it.”
We approach what Colby calls the inlet’s mouth, and he pauses our forward motion and scans the water. The marina’s blue-green hue gives way to the ominous deep slate color of the Atlantic Ocean.
My gaze follows his, though I have no idea what I’m looking at. “What are you doing?”
“I’m checking the cat’s paws.” His head swings back to mine, and he points. “They’re the dark ripples on the water, and they tell me what the wind’s up to and where it’s strongest.”
“Are you worried about the wind?”
“Nope. It’s picked up a little since this morning, but that’s not unusual.” Guiding the boat a little farther out, he kills the engine and sends me a sidelong glance. “Ready to cut her loose, sailor girl?”
I pop up. “Put me in, Coach!”
“I’m going to point her into the wind, so I want you to take the helm and keep her steady while I hoist the mainsail.”
“Helm equals wheel?” God, I sound stupid!
“You got it. We’ll make a sailor out of you yet.” Taking my wrist, he places my hand on the leather-wrapped stainless steel.
I ignore the sparks igniting under my skin from his brief touch and concentrate on his next motion. He makes a signpost of his entire arm and points toward the bow. “That way.”
The enormity of my job has frogs leaping in my stomach every which way. “What happens if I steer us wrong?”
“Well, keelhauling is always an option,” he calls over his shoulder.
Water, a rope, and pain. Not good.
“I’m joking,” he reassures. “Mostly.”
With an exaggerated scoff, I grip the wheel—the helm—in both hands and watch in fascination as he unfurls the mighty sheet and heaves it so it climbs the mast. He’s in black joggers and a gunmetal gray body-hugging Under Armour shirt that matches his eyes. It also shows every line of his lean muscles as they bunch and flex with the strain.
