Distracted (6 page)

Suzy smiled in return. Erin wondered if she had seen
many women with Spence, aggravated that she would now be lumped in
the same category as the beautiful actresses and models he dated.
On second thought, being mistaken for an actress wasn’t so bad, she
thought.

“Nice to meet you, Erin. I’m Susan Riger. Have a
pleasant voyage and fair winds.” She turned to Spence. “Did you
file a float plan?”

“Yes; last night. Thanks, Suzy. Tell Mom I’ll call
her later.” He gave Miranda a noisy kiss then blew a loud raspberry
on her tummy. The baby squirmed and squealed with delight. Then he
handed her to her mother.

“Ewww. She’s all slobbery now,” Suzy said, using her
shirt to wipe off her daughter’s tummy. Then she cradled the baby
in front of her, waving its tiny hand toward Spence and Erin. “Say
‘bye bye.’” Then she walked away, pulling her wagon, her baby
cradled on her hip.

Erin watched her retreating back, then turned to
Spence. “Thanks for the introduction.”

He frowned. “Oh hey, I’m sorry. That’s Suzy. She and
Henry run the chandlery here at the marina.”

“Your manners are appalling,” she said, lifting her
chin defiantly.

He studied her for a moment before nodding. “You’re
right. I apologize.” He picked up several grocery sacks and handed
her one. “Help me stow this food.” He paused, then added,
“Please.”

Erin accepted the bags and followed him into the
salon. She forgot her irritation and circled slowly admiring the
plush and roomy interior. “My God, this is amazing. There’s so much
space in here!”

Spence smiled as he dropped the bags on the galley
counter. “Yeah, ‘cats’ are much more spacious than a single hull
sailboat. I’ll give you a tour if you stow the groceries.”

Erin stepped toward him and leaned over his arm as he
lifted a concealed door.

“Here’s the refrigerator,” he said. “Its top loading,
so don’t put anything you want at the bottom or you won’t be able
to reach it easily.” He dropped the heavy door, then pointed out
various drawers and doors. “Here’s the pantry. Here’s the stove.
It’s gas, so it cooks quickly. Here’s the microwave and the trash
compactor and over here is a drop-down TV for when you’re
cooking.”

“This is more luxurious than my own kitchen,” Erin
admired, running her hand across the dark faux stone countertop.
Everything was color coordinated and the fixtures were brushed
nickel. “Of course, my apartment didn’t cost me a million,
either.”

Spence pointed toward the bow. “My stateroom is
forward. Your berth is to port.” He picked up her canvas tote and
walked down three steps into the port hull.

Erin followed. “This is amazing,” she marveled. “I
can’t believe how big it is. You can’t tell from outside that
there’s this much space.”

Spence tossed her tote onto a queen-sized island
berth then turned slightly. He opened a small door and tilted his
head. “Here’s a hanging locker, but there’s not a lot of room in
it. I keep my stuff in drawers.

He tried to move past Erin, but hesitated in the
narrow passageway. He put a hand on the bulkhead while he moved
around her. At the same time, she stepped out of the way. The end
result was her head bumping his chin.

“Oof,” he said.

“Ouch,” she said, the contact making her bite the
inside of her mouth. She touched her tongue pulling away bright red
fingertips. “Ecch. I’m bleeding.”

“Guess it’s not as roomy as you thought, huh?” Spence
rued.

“Gueff not,” she replied, sticking her tongue out and
crossing her eyes at it.

Spence put both hands on her shoulders and, making
small steps, turned her in a circle until she faced the head. “Go
wash off your tongue. I have to start the blower on the
engines.”

He bounded up the steps and out the cabin door,
moving into the cockpit. Within seconds, Erin heard the sound of a
fan. She stepped into the head and looked in the mirror, wiggling
her tongue around. Nothing serious, she surmised.

She spent a few moments in the head, admiring the
vanity, noting the clear-glass shower door and puzzling over the
marine toilet. She experimented with the handles and plungers,
following the brief directions printed on the side of the
contraption.

Finally satisfied that she could flush it, she went
back into the narrow passage and walked towards the bow of the
massive catamaran.

The entire width of the boat was dedicated to the
owner. She caressed the ultra suede couch then admired the desk in
the small office area, complete with a laptop and small
entertainment system. She pulled out the wooden tray beneath the
desk. It was littered with pens, a watch, keys, a rabbit’s foot and
some loose change. She continued forward and stepped into his
bathroom, spacious compared to the head she was to use. Still, the
fixtures were identical and lavish. She opened the roomy shower
door and stepped inside, wondering if she should finagle a way to
use his instead of hers. She stepped out of the head and walked
toward the huge berth, opening doors and drawers as she explored.
The beech wood made for a light and airy compartment, its satiny
finish glowing in the filtered light.

The king-sized island bed was made up with a lovely
blue and green comforter and scattered with soft pillows. There
were a few dog-eared paperback books on the shelf and a pair of
worn, soft blue jeans tossed on the cabin sole.

The room smelled like Spence, a mixture of sweat,
salt, sunshine and coconut. She shivered, then returned to the
galley.

As she unpacked groceries she noted the gourmet
supplies and wondered if Spence thought she could cook.

“He’s got another think coming,” she murmured to
herself.

In one cabinet, she saw several bottles of wine,
along with bottles of whiskey, bourbon, rum, vodka, and tequila. He
certainly is prepared for a party, she thought.

She admired the efficiency and compactness of the
sailboat; everything had a special place and was bright and clean.
Even the garbage can had its own cabinet, the plastic bin lined
with a white trash bag.

Spence walked into the cabin and began turning on
small fans and opening hatches, circulating the fresh air. “We’re
going to motor out and then raise the sails when we get in open
water,” he said.

Erin nodded, not sure what to say. “Do you need any
help?”

“I’ll let you know when,” he said, smiling
indulgently. “I’ve got the lines arranged for single-handed
sailing, so it’s pretty efficient.”

Stepping over to the navigation center, he flipped on
the VHF radio and tuned in to Channel 16. He listened for a minute,
then turned the volume down and went back into the cockpit. Erin
heard a grinding as the twin diesel engines started.

“Erin, can you cast off the bow line?”

“Sure,” she said, and came out of the cabin and
stepped onto the port hull, marveling at the wide, slip-resistant
path. She nervously held the lifelines as she made her way forward.
She inched past the large trampoline stretched between the two
hulls near the catamaran’s bow. The stretchy mesh fabric served as
a lightweight deck, making it possible to go from one hull to the
other without having to return to the cockpit. She stifled an urge
to bounce on it before she made her way to the pulpit seat. She sat
first, then leaned over and lifted the line, tugging on it to pull
the boat closer to the pier. She slid the line up and over the
pole, then dropped it in a small pile and walked aft. Spence had
already released the stern and the spring lines and was sitting at
the helm, one hand on the massive wheel and the other on the
throttle.

“Ready?” He smiled.

“Aye, aye.” She moved to the back of the cockpit and
sat on one of the blue seat cushions. A hardtop canopy shaded the
back of the boat. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his polarized
sunglasses. “Can you see where you’re going?”

He nodded and slipped the engines into gear. The
massive sailboat powered slowly away from the pier.

Erin leaned back, excitement building in the pit of
her stomach. Just twenty-four hours ago she met this man and now
she was embarking on a cruise with him. She shook her head in
amazement. What did she know about him?

She studied his tanned arms as he manipulated the
large steering wheel, occasionally looking over his shoulders as he
angled the huge catamaran away from the piers and into open water.
A breeze lifted his wavy hair away from his face, flapped his open
shirt. He stood, studying the bridge deck, calculating the distance
he needed to clear a moored fishing boat.

Overhead, seagulls wheeled and dipped, their raucous
calls lifting her spirits higher. A sedate, brown pelican, his bill
tucked under his wing, raised his head to watch as “Fusion” slipped
from the harbor.

After a few minutes motoring, Spence glanced over his
shoulder. “You still here?”

“Of course,” Erin said, her eyes closed in bliss.
She'd sailed before, and a boat was a boat. This was a floating
palace.

“You’re so quiet; I thought maybe you jumped
ship.”

“Not a chance. This is wonderful.”

“Can you take the wheel?”

Erin shot up. “What? Why?”

“I need to raise the mainsail.”

“I thought you said this was single-handed sailing,”
Erin said, eyeing the wheel with alarm.

“Well, it is once I get the sail up. The sails are
all self-furling with electric winches,” he said, “but I need to
stow some gear and lines. You want to raise it?”

“No. I’ll steer. Where are we going?”

“See the compass? Its heading is 125. Just keep it on
this course. It will only take a few minutes and I’ll be right
back. Shout if you see any other boats that might cross our
course.”

She slipped into the seat and rested her hands gently
on the large wheel. The helm was high and wide and fronted by dials
and computer screens filled with nautical charts. The stainless
steel throttle vibrated slightly. The compass swung in its
binnacle. The heading was southeast, she noted. There was very
little movement, the twin hulls keeping the boat stable.

Erin took a deep breath and nodded. She felt a
flutter in the pit of her stomach and shoved at it. I am not
afraid, she admonished herself. It’s just like driving a car. A
really big car.

Spence took off his shirt and tossed it in a corner
of the cockpit. He stepped nimbly onto the cabin roof and checked
the mast and boom. He pressed a button and the mainsail slowly
pulled out of the mast, sliding along the boom. Soon, the large,
white sail slapped resounding as it luffed in the wind.

Erin kept her eyes fastened on the compass, trying
not to make jerky movements with the wheel.

Spence checked all the sheets, making sure the cam
cleats were in working order. He neatly coiled the bow line that
Erin had left in a puddle. He pulled the large, cylindrical fenders
aboard and stowed them in a cavernous locker in the port hull. Then
he checked the windlass and anchor, making sure the rode was
secure.

Satisfied with his brief inspection, he returned to
the cockpit and opened a cooler. He withdrew two sodas, popped the
tabs and handed one to Erin. She graciously thanked him and sipped
the cold beverage while keeping one hand on the wheel. Spence, his
head tossed back, his Adam’s apple bobbing, emptied the can in
several gulps then looked around.

“I forgot to put a trash bag out here.” He lifted a
locker lid and tossed the can inside. “Remind me to clean that out,
would you?”

Then he came behind Erin and draped an arm over her
shoulder. She flinched at the easy familiarity, and jumped from the
seat.

“Okay, she’s all yours.”

Spence grunted and easily slid behind the wheel. He
picked up the exterior VHF radio, adjusted the volume and clicked
the handle.

“Suzy-Q, this is “Fusion. You there?” he spoke into
the microphone.

A few seconds later, Suzy was on the air.

“Yes, Fusion, I’m here. Switch to Channel 9;
over.”

“Roger that. Moving to Channel 9.” Spence depressed a
button and the VHF switched channels. The he clicked the hand-held
microphone. “Suzy-Q, Fusion here. How about a radio check?
Over.”

“Fusion, You’re loud and clear. How is she?
Over.”

“She’s beautiful. The boat’s not bad either,” he
joked. “Tell Henry we’ve got plenty of propane. We’re leaving the
harbor now and heading for open water. Over.”

“Not using the Intracostal Waterway, eh?”

“Nah, we’ll make better time sliding down the
coastline. The weather forecast is great, so no worries. Can you
tell Mom I’ll call her later?”

“Will do. Fair winds, Fusion. Suzy out,” she replied,
signing off.

Checking the navigation system, Spence keyed through
the GPS, checking its readout. Then he pushed several buttons on
his chart plotter and loaded a map into the autopilot. He took a
few minutes to study the new chart and calculate the day’s
passage.

Erin walked into the cabin, not wanting to sit and
stare at his broad, muscled back and shoulders. No, that’s not
right. She did want to stare; she just didn’t want him to know it.
She had a job to do, and this seemed her only option to get it
done. “I’m hungry. We missed lunch today. You mind if I find us
something to eat?”

“That’s a great idea. You can be the chef on this
trip.”

“Eh, Spence, that’s not a good idea. I’ll do what I
can, but I won’t make any promises. I don’t even know what capers
are for,” she said, thinking of the gourmet food they had stowed in
the galley cabinets. “I was thinking of a bagel and a cup of
coffee.”

“Sounds good to me, honey. I’ll eat anything.”

“Fine. And don’t call me honey,” she mumbled,
stepping into the bright saloon. She pulled a bag of deli fresh
bagels from a cabinet.

“Hey! Where’s your toaster?”