Distracted (7 page)

“Don’t have one, babe. Use the oven.”

“Oven? You mean the microwave?” she called from
inside. “And don’t call me babe, either.”

“No; use the regular oven.”

Erin eyed the propane gas stove and the small oven
beneath it mistrustfully. After a few moments, she figured out how
to light it. She heard a whirl as Spence unfurled the jib. Glancing
out the forward port lights, she saw the brilliant blue-and-white
sail expand and curve with wind. The catamaran barely heeled as it
picked up speed and the shore receded quickly. She marveled at the
steady motion.

She found a small knife in a drawer and two plates in
another cabinet. She sliced the bagels and set them, face up, on
the wire rack inside the oven. Then she opened the refrigerator,
lifting the large door and leaning inside. She foundered, her feet
dangling off of the floor as she scrounged for cream cheese. She
knew she had put it inside only twenty minutes earlier.

Spence, hearing her muffled curses, leaned over and
looked through the cockpit door. He enjoyed the sight of Erin’s
bottom wiggling, her bare feet scraping the cabinet doors seeking
purchase.

“I told you not to bury anything you wanted,” he
warned.

“Here it is,” she said, standing finally, the cream
cheese in her hand. “From now on, that’s your job.”

As the bagels toasted, she foraged for coffee
beans.

“Dang it! Why did I put them in the refrigerator?”
she exclaimed, once again diving head-first into the deep locker.
“From now on, they stay on the counter,” she groused, smoothing
back her hair.

She filled the urn with water, experimenting with the
foot pump.

“Don’t use the foot pump on the right,” Spence called
out. “That’s sea water. Use the one on the left.”

She sniffed the water in the urn and crinkled her
nose. “Thanks for the warning,” she said, pouring it down the
drain. She rinsed it several times with fresh water, then filled
the coffee machine.

“Don’t forget the oven,” Spence chimed.

Erin swore again and opened the oven. The bagels had
browned and were beginning to singe. She grabbed one and tossed it
on the plate, shaking her burning fingers. “Ouch, ouch,” she
hissed, as she removed the other bagel. She slammed the oven door
and turned off the gas.

She overfilled the coffeepot water and it leaked dark
liquid on the counter. Erin searched frantically around for a wash
cloth, but couldn’t find one. She ran outside and grabbed Spence’s
discarded shirt and mopped up the coffee.

“Is everything alright, babe?”

“Fine. And quit calling me babe!”

She tossed the soggy, stained shirt into the kitchen
sink and leaned against the counter. It’s not that difficult to
make coffee and bagels she thought. Why am I making such a mess of
things?

After a deep breath, she calmly scraped the black
edges of the bagels then spread them with cream cheese. She found a
couple of mugs in an overhead cabinet and filled them with freshly
brewed coffee. She found sugar in the pantry and half-and-half in
the now-hated refrigerator. She put the coffee and bagels and a
couple of bananas on a tray and carried it outside wearing, she
hoped, a serene smile.

“I don’t care how you drink your coffee, Spence. You
get cream and sugar today.”

“Just the way I like it, honey.”

Chapter Five

After a dinner of lukewarm tomato soup and ham
sandwiches and with the boat on autopilot, Spence opened a bottle
of wine. Filling a goblet half way, he handed it to Erin. “You
really don’t cook, do you?”

“I warned you,” she said, stung. “I can make some
things. Steak. Salad. Bread.”

“You can make bread?”

“Well, I can toast it. Sometimes,” she amended,
taking the wine from him and raising the glass to her lips. She
sighed deeply.

“Let’s go forward,” he suggested.

Erin nodded and followed Spence out of the cabin,
carefully walking along the hull toward the trampoline. He placed
his glass and the bottle on top of a locker and stepped onto the
springy tarp. Erin had wanted to walk on the trampoline all day,
but was afraid of the open mesh and its proximity to the ocean.

“It won’t break, will it?”

“It’s safe. Come on; let’s watch the stars come
out.”

The last time she watched stars with Spence, she
actually slept with him, but only in the literal sense. She was
determined to have the upper hand this time.

Spence opened another forward locker and pulled out a
few pillows, which he tossed onto the trampoline. Then he stretched
out, his head cushioned, his glass cradled on his bare stomach. It
reminded Erin of his hammock.

She handed him her wine glass, then stepped onto the
trampoline, making him roll. He lifted the glasses to save the deep
red liquid from spilling.

“Oops; sorry.” She sat down quickly and crossed her
legs.

He handed her the glass, tapped his gently against it
and said, “To Fusion.”

“Confusion,” Erin quipped.

“Huh?”

“Never mind. Bad joke.”

She turned her head to the west, watching as the last
ray of the sun slipped beneath purple clouds. All day she had
watched the starboard shore as they hugged the coastline. Now it
was colluded with the setting sun. She could feel his body heat, he
was so close.

“What’s that fragrance you’re wearing?” she
asked.

He chuckled. “Men don’t wear ‘fragrance,’ babe. They
wear cologne. That would be sweat and maybe a touch of diesel fuel.
What you’re really saying is I stink.”

Erin shook her head slightly, his gentle humor
relieving a bit of her discomfort. “No, you don’t stink. And don’t
call me ‘babe’.”

“That really bothers you, doesn’t it?”

Erin didn’t answer. Did it really bother her, or was
it something else?

“It’s important that you remember we’re not on
vacation. We need to keep a working relationship.”

“Relationship? You said you’d get a puppy if you
wanted a relationship.”

With a severe expression she said, “Spence, there are
many types of relationships. The one I’m speaking about now is
respect between two people who are …” She stopped as he grabbed her
knee.

“A meteor shower!” He pointed skyward and, dropping
his hand to her shoulder, gently pulled her down on the trampoline
beside him. “Watch. There at nine o’clock.”

Erin did as she was told, her mouth open in surprise,
her eyes wide and searching. Suddenly she gasped.

“I see one,” she said, pointing gleefully. “Oh my,
I’ve never seen so many stars. They seem so close.”

They remained on the bridge deck, quietly sipping
wine and watching stars for another hour before Spence said they
were nearing their destination for the night.

“We don’t sail through the night?” Erin asked.

“No. Not unless you want to stay up all night and
keep watch. We’re not in a hurry; you only sail at night when
you’re making passage. I set the autopilot and we’ve been heading
for a small harbor I know. We’ll be there soon and set the
anchor.”

“Do you need help? What should I do?”

“I’ll need you when we take down the sails and set
the anchor.”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly. “Tell me what to do,
though. I’ve only sailed small dinghies, remember?”

He patted her knee. “Don’t worry. By the time we’re
done, you’ll be able to handle this boat all by yourself.”

“I don’t think so, but thanks for the vote of
confidence.”

She handed him her empty wine glass then stood up.
She swayed a bit in the webbing, then grabbed the wire rigging for
support. Spence watched from his position on the trampoline,
admiring her long legs and the small indentations made by the
web.

He followed her to the cockpit and checked the chart
plotter. He turned off the autopilot, steering a course towards the
dark coastline. Soon he turned on the diesel engines. “Keep its
nose into the wind while I lower the sails,” he said, stepping away
from the wheel.

“Where’s the wind?”

“I’ve got it pointed into the wind already, but you
see those little strips of yarn on the rigging? Those are
tell-tales. They tell you which way the wind is blowing. Just keep
your course steady and your eye on the tell-tales. They should be
flapping toward the stern of the boat.”

“Okay.” Erin nodded, recalling the basics of wind
direction from sailing dinghies on the lake. She hiked up onto the
seat, resting her hands on the wheel.

Spence went forward and furled the jib, tucking the
sheets into cam cleats and tying new stopper knots. Then he pressed
a button and the mainsail furled into the mast. He checked that all
the other lines led back to the helm or were coiled properly on the
deck.

“Put her in neutral,” he called to Erin.

She looked at the two-lever throttle control.

“Which one do I use?” She yelled.

“Both,” Spence replied loudly. “They operate both the
port and starboard engines.”

She stood on the chair’s footrest to see over the
cabin roof. She could see Spence bend over the bow, an anchor held
lightly in one hand and its chain in the other. He dropped the
heavy steel plow anchor into the water, slowly paying out the chain
rode, then the line attached to it. She heard the motor whirl of
the electric windlass. A few minutes later he stood up and checked
to make sure no other boats were nearby. “Put her in reverse. Go
slow.”

Erin slid the handles into reverse. The sound of the
big diesel engines changed as they slipped from neutral into
reverse.

Spence watched the anchor line then held up a fist.
“Okay, stop.”

She quickly put the controls back into neutral.

Spence knelt on the bridge deck and tugged on the
line that led into the ocean. “One more time. Back up slowly, then
stop.”

Erin did as he asked, repeating the process twice
more before Spence was satisfied that the anchor was set. He tied a
bridle leading from the port and starboard hulls onto the anchor
rode after sliding a heavy, lead kedge down the line. “That should
keep us from sashaying tonight,” he said.

Returning to the cockpit, he turned off the engines
and set the GPS anchor alarm. If the boat moved more than usual as
it swung on the anchor, then the crew would be alerted. No captain
wanted to sleep through the predicament of a dragging anchor.

Erin moved from the helm to the cockpit door.

“It’s late. I guess I’ll get ready for bed.”

Spence nodded, still reviewing his navigation
screens.

“I’ll wrap things up here. You head on in.”

She went down in to the port hull and gathered her
bath supplies. She took a quick, cramped shower, then dressed in a
T-shirt and pair of panties. She had left so quickly and felt
pressured while packing that she had left many of her clothes at
Spence’s house. She hadn’t even packed a bra.

After she had curled up in the berth, she realized
she had nothing to read. She tucked the quilt around her and called
out.

“Spence? Are you there?”

“Yes,” he said, his head and shoulders appearing in
the passageway. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. But I need something to read. I didn’t pack
anything except my laptop and I’ve left it in the saloon. Can you
bring it to me?”

“Sure.” He reappeared shortly with her briefcase.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m sure. I just don’t have many clothes on, and I
don’t want to parade around your boat half-dressed. Thank you,” she
said primly, taking the briefcase and unzipping it. She flipped
open the screen and looked at him questioningly. “Thank you,” she
repeated.

“You’re welcome,” he said, a wicked grin on his face.
He flopped down beside her and tugged at her quilt. “You don’t have
any clothes on?”

“I said I don’t have ‘many’ clothes on. Of course I’m
wearing clothes. Now get out of here.” She kicked at him, a feeble
effort under the heavy spread.

“Whatcha working on?” he persisted, stroking her
covered knee.

“Go away,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
“You’re dismissed. Shoo.”

“I thought you wanted to work on the book. Isn’t that
what you’re being paid to do?”

“Yes, I am,” she retorted. “But not at night and in
my bed. Quit teasing me, Spence.”

His gaze settled on her breasts and as if magnetized,
he raised a hand towards them. Then he glanced into her face, noted
her red-stained cheeks and brilliant eyes and decided to
retreat.

“Babe, I would never tease you,” he drawled, slowly
dropping his hand. “Good night. If you need anything, just
yell.”

He was gone. Erin couldn’t hear his footsteps; her
heart was pounding and blood roared in her ears. She didn’t know if
she should be angry or frightened. After a few seconds, she
realized she was neither. She was excited and a flame licked
through her chest. She had wanted Spence to touch her, to stroke
her breast the way he stroked her knee. She hid her face in her
hands, blotting out a vision of him lying on her bed. Her computer
slid off of her lap, unnoticed.

Chapter Six

Surprisingly, Erin found life aboard the catamaran
very comfortable. She didn’t mind the close quarters and loved
lounging in the wide cockpit while Spence handled the ship’s wheel.
She worked on her tan, wearing her bathing suit top and a pair of
shorts. Spence wore a pair of trunks and his ever-present
sunglasses. Behind her own sunglasses, Erin watched as he
effortlessly steered, adjusting the sheets and the sails from
controls near his seat. Each morning, he turned on the autopilot
and set up a line, trolling for fish. Occasionally, he caught
something that he had to clean, cook, and eat alone.

Spence quickly discovered that Erin was much better
with the navigation charts and plotting a course than sautéing or
baking. It amused him that she didn’t bother to try to cook for
him, unlike other women he had dated. Often, they tried to impress
him with their domestic skills. Erin didn’t bother.